A.N. Sorry for being late with this. I've been miserably ill for almost two weeks now. However, good news, I've been invited to the SOBIE conference! So yay. Progress in my career.

Chapter 7

Taylor Hebert

Frankly, this wasn't the weirdest thing that had happened to her recently. And that was saying a bit.

"Sorry again Detective… Munroe?"

The smartly dressed female police officer nodded, looking a little uncomfortable but otherwise maintaining a polite facade. Taylor appreciated that. Even if the two of them were just pretending that this wasn't one of the most awkward things either of them had to do in recent memory.

"Yes ma'am."

"Thank you too, uh, ma'am." She pooh-poohed the polite response. "After all, I'm the one who suddenly turned into two thirds of a fish."

Taylor was dying on the inside.

Every part of her wanted to run and hide.

"Unfortunately I couldn't, well, you know, make it. So thanks again for coming to my house." Her human half floundered and it left her blushing and glad for her shirt.

The young woman took a moment to turn over in the wading pool she was currently in.

It was a small plastic thing that her father had purchased, new, and set up in their backyard. A privacy fence shielded her from anyone who couldn't fly and that meant Taylor's shame was well hidden by both that degree of separation and the long sleeved flannel shirt and swimsuit top she had on.

As for the detective, who was sitting there making notes on a small pad the entire time, well, she was sitting on an old plastic chair that was too small for an adult in a rather ruffled looking suit and jacket.

It was still a considerably less ridiculous sight than Taylor herself.

At the moment, she was… long. Longer than she was tall as a human, with light blue scales that ranged from small, overlapping shards of color to larger, more fully formed fish scales as they trailed down across her stomach and back, over where her hips and legs had once been, and ended in a long, powerful tail that had already accidentally destroyed their one good chair. More so than that, her arms had patterned scales down the backs of her forearms and the top of her hand, and a lighter, near white trickle of scales across her palms and wrists.

"And I have that tea you wanted." Her father came out of the house, cup of steaming liquid in hand, and offered the beverage to the nice woman who would probably decide whether or not his daughter would be investigated for murder. "I hope I got it right."

Understandably, he was even more nervous, though less awkward, than Taylor herself was.

"I do want to make it clear that I'm not here to do anything other than conduct an interview." Blowing on the tea, Detective Munroe took a sip, slurping to keep from burning her lip, and sighed in thanks. "But the Earl Grey is very nice. Thank you."

Danny gave an awkward chuckle and walked over to Taylor, sitting on the slightly damp grass and waiting next to her. Both of them were horribly nervous and awkward about the whole affair and the officer seemed quite content to let them stew for a bit while she sipped her tea. Ultimately, the teenager bumped her father's shoulder, letting him know it was all gonna be ok with a rather lopsided smile.

"So, what exactly do we need to discuss?"

Having taken the encouragement to heart, her father spoke up again, breaking the otherwise mild quiet of the afternoon. And, even through the stress, it had been almost too calm. There were a few cars in the distance, but only a mild breeze and the rustling of the trees, and the everpresent sound of far off waves, broke into their world. The isolation was tempting, full as the moment was, and the smell of salt was stronger and more appealing to Taylor than it ever had been before. But, now that they were speaking, she forced herself to set aside such moments and focus on what they were being told.

"A number of things. Firstly, I know that you know I'll need to report this aspect of your daughter's power, yes?"

Nodding, the Hebert patriarch agreed to that fact.

"Understandable."

"So is she a Breaker? Is this some alternate form?" Having taken this admission as permission, the detective began speaking calmly but forcefully. "Does it increase her control of water? And when did this start happening?"

Glancing at her as if for permission, Taylor raised her hand.

"I'll explain, dad." With him here it was easier to be honest. "After the… attack on me." She paused for a moment and pushed a wet lock of hair behind one ear. "It just kinda happens. There's no warning, no sensation. Just poof; I go from having legs to having this."

Splashing slightly, it took all of the teenager's control to move without looking like, well, a fish flopping around on dry land. It wasn't like anything she'd heard about Changers or even Case 53's. She was sure that the change was supposed to be either permanent or voluntary, and this… element to her powers was anything but. Not that Taylor was all knowing when it came to Capes, but bits and pieces of common knowledge were, well, common.

Part of her, the curious scientifically inclined one, wanted to experiment with it.

Find out the real limits to this form and its true functions.

It was just difficult to do that from a kiddy pool.

"So I have no idea. Honestly, I thought I was just a, um, not whatever this is."

Humans didn't randomly grow fish tails, she was absolutely sure of that, even if she was a bit ignorant about capes… despite being one. Which, in hindsight, really seemed like it should have come with an instruction manual.

Making a noise that was neither positive or negative, more of a sound of acknowledgement that something had been said at all, the good detective noted a few things down. "And your attack. That does seem to be an issue."

And just like that all the stress returned.

All the anxiety and tension and worry pooled back in her gut.

For some reason, she fixated on the silliest of details. Right there, on the side of the policewoman's chin, was a small, thin, white scar. A raised bump of irregular tissue that was patterned with slight changes in pale peach and a slightly darker shade that had just a hint of paleness.

Not only was it totally irrelevant to the conversation at hand, but that feature drew Taylor's attention away from the very serious thing she was now dealing with. So, with an effort of will, she worked her way through what happened once again. And, when they got to the end, she mentioned the surge of power that her powers had yet to replicate.

"In fact, I almost feel drained when I try to move much water at all. Like I'm pushing against a heavy weight most of the time and I've had a really bad rash since then. On my hands!" Blushing, Taylor held her palms up. "My skin gets really dry and it cracks, but only when I'm not like this, and I don't get any scales when I'm human. So, well, I'm not sure, to be perfectly truthful."

"So what you're saying is that you experienced a seriously traumatic event and since then your powers have been acting differently?" At her nod the detective gave her a small smile. "Then, Ms. Hebert, I do think I would strongly recommend a therapist." Turning to her father, she continued before the teenager could fully respond. "While it's not my place to say anything, sir, she may have post traumatic stress disorder. Brockton Bay isn't an easy place to live in and, while I'm not a parahuman, I am a police officer. There's a reason we have mandatory psychological evaluations after every officer involved shooting."

"Taylor didn't shoot anyone!" Quickly jumping to his daughter's defense, Danny's voice wasn't raised, but he did look seriously worried. "In fact, we went to the police, you didn't have to come to us."

Nodding, the detective held up her hand.

"And that's why I'm here today. Frankly, the BBPD simply can't find any evidence at all of your daughter's attack." Munroe said. "We found the location, there was a lot of water and a bit of blood, but it was impossible to even tell if the blood was human or not it was so badly degraded." Continuing before either Hebert could interject further, the police officer said something neither the rather anxious father, nor the worried daughter expected. "I'm sorry to say that we're closing the case and will not be recommending further investigation or action by our own staff, or the PRT, despite it being an alleged parahuman involved incident. There's simply no evidence anything much at all happened."

"So… so what does that mean?"

Speaking first, Taylor took the initiative of the conversation, only to falter when the other two turned to look at her.

"Well, it means what I've just told you. This is only a consultation, in a week or two you can expect to be called in for a closing interview, that'll be like the one you gave when you reported what happened. And Mr. Hebert, your daughter is a parahuman and a juvenile. That means the PRT and the Protectorate are liable to conduct their own interviews as well."

"Will my daughter really need to go through all that?" He questioned, frowning at the thought of the uncertainty of having something like that looming over the family. "If there simply isn't any evidence of something happening, why would they care? Especially since they weren't involved at first."

Humming, the detective made a so-so gesture.

"The short answer is that the PRT has priority in any parahuman involved incident. But the sheer number of potential situations that do involve powers means that the BBPD investigates all but the most obvious cases. We've finished our investigation now, but the end result is highly inconclusive and fatalities were allegedly involved."

"Ah. So no one has a clear answer, meaning there's a chance for any other organization to come in and gain influence over a potentially powerful, young Tinker."

That earned her father a shrug from the detective.

"Your words, not mine Mr. Hebert."

Being a teenager, Taylor could appreciate the degree of "not my problem" the entire situation was thick with. But, since it was her future that was possibly on the line, she felt more than a bit dissatisfied at such an inconclusive conclusion.

"So there's nothing else we need to do?"

"No ma'am. At least nothing else you need to do, at least at this time."

And that was that.

The conversation from then on out was more about wrapping up the various small issues that lingered, with a strong emphasis on ensuring that neither Taylor nor Danny had anything to add and that they would be ready for any further interviews. In particular the detective tried to get a gauge of how much water had actually been unleashed during the incident and if the cape really could do that again.

By the end the Tinker, though, began to suspect something else was really happening. When the Detective stood up, she tilted her notebook down slightly - not much. But from the little glance she got there seemed to be a lot written down.

Far more than seemed appropriate for just a confirmation interview.

When her father let the nice woman out it left Taylor alone with time to chew on her thoughts, which seemed to now be looping back to exactly what had been discussed. And it seemed a bit odd how the conversation had twice focused on her powers.

'Well, it was kind of the… weapon in this case. So I guess it makes sense for them to want to know.'

Deeply unsatisfied, the teenager ultimately gave up trying to figure out what was going on. She had snacks and a book and she didn't need to do any school work until after she turned back into a human.

"I guess there's something to be said for counting my blessings. I guess."

Coil

Thomas Calvert was a somewhat complicated man. There were… idiosyncrasies in how he acted and though that was understandable for anyone in a position of power, that meant there were significant habits he fell into. The least offensive were the normal ones where he used a spare timeline for rest or recreation, letting him continue to work in his main timeline, but those were just that - minimally offensive.

Habits meant his lifestyle had certain cues.

And you didn't have to be all that smart to make use of small details and cues. From the little things like how he preferred wearing his comfortable shoes at the start of the week and woke up half an hour earlier. To how he would always pick up his latte at a nearby café he'd frequented for the best part of the past year.

Everything he did was calculated.

Everything had meaning.

A perfectly structured "everyday".

But those tiny habits formed a profile of his behavior that could also be anticipated should he need to suddenly drop a timeline.

Working at the PRT was stressful enough. Working to subvert the PRT from the inside was twice as stressful, even if he took some measure of schadenfreude concerning the misfortunes of his boss and co-workers. It was all done for the sake of achieving balance within his daily life as he worked towards achieving his goals without being violently killed by another parahuman or even more embarrassingly, having to drop a timeline because he was about to be ripped apart by gunfire.

Which made unforeseen variables one of the few things that got to him.

Because it should be impossible, or nearly impossible, given his unique skill set.

It did, however, happen from time to time. And that was where his real planning skills were put to the test. Because Brockton Bay wasn't the kind of place you sent a newbie. There were no beginner settings, no easy choices to make. Only a carefully precarious balancing act that kept the city from tipping over into open warfare. And Thomas considered himself very, very good at maintaining that balance.

Until it was time to tip it over himself.

But that kind of plan took time and preparation. Time he was likely running short on now, given the latest briefing packet the PRT was putting out. Even now, across the kaleidoscope of possibilities, Calvert found himself back in his real office, having called in sick for the day in order to make preparation and touch base with other resources.

Because this could be nothing short of a disaster.

"Taylor Hebert, what to do with you."

She was a plain girl, caucasian, notably plain. Her official file had a picture that was particularly non-flattering too. That was useful. An unpleasant looking young woman, whose posture indicated absolutely no confidence, was likely a target of bullying. Bullying was certainly a pressure point he could lean on. Her father, too, was useful. And so was the simple fact she was a Tinker - their powers demanded resources and could be utterly voracious.

There was a strong temptation to go about grabbing her immediately.

Healers were precious, but they were also amazingly rare.

The Empire 88 had their own, and it wasn't as if the likes of Lung and Oni Lee needed a healer to do what they did best. Panacea by herself gave parahumans a better name in half the time the original generation of capes had. Adding a third healer to the chessboard meant having an unclaimed advantage.

Of course, this particular advantage wasn't up for grabs. The detective who had interviewed the young girl just the day before had included details that she was potentially a Breaker and went a good ways towards confirming the Blaster rating assigned to the child.

"Tinker 8/12, Blaster 2/8, and Changer 4. Not bad at all." Coil sincerely doubted her Blaster rating was actually what got her out of her alleged attack as powers normally didn't just spike. Sure, there was a degree of flexibility, but if she was capable of sudden bursts of sheer, body annihilating hydrokinesis, then it would need to be a fundamental aspect of her ability. "Best to include that in the threat analysis though."

Apparently the girl turned into a mermaid, of all things. But that wasn't the oddest Changer form by any stretch of the imagination. Very marketable though. And very noticeable. But Changer and Blaster ratings combined wouldn't compare to a Tinker 8, never mind a possible Tinker 12.

That score hinged entirely on if her power could scale production of her healing items or not. If she was limited, for whatever reason, to only a small output she'd be downgraded to Tinker 6. Even limited production of bottled healing agents would be invaluable for saving lives at critical junctions, enough that a good amount of resources would be dedicated to protecting her. But the amount of money and lives that would be spent to keep a mass production capable healer safe and wearing a white hat was… extreme.

So of course that part of her dossier was heavily emphasized by the PRT.

Heavens knew how bad the PRT was with information leaks.

'That it's working against me now is nothing short of ironic.' Because by now every parahuman on the East Coast knew about her. 'My only hope is that getting two bites at the apple will be enough.'

Such was the tragedy of having a power like his own. You could prepare for a lot and account for all sorts of eventualities, but you couldn't be sure that someone out there wouldn't do something that affected the careful balance of power you had been nurturing, threatening to throw the entire ecosystem of Brockton Bay into disarray.

"I'm gonna need to call in a few favors."

His knee jerk reaction had been to try and collar this new anomaly before it could become a piece on someone else's board.

But he restrained himself.

There were other ways, better ways to go about doing it.

In fact, providence had been on his side when he started digging through the sparse information he'd been provided by his little Tattletale. A simple understanding of the sequence of events which led to this annoyance was all he could expect with six hours of work, but it would be enough. At least when he used his own legal capacity as a contractor to acquire a few puzzle pieces all on his own.

Of course, it was to be expected that Dragon would inform the authorities of a civilian girl capable of producing medicinal tinkertech.

Of course the PRT would want to capitalize on it.

He had it on good authority that they were already trying to make covert contact and that the BBPD had a permanent tail on the girl.

But where did that leave him?

Was there anything Thomas could do to hedge the odds in his favor?

Working at this project through his civilian identity restricted the options he had, but it allowed him to keep Coil distant from the struggle that would most assuredly ensue over the girl. He couldn't imagine the likes of Kaiser or Lung giving up on a possible lucrative venture, even if the latter was more brawn than brains in his humble opinion.

Money was money.

Mass production-capable tinkertech was… a game changer.

But that also meant Ms. Hebert would be a prize… people… would… kill… for.

"Oh." It occurred to him that with so many people fighting over this girl, he'd be more than free to make his own moves. And when all other bridges were pleasantly burned to cinders, he could simply step in. "I suppose it's time to become Director then."

A phone call to his little Tattletale later and the pieces were in motion.

Daniel Hebert

His coffee was too sweet and even a little syrupy. Hell, Danny didn't even know if it was coffee anymore and it surely wasn't good for his blood pressure either. But Taylor had recommended it when they stopped at Starbucks.

"How is it Dad?"

Her eyes were still a little pinched, like there was an edge of worry digging into her at all times.

"It's great kiddo." So he smiled. And it wasn't a lie either. The Union man would drink all the crappy mall syrup in the world if he was spending time with his family. "You made a good choice."

She snorted, her brown hoodie almost swallowing up the small motions of laughter as Taylor practically sank into her garment.

"Your lips pursed up when you drank and you think it tastes like garbage."

Demuring, the father pulled out a well used parental maneuver.

"I wouldn't say that."

"No." His daughter agreed. "But you were definitely thinking it."

Yes he was a grumpy old man and complaining about coffee not being actual coffee was probably playing to a stereotype - one his wife would have loved to poke fun at him over. But that didn't mean that they could get away with dropping a squirt of bean juice into a cup of sweet milk and then call it a latte. Call Danny old fashioned but there should have been more artistry to it. Or at least more actual coffee.

Annette would probably go on a rant about it and it would culminate with him agreeing with her. If he was lucky, and Taylor wasn't around, they'd open a bottle of wine and that would be their night.

If he wasn't, well, watching a movie was just as good, if in a very different way.

"Anyways, what do you want to do next?" But thinking about Annette wasn't what was important right now. "I know you said you weren't hungry, hungry, but do you want to at least get a pretzel or something?" The only problem was that it had been… too long since he and Taylor had gone out like this. "Even if you just want to carry it around I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Sure Dad. We can get giant pretzels. You have my permission to indulge."

"Hey, I'm the one paying! You don't get to patronize me."

Playfully raising a finger Danny gave it a comical wave only for Taylor to reach over and flick his digit, smirking when he failed to dodge in time.

"Patronize? Awfully big word for an old union man."

"Hey, at least acknowledge that I work in admin. Too old to actually do real work anymore."

Laughing along with Taylor, the old man stood up, waited for her to turn away, and dumped his coffee in the nearest trashcan. Five minutes later and they each had a giant pretzel, he had a water bottle, and they were window shopping at a clothes store called Stone Cold.

It was apparently quite trendy and sold an incredible quantity of very badly torn clothing. As well as artfully prestained, pre frayed, and pre everything odds and ends that were priced at three times what anyone should actually pay for good clothing that didn't look like it was made by Edward Scissorhands.

"So, uh, do you actually want any of… this?"

Holding up a shirt, Danny was very, very conflicted.

Because if his daughter did want a sixty dollar T-shirt that was black and bright pink, he would buy it for her. She never asked for anything and there was wiggle room in the budget.

"No." Taylor wrinkled her nose. "Just eww."

He felt proud.

And with that they promptly spent another twenty minutes quietly making fun of some rather ridiculous things. An almost painfully luminescent green pair of pants were actually so unpleasant to look at, it was more like a solid form of glow stick fluid.

Celebrating Taylor getting her little feet back under her wasn't something Danny thought he'd be doing. But after spending all that time cooped up, talking to cops and reviewing contract details and offers, he'd thought his busy bee of a daughter needed to get out.

Even if he wasn't the best company.

She'd been enjoying it though.

Or so he hoped.

If he were being honest, Danny also felt like going out. With the past few weeks being a whirlwind, he'd been on high alert from word go. How else was he supposed to react to his daughter being outed as a cape, though?

There was no way he wouldn't be stressed.

And it wasn't some lukewarm watered down excuse of a coffee served by a teenager who wrote his name as 'Denni' that would get him to unwind. The only way to get a workaholic like him off the desk was to literally drag him away from the desk.

"So the pretzel was good, yeah?"

With the last bite of his giant snack halfway to her mouth, his teenage daughter paused, blushed slightly, and offered him the tidbit. Danny just took the opportunity to pat her head.

"No, no. You started. Finish it all."

Blushing slightly, Taylor did, in fact, finish off the second pretzel and sighed.

"Better than the coffee, huh?"

Taylor rolled her eyes. Just like his own.

"Yeah yeah, you can't brag about it though. It's a classic." And the line of people waiting their own turn to be served seemed to agree.

"I can grab you another one. Place won't close for a couple hours."

She smiled sheepishly. It was small and thin, but it was there.

He'd know. She smiled just like her mother.

"Sorry. I guess I was hungrier than I thought. But it's better than just grabbing a bunch of takeout. This way I won't want more thirty minutes late-"

There was a crash and a rumble, noise and motion and action, that, even distant, still shook the building. Taylor braced against a nearby display and Danny instinctively covered her - several awnings falling over and unsecured advertisements were knocked off the walls. The shaking wasn't as if an earthquake had hit the city, but both could hear the sound of a great deal of glass shattering and people screaming in the distance.

Even more disturbingly there were great, bass barking noises, too loud to be anything but the very sound of the Hounds of Hell themselves.

"What's-"

"Get down!" Pulling his child down to her knees, Danny pushed her into a blind corner. It was out of any lines of sight and the wall, as best he recalled, led to another store's back area.

Admittedly that was only a vague, half remembered idea, but it seemed right in the moment.

"Shh."

Holding his finger to his lips, he calmed his daughter, who nodded and pulled her hoodie tight. It hurt his heart but he needed to know if the screaming and barking were bad news or very, very, very bad news. So, with his only child as secure as he could make her, and the rest of the store having either fled or hiding as well, he crept towards the front display area.

From where he was kneeling, there wasn't much that could be seen, but from the cloud of darkness billowing out from the mall's main entrance, he could guess it wasn't good news.

Patrolling around the front perimeter, there was a stocky woman in a plastic dog mask - more pertinent were the pack of huge, hulking mutant hounds that snapped at crowds of cowering bystanders and snarled at the one mall cop who'd drawn a weapon on them.

It didn't take much for him to be quickly isolated, pushed away from everyone else, and then, just as rapidly, the cloud of darkness shifted to cover the man.

He fired, several loud cracks that were oddly muffled by the cloud around him ringing out, and each shot smacked into the flank of one of the giant dogs. Depressingly, the handgun didn't seem to do much other than anger the creature, the masked girl stopping the monster from charging in, and just as suddenly a young man in a shining mask and black riding leathers charged into the cloud.

It took maybe ten seconds for the cloud to dissipate, the villain having knocked the security officer to the ground and seized both his weapon and his belt. Planting his foot on the man's back, the villain slowly turned his skull mask so everyone else got a nice, long look of the streams of darkness pouring from gaps in the helmet.

"Anybody else got any bright ideas?"

A blonde girl in a purple and black catsuit called out, casually strolling through the glass and twisted metal of the front doors.

"Anyone else wants to try something stupid? No?"

Turning as she walked, the villainess radiated absolute confidence and control.

"Alright then. Everybody knows the drill. Civvies line up over in the food court, security, I can see you watching-" Suddenly spinning and pointing at a camera, the blonde spread her arms and indicated her teammates. "Come on out, disarmed, or else we send the dogs in after you. You've got until the civvies are sorted to comply."

"Already taken care of." Twirling a baton with a strange tip, a young man dressed like a renaissance fair reject came strolling from the direction of an employees only section - as denoted by the large sign declaring it such - seemingly just as at ease as the blonde. "Idiots tried to go for a couple shotguns." Tapping his baton to the ground, it let out a violent snap hiss as an integrated stun gun fired. "They'll be feeling the consequences of their poor choices tomorrow."

The sheer degree of smug, patronizing sleaze that oozed from his words made Danny grit his teeth. For some reason just the way he talked about hurting others made him want to punch the brat's mask in. Though that would, rather obviously, be stupid.

However, that was enough information for him.

The villains were already setting to looting a number of jewelry stores and one of the giant hounds ripped an atm right from the wall.

Critically, that meant they weren't paying attention, even if the one with the taser baton was walking through the crowd of cowering hostages, probably a hundred in total, and whistling the song Delilah of all things. All in all, this seemed like an excellent opportunity to slip out through the back and get away before anything untoward happened.

So, of course, that's when things would most likely go to shit.