Interlude - Weaver
The model posed on her bedside. It took weeks to assemble. Hours of videos on how to smooth out and clean mold lines, apply decals, and mark the lines to help them stand out. She arranged the arms and legs as though shielding an attack.
She liked it that way.
It spoke more to who Taylor was than many of the others Emma saw online.
Taylor liked to be the hero. She liked to be the protector. Before Emma ruined her, at least.
Rising from her bed, Emma grabbed her mask and pulled it over her face. She tucked her hair back; easier to do now that she'd cut it. Drawing the hood of her costume over her head, she started toward the elevator.
Logistics, Emma learned, were complicated.
Bugs were everywhere. She heard and saw everything they did and time made it easier and easier to discern their senses.
The PRT tried, but it's not like she could move a roach that survived the last extermination out of a large meeting room with any speed. Flies found their ways in. Spiders were easy to spot, but without them smaller pests persisted and so did Emma's ability to eavesdrop.
Efforts to keep her out of meetings and private discussions were pointless. She tried to be considerate. Some things just weren't her business. She heard them anyway. She knew things.
Things like Newtype wanting to talk to Ruth.
She passed Phobos and Spectre in the hall and both gave her wary glances. She nodded to them and gave a brief greeting before continuing on her way.
When she first arrived in Boston, she did everything she could to make her ill-temper known. Lashed out like a spoiled child. Things got better with time, after she pulled her head from her ass. She still felt like an outsider but that was okay.
Seemed that just as things started to be almost normal, the news about Taylor and the bullying broke. Her name and face broke with it. The rest of the world didn't know Weaver was Emma Barnes, but the Wards did.
They finally had the answer to the big question; what did Weaver do that was so bad the PRT treated her like a criminal?
Things got awkward again after they all knew. She endured it. It seemed fair. Who wanted to be friendly with someone who did that to her best friend?
They didn't know about the vial either. As far as they knew, the worst day of her life wasn't in an alley, or the day she realized what she'd done to her best friend. They all thought the worst day of her life was the day she got caught.
Kind of funny if she stepped outside of herself. Sometimes there really is justice in the cosmos. She'd let Newtype know if she thought it would do her any good. As tempting as that might be, it felt too much like some kind of self-serving catharsis.
Emma had no right to butt into Newtype's life after everything she'd done.
In the elevator, Emma pressed a button to go down to the cafeteria.
It was mid-day, which was ironically the least busy time for the PRT. Not that things had been very busy lately. The city continued quietly rebuilding from Leviathan. The Teeth were gone. Accord was slowly recovering still. Blasto kept to his own business. Everyone kept an eye on Purity and her group.
Maybe that's what Newtype wanted to talk to Ruth about?
Emma ignored the acknowledgments her presence got after she entered the open room.
Director Armstrong and Recoil stood just outside the meeting room. They'd attempted to clear it but they always missed things. Emma poked the bugs around, trying to get them to leave the room or go to the fringes at least.
She still saw.
Newtype lost her hair. Emma didn't know when. After Butcher, maybe? It looked wrong on her frame. With how tall and thin she was, long hair worked better than short. And it was Taylor's hair.
Ruth stood across from her, fidgeting.
"Well," she grumbled. "What is it?"
Newtype looked away from the window. Emma busied herself at the food line. It wasn't bad here. Better than Winslow, and she was probably eating healthier than ever. She needed muscle now more than a slim figure.
"I wanted to ask about Fenja and Menja."
Fenja and Menja?
"Fenja and Menja?" Ruth asked. "Why?
"I thought some nasty things about them awhile back." Newtype turned her face back to the window. "I'm not nice to people I decide have it coming. Brutal, actually." She hesitated, and Emma watched the hand Ruth couldn't see tense. "I don't really know anything about them, and I handled them pretty harshly when I went after the Empire."
Emma got herself a glass of juice and turned toward the back right corner. The cafeteria had a small enclosed alcove there for the Protectorate and Wards. Emma took note of Hunch's presence in the back.
"They outed you."
"I'm not saying they didn't have it coming. The beating that is. I kind of called them bimbos though, and that's…not me."
Emma paused.
"You've lost me," Ruth murmured, head cocked.
She knew the front. It was good. Maybe Ruth even believed it. Self-delusion is a powerful thing. It let her get through her day without hating herself.
It was still a front.
Emma thought of understanding as a double edged sword. Everyone wanted to understand but did they think it through? To understand was to know. To empathize.
Emma wished she didn't understand. Ignorance seemed like bliss compared to remembering everything she'd done. Ignorance would probably be better for Ruth too. Whether she liked it or not, she understood Nazis. She knew them. She had to live with that. With how it affected her, and those around her.
"You knew them, right?" Newtype asked back. "What were they like?"
"Knew them? They managed me. That's how it works in club Nazi. Them and Othala? They were my role models. We weren't friends and I'll let you in on a secret. Fenja and Menja were bimbos. Kaiser's personal bimbos."
"It can't be that simple."
"What fucks do you give?"
"You knew them. Why? Why were they like that?"
"I knew lots of people. Doesn't make me an expert on whatever fucked up shit goes on in their heads."
It's not the response Newtype wanted. Emma could discern that from the way she wheeled about completely to face Ruth. "I broke their noses. Shattered their bones. I demeaned them for a petty catharsis. You don't feel anything for them?"
Ruth started to speak but stopped. She tilted her head the other way, and her shoulders relaxed.
"You do," she accused. Newtype looked away from her. "What? You feel bad about what happened? You ended the Empire. I'd figure you'd feel proud!"
Newtype went silent, and Emma fidgeted. She thought Newtype would be proud too. She was so driven, so different from Taylor in that way. Not that Taylor was lazy, but 'go get um' had never really been her deal.
Maybe it wasn't about the Empire. Maybe it was about Façade? Emma saw that, vaguely. She knew Newtype wasn't the old Taylor, but it still struck her. Taylor wasn't a killer. She wasn't violent. It wasn't her fault, but still.
Ruth scoffed. "So what, you feel bad? Jesus. You want to feel better about yourself, all you had to do was ask."
She stepped closer to Newtype and pulled her mask from her face.
"They're cancer. All of them. If they didn't end bad one way, they'd have wound up bad some other way. That's the shit they signed up for. Save the tears for someone who deserves them."
Newtype glared. "I didn't set out to be a bully." Emma sat up straighter. "And I'm not, but sometimes…"
Ruth groaned. "Seriously? They're Nazis! Even I know hitting them is okay! Fuck, I wanted to hit them! Most of them didn't even believe that shit. They just wanted to feel superior to everyone else!"
"Must be nice," Newtype muttered.
"Sure is," Ruth snarled.
Newtype shook her head and turned. "Sorry for wasting your time then."
Emma gripped the cushion on either side of her. She flew a fly closer, encouraging it to land on the rim by the door. Newtype paused.
"Does Weaver do that a lot?"
"What?" Ruth asked.
"Eavesdrop."
Shit.
Emma squinted, not that it helped. The fly's eyes weren't good enough. She couldn't make everything out. The wide mouth, and her cheeks. Big eyes. No expressions.
Nothing she could call 'Taylor.'
That word though. Taylor wasn't a bully. Even the few times she'd gotten into a fight, or insulted someone, it was to protect someone else. She didn't pick on people because she enjoyed it. Past the first grade they didn't even have much experience with bullies. Taylor's dad was in the union and Emma's was a lawyer. No one wanted to mess with them.
Not until Emma subjected Taylor to everything… Taught her how to treat others like things.
Taylor.
On a moment's thought, Emma pulled her phone from her pocket.
Ruth's began ringing and Newtype turned to look at her.
"Um. One sec." She turned away and held the phone up to her face. She hissed in a hushed tone, "Are you trying to get in trouble again?"
"Please. I"—her therapist asked her once what she'd say to Taylor—"Please. I have to talk to her."
It was just an exercise, but Emma had thought about it. It was easier when she accepted she'd never actually say it. Maybe she still shouldn't.
What good would it do?
"Weaver?" Newtype asked.
Ruth fidgeted under her gaze. "Y-Yeah."
She crossed the room to Ruth and held her hand out. Ruth hesitated, glancing toward the door more than once. Armstrong and Recoil were talking. They hadn't heard anything.
Please.
Ruth looked at the phone and groaned. "Make it quick."
Newtype lifted the phone, and Emma's voice caught in throat.
"Weaver?"
What would you tell her Emma, if you could talk to her again?
"It's not your fault." Newtype raised her head as Emma spoke. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Emma taught Taylor to bully herself and Newtype was still doing it to herself. Emma understood that. To understand is to know. Once you know, there's only living with it.
"Don't start tearing yourself down now."
Emma didn't need to see her face.
"Thanks," Taylor whispered. "That's… It's nice to hear that."
She hung up and Emma set her phone down.
They'd notice when they checked Ruth's calls. She'd get in trouble again. Was it worth it? Was that the right thing to do?
Rising from her seat, Emma turned and walked toward the back booth.
It was strange, seeing that piece of Taylor in Newtype. Maybe… Maybe she was wrong. Taylor wasn't dead. She changed. It didn't fix what she did or how wrong it was, but if Taylor was still inside Newtype then maybe the old Emma was still inside her.
The good Emma.
She walked to the back and stopped just out of sight.
"Hunch." He moved in the booth, turning around awkwardly in the way he did. "Are you okay?"
He didn't answer her. From a fly on the ceiling, she saw his lips moving to form words, but no sounds came out. He looked humiliated. That wasn't her intent, but she couldn't leave it like this, watching him huddle and cry like she used to watch Taylor?
"I'm sorry," she offered. "I don't mean to pry. Just"—he didn't need the explanation—"I see things. Hear them. Keep them to myself usually but—"
That caused him to flinch and he started looking around the table. They always did that.
"Sorry." She already said that. "I can go if you want. If you have stuff you want to say and don't know who to say it to, I'm always around. You can just talk and I'll listen. Bugs don't judge."
Stupid. Emma tried to think of a worse way to say that, but that seemed about as bad as it got. Made her sound like a stalker.
Who in their right mind would ever trust Emma with anything personal or private ever again?
"I'll go. Sorry."
Emma left the cafeteria and started back toward her room.
Was it selfish of her to offer that to him? Someone trusted her once. Taylor told her everything. Emma turned it all against her. Ruined her life.
Everyone knew that now. Her name might not be the one in the news as the 'ring-leader' but surely the other Wards understood. They knew things that weren't in the news.
Hunch started speaking, nervously at first. Emma stepped off to the side of the hall and listened. It's what she promised.
And this time, she'd never tell anyone.
There's no such thing as redemption or atonement. Those were nice thoughts but Emma didn't believe in them. Sins aren't loans. They can't be paid back and forgiven.
It doesn't work that way.
No one can change the past. What's done is done.
All you can do is better.
