CASSIUS

I have an extremely obnoxious ringtone that I'll probably never change for reasons I can't explain and it's deciding to wake me up in the middle of the night. The time on my phone reads two-forty, but I feel like I've lost an entire day to sleep rather than four measly hours. I don't recognize the number that flashes across the screen, so I ignore the call.

Heather wanted to go out last night while she had a break from Julia, but I never heard her and Quinn come back in. Last call at the bars is usually two in the morning, so they should have been back by now. There's no text from Quinn, but that's not unusual. Maybe they passed out in the living room.

But everything is dark and quiet as I exit my childhood bedroom, searching for any sign of life - drunk snoring, to be exact. Not a damn thing. My phone goes off again and I jump when the sound cuts through the silence. Same number. I answer it this time and a womanly robotic voice echoes from the other end.

"Hello, this is a prepaid call from Redwood County Jail. To accept these charges, please say accept. To reject, please say decline."

My first thought is to check Warren's room to make sure he didn't sneak out and get into trouble. He's passed out in the bed. Who the hell else would be calling me from jail? After a brief period of hesitation, I say 'accept'.

"To accept these charges, please say accept. To reject, please say decline." The robot repeats.

Guess I took too long to say anything. I pull the bright phone screen away from my face so I can talk directly into the speaker, as if that will help.

"Accept." I say in my loudest whisper, trying not to wake Warren.

"To accept these charges, please say accept. To reject, please say decline."

This time, I walk down the hall so I can use a normal voice. "Accept, damn it! Accept!"

"To accept these charges, please say accept. To reject, please say decline."

"Accept, you stupid fucking robot. Accept!" I argue angrily, spinning in a circle in the hallway.

"Excuse me?"

The phone drops to the floor when I hear Quinn's voice echo through the speaker. What the hell? I hurry to pick it up and, after a minute of struggle, manage to press it firmly against my ear.

"Quinn? Why are you calling me from jail? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Cash-Money..." She sings in an overly innocent voice that screams guilty. "Would you pretty please come pick me and Heather up?"

My brain starts spinning faster than the speed of light and I can't open my mouth.

"Cash? I promise I'll give you all the Oreos in my kitchen." I hear Heather whisper something in the background. "Oh yeah, and sex. I'll give you lots of sex, too." She adds awkwardly.

"What the hell did you guys do?" I finally spit out after regaining some control of my motor skills.

"Well, I think that's a matter of perception, really. Like, if you ask me, we didn't really do anything except be the heroes America needed. The cops, on the other hand, are delusional. You know how the cops are always going after the superheroes. Either way, they think we did something, and we need you to come get us."

I have no idea if I'm angry or not. I'm just trapped in a state of incredulity.

"They arrested you guys because you're superheroes?" I repeat, dumbfounded by her explanation.

"Thaaaat is...a completely accurate observation."

"Alright, Quinn. I'll be there soon, okay?"

No point arguing about this over the phone when the end result will be me picking my crime-fighting-criminal girlfriend up from jail anyway.

She lets out a heavy breath and whispers, "thank you."

When the line goes dead, I shake Warren awake.

"Get up. Heather and Quinn got arrested."

Warren laughs weakly but then his eyes fly open and connect with mine.

"Seriously?"

"Yep. We need to go pick them up."

"Jesus fuc –okay." He runs his hand through his hair wildly before sitting up. "I swear I'm gonna murder her one day, if she doesn't give me a damn heart attack first."

"Yeah, okay." I retort sarcastically.

I've never seen someone so head over heels for a woman before, but he still tries to pretend he could make do without her.

****************

So, this is the first time I've set foot in a precinct since I got out and, to be candid, it's making my skin crawl. I feel like there's a thousand little bugs making pathways across my body.

I recognize that I'm not incarcerated and that I've done nothing to potentially change that in the recent past, but just being in this building makes me feel like I'm about to be shoved in a tiny cell again. The phones are ringing off the hook, people are arguing, and there's a moldy stench permeating the room.

Maybe that's why Warren offered to talk to the receptionist. Maybe he knew how unpleasant this would make me feel. Maybe he saw the sweat forming on my forehead the second we strolled through the doors into this musty hellhole.

The dim lighting seems a bit brighter when I see Quinn slumped in a plastic chair, staring down at her cuffed hands folded in her lap. Heather is two seats down, tapping her feet impatiently. I'm sure she's been a great guest that the officers have thoroughly enjoyed having around.

Sarcasm, by the way. Nobody likes having a pissed off Heather in their facility.

The good news? They're in chairs out in the lobby rather than being in a holding cell. I'm not sure if they've seen the magistrate already or not, but I'm praying I'm not stuck in here longer than I need to be.

As much as I want to march right over to Quinn, I know I'm not allowed. I'd get tackled in a heartbeat. Biting at the inside of my lip is the only way to resist the urge. My eyes never leave her, and all the noise fades out as I wait for Warren to come back with news. The taste of blood taints my tongue and I begin to gently rock in my seat.

"The magistrate is droppin' the charges. Both girls got clean records and, apparently, Quinn produced a damn good argument for what happened. Imagine that." Warren muses, his voice barely registering in my head.

"Yeah?" I murmur, still watching Quinn.

"Yep. Just had to hold 'em until someone could come get 'em."

An officer approaches her and sets her free of the cuffs before sidestepping over to Heather to repeat the process. Heather stomps her way past Quinn and leads the way toward the exit, only stopping when she sets eyes on Warren. She quickly changes their course.

"Hi." She says with a sheepish expression that doesn't match the attitude in her voice or the angry folding of her arms across her chest.

"Sweetheart," Warren says softly, palming her cheek as he moves in closer. "What in the hell did you do this time?"

The gentle nature I only ever see him show when he's with her eats away at me. I want to be able to provide Quinn with the same kind of comfort, but every single one of my limbs is locked in place. I can't stand from the chair I'm in or turn my head or move my jaw to form words.

"It wasn't our fault. I saw that crazy bitch at the club and...well, you know me, Warren! I couldn't just not say something to her after everything she did. And I...it just escalated."

"You hit 'er." He says flatly, not asking and not sounding surprised.

"It... wasn't me." She tries to whisper and then her eyes dart to Quinn. Warren's follow the same path and his gaze locks on her.

"Quinn?! You got in another fight with Skylar? Guess I gotta take back what I said about not likin' you." He jokes, slapping her on the back of the shoulder.

She shifts her weight between each foot, growing increasingly uncomfortable. I still haven't even acknowledged her. I need to get up. I need to move. Get us out of here. Talk to her. Something besides being frozen in place.

I stretch my shoulders back, take a deep breath, take two more, and finally get to my feet, lightly guiding her outside the precinct so I can think straight. Get a fucking grip on myself. The darkness and cool early-morning air is soothing as I let it fill my lungs.

"I'm sorry." She hums.

I turn to face her, and I don't like how small she looks. I mean, she's petite in general, but this is a different kind of small. Like she's trying to shrink into herself until she disappears.

"What happened, Quinn?"

She peers up at me, her eyes filled with water, but I don't move to comfort her this time. Instead, I stand still and wait for an answer, hoping it will ease the panic gnawing at me over seeing her in this place. I never want her here again.

"I... well...okay, what had happened was, Heather wanted to um...talk to Skylar." She starts, trying to keep her tone lighthearted.

That's already one lie. Heather has never gone into a situation where she willingly wanted to talk to Skylar, even when there was a thread of civility between them. Every interaction they ever had involved Warren having to talk Heather down. But I let Quinn tell her version of the story anyway.

"So, I heard some things that just kind of made me mad. Like, really mad, Cash. I didn't know everything she did, and hearing Heather say it out loud...it hit me here." She points to her chest and mine feels like it's splitting wide open.

"When she went to walk away, she started laughing. She laughed at what she did to you, Cash, and I couldn't handle it. But...it technically wasn't even me because the spirit cheetah took over and...so technically, you should be mad at my spirit, not my physical being."

I don't like Quinn getting into any kind of physical altercation. I don't like her solving problems with violence. I don't like that she was in harm's way and that she put herself in a position that Skylar could have twisted into something more extreme. I don't like that Heather allowed it to happen. I don't like a damn thing about this.

But I've never had a woman willing to fight for me before.

Is it okay that I feel warm over the fact that my girlfriend got arrested because she felt so strongly about defending me? Is it okay that I want to fuck her as soon as I get her back to my house? Probably not. Never said I was perfect.

"I'm not mad at you, just so you know. But this can't happen again, Quinn. If you need to get some of that anger out, I can get you in a pair of gloves in the gym. I'll teach you how to release that energy. But you can't do this again. You could get hurt...or you could hurt someone else. Trust me, you'd regret it for the rest of your life."

I should know.

She stares up at me with this curious gaze I've never seen before and her mouth starts to open, but quickly shuts before words even form.

"Okay." Is all she says after another pause.

I may have talked a big game earlier but, the truth of the matter is, once we got to my house and our heads hit the pillows, I just wanted to hold her there. I wanted to keep her curled up against me where nothing could touch us.

One thing is for sure. Heather and Quinn are never allowed to hang out unsupervised again. With Quinn's knack for creating chaos and Heather's extremely short fuse, they're a recipe for disaster. Which means Quinn will want to declare her as a close friend. I can't have that.

When the sun claims the sky, I realize I didn't sleep at all. I was too preoccupied with listening to her breathing and plotting ways to make sure she never leaves my bed again.