Work Text:
Dot had just arrived home from work, preparing to sink into her couch and drown herself in mindless television for several hours, when her phone buzzed.
From: Overkill
1422 S Fern Rd.
Urgent
The message had Dot leaping up from the couch again, throwing on her leather jacket and combat boots and preparing to leap out the door. If there was one thing that Overkill didn't do, ever, it was call for help. He either showed up at her apartment without warning to drag her into a mission, or she didn't hear from him for weeks on end only for her to receive a call from Dangerboat telling her to fish him out of a ditch somewhere.
Dot may have broken several traffic laws on her way to the address, which turned out to be... a fancy restaurant. Still, Dot knew better than to judge anything by its outward appearance. The most innocuous of buildings could house a filthy cesspit of crime and villainy.
Please let this be a filthy cesspit of crime and villainy, she hoped as she fed the meter. Missions like this just weren't fun otherwise.
The host, who sported an impressively waxed mustache, looked her up and down as she entered the restaurant.
"Is Madame lost?" he inquired in a snobby French accent that sounded in no way real.
Dot leaned an elbow against his podium, staring him down. I have seen things you could only dream of, her eyes said. I could trample you under these boots without a second thought. I am not one to be intimidated by a mustache like you.
"I don't know," she said lightly. "Am I?"
"Perhaps not," the host backed down immediately. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Actually, I'm looking for someone. Black hair, cybernetic eyes, probably dressed like me. Is he here?"
"I... haven't seen anyone matching that description." The host halfway glanced to one side, giving himself away.
"Sure you haven't." Dot marched past him, ignoring his protest and entering the restaurant proper.
She found Overkill in a sequestered booth in one corner, out of sight of the rest of the patrons. He held a menu in front of his face like it was a disguise, only glancing up when she slid into the seat opposite him.
"I'm here. What's so urgent?" she asked.
Overkill finally set down his menu. "I have a-"
"Wait, what are you wearing?" She interrupted. "Sorry," she added when she noticed his annoyed expression.
"I'm undercover," he said stiffly. Instead of his usual armored bodysuit, he wore a collared shirt and leather jacket. His hair had been neatly combed and his beard trimmed.
Dot snorted. "I'm sorry, since when do you do undercover work? If you haven't noticed, those eyes of yours are a dead giveaway."
In fact, his eyes were a surprisingly expressive electric blue that Dot found fascinating. She often wondered what his eyes had looked like before they had melted out of his head. Had they always been this blue?
Overkill scoffed. "Nuh-uh."
"Yuh-huh," she said with finality. "You don't go undercover. I go undercover, and you follow me and shoot things. That's why we make such a good team."
"It's true," Overkill acknowledged with a faint smile, then looked down and cleared his throat.
"But what's so important?" Dot pressed on. "You never call me like this. Is this place about to blow up or something? Why are we just sitting here?"
Overkill coughed again. "Dangerboat picked up some intel. He says there could be some supervillain activity going down tonight, so we're here to stake it out."
Dot raised an eyebrow. "That's a little vague, isn't it?" she pointed out. "And since when do stakeouts require both of us? And wouldn't it make more sense if we waited, say, on a roof across the street?"
"Too many questions," Overkill snapped. "We're here because I say so and that's that."
"Because you say so? Since when are you the boss of me?" Dot stood and made to storm out of the booth, but Overkill held out an arm to block her.
"Wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. Sit down."
Dot glared at him until he muttered, "please."
Still annoyed, but mollified, Dot sat back down. Awkward silence ensued until Overkill picked up his menu again.
"Since we'll probably be here for a while, we might as well order something," he said. "My treat."
Dot's eyebrow steadily climbed to her hairline, but she picked up her menu regardless. "If you say so..."
"Should we check out the wine list?"
"On a mission? Okay, seriously, what's going on here?" Dot slammed her menu down. "This isn't a mission, is it?"
Overkill made tiny mouth noises for a long moment until he finally mumbled, "no."
"So you lied to me," she said flatly. "Why does everyone in my life lie to me? Arthur lies about everything he ever does, Tick- well, I don't think Tick is capable of lying, but you, the one person I thought I could trust! Overkill-"
"Esteban," he said quietly. "Call me Esteban."
That stopped Dot's rant in its tracks, the wind suddenly taken out of her sails. "What? You- what?"
Overkill was still staring at his menu like it held the secrets to all of life's mysteries. "You can call me that. Sometimes. When we're not on the job."
"Over- Esteban. What are you doing right now?" Dot's anger had been replaced by confusion, and some other emotion she couldn't quite place.
"Do you really think I'm the only one you can trust?" Overkill glanced up to meet her eyes, and she thought she saw the same emotion in them for the briefest moment.
"Answer the question."
"I... wasn't sure you'd want to come. If I just called you." Uncertainty was written across his scarred face. Dot had never seen him look so vulnerable.
"Well." Silence reigned for another moment. "Next time... just call me."
"And you'll answer?" he sounded hopeful now.
Dot half smiled at him, wondering how exactly such a dangerous man could manage to be so cute. "Sure. We are partners, aren't we?"
Overkill smiled back. "That we are."
"Alright." Dot picked up her menu again. "Why don't we drop the pretenses and just have dinner. It is your treat, right?" She winked at him.
"Sounds great."
Overkill signaled a waiter, and the pair smiled at each other like schoolchildren until their dinner arrived.