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Cosmic Combination [A Superheroine Merging Story] - Issue #2
🕑 Added 2024-12-31 20:00:05 +0000 UTCFor EB18
Issue #2
Tristan swore as he stumbled over the uneven sidewalk for the third time in as many minutes. He may have traded away his aching hand, but it seemed Lucie had given him a new weakness: her bad eyes. He could only see a few feet in front of him before things started to get blurry, and in the low evening light, his vision was even worse.
It didn't help that Lucie had decided to go out in nothing but her tank top and skirt. He was freezing! It seemed their merging power extended to their clothing; Clara had been dressed in a strange combination of them both. Now, he was stuck in Lucie’s original clothing. It was humiliating enough being a woman; being forced to wear a skirt was just extra salt in the wound. A breeze swirled under his hem and around his bare legs, making him shiver, and he was glad to see the bar up ahead. God, he needed that drink.
He stepped inside and breathed deep, filling his lungs with that familiar scent of stale beer and the downtrodden. He knew it well; the room was only half full, and everybody had that same sour look on their faces as they stared at their drinks. People who had given up on life, just like him. For the first time tonight, he felt at home. He hopped up on a bar stool and wobbled, trying to get used to his new centre of gravity, and the bartender raised an eyebrow.
“You get kicked out of your last bar, sweetheart?” He chuckled.
“I’m not drunk. Don't call me sweetheart and give me a beer,” Tristan grumbled. “I have had a hell of a night.”
“A ‘please’ wouldn’t go amis, sweetheart.”
Tristan felt his nose wrinkle in annoyance; he’d been to this place after work plenty of times. Not once had this guy asked him to say please. Part of why he loved this place was that nobody bothered him. The man slid the beer across the bartop and watched expectantly; if he expected a ‘thank you’, he was going to be waiting a while. Tristan downed the beer and nodded for another. The foaming, hoppy flavour felt wrong on this tongue, but he didn't care.
Halfway through the second drink, he felt his head start to fog. For a second, he panicked; had he been drugged? That happens to women in these sorts of places sometimes. Tristan hadn’t even considered that! But then he realised he didn't feel like he’d been drugged; he was just…drunk. Or at least tipsy. Damn, Lucie was a lightweight, it usually took another three drinks to get him feeling this way. A groan of frustration built in his chest; now, he couldn’t even enjoy a beer to wind down without Lucie ruining it. This was officially the worst day ever. Tristan shifted on his stool and wobbled again, only this time he couldn’t blame the new body.
“Woah there!”
A rough hand gripped his shoulder.
“You might have had one too many. Can I walk you home?”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed at the stranger. He looked drunk himself, and there was something in his face that immediately had Traitan’s hair standing on edge. He’d never felt this way before. It was like some new instinct had kicked in, and instantly, he knew walking home with this guy was a bad idea.
“No thanks.”
He shrugged the hand off and flexed his fingers. Without his injury, throwing a punch would be easy, but it would be useless in his body. He hopped off the stool and hurried toward the door, ignoring the looks on the other patrons as he passed. His heart pounded; he’d never felt so unsafe in a public place. Was this really what it was like to be a woman? The cold, fresh air felt like Heaven after the stifling bar. Tristan cursed under his breath; that was supposed to be his refuge after all this.
“Guess I will head ‘home’, then.”
Lucie had written down her address on a slip of paper. Tristan had hoped they could keep their usual schedules, but then again, after what he’d just experienced, maybe it was a good thing he wasn't returning to his crusty old bachelor apartment block. He fumbled in his pockets, trying in vain to get the slip of paper out.
“Goddammit, why are women’s pockets so small!”
A gust of wind blew it right from his fingertips, and he swore, jumping and stumbling in the dark to try and catch it, but between the bad vision, the alcohol and his stupid skirt, it was a losing battle. His shoe caught on yet another crack, and he wobbled before falling right on his ass. There was a cracking sound as his full weight crushed whatever was in the other pocket of his skirt.
“Shit, I hope that wasn't anything expensive.”
“Lucie? What the hell are you doing here at this hour?”
A bright light blinded him, and when he’d finally blinked away the dazzle, a stern looking woman in a beat cop outfit was looking down at him. Great, this was just what he needed. He swallowed and concentrated on trying to sound as sober as possible, which, of course, only made him sound even more drunk.
“I was just heading home.”
“Without your glasses?” The woman put a hand on her hip.
“Oooooooooooh, that’s what I just broke.”
Tristan reached into his pocket and pulled up a twisted set of frames and broken glass. His cheeks felt hot; he probably should have checked for a pair once he realised how bad his vision was.
“God, Lucie. You are lucky it’s the end of my shift. Come on, I am taking you home.” The woman reached down and hefted him up.
“Sorry, do I know you?” He asked stupidly.
“Very funny.”
This close, Tristan could just make out her police badge. Jillian Byrne. There was something familiar about that last name and the red hair that the woman had tied into a tight bun on top of her head. Byrne…that was the name on Lucie’s bank card when he paid for the drink! The woman was older than Lucie, maybe by over a decade, but she certainly wasn’t old enough to be a mom or aunt. So perhaps, a sister?
“It’s a good thing I ran into you.” Jillian continued. “In your state, you probably wouldn't get home, and I would have had a heart attack when I saw your room empty.”
Definitely a sister.
“It’s been a bit of a night.” Tristan tried awkwardly. How was he supposed to talk to this woman? Why would Lucie not tell him she had a roommate, a family member, no less?! One who would probably be able to easily tell if she was acting off!
“You went to try and see that new superheroine, didn't you?”
“Uh…”
“Gods, Lucie! What have I told you? Those superheroes aren't worth all your fangirling. I should have known you’d go racing off to try and catch a glimpse of a new one. You were listening on my police scanner, weren’t you?”
“Um-”
“You were! How many times do I have to tell you not to touch my things!”
Maybe this wouldn't be such a problem after all. Jillian wasn't letting him get a word in edgeways. She led him back to a police car and opened the back door; despite everything, he couldn’t help but snicker.
“Am I under arrest, officer?”
Jillian just rolled her eyes.
~
Lucie did her best to stop her leg from bouncing excitedly as she rode the bus. Tristan’s place was too far to walk, at least for her liking, plus the late-night ride gave her time to update her notes. She stopped her leg jiggling again and focused on drawing. She was trying to think of costume ideas that suit Clara’s body type and powers. Clearly, she was going to need something tight and form-fitting so she wouldn't get slowed down with her super speed, but a cape would look so cool, and it was a classic accessory. Maybe they could streamline it somehow.
Her tongue poked out the corner of her mouth, and she hummed to herself. It was only when the man across the aisle cleared his throat awkwardly that she realised how silly she must have looked. A woman humming to herself while drawing with her tongue sticking out was a little odd; a man looked more than a bit deranged. She forced herself to sit up straight and packed away the notebook; her hand was aching anyway, and they were nearly at her stop.
Experimentally, she flexed her fingers and winced. Tristan had some scar tissue around them, and they seemed to throb and ache each time she tightened them around her pencil. She tried to make a fist and winced; the bones seemed to protest it, and she quickly relaxed. The bus pulled over, and she jumped to her feet only to stumble and wince. Her leg ached, and a sharp pain shot through it each time she put pressure on the wrong spot. How Tristan had caught her so quickly with a bung leg like this, she had no idea. The fact that he’d even been hired as a security guard with such injuries was even more baffling. Maybe they did it out of pity; with superheroes about, it wasn't like security had to be particularly good these days.
She thanked the driver, who huffed and stepped into the street with a frown.
“Ow!” She winced, wacking her shoulder into the bus doorframe as she went. She wasn't used to her shoulders being this broad.
The apartment building Tristan had directed her to was just there but it looked…cheap. To put it nicely. The brickwork was old, and half the windows didn't even have curtains. A man with cold eyes glared at her from the ground floor apartment, then walked off.
“Okay, so he’s not super wealthy, that’s fine, Lucie. Check your privilege.” She whispered to herself as she walked in and headed for the elevator. “Just remember, whoever is in that apartment, you need to keep a low profile. Just be cool, no fangirling, no questions, just…act like Tristan.”
She steeled herself, fumbling with the key a little as she pushed it into the lock and stepped inside. The apartment was small, with a kitchenette in one corner of the longue room and two doors. The first led to a tiny, cramped bathroom, the other an empty bedroom. Nobody was there; one toothbrush sat on the sink (not even in a cup!), and the fridge held nothing but beer, frozen meals and some milk of questionable vintage.
“I guess he lives alone…Oh no! I didn't tell him about Jilly!”
Panic flooded her veins at the realisation. Jilly was sharp as a tack and constantly watching over her, despite the fact she was twenty-five and didn't need a babysitter. The second she realised something was wrong with her ‘sister’, Jilly wouldn’t drop it till she discovered what was wrong.
“Oh no, oh no! If she finds out what happened, I am so dead!” Lucie wailed.
There was no other option, she had to call Tristan and warn him. Luckily, she remembered her own number. Quickly, she pulled out his phone and dialled, biting her lip as the tone rang. She breathed a sigh of relief when her own voice answered.
“Hi…Tristan?”
“Sort of!” She giggled nervously. “I suppose you recognised your old number. Anyway, I forgot to mention-”
“This isn;t a great time Tristan…Jillian is just driving me home.”
“Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Lucie could feel the irritation in his voice.
“Well, can she hear me?”
“No, but she’s giving me a pretty legendary side-eye right now.”
Lucie shivered; she knew that look. She was going to have to be quick.
“Okay, so Jilly is my sister; you always call her Jilly. Not Jillian, and she hates heroes, okay.”
“Yeah, I got that sense.”
“Look just please go right to bed when you get home, and I can give you the Jillian crash course tomorrow. Just don't mess this up for us.”
“Oh, it’s messed up, alright, real mess. Loopy even.”
Lucie felt her stomach start to sink.
“Are you…drunk?”
“Only a little.”
“In my body! That’s so not okay, dude!”
“I didn’t mean to! You’re a lightweight, and besides, this is all your fault. Remember? I didn;t ask for this!”
Okay, this phone call was a mistake.
“Who on Earth are you talking to?” Jillian’s voice asked in the background.
“Wrong number.” Tristan lied smoothly and hung up. Lucie winced at the dial tone.
There was no way Jilly would going to buy that. They were so screwed. At least it wasn't her problem for another few hours. She loved Jilly to pieces, but she could be a little…intense. She was grateful for her older sister, especially since her journalism job didn't pay much, but having a place to herself for a bit would be nice. It meant she could get to know Tristan a little better as well, since he seemed so intent on not letting her in.
She started to look around, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The walls were bare, the furniture old and worn, and there wasn't much of…anything other than the necessities. There were no pictures of friends, holiday souvenirs, or knickknacks or keepsakes she could ask about.
“I guess he just lives to work?” Lucie muttered to herself with a yawn. “Or maybe I am just tired. I guess I’ll look more in the morning.”
She threw open the cupboard, shrugged off Tristan’s uniform, and kicked off the jeans with a sigh. They were so scratchy that she hated wearing pants; she hoped they could sort things out and go back to wearing skirts soon. She took a moment, in nothing but her boxers, to look over her new body more. The pain in her hand and leg twinged, but other than that, Tristan seemed healthy, if a little pudgy around the middle. He reminded her a little of the boys who played rugby back in school, muscles hidden beneath some pudge. Even without super strength, he had enough weight behind him to throw a decent punch. Maybe that was where that particular power manifested.
“It’ll be nice to be out of that stiff collar.” She said with a stretch.
The wardrobe only had a handful of outfits, and none of them looked like pyjamas.
“Oh yeah, guys usually just…sleep in boxers, huh.”
She rubbed at her chest; it felt so weird to have nothing there. A cheeky smile started to spread across her face; if she had no boobs…that meant she could sleep on her stomach!
“Geronimo!” she giggled, jumping into the air and bellyflopping onto the mattress, only to immediately get winded.
“Ack! Why…why is this mattress so thin…ouchie…”
Lucie rolled onto her back and snuggled herself under the covers. It had been an exhausting night; she expected to fall asleep immediately, but something was offputting about this place. It felt so empty despite being so small, and she could hear people walking around and shouting in the other apartments around her.
“At least if somebody tried to break in, I know I can kick their asses in this body.” She sighed.
Despite that. It took a long time for her to fall asleep.
~
“Alright, you. Bedtime.”
“You don't have to treat me like I am five.”
“I will when you stop acting it.”
“How many five-year-olds do you know who get drunk late at night?”
“Whatever you drank, you’re never having it again. Can't say I love this sas, Lucie.”
Jillian practically dragged him up the stairs into a shared apartment. It was twice the size of his place and, somehow, more cramped. Every surface was crammed with stuff: photo frames, books, weird little statues of no clear purpose.
“Kitch central.”
Jillian gave him a weird look, and Tristan forced himself to smile. Hopefully, she would just chalk up him acting ‘strange’ to the alcohol.
“Go get changed and hop into bed, I will sort out the rest.” Jillian sighed.
Tristan wanted to ask what ‘the rest’ entailed but figured it was probably not the best idea. He walked down the little hallway purposefully, hoping the right room would be obvious. The first one he passed was neat as a pin, no way that, was Lucie’s. He pushed open the door at the end of the hall and resisted the urge to roll his eyes; piles of clothes, a desk covered in notebooks, and a signed photo of Silver Wind sat proudly on the bedside table. Yeah, this was Lucie’s room, alright.
Tristan waded through the piles of clothes with a grimace; how did she find anything in here? A flash of purple caught his eye, and he reached under the pillows to pull out an oversized purple shirt with white stripes. This had to be pyjamas. He didn't like the idea of wearing something to bed, but the idea of sleeping in just his panties seemed…rude. He already felt sort of awkward using Lucie’s body; sleeping naked would probably be a violation of some kind. He did his best to get undressed and into the oversized pyjamas as quickly as possible to avoid being a pervert, but despite his intentions, he couldn't help but look down at his chest a little. It was just so weird to have one at all! The strap of Lucie’s bra dug into his back as he tried to get comfortable in the bed. Those little hooks dug painfully into his spine, and he wanted to take it off, but doing that would feel wrong.
“It’s fine, you’re used to being uncomfortable.” He whispered to himself.
“What was that?” Jillian asked, pushing open the door without knocking.
Tristan flinched out of habit; having another person in his bedroom was weird. Especially one who just barged in without asking.
“Alright, I have you all sorted: water, aspirin and bucket, just in case. You remember the New Year's party a few years ago. I’m not risking another stain.”
Jillian blustered about, putting the water and pills down next to the bed for the morning and arranging the bucket within reaching distance. Tristan could only blink in surprise; he couldn't remember the last time anybody did something like this for him. Normally, if he got drunk he woke up the next morning cursing past Tristan for not having the foresight to do any of this. It felt oddly nice, if a little demeaning.
“I’m not a kid.” he pouted, and Jillian just rolled her eyes.
“You’ll always be a kid to me. You’re lucky you don;t have work tomorrow. Now, sleep.”
It was his turn to roll his eyes.
“Yes, mom.”
To his surprise, the joke didn’t land. He expected another huff or eye-roll; instead, Jillian looked thunderstruck before she cleared her throat awkwardly.
“Night, Lucie.” She whispered, walking out without another word, leaving Tristan in a strange woman’s bed, tucked in like a child—a strange end to a very strange evening.
~
Tristan woke slowly. His head pounded, and without thinking, he reached out and grabbed the aspirin and water before sitting up and stretching with a groan. His spine popped, and he felt the weight of his new breasts on his chest. For a brief, wonderful moment, he forgot what happened, but then his eyes opened, and he looked down at his new cleavage, still in Lucie’s body.
“There goes my hope that it was all a dream.” He muttered.
He scowled at the clothing piles; he’d searched them all, as well as the cupboard. Not one pair of pants to be found. A handful of tights, some stockings, and a few pairs of yoga pants, but that was it. Everything else was a skirt or a tight-fitting pair of shorts.
“Did Lucie have to be such a…girl?”
She had plenty of shirts, even ratty ones, that wouldn't have looked out of place in his own wardrobe, but not a single pair of jeans. In the end, he selected a pair of mini jeans and a shirt emblazoned with a stylised H. He vaguely recognised it; one of the classic heroes from when powers first appeared. Hyperion? Hyper…something. It wasn’t important. He picked up a random purse, threw Lucie’s phone inside and made for the front door only to be confronted by Jillian sitting at the kitchen bench, arms crossed.
“Morning.”
“Oh, morning, I need to go out-”
“Not without breakfast, you don’t.”
Tristan usually slept through breakfast, and when he didn’t he just ate leftovers from whatever he’d had for dinner. It felt totally alien to sit down at a clean kitchen bench and be presented with a plate full of eggs and toast with a glass of orange juice. His hand went to his temple; the hangover headache was gone, thanks to the water and medicine Jillian had laid out. Now she was feeding him; Tristan couldn't remember the last time somebody had looked after him this way. What's more, for all her bluster, Jillian wasn't thinking twice about it. This was done out of habit and…love.
For a split second, he was a kid again. Sitting at a bench with a plate of cold toast made hours before he woke, and a sticky note left by his mom apologising for the cold breakfast but she had to pick up an extra morning shift to make the rent. The food in front of him now was better than his mom had ever provided, but it was made with the same love and care. A lump threatened to form in his throat, but Tristan forced it away. The last thing he needed was Lucie’s feminine hormones making him teary. At least, that’s what he assumed was happening.
He ate quietly and wondered, for the first time, how Lucie was getting on in his body. She certainly wouldn’t have such a warm wake-up, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that.
“You’re quiet,” Jillian said.
“Sorry, just thinking.”
“About what? And since when do you not voice your thoughts at a mile a minute?”
“Oh, just…that new hero! They like, sooooo cool. Don’t you think?”
Jillian’s eyes just narrowed, and Tristan cringed; that was his best Lucie impression!
“Alright, if you’re not ready to talk about it, fine.” She sighed before reaching across the bench and placing a hand over Tristan’s. “But please, whatever is bothering you, tell me about it, rather than going to the shady part of town and getting drunk.”
“Oh, yeah. I promise.”
“You’re not a child, I know I can't tell you what to do, but please, be careful. I hate you running after those powered freaks.”
Tristan wished he could agree with her, but he had to keep up the act.
“They’re not freaks, they are amazing.”
“Cops are amazing; we look out for the little guy. Those heroes are all glory. But who is picking people out of the rubble of their fights, hm? Me and my crew, that’s who.”
Tristan’s temples began to throb as the headache threatened to return. He missed his quiet, cold apartment. At least Lucie didn't have to navigate a minefield before even getting out of the house. He swallowed down the rest of his breakfast, trying not to enjoy how warm and full it made him feel. He hadn't eaten so well since he stopped training.
“Well, I am sure you have a busy day ahead. I am meeting a friend soon so…bye, Jilly.”
God, he felt like a five year old calling a grown woman ‘Jilly’, but that’s what Lucie said to do.
“Alright, take care. And keep your phone on so I can call you!”
“Fine.” Tristan rolled his eyes and reached for the doorknob before he paused. “Oh and…thanks for the breakfast.”
Jillian just nodded, and Tristan closed the door behind him before taking a deep breath and heading towards Cosmeta Inc.
