A/N: Chap 30 review responses are in my forums as normal.
Warning: Subverted Expectations ahead. Except EVA-Saiyajin's expectations, which were remarkably prescient.
Chapter Thirty-One: A Last Thread
Taylor sat in a small, white-walled cube without windows. A thick, heavy collar hung like burning ice around her neck, with smaller but similar collars on both her wrists and her ankles.
The bright orange jump suit wasn't very comfortable, but it was the prison-issued underwear that really bothered her.
No, she corrected herself. If she thought about it, what really bothered her was the fact that she almost died fighting Leviathan and saving thousands of people in a hospital, only to be kidnapped by a psychopathic pervert with a God complex. She finally escapes and saves the day and the girls, and her reward?
An eight-foot square box of reinforced titanium walls and a little toilet/fountain in the corner.
Facing Eidolon and who knew how many police and PRT agents, with an unconscious girl in her arms, Taylor didn't like her chances. The Force's screaming warning in her head liked her chances even less. So when Eidolon said simply, "Surrender", she did.
PRT agents rushed toward her, foam sprayers at the ready.
"This is the mayor's niece!" Taylor shouted as they approached. "She's been abused by Coil for weeks now. She needs medical attention."
"Put her down on the pavement, I'll see to it," the hero said. He had a deep, commanding voice.
Taylor levitated Dinah toward Eidolon's feet, then slowly raised her hands. Beside her, Lisa muttered, "I hate this part."
Yuki made an odd whimpering sound, and then all was lost in white foam.
The spray that washed the foam off felt like oil, and shot out from a pair of nozzles in the very same room she now sat in. After the foam removing spray, a harsh female voice ordered her to strip, after which she was sprayed like a carwash with alternating showers of soap and water from the walls.
The water ran between grates that appeared to be built into the floor through tiny drain holes. Something about the surface didn't allow the water to pool at all—she couldn't see any droplets clinging to the walls or the shelf that served as her chair and bed. Hot air blew at her from the vents, drying her quickly but making a nightmare of her hair.
By the time it was done, she looked as if she'd been playing tongue hockey with an electrical outlet. A slot in the featureless white wall appeared and a tray slid in, revealing the underwear, jumpsuit, and collars.
"Put 'em on. If you refuse, we'll foam you and keep you in the foam."
Taylor dressed slowly, fighting back a heavy feeling of emptiness. She slipped on the heavy collar at the speaker's direction, then the bracelets and anklets.
"Trust me, little girl," the harsh voice said. "You do not want those devices going off. Do everything I say, or you'll regret it."
Taylor couldn't even sense where the speaker was coming from, much less formulate any type of escape. So, numb and lost, she sat on the hard surface of the ledge and wished, more than anything in the world, that her mom or dad would come walking through that door.
"Remain seated at all times," the voice ordered.
Taylor didn't understand why the order came, until abruptly the room began to expand. She gripped the edge of the seat because she could feel her side of the cell sliding away from the door. As it did so, she saw a little square of slightly different metal exposed in the floor. As soon as it was clear, it rose up on its own, unfolding into a table roughly the size of a card table.
The wall opposite developed a seam that didn't exist a second ago, and then opened to reveal blinding white light and a rush of freezing cold air that forced her to both close her eyes and turn her head. By the time it was over, she was no longer alone in the room.
In the grand scheme of things, being captured by Eidolon himself made Taylor consider that she might be visited by Alexandria, or the Chief Director of the PRT, or someone nationally known and really important.
Instead, an elderly gentleman stood across the table with a thick portfolio in one hand and a folding metal chair in the other.
And he was a gentleman. He wore a classic four-piece suit and tie with a burgundy vest underneath. He had what looked like a pocket watch in his right breast pocket, and a burgundy kerchief in his left. The only jewelry he sported was a single plain wedding band.
The man himself appeared tall and dignified, with a clean-shaven face that was still very handsome despite his age. He still had a full head of silver-white hair that made the sky-blue of his eyes stand out even more. He calmly placed the portfolio on the table, unfolded the chair with some small effort, and then sat down.
"Good morning, Miss Hebert."
He had a deep, mellifluous voice that spoke of training and projection. He spoke as if he'd addressed whole auditoriums in the past.
"Is it morning, still?"
"For an hour or so, yes. You've had a busy morning. Are you injured? Do you require anything?"
"No."
For the longest time he simply sat and regarded her in silence. Finally, though, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed a white tissue, which he handed over to her.
At first she didn't understand why, until she realized there were tears on her cheeks.
"I suppose introductions are in order. I, of course, know who you are. The PRT has been investigating your circumstances in detail almost since your capture, though I understand a second, even more thorough investigation was initiated by Alexandria after your appearance in Seattle. I am your attorney, Ronald Jansen."
The name rang a bell, but all she could think of for some reason was the Saint Crispin's day speech from Henry V. Almost unthinkingly, she spoke the line that stayed with her most clearly. "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…"
The old man's face turned from sympathy to a shining moment of genuine affection. "For he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother. You know the Bard?"
"My mother was a professor of literature," Taylor admitted. "You're…the Ron Jansen? The actor. Mother always said yours was the best performance of Henry the V put to film."
The old man laughed gaily. "Oh, I'm quite fond of Branagh's take, truly."
She shrugged. "Directing wise? Maybe. But the performance? Yours was better. But…what are you…?"
"Well, let's say my acting days are far behind me. I now have the privilege of being the Advocate General of the Youth Guard."
That's when Taylor remembered the rest of this man's story. He was most famous for what ended his acting career—his daughter's brief and tragic career as a Ward led him to create and run the Youth Guard.
"I thought you only worked for Wards."
"I work with young people who want to do good with their power, regardless of their circumstances," Jansen assured her calmly. "And you, Taylor Hebert, despite all the hardship and tragedy in your life, chose to use your power to heal and protect. By any reasonable definition, that makes you a hero."
He smiled at her; a gentle, grandfatherly smile. "More immediately, the fact that you enrolled in your local Youth Guard office for continuing education makes you eligible for free representation. That was probably the best decision you could have made."
"Tell that to the heroes in charge."
"My dear, who do you think called me in?" He opened his portfolio and removed two thick, bulging manila folders. "Before we begin, I think it beneficial for you to know all the facts. First, your friend…Yurei, was her cape name? She has been returned to Seattle. The PRT did not find any proof she'd actually committed any crimes.
"While she is a minor, her home circumstances are such that the Youth Guard determined returning her to her home would not be beneficial, and she was quite adamant about not joining the Wards. Like yourself, the fact that you registered her with the local Youth Guard for continuing education worked a great deal in her favor. As far as I know, she is on her back in your home."
Taylor couldn't help but sigh in relief. Yuki, at least, was safe.
"And Dinah?"
"Miss Alcott is safely at home with her parents. And the second of Coil's victims you saved, the young cape named Tattletale, is cooperating with the PRT investigation into the extent of Coil's operation. Those of Coil's men who died in your escape are being treated as justifiable homicides by the district attorney's office."
"Lisa's the one who called the PRT to arrest me, isn't she?"
"She is. And I'm glad she did, because she knew certain important pieces of information that you likely did not at the time."
"Such as?"
"The first, and most important? You are not going to the Birdcage. No matter what, short of you going on a murderous rampage, the Birdcage has been removed from the table."
For a long moment she found it difficult to believe. She remembered Agnes Court saying something similar, but it just seemed impossible to believe. But she also remembered the paper headline. "By whom?"
"Among the many? The entire Triumvirate and the Chief Director of the PRT, not to mention the entire staff of the Brockton Bay Memorial Hospital, New Wave, the mayor's office, and even the mother of one of your victims, a Zoe Barnes. I understand a Ward in Seattle who goes by the cape name of Ashwinder threatened to burn down the Birdcage if they tried to put you there."
Taylor found herself glad of the tissue she clutched in her hand. Aunt Zoe testified for her?
"I wish I could tell you that everything will be fine, but we do have some decisions to make," Jansen continued. "I am your attorney. I am working for you, not the PRT or Youth Guard. It is my mission to achieve the best outcome for you that I can, but I will only do so if you agree. Do you understand?"
Taylor nodded.
He opened one of the folders. "After reviewing all of the facts and circumstances in your case, the only charges that federal prosecutors have any chance of winning are for the death of Miss Militia and the assault and battery charges and resisting arrest charges for your fights with Mouse Protector and Narwhal. Of those, Mouse Protector's actions were extreme enough they would be a fool to pursue that particular line."
He opened up a second folder. "Against those charges, we have a list of heroic actions. Your fight against the Bratva that resulted in saving almost a hundred US residents from a short, vicious lifetime of sexual slavery in the Chinese Union Imperial. Your participation in the fight against Overmind, and your later testimony on Overmind's behalf. Your clinic. And, of course, your efforts during the Leviathan fight. The ledger is rather heavy toward heroism."
He clasped his hands and studied her intently. "If you wish, we can fight the charges in court. Your initial sentence has been set aside since it was made in absentia. This is standard practice when dealing with capes that cannot be contained for trial. While we have a significant list of character references, no one can deny that you killed Miss Militia. Unfortunately, Coil released that footage very early in your cape life and it is now public knowledge.
"If we go to trial, you will be tried as an adult, and will face up to 30 years imprisonment. The prosecutor will play on the public fear of capes, just as they are doing in Boston with young Canary. There is a chance we will lose."
"What other options do we have?"
"The Prosecutor's office has made an offer you should consider carefully. In return for a guilty plea to a second degree of manslaughter, they are offering six months in a Youth Detention Center and two years' probation if, and only if, you agree to join the Wards."
Taylor sat, head bowed, as around her everything seemed to contract into one long, flat, empty plain. That's what it all came down to, she realized. Control. The PRT, the Protectorate, everyone—they wanted to control her. And if she were a Ward, especially a probationary one, they could tell her what to do, what to say, how to act.
It would just be a different type of prison.
"I think I'd rather face prison," she finally said. She could hear the bitterness in her own voice.
Jansen leaned back, his face now carefully schooled. "It's your decision, and I will abide by it. But I would like you to at least sleep on it, okay? We'll speak again tomorrow. Your arraignment is schedule for the day after."
He stood and walked out, taking his portfolio and the folding chair with him. The light and the cold air once again forced Taylor to look away. After he was gone, the table sank back down into the floor and the room closed in on itself again.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Meditation did not come easily. The simple discomfort of sitting on a metal ledge was enough to derail her train of thought. When she managed to dismiss the low-grade ache in her ass from sitting on cold metal, she found herself thinking about her visions and what they meant; of Scion and the identical avatars that swept through destroying an entire galaxy.
With that thought came a crushing despair; that everything she knew and loved was destined to die. Because, really, what could one person do against a god?
The door opened. Taylor looked up, surprised. No flash of light or cold or hot wind to make her blink away. No warning not to move. The door simply opened to reveal a tall, athletic figure in a skin-tight dark gray body suit framed by a heavy cape that hung almost to the floor.
Alexandria.
"Walk with me," the famous heroine said without preamble.
Taylor didn't even think about disobeying. Just the thought of getting out of her cell was enough to propel her to her feet. The prison slippers she had on were so thin, she might as well have been barefoot.
The two emerged in a short hall. There were two other heavy metal doors like hers, but she couldn't sense anyone within them. Alexandria led her into a surprisingly large freight elevator. The went up and emerged in another long, empty hallway, before entering a smaller elevator that went up again.
When the elevator opened, fresh ocean air picked at Taylor's hair. She stepped out after Alexandria to find herself not in the PRT headquarters, but on the Rig itself. Granted, the Protectorate headquarters now rested on the edge of the shattered boardwalk because of Leviathan's attack, but somehow the converted ocean oil rig still stood. It's forcefield was down, but unlike most of downtown, it had its own power supply and had a search light flashing over the city like the Eye of Sauron.
More importantly, though, she could see the Bay she grew up on. She could feel the breeze across her face after days stuck in that room in Coil's base; after the day spent in her cell below. She closed her eyes and pulled the air in through her nose, exulting in the smell of the ocean.
And…a chowder? She opened her eyes and blinked to find a small section of fake grass dotted with bistro tables and chairs in a cordoned off section of the Rig's roof. Alexandria motioned her toward one of the tables, upon which she saw and smelled a bread bowl filled with a thick clam chowder, with a glass of coffee milk beside it.
"I don't believe they've fed you yet," Alexandria said. She sat down at the table in front of a second bread bowl. "Eat while you can. Level Ten prisoners only get fed twice a day."
Taylor had seen Alexandria punch Leviathan hard enough to send the 30-foot-monster flying back. She could have easily punched through Taylor's skull. Given that Taylor was already secured and a prisoner, there didn't seem to be any point in lying or poisoning her. So, she sat.
"Thank you."
The chowder was as good as it smelled. The bacon was cut thick, though the cilantro in it gave it a slightly different profile that she found she liked. She ate every bite of the chowder, and then the soaked sourdough bread bowl as well.
When it was gone, she sat in silence at a bistro table on top of a converted oil rig, watching the sun sink toward the western horizon. When Alexandria spoke, it seemed almost as if they began in the middle of an old conversation.
"We thought we could win, of course," the older cape said abruptly. "How could we not? Me and Legend, Eidolon and Hero. We four were the most powerful capes in the world, it seemed. From '86 through to '92, it felt like we were going to win. Even after Behemoth crawled out of the ground in Iran, or when Leviathan emerged, we felt like between the four of us we had to win. We were so powerful. But then the Siberian killed Hero and ripped out my eye, and two years later the Simurgh emerged, and I started to doubt. By then we'd been fighting Behemoth for a decade and knew he wasn't just another Parahuman. And I began to doubt. I began to fear. The nine years since then has only made it worse."
Taylor said nothing, watching the hero. In the gentle light of the setting sun, her visor seemed to hint at the face behind it. Her exposed chin revealed thin lips pursed together pensively.
She turned and regarded Taylor frankly. "Rebecca made a terrible mistake when she signed your Birdcage order. I'd like to say it was the first time, but I'd be lying. Despite the best we can do, we still make mistakes. No matter how hard we fight, we still lose. And no matter how important we are, we still die. Hero proved that. And so did Miss Militia. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
"I am too."
Taylor didn't mean to speak, but the words came out almost on their own. When she thought about it, though, she realized she meant it. And with those words, something caught in her chest and made breathing hard. It felt as if a terrible, great weight that had been crushing her heart for months was gone. It's absence was almost, in itself, painful. She looked away and stared across the city through bleary eyes.
Alexandria nodded before turning back to face the sunset. She didn't say anything, likely realizing how powerful and wrenching Taylor's three words were. When she did speak again, she did so with a low, calm despair.
"We're losing, Taylor. Within the next ten to fifteen years, the Endbringers alone will damage the world's infrastructure beyond repair. Those governments that still exist will collapse; civilization will shrink inland, dispersing from each other into more and more isolated groups, likely controlled by parahuman warlords like what we're seeing in Africa today, and then…"
Taylor thought of the golden avatar from her visions. "And then Scion."
Alexandria's head snapped around to stare. Though she couldn't see Alexandria's eyes, she met the gaze squarely through her unshed tears. After a long silence, Alexandria finally nodded.
"You're going to accept the plea deal, Taylor. You'll serve your six months so the Chevaliers and Armsmasters of the Protectorate won't revolt, and when you're out you're going to officially join the Wards."
"Officially?"
"Officially. Unofficially? If you'll accept, I want you working for me. You'll have your own team to lead. You can stay in Seattle if you want. You'll answer to me or someone I specifically appoint, and yes, I'll make sure they're someone you can stand. And your job will be nothing less than trying to save the world."
"Why? Why me, after all this?"
Alexandria smiled dryly. "Because a twelve-year-old girl told us our odds were better if it was you."
Taylor tore her gaze aware from a hero she'd once worshipped. "Did you tell Gabriella about me?"
"Of course," Alexandria said with a wry laugh. "She used to work in an office tower three blocks from the LA Protectorate. We realized fairly early how big a mistake we made with you when you woke up in Dragon's transport. Dragon was very distraught over the conversation she had with you. She realized almost immediately that your entire episode with Miss Militia was what we sometimes call a trigger fugue—a psychotic episode that sometimes follows powerful triggers. But by then it was too late. Coil released the footage of you killing Miss Militia. Even when you first triggered, he was hoping to recruit you by forcing you into villainy."
"Why too late, though?"
Alexandria met her stare squarely. "Civilians hate capes, Taylor. The Protectorate put itself under civilian oversight to preserve as much of our civilization as we could, while we could. But when those who fear us are given an excuse to destroy us, they will. Coil gave the Brockton Bay prosecutors an excuse to destroy you. More than that, he was conspiring with a few attorneys with close ties to you to further influence the judge who was originally slated to try your case. We put a stop to that."
"Who's we?"
"Nutcracker, primarily."
"Nutcracker? He was the post-cog at Bayview West?"
"Yes. He's the one who arrested Alan Barnes for obstruction of justice half an hour ago. Mr. Barnes was using his political and legal connections to try and ensure you were sent to the Birdcage, including bribery. And he was doing so as one of Coil's unwitting pawns."
"Oh." Taylor remembered the cape—skinny, with heavy cheeks and a receding hairline. "So say I agree to all this. What about Yuki? Or our clinic? Our home?"
It felt odd, how intensely the older woman studied her. "I'm older than I look, Taylor. I've helped train generations of young capes. At your age, it's difficult to distinguish between love, lust, infatuation or desperation. It can be hard to spot a lie when the liar believes it as truth. But then again, you know that, don't you? Do you love her?"
Taylor opened her mouth to say that of course she loved Yuki, but for some reasons the words didn't come as easily as they should have. Instead, she played it safe.
"She saved me from Coil. She came all the way to Brockton Bay to save me."
"Because she worships you as her own savior," Alexandria pointed out. "Not quite the same as romantic love. Still, to answer your question—there will be conditions and requirements that you have to meet after your sentence is served. But you'll be sixteen by then. The Youth Guard will assist you in getting yourself emancipated. As long as you go to school, and follow the law, you'd be allowed to live in your own home."
The whole situation just felt so surreal.
"Why the soft sell?" She pointed to the Tinker Tech device which was little better in nature than the bomb Coil put in her head. "I'm already in your power."
"Again, because a very smart young girl said our odds are much better if you're on our side. Even if I didn't genuinely believe it was the right approach, after almost thirty years of fighting Endbringers, I'm practical enough to do what's necessary. Why do you think we let Lung walk around free? It was against the hope he might fight an Endbringer again. Now that we know he won't, his days are numbered."
"Will I have to stay here? This city hates me."
"No. You'll be transferred to Seattle. Make no mistake, Taylor. You will be going to prison. It will only be for six months, but it will be prison. And parahumans in detention are watched like a hawk. One slip, and we have no choice but to slam the book at you. But we both know you can survive six months. You've survived the past five as a Birdcage escapee. Give me this six months, and I promise, you will be the hero you've always wanted to be."
Taylor looked away, hope and dread warring in her chest. There was so much she wanted to say to the first hero who had reached out to her, even if it was with an offer of servitude. She wanted to ask how Alexandria knew what Scion was. She wanted to demand to know why the Slaughterhouse Nine continued to be free.
She wanted…
"Is my dad…what did they…I mean…?"
"He had a prepaid lot," Alexandria said, somehow just knowing. "He's buried in the Brockton Memorial Cemetery next to your mother."
"Could I…could I see them? Before?"
"I'll arrange it."
"I…" She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
On the morning of her first and only court hearing, Taylor stood in the Brockton Memorial Cemetery, established in 1684. The cemetery was only three blocks from the courthouse. Flanked by a small army of PRT agents, Nutcracker and the newly appointed head of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, Dauntless, Taylor stood looking down at one gravestone she knew by heart, and one she dreaded seeing at all.
Annette Rose Hebert
1969-2008
She taught something precious to each of us.
Daniel Joseph Hebert
1968-2011
I fear no more.
She simply stared, a feeling of numbness creeping through her mind. A voice at once alien and painfully familiar broke the brittle morning silence. Taylor looked up, and then choked as if someone had punched her in the stomach.
Zoe Barnes stood just a few feet away. Her daughter Anne lingered behind her, flanked by more PRT agents. Taylor's hands shook when she wiped her eyes.
"You…you shouldn't be here, Aunt Zoe. Not after…not after…" She couldn't finish the words.
"Oh God, I can't, Taylor," Zoe Barnes said. Her voice sounded ragged and breathless; her eyes brimmed with tears. "Annette and Danny would never forgive me. I can't walk away. I just can't. I've already failed you and Emma enough, I can't walk away again."
"It's too late!" The sudden angry shout surprised both women and caused the surrounding agents to tense. Taylor didn't care. "It's too late. You don't know what she did, Aunt Zoe! What she did to me. What she said. She took broke my mom's flute. She shoved me into that locker. Why? What did I do to deserve that?"
"Baby, it wasn't you," Zoe said. She was crying so hard the words slurred. "Oh God, I never knew, but it wasn't you. The ABB…they hurt her. And that…that Hess girl used it to twist my baby girl into a monster. It wasn't you, Taylor. It was never you. It was Emma. It was that Hess monster. And it was me. I didn't realize. I didn't ask why you never came over, and I'm so sorry. Oh baby, I'm so sorry."
Taylor's knees turned to jelly, dumping her on the grass at the foot of her parent's graves.
Nearby, the Protectorate hero Dauntless brandished his arclance, ready to strike while he had opportunity in case Taylor went on a spree, only to pause when Nutcracker placed a calm, restraining hand on his arm. Zoe Barnes stumbled to Taylor, fell to her own knees, and pulled the weeping girl into her arms.
Neither saw the line of reporters and cameramen on the edge of the cemetery, many with telescopic lenses on their television cameras.
When the worst of the fit passed, Taylor felt completely empty and spent.
"The Union handled his expenses," Zoe said softly, cradling Taylor as if she were her own daughter; cradling her just like she did two years ago, after her mother died.
Taylor motioned toward her father's gravestone. "I didn't know dad even knew that poem," she said thickly.
"We found it bookmarked in his lock box," Zoe explained. "It was a book Annette gave him before their wedding. She called him an ignorant philistine and hoped some poetry might make him a better man. The book was so worn he'd probably read it a thousand times. Donne's Hymn to God the Father was highlighted. Kurt read it at the service."
There was so much Taylor needed to say to this woman. For those terrible months after her mother died, when her dad just gave up and crawled into a bottle, it was Zoe Barnes who fed her and hugged her and loved her. Emma might have given her a friendly ear to cry to, but it was Zoe Barnes who gave her the love she desperately wanted.
It hurt Taylor more than anything to know that Zoe Barnes lost her daughter because of her; just as much as Taylor lost her father and her life because of Emma. As much as she wanted to, though, the words wouldn't come. They couldn't come. Whether through a lack of will or just a lack of understanding, Taylor couldn't possibly think of what she could say to make up for the fact that Emma Barnes was dead. That the woman who hugged her and gave her chocolate chip cookies lost her little girl because of Taylor.
"I don't know what to do," Taylor finally admitted.
Zoe sniffed and hugged Taylor closer.
"You're going to go to prison, Taylor. It's going to be horrible, and you're going to want to break out with that incredible power of yours. No matter how good your reasons, you killed a hero. But Taylor, six months is nothing. It's a semester in school. It's a blink of an eye. And after that, you're going to go back to school just like Annette would have wanted. You're going to be the best hero you can be, just like you dreamed of when you were little, and you're going to save the world, just like your mother and dad always thought you would."
"You make it sound easy."
"Maybe. We both know it's not, but we also both know you can do it."
They stood in the cold, surrounded by a light dusting of snow from the last storm. Their breaths billowed out in front of their faces as they stared down in silence. Finally, Taylor found the courage to say what needed saying.
"I never fought back. I always hoped she could be my friend again, so I never fought back."
Zoe sniffed again. "I know, baby."
Taylor kept her mental shields tightly shut. She could only imagine what the other woman was feeling, holding the girl who killed her daughter. "Am I ever going to see you again?"
The sniff turned into a sob. "I…I don't think so, Taylor."
As much as it hurt to hear, Taylor understood. She hugged the woman tightly before letting her go and stepping back. "Thank you," she sobbed. "For…for…thank you."
Zoe nodded, smiling through her tears, and cupped Taylor's cheek briefly before turning and joining her last living daughter to walk out of the cemetery.
Anne, Emma's older sister, smiled fleetingly at Taylor, but said nothing as she walked away at her mother's side.