The Elite

“We need a car.”

Surprised, Spitfire looked over at Soarin. “Beg pardon?”

“A car. Y'know,” He pantomimed driving, “vroom, vroom.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know what a car is. Why do ye think we need one?”

“Because all awesome heros have equally awesome cars. Batman, the Ghostbusters.”

“I swear; ye watch entirely too many films.”

“C'mon, Spit. People expect us to have a way to get around on our own. We can't keep being chauffeured around like we're a bunch of kids. I mean, people would take us a lot more seriously if we had an awesome car.”

“People would take us a lot more seriously if we didn't use words like 'awesome'.” She retorted, turning back to her partially-completed schedule. “Besides, I'm having trouble getting approval for the funds for new equipment.”

He snorted. “Why? Tuition for this school is twenty large a year. How is it that the Elite is short on cash?”

“Well, believe it or not, most of the tuition paid to the school goes into the running of the school: maintenance, food costs, wages. We only get...what was it...” She stared at the ceiling as she tried to remember. “Maybe twenty percent. I don't remember the exact amount. Anyways, that goes to maintaining our own equipment. We get a bit of money from the governments of the nations we go into and that supplements our funds. Between our equipment and travel expenses, that money is all spent. Hence why the only wages that we, personally, receive come from royalties. If ye want a car, ye're going to have to pay for it yerself.”

He sat back for a moment, lips moving as he silently did the math. Finally, he smiled. “What kind of car do you think we'll need?”

She blinked. “Ye're not seriously considering?”

“I am. Not something incredible, just to tool around town in.”

“What's wrong with me Civic?”

“It's a Civic.”

She scoffed and gave a dismissive flick of her hand. “Go way outta that. Nothin' wrong with me car.”

“That and I'm pretty sure it's only held together with superglue and happy thoughts.”

She bit her lower lip. “Yea, I'll admit it's a bit old...”

“That's putting it mildly.”

“But it still goes and that's what counts. Aye?”

“No, yeah, no,” he said with a nod. “But, here's the thing Spit. You're a world-famous athlete, right? You can do things that most people can't even imagine and you do it to help other people. You are, by definition, a super-friggin'-hero. Why are you riding around in a pile-of-crap jalopy?”

“'Cause that was the first car I've ever bought; on me very first royalty check.” She snapped. “Bloody git, ye are.”

“Alright, sentimental value aside, your car was on its last leg the day you bought it, am I right? Of course I am. You need something newer, better, more fitting for you.”

“I've never felt comfortable showing off.”

He hunched over. “That's just it. Before, you've never had a reason for showing off. Now, you do. You've achieved so much, Spit. Don't you think it's time everyone knew of your achievements?”

Her jaw tightened. Soarin had started at the academy at the same time she did. It really was an odd occurance as they were both awarded scholarships for the Elite at the same time, after a perfect tie at the same tournament. It had never happened before and was unlikely to ever happen again.

She and he had trained together from the start. The previous captain, Charger, had commented that their styles matched each other's perfectly. They had been partnered up from their and had rarely spent time apart. There was some rumor and speculation spreading around the school that they were a couple and, when Spitfire made captain and named Soarin her second, that speculation had only strengthened.

The two were so similar. Soarin had grown up in an orphanage after the disappearance of his parents. After her father's death, Spit might as well have had no parents. They both held a passion born of fighting for and earning everything they ever had, but that was where the similarities ended. While Soarin liked to show off his wealth, she preferred to hide hers.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Listen. Your family is set up. Everything is okay now. You can be a little selfish. Splurge. Buy something nice for yourself. You've earned it a thousand times over.”

She knew him. He wasn't going to take no for an answer. He would keep pressing the issue until she caved. The last time he had done this, it had been about her phone. Her old pre-paid flip phone had cracked and the battery refused to hold a charge for any length of time. The moment he heard about it, he began to drop some not-so-subtle hints that she should get a top-of-the-line smartphone. He would leave tech magazines and advertisements where she would see them and gush about all of the new gadgets. Finally, she conceded and let him drag her downtown to buy one of those flashy toys.

“Terrier with a rat, ye are.” She muttered, digging her car keys out of her pocket.

x----x

“Now, I don't want anythin' too flashy,” she said as she shifted gears.

“Nope.”

“No bells and whistles. I don't need distractions while I drive.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied with a wry grin.

She glanced at him. “Why do I get the feeling ye're going to force me to buy something I don't want?”

“I would never force you to do anything you didn't want to do.”

“Aye, ye're right. Ye'll just badger me endlessly until I do it.”

He gave her a hurt look.

“Oh, come off the innocent act,” she replied. “Ye know exactly what ye're doin'.”

The car backfired twice as they pulled into the auto dealership. Surrounding them were the gleaming bodies of new and “like new” cars. Her own antique vehicle sputtered and squealed as it halted. It took a moment of struggling to get the damaged door open.

Yes, her car had served her well for many years, but Soarin was right. The past year had cost her more in maintenance than the car was worth by even the most conservative estimates. She had always driven something small and economical, not seeing the point in anything huge and flashy and fast.

This time, she didn't want something economical or flashy. She wanted something that could haul around five people comfortably. Granted, the school provided transportation whenever they needed to go long distances, but she didn't want to stuff five fully-grown people into a tiny sports car. That simply wasn't practical.

“Hey, Spit, check this out.”

She turned and saw Soarin gesturing at a slick black Bugatti. “No.”

“Aw, c'mon. This thing just screams 'get out of my way, bitch'!”

“No. We need something we can fit everybody into. That's a two-seater.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. It's got a back seat.”

She peered through the back window to a bench that was technically a seat. “A toddler couldn't fit in there.”

“Well, maybe if we lay them lengthwise...”

“What, and stack them like groceries? I think not.” Something caught her eye. It was a four-door SUV-type vehicle with room for the team and then some. She read through the specifications posted on the window. Touchscreen Satellite Navigation, power windows, Air Conditioning and seating for seven. At only fifteen thousand Euro, it was a steal.

“This one,” she declared.

x----x

Half an hour later found them driving off the lot in her new Lodgy Prestige. She couldn't keep the grin off of her face as she bounced slightly in the seat. This was the first new car she had ever owned, had ever been in, and it was perfect.

Soarin sulked in the passenger seat, obviously not agreeing.

She swatted his arm, “Buck up. This thing is great.”

“Can't believe you bought the soccer-mom-mobile,” he muttered.

“Oh? And ye would have me buy some little zoomy speedster that I don't want.”

“Anything is better than this bus.”

“ I wonder who you wanted me to buy that first car for. For me or for you? Tell ye this, hotshot. Ye want that slick speedster, ye can buy it with ye're own money.”

He snapped his fingers. “There's an idea. Turn around.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no, boyo. We've got a meeting here in an hour and I need to eat something before I collapse.”

x----x

Spitfire sat down at the long conference table, sipping from her protein shake. The kids were still in class and would be for a few hours yet. Therefore, this meeting of the minds would only be for the veteran Elite and Sean. Their manager wanted to go over a few budgeting numbers and announce some new training that he wanted them to do.

She looked up and saw Fleetfoot saunter in, drop into the chair across from her and prop her feet up on the glossy oak table.

“Not much for manners are ye?” She asked.

Fleet snorted. “What was that?” She asked in her hoarse voice. “Were those even words? How can anybody understand you?”

Spitfire flipped the bird. “Understand that, aye? Nobody likes ye, Fleetfoot. Ye're a two-faced cunt that enjoys reapin' the fruits of everybody else's labors. If it were up to me, ye'd be off this team so fast, yer head would spin.”

“But it's not up to you,” she spat back. “Besides, who're ya gonna get that can get into the places I can get into. I can slip through the smallest gaps.”

“Heh, just like the rat ye are.”

“A rat, eh? Let me tell you something. I'm a thousand times better than you are when it comes to leading this team.”

“There's more to leading this team than calling the shots. Ye don't care about any single person other that yerself. The Elite would fall apart with ye at the helm.”

“At least I don't act like I'm everybody's mom.”

“Ye'd be everybody's mum, the way ye spread yer legs for any man catches yer fancy.”

“Why don't I just fill a pool with mud and let you two duke it out there,” Soarin suggested as he sat down.

“'Cause I'd drown this heifer. Hold her down til she stops kickin'.”

“You threatenin' me?”

“I'm makin' ye a promise,” Spitfire snapped.

“That's it. One more word out of either of you and I'm tyin' you together.”

Before either of them could start up again and let Soarin make good on his promise, Sean arrived and began to pass around briefing folders.

“We're all busy so I'll make this quick,” he announced, taking a seat at the head of the table. “First, Soarin's been bothering me with requests for combat training again. Care to explain yourself?”

Soarin sat up straight. “Some of the areas we go into are a little dangerous. One of the bigger issues we have is with people who are too confused and scared to accept our assistance. They can get a little...rowdy? In the event that occurs, I'd like us to be able to perform a few restraining maneuvers so that we might avoid another Kyoto incident.”

Spitfire shuddered at the memory of Kyoto. They had been sent into a collapsed building in order to search and rescue survivors. One woman, who was injured and scared, came to as they were bringing her out and decided to put up a fight. She had managed to dodge the woman's swing, but hadn't been paying attention to where she was standing. The involuntary step back had caused her to lose her balance and fall from the edge from a storey up. Her training had taken over automatically so she was able to avoid terrible injuries, but that didn't mean she was able to walk away from that.

She had spent two months on medical leave before the doctors had cleared her to return and Sean was able to redirect the worst of the media fallout, but she still had nightmares about the pavement rushing up to meet her.

“I would also like to submit requests for some non-lethal weapons, specifically tasers.”

Sean nodded. “I'm going to go ahead and say 'no' to the tasers because of your ages, but I have no problem with training in some combat maneuvers, provided our lawyers and I can look them over before we utilized them in the field.”

Soarin glanced at Spitfire, who gave a subtle nod, before nodding himself. “I have no problem with that.”