Chapter 35
A/N: Wow, thank you! Apparently you, my loyal readers, enjoyed reading that chapter as much as I did writing it!
About the wait…shit was happening. I'll just leave it at that. College and work and newspaper were taking out pretty much all time to write except on weekends. And I had some personal issues going on that I needn't go into unless anyone's really dying of curiosity. Suffice to say, for the millionth time, you guys are faithful and patient and supportive beyond my wildest dreams, and here, FINALLY, is a reward.
The final guest reviews of this story:
21 is awesome: Mixed feelings...oh yes, that was my goal with this chapter, so I probably shouldn't have really smiled like an idiot when you said that (twice!) but I did. What exactly confused you? Let me know and maybe it's a mistake I can fix:) Your reviews have really been so sweet, so thank you so much.
BasicallyComplic: Thank you SO MUCH! Omg I really don't deserve any of you. ANY OF YOU! That is such a fantastic compliment and I'm so glad!
Cristi-anita: Well, if you didn't react when she died, I'd think there was something wrong with my writing or with my readers:) But I'm so glad that chapter made you FEEL THINGS!
Guest: You made me squeal like a little child and jump around the room and omg this warms my heart so much! Gushy reviews are what I dream of getting, so you made my day, several times!:D I'm SO glad I got you attached to these people!
Guest: Lol...man, if you like puns, you're gonna love something that happens toward the end...
Anonymous: (fans herself) oh my...staaahp it! Deep down I think there are a few fics much better than mine...War and Peace in Mind by Jeune Chat comes to mind...but I'm beyond flattered nonetheless!
Jazzifrazz: I'll do that when I post it. If you keep the link to this page around, that should help you...or you can click on my pen name and it'll take you to all the stories I've done. The sequel will be called Fire and Ice.
Oh, and thank you SO MUCH! Your review was beyond thoughtful, and said all the things I have hoped to hear said about my story. I guess, mission accomplished! Your review is one of the favorites I've ever gotten!
Guest: I just did:D...after far too long. *wince*...yeah.
Gwyneth
Warren came out of his mother's room about fifteen minutes later. I'd started to go in after him, but then I saw him kneeling next to Ms. Peace's bedside. Her appearance shocked me—I'd braced myself for that, but it still wasn't enough. She looked so very small in that large, pale hospital bed, and one of her eyes had swollen shut. The rest of her face had become a marble mix of normal skin and bruised flesh. Seeing Ms. Peace this way, weak and vulnerable, twisted my stomach into a painful knot.
Then she said something inaudible to Warren in a raspy, awful sounding voice. Then Warren sort of lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his mother's waist, buried his face in her body. At that point, I slipped out.
The doctor stood outside, and smiled at me. "Are you a friend?"
"Yeah," I said. It struck me that if I wasn't a friend, what would I be doing here?
"Oh. So, you know the son…?"
"Yes," I said shortly, tensing up already. NOT TONIGHT. Not tonight of all nights. I do not need this now…
"Well, that's certainly an odd coincidence." The doctor's face was open with what seemed to be genuine surprise.
"Not really," I said. The next few moments passed in near-silence.
"Are you the daughter of the woman who came in?"
"Shadow?" I supplied. "Yeah."
"Really?" The doctor smiled warmly. "So you go to Sky High."
"Yeah."
"So…does...does Ms. Peace's son go there, too? Is that how you met him?" The man's eyes widened in even bigger shock.
"Yes. Is there a problem?" I snapped it out, and the doctor blinked. However, he still looked shocked.
"No…well, I just…I just think it's rather odd that the son of a supervillain was admitted to a school for superheroes."
Oh. HELL. No.
Something huge and hot swelled up inside me, anger so fierce and so sudden it almost took my breath away. I'd seen this reaction before, too many bloody times to count. I'd seen this look, this tone of doubt and anxiety mixed with…puzzlement. I'd seen it in every kid or teacher who passed me and Warren when we used to walk down the halls together, talking in a clearly friendly manner. I'd put up with the doubt, sometimes better than other times, from Emily; even Kat and Becky used to get an odd look on their faces when I mentioned Warren and I doing things together. In science class, in the hallway, every other time I brought up our relationship, or Ms. Peace, the first reaction from any super was exactly the same. Nobody could quite believe it; it was just a little outrageous, mismatched. And I was sick to death of it. I had had it with all the judgment. I'd had it with suspicion and warnings to watch out, just in case. I'd had it with tolerant acceptance of something that had nothing really off or wrong about it, something where tolerance shouldn't be considered a fucking favor. I had had it up to fucking Pluto with the storm of bullshit around Warren and his reputation and all the weird looks and wide-eyed surprise we both got.
"Why? Because his father once went crazy and his mother raised him on her own? So Warren and his mother should both be treated like the redheaded stepchildren for what somebody else did—oh, wait, they get that treatment already. Is that it?"
The doctor's eyes widened even further and he backed up a step. "Uh…no, that's not what I meant?"
"Oh, really? Then what did you mean?"
"Uh…I just meant…it's…well, it's Sky High. And Warren…well, he's Barron Battle's son. I was just thinking…,"
"Just thinking what?"
"Well, that the son of a villain should have some extra steps to get in. I mean, his father…he knew him for the first few years and…and his mother, who knows what she's been teaching him, no offense to her," he nodded towards the hospital room, "not that I don't trust Titanium, but still…even if she does her best, I'm sure Warren has a disadvantage because of his background, it's…different…for him, than other…students…," the doctor's voice shook a little as he dropped his eyes. I don't blame him, the way I was staring him down. But I wouldn't quit. My boyfriend—ahem, ex-boyfriend—had just admitted he conspired in a plot to murder Ms. Peace, she'd nearly died because of it, and tonight had seriously lowered my bullshit tolerance level. Tonight…or this morning. Whichever.
"Warren has been submitted to background checks his entire life." My voice came out calm and level and colder than the blood in my veins. "You know, his mother once told me that he was nearly taken away from her because her husband turned. Almost everyone who ever knew who Warren really was instantly decided he was dangerous and they needed to stay away from him and look down on him. Can you imagine having to go through that as a teenager?!" The doctor backed up as my voice rose. "No, you probably can't. You know why? Because you're a hero. You were born to parents who, if not famous, were at least respectable in the hero community. Just like me, just like my mom, just like ninety fucking percent of the hero community. You and I have everyone's trust from birth just because of our family! You're privileged from day one, even if you do absolutely nothing to deserve it! You can't imagine what it's like to live the opposite as a reality, but Warren sure as hell does. So maybe, just maybe…maybe you might consider that before—maybe its doubt like that, treatment like that, that's more dangerous than heritage-,"
The relative silence actually made my heart pound a little faster. I stopped, not shutting my mouth, but stood there like a moron, my lips parted, all the feelings and everything I wanted to say all coming so fast in a disorganized clump that I'd started babbling.
The feeling made me want to scream at someone, into something. If life were fair, if life were like the movies, I'd get all my thoughts together in a few moments of emotionally fraught silence, and then I could have delivered my message. I'd make my point and change this man's well-meaning, ignorant mind in a few devastating, poignant lines. Where the fuck were those lifesaving PAUSE and PLAY buttons for life when you needed time to cool down and get your thoughts together?
"Doctor Kagan!" A woman's voice rang out, low and husky but forceful enough to make us both turn.
"Yes, ma'am!" The doctor straightened his jacket and stood up, stepping away from the wall where he'd started to back up, though I hadn't advanced on him. The only thing I'd moved were my hands, clenched against my sides.
Looking up, I saw my mom walking down the hallway a few steps behind a woman I didn't know. Four men in suits flanked her, and I noticed—rather offhandedly, at the time—that one of each of their hands seemed to hover oddly close to their sides.
"Sorry to come so late. Where is the patient?" The woman glanced at me briefly before focusing on Dr. Kagan.
"In her room."
"How is she?"
"She's going to pull through." The doctor sounded so pleasant and professional, as if our conversation—more like my monologue—hadn't happened. "She just recovered consciousness. However, she's still weak."
"Is she strong enough for me to examine her?" the woman asked.
"I…I think so." The doctor pointed past him.
The doctor nodded and headed past us towards Ms. Peace's room. Mom saw me and hurried over, hugging me from the side.
"This is Dr. Ibanez. She's going to examine Ms. Peace's memories." Then she gave me a look. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." The reply came out way too quickly. Mom turned and gave me a look.
"How is Ms. Peace?" she asked, sudden fear filling her eyes. Her breathing picked up, though her voice was almost calm. "Is she all right?"
"She's fine." I realized how flat that sounded and suddenly felt awful. Ms. Peace was fine. She was going to make it. She might get to go home soon. Warren wouldn't have to live without any family—well, as far as I knew, they'd never mentioned any family members—and I wouldn't have to lose Ms. Peace either. Ms. Peace was fine.
"Fine? As in she's doing better or as in she's still in bad shape but not worse?" Mom hesitated before managing to get out the last word.
"She's doing better." My voice didn't exactly shake but it felt fragile, like it was going to crack. I will not fall apart. I will not cry like a baby. I'm fifteen. I will not fall apart I will not I will not I will not. "She's conscious, Mom. Ms. Peace…is going to be all right."
Mom blinked at me, her eyes widening. "She's conscious?" Then her face seemed to just expand and warm up. I had never seen a smile like that from my mother. Her face had been so tense and so hard, so cold, even, that it had kept me even more on edge, but after the first few moments, I'd kind of gotten used to it. My mother was never hard or cold. She could always make anyone feel better just by…well, by trying, and by being herself. If she ever showed sadness or anger, it was immediately noticeable, and disturbing. But now she was back.
"Yeah." I suddenly had to blink back tears, but I couldn't stop smiling. Ms. Peace is fine.
Suddenly Mom was hugging me, and the tears threatened to spill over. I hugged her back, my brain repeating it over and over to drill the realization into my mind. Ms. Peace is going to be fine. Ms. Peace is going to be fine. Ms. Peace is going to be fine. Ms. Peace is going to be fine.
Mom finally let me go, and I pulled back, blinking to try and get rid of my tears. Then a woman's voice cut in.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but are you Samantha and Gwyneth Patrick?"
Dr. Ibanez had poked her head out of Ms. Peace's hospital room. Mom spoke up. "Yes."
"Okay. Well, Helena said you were out here, and she said you might want to see this. You can stay out here if you want," she looked directly at me, and I immediately shifted with unexplainable discomfort. Her eyes were an odd kind of penetrating, and I got the feeling like she could peel back my skin and the network of my veins, bore straight through my skull and see me laid bare without lifting a finger.
"I rigged the machine so we can get a recording of her thoughts, but some of the things in it...might be a little disturbing."
My stomach twisted, but I thought about Warren, and found myself saying, "Its okay. I'll be fine."
Mom shot me a sideways look but she said, "I think we'll be fine. Thank you for the heads up."
Dr. Ibanez gestured us into the room. "Come on in."
Warren
The dark-haired doctor who'd watched quietly while men rigged a strange machine in Mom's room returned, but she didn't come alone. Gwyneth and her mom trailed behind, both looking nervous. Dr. Ibanez seated herself in a chair by Mom's bed, and one of the men hastened over. He spent several minutes fastening a strange sort of headset around her skull, while she sat quietly.
"Ready?" The man standing by the machine asked. Dr. Ibanez nodded, and he turned it on. A blue square of light appeared on the far wall.
At last the man backed away. Dr. Ibanez gestured the other two who had rigged the machine out of the room, and they left. The other man hesitated, but she shook her head. "You wait."
The man went to the door, and then stood there. Gwyneth's mother came over to the end of Ms. Peace's bed, then came around to the other side, where I was. Gwyneth followed, and squeezed in next to me.
"You okay?" She mumbled so low it took me a second to think and figure out what she said. Then I remembered that my eyes still probably looked red and puffy.
It was almost as embarrassing as when this Dr. Ibanez with the air of seeing right through you, like Mom, came in right when I'd just calmed down from bawling my eyes out. Since I hadn't had any time to wipe my face, the famous telepath engineer and a bunch of strange men in suits saw me with half-dried tearstains all over my face.
Yeah. That was pretty mortifying.
But while I did cringe a little, I wasn't half as embarrassed now. Gwyneth had actually seen me cry, so I didn't have much face to lose. And for Gwyneth, like Mom, dignity didn't matter so much. I didn't have to intimidate or impress either of them, and hadn't for a long time-which was, I have to admit, pretty freeing.
"Yeah," I replied, just as low.
"Ms. Peace, are you ready?" Dr. Ibanez turned towards my Mom.
Mom took several quick, shallow breaths, and closed her eyes. "I think so."
"Good. Now, just relax. There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm just going to look into your memories, and see what happened during the attack. Once I press this button, everything I see is going to be projected and recorded onto this machine. Thus others can see what you saw. This will be invaluable evidence." Dr. Ibanez replied in a calm, cool voice, but my heart jumped, and my stomach plunged. The idea of seeing Mom's attack, and the person who'd tried to kill her made my nerves thrum. Instinctively, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through my nose, willing the fire to simmer down.
A hand descended onto my left shoulder, and I glanced over. Mrs. Patrick smiled down at me briefly but warmly, but when she glanced at the doctor, I could see her own face grow tense with anxiety.
Dr. Ibanez reached over and laid a hand against the side of Mom's face, one slim finger resting against her temple. Then she must have pressed a button because the blue screen changed. I could see fuzzy fast-moving images. I saw me kneeling by Mom's bed, and Gwyneth and her mom, except from the perspective of the bed.
"Now think about the attack." Dr. Ibanez's voice was clear and distinct. She too had closed her eyes. She was pretty, I realized belatedly, with high cheekbones and a nose that was long and aquiline but not too long. It was her eyes, and that "look," which Mom had, but I had gotten used to, that drew one's focus when you first met her. Which made sense, since she had a similar power.
I heard Mom's thoughts before I saw them. The sound of a sickening blow, and cry of surprise, made me instantly tense, heat boiling in my veins. I kept my eyes fixed on the blanket on Mom's lap, but a few seconds later I couldn't help myself. My eyes swung over to the projected images.
A blank white slate greeted them, but then someone stepped into view, and I realized Mom was lying on the floor. Something shot upward, but stopped. She was apparently struggling to raise something, which I soon realized was her hands. I couldn't see the person's face, concealed by something black, but they produced something which looked like a dark heavy baton. My stomach dropped out from under me.
The view blurred as Mom seemed to sit up, but then the baton descended in a blur. My mom's vision went blurry, and when it cleared, I could see a fuzzy image of the carpet. More sounds of blows landing home came, and the view went in and out of focus. The image moved, as if the viewer was squirming, trying to move, but not able to get very far.
Sickness seeped from my stomach through the rest of my body. I couldn't move—if my hands were burning holes in my jeans, I didn't notice, and it didn't matter. Somehow, my lungs kept expanding and contracting. The sounds were more frequent, and just as sickening. I heard a cracking sound, and the camera went red. Someone cried out in an anguished tone I'd never heard before—was that my mother's voice?
Something cool and slim slid across my hand, startling me. Gwyneth. Small fingers wrapped around my hand and squeezed like a vice. They were freezing cold, but I didn't care—Gwyneth's hand somehow felt like an anchor. I squeezed back as bile rose in my throat and my stomach churned.
The view began to get dimmer and dimmer. Some of the sounds sounded rather wet, and my stomach churned a little harder. If I threw up now…it wasn't as if I would. I hadn't eaten in hours, so it wasn't very likely I'd puke. Would I?
Then the screen spun until it looked pale and blank, though blurry. The dark figure bent down, and then pulled off their mask, revealing a pale woman's face. The eyes glared into the camera with a look unlike anything I'd ever seen. No one at school or anywhere else had ever radiated so much hatred and vindictive satisfaction.
"Did you really think you could get away from me forever?" she hissed. "You took my job years ago, and then you let them imprison one of the greatest men who ever lived. At least I can finally avenge him. How does karma feel, Helena?" The woman's lips twisted in something that barely fit the definition of a smile. "It's a shame I don't have thirty pieces of silver to give you. It would make this just perfect. But then again, you don't deserve perfection, do you?"
The screen finally went dark, and Mom's voice came from far away, penetrating into my dazed brain. "That's all. I don't remember any more."
At last I managed to tear my eyes away. Mom looked pale under her bruises, her eyes staring ahead into an unguessable distance. Dr. Ibanez fumbled with the headset, and the man who'd been waiting all this time hastened forward to help her. He looked paler and grimmer than before, though it was hard to tell in the rather dim flurorescent light of Mom's badly-lit room.
I reached out and squeezed Mom's hand with my free one, not very hard just in case. She blinked, and stirred, but then gave me a faint smile and returned my squeeze, feebly. Gwyneth leaned closer into my peripheral vision and asked quietly, in a shaken voice, "Ms. Peace, are you…are you all right?"
"I think I'll manage." Mom licked her lips, but she smiled a little more at Gwyneth. "I'm as well as can be expected. I've witnessed…more shattering things in my time." She let out a slight high laugh. "I'm just a little shaken still, but I'll be fine."
"Thank you, Helena." Dr. Ibanez had turned to my mother. Her demeanor had changed only a little, but oddly enough, she sounded more gentle and compassionate—which didn't make me feel any less wary. This woman had forced Mom to relive an attempt at murder. Just because I knew it was necessary to catch the lunatic bitch didn't mean I had to like that.
"Your cooperation is invaluable. We should be able to catch this person, thanks to you. I know it was hard for you to do this." She smiled at Mom, which made her look less intimidating.
"Thank you," Mom smiled at her. She had finally begun to act somewhat like her normal self, but I couldn't relax. Dr. Ibanez and the man stood up and began to gather up the machine.
"Um…I hate to ask this, but…does anyone know who that was?" Gwyneth asked.
Mom closed her eyes. "A very old former friend of…of my ex-husband. When…when he graduated from Sky High, he had a sidekick—Tsunami. She had control over water. But when I graduated, Barron wanted me to team up with him, and I wasn't inclined to say no." That sad distant look I hated flickered over Mom's face. "Tsunami…didn't take it well. She was…rather unstable, and she began to show it when she lost her job. She sent me threats, began stalking me, and steps had to be taken to make sure she was forced to stay away from us. She said I shoved her aside, that I 'stole' Barron…as if it was some plot on my part, as if our relationship had been a secret before." She closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillow. "She was institutionalized shortly before you were born, Warren. Neither of us knew what happened to her for sure. But apparently she hasn't changed. She must blame me for what happened to my husband. I had hoped she had gotten help. They used to be friends, once upon a time, so she must have had good qualities. They just got buried at some point."
The men seemed to move quieter, as if they didn't want to be noticed.
"Oh." Gwyneth sounded very small. When I looked up, her face looked as if she felt sick. "I…I'm sorry. I...oh, god. Shit. I shouldn't have said…I didn't mean to-,"
"It's all right," Mom interrupted. The painful knot in my throat and the nausea in my gut both eased a little. She sounded normal now, and looked just like herself right then, except for the bruises and the rasp in her voice. "Don't blame yourself. You asked a question, I answered it. Nobody twisted my arm. You didn't do anything wrong. Please don't stress yourself out more…you really can't afford it." She smiled again—with her cracked lip, that looked painful, and Gwyneth relaxed a little, though she still looked visibly shaken.
"Yeah…sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
"Okay." Gwyneth took a deep breath, but her face went cold and expressionless, and her eyes hardened. "Can I…I have to go to the bathroom. I haven't yet."
I could tell she was lying and wanted to be alone, and Mom probably could too, but she raised one hand. "Of course. No need to ask me for permission."
Gwyneth brushed out, just ahead of the men, who had packed up their little device into the black suitcase they'd brought it out of, and they left the room. There was awkward silence for a minute.
"I have to go too," I said.
….
As I expected, I saw Gwyneth, out in the hallway, not anywhere near a restroom. She looked up, and her face didn't seem pleased when she saw me.
"Why did you follow me?" she asked, her voice tight.
"Because I had a feeling you just wanted to get out of there," I said. "And I wanted to make sure you were…doing okay."
"How do you think I'm doing?" Gwyneth's voice rose, and I almost shushed her. She kept going before I could decide whether or not to. "I just saw exactly what happened because I was dumb enough to think a guy…a guy who was nice to me, and who seemed like a decent fucking person, someone…," her voice quivered a little, "someone I liked, actually cared about me. I trusted Jacob and look what happened."
"It's not. Your Fault," my voice sounded more like a growl. Gwyneth's speech pissed me off, but at last I'd finally broken out of my sick, numb state. But…Gwyneth. Jesus fucking Christ, how could she think no one would care about her just because…well, because her first boyfriend had tried to kill my mom.
Okay…it made perfect fucking sense why she would feel just a little self-blame—it wasn't right, but it made sense. And that made me want to kick Jacob's ass even more. He hadn't just fucked up my life and my mom's, but he had to drag Gwyneth into his sick games.
"Yes. It. Is!" Gwyneth stood up on her tiptoes to hiss into my face, her eyes glistening. "He knew you guys' address. He must have gotten it from me at some point. How else would he have known?! If he hadn't known your address, he wouldn't have been able to tell this Tsunami bitch where to go, and your mom wouldn't be in the hospital right now! You telling me it isn't my fault to make me feel better is nice, but it doesn't change a goddamn thing—including the fact that I'm right! It is my can you just not, please?"
"Gwyneth…," frustration made me unable to respond, even see for a minute. The worst thing was, she probably did know what she was talking about. But Gwyneth hadn't done anything wrong to trust Jacob. What could I say to make her realize that even if it was sort of her fault, nobody including me was blaming her? That beating herself up over this wouldn't solve anything and would only go along with Tsunami's probable goal-maximum physical and emotional damage all around?
"Ice Cube, it's not-nobody's blaming you, okay? So you trusted your own fucking boyfriend...what a shock. I mean, what the hell were you supposed to think, or do? It's not every day that people do shitty things like that. You weren't wrong to trust someone who seemed to like you-I mean, why wouldn't anyone want you?"
Fuck. What. What?! Dude, what the FUCK was that?! Nice job playing it cool, dumbass! Scrambling to save face as I could see Gwyneth's face slacken with confused astonishment, I blurted, "You...you're the best damn thing that's happened to me in years, so don't now go assuming that anyone who would want to date you has an ulterior motive. That's just the kind of thing they want...Tsunami, and sick fucks like her, and Jacob. They'd want you to start getting suspicious and nervous and think that nobody who seems to care about you ever actually would...I mean, that would get pretty damn exhausting."
What was I saying? What had happened to my brain? It was perfectly true, but I'd never said anything like that. And me of all people urging Gwyneth to be open, to trust people, to take them at their word when I didn't do that shit except once in a blue moon?
For a long sickening moment, Gwyneth just stared at me. She, like me, was probably wondering if I'd somehow been slipped drugs. Then a soggy smile spread over her face, and she let out a brief high laugh. "Oh my god. I just hit a new low. My best friend just had his mom go into the hospital and now I'm having to be comforted by him. You." She exhaled. "Holy shit. Some friend."
"It's not like she's not important to you too," I said, swallowing hard, my racing nerves slowing down, clearing my head.
"Yeah. But still...," Gwyneth glanced up almost bashfully, and licked her lips. "You...you really meant that? What you said, about me?"
A different kind of heat crept into my face, up to my ears. Almost unconsciously I brushed my hair to hide even more. The word struggled through my throat like a small animal trying to escape a smothering blanket. "Yeah."
I couldn't look at Gwyneth for a second, but then when I did, her face was turned down to her feet so I couldn't really see her eyes. But even in the fluorescent light I could see the color her cheeks had turned, which was rapidly spreading across her entire face. "That's...really sweet. I mean-nobody's ever said that...and you never say things like that...," she sounded very small and closed up.
"Well, it's true." My face was probably redder than Gwyneth's, but I felt a ridiculous urge to smile. Then I glanced at Gwyneth and did a double take. "Are you crying?"
"Well, almost. And you're not helping!" Finally she looked up. Her eyes were full all over again, but she was smiling, just a little.
"Sorry," I said. "Sorry for trying to compliment you."
"I'm sorry, I just-this is an emotional time, damn it! You know I didn't mind!"
"I know. It's fine." The strangest feeling had replaced all the anger, the frustration, the nausea, the horror. Mom was still recovering. We were standing in the middle of a hospital corridor, and the people responsible for hurting my mother were still at large, if likely to be caught soon. But in this moment, none of that was churning in my gut, fucking up all sense of control. Those two words, 'it's fine', didn't feel like a completely meaningless denial of reality.
"Not yet." I blinked at Gwyneth stupidly for a second before I realized what she was talking about. Her face had gone cold and grim again. "Jacob's still out there. And so is...Tsunami." She said it like a dirty word.
"Yeah, but...," I stopped. If I couldn't define or explain what I was feeling to myself, I sure couldn't do it for someone else. "I think it's going to be fine."
Gwyneth's face remained troubled, her eyes sharp with doubt and anger and anxiety. "It had sure better." She wiped her eyes ferociously.
Moved by a sudden impulse, I reached out and draped my arm around Gwyneth's shoulders. They felt narrow and slim, much smaller than mine, but hard and tense with energy. She stiffened, but then looked up, eyes wide and vulnerable. Her other arm began to reach out for me, then hesitated.
"Oh, go ahead," I said. "You've done it without even asking me plenty of times. Just don't do it at school, unless you want to actually piss me off."
A small watery smile made its way onto Gwyneth's face. "I wasn't planning to."
Then she hugged me. That feeling just seemed to get bigger as we stood in that nearly-empty hallway, two ridiculously opposite-looking people swaying gently, hanging onto each other like they hadn't seen each other in years. It wasn't until a long time after, when someone called my mother by her last name, that it clicked. And I immediately shoved it to the back of my mind, because if any mind-reader ever got the slightest wind of that, no one in Sky High, especially me, would ever hear the end of it. Bad enough I could just sense all the puns on my name that already went on whenever I wasn't actually around (thanks a lot, Tolstoy. Thank you very fucking much). But this...the thought I had-it was just too cheesy and corny, and too many bad puns could be made out of it. And it was just too ridiculous, but the feeling itself was a relief after that whole night, and every night before when I'd been fighting my feelings, and not just accepting that Gwyneth was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and doing my best to make sure I never let her go.
The feeling was peace.
A/N: Okay, I don't give a shit how corny that was, it also seemed incredibly fitting. So there is going to be one more chapter. That will be the Music of Mask! This was a bunch of songs that Drasser brought up as being excellent for certain themes or parts of the story.
But as for the actual story, it is indeed here: THE END! There are definitely some mixed feelings right now…while I'm definitely ready to move on, this story has taken so much of my life that it's kind of hard to believe it's actually over. Fire and Ice will be coming out soon (yes, soon, not a few months, I'm back in the game for real this time), but that'll be a shorter story, and after that this particular mini-saga, if I may call it that, will be done. Closed. No more.
Before I go, of course: I've said it a million times, but I don't care; I really, really enjoyed doing this. Of course I meant to when I published this but still, I didn't anticipate everything that would come of this, all the feelings, the love, the friends I've made on this site. Writing this has, I think, helped me grow a LOT as a writer in many ways, and taught me persistence also But what really kept me going even through the hard spots, through the enormous gaps when I didn't have time and/or inclination, was you guys.
All of you people who started reading at chapter one and have been with me all the way, those people who came to the party late and read all this, almost-complete, and to everyone I picked up in the time in between—you're all amazing. The people who followed, favorited, or reviewed, or even did all three—I love you all. I really do. Your support has blown me away as well as encouraged me, and been so helpful to a brand-new fanfiction writer. It reminds me that despite the bad rep and the ridicule fanfiction and its writers often get(thanks to notoriously godawful stuff like the now-legendary My Immortal, and Fifty Shades of Grey) what we do isn't a waste of time. It isn't stupid or childish. It's worth doing, because practice is the only way to grow stronger in our writing, because we pour time and energy and heart into it, and most importantly-because it brings genuine enjoyment to many people. Just like published, "real" author's works do. If and when I manage to publish works of my own, I'll know I owe it to my days as Megknsis on this site . (Don't worry, this isn't a goodbye. My days of writing here are not over. I have waaay too many plot bunnies still:D) And you can bet I won't forget it, or fail to talk about it, openly and often.
One last time: thank you all. May you all live long and prosper.
~~FIN~~