The Tinker

A/N: I messed up my timelines a bit. I thought a few things may have happened earlier than they did. For the purposes of this story, the Protectorate was created sometime around 1985 or 1986. There are other ways to make it work, but they are messy, and I'm particular about some characters' ages.

Dim orange embers of the setting sun faded up through teal and into the night, the distinctive Brockton Bay skyline silhouetted against it, the BBQ still standing beneath. The door's glass pane was gone, along with all its signs, replaced by a sheet of plywood against which was taped a sheet of paper:

Les-Be-Ending This Disrepair: Donate at /donate

"I gave what I could," said Terry. Sophia hadn't wanted him to come with us. I didn't really understand why: he wouldn't be in any more danger than any of us. If anything, shouldn't he be safer? He was older, and legally an adult. But as much as Sophia didn't want him to accompany us, she wanted to poke around the BBQ more. I wasn't sure what she expected to find.

There were more bugs inside than there'd been last time we'd visited. I could feel the cracks they'd found between the broken windows' hastily-nailed boards. Many congregated in what seemed to be a kitchen, if the crumbs of food the ants were carting away were any indication. I could feel them leaving a trail behind for others to follow, each ant laying it on thicker than the last.

I gathered as many bugs as I could and had them begin searching the building. What was I looking for? I hoped I would recognize it if I found it.

Were anyone watching us, they'd have had plenty of reason to be suspicious. We were four teenagers approaching an empty building on a weeknight. The furtive glances Sophia, Madison, and Terry kept sending up and down the street only made it worse. But there was nobody watching, and even if there were, I doubted anyone would care. They never did.

"We just need some bobby pins, right?" asked Madison, reaching up for her hair as she considered the locked door. "It can't be that hard."

Sophia shot Madison a withering glare. She took a moment to size up the door, then rotated and shoved. The wood plank held easily, but the lock tore through the doorjamb with an awful ripping sound.

"Sophia!" exclaimed Terry, his voice echoing off a wall across the street. Madison shushed him. Sophia didn't bother.

Streaks of moonlight and dusk filtered in through the window or two that were still intact, casting sharp shadows upon the parquet floor. I reached for the light switch, but Sophia motioned for me to stop. She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. I rolled my eyes. Were anyone watching—which, I had my bugs double-check, they were not—the actual light would look far less suspect than a flashlight. But when I tried to flip the switch, nothing happened.

Madison pulled out her own phone, and after a moment's pause, Terry followed suit, his face sour and uncomfortable even though he'd been the one to insist upon joining us.

The harsh light of the phones reflected horribly against the parquet, collapsing its color into a sort of blueish gray. I almost missed the scorch marks beneath the glare, and only noticed as Sophia's shoe scraped against one, smearing the soot across the otherwise-undamaged floor.

Shouldn't the floor have caught aflame? If it hadn't, what had caused the marks? As my eyes drifted up to the wall above, and where pieces of shrapnel had blown through it, I realized there hadn't been a fire. There'd been an explosion.

"Nazis would just burn the place," said Sophia, quietly. "They've tried."

As we stepped into the hall, the parquet and its scorch marks were obscured by a thickening layer of shimmering dust. To the left there was a chunk of plaster, then another, and then some more; to the right, little shards of gift shop window glinted up at us.

Madison gasped as she tilted her phone's light up and caught the hole where Dr. Thenison's office door ought to have been. She panned the light down the hall; the other doors had fared no better.

We stepped over the rubble as best we could, but some still found its way beneath our feet, crunching and crushing and bending under our weight.

We made our way to the end of the hall, to where it opened up into what, were the BBQ the house it sometimes seemed to be, might have been a living room. Over where the mural ought to have been there were now only bits and pieces of wall—a brushstroke or two of smoky sky here, an ember of painted flame there. And in the middle, where Lustrum had stood, nothing remained but for a hole into the next room, chunks of wood and plaster littering its carpet floor.

Terry knelt down and rested his hand upon a piece. For a moment, I thought it was Lustrum's head. Instead, it was a chunk of flag; I could almost make out the stripes under the cool light of his phone's flash.

"It's because of us," I said. "Isn't it?"

I clenched my fist, something heavy seeming to sink within my stomach. My swarm contracted slightly, pulling itself towards me. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself before the bugs could emerge from their hiding places within the walls and beneath the rubble.

Madison slowly turned away from the remains of the mural, and for the first time, I found myself unable to discern what she was thinking. I followed her as she made her way to Dr. Thenison's office.

"These look like records of medication given out," said Madison, her voice quieter than usual. "But there's nothing showing where they actually got any of it from. I guess it makes sense, if a Tinker's making it…"

A clang echoed through the room as Terry bumped a shard of what used to be the office door into a metal trash can. Madison yelped, her hand reaching to her heart as she spun around. She shot me an odd look, as if surprised that I had barely jumped; I'd felt Terry approaching through my bugs.

I stilled. It was easy to confuse my bugs' senses with each other when I wasn't paying attention, but I thought I tasted—

With barely a 'sorry' to Terry as I jostled him on my way out of the office, I strode down the hall: one door, two… There. The nameplate had fallen to the floor. I knelt and picked it up, the grit of crumbled plaster instantly coating my hands. I tried to angle it to catch the light—

Elisa Adams

"We need to find Elisa," I said.

"Elisa?" asked Madison, approaching behind me. "I thought we needed to find Thenison."

"I…" I started. But what could I say? I knew we had to find Elisa, but I couldn't explain how I knew. Not unless I…

I bit my lip. I didn't want to. I hadn't even told my own father. I definitely didn't want to tell Sophia and Madison. But… My eyes drifted back down to the nameplate, then to what was left of the office door. My grip on the nameplate tightened, its sharp edges digging into my fingers. I could feel Sophia nearing, bugs disappearing from my senses with each footstep.

Madison shrieked as my bugs all left their hiding spots and began to stream across the floor. Had I let my control drop? Or was I doing this on purpose? I wasn't sure, but—

"I'm a cape," I said. "Bugs."

I brought my flies and gnats into the room and twisted them into a swirl, their forms glittering under the flashlights' beams as they slowly pulsed in time with the breaths I was trying to keep steady.

"Shit," said Sophia, the word escaping her almost as a laugh.

"This is her office," I said, lifting the nameplate slightly. "The bugs've searched it. There's a safe inside, under the desk, over by the computer. Not a good one. Not airtight. The ants taste pills. Lots of them, with coatings like Terry's."

"I know a cape?" I heard Madison mutter. I shot her a contemptuous glare over my shoulder. That was what she was thinking about? "Wait, but I haven't heard of you. Are you a hero? A villain? If you were a villain, would you tell me?"

"Madison," said Sophia. "Shut up."

She glanced from Madison, who didn't look any less excited, over to Terry. Even in the dim light, I could see the tension in his arms—

"You don't tell anyone. Got it? Not about her," Sophia said, striding forward and brushing past me into Elisa's office. "And not about me."

And then, Sophia ducked down by the computer. Her hand reached under the desk and—

I blinked. What—

Vaguely, I was aware of Sophia pulling a handful of small, reflective objects through the safe's wall. But—

"No way…" I heard Madison say, somewhere in the distance. "Just… wow. I mean— right. Pill bottles. Yeah. Some of these don't look like they've ever been used: they're empty and sealed."

"How'd she fill them?" asked Sophia. "There a lab? It'd have to be here."

"There's no room for one." Terry, now. "I've seen every inch of this place."

"Still. She could be the Tinker."

But—

"But she's too young," said Madison. I wished she would be quiet, just for a minute. Sophia's power: I knew it from somewhere. Not a villain, but— "The timelines don't match up. Except… the drugs in '98… they can't have been Tinker-made. They were stolen, right?"

"2005 drugs were identical," said Sophia. "Tinkers don't do 'identical.' Not to normal, stolen shit."

But—

"But—"

"You're supposed to be a hero."

At first, I didn't realize I had spoken. Madison's voice trailed off as she looked at me.

"She's Shadow Stalker, right?" asked Madison, but I barely noticed. My vision seemed to shrink as if I was peering down a long tunnel; at the tunnel's end was Sophia.

"You were supposed to be a hero," I said, my voice shaking. "Instead, you're— you're—"

My breath burned. I felt lightheaded. I could barely see her, the room, or anything. I could feel my fingernails biting into my palms but I didn't care, I—

"Hebert—"

"Did Winslow know? Are you why they never believed me?" I demanded, ignoring the wetness upon my cheeks, trying to find some measure of satisfaction in the sight of Sophia's widening eyes. Was she afraid? "Nobody ever believed— I thought it was because Emma's dad, but— I needed a fucking hero, I needed one because of you, you and— and—"

"Hebert—" started Sophia, but I wasn't finished. Everything I'd been trying not to feel these past few weeks was screaming at me all at once, and I—

"Taylor—" started Madison, but I—

"I needed a hero," I hissed. I tried to sink into my swarm, only to realize I was already swimming within it; it was answering my call, rushing across the floor all around us, minuscule feet chittering and chattering against the parquet and dust and rubble— "Instead I got you."

"Hebert! Hebert! Taylor, you need to chill the—"

I felt someone move towards me. Who? I'd lost track and I couldn't tell and I didn't care. I reached down for my pepper spray. I wasn't sure who I'd use it on, but did it matter? All I needed was an excuse, and if Sophia breathing wasn't excuse enough, I'd think of something, it wouldn't be hard—

"Hey! Taylor!"

Madison clapped her hands—how had she made it so loud? The sharp, biting sound rang in my ears, startling me from the depths of my fury.

"Kill her later," said Madison, her casual words belied by her shaking voice. "I found something."

Neither Sophia nor I made to move. She was still staring at me, her eyes wide wide, her expression one I couldn't quite read: a strange mixture of horror and fear and confusion. My hand fell open, Elisa's nameplate falling to the floor with a clatter, its shape now bent and twisted. My fingers twitched once, then again, as if to strangle Sophia—

"Taylor," said Madison, her voice quieter now, and shaking less. "I think it's your mom."

It took several seconds for me to parse her words. Dazedly, slowly, I turned my head away from Sophia and over to Madison. Not far. She was standing just beside Sophia, an empty little bottle in her hand.

But she wasn't looking at the bottle. She was looking at a picture frame sitting upon the desk. I couldn't see what it held; I could only see its rear, and the long shadow it cast within the beam of light emitted by Madison's phone.

My eyes darted over to Sophia, who was still standing as if transfixed. As her eyes slid over towards the frame, I tried to make my feet move from under me. One step, then another, only vaguely aware of the hundreds of bugs dying beneath my feet as I walked.

I picked up the frame more roughly than I'd intended, and turned it over only to realize I couldn't make out its contents. It was too dark to see properly; I suddenly realized I must have been using my bugs to navigate.

The only words that wanted to reach my lips were bitter and foul. Before I could find any more suitable, Madison answered my unspoken request and leaned her phone over, the blueish gray of its light illuminating the picture.

I recognized everything in the frame. A little office with its roll-top desk and bookshelf too large for the space. A solitary plant by the window, straining to reach for the light. Elisa, standing in the middle, a book in the crook of her arm; her hair was shorter, her face somehow different, but she was still her. To her left stood Laura Mirthton, an oversized sweater over her shirt and tie, a warm smile on her face and her arm around Elisa's shoulder. And to Elisa's right stood a woman I'd not seen in almost three years. Mom.

"Is it her?" asked Madison. "She has your hair. I thought…"

"Yeah," I said.

"Maybe Laura would know where Elisa is," suggested Madison, her voice unnaturally soft. Was she trying not to upset me? If so, too late: her existence was enough to bother me at the best of times, and these were not the best of times.

"On it," I heard Sophia mutter. I glanced at her, and felt that anger threaten to flush forward again, but I yanked it back down until it settled itself somewhere behind my lungs, where it sat and pulled on my every breath.

I turned back to Madison. She was still holding the empty pill bottle in her hand. Her eyes dropped to the floor, still lined with my bugs, all eerily stationary. After a moment, her eyes lifted again to the bottle, and finally, up to me.

"Nothing makes sense," she said, her voice still quiet. She regarded me carefully as she spoke, as if afraid I'd lash out. "Sophia's right. Laura told us the 1998 drugs were stolen. If the 2005 drugs are chemically identical, how could they be bio-tinkered?"

I rolled my eyes at her stupidity.

"A Tinker could have made the equipment," I said, my voice biting.

"Elisa could be the Tinker, then," said Madison. "Armsmaster's daughter! It would fit. She has to be about the right age. She's probably who Lustrum rescued from—"

"We don't know any of this," I said, laughing almost mockingly. "So she went to Harrow's. She wasn't the only one. She could be his daughter, or she might not be. An hour ago, we thought we were looking for a son! Maybe Armsmaster sent someone to Harrow's, or maybe he sent no one at all. We don't know. Elisa could be the bio-tinker, or she could have just worked with one. We know nothing. Nothing."

"No," said Sophia. My hand twitched, and my bugs gave a warning rattle. "We don't. But Laura does. Got her address. Fifteen minute bus ride."

"Address?" I said.

"All this, Hebert?" she said, and my hand twitched once more. "Taylor," she tried again, as if somehow that would make it better. "Doesn't happen on accident. This is serious. I messaged Militia."

"Militia? You mean Miss Militia?" asked Terry. "Oh. Because you're—"

"Can't call Armsmaster," she said. "Not if he's in on it. And you're not coming."

She shot Terry a pointed look. He met her gaze without flinching.

"We don't know if he's involved, Hess," I said. "Anyone could be in on it. Even 'Militia.'"

Sophia rolled her eyes at me. She ducked down under the desk and again used Shadow Stalker's power to reach in, before pulling out a shoebox.

"Come on," she said.

She didn't hesitate to walk over the sea of bugs I'd left upon the floor, loud crunches of cockroach shells sounding in her wake. I almost sent a couple skittering up her feet.

"Uh… Taylor," said Terry. "Would you mind moving the bugs?"

"Fine," I said, forcing the word out.

The sea of bugs parted before us. Tentatively, he began to walk. Madison glanced at me and opened her mouth as if to say something, but at my raised brow she only looked away again.

We walked down the hall, pieces of glass and plaster again finding their way beneath our soles.

Sophia closed the door gently behind us, but the wind blew it back open. With a sigh, she went back inside and closed the door again. Something clunked against the plank of plywood and the door closed more firmly. A moment later, a dark shadow swept through before materializing back into Sophia.

My hand twitched again, and I could feel the swarm of bugs I'd left inside jolt and shudder.

"Apartment downtown," said Sophia, walking down the sidewalk. The street lamps cast an angry orange light upon its surface, but failed to bring any to the strip of grass by its side. "Mile north or so."

Even the sounds of passing cars were distant as we reached the bus stop. Madison pulled at the top of the shoebox, before letting the lid slap down again. A moment later, she repeated the gesture. Another moment, and—

"Stop it," I hissed.

As soon as we sat down upon the bus's bench seats, Madison yanked off the lid and shoved it at Terry.

"That could be private," he offered half-heartedly, whether because he knew Madison would ignore him or because he too wanted to know what was inside, I didn't know.

Madison started rifling through the box's contents, never mind that we couldn't have been more than a couple minutes away from Laura's apartment. There were pens and pencils and erasers and a couple of other odds and ends, all piled atop a messy stack of papers.

"You shouldn't have called Miss Militia," I said to Sophia, again. "Even if she's not in on it, do you really think she's gonna believe us?"

Sophia shrugged, and I nearly snarled at her.

"We don't even know there's a Tinker," I said. "If there wasn't a Master…"

"Drugs obviously aren't normal," said Sophia. "Has to be a Tinker. Armsmaster's kid fits. 'Specially with how he was acting."

I rolled my eyes at her again, but she wasn't actually wrong. The drugs definitely weren't normal. I'd never seen pills quite so green before. And both Elisa's and Terry's were the exact same shade. That couldn't be coincidence, could it? The way it had sat in Elisa's hand—

"Elisa dropped out of UB?" said Madison, suddenly. "2008. It wasn't because of grades, either. She was a senior. Wasn't she just nineteen?"

"2008?" I asked. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. I tried to remind myself of how little we actually knew, no matter how much we may have thought we'd guessed—

"Who's— oh," said Madison. "Never mind. It must be Elisa's name. From before, I mean."

She handed me an envelope and went back to digging through the shoebox. The envelope was of a heavy off-white stock, with little specs dotting it here and there. There was a name on the front that out of respect I did my best not to see. But there was something familiar…

I opened it, and pulled out the card within. Simple and plain: just a notecard with a few words scribbled across it.

I ONLY WANT WHAT'S BEST FOR YOU, it said, with that name tacked on awkwardly at the end. I'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU. — MOM

"The handwriting," said Madison abruptly, looking over my shoulder.

And all at once it fit into place: the familiar handwriting, with its orderly all-capital letters; the green shade of the pills, a shade I knew I'd seen somewhere else, too; the impossibility of the pills being Tinker-made; that core aspects of powers often ran in families, even if their details changed…

"Um," said Terry. "Is that supposed to be our stop? Because…"

Madison, Sophia, and I turned as one to look out the windshield at the end of the bus. Across the intersection stood an apartment building, and out front…

Black vans. And— I twisted myself around and tried to peer out the actual window at my back. My forehead dug into the little knob that one could pull to slide it open an inch as I strained to see the two people standing out front of the building, their hands behind their backs, their mouths and noses obscured by something blobby and thick. But even through my strain, even under the orange glow of the streetlights, I recognized them easily:

Laura and Elisa. And behind them, one hand holding a phone to her ear, her other gently resting upon Elisa's shoulder, was Miss Militia.

My bugs strained to listen as Miss Militia pulled the phone away and looked over her shoulder to the PRT agents standing behind her.

"Trace is in," she said. "They're nearby."

I spun back around. I could feel the blood rushing from my face; I shoved words out of my mouth:

"She knows we're here."

A/N: Thanks for the assistance with puns. You know who you are. Thanks to EtchJetty for beta-ing!