Many thanks to themanwhowas, frustratedFreeboota, and Assembler for betareading.
Many thanks to MugaSofer for fact checking.
Emma's routine for the morning was basically what it always was, albeit offset by a couple of hours. Where normally she'd be getting up at half past six, she woke up at half past five today. She woke with her alarm—a nice mechanical clock her father had found in his office, to replace the digital one she'd had until the EMP went off—and immediately disabled it. For about a minute she lay listless, staring up at the ceiling, making no move to stand.
Maybe I can just not go to school, she thought. Maybe I can just not get out of bed.
She allowed herself to entertain the thought until almost exactly a minute before her alarm would have rung again, had she still been using the old digital with a five-minute snooze. At that point, she forced herself to swing her legs over the side of her double bed and stood up. She stumbled across the room to her dresser and drew out clothes for the day, then bundled them in her arms and left the room. It was only a few feet to the bathroom, so she had no need to put up any facades until after she was cleaned and changed.
She bathed quickly, scrubbing herself with exactly too little force to leave marks. The water was at that uncomfortable room-temperature where it felt cold despite not actually being so—without power, there were neither pumps nor hot water heaters, and so they were having to make do with water from the local wells which had been opened to the public in the past week. Her father had, of course, made sure she had enough water to bathe a minimum of once a week, which she was spending now. Best to make a good impression on Winslow when she returned.
Once she was done she robotically groomed herself, paying special attention to her thick red hair and to the faint application of blush. She brushed her teeth as she had been instructed by her dentist, angling the brush—no longer electric—down into the gums. She rinsed out her mouth with water from the water bottle in the bathroom for precisely that purpose, gargled, and spat it out into the sink. She allowed herself the small independence of pouring a little of that rinsing water into the sink, to flush her residue down the drain.
The toilet was still working, although they had to manually fill its reservoir now, so she took the opportunity to use it before putting on her fresh clothes. Flushing it was annoyingly more complex than it had once been, but she did it without any real heat to her frustration. There was just no point.
That finished, she stood straight and looked into the bathroom mirror. She met the dead eyes of the girl across from her. Slowly, agonizingly, she forced a wide smile on her face. The practiced mask fell into place with as much difficulty as it always did, but once it was there, it held. It even looked natural—either that, or everyone in Winslow, as well as at home, was every bit as good a liar as she thought she was.
You are Emma Barnes, she told herself. You are a survivor.
The years of practiced repetition made that statement far more powerful than the less-practiced No matter what Taylor says, but she was strong enough to get through that.
Emma's father walked her to Winslow. From their house it was about a half hour's walk, and so they made it a little early—which was good, since her dad still had to make it to work.
"Are you sure you'll be okay until school starts?" he asked her, his brows furrowed and eyes soft in concern.
"I'm sure," she told him laughingly. "Really, Dad, it's fine. I'm queen here."
He left her there, and she strode in and made herself at home in the cafeteria. One by one, people strode in. Gang members with Asian features or shaved heads stuck together in their little groups, eyeing one another with wary fury. Definitely be a big fight today. I should be careful.
The school's girls gravitated around her, though. She was their queen, and they oriented themselves around her. Madison had left town—she'd gotten word to Emma just before she'd left—but there were still plenty of the gaggle to choose from.
But it wasn't until scarcely five minutes before the bell rang that one of the two girls Emma been watching for arrived. Sophia entered the room with a scowl on her face, sending a baleful glare at the Empire guy nearest the door. He sneered back at her, but dared do no more. Sophia had taken more than a few of their number down, even as a civilian—and if he'd known what she did in costume, Emma was sure his caution would rapidly give way to terror.
Emma stood up and crossed to Sophia. "Heya, superhero," she said, keeping her voice low enough to avoid being overheard by the rabble.
Sophia blinked at her, as though surprised to see her, and then a smile spread across her face. "Heya, survivor. Good to see you."
"You too." Emma's smile had, unbidden, become genuine. "How have you been? Dealing with the outage okay?"
"It's been rough," Sophia admitted. "No proper showers, no phone, no TV, no computer, nothing. Been running and training a lot."
Emma led them back to the rabble of other girls as they continued talking. "Yeah, Dad's gotten the family to play a lot of card games. Not a lot better to do, right?"
"Right, I get it," said Sophia. "You could always come running with me, though."
Emma was about to offer her practiced refusal when she thought about it a little more. "I have been super bored," she admitted. "I might take you up on that, this time."
Sophia grinned widely. "Good to hear."
The bell rang. Taylor hadn't come to school. Emma was honestly surprised. She'd talk to Sophia about it later.
The opportunity came at recess. They gathered, as they were accustomed to when they hadn't planned something else, at their table in the cafeteria—Sophia, four of the other girls, and herself. Sophia, as she tended to, arrived last. By that time, the other girls were already engrossed in some inane conversation about a recent breakup, which they'd somehow arrived at from the subject of teachers. Emma took part for appearance's sake, even though she honestly didn't even know who the guy in question was, but broke off when she saw Sophia coming in.
"Hey, Sophia!" she waved. Sophia grinned at seeing her and came over.
"Hey," the superhero replied easily, sitting beside her at the table. "What's up?"
"We were just talking about Jim," said one girl—Julia was her name—eagerly. "Can you believe he—"
"I was wondering where Taylor was," Emma interrupted.
She was going to continue, but something in Sophia's face stopped her. Something had shifted, and not for the first time, Emma wished she were better at reading people. She could tell at a glance what a person wanted in a conversation, and could use that to great effect, but this was something deeper. But she saw something she recognized easily—something she saw in the mirror every morning.
"Dunno," said Sophia noncommittally. "Maybe she moved? Madison moved out, right?"
"Yeah," said Emma, "but come on; her dad can barely pay the bills! Think he could get a spot on one of the evacuation vehicles? They'd have to walk, and there's no way they'd risk that."
"Maybe she's staying home," said another girl—Charlotte. "My parents were thinking of keeping me home. Said it might not be safe out of the house yet."
"That would make sense," Emma agreed. "Scrawny little thing like her; she'd be easy prey."
Sophia's twitch wouldn't have been noticed except that Emma was watching her friend carefully. What was up with her?
"Such a shame," said a different girl—Sierra. "She should come. We'd keep her safe."
Several of the girls laughed. Emma joined in. Sophia didn't.
Before Emma could confront her best friend, though, the bell rang and they had to make for their next classes.
Sophia didn't show up at lunch. Emma didn't know where she was, and told as much to the others when she was asked.
Did she get called in for something? she wondered. There wasn't really any way to get word to me, I guess. Still, she was a little hurt. They were friends; they did everything together. Here at Winslow, they were queens together, two wolves ruling over a kingdom of sheep. Sophia's sudden distance was worrying her.
Still, it wasn't as though she wouldn't be able to talk to her tomorrow. Emma tried to put Sophia out of her mind for the moment, and engrossed herself in her food—a homemade chicken sandwich her mother had prepared for her. She distracted herself with the meaningless banter of the other girls, and thus whiled away the first half of her lunch period.
It was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. She turned, and there was Sophia.
"Done eating?" her friend asked. Her brown eyes were set in an odd mix of hard and soft, and Emma couldn't read much more than that.
Emma blinked at her. "Yeah. Where have you been?"
"Around. Come on, you and I should talk." She cast a cold look around at the rest of the group. "Alone."
What's going on? "Sure," Emma said with a shrug, standing up. "Where?"
"Just follow me." Sophia turned and stalked out.
Emma had to jog a little to keep up with the longer-legged girl. "Sophia what the hell is up with you?" she asked as they left the cafeteria. "You're acting weird. Is something wrong?"
"Yes."
"Well, what?"
"Later. Where people can't hear."
They went up two flights of stairs and reached the roof. It was walled in on all sides by brick up to about three feet and with chain link for four more, but even so it gave a good view of the city on all sides. The roof was an unsightly place other than that view, however; floored in stained and grimy concrete, with rusting vents dotted here and there all around with no clear rhyme or reason.
Sophia crossed over to the fence and looked out over the city, and beyond that, to the sea. The afternoon sun set her long dark hair shining like polished jet. Emma followed, watching the back of her head cautiously. "Sophia?" she asked. "What's up?"
"I don't know how to tell you," said Sophia quietly. "I don't know what I can tell you."
"You can tell me anything."
Sophia snorted but didn't reply. After a moment, she turned and their gazes met. Emma was struck dumb; Sophia's gaze had never before seemed so deep, so dark. She felt she could lose herself in those eyes—and not in a pleasant, romantic sense. These were black holes set in a face of granite, pits from which no light could escape except by their mistress' admission.
Sophia broke the eye contact to look Emma up and down, slowly and appraisingly. It made Emma self-conscious, the way those eyes lingered on her breasts, her stomach, her hips. Was Sophia checking her out?
"How blind I was," whispered Sophia, as if to herself. "How stupid. Fuck me."
"Sophia, what the fuck?"
The superhero's eyes returned to her face. There was silence for a moment.
"You're beautiful, you know that?" Sophia said, quite calmly, as if that wasn't something utterly out-of-character and bizarre for her to do.
Emma's head slowly tilted. "Um. Are you hitting on me? Because… you're super bad at it."
"No." Sophia shook her head. "No, I—" She stopped. Turned back to the skyline. "Taylor transferred to Arcadia over the break," she said.
"Wait, really?"
"Yes."
A smile spread across Emma's face. "Finally admitted defeat, huh? Nice."
Sophia didn't answer. After a moment, Emma's smile faded slightly.
"How did you find out?" she asked.
"Long story. Classified."
Emma frowned. "Classified? But—" She stopped. Her eyes widened. "Then—"
"Classified."
"Right, right."
Holy shit, Taylor's a cape. A Ward? Maybe. Holy shit. That's why Sophia's been weird today; because she has to protect Taylor's secret identity now! Oh, God, that must be hell. I bet Taylor's super annoying.
Emma watched her friend, considering. "You know, if she's still bothering you—I know where she lives. We could go to her house sometime, do something? Make her back down properly? Put her in her place?"
A faint breeze came from the east then, blowing Emma's hair back and chilling her face slightly. She shivered.
For a moment more, Sophia didn't answer. When she did, her voice was slightly thick. "Taylor's in her place," she said. "In exactly the right place."
"Well, a little more reinforcement couldn't hurt, right?"
Sophia turned. Her eyes were hooded. Emma had seen her friend in costume before, with her features hidden behind sheet metal, and right now the face staring into her own was more a mask than any other.
"You don't get it," she said with a sigh. "Fuck, Emma, you refuse to get it."
"Get what?"
"That I've been trying very hard not to hit you this whole time."
Emma blinked and took two steps back. "W-what did you say?" she asked, and hated herself for stuttering.
"You heard me." Sophia stepped forward—and kept coming. After a moment, Emma started to back away.
"Sophia, what is up with you?" she asked, her voice starting to become shrill. "What's going on? What can I—"
She turned to run back down the stairs, but Sophia caught her wrist and pulled her in close so that her back was against the runner's chest. She twisted her arm up behind her in a grip that was just tight enough to be uncomfortable without being painful. Her other hand went to Emma's shoulder, almost gently—and mere inches from her throat.
"We were friends," said Sophia quietly, "so I'll give you a friendly warning, for old times' sake. If anyone finds out about Taylor, or if I hear that you gave her any kind of trouble, even secondhand, from this moment on? You'll wish I'd never saved you in that alley two years ago."
Without waiting for a response, Sophia let her go. Jerkily, Emma turned her head to see what her—former—friend was doing, but Sophia was just walking away, looking out eastward again.
"Run along, Emma," she said, and her voice was sad and tired. "Rule your little kingdom."
Emma fled, clenching her eyes against the tears.
She didn't return to the lunchroom, nor go to the remainder of her classes. She spent the remainder of her day huddled in the girl's bathroom, curled up with her hands about her knees on the seat cover of one of the toilets, crying quietly at intervals and otherwise just sitting there, hands around her knees, shaking silently in one of the stalls. A few people came in, but they didn't notice her because her feet weren't low enough to be seen under the stall, and she'd picked the farthest one back so no one would try it first.
When the bell rang at the end of the day, she still didn't move. Her father came in eventually. He tried to speak to her but she found she could barely even understand what he was saying.
Taylor's voice, young and carefree, echoed in her ears. Fair is foul and foul is fair.
Then Annette's, dear, sweet Annette, who had been like a second mother, who had always had time enough, and smiles enough, for her daughter's best friend. The time is out of joint.
And then, at last, Sophia, who had saved her, who had taught her, and who had, at last, closed the circle of betrayal. On this violent, brutish little planet of ours, it's the survivors who wind up the strongest of all.
"I survived my trial," Emma mouthed alongside the voice in her head. "She broke."
For a moment, through the hazy mist of reality, through the weak sound of her father, mother, and sister talking in worried and even panicked voices, through the sight of her bedroom ceiling swimming as in a heatwave above her, she saw a premonition, a yawning tunnel before her and a yawning tunnel behind, a past stretching out from nothingness and leading through pain, depositing her now, and leaving her staring forward into a future that was as bleak and dark as anything she'd faced before, and which carried no light of day, nor even the merciful punctuation of an oncoming train to grant her reprieve.
"Out, out, brief candle," she whispered—half a horrified whisper, half a fervent prayer—and then her eyes were closing as she fell asleep.
Asleep, and into the waiting arms of her nightmares.
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Please note that the nearest the author has ever come to a psychotic break is a nervous breakdown. Inaccuracies are thus to be expected, and I will be grateful for illumination.