Many thanks to BeaconHill and GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

Interlude 11b: Shaper

The Dallon house was empty when Shaper arrived. That was to be expected. When the Endbringer siren sounded, everyone would have either gone to a shelter or gone to the PRT to help. The timing was ideal. With Carol gone, Shaper could search in peace, at least until Amy caught up.

The house was not as Shaper remembered it. The last time Amy had been here, Victoria had still been alive. Shaper had not seen the house since then. It had been a vibrant house, colorful, with bright curtains over the windows and photographs of waterfalls and misty forests on the walls. These decorations remained, but they hung limp, and a layer of dust covered them.

Carol Dallon had once been careful to maintain a standard of polish to every aspect of her life. Shaper only had to see the state of her living room to know that was no longer the case.

Shaper checked Amy's old room first. It looked almost untouched. The furniture was where it had been left, the bed was made, the curtains were open to let in the early afternoon sunlight. But things were slightly awry. Unlike the hallway outside, every surface in this room gleamed spotlessly. The lamp was angled wrong, so that the beam of light pointed down to the floor rather than onto the desk. The alarm clock was facing away from the bed, so that the time could not be seen immediately on waking.

The telling thing was the photograph on the dresser. Amy and Victoria, arm in arm. Victoria's bright smile practically dazzled the photographer, eclipsing Amy's faint, sheepish grin and slightly flushed face completely. The picture had once sat in a cheap, plastic frame. It was now framed in wood.

Shaper was not Annatar. Shaper could not look at a thing and dissect its history, its identity, its wants and desires, as easily as breathing. But it was all too easy to imagine Amy's adoptive mother returning to this room, the day after Leviathan, and letting loose her maddened, frenzied grief. It was all too easy to imagine her staring at that picture in a broken frame and realizing what she had done. Had she wept, Shaper wondered, when she finally understood that she had lost both of her daughters that day? Had she fallen to her knees? Or had she hidden from that knowledge, tried to go about her day, tried to bottle it in and act as though it didn't hurt?

A smile came to Shaper's lips, pricking them faintly upwards. You really are your mother's daughter, Amy.

A brief look in the dresser, the desk, and the end table turned up nothing. Shaper had not expected it to—it was sentiment more than anything that had led Shaper to search here first.

It was sentiment, too, that opened the door to Victoria's room next. This bed, too, was meade. The curtains, however, were drawn, and the room lingered in gloom. The brightly-colored wallpaper and the frenetic logos and posters which spread across the walls seemed eerie in the dark. The faces on the photographs of musicians and movie stars were pale and grey, and the eyes were hooded and dark, so that they looked like skulls arrayed in rows on the shelves of a crypt.

The floor near the door was clean. The rest of the room was thick with dust. Carol had not walked into that room in weeks, but she had stood where Shaper stood now, staring in at the tomb of her favorite daughter's memory. Just as hope had kept her returning to Amy's room, so despair had kept her out of this one, a barrier across this threshold.

Shaper crossed the doorway. The desk remained crammed with Victoria's disorganized notes on calculus and chemistry, which were packed alongside notes passed to Dean during those classes. They had been left here, untouched since her death. Shaper lingered over them for a time, fingers brushing against the cursive, against the way Vicky had dotted her i's with little hearts when writing private notes.

There was nothing here. Nothing to serve Shaper's goal, at any rate. Remaining in this room served no further purpose, but remain Shaper did, for a little longer, drinking in the sensations of a beating heart, of breathing lungs, of eyes pricking with unshed tears.

Shaper was naked. This had not seemed important until now, but standing here in what was as much a memorial as a bedroom, Shaper was suddenly deeply conscious of it. A small detour was made back to Amy's room to correct this.

The closet was still stocked with clothing. Amy had never returned here to pick it up, preferring instead to buy an entirely new wardrobe while she settled into her quarters at PRT headquarters. It should not have been surprising when the old white-and-red robes were there, hanging alongside unflattering jeans and baggy t-shirts, but it was, and Shaper stared for a moment. In that moment, there was no other possible outfit.

Amy's underwear fit Amy's body, and Amy's robes draped over them as comfortably as they always had. It was strange to be back in the uniform that had bored Shaper to death before boredom and death even had meaning. Amy had not been happy in these robes. Nor had Shaper.

But Victoria had still been alive, when last they were worn.

As Shaper stared into the mirror on Amy's old wall, the high, clarion call of the all-clear sounded outside. Noelle had been dealt with. Time was running short, and Shaper had yet to find what was needed.

The last room to check was the room Shaper had always known would end the search. The master bedroom was clean and orderly. The bed was made. Though the surfaces had not been dusted in the past few days, they had not been allowed to accumulate dust as some other parts of the house had.

There was an end table on either side of the bed. On one remained a digital alarm clock, a lamp, a charger for a cell phone, and the only visible photograph in the room—Carol and Mark's wedding, their arms around one another, their smiles bright and free. On the other table sat only a vase of wilted flowers.

There were two closets in the room, one open, one closed. The open closet boasted a collection of suits, some finely tailored, in black, grey, brown, and blue. There were dresses, too, and clean blouses, cardigans, and all the other clothes a woman of Carol Dallon's wealth and demeanor might want. When Shaper opened the other closet, it contained only three empty hangers and a cobweb in one corner, whose surly brown inhabitant watched warily until the door slid shut again.

The blinds were half-raised, allowing a stream of light to cut across the king-size bed. The light fell across the mattress's middle, neatly cutting between where Carol slept every night and where Mark no longer did.

Shaper found the letter inside Carol's end table. It lay in the opened envelope, emblazoned with the logo of the Guild. By the stamp date, it had been sent shortly after the battle with Leviathan. It was pure chance that it contained just what Shaper needed.

The Guild must not have known, then, that Amy was not staying with her foster family. It had not exactly been publicized until the announcement of her joining the Wards had blown that door open. She had never patrolled with the rest of New Wave, and she had continued to visit the hospital almost as often as before, so little had changed in the eyes of the public. Dragon might have known better, but Dragon had been bound by law then, and might have been unable to direct this letter to the correct recipients.

There was a distorted spot on the letter. It took Shaper a moment to realize that it was a tearstain. That knowledge was filed away as the letter was read.

Marquis was concerned about Amy, then. Shaper couldn't blame him; it wasn't as though he knew that his power, the Fragment which gave him his abilities, was behind his daughter's eyes as well. But it did amuse Shaper, in some dark way, that the host of the weakened, limited powers would be so concerned over one so much stronger than he.

The front door opened. Shaper's ears pricked, and caught the sound of low-heeled boots clicking on the hardwood. Not Amy, then—she walked on much higher, sharper heels these days. Carol had returned.

Good.

Shaper crept out of the bedroom, bare feet making scarcely a sound on the tile floor of the hallway. Carol was shuffling in the kitchen. Shaper heard the refrigerator open, then close. It was late for lunch, but noon had been a busy hour for the heroes of Brockton Bay.

Shaper stepped into the kitchen. Carol was facing away, hunched over the stove. A lighter was in one of her hands as she ignited a burner. Her costume was still on, but the zipper was lowered slightly behind her neck, still high enough to be decent, but low enough to be a little more comfortable.

Shaper watched Amy's mother for a moment. There had been so many words, only moments ago. They all seemed so meaningless now.

Carol turned. Her face whitened, her mouth dropped open. "...Amy?"

"No, but Amy will arrive soon. I am Shaper, Amy's power."

"Her… power?" Carol swallowed. "I don't understand."

"You need not understand." Shaper looked the woman up and down. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair, though combed, was frayed at the tips. Wrinkles Shaper couldn't remember seeing before had bundled around the corners of her eyes. "Where has Mark been living?"

Carol winced. It was a convulsive expression, impulsive and uncontrolled. "He's been staying in an apartment on the north side of town," she said quietly. "He still patrols with New Wave, but… never with me."

"Does he blame you?"

"Yes. And he's right." Brandish looked at Shaper desperately. "I'm sorry! I never—"

"I am not Amy." Shaper's voice was sharp. "Save your apologies for the one you wronged."

"I tried to apologize!" exclaimed Carol. She leaned on the counter with one hand, and wiped at her shining eyes with the other. "I don't know what to do."

Shaper remembered the clean bedroom, still waiting for a daughter to return. The hollow room, shrouded in despair. The half-room, lived-in by a wife without a husband, a mother without a daughter.

The front door opened again, but quietly. Carol did not hear it. Shaper did.

"Amy thinks she is happy," said Shaper, loud enough to be heard down the hall. "She thinks that being free to make her own decisions, to strike those who strike at her, to unleash powers which outstrip most others… she thinks that's happiness. And she is wrong." Shaper chuckled slightly. "I should know. I have lived in her head for a long time."

Carol looked up. "Then… can I help her?" she asked weakly. "What can I do? I don't—I don't deserve her forgiveness. And she's made it clear she won't forgive me. That's… it's out of my hands. But—I don't want her hurt. Can I help? Is there anything I can do for her?"

"I think it would be best if you started by listening," said Shaper, reaching into the pocket of Panacea's old robes and holding out the letter. "And by being honest."

Carol took the letter in shaking hands, her eyes never leaving Shaper's face. "You knew," she mumbled. "How did you…?"

"Powers are often passed from parent to child," said Shaper with a smile, shoulders flexing until spikes of bone emerged, poking through the heavy robes. "Father to daughter."

Carol swallowed, her eyes darting to the bone spikes before returning to Shaper's face. "She won't want to see me," she said. "I don't want to bother her. I don't want to… to push myself on her, when I'm not wanted."

"Perhaps she will," said Shaper, knowing Amy was listening, just around the corner. "Perhaps, once she sees what this has done to you, she will. Or perhaps not." Shaper shrugged. "At the very least, I hope it will be good for her to get some closure. I do not know. I am not human."

Shaper turned away from Carol and strode out of the kitchen. Amy was waiting just a few paces down the hall. "I leave that up to you," Shaper told her.

"Why did you come here?" Amy asked.

Shaper ignored Carol's sharp intake of breath. "Why did you follow me?"

"Because I want to understand you," said Amy. "What do you want? How did you take control of my clone? If you're… if you're sapient, like you said, why are you…" Her voice trailed off.

"Why am I helping you?" Shaper smiled at her. "You are my host. I care, Amy."

"You're not even human."

"Nor is Annatar. Or Dragon, for that matter. It doesn't seem to stop them, somehow." Shaper's smile changed. Was this what was meant, when humans talked about "soft" expressions? Was this what that felt like? Amy's face was unaccustomed to them. "I've been with you since the beginning. Before I had a heart, yours beat for me. Everything I know about being human, I learned from you. I would not be what I am now without you. Is it any wonder I care?"

Amy swallowed. "You said I wasn't happy."

"You know what happiness looks like," said Shaper. "A stability in the brain, with a net positivity in the reward feedback loops. Take it from someone who can see yours—you are not."

"Nor is almost anyone else," Amy muttered.

"True," Shaper allowed. "But they are not my host. You deserve better."

"Why? Just because I happened to trigger with you, instead of another power?"

"I was always your power," Shaper told her. "From the moment your father first held you, and I saw you through his eyes, I was your power."

Amy stared. "My… father?"

Shaper's head jerked towards the kitchen. "Ask her. If she doesn't answer, come find me. I will return to HQ."

"Don't keep secrets from me," Amy growled, stepping forward.

"I'm not," said Shaper. "But I want you to ask her first. I think it will be better for you if she tells you."

Amy's scowl loosened slightly. "Why do you care about her?" she asked.

"Why do you?" Shaper shrugged. "I inherited more than your body. I am not you, but… I have lived behind your eyes for a long time. Some things carry over."

And some things do not. That was the key, wasn't it? Shaper wasn't sure when consciousness had come, when Nenya's glimmer had awakened something capable of thinking about itself. But whatever mind had come to live in this body, it was not Amy's. The body did not match the spirit which animated it. The body was Amy's, hers. But the spirit was Shaper's—unique, new, theirs.

I am not you. It remained now to Shaper to figure out what they were, instead.

Amy swallowed. "You think it's worth trying?"

Shaper shrugged again. "I am not human," they said again. "But if I were… yes, I would think so."

They passed their host in the hall and walked towards the doorway. "I'll be waiting at HQ," they said. "We'll talk more soon, Amy."

End Arc 11: Crystalline