TAYLOR COSTA-BROWN 2
When only the Doctor, Contessa and Alexandria remained in the room, the Doctor spoke. "Taylor has been researching superpowers." "Absolutely not," Alexandria said without hesitation, her posture and expression devoid of emotion despite her forceful words. Doctor Mother raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Why not? You demanded we help to protect her if the need arose." The Doctor glanced at Contessa. "That takes a lot of resources. Giving her a parahuman ability will only serve to keep her safer." Alexandria did not falter. "I will not risk using a vial on her." Contessa shifted slightly. The Doctor looked incredulous. "We've gotten quite good at the procedure, over the years." "It's not a guarantee." "No, it isn't." The Doctor looked at Contessa again, and paused. "You'd rather she triggered naturally?" Alexandria stayed silent, but that was answer enough. "You want her to be a second generation trigger?" Contessa asked, monotone. "There's even less of a guarantee of success on that end, with our agents. It may not even be possible." "She's my daughter," Alexandria said with a glare. "I will decide what is best for her. This is one area where I will allow myself to be irrational and illogical." She faced Doctor Mother, expression back in an impassive mask. "You recall promising you would not challenge me where Taylor is concerned?" Doctor Mother sighed. She didn't consider it a big enough issue to spend any more time on. "Have it your way, Rebecca." Alexandria took it for the dismissal it was.
~~~~~
People all over America dreamt of living in Beverly Hills. I hated it.
There was nothing wrong with the neighborhood, per se, save for the snobby rich kids and their perpetual state of loud partying. My beef lay more in my inability to go out and enjoy the area.
We drove past luxurious shops and interesting cafes, and my mood got darker and darker with each one. I COULD have gone in, anytime I wanted.
But it was always awkward, walking around with a team of bodyguards. Especially when one of them was a strangely protective case 53, and another was a popular Ward.
School was bad enough, but at least there people knew I was just a student. My only claim to fame was having the Chief-Director of the PRT for a mother.
Out in the wider world, though? People assumed I was some kind of celebrity. Who else would walk around with a security team, right? It made my skin crawl whenever I caught someone staring at me.
At least the guys were kind enough to turn away idiots asking for selfies.
To be fair, I'd probably have similar problems anywhere I went. Mom had kindly informed me there was no place on Earth she'd trust to let me be alone without guards, and living in Brockton Bay with Dad and Rose was most certainly out of the question. She'd been fiercely protective ever since the Venice Beach incident.
Better creepy celebrity spotting tourists than gangsters and villains, she'd said. I didn't bother arguing back with her. She'd always win.
The drive to school took twenty minutes, and once we arrived we had to wait to be given the all clear before we could actually approach the school.
My two Ward bodyguards disappeared off down a side exit, though I didn't understand why Chameleon needed to bother. His green skin and reptilian tail were pretty identifiable features. Praetor at least had a secret identity to protect.
It was only after a few minutes of coordinating on a radio that my driver gave me the all clear to exit the vehicle, my two guards (#5 and #3 today, they were both nice) following close behind me. The crowd outside the school parted like the red sea.
My security had been stepped up after the incident a few weeks ago. I'd never been properly informed of the inner workings - because of course not - but I could only assume I was still under direct threat, since things hadn't gone back to normal.
Quite the opposite, in fact. Tiffany barely left my side when she could, even if she didn't talk to me as much as she used to, and Chameleon was also apparently ever present, though I couldn't see him.
I sighed and ducked my head as we entered through the front doors. My classmates darted out of my way as if I was the Siberian, allowing me to reach my class five minutes early.
#3 stepped up and unlocked the door, before slipping in on his own for a security check. #5 waited with me while #3 checked inside.
I was tapping my foot and clenching my fists by the time he was done. I was uncomfortably aware of how many eyes were on me. I shouldered past him into the classroom as he was giving the all clear.
I took a seat in the back corner and rested my head on my arms. #3 took the seat beside me, and doubtless Chameleon was stuck to the roof, blending in.
A deep tiredness set into my body. I'd had to be more liberal with the foundation and concealer than usual to cover the bags under my eyes. A yawn escaped me despite my best efforts to stop it.
It was going to be a long day.
~
The day, like most others recently, passed in a blur. I barely took in any of my lessons. Tiffany's sad silence barely registered in my mind as we walked to the cafeteria. At some point, #3 had swapped out for #5.
I only realised I fell asleep halfway through lunch when the bell scared me half to death. A few people around me laughed at my startled yelp, but they were silenced by Tiffany's glare.
I didn't really talk to anyone throughout the day. Never had the energy to, recently. The only human interactions I had in the last two weeks - I didn't count the PRT grunts - were the brief encounters with my mother and the weekly phone-calls with my half sister. Rose had always been my savior in times like these; her cheerful voice always grounded me.
Well, formerly cheerful voice, anyway. The poor girl had not taken her mother's death well. I'd tried to comfort her, but I was no substitute for Annette. I could understand perfectly. No one could ever replace my mom. Or Uncle Rick.
Thoughts of Uncle Rick darkened my mood considerably, and the rest of the school day passed with little to write home about. Before I knew it, it was time to return to an empty house. The front door closed behind me with a hiss and a click, the chime of the security system reactivating echoed through the house.
"I'm home," I called, knowing there was no one there to greet me.
A well-timed and retrospectively regretted tantrum had gotten the agents out of the house. I was pretty sure mom had removed them as a punishment rather than a concession.
I gritted my teeth and headed for the kitchen. I was at the point of hunger where I was starting to feel light headed.
When had I last actually ate? Couldn't say. I kept forgetting, for some reason.
Too tired to cook anything too elaborate, I settled for the instant noodles I'd had to sneakily buy on a shopping trip.
Unhealthy, but mom had forbidden me from running for the past few weeks, so she couldn't complain about that too much.
The water boiled instantly in our obscenely expensive tinker kettle, making the 'instant' part of the noodles closer to reality than usual.
The front door swung open, startling me so hard I had to lunge to catch my bowl.
My eyes darted to the clock. It was only half-five. Mom was never home this early. Meaning-
"Taylor?"
I winced at the tone of her voice. Someone had reported me. For what? I didn't have the first clue. I decided being caught eating junk food wouldn't help the situation, so poured them down the food disposal just as mom was entering the kitchen.
She was still wearing her work clothes, her knee length navy blue skirt hugging close to her body. She wrinkled her nose and raised an eyebrow at me.
"You're really not thinking clearly, are you?"
I froze. I wasn't sure why I'd thought that would work, come to think of it. "Tired, is all."
"I believe it. Sit down, I'll cook you something edible."
With no choice but to obey, I plonked myself down by the breakfast bar. Mom narrowed her eyes at my slumped posture, but I couldn't find the energy to correct myself.
Mom rolled her eyes and huffed, before proceeding to get into a fight with the kitchen. An hour or so later, a plate of steaming pasta carbonara was placed in front of me.
One of my favourite meals.
The sight of it brought me back to one of the only meals I'd ever had with both of my parents at the same time, on one of my birthdays when I was a kid. Dad lived on literally the other side of the country, in a shithole in New Hampshire, so I didn't get to see him often.
Much of my childhood was spent begging mom to 'marry daddy' - horrifyingly embarrassing, looking back at it, poor Annette - and much of my teen years had been spent wishing Dad didn't live so far away.
My memories of him were few and far between. I could hardly even say I knew him.
But he was still my dad, and I cherished every moment spent with him.
Even after his wife died and he went into a funk.
I wiped my eyes.
"Trying to butter me up?" I asked. The slight tremor in my voice made me want to smash my head on the counter.
Mom came to sit beside me. Her own meal was much smaller. "Trying to apologise. I should've been home more after that incident with the Elite."
"Not a big deal. It's okay."
"It is a big deal, and it isn't okay." Mom paused, twirling her fork through her pasta. "You are not okay. It's unacceptable that I have to get a note from one of my subordinates to see that."
I shrugged, unable to find the right words to reply. Mostly because I couldn't deny it.
"I haven't been sleeping well."
Mom placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'll stay home tonight." She paused. I wasn't looking at her, but I was sure she was showing her 'soft' face, the blank mask slipping.
"And you can talk to me," she continued. "Please do not allow yourself to get into situations like this. You know you can call me anytime."
A silly thought came to mind and I snorted. "So if an Endbringer was attacking and a boy was mean to me at school?"
"I'd put Legend on hold." Mom said, before swatting me on the shoulder. "Now eat your dinner."
We ate in comfortable silence. Mom finished her meal in a minute flat, ruthlessly efficient as she was in all things. I lost count of how many times I found myself dozing off, until my food had gone cold and mom took my plate away even though I was barely half finished.
Next thing I knew, I was being bundled up and dropped on the sofa.
"Take a nap," was all mom said as she pulled my head onto her lap.
I was asleep in seconds, feeling safe.
~~~~~
Taylor Costa-Brown C2.5Uncle Rick fell on his back with a dramatic groan. "Taylor! Are you secretly a parahuman in disguise?! Such strength!" Taylor's giggles were full of childish glee as she clambered onto Uncle Rick's chest. "Nah, I'm just really strong!" She puffed out her chest with pride, adopting a haughty expression that vaguely resembled her mother's. "Mommy said I'm a Brute 15." She didn't know what that meant, though. "For sure. We might have to call the heroes in here to deal with you!" Taylor tilted her head and scrunched her eyebrows. "Why would the heroes gotta deal with me?" Uncle Rick grinned. "Because you're a dangerous villainess, Taylor. Look at you, holding your uncle hostage like this." "Hey! I'm not a villain! You're the villain!" "Oh yeah? Then I guess I need a suitably evil name." Uncle Rick grinned wickedly and snatched Taylor up as he rose to his feet. "How about"-he paused for dramatic effect-"the tickle monster!" "No, Uncle Rick! Mom! Mommy!" ~ Taylor found herself inside a few minutes later, red faced as mommy wiped the dirt from her clothes. Uncle Rick was leaning against the kitchen counter, smirking. "You're a big meanie," she said before blowing her best raspberry at him. "Guilty as charged, princess. You caught me." Taylor stomped a foot, earning a disapproving tut from Mommy. "I'm gonna be a hero one day, and I'll beat up meanies like you." Uncle Rick laughed. "A hero, huh? Planning on getting superpowers?" Taylor smiled triumphantly. "Don't need 'em. I'll just be like Mommy!" People didn't need laser eyes to be heroes, after all. Mommy told her that. The smile fell from Uncle Rick's face and he shot mommy a look Taylor didn't understand. It only lasted a moment, though, and his expression returned to a smile, though it was different in a way that little Taylor couldn't put into words. "You don't want to be like Alexandria? Or Hero?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Taylor pouted. Mommy had asked that, too. Why did everyone keep asking her that? "No, Hero's dumb"-Uncle Rick's face fell and mommy let out a bark of laughter-"I want to be like mommy." And that was that.
I woke up to a knock at the door.
It took me a moment to realise where I was. Pink sheets. Memory foam mattress. Life-size Hero poster on the wall. My room.
Mom must've carried me upstairs when I fell asleep.
I breathed a sigh of relief as my heart rate slowed and stretched out in bed, absently noting I was still in the clothes I wore to school. My scarf was folded next to me, placed atop the duvet. My throat was a bit dry, my limbs slightly heavy, but I couldn't recall the last time I felt so well rested.
"Taylor?"
I cleared my throat as I slipped under the covers.
"Come in," I said, grimacing at how gravelly my voice was.
Mom entered, giving me her customary once-over with her eyes. "Rose is on the phone."
I raised one eyebrow.
"Yes, the phone is downstairs."
I groaned.
"You'll be upset with yourself later if you don't talk to her."
I groaned again.
Mom sighed. "She'll worry about you if you don't. You never miss her calls."
I groaned a third time, but threw the covers off myself, donned my scarf, and hopped out of bed. Satisfied with her victory, mom turned on her heel and left the room, ponytail swaying with her long, graceful strides.
Stifling a yawn, I followed after her. She disappeared down a corridor towards the TV room she liked to work in, while I headed for the stairs. Our house was only three stories, which was somewhat of an abnormality for our neighbourhood.
That was fine, though. I didn't think I could handle living in something bigger. Even as it was, the house could sometimes feel too empty.
Right now, it was perfect. It was amazing how much the atmosphere of this place changed just knowing mom was here.
It took me a few minutes in my sleep-induced haze, but I eventually found the house phone on the kitchen counter.
"Taylor? Is that you?" A voice came through as soon as I picked it up.
I smiled. I couldn't help it; the note of cheer in her voice was welcome after the state she'd been in after her mother died. She had not handled it well.
She had been even more of a mommy's girl than me, and I couldn't imagine the state I'd be in if I lost mom.
I hoped it was a sign she was having a good day. Doing better.
"Hey, Rose," I said. "How's it going in the Bay?"
Rose scoffed. "Wonderfully, of course. Absolutely love it here. LA?"
"The city of hopes and dreams. Couldn't be happier."
We shared a little laugh, because we couldn't do anything else. I moved through to the living room and sprawled across the three-seater couch.
"Wanna let me come live in LA with you?" Rose asked.
I snorted. "Screw that. How about letting me move to Brockton Bay?"
"You don't know what you're asking, Tay. There probably aren't enough parties here for your Beverly Hills lifestyle." She paused and made a contemplative noise. "Then again, your mom would probably make Armsmaster follow you around."
That stung a bit more than she probably intended, but I forced myself not to let it show in my voice.
"What? Like Dad wouldn't wrap you up in bubble-wrap and spray you with boy repellant if you moved here?"
We laughed together again, hers somehow managing to sound even less real than mine.
"So. How've things been going really?" I asked after a moment of hesitation.
There was a second or two of silence. That wasn't a good sign. I chewed my lip. She'd never actually told me what was bothering her, but I knew something was wrong.
If it'd been about her mother, she'd have had no problem telling me about it. After Annette's death, Rose never missed an opportunity to talk about her.
"I'm okay," Rose said, suddenly much more subdued. "I'm getting by. Winslow is a shit heap, but when is it not?" Another pause. "I miss mom, but that's nothing new."
Translation: not in the mood for that subject. "And dad?"
"Still a wreck. But, again, nothing new. Think he's working late again tonight, actually."
I took a breath. It pained me to hear her go back to that lifeless, defeated voice. I made a mental note to bitch dad out when I next got a hold of him.
"Anything else? You know you can always talk to me, right? About anything." I asked.
"No, not really. Brockton's just depressing, I suppose. Thank you, though. You too."
I had to bite back on my instinctive reply. I knew that was bullshit. That there was something going on with her, and had been for a while. A bunch of terrifying possibilities ran through my mind, but I dismissed them off hand.
There was no way Rose would stay stubborn if something seriously bad was happening. Something was getting her down. Something was making her force her laughter.
She just wouldn't tell me what it was, and I didn't know why. She'd always trusted me before.
Then again, it wasn't as if I was in a hurry to dump my own problems on her. Maybe we were too alike, in that way. Some mutation in Danny Hebert's DNA that made us genetically predisposed to suffering in silence.
I steered the conversation into lighter subjects after that, going into local cape gossip that Rose always seemed to love. My stories about Alexandria always seemed to fascinate her. I didn't see that much appeal, myself.
Then again, I'd seen Alexandria covered in blood and grey matter, while Rose only saw the PR photos and TV spots, where her costume was pristine.
She huffed and I imagined her rolling her eyes when I tried to bring up the merits of the PRT instead.
I liked to think she could imagine my pout, too, though it didn't stop her making fun of me.
"I can't even imagine wanting to join the PRT," she said.
"It must be different over in Brockton to how it is here, if you think like that," I replied.
"I guess having the Chief-Director for your mom gives you a different perspective on things."
Eventually, after I asked her to say hi to Anne for me, Rose had to get off the line.
"Good talk," she said, her cheer seeming much more genuine now. "Same time next week?"
"And any time you like," I replied, my own bright tone coming a bit more easily, too.
With that, Rose hung up, and the house was silent. I sighed and let myself sink into the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
My phone calls with Rose were one of the few things keeping me sane, these days. Having someone to talk to who wasn't my mother, a PRT goon or a Ward was a lifesaver.
I wondered if it was the same for her.
The time on my phone read just past nine. There was no point trying to sleep- I wasn't anywhere near tired enough, and I didn't want to mess up my sleep schedule-so I got up and headed into the TV room.
Mom was going through papers on the desk at the end of the room before a wide window, giving a stunning view of nighttime Los Angeles.
"Mom?" She turned her head slightly to show she was listening, even as she kept tearing through her papers at ridiculous speed. I clenched my fists. "Is it okay if I watch TV?"
"As long as it's not some mindless drivel."
I hummed and adopted a thinking pose. "Jersey Shore, then? Hmm, no, the Kardashians would be better."
Mom turned and gave me a look, only turning away when I held up my hands in surrender.
I browsed through the channels randomly for a while, before settling on the LA evening news. They were showing a rerun of a PRT press conference, headed up by Director Knox, Rime and Vantage flanking her on either side, a caption reading 'confrontation with the Elite' scrolled underneath.
My breath caught in my throat and my mind went blank.
Mom gave the TV a quick glance before turning to me, watching me with a neutral expression.
They were showing the part where the Director fielded questions.
"-New York Times. Do you have any comments on the rumours that this operation was carried out in response to the fight with the West Coast Kings last week that the PRT hasn't commented on?"
Director Knox's face was a blank mask as she turned calm blue eyes towards the reporter. "The incident with the West Coast Kings is still an ongoing investigation, so information must be classified to keep key witness identities safe. We will release information to the public once it is safe to do so. As for those rumours, they are completely unfounded. Our Protectorate heroes identified an illegal operation, and acted accordingly and within protocols. We do not play games of revenge against criminal organisations."
Another reporter spoke up without giving her title, which caused a bit of a stir. "What about the deaths in the West Coast Kings incident, as well as the ones in today's clash with the-"
The picture changed to a cartoon of some kind, but I barely registered it. I whirled around, searching for the remote, only to find it in mom's hand, her tracksuit top removed and her hair let down.
"You're only upsetting yourself, Taylor," she said. "You gain nothing by blaming yourself."
I took a moment to breathe. There would be no use snapping at her. She wouldn't take me seriously if I acted like an emotional child.
"I'm not trying to gain anything. I just wanted to know what happened."
I pointedly didn't reach for the remote, instead opting to hold my mother's gaze. We stared at each other for a while, until mom sighed.
"This is how it works with the Elite. We couldn't afford not to retaliate to the loss of two heroes. It's not about revenge, it's about keeping a delicate balance."
I scoffed, but said nothing. She wasn't going to convince me this wasn't revenge for the Elite's actions against me and we both knew it, so we lapsed into silence.
It lasted a minute or so before mom broke it. "Please don't tell me you're feeling guilty about the villains who were killed in the operation."
I chewed my lip and looked away. "Were there any casualties with the PRT?" My voice was barely audible.
Mom evidently heard it, though, as she let out a little noise before falling silent.
I wasn't sure I actually wanted to know, but I asked anyway. "How many?"
It took a while for her answer to come. "Twelve in the confrontation with the WCK, seven in the operation against the Elite. A few more injured."
My eyes stung. I had to swallow past a lump in my throat. Mom wrapped her arms around me and pulled me back onto the sofa.
"Stop this silliness, Taylor. It isn't your fault."
"It's not silly." My voice came out sounding so childish I wanted to scream.
I found myself wanting to scream a lot, these days.
"People getting hurt protecting me is one thing," I said, fighting to keep my composure, "People getting hurt on some revenge mission on my behalf is another matter entirely."
"There's more to it than that. We can't just let the loss of-"
"Two heroes who were lost because of me."
Mom fell silent for a moment. I could feel her breathe, calm and steady, on the back of my head.
"I had thought we'd been over this," she spoke carefully. "You are not to blame for the actions of other human beings. You should know this, but the agents assigned to you are rather fond of you. All of them." She paused. "No one wants to die. No one wants to get hurt. But they want to protect you. Why do you think Wilkins runs with you? Why Antar agreed to help you train? I certainly didn't order them to do that."
Tears started trickling down my cheeks. "That's not the point. I don't- they shouldn't need to protect me in the first place."
Mom gently moved me around until I was facing her, staring into my eyes. I didn't resist. I never could.
"No, they shouldn't," she agreed. "It's unfair on you that you have to deal with this, and I'm sorry for that."
I hurried to correct her, but mom placed a hand over my mouth. I debated licking it.
"Let me finish," she chided with a stern look before removing her hand. "I'm sorry that things are this way; they really shouldn't be. But they are. I wish you didn't need bodyguards, but you do." Her expression softened as she reached out to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear, so that it matched hers, then gently wiped the tears from my cheeks.. "I'm sorry you can't have a normal life. I know it's my fault. But I am not going to risk your safety. Ever. Even if you hate me. Even if it makes you deeply uncomfortable. I prioritise your safety above all."
I was speechless for a moment.
"I could never hate you," I finally muttered under my breath.
I thought back to the first conversation like this I could recall. The first and last time I had defied my mother's orders. A shiver went through my body and my hand drifted to my neck to pull my scarf up.
Mom noticed, narrowing her eyes. "And I dearly wish you'd never gotten that wake-up call. I would much rather you sat here and argued your case, believe me."
I wiped my eyes and let out a hollow laugh. I didn't want to think about Venice Beach. "The only parent in the world who wishes for a problem child."
"You think you're not a problem child?" Mom asked with a roll of her eyes, smiling. She picked up the remote and switched the TV back on. She flicked though a few channels before settling on some kind of cheesy corporate cape show.
"Well, I could be worse," I said.
Mom scoffed, but said nothing more.
And just like that, all the tension bled away. I couldn't stay mad because I wasn't really angry at her in the first place.
She'd talked the self-loathing out of me for the evening.
Just like she always did.
It was good to have mom at home, even if it was just for one night.
I flopped back onto the sofa and leaned on her shoulder, settling in for an evening of crappy TV.
~~~~~