Trillium Waltz

7. Dehiscence

Amy

"Uh, okay?" The hot girl snorted. "Hi, Amy. Pick a stall or get the fuck out."

And just like that, the last of her prettiness vanished. On a mental level, anyway. Despite her complete dislike of the girl, Amy still felt nervously attracted to her, which was annoying. On a whim, Amy attempted to offload that reaction into the Red-Headed Bitch, along with a few of Amy's other less helpful emotions. The Red-Headed Bitch's breath caught, and she looked confused. Amy's smile grew wider.

"Hey, I told you my name. What are yours?" Amy asked, trying to keep her voice casual. Amy wasn't sure if this situation was what she thought it was, but she had a hunch. I'm not going to start a fight, she told herself. But if they try something, I'm not about to stand by and let it happen.

"I'm Emma," the Red-Headed Bitch answered. She was a little distracted.

"Sophia," the taller girl added. "Now will you get out, you nutcase?"

"Mm," Amy hummed, tapping her cheek. "Why are you so insistent about me leaving? Wait, do the two of you have plans in here, or something?" Amy wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"What?! No!" Emma sputtered.

"You're pissing me off." Sophia narrowed her eyes, and stalked right up into Amy's personal space. Sophia loomed over her, and Amy could feel her breath on her skin. "Leave."

Does this count as them trying something? Amy wondered. She sighed. Probably not.

"Yeah, you should get the hell out," Emma added, trying to sound threatening. Amy knew that Emma was only trying to sound threatening, however, because Amy had just finished funneling all of the girl's aggression and confidence into herself. Strangely enough, Emma hadn't had much of either.

"I don't think I will," Amy replied, crossing her arms. "In fact, I think I'm just going to stay here and admire the grout for the rest of the day. This is my life, now, and I–"

Sophia punched Amy in the shoulder, hard.

Amy staggered back, wheezing. She'd never been punched before, not really, not with so much force put into it. She'd been attacked by the gang members in the alley, and it had definitely been horrible, but even they hadn't caused her this much physical pain.

"Sophia," Emma started, gripping her friend's arm. "I told you, don't leave so many bruises."

Sophia gave her an irritated glance. "There are ways that don't leave a mark," she muttered, advancing on Amy again.

Amy hurriedly backed away, but she ended up cornered against the back wall. Her shoulder was hurting enough to put tears in her eyes. Power. Power, right, she reminded herself. You're not defenseless. She reached out with her aura, grasping for a hold on their insides–

"Stop!" Taylor cried out, flinging the stall door open. "Don't hurt her! Please!"

Emma and Sophia froze, swiveling to look at her. Their eyes went wide, taking in the sight of Taylor's hole-ridden arms, her wings, and her unnaturally-thin body.

Taylor trembled under their gazes.

They're startled, Amy realized. I can use that.

As quickly as she could, Amy reached out for Taylor's fear, and shunted it into Emma and Sophia. With luck, they'd think it was their own reaction. As an afterthought, Amy put a chunk of Sophia's aggression into Taylor, too.

"Hebert's a fucking cape?!" Sophia gasped.

Emma didn't say anything. She just gaped at Taylor, shaking, looking like she might faint.

"Yeah! I have wings, and I'm not afraid to use them," Taylor snapped, letting her wings unfold, "so back off!"

Emma fled immediately, almost tripping over her own legs in her haste to run out the door.

"Fuck you!" Sophia snarled. But she was eyeing the door, too.

Taylor crossed her arms, scoffing at her. "Not interested, bitch."

Sophia's lip curled. She angrily strode out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Amy severed the connection, experiencing a spike of nausea. "Well. That happened."

Taylor swayed a little, too, as her emotions returned to normal. She raced over to Amy. "Are you alright?!"

"Aching pretty badly," Amy mumbled. "But I'll be okay, I think."

Taylor immediately pulled her into a hug.

"Ah!" Amy whimpered. "Mind the shoulder, please!"

"Oh! Sorry." Taylor let go, backing away. "Is it bad?"

"Let me check." Amy closed her eyes, using her aura to see into the aching part of her shoulder. Definitely bruised. She tried to repair the damage, but her power flat-out wouldn't work. She pushed harder. No result. Her aura worked, since she could see inside her body, but her flesh manipulation only functioned on other people, apparently. Oh, right, my powers suck, she reminded herself. How could I forget? "It's nothing. I'll patch it up later," she lied. "Don't worry about it."

"You stood up to them for me." Behind her glasses, Taylor's eyes were filled with awe. "No one's ever done that before."

I was right, Amy confirmed, though she wished she'd been wrong. She's being bullied. She remembered the older injuries she'd seen on Taylor, the first time they'd met.

"How long has this been going on?" Amy asked.

"Weeks," Taylor whispered.

"That long?! Haven't you told any teachers?"

"I..." Taylor bit her lip. "I told them about Sophia. They didn't care. She's a track star, and Emma backs her up. I don't have any evidence."

Amy frowned. "You have bruises."

"Emma said that, if I showed them to anyone, she'd just say my dad was abusive." Taylor looked like she might cry. "Besides, I could have gotten them anywhere. It doesn't prove anything."

Amy was horrified. Then she was furious. "This ends today," she hissed.

From Taylor's expression, she didn't even seem to consider it possible. "How, exactly?" Taylor asked, carefully. "Do you have an idea?"

"Believe me, I have a few," Amy murmured, with a thin smile.

~ ~ ~

How far is too far? Amy wondered. It felt important to have a limit, a stopping point. She needed rules. I won't hurt people who haven't hurt others, she decided. I won't do whatever I did back in the alley. I won't cause any damage that I can't fix. But everything else is fair game.

Yeah. Those three would work, for the moment. Sure, they weren't perfect, but she could adjust them as time went on.

Taylor's next class was Art, and so of course it was Amy's as well, but more importantly, it also had Emma in it. Amy was with Taylor the whole time. Watching over her, protecting her from all the curious students, standing up for her when she couldn't find the strength to do it herself.

So it was that Amy began her little karmic campaign.

She started with little things, like offloading her own itches, doubts, and aches into Emma. When Emma was taking notes, Amy would quickly and briefly swap their thumb impulses, often causing her to drop her pencil or write incorrectly. As the Amazing Red-Headed Bitch tried to stand up or sit down, Amy would briefly lock up her ankle, causing her to trip. Amy didn't do it every time, of course, since she was still trying to keep it subtle. But she did it more than once.

To Amy's surprise, however, Emma only got more confident and less nervous as the day went on. After covertly texting for a while, Emma was still on edge, but not nearly as much as before. Amy shut her eyes and borrowed Emma's for a brief moment, doing it quickly enough that she hoped it would seem like a blink, and caught the name 'Sophia' in the chat-log. Unfortunately, Emma pocketed her phone a minute later, and Amy was left wondering what, exactly, Sophia had said to her.

By the time class ended, Amy was no closer to figuring it out. When the lunch period started, Amy had to convince Taylor not to hide in the bathroom, pulling her along and sitting her down in the cafeteria. Amy picked a window seat, with a view of the small basketball court outside.

"So, is it getting easier?" Amy asked. She'd gotten a pita wrap. Taylor's suggestion. Amy wasn't sure about it, at first, but she liked it once she'd gotten used to the taste. "How are you feeling about all this?"

Students still crowded around their table and gawked at Taylor, but from a much further distance. When they'd first entered the cafeteria, Amy had loudly announced that her mother headed a law firm, and harassment was a crime. They'd gotten a lot more breathing room, after that. They did have to practically whisper to talk without being overheard, though.

"I've got either butterflies," Taylor mumbled, doing her best not to look at their audience, "or bees. One of the two is flying around in my stomach. Not sure which, yet."

"Wait, do you mean that literally?"

"No!" Taylor replied, sharply. Then she saw Amy's amused expression. Taylor glowered at her. "That's not funny."

"I know. Sorry." She took another bite out of her pita wrap, swallowed, then spoke again. "You're cute when you're flustered, is all."

"I'm–?!" Taylor sputtered, taken aback.

"Like that, yeah." Amy fought back a chuckle.

"Amy." Taylor shook her head, but there was a faint smile on her face. "You're nice, really. But I need time, like I said. I'm not sure if I'll ever be ready, honestly. I don't know how I feel about, uh..."

"Yeah. I'm not used to it, either." Amy shrugged. "It's like a jigsaw puzzle, and I'm still putting all the pieces together. I have just enough to spell out 'GAY' in big rainbow letters, but that's about it."

"Shh!" Taylor glanced uncomfortably at the assorted onlookers and eavesdroppers. It didn't seem like they'd heard, or, at least, they didn't seem to care. None of them were that interested in Amy, anyway. Taylor was the star attraction.

"I don't really mind if people know," Amy lied, feigning apathy. "How else am I going to get the ladies? Unless you're volunteering."

"God, you're such a frigging flirt." Taylor sighed. "Come on, Ames, quit it."

Amy blinked at her, startled. "You quit it."

"Quit what?"

"...Never mind." Amy shook her head. "Sure, I'll give it a rest. I was only teasing, by the way." Mostly.

She finished off her food, and a relatively comfortable silence followed. Taylor pulled one of her books out of Amy's bag, then pored over it intently, probably as a way to help get her mind off of all the attention. Alternatively, maybe she just really liked that book.

Amy, meanwhile, texted Victoria.

[Amy: Boop.

[#1 Cape Nerd: Boop. How's it going?

[Amy: so-so. Taylor is doing ok, I think. And you?

[#1 Cape Nerd: Stayed home from school again today

[#1 Cape Nerd: Talking to Carol sucks

[#1 Cape Nerd: *mom, and wow this isn't helping

[Amy: yeaaah. I keep calling Taylor's dad Dad

[#1 Cape Nerd: that's hilarious

[Amy: Except it isn't, it's so awkward

[#1 Cape Nerd: Don't even.

[#1 Cape Nerd: You have no idea what awkward is

[Amy: Ok? I just ate a pita wrap with like 30 people watchng but w/e

[#1 Cape Nerd: What's a pita wrap?

[Amy: it's okay.

[Amy: Taylor looks kinda sad, so ttyl

[Amy: Sexy eyes, away!

[#1 Cape Nerd: Stop bringing that up please

[Amy: no

Amy pocketed her phone. At some point, Taylor had gotten distracted from her book, and now she was staring out the window with an odd expression on her face.

Amy reached over and gently squeezed her hand. "You okay?"

Taylor jumped a bit. She turned back to look at Amy. "Oh. Yeah. Just – I don't know."

"What is it?"

Taylor's wings twitched. "It's going to sound ridiculous."

"I love ridiculous," Amy coaxed. "Hit me."

"I think I..." Taylor coughed. "I want to try doing sports."

"Huh. Taylor, not to be a downer, but you're barely able to walk on your own."

"I told you it was going to sound ridiculous," Taylor grumbled. "I've never even played basketball before. But it looks fun."

"I – I think it's cool that you want to do new stuff." Amy's smile was shaky. Don't mention Victoria. Don't mention Victoria. "If I can help at all, just let me know."

"Help?" Taylor looked uncharacteristically sullen. She leaned over the table, lowering her voice to a nearly inaudible level. "Help how, exactly? Performance-enhancing powers?"

"I mean, hey, I could swap you around with one of the players," Amy whispered back, jokingly. "I'd miss your company, though."

Taylor gaped at her. "You can do that?"

"What, a full-body impulse switch? Nah. Shuffling emotions and senses around is easy, since they're basically all electricity anyway, but physical impulses are way trickier. I can only do little bits at a time, and it doesn't always work right." Amy raised an eyebrow at Taylor. "Hang on, are you actually saying you want–?"

"No!" Taylor squeaked. "No, thank you," she amended. "I'll just wait until I can play normally."

"Alright." Amy silently pondered the difficulties of large-scale impulse redirection. Walking Taylor back to her car had been the most control Amy had managed to shift, and she'd been a complete mess at it. She would have caused Taylor to fall flat on her face without Da– Mr. Hebert helping her along. Redistributing two entire sets of bodily impulses would probably be... well, not impossible, but it was definitely beyond her. It felt like trying to read Mom's books, back when she was little; It was too much for her brain to parse. She frowned. "Crap, now I'm curious. Maybe I could figure out a way to do it."

"Don't," Taylor immediately advised. "Seriously, that seems, um..." Taylor trailed off, probably trying to think of a word that didn't sound mean.

"Yeah, yeah." Amy hummed absently, still lost in thought.

~ ~ ~

Taylor's next class was gym. Amy insisted they go early, so they could explain Taylor's situation.

The teacher immediately froze up at the sight of Taylor, but she recovered well enough. She seemed to be at a complete loss for what to do with Taylor, though.

"I can sit off to the side," Taylor suggested, sounding hopeful. The teacher agreed, and Taylor let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"And you?" The teacher pointed at Amy.

"Oh, I'm just her caretaker," Amy said, fudging the truth a little bit. She didn't feel much in the mood for strenuous activity. "I'll sit with her, if that's alright."

The teacher shrugged, then walked away, preparing for class. It didn't take long for the rest of the students to arrive. Amy noticed, with excitement, that Emma and Sophia were both attending. Amy formed a connection with their electrical impulses instantly. She didn't even think about it. It was practically a reflex.

That day's class was track and field, apparently, so the students left the building and headed outside. I still can't believe there's actually a class just for running, Amy thought. Then again, it is Brockton Bay.

Amy and Taylor sat up in the bleachers, watching the rest of the class stretch and run laps. Sophia was noticeably ahead of everyone else when it came to running, and she obviously knew it, because she wore an extremely punchable smirk the whole time.

Amy amused herself by tripping her every so often. She held back her laughter when Sophia scrambled to her feet, more and more furious each time. She kept looking all around her, as though expecting to see someone sticking their leg out. Amy did her best to appear nonchalant, looking elsewhere. It wasn't like she had to force herself. There were a lot of athletic ladies running around. Very athletic.

Wow, I really do have a type, don't I? Amy realized. Much as she'd been playing up her attraction to girls, she wasn't entirely sure what it would mean going forward. It was a part of who she was, but it didn't mean she had any idea what to do with it. Did she want to do things? Things with girls? She tried to imagine what that would be like. She quickly ended up feeling excited, afraid, and embarrassed, all at once.

Rather than sit and process this mess of emotions herself, Amy quickly deposited her feelings into Emma. Amy smiled, feeling a lot more relaxed. Emma, on the other hand, came to a screeching halt halfway through a lap. She started blushing heavily, and looked utterly nonplussed. Amy tried and failed to stifle her laughter. Maybe I should just do this from now on. I could start a career as The Hormonalizer, making villains feel really uncomfortable about themselves!

Then again, maybe not. Mom would strangle me if I tried to join New Wave while calling myself that.

Amy poked Taylor. "So, what's your cape name going to be?"

"Huh?" Taylor looked up from her book. "Um... I don't know. Haven't really thought about it."

"What, really? But that's the funnest part."

"I'm not good at names," Taylor confessed, sheepishly. "Never have been."

"First one that comes to your head. Go."

"Uh... Light-Cord-Bugs Girl?"

"Wow. You weren't kidding."

"Yeah, well..." Taylor coughed, irritated. "What do you want to be called?"

"Electric-Biology-Emotions Girl."

"Oh, shut up." Taylor pointedly buried her face in her book. Amy lay back, staring up at the cloudy sky. She was still trying to figure out if there was a way for her to regulate more physical movements at once. After a good few minutes of consideration, Amy finally decided that there was no way she'd figure it out without practice.

Amy reached over and patted Taylor's shoulder. "Hey."

"Hm?"

"Can I use my power on you?"

Taylor's whole body stiffened, and she slowly turned her head to stare at Amy. "Why?"

"I need to practice. I'm trying to be... um. I want to get more control over it," Amy confessed. "A lot of it's just instinct, right now."

"What are you going to do?" Taylor whispered, with mild terror. "I mean, not that I don't trust you. But your power is, well..."

"Horrifying?" Amy offered. It's not like I don't know.

"I was going to say spooky," Taylor corrected. "Looking out of different people's eyes, and stuff? Very spooky."

"Relax. I'm not doing eyes. I want to try tongues."

"What?!"

"Lower your voice," Amy reminded her. "If it gets too weird, just tell me to stop, and I will."

Taylor bit her lip. "You promise?"

"I promise. So, can I practice on you, yes or no?"

Taylor took a deep breath, letting more than a few seconds tick by. Finally, she nodded, exhaling. She looked ready for the worst.

"Thanks a bunch." Amy severed her connection with Emma and Sophia, so she'd have less to focus on. Then Amy reached out for the back of Taylor's neck, directing her aura up into her skull. The lower face was one of the most impulse-heavy spots Amy had found. There were layers and layers of electrical activity, and Amy didn't have any idea which of them were the ones she wanted. "Hey, can you read aloud from your book, for a little while?"

"I haven't done it much, outside of class." Taylor fidgeted, moving her hair out of the way so Amy could touch her more easily. "Not sure how good I am at it."

"How good you – ?" Amy laughed. "Taylor, I just want to see what your brain looks like when you're talking."

"Oh." Taylor went a bit pink. "Okay." She looked down at the book, cleared her throat, and began to read. "Metal on metal, as locker doors banged shut. Taxboots – um, sorry, textbooks." She went redder. "Textbooks making surprisingly loud bangs, as they were closed. Zippers whisked open and closed. Voices ballbed – balbled – bab – babbled."

Amy snickered. Taylor glared at her. "Sorry, please continue," Amy said, fighting back her grin.

Taylor scowled, but she returned to reading. "Maggie shut it all out, putting her earbuds in..."

Amy closed her eyes, focusing her aura as best she could. It was fascinating, watching Taylor's internal impulses ebb and flow as she read aloud. Her mouth was so different from everything else. The rest of Taylor's electricity seemed pretty basic, in comparison. Sure, her fingers had a lot of finer pulses running through them, and, of course, her spine and brain were always the biggest hubs of activity. But the impulses leading in and out of her tongue? They were a detailed tapestry, an ever-shifting river of multifaceted light.

Taylor's tongue is absolutely gorgeous. Amy was blown away. And if I said that out loud, she would think I'm the creepiest creep who ever creeped around. But it's true.

It took around ten minutes just for Amy to decipher which impulses were actually speech-related, and which were simply the myriad of other small movements that Taylor's mouth made. Every twist of the lip, every curl of the tongue, was a different set of pulses from the brain. Each impulse happened in parallel with dozens of others, but they all worked together in an incredibly complex harmony. Amy guessed that Taylor wasn't even aware of half of them.

Amy felt stupid for laughing at Taylor's brief stutter. How are human beings not stuttering constantly, all of the time?

She was so mesmerized by what she was seeing, that when she actually stumbled onto what she was looking for – the origin points for the specific mouth pulses in Taylor's brain – she almost missed them entirely. But she caught herself just in time, and committed those areas to memory. Amy then directed her aura inside her own body, and found her internal mirrors of those points.

"With her dads, she stood from her seat, and they left the meeting," Taylor read aloud, with a hushed voice. She'd gotten really into it. Amy had distantly noticed that Taylor had been doing voices for each of the characters. Amy found this extremely cute. Taylor went on. "By the time"–

Now for the fun part. Amy rerouted the isolated pulses from both Taylor's brain and her own, switching their endpoints.

–"they reached the front door of the house," Amy's voice continued, "the man had stepped out. Outside, it was – oh!" Taylor dropped the book in surprise, and it fell splayed-out on the next row of bleachers.

They met each other's eyes.

"Testing, testing," Amy tentatively began, but it was Taylor's mouth that spoke. Amy watched Taylor's lips form words as Amy said them. "Looks like it worked," she concluded.

"Nngh," Taylor made a face. It was interesting, since she had to make expressions without her mouth. Lip movement was crucially important for speech, so that had been switched around as well. "This does not feel right," Amy's mouth said, relaying Taylor's words.

It didn't take a leap of logic for Amy to understand what Taylor meant. Amy had noticed it, too; She hadn't exchanged any of their senses, so they were each feeling the other person move their mouth around.

Amy gently ran Taylor's tongue along the inside of her teeth, just to gross her out a little bit. Taylor clapped her hand to her mouth, looking queasy. Amy guiltily swapped the senses in their mouths, and things felt a lot more natural after that. Ignoring, of course, that the mouth she was now feeling and using wasn't her own. She was proud that she'd been able to figure it out, but unnerved that she could do it at all.

My powers are all so horrific, Amy thought, momentarily depressed. I bet this is one of his.

She tried to let it go. Whether she liked it or not, she had powers, and if she had them, then it was completely practical to find different ways of using them.

Besides, having superpowers was cool, no matter what they were.

"O...kay. Huh?" Amy blinked. "What was that pause? Oh, wait." She'd left out a few manual breathing impulses, thinking they wouldn't be needed. Oops. They weren't too complicated, fortunately, so she was able to rearrange them within moments. "There we go," Amy sighed, relieved. "Think I've got it. We should be able to talk normally, now."

"Normally?" Taylor looked dazed. "I'm talking with your mouth. I can hear my voice from further away than I can hear yours, because yours is mine, and – and – oh my god." Taylor spoke more and more rapidly, then stopped, breathing a little heavily. Amy could feel her own chest rising and falling. This is bizarre.

"Let me know if you want me to stop," Amy reminded her. "Just say the word. Or mime it, if you're having trouble talking. Or just slap me. I'll get the message."

"I think..." Taylor took a few more breaths. "I think, I think, I think I'm okay. Just... wow."

"Weird, right?" She ran Taylor's tongue over her teeth again, this time with feeling. "Huh. You have sharper canines than I do, and wider lips. Neat."

"You have a cool voice," Taylor replied, politely.

"Yours is better," Amy retorted. "Do, re, mi," she sang, as quietly as she could. "Yup. Prettier than mine, for sure."

"Really?" Taylor blushed, taken by surprise. "I always thought I sounded boring."

"Nah." Amy shook her head. "La la la, I'm Taylor Hebert, and my voice is great," Amy said. Then she winced. "Sorry, that was a little..."

"It's okay. Thanks for the compliment." Taylor's wings twitched up and down. Does that mean she's embarrassed? Spooked? Frustrated, maybe? I should start taking notes. "So, um, are you going to do anything else with this?"

"Definitely." Amy thought of Emma, and a dozen possibilities slipped into her head. She looked down at the other students, searching for the Amazing Red-Headed Bitch, but she couldn't see her or Sophia. Oh well. "I should probably practice more, before I start messing around with it too much. There's a lot I can do with just this, though."

"No, I meant this. Right now, you and me," Taylor explained, gesturing back-and-forth between Amy's mouth and her own. "Was there anything else you wanted to do, or...?"

"Huh? Oh! No, not really, I just wanted to – wait, hang on." Amy picked up the book that had fallen to the ground, dusting it off. "Want to read aloud together?"

"What, with each other's voices?"

"Why not? Could be fun."

Taylor shrugged. She found the page she'd left off on, and they began to read, switching off on narration and dialogue. It was fun. They got so wrapped up in it, in fact, that they almost missed the end of class. People were heading off to get changed, and a few students had already started filing back into the school proper.

Taylor and Amy shared an uneasy look, knowing that the other students would probably crowd around Taylor on the way to her next class. Amy could keep an eye on people in the cafeteria, but the halls were too densely packed for her to play keep-away on a constant basis.

"Maybe we can sneak away," Taylor suggested.

Amy severed the connection, snapping their voices back to normal. She ran her fingers across her mouth, taking a few moments to get used to it again. "How? The front doors are pretty obvious."

"I usually go in through a different entrance," Taylor pointed. "Over there, around the side of the building. There's a staircase that almost nobody uses, since it only goes up to the second floor."

"Sounds good," Amy agreed, as she went to stand. She paused, struck by a thought. She opened up the bag, and pulled out the baggy jacket. She helped Taylor put it on, helping to cover her folded-up wings. "That should help a little."

They quickly made their way down from the bleachers, and headed around the side of the building. They were greeted by the sight of an unpleasant stone staircase. It was narrow, long, and not particularly clean, but it was also free of people. Amy and Taylor headed up it in single file, with Taylor going first. Amy kept her eye out, but it didn't seem like anyone had followed them.

"Glad we went this way," Taylor said, as she opened the door. Then a pair of arms shot out, shoving her. She cried out, fell back into Amy, and bounced off of her, careening off of the side of the staircase. Taylor hit the ground at an odd angle, landing with a dull thud, followed by a sickening pop. Amy stared at her friend. Taylor's arm was bent backwards, and her wing nearly snapped.

Amy was completely consumed by shock. She wasn't the only one. She looked to see the person that was standing in the door. The person who had shoved Taylor down the stairs. Sophia, with Emma looking over her shoulder.

Both of the girls had wide eyes. Sophia looked nearly as shocked as Amy felt, as though she hadn't expected her strength to have that much impact. Taylor weighs a lot less than she used to, Amy realized. But they knew she'd take this entrance. They wanted to hurt her. They planned this.

Then Sophia's expression shifted into one of disquieting satisfaction. She glanced back at Emma, smirking. Emma mimicked her, though her own eyes kept drifting back to Taylor. They quickly started backing away through the door, trying to get away. Escaping.

Amy shock dissipated, replaced by absolute hatred. Amy immediately connected to the girls' electrical impulses, and siphoned every last fraction of hostility out of them, replacing it with all of her own guilt, uncertainty, and horror. Sophia's aggression hit Amy like a brick to the face. It was an endless well, and there was something – something off about it. But her doubts were already gone, thrown away.

"Mistake," Amy snarled.

She snapped her fingers, and two pairs of ankles dislocated themselves. She constricted their owners' esophaguses, silencing any screams.

Victoria

Victoria lay on her bed, staring up at the phone in her hands. She was waiting for another text, or a call from Dean, or something.

She couldn't stand having nobody to talk to.

Victoria had barely been able to say 'hi' and 'bye' to Carol before she'd left for work. Her only response had been a sour look. Victoria had wanted to go in for a hug, to reach out. Instead, she'd wilted, staring at the floor in silence. She'd heard the door slam, and knew Carol had gone.

Their interactions the previous day had been almost identical. If the pattern held, Carol would return later that night, eat dinner, then vanish into her room, sparing Victoria few words, if any.

Mark had been distant, too. Victoria wondered whether he was taking his meds. She hoped so, but couldn't bring herself to ask.

What if he was taking them? What if he was acting this way because of her?

What's wrong with me? Victoria wondered. Am I really that different? Why are they treating me like I don't belong here?

She wanted to walk out and talk to them, to ask Mark and Carol – wait, no, damn it! Not Mark and Carol, Mom and Dad! She wanted to go talk to – to them, to knock on Mom's door and just have a conversation with her for once. Once she even got as far as the hall outside, but she couldn't push herself to knock. Fear kept slipping into her, and the ever-present little doubt turned to panic.

Does she know? Did Mouse Protector tell her? Did Amy, or Taylor?

Victoria never knocked. She just returned to her room.

She tapped on her phone, pulled up Dean's number in her contacts list, and stared at the picture of him she'd put there. Her eyes eventually started to hurt. Call, she begged herself. Just call him, already.

Her fingers shook. She couldn't do it. She threw her phone aside, and screamed into her pillow. It was like she'd become a different person, and she didn't know how to go back to being Victoria Dallon anymore. Nothing inside her head felt like it was unnatural, even her feelings for... even the big thing. She wasn't sure how much else had changed, and that's what terrified her most of all.

Victoria eventually calmed down, a little. She still felt miserable. She rolled over on her bed, and yelped when she felt a pain in her back. She reached down, pulling out a slightly squished gift-wrapped box.

Oh, hey! She brightened, remembering. Mouse Protector's presents!

Amy and Taylor had forgotten theirs, too, so she'd put them on her desk. She briefly contemplated switching out one of their presents with her own smushed one, but...

She switched out one of their presents for her own smushed one. Then unwrapped it, opening the small box. Inside was a cartoonish-looking wristwatch, along with an envelope. Victoria opened the envelope, unfurled the paper, and began to read:

Hey, there, triggerpals! It's your girl, Mouse Protector!

These are communication devices made by a friend of mine. I call them Mouselines! They're made out of a little tinker tech, a bunch of normie tech, and a whole lot of fun!

As long as you're wearing one of these, you'll be able to contact your triggerpals day or night, from darn near any distance! Unless you take yours off, I suppose. There's a little instruction booklet at the bottom of the box, but all you really need to know is this: button A goes to Line A, button B goes to Line B, button C goes to Line C, and blah blah, you get it.

If you're in a horrible bind, just smack the panic button! If you do, then yours truly, or someone almost as mousy, will come running to your aid! (Please don't push it unless you really have to! Seriously. Please.)

Keep an eye out for each other, and also try not to murder! Murdering is a bad thing. Don't do it. Unless you really, really have to. And then only maybe.

Well, that's it. Happy clustering, clustaroos! Oh, sorry, is that too cheesy?

{~ This Has Been A Message From: The Rodent Savior ~}

Victoria put the envelope aside, and examined the Mouseline. It looked like a wristwatch with mouse ears, and was very brightly colored, like a kid's toy. She groaned, laying it down on her bedside table. She'd hoped that the present might have helped her feel better. Instead, it just made her feel even more lonely. She picked up her phone, and resumed staring at it.

She thought about calling Amy, but... no. No, she was being stupid. Amy and Taylor were off doing their own thing, having fun together at school. She wouldn't bother them with her issues.

Even if she missed them so much that it hurt.

Taylor

Taylor's head hurt. No, Taylor's everything hurt.

Please, someone, make it stop, she silently begged. She was lying on her side, hugging herself. Make it stop hurting.

"Amy, help," Taylor's voice was so faint, even to her. "Heal me." Had she even said that out loud? She wasn't sure.

Thankfully, the pain slowly began to subside. She managed to sit up. The world was blurry, but it was coming back into focus. She moved to adjust her glasses, but they weren't on her face. What? That can't be right. She rubbed her eyes. No. She opened her eyes. Blurry again. I must have been confused, she supposed. She saw a vaguely familiar shape on the ground nearby, and crawled over to it, picking it up. She dusted her glasses off, then put them on. Only a little bit scratched, amazingly. She'd gotten lucky, if 'lucky' was the word for it.

She was off to the side of the stairs. She stood up quickly, feeling very gross. She wiped as much of the dirt off of herself as she could, pulling her Dad's jacket off of herself. I'll have to buy him a replacement, she decided.

Then she heard a voice, and a chill went through her. It was Amy's voice, and yet, at the same time, it wasn't.

"You disgust me in every way. I don't know what makes you think that what you did – what you've been doing – is okay, in any way. On any level."

Taylor turned to look. Amy was near the foot of the stairs, arms crossed, standing in front of two people lined up against the wall. Emma and Sophia. They were on their knees, and something in their ankles didn't look right.

"I'd like to say you're obsessed with being bigger and stronger – stronger than everyone else. I'd like to say that you're just idiots, still outgrowing middle school 'prove-your-worth' bullshit."

Sophia's face had a vacant expression, like she was far away. Emma had tears running down her face. She kept shuddering like she was sobbing, but her ragged breathing was the only sound that escaped her.

"But now? Now I say you're criminals. I say you're monsters. Because you just tried to – tried to murder someone who is very sweet and shy and scared. Someone I care about." Amy was facing Emma. "I'm letting you whisper, Red-Headed Bitch. Explain yourself."

"Suh... strong," Emma breathed. "Have to fight back."

"You had to fight back? Against Taylor?" Amy chuckled bitterly. "Try again."

"She let us do it," Emma groaned. "She didn't challenge us, so–" Emma's voice cut off with a sudden squelch, and she winced.

"Okay, so you're stupid. Got it." Amy sighed. "Your turn." She gestured at Sophia. "Why did you hurt Taylor?"

"Because Emma asked me to, and I didn't mind," Sophia murmured, her voice wispy and strange. "We're survivors. Hebert's a victim."

"That can't be it. You can't be that stupid. Be honest, now, and don't – don't hold back on me." Amy clenched her fists, and there was a horribly wet noise, like raw meat being stretched taut. "Tell. Me. Why."

"...Because it's fun," Sophia grunted, writhing. "Please stop."

"Fun?" The stretching grew tighter, and there was a series of very small pops from inside Sophia. "What's fun?"

"Hurting people!" Sophia yelped, spasming harshly. "I like watching them suffer, watching them d–!" Sophia clenched her teeth in a pained grimace, not saying anything more.

Emma stared at Sophia, aghast.

"And there we have it," Amy relaxed, slightly, and the sound vanished. Sophia fell sideways, quivering on the ground. "You had power over Taylor, so you hurt her. Good for you, you psychopaths. Congratulations. But now I have power – power over you. How's it feel, huh? How does it fucking–?!" Amy cut herself off by violently kicking Sophia in the stomach several times. Amy leaned over her, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled her back up to her knees, forcing Sophia to meet her gaze. "Isn't it just a bundle of fun?"

Taylor felt sick. She stepped closer, hesitantly. "...Amy," she mumbled. "Amy, stop."

Amy swiveled, shoving Sophia back against the wall.

Amy's face made Taylor recoil. It was still Amy's face, and nothing physical had changed. But the way it moved, the spirit of it? It wasn't her, not entirely. It was other people, a twisting tangle of expressions. Taylor saw a lot of Sophia's scowl in it, a warning sign she'd learned to recognize. There was some of Emma's sneer in there, too. Taylor even saw flashes of something that looked like her Dad's face, the one he wore in those rare moments when he lost his temper. Finally, barely visible through the haze, there was Amy, confused and furious.

"What?!" Amy snapped. Taylor froze. Amy blinked a few times, her face falling. "I – I'm sorry. Taylor, are you okay? How's your arm? I was going to heal you, but..." She trailed off, looking disoriented.

"I think I'm okay," Taylor coughed, gingerly stretching her limbs. "Still aches a bit."

All three of the other girls stared at Taylor, incredulous, Amy most of all. "But didn't it – ?! And your wing!"

"My wing?" Taylor stretched out her back-arms – no, wings. Her wings. "What's wrong with it? It feels normal, if a little sore."

"I thought I saw – no, I did see. I did see. Didn't I?" Amy's cheeks were extremely red, to the point of unhealthiness. She kept gasping for air halfway through sentences, like she was struggling to breathe. "Are you really okay? The way it looked, I mean..."

"Are you okay, Amy?" Taylor asked, gesturing at her bullies. "What are you doing? What is this?"

"I'm just – just teaching these losers a lesson," Amy hissed, spinning to look at Emma and Sophia again. "They hurt you, Taylor. Almost killed you. That's unforgivable. They need – they need to hurt."

"It's okay, Amy." Taylor took another step closer. "I'm fine. You don't need to hurt them, so please stop."

"Why not?!" Amy growled. "They deserve it. Tell her!" Amy spat at Emma. "Tell her you deserve this."

"I deserve this," Emma sobbed. "But I'm sorry, so," Emma choked, and her voice died again. Her lips moved like she was trying to say more, but no sound came out. She gazed helplessly into Taylor's eyes, silently pleading for help.

"Nope! Doesn't matter how sorry you are. That's not the point." Amy stamped her foot, irritated. "You've got no – no moral strength. You're weak. So fucking weak, the both of you."

"You need to stop, Amy." Taylor insisted, softly. She was scared to raise her voice any higher, in case it set Amy off.

"Why?" Amy raised an eyebrow at her. "They aren't worth your sympathy. They're scum."

"You asked me to stop you, if I thought you were becoming a bad person," Taylor said, trying to stay calm. "I think this is what that looks like."

Amy reeled, almost as though Taylor had punched her in the face. "I don't want to be a bad person," she wheezed, and that sounded more like Amy. "And – and I'm not one. It's just that I'm... It's you. It's you!" She was looking at Sophia. "You're infecting me, that's why!" Amy rounded on her. "Admit it!"

Sophia looked more docile than Taylor had ever seen her. "I don't know what you want," Sophia said, in a small voice.

"Say that you're weak." Amy leaned down, hissing into Sophia's ear. "Say it."

"I'm weak," Sophia obediently echoed, a tear running down her cheek.

"Yes. Yes! Thank you." Amy backed away, sighing in relief. She turned to Taylor, and gestured at Sophia with a proud smile. "See? I'm not the bad person."

"Sure." Taylor nodded, slowly. She'd positioned herself in front of Emma, standing between her and Amy. "Amy, can you do me a favor?"

"A favor? Sure thing, Taylor."

"Stop using your powers. Just for a minute."

Amy clicked her tongue. "Letting them go might be a bad idea."

"That's why it's a favor," Taylor countered. "Please, Amy. I'll owe you one."

Amy considered this, for a few moments. She sighed. "Alright."

A second later, all three girls stiffened.

"Oh, fuck," Amy gasped, falling backwards. She nervously ran her hands across her face, wiping sweat off. "Fuckity fuck fuck!" She scrambled away from the others, horror slipping into her expression. "There is something wrong with you," she panted, pointing a finger at Sophia.

"Something's wrong with me?!" Sophia threw herself forward, lunging towards Amy. Sophia couldn't make it far enough in one movement. She crawled towards Amy, in a pitifully threatening way. "I'm going to rip your fucking throat out!" she howled.

Amy got to her feet, and easily outpaced Sophia's meager speed. They had a weird cat-and-mouse thing going on, for little while. It was almost comedic, in a messed-up sort of way.

Taylor's attention, however, was elsewhere.

Emma had swayed and fallen off to the side, and Taylor had barely managed to dive in and catch her before she hit the ground. Taylor sat down slowly, letting Emma rest on her chest.

Emma hugged Taylor almost instinctively, holding on for dear life. "It's me, it's always me, it's my fault," Emma was mumbling, between hiccupy sobs. "I couldn't fight back. She's right, they're both right. I'm weak, Taylor, I'm almost as weak as you, and I–"

"Stop talking," Taylor snapped. "Are you able to stand up?"

Emma just moaned in pain. She hugged Taylor more tightly, crying into her shoulder. After a moment, Taylor reluctantly hugged Emma back.

"Amy!" Taylor called out to her friend. "Fix whatever you did to them."

"I want to! But I need time to focus, and if I stop moving, she'll kill me," Amy argued, still backing away from an enraged Sophia. "She said so herself!" Sophia started yelling again, hurling obscenities at Amy. "Indoor voice, please," Amy muttered, giving her an irritated wave. Sophia stopped making noise, clutching at her throat. Sophia just slammed the dirt with her fist and then resumed crawling, uselessly chasing Amy.

Taylor groaned. Bugs, she told her power. I need bugs to hold Sophia down. And only come out of this side. Taylor held her right arm out and away from Emma, hugging her tighter with the other.

Bugs started pouring out of the holes in her outstretched arm. To her surprise, they were different bugs. Rather than the brighter red-bugs, these ones were tiny pinpricks of pale blue light, flying in tightly-packed little groups. They moved far more rapidly, too, flowing out of her like locusts. Stop, she told her power, and the bugs stopped coming. She shivered.

She directed the new groups of bugs towards Sophia's scrabbling form. Hold her still, she told them. The bugs obligingly swooped down towards Sophia, and they set to work. Instead of creating thick cords, the blue bugs produced long, thin threads of brilliant white light.

The threads wrapped around Sophia, and held her down. These cords were malleable and seemed to have physical weight, unlike the others, so Sophia was somewhat able to knock them aside. There were too many of them to fight off, though, and Sophia was eventually tied-up and bound to the ground by a crisscrossing lattice of light.

Reminds me of Gulliver's Travels, Taylor thought, idly.

For a moment, Sophia's shape went strangely blurry, and she pushed against the net once more. Nothing happened. An instant later, Sophia was back to normal. Did I imagine that? Was it some weird side-effect of my powers?

Emma's crying was too distracting to think through. "Can you start healing them, now?" Taylor asked Amy, prioritizing.

"Sure." Amy went over to Emma, first, kneeling down beside her and Taylor. "Sorry," Amy muttered to Emma. "I may have gone a little overboard."

A little?!

Emma stared at Amy with abject terror, trembling in Taylor's arms. "Don't hurt me," Emma whimpered. "Please. I don't want to die."

"That's a bit hypocritical, isn't it?" Amy sniffed in a dismissive way."You're the wannabe murderers, here, not me. Sure, I may have busted your ankles, dragged you down a flight of stairs, and bruised your oh-so-fragile pride. Big deal. I was always going to heal you. Now, compare that to happily shoving a wonderful person off the side of a second-story staircase for funsies, then trying to run. Which is worse?"

"Oh my god, Ames." Taylor interrupted. "Would you please just help her?!"

"Ah, right." Amy laid a hand on Emma, then closed her eyes. Taylor watched with morbid curiosity as Emma's ankles popped back into place. Emma shuddered horribly, clearly in terrible pain, but desperately trying not to show it. Amy gave her a brief once-over, then stood up. She unhappily glanced over at Sophia, then gave Taylor a questioning look.

Taylor replied with an exasperated nod.

Amy sighed, then got to work healing the other girl. She didn't take as long, that time. Taylor wasn't sure whether Amy was skimping out on the healing, or whether she was just getting better at it. Either way, she decided not to press the issue. It's not like she cared about Sophia that much.

"Okay," Taylor said, still awkwardly hugging Emma. "So, uh, where do we go from here?"

"We could generously call it even," Amy suggested. "On the condition that they never get within twenty feet of us ever again."

"You assaulted us," Emma was still sniffling, a bit, but her usual attitude was starting to reassert itself. "I'll sue you. My dad's a lawyer."

"You assaulted us first, and my mom is Brandish." Amy threw her arms wide. "Bring it on."

Emma's mouth hung open, seemingly lost for words. Taylor took the opportunity to help her to her feet.

Taking a breath to soothe her nerves, Taylor knelt down beside Sophia's prone form. "What do you think?" Taylor asked her.

Sophia glared at her, making harsh mouth movements but producing no sound. Taylor gestured at Amy, annoyed.

"I think both of you bitches are fucking w–!" Sophia yelled, and then she abruptly stopped making noise again.

"Very constructive," noted Amy.

"Amy," Taylor said, her patience wearing very thin. "Go call Dad."

"Huh? Why?"

"Tell him we're leaving school early, and that we need to give Emma a ride home," Taylor continued. She looked at Sophia. "I don't know where you live, Sophia, but we can give you a ride, too, if you need it."

Sophia didn't respond. Her eyes were still fixed dangerously on Amy.

"Alright." Taylor shrugged. "Just thought I'd put it out there. I'm going to let you go, now. Please don't attack us."

"But if you do, trust me," Amy added, "we'll win."

"Call Dad, Amy!" Taylor had to stop herself from yelling. "Go call Dad," she repeated, more quietly.

Amy nodded. She walked a short distance away and began calling, sparing an occasional nervous glance in Taylor's direction.

"Sophia, I know you don't like me," Taylor said. "I don't like you much, either. You're, um, kind of a bitch. But I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, given this messed-up situation, and assume that what happened on the stairs was an accident."

Sophia eyed Taylor skeptically.

"I won't tell anyone." Taylor's eyes flitted to Emma. A small jolt of jealous spite slipped into Taylor's thoughts. She leaned in a little further, muttering under her breath. "On one condition: Never speak to Emma again. Delete her number from your phone. Forget her address. I want you out of her life, from now on. Got it?"

If Sophia's eyes were razors, they'd have been cutting Taylor to pieces. Fortunately for Taylor, they weren't razors, but not for lack of trying on Sophia's part.

"Seems like you've got it," Taylor continued, uncomfortably. "I'm letting you go." She ordered the bugs to retreat, keeping them at the ready in case of any sudden moves.

Sophia leapt to her feet, and stood less than one foot away from Taylor, meeting her eyes with a sharp look. Is this a sudden move?! I don't know!

And yet, to Taylor's complete surprise, Sophia looked impressed with her. Adding to Taylor's utter bafflement, Sophia gave Emma a withering glance. Emma crumpled under the weight of it, sinking to her knees and sniffling.

Sophia then turned away from both of them, striding off with an air of bitterness. She didn't even look at Amy, which Taylor supposed was for the best. That went... well? Taylor pondered. I guess?

"Alright," Amy said, pocketing her phone. "He says he'll pick us up in the parking lot. Also, he told me to tell you that he loves you."

"Thanks," Taylor sighed. She went over to Emma. "Are you alright? Do you need help to walk?"

Emma was staring off into space, face wet with tears. "Help," she breathed.

"Do we have to take her with us?" Amy grumbled.

Taylor spun to look at her, glaring intensely. "Shut up. Just shut up!"

Amy blinked. "What's wrong?"

"Everything! This whole situation!" Taylor waved her arms around in frustration. They were still sore. "I mean, what the hell, Amy?! You hurt two people! Badly!"

"They could have killed you, Taylor! And, before you say it was an accident, they were smiling and about to run before I stopped them."

"I don't care what they did, Amy. They're bitches, they do bitchy things. I care about what you did." Taylor poked Amy in the stomach, sharply. "What were you going to do to them, if I hadn't asked you to stop using your powers?"

"I don't know," Amy confessed, meekly.

"You don't know?!"

Amy hung her head.

Taylor took a long breath, letting it out quickly. "Amy, you've been in my dreams. Did you see how I met her?" Taylor pointed at Emma. When Amy shook her head, Taylor continued. "The Amazing Red-Headed Bitch, as you and Vicky called her? She was my best friend. But then, a few weeks ago, she turned on a dime, and became a truly horrible person. Hitting me, insulting me, spreading rumors about me, stealing my things, staining my clothes..."

Emma was rocking back and forth, her face buried in her knees, flinching at every word. Taylor couldn't care less. Amy was more important.

"Are you serious?" Amy curled her lip at Emma, completely disgusted. She started listing things off on her fingers. "Pretty sure that's harassment, theft, defamation..."

"I wasn't finished. Yes, she became a nasty bully, and started ruining my life. Yes, you're right, she might be a criminal, too. But you?" Taylor paused, hastily wiping tears out of her eyes. "Amy, what you just did was worse."

"What?! Taylor, I might have gone a little nuts, but I would never hurt you!" Amy's eyes widened. "I did what I did for you!"

"I know." Taylor looked away from her. "That's what makes it worse."

There was a long silence, broken only by Emma's panicky half-breaths.

"...I'm sorry, Taylor," Amy finally whispered. "I screwed up."

"Yeah, you did," Taylor confirmed. Amy winced. "But I don't think it was your fault, not entirely. And I did appreciate it, a little," Taylor admitted, softening slightly. "Still, Ames, you need to start thinking these things through."

"I will. Promise."

"Good." Taylor pulled Emma to her feet, helping her to stand, and she started walking her off towards the parking lot.

Amy followed along at a short distance, gazing uneasily at Emma.

Last edited: Sep 17, 2018

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Sep 8, 2018

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Threadmarks Interlude A: Pest

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Idiom Alpha

Idiom Alpha

Confirmed Canon

Oct 16, 2018

#976

Trillium Waltz

Interlude A: Pest

Mouse Protector

As soon as she saw the eraser hit the seat, she used her power.

Suddenly, she was sitting in the back seat of a car that was driving off down the road.

"Hi!" Mouse Protector announced, to the mystified kids sharing the back seat with her.

The driver turned back, startled. Then he saw her, yelled, and slammed the brakes, making the car skid into a sudden stop in an awkwardly parked position, with one wheel having gone up onto the sidewalk.

"Sorry to intrude! I just hopped in as a matter of heroism. Didn't mean to spook you!" Mouse Protector chose this moment to make her exit, tossing the eraser out of the window and blinking over to it. She ended up on the opposite side of the street, and started running quickly. I might be able to catch an early bus, if I run.

She went to check the time on her phone, then realized she'd left it behind, along with her fancy teaching blackboard and silly visual metaphor grab-bag. She slowed down, coming to a stop, as she realized she was stuck in town until she got her stuff back.

Crap, she thought. No excuses now. Well, I might as well go ahead and do this.

She'd promised herself she would, anyway. But she tended to break her promises. It was more fun that way. She liked to live her life by the seat of her pants, taking things as they came in a whimsical touch-and-go way.

Pun intended.

She smiled.

The smile lessened as she noticed the bystanders' attention on her, and realized she was becoming a local attraction. Out-of-town hero waits at the crosswalk, she imagined some newsie yelling out. Read all about it!

Normally, she'd relish the attention, but there were other things she was trying to keep in mind. Boundaries. She abruptly changed course, walking off towards a nearby sandwich shop. On her way there, she briefly ducked into an alley and tapped her finger on a the handle of a dumpster.

[Tagged.] The image and area around the dumpster leapt into the back of her mind. A constant awareness.

With that done, she quickly went back out onto the street, striding off towards the sandwich place. She walked in nonchalantly.

"Hey, there, welcome to–" The cashier's typical spiel died as he looked up and saw the heroine standing there.

"Just need to use the bathroom," she explained, grinning.

The cashier blinked at her a few times. Then he raised a shaky arm, handing her the bathroom key.

"Thanks!" She turned and flung the bathroom door open dramatically, for the benefit of the small gaggle of onlookers that had followed her. Yup, here I am, everyone! Look at me!

She went in, made sure the door was locked, and then started changing out of her mousy duds. She usually wore her civilian clothing underneath, specifically for situations like this one. A slightly over-sized brown hoodie, a simple black skirt and leggings, and basic unadorned flats.

No one would look at her twice, which sucked, but them's the breaks. That was pretty much the point of a secret identity.

She didn't like being out of costume, most of the time. She'd worked hard to separate the two perspectives in her mind, to change her behavior to match her presentation. She hadn't always had that binary to rely on. Back when she'd started, she was the same person no matter what she wore, and she always acted the same way. She'd needed to develop those barriers over time.

Mouse Protector was the icon, the teacher, the mouse-about-town. Fighter of evil, maker of jokes. Larger than life. Indestructible.

Millie was just some woman.

Mouse Protector wasn't humble – she was incorrigible, and she didn't admit to her mistakes. She just plowed on through them and went on to make more. It made her crime-fighting fast-paced and hard to keep up with, and it kept her entertained. Very little was sacred to Mouse Protector, and nothing was too important to be the butt of a few jokes.

No. She'd be Millie, for this. Frizzy-haired and ordinary. She wanted to do it properly, after all.

She pulled her fold-up backpack out of her utility belt, unrolled it, and stuffed her costume into it, zipping it up afterwards. Then she looked herself up and down in the mirror, adjusting her clothing slightly. When she was sure that she looked sufficiently bland, she checked on the dumpster in the back of her mind.

No one around. The coast was clear. She clicked the little button inside her brain.

Instantly, she was back in the alley. She pulled her hood up, throwing her backpack's straps over her shoulders. She set off down the street in the opposite direction from the sandwich shop, only sparing a brief amused glance at the small crowd that was still waiting outside. Waiting for Mouse Protector to leave.

She smirked to herself as she made her way to the bus station, wondering how long they'd be waiting there.

~ ~ ~

Millie triple-checked the paper she'd scribbled the address on. For once, she was actually glad that she still carried that doofy little notepad around, instead of just using her phone. Old habits were hard to break, but rarely, very rarely, old habits could be helpful.

She glanced from the written address to the door in front of her. This was the one. She was here. Millie paused, wondering whether this was a bad idea after all. If she backed off now, though, she was sure she'd never give herself another chance to do this. She pushed forward, through the doubt.

Millie walked up and knocked on the door, her anxiety flaring. She held on to that anxiety, focused herself on it. It was the right response for something like this, she was sure, even if it wasn't something she was used to feeling.

A different-but-familiar woman opened the door, and she gasped at the sight of Millie. A flicker of green flashed in the woman's hand, unbidden, but before Millie could tell what it was, the shape immediately returned to being a sheathed combat knife.

"Hey, Hannah," Mouse Protector said, with an uncertain smile.

"...Hey." Hannah replied, carefully. She glanced out the door, checking to see if anyone else was there. When she'd confirmed they were alone, she turned back to Millie. Hannah's apprehension was obvious. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I just, there was this thing with this new cluster, and I forgot my blackboard, and I was in town," she babbled. Then she realized she was babbling, so she stopped, took a breath, and started again. "I wanted to stop by and say hi."

"I don't remember telling you my address."

"It's not hard to find," Millie said. "If you know where to look. Or who to ask, I mean."

Hannah stared at her, uncomfortable. "I hope you'll understand if I don't invite you in."

Millie nodded. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No." Hannah sighed. "But you don't choose to be let in. I choose to let you in. Understood?"

"Yeah, I – yeah. But I was hoping we could talk, just for a bit," Millie mumbled. "About, you know. The old days."

Hannah's face darkened.

"I'm sorry." Millie's voice was quiet.

Hannah simply crossed her arms.

"I think back on it often, and it's frustrating. There's more than a bit of that person in me, still. Lot of regrets, you know?" She shrugged. "But I do think about you all a lot."

"Thinking about others isn't your strong suit," Hannah snapped. She took a few seconds, calming herself down. "Sorry. That was unnecessary."

"It's okay." Millie forced a smile. "I get it."

"No, that was rude," Hannah insisted. "Change of topic. What have you been doing off on your own, Millie?"

"Wow, that's a pretty personal question, isn't it? Gosh, I never knew you were so interested in my private life." Millie smirked, winking. Then she took a sharp breath, as her brain caught up with mouth. Her face fell. "Oh, I – I didn't mean that, sorry. I'm trying to be better about... you know."

"I've noticed." Hannah wore that familiar searching expression that always made Mouse Protector want to poke her in the eyes. But she was Millie, at the moment, and Millie let that impulse go. Hannah continued speaking, more slowly. "I guess you finally got the message, then. We never thought you would."

"Yeah," Millie said, her throat feeling tight. "I did choose to leave. That was my call."

"Only because we would have made it for you anyway," Hannah added, a bit tersely. "But at least you understand."

Millie winced. She had understood, when she'd left. She didn't work well with a team. She didn't work well with other people in general.

Boundaries, she reminded herself. Always the issue. Keep them in mind, Millie. Keep yourself in check.

Hannah studied Millie, for a long few seconds.

Then, to Millie's surprise, Hannah stepped aside, gesturing into her home.

"Really?" Millie asked, her eyes wide. "But I thought you said–"

"It's my choice to let you in," Hannah confirmed, loudly. Still, her expression was soft. "I'm choosing to give you a chance."

"Thanks," Millie said, walking into Hannah's place.

"You're welcome," Hannah answered, politely. Then she closed the front door, and set off towards her little kitchen. "Do you want anything to drink?" She called back. "I have tea, coffee, and hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate would be nice!" Millie answered.

"Alright."

Millie stood awkwardly in Hannah's living room, gazing around at it. It was very prim, in a lot of ways, but it wasn't unpleasant. Lots of bookshelves and art pieces, with comfy-looking furniture all around.

She noted the colors and patterns that had gone into the subtle decoration, and the warm lighting that persisted throughout. It was a cozy place. Restful. It wasn't so surprising, really. Hannah had always liked the idea of having a place to call home, even if she didn't necessarily need one. It was a part of where she came from, and what she'd lost.

Millie's own apartment was far more messy, of course, with not nearly as much work put into it. She'd never been known for her careful planning, though. She sometimes envied Hannah for ability to pull that stuff off.

Eventually, Millie's legs got tired, and she sat down on Hannah's pleasant little recliner. Moments later, Hannah emerged from the kitchen, carrying two mugs. One with tea, and one with hot chocolate. She set them down on the coffee table, sitting across from Millie. They sat there in silence, looking at each other.

Millie hated silence.

"How's life?" Millie asked, in a banal way.

"It's life," Hannah answered, equally banal. She idly blew on her tea.

Back to the silence. Joy.

"Meet anyone interesting, lately?"

"Oh, plenty."

"Anyone especially interesting? Wink-wink, nudge-nudge?" Millie grinned. "Spent any nights with a certain chivalrous friend? Hmm?"

Hannah gave her a look.

Millie paled. She'd been a part of why that brief relationship had happened in the first place, and a part of why it had fallen apart. It wasn't the worst thing she'd done to either of them, but it was another regret – one of many.

"Sorry," Millie muttered, staring into her cocoa. "Didn't think."

"You really can't help it, can you?" Hannah asked, looking more curious than offended.

Millie hesitated. "It's not easy, no," she admitted.

"I was never sure," Hannah said. "You always seemed like you enjoyed it. As though it was fun."

"It is fun. It's always fun. For me, anyway." Millie absently traced circles on the coffee table with her finger, not meeting Hannah's eyes. "That's the problem."

"It's fine in moderation, I think," Hannah offered.

Millie pinched the bridge of her nose, irritated with herself. "It's hard for me to just stop. I don't have the same instincts."

"I know," Hannah replied, cautiously. "You're a lot better than you used to be, though."

"I've built up filters, over the years. They're inconsistent. They don't always help."

"From where I'm sitting, you've come a long way."

"Nah." Millie shook her head. "But... I'm getting closer, I guess. That's part of this."

"Part of what?"

"Coming here. Talking to you." Millie took a deep breath, then looked up, meeting Hannah's eyes. "I want to apologize."

Hannah was very still, her face a dispassionate wall.

"When we were friends, you trusted me with a lot of really personal stuff. You were open with me, and I betrayed that."

Hannah nodded. "You did."

"You were nothing but nice, but I said the absolute worst–!" Millie choked, and she felt tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I really just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what, exactly?" Hannah asked, sharply.

Millie hesitated. Hannah stared at her intensely. Millie quickly continued.

"I'm sorry for calling you stuff like 'Little Orphan Hannie', for all the minesweeper and metal detector jokes, for the heckling, the pranks, and... fuck, do I have to go down the list?" Millie put her face in her hands, muffling her voice. "I will, if you want me to. I'll apologize for all of it, as much as I can remember. I'm so sorry, Hannah."

The silence hung in the air for a long while. Millie could feel her heart beating quickly in her chest, waiting for Hannah's response. Part of her wanted to slip away. At any time, she could zip back to the dumpster she'd tagged.

But then Hannah spoke, and Millie froze.

"You really were quite horrible," Hannah agreed, quietly. "You made me cry. Several times."

Millie's lip quivered. "I'm s–"

"Let me talk," Hannah interrupted. "Millie, I appreciate your apology. Honestly, I do. I believe I understand you better, now."

Millie peeked out at her from between her fingers. "Really?"

"Yes. I think it says a lot, that you carried this with you for so long."

"I wasn't the only one who had to carry it," Millie murmured, weakly. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Hannah cleared her throat. "And you should be sorry. But if you're trying to be better... if it really wasn't something you could control, I'll accept that."

"I'm not trying to make excuses."

"Neither am I. You hurt me. You hurt a lot of people," Hannah told her. "We couldn't get through to you, and you acted like you hadn't done anything wrong. You didn't seem to care."

Millie cringed.

"But," Hannah continued, "from the second you arrived here, you've shown more remorse than you ever have before. That counts for something, even years late. We were friends, once. I told you what I did because I trusted you. You broke that trust, Millie. It's gone."

The dumpster loomed in her mind. It would be so easy to just vanish. She doesn't want me here anyway, Millie thought to herself, pained. Why did I do this? Why did I visit?

"I've only ever told a very, very small number of people what happened to me. You were the last one." Hannah leaned in, dangerously. "Because of you. Because it was you."

"I'm sorry." Millie repeated. "I – I know that's not enough. Apologies, and all. But I don't know how to fix it. If I could go back and stop myself, I would, and I wish... I wish..." Millie trailed off, despondent. "Hannah, I don't expect anything from you. Really. You don't need me in your life. I just hoped this would help." Millie stood up. "I'll go, now. I'm sorry."

Hannah stood, too, and put a hand on Millie's shoulder, pushing her back down onto the chair. Millie sat, confused.

"You told me things, too, Millie," Hannah explained. "I knew who you were when I trusted you. I gave you the opportunity to hurt me, and you weren't in a position not to use that. I made the mistake." Millie was shaking her head already. Hannah paused to acknowledge it, then went on. "You were a good friend to me, most of the time. In that space, you weren't. I should have known at the time."

"It's not your fault. It's me," Millie replied, feeling very numb. "I'm still not trustworthy. I don't think."

"You were worse back then, no matter what you say. But you also listened. In times when I needed someone to hear me, you were there. And then you weren't." Hannah sipped her tea, her expression thoughtful. "Not all of that is irreparable. I think we could be friends again, given the chance."

Millie froze. "But..."

"I can't share anything personal with you, of course. But there's more to friendship, Millie. Other ways of sharing, other spaces. I'm comfortable with trying that."

"Why?" Millie's voice came out as a squeak. In another situation, she might have found that funny.

Hannah was silent for a long while, before answering. "You're working to become someone that you aren't sure you can be. Right now, I think you need someone. As much as I needed you, back then. "

"But I'm not your responsibility, Hannah," Millie whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Mm." Hannah set her tea cup down on the table. Then she took a long breath, letting it out slowly. "I forgive you."

"Oh, no, you don't have to–!"

"No, I don't. But I'm doing it anyway." She smiled gently. "Now, stop apologizing, please."

Millie nodded, wiping her tears off on her sleeve. "...Thank you."

"It was my choice, Millie."

Millie nodded again, still unsure. She absently sipped her hot chocolate, and promptly burned her tongue. "Ow!"

Utterly surprised, Hannah laughed. She had a very comfortable, pleasant laugh. It brought to mind old memories. Millie laughed, too, though it sounded a little strange with her burned tongue.

"I have ice cream," Hannah mused. "Might help with the burn."

"You don't mind sharing?"

"It's fine." Hannah got up, went to the kitchen, and returned with two spoons and a small tub of caramel-flavored ice cream. "Want to watch a movie?" She gestured at the television.

"Sure," Millie agreed, eating a spoonful of ice cream. "What movie?"

"Whatever we can find, I suppose." Hannah turned on the television, and started flipping through channels. "Oh, this looks terrible. What do you think?"

It was one of those B-movies, with a Case 53 actor playing the monster. Ah, that brief period of gloriously cheesy problematic flicks.

"Absolute trash," Millie confirmed, grinning. "I'm so on board."

~ ~ ~

The movie was horrendously awful.

Millie adored it.

She burst into laughter at a large but over-done fight scene with very poor visual effects. The Case 53 looked startlingly real, because of course he was real, but everything else was clearly just styrofoam and fake blood. The Case 53 wasn't a good actor, either, just spooky in appearance. It ended up resulting in an overacted screaming lady and a realistic but half-assed 'monster' that looked all too ready to collect his paycheck and go home.

Millie shot Hannah a toothy smile, and Hannah smiled back. There was something odd in her expression, though. She had another of those searching looks pointed Millie's way.

"What?" She asked, lowering the volume on the television. "What is it?"

"Is everything alright, Millie?" Hannah asked, quietly.

Millie tilted her head at her. "What do you mean?"

"I know you well enough to tell when you're upset," Hannah explained.

"We haven't seen each other in years," Millie countered, somewhat petulantly. Then she relented, slumping a bit. "But, no, you're right."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's nothing, really." Millie shook her head. "Just that new cluster I mentioned, when I was at the door."

"Cluster? A multi-trigger, you mean?"

"Yeah. I kind of help new grab-baggers figure themselves out, when I can. It's a side-thing. Just helping out my people, you know?"

Hannah drank the last of her tea, then set the empty cup aside. "Did everything go well?"

"Um..." Millie was quiet for a few seconds. "I think I might have ruined a family, today."

Hannah's eyebrows shot up. "What happened?"

"You know my situation with, uh...?" Millie coughed. "I told you about it, way back."

Hannah nodded, slowly. "I remember."

"Yeah. Well, I came across something very similar today. Three girls, all of them basically kids. Two of them are sisters."

Hannah blinked. "That's..."

"Yeah. And, brilliant hero that I am, I think I handled it in a kind of crappy way. By telling them, I broke them all apart." Millie closed her eyes. "They were all smiles and hugs when I got there, and they were almost crying when I left. Their mother chased me out of the house with murder in her eyes. And I had another nasty fight with F– with Ravager just before I came to this city, and... crap. Am I even helping anybody? I mean, is pissing people off and starting fights all I can do?"

"I think..." Hannah started, hesitantly. "I don't think you'd hurt anyone intentionally. Not unless they deserved it."

"Mm." Millie hummed in disbelief. "Anyway, I saw something, in these kids. And I can't shake it, and I don't know how to talk to them about it. I'm scared that me telling them about it will just make it worse, but I'm too worried to leave it alone."

"What is it?" Hannah asked, her voice uneasy. "Wait. Do you mean...?"

"Yeah. It's different, but yeah." Millie shuddered. "I think at least one of those girls is going to end up like her."

"A criminal," Hannah breathed. "A killer?"

"I can't be sure, but I saw a lot of the same signs, and–" Millie choked, her voice breaking. "I have no idea what to do about it. There's as much love as there is hate, and... and I don't know how to help them. I don't know how to fix things before they break. I mean, hey, I'm usually the one who does the breaking, right?" She laughed nervously. It came out sounding fake.

Hannah stood up and walked over, hugging her old friend tightly. Millie was downright startled.

But it was impossible not to relax in a Hannah-hug. Millie buried her face in Hannah's shoulder, and she remembered when they were kids, friends. She remembered the Wards, before all the mistakes, and the distance between them. It had been so much simpler, then. She smiled, and she hugged Hannah back.

A nasty joke slipped into Millie's mind. She pushed it away. Don't ruin this. Not again.

"Thanks," she said, instead. "Seriously, thank you. For everything."

"Any time," Hannah replied, immediately. "What are friends for?"

Millie cried. Just a little bit, though.

Last edited: Oct 19, 2018

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Threadmarks Millie Illustration

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Oct 19, 2018

#1,073

I sketched Millie!

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Threadmarks 8. Ruderal

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Dec 18, 2018

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Trillium Waltz

8. Ruderal

Amy

The drive to Emma's house was awkward, to say the least.

Amy sat in the passenger's seat, next to Danny. Taylor stayed in the back seat, comforting the pitiful red-haired wreck beside her. Emma kept crying, and Amy felt more and more guilty.

Then again, she could always offload that guilt, and–!

Amy bit her lip, hard. It was a message to herself. Stop using your powers for everything.

In getting justice – no, revenge – for Taylor, Amy knew she'd lost sight of what she was doing. She'd had a vague awareness that messing with other people's heads wasn't a good thing to do, but her powers made it so easy. Connecting to other people worked more quickly than breathing, and she'd been enveloped in it before she could even stop to think. The more she experimented with that power, the faster it was to use. It was already close to instinctual. Automatic.

It was dangerous. She knew it, too. She'd made the rules because she'd needed to keep herself in check. But when push came to shove, her rules hadn't been enough. If Taylor hadn't been there…

But Taylor had been there. She'd stopped her, held her back. Saved her, maybe.

Is this how it starts? Amy wondered, feeling disquieted. Is this how it was for him?

For a moment, Amy felt a bit of pity for her father. Maybe he'd never chosen to be a villain in the first place. If it wasn't his fault, if he didn't have a strong hold on the reins of his power, then he could have been just like her. Acting impulsively, making strange decisions. Hurting people before he could stop himself. If it was true, then he'd gone to the Birdcage because of things he'd had no control over. An innocent person, imprisoned with the worst of the worst, and surrounded by monsters for the rest of his life.

That's not going to be me, Amy decided, grimacing. I'm going to be better, smarter about it. More control, that's what I need. I have to make sure I'm not restrained. And then–

Emma sobbed loudly, and Amy lost her train of thought.

"Hey there, Emsy," Danny said, calling back to her in a wavering but polite voice. "We're getting close to your house. How are you doing?"

Emma moaned in despair.

Drama queen, Amy couldn't help thinking. I healed you, didn't I? But she kept her mouth shut.

"Do you want us to pull over before we get there, so you can take a moment to clean yourself up?" Taylor asked, gently pulling tangled strands of hair out of Emma's mucus-and-tear-covered face.

"Why, Taylor?" Emma's hiccupy sobbing was almost comical. Her face was a confused mask of emotion. "Why… this? You're strong, now. You're stronger than me. So why?"

"Strong?" Taylor stared at her, baffled. "What are you talking about?"

"You could do anything to me. You could…" She trailed off, her breaths coming more rapidly. "You could hurt me. Why aren't you hurting me?"

Taylor was stunned. She looked at her former friend, clearly trying and failing to make sense of what she'd just heard. "Do you really think I'd do that?"

"Obviously!"

"Listen, Emma," Taylor enunciated, slowly and deliberately. "I am not going to hurt you."

"Then you're an idiot," Emma spat. "You still don't get it."

"What, that not hurting people is something to be ashamed of?" Taylor squinted at her, like she was some bizarre animal. "Why the hell would you think things are like that?!"

"Taylor, take it easy," Danny called back, but both girls ignored him.

"Because that is what they're like, it's how things are," Emma sputtered, shaking her head. "Have to be strong, not weak. Have to, otherwise–" She cut off suddenly, taking in a sharp breath.

"I'm pretty sure that philosophy just leads to what happened earlier," Amy muttered.

"See! See! You know!" Emma blurted out, pointing frantically at Amy. "You're strong! No one fucks with you. You can do whatever you want!"

Amy stared at her, dumbstruck. "That's the lesson you took away from today?"

Emma nodded vigorously. "Do you want to be f-friends?" She asked Amy, her voice coming out in a rapid, stuttering way. Emma turned towards Taylor, too, though more hesitantly. "And – and I guess we could be... we could hang out again, too, if you want."

Amy shared an uncomfortable look with Taylor.

"Emma…" Taylor whispered, reaching out to put a hand on Emma's shoulder. Emma jumped, twisting away and staring wide-eyed between Amy and Taylor. Taylor sighed, letting her hand fall back to her side. She stared out the window, lost in thought. "How long have you thought about things like this?" She asked, quietly.

Emma flinched. "It's always been true," she answered, after a moment.

"That's not what she asked, Emma." Dad – Mr. Hebert spoke up, sounding unsettled. "Who told you all of this stuff? When?"

"Why does it matter?!" Emma squawked, her voice coming out squeaky. She slammed a fist into the back of her seat. It barely made a noise. "It's how things are!"

"It isn't, though," Taylor interjected. "It's not true."

"How can you say that? You were a victim, a loser. Now you have power, and you're on top. Can't you see the difference? Can't you feel it?"

"No." Taylor looked horrified. "No, I really, really can't."

"Then how did you do it?" Emma begged. "Teach me! How did you get stronger? How did you get powers?"

"If you really want to know," Amy answered, "we got attacked in an alley."

For some reason, Emma seemed to crumple, and all of the unnervingly manic energy left her. She pulled in her knees, becoming a shivering balled-up mess on the seat next to Taylor. She started heaving unpleasantly, like she was either going to throw up or sob. Or both.

"Amy!" Taylor snapped.

"What?" Amy blinked, confused. "What is it? What did I say?"

"Just… leave her be," Taylor said, obviously just as clueless.

"For the record," Amy told Emma, "I'm sorry for hurting you."

"Why?" Emma asked. She stared at Amy with wide, desperate eyes. "You don't have to be sorry. That's the point."

Amy didn't even know where to begin. She gave up, turning away from the lunatic redhead.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. They finally pulled up in front of a well-to-do house, and everyone else piled out. Taylor asked Amy to stay in the car, and Amy was all too willing. She watched through the window as Taylor, Emma, and Dad – Danny, Mr. Hebert – all spoke to a pair of red-headed adults, who were hugging Emma's sobbing form tightly. The woman was unfamiliar, but, to Amy's surprise, she vaguely recognized the red-headed man. She wasn't sure from where, though.

They talked for a long time. After about ten minutes of waiting, Amy closed her eyes and laid back in her seat, reaching out with her aura. She connected her electricity to everyone in range. This is a test, she told herself. Look, don't touch.

She lost herself in the impulses of the people around her, observing the waves of electricity as they ebbed and flowed in a vast network. This spiraling wave was a subtle shifting of weight, and this one was the regular tide of breath, and this… there were too many. She couldn't name or define them all. It was beautiful, and she was entranced. It was almost too much, at times. But she couldn't tear herself away.

Eventually, she felt a hand shaking her shoulder, and she blinked her eyes open. It was Taylor, reaching forward from the back seat. Amy wasn't sure when she'd returned to the car. Amy looked out and saw Mr. Hebert, still off speaking with the red-headed man. They both wore serious expressions. The woman and Emma had gone inside.

"Are you okay?" Taylor asked, anxiously. "I called your name a bunch of times, but you didn't answer."

"Just daydreaming." Amy quickly severed the connection. "What happened?" Amy asked, keeping her voice quiet. "What did you end up telling them?"

"Not much. I said that we'd all had a fight at school, that Emma and Sophia had started it but things got out of hand. That was about it. They didn't believe me, at first, but Emma… Emma actually backed me up." Taylor smiled uncertainly. "I'd like to say she's learned something, but I think she was just scared."

"I guess it could have been worse." Amy sighed. "Anything else I should know about?"

"Well…" Taylor fidgeted. "We did have to tell them about you."

Amy tensed. "About my powers?"

"No. Just your name. But Mr. Barnes reacted pretty weirdly to it."

"Oh, crap!" Amy groaned, leaning forward and resting her forehead on the glove compartment with a quiet thunk. "I knew I recognized him."

"You do?"

"He works with my mom," Amy explained. "If she finds out about this…!"

"Relax, Ames," Taylor said, patting her shoulder. "We'll figure this out."

"I was only trying to help. I just wanted to make them stop hurting you."

"I know. But what you did wasn't the right way to go about it." Taylor sighed. "I appreciate the thought, but, seriously, I don't want either of us to sink to their level. We're better than that."

Maybe you are, Amy thought. I'm not so sure about me.

Victoria

Victoria's cousins were visiting for the first time since she'd gotten powers. She was very excited about this. Excited enough to turn off her phone, get out of bed, and try to pretend that she wasn't a complete mess. She still felt ill, but she hadn't had to stand up or move too much, thankfully, since her cousins simply burst into her room as soon as they'd arrived.

"Oh, wow!" Crystal poked at Victoria's forcefield. "Look at you! Forcefield club, high-fives!"

Victoria high-fived her cousin with a floating arm made out of forcefield. The arm dissipated from the impact, startling Crystal, but then she laughed.

"I can do a lot with them," Victoria told her, smiling. "They're not very strong when they're off my body, though."

"Mine are better." Eric grumbled, his arms crossed. "They don't break so easily." He'd cut his hair and re-dyed it blue, which Victoria thought looked pretty cool.

Maybe I should dye mine, Victoria considered. I could probably pull it off.

"Shut up, Eric!" Crystal snapped. "She's new. I bet her shields will be stronger than yours, eventually."

"No they won't!" Eric yelped. "I'm the best at shields. Shields are my thing!"

"Eric, we all have shields." Crystal rolled her eyes, throwing her red shield up for emphasis. "Mom had hers a long time before you did, anyway. Hers are a lot stronger than yours, too, she just pretends they're weaker so you have something to do."

Eric looked stricken. He ran out of the room, down the hall. "Mom!" He yelled out. "Crystal said-!"

Crystal closed the door behind him, locking it.

"That wasn't true, was it?" Victoria asked.

Crystal shrugged, grinning wickedly.

"That's horrible!" Victoria said, but she was laughing as she said it.

"Oh, whatever. He was being a pest. So, how are you holding up?" She asked, turning to Vicky with a gentler expression.

"…Holding up?" Victoria forced the smile to stay on her face. "What do you mean?"

"You triggered, Victoria," Crystal said quietly. "That's not nothing."

Victoria was startled. "I – I'm fine."

"You don't have to talk to me about it, though you can if you want to. I do want to know how you're doing, though." Crystal stepped forward, folding her cousin into a sudden hug. "Just that much, at least."

Victoria did want to talk. She just wasn't sure how, anymore. She could pull from the same pool of words, but they were so weighed down, so jumbled. They didn't flow like they were supposed to.

The hug was nice, though. Warm. It reminded her of –

"I'm fine," Victoria repeated, brusquely shoving Crystal away. "Sorry," Victoria added, upon seeing Crystal's hurt expression.

"It's alright," Crystal said, raising her arms in a non-offensive posture. She still looked a bit put off by the push, though. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I mean, I have powers, right? Powers!" Victoria forced another grin. "I'm finally a cape. It's a dream come true!"

She was happy about it. Really. Honestly, there was a lot to be happy about. And the rest of it… it didn't matter. It was fine. No big deal. She would get over it. She had to get over it.

Besides, she was going to be a superhero. That was the thought that kept her steady, in the bad moments. It kept her sane.

"Right," Crystal replied, with a note of skepticism in her voice. "Well, just remember that I'm around, and all. You can call me whenever."

"I'll remember."

Crystal nodded hesitantly.

There was a knock at the door. Victoria went over and unlocked it, and Aunt Sarah poked her head in. "Crystal! Did you tell Eric–?" Sarah paused mid-sentence, taken aback by Victoria's shimmering appearance. Victoria smiled rather stiffly at her. "Oh. Oh, wow." Sarah whistled. "That's certainly something, isn't it?"

"She's good with them, too," Crystal told her mother, though her expression was uneasy. "She can make shapes with them, move them around, the works."

"Carol mentioned that," Aunt Sarah noted. "May I see, Victoria?"

Victoria spun almost all of her forcefield off of her, except for the parts on her injuries. Her skin tingled a little bit, with itches and aches returning to her as her forcefield left her body. She also felt a slight tingle of pain all across her skin, almost like a sunburn. She did her best to ignore it, instead focusing on putting on a show.

With a needlessly dramatic wave of her hand, Victoria made the room into a glittering display of stars, having pinpricks of forcefield spin along every surface, and creating dynamic constructions of swirling light. She'd been briefly worried that she might not be able to focus on all of them, that it'd just be a mess, but she hadn't had any trouble with it. Oddly enough, she always felt more comfortable when she was managing lots of forcefields at once, or having multiple shields work together as part of a larger design.

Aunt Sarah and Crystal applauded. Victoria took a bow.

"Carol mentioned that you were a grab-bag cape," Aunt Sarah said. "What other powers do you have?"

Victoria frowned. "Uh… I'm not sure. Mostly just forcefield stuff, at the moment. I can sort of sense people's bodies, I suppose? But I can only do that through forcefields, though Amy can – " Victoria choked. "I mean, one of the other people in my cluster…" She stopped. It was too late.

"Amy triggered, too?" Crystal's eyes widened. "And if you're a multi-trigger, then it was at the same time, right? What happened?"

"Just some punks in an alley," Victoria grumbled, waving a hand. "It's fine. We're fine."

Crystal and Aunt Sarah shared an uncomfortable look. "Hey," Aunt Sarah began, her voice soft, as she put a hand on Victoria's shoulder. To her shock, Victoria could suddenly comprehend the functions and sensations of her aunt's body.

She could see the light filtering through Aunt Sarah's eyes, the sound being processed through her ears, the way her skin responded to the temperature of the air, the cause of the slight ache in her ankle, and the shortened breath and tenseness caused by anxiety. It was similar to the way Victoria had felt when she'd had forcefields inside Taylor's body, or her own, gauging and dampening pain, except this was everything at once, with no build-up. Perfect body empathy with a touch.

But it's just my skin that's touching her, not my forcefield, Victoria noted, confused. What is this? A striker power that lets me sense nerves? Why would I have two powers that do the same thing?

Unless… they were the same power. Her forcefield got weaker the further it got from her. Did she have a skin contact-based power that also transferred through her shield? That almost worked, as a theory… except that Amy had touched her when healing her and Taylor.

Why didn't it work like this on Amy? Victoria wondered, baffled. I should have been able to sense her.

She could feel Aunt Sarah's lungs expand as she took a breath, her lips and tongue moving into position to speak. Victoria jerked sharply away from her, stumbling backwards.

"Hey, there," Aunt Sarah began, slowly raising her hands in a calming gesture. "It's okay, Victoria, you're safe. You can talk to us. We're your family."

"God, why are you both so obsessed with this?!" Victoria snapped, quickly re-forming the forcefield on her body. "Carol and Mark didn't– they didn't– Mom and Dad, I mean, Mom and Dad. They didn't care." Victoria tried desperately to ignore the looks she was being given. "They were happy that I triggered, and so am I! It's fine, okay? Everything is okay!"

"Really, now?" Aunt Sarah's brow furrowed. "Victoria, when it comes to your parents… I love them, of course, but they aren't in the best place to gauge this sort of thing. I think we should have a talk with them."

"And since when do you call them Carol and Mark?" Crystal asked, unnerved. "What's going on with you, Vic?"

"Leave it," Victoria muttered, breathing a little quickly. She stared at the floor. "Leave it alone."

"I think it's been left alone long enough," Aunt Sarah replied, shaking her head. "Carol mentioned you haven't been going to school, and–"

There was a slight creak. The door had opened. Victoria looked up.

Dean stood in the doorway, looking a bit disquieted. "Hey."

"Oh – oh, god." Victoria gasped for breath. "What are you doing here?!"

"Sorry. I called you to tell you I was coming over, but it went straight to voicemail." He glanced at Crystal and Aunt Sarah. "Hi, Crystal, Mrs. Pelham."

"Hey." Crystal waved weakly. "Kind of a rough moment, guy. Can you give us a few?"

"Or you can stay," Sarah suggested. "It might help."

No, Victoria thought, feeling like her brain was overloaded. Too many emotions to process. Not enough control over her words, over herself. She wasn't ready for this. She knew Dean could see it, too, and that was the worst part. She gazed at him with desperation, hoping he'd read her feelings and understand.

He didn't. Or, rather, he came to the wrong conclusion.

"Yeah, alright. I kind of caught the tail end, there." He looked at Victoria, tilting his head slightly. "You haven't been going to school?"

"What do you expect?" She whispered. "I told you about… I mean, you know."

"The thing you were talking about back in the restaurant? That's the reason?" He raised an eyebrow. "If anything, that feels… I don't know, it just seems like more of a reason to get back into things. Live your life, feel your feelings."

"I didn't tell you everything. God, it's so much worse. It's like…" She struggled to find words, failed. She ran her hands down her face. "I don't think I'm me," she said, without meaning to say it out loud. She clenched her teeth together, silently cursing her traitorous mouth.

"What do you mean?" Aunt Sarah asked, her voice gentle.

Words escaped Victoria, once again.

"I think I get it. I remember, after I triggered…" Crystal trailed off, looking at nothing. "Figuring yourself out is rough. Powers make it harder in some ways, easier in others."

Victoria barked out a laugh, sharp and painful. It grated against the inside of her throat, and sent tears into her eyes. The others gazed at her with worry, Dean especially. She had to say something.

"You don't understand," she started. "You can't understand. Amy, me, the other girl? Triggering screwed with our heads, and now we're connected. Words, thoughts, feelings – some of them stick, most come and go. Everything keeps slipping in and out of my mind." She stared down at her hands, and, for a fraction of a second, she remembered having different fingers. She didn't know who they belonged to. "I don't think I'm me. I remember being Victoria, and I look like Victoria, but… these parents don't feel like my parents. This body doesn't feel like it belongs to me. I keep getting startled by the color of my hair. I can't even talk right."

They were all silent for a few seconds, trying to process this information. Crystal was floating slightly above the floor, her eyes wide.

"Who are you, then?" Dean finally asked, quietly. "If you're not Victoria."

"I don't even know," Victoria breathed. "Amy, I guess? Taylor? Both? It keeps changing, and it's so hard to tell how, or when. Everything on the inside always feels like 'me', but the outside is confusing."

"Taylor?" Aunt Sarah asked.

"Someone she and Amy triggered with," Dean explained. He didn't look happy about it.

"I think you're going through something really intense," Crystal said slowly, "and you're a little confused. But, sorry, I can't believe that you're not you."

"Yeah, well, Amy switched our eyes around, once," Victoria argued. "And Taylor accidentally talked to Dean with my mouth, too."

"I remember that," Dean said. "That was Taylor?"

"Wait, that's real?" Crystal gawked at her. "That happened?"

Victoria nodded.

Crystal blinked. "Geez."

"So, yeah, that's why I haven't been going to school. I'm not sure if I'll go to the right classes or not. I – I don't know who I'll be, or what I'll do, when I talk to my friends. Or how I'll feel." She stared miserably at Dean. "I need time to figure this all out. I need…" She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I think I need to go for a walk. Sorry."

Victoria jogged over to the door, hesitating briefly when it came to putting on shoes. She decided against it, realizing that her feet were protected by her forcefield anyway, and she didn't want to stay in this conversation any longer than she had to. She walked out of her room, and immediately ran into Carol, Eric, and Mark, who had been standing out in the hall.

Out in the hall, and just outside her door.

They'd heard everything.

"You're not Victoria?" Carol asked.

Victoria felt like her mind had gone blank. "Oh no."

"How long have you been pretending?" Carol had gone quiet, which worried Victoria more than if she had been loud. "Which one are you?"

Victoria's mouth opened, and she took a breath, ready to speak. But when words came to mind, they didn't feel like things she would normally say. They weren't hers. She closed her mouth, breathing out through her nose.

"Carol," Mark said, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder, "take it easy. She's not literally another person."

"Are you sure? How do you know?"

Mark hesitated, glancing at Victoria. The sides of his mouth quirked down, and he wore a vague expression that Victoria couldn't decipher. She'd grown up around him, and she should have been able to instinctually know what this face meant, but she simply didn't. What was it? Disappointment? Sadness? Anxiety?

Fear?

"I'm Victoria," Victoria croaked. "I'm me, really, just – I'm not all me."

"That's not what you said a minute ago," Eric mumbled, staring at Victoria.

"I can't do this, I can't–" Victoria gasped for breath.

"Where's my daughter?" Carol asked, struggling to keep her voice even. "Whose body is she in?"

Victoria winced. That hurt her more than it should have.

"Please, give her some space." Aunt Sarah followed Victoria out of the room, floating over to Carol. "She's confused. She needs help from her parents. From her mother."

"Is that your way of judging my parenting?" Carol said, furrowing her brow. "You've made mistakes, too. Let's not forget."

Eric stiffened. Victoria wasn't sure what they were talking about.

"This isn't about my family. It's about yours." Sarah pursed her lips. "You need to step up. Be there for your daughter."

"I've been trying! She's avoided us for days. I swear, she's been acting less like herself, and more like…" Carol trailed off into a shuddering breath, and to Victoria's shock, she saw tears in her mother's eyes. "I'm doing my best to understand this, alright? It's difficult. I bathed and fed some freakish girl I've never seen before in my life, and then watched as she bit her own tongue in half. I spent yesterday morning wiping her blood off of the living room couch."

"Not freakish," Victoria murmured, under her breath.

"Someone bit their tongue off?" Crystal gasped, hovering in the doorway to Victoria's room. "What?!"

"I feel as though my family is falling apart." Carol continued, speaking over the two girls. "I don't know who my own daughter is, and Amy… I mean, Amy is getting into fights, Sarah. She's mastering people, mastering me! What am I supposed to do? How do I even begin to handle this?" Her voice cracked, slightly, and she immediately went quiet. Mark put an arm around her shoulder, hugging her close.

It was so strange for Carol to be vulnerable like this. Victoria found it jarring, disorienting. Another piece of her perspective that didn't fit right with the rest.

Crystal and Dean came out into the hall, too, and Victoria was surrounded. Her vision swam, and context vanished. People all around her, in a tight corridor. Amy being grappled by a man with a gun. Victoria looked down, and there was a bullet hole in her stomach, and she was going to die. Victoria's breathing was rapid. She felt like she might be hyperventilating.

"I need to get out of here." Victoria whispered, but no one heard her. She yelled. "Leave me alone!" She shoved her way past Carol and Mark, and she ran.

"Come back here!" Aunt Sarah called out, starting to fly after her.

Victoria tugged on her shield, pulling it from her arms and chest and flattening it out into a wall. She dimly noticed that her forcefield felt stronger than usual, and controlling it seemed practically effortless. She blocked the hallway, though one person had managed to slip through, having chased after her immediately.

Dean.

"Victoria!" Dean called out. She kept running, but so did he, catching her at the front door. He gripped her unshielded wrist, and Victoria felt her surreal nerve-sense kicking in again. She could see the neurons firing in his head, the chemicals in his brain that were elevated. He was concerned, frightened, and his brain chemistry reflected that.

She could feel him using his power, giving her a jolt of calmness, but it didn't work all that well. There was a flash of normality, where she blinked and saw the boy she loved, and her breathing slowed. Then her thoughts drifted back to when she was standing there in the alley, with a bullet hole in her stomach.

Dying for nothing, worthless, while everyone watched.

"Let go of me," Victoria replied, trying to get away. "I'm fine. I'm great."

"Just take a moment, Victoria," Dean said, gently pulling her into a hug. "Breathe."

"Don't pity me," she whispered in his ear. "Stop acting as though I'll fall apart on my own. I don't need anyone's help, understand? I'm handling it. Me."

"Okay," he whispered back. "But there's nothing wrong with needing help, sometimes."

"Let go," she repeated. He didn't listen.

She could see the signals from his nervous system moving the muscles in his arms, holding her tightly. Instinctively, pushing out with something she didn't even know she had, she reached in with her mind and pushed those movements down. She was adjusting them like she'd dampened pain before, she realized, but this was more intense. She was blocking the signals entirely.

Dean let go of her and stumbled away, eyes wide. His arms fell limp at his sides. He looked down at them, stricken. "Did you just do something to me? I can't–"

Victoria felt hollow. Not allowing herself to think about anything, not even listening to what Dean was saying, she turned and started running again, out the front door and into the street.

Taylor

The drive home had been quiet and more than a bit awkward, though also much less stressful without Emma around.

Again and again, Taylor's thoughts kept going to the redheaded girl who'd made her life hell since the start of the semester, the bully who'd attacked her on every level. The Emma who told Taylor that their friendship had been based on lies, the one who claimed she'd hated ever being close to Taylor.

Taylor had come to hate her, too.

And yet it had become very clear, in their conversation, that there was something wrong with her former friend. Emma wasn't just mean, she was damaged. It didn't excuse the things she'd done, but it still gave Taylor pause. In a way, it made Taylor more upset than it would have if Emma had stayed distant and bitchy. Taylor hadn't had much sympathy for her tormentor, but now she did, and it pissed her off.

I don't want to care about you, Taylor thought, angrily. You didn't care about me!

But that thought struck a nerve, and it felt uncomfortably familiar. Aggressive and hateful.

Somewhere along the line, Emma's whole world had become small and closed-off. It was like pain and power was all that she could see, like nothing else existed anymore. It was unpleasantly sobering, to see someone lose themselves like that. Taylor refused to go down that same path. She wouldn't be the one to push people away, or to break things apart.

No, Taylor decided. I'll solve problems, not make new ones. I'm bigger than this.

Still, it wasn't easy. Her mind had been a miasma of frustration and confusion for hours, now. She'd been trying to get her mind off of it by reading, but she couldn't seem to focus on the words. She kept getting distracted, her attention pulled elsewhere, and she'd end up reading the same sentence over and over. She eventually gave up, got up, and put the book back on the shelf.

Off to the side of her room, Amy was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, reading her own book. She flipped to the next page, seeming not to share Taylor's newfound difficulty with absorbing words. Taylor felt a little jealous. She walked over, glancing at the cover.

"'Very Far Away from Anywhere Else'?" Taylor asked, startling Amy. "Huh. Are you enjoying it?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's alright." She glanced up at Taylor. "Sorry, did you want to read it?"

"It was one of my mom's books," Taylor explained, shaking her head. "I've read it a couple of times."

"Oh." Amy looked down at the book again, now wearing a glum expression.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, just… I don't know whether I actually like it, or whether you like it and that transferred over."

"Um." Taylor sat down next to her. "You may be overthinking it."

"Yeah, maybe." Amy didn't sound very sure. She closed the book, put it aside, and then checked her phone again.

"Still no response?" Taylor asked.

"None yet." Amy sighed, putting her phone down on the floor between them. "I'm worried. This isn't like her at all. She's pretty much glued to her phone, most of the time."

"I'm sure she's fine. We haven't had any of those, um…" Taylor made a sort of spinning motion with her hand, trying to find a word for the experience. Amy responded with a blank look. Taylor let her hand fall, and tried to explain it. "You know, those times when we all kind of… share?"

"Oh, those." Amy's eyes widened, realizing. She shivered a little, seeming a bit disquieted. "What about them?"

"Mouse Protector said they'd probably happen during really bad moments. So, if Vicky was in serious trouble, we'd know about it, right?"

"Except that you got shoved down a flight of stairs, and it didn't happen," Amy countered. "If almost dying isn't enough to set that stuff off, then I don't have a lot of confidence in it."

"What do you mean, 'almost died'? I was fine, Amy. I just got a little scuffed up."

"You weren't fine, though!" Amy shifted around on the floor, facing Taylor. "Taylor, I think you–"

The end of her sentence was lost in the knock at the door.

"Come in!" Taylor called out.

Dad opened the door and stepped into Taylor's room, walking over to the two girls. His eye settled on the book beside Amy, and he very briefly tensed. He shook it off, though, and sat down on Taylor's bed. "I just got off the phone with Alan," he announced.

Amy jerked her head downward, staring at the floor.

"What's going to happen?" Taylor asked.

"He's still being pretty testy. Told me that he wasn't happy with how things had happened, and was a bit… standoffish. He threatened a lawsuit." Dad coughed. "But I think he's more upset at himself, honestly, for not noticing. Alan's a reasonable man, so he'll probably cool down after a few days. In any case, he mentioned that he'll be getting Emma some counseling, so that's a bit of good news, at least."

"Yeah," Taylor agreed, without much feeling. "I'm glad she's getting help." Taylor could briefly imagine the old Emma coming back, supportive and fun, and the two of them being friends again. It was only a thin fantasy, of course. They'd never be able to go back to how they'd been before, not after what had happened between them, and Emma was a mess besides.

"Right. So, that's all I have to say on that front. But there's another talk I think we need to have." He turned his head, looking at Amy. "Are you going to be spending the night here again, Amy?"

Amy nodded, not meeting his eyes. "If that's okay."

"If it's for tonight… Yes, I think it'll be alright." Dad's voice was hesitant and unhappy.

"Thanks, Dad," Amy said, relieved. Then she froze up. "Uh, sorry–!"

"That must be the fifth or sixth time you've called me that," Dad said, chuckling. Then he sighed, his face going serious again. "And the third night you're staying over. Are you going to stay the night tomorrow, too?"

Amy was silent. Taylor put a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. Amy glanced at her, but quickly looked away.

"Let me just say this: I don't know what it's like to be the kid of a public superhero, but I'm sure it can't be easy." Dad leaned forward, his voice soft. "It's probably pretty stressful, right?"

Taylor could feel Amy's shoulder tensing.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that… well, I can understand needing to get away from home." He smiled, but there was sadness in it. "My dad wasn't always the funnest to be around, either. So, if you need a place to hang out for a while, then I'd be happy to help you out."

Amy looked up, finally meeting his gaze. "Really?"

"Yes. If you ever have to get away from home and spend some time here, then that's fine. You're welcome to visit. But…" Dad took a breath, and let it quietly hiss out through his teeth. "…I'm not really in a position to support two teenagers, right now. This can't be a permanent thing, Amy."

Amy's face fell.

"Hey, I don't want to come across as harsh. I'm really glad that Taylor's making new friends, and you seem like a nice girl. That said, money is pretty tight for us, at the moment."

"I'm sorry," Amy began, sounding forlorn.

"No, it's fine." Dad shook his head. "But I think I'd like to talk to your parents about a few things, tomorrow."

"We can talk more tomorrow, then." Taylor interrupted him, sharply. She hugged Amy tightly, but didn't break eye contact with her father. "It's been kind of a rough day, Dad."

Dad hesitated. "It has," he agreed. He stood up, walking to the door. He paused, turning back to look at the two of them. His vision flickered from Taylor to Amy, and back to Taylor again. "Ah… Taylor?"

"Yeah?"

"It's completely alright if you…" He trailed off, looking lost for words. "I mean, I'll always…"

Taylor blinked. "What is it?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, smiling weakly. "Never mind. I'm going to go make dinner. Have fun with your friend." With that, he left Taylor's room, quietly closing the door behind himself.

"That was weird," Taylor said.

Amy laughed quietly. The sound was nice to hear, considering her previous mood.

"What's so funny?"

Amy just grinned at her. "I'm pretty sure your dad thinks we're dating."

"What?!" Taylor gaped at her. "Why would he think that?"

"Taylor, you're hugging me. Like, right now."

Taylor immediately pulled away. "You looked sad," she argued. "I was just trying to comfort you. Not, you know… oh, god." She groaned, putting her head in her hands. Her cheeks burned.

"I get it." Amy said. "These feelings we all have for each other aren't real. It's our powers, this connection, messing with our heads like it always does. That's all."

"I wasn't doing that, though," Taylor groused. "I don't even think about those feelings if I can help it, okay? I'm not ready for a – a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or anything like that. Crap, I'm still dealing with the fact that bugs pour out of me like a fire hydrant. So, the weird little detail that one of my superpowers is apparently hyper-specific bisexuality? That's kind of a distant priority for me."

"I know, I know," Amy sighed. "Like I said, I get it. Seriously, Victoria can tell you all about how much it sucks. It's a big mess. I guess I can count myself lucky that I don't have it as much."

"You've flirted with me." Irritated, Taylor peeked out from behind her hands.

"No, that's not…" Amy fidgeted. "Sorry. I'm still getting used to being out. I don't know how to act, yet."

"Isn't the point not acting?"

Amy opened her mouth, paused, and then tilted her head. "Huh. Never thought of it that way."

"Will you stop flirting, now?"

Amy shrugged.

"I hate you."

"No, you love me."

"Only as a friend!" Taylor insisted. "Platonic or bust."

Amy laughed again.

~ ~ ~

The rest of the night passed by fairly uneventfully. Taylor considered directly dispelling the notion that she and Amy were dating, but couldn't figure out a way to do it without making Dad even more suspicious. So she let it rest, hoping Amy had been wrong about it in the first place. It was Dad's own fault, if he assumed.

Dinner was steak and potatoes, and no one cared that Dad had burned the meat a little. They ate it all, and chatted pleasantly about pointless things. Taylor realized, a bit sadly, that this was the most she'd interacted with her father in months, if not years.

The conversation continued after dinner, but eventually Taylor was yawning more than speaking, and she started getting ready for bed. Amy followed suit a few minutes later. Before long, Amy was curled up in her sleeping bag at the foot of Taylor's bed, and Taylor was resting under the covers. She lay there, staring up at the blurry darkness of the ceiling, wriggling around in her attempts to find a comfortable sleeping position. Cool as they were, wings made everything a lot trickier.

"Hey, Taylor?" Amy's voice was very quiet, barely above a whisper. "Are you still awake?"

"Mmhm."

"Thank you for holding me back, earlier."

"You're welcome."

It was quiet, then, for a long time. The room was so dark that Taylor couldn't see a thing. Not even distinct shapes, without her glasses on.

Taylor had almost fallen asleep when Amy spoke again. "Do you think Victoria hates me, and that's why she's not responding?"

Taylor yawned. "No."

"I'd hate me, I think." Amy's voice was strained. "If it was the other way around."

"Why?"

"She's the only one who ever treated me like family, and now she's hurting because she can't handle seeing me as anything else."

"That's not your fault. It's the powers."

"I guess."

"It isn't your responsibility. Really. None of us wanted to be like this."

"Would it be better if I just left?" Amy asked. "You and your dad are really nice, but I'm making things complicated by being here. I'm pretty sure the Dallons don't want me back, and Victoria… she'll only feel worse if I'm around. It's not fair to her."

"Is it fair to you?"

"Fair isn't for me. I'm not a nice person, Taylor. I've hurt people."

"You have. But it was a rough situation, and I don't think you're a bad person because of it. You just made a mistake, that's all."

"My power… I can see so much, change so much. It's so hard to have all that, and not do anything with it. I just want to have things go the right way, and make good decisions. I want to help."

"You're helping," Taylor assured her. "And you don't have to go away."

"Why not?"

"Because we rely on each other." Taylor sat up, rubbing her eyes. She'd been keeping her bugs in the closet, and she had a couple slip under the door in that moment, dimly illuminating the room with a thread of light. "If the three of us are going to figure this stuff out, then we all need to work together."

Amy looked up from the floor, her wet eyes glittering in the light. "…Okay. I'll stay."

"Thank you."

"Can you turn off the light?" Amy asked, closing her eyes. "I think I'm drifting off."

"Sure." Taylor evaporated the cord of light, then sent the bugs back into her closet. She yawned again, lay back down, and closed her eyes.

She dreamed someone else's dream.

Bones. Bones everywhere. Bones in the shape of a man.

The man she barely knows is patting her head.

He is her father, but not her father.

In a certain light, he looks like a monster. In a different light, he looks like he's out of his element.

A hand on her shoulder, vague, uncertain.

She looks up, and sees the blurry image of a freckled woman.

She turns to the side, and there's a smiling girl with blonde hair.

And then, suddenly, a pain like she'd never known, tearing through her side.

Taylor woke with a start. She sat up, gasping.

She heard a horrible muffled sound, saw a blurry shape flit through the darkness, and her breath caught. She instantly brought the light-bugs out again, and the room was illuminated.

An unfamiliar figure was there, at the foot of her bed, kneeling over Amy. The figure was pushing a pillow down over Amy's head, and her muffled cries barely made a sound. For a moment, Taylor wondered whether she was dreaming, because the huddled shape was like something out of a nightmare. A hooded figure formed of smoke, wearing a hockey mask and wielding some sort of bizarre weapon.

At the same moment Taylor saw the metal bolt sticking out between Amy's ribs, the figure raised its crossbow again, pushing it into the pillow.

The figure was aiming for Amy's head.

Last edited: Dec 19, 2018

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Threadmarks 9. Carnivorous

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Idiom Alpha

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Mar 14, 2019

#1,237

Trillium Waltz

9. Carnivorous

Victoria

Victoria wanted to be alone, but she had the sneaking suspicion that she no longer could be.

It had gotten dark, and Victoria was cold. She normally didn't feel cold, she'd noticed, when her forcefield was on her skin. It didn't really let her feel anything bad. Not physically, anyway.

But she'd pulled most her shield off of her skin – carefully ignoring the parts over her injuries – and then broken it into thousands of barely-visible dots of light, spreading them out over a wide area. Little stars to guide her way, and watch over others. Sometimes, her family had gotten dangerously close to finding her, and she heard them calling out her name. Sometimes it was Aunt Sarah, other times Crystal, flying above the rooftops and canvassing the area.

Victoria didn't answer their cries, and she fled down the paths she knew they weren't looking. She could see and hear things through her stars, if only in a few feet around them, and she had set up a wide lattice to stay aware of her surroundings. It was sort of like a daisy-chain of eyes and ears, all barely visible from the outside. The sight and sound she got from them was often fuzzy, but it was better than nothing.

When she noticed that she was having no trouble processing all the information she got from her shields, she began to analyze her power. She was intuitively directing and perceiving thousands of her little stars, in a range she measured at roughly a city block, all without mental strain. Was that normal?

Most fliers develop the ability to process lots of information from a distance, Victoria remembered. I must have something like that. She supposed that made her some kind of Thinker. It was a nice thought, one that made Victoria feel like she was powerful – which she was, of course. She had powers. She wasn't weak, she didn't want help, and she was sure of herself. Why didn't anyone understand that?

Victoria had never asked for her family's pity in the first place, and she certainly didn't need it now.

She searched for a way to prove it, with her shields scanning the area around her as she walked down back alleys and dark streets. Sometimes she thought back to that alley where everything had gone wrong, and while the memory gripped at her from a cold place inside her belly, she pressed on. She was better than a bad day.

She found her way to the seediest parts of town, the kind of places that her family had always told her to avoid. The territory of the Azn Bad Boys, if she remembered right. She searched the streets from a distance, keeping her head down, and her hands in her pockets. The cold air on her skin was a constant reminder of how unprotected she was. She hated feeling so vulnerable, but her shield couldn't be in two places at once.

And, with what she'd done to Dean... She winced, thinking about it. She didn't really understand her Striker power very well, but she knew it was there, at least. There, and horrible.

When her stars finally picked up what she'd been looking for, she was startled. A couple of gangsters were harassing a woman on a grungy street, cornering her against the side of a building. The woman looked afraid, her gaze shifting anxiously between the two men, and white-hot anger flared inside Victoria's heart.

Not on my watch.

She swiveled, turning off towards their location. She broke the stars, slamming them into whatever surfaces were nearby, and after a few moments, her shield soon bloomed back into existence along her skin. She turned the corner and arrived at the street. "Hey!" Victoria shouted, pointing at the thugs. "Stop that! Leave her alone!"

They turned, startled. They saw her shield, and they yelped in fright, immediately grabbing for their guns. Victoria had predicted this, and had set up a layer of twelve thin shields between her and the thugs. She spun a sharp blade out of her forcefield, then shot it towards the further of the two men. She aimed for the hand with the gun, hoping to disarm him. He panicked as her shield-dagger approached, trying and failing to dodge it.

It hit his fingers with all the force of a paper-mache pebble, and the impact caused the shield to shatter and vanish. The man stared down at the impact site, blinking in confusion. Then, a moment later, he began to laugh.

The shields were too weak to be used as projectiles, when they weren't in contact with her body. Damn it! She should have realized! Victoria stumbled, searching wildly for cover. She needed a new plan, fast!

The laughing thug said something in a language Victoria didn't know – Japanese, possibly? – and then followed it with a bit of broken English. "You is shit," he announced, still chuckling. "Shitcape." He lifted his pistol, firing off a few shots, dissipating the first few layers of her shield. The other one began to snicker, too, when he saw the shields breaking so easily.

They were laughing at her.

No, Victoria thought, frozen. No.

She felt the beating of three hearts,

or one heart beating for three,

and a flow of more than blood through veins.

She felt herself suffering horribly, and she grasped for connection,

but like the wind, it slipped through her grip.

She felt her body torn and broken by a mad shadow,

but shared a thought unspoken, and the hope of it.

She felt the shields and stars around her, and saw the cackling bastards,

and she begged herself for help, as strange as it seemed,

for she knew the others as they knew each other,

but found her self a stranger.

Victoria lurched, her mind spinning as she returned to her senses. She had moved, run around the corner, and hidden. A hand drifted to her cheek in shock. Tears? Had she been crying?

No, not her. Someone else.

A mad panic shot through her, and she hugged herself tightly, trying not to scream.

Stay out of my skin! Victoria shouted inside her head. You aren't me, and I'm not you! This is my body! It's mine!

She knew they couldn't hear her, that they had already gone. Their latest connective episode had broken. On a distant level, she knew that they hadn't had any choice, either. They were all each other and not themselves, when it was happening.

More than that, she had experienced the danger they were in, felt their pain and fear. She knew Amy and Taylor needed her help.

But making her help? Forcing her to hide and cry like a little girl? Letting criminals laugh at her as though she was nothing, and then proving them right by running away?

Victoria couldn't bear it. She had to have more control than this, more say in her own life. She needed to make a stand, and she decided that this would be it.

She turned back to the street where she'd left the men, and found them dragging that same terrified woman away, further down the street. The woman desperately flailed and kicked at them, but couldn't get away. To Victoria's outrage, the two gangsters were still chuckling to themselves. About Victoria? About whatever horrific thing they were doing? Victoria didn't want to know what it was, and she certainly wasn't going to wait around and find out.

Victoria thought carefully, remembering when she'd first gotten her powers, and how she'd beaten a man unconscious with her shield. Back then, the blunt forcefield-weapon she'd made had been attached to her body, and it had managed to collide with force before vanishing. A far cry from the useless dagger she'd tossed earlier.

Which meant she needed to get close, and she needed more than one weapon.

She pulled the forcefield off of her back, since she hopefully wouldn't need that anyway, and shaped it into more of the same weapon she'd made before. A blunt cudgel, like an extension of her fist. As a test, she disconnected the weapon from herself, let it hang in the air for a moment, and then reconnected it to herself. She immediately slammed it against a fence nearby, and it left a strong dent in the metal before vanishing.

It dawned on her, then, that her weak disconnected shields would regain substance when in contact with her skin. She immediately created four more clubs and severed them from her body, letting them hover around her in the air. The instant she grabbed one of the weapons, it would become stronger, more real.

With the iridescent weapons floating in the air around her, it was as though she had a small armory she could pull from at a moment's notice.

So cool, Victoria thought, feeling a bit giddy. This is so awesome, oh my god!

And, sure, the blunt clubs would work. But did she really want to be known as 'that girl with the cudgels'? No. No, she did not. She quickly reshaped them into elegant-looking swords, and had them float in the air at her sides, pointing outwards from her body. They almost resembled wings, though only in a vague way.

She strode forward into the street, running towards the two thugs. "Get away from her!" Victoria ordered.

One of the thugs just laughed harder, while the other grabbed his gun and started firing. Victoria dodged and blocked the shots with her shield where she could, then closed the distance. She grabbed one of her swords out of the air, and slashed it against the thug's gun-wielding hand. The strike drew blood, cutting deep, though the sword immediately dissipated. The other man went for his gun, but Victoria grabbed another sword and broke it over his arm.

"Bitch!" the thug growled. "Shitcape!" He took a swing at Victoria, and she threw up her hand. His skin touched hers as the shield dissipated, and that odd body-empathy kicked in. She had an instinctual awareness of the man's whole body, every poorly washed and itchy inch of it, and she was repulsed.

Victoria's mind flashed to Dean, and an unpleasant inspiration struck her.

She grabbed firm hold of the man's wrist, and then she did what she'd done before, blocking all the signals leading from the man's brain to his limbs. He collapsed like a rag doll, his arms and legs going limp, even as his face contorted in an expression of utter horror. The other thug's eyes went wide, and he turned to run. Victoria didn't let him. She darted forward and caught his leg with a sword, tripping him, and then shut down his legs and arms like she'd done for the other man.

She stood over the two paralyzed opponents, feeling completely triumphant. "You is shit," she told them. "Not me." She immediately realized the lameness of this delayed comeback, but refused to let it dampen her good mood.

I did this, Victoria thought. Me. All by myself.

She turned to the woman. "Are you alright?" Victoria asked.

The woman gaped at Victoria, her face pale, eyes wide. She was shaking. When Victoria approached her, the woman screamed.

Victoria raised her arms, palms out, showing she didn't mean to hurt her. Unfortunately, Victoria's arms were covered in iridescent forcefields, so the gesture may have had the opposite effect than intended. The woman scrambled to her feet and bolted before Victoria could get another word out. "You're welcome!" Victoria called after her.

She crossed her arms, gazed down at her one-time opponents, and began to wonder how she would possibly go about getting them to the police station, especially considering she'd left her phone at home.

Then she remembered Amy and Taylor, and she gasped. She leaned the two men up against a nearby wall, and briefly worked to memorize the area. I'll come back and deal with them later, Victoria promised herself. Right now, I've got better people to protect.

Then, ignoring the terrified yells of the two mostly-paralyzed thugs, she ran off into the night, heading in the direction of Taylor's house. Victoria felt mildly upset that she even knew where Taylor's house was, considering that no one had ever told her the address.

Still, she pressed on. That's what heroes did, after all!

Taylor

Taylor didn't dare to hesitate, not when she saw that Amy's life was in danger.

No, Taylor simply acted, leaping out of bed and throwing herself forward without a second thought. She tackled the intruder with her whole body, which still wasn't a lot of weight, but it was enough to knock the murderous figure out of place. The crossbow shot went wild, shooting through the pillow anyway, and blood began to soak into it from below.

For that moment, Taylor felt like her heart had stopped.

But then Amy moaned in pain, and the pillow slipped off her face. The bolt had torn into Amy's right cheek, near her mouth, but had come out at an angle, so it went through one side of her face and came out through the other. While this was frightening, at least Taylor knew her friend was still alive, for the moment.

Unfortunately, so was the intruder.

Said intruder grabbed Taylor by the collar of her pajamas, then savagely punched her in the side of the head. Taylor's vision went even more blurry than usual, and she felt a little dizzy. She tried to wrestle with the – the murder-ghost? – and clung to it for dear life. She even had her bugs get in on the action, ordering them to fly in and start looping cords of light around her enemy.

If it was good enough for Sophia, it was good enough for a ghost, right? That was the hope, anyway.

"Dad!" Taylor screamed, as loud as she could. "Dad, help!"

The figure shoved Taylor against the wall and started punching and kicking her again, harder than before. It was so strong, and Taylor was so weak. When she tried to fight back, the figure's hands caught her arms, snapping Taylor's wrists in a way that seemed almost accidental. Taylor felt things burst and break inside of her, and she found she couldn't breathe, couldn't cry out.

Taylor felt like her insides were popping and burning all over, and she knew, with certainty, that this feeling meant she was going to die.

Taylor's blue bugs had been diligently wrapping the intruder in thin light-cords, and the murder-ghost had to stop and untangle itself, thankfully unable to phase through the lights. The figure hesitated, as though uncertain, and threw Taylor to the ground. Taylor's head hit the base of the nearby wall, and she felt her neck crack. Shrieking pain flooded her body, and her vision swam.

She was going to die, and she couldn't even get up. Her body wouldn't respond. She was trapped inside her skull, useless and alone.

Would anyone even miss her?

She felt the beating of three hearts,

or one heart beating for three,

and a flow of more than blood through veins.

Taylor blinked, her thoughts strange as she came out of their latest cluster episode.

It was no wonder; they were someone else's ideas, someone else's words on her lips. She tried to piece them together before they slipped away, trying to hold on to one last message from her friends. The only word she managed to gather was 'heal', but it was useless to her.

Taylor couldn't heal, that was Amy's power. She couldn't even dampen pain like Victoria.

...Could she?

Taylor remembered the conversation, earlier, how Amy had described her as almost dying after her fall from the stairs. But it was more than that; Taylor had so quickly bounced back from the dumpster, and that incident with the bugs. She'd thought that she was just coping like anyone would, or that things hadn't really been as bad as people had thought, but what if she'd been wrong?

What if she could save herself?

Her friends were trying to help her in the only way they could. Taylor wasn't alone. She knew that, she'd known that. There were people who'd cared for her, even in her worst moments. She owed it to them to fight this, to at least try. Even if she didn't know how.

'Heal.' Taylor agonized over the word.

She reached out with her mind, searching for added senses or hidden switches, but couldn't find any. As far as she could tell, all she had were the bugs, and making more of them wouldn't help. She pushed aimlessly, mentally straining herself, but nothing happened.

Heal! Taylor ordered her body, though it felt silly. Fix my injuries! Regenerate!

And, to Taylor's surprise, something actually happened.

It was subtle, at first, but became far more obvious as time went on. Bones knit back together. Bruises vanished as capillaries repaired themselves. Her insides stopped aching, and even her vision cleared up – it was better than before, in fact. Even the bump on her head was gone, and the crick in her neck.

I can heal, Taylor realized, amazed.

Taylor pulled herself to her feet. Much as her wounds were healing over, it was slow, and she still ached like nothing else. More than that, she felt sick in a way that she hadn't before. Weary, like she'd run a mile, and flimsy in a strangely familiar way. She was all skin and bones, and pale flesh, even thinner than before. She could barely stand, and she felt like she might pass out from the effort.

Just like I was after the dumpster, Taylor thought. It's the same feeling.

Whatever parts of her made the bugs, she reasoned, they must be the same ones that her body needed for it to heal itself – which meant that she couldn't do it forever. If it worked off the same rules, then when she hit her limit, she'd lose consciousness. After that, even in the best case scenario, she'd be unable to walk without help.

It figures. Even with the power to regenerate herself, Taylor still needed to be careful.

The ghostly figure had finally pulled its way out of the network of bugs and light-lines that Taylor had thrown at it, had killed or incapacitated whatever bugs were left, and had then picked up its crossbow from where it had fallen on the floor. The intruder lingered, looming over Amy, holding its crossbow off to the side in an odd way. Its posture gave off the impression of deliberation.

"Stay away from her!" Taylor cried out. It took monumental effort to get any volume at all, and her voice came out squeaky even then.

At the sound of Taylor's words, the figure turned on a dime, swiveling to face her.

"Please don't hurt my friend," Taylor whimpered, taking advantage of her weakness and acting as pathetic as possible. At the same time, she was mentally arranging her scattered bugs, grouping them in formation. She needed all of her bugs, if she was going to have any shot at this. It was pretty difficult to focus on so many different ones at the same time. Taylor usually only coordinated a few bugs at once, or had a big group of them all doing the same thing.

The intruder faced her, shadowy and unreal, and for a moment Taylor thought it might actually speak.

But then the door to Taylor's room slammed open, and the lights went on. Dad was standing in the doorway, staring at the scene in horror. His eyes drifted to the ghostly figure to Amy lying on the ground, and he gasped.

The ghost apparently decided this was as good a time as any to make a break for it. It ran for the wall and slipped through it, vanishing into the night. Taylor tried to catch it with her bugs, but she wasn't able to gather them in time, or coordinate them well enough.

"What happened?!" Danny asked, kneeling next to Amy. Amy wept miserably, her tears mixing with blood on her cheek.

"We were attacked," Taylor explained, weakly. She slid down into a sitting position, having too much trouble supporting her own weight.

"Attacked by who? What was that thing?!"

"I have absolutely no idea," Taylor told him, honestly. "But we need to get Amy out of here before it comes back!"

Amy

Amy felt like she was having some weird nightmare, only it happened to also be her life.

For a long time, her world was blurry and strange, but the occasional bursts of pain made it clear when she was awake. Possibly.

She'd first woken up in the middle of the night, squinting in the dark, to find some sort of monster hovering over her bed. Near as she'd been able to tell, it had been a demonic specter wearing a hockey mask. Well, that was a horror movie monster if ever there was one. As soon as Amy had opened her eyes to get a better look, however, the specter had freaked out for some reason, and Amy had ended up with a crossbow bolt to the gut.

Before Amy could even really register that part, she'd then been almost suffocated with her own pillow. After that, she'd felt a really sharp, gouging pain in her mouth, and felt like she was choking on something.

What the fuck, demonic specter?!

This was the last coherent thought Amy managed to have, before her mind turned to screaming putty, and it managed to be both appropriate and something of a blanket statement.

After that, her understanding of things became a lot less clear. Sometimes she would be in one place, and then it would bleed into another. She remembered being in three places at once, in three bodies at once, and crying a lot in all of them. She remembered Dad and Taylor carrying her out to the car. She thought she remembered a few flashes of Mom, too, but she wasn't sure which Mom it was.

Then she was in different beds in different rooms, each of them shifting as she flickered in and out of consciousness, all of them equally sterile and bland. Eventually, she ended up in one bed in one room, and that seemed fairly constant from then on.

It was morning, when Amy properly came out of her haze.

The first thing she noticed was that there was something covering her face. She reached up, and found various devices hooked up to her head and her neck. When she breathed, it was through a tube in her throat, not through her mouth or nostrils. There were lots of smaller tubes connected to her arms, too. She couldn't move anything above her shoulders, she soon realized. She was locked into place, lying down on the bed.

While the ache in her side was dull and constant, Amy couldn't feel her tongue, or the inside of her mouth. She couldn't feel them with her hand, either, since nearly her entire head was wrapped in thick bandages. This concerned her, but not as much as it should have. Amy assumed that she was probably on massive amounts of painkillers, which would help out in the not-caring department.

The next thing she noticed was the shapes of two girls, hugging her tightly. Taylor and Victoria, one on either side of her, sitting in chairs by Amy's bed. Both of them looked like they'd been crying. As Amy looked between them, Taylor cried out. "She's awake!"

Victoria raised her head. She looked awful. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and had dark circles under them. "Amy?"

Amy tried to respond, and regretted it. It hurt like nothing else, even with the painkillers.

"You're not supposed to talk," Taylor told her, a little late. "Um... the doctors, they had to–"

"Shh!" Victoria interrupted heatedly, waving at Taylor. "Not right now. Give her a little time."

Time for what? Amy wondered, distantly irritated.

"We need to call the nurse," Taylor said. She hobbled over to the door, and as she left the room, Amy noticed that she was walking with a cane. I thought she'd gotten better, Amy wondered to herself. What happened?

Victoria nodded, leaning down and hugging Amy gently, and Amy felt a few of her sister's teardrops fall onto her neck. Then Amy remembered their talk in the bathroom days before, and she started batting her eyelashes at her sister in an overdramatic way. While the delivery method was jokey, the message was sort of serious.

"Stop," Victoria said, laughing weakly. "That's not what this is, and you know it."

Amy raised an eyebrow.

"When it comes to caring about you, that was part of me a long time before I started – before I was like this. And even now, you know, I'm not always thinking about it." Victoria bit her lip, and looked away. Her voice wavered slightly. "I just... I want to look after you. You're my sister. I love you."

Amy gripped Victoria's hand, holding it tightly. Love you too, Amy thought.

Victoria smiled, but she was still crying a little. It didn't help Amy to feel any less spooked, but she did her best to act tough. She didn't want Victoria to feel scared or strange around her. This was as close as they'd been since before they'd found out about the cluster, and all the feelings involved. Amy missed her sister.

Taylor returned to the room, shuffling slowly along, and she had a nurse in tow.

The nurse came over to Amy, a smile on his face. "Hello, Ms. Dallon. Can you blink three times for me?"

Amy did so, though her eyelids still felt a bit heavy.

"That's great," the nurse said. "Don't try to talk. Here, use this." He put a pencil and notepad into her hand. Amy couldn't sit up, so she had to lift them together and write over her chest. It hurt to lift her left arm, though, and she kept dropping the notepad. The nurse kindly put them back in her hands each time.

Eventually, Amy managed to write out, in shaky text: What's wrong with me?

The nurse's smile went a bit more stiff.

"You were attacked," Taylor said, softly. "Do you remember?"

Amy tried to nod, failed, and then wrote the letter 'y' on the paper.

"You've been through surgery," the nurse explained. "You were lucky; the arrow that went through your side just barely missed the renal arteries. You have a couple of renal contusions – kidney bruises, basically – but those should heal over time. You'll have to stay in the hospital for at least a few weeks, though."

Amy hated hospitals. The fluorescent lights hurt her eyes, and the smell of the cleaning chemicals always made her feel a little queasy.

"As for the injury to your head, that's a bit more complicated." The nurse pulled out a set of x-rays, probably ones of Amy. No, of course they were of her, why would he be showing her somebody else's x-rays? She felt stupid, but blamed it on the pain medication. The x-rays seemed a little off, though; there was a big hole in the middle of Amy's lower jaw, where the back teeth should have been.

Victoria held Amy's hand very tightly, her lip quivering. A few more tears slipped out onto her cheeks.

The nurse explained that Amy had been shot in the face with a crossbow bolt, this one ripping through one side of her face, shattering half of her teeth, shredding her tongue, and then stabbing its way out of her other cheek.

Amy's mind was very blank, when she heard this. It was as though she went to have thoughts, but her brain had forgotten how, or couldn't figure out what thoughts it should be having. In the distance, she noticed that Taylor had started holding her other hand, so that was nice. Amy had her friend, and she had Victoria. Amy let that knowledge dominate her consciousness for the moment.

She wasn't alone. That made all the difference.

"Last night, the doctors cleared as many pieces of the shattered teeth as they could," the nurse continued. "And worked on patching up the entry and exit points, which went very well. There are plenty of reconstructive surgery options for the future, as well, though there will probably be some scarring left over. But when it comes to your tongue..." The nurse paused. "A lot of it was lost, first from the initial projectile, and then from the follow-up surgery. Close to half of it is gone. I'm sorry."

After a few more cookie-cutter apologies and polite well-wishes, the nurse excused himself and quickly retreated from the room, promising to return shortly. Future medical tests were promised, like some sort of dire oath.

Again, Amy felt blank. She supposed her mind was still working up to the inevitable dismay.

It took Taylor bursting into tears for Amy to realize what she was doing. It wasn't that she wasn't feeling anything – it was that her feelings were going elsewhere. She severed the connection she'd formed, terrified that she'd done it without thinking.

Suddenly, Amy wanted to scream.

She wanted to scream until she couldn't think, until she couldn't hear a sound. But her mouth wouldn't do what she wanted. She couldn't feel her tongue, and her throat wouldn't let any sound out. She stared around the room in absolute terror, searching for a way out, as though she could make everything disappear like some sort of horrible mirage.

"It's okay, Ames," Taylor assured her, hugging her. "You can do... you know, the sharing thing. I don't mind."

"Yeah," Victoria agreed, though she sounded uncomfortable. "Do what you need to do, Amy."

Amy wanted to say that she was strong enough to handle her own emotions, but she wasn't, and she couldn't say it anyway.

She cut her painful feelings into three parts and divvied them out like slices of a crappy cake. Tears flowed freely down Taylor and Victoria's cheeks, and a few made their way out of Amy's own eyes, as well. They all huddled up, hugging tightly, holding on to each other as though there was nothing else in the world.

"I – I should have come back sooner," Victoria sobbed. "I'm sorry. I didn't think – no, but I knew, I did. I just... Oh, god, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't say that," Taylor told her, sniffling. "It was too late. Even if you'd run, you couldn't have stopped it."

"But I could have fought the one who did this!" Victoria argued, miserably. "I would have chased her down, caught her!"

"Probably for the best that you didn't," a woman's voice said.

Taylor and Victoria turned as one, facing the door in surprise, but it was Victoria who spoke first. "Miss Militia?!"

Last edited: Mar 15, 2019

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Mar 14, 2019

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Threadmarks 10. Epiphyte

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Idiom Alpha

Idiom Alpha

Confirmed Canon

Mar 19, 2019

#1,316

Trillium Waltz

10. Epiphyte

Amy

While Victoria had obsessed over the ins and outs of powers and parahumans for as long as anyone could remember, Amy had done the opposite.

As far as Amy could tell, the existence of capes had done very little but make her life miserable and restrictive. Powers had shoved her family into the spotlight, put them all in constant danger, and kept her eternally distant from her adoptive parents.

And that was before she'd learned about her biological father.

For years, Amy had watched movies imported from Earth Aleph, an alternate universe where there were barely any capes at all. It felt nice to briefly escape into a place where everyone seemed to be like her, simple and ordinary. A peaceful life without Endbringers, or the Birdcage, or all the gangs. Once, Amy had told Victoria about how she sometimes wished she could have grown up in that other world. Her sister had wrinkled her nose, at that, telling Amy that she was completely insane.

Maybe she was, a little.

But Amy still dreamed of a life where she wouldn't have to be scared all the time. She was tired of being afraid whenever Carol and Mark set off to fight murderers and monsters, never knowing if they would come back. She was terrified for Victoria's sake, too, whenever Vicky gleefully talked about doing the same thing one day, going out and regularly risking her life.

Amy had felt that way a lot, on the long nights where she'd stay up late with her crying sister, consoling her over her apparent inability to trigger. Amy had hated constantly assuring Victoria that she'd be a hero someday, all while secretly hoping that she wouldn't become one.

Amy had never wanted Victoria to have powers. Amy had never wanted herself to have powers, for that matter. The very idea of it used to make her anxious.

Weird, how things had changed.

Regardless, Amy hadn't cared much about keeping up with news about heroes or villains. The local cape scene itself had been something Amy tried not to think about, and all she'd typically known about it was whatever info she picked up from Victoria's excited ramblings. Victoria wasn't the only one who was infatuated with the Protectorate, though – many of their classmates would chatter away about it at lunch, leaving Amy a bit bemused.

When Miss Militia walked into the room, though, Amy could understand the fascination a little better.

The olive-skinned woman standing in the door was dressed in a somewhat form-fitting army uniform, along with various stars-and-stripes patterned accessories, with one wide scarf serving to cover her face. There was some sort of gun in her hands that blurred around the edges, changing shape at times before being immediately holstered. The woman seemed to have been molded out of lean muscle and pleasant curves, cutting a fairly statuesque figure.

Miss Militia was also around thirty years old, probably over twice Amy's age.

Fuck. Why did Amy always have to fall for unattainable ladies? Was that just her type, or something?

"Hi, again," Taylor said, snuffling a little through the tears. She greeted the heroine with a shy wave.

"You know her?!" Victoria gasped, awestruck. "How?"

Taylor opened her mouth to explain, but Miss Militia spoke first.

"I arrived late last night, following up on a report from the hospital," the heroine told them. "I took Taylor's statement, as well as her father's." She was all crisp and businesslike, but not in a hostile or distant way. Amy thought that was really cool.

"She left before you showed up," Taylor added, speaking to Victoria. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I was kind of focusing on Amy."

"No, no, it's okay," Victoria breathed, her wide eyes fixed on Miss Militia. She turned away, frantically wiped her tears off on her sleeve, and quickly did what she could to fix her messy hair. (It wasn't much help, as she still looked like she'd been up all night crying.) Then she walked, very stiffly, over to Miss Militia. "Hey, there. Big fan of your work," Victoria said. She was clearly trying to pull off a casual tone, but anyone could tell that she was bursting with excitement.

Taylor let out an awkward squeak of laughter, though she politely tried to hide it behind a cough. It was nice to see her smile, after all the tears. Amy wished she could.

"Thanks," Miss Militia replied, in a reserved sort of voice. Victoria grinned, looking like she'd won the lottery. "I'd like to speak to Amelia, if that's alright. I need to hear her account of what happened last night."

Victoria's grin vanished. "Oh." Victoria glanced back at the bed, biting her lip, and she looked like she might start crying again. It appeared to be infectious, because Taylor's smile drooped as well.

"Hey, now," a familiar voice called from the doorway, as its owner followed Miss Militia into the room. "Don't you girls go getting all gloomy on me, now!" Mouse Protector gave the girls a jaunty wave. "Believe you me, there's more than enough of that in the world."

For some reason, Miss Militia seemed more tense, straightening her posture. It was a subtle enough change that Amy wondered if she was just imagining it.

"Oh, hey." Taylor's mood seemed to brighten, though only a little.

"Hi," Victoria said, at the same time. She limply mirrored Mouse Protector's wave. "Nice to see you again."

"It is, isn't it?" Mouse Protector preened.

Victoria laughed weakly. "Why are you here?"

"She's... a liaison member," Miss Militia said, searching for the term. "An official associate, sort of."

"A contractor, basically." Mouse Protector added. She clapped her hands together. "Or a mercenary, if things get interesting!"

"They'd better not," Miss Militia said, evenly. "Not if it can be avoided."

"Of course, of course." Mouse Protector made her way over to Amy's bedside, grinning as impetuously as ever. "So, you've had your first maiming, huh? Congratulations!"

Amy stared at her, confused.

"What do you mean, 'first' maiming?" Taylor asked, her wings twitching. "Is... is there a lot of maiming, in heroism?"

"There is for me," Mouse Protector replied. "But I tangle with a girl who does it on the regular, so..." She shrugged.

"I still don't think that it's anything to celebrate," Victoria argued, furrowing her brow.

"Nonsense!" Mouse Protector tut-tutted. "We've been over this. It's like partying at a funeral, remember? Try to look on the bright side!"

Taylor's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

Yeah, I lost half of my teeth and tongue, Amy wanted to add. What the fuck are you talking about?!

Miss Militia very quickly walked over to Mouse Protector's side, putting a hand on her shoulder. Mouse Protector turned to meet her gaze, and Amy caught a glimpse of Miss Militia's expression, a sharp flash of narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. The object in her hand shifted shape more rapidly, never staying the same for more than a second. Eventually, she let go of Mouse Protector's shoulder and stepped back, sheathing a combat knife moments later.

Mouse Protector winced, and her typical bombastic energy seemed to drain away. "I'm so sorry, Amy. Honestly," Mouse Protector said, softly. She patted Amy's hand in a comforting way. "I'm staying in town until we get this all sorted out, alright? I'm not about to leave you and your triggerpals in danger, if I can help it."

Though she was still a little upset, Amy gripped Mouse Protector's fingers, squeezing briefly. Mouse Protector squeezed back, then gently pulled away, standing further off to the side of the room. Strangely, her body language had changed, and she'd slumped slightly. She fidgeted awkwardly around, looking uncomfortable, uneasy in her own space. A far cry from her typical persona; It reminded Amy of Taylor, actually.

Miss Militia pulled up a chair beside Amy's bed, sighing. "Amy, I know this is hard, but can you tell me what you remember? Any information could be helpful, here."

Amy pulled up the pencil and notepad, trying to write. Her arms kept shaking from the pain in her side, and she dropped the notepad again. Taylor helpfully reached down, putting it back in Amy's hand. As their fingers briefly touched, Amy met her eyes, and an idea occurred to her.

She set the notepad back down on the bed beside her, then reached an arm up, pointing at Taylor's mouth, then back at her own. Confusion greeted her from all sides. Amy repeated the gesture several more times, meeting Taylor's eyes. Eventually, Taylor gasped in realization, taking a sudden step backwards. Her wings fluttered, almost knocking over Amy's IV. Taylor stepped away from it a moment later, but didn't look away from Amy.

Amy clasped her hands together, in a pleading gesture.

Taylor nervously ran her fingers over her mouth, a few times. "Um... okay. If you have to," Taylor finally mumbled.

Amy briefly applauded in thanks, then got to work. It was difficult to rearrange signals, through the haziness of her pain medication, but she eventually managed it. It came more easily, too, and much more quickly than before. Practice makes perfect, she supposed.

"What are you talking about?" Victoria asked, confused.

"She's–" Taylor started, then choked, going silent as Amy finished solidifying the connection. Sensory information first, this time, then control. It was comforting, to feel the sensations of a healthy mouth. With a twinge of sadness, Amy realized she might never feel her own mouth that way again.

Amy cleared Taylor's throat. "Testing, one two three. Okay, got it," Amy said, getting used to speaking with a different tongue. "Thanks, Taylor."

Taylor's posture had gone stiff, and she was keeping her arms straight and rigid at her sides. She didn't seem to know what to do with herself, while Amy had her mouth, so she wasn't doing anything at all. It was cute, in a dorky kind of way.

Miss Militia stared at Taylor with confusion. Mouse Protector looked as though she was slowly putting two and two together.

Victoria, on the other hand, caught on immediately. "Amy?!"

"Yeah," Amy confirmed. "Using Taylor's voice for a moment. Faster this way."

"You can't just do that!" Victoria yelped. "That's not yours! It doesn't belong to you!"

"You heard her. She okayed it." Amy frowned. "If it upsets you, I guess I could use yours instead." The idea felt weirder, though, for a reason Amy couldn't put her finger on.

"No!" Victoria went pale. "Please, please don't!"

"I wasn't going to, you idiot!" Amy protested. It was funny, seeing Taylor's mouth snapping at someone. Especially when Taylor herself looked shocked, based on her wide eyes.

Victoria scowled. "Don't call me an idiot! You're the idiot!"

"Hold on. If I'm understanding this right, you're a Master?" Miss Militia asked, interjecting. "A human Master, at that?"

"I suppose," Amy said, slowly. She knew the reputation human Masters tended to end up with. "Not a very strong one, though. It's kind of a mutual partial Mastering thing? I switch little bits of sensation and control around."

"I see." Miss Militia shared an uncomfortable look with Mouse Protector. "Based off of what Mouse Protector has told me about clusters, does that mean you all have some variety of Master power?"

"Guess so, yeah," Victoria said, looking a bit unhappy. "Taylor creates... um, little lights, I think?" Victoria gestured at the few blue bugs still hovering near the ceiling. Where had the rest gone? Amy remembered there being more of them.

"Those are bugs, actually," Amy told her, with a healthy bit of smugness.

Victoria recoiled. "They're bugs?!"

"What about you?" Mouse Protector asked, looking at Victoria. There was an odd intensity, there.

"Me? Oh. I, uh... I freeze nerves." Victoria coughed, looking away. "I sort of mess with how they communicate, input and output. I don't know. It's hard to describe. I have to touch people to do it."

"You can? Neat!" Amy said.

Victoria waggled a hand in a so-so motion.

"Alright. That shouldn't be too much of a problem, then," Miss Militia said. She turned towards Taylor. "Amy–"

"Oh, I'm over here," Amy informed her. She raised a hand. "I just switched our mouths around. Taylor's still in control of her body. How are you doing, Taylor?"

Taylor gave a shaky thumbs-up.

"Interesting. Sorry." Miss Militia politely turned towards Amy. The heroine pulled out a small notebook, and set a small recording device on the bedside table. "Now, please tell me everything you remember from last night."

Amy did so. Mouse Protector interrupted right around the time that Amy was talking about waking up to see a masked figure standing over her in the dark.

"What kind of mask?" Mouse Protector asked, sharply. She put her hands to her head, mimicking ears. "Did it look similar to mine, but, like, a rabbit?"

"No," Amy told her, confused. "It was a hockey mask, I'm pretty sure."

"Oh, thank Christ." Mouse Protector sighed in relief. At the inquisitive looks, she began to laugh nervously. "Just kidding around! Ha ha! Because, you know, mice and bunnies? It's funny!"

There was a baffled silence in response to this.

"Forget I said anything," Mouse Protector muttered wearily. "Just a bad joke, that's all."

"Oookay," Amy said, slowly. "Well, as soon as I opened my eyes, the ghost lost its shit." She went on to describe what little else she remembered, briefly stopping to explain their brain-sharing events when asked for detail.

Miss Militia went on to ask Amy if she'd gotten into any arguments recently, or had any enemies, or whether she knew of a reason someone might try to assault her. After an uncomfortable glance from Taylor, Amy cautiously mentioned that she'd gotten into a fight at school, keeping the details as vague as possible.

Amy went on to list off Sophia and Emma's names when Miss Militia asked. The idea that her attacker could be one of those two girls was troubling, though, considering what Amy knew about trigger events. What she'd done hadn't been that traumatic, surely?

When Miss Militia finished jotting some things down, she snapped her notebook closed, and stood up. "Thank you, Amy."

"If you want to thank me," Amy said, anger in her voice, "then tell me that you're going to get whoever did this to me."

"We will," Mouse Protector promised.

"Do you know who they are?" Victoria asked. "The ghost, I mean."

"I can't say for sure, at this point," Miss Militia answered, flatly.

"You can't say. But you do know, don't you?" Amy pressed.

"Possibly." Miss Militia hesitated. "There's a small-time vigilante with a similar power-set and appearance, but the resemblance might be coincidental. The important thing is that the Protectorate's taking care of it, okay? Don't try to handle this on your own. Whoever this stalker of yours is, they're clearly armed and dangerous."

"We can take care of ourselves," Victoria complained. "I mean, what if they come back? What do we do then, run from somebody who walks through walls?"

"Yes, actually. Get as much distance as you can, defend yourself only if absolutely necessary, and call 911 as soon as possible. For the moment, Gallant from the Wards has also offered to personally help keep an eye out for trouble."

"Gallant?" Victoria choked out. "He – he's here?"

"Yes, he's currently out in the hall. Now, I want each of you to swear to me that you won't go picking fights, even if you do find this ghost of yours, okay?" Miss Militia's gaze swept over each of the three girls, stern and brooking no further argument.

"Okay," Victoria mumbled, seeming a bit distracted.

Amy severed her connection to Taylor, restoring each of their mouths to their proper owners. Taylor blinked, confused for a moment, then gently worked her jaw, getting used to it again. "Uh – yes, of course," Taylor agreed, after a few seconds.

"Thank you," Miss Militia said, allowing her lightly held breath to escape. She gave the girls a polite nod. "Now, I'm sorry to leave you like this, but I've got to head back out on patrol. Mouse Protector and Gallant have volunteered to stay and watch over you, and with your family as back-up, I think any would-be intruders will have a hard time getting here."

"Yeah, don't sweat it," Mouse Protector added. "We'll keep you safe. Protecting is what I do best, after all!" She flourished dramatically, and Taylor smiled a little at the sight.

No one seemed to notice that Amy hadn't promised a thing.

Whether Amy had wanted powers before all of this, she'd ended up with them, and they'd made her dangerous. The pain and weakness she was feeling, the disfigurement? That was a lesson, and the next time someone tried to hurt her, she'd make sure that they learned a few lessons of their own.

When we see each other again, ghost, Amy thought, you'd better pray that I don't see you first.

Victoria

All Victoria wanted to do was avoid him, avoid her problems, but she was better than that. She had to be.

So, a few minutes after Miss Militia left, Victoria announced that she was going to go use the ladies' room. It wasn't technically a lie. She just had some plans for things to do on the way there, that was all.

Amy rolled her eyes at Victoria's excuse to see Dean, which was infuriating. God, only she could lose half her tongue and still make Victoria want to yell 'Shut up!'

Not that she did yell at her, of course. Victoria loved her sister – loved her a little too much, actually. Every time she thought about it, Victoria felt as though she was going crazy. Her body and brain told her one thing, while her conscious mind told her another.

She's your sister! Victoria would yell at herself, inside her head. She's the same stupid dweeb you grew up with! The Amy who checks every last coin return slot for quarters, wants to live on Planet Boring, and argues with you over absolutely everything! She is not a romantic option, you stupid, stupid brain! Not in a trillion years!

But yelling at herself accomplished nothing at all, of course.

Victoria knew she was different, that she'd been fundamentally jumbled around on the inside. She was so far from the person she'd been, the person that she still wanted to be. The Victoria that she'd become was just an absolute mess. If she even was Victoria, that is. How the hell could she tell, anymore?!

She wanted to cry, she wanted to tear her hair out, she wanted to run out of the hospital and start stabbing more criminals with iridescent swords, because at least she could do that right, and–

And then she saw Dean, and her train of thought did a somersault and then crashed into itself, leaving her mind blank and her mouth open. He was in his full costume: a thick skin-tight black mesh suit that was covered in various panels of ugly brass-metal tinkertech, with gauntlets and a helmet in the same style. Armsmaster's work, if Victoria remembered right. Dean had never liked it much.

He immediately turned his helmet in her direction, before she'd even made a sound. He always did say that he could recognize her feelings. "Hey there," he said, slowly. "How are you? I would wave, but..." He thrust his hip into his left arm, letting it wobble limply at his side.

"Sorry, oh my god, sorry," Victoria sputtered, then grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him over to a nearby broom closet. It was locked. Thinking quickly, she flattened out the forcefield on her arm, slid it through the side of the door, then turned the forcefield on the other side into a rough claw. It took a few seconds, but she managed to unlock the door, opening it when she heard the click.

"Pretty sure that's illegal," Dean pointed out. He sounded oddly amused.

"Arrest me, then," Victoria retorted, weakly. Then she pulled him into the broom closet, and she started trying to pull his glove off. She failed. "How did you even get this on?" she asked, annoyed.

"With paralyzed arms, you mean?"

"...Yeah." She bit her lip, not daring to look him in the eyes. Not that she knew where his eyes were, exactly, behind the helmet. It wasn't incredibly indicative.

"Your dad helped me out," Dean explained. "I kind of had to let him know, sorry. I didn't tell anyone else, though. Your secret's safe with me."

"Why are you apologizing? Don't apologize!"

"Sorry." He chuckled.

"Aargh!" Victoria let her forehead rest quietly against the chest-plate of his armor, colliding with a very quiet thunk. "I can't get the stupid thing off!"

"You have to twist from the other side. Also, you need to tap the little panel three times."

"You could have told me that!"

"You could have asked," he countered.

She groaned, then followed his directions, and at last managed to unhook the gauntlets. She gripped the bare skin of his hand, and her body empathy kicked in, letting her see the details of his body in a thousand different ways. She carefully released the signals she'd blocked before, and felt a surge of relief flood through her when she saw him flex his arms.

"Thank you," he said, gripping and ungripping his hand. "Huh. My hands are asleep. That's a first."

"They should get better in a second," Victoria assured him. And then, to her surprise, she found herself bursting into tears. "Fuck, I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, I get it. It was an accident, accidents happen. But I need you to listen to me, Victoria." Dean's voice was soft, but urgent. "I'm not sure how to say this, exactly – I think you might be Mastered."

"What?!"

"Your emotions. They keep going wonky all of a sudden. It doesn't seem normal."

"Oh." Victoria's panic subsided, if only slightly. "That's Amy, I – I'm helping her. She's having a hard time."

"I don't understand."

"It's one of her powers. She switches things in and out between people, shifts them around. Feelings, right now." More tears chased trails down her cheeks, and her face scrunched up as the raw pain flowed through her. Not physical pain, but the other kind, raw and emotional. "It's rough."

"Do you want me to help?" Dean asked, quietly. He didn't usually offer to do that sort of thing. They'd tried it, a few times, when no one was looking. She remembered asking him to make her feel happy, once. She'd started jumping on her bed, giggling like an idiot, until it wore off. That had been fun, if a little scary. It had been like handing her heart over to someone, though she hadn't minded much.

She trusted Dean. She kind of maybe was in love with him a little bit.

"Yes please," Victoria mumbled, grabbing his hand, clasping her fingers through his. She felt a sudden force slam against her arm, like someone had shoved her there. Then a breezy relaxation gripped the corners of her mind, gentle and comfortable. It hadn't gotten rid of Amy's shared emotions, but it took the edge off, at least. "Thank you," she breathed. "This is... nice."

"I think Amy's power is interfering with mine," he said, apologetically. "Can't really do much."

"That's alright. Really." She hugged him. Around the two of them, the glowing forcefield dancing along her skin lit the broom closet in subtle gold-and-crimson hues. It wasn't the most romantic locale, but, for that moment, it was what she needed it to be.

After a pause, he hugged back. "It's been a rough week, huh?"

She nodded, burying her face in the thick mesh fabric covering his shoulder.

"Things will get easier," Dean told her. "Give it time."

Victoria wanted to believe him. God damn, did she want to believe him.

But she didn't.

"Come on," she said, pulling away. "Let's get out of here. This closet smells like soap and sick people. Plus, Amy could use some cheering up, too."

He nodded, following her out of the closet when she opened the door.

On the way back to Amy's room, however, they ran into a slight hiccup. Carol, Sarah, and Crystal, who were all headed in the same direction. They crossed paths, and all stopped, staring at each other.

Victoria quickly let go of Dean's hand. "Ca- uh, Mom! Hi."

Crystal let out a sudden snort of laughter, and Victoria felt herself start to blush.

Carol, meanwhile, simply crossed her arms, and gave her daughter a long, unhappy look.

Taylor

Taylor was adrift in a sea of bad feelings that didn't belong to her, along with a few worries of her own.

Thankfully, Dad had returned to visit Amy, a little bit after Victoria had left for the bathroom. It helped keep Taylor's mind off of things. She'd given Dad a hug when he arrived – he'd gone home to get Taylor's toothbrush and some blankets – and then she sat back down beside Amy, holding her hand.

Amy still seemed upset, but Taylor wasn't sure what more she could do. She wanted to do something. She stopped to hug Amy, every so often, when she looked scared or pained. Amy appeared to be a fan of this, though it was hard to tell.

"I just find it so horrific, that someone could waltz into my house and attack two fourteen-year-old girls," Dad was saying to Mouse Protector. "What kind of person does that?"

"Criminals, villains, and scumbags," Mouse Protector said, listing them off on her fingers. "Or the rare criminally villainous scumbag, which I would guess we're dealing with here. Consider it my expert opinion."

"You're an expert on scumbags?" Dad asked, startled.

"Among other things," she confirmed. "Knowing your enemy and all that. I've given quite a few villainous scumbag criminals the boot, as part of the ol' indie hero dealie, and I've picked up a few tidbits in the process."

"Oh." Dad blinked. He was so utterly out of his element, it was almost comical. But he gave the conversation a solid effort, despite his confusion. "Have you, ah, been a hero long?"

"Sure have! Been at it for, let's see... think I'm coming up on around a decade and a half, now," Mouse Protector informed him, no small amount of pride in her voice. "Few years in the Wards – the Wards, mind, the first ones – and then spent the rest of it on my own, more or less. Huh, I've been around the block, haven't I? I'm like a grizzled mousy veteran, at this point."

Taylor still thought Mouse Protector was awesome, even if she'd been a bit rude to Amy. Just having a superhero nearby made Taylor feel safe again, after the long hours of anxious terror from the night before. It was inspiring, the kind of presence just one hero could have.

Taylor still wanted to be a hero, herself. Even if her Dad had said no, even if Mrs. Dallon didn't want her on the team. She wanted to help the helpless, to stop things like what had happened to Amy from happening to anyone else. She wasn't sure how she could actually do any of that, yet, but she wanted to at least try.

The more she thought about it, the more it appealed to her. She could save people, like she'd saved Sophia and Emma at school. She could keep people like the murder-ghost behind bars. Well, ghost-proof bars. Tinkers could make those, right? Probably.

Taylor really needed to learn more about all this cape stuff. She was getting ravenous for information, and she was still confused about a lot of the things that the others talked about. The terminology, especially.

Taylor distantly wondered if Victoria had any books that she could borrow.

"Oh, and what do you do, Mr. Hebert?" Mouse Protector asked, her manners catching up to her.

"Call me Danny," he said. "I help people find work at the docks, when there is work." There was no subtlety to the sadness in his voice. Taylor guessed it had all been worn away by the stress, and the lack of sleep. Not that he was much better when he was normal. He hadn't been, not for a long time.

Taylor missed her Mom. Taylor wished, as she so often did, that she could talk to her again. But Mom was gone.

"Gosh. That seems, er, very interesting, Danny," Mouse Protector said, and tried to make it sound genuine. She didn't quite succeed.

Thankfully, the awkwardness was cut short by the door opening, and a flushed-looking Victoria entering the room with a bunch of other people. Mrs. Dallon and Mr. Dallon were the only ones that Taylor recognized, though the others had a slight familiarity to them. Like characters from a book she'd read a long time ago and forgotten. That was strange, though, since she was pretty sure she'd never met them before.

Mrs. Dallon squinted briefly at Mouse Protector, then glanced at Taylor and Amy with an impassive expression.

The tension in the room was very thick, all of a sudden.

"Hi, Mrs. Dallon," Taylor finally said, breaking the unbearable silence.

"Hello, Taylor," Mrs. Dallon replied. "I'm glad you're here."

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "...You are?"

"Yes," Mrs. Dallon said, her voice maintaining its neutral terseness. "I need to have a very serious talk with you – with all three of you, as a matter of fact. I believe it's pretty obvious that things can't keep going the way they've been going, and it's about time that we all get a few things straightened out."

Last edited: Mar 19, 2019

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Threadmarks Interlude B: Cereus

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Idiom Alpha

Idiom Alpha

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Mar 21, 2019

#1,389

Trillium Waltz

Interlude B: Cereus

Carol

1994

Carol Dallon looked down at the little plastic tube in her hands, checking it again. No doubt, this time. Two tests, with the same result. She was sure she could hear her heart beating, and it felt far too quick. Slowly, she put the tube down on the bathroom counter, and she opened the door.

She sat down on the side of her bed, staring at the wall across from her. She closed her eyes, trying to hear something, feel something. Mistake. She felt so many things, each with scary intensity. It was overwhelming, but she tried to control herself, keep her thoughts in check. Her whole body was tense, and, at some point, her hands had clenched into tight fists on her knees. She didn't know how many minutes she stayed sitting there, but eventually she heard the door open, and familiar footsteps.

Carol jerked her head up, and she saw Mark standing there, wearing worry.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"I – it happened." Carol's own voice felt strange to her. "It was positive. The test, I…" She trailed off, not knowing what she'd meant to say next. Lots of things were appropriate for the situation, or even inappropriate, but her mind wasn't in a good place for coming up with words.

For a moment, Mark looked confused. Then his face lit up, and a grin spread across it. "Are you sure?"

"Checked it twice. Two different tests, both positive."

Mark laughed brightly, rushing over. He lifted her up from the bed, pulling her into a warm embrace. "Hell yes! This is happening! This is actually happening!"

Carol stood there, arms rigid at her sides, her whole body still as tightly wound as it had been. She struggled to find breath.

Mark noticed, after a few seconds. He let her go, taking a step back. "Carol? Are you okay?"

She sat down on the bed again, breathing hard. "I – I can't. I can't do it."

His face fell. He slowly sat down beside her. "Why not?"

She shut her eyes tight, and her vision became swirling darkness. "You know why."

"Ah." Strange, how a single syllable could communicate so much. Recognition, relief, and concern, all at once. "Do you not want to–?"

"No. I don't."

He was silent, for a little while. "I think you're lying," he said, eventually. His voice wasn't accusatory, or stern. It was soft, and it cut right through her.

Carol pulled her legs off the floor and drew her knees in, burying her face in them. Her eyes remained closed.

"I've seen the gentleness you always show, whenever Sarah asks you to hold Crystal. The way you smile." Mark's hand found hers, and he squeezed. "You're great with kids."

Carol shook her head. "I – I'm not ready. I don't think I'll ever be ready." Tears were in her eyes, so she shut them even more tightly, trying to keep herself from crying. "It's always there, in the back of my mind. The fear, I mean. Everyone's out to get me, or they're all just waiting for a chance to stab me in the back, or… god. I c-can't even turn off the fucking lights, most of the time. What if I feel like that about our child? What kind of disgusting person would I have to be, to bring life into this world only to hold it at a distance? No." The tears finally escaped her eyelids, despite her best efforts. "No, Mark. I refuse to be that kind of mother. I can't do this."

"That's not true." Mark put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "And stop exaggerating, would you? You don't feel that way about everyone."

"It's different, with you." She unclenched the hand he was holding, then gripped his, interlocking their fingers. "Oh, fuck, Mark." She lay her head on his shoulder, and she cried. "I want to have this baby. I just… I need to do it right, you know?"

"You will. I have absolutely no doubt." He slowly rubbed her shoulder, comfortingly. "You have so much love inside of you, Carol."

"Yeah, right." Carol let out a weak laugh, though it was a little mucus-y. "I'm a complete bitch. Everyone says so."

"Sticks and stones. They can say what they like, but it doesn't make it true."

"Don't use platitudes to calm me down, Mark," Carol mumbled. "I'm not an idiot."

"It's hard for you to be genuine, I think, but there's nothing wrong with that. We all have our struggles." He sighed. "It does make me sad to see, at times, because the real you is a beautiful person. Attractive, intelligent, and amazing."

"I try, I guess." She felt embarrassed by the praise.

"You're wonderful, Carol. Honestly." He sounded so sure. "There won't be anything to distrust, either. They'll be our child, and you'll know them from the very start."

"But–"

"Shhh." He kissed her cheek.

They sat there for a few minutes. Carol's head slowly drifted to rest on his chest, and she could hear his heartbeat so strongly that it felt louder than her own. She breathed in time with it, and eventually, the tears stopped flowing. Slowly, very slowly, she opened her eyes. Mark met her gaze, smiling back. He gave her a look, and in that moment, it was her world.

"Do you really think I can do this?" Carol asked, her voice trembling.

He nodded.

"Don't lie, Mark. Please. Promise you aren't lying."

"I wouldn't lie to you, and I'm not lying now. I swear."

"I wish I could believe you." She sucked in breath sharply. "I wish…"

"Hey." He pulled his hand up, the one holding hers, without letting go. "I'll make you a bet, okay? We'll gamble."

"Gamble?" Carol blinked in bewilderment, and a few more teardrops slipped down her cheeks in the process. "What?"

"You're worried that you won't be able to look after this kid, right? That you won't be a good mother?" At her small nod, he continued. "Then here's the bet: If you give birth to this child, and you hold them in your arms, look down into their eyes, and can't bring yourself to love them, then you win."

She scowled. "Doesn't sound much like winning."

"I wasn't finished! Shush." He cleared his throat, and started speaking again. "If you somehow can't love your own child, if you can't be a good mother to them, then I'll – oh, I don't know – pack my bags and move to Wisconsin, and I'll take care of them on my own."

"Wisconsin? Why Wisconsin?"

"I've heard they have good cheese there."

She laughed, despite herself. "So, that's the bet, then? That you'll move to Wisconsin?"

"No, no, that's only if I lose. Because, well, if you're worried about being a distant mother–"

"You moving to Wisconsin would just make me an even more distant mother, and you'd be a single father," Carol argued. "It doesn't fix anything."

"Fine, then I'll have an affair with Sarah, and we'll elope to Wisconsin together to look after Crystal and your newborn baby."

"You and Sarah?!" Carol snickered. "You'd kill each other on the way there!"

"Hardly. She'd never get to sample the cheese if she got arrested." He put on a voice of mock brilliance. "And, after we actually arrive, she'll be too fat from eating cheese to chase me down. It's all checks and balances, honey."

Carol fell back onto the bed, consumed by a fit of giggles. "Stop!"

"Anyway, in the far more likely scenario that you give birth to our child, hold it in your arms, and immediately love it to pieces, then I shall be victorious, and–!"

"Victorious?!"

"Huh? What is it?"

"Why do you get to be 'victorious', and I just get a 'you win'?"

"Because that's what I'll yell at the time," he explained, not missing a beat. "I'll shout 'Victorious!' right in your face, over and over, like a big parrot."

Carol laughed again. "Okay. You know what? Okay. But now you have to yell that out when it happens. As loud as you can."

"When it happens?" He lay backwards on the bed beside her. On his side, so he could meet her eyes. "Not if?"

Carol took a long breath, released it, and smiled at him. "When it happens."

Mark put a hand on her cheek. "I'll shout it until I'm hoarse," he breathed.

~ ~ ~

Carol lay in bed, exhausted, and she looked down at a little human being in her arms. So, so little. There was so much roundness in her. Her eyes were closed, and tufts of blonde hair were just barely visible along the sides of her head. Carol thought she could see herself in her, and Mark, too.

This is my daughter, she thought, awed. This person came from me. She's mine. I'm hers.

The baby made a little noise, and Carol's breath caught.

"Do you know me?" Carol asked, softly. "Do you know who I am?"

The baby's face scrunched up, and she wriggled a little in Carol's arms.

"My name's Carol. I'm your mother," Carol told her. "We've been together for a while. You used to be inside me – that's where you were, before. Was it dark, in there? Do you remember?"

She saw a little smudge on the baby's cheek. She reached out to wipe it off, and a tiny hand found hers, wrapping its fingers around her thumb.

"Welcome to the world," Carol whispered. "I hope you like it."

Slow footsteps sounded on the hospital floor. She looked up and saw Mark, standing beside her.

"Hey," he said, voice shaky. He looked dumbstruck, like he didn't know what to feel yet.

"Hey," she echoed. She looked down at the tiny being held in her arms, and then back up at Mark. Her eyes narrowed. "If you shout in front of our daughter, I will never forgive you."

He looked utterly baffled. Then he laughed, breaking into a smile. He leaned down, kissing his daughter on the forehead. This provoked an unintelligible sound originating in the forgotten language of infants.

No one is going to hurt you, she silently promised, cradling the most precious thing in the world. As long as I'm around, I promise you'll be safe.

2000

"Where will we put her?" Carol asked, miserably.

Mark didn't answer, at first. They stood there together, just inside the front door, with… the girl still waiting outside in the car with Neil.

"Fuck this," Mark swore. "This shouldn't be on us. Any of us."

Carol nodded.

"Why can't Mike and Jess look after her?"

"Sarah said she already asked, and they said no."

"Why couldn't we say no?"

"There's nowhere else for her to go," Carol hissed. "Trust me. I wouldn't have agreed if there were any other option."

"And who told you that there was no other option? Sarah?"

"Yes."

Mark scoffed. "Of course she did."

Carol furrowed her brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Mark didn't meet her eyes. Instead, he scanned the doors around the apartment. "I guess she can sleep in Victoria's room, for now."

Carol almost choked. "No!"

"Where else can we put her? The bathroom?"

Carol thought, looking over their home once, twice, searching. "I don't know. But she can't be around Victoria. She just can't."

"She's only a little girl, Carol. And we've got the cameras in Victoria's room, anyway, and the lights will be on. We'll know if anything happens."

Carol wanted to fight, to argue the point. But there really was nowhere else for the girl to go. They couldn't put her in the living room – it was too easy to get to the windows, or to the door, or to the kitchen. Sure, they'd long ago child-proofed everything as best they could, for Victoria, but there was no telling how resourceful and volatile this new girl was. There was only one room that would be completely safe for her.

Mark was right. Even if Carol hated it.

The door opened behind them, and Neil came in, leading a little girl inside by the hand. "Sarah and I need to head home. We've still got work to do on the New Wave project." He glanced down at the brown-haired girl at his side, frowning. "Might be more important than ever, now."

The brown-haired girl looked up at Carol, and her eyes were the same as always. Sullen, accusatory. A memory came unbidden to Carol's mind. The moment she'd first killed someone, seconds after Sarah had beaten a man bloody and senseless, and how the two of them had escaped their captors. This girl would do the same, given the slightest chance. Carol could see it.

She saw Marquis in the girl's features, too, along with... someone else.

Another memory – a freckled little face, wet with tears, retreating into the darkness. 'I'll never forgive you.' The girl's words echoed in Carol's ears, and she gritted her teeth, trying not to betray any weakness. She needed to be strong, now more than ever.

Luckily, Carol had long since perfected what she liked to think of as her 'courtroom face'. Whenever she got too emotional, or too disoriented, she'd snap straight back to a neutral stoniness, her expression, voice, and body language betraying nothing at all. It was her ultimate defense, and she was fairly proud of it.

Neil gently pushed the girl forward, and Carol took her hand, gripping it tightly. The girl winced, but said nothing.

"I'm going, then." Neil coughed uncomfortably. "Er… good luck, I suppose."

"Thank you, Neil," Mark said, but his voice was filled with cold fury. "Do tell your lovely wife that, too: 'Thanks a lot, for this. We won't forget it.' "

Neil swayed slightly, as though indecisive. "Ah, hell, Mark–"

"Just go, already." Mark waved him away, then turned his back on the man. He walked off, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

"I guess this means game night's going to be off the schedule for a while." Neil grumbled. "Nicer by the day, your hubby."

Carol considered telling Neil about the psychiatrist Mark had been seeing, about the clinical depression diagnosis, but it wasn't really her news to share. The girl was listening, too, and there was no sense giving her ammunition or sensitive information that she might use against them later. Besides, Neil and Sarah were the ones pushing this nightmare onto her family, and no matter how illogical it was, Carol resented them for it.

"At least he can hold down a job." Her voice sounded cold, even to her, but the words were out of her mouth before she could think them through. She had a bad habit of doing that. "Goodnight, Neil," she forced herself to say.

"Right," Neil grunted.

He gave her another nod, and then he left, closing the door behind himself. Victoria was already asleep, so it was just Carol and the girl, standing in front of the door. The girl stared up at her, despising her.

What am I supposed to say? Carol wondered, helpless. How do I do this?

"Hello," Carol said. "My name is Carol. This is our home."

The girl said nothing, simply continuing to glare.

"Your name's Amelia, right?"

No response.

"Listen," Carol said, leaning down a little. "I understand that this has been a difficult night for you–"

"I want to go home," Amelia said, in a petulant voice. "I want my dad."

"I know." Carol frowned, scanning the girl's expression. "But that's not going to happen."

"I want my dad! Now!" Amelia demanded, trying to wriggle out of Carol's grip.

"Don't you remember what he said?" Carol asked, irritated. "You're staying with us, Amelia. That's what your father wanted. This is your home, now." Carol didn't want it to be the truth, and it was painful to say. She wished she could burn the words on her tongue and swallow the ashes, leaving them unspoken forever.

"I hate you!" Amelia shrieked, crying. "I wish you were dead! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

Carol breathed heavily, trying to stay calm. Just a girl, she reminded herself. She's just a little girl.

Courtroom face on, Carol yanked Amelia's wrist sharply, pulling her a step forward. "Quiet," Carol said. "Come with me."

Carol strode off towards Victoria's room, practically dragging Amelia along when she tried to fight her. Carol pushed the door open. The night-light was on, illuminating the room, and Carol saw Victoria's eyes flutter and then shut tight as soon as her mother walked in. A book was in her hands, though she acted as though she'd fallen asleep with it. Carol smiled at the sight.

Then she felt Amelia trying to pull away again, and she tightened her grip, smile vanishing.

"Victoria, sweetheart, I know you're awake," Carol called out as she turned on the light. "It's alright. Come here."

Victoria bit her lip, sitting up and opening her eyes. "What's going on?" she asked. She popped out from under the covers and leapt to her feet at the speed of child, and was immediately standing in front of Amelia, examining the strange girl with endless curiosity. Amelia only scowled in response. Victoria was undeterred, however. "Hi!" said Victoria, grinning brightly. "My name's Victoria. What's yours?"

Amelia said nothing, and pointedly looked away from Victoria.

"This is Amelia," Carol explained. "She's going to be living with us."

Victoria beamed. "Really? Cool!"

Amelia grimaced, shooting her a dirty look. Victoria laughed at it, then made her own silly face in response, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes. Amelia blinked, startled by the unexpected reaction.

"Can she sleep in my room?" Victoria asked, looking up at Carol. "It'll be fun!"

Carol stared at the two girls. For a moment, she wondered if maybe, maybe this could work. But then Amelia looked up at Carol, too, radiating hatred as always. Carol took a sudden breath, tensing up.

All too easily, she could picture Victoria laughing and playing with the other girl, being her sweet bubbly self. Then, after she finally went to sleep, Amelia would lean over Victoria's sleeping figure, a bone slowly extending out of her arm and tearing into Victoria's throat. She would gasp for breath, bleeding all over her bed, unable to even cry out for help, and…

"No," Carol whispered. She cleared her throat, then spoke again. "She will be sleeping in your room, for a few nights, but you'll be sleeping in the big bedroom with me and your father."

"What?" Victoria's face fell. "No way! That's lame."

"Grab anything you want to bring over," Carol told her. "And be as speedy as a lightning bolt, okay?"

Victoria nodded, still looking unhappy. Amelia silently watched the other girl gather up an armful of books, stuffed animals, extra pajamas, and pillows. As Victoria walked to the door, passing by Amelia, she slowed down. She stopped, and her face scrunched up like it always did when she was thinking hard about something. She awkwardly pulled a stuffed toy out of the pile, and pushed it into Amelia's arms.

Carol recognized it; It was the largest of Victoria's stuffed toys, a life-size plush aplomado falcon. It had been her favorite for almost a year, and its wings were permanently wrinkled from constant hugging. Mark had stitched the left wing back on, only a week before, after it had fallen off.

"His name is Legend," Victoria told Amelia, very seriously. "He'll look after you and keep you safe, so don't worry."

Amelia looked down at the stuffed animal, then up at Victoria. She still didn't say anything, but she didn't drop it, either.

"Goodnight!" Victoria announced, and then she bounded out of the room.

Carol pulled Amelia into the room, sitting her down on the edge of the bed. "You'll sleep here, tonight."

Amelia remained silent. The anger in her face seemed to have lessened, though it was still obviously there. Carol knew, of course, that it would never really go away. Amelia would always be seething, waiting for any opportunity to get revenge on behalf of her father.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" Carol asked, curtly. "Do you want a glass of water?"

Amelia shook her head, almost violently.

"Alright." Carol finally let go of Amelia, walking away. After leaving the room, she closed and locked the door, breathing a sigh of relief.

Carol walked to the room she and Mark shared, and she opened the door to find Victoria had covered the bed with her belongings.

"Did you brush your teeth?" Carol asked.

Victoria hesitated. "Yes," she said.

"Go brush your teeth, Victoria," Carol told her. She caught a whiff of something, and she wrinkled her nose. "Wash yourself up, too. Get ready for bed."

Victoria groaned and then hopped off the bed, walking out of the room and off down the hall. Carol closed the door, then immediately went over to the computer on her desk, the one that displayed camera feeds from Victoria's room. So far, Amelia hadn't moved from the spot Carol had left her. The girl was still sitting on Victoria's bed, though now she was hugging the stuffed animal tightly to her chest, quietly crying into it.

A hand touched Carol's shoulder, and she jumped, startled. She relaxed when she saw it was Mark. He was looking at the little girl on the computer screen.

"Poor thing," Mark muttered. His face was kind, but in a sad way. Almost mournful.

Carol watched the girl, too, with apprehension and sympathy mingling in her mind. She recalled the mental image of Amelia tearing Victoria's throat out, and the dam burst. Carol let her head rest on the desk, her arms around it like a pillow.

"Hey…" Mark squeezed her hand. "It's alright. It'll be alright."

"No it's not, Mark," Carol moaned. "You have to know that this isn't something I can do."

He stroked her hair. "Shh…"

"We have to call Sarah. We should – we need to find another place for this girl, because I can't–" Carol gasped, taking shuddering, shaky breaths. "Sarah has to take her. We can give her money, if she needs money, but… I can't do this."

"I don't know. If it's a toss-up between the two of you, then maybe they're right. This might be for the best," Mark said, though he still didn't sound like he enjoyed the idea. "The girl would be a lot better off here than there, I think."

"With me? God, Mark. No." Carol shook her head, rolling her forehead against the top of the desk, sending loose hair slapping quietly against the computer's keyboard. "The fear never goes away. I don't deal with it well. What I went through–"

"What you and Sarah went through," Mark corrected. "You always leave that part out."

"What Sarah and I went through, fine. It screwed me up, Mark. I'm broken." Carol's voice cracked. "She'll be happier somewhere else. Anywhere else."

"You've told me about what happened, Carol." He put a hand under her chin, gently lifting her head up off the desk. "Do you ever stop to tell yourself? To look at who you and your sister really are?"

Carol nodded, weakly.

"I don't think you do." He wiped her tears away with his hand, and his touch was so careful and warm. "You and your sister lived out a nightmare. You managed to fight through that, and put your trust in others. You hoped."

"I made a mistake."

"No. They made the mistake, Carol. Not you." Mark wrapped his arms around her, putting his forehead against hers. "You could have done what Sarah did – bottled it up, walled yourself off, and acted like it never happened. You could have pretended that you were some perfect person, even while you–"

"Mark," Carol interrupted. She'd heard it all many times before. "Please. Not right now."

"Fine. But we both know what kind of person your sister is." Mark clicked his tongue. "And I know what kind of person you are."

She looked into his eyes, unconsciously holding her breath.

"You're the girl who dares to open her heart. Love comes easily to you, and that's why it's so scary for you to let it through." He kissed her. "With time, I know you'll be able to open your heart again. Just like you did for me, and for Victoria."

Later that night, Carol lay in bed, with her husband on one side of her and her daughter on the other. She held Victoria close, unable to sleep, thinking about the girl in the room down the hall.

"Mom," Victoria mumbled, half-asleep. "You're squishing me."

"Victoria, can you promise me something?"

Victoria made a little grunt of agreement.

"Don't ever take your eyes off of Amelia, alright? Don't turn your back on her, even for a moment. Just… keep her in mind."

"Mmhm."

"I love you, you know," Carol whispered. "More than anything."

"Love you." Victoria let out a tiny yawn.

I will keep you safe, Victoria, Carol promised, once again. Always.

~ ~ ~

Carol sat in a chair across from her sister, with piles of paperwork sitting on the dining room table between the two of them.

The Pelham household was a series of oddly disparate rooms, with half being messy and disorganized, and the other half being disconcertingly spotless. The rooms where the children were and weren't allowed to go, Carol supposed, or just the simple clashing of Neil and Sarah's personalities.

Neil was currently out on patrol, and Sarah had locked Crystal and Eric in their rooms. Carol hadn't seen them since she'd arrived, which felt unnerving considering what she usually dealt with at home. Victoria was getting more energetic and inquisitive all the time, and kept pulling Amelia into her games of pretend. They'd used almost all of the towels and blankets as capes, pretending to be heroes, and left clutter all over the floor wherever they went.

Even after months of living together, Amelia was still very quiet around Carol and Mark, but at least she got along well with Victoria. She was adjusting, to a degree. They all were. Carol wished she could be happy about that, but what she felt instead was a creeping dread. The window of opportunity to find a new home for the girl felt like it was closing fast.

"You're going to have to spend more time working," Sarah was telling her, shuffling papers into very neat piles. "We need you to cover a lot of the legal aspects. What we're doing is unprecedented, and we'll have to be ready. The first few months will be hard, I think. The eyes of the world will be on us."

"You want me to work more?" Carol hesitated. "I need to be at home, a lot of the time. I have to look after Victoria, and… Amelia."

"Mark can do that. I need you here, or at the firm."

Carol imagined Mark as he'd been these past few months. Some days, he stayed in bed. Other days, he'd sit on the couch and watch television, eyes glazing over. He was so often irritable and upset over all sorts of small things, and he kept letting important tasks be forgotten or abandoned partway through. He'd been trying different medications, but none of them seemed to work especially well.

"He's… busy, a lot of the time," Carol muttered.

"Then re-organize your time. Make a schedule." Sarah absently waved a hand at the large dry-erase whiteboard calendar on the wall beside her, poking through a folder of legal forms with her other hand. "That's what Neil and I do. If you can't find a way to make it work, then hire a babysitter to look after the kids."

Leaving Victoria alone in their home with only Amelia and a stranger? The thought turned Carol's blood cold. "No. That won't work."

"Why not? I know you can afford it."

"I've already told you why." Carol leaned forward, lowering her voice. "It's the same reason I can't look after that girl."

"Ah." Sarah's lips pursed. She dropped the legal folder in her hands, letting it fall to the tabletop and sending a few papers askew. She glanced down at the disorder, her expression flickering in and out of anger. She sat stiffly in her chair, with her arms crossed. "How does that factor into this?"

"How…?" Carol blinked. "What do you mean? You were there."

Sarah's cold gaze fixed on Carol's face. "I was."

"There's a hole in me." Carol tried to put it into words. Words usually worked for her, most of the time, but she'd learned to use them as weapons and armor. Using them to communicate her own issues was more difficult. "You have to understand, it's always going to be inside me. It's who I am. It's hard for me to feel safe around people."

"You've managed to look after the girl so far." Sarah's voice was harsh and a little quick. "Why are you bringing this up now? I already have a lot on my plate, Carol. If all goes well, New Wave is going public in a week."

"Yes, and that's why! After we unmask, people are going to have questions. They'll delve into our personal lives, our histories. When that happens, we have to get the girl's legal status settled. Someone has to be her permanent guardian, and…" Carol shuddered. "It can't be me, Sarah."

She scoffed. "What, because you have a hole in you?"

"Because I haven't gotten a good night's sleep since this whole mess started!" Carol snapped, gesturing at the dark circles under her eyes. "Every night, I wake up and check on Victoria, to make sure she's okay. I am so scared, every second of every day, that I'll slip up, miss something, and Amelia will…" Carol trailed off.

"She's just a little girl, Carol."

"Yeah, and the daughter of a murderer."

"So this is about genetics?" Sarah rolled her eyes. "You can't be serious."

"No, this is about letting a complete stranger into my home, a child raised and taught by a monster, who has every reason to want to hurt me and my family!" Carol realized she was on the verge of yelling, and she took a moment to calm down. Courtroom face: on. "Why is this not getting through to you? I've told you, again and again, that I am not in a position to be a good mother to that girl."

"This is just nerves. We're getting close to the deadline, and it's making you antsy." Sarah tapped her fingers against her upper arms, in a repetitive motion. "You're upset, and that's fine. But we really need you on board for this, Carol. This project is going to change the world, and creating that change is going to require a lot of lawyering."

"Don't switch topics, please. We need to deal with this."

"We have dealt with it. Take your time, stop stressing, and everything will be fine." Sarah stood up, walking around the table and stopping in front of Carol. She looked down at her, holding very still. "You let people in, Carol. That's what you do, isn't it?"

That inflection was horribly familiar, and it pulled on a memory.

'You thanked him?'

Sarah's voice hadn't changed all that much, but it wasn't typical that she would speak so sharply. It was rare for her to be unfiltered in any way, actually. Carol only saw the real Sarah come out when they were in costume, in those times when she was beating criminals raw and bloody. That was when she let her feelings be real and unchecked, freeing the explosive intensity that she usually kept buried.

Though Sarah would never admit it, nor even talk about it most of the time, Carol knew that something inside her sister had been lost, left behind in the dark. She wasn't the only one who had walked away with scars.

It was a different Sarah, the rest of the time. The Sarah who studied how to interact with people from a distance, mimicking and approximating. She could be subtle when she wanted to be, was emotional only when she needed to be, and had a way of getting into people's heads.

Carol often wondered if that was the real reason why Sarah had become so obsessed with the idea of publicly unmasking. In a way, she was always wearing one.

Yet Carol had often relied on that part of her sister, growing up. Sarah had helped Carol manage her own difficulty with people, and had been the one to support her when she was struggling through law school. Whenever Carol felt lost or scared, her sister would guide her. When she needed help, as she so often did, her sister was there to make things better.

I've made plenty of mistakes before, Carol admitted to herself. Am I making another one, by turning away this little girl?

"Oh, god, Sarah." Carol leaned over and hugged her sister, feeling very small. "I don't know what I should do."

"Don't worry. I've got you." Sarah returned the embrace, and spoke softly in her ear. "You'll figure this out, I'm sure. You'll find a way to care for this girl, and she'll love you for it."

"I'm trying, but it's hard." Carol's voice wavered. "I keep thinking back, and–"

"You can't dwell in the past, Carol." Sarah's voice was slightly strained. "It's not good for you. Let it go, conquer your demons. Move on."

I wish I knew how, Carol thought.

"…I'll do my best," Carol mumbled.

"Fantastic." Sarah pulled away. "If you're stressing over this girl, then maybe you need to spend less time around her. We do have the legal side of things to cover, after all."

"I – yes. I've already started working on it. I've been consulting with people at the firm, searching for harder precedent." Carol paused. "Really, though, I do have to take care of things at home. I need to look after my…" Daughters? She tried to make the word fit, but it felt wrong. The freckled girl would never forgive her for using it, anyway. "The girls," she finished, awkwardly.

"Fine. Strike a balance, work it out. Easiest way is to go half-and-half, split your time equally between work and home." Sarah sighed. "After this week, anyway. Now, about this adoption paperwork…"

2009

Victoria had been missing for over an hour.

She'd left her phone behind, and none of her friends seemed to know where she was.

Carol had wanted to come along, to help with the search, but Sarah told her that it would be better if she stayed behind. She'd said something about Carol being more of a hindrance than a help, considering the situation. Oh, she'd couched it in kinder words, but her meaning was clear.

Why is it that things always fall apart when you start getting involved, Sarah? Carol had wondered, watching her sister fly off. Amy. The Brigade. Now this. Until you showed up, Victoria was fine.

Except… was that blonde fifteen-year-old even Victoria, anymore? It seemed as though she'd slipped away, somehow, and been replaced by an identical double. Her little girl was gone. Was she safe, wherever she was? All that Carol wanted to do was find her again, hold her close, and tell her that things would be alright.

But she hadn't done that, when she'd had the chance. No, Carol had done what she was so practiced at, using her words like weapons, and they'd hit their mark. Victoria – or whoever she was – had run away in tears.

Her daughter was adrift in the wind, probably in more danger than ever, and it was all Carol's fault.

"Carol, please, I'm here for you." Mark sighed, scratching the stubble on his jaw. He had a tendency to do that when he was frustrated. "Talk to me."

Carol remained silent.

"Yes, okay, you messed up," Mark finally admitted, quietly. "Everyone makes mistakes, but it's not the end of the world. We can set this right, you'll see."

Carol couldn't respond, however, as she was very busy being a ball of forcefield in the corner.

"Carol," Mark said her name again, soft and coaxing. He stepped closer, put his hand on the surface of the shield, and rolled the ball around on the floor a little bit. "Hatch now, little egg."

Unfortunately for Mark, the egg was hard-boiled. If this was the only way Carol could keep herself from making life harder for her daughter, then this was what she was going to do.

"You're being silly again," he told her. Then he stretched his arms, leaned down, and picked her up. He staggered over to the bed, and dropped her on top of it.

Carol finally let herself go back to normal, flopping face-down on her feathery mauve comforter. "Mmmuhhh," she groaned, her face having landed in a pillow. She tilted her head a little, so her mouth wasn't buried. "I'm a bad mother, aren't I?"

Mark sat down beside her, patting her shoulder. "I wouldn't say that."

"I'm terrible at it," she continued. "I want to help, but every time I try, I just make things worse."

"You're doing your best, firecracker," Mark told her, lightly scratching her back. "That's all anyone can ask."

"My best isn't good enough," Carol argued, miserably. After a while, she flipped over and stared up up at Mark, tears in her eyes. "Why do you stay with me, Mark?"

His face fell, and he looked away from her. "I could ask you the same thing."

"What? But you're wonderful," Carol argued. "Your condition, your problems, they don't hurt other people. Mine do."

"Debatable." He briefly stroked her cheek. God, she loved it when he did that. "I know how much weight I put on your shoulders. I'm sorry."

She wished she could tell him that he was wrong, but he wasn't. Instead, she sat up, and pulled him into a hug. "I love you," she whispered. She put herself into the words, and hoped that they carried all the truths she wanted him to know, everything from I am here for you to I could never hate you.

Mark was the man who'd always made her happy, the man who could promise her the moon and make her believe that'd he'd bring it home. Past her faults, her mistakes, and the fear, he'd seen something beautiful inside of her that she'd never been able to see in herself.

Could 'I love you' say all of that? Carol didn't know, but she chose to believe it could.

There was a loud, uncomfortable cough from the bedroom door, and Carol's head snapped to look in its direction, her courtroom face at the ready.

Dean Stansfield. Gallant, from the Wards. Victoria's boyfriend. Carol had thought the boy had left already. His powers had always unnerved Carol. Her courtroom face and careful words had kept her safe for years, but he could push right through those barriers and read her emotions like a book. It was terrifying.

"Dean," she said, her voice flat and cold. "What is it?" Her heart leapt. "Is it – did Victoria…?

"Still no sign of her, sorry." Dean shook his head, frowning slightly. "I need to talk to you, actually." He was facing Mark as he said it.

Her heart fell into a pit, and her hope died in the dark.

"Alright," Carol said, weakly. She and Mark rose together, but Dean shook his head.

"It's kind of personal," Dean continued. "Just me and Mr. Dallon, if that's okay."

Mark glanced at Carol, then hesitantly nodded. He pulled away from her, and she had to stop herself from reaching out for him.

"It won't take long," Dean assured her, with a polite smile. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"I understand," Carol replied. But as she watched the two of them leave the room, Carol's courtroom face was so stiff that it was hurting her muscles. She lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and thought about Victoria.

Would she ever see her again? She should be out there, searching, no matter what Sarah thought. Victoria was her daughter. But every time this thought came to mind, Carol was struck by the fear that maybe her sister was right. Maybe Carol would just screw things up again. It wouldn't be the first time. Her thoughts went around in loops like this, over and over, until she was dizzy from it.

As Carol reconsidered spending the rest of her life as a ball, her cellphone started ringing. Instantly, she scrambled to get to it, accidentally kicking the comforter off of her bed in her haste, and tripping over it. She fell to the floor, but grabbed the phone from her nightstand, answering it immediately. "Victoria?!" Carol asked, sitting on the floor, with her back up against the side of the bed.

"Huh?" a strangely familiar voice answered. "Ah, no, sorry, this is Mouse Protector."

Carol wanted to scream. Her courtroom face snapped back on. "What is it?" Carol asked, her voice a cold monotone. "Is this about the clutter you left behind?"

"No, but I'm sorry about that. And the, uh – the things I said." Mouse Protector coughed awkwardly. "I wanted to check in on my girls, hear how they're doing."

She'd spent all of an afternoon with them, and suddenly they were 'her girls'. Even when apologizing, the woman was unbearable.

"You'd have to ask them," Carol told her, sharply. "None of them are here. Amy is staying at Taylor's house, and Victoria is… missing."

"Missing?!"

"Yes. If you see her, please call me at this number."

"What happened?"

"She was upset, said she wasn't really Victoria, and… I don't know," Carol answered, honestly. Her free hand was resting on the ground, and it had anxiously clutched a patch of carpet, almost tearing it out. "Goodbye."

"Wait!" Mouse Protector cried out, and her voice was so urgent that Carol obeyed. Mouse Protector breathed, for a moment, then spoke again. "What did she say, exactly? I might be able to help."

Carol could have laughed. She didn't. "Really, now."

"Yes! Listen, I get that you don't like me, but – but I know this stuff. I do."

"You left Victoria crying in the bathroom," Carol snapped. "You insulted me, repeatedly. Are you really in a place to help anyone?"

"I'm sorry," Mouse Protector said again. She sounded so forlorn. "I talked to a friend – well, someone I trust – and they helped me think things over, a bit. I have my own issues, a few difficulties with people that I've been working to overcome. I leave a lot of problems behind me, and that's the truth, even if I'm sorry that it is. But I'm a heck of a lot more than my mistakes, and I can help."

Carol's jaw set. She felt the ever-present tug in her heart, in her feelings, to reach out. But empathy was always a liability, especially for her. Her instinct was to cut it off, to lock it down. But she hesitated. "What kind of help?" Carol finally asked.

"Tell me what she said, as best you can remember," Mouse Protector asked her again.

Carol did so, forcing her voice to stay even as she summarized the unpleasant scene that had played out in the hall, and the conversation they'd had.

"Oh, criminy. That's personality bleed, alright. The strong kind, too." Mouse Protector clicked her tongue, sighing. "Poor girl. No one should have to deal with all of that on their own."

"Personality bleed?" Carol asked, anxious at the term alone.

"Ah, I never told you, did I?" Mouse Protector muttered. "My bad, I should have given you more of a rundown. I kind of assumed my girls would give you the deets, after I left."

The 'deets'? What kind of grown woman said things like that? Everything about that idiotic heroine rubbed Carol the wrong way. Was she just making fun of Carol again, telling her lies, giving her false hope? It wouldn't be out of character, given Carol's experience with her.

But Carol had made a promise, a long, long time ago, to her little girl. If there was any chance…

"Tell me," Carol pleaded. She pulled open the drawer in her nightstand, taking out a pen and some paper, ready to take notes. "Please. Tell me everything."

~ ~ ~

When Carol had gotten the call from Danny Hebert, she couldn't believe it.

Amy had been attacked in her bed, shot up with medieval weaponry. She was in surgery.

In the car ride down to the hospital, Mark held Carol's hand, and she knew they were both thinking the same thing, remembering a different ride to the hospital.

Jess; Fleur.

No, Carol prayed. Please. Not again.

When they got to the hospital, when they saw her in her bed, Carol wanted to kill someone. Not Amy, obviously, but the monster who had hurt her. Amy needed a machine to breathe for her, and she was terribly pale.

Always by her side was Taylor, the freakish girl who Carol had picked garbage off of and bathed in the family's bathtub. The one who had been followed everywhere by a plague of red lights, until the lights had forced their way under her skin. The girl whose blood Carol had tried and failed to scrub out of her couch.

Carol glanced at Mark, but his gaze was focused on Amy.

In both of the girls, Carol now knew, were parts of Victoria. Carol hadn't fully understood, at first, but Mouse Protector had been surprisingly accommodating to Carol's many questions. They'd been on the phone for hours, and Carol had filled half a dozen pages with detailed notes.

If even a third of what she'd been told was true, then these girls were living out a horror story.

When Taylor saw Carol approach, the girl yelped in surprise. "Mom?!" Instantly, Taylor clapped a hand to her mouth in shock.

Carol stared at her. It was one thing to know that there were parts of Victoria inside of the girl, but it was quite another thing for Carol to witness it for herself.

"I'm sorry," Taylor murmured, letting her hand fall away from her face. "I didn't mean to call you that, I – it just slipped out."

"...It's alright," Carol managed. "How's she doing?"

"She's still really out of it," Taylor said, her eyes returning to Amy. "She's awake, but… not really."

Amy's eyes were only slightly open, and a machine was breathing for her. Her face was barely visible through all the bandages and tubes.

She could have died, Carol realized, as the impact truly hit her. We almost lost her.

Carol had never asked for the girl with the freckles and the brown hair, nor wanted her. She'd never really been Carol's daughter. Yet, despite all of that, that angry little girl had become a part of her family, somewhere along the line.

Carol leaned in close, resting her hand on the bed beside Amy's arm. "This will never happen again," she whispered. "We'll keep you safe, Amy, and there will be hell to pay for what's been done to you. I swear it."

A dramatic message without a recipient, and an oath that went unheard. Amy stared off into space, not seeming to register anything around her. Barely conscious, and clearly full of pain medication.

Yet, when Carol eventually moved to pull away, Amy's eyes widened, just a hair. Carol felt a weak grip on her hand, startling her. She looked down, and saw that Amy's fingers had ever so gently curled around her thumb.

Carol's courtroom face finally cracked, and tears slid down her cheeks.

~ ~ ~

The rest of the night had been spent working. Not at the firm.

On the streets.

In some ways, it was one of the most productive nights that New Wave had ever had. They'd torn bloody havoc through hostile territory, handed dozens of unpowered members from various gangs over to the PRT, and fought more efficiently – and more ferociously – than they had in years. They'd even managed to capture Cricket and Stormtiger, following a brutal ambush and a very short battle. In the ABB's turf, Brandish herself had sliced a burning gash through Oni Lee, ruining his left kneecap and almost severing his leg. It was a victory she savored, even if he'd still managed to teleport out and limp away afterwards.

Despite this, in other ways, the ways that mattered, their efforts were all for nothing. No one had any information on the whereabouts or affiliations of the villain who could walk through walls, save that a similar cape had been seen starting occasional fights in the past. Their forays into the Empire Eighty-Eight's territory, on the hunch that the mystery cape had been connected to Night and Fog, had turned up absolutely nothing.

Meanwhile, the only sign of Victoria had been two crazed ABB thugs who refused to stand up or walk, and were probably drugged-up anyway. They spoke in broken English, babbling things that didn't make any sense. Like all the rest, Brandish and Flashbang had dropped them off at the PRT, and then kept going, relentless.

The Empire had actually retreated entirely, after a certain point, hanging back and avoiding fights. They'd seen this fervor before, years ago, and some of the older ones must have remembered it, and known what it meant.

There would be a reckoning, of course. These kinds of attacks always had consequences, rippling aftershocks that took time to equalize. For that night, however, New Wave was the reckoning. Swaths of light tearing through the darkness, making all the Bay's monsters cower in fear.

When the first rays of dawn washed over the horizon, New Wave was finally forced to retreat before exhaustion set in. No gangs followed them as they left, or at least not yet. The Protectorate had their backs, and New Wave had their pride. They'd long since made plans for defending against enemy counterattacks, and they would be prepared if and when the time came.

Neil, Mark, and Eric set up around the hospital, the boys offering to take the first watch. Most of them had gotten more sleep, anyway, so it worked out well.

As Carol, Sarah, and Crystal went to visit Amy, a nearby broom closet suddenly opened, startling them as they passed by. To their utter shock, Victoria and Dean emerged a moment later, holding hands. Victoria quickly let go of his hand as soon as she saw Carol, and her cheeks went pink. "Ca– uh, Mom!" Victoria said. "Hi."

Crystal burst into laughter. It was an understandable response, really.

Carol stared at her daughter, her own emotions overflowing. Her courtroom face slipped back on automatically, and she crossed her arms, trying to keep them from shaking. "Victoria," Carol breathed.

Victoria laughed nervously, sounding very unlike herself. Carol stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Carol?!" Victoria squawked. "Er, Mom. Sorry." Knowing the reason for her vocabulary shift didn't help it hurt less, but at least there was a reason.

"It's okay," Carol told her. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad you're alright."

Victoria was silent, after that, seemingly in a daze.

When they'd confirmed that Victoria was safe and unharmed, they told the rest of the family, and everyone cheered. It was the last of the night's victories, in a way.

Carol glanced at the door to Amy's room. Maybe not quite the last.

When she walked through the door, she was surprised to see Mouse Protector there, standing off to the side of the room. Mouse Protector gave her a knowing grin, insufferable and smug, and Carol barely kept herself from rolling her eyes.

Everyone filed into the hospital room, which had gotten a bit cramped. Victoria immediately went over to Amy's bedside, sitting beside her without a second thought. Taylor was in a chair on Amy's left, and Victoria had pulled up a chair on Amy's right. Was it intentional, or subconscious? Either way, it was subtly disconcerting.

Carol's courtroom face was on again, when she began to speak to them. "I need to have a very serious talk with you – with all three of you, as a matter of fact. I believe it's pretty obvious that things can't keep going the way they've been going, and it's about time that we all get a few things straightened out."

Amy squinted at her, uneasy and suspicious underneath her bandages.

Carol cleared her throat, then continued. "I've learned quite a bit about your condition, what you're up against, and 'personality bleed' on the whole. From what I understand, the three of you are dealing with massive shifts in your identities, not to mention adapting to powers."

Sarah was gazing at her, now, in a discomforting way. They hadn't gone over this beforehand.

This is my family, too, Carol thought.

"Given what I now know, I'd like to offer each of you official membership in New Wave," Carol told them. She noticed Taylor's awestruck smile, and Amy's raised eyebrows. Victoria beamed, but then she'd been waiting for this moment for years. "Considering the current environment, and your situation, it seems like the right move going forward. But it is, of course, your decision."

"Yes!" Taylor and Victoria said, immediately. They briefly glanced at each other, grinning.

After a few seconds, Amy gave a thumbs-up, accepting it as well. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, with so much of her face covered.

"Wait." Danny Hebert spoke up. "I honestly don't know if I feel comfortable letting Taylor join a hero group. I've discussed it with her before. I want to be sure that she's safe, and letting her go out and get into fights with criminals is about as far from that as far can get."

"Dad–!" Taylor started, but Carol spoke over her.

"This decision is for her safety, Mr. Hebert," Carol told him. "We can help her learn how to use her powers, and teach her ways to protect herself from any more attacks like the one she's been through. Given that at least one hostile parahuman has broken into your house, I'd also like to offer you and your daughter temporary housing for the time being, until we can be sure you're not in danger."

"I think I'd like to talk this over more," Mr. Hebert argued, but he clearly wasn't used to this type of scenario, and his resolve faltered. "If you really think it's for the best, I don't mind following your lead for the moment. But I'll reserve the right to pull Taylor out of your group, if things get too dangerous. Are we clear?" The question had a taste of steel to its tone, a hint of the wild temper that had lashed out at them a few nights before.

Carol could respect the man's dedication to his daughter, even if his experience with parahumans was practically nil.

"Understood," Carol agreed. She turned back to the girls. "I've spoken to your doctor, Amy. For the next few weeks, you're going to have to stay in the hospital, or be resting in bed at home. I suggest that you spend that free time testing your powers. Carefully, that is, and consensually in the case of your Master power. Victoria, Taylor, you're going to start in on training tomorrow, and–"

"I need a cape name," Taylor said, abruptly.

"We all do," Victoria agreed. "Want to workshop different ones with Amy and me?"

"Absolutely." Taylor nodded enthusiastically. "I'm going to be a hero!"

"We're all going to be heroes!" Victoria confirmed, beaming at her.

"The novelty wears off real fast," Crystal remarked, but she was smiling. "Tell me how you feel after tomorrow night. After my first day, I was so sore–!"

"Oh, shush up, let them have it," Mouse Protector interrupted. "They've had a nasty week."

"Amy, are you excited?" Taylor asked. "You can use my mouth to say so, if you want."

Amy rolled her eyes, then made a gesture that vaguely resembled jazz hands. The other two girls laughed merrily, hugging Amy and each other. Amy did her best to wrap her arms around them, too.

Carol could see her in all of them, now. Her little girl. Her daughter, in three parts.

Maybe she could open her heart, just a little more. Just for them.

I'll keep you safe, Carol promised, as she'd done so many times. Always