Interlude: Miss Militia
One Day Later...
The harsh sting of ozone that hit her nose made her wince more than anything. Even the, by any other standard, bizarre sight of someone just appearing out of literal thin air didn't phase her anymore. She'd been teleported and had seen teleportations too many times for that.
"Why hello there!" The new arrival said with a lopsided grin, leaning on her suitcase handle. She turned, looking to Strider. "Don't suppose I could pay you to help me move my junk here too, right?"
"Pay me by the mile and maybe." The hero smirked.
The woman slapped him on the shoulder. "After you offered no in-flight movie? For shame~" She gave an over exaggerated scoff before looking to Militia. "Can you believe the nerve of these people in the transport industry today? World's going down the gutter I tell ya."
She offered a chuckle, shaking her head.
Strider laughed. "Well, I'm off. See ya later, Jen. Hannah." He offered a nod.
Just like that, he was gone.
The heroine she knew as Mouse Protector hefted up a duffle-bag on one shoulder and wheeled a suitcase behind her with her free hand.
"You don't call, you don't write." Jennifer's head bobbed from left to right as she picked up her suitcase to walk down the stairs that led up to the helipad. She reached the bottom and spread her arms wide, grabbing hold of the star-spangled cape with a full embrace. "Missed ya."
Miss Militia smiled, hugging her back.
After a good three seconds or so Jenn pulled away, dark hair whipping around her face as it was caught in the wind. She looked at her long time friend, the ever present smile was gone, worry in its place.
It was one of the few times Hannah could remember that happening.
"How're you doin?"
She shook her head. "Not now. Let's go report to Director Dollerant. We can talk later if you still feel like it."
She nodded. "Sure." Then her little smirk came back, unable to stay away for very long. "So, have you thought about what we were talking about last time we saw each other?"
Miss Militia blinked, confused and curious. She had to think about what it was she was talking about. And for that to happen with eidetic memory that was quite a feat.
Then she rolled her eyes. "Are you still going on about that?"
"Hey! When you actually make a functional combo with a glaive and a shotgun or any other gunblade combination I will officially be satisfied."
"Why are you so obsessed with that anyway?"
"How many other people can actually say 'This is my boomstick' and mean it! Golden opportunity wasted I tell ya."
Same old Jennifer Miller…
(X)
Thirty minutes or so later, they were in the director's office.
"Well now. I trust you've settled in."
"Ehhh, sort of." Jennifer shrugged as she and Militia took their seats. "No offense, but unlike Armsy I don't plan to live on base for very long, the quicker I can find a good apartment, the better. I hear prices are rock bottom this time of year. More power to me."
Militia winced. Even Dollerant, who wasn't in the Bay for the worst of it and wasn't a Brockton Bay native, answered her with a deadpan stare.
"Too soon?" Mouse Protector questioned with a guilty smile.
"Oh yes." Dollerant answered. "Still, while I don't share your enthusiasm for the situation the sentiment is correct. The Bay is still very much in recovery, you should be able to find something for a good price, very likely by the sea-side as well."
The younger woman nodded. "Alright. So." She leaned forward, clasping her hands. "When do I get to meet her?"
After a moment's pause the recent transfer looked to both of them "Oh come on, we all knew this conversation was going there fast and I'm gonna have to meet her eventually."
"You'll meet her when you present yourself to the Wards and your fellow Protectorate members tomorrow."
"Isn't she like… locked in a bunker like Dragon's hoard or something?" The younger woman asked. "That's the rumors back home in Vegas anyway."
That drew Miss Militia's attention. "What are they saying?" She asked, turning her gaze fully to face her old teammate. "About her I mean."
"That she's scary strong. Like, Triumvirate strong. Siberian strong. The bend-over-kiss-your-ass-and-half-the-city-goodbye-type of strong." She shrugged. "Other than that and how you guys got Dragon to make a custom, instant kill room to hold her, we're not hearing much."
If she'd winced before, this time she almost visibly reeled.
Was that how the PRT... the whole Protectorate outside the state saw her? Something to keep locked away in an instant kill prison?
Someone that was equally dangerous as the killer of Hero, Siberian of all people?
Hannah felt sick.
Mouse Protector looked at the both of them. "Okay. Stuck my foot in my mouth again it seems. Batting a hundred today so whoopie. Soooo set me straight. What's the real situation? Stories get blown out of proportion all the time."
"Glad to hear you haven't made up your mind." Dollerant drawled. "Well, as they said 'back home' Ms. Hebert is incredibly powerful, and while Dragon did make a customized room for her, its intent is purely for containment purposes, not instant extermination. I'm glad to say that, outside of her initial capture, we have never had to utilize her containment measures at all. She has been incredibly cooperative given the circumstances."
"Huh. Sooo… completely blown out of proportion then. Guess the old saying works. Don't believe what the papers say." She nodded to herself as she leaned back in her chair. "And how is she? What I read… well… having your own power playing willy nilly with your head… seems a lot more traumatic than just being Mastered… and I've seen Valefor's victims."
"Her guard is up." Was Dollerant's flat answer, her lips pursed in displeasure. "Always. She is leery of us, of Ms. Yamada, of her power, Dragon, even her Ward teammates. Always she is looking, waiting for the other shoe to drop and keeping everyone at arm's length."
With every word, Hannah felt another twist of the knife carving her up from the inside out.
She let this happen.
She followed orders like any good soldier.
And she let this... Happen.
"Sounds lonely." Mouse Protector admitted softly. "I can't imagine what she's going through."
"It very likely is." The older woman said. "But… she seems like a strong girl. I'm sure she'll get through this. But she will need all the help she can get. And we're going to give it."
Jennifer nods. "Preach. Well. What about everyone else? Any red flags I should hear about?"
Hannah listens with one ear, her thoughts drifting elsewhere as her friend and the director talk.
(X)
Nearly an hour later as they stepped out, she felt Jennifer's arm wrap around her shoulders.
"Alright so, let's break out a bottle and celebrate my last day before becoming a responsible adult and being tied down by the constraints of PR and leadership."
Miss Militia's eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled. "You'll never be a responsible adult."
Jennifer sighed melodramatically. "I'll have to pretend though. And that'll take effort. Come oooon let's go find the janitor's closet they gave me for a room and at least make it feel a little homey by getting hammered in it… or… well… I'll get hammered, you just nurse one or two drinks and humor me like you usually do.
"I don't know Jen… I'm kinda busy with some-"
"-Thing that you can very likely get done in that extra eight hours that you've got over everyone else in the world with time to spare." She deadpanned and nudged her. "I'm not above following you around and annoying you all day."
Hannah shook her head. "Fine. Whatever I'll go. Just make sure you actually get something decent for once and nothing fruity or whatever apple something something you got last time."
"Hard gasoli-I mean, whisky, it is!" She smiled. Then she turned her head to the hallway. "Soooo… where is my Janitor closet room anyway?"
(X)
As far as 'on base' accommodations went, Jennifer's room was actually one of the better ones. A sizable bedroom, living room, and bathroom. It had a small window, almost a porthole really, that could see out into the open ocean. It'd be a gorgeous view if it wasn't marred by the ruins of the boat graveyard.
The sun was falling below the horizon, painting the ocean in hues of fiery orange and deep purples as they finished their first bottle. Taking the time to catch up, talk about everything they'd missed… the things that had changed. Those that had stayed the same…
Finally… halfway through the second bottle the question came.
"So… How're you doin' Hannah?"
She didn't answer. And from her place laying down on the couch Jennifer tilted her head up, looking at her.
"I'm fine." Hannah finally said, her eyes trailing down to the gold liquid in her cup.
"No. You ain't fine." She answered, her words suspiciously far less slurred than they were a moment ago.
Jennifer sat up, grunting as she crossed her feet to sit on the couch, facing the middle eastern woman. "When I saw you, I damn near had the urge to ask if you were getting enough sleep. You look like hell."
Hannah took a deep breath, letting her head fall backwards and her eyes close.
"What's there to talk about?"
Jennifer sucked down a hissing breath through her teeth. "Well… I take that to mean 'Everything's gone to shit in my life so mind your own business'... With you and Colin it was always pulling teeth. He'd hide behind Tinker bullshit and you'd just smile and say it was all okay. It ain't healthy, bottling up your emotions. You're doing it even now."
She heard the clink of glass against glass, the sloshing of liquid being poured.
"Tell me the worst of it." She demanded, and Hannah knew that if she looked her friend would not be sporting her usual smile. "Tell me… what bothers you the most… and we'll go from there…"
A silence fell between the two of them, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning and the soft, almost lost sound of waves crashing against the shores outside.
Neither woman said a word…
For almost ten straight minutes...neither woman said a single word. One waiting patiently...the other...thinking.
When her voice finally comes to her… it's slow… her words are measured… as if weighted, struggling to escape the tight coil she wrapped them in, now loosened by alcohol and the presence of one of her oldest friends.
"The worst part is remembering…"
Jennifer didn't say a word. Didn't ask. Didn't interrupt. She knew her well enough to know that if she did, Hannah was just as likely to clam up entirely.
It's true…
Memory is a curse.
Memory… it isn't a friend. Not for her… not for a woman who's fond memories are outweighed so decisively by the... others.
"I don't remember." She says. "That is to say. I try not to… I succeed most days."
Its her way of coping. Perfect clarity, perfect recollection is more a burden than a boon. More painful than joyous. So she's learned how to manage. How to keep busy. Distract herself, how to not let the weight crush her.
To survive.
But even she can't push it back all the time. When the worst of it comes to the fore…
"When I can't… That's the worst of it."
She picked her head up, looking at her friend, who's face is sombre, listening.
"We follow our orders…" She didn't ask it. "Sometimes it's the right thing, sometimes it's the wrong thing, but… always… Always. Because that's what we're supposed to do. How things can keep going. Still work."
Jennifer doesn't answer, barely even moves. But she doesn't have to. She agrees. Hannah knows she agrees. She has to. That's how they were taught. How they were both taught. But for her… It came earlier, it comes easier.
She wasn't with her in the Kurdish Mountains, fighting as a child soldier, staring down the barrel of a sniper rifle, holding a knife under her dress, exploring mine fields.
But she was there as a Ward, when they pulled back from the civilian shelters in New York when Behemoth first appeared, as a Protectorate hero when they sounded the retreat against Nilbog's monsters in Ellisburg.
When they fought against the Teeth, Valefor, the Slaughterhouse Nine, the Endbringers.
Always they listened and obeyed. Trusting that it was to serve a purpose greater than themselves. That a little evil could pave the way for a greater good, a better result...
So… when it happened here. Again. It was simple.
As distasteful as it was. As angry as she had been…
She followed her orders.
Followed her orders and kept quiet. Goose-stepped like a good little soldier.
And the worst of it is that she could remember.
She could remember her. Before all of this. How happy she'd been, how the whole world had just… opened up… how her dreams were coming true.
How happy she'd been…
She can remember that… and see the stark reality of her efforts… what her greater good… had given her in the end...
"That's the worst of it." She said, and the sting in her eyes burns like acid. "That's always the worst of it Jen…"
Jennifer doesn't speak. Doesn't say a word. She just waits.
"I could have… done things differently. I could have spoken out… But I didn't! I followed orders and people got hurt or died! Colin, Adam, Chris, even Sophia almost died. I…" She stopped… her head falling back as she sucked down a shuddering breath through her teeth.
"Hannah?"
"I… fucked up. I fucked up Jen… Taylor. Surtr. I ran to get my doll, they screamed for me to help and… over and over and over again… I… they told me to stab him when he wasn't… to make it easier… wouldn't suspect me. A little girl. T-To take them out of the-their..." She was rambling now… the words coming out in a slurred mess as memories of old failures tumbled together with the new. Jennifer's jaw tightened and her eyes became wide as she immediately went over to her side.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been talking… how long she rambled with the haze of alcohol clouding her thoughts.
She wouldn't do it. She promised she wouldn't do it again.
She broke her promise.
Just like how she broke her promise to Taylor. Her father used to tell her when she would go to sleep… so so long ago in a simpler time that an oathbreaker would be condemned to fire for eternity...
Was Taylor as bad as her now?
Was Taylor just like her… Just like Miss Militia… the Hero?
Is that what her orders made….
Another killer? Another murderer?
It was her fault… it was all her fault…
When the cry escaped her lips, it was a pitiful, keening, whine, the palms of her hands digging into her eyes, as though trying to physically hold back the tears.
The wall Hannah had thrown all of her pent up emotions behind cracked, and gone was Hannah Washington, the hero. And in it's place was the scared traumatized Hana, the scared little girl who murdered to survive and was abused daily. And before she could even realize it had happened the crack widened into a breach til the whole thing fell apart under the weight of memory.
She cried. Wailed. For the first time in a long, long time. Speaking in her native tongue, she sobbed and spoke… To Jennifer, to Taylor, even to Colin, her oldest friend, the dead… to God.
She barely even felt Jen's arms wrap around her, heard her mutterings of reassurance, and she wasn't sure when the blackness of sleep took her.