Chapter 7: Long Path to Atonement

Dean decided he had enough and walked away, leaving us in the middle of the courtyard with a lot to sort out. Talk about a bad way to end a date.

Wasn't his fault, though. Not entirely, anyway.

First things first: we had to leave the Towers. That cleaner hadn't approached us, but I bet that she was given strict orders not to listen in on private conversations, considering all the people that called these buildings home. Also, me being here wouldn't raise any eyebrows.

I was pretty familiar with Dean's apartment.

Amy was holding on extra tight as I flew us home, quiet as a mouse. Dean laid into us really hard today, and while I was used to it, Amy wasn't.

We broke up a lot, and lots of times it was over the pettiest things. Sometimes, though, our arguments got really intense. A few months back, I saw Dean talking to this pretty Hispanic girl, even driving her around, and I assumed the worst. It turned out he was just helping her out since her parents' grocery store had been ransacked by Hookwolf.

If he gave me a heads-up, I totally would've understood, but he decided to keep everything to himself. I didn't need to know her business, it had nothing to do with me, but my problem was that Dean always put everyone's problems on his shoulders because he was so willing to help everyone he could.

I couldn't compete with that.

But I loved that about him more than I hated what it drove him to do. That's why we spoke about it and patched things up, leading to that grocery store getting a renovation and an endorsement from Glory Girl.

That's how I knew his desire to help that bug girl wasn't just Dean being Gallant.

Once we got home, we holed up in Amy's room, designed in what Amy would call tasteful minimalism and what I would call negative chic. There wasn't much colour, zero posters, and only a handful of books, but there were practically no distractions, either, other than the computer we shared.

It was the perfect place for a secret meeting.

Mom always worked weekends and Dad was heading on a walk to Captain's Hill. Routines defined them... for the most part. Their absence gave us all the time we needed to recover from the bombshell Dean dropped on us, and deal with the fallout.

"Did Dean give away any hint that he knew what we did?" Amy asked.

"No... just his typical advice. Look before you leap, don't leave people behind in your blaze for glory, that kinda thing."

Amy clicked her tongue, dropping onto her bed. "I'm surprised he didn't confront us immediately."

So was I. Though now that I thought about it, he was tripping some major red flags, almost like he was testing me as he gathered up his courage to confront us.

"You think it's a good idea to tell Mom everything, face the repercussions I've been avoiding?"

"No," she said, frowning deeply. "We're not telling Carol a thing."

I frowned. "But Dean's on to us, Amy! He expects us to confess!"

"So you're gonna do it just because Dean ordered you to?"

"Why are you against this? What about my promise?"

Amy's eyes narrowed. "This isn't the way to go about it."

"Why?"

She looked away, wrapping her arms around her torso. If she needed time to explain herself, that was fine, but she'd better have a good explanation ready.

"If we tell Carol that we nearly ruined an innocent girl's life, she'll figure out that this isn't the first time you've assaulted a criminal. And you know what happens next?"

Mom would use this to show everyone New Wave heralds accountability?

"She'll cover it up," she said. And she was completely serious.

My mouth nearly fell open. "What? Mom would never do that!"

She stared up at me, fierce and unyielding. "We did this six times. The stakes are way too high for this to go public, and you're at the centre of this. There's no way Carol won't defend you."

"And what about that bug girl?" I growled. "Damn it, we can't keep calling her that."

It showed just how little we cared that we couldn't even dignify her with a name.

"Why don't we ask Dean what her name is?" Amy asked. "Or how to reach her?"

"And trigger Round 2 of that fracas in the Towers?" I shook my head. "No thanks. Let's call her... Ladybug, until we learn her name. I know, it's not great, but it's better than 'that bug girl'."

Amy snorted. "It's too on the nose. What about Killer Moth?"

"Too villain-y. Black Ant?"

"It's probably taken."

"It's not like we're actually naming her."

"Point. How about Brown Recluse? Her hair was dark."

"Her hair's black, Amy. And I think that's a kind of spider."

She rolled her eyes. "Forget it. How about Firefly?"

I rolled it around. "That's not bad. I like it." A smile came to my face, lasting for a good moment. "We can't throw Firefly under the bus. If we show her that we were way out of line, then that would make our apology a lot more credible, and it'd help her stop being afraid of heroes!"

"And in the process, we'll keep her from going public. Good idea."

I bit my lip. "That, too. But I have to get this right."

I still wanted to make amends in a way that Firefly would see as sincere... but I didn't know what would work best without taking drastic measures, and I didn't know if those drastic measures would actually help.

Amy leaned back on her palms. "Let's say we're not too late, and Firefly assumes we're acting in good faith. Will Carol agree, or will she think that throwing Firefly under the bus is worth keeping New Wave intact?"

"Wow, Ames. I didn't know you thought Mom was literally evil."

"You know I'm telling the truth. Mark didn't teach you that breaking arms was the right way to take out criminal scum."

Sheesh, Amy wasn't holding back today. Did Dean rattle her that much? Maybe, maybe not, but it wasn't Mom's fault that I broke more than just a few limbs.

"So you think Mom's going to attack Firefly – a hero – to protect me? I'm sorry, Amy, but that's bullshit."

I unfurled my arms, challenging Amy to prove me wrong. Her face was caught in a fog of thought, murky and inscrutable. She dug her fingers into her navy blanket, finding purchase in the soft fabric.

Then she found something to focus on: me.

"We could've confessed a long time ago, but we didn't. Why should we let Dean coerce us into doing the right thing?"

As slyly as she dodged trying to defend herself, Amy did have a point. Dean never said that he wouldn't tell the PRT everything we did to Firefly, but he wasn't expecting us to come up with an alibi.

What he gave us was a chance to come clean on our own terms, and nothing more.

"Because we'll have to do it anyway? It's not like we have to talk to Mom specifically."

Amy puckered her lips. "You're right. Since you already promised to be spotless, we can use that to show everyone we've learned from our mistakes."

"Can do. I still think we should talk to Mom, though. We'll definitely need her legal advice."

Her eyes lit up with a dangerous glint. "We'll tell Sarah instead. She'll keep us honest, and if we have to, we can consult with Carol."

Nothing Amy said convinced me that Mom would ever sell out Firefly, but if Amy really couldn't trust Mom, I wouldn't force her to. Besides, I had no problem confessing to Aunt Sarah once we were ready. Whatever was best.

"Are we gonna tell her everything?"

"We can't take a half-measure on something like this."

"What about Dean? And Firefly?"

Amy frowned. "Dean wants to take care of her, so let him do it. It'll give us more time to get our apology right."

My shoulders fell. I... couldn't see her yet.

"We have to tell Dean that we want to talk to Aunt Sarah. If we try to hide this from him, he'll run to the PRT the second he finds out. And I won't be a hypocrite anymore, Amy."

"Me neither." Amy sighed. "Fine, we'll tell him. In the meantime, it's business as usual: we can't slip up, not even by accident."

"Obviously. I made a promise."

She climbed to her feet, looking up at my brown eyes. "Then that's settled."

Usually, people sealed off deals with a handshake, but in this household, hugs were a signature, period and exclamation point. I embraced Amy and squeezed when she wrapped her arms around my back. She was warm, and her faux-leather jacket was really smooth against my skin.

When I released her, Amy was smiling.

"You've got this, Victoria. I believe in you."

Hearing that was music to my ears. I had to share the love.

"We've got this. I can't do this without you."

And I meant every word. We could do this. This wasn't a dream, it was a tangible goal with a proper plan of action.

When all was said and done, both our consciences would be clean.


Cleaning mascara required a bit of patience. Unlike my mom, who had a pharmacy full of cosmetics, I kept it simple with Vaseline and a cotton pad. Once I was done, I washed my face with soap and warm water to get rid of any remaining grime.

It worked every single time. Vaseline was even a great lipstick remover alongside a tissue or two. Simple and clean, that's how Aunt Sarah liked it, and I was glad she showed me the light. The more I thought about it, the more that entrusting her with our confession seemed like a great idea.

I dumped the cotton pad and tissues, checking my face in the mirror. Oh, I definitely looked great, but I wasn't smiling.

If we were going to stop burying our misdeeds at the bottom of the ocean, there was no reason to keep this secret from Mom. It would hurt her so much if she found out I couldn't trust her with an issue this big, and I still believed she could help us.

Not only that, there were so many things that could go wrong that even with Amy's help, I wasn't sure that we could pull this off.

Like, would we have to go public with our crime? I really didn't want to see a bunch of criminals try to mooch for sympathy, and I liked my freedom, too. When it came to those walking piles of slime, the only thing I regretted was coercing Amy into cleaning up after me.

With Firefly, though... my heart grew heavy. What Dean told me about her fear and anger was so disturbing that –

Even if we got everything right with Aunt Sarah, Firefly would still be out there. I prayed that Dean could help her, because I had no right to even approach her after inflicting so much pain on her body and her psyche.

I slapped my cheeks. Couldn't mope. I went for a brief patrol downtown and found a dogfighting ring that had been torn apart by Hellhound. Apparently, this particular ring had allegedly belonged to Hookwolf, and this wasn't the first ring that Hellhound had attacked.

It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. Hellhound was long gone, though, and since the PRT was already on the scene, I left them to it, frustrated that I couldn't do more.

When I got back home, I changed out of my costume and put on a loose t-shirt and blue camo yoga pants, heading to the living room with my worn DVD of Legally Blonde.

Elle Woods' boundless positivity was beyond inspirational.

While there were minor differences between the Aleph and Bet versions, they diverged hard with the sequel. Bet's version delved into parahuman politics with Elle's initiative for rogues while Aleph's focused on Elle fighting to free her dog's mom at the White House.

I enjoyed both sequels, of course, but the original movie was my favourite. When the door opened, I half-expected it to be Mom coming inside, ready to make some quip before she sat down to watch Legally Blonde with me. I even shifted a bit to give her some room.

That's when I felt a strong hand and a firm kiss touch the crown of my head. I couldn't help but smile.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," Dad said.

"Nah, you're good." I hadn't actually started my movie. "How was your walk?"

"Stimulating. I reached Captain's Hill and came back. Took some time to feel the breeze, met some good folks, and didn't see any crime. Is Amy at the hospital?"

"She's in her room. Her shift's tomorrow."

"Right. I can't believe I forgot."

I flew over to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle and Dad's medication. He downed his prescription in one go without me needing to ask.

"Thanks, Vicky," Dad said, smiling ever so slightly. His brown eyes twinkled, just like mine did. Sweat covered his green exercise shirt.

"Must've been a great workout," I said.

He rubbed his messy blond hair, before wiping his hand with his towel. "I pushed myself pretty hard today, but between you and me, I could go another round. Want to join me, play some catch?"

I grinned. "For sure."

Catch in the Dallon backyard wasn't played with a baseball or a tennis ball or even a basketball. We used a baseball-sized golden sphere Dad made with his powers. Whoever couldn't catch it had to run a lap around the house or do twenty pushups in thirty seconds. The more times you dropped the sphere, the harder the punishments got.

It could get crazy competitive if no one fumbled their catch. Dad would pull some trick shots or add another sphere to pile on the pressure, while I'd throw it harder. One time, Dad even made the sphere explode. Luckily, we could both take what we dished out, but if someone got hurt, well... Amy was close by.

I didn't push myself, though. There was a lot on my mind, and Dad actually noticed a few minutes into our game.

"Too afraid you'll fall short?" he asked, after throwing his sphere.

I caught it and smiled. "Too afraid I'll drop dead."

He froze, a deer in the headlights. I tried to stop myself, but I couldn't help but laugh, and my giggles spilled out of me like a flood.

"You were joking. Thank goodness."

Hugging the sphere, I began to calm down, lighter than a cloud. I felt like doing a loop-de-loop, but I chose to stay grounded on the grass.

"Don't worry, Dad, I'm on the ball."

He forced a smile, tight-lipped. "You sure? We can talk about it if you aren't, just you and me."

It was just like him to try and make up for lost time, but I didn't blame him. He was a victim of the disease called clinical depression, and today was one of those fleetingly rare days where the sun peeked through the overcast sky.

No way I was squandering this opportunity. Anything to keep that weight from falling back on my chest. So I threw the sphere at my dad, opening myself up to him.

"I hurt an innocent person because I assumed they weren't good, and I can't stop thinking about it."

He frowned. "Did you apologize?"

I shook my head, then caught the sphere. "I wanted to, but I don't deserve to be forgiven, and I don't think that it'll fix what I did."

Dad waited until I lobbed the sphere to respond.

"You shouldn't underestimate the power of a sincere apology. Not everyone will accept one, but if you're honest about your intentions... they'll appreciate what you tried to do, and know that you're really sorry."

"But I hurt her, Dad. I seriously messed up. Is that really enough to make amends?"

He tossed the sphere from hand to hand, probably angling for a curveball.

"Honestly? It's a two-way street, and it won't help if you apologize just to stop the guilt. A good apology is your way of acknowledging the wrong you did, a vow that you won't do it again. Or at least, you'll try your best not to."

If that was true, how could I even apologize to Firefly if I was trying to improve myself for my sister's sake? I shouldn't have hurt her at all. There was no point apologizing just to soothe my ego, either, even if guilt wasn't exactly something I was struggling with.

The sphere was spinning my way, and I dived to catch it, hovering once it was snug in my hand.

"Don't even bother!" I crowed.

He chuckled. "Can't get lost in thought, Vicky. Don't be like your old man."

I touched the ground, considering my next shot. A long ball would work wonders. Give me time to think some more and possibly get lost in thought. I couldn't do that to myself.

"Do you think it's possible to forgive yourself?"

Dad rolled his shoulders, ready to catch anything I threw at him. "It is, it really is, but it's not one big act, it's more like a long process that takes a lot of guts to finish. Lord knows I've tried."

So it was next to impossible, then. But when it came to life and crime, 1% was basically the same as the full 100. I just had to make sure I was doing this for the right reasons.

I faked long, went short, but Dad caught on and exploded, lunging for the sphere and just barely grazing it with his fingertips. It fell beyond his reach.

"Too bad," I said. "Time to start running."

He set his hands on the floor and started his push-ups, easily giving me twenty well before he ran out of time and springing to his feet like he wasn't almost forty.

"Just watch, you're next, Vicky," he said.

I waved a hand through my hair, ready for the next round. "Whatever you say, Dad."

Dad picked up the sphere and collapsed it, growing another sphere that was as big as a basketball.

"I just hope I can fix this."

He smiled, a real, earnest smile. "Nearly anything can be fixed if you're willing to put the work in. Sometimes, you'll need some help, but as long as you make the pledge to start, you're that much closer to reaching the end."

I smiled, too, but before he could think of throwing his sphere, I flew to him and gave him a huge hug. He patted me on the back, keeping the sphere in his other hand.

"Thanks, Dad."

"That's my job, sweetheart."

If only he could always have good days and be as involved as we all wanted him to be.

One thing was for sure, he was bang on the money. I already started working on becoming a better hero. Learning to forgive myself was a different ballgame, but I'd be able to do it. Some day.

Then once I was ready, truly ready, I could meet Firefly and give her the apology she deserved... be the type of hero she could believe in.


Dinner rocked tonight. Mom made this pasta dish with chicken strips and a spicy dipping sauce, Dad helped her out and Amy even set the table. We mostly talked about the ABB's attacks on the homeless, but I managed to catch Dad up on the Celtics' latest exploits, and Mom told us about the foiled ransom case that had engulfed her week.

I knew we could be a whole family, and times like these were proof I wasn't deluding myself. The news was on in the living room, covering a bombing in the Docks. Then they started talking about a kidnapping. Mom shot out of her chair, while I made a beeline to the TV.

On the grainy video, there was a girl bound to a chair with thick cables, roughed up and bleeding from her lip. A plastic dog mask covered most of her face, and mercifully, she was unconscious.

A lone voice emerged, grating like metal.

"Undersiders, we have your bitch in our custody. If you want her back, you will meet us in the Boat Graveyard within 12 hours, or her blood will be on your hands. If you try to call for help or rescue your teammate, know that there will be hell to pay."

I stared at the TV, transfixed. Whoever did this was asking for a shitstorm. Begging for it.

"Suit up," Mom said, right behind me. Her glare promised the worst kind of pain. "We have work to do."