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in my life?  It's not like I ever lied about my intentions.   It's not like I said I would never entertain the idea of something more meaningful.  How was I the bad guy (or girl, in this case)?  There was a jerking pain in my side as Ex inadvertently pulled too hard on a suture.
    "Gah," he grumbled incoherently.  "Is that it then?  I'm just your boy toy and your shoulder to cry on and then, end of the day, bam, it's like it's nothing."  He wisely bandaged over the fresh stitches before he made any other slips.  The bed springs creaked as Ex stood up, heavily treading into the small bathroom.  "No one deserves that, Indy."
    "Really, Ex," I shouted, "for once could you use my actual name.  My name is Irene.  Irene Roman and I'm not ashamed to be normal."
    "Indy, you're as normal as I am, as any of us are."  His aggravatingly handsome head poked out of the bathroom door as the sink's water began to run.  "The sooner you come to grips with that, the better off we all are going to be."  That was the last straw.  Despite my injury, I shot up from the bed, livid, and stomped to the bathroom door.
    "Out."  I pointed at the small apartment's door.  "Get out now."  Ex looked at me with those green eyes for a long moment.  There was regret there and, for a moment, I wavered, questioning myself.  A little voice in my head was firm, though.  If I relented now, I sent the wrong message.  I would give up control, and I desperately need control in some part of my life right now.  "I'm sorry, Ex, but ... I need to be alone.  Please."
    "Okay," the firefighter nodded.  "Okay."  Ex walked to the door, grabbing his jacket from the hanger.  "I'll see you for the morning meeting, right?"
    "Yeah, I'll be there."  I controlled my tears of anger and frustration until he was well out the door.  The next night, all was forgiven, no matter the actual truth of the matter, and we made passionate love on that very bed.
     
    "Have you ever thought about how insane it is that you can practically fly on that thing?"  It wasn't until the words were out of my mouth that I realized what it would start.  I could only feel, in looking back, that I had intended it, despite my conscious thoughts on the matter.  Extinguisher and I had just gotten back from a routine Pushcrook bust and he had given me a lift back to the Foundation.  I was staring out the open window as the unsuspended icy track dissipated back into water vapor in defiance of any sane rules of reality.
    "We just fought a humanoid land-octopus with eight cutlasses talking like a pirate and you're bringing up my ice slide," Ex complained.  "Seriously, Indy?"  Even two months later, my actual real name never came up.  In fact, it seemed, as things soured, he used my alter ego's name a sting when he was annoyed with me.
    "Look, it's not my fault it breaks all the laws of reality."  To Ex's credit, he hadn't yet given up on his efforts to take our relationship to a more serious level.  There was a part of me that was sorely tempted too.  He was handsome, courageous, loyal, and dedicated.  All excellent traits.  In the end, though, another part of me rebelled.  How much of what Extinguisher was came from the Whiteout?  How much of that man would go away when it was undone?  And more importantly, could he ever live with the woman who took something he loved so much, being a superhero, away from him?
    "Says the lady who kicked a steel security door right off it's hinges and not two months ago fought toe to toe with the world's most powerful Pushes."  Washington always came up when we went into this argument and it always set me off.  It always made me think of Eric.  "Who's breaking which laws of reality again?"  I could feel a floodgate opening in my heart.  I had managed to keep the real truth of the Whiteout away from Extinguisher, away from all the Atlanta Five.  To show them that the only way to truly save the world from all the tragedy of the post-Whiteout