Entanglement

Part Three: My, That Was a Long Nap

[A/N 1: Apologies for the almost six-year hiatus. This will now be updated regularly.]
[A/N 2: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 3: I have tightened up the terminology from the original posting.]

Earth Bet
Taylor (Terra)

I wasn't sure how long I slept for, but when I woke up, my world came to a screeching halt.

What the hell? Why am I back in the hospital room?

Had the whole 'waking up on the sofa' thing been an unreasonably realistic daydream? Why did this keep happening to me? I'd been home, damn it. Safe in my own bedroom, away from hospitals and lockers and Principal Barnes totally ignoring everything Emma did to me.

I sat up in bed as best I could, looking around to see if I could figure out what was going on. Was I suffering a series of mental breakdowns? Because that would not be great.

Just as the weird lights and sounds at the back of my head started up again, I noticed something crinkling inside the hospital pyjamas I was wearing. Right now, I decided, I would take any distraction, so I fumbled for whatever it was. It turned out to be a page from a notepad, hastily folded.

Leaning back on the pillow, I clicked on the bedside light, fumbled my glasses onto my face, and examined my find. There was writing on it; or rather, scribbling. But I could read it with ease, because I wrote in exactly the same way when I was in a hurry. My English teacher had once described it as "what one might achieve if a particularly clumsy spider, having fallen in the inkwell, is now hurrying off in search of a towel".

Well, now I could tell Ms. Howell that she could shove her critique where the sun didn't shine, because there were more of us who wrote like this. The next question was, who had written it and why had they shoved it into my pyjama top?

U R not crazy, the note said.

I paused, considering that. The hallucinations in the back of my head gave me serious cause to dispute that particular claim. Still, there was more to it.

2 worlds. 2 us. Swapping.

Wait.

What the fuck?

I re-read the line, just to make sure I hadn't misinterpreted a scribble. It still said what I thought it had.

Two worlds. Two versions of me. We're ... swapping?

Well, as far out into the Twilight Zone as that sounded, it would serve to explain a whole shitload of things. How I seemed to keep jumping from place to place, for one thing. And there was apparently another version of me somewhere out there, the original owner of this body? She was the one who'd been talking to Dad? She got to go home?

Okay, now I was willing to concede the 'not crazy' aspect.

Now for the next and last line. U C (with a 'greater than' sign) bug eyes. Superpow

It trailed off with a fading line I was almost certain meant that other-me had been falling asleep while trying to write it. This part was also harder to decipher.

I quickly figured out that the first bit meant 'you see'. But had she meant 'greater-than bug eyes' (whatever that meant) or ... was it an arrow?

I saw bug eyes?

My eyes were better than bug eyes?

I looked at the last bit. My other self had been halfway through a word when she realised she was about to pass out, so she hadn't finished it. Superpow … what?

That was when the last piece of the puzzle dropped into place with an almighty clang.

I had a superpower, like in the comic books. To look through the eyes of bugs.

Son of a bitch.

So that's what that's all about.

The little dots of light were still in the back of my head, but now I knew what they were (or at least, I was fairly sure of it) they were a lot less scary. I wasn't going nuts, and I wasn't about to get a butcher knife and go hacking up strangers because of the voices in my head. Because the voices in my head were a bunch of bugs.

Closing my eyes, I focused on one particular dot; almost immediately, it came forward until I could make out details. Fuzzy, but they were there. Now that I was paying actual attention (instead of wishing they weren't there, I now got other details. Such as vaguely fuzzy sound—bug hearing was crappy—and also a distinct location. Somewhat below me, and a few dozen yards away.

Hmm. Bugs can fly, yeah?

Almost as if responding to my thought, the bug—a moth, I realised—flapped its wings. The more attention I paid to the 'bug channel', the more information I got. When I pulled back for a moment and swept my mental gaze over the rest of the light-spots, I found I could understand where and what they were with much more clarity.

Returning my attention to Moth Number One—I felt silly naming it, but I had to define it somehow—I told it to fly to where I was. There was a barrier above it, but it was able to fly down and around it, then I could feel it tracking upward toward me.

This was the moment of truth, the point that would decide whether I was having an extended hallucination, or—

—there was a tiny thump on the window as Moth Number One landed on it from the outside. It could see the light of the reading lamp from inside the glass, through the curtains. But more importantly, I'd heard it land!

My heart was beating out of my chest with excitement as I slid out of bed. Rearranging the cords on the IV tree, I made sure I wouldn't yank anything out. Then I carefully made my way over to the window and pulled the curtain aside.

There sat a large moth, on the window.

In its senses, I saw the curtain whooshing aside, and a large shadowed figure inside the glass. It wasn't frightened; bugs didn't do 'fear'. They had pre-programmed reflexes for if they detected a threat, but even that wouldn't trigger with me right now; if I told Moth Number One to stay there and let me squish him, he'd stay there. It wasn't even a question.

"Wowww …" I murmured, as quietly as I could. In response to my unspoken command, Moth Number One turned in a circle, first to the left and then to the right. He fluttered his wings and then held them open, because I wanted him to.

Sliding open the window, I took him onto my finger. It was deeply weird, getting the feedback from both directions at once. I stared into my human eyes with my moth eyes and vice versa, like the craziest funhouse mirror ever. Finally, I let him go, telling him to fly away and do whatever it was that moths did at night.

He fluttered away; in seconds, I lost sight of him, though I knew exactly where he was. But a few seconds later, I wasn't even paying attention to that. Moth Number One was no longer a priority.

Because I'd just seen what was out in the bay.

Leaning on the IV tree a little more heavily, I gawked unashamedly, because the thing out there was like something out of a science-fiction movie. It might have been a repurposed oil rig or something similar; I'd never been near one in real life, but I'd seen pictures. That wasn't the crazy bit. The crazy bit was the unmistakeable rainbow-pearlescent force field surrounding it like an upturned fishbowl.

Superpowers. Right. Okay, then.

All of a sudden, being able to control bugs and see through their senses was a whole lot less unbelievable. Also, considerably less world-shaking. I stared at it until the chilly air coming in through the open window gap made me realise I was wearing pyjamas and not a winter-weight jacket. Then I closed the window and stared some more.

Either I was having the mother of all hallucinatory trips from whatever they were giving me in the IV lines, or there was a lot about this world I'd found myself in that I just plain didn't know about. I wanted it to be a weird reaction, because that would mean I wasn't in a world where random teenagers could wake up in a hospital bed with the ability to control bugs. Unfortunately, it didn't seem as though I was going to get what I wanted.

My next puzzle was simple: where had other-me gotten the pad and pencil from? They hadn't been on the bed or nightstand when I woke up. Best guess: she'd dropped them. Shuffling around the bed, I looked down at the floor and saw the pad lying where it had fallen, but I couldn't see the pencil anywhere.

Ugh. I bet it's rolled under the bed.

While I was technically capable of crawling under there after it, the multitude of lines attached to me said nope. Also, I was still feeling a little fragile for acrobatic endeavours. Bending down to pick up the pad was about the limit of what I felt capable of, right now.

Damn it, I need that pencil.

And then I smiled. The solution was staring me in the face … or rather, the back of my mind. I flicked through the dozens and dozens … hundreds and hundreds … holy shit, how many bug signals have I been repressing? Quick answer: lots. Longer answer: a number with lots of zeroes after it. And all those were within just a few blocks.

How many bugs in Brockton Bay? I have no idea, and I'm not sure I want to know.

Choosing to ignore all but the ones closest, I reached out to Moth Number One again, who was flying around doing moth-y things. He turned around and headed back toward my window. From what I realised must be a bus shelter, I called in another moth of similar size—he could be Moth Number Two: Electric Boogaloo. I didn't want them bashing into the window, so I shuffled back over there and opened it up again.

Moth Number One fluttered in through the window, with Boogaloo right on his tail. They landed on the floor next to the bed and scuttled underneath, searching the darkened area for the pencil. I had a really good idea of how crappy their eyesight was, but their antennae were amazing.

It took them less than a minute to find it, then they cooperated to roll it out right next to my feet. Telling them to work in unison was easy. Crouching down, I grabbed the pencil and took the two moths in hand at the same time. They'd done me a solid, so I gave them a free lift back to the window and let them take off before I closed it again.

Well, that was different.

Climbing back into bed, I settled the covers over myself, belatedly realising that even with the window closed, the room wasn't exactly warm. The toasty warmth soaked into me as I took up the pad and pencil. Other-me had given me the clues I needed to crack the puzzle and figure out what was going on.

Without the note she'd left me, I'd still be thinking I was cray-cray. Now I knew it wasn't me. It was the world that had gone bonkers.

Nibbling the back end of the pencil thoughtfully, I mentally composed the note I was going to leave for other-me. If this swapping was going to be a regular occurrence, we needed to establish a line of communication.

Earth Terra
Taylor (Bet)

When I woke up face-down on the bed, I knew instinctively that we'd swapped again. Fact one: this was no hospital bed. Fact two: I was still wearing the sneakers this world's Dad had brought in for me. Fact three: there was a certain lack of bugs in the back of my head.

Rolling over, I sat up and looked around. It was dark out, so I switched on the bedside light. Immediately, I was jealous of this world's Taylor. She might not have a Miss Militia lunchbox—sadly not collectible, and somewhat battered—but her computer was a sleek, shiny brand of laptop I didn't even recognise, instead of my clunky old machine with a dial-up modem and a CRT screen. This thing looked like it could be used to hack into the Pentagon.

The entire room looked more prosperous than mine, but in a weird way. The wallpaper looked newer, the bed larger and more solid, and the wardrobe was substantial enough to host hidden pathways to a dozen fantasy worlds, all at once. (Did this version of me read C S Lewis? I hoped so).

My own world was technically more 'fantastic' than this one, but ordinary old humans had managed to go places and do things, here, that capes hadn't managed yet back on Bet. They were gearing up to launch a fourth unmanned rover to Mars toward the end of the year, and we hadn't even sent one. Capes and Endbringer attacks tended to draw the attention.

I shook my head. A world without Endbringers. It was going to take some getting used to.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. "Taylor, dinner's ready!" It was Dad's voice.

Forcibly, I reminded myself that this wasn't my Dad. He looked the same and talked the same, but he was the other Taylor's Dad. Not mine. I was just … borrowing him for a while.

"Coming!" I called in reply. Getting up off the bed, I kicked off the sneakers and peeled my socks off. The carpet felt nice on my feet; a lot nicer than the linoleum in my own room.

Dad gave me a concerned look when I came out of the room. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly. "I can bring something up for you, if you want."

"No, I'm good." I gave him my best approximation of a carefree grin. "Just let me wash my face and hands, and I'll be down."

"Good, good." He gave me a quick side-hug. Not gonna lie; it was nice. "And then, once you're ready, I am going to want to know all the details about what Emma's been doing." His jaw, normally unassuming, was set in rigid lines. "I don't care if Zoe is the principal of that place, she and Alan need to know what's been going on."

Aunt Zoe's the principal of Winslow here? Well, okay then.

"Uh, sure," I mumbled. "I'll, uh, do that." Now, more than ever, I hoped the other Taylor had been keeping a journal, like I had. Otherwise, I wouldn't have a leg to stand on. I couldn't give Dad or Agent Wallis details that I didn't know about.

Fortunately, the bathroom was in the same place I remembered it being. I made use of the facilities and attended to my ablutions, admiring the non-grimy mirror and the sparkling porcelain. Things weren't exactly grungy back home, but I remembered them being slightly more run-down than this.

When I made my way downstairs and got to the kitchen, there was one more surprise lying in wait for me. Not a huge surprise, given that I'd been clued in on the existence of Theo's mom; what I didn't expect was the baby in a crib alongside the mousy-haired woman who was sitting next to Dad. I blinked behind my glasses and tried not to stare too much. With double the number of people normally in it (the baby didn't really count) the kitchen felt crowded.

The thought flashed through my head that maybe I should've taken up Dad's offer for a meal in my bedroom. Unfortunately, it was too late to get back to that, short of a dramatic faked fainting scene. "Uh, sorry I kept you guys waiting," I said awkwardly.

"That's all right, Taylor hon," said the woman warmly. "You've been through a terrible ordeal. I'd be the last person in the world to tell you that it's all in your head."

That was the funny thing; it was all in my head. But somehow, I suspected the joke would fall very flat indeed. So instead, I nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate you all for being patient with me."

This had the potential to be very awkward indeed, seeing how I knew Theo's name but not his mom's or his little … brother? Sister? The blanket was pink and frilly, but at that age it wasn't a solid indicator of whether the rug-rat was a boy or a girl. It seemed that retreating into 'uncommunicative teenager' mode was my best option there.

Dad nodded approvingly at my words, and the woman positively beamed at me. Even Theo smiled briefly before attending to his meal again.

When I got my own—at least that hadn't changed—I was impressed all over again. We had what looked like salmon, with a sauce that made my mouth water, and a variety of vegetables. I suppressed the automatic comment of wow, we're eating fancy tonight when nobody else seemed to be extra-impressed with the menu.

That wasn't going to stop me, though. I made sure to savour every single bite. I might only be visiting this world—what was I going to call it, anyway?—but I was sure as hell going to enjoy the fringe benefits.

"So, Kayden," began Dad, halfway through the meal. "How was work today?"

Thank fuck, now I've got a name for her at least, I thought. I still didn't know the baby's name, but it was a start.

"Actually, it went really well," she said. "I closed with one client and we're moving ahead as of next week. And another one called up, so business is looking good."

Which gave me zero clues as to what she did, but that was okay. I didn't have to actually know that right this second. And I knew how I could find out.

"That's amazing," Dad said, and shared a look of happiness with her. "I'm glad it's going well for you. Compared to how it could've gone, I mean."

"No, no, you're right," she agreed. "Oh, and that reminds me. I got a call today from Alan Barnes. The last of the paperwork for the divorce should be finalised by the end of the week. Theo and I can finally walk away from the Anders name forever."

I blinked. I knew that name. Not in the sense of 'Kayden Anders', but … it wasn't exactly a common name, and there was exactly one prominent figure in my Brockton Bay who had it.

It doesn't have to be Max Anders. It could be someone else altogether. Something else I would have to gather context on my own about.

We sat, and ate, and I listened to their chatter, and I mentally composed a whole swathe of questions to ask the other Taylor. Because if I was going to be spending time in this world, I wanted to be able to know what I was talking about.

Earth Terra
Taylor (Terra)
The next morning

I awoke with a gasp, looking around for the IV tree and blank hospital walls.

They weren't there. I was in my bedroom, wearing my pyjamas, lying in my bed. There were no bugs in the back of my head trying to get my attention. Silence … blessed silence.

Sitting up in bed, I looked around for anything that might have changed. Nothing had … except for the laptop Dad had gotten me for Christmas. (I still loved that thing). I always shut the cover down for the night, and someone (other-me, duh) had left it open.

Swivelling my butt out of bed, I grabbed up my glasses and plonked myself down in front of the computer. Clicking the mouse woke it up and I saw, right in the middle of the desktop, a text file marked I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.

Considering the world I'd just come from, I wasn't surprised. I double-clicked the file and it opened up.

She wasn't kidding. She had a lot of questions. Conscious that I was on a time limit here (we only seemed to spend a short interval in our own worlds as opposed to each other's), I started typing.

Earth Bet
Taylor (Bet)

I knew even before I opened my eyes that I was back in Bet. The bug senses in the back of my head gave me the biggest clue. Plus, the hospital room didn't smell anywhere near as nice as other-Taylor's room. She had an amazing house, and once I got past the stranger factor, Theo and Kayden were pleasant company.

I hoped she'd find the questions I'd left on her laptop. (I'd figured out the password after three tries). Which reminded me; I reached into my pyjama top and found the note she'd left me.

What is that thing in the bay?
Did you know we can control bugs?
Are superheroes and supervillains a thing here?
Should I let people know I can control bugs?
Is swapping us between worlds your power?

(If it is, please stop).

How did you get us out of the hospital?
Do you have a journal too?
Is there anything I need to know about before I go home?

Taking a deep breath, I began to scribble answers.

This was going to take some figuring out.

It was a good thing there were two of us working on it.

End of Part Three