Bespoke

. . .

. . .

. . .

A/N: This one just popped into my head in the shower Wednesday night and demanded to be written. As of right now, it is intended to be rather short, probably three chapters. (I know, that's what I said about 'Instinct' and 'Triad', and why the hell am I beginning yet a third unfinished work when I'm trying to get 'Gone Wylde' done? Because my Muse has had too much coffee. Or something. She won't leave me alone.) I'm sure many of you will catch the references, but for those who don't it shouldn't matter.

The Standard DisclaimerTM applies, as in, I have nothing to do with the Titans, financially, and they have nothing to do with me. (Rats.) The same goes for The Incredibles. Disney and Pixar and DC Comics and Warner and a host of other really lucky people get that privilege. Also, any resemblance between the characters I made up and any real person, living or dead, means that my research was incomplete. Because it sure wasn't intentional.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Chapter One

* * Tuesday 18 August, 8:20pm * *

At the first hint of Jinx's low moan, Wally appeared beside her bed. "Jinxy! You're awake! How do you feel?"

She cracked open one bleary pink eye and drilled him with it. "Does that maybe strike you as a possibly-stupid question, Speedo? I'm recuperating from a gunshot. How the hell do you think I feel?"

"… Um … like crap?"

"Got it in one. So impressed." She repositioned her left arm and grunted in pain.

He dropped to his knees, one hand hovering aimlessly near her, but she bared her teeth and hissed, "Don't touch it!"

"I really think we ought to get you to some kind of doctor before …"

"No."

"Jinx, be reasonable. I could carry you to an out-of-town clinic, they could treat you, and we'd be gone before the local police …"

"No."

"… Pleeeease?"

"Don't you dare pull that Puppy-Dog-Pout on me!"

"Dang."

"I'll heal, Wally. I always do."

"… 'Always'? What 'always'? You mean you've been shot before?"

She graced him with a tiny grin, and reached up with her good arm to tousle his hair. "You're so cute when you get all naïve and innocent."

"I'm serious, Jinx! That's not a minor flesh wound, there, and you lost a lot of blood."

"What I get for goin' straight an' tryin' to help you with your hero-ing."

"Yeah, yeah, no good deed goes unpunished. Like I never heard that before."

"Don't worry your adorable little red head about it, Flashy. I'll be all right. Just need a few days of rest to let my metahuman awesomeness do its thing, and I'll be tossing hexes around again." She yawned, then yawned enormously and grunted again when it pulled on her injured shoulder. "I wouldn't say no to some aspirin, though."

"I've got some generic version of Aleve, but that's all. With my metabolism …"

"Yeah, got it. That'll do."

A brief gust of wind puffed by between one blink and the next, and he was holding out a small, blue pill and a glass of water with a bendy-straw in it. "This way, you don't have to sit up," he explained.

She smiled her thanks and took the capsule, then eased her head back down to the pillow.

"Are you hungry?"

She frowned while thinking it over. "Now that you mention it, I could do with some of your scrambled eggs."

"Comin' right up!"

"You got any of that eight-year-old white cheddar left?"

"You know it."

"Sweet!"

He vanished, his wash pulling a few strands of pink hair across her face. She blew them back out of the way and called out, "And cinnamon toast?"

"Of course," wafted back in from the kitchen.

She sighed and closed her eyes, but was currently much too uncomfortable to drift off again. She tried a trick an old Army Ranger acquaintance of hers had explained to her, concentrating hard on the pain to try to overload the neural circuits and make them shut down for a while, but the throbbing in her fractured scapula wouldn't really let it work. Truth to tell, she was in a lot more pain than she let on to her … her …

What is he to me? she asked herself. This was a question she had been dwelling on for some time now. Initially he was just the first person to ever see a good side to her, and she'd been drawn to his unfailingly cheerful attitude almost against her will. But then, in the fight with the Brotherhood of Evil, taking out the bad guys had sent a weird sort of thrill through her. It was unlike anything she had previously experienced, and she quickly became addicted to the feeling, which she had still yet to put a name on. Wally hadn't really even tried to talk her into going into the hero-biz. He just knew she could do better than being a H.I.V.E. flunky, and helped her to see that. Now, though, over the last four months, with them living in such close proximity, she knew he had become so much more to her. And it wasn't just one-way, either. She was no one's idea of stupid, and she'd picked up on his interest early in their association.

They had a 'unique' relationship, that was for sure. She warned him that she wasn't trustworthy; he trusted her anyway, even telling her his secret identity. She warned him that she might blow up his apartment with an accidental hex; he gave her the guest room anyway, and simply repaired whatever she demolished. She warned him to keep her away from the kitchen, and that she could burn a pot of water; he encouraged her to experiment, ate her cooking anyway … and stocked up on Pepto Bismol.

And now? Now she just didn't feel complete if she couldn't accompany him on his patrols. Now … Keystone City felt like home. His apartment felt like home. Being with him, being a part of his life …

How big a part? she wondered. For at least a month, she'd been catching herself staring at him, her eyes tracing the hard outlines of his muscles under a uniform that, frankly, left damned little to the imagination. And she had a very active imagination. Many nights, and more frequently of late, she found herself unable to go to sleep until she had 'taken care of herself' while imagining Wally there in her bed. It had caused a few accidents. He'd replaced her bedroom window twice.

But did that mean she loved him? Like, Love with a capital L? Or was it just teenaged hormones calling the shots? Could hormones explain all the symptoms? He had a way of smiling when he thought she was doing something cute that absolutely yanked her stomach out from under her ribs. And the way he looked after her – even when she told him not to, even when it got on her last nerve or threatened to compromise their missions – made her feel, when she really, truly thought about it …

… well …

… cherished.

He had her well-being in mind. He cared about what she thought, and whether she was happy. He made her feel special. And she really, really liked that feeling. In fact …

Five quick, hard raps sounded on their front door, and echoed through the apartment. That made her tense up, which pulled on her wound, which hurt like crazy, which made her groan again.

Wally was there before the sound died in her throat. "Are you okay? You hurt?"

"I just pulled my shoulder a little." Her eyes darted toward the front of the apartment. "Who's that?"

"Lemme see." And he vanished in a swirl of carpet dust. Almost a minute went by while he spoke with The Whoever, and Jinx's fears clustered in her chest, wound themselves into a tight knot for mating, and gave birth to a whole new crop of fears. As far as Wally could tell, nobody knew she was here, least of all the rest of the Titans. Even though she had distinguished herself at the Brotherhood mop-up, she still had four convictions, eleven active warrants (four for escaping) and was on three 'Most-Wanted' lists. The Keystone City police were all aware that she was currently lending their hometown hero a hand (for that matter, the whole city knew it, thanks to a few astute photographers on staff with the local news outlets) and they appreciated it, even if most of them had no clue why she was there. But Robin was extremely frugal with his gratitude where former-nemesis types came into play, and as far as he was concerned Jinx hadn't proved herself yet. Ergo, he hadn't gone out of his way to remove her name from the aforementioned lists.

So she worried, and her current worry was given form and substance from her present state of vulnerability. She might be able to keep up a brave front for Wally, but she had been very seriously hurt and she knew it. Throwing hexes was not on the menu, at least not for a few days, to say nothing of running anywhere. She could barely totter to the bathroom.

Most of what was said in the other room was too low for her to hear, but then Wally yelled, "You mean you're a doctor?" and half a second later she was looking up into the face of a tall, middle-aged gentleman who was desperately trying not to fall over after his abrupt trip.

He over-topped Wally by a good twenty centimeters, and was proportionally broad, but didn't seem terribly muscular. His hair had gone silver but wasn't really thinning out yet, and his mustache was still salt-n-pepper. He caught a hand on the head of her bed and steadied himself. "Ah! Miss Jinx. Please believe me when I say the pleasure is all mine!"

Her eyes had gotten rather rounder than normal. "Wa- um, Flashy, who is this?"

He bowed slightly at the waist. "My name is Adam Bryce Wattersen, and I am a fervid, if recent, fan of yours."

"… Fan? The hell?"

He chuckled briefly. "I don't fit the standard fanboy mode, I know."

"Yeah, for one, you're kinda too old."

"Sixty years young, Miss."

She caught Wally's eye. "Um … okay, so … why'd you let him in again?"

"He's a doctor."

Mr. Wattersen interjected, "Retired. I did mention that."

"Yeah, but you know more about that sorta thing than we do, for sure."

The gentleman studied the young metahuman lying in front of him. "Gunshot?"

"Yeah."

"Through-and-through, I take it?"

"Yeah."

"May I take a look?"

"If you can do it without making me move. It … kinda hurts."

He knelt beside the bed. "Did this happen during that gang conflict yesterday?"

Wally nodded. "I missed one. He drew down on her from behind. Sorry coward."

"I thought you'd taken fire. That's what it looked like on the news coverage. Didn't realize it was this serious, though." With a practiced gentleness, their guest unwound the bandages and then frowned at the damage. "That's quite an exit wound, there."

"Wally said he was using a .44 Magnum."

"Ouch."

"That's what I said. Once I came to."

His voice urgent, Wally asked, "Can you help her, doc?"

"Let me get my things."

Jinx frowned at him. "Thought you said you were retired."

"As I am. But I happen to have something with me that will help with your case. Hold on." And he rose and trotted into the living room, returning immediately with a large, metal valise. He placed this on its side on the floor and opened it, revealing a bewildering array of high-tech gear. Carefully removing the tray holding the top layer of parts, he pulled an odd device out of a cubby in the lower tray. Looking up at Wally, he said, "This is only a part of what I was talking about." He came over to Jinx and said, "With your permission, I will see about accelerating your healing processes."

She blinked at him a few times and said, "Ooooookay? How's that work?"

Offering her the device, he said, "This unit will align its parameters with your individual system. It then begins to produce nano-scale, synthetic antibodies to prevent infection – which is beginning to make itself felt in your shoulder unless I miss my guess – and it contains a micro-lab that can make very small quantities of practically anything. For example, bone tissue to help your shoulder knit itself."

"No shit?"

"Truly."

"Where'd you get this?"

"I designed it. Well, that is, I came up with the concept and helped a friend of mine get the details right. He actually designed and built it."

"So this is your tech? Who do you work for?"

"Ah, you have hit upon the issue at hand. I am self-employed."

"… Oh?"

"Yes. I have a … you might call it a vision. I have a vision for the superhero community, and I would very much like to start with you."

"Me? Why?"

"There are many specific reasons, but the most compelling, to me at any rate, is that you are a recent convert to the side of the angels."

She shot Wally an accusing glare. "What sort of shit have you been shovelin' this guy?"

Holding up both hands, he disavowed all knowledge of Mr. Wattersen's project. "He just showed up!"

"That's another thing." She turned her steely gaze back to their guest. "How'd you find me?"

"Ah. Well, as to that, it really wasn't hard." He tapped his head. "I am a metahuman myself. But my … abilities do not lend themselves to the sorts of endeavors the two of you engage in."

In chorus, they asked, "What do you do?" Then they looked at each other and smirked.

"I am a sometime clairvoyant and precognetic." Looking at Jinx with a rather apologetic expression, he continued, "I was present during one of your encounters with the local criminal element about three months ago, and received a flash-imprint of your mind."

"… A what?"

"That's what I call it. It's like a cross-section in time. A basic map of your thoughts, feelings, motives, even your personal philosophy." He shrugged apologetically. "That's how I knew where you were, and that you had made a fundamental change in the direction of your life. It isn't really something I can control, and the intensity of the experience varies rather a lot. In your case, it was … nearly overwhelming. I was in a daze for about thirty hours while my subconscious assimilated what I learned." He gave her a grin. "That's when I became your Number One …" Looking back up at Kid Flash, he chuckled and revised his statement. "Make that, your Number Two Fan."

Wally had the grace to blush furiously.

"In any case, in the last three months I have turned my hand solely to the task of crafting your … well, I'll get to that. First, let's see about getting you well."

"Works for me. What do I do?"

"Hold this." He handed her a thin, metal strap. "Press that contact and hold it across your forehead for a few moments."

She did so, and the device made a muted whirring sound, ending in a triple beep.

"Now, we will place this interface surface over your wound." Gently, he did just that.

In a few seconds, the pliable film had adhered to her skin and she gave a small gasp. Where before the wound was ragged and puckered and red and hot, suddenly there was a cool tingling, and the sharp edges of her pain eased away and vanished. She drew a long sigh and actually relaxed for the first time in over a day. "That … feels … fantastic."

"I am so glad! I hoped it would work that way."

Wally asked, suspiciously, "What other way might it have worked?"

"More slowly. You see, the only other person for whom I've built a unit was my partner, and he, ah … well, he is no longer among the living."

"What? What happened to him?"

His face took on a melancholy air. "Drunk driver. Killed instantly. Some five months ago. Left a wife of twenty-two years and three children."

"That's horrible!"

"More than you know, my boy, more than you know. The world lost a great genius and his wife lost her best friend. For that matter, so did I." He squared his shoulders. "He is one of the reasons for my … um, crusade, as it were."

Wally cocked an eyebrow. "Crusade?"

"If you like. I want to make sure that his legacy does not go unacknowledged. To that end, I have devoted my life to this pursuit."

Jinx, who was getting extremely comfortable, sighed again and asked, "What pursuit is that?"

He eyed the two of them. "Tell me," he said, "has either of you ever heard of a woman by the name of Edna Mode?"

They looked at each other and shook their heads. Wally asked, "Who is she?"

"She's a fashion designer."

Wally snorted, "That's why I haven't heard of her."

"She's very independent. She no longer designs for the haute couture market. She gave that up in favor of the military."

Jinx raised an eyebrow. "Beg pardon?"

"Specifically, she designs battle suits for the Special Operations crowd. Seals, Rangers, Green Berets. NSA. Maybe a few shadow organizations we never hear about."

The two young people looked at each other in deep puzzlement. "Battle suits?" inquired Wally.

"Just so. It seems that the military complex has … eh, heh, well, a complex about superheroes. And villains. You get the idea. You can do things they can't, even with massive funding and the latest weapons. So, they are trying to come up with a new breed of super-soldier. But instead of producing a better human, they are outfitting him with a very specialized exoskeleton."

"Huh. Like a mecha?"

"Sort of. More like some really sophisticated armor. They've deployed them a few times."

"I haven't heard about it," commented Wally.

"No, I suppose not. It isn't advertised. But there you are."

"Okay. So," asked Jinx, "what's that got to do with me?"

"I propose to give you a super-suit."

That earned him a blank look. "Explain."

"Okay, let's take your current situation. You were more than holding your own in that battle, but then someone sniped you, correct?"

"Yeah, the bastard."

"How about if, when the bullet hit you, you were wearing a suit that distributed the impact over the suit's entire surface?"

"Whoa!" exclaimed Wally, "you can do that?"

"Absolutely."

"Sounds clunky," observed Jinx.

"Ah, and you see, the military's models are clunky. Very much so. But mine is not."

"How's that?"

"The top brass was interested in making what amounts to a tank that you wear. It had all the protection the soldier needs, but also gets fitted out with various weapons that the average soldier just can't carry. Their suits are true exoskeletons, and are patched into the nervous system. Since each one masses about three hundred kilos, there's no way the soldier could move in it unless it was self-propelled, which it is. So they've got .50-caliber rifles and grenade launchers and rail-guns and radar or laser targeting systems or, in one case, a downsized 12mm mini-gun."

"So what do you have?"

He shook his head. "See, you don't need any of that. You aren't going to war; you're just fighting crime, and the occasional supervillain. Think about Dr. Light. What made him special?"

The 'light' dawned for them both. "His suit! He's just another skinny ol' scientist without it!"

Mr. Wattersen nodded. "Exactly. But you! Jinx, you carry your 'armaments' with you everywhere. You don't need any weapons or targeting systems or any of that stuff. All you need is … backup. That's what my suit will provide you."

"So it won't be clunky?"

"Isn't clunky. I brought it with me."

Her eyes got very, very round. Her voice squeaked when she said, "Serious?"

"Yes. That's why I came here today. I finally got it finished. And I would very much like for you to try it out." He held up a cautionary hand. "When you heal. Which, if your accelerated pace so far is anything to go on, should be tomorrow night."

"Can I see it?"

He smiled broadly. "Of course." He all but jumped into the living room and wheeled a large, upright trunk back in.

She eyed it dubiously. "I thought you said …"

"This is merely its holding case. The suit itself weighs less than seven kilos and is quite pliable." He opened the case and displayed the suit.

It looked something like a diver's wetsuit, with attached gloves. The right arm and shoulder area was a deep lavender. A diagonal stripe of black covered the left shoulder, most of the chest and the right leg down to the knee, and the rest of the suit below that was lavender again. The full-coverage helmet was black, as were the calf-high boots.

Jinx smiled appreciatively. "Me likes."

"I thought you might." He picked it up and laid it across Jinx's stomach so she could feel the fabric.

"Ooo! Silky!"

"I won't go into too much detail, but the main fiber is a single molecule of a nitrogen-carbon-beryllium nano-material. It is partially self-repairing if it gets cut, which is highly unlikely, and will stop any non-armor-piercing round, and many that are, transferring the kinetic energy to the molecule and distributing the force evenly from the outside inward. If you get shot, you'll feel a brief squeeze all over, but that's about it; and the same goes for any other sort of blunt trauma you may receive. The superconductive nature of the weave means that you don't have to worry about electrical attacks. Or most lasers, for that matter. Plus, it is outfitted with a full-body version of the device currently attached to your shoulder, and the helmet has half an hour's worth of air, if you get into dangerous gas or underwater action."

Wally was goggle-eyed. "That is too cool!"

"This case," continued Mr. Wattersen, "will recharge the suit if the power cells get drained. One charge should last between eight and ten days, so a weekly overnight charging should be adequate."

"This thing," stated Jinx, "must have cost a fortune!"

He nodded. "It did. I sank my life's savings into this project."

That confused the girl. "So … what's in it for you?"

"Hopefully, a contract with the JLA, and possibly the Titans. I'm thinking of Robin, specifically, since he's a baseline. Extremely well-trained, but still only human. If he had a suit like this …"

"Holy cow!" yelled Wally. "And Speedy! And Aqualad! And Bee and Raven and Argent and …"

"Right. And Black Canary and Hawkman and Zatanna and The Huntress and Green Arrow and Aquaman and maybe even Batman, though I think he has something along these lines already." He chuckled. "Not as nice as mine."

Jinx frowned. "But what happens if one of 'em gets captured and the suit ends up with the bad guys?"

"Hee-hee! That's the beauty of this particular product! Just like that medical device, each suit is irrevocably bonded to its owner. If someone else tries to put on the suit, it will … ah, let us say, reject the bond. It would be a very, very unpleasant experience."

"Whoa. Huh." Wally thought that over. "But couldn't they, I dunno, reverse-engineer the thing?"

"Maybe. However, I did mention that my friend – his name was Martin Brewer – was a genius, right? Well, the suit's medical system can detect the mental state of its user, and if the suit is removed under duress it goes into lockdown mode. That means that until the original wearer contacts it physically, and gives it the command to open, it will be a rigid lump. Oh, sure, they could cut into it with the right tools, given time. But remember what I said about the micro-lab? It can make minute quantities of anything? The system's self-destruct mode doesn't leave much but a smoking hole, once the super-acids get done."

Wally was unsure. "That's … kinda scary."

"It has so many failsafes on it, your head would spin."

"Scary?" scoffed Jinx. "And what part of your normal day isn't? This thing sounds like Da Bomb to me. I can't wait to try it out!"

Mr. Wattersen grinned. "I was hoping you'd feel that way."