What crimes had she actually committed? None! She wasn't a vil-

Oh, wait. She had tried to kill Cat Grant. That was attempted murder.

Okay, so apart from that-

Oh, and she'd tried to kill SuperBlue.

But did trying to kill Supergirl actually count as a crime? I mean, she thought, it's not like Blondie can't take it. For us people with superpowers, that's just saying "Hi." And I didn't even want to kill her until she got between me and Cat!

But...no. No, trying to kill SuperTwerpette was also attempted murder. She had to admit it.

And she'd tried to take down a helicopter. Sort of. She hadn't really wanted to kill those people, just annoy Supergirl. Right? Yeah, that sounds good.

Okay, so apart from those three things, what crimes had she committed? Had she ever robbed a bank? No. Killed anyone? No. Mugged anyone? No. Toppled a government? No. Covered up political crimes? No. Dumped toxic waste in a poor neighborhood? No. She didn't even steal a few extra dollars out of the cash register, for cryin' out loud! Except for a few half-hearted attempted murders, which were really justified as far as she was concerned, she'd done nothing wrong.

So why was she the one stuck waitressing for tips in a back alley hole in the wall?

Outside the diner's front window, the snow fell gently. A thin layer of white covered the city, as the snow was just barely heavy enough to stick. Right now it was a grimy white, but it would get whiter as the evening wore on. She watched it, half mesmerized, leaning on the counter by the coffee maker.

"Hey, miss!" the man shouted.

Without moving, she slid her eyeballs in his direction.

"You deaf?" He held out a mug. "I done told ya three times I need more coffee, and you just lookin' at the snow like you's on drugs!"

She stared at him just a moment longer. A mere ten amps is all it would take, she thought. I could fry you in an instant with a thousand. I could leave nothing of you except a smoldering set of black footprints.

She poured his coffee, then went back to watching the snow.

Harry came in and started tying on his apron. "Hey, Roseanne," he said to her. "Jan's here, and it's kinda slow. With this weather, it'll be even slower. Why don't you knock off for the day?"

She gave a tired smile. "Free at last."

Harry laughed. "Not exactly. Can you take the trash on your way out?"

Roseanne liked Harry. He was in his early 60s, kind, somewhat sensible, but not really bright enough to make a good life for himself.

Life had dealt Harry a terrible blow, for he had the deep misfortune to be named Harry Potter. Ten years ago he had shelled out cash he didn't really have to get his name legally changed because it made life utter hell. His name was now Carl, but everyone who knew him still called him Harry.

Harry was kind enough to pay Roseanne in a roundabout manner, without ever asking why he needed to. Roseanne had been up front with him from the beginning: she couldn't open a bank account because she was supposed to be dead, and had no fake driver's license or anything like that. Her new name was Roseanne Ballard (she wished she could have kept the initials LW, but it wasn't worth the risk). In the 21st century, even waitresses in back alley diners were only paid through direct deposit. So, officially, Harry had hired his sister as a waitress and paid her. Every Friday, without fail, his sister gave that money to Roseanne in cash, without claiming anything off the top for her services.

They were just good, kind people. Roseanne rewarded their kindness by working hard and harming no one.

"Remind me," Harry said. "You take the subway, right?"

"Yeah," Roseanne said. "Don't worry. The snow won't slow me down."

"Good night, Roseanne," Jan said. She wore a waitress outfit identical to Roseanne's.

"Night you two," Roseanne said. "Don't get trapped here in the snow."

"We won't!" Jan said with a smile.

Roseanne left, carrying two trash bags. She tossed them into the dumpster and headed for the street.

She had lied to Harry about taking the subway. But that wasn't special; she lied to everyone.

A block south, she ducked into another alley and, acting casual, took a good, long look around. She saw no one. No windows overlooked this spot, which was why she liked it. Convinced she was alone, she transformed into pure electricity and zapped herself into the street light.

Traveling the wires, she could see the city as she passed. She wasn't sure how she could see it, and it certainly looked different when she was energy. Somehow she could see wavelengths her human eyes couldn't. She saw the snow falling uniformly throughout the city.

Mere seconds later, she reached another alley 18 miles away, her preferred jumping-off point. This spot, too, was deserted. She zapped out of a neon sign and rematerialized. By subway and bus, her trip would have taken two hours.

She liked living far from work. It made her harder to track. At least, she liked to think so.

Her apartment was a couple blocks further. She couldn't materialize inside it because she (shudder!) had a roommate to help pay the bills (and so she could live someplace where the room was in someone else's name). She didn't materialize any closer to the apartment because there was no better spot. And it was just safer. Never bring attention to your doorstep.

She headed towards the street, ready to join the thinning crowds with their shoulders hunched against the snow and cold.

"No. No! Get off me!"

Roseanne barely heard the voice. It was definitely female, and coming from deep in the alley behind her. She paused a moment, heard nothing but silence, and walked on.

"No! Hel-" The voice cut off as if someone had put their hand over the girl's mouth.

Roseanne hesitated. Then, wondering what she was really doing, she turned and headed towards the voice. Fast.

She found them in a short side alley, the kind that dead-ended in a brick wall, an old rusted door, and a dumpster.

"Come on!" a boy was saying. He looked about seventeen. "I paid for dinner! Twice, even! You've held out long enough!" He'd had to remove his hand from the girl's mouth to get a good grip on her shirt, which he was trying to rip off. She was clutching at her pants, which were unbuttoned and pulled down a few inches.

"Let me go!" the girl screeched, in rage and terror. She was maybe sixteen.

A flash of white.

"Ow!" the boy said and jumped back, rubbing his shoulder.

"Come here," Roseanne said to the girl. "Get behind me."

Scrambling to pull up her pants and breathing hard, the girl wasted no time doing exactly that. Roseanne never took her eyes off the boy, who was staring at her in surprise and anger.

"You know this jackass?" Roseanne asked. Her words were for the girl, but she glared at him.

"Yes," the girl said.

"How do you know him? What's his name?"

"Don't tell her anyth-" the boy started.

Zzzzap. He shut up.

"Answer me," Roseanne said.

"How...how did you do that?" the girl asked.

"Never mind. Answer me."

"His name's Marcus Everington. I go to school with him."

"What's your name?" Roseanne asked her.

"Bethany."

"You and Marcus long-time friends, Bethany?"

Bethany shook her head. "I just met him this year. In chemistry. I thought he was nice."

Marcus stared at them in a mixture of terror and rage.

"You share a class with him," Roseanne said. "That means you'll still see him every day."

Bethany's voice was a whisper. "Yeah."

Roseanne tilted her head to one side. "I wanna show you something, Marcus."

She zapped into a light, waited one second, then zapped out again.

"Behind you," Roseanne said.

Marcus spun around. Roseanne was two feet away.

She zapped into the light again, then zapped out five feet to Marcus's left. "Now I'm over here."

Marcus ran a hand through his hair. He was shaking.

Roseanne zapped straight back to her original spot.

"I can be anywhere," Roseanne said. "I can be everywhere." Her face grew very, very hard. "And I'll be watching you, Marcus. So if you ever, ever, ever retaliate against Bethany, I'll know."

Marcus swallowed hard.

"Don't ever do anything like this again, Marcus," Roseanne said quietly. "Or you will learn what it's like for someone to do things to you that you don't want. Do you understand me?"

Marcus nodded quickly.

"Get out of here," Roseanne said.

Marcus gulped once, then ran.

Roseanne turned to Bethany. "Listen, I'm really sorry, but I'm actually not anywhere and everywhere. I just said that to scare the shit out of him. But, if you want, I can give you my number. If he ever gives you any trouble, even a shoulder-bump as you pass in the hall, I can let him know he needs to stay in his lane. If you don't want my number or my help, that's fine, too. I understand."

Bethany stared at Roseanne for a moment, then said, "I think I know who you are."

"No one knows who I am. Nor does it matter."

"You're Li-"

"Someone who wants to help. You okay with that?"

"Sure, but..." Bethany looked down, unsure how to say what was on her mind. "But I know you also fought Supergirl."

Roseanne shrugged. "When people with superpowers fight, it's really just a hobby. I used to have a beef with SuperBlondie, but not so much any more. It's nothin'."

Bethany nodded meekly, then pulled out her phone. "Sure, I would love your number."

Roseanne typed it in and handed the phone back. "I sleep and work just like a normal person, so if you get voice mail, leave a message. I will get it and respond, even if it takes a few hours. I promise. Don't call for anything trivial, but don't hesitate to call if Douchebag so much as looks at you sideways. Got it?"

Bethany nodded.

"You okay going home?" Roseanne asked.

"It's just a block, and there's people all the way."

"All right. Get home safe."

"I will. Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Roseanne smiled. "No prob."

She watched Bethany make it to the street and disappear into the crowd.

She continued watching the end of the alley. And watching. And watching. For what, she didn't know. But she had nowhere else to be. The snow started falling a little more seriously.

What have I just done?! she suddenly thought. The enormity of her actions finally hit her. Bethany knew damned good and well who she was. So did Douchebag, almost certainly.

Would they tell? If they did, would trouble come for her again?

She didn't know, and suddenly, she was too tired to care. She'd done the right thing. For now, that was enough. All Roseanne knew for certain was that it was still snowing.

She looked down. The snow had almost covered everyone's tracks, already. Soon, there would be no sign anyone had been here.

Roseanne realized that when she walked to her apartment, she would leave just a single set of footprints in the snow, originating as if by magic from a random point in the middle of the alley.

Snow covers tracks, she thought. It left a new surface to walk on, made it so that it didn't matter what your footsteps before this moment had ever been. The snow didn't care. The snow said the steps you took were brand new.

Roseanne walked home, leaving a fresh set of tracks behind her.