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It’s not that Ladybug was planning on running headlong into trouble on an otherwise perfectly respectable Thursday, it’s just that sometimes fate has other plans. Even a year of therapy and mindfulness exercises and books upon books about self-help and fung-shui haven’t gotten him to stop resenting the little things that fate does sometimes. At this point he’s starting to wonder if it ever will. Barry says it’s all part of the process, learning, growing, what have you. Lately though, he’s starting to think he’s done growing, and after he tripped in front of that girl in the waiting room the other day, he might not ever be able to go back, and the whole thing is really more of a mess than—and Ladybug stops that train of thought abruptly, stops his feet abruptly too as his eyes land on a particularly familiar face. Shit.
It’s always nice when he realizes he hasn’t killed someone, but it’s less nice—a whole hell of a lot less nice—to realize that the only reason he knows that is because that certain someone is glaring daggers at him from across a semi-crowded midwestern street. Ladybug’s hands, securely in his pockets, clench into nervous fists. He resists the urge to hum to himself and picks the pace back up. Walks in a straight line, a perfectly normal line, looking ahead in a perfectly normal manner and absolutely not thinking about the fact that the twins of all people have managed to find him, in Nevada of all states. He doesn’t even live here. (Doesn’t live much of anywhere, what with work and all, which makes it even eerier.)
Head down, he tells himself. He’ll be able to lose them in the not-quite crowd. And if he can’t, he’ll just have to find himself an actual crowd and vanish into it. He’s good at that, better than people give him credit for. It’s hard not to steal glances over his shoulder as he walks, follows the flow of people and always keeps a couple bodies between himself and the twins. Not that he thinks they’re dumb enough to try anything in a public space like this, but they might be angry enough. He knows how that feels, and how it ends too. Wishes he didn’t.
That’s in the past now though. Last year feels more like a century ago, and he’s not that guy anymore. That guy sucked, according to Carver (who still, according to Ladybug, sucks), but for all the wrong reasons. Kept on stealing my thunder. The thought’s laughable now, but it’s not the reason for the laugh that Ladybug tries his best to keep trapped between his teeth. The reason is all nerves, all tied back to the two bodies he can see reflected like ghosts in the windows of the storefronts he offers half a second of attention to.
Staying cool is the name of the game here. He just has to stay cool, keep breathing, call Maria, and everything will be smooth sailing. She seems to have a backup plan for everything, maybe even this. So does Ladybug, but most of his are a couple years out of date. Not really the kind of thing he thinks he should be doing anymore. Not really the kind of thing suited for a downtown setting.
Anyway, he doesn’t even have a gun. Or a knife. Or—
Think peaceful thoughts.
It’s a nice idea. Doesn’t get much traction though, at least not when Ladybug scatters any hope of actually executing it when he sees a crosswalk maybe half a block behind him, and the pedestrians crossing it. He knows better than to think Lemon and Tangerine aren’t following the crowd. They’re too experienced not to. It’s exactly what he’d do if he was in their shoes, which he’s not, which he wouldn’t be, because goddamnit, he’s not that guy anymore.
He is nice, he is normal, he has a reasonable amount of homicidal rage within him, and he is most certainly not staring down the display window of the crystal shop he’s passing and trying to figure out which ones could be used as weapons if need be. (As it turns out, a lot of them can be. Of course, the twins probably know that too. They also probably know better than to let themselves be stabbed by a particularly nice cut of rose quartz.)
It’s harder than it should be not to break into a run. Ladybug makes his steps shorter than usual and tries out one of the breathing exercises that never do what they’re supposed to. If anything, it just makes him breathe more quickly. Thinking over Maria’s phone number—that calms him down, if only a little. He’ll call her as soon as he loses the twins, and say he’s serious this time, that he needs a vacation after this one, even if Carver needs help with another job. Hey, maybe Carver’s the cursed one, and it’s just rubbing off on Ladybug. Figures, what with the way that he only seems to run into the twins when he’s trying to bail Carver out of some issue or another—
Oh, shit. Carver’s supposed to be in trouble with a couple of wet-work operators. Carver’s spent the last year taking credit for every little thing that happened from Tokyo to Kyoto, and the twins—they should and probably to know Ladybug’s face too well to mix them up, but Ladybug highly doubts they’re above removing anyone who’s been shit talking their priorly terrifying reputation.
There’s no way he’s getting out of this without running into them, one way or another. No way, he thinks as he shakes his head, like that’ll get rid of the awful reality of the thoughts in his head. He doesn’t even want to pretend there’s a way this ends well. Glass half-full, glass half-empty, whichever one it is doesn’t matter. Ladybug already knows it’ll end up smashed on the floor by the time this is all over.
So much for an easy job.