Security!
Epilogue One: Earth Bet
Part Zero: In the Days Before …
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Medical
"You want what now?"
Amy suppressed a sigh. The foreman of the work crew meant well, but he had a bit to learn about the quirky requests of parahumans. Especially, but not exclusively, Tinkers. Around them, in the cavern intended to become Medical, work went on.
"I want a refrigerator. As big as you can manage. Right there." It was an unoccupied corner of the cavern, with easy access to the power supply.
"Yeah, but I gotta okay this with the higher-ups. What's this big-ass fridge for?"
"It's going to be stocked with meat. Beef, pork, mutton, whatever else we can manage."
The look on his face showed that he still didn't understand. That wasn't totally surprising; she had taken a moment or two to grasp the concept when Mike had suggested it to her. Afterward, she had been amazed that it had not occurred to her earlier. "It's biomass. If someone's missing body parts, I can use that to build new bits."
He blinked. "Don't you need, you know, human body parts to do that?"
She shook her head. "Nope. Now, can I get my fridge installed, please?"
Part One: In the Hours That Followed …
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Medical
Amy held out her hand. "Steak."
The orderly picked up the slab of steak from the tray and placed it on her hand. "This is so weird."
She hid a smile. "You don't work with capes much, do you?" Carefully, she placed the steak over the gaping wound.
Lung, as she understood things, needed time to prepare for a battle. He had been unprepared when Zion first attacked, but had quickly ramped up to a level that allowed him to participate. Unfortunately, this had not prepared him for Zion's counterattacks; his body had not been able to throw off the damage as fast the golden being could inflict it. Still, he'd managed to survive and had stubbornly thrown himself back into the fray time and again. The result of which lay on the bed before her.
"I'm surprised he's still alive." That was Othala, on the other side of the bed. "His wounds …"
Lung had been beaten, burned, slashed and partially disintegrated. One arm was gone, along with part of his ribcage, the side of his face, both eyes and half of his left leg. His breathing was laboured, but he still wasn't giving up. What was most astonishing was that he was showing signs of returning consciousness.
Placing her hand on Lung's body, she caused the exposed flesh to begin absorbing the biomass into itself. This allowed her to fix the major damage, repairing organs and rebuilding bones. Three more steaks, each an inch thick and a foot across, went into that effort before she was satisfied he wasn't going to die on the table. Lung was awake by now, but she had his pain receptors under control, so all he felt was a dull ache.
"Okay," she told him. "I'm going to regrow your eyes now."
Breath rasped in his chest as he tried to speak. She repaired some minor damage in his throat.
"One eye. Both legs," he told her. "I will regrow the rest."
"Your choice." She held out her hand. "T-bone." Regrowing his leg would require more bone mass.
Reaching into the lower tray, the orderly gave her the steak in question. "I guess this will be pretty unique."
"How so?" She concentrated on adding the steak's biomass to Lung's.
"Once we're done here, we'll be barbecuing the leftover bandages."
It was the first time she had smiled since learning of Mike's death.
Sanctuary
The small community was quiet where normally there would have been a bustle of activity. This was not entirely unexpected; much had happened in a short time. The war had started and finished before most of them had even fully realised what was going on. Zion had died. So had Mike Allen.
Most of the inhabitants of Sanctuary only knew Mike as a name. Some had spoken to him during his infrequent visits since the founding of the settlement. But there were some who knew him rather better than that.
Sveta had not cried so hard in months. In the time before she began exchanging messages with Mike's online alter ego, she'd cried often. After he made contact with her, she had begun to depend on him for the escapism that she so desperately needed to cope with the asylum.
After being taken to Sanctuary, she began to open up, to make friends, but her natural reserve held her back from going too far in that direction. Paige and Joe, at least, made the effort; of the others, most found it hard to trust, which she totally understood.
Now, one of the few people she had learned to trust unconditionally, who she knew had her back, was gone. After spending all that time building up her sense of self-worth, he'd put her on a shelf like a toy he didn't want broken, and then gone out and gotten himself killed. He wouldn't even let me help. I was useless. I was nothing.
She wanted desperately to talk to Mrs Yamada, to anyone. But Mrs Yamada wasn't here, and she doubted that many of the others in the settlement would understand how she was feeling. Leaving the tiny hut that she called home, she went to see Paige and Joe. They'll understand.
But they weren't there. Her feelings of inadequacy, of abandonment, fed on themselves and grew larger. She found her footsteps turning toward the bluff, toward the boat that lay on the stony beach. Her skills with sailing and fishing had come back with practice; by now, she could ready the boat for sea on her own.
Normally, she enjoyed getting out on the water for its own sake; fishing was just an enjoyable optional extra. But now, the ocean beckoned. The far horizon pulled at her.
What if I just got in the boat and sailed away? Never came back?
Almost mechanically, she set about making the boat ready.
"He's dead." Paige sat on the clifftop path, looking out over the ocean. The sun sparkled on the waves, but it didn't help.
"But it worked." Joe put his arm around her shoulders; she leaned into him, taking comfort from his closeness, his strength.
"Yeah, but I wish he didn't have to die to make it work."
"Not arguing here." He stroked her hair and feathers, making them lie flat on her head. "Just saying that he knew ahead of time. If you know you're gonna go anyway, plan to take the other guy down with you."
She sighed sadly. "I don't even know how to think that way."
"And that's one of the things I love about you." His lips pressed against her forehead. "You're gentle. With your power, you coulda been a really scary supervillain. But you don't think that way, an' you never will."
"I still screwed up." She pressed her cheek against his chest. "I still nearly went to the Birdcage."
"If you hadn't, we wouldn't have met." He gently raised her chin so that he could kiss her.
"Mmm." When she spoke next, her voice was quiet. "You were the third person who was nice to me, you know? After I was arrested, I mean. Everyone saw me as a dangerous villain. Even my attorney barely made an effort. And then he just stepped in and took me out of that."
Joe didn't have to ask who 'he' was. "So who was the second?"
"That was actually Mike. The first one was Dragon. She flew me back to Brockton Bay. She was really friendly. Chatty, even. Like she wanted to be friends with me."
"Huh. Met her once or twice. She seemed okay." He snorted. "I seem to recall that as soon as you got brought back to Brockton Bay, you got put straight to work for the PRT. Not dangerous work, but pretty close to it, from time to time."
"And the Birdcage would have been preferable?" Her tone was light.
"Hah. Well, no." He sighed. "You know, when I first got put on the detail to guard you, I didn't know what to think. Figured I'd pissed off someone higher up. Punishment duty, you know?"
"It showed," she admitted. "At first, you talked to me like you hated me."
"I never hated you," he said. "But … I didn't know you. Didn't know what to think of you. I'd heard what you'd done, and I didn't know how anyone could do something like that."
"Well, it wasn't on purpose," she objected.
"Yeah, I know that now," he assured her. "Not sure exactly when I started falling for you, but when you started sunbathing on the roof, it sure as hell didn't hurt."
"Why, Joe McKenzie," she exclaimed playfully, raising herself up so that she could look him in the eye. "You were ogling me while I was sunbathing?"
"Hell, yes," he replied promptly.
She smiled and curled up against him again. "Good," she murmured.
They sat like that for a little longer. Her hand crept into his, and their fingers laced together tightly. She closed her eyes, listening to the seagulls screeching at one another, to the whisper of wind through the short grass. It was so peaceful here, in Sanctuary. The work was hard, but they were making a home for themselves. Her life as a singer was so far away that it didn't even register on her radar any more.
"I think we should do something." His voice, rumbling beside her ear, startled her slightly.
"About what?" she asked, without opening her eyes.
"For Mike. A memorial or something. Something to remember him by."
She sat up then, opening her eyes. "I think you're right."
"He helped you more than he helped me. Any ideas?"
Paige shook her head. "I'm not the one to ask."
They descended the steps that had been cut into the bluff to find Sveta in the process of getting the boat ready for sailing. She had blossomed in the weeks since arriving at Sanctuary; her movements with the mobility armature were quick and sure, and she was no longer as shy and withdrawn as she had once been.
Still, her face was drawn and pale, even for her, and her movements were just a little jerky. By now she had gone a long way toward regaining her old skill at sailing and fishing, to the point that she was teaching other members of the settlement, but Paige could see her fumbling as she worked to step the mast in the boat.
Joe stood back as Paige moved forward to the side of the boat. "Uh, Sveta?"
At first she didn't think the other woman had heard her, but then Sveta paused. Slowly, the armature turned toward Paige; the pale face was pinched, with tracks of tears down her cheeks. "What?"
An old adage came back to Paige. Friends don't let friends drive angry. She wasn't quite sure that this was the same, but it was close enough to make her concerned. "Uh, where are you going?"
"Out." Sveta began to pull a rope tight with sharp movements.
"When will you be coming back?" Will you be coming back?
"Dunno."
Paige affected a casual tone. "Well, don't be too long. Joe and I want to do something in Mike's memory, and we wanted to see if you had any ideas for it. You spent longer talking to him than I ever did, after all."
"Only over a computer. And he didn't tell me that he knew about me right up until I came here." But her movements had slowed.
"But he cared. You know he did. I mean, look at me. You could say he rescued me just so I could do crowd control and other stuff like that. But you, he actually wanted to help. He decided you were worth helping. No strings attached."
Sveta wasn't even pretending to pull on the rope any more. Her head hung down. "And when he needed help most of all, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't fight Zion. I had to stand back and watch him go." Her voice broke. "He was so badly hurt, and he still went out there again."
"Hey." It was Joe's gruff voice. "Thing you gotta realise is, the man knew what he was doing. He chose it. The moment Zion went after him, that big golden bastard was screwed."
Paige tried again. "He had to do it, to save us." Sveta didn't move; Paige kept talking, the words spilling out of her mouth. "Anyway, we were helping him. Weaver was telling the capes what to do. We were keeping her safe, just by existing. We made it possible for him to win."
Sveta looked up at that. "Is that true, or are you just saying it?"
"It's what Gladys told us," Joe affirmed. "Apparently Cauldron capes fuzzed Zion's senses. A lot of you guys all together made it hard for him to spot the needle in the haystack. Go figure."
"And we were keeping Gladys and Danny safe as well," Paige added. "So we weren't doing nothing."
"Yeah." With a sigh, Sveta climbed out of the boat. "So what ideas you got so far?"
Joe indicated the boat. "Not going out any more?"
Sveta shook her head. "Nah. Don't feel like it."
"Good." Paige linked her arm through Sveta's. "Come on up. Nobody should be alone at a time like this."
Sveta didn't say anything, but the metal fingers of her armature laced through Paige's as they walked toward the bluff.
Brockton Bay
PRT Headquarters
Emily Piggot leaned forward in her chair. "So it's over?"
"It's over." Armsmaster's voice was firm.
Beside him, the tall, statuesque woman nodded. She had long black hair and familiar features; if Piggot had not recognised her as Dragon, she would have taken the woman as being entirely human.
"It's done," declared the animatronic avatar. "I analysed the data from the probe most extensively before I self-destructed it. That pocket universe was where Zion kept his body, and Bakuda's bombs killed everything in there that could be killed."
"I'm just glad you were able to keep backups that could boot up at a moment's notice."
Armsmaster nodded. "So am I." Emily was fairly sure that his reasons were different to hers.
"It took time," Dragon noted. "Time that Weaver and Mike were able to buy us. And to be honest, Weaver did a magnificent job of command and control under the circumstances."
"Are we surprised?" Emily's voice was dry. "We all know who picked her for the job."
"Well, yes," agreed Dragon. "And talking about that. Mike and I had several long conversations over the last few weeks. He didn't see this coming, not exactly, but he apparently decided to get the information down before anything else happened, to use his phrasing."
"Information?" asked Emily. "What information?"
"Well, some of it consists of messages to people. Some of it is his will, such as it is. But the most part consists of the details of what would have happened had he not interfered. Of particular interest is a great deal of information of which I was unaware. The bulk of it is useless to us, such as the origin of Zion's species, or details about what might have happened to us. But some of it … some of it may prove to be very useful indeed."
Emily's attention was totally riveted by now. "Are you going to tell me what this useful information is?"
"If I think you need to know," Dragon said.
"If I ordered you …" The Director didn't finish the statement. It wasn't quite a threat.
Dragon smiled beatifically. "It wouldn't work. The President could order me to reveal that information out of turn, and I could still say no."
"What?" Emily looked at Armsmaster. "If this is something you've done to make her ignore established authority …"
"No, it's not." The Tinker managed to look affronted. "We haven't managed that yet."
Yet, she thought. So it's only a matter of time. "Then how …"
"Because Michael Allen told me to follow my own judgement on what I was to tell people," Dragon told her, "and who I revealed it to. And I consider him to be the highest authority when it comes to these matters."
Director Piggot glared at her for a long moment. "I'd like to be able to tell you that you're wrong," she gritted. "But I can't."
Dragon smiled at her. "Thank you."
"But you mentioned a will …?"
The smile left Dragon's face in an instant. "Yes. Did you want to hear it?"
Piggot blinked at the easy acquiescence. "I … yes. If you think I should."
Michael Allen's easy-going drawl filled the office.
"So yeah, I guess this is my will. I might be updating this from time to time, but yeah … okay, then. First things first. My ute, I mean my pickup, can go to Taylor once she learns how to drive a manual. All the contents of my flat go to Gladys. She can sort out who gets what from that. Gladys, if you give my lappie to anyone, for God's sake wipe the hard drive before you do. Any money I've got left in the bank can go to a worthwhile charity. Gladys can pick that too. Or, you know, buy a pie with it."
Dragon paused the playback. "We're not sure about the pickup. I think it might have been destroyed."
The Director nodded. "Just one thing … is it just me, or does he use a lot of Britishisms?"
Dragon smiled. "You might say that. May I continue?" At Piggot's nod, the playback picked up again.
"Okay, next thing. Don't put up a statue to me. I mean it. They never get the face right. Every statue I've ever seen looked like they desperately needed to go to the dunny. And the only thing worse than getting it wrong would be getting it right."
The Director frowned. "Dunny?"
Armsmaster muttered the word; the helmet mic picked it up and did a word search, putting up the first definition that it found. "Uh, it means bathroom. In Australia, apparently."
"Oh. I see." She nodded to Dragon. "Carry on."
"Right, this next one is a biggie. Someone's gotta go to England and find a specific homeless guy. His name's Kevin Norton and he's dying of hepatitis. He's the one behind Zion being a hero instead of just moping around the place or deciding that the world would look better tied in a bow knot. He's the one who told Zion to help people, to rescue them from disasters, to fight Endbringers. The man's a friggin' hero and deserves to be treated like one."
Armsmaster watched the Director take a note; Dragon courteously paused the playback while she did so. "Kevin Norton, hepatitis, homeless," she murmured. "Not much to go on."
"I have a few more details on Mr Norton in the files," Dragon assured her. "I'm reasonably certain we can find the man."
"Good. I'll need them. Is there anything more?"
"Just a few more bits and pieces."
"Play it, please."
"In case you're wondering why I didn't have this done before, I don't want Zion getting any hints that we're moving on him. The longer he stays in the dark, the better. With luck, we'll be able to stretch it out to six months or more."
The Director snorted. "Well, it was a good plan while it lasted."
"Enough of it worked that we won," Dragon pointed out. "And I think we're all aware of the saying regarding plans and contact with the enemy." She paused. "This next part's for you, Director."
"And this is for Director Piggot. When the time comes, there'll probably be people wanting to make Cauldron pay for its multiple crimes against humanity. I don't disagree, but we need to keep in mind that they were doing the best they could with what they had, not knowing what would work and what wouldn't. And in the end, what they were trying to do was save the world. Save everyone, or at least as many people as possible. What they did might make them monsters, but they were doing the wrong things for the right reasons."
Dragon shut off the playback. "That's basically his last will and testament. The rest is individual messages and what he insisted on calling the Security Details."
The Director shook her head slightly, as if in pain. "He would."
Part Two: In the Days that Followed …
Brockton Bay PRT Headquarters
Monday Morning, June 13, 2011
"Congratulations. You're heroes."
PRT Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, impeccably business-suited, stood at the podium. Flanking her were Legend and Director Piggot.
"Excuse me for being sceptical, my dear Ms Costa-Brown," asked Marquis, "but what does that actually mean, in this situation?"
The rest of the capes in the room, villains all, nodded or murmured agreement to one degree or another.
"After all," Marquis went on, "some of us were captured under decidedly … questionable … circumstances. You might even say that some of us were railroaded. And now you have us once more, within your base. Not quite at your mercy …" He allowed himself a small smile. "But certainly not in the best of positions."
Bakuda, nearby, nodded at his words. She stood alongside Lung, who was still missing an arm and an eye; the latter had a leather patch over it. "What he said," she stated baldly. "My bombs blew the fuck out of Scion. Without me, you never would have won. Are you going to just throw us back behind bars, now that you've gotten your use out of us?"
Costa-Brown cleared her throat, and the growing murmurs stilled. "There was a time," she conceded, "when that may well have been the case. But I have been … convinced … to allow you a second chance." Her voice hardened. "Do not be mistaken. Your crimes have not been pardoned. But you will not be prosecuted for them, unless you choose to reoffend. Consider yourselves to be on probation for the time being."
"We are criminals," Lung stated boldly. "We made our living from being criminals. How are we to live, when you tell us we cannot do that any more? It seems to me that you are setting us up to fail."
Costa-Brown shook her head. "When I say that you will be getting a second chance, I mean exactly that. Those of you with frozen bank accounts will be given access to a measure of those funds. The rest will be settled with a substantial cash reward. This will give you breathing room until you can figure out what to do with yourselves." She smiled tightly. "And if all other options fail, the PRT is always willing to hire you on in your parahuman capacity. The pay may not be as good as you might have gotten in your criminal careers, but you can definitely live on it."
Voices rose in the room once more, this time in surprise. Costa-Brown let it go on for a few moments, then tapped the microphone to get their attention. "You'll have time to think it over. If you choose to take up the offer of employment, see Director Piggot to schedule an interview. Otherwise, you will be allowed to go wherever you want on Earth Bet, with money to start fresh."
A hand was raised. "But I'm from Earth Aleph."
"And you're very likely to reoffend once you return." The Chief Director's voice was grave. "I'm sorry, Perdition, but your request is denied." She looked at the group. "I'll let you think it over. In the meantime; Accord."
The short grey-haired man looked up from where he had separated himself from the main body of villains. "Yes?"
"I've been told that you have a proposal that I would be very interested in hearing about. Would you like to discuss it in private?"
If the sliding metal leaves of the mask he wore were any indication, Accord's eyes widened just a little. "Yes. Of course."
He stepped forward; they left the room side by side.
Kaiser frowned. "I wonder what that was about."
Lung shrugged. "Perhaps he is going to be signing up to work for the PRT?"
"I would hardly think so," Marquis decided. "From all accounts, he's even richer than you, Kaiser. No, there's something else going on."
"Who cares about that?" Crusader looked at Lung. "What I wanna know is, why are you still all banged up? The medics decide that you're not worth helping?"
Lung chuckled. "Heh. No. I chose this."
At Crusader's look of confusion, Marquis sighed. "He will regenerate, and in the meantime, the women love a war hero."
"Hah!" Crusader slapped the ABB leader on his good shoulder. "For a slant, that's pretty savvy."
Lung stared him down. "Say or do that again, and no-one will ever find your remains."
"Right, sorry, sorry." Crusader backed off. "So, uh, Marquis. What are you gonna be doing? Ten years in the Birdcage, you gotta have some serious catching up to do, yeah?"
Marquis smiled. "You might say that."
Brockton Bay
Monday Afternoon, June 13, 2011
"So he said, we'll be barbecuing the leftover bandages."
Taylor chuckled. "That is kinda funny."
Amy leaned her elbows on the rail of the Boardwalk and looked out to sea. An onshore breeze ruffled her hair. "Yeah, but I kind of felt horrible for thinking it was funny. I mean, Mike …" Her voice choked up.
An arm went around her shoulders, and Taylor squeezed her gently. "I know. You know he's gone, and there's a huge aching hole right there in the middle of you, where you've built up stuff around him. And then you forget for half a second, and then you remember again, and it hurts all over again."
"Yeah." Amy sniffled. "It feels like I'm crumbling from the inside out."
"Well, we can't have that." Taylor led her to a seat and offered her a handkerchief. "Here, blow your nose."
Obediently, Amy did so. "How do you deal with it?"
Taylor shook her head. "I don't. I feel it just as badly as you do. But you know and I know that Mike wouldn't want us to be all sad and mopey. You remember what he told us?"
"That he'd be going back to where he came from?"
"Yeah, that. I'm choosing to believe that right now, he's back in his own world, looking down at ours. Watching to see what we do now that he's gone."
"Watching over us, you mean?"
"Yeah." Taylor tilted her head. "Yeah, that sounds about right. It's what he'd do."
"It does. He did enough of it while he was here."
They sat in silence for a while, watching the ocean. The sun glinted off of the waves, while seabirds wheeled overhead. Most of Brockton Bay hadn't been affected by the war, so life went on as normal. It was … peaceful.
"So we're, you know, homeless now," Taylor commented at last. "House is gone. Car's gone."
"You've still got money in the bank," Amy said idly. "That's not gone."
"True," admitted Taylor. "But still, you sure that you want to be adopted?"
Amy rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. You can't get rid of me that easily. I mean, seriously, if you needed money, you could make all you want just by hiring out as a pest exterminator."
"Like you could by hiring out your healing services?" Taylor's voice was gently teasing.
Amy stuck out her tongue at Taylor. But there was a thoughtful look on her face that hadn't been there before.
Director Piggot's Office
"Come in, Flechette. Sit down."
From the dragging of her feet, it was obvious that the girl didn't want to be there. But the habit of following orders was too strong, and so she sat.
Emily eyed her. "Do you know why you're here?"
A barely perceptible nod. The girl didn't look up.
"Flechette. Sit up. Look at me. Answer the question." She didn't shout the orders, but there was still the snap of command behind them. Reluctantly, Flechette straightened her posture and raised her head. Within her eyes, what Emily could see of them, was real, physical pain.
"I'm here because I screwed up." Her voice was little more than a whisper.
Well, at least she's aware of what she's done. "Yes, you did. The question is, why."
Flechette grimaced. "Because I – he – she – I wanted -"
"Deep breaths." Emily reminded herself that the cape before her was a teenager, and teenagers screw up. It was what they did. In fact, that had been a major part of the personal message from Mike Allen to her. He hadn't known what Flechette was going to do, or at least she didn't think he had, but still, he'd left that message to her. "Start again."
Silence fell over the office, while Flechette did as she was told. Several moments passed before the teenager spoke again. "He introduced me to, to Parian. Told us that we'd been a couple in – in the other world. She contacted me. We dated. It was nice. Really nice. I wanted to spend more time with her."
Emily blinked. Parian? That was one bit of information that Dragon had not revealed to her. Still, it clarified matters … a lot. "So you spent time with her instead of working with L33t, as he'd also asked you to do." It wasn't really a question.
Looking wretched, Flechette nodded. "He – he said we had months. I thought there was plenty of time. I did work with L33t a bit, but the guy just rubbed me the wrong way." Her head dropped again. "But I shouldn't have done it. I screwed up."
"Well, at least we agree on that part." Emily laced her fingers together on the desk before her. "The question is, what do I do with you now?"
"I'll resign from the Wards," Flechette mumbled. "Just leave. I got him killed. Nearly got everyone killed. I don't deserve -"
"Stop. Look at me."
Flechette stopped talking and raised her head. "Director?"
"We all screw up." Emily's voice was flat. "I should have checked with you and L33t to make sure that the weapon design was going well. I didn't. I assumed that because I'd heard nothing in the negative, there was nothing wrong. L33t should have contacted me. He didn't. So there were screwups all round, and as the ranking officer on site, it falls on me to take the blame."
"But I got him killed!" Flechette's voice was a wail.
"No. You didn't. Butcher got him killed. Zion got him killed. He went into that situation knowing he would be killed. You just failed to ensure that the rest of us were adequately armed to take Zion on, had Mike's plan failed."
From the look on Flechette's face, Emily's words weren't making her feel any better. Not that they were intended to do so; their intent was to apprise the girl of the reality of the situation. "So … what are you going to do with me?" The girl's face was now pale but resolute. "I'll do anything to make it right."
God, if only Shadow Stalker had had that attitude at any time, ever. "There is a tremendous amount of work to be done, clearing the rubble around the crater that Zion made. You will assist whenever your Wards duties permit, until it's done."
To her credit, Flechette did not object. "Okay." She paused. "May I ask a question?"
"You may."
"What about … what about Parian?"
Emily's lips thinned. "She's not a Ward. Did she know that you were supposed to be meeting with L33t?"
Hastily, Flechette shook her head. "I didn't talk about that sort of thing with her."
"Well, at least you showed that level of good judgement." Though Parian may have actually told her to do what she was supposed to be doing, instead of going on dates together. We'll never know. "If she wants to help make amends, I have no objection to her assisting you in the clearing of rubble. I understand that her stuffed animals can be quite strong."
Flechette's face cleared dramatically. "I can ask her. I'm sure she'll say yes."
Emily cleared her throat. "When you're working there, you're working. No sneaking off together. No inappropriate displays of affection. This is your chance to prove that you can be responsible for your own actions. Is that perfectly understood?"
"Yes. Ma'am. Yes, I got it. I won't let you down."
"See that you don't. Dismissed."
Emily watched her leave. It probably wouldn't hurt to schedule some therapy time for her as well …
Gladys Knott's Residence
The incessant rapping on the door finally caused Gladys to stir. She was lying on her bed, still dressed in what she had worn to Taylor's birthday party, a little mussed from the tumble she had taken through that first portal. However, she had been so shell-shocked by Mike's apparent 'death' that after she had been conveyed back to her house, she had collapsed unmoving on to the bed without even turning on the lights.
Night had turned back to day, then day to night, and still she lay there, staring dry-eyed at the wall. She may have slept, but it didn't feel like it. Her unquiet rest was disturbed by someone knocking on the door. So far she was successfully ignoring it, just as she had ignored the ringing of the phone earlier.
Probably someone from the school. Her overstressed mind slowly turned the thought over. Wants to know why I haven't turned up to teach class today. Didn't think they'd send someone around to the house.
The knocking finally stopped. Good. They can leave me alone now. But then she heard the oddest noises, suggesting that someone was opening the back door. I thought I hid the key really well. Now I'm going to have to get up and tell them to leave.
"Hello, wakey wakey. Up we get!" A blonde-haired tornado burst into her room; Gladys vaguely registered freckles and green eyes before she was unaccountably on her feet and being led into the bathroom. Before she could protest, the shower was turned on and she was shoved under the spray.
It was freezing.
With a squawk of protest, she tried to get out, only to be shoved back under the spray by the same blonde-haired demon. "Come on, you've got to wake up. Get moving again. We've got places to go, and we can't do that while you're still doing a zombie impression."
Gladys really was much more awake now; as she gathered her scattered wits, she turned the spray from 'arctic' to 'warm' and began to undress. Once her sodden clothing had been removed, she finished the shower with something approaching dignity.
The girl didn't move from the bathroom; when Gladys stepped from the shower, she was handed a towel. "So, you awake now?" asked the girl.
"I think so," Gladys answered, towelling herself off. "Who are you? You're not from Winslow."
"Not on your life," agreed the teenager. "My name's Lisa, and I think we have something in common."
"Really?" Gladys figured that she had a right to be sceptical. "And what might that be?"
Lisa grinned smugly "We know what his real story is."
Gladys stared, her jaw slowly dropping.
Mike's Apartment
The lock clicked and the front door eased open. Lisa stepped through, then turned on the living room light. "Come on in. Nobody home."
"I still can't believe you found the key so easily," Gladys said, following her in. "Six inches down in a rock garden at a random spot around the edge."
"Oh, there were clues," Lisa told her. "But what burns my butt is this." She held out a small square of paper, folded over a couple of times.
Gladys took it and opened it. HI, LISA, it read, with a smiley face sticking its tongue out.
"Hm," she chuckled, amused. "I guess he really knew you."
"I hate it when someone's one step ahead of me," Lisa groused. "And he was always there, from the time I first met him."
"Well, given who he was and what he knew, are you surprised?" Gladys paused. "And I know it's just a little late to be asking this, but why are we breaking into his apartment?"
"Well, you and I both know the real truth about Mike," Lisa pointed out. "I guessed it from context, and I'm pretty sure that he told you. There's a chance he might have left a clue about it somewhere around here, and I want to find that clue and destroy it before anyone else finds out. Because this is not the kind of knowledge that we want out there in the public domain."
"All right. So what do I do?" Gladys shrugged. "I'm a little new to the 'destroying important evidence' profession."
But Lisa had already spotted the laptop on the small table. "I'll have a look through that. You look for physical clues. Anything he might have written down."
"Okay, I can do that." Gladys started poking around the living room. When she came to the shelf with the action figures, she started chuckling.
"They're not all that funny," Lisa murmured absently, typing rapidly on the computer. Gladys personally disagreed, but she didn't want to get into an argument with the quirky teen. Lisa, Gladys suspected, could demolish any argument that she could put forth. Still, it was nice to have something to smile at, and the thought of Mike carefully arranging the action figures in such an amusing pose lightened her heart and brought back warm memories.
But this isn't finding any evidence that he might have left behind.
She moved from the living room to the kitchen, checking everywhere a man might have left something that he wanted to keep secret, including the holy of holies, the top of the fridge. All she found there was enough dust to have formed its own geological strata, so she moved on to the bedroom.
Mike was not a bed-maker, but she already knew that. There was nothing under the mattress, nor in the unlocked lock-box that sat on a shelf in his closet. She was going through the drawers in his dresser when Lisa's called out her name.
"What's the matter?" she asked, leaning out of the bedroom doorway.
"I need your help with the damn password, is what's the matter," Lisa snapped. "He's not using any of the normal ones, and the hint goes 'Who was the hero?'." I'm guessing this refers to something that you and he know about. A movie?"
Gladys felt a smile spread across her face. It could only refer to one thing. "It was when the ABB trashed his pickup," she explained. "I came over to cheer him up. I cooked him a meal. There was wine. He didn't have any, but -"
"Okay, okay, I got it. You watched a movie with him, got a little drunk, felt romantic, and things went from there." Lisa held up her hands in surrender. "I do not need to know the details. Except for one. What were you watching?"
Her smile was nostalgic and a just little sad. "An Officer and a Gentleman."
"Now why does that not surprise me?" Lisa typed rapidly; the screen changed and she was in. "Good god, does the man ever clean up his desktop?"
Gladys barely heard the question. She didn't have any powers, but one folder jumped out at her. It was titled 'Gladys'. "There. Click that one."
"Sure thing." Lisa clicked it. It held several files. One was called 'In the Event of my Untimely Death'. Others had names on them; 'Piggot', 'Danny', 'Mrs Yamada', 'Lisa' and 'Gladys', among others. And then there was the one called 'Da Book'. It was much larger than the others.
Lisa drew in a deep breath; Gladys reminded herself to breathe as well. "Fuckin' jackpot."
'In the Event' turned out to be a will, or rather, notes for one. Taylor was to get his pickup, he didn't want a statue … and Gladys was to get all of his worldly goods in the apartment, and give them to those people she thought needed them. There was also something about Cauldron, but Gladys didn't read very far into it; she was still stunned that Mike had thought so much of her that he would give her this responsibility.
"Well, who else is he gonna get to do it?" Lisa asked rhetorically. "I saw you two together a couple of times -"
"I didn't see you," Gladys protested.
Lisa looked smug. "You weren't supposed to. But you looked way cute. He trusted you. Trusts you. No matter how the narrative turns out." There it was. The implicit agreement that yes, they both believed that they were living in a story. Gladys didn't feel like a fictional character but then, she didn't know how a fictional character was supposed to feel.
"I … right." Gladys looked around at the apartment. "Can you help me? I wouldn't know where to start."
"Sure," Lisa agreed. "In a minute. I want to check out this one called 'Da Book'. Maybe it's our story. The one he was writing."
Suddenly very intensely curious, Gladys leaned in beside the teen as she clicked on the file. For a long moment, it didn't look as though anything was happening, then the file opened.
Class ended in five minutes and all I could think was, an hour is too long for lunch.
Gladys read on, her eyes growing wider as she grasped the narrative. "That's -"
"Yeah." Lisa's voice was flat. "The original story. This is where we came from."
"But … but from what he told me, it was enormous. There's no way he would have been able to remember it all. Or type it all up. Not in the last couple of months."
"I think he had his brain upgraded," Lisa told her. "By Riley. He was showing signs of a greatly improved memory. And as for this, I suspect that he may have abbreviated things, leaving out irrelevant details."
Gladys didn't answer. She reached past Lisa, scrolling down as she read. The tale, as told from Taylor's point of view, of the ambush in the bathroom. Where she and Mike had come in, saving the day. But of course, in this story it didn't happen that way.
Lisa was rummaging in a drawer. Gladys frowned. "What are you doing?"
"Gotta save this," Lisa replied. "I have to read the whole thing. I need to know how it plays out. Don't you?"
Slowly, Gladys shook her head. "No. I don't. I think it should be destroyed. Wondering about what may have been is a good way to go mad or second-guess yourself."
"That sounds like something Mike would say." Lisa found a USB stick and popped it into the computer. In a few moments, the contents of the folder had found their way on to the small drive.
"I think he might have," Gladys agreed.
"Thought so. Want a copy?"
Gladys grimaced. "Just of the message he left for me, thanks." She had no desire to read other peoples' mail.
"Suit yourself." Lisa tapped the laptop with one fingernail. "And what about this?"
She didn't get what Lisa meant. "What about it?"
"If I can get into it, so can other people. We're gonna need to wipe it clean. And I mean clean."
Given the nature of data storage technology, Gladys knew full well that a good enough tech could coax any file off of even a 'wiped' drive. "I'm not sure if that's possible. The PRT almost certainly has a cape on speed dial who can unwipe anything."
Lisa grinned. "Pretty sure I can handle that. I just need your permission to destroy some of this stuff he's left for you."
Gladys grimaced. "Very well. You have it."
They watched as the microwave platter slowly revolved. Inside, the laptop hard drive sputtered and sparked under the assault of the high-intensity radiation.
"And that'll destroy it?" asked Gladys.
Lisa grinned. "Destroy it? That'll melt it."
"Ah. Good." Gladys closed her hand around the USB drive that Lisa had given her. On it was not only the message Mike had left for her, but also a selection of other files from the laptop's hard drive, things that Mike had written. She would read them later, in private, where nobody could see her cry.
L33t's Workshop
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
"L33t? May I have a word?"
The Tinker looked up from his workbench in some surprise. There, standing at the door, was a gorgeous redhead. She stepped into the workshop, looking around with a great deal of interest.
There were two things wrong with this picture. The first was that gorgeous redheads, or women of any hair colour, really, did not make a habit of popping into L33t's workshop on a whim. The second was that this was a secret workshop.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want? How did you find me?"
She stepped closer. "Relax," she advised him. "Unclench. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to hire you. Mom sent me."
"And who's your mother?" He scanned the bench for a weapon, just in case she attacked him anyway.
"Dragon, duh."
That got his attention. He stared at her; the flawless complexion, the long red hair, the tiny mole beside her left eye … "Uh, if this is about the thing with Flechette, she kept ducking out on me. I meant to get it done a lot sooner."
"This is nothing to do with that," she told him. "But you did good work, so Mom sent me to see if you could make something else for us."
"I, uh, okay." He stared, still trying to get his head around the idea. The rumour was that Dragon was an unfettered AI, and that she'd had kids of a sort. Junior versions of herself. If this was one, then she was really, really good at pretending to be human.
"Hey." Her voice was amused. "I'll let you have a look at my schematics later, but for now you're gonna have to pay attention."
"Oh. Right. Sorry." He dragged his gaze back to her face. "Uh, what was your name again?"
She grinned. "Call me Pandora. I've got a thing I'd like you to build. To mimic a specific power."
"Uh, okay. What does this power do? Actually, better yet, bring the cape in and I'll study the power directly."
"Well, there's the tricky part. This cape doesn't exist. He would have triggered after Leviathan hit the city. I'm going off of a description of what he would have been able to do."
L33t was starting to get his composure back. This was starting to sound like a challenge. Bring it. "Okay, so what does this power do?"
"Well, as far as we understand it …"
Brockton Bay
The Crater
Thursday, June 16, 2011
The four-armed gorilla braced itself, then heaved the chunk of rubble out of the ground. Turning, it knuckle-walked toward the waiting truck and threw the rubble into the back.
Flechette moved closer to Parian. "Thanks for coming to help out."
Parian didn't look at her. "I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it because it needs to be done."
"Yeah, but …" Lily swallowed. "I'm sorry. I screwed up."
"No, you didn't just screw up," Parian told her, while the oversized stuffed toy lumbered back to the pile of rubble. "You screwed up and got me dragged into it. Now the PRT knows that you were coming to see me when you should have been working with L33t."
"I told them that you didn't know," Lily said desperately. "I didn't want you getting into trouble."
"Oh, I'm not in trouble," Sabah went on remorselessly. "But I was somewhat shocked to find out that you were supposed to be doing something else while you were seeing me."
"They didn't think you -" began Lily.
"No, thank God," Parian sighed. "You obviously put them straight about that."
"Well, I didn't want you getting into trouble as well."
"Which I do appreciate. But seriously, it was a massively irresponsible thing to do. And now that they know about us, if you slip up in any way, they're likely to blame our relationship. And I might be a rogue, but I do not need the PRT deciding that I'm a bad influence on one of their Wards. There's all sorts of ways they can make my life difficult if they so choose."
"Oh, god," Lily's voice was as hopeless as she felt. "You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"
Parian gave her a long, level stare. "The PRT would probably be happier if I did," she stated at last. "But I don't want to. So I'm not going to. But we're going to have to make some changes to our relationship."
Flechette swallowed. "Changes?"
"Yes, changes." Sabah folded her arms. "First things first. If there's anything – anything – you need to do before we can do stuff together, we do your stuff first. We don't just drop everything and go and see a movie until you're done."
"Um, okay." Flechette would have agreed to giving Sabah foot rubs every time she saw her. Actually, that's not a bad idea.
"Next thing – if you've got to go do something, maybe you should ask yourself if I might want to come along. You know, for the company."
Lily blinked. "You would have been okay with that?"
She couldn't see Sabah's face behind the doll mask, but she could imagine the rolling of those soft brown eyes. "Well, yes. It would have been time spent with you. And then we could've gone to the movies."
Flechette slumped. "I'm an idiot, aren't I?"
"Well, yes, a bit, but you're my idiot."
Friday, June 17, 2011
Danny pulled the rental car to a halt in the motel parking lot. The PRT was footing the bill for both the car and the motel until he and Taylor could find somewhere else to live, but this didn't mean that he could slack off. With the worldwide news that the Endbringers were no longer a threat, the economy was even now showing an uptick, and he fully intended for the Dockworkers to be in a position to take advantage of it.
As he walked up to the motel door, he noticed with a frown that it was ajar. With an aggravated sigh, he pushed it open. "Taylor," he called out. "When you come in, could you make sure -"
He stopped dead. The person sitting in one of the two armchairs was most definitely not Taylor.
"Come in," invited Marquis. "Sit down."
Danny blinked. "Uh – what are you doing here?"
The villain smiled disarmingly. "I don't intend to harm you. I just wish to talk about Amelia."
Slowly, carefully, Danny sat down in the other armchair. "What about her?"
"Well, for a start, you are aware that she is my biological daughter, correct?"
"I did know that, yes." Danny nodded. "Is there a problem here?"
Marquis tilted his head. "Well, now that I am a free man, I would very much rather that she be given the choice to get to know her father once more. In my place, wouldn't you?"
"I do see your point, yes," agreed Danny. "However …"
"However?" Marquis' voice was silky, but there was undoubtedly steel underneath.
Danny chose his words carefully. "However, she does have the choice herself. She's sixteen. Also, Flashbang has given his permission for me to adopt her. Plus, she and Taylor are very attached to one another. So it might not be as cut and dried as you might have originally thought."
"Hmm." Marquis rubbed his neatly trimmed beard. "Your points are valid. However, if I do ask her, and she chooses me, you will not object?"
"It's her choice." Danny shrugged. "I just want her to be happy. She's really a sweet kid."
"I agree. It has always been in her nature."
"Hey, Dad!" called out Taylor as she pushed the motel door open, "guess what? We were down on the Boardwalk, and we saw some capes flying over the Boat Graveyard. I think they – whoa." She stopped so suddenly that Amy nearly ran into her.
"Hey, watch it, doofus," the frizzy-haired girl told her. "People walking here."
"Uh, sorry," Taylor apologised, not taking her eyes off the visitor. She had never met him before, but she was definitely familiar with Marquis' features. Once she had found out that he was Amy's father, they had gone online together, just to see what he looked like.
These days, bugs were never far away. She began to gather a swarm.
"Hey, wait," Amy said, stepping around her. "You're -"
"Indeed I am, little Amelia," Marquis agreed, standing up. "Well, not so little any more. You've grown since I last saw you."
"What are you doing here?" asked Amy. She looked at Danny. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm fine," Danny assured her. "We've only been talking."
"So what do you want?" asked Taylor, stepping protectively closer to her father. The dots were easy enough to connect. "It's about Amy, isn't it?"
"What do you want with me?" asked Amy, also stepping closer to Danny.
"Nothing untoward," Marquis promised. "I merely wish to talk with you."
"Is that it?" asked Amy. "Just to talk?"
"Well, yes," Marquis agreed. He looked at Taylor and Danny. "Would you mind giving us some privacy?"
Danny began to get up, but Amy shook her head. "No," she stated firmly. "They stay. Anything you've got to say to me, they can hear too."
Arching one eyebrow, Marquis nodded. "Very well. If you wish."
"That's what I wish," Amy said. "So what did you want to say to me?"
"I just wanted to say that have missed you so much. You've grown into a fine young woman. Your mother would be proud."
Amy frowned. "Who was she? My mother, I mean. Is she still alive?"
Marquis tilted his head. "What, they didn't tell you?"
"Who, Carol and Mark? No. Did you tell them before they sent you to prison?"
"Ah -" Marquis paused. "No, actually, I don't believe that I did. She was a young lady with whom I shared a rather passionate relationship for a while -"
"Whoa, whoa, time out," Taylor objected. "Minors here. Adults talking about passionate relationships is well into TMI. Just saying."
"What she said," Amy added. "Okay, this lady. You and her, we got it. Her name? Where she lives? Or is she a supervillain too?"
Sorrowfully, Marquis shook his head. "She is, sadly, deceased. Cancer took her away, around your fifth birthday. We had been separated for some time. I had not known she was pregnant, and she chose not to tell me. It was only when she was close to the end that she contacted me." He paused. "Do you remember nothing of her?"
"Do you remember your fifth birthday?" retorted Amy. "Sorry, no. I don't even remember you."
"Ah." Marquis sighed sadly. "Her name was Helena Lavere. I had not expected to be a father all of a sudden, but I have to say, the year in which I got to know you was the happiest of my life."
"And then you were arrested and went to prison." Amy's voice was flat. "And I became Amy Dallon."
"Which raises the question," Marquis said. "You grew up with the Dallons, but now you wish to be adopted by the Heberts. Why?"
"Many reasons," Amy told him. "None of which are in any way your business."
"But I'm your father," he urged her. "Surely I deserve to know."
"You might be my father, but you're not my dad," she pointed out.
"Well, hardly," he agreed. "You haven't given me the chance."
She considered that. "Fine. I didn't like living with the Dallons. I do like living with the Heberts. They might not be a family of superheroes, but we do fun things together."
That's technically true, Taylor thought. One out of two doesn't make us a family of superheroes. Though with Amy it would make us two out of three.
"That sounds eminently reasonable," he admitted. "However, I wish to ask you if you would be willing to acknowledge me as your father once more. In a legal sense, that is."
"Wait, what now?" Amy shook her head. "You want to … what would you call it? Claim me? Re-adopt me? How does this even work?"
"I will confess that I have not yet looked into the legal minutiae of the process," Marquis admitted. "But it certainly won't go anywhere without your agreement."
Taylor raised her chin. "There's also that bit about you being a criminal," she pointed out. "Amy's a superhero. This might make it a bit harder."
Marquis smiled tightly. "I participated in the battle against Zion," he replied. "That gave all of us a pass. I'm a free man now. Slate wiped clean."
"Mike told me a little about you," Amy said. "He said that you never hurt a woman or a child. You never ran drugs."
"Well, then." Marquis' voice was pleased. "I wish I'd had the chance to meet the man, and shake his hand."
"He also said," Amy went on, "that you had the delightful habit of murdering any of your henchmen who let you down. They were never seen again."
"He does seem to have been very well-informed." Marquis didn't sound as pleased now. "But all of that is in the past. You can be certain that I will be under extremely close scrutiny, as will all of the other Birdcage parolees. Any attempt to return to my previous life of crime would undoubtedly result in a re-introduction to the prison system and then the Birdcage in very short order."
"I dislike the idea of Amy going to live with you for several reasons," Danny stated firmly.
Marquis raised a cultured eyebrow. "Name them."
"As Taylor said, you're a criminal."
"Reformed until proven otherwise."
"You have nowhere to live, no way to support her."
A faint smile. "Don't be so sure." A gesture at the motel room. "In any case, the same could be said about you."
"She and Taylor have grown close. You wouldn't separate her from her best friend."
"Who said anything about separating them?" Marquis shrugged. "I wish her all the luck with her friends. We need as many as we can get in today's world."
Danny frowned, frustrated. "She doesn't know you. She knows us."
Marquis spread his hands. "Easily remedied by spending time with me."
Heaving an aggravated sigh, Danny turned to Amy. "Okay, here's the question. Do you want to go back to Marquis?"
She'll never say yes.
For the longest moment, Amy hesitated. "I … if it was anyone but you guys, I'd probably pick him," she admitted. "Mike also told me about the princess costume and the tea parties." She turned to Marquis. "I can tell that you really want to be my dad."
"But … ?" he prompted.
"But it's been ten years. I'm not six any more. I'm sixteen. Right now, Mrs Yamada says I need stability in my life."
"And Mrs Yamada is …?"
"My therapist." She said it simply, with no particular embarrassment. "She's very good at what she does, and she cares. So if she says I need stability, I need stability. And I can't help but think that you haven't had the chance to learn what it's like to live with a teenage girl. There would be problems. Adjustments to be made."
"Three hour showers, and the beeper on the fridge going off at all hours," put in Danny dryly. "Because teenagers love their midnight snacks." She poked her tongue out at him.
"So we can make those adjustments," Marquis urged. "It can't be so hard."
Taylor caught her father's eye and they both chuckled at the same time. Marquis looked at them, then back at Amy, who was also now grinning. "What's so funny?"
"If you don't know, then explaining it isn't going to help," she said obscurely.
He frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Welcome to the world of teenage girls," Danny told him cheerfully. "I raised Taylor, and I still feel horribly inadequate for the job on occasion."
"It's true," Taylor added. "Amy and I hit it off almost from the start, but we still had our rough patches. We got over them, though."
Marquis sighed. "So that's a no, then."
"Yeah, that's a no," Amy confirmed. "But I'll still visit, if you want. We can get to know each other again. Just not living in the same house."
Marquis was not a man used to being told 'no', Taylor could tell. But he was also apparently quite good at adapting to changing circumstances. By the time Amy finished speaking, he was nodding in agreement.
"I suppose that's the best I'll be able to get for the moment," he said. "In the meantime, how are you off financially? Do you need any assistance?"
That earned him a slow double blink from Danny, and stunned looks from the two girls.
" … what?" Danny sounded as though he wasn't sure what to make of the statement. "You're offering to help us?"
Give us money to make Amy like you more? But Taylor didn't voice the suspicion.
"I did imply that I am not cash-poor," Marquis pointed out. "If Amelia isn't going to be living with me, I'm willing to help out with living expenses."
"Wait, where are you even getting this money from?" asked Taylor. "Don't they freeze the bank accounts of convicted criminals or something?"
"Why yes, they do," Marquis admitted. "However, given my contributions to the war effort, they unfroze some of my previous savings, and I also have some long-term investments that I can dip into. I'm willing to assist you in your living expenses until you can get back on your feet."
Danny shook his head. "I'm not taking your money. I don't take charity, and I don't do loans if I can possibly help it."
"Very well, let's call it … hmm." Marquis considered. "'Child support' should do. After all, Amelia is my child, and I would like to give her money so that she can support herself."
"Okay, suppose you do this," Amy said. "Would I then be obligated to visit you more often?"
Marquis looked pained. "No. I give you my word that there would be no such strings attached." He smiled disarmingly. "I would not object to spending more time with you, but neither will I demand such. You are justifiably dubious about my motives; after all, I was a notorious villain. And I know enough about teenagers to be aware that if I tried to push the issue, you would push back."
Amy nodded. "I know what Taylor's allowance is. I'll accept that much."
"You don't have to -" began Taylor.
"Actually, yeah, I do," Amy told her. "I'm not gonna accept more allowance than you, even if it's a freebie." She turned to Danny. "And I do actually have an idea how tightly stretched we are. So yeah, I'll do this, to give you a little breathing space."
"How selfless of you," Marquis commented with a twinkle in his eye. "If I didn't know for a fact that you're my daughter, I'd be having my doubts about now."
Amy shrugged. "I suppose that's something to be said for growing up in a house full of superheroes. You get the 'we strive toward the greater good' speech on a regular basis."
"Really?" asked Taylor. "Who gave you that one? Brandish or Flashbang?"
"Actually, Vicky," snorted Amy. "She lives that sort of thing." Her mouth quirked. "Though I really shouldn't make fun of her. She did tackle Zion off of me."
"For which I will be forever grateful," Marquis said. "I understand that Golem also had a hand in the matter."
"Yeah," Taylor agreed, then stopped herself. "I'd really like to thank him, whoever he is."
"I think so too," Danny agreed. "Maybe Amy could invite him over for dinner or something?"
Amy grinned slyly. "Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. Doesn't it, Taylor? You'd get to meet a real live superhero."
As tempted as she was to make a very rude gesture in Amy's direction, Taylor chose not to. This is more than the secret identity thing, like it was with Chris. She knows we both know each other. There's something deeper going on, something I don't know about. Whatever it is, she finds it very amusing. And she knows I'm not about to out myself in front of Marquis. "Maybe."
It seemed that the ex-villain was just as perceptive as Taylor. "Is there a joke going on here that I don't know about?"
Taylor was pretty sure that Danny wasn't in on whatever Amy was smiling about, but he played along anyway, rolling his eyes. "You may recall we were talking about teenage girls? Welcome to my world."
"I see." Marquis' voice was dry as he got up out of the armchair. "Well, then, I shall take my leave. I'll be in touch, Danny. See you later, Amelia. Miss Hebert." A nod to Taylor, and he walked toward the door.
They watched him open it and walk out; it was only when the door clicked shut behind him that Taylor let herself relax. "Holy crap," she muttered. "Did he threaten you at all, Dad?"
"No, not at all," Danny told her. "I've been in union meetings that were uglier than that. For the most part we talked about the ferry and the Boat Graveyard."
"It sounds like you liked the man," Taylor said, just a little disbelievingly. "He's a criminal, for crying out loud."
Danny chuckled. "Some of the people I've had to work with around the city skate pretty close to that line themselves. He's very likeable. And once I got past the murderous-supervillain aspect, it turned out that he has some interesting views."
Taylor shook her head. "I just don't like that we're associating with him at all." She turned to Amy. "You're really going to be taking his money?"
Amy shrugged. "It'll be helping you guys out, and it's not like he'll actually have a hold over me with it. I'll actually be saving most of it for later."
"Well, just be careful, okay?" Taylor put an arm around her shoulders. "I mean, I know he's your dad and all, but -"
Amy shook her head. "That's not my dad. He's my dad." She pointed at Danny, who looked absurdly pleased.
Taylor hugged Amy more tightly. "Darn right."
That was when they heard the knock on the door.
He's come back to claim Amy once and for all. Danny knew – or thought he knew – the fear was groundless, but a chill still went down his back. "He's not back, is he?"
Taylor shook her head. "No, he's in his car, at the end of the block. Waiting at the lights."
"Then who's that at the door?"
Amy crossed to the door and peered through the peephole. "Oh. It's Vicky."
Danny shared a glance with Taylor. He remembered all too well the events at the party. Amy's shoulders still held bruising from Vicky's grip. But she had, by all accounts, acquitted herself well in the battle.
Amy glanced over her shoulder, just as the knock came again. "Do we let her in?"
"Well, it's not like we can keep her out," Danny pointed out. "Let's see what she wants."
Amy nodded and unlocked the door. "Hi," she said to the blonde waiting on the doorstep.
"Hi, Ames," Vicky replied. "Don't worry. Not here to bust up the place."
Danny nodded. "Well, in that case, come on in. How can we help you?"
Vicky entered; she was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, with brightly coloured sneakers. "I came to apologise. I was a jerk."
Once again, Danny and Taylor shared a glance. Danny cleared his throat. "That's very responsible of you. Though I am curious. What brought this on?"
Vicky grimaced. "Yesterday. After I left. I was so mad about it. Telling myself that it was somebody else's fault. I wasn't in the wrong. I couldn't be in the wrong. But then Scion blew up the house and I thought you were dead, Ames. I looked for you. You were just gone."
"Mike pulled us out, just in time," Amy said quietly. "He took a hit that would have cut me in half."
A tight-lipped nod. "Yeah, I found that out later. So I was trying to rescue the survivors around the edge, because that's what you'd have done. When you lose someone you took for granted, it's amazing how much it hurts, and how the little stuff didn't really matter, when it's all said and done." She glanced at Danny. "You know what I mean?"
Danny nodded slowly, recalling Annette. "Yes. I know."
She refocused on Amy. "So yeah, I got a whole new perspective right then. Cleaning up someone else's mess, without you to backstop me. I saw it all in a totally new light, and I realised where I went wrong. I finally got why you kept on getting pissed off with me." She walked over and gave her sister a hug. "It was like one of those, what do you call 'em …"
"Epiphanies," Taylor supplied, her voice quiet.
"Yeah, them. Epiphanies." Vicky turned to Taylor. "Look, I'm sorry I wrecked your party, and I'm really sorry I went off the deep end and hurt Mike."
"It wasn't as bad as it seemed," Danny put in. "But the fact remains that you were wrong to do it."
"I know!" Vicky clenched one hand in the other. "Especially after I heard what he did. I just attacked him for something that was bullshit, and then he went and did … that." She hung her head. "I feel like total shit."
Danny could feel Vicky's aura pulsing. With the emotions the blonde was feeling, it should have been flaring, but Vicky was actually working to hold it in. I'm impressed.
"You're really sincere, aren't you?" Amy put her arms around Vicky and gave her a hug.
"Yeah. I am. Can you ever forgive me?"
Amy rolled her eyes. "Sisters, remember?"
"But you're getting adopted by Taylor's dad, aren't you?"
"And? You'll always be my sister."
"Dammit, don't make me cry." Vicky sniffled slightly. "There was something else I wanted to say."
"What's that?"
"Your therapy sessions. That invite still open to sit in?"
Amy stood back with her hands on Vicky's shoulders. "Wow. You are serious."
Vicky nodded. "Well, yeah. If I'd actually taken you up on the offer then, I wouldn't have been blindsided so badly at the party, yeah?"
"Yeah, well." Amy rested her forehead against Vicky's. "Not blaming you, mind."
Danny knew what they weren't saying. Carol was against it, so nobody went.
"Yeah, no, I got that. I might even see if I can drag Dad along."
Amy smiled. "I think that'll be a really good start."
Vicky checked her watch. "Well, I've gotta get going, but let me know when the next session is and I'll be there."
"Okay, sure." Amy paused. "And Vicky?"
"Yeah?" The blonde superhero stopped at the door.
"When you came out of nowhere and barrelled Zion into the wall? That was some kinda badass, right there."
Vicky grinned. "I know, right?" She opened the door and stepped out; it closed behind her.
"Well." Danny leaned back in the armchair. "That happened."
"Is it just me, or has she really changed?" asked Taylor.
Amy nodded. "I really think she has." She smiled. "I think I'm looking forward to the next session."
"If nothing else," Taylor said, "it'll be interesting."
Danny nodded. She's probably right, at that.
Epilogue One: To be Continued
