Many thanks to themanwhowas, frustratedFreeboota, and Assembler for betareading.

Many thanks to MugaSofer for fact checking.

Hearth 5.2

My dreams danced along the line between fitful and hellish. Images of fire haunted me, or of a sky choked in ash and fume, a land poisoned by blood and dust, and a tower with a summit in flames, interspersed with Bakuda's mad eyes laughing from behind her mask and the twisted corpses of my friends.

I was awoken from the image of an erupting volcano by Sophia, shaking me. I startled to wakefulness suddenly, reaching for a knife that wasn't there. For a moment, I cast about wildly, and then my gaze settled upon her. "Sophia?"

"You were having a nightmare," she said by way of explanation.

I blinked at her a few times before the tension bled out of my frame. Idly I ran my thumb along the band of Vilya, reminding myself that, yes, it was there. "Sorry," I said. "Did I wake you?"

She shook her head. "No. Miss Militia came by about forty minutes back, I woke up then." She straightened from her position leaning slightly over my bedside and stretched.

I took the opportunity to look around. Nothing had changed since we had arrived—the women's barracks was still the basically unadorned long room it had been before. Bunks lined one wall, some twenty or so—I hadn't been in any shape to count when we'd arrived—and each was furnished with simple mattress and bedclothes. There were no windows, and no clock on the wall. It probably wouldn't work even if there was.

I'd gone to sleep in my underarmor, basically a form-fitting athletic shirt and sweats, and I didn't offhand know where I'd left my other clothes. My locker, probably, where I'd left my armor when I went to bed—and where I'd found Narsil, lying innocently sheathed. "What time is it?" I asked Sophia.

"Little before noon. Lunch is in the mess, if you want it."

"Is it good?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. Haven't gone."

"Not hungry?"

She shrugged again. "I could eat. Just… haven't gone down yet."

I considered her for a moment. "Well, all right. What did Miss Militia want?"

"Said you needed to see her. You can eat first, though. She said to let you sleep, so there's no big rush."

"All right," I said. "Let's…."

I stopped halfway through standing up, staring at the wall. What was I doing?

"Taylor?"

"No," I said wearily. "No, I'm going to go talk to Miss Militia first. You go eat, I'll join you in a bit."

"I'll come with you," she offered.

"No," I shook my head. "No, I'm fine. Really. You go eat; I'm not that hungry yet anyway."

I felt her gaze on the back of my head for a moment before she sighed. "All right," she said. "I'll see you in the mess."

I watched her go and then gathered the bundle of my armor in my arms before heading out the door. I had time at least to drop my stuff off at my locker and get my street clothes back on, rather than meet Miss Militia in what amounted to thermal underwear.

I knocked on the door, and was answered by a rough, "Come in!"

Miss Militia's office was, if possible, even better kept that Armsmaster's—or so it seemed at first glance. Papers were sorted, filed, and even squared away into neatly hidden piles under the surface of her glass-topped desk. A spare costume hung, fully assembled, on one wall, and on the other was an east-facing window, looking out to sea, with embroidered green curtains bunched at its sides.

It was those curtains that drew my attention to the room's decoration. Where Armsmaster's office had been a utilitarian affair with little to nothing of personality, Miss Militia's was decorated with an easy restraint. A full-size American flag hung on one wall, opposite the window, and behind the desk was a large photograph of a green pasture under a clear blue sky.

I realized then that Miss Militia's office wasn't actually better kept than Armsmaster's. It was that the touch of personal disorder threw the organized business into sharp relief.

The hero looked up as I entered and greeted me with a nod and no other expression on her face. "Annatar, sit down."

I came forward and obeyed, sitting in the chair across from her desk. By the time I had, she was already looking back down at the paper on the desk before her, her pen scratching away at it.

For a time there was silence save for that scratching. I detected a hint of tension in Miss Militia's arms. Now that I was closer, I could see that her apparently blank face was marred by a faint tightness around her eyes and brows.

"You're angry with me."

She glanced at me, pen still poised. "Angry?" she asked. "No. Disappointed, worried, and perhaps ashamed, but not angry." She smiled slightly, a tight, mirthless expression. "We're all too tired to be angry now."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Miss Militia put the pen down, clasped her hands together, and leaned forward slightly, meeting my eyes. Her face was still set in that mask of calm, and didn't waver in the slightest as her gaze held mine—which was quite a bit more frightening than if her eyes had flashed and her voice had risen. "For putting your teammates in harm's way? For placing the city in serious danger?"

"Both," I said, forcing down the instinct to rebel. My voice came out uncomfortably small, but I refused to let my pride get in the way here. What place had pride in me now? What had pride gained me?

"I know," she said. "But I somehow doubt you're sorry for executing a woman without trial."

A muscle jumped involuntarily in my jaw. I looked away, out the window at the glittering sea.

"Aegis was involved in all the rest. He was leader, and it's his responsibility, not yours, to make sure that the Wards operate both safely and sanely. You did neither, but that's no more your fault than Browbeat's. But it was you, alone, who executed Bakuda."

"I thought she'd killed my friends," I said.

"I know," said Miss Militia evenly. She paused. "Believe me, I know. But principles aren't something we can put aside just because we're hurting. That's no better than not having principles at all. This wasn't due process, Annatar, this was vengeance, as brutal and senseless as it always is when a person takes the law in their own hands."

I looked down. For a moment I managed to keep my silence, but soon my grip failed and I looked back up.

"Ma'am, she'd killed almost fifty people and was threatening to kill hundreds of thousands. I thought she'd killed the only friends I have. It was right—"

"That," said Miss Militia, biting the words out and shaping the syllables with tightly controlled teeth and lips, "is not for you to decide, Annatar. Who are you to make a decision like that?"

"I'm the person who lost her friends," I said. My voice didn't rise, nor did I tense, but I would not regret my decision to impale that woman on Narsil. "I'm the wronged party."

"So is the entirety of Brockton Bay and the United States," Miss Militia said dryly. "The collective species, if you're feeling poetic. What do you think the trial by jury is for? Why should you make that decision for every other daughter whose father was injured, every other child who lost a friend?"

I grimaced. "She'd have gone to the birdcage—"

"Ah. So because you disagreed with the sentence you thought the rest of the public would give her, that gave you the right to take the sentencing into your own hands?"

"It's not like that."

"Maybe not. I'm not here to understand you, Annatar, I'm here to do my job, which is to uphold the law and ideals of this country. You flouted both last night, and I'm honestly astonished that everyone else seems to be letting it slide completely."

I looked back out the window and didn't reply.

At length, she sighed. "I'm quite certain this won't be the last you hear of this," she said, "so let's get to business. First, the PRT has responded to the situation, and to your murder of Bakuda."

I looked back up at her.

"Chief Director Costa-Brown released a kill order on Bakuda about three hours ago," Miss Militia said, her face set back into that same blank mask of controlled displeasure. "It was back-dated to yesterday."

I blinked, then my eyes widened. "Then that means—"

"It means that you have been unofficially pardoned for your murder," Miss Militia finished for me, and her façade broke slightly on that last word, so that she was almost spitting it out. "I'll thank you not to celebrate it quite yet, or in my presence."

"Yes, Ma'am." Nonetheless, I couldn't quite keep my relief from showing in a loosening of my arms and chest. "Don't kill orders take a lot more than that? A trial and so on?"

"Yes. They do." Miss Militia's voice was positively Antarctic. "I would assume they already had the kill order in processing and rushed it through. A neat compromise." She spat the word and then closed her eyes for a moment, regaining her composure before continuing. "Second, the local schools have committed to attempting to host students in the coming weeks. Both Arcadia and Winslow are reopening next week. Deputy Director Renick has decided to take the opportunity to complete your transfer."

"So next Monday I'll be starting at Arcadia?"

"Yes. In the meantime, since your father can't be expected to care for you when he hasn't yet left the hospital, you'll be staying here."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Miss Militia nodded. "Many of your teammates attend Arcadia," she said. "I suggest you attempt to get caught up on the classes before you start. You'll have time; your suspension from duty is still in effect."

I'd figured as much. "Of course, Ma'am."

"Good. One final point; you're going to have mandatory counseling sessions."

I frowned. "Is that necessary?"

"Yes. Don't push on this, Annatar." She held my gaze. "You have no idea what a mess refusing this could unleash."

To be fair, I really didn't. "Understood, Ma'am. When do I start?"

She shrugged. "We haven't been able to schedule anything yet, with the power down. I'd expect you to have your first session later this week, or early next week."

"All right. Someone will keep me posted?"

"Of course."

"Then that's fine." I nodded once.

"That's all, then. Is there anything else, Annatar?"

I shook my head. "No, Ma'am."

"Good. Go. Eat lunch, if you haven't yet."

When I reached the mess hall, I immediately looked around for Sophia. There she was—seated at one end of a long table across from Carlos, both with trays of food before them. I approached immediately, waving. Sophia saw me first and waved back, causing Carlos to turn about and grin at me.

"Hey, Annatar," he said, beckoning with his regrown right hand.

"Carlos," I greeted, sitting beside him and across from Sophia. "Sophia."

"So?" Sophia demanded. "What did MM want?"

I grimaced. "Partly to chew me out for killing Bakuda."

"Fuck her," grunted Sophia.

"In fairness," said Carlos carefully, "you weren't exactly supposed to—"

"We thought you were dead," Sophia growled at him. "If Bakuda had been in front of me she'd have been lucky to die half as fast."

"Aw, you do care!" I glanced over to see Dennis, a wide grin on his face, approaching from another door. His hands were out to his sides in an expansive, showman's gesture. "And here I thought you would be a prickly little sociopath forever."

"About you? Don't flatter yourself," said Sophia flippantly, glancing at him with a roll of her eyes before looking back at me. "So, what? Are you in trouble?"

I tilted my head from side to side. "Sort of," I allowed. "I'm still off active duty, and I'm still going to be staying at the Rig—mostly because my dad's still in the hospital—but I'm not going to be arrested. The PRT released a back-dated kill order for Bakuda, so I'm in the clear there."

"So wait," Dennis asked, sitting down on Sophia's right, across from me. "Does that mean you get a bounty, or something?"

I blinked. "Don't know. Miss Militia didn't mention it. I'll ask."

"I doubt it," said Carlos. "Even if they don't want to prosecute you, I doubt they'll reward you for breaking protocol like that."

"And she's already dead anyway," said Sophia. "Why give away money they don't have to?" she snorted. "But anyway, you're in the clear? No cops going to come knocking down our doors?"

"Looks like it," I said. "Miss Militia's pissed, though."

Sophia shrugged. "You can deal with that, no problem. Anything else happen?"

"Well, the schools are starting back up next week—"

"Why are you smiling?" Dennis delivered this in a desolate, theatrical moan, throwing his hands skyward in supplication. "Not school!"

Aegis rolled his eyes and Sophia punched him on the shoulder. "Asswipe," she said, almost affectionately, and looked back at me. "So, we'll be headed back to Winslow in a week?" she asked.

"Well, you will," I said. "My transfer to Arcadia went through."

It wasn't until I saw how fast and how far Sophia's face fell that I realized how bright her expression had been, even if she hadn't been smiling.

"Right," she said, blinking a couple times. "Obviously. I forgot you were transferring out."

"So you'll be going to school with us!" said Dennis cheerfully, ignoring Sophia. I looked at him. "That'll be fun." Then his brow creased in a sudden frown. "I hope Dean and the others are better by then. Wouldn't be right without them."

"They'll be fine," said Carlos. "Panacea will take care of them." He smiled at me. "Any idea which classes you'll be in?"

"None yet," I said. "I figure I'll get a schedule once some kind of infrastructure is back up, even if it's just paper records."

"Probably," said Carlos. "You're a sophomore, right? Chris will probably be in your core classes, so he can help you get ready."

"I'll talk to him." I stood up. "For now, though, you people have kept be from my food long enough. I'll be right back."

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