Chapter 5 — Interlude (Danny)
The silence was getting to him.
Keeping himself busy had been easy at first. There were plenty of things to do right after coming back from the shelter.
He took pictures of the damage to the house for the insurance, verified what worked and what didn't, and made inventory of the food in the cupboard, fridge and freezer. He even dug into the basement to retrieve camping supplies that hadn't seen the light of day in years to sort out what he could use until the power came back on.
The house was mostly intact, aside from a water infiltration in the basement, which made him lucky compared to others who had lost everything. He clung to that small mercy every time his thoughts strayed in the wrong direction.
Others had it worse.
Kurt had dropped by half an hour ago to check up on him and let him know he and Lacey were okay, and they spent some time talking about the possibility of putting together a cleaning and reconstruction effort with the Dockworkers.
Now that Kurt was gone, Danny was left alone with his thoughts. The visit had thrown off his momentum. He couldn't stand to be idle, but was too restless to do anything productive, and the work he did manage failed to keep his mind occupied. In the absence of distractions, dread filled the space where answers should be.
He had no way to contact his daughter, to make sure that she was okay.
She had a cellphone, he knew, but he didn't know the number. He didn't have Lisa's address or contact information, or even her last name. The only thing he knew was that her father was supposedly a doctor. Were that true, they might live in the Towers, in the nicer part of town that was barely affected by the disaster.
The thought was comforting, as long as he didn't examine it too closely.
As long as he didn't think about the lack of information on the bottle of pills Lisa had given him when Taylor had a concussion. The conspicuous absence of clinic name, contact information, and name of the doctor who prescribed it, and the way he'd been dismissed when pressing for more details.
Or the way Taylor had changed since meeting her new friends. The missed classes. The lies. The anger.
She couldn't call him if she wanted, because phone lines were down everywhere, and he'd gotten rid of his cellphone when— No. The only way for her to get in touch would be to come in person, and she hadn't so far. Either because she couldn't, or because she didn't want to.
He hated that last possibility more than he could put into words. That his last-ditch attempt to understand what was really going on with his daughter might have irremediably damaged their relationship, to the point that she would rather leave him in the dark than see him face to face to let him know she was okay.
Horrible as it was, that possibility was easier to focus on than the other one.
Annette would know what to do.
The thought rose with a low pain years in the making, and it struck too close to the matter he was carefully avoiding.
Annette would have known what to do weeks ago, months ago, years ago.
He rose from his seat, intent on finding a new distraction, but didn't get that far.
The doorbell rang, and the world held still for a second.
It wouldn't be Taylor. If she didn't have her own key with her, she would use the hidden key to the kitchen back door rather than ring the doorbell.
The apprehension he swallowed tasted like bile.
There were moments in life that never left you, seared in your memory by the intense emotional whirlwind that followed. Innocuous heralds of incoming disasters. Moments that always existed in the periphery of your thoughts, quick to rise to the surface whenever they found an echo in current circumstances.
The phone call informing him that his little girl was in the hospital following an incident at school was one such moment. When she went back nearly a month later, every unexpected phone call during school hours became a potential catastrophe he had to brace himself for.
The other moment that had turned his life around was one he had been thinking about more and more since the night Taylor ran away, and that had remained at the forefront of mind since he looked through the crowd at the shelter and didn't find her there.
The doorbell ringing. Opening the door to a pair of police officers looking sorry and asking to come inside.
Everyone knew what that meant.
Emergency responders had handed out sheets of paper to the departing crowd earlier, with directions to temporary shelters for those who had lost their home, information about upcoming supply distribution, and general recommendations on what to do during the state of emergency and how to stay informed.
He'd asked, and had gotten an apologetic answer that there was no way to track which shelter a specific person might be in. One of the shelters had been breeched, and the injured and deceased would take time to process. The next of kin would be notified as fast as possible when identification was possible. He gave the officer the copy of Taylor's most recent school picture from his wallet, with his name and address scribbled on the back, and received a card with contact information in case he didn't hear from her in the next few weeks. By then, they would take a DNA sample to compare to the unidentifiable bodies. He bit his tongue, pushed away the image, and forced a polite smile to thank the woman.
Blood pounded in his ears as he made his way to the door.
He looked through the peephole, and had to put one hand on the wall to steady himself. Raw emotion rose to his eyes, constricting his throat and threatening to spill over. In the moment it took him to compose himself enough to move, the doorbell rang a second time.
He couldn't center himself with a deep breath without choking, so he held the air captive in his lungs as he opened the door.
"Daniel Hebert?"
Two men in uniforms stood at his doorstep, but they weren't police officers. The emblem on their chest read PRT, as did the armored van parked in front of the house.
"Is she okay? Taylor, is she…" His voice broke as he choked on the words, unable to bring them forth.
"Your daughter is fine, sir, but the situation is complicated. The best would be for you to come with us to the PRT HQ to discuss it. She is there already."
Relief washed away the implications of the words. He could worry about them later. The important thing right now was that Taylor was safe.
Taylor had been nine or so the last time Danny saw the inside of the PRT headquarters. They did the tour as a family, along with the Barnes, and the girls had been incredibly disappointed not to see any actual superhero, but their excitement over the gift shop had more than compensated for it.
The building was much less welcoming now. The sections open to tourists were empty and unlit, and the maze of corridors the PRT troopers led him through was swarming with rushed employees and armed soldiers.
They reached an unassuming door on the third floor and one of the agents knocked twice before swiping a card to open the door.
It was a conference room, but only three out of a dozen seats were taken.
Danny didn't follow the cape scene, but there were people you knew just from watching the news. Miss Militia was one of them. She rose to her feet and offered Danny a firm handshake.
The entire time, Danny was looking over her shoulder.
Taylor was dressed in grey sweats, with a black domino mask discarded on the table. She looked worn out, but otherwise intact, and sat with a cup of coffee and a half-eaten muffin next to her and a box to her right. A sea of paperwork covered the rest of the table.
She spared him a brief glance and looked down, shrinking on herself.
"Taylor." He took a step toward the table and stopped dead on his tracks when she flinched.
Miss Militia gestured to the heavyset woman with a blond bob, whom she'd been sitting next to.
"This is Director Piggot, head of the local PRT."
Another distracted handshake.
"Please, take a seat. Help yourself to the food and coffee," the Director offered, gesturing to a coffee pot and a box of muffins at one end of the table.
Danny went around the table to sit next to Taylor, stomach too tied up for food. As he went, he peered at the box next to her, and saw black fabric with mottled grey armored pieces, a hunting knife, and an extendable baton.
Taylor's eyes were strained on the paperwork in front of her. He wanted her to look at him, to speak to him, to explain, but he'd learned the hard way that pushing her would only make things worse. He addressed the two women instead.
"What is going on?"
Miss Militia exchanged a look with Taylor before answering.
"Your daughter is a parahuman."
Danny nodded. He'd expected something like that, for the PRT to be involved.
"She participated in the defense against Leviathan, and accepted an offer to join the local Wards team."
He bit his tongue. He wanted to be angry at her, for risking her life to save others. He wanted to be proud, much for the same reason.
Her clothes concealed so much it was hard to say whether she was hurt, but from up close, he could see speckles of blood on her face.
She opened her mouth to breathe in, still refusing to meet his eyes.
"I've had powers since the locker."
He remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt now that she was willing to talk.
Months, and he hadn't noticed. She hadn't said anything.
"Sophia, one of the girls from school…" Taylor trailed off, and he knew exactly what she meant. One of the bullies.
He nodded, and she continued. "She was there. As a cape. She saw me unmasked and attacked me in the hospital, after the fight."
"You're injured?"
"Panacea put me back together," she said, shrugging.
The words weren't nearly as comforting as she seemed to think they were.
"Half of the reason for all of this is that Sophia was a Ward. Shadow Stalker."
"The one from the mall…"
"Yeah."
"The PRT's condition to allow Taylor into the Wards is for both of you to sign a non-disclosure agreement concerning the crime committed against your daughter, as well as Shadow Stalker's identity," said the Director.
"You're buying our silence? Taylor, you're okay with this?"
"Taylor negotiated her own conditions for joining, and has accepted our terms."
"You said that was half of it. What is the second half?"
Taylor sunk into her chair, face turned away from him, and held out one hand in his direction.
Three flies flew over it, each dropping a spider into her open palm. The spiders raised their legs in sync, moving around in what appeared to be an elaborate tap-dancing routine.
Danny read the papers every day. He watched the news. The connection wasn't hard to make.
He had his answer, at last. He just didn't know what to do with it.
Hands against his face, he breathed in, then out, then let the hands run through his thinning hair before lifting his head again.
"Taylor. Look at me."
She didn't.
On impulse, he rose from his seat, and his heart dropped when she sunk deeper into hers, eyes squeezed shut and jaw braced in anticipation. Slow, careful steps carried him until he was close enough to wrap her in a hug.
It was a stiff, awkward hug that made the distance between them painfully clear even as he held her against him. She held him back, one arm around his waist, but remained seated. He bent down to kiss the top of her head.
The Director busied herself straightening the paperwork and waited for Danny to regain his seat before speaking.
"In exchange for the signature of the non-disclosure agreement, Taylor will receive a full pardon for her criminal actions."
Criminal actions. He didn't want to think about that.
"Are you coming back home?" he asked her, and his heart dropped even further when she looked at Miss Militia rather than him.
It was answer enough.
"There are a few complications to that," Miss Militia told him. "The first being that Shadow Stalker fled the scene and has yet to be apprehended. Given her history, there is a non-negligible possibility that she will come after Taylor again, or even after you. The second is that Taylor's former employer might also come after one or both of you."
"Former employer?"
"Coil," she answered, and the word hung in the air.
Coil. Danny knew very little of the man, but his name was usually found in the company of words like "drug trade" or "mercenaries" or "gang war".
This is what Taylor had been doing behind his back these past few months.
"The PRT is offering to arrange for you to be placed in protective custody in another city, where you will be out of reach until the threats have been neutralized," said the Director. We will also cover any lost wages in the meantime."
"You said Taylor was joining the local team."
"Taylor has elected to stay in the city. In fact, it was one of her non-negotiable conditions to joining the Wards in the first place."
"Don't I get a say in that? I'm her father!"
"Dad…"
"If it's too dangerous for me to stay here, then it's too dangerous for you too."
"It's not the same thing. I want you to be safe."
"Taylor. I want you to be safe, and it's my job to keep you safe, not the other way around." He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but it was too late to swallow them back. They both knew he had failed at that.
Taylor exchanged a look with Miss Militia, and Danny couldn't help but resent the fact that she didn't mind communicating with her.
"The kind of people we are talking about are more likely to attack from an oblique angle than to go after Taylor directly. The best way to keep your daughter safe is to keep yourself safe, so they cannot use you to draw her into a situation where she would choose to sacrifice herself to save you."
"Wouldn't it be safer if you left the city too?"
Another glance between the two, and he could feel an invisible wall between his daughter and him, despite being seated next to each other.
"Taylor has another reason for staying, one I'm afraid is strictly confidential."
Taylor can speak for herself, he thought.
Taylor was choosing not to speak for herself, he realized. The full weight of the past few weeks hit him like a freight train. Every part of her body language made it clear that she was still reeling from their last conversation. He let his shoulders slump in defeat.
"I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"It's not just about the legal aspect of it. Parahumans are driven to use their powers. She can use hers under supervision, with proper training and backup, or she can go out and endanger herself behind your back."
The way she's been doing so far.
"Taylor…"
I wish you felt comfortable enough to open up to me, he wanted to say, but he choked on the words.
She still wouldn't meet his eyes.
He turned his attention to the paperwork.