A/N: Oops. Got everything prepared. Did my Chap 31 review responses. Went to do all the other billion things I have to do, and completely forgot to post the chapter. Sorry.
It's a short one.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Crime and Punishment
"I ruined my dress."
Taylor had never owned a dress as nice as the one Ronald Jansen brought her for her hearing. It was a rich, deep teal that matched her eyes and hugged her slim figure.
"Nonsense, dear, it's just wet," Jansen said gently. "It'll be dry by the time we get to the courthouse." He handed her a tissue. She wondered if he had a whole packet in his jacket, but accepted it gratefully. She still felt numb.
"You asked her to be there."
"I merely told her you would be," Jansen returned. "She submitted a sworn statement to the court on your behalf. She did wish to see you again."
"Yeah." There didn't seem to be much else to say, Taylor was still too raw emotionally to process what just happened. So she walked beside her attorney, with two Protectorate heroes behind her and twenty hulking PRT agents in armor and foam dispensers, from the cemetary to the courthouse.
The PRT allowed her to go without her neck collar, but the bracelets and anklets felt heavy. She could see that the right anklet had already torn her hose where she fell. She continued walking anyway.
The worst thing about it, she decided, was that it was a beautiful day. May in Brockton Bay was the perfect temperature—hovering around seventy at its hottest, but never below fifty because of the ocean currents. If not for the army of people prepared to subdue or even kill her if she blinked wrong, and the horde of reports watching at a safe distance, it might seem like a beautiful morning walk.
Their destination was anything but. The Federal Courthouse was study in monolithic ugliness—a giant concrete square with square windows and no architectural features to speak of at all. It sat back from the street behind a series of concrete barricades. The US and New Hampshire flags were at half-mast due to the Endbringer attack.
The fact the building was intact and with power was a testament to how well the fight against Leviathan went, as well as the fact that, like the cemetery, the courthouse was situated in the highest areas of the downtown section of the city.
Leviathan's devastation started just four blocks south.
Unfortunately, the path to the courthouse doors was already lined with more reporters, as well as protestors. Some were holding up signs calling her the Winslow Simurgh. Others with signs that said, "ROT IN HELL!"
The hatred and raw emotions in the Force grew worse and worse as she approached the cordon the police had made for their entry. The moment she came into sight around the corner from the cemetery, people began shouting at her. The crowd surged toward her, hateful signs bouncing, only to pause when Dauntless strode forward and slammed his arclance into the street. A crash of thunder and a flash of lightning brought the crowd up short, and gave additional police and PRT agents the time needed to fall into position and hustle Taylor toward the door.
More uniformed officers from the court fell in around her, holding back the equally raucous onlookers inside the building.
The courtroom, when they came to it, felt oddly…small. It didn't look like a broad, imposing atmospheric cathedral with balconies that Taylor always thought of from movies like To Kill a Mockingbird or Inherit the Wind. Instead, it looked like an old brick conference room from a bank. The ceiling felt low and oppressive, the brick walls were painted a light blue that had faded with time and usage to a weak, sky-tinted white. Ratty old office-gray Berber carpet helped with the noise in the room.
The judge's desk at the end of the room looked monolithic and old, a dark-stained wood with the US department of Justice seal on it. There were no lower seats for witness or recorders at the front, but either side of the court's front had seating areas that were empty. Most of the floor was taken up by bailiffs, Correctional officers or PRT agents.
Taylor looked at the public gallery, but the church-style pews were all empty.
The doors closed behind her. They must have had some type of soundproofing because the roar of the crowd outside simply disappeared.
Jansen led her to the table on the left. Across from her stood three people in suits—prosecutors, she supposed. Any conversation stopped when the Bailiff's voice boomed out over the room. "ALL RISE! The Honorable Susan Fouster is presiding!"
Taylor was still on her feet, but the others in the court rose as a tiny, spare woman with short gray hair with a huge pair of rose-framed glasses stepped out of the side door. To Taylor, Fouster looked like she should be presiding over a television court during weekday afternoons.
The judge looked dwarfed as she wove her way deftly between bailiffs, until she ascended the desk at the front of the room clutching a huge volume of notes and pads. She sat down, slapped a gavel on the desk, and said, "Be seated."
The sound of moving chairs filled the room. She looked about the desk before finding a microphone and moved it closer to speak. She craned her neck, staring over the rim of her impressive glasses at the room.
"As you might have heard, I'm Judge Susan Fouster. We're here regarding case 217-2011-CR-617 the US versus Taylor Hebert. Who is here for the prosecutor?"
One of the heavy-set men stood. "Charles Sternbridge, your honor. I'm accompanied by Douglas Hatcher and LaDonna Franklin."
"I see. Mrs. Franklin, how is your daughter doing? I heard she got accepted into Yale, if I remember correctly."
If the attorney was surprised at the Judge's knowledge, she didn't show it. "She's nervous and excited, thank you for asking."
"Well, when she's ready to do her internship, let me know." Fouster looked toward Taylor's table. Her glasses utterly covered her face from the front. "For the defense?"
Ronald stood. "Ronald Jansen, Advocate General for the Youth Guard, your honor."
"Hmm, the honor's mine," the judge said. "Don't think I'm going to give you special treatment because you're so handsome."
"I'll try to curb my expectations, your honor."
The exchange elicited a few chuckles.
"And Miss Hebert is present, I see."
Taylor, still standing, nodded. "Yes, your honor." She was proud of how even her voice sounded.
The judge nodded and then took a moment to look through her notes. "So, this is arraignment. However, I understand that the parties have reached a tentative plea agreement?"
Sternbridge stood. "That's correct, your honor."
Jansen stood as well. "Agreed."
"Okay, gentlemen, lay it out for me," the judge said.
Sternbridge cleared his throat.
"At six o'clock last night, the Chief Director of the PRT declared Taylor Hebert a parahuman of interest under Title 34 as Amended. It is the belief of the Protectorate and the PRT that Miss Hebert could be of national interest in combatting Endbringers, as well as providing healing services. The US Attorney General approved the declaration. Accordingly, in return for a guilty plea to the lesser charge of Second Degree Assault with a Parahuman power in the death of Miss Militia, all other charges will be dropped. The prosecution is seeking a six-month sentence, after which the defendant will be remanded to the Wards Program in a probationary status until her majority."
Fouster pursed her old lips, as if she were smoking a cigarette.
"And the Winslow incident, or the incidents in Seattle?"
Jansen motioned toward the non-descript cape in the Noir detective costume, complete with Fedora. Nutcracker. "Your honor, Alexandria commissioned an internal investigation into the events of my client's trigger by Nutcracker, a post-cognitive parahuman with Watchdog. The investigation determined that the events of Winslow were the result of a hard trigger, followed by a second trigger event. My client was not even cognizant of what was happening to her in Winslow. And when she roused in PRT custody, she did so still deeply under the emotional influence of that double trigger event. As most case law finds, she was not culpable for Winslow due to reduced capacity.
"The investigation further found a series of bad decisions on the part of the PRT and Protectorate ENE that helped lead to the environment that both created the trigger event, and in fact led to Miss Militia's death. If the PRT ENE Director had chosen differently, both Daniel Hebert and Miss Militia would be alive today. In fact, the Protectorate Thinktank believes with a high level of assurance that if Daniel Hebert had been taken into protective custody instead of being left alone in an emotionally distraught and intoxicated condition, my client would already be a highly successful Ward. There were failings, your honor, on everybody's part. We're here today to do what we can to address those failings."
Taylor found her mind drifting as the lawyers and the judge wrangled for what she thought was a done deal. Instead, she closed her eyes and reached out for Yuki, desperate for some sense of comfort or familiarity.
Her girlfriend felt very far away.
"…not guilty."
Taylor blinked and looked up to find the judge studying her.
The old woman continued speaking. "The court finds sufficient compelling evidence to show that the events of January 3rd, 2011, were beyond the control of Taylor Hebert, and that she suffered significantly reduced capacity. Regarding the lesser charge of Second Degree Assault with a Parahuman Power?"
"Your honor, my client pleads guilty."
When Fouster didn't immediately say anything, Taylor forced her eyes up to meet those of the judge.
"Young lady," the woman said. "Teenagers have tantrums, but when a cape has such a tantrum, it endangers the lives of everyone around them. That's why the Protectorate is held to such a high standard. Capes have to be better than everyone else, because the consequences if they're not are so much worse than for anyone else.
"Your trigger event resulted in eight children dead, over 1,300 others traumatized, and a school burned down. That this all has happened without any type of prison time for you should speak very clearly to you of just how merciful the law can be. But make no mistake, Miss Hebert, regardless of your justification, you used your power to kill a human being. You might have been mad with grief, but you made a conscious decision and then acted on that decision to end another life."
Taylor felt her stomach clench tightly. Jansen quietly placed a hand on hers, while behind them many of the heroes prepared for another outburst.
The judge removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "The only reason I am accepting the recommended sentence is because instead of doing what so many other teenaged capes do and go on a crime spree after you escaped, you instead opened a clinic and healed people. You voluntarily returned to a city you hated to defend its people against an Endbringer. You have demonstrated a genuine desire to do good. And just like the dangers of a parahuman throwing a temper tantrum, this court cannot ignore the potential good your power could do.
"Taylor Hebert, the prosecution and the PRT have both recommended a very light sentence. This sentence is based on what all parties hope and pray is your potential to heal, rather than destroy. To protect, rather than kill. Against that promise, and the hopes that you will be an actor for good rather than despair, the court accepts your plea and sentences you to time served, plus six months in a PRT-appointed facility. Afterward, you will be remanded to the PRT Wards program under probation until your 18th birthday, after which a hearing shall be made to determine if probation will continue beyond that date. Dismissed."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The next morning, the convicted felon Taylor Hebert was escorted through the Brockton General Hospital. She watched as repair crews worked diligently to pump out any remaining water from the flooding and strip out ruined drywall before mold set in. The hospital had top priority and already had power restored by the city, even if the surrounding buildings did not.
She had her bracelets and anklets on, and the orange jumpsuit made her stand out like a radioactive popsicle in the middle of the floor even without the four PRT agents and both Battery and Assault of the local Protectorate Escorting her (you were not supposed to call them Assault and Battery. Battery did not like that at all.)
The elevators were all out, of course, but Lady Photon met them at the stairs. She was out of costume, wearing baggy cargo pants and an old New Wave blouse from their public unmasking years ago.
The woman did not look like a superhero. She looked like a tired mom of two teenagers who hadn't slept in days. Dark rings pulled at her eyes and her dark blonde hair hang limply against her back.
Despite all that, she smiled broadly when she saw Taylor's bright orange costume. She walked right toward her, and Taylor remembered from their brief conversation before the fight against Leviathan that she was actually an inch taller than Sarah Pelham.
"Hello, Taylor," she said. Her emotion almost poured off her. "Thank you so much for coming."
"I'm just glad Director Rennick let me come," Taylor said. In truth, even if she didn't genuinely want to help, just getting out of her cell before the transport took her to the West Coast made it worthwhile. "How are they?"
"The same. Panacea made sure their bodies were healthy."
She led the way up the stairs. Taylor and her escorts followed behind.
"I heard that Crystal finally woke up." That was Battery, a woman in her early twenties who had more curves under her skin-tight, battery-themed costume that Taylor ever would. "How's she doing?"
"She's well, thank you," Mrs. Pelham said, thrilled that her daughter was awake and well.
Despite having to climb five flights of stairs, no one was winded. They entered a quiet hall filled with nursing staff. The boarded-up windows on the east side of the building were the only sign of Leviathan's rampage.
The two male members of New Wave lay in matching beds, each hooked up to IV drips and a series of monitoring equipment. Lady Photon led Taylor into the room. Both Battery and Assault followed, as well as a single PRT agent due to the available space.
Carol Dallon, Brandish while in costume, stood beside her husband's bed holding the man's hand. In a plush chair near the foot of the bed, Victoria Dallon curled up, sleeping deeply. She wore her Glory Girl costume, a white leotard with a short skirt and biker shorts, though her tiara appeared to be missing.
Sarah walked to the center space between the beds.
Looking at the two women in their civilian clothes, Taylor thought they could easily have been twins for their striking similarities. Despite their similar faces, though, where Sarah wore her hair long, Carol Dallon wore her blonde hair shorter and feathered.
She turned and watched Taylor enter with a hopeful expression.
"Hello, Taylor," she said softly. "It's a pleasure to meet the real hero behind the mask."
Taylor felt her cheeks burn. "Hard to feel like a hero in an orange jumpsuit."
"Heroes are judged by their actions, not their clothing," Carol said firmly. "The fact that you're here, now, after everything that's happened to you? That makes you a hero, Taylor. Please don't ever forget it. Now, what can we do to help?"
"I'll need a chair. A rolling one, if possible."
It took hours. Taylor didn't care. She only took breaks for the bathroom, and for another meal of emergency FEMA rations since the hospital's basement cafeteria was still under water. Otherwise, she continued pouring Force energy into the two men.
Six hours after her arrival, Eric Pelham coughed himself awake.
He didn't look at his mother or aunt. He turned his head to stare intently at Taylor with a tired smile. "Will you marry me?" he asked, before slipping into a gentle, peaceful sleep.
Sarah had her face in her hands, her eyes red with tears of happiness.
"Don't take him seriously, Taylor. He says that to every pretty girl he meets."
Taylor's cheeks blushed not because of the handsome young man's declaration, but because his mother referred to her as "pretty".
Moments later, Mark Dallon opened his eyes. "Carol?" he asked. "Carol? Vicki, is she?"
"I'm fine, dad," Glory Girl said, now awake and weeping herself. "Everyone is fine. Amy's downstairs healing, and mom's right here."
Carol proved it by leaning over and kissing her husband. Taylor felt her cheeks flare before she slumped tiredly in her chair.
"Ya' done good, kid," Assault said. His armored body-suit was a much calmer shade of red than her bright orange jumpsuit. "Let's head on back."
Her stomach dropped at the thought of going back to that cube with the hard, concrete shelf, but instead of fighting it she merely nodded and stood up. However, before she could turn to go she found herself enveloped in a tight hug by a weeping mother.
"Thank you, for my son," Sarah Pelham gushed.
She was replaced a moment later by Carol Dallon. "And for my husband," the younger sister said. "If you ever need legal assistance, let me know."
"I…thanks. Good luck. With everything."
The three other PRT agents apparently hadn't gone anywhere through the six hours it took to heal Mark Dallon and Eric Pelham. They fell in with the other one, framing her in a square of armor, while Battery and Assault walked behind them, chattering lightly.
The PRT transport truck looked like a square tank. It even had rotating turret on top, one that sprayed out massive amounts of containment foam. However, for all it's size, it was still a very tight fit as they climbed in.
"So, puppy," Assault said to Battery as the truck started moving. "Wouldn't you say our little jailbird here deserves one last hurrah before being shipped off to that cruel and soulless hell known as California?"
When Battery looked at Assault, Taylor could feel exasperation, but also fondness and a deep, abiding love.
"Holy shit, the forums were right," she blurted. "You two really are married."
"What makes you say that?" Battery said archly.
Taylor felt her cheeks grow hot and looked down at her manacled bracelets. "I can control the telepathy. The empathy's always on."
"Just what's your power again?" Battery asked
Taylor shrugged. She had no idea how she could explain how her powers were different than the others. Assault, though, started chuckling, then laughing. It was a joyous sound, and the utter joy that shone from him seemed to fill the room.
"What now, you idiot?" Battery said.
"You can't deny it any more, Puppy! Even the bloody telepathic says you love me! Just for that, we owe this girl pizza!"
So, it was that the PRT transport drove to the far edge of south downtown to the Pizza Palace Buffet. Taylor felt utterly floored to be paraded into one of the most popular eateries in Brockton Bay in her prisoner orange.
Despite everything the city was going through, the restaurant itself was full to capacity. Abruptly all conversation stopped as the two heroes led her in. Worse yet, Assault seemed to eat the attention up.
"Ladies and gentleman!" he shouted. "For any of you who have been following New Wave's hardship since Leviathan, I'm pleased to announce this young lady here has successfully healed both Flashbang and Shielder! So, in thanks for saving those two, not to mention the three thousand folks in the hospital Leviathan almost flattened, we're going to give her a final farewell before she serves her time."
"I don't want to be here," Taylor hissed desperately. "Please…"
Someone stood up and started clapping.
Taylor stared, mouth gaping, to see a grown man she didn't even know clapping for her. Someone else stood to do the same, then a third and fourth. She also saw some people leaving the restaurant, expressions of disgust darkening their way. But for every one who left, three stood to applaud.
"That's why we're here, Puppy," Assault said. He wasn't laughing or joking any more. If anything, he looked sad beneath the visor that protected his identity. "You needed to see for yourself. There are people who aren't fans. There are people who were hurt. But there are a lot of people who you saved. Don't forget that, and you'll get through your six months without a problem. Now, let's go eat. I estimate we have an hour before Rennick calls and chews my ass out for this stunt."