Her Queen stopped dead in response to her vacation request from the endless campaigning across dimensions, planes, realities, realms, multiverses, and the occasional dreams. Her senses sprang loose with skin contact, searching for some issue she might've missed at their last checkup, and then the confusion set in. She looked over to the two stars hung above the floating fortress, looking for flaws in their glow until a pair of hands gently interrupted her inspection.
"Amelia Claire," her Queen paused. Amelia however slowly continued her visual check on the binary stars. Their luminance indicated no drastic engagement or distress, radiating their wills across their domain. She scrunched her nose, finally looking down to meet warm emerald eyes and an infinitesimally small smile. She took a seat on the other plush beanbag and dropped the skin contact. "You have 22 years of vacation time."
She snorted, dropping her gaze and then looked back up only to see a far wider smile and glittering jade. "No, I don't —." Pausing, she inspected her physical form this time. Brazenly running her hand through her hair, she found just the faintest extra gray where last she saw brilliant copper. She'd missed yet another succession in her time away, her medical campaigns stretching longer with every subsequent one. A worrying trend with Epsilon still in orbit above their home planet. "Really? I'll take the home dimension package then."
"If that is your choice." Bright mist slowly dragged free from the musical memoria around them, coalescing around her fingers. Around her other hand, pulsing shadows flit across the floor from a black cat searching for a treat. "You remember the rules, I trust?" She rolled her eyes at the slight edge her Queen added before meeting her gaze and solemnly nodding. Not after the first time. Not ever again, she resolved. With a nod in response, she continued, "Canonical start for your timeline is Khepri's first trigger event. Nothing before that."
She stilled, her formative years flashing in eidetic memory, neurons firing in pristine precision. Canberra's quarantine, the bank, Bakuda, Coil, E88, Leviathan, the Slaughterhouse Nine… Victoria. Her Queen moved this time in a hurry, kneeling by her side and cradling her hands. Constant and assertive words drilled through the fog and she had barely enough time to dry heave over to the other side. Her powers sometimes really sucked. A handkerchief materialized within reach. "Thank you."
"Two options." Her amazing Queen vanished it once she cleaned up, waiting for her to sit back nearly comatose. "Spatial insertion or soul collision." She frowned, taking another careful look at her, her tiara jingling softly. "Although your lack of shard might make a collision uncomfortable if not impossible."
She shook her mane of brown hair. "I'll just fix whatever damage happens. No need to have two of me walking around. Might get a little confusing."
Her Queen smiled, her age peeking through. Biologically, sure, she could heal anything carbon-based with little more than a thought. It was partially what made her so useful to their forces. That smile wasn't for her benefit though. It was a smile cultivated from the thousands of other vacation requests that coincided with a home dimension package. She extended her hands, one delicate, soft, and human wreathed in bright mist coiling in seductive vapors, and the other clawed, tough, and scarred, shrouded in dark twilight dripping in a constant disappearing waterfall.
"Remember who you are, Amelia." Her Queen grasped her hands softly, her voice no longer echoing in her ears. "You are a good person and everyone deserves a second chance. You're with us despite your mistakes, not because of them." She nodded in reflex, a smile breaking free to mirror her's. The palace shook minutely, shadows and rays of light streaking from the outside until the last she saw was piercing green. "Call home every now and then. We'll miss you."
The shadow and light crawled across her Queen's form, racing over her hands, arms, torso, head, and limbs until she radiated in a black miasma speckled by countless pinpricks of white. The binary mists joined together in a smoldering fire across her form, eyes blazing in quasars. "I hope you'll make peace with your past."
LINE BREAK
Most problems in Brockton Bay required nothing more than judicious application of excessive physical force. At least, that was the term bandied about by the district attorney whenever she forgot to exercise due caution. Not her fault Hookwolf decided to throw her into the conservatory that one time although she probably didn't need to throw him in as revenge.
This problem, however, was usually her sister's field. Amy and medical expertise walked hand in hand, or more often, book in hand. She practically lived in the hospital after her trigger to the point she had a bunk bed with her name scratched into it and kept several sets of clothes in her locker at Brockton General. This time, instead of flitting around from room to room and banishing cancers, she was the one laid up on a gurney and hooked to life support.
Hospital staff had no idea what happened, Panacea taking a smoke break with a few other nurses after a long evening shift when she suddenly collapsed. Thankfully, as a fairly light 16-year-old girl, one of the male nurses slung her over his shoulder and charged downstairs to the ER. That had sent the entire hospital into a brief panic as doctors followed by department heads examined her for hours on end until an orderly finally called their family in.
Their mom tore into them with a fury rarely seen but it wasn't until she zoned into their heated argument she'd learned it was more about how late they'd called to inform them rather than in worry as a parent. The sound of groaning metal pulled her attention back to her sister, her free hand having wrapped around the metal handrail and leaving a hand-shaped impression.
She could barely see her beneath the mass of tubing connected to dozens of machines keeping her alive. Skin so pale her freckles glared practically, the fluorescent lighting and hospital gown combining to make her twice as small as she last remembered. And that was just this afternoon at lunch. Exercising all due caution, she squeezed her hand, waiting for some movement or squeeze back to show she was still in there and fighting. The handrail took some punishment again, the low drone of the heartbeat monitor and ventilator saving it from a far more violent fate.
The opening door stole her attention away, their mom coming in fresh from work in her pantsuit with a briefcase in hand and a thick folder of undoubtedly medical documents. She froze seeing them, an emotion she couldn't read crossing her face for the few seconds she spent looking at Amy before addressing her. "Reign in your Aura before you hurt the hospital staff." Vicky choked back a scream, closing her eyes to focus on suppressing her aura. No questions asked if Amy had moved or said anything in her slumber. Not even an 'Are you okay?' that she'd answer with a similar 'I'm okay' that they'd both know was a lie and nothing more than a thin glass to watch her best friend wither away in an unexplained coma. One deep breath protected the handrail from further harm and another spared her chair from ending up as kindling. A third deep breath and she finally opened her eyes to find her mom watching her carefully with an eyebrow raised. She heard the unspoken 'Are you done?' and she probably avoided any punishment due to the situation. "The doctors all say there's nothing wrong with her."
"That's bullshit!" She growled, refusing to let her aura loose.
"Language." It took every ounce of willpower to not slap her and she only succeeded because of the small form swaddled in bed. Amy wouldn't ever do that. She'd figure something out if she couldn't, go and read some medical article about a new technique or drug, and then suggest her improvements for healing some crazy brain disease. Shame because the hospital really could use some redecoration. "They've scanned her with every machine they have."
"Then they missed something!" Her chair skidded across the floor when she stood abruptly. She didn't need this clinical assessment. She needed a hug and an 'It's gonna be okay'. She needed a doctor to come rushing in with some weird new drug or some speck they missed on a scan. She needed an easy fix and answer. She needed her sister awake and back on her feet. Not… this.
"They've requested a healer from the PRT but haven't gotten a response yet." She snorted. They likely wouldn't until the morning and wouldn't send anyone out until days later. Amy either fought free from her coma by then or… She shook that thought away. "I…How are you?" Thanks, mom, you got there in the end. A little faster next time and maybe add a hug or something, anything to show you cared.
"I'm fine." She lied through her teeth, her mom keeping silent and now avoiding her gaze to watch Amy. She never stepped forward, not even to touch her hand or kiss her forehead. Thank fuck she hadn't managed to get a manicure before her date started tonight or they'd have shattered in her grip.
"Vicky…" She heard her gulp and all the anger suddenly dropped away to confusion. A nasty pit of something cold settled in her stomach. Carol "Brandish" Dallon the Super Lawyer did not gulp. Not ever. "I don't know what to do."
She cleared the space between them with a powered jump, crashing into a hug she needed and finally letting a few tears drip free. Her mom didn't say anything, tucking her head under her chin and watching Amy without saying a word. When they broke away, she rummaged through her purse for a napkin and blew her nose. Figures her invincibility didn't protect her from runny noses. "She'll get through this. It's Amy."
Again, that same indecipherable emotion crossed her mom's eyes and disappeared without a trace. "We'll see." She quashed the anger rolling just underneath her skin, ripping her gaze away to Amy. She had her sister to take care of and she couldn't wonder why her mom kept her distance. "I'm going home for the night."
"I'm gonna stay for a few more hours, you know, for Amy." Her mom only nodded and she half-expected some remark about curfew. The sliding door closed without fanfare, leaving the pair of them alone. God, she was so useless with this, gently leaning her weight on the bed and resting a hand on her knee. Just to get some solace she was still there and hadn't slipped away when she'd turned away. By the time she floated up from the wreckage of her thoughts, it was nearing midnight and nothing had changed, all the machines still glowing or pulsing steadily.
"I'll be back. Don't you dare go anywhere." She donned her coat and left the room with one last glance. A PRT officer in uniform and gun greeted her with a nod. "She gets hurt and I drop you into the Bay." She stalked away to the stairwell without waiting for a response, climbing up to the roof and spending a few minutes letting everything she felt slide off into the night air. The weather had no reason to be so clear.
If the doctors were useless and the PRT content waiting as one of their affiliate healers languished in a coma then it was up to her to get Amy the help she needed. She leaped into the sky and crept along the skyscrapers. Over on street level, she spotted one of the Ward patrols just skirting the edges of Empire territory and waited until they turned the corner, flying to the next building and repeating the process. A gang of skinheads patrolling gave her enough pause to wonder where they were going. Probably to wreck some ABB business but that was a PRT problem.
Between the Boardwalk and Downtown, Brockton Bay had enough clubs for every faction to get a piece of the nightlife. The Wards, Dean included, preferred a club on the Boardwalk that catered to the under-21 crowd and he was likely there with the others after she called their date off. The club she chased was nowhere near there, nestled amidst the economic heart of Downtown where the Empire made their claim. The muted gold and runic designs harkened to Kaiser's reign rather than the Allfather's yet Svartálf was E88 through and through.
She eschewed dropping at the front door and charging through, choosing instead to circle to the side. Every nightclub worth its salt had a side door, either for VIP clientele or the more shady kind and she found it on her second fly through. No guard stood outside like she expected and she floated down through the sudden snow flurries pelting the city. The familiar gnawing in her stomach came back with a vengeance, a warning, or more of a WTF. Of course, this was a terrible idea but when it came to healers, Brockton Bay had only two.
The steel door dented under her first knock, something on the other side falling over in panic. She gave it a few seconds and then knocked again, far more sheepishly. She stepped back when it cracked open, a tall and burly tattooed gym rat sticking his head out. "We're closed."
"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." She threw back her hood and his hand twitched to the handgun at his waist. It would do nothing more than irritate her but if he wanted his security blanket she wouldn't begrudge him that. "Need to speak to Othala."
"Fuck off Glory Girl. You have a pet healer." She flew forward before he was even done, jamming her fingers between the closing door and jamb. His futile effort to slam the door ran into her super strength and she forced the door open just a hair more.
"Listen here dipshit." She wrenched the door open entirely, stepping into the club. Not many people milled around within sight, some of them even watching with curious eyes. Her reputation for collateral damage definitely helped as he took a step back. "I'm struggling very hard… very, very hard to not throw you into a wall because Panacea needs a healer." Her eyes sparkled in eldritch energy in the dim lighting. "So you have a choice: stand between me and my sister or pick up the fucking phone and make a call!"
He took a second too long to make his choice in her opinion but got there in the end like a good little subordinate, leaving her in the entryway and disappearing into a side room. After more than 30 seconds, she gave up waiting and sauntered up to the bar. The decor wasn't up to her tastes with the gold and dark vinyl but it was a far cry from the tagged trash she associated with typical E88 spots. Though she wondered how effectively the PRT controlled the city with hundreds of bottles of expensive alcohol littering the mirrored wall, that didn't stop her from taking a seat.
Super strength made for a convenient bottle opener and she chalked up her curiosity to boredom, taking a sip and then promptly recoiling and setting it aside.
The bouncer returned after a dozen more minutes, a familiar cape trailing behind him and she shoved her aura down. Deeper than the hospital and far deeper than she ever remembered practicing. The smug bastard Krieg walked without a care in the world and took the seat next to her, every other minion scattering from their presence.
"Ah, Fräulein Glory, never thought to see you here. You're here for Othala, yes, because your Panacea can't heal herself?" She blinked away the surprise at hearing him speak so normally without the over-the-top thick German accent. "The Empire is all too willing to help, for a price of course."
Really overselling the cheesy Bond villain speech. Still better than dealing with Hookwolf.
"Sure, how about the next time I catch your thugs on patrol some of them end up missing in ABB territory. I can't always tell where I drop them off. Docks, PRT HQ, local precinct, they all look pretty much the same from up high."
"No need to resort to threats. The Empire will always help upstanding citizens in their time of need." She couldn't help the eye roll and made no effort to hide her disgust. Upstanding citizens her ass. More like only white people. Her blonde hair and blue eyes opened up the door to the bar and her cape persona got the meeting. Any less of a combination and a bullet to the head was the least of her problems. "I'm sure we can discuss some payment. A favor for a favor, let's say."
"Krieg." Her head jerked sharply to the side and she leveled her best glare. "A favor? Like breaking Hookwolf out of jail or leaking Ward patrols? Let me think…" She looked up to the ceiling, finding yet another set of mirrors. Seriously, how many mirrors were in here? "No. Actually. Let me make that clear. Fuck no."
"Then no Othala."
She found the collar of his shirt and hoisted him up from his chair, floating over his form. Lights haloed around her hair and left him in darkness, pale blue eyes hardened into ice drilling through the mask. "Don't even think about throwing me away. It's taking everything I have to not level this place for Fleur. I'm sick even thinking about asking the Empire for help so consider this tiny favor of a healer healing another your repayment for breaking the unwritten rules." She dropped him into his seat, floating down to her own and gripping the bar top for something to occupy her hands as she ground out, "I'm… sorry I grabbed you."
Krieg caught his breath for the next couple of minutes but made no move to retaliate. Her mouth dried up and she flipped over the bar, ransacking the mini-fridge for a bottle of water she inhaled. Amy better appreciate the lengths she went to to get her help because apologizing to a Nazi was not on the calendar for today. "Kaiser punished the traitor. Justice was done."
Her growl sent Krieg recoiling, aura leaking through and pressing into every corner of the bar. "Don't." Justice wept tears for the supposed public execution of a patsy for his lieutenants and followers. No wonder she wore a blindfold. "Then let's just say Panacea stops healing the Empire trash that ends up at her hospital." Tough to hold territory when every thug took months to get back to their feet.
Krieg heavily sighed, opening his flip phone and sending a text. "Family is important, yes? Then consider this a repayment as the Empire pays its debts in full." His phone buzzed only a few seconds later. "Othala will meet you at the east entrance of Brockton General in twenty minutes. Keep her safe. We wouldn't want a repeat after all." She grit her teeth and managed a nod while keeping an iron grip on her aura. A dozen seconds passed by infinitesimally slowly and she focused solely on her breathing. She could let the verbal threat slide, for now.
Opening her eyes, she gave him a nod and beelined for the door, making it all the way through and out into the cold before rocketing up to the nearest roof. Just out of view of the cameras, she collapsed to the ground and curled up. How did Amy do this? Stare at the faces and masks that hurt their aunt with a smile and heal them, Endbringer Truce or not. Krieg deserved nothing more than the full traumatic shit-inducing pressure of her aura and she played nice. Stupidly rare healing capes made for strange meetings.
She wiped her tears away, black smudges marking the death of her carefully applied mascara and eyeliner. Staggering up, she floated over back to the hospital, slowly crawling along the high rises and sticking to the shadows. Nearing midnight, only Armsmaster's loud motorcycle broke through the quiet, rumbling somewhere off in the distance, all the Wards having gone home for school in the morning. That made her stomach churn, really not wanting to face them in their civilian identities tomorrow. No doubt Dean already shared rumors on what pulled her away tonight. Maybe she could find a cot somewhere and hunker down in Amy's room.
The cold seeped in through her coat and leggings, only adding to her misery. Dad wouldn't care, depression sucked, and mom would tear her a new one when she learned about her impromptu plan. And Amy, she didn't know. Most days she seemed angry at something or just tired, dark shadows under her eyes and energy stolen away with coffee. Sometimes, she just looked plain miserable, hiding it whenever she thought she wasn't looking. Maybe this coma was the culmination of problems she avoided because she couldn't heal herself.
She hung out over the edge of the roof, watching over the eastern entrance until a large black SUV that screamed celebrity and money pulled up. Pushing off the ledge, she ignored the urge of a three-point landing and quietly alighted as the driver, strapped with a handgun, opened the passenger door and let a familiar cape step forth, "Othala."
"Glory Girl." She eschewed her usual costume save for the mask, dressing in a long overcoat and comfy boots. "Shall we go up?"
Vicky nodded, eyeing the bodyguard but couldn't think of a good enough reason to scare him off. Othala and company followed her into the hospital and they avoided the receptionist with a burst of her aura, no doubt already halfway to dialing for the PRT. The elevator music poked at her strained nerves more than she expected but they made it up to the floor without incident, at least, until they turned the corner and spotted the PRT officer stationed at Amy's door.
She moved before the thought finished forming and could already hear the lecture from her mom ringing in her head about proper protocols, interfering with law enforcement, and a half dozen other things that really didn't matter at the moment. Their staring match ended in her victory, Othala ordering her guard to stay outside. She released her hold on his containment foam sprayer and disappeared into the room, leaving two awkward shadows to make nice.
In the room, Othala unbuttoned her coat and perused the clipboard hanging on the bed frame. Vicky didn't like the frown that appeared on her face as she rifled through the sheets. The healer stepped to Amy's side, first placing her palm on her forehead and then trailing it down to her heart. Her sole eye scrunched up in confusion before she addressed her, "I can't heal her."
"Explain." Othala took the brunt of her anger like a champ.
"Not only is there nothing wrong with her but my powers don't work if Panacea can't focus on healing herself." Othala sighed when Vicky just blinked at her and she thanked her lucky stars she didn't immediately pin her against the wall and demand her healing. "Meaning, Panacea needs to be awake. Nothing I can do if she's in a coma."
"Oh." Vicky deflated, sagging into the comfy armchair placed over in the corner. So everything she did, from straying into Empire territory, threatening Krieg, and compromising on her morals, meant nothing. She couldn't do anything with all of her strength, her flight, her invincibility, or her aura. She looked up when the sound of footsteps neared her, a business card with a phone number embossed on it with the E88 logo.
"This is my number. When she wakes up, call me." And then she left without another word. Not leaving any parting shots, not explaining why Krieg bothered to help, why she bothered to come over on a Monday night to heal her enemy, or why the Empire dared answer in the face of her threat, but also not leaving any empty platitudes or bothering to stay longer than she needed in a futile effort to make something work. She knew her limits, much like she knew her own. The PRT officer briefly poked his head in to check Othala hadn't injured either of them, sweet of them, and then scurried away to his post.
Vicky found a blanket in one of the drawers and curled up on the chair after throwing her coat over the back. She couldn't bear thinking about school in the morning or waking up to see Amy still in a coma. Sleep did not come easy.