(Author's Note: This was intended to be a preamble, but the amount that needed to be covered and my limited writing time turned it into a half-interlude. I had to cut the chapter short, with the conclusion in the next preamble. To avoid these types of truncated chapters, I have made a decision regarding my posting schedule.
Unfortunately, I don't have as much time to devote to the story as I did when I started writing it three years ago. Over that time, I have done my best to maintain a weekly schedule, but recently it's become clear that maintaining that pace has required compromises in the length and quality of chapters. After a great deal of consideration, I have decided to switch to bi-weekly chapters, at least for the time being. I would like to be able to move back to a weekly schedule at some point, I'm unlikely to be able to do so for some time.
While I regret not being able to keep providing weekly chapters, I believe this will be for the best for both the story and my workload. I am hoping that the new schedule will allow me to minimize any further delays and give me more time to devote to each chapter. I want to thank everyone who has followed and supported the story over the past three years and assure you all that I will be continuing this work, just at a pace I can sustain.)
95.2 Interlude Amy
Amy was bored. It was a very specific kind of boredom, one that she never really experienced before. She had thought of the endless procession sick and injured that was always waiting for her whenever she could make it to the hospital as 'boring', but now she realized it was merely tedious. That kind of thing didn't qualify as boring, not compared to being restricted to a single house for nearly a full week.
At least it was better than the containment cells at the PRT Headquarters. That had been… She shook her head, doing her best to clear the thoughts she had been stewing in. She had been so confident when she gave her report to Director Piggot and Armsmaster. She had asked to see them, dragging them away from their frantic management of the aftermath of the bank attack. There was a dark irony in the fact that she had insisted on the very thing that sent her into her current situation.
Maybe it would have been better if she had waited. Given herself time to calm down. Spoken with anyone else beforehand. But there was a sense of urgency to everything. Like she could actually make a difference if she acted immediately. Like her fantasies of some secret nugget of information leading to the capture of the Undersiders were actually worth a damn. Really, after feeling so helpless in the bank and during the aftermath, she just wanted to accomplish something.
That was what had motivated the rushed call to her Uncle Mike while they were removing the damn cast. It had been a longshot. He hadn't kept in touch with the family and she didn't have a number for him. She barely remembered the city he had moved to. A call to information had a been a long shot, but there had been a lucky listing for his home number, and he had just as luckily been home at the time she called. She had been awkward on the phone, but he had been understanding. But not surprised. It was like he had been expecting her situation to come to a head. She hadn't had long to talk, but he promised to visit, to tell her what she desperately wanted to know.
At the time she'd been mostly worried about explaining things to Carol when her uncle showed up. Thinking back, that almost seemed like an optimistic concern.
Director Piggot and Armsmaster had at least understood the seriousness of what she had to report. They had wanted to know everything. Every last detail. Far more than she actually wanted to share. And then she had found out about Armsmaster's lie detector. She remembered the panic when she found out she had been sitting under what was effectively a polygraph for the entire interview.
She had tried to steer things back towards the warnings, the predictions about the ABB and Bakuda's attacks, but they kept focusing on other details. His assessment of the local PRT and Protectorate. His statements about her family and the accuracy of his supposed thinker power. The exact nature of his abilities.
She had thought it would be a simple matter. She had the hairpin as proof of who she had met. She had details of his relationship with the Undersiders and his plans for the city. She had information on what he thought the ABB were planning. She was anticipating a quick report followed by some rapid actions from the city's heroes.
Instead she had been thrown into master containment.
She shouldn't have told them the man's thoughts about their competence and mental stability. She wanted to explain why he wasn't approaching the PRT or Protectorate, that it didn't necessarily mean he was a villain. Instead, they had latched onto that one point and circled around for anything that could either reinforce or refute it.
Well, to a different degree for Director Piggot than for Armsmaster. Armsmaster seemed almost proud of the fact that it was predicted that he would be difficult to get along with and would have a bad relationship with the new tinker. The claims against Director Piggot had been much more severe. If she left them out then maybe they wouldn't have derailed the entire briefing trying to assess the accuracy and motivations of the thinker predictions.
Or if she left them out then maybe the stupid lie detector would have triggered earlier and she'd be in exactly the same situation. Or if the insinuation of an affair between Carol and Uncle Neil hadn't proven to be so completely dead on the mark maybe there wouldn't have been a problem. If Carol hadn't signed off on the in-depth assessment so she could run off to deal with her own mistakes, leaving Amy to the PRT, then maybe things would have been different.
She had only heard about the kinds of evaluations they used to test for subtle master or stranger influence. It had made the previous debrief seem like a pleasant chat over afternoon tea. Calling it 'invasive' would be an understatement. She understood the logic, questions and situations deliberately designed to put someone off balance so they could check for abnormal responses. The problem was, with what she'd been through, with everything she was trying to deal with, she doubted she'd given anything but abnormal responses.
Then there was containment. She's heard about that as well. Usually, it was at most a couple of hours. The city didn't have many capes who could trigger those kinds of concerns, so it was usually just a matter of protocol. You weren't 'actually' being contained, they just needed you to stay put for the time required to process everything.
For her, it wasn't a couple of hours. She remembered that first night when she slowly realized that she wasn't going to be let out. That no one was coming for her. She hadn't wanted to sleep. Sleeping felt like admitting that the situation was real. That she was being contained for some actual reason, rather than just a bureaucratic requirement.
Finally, the guard had told her she should sleep. She didn't know if that was a breach of policy or not. He had sounded sympathetic when he said she wouldn't be getting out that night. That she should probably rest. She had asked for more information, but there had been no response. That was when she had finally gave up and let herself sleep.
It was the next day when she had been provided with a change of clothes, breakfast, and reading material that she realized how bad things were. She was in long term containment, something that only happened when they found something wrong. That had terrified her. It still terrified her. Not because she was worried she was mastered. There was no reason to think that.
No, what worried her was the thought that they had found something about her. About her father or her power or her… feelings. Some hint of the things that she worked so hard to keep secret, exposed because she had been dragged through a procedure specifically designed to expose those kinds of secrets.
And she had nothing to do but worry. Worry, and stew, and try to distract herself with the books, magazines, and snacks they provided. Two days of failing to take her mind off what might be waiting for her if she was ever released, and then she suddenly had something new to worry about.
She had been able to hear the explosions even inside her cell. Given how isolated the containment cells were that probably meant the building itself had been hit. The way the lights flickered when the building probably had to shift to emergency power just drove home the seriousness of the situation even more.
You didn't need a thinker power to see what was happening. It was exactly what she had been warned about, but it happened anyway. They did their best to isolate her from any impression of what was happening, but she could tell there was panic in the rest of the building. A panic that didn't go away as time went on. It just hardened and became part of the background of every interaction she had with her guards or the agents responsible for her assessments.
The warnings hadn't helped. Or they hadn't made enough difference. The ABB had attacked. They might have freed Lung. They had definitely hit the PRT headquarters. And there would be injured. Dozens, maybe hundreds of injured, and she couldn't do anything for them. Not when she was locked up for whatever insane reason they wouldn't even tell her about it.
The frustration and anger were a welcome chance from the constant worry. If she focused on how outraged she was she could avoid thinking about how scared the entire situation made her. She was still trapped in that stupid cell while people were probably dying…
No, while people were definitely dying. The patients she normally treated didn't stop needing help just because she was locked away. Every minute she was kept in containment there was another person with a terminal illness or critical injury who went untreated. The fact that the ABB attack would have created even more patients just made a bad situation even worse.
With those kinds of thoughts, she couldn't enjoy any of the amenities they provided as ways to pass the time. How was she supposed to read or relax when she knew what was happening? Worse, when they specifically wouldn't tell her anything about what was happening, leaving her to fill in the details from her own imagination.
She passed the time by keeping track of everything they did. Every time they checked in on her, every question they asked, everything. It was a mix of a desperate hope that some part of it might help her get released, but mostly it was because she had nothing else productive to do.
It helped her recognize the change in tactics. On Monday the questions they were asking shifted from what seemed like general check-ins that were being followed out of obligation to more directed and serious appraisals. The disinterested PRT technician with a clipboard was replaced by a series of hard eyed medical professionals who seemed to be evaluating her every move and gesture, typically flanked by an older representative from the Youth Guard who kept directing questions towards aspects of her work and home life.
That was something she was almost embarrassed to talk about. She had heard about the Youth Guard. More specifically she had heard the Wards complain about the Youth Guard. The entire organization loomed over them like a constant threat. Say or do the wrong thing and they'd be waiting to swoop in and make your life hell. Meddling in everything from what your costume could look like to the classes you took to how your patrols were scheduled.
They were the kind of stories that put her on edge, and that was the last thing she needed. She could just imagine some spike of panic being misinterpreted and suddenly she'd need to carry a stopwatch with her and track the amount of time she spent at hospitals.
At least that's what she thought. The older woman, Mrs. Garrick, had wanted to know the details of her work, but it was hard to think of the concerned reactions from the woman in the same light as Vista's rants about patrol limits and costume restrictions. Maybe it was the sense of sympathy. Not gratitude, she had seen enough of that for it to become meaningless noise, and not the kind of condescension that suggested that she was too young for the work she had taken on.
Instead, it was a kind of acknowledgement of the scope of what she was doing. The time she was putting in. Whether she was getting enough sleep, if she skipped meals, and what she did in her free time. Questions she would have tried to brush off or at least down played if she wasn't under constant biometric analysis. It helped that they weren't posed like she was doing something wrong. Instead, the woman seemed to acknowledge how easily those things could slip in the face of the kind of work Amy was taking on. She was as honest about things as she dared to be and hoped that she wasn't digging herself deeper with every word.
Then her Uncle Mike had arrived. She had no idea he was coming. He had said he would visit as soon as he could, but she imagined that meant weeks, not days. And certainly not while she was in the middle of a confusing mess of master containment and evaluations. When she realized why he was there, that everything was going to be recorded and picked over, she had nearly panicked. It was the last thing she needed on top of all of her concerns about what he might tell her.
She wasn't sure how she had managed to get through that. Having all your worst fears confirmed, on camera, and then the added detail about how Marquis, how her father had been caught. It had been too much. Or nearly too much. If it hadn't been her Uncle Mike giving her the news…
That thought still made her smile. Or nearly smile. At least it made her feel like smiling. She didn't know if he realized what it meant to her. That her Aunt Jess had WANTED her. That she was ready to fight Carol and Aunt Sarah over it. The idea that she might not have ended up with the person best able to look after her, but someone who actually wanted her to be part of their family.
She had never considered it. Never even imagined it. What would her life have been like? Fleur had always been the 'cool aunt' to Sarah's 'serious aunt'. She remembered the little apartment Jess had shared with Uncle Mike. If she went with them, would they have stayed there, or found a bigger place? What would things have been like?
Just the idea that things could have been different, it gave her something to focus on. Something to balance out the horrible confirmation that her father was one of the worst criminals in the city's history. Maybe she was seeing her late aunt through rose tinted glasses. Maybe Uncle Mike had been trying to make her feel better, but with the way he explained things, the emotion that seemed to be tied up in it, she doubted it. He seemed entirely sincere.
And maybe Jess wouldn't have died if Amy had been with them. Or maybe that would have happened anyway and it would have hurt so much worse. Then would she have stayed in Brockton Bay? Left with Uncle Mike? She didn't know. She couldn't know, but just the fact that there was a 'maybe' was enough to make a difference.
And in that 'maybe' she and Vicky wouldn't have been sisters. What that might mean… she didn't want to dwell on that part of it. It seemed too close to the details that had gotten her in this mess to begin with.
The thought of how things could have been wasn't the only thing keeping her spirits… well, not so much keeping her spirits up as preventing them from crashing through the bedrock. Nothing about this situation could actually lift her spirits, but some parts made it easier to deal with. Parts like Assault's regular visits.
He had been the first person she had spoken to about her father. He was there and knew everything, so it wasn't like things could get any worse from her venting to him. And the way he'd reacted, what he'd implied…
He'd never confirmed what she suspected. She was too afraid to ask directly and he would dance around the issue, always phrasing things as a hero's insight into villain culture. As if any hero would have that level of insight. The way Battery reacted when she realized what she and Assault had been talking around was as good as confirmation for Amy, but the implication of what it really meant was still something she was wrestling with.
Assault was almost certainly a villain. He had been, at one point. But now, he wasn't. She knew his reputation. Irreverent, immature, and reckless, but not bad. And there was real regret in his voice whenever he alluded to details of that past life. She didn't know exactly what he had done, but the Protectorate had been willing to give him another chance. Apparently, they did that. And if what she had picked up was correct, they did that a lot.
She wasn't sure how she was supposed to process that. It was hard enough dealing with all the tests and interviews without something else influencing the results of whatever they were looking for. She had a real concern that her life would keep throwing her curve balls that were just enough to throw the tests into chaos and keep her contained indefinitely.
At least that had been stepped down. When they lead her out of the containment cells and down to the motor pool she actually wondered if she was being released. There wasn't anyone waiting to meet her, but if they were going to drop her off at her house she wasn't going to complain.
But that wasn't the case. Not released, just moved to off-site holding. Still, it was better than a single room with constant monitoring and minimal privacy. Though as a result she had gone from a space that was too small to one that was definitely too big.
The house probably wasn't designed for containment. Well, not just for containment. She couldn't imagine that this kind of situation came up often enough that they'd need an entire property for it. Based on the number of bedrooms, it was probably accommodations for visiting agents or contractors or something. There were changes that had clearly been put in place recently, like the extra locks, security cameras, and frosted film blocking the view from any of the windows that could look out onto the street, but it was definitely a house, not a cell.
Just having a properly sized bathroom with a tub was enough for her to momentarily forgive the PRT. Nearly a week of dealing with the accommodation in Master Stranger Containment wasn't something she was keen to dwell on. Something that was seen as harmless and even relaxing when one of the Wards went through it for a couple of hours became insufferable when you were stuck there for days on end.
The house also had its own small gym. Really just a room with a treadmill, exercise bike and weight station, but it was nice after being confined for nearly a week. Things were still frustrating, but it was clear that at least something was being done about her case. That meant it was only frustrating rather than actually frightening. Enough to abate her fears so she could focus on how annoying the situation actually was.
After all, her situation wasn't what really frightened her. That had shifted to what was happening outside in the city. They had moved her into the house on Thursday morning. That evening something had happened in the city. They wouldn't tell her what, with even Assault avoiding the subject ever since, but she'd have to have been deaf and blind to not notice it. Actually, the way things had finished, with the flash that lit up the sky, the ground shaking, and the sound of rushing water she probably would have noticed regardless.
The most she had been able to get out of the agent assigned to her was that it wasn't an Endbringer attack, but the fact that she even needed that level of confirmation drove home how serious things were. Another disaster, and she was still stuck with nothing she could do. She'd long since stopped complaining to the agents. They couldn't do anything about her situation and it just made everyone feel worse.
Assault had visited the next morning. He was exhausted, but not the burned mess she'd seen when she healed him before. He couldn't talk about what had happened, with the implication that he was under direct orders, but he'd been visiting her at least twice a day since the incident.
It was frustrating not knowing what was happening, particularly with the scattered snippets she'd been able to pick up. References to an attack, recovery, and new developments worried her, along with the other scraps of information she'd been able to deduce.
The house had a fairly pathetic back yard. A fenced off concrete patio with a scrubby patch of grass that was loomed over by neighboring buildings, but after being stuck inside for so long it was like paradise. She still needed to be 'supervised' for her time outside, but the fresh air was like heaven. And it was incredible how much you could notice, even without being able to see the outside world.
That fresh air was tinged with salt and smoke. There had been bad fires and something had churned up the ocean to a frightening degree. There was the rumble from the nearby road as construction vehicles moved nearly constantly. She could sometimes catch scraps of chatter from people walking by, always in a worried tone, but she would be ushered inside before she could learn anything concrete.
The situation was as frustrating as it was worrying. At this point, the effort to keep details from her seemed pointless, particularly after what happened on Saturday night.
She hadn't noticed it at first. It's possible she wouldn't have noticed it for hours if the agent assigned to the house hadn't received an emergency call. At which point she had to explain to Amy that Apeiron had put a stranger effect in place that caused the phrase 'The Enigmatic Artificer' to appear whenever his name came up.
It was shocking. Beyond shocking. The man she had met in the basement of the hospital was apparently responsible for a stranger effect that dumped information into people's heads no matter where they were, specifically whenever his name came up. The scale of it, the insanity of what could accomplish something like that was terrifying, but that had nothing on the agent's reaction.
The PRT agent, a hard woman in her mid-thirties who was assigned to Amy for probably two out of every three shifts and stanchly refused to give her name in strict adherence to protocols, wasn't worried. She wasn't even surprised. She had received the news at the same time Amy did and it was like after one phone call she filed it away and moved on. Like the idea of a tinker altering the mind of everyone who knew his name wasn't even worth worrying about.
Even now, Amy tried to dance around direct references in her thoughts. She didn't like the way those words bloomed in her mind whenever the man's name came up. A name he hadn't even had when she spoke with him. If her uncle hadn't told her his cape name, would the effect have even triggered? It was impossible to say.
She thought back to that man in his home made and salvaged costume. Bandanas concealing his face, a clearly secondhand coat, and a handful of metal embellishments to give the outfit a modicum of style. Not a bad job for what was clearly a first attempt at a costume. Amy had seen worse from other capes, but not exactly the kind of thing that creates a sense of awe or reverence.
He had been impressive in his own way. Just the weapons he produced for the Undersiders were evidence enough of that. Then there was his healing, his thinker power, the way he had effectively ignored Vicky's punch, and then teleported out of the building. Any one of those were serious feats, and apparently they were entry level for him.
Assuming he had been telling the truth about needing resources to prepare for the ABB, did that put the abilities he displayed on the level of other tinkers' early works? The stuff that was supposed to be made out of broken appliances and garbage? If that was true, how strong would he be if he got the time and resources to build serious technology?
Strong enough for the effect that still loomed in her brain to be a mere footnote for him? Strong enough that it wouldn't seriously affect a seasoned agent's opinion of the man? Strong enough to have something to do with the disaster on Thursday night?
Maybe. She didn't know. Frankly, she couldn't know. That was the whole point of containment. Restricting the information she had access to so that her responses could be more accurately analyzed. Only she wasn't being analyzed nearly as much as she had been before, and she didn't think it was because they were ignoring her case. It was a lot more likely that resources were being diverted away to deal with something far more serious. Like the aftermath of a city-wide disaster.
But she had no way to be certain. The only thing she could do was piece together what she could from the evidence available to her. Whatever was happening, it wasn't pressing the PRT to the point where they couldn't spare at least one agent to manage her case. It wasn't tying up the heroes enough to keep Assault from visiting her. He would be tired and worn out, but not injured or overwhelmed.
And he would show up with movies, books, and snacks. The movies and snacks were appreciated, but the books were more of a mixed bag. On one trip she suspected he had raided the Protectorate gift shop before his visit. Still, he took great pride in presenting her an autographed copy of 'Assault on Brockton: Brockton Bay's Favorite Hero in His Own Words'. He also insisted that the results of an online poll from three years ago was enough to qualify him as the city's favorite hero and that they were still his own words even if they might have been interpreted through a ghostwriter in the employ of the PRT's publicity department.
At least the snacks were good and the movies consisted of favorite picks from his own collection. Well, his and Battery's. She had started to visit as well, technically in support of Assault's role as Protectorate Contact, but like with Assault, that was mostly a cover.
Battery actually wasn't concerned about the fact that Assault was spending time with a teenage girl. In fact, she seemed to view her visits mostly as a way of sparing Amy from Assault's antics. While Amy was happy to avoid any misconceptions, the fact that the possibility wasn't even entertained felt vaguely insulting. Somehow, she doubted Battery would be quite as secure about things if Vicky were the one in her place.
Or maybe that was just her own irritation coming through. Honestly, it was nice to have someone else to speak with, but Battery was almost comically bad when it came to casual interactions. Amy knew media training when she saw it. She had grown up with it. Before even Crystal got her powers, they were coached on how to handle themselves around cameras. That was the behavior she recognized from Battery. Picture perfect, completely proper, and artificial as hell. It was like she was running everything through an internal check before she spoke, being careful about how each sentence was presented. Great if you were worried about soundbites, but less than ideal when it came to conversation.
Which was probably why things had devolved into awkwardness following the dinner of takeout Chinese food they had just shared. The kitchen had plenty of food, and the fact that they were apparently fine with her using it probably meant that master concerns weren't significant enough to keep her away from knives or open flames, but half the kitchen was stocked with the kind of non-perishables that you would expect to be supplied to field agents while the other half was the assorted junk foods that Assault had smuggled in. Some of which had overflowed from the cabinets to earn distasteful looks from Battery.
"Do you really like those?" She asked, looking at the open bags.
"Oh, yeah." She lied. "Can't get enough. Who doesn't like Funyuns or pork rinds?" She grabbed a ring-shaped corn snack from the bag and popped it into her mouth. The taste wasn't unpleasant, but Amy had to work to put on a convincing act of enjoying it. "So good."
"Of course." Battery said, edging away as she packed up the takeout containers. The kitchen had become home to a number of snacks that Assault loved but Battery found off putting enough to not want them in their house. Of course, if he was securing them on Amy's behalf there was really nothing to be said on the matter.
Really, Amy recognized an excuse when she saw it. The snack food let Assault pretend that Amy was doing him a favor to keep her from feeling bad about taking up so much of his time during what might well be a state of emergency for the city.
Of course, Battery did her best to counterbalance things. She was the one who made sure Amy had fresh fruit, vegetables that didn't come from a can or a freezer bag, and even a small bouquet of flowers to cheer her up and give the room some color. She glanced over to check on them. They were nothing fancy, just the kind of thing you'd find at a supermarket, but Amy appreciated the sentiment.
"Those seem to be doing well." Battery said, nodding to the vase on the kitchen counter.
Amy nodded at the small talk, but did her best not to draw further attention to the vase. She had been bored. Even as stressed as she was, there was only so much time that could be taken up with worrying or fuming at the injustice of her situation. Beyond that, she needed something to do.
Keeping a collection of flower cuttings healthy had become something of a pet project for her. She hadn't healed anyone since Assault, and that had been over a week ago. It was probably the longest she had gone without serious use of her power since she had triggered. After that it was just an endless line of patients who needed help, with the knowledge that for every person she saved there were two more that she couldn't get to in time.
How many times had she wished for a break? For some way to get out of the never-ending obligation? She had to admit, she had never imagined things playing out like this. An enforced break where she became so stir crazy that she was willing to offer medical services to a bundle of carnations.
"Thank you again for bringing them." Amy said. "And for the takeout."
"My pleasure." She said. There was once again the feel that she was responding the way she would for a news interview. "I know it can't be easy dealing with Assault as much as you have."
"It's not that bad." She said, "I know he's a little…" She made a vague gesture and Battery nodded. "But I appreciate him taking the time, after everything."
"I'm sure it will all be resolved soon." Battery said in a placating voice. Amy felt her smile turn brittle. She'd heard the same platitude countless times. At this point it didn't hold much meaning for her.
There was a buzz from the front door and Amy saw the current PRT agent let Assault into the house.
"Evening warden. How's the prisoner?" He asked.
"Situation normal." The woman said. "Nothing to report."
"Ah." He called to Amy. "Guess they haven't found the tunnel you've been digging from the basement with a teaspoon."
"He's kidding." Battery unnecessarily clarified to the agent. "And you shouldn't talk that way about the containment facility."
"Why not?" He asked with a grin. "Changing the name isn't going to make it suck any less. They've got Amy in the hoosegow. Might as well be honest about it." He turned back to Amy. "We can still get you some striped pajamas, and you can always change your mind about that harmonica whenever you like."
Amy saw the agent stiffen slightly. Assault had shown up with a proper harmonica as a gag gift and proceeded to play it so loudly and poorly that she thought the agent on duty was going to have a fit. Battery had convinced him against it, with Amy being the deciding vote to banish the thing. She wasn't feeling quite that petty towards the agents who were only doing their job.
At least not yet.
"This place isn't that bad." Battery said. "And it should only be for a few more days."
At this point it didn't even sound like Battery believed that. It had been 'a few more days' since they moved her to this location. In a way, Assault's constant highlighting of the terrible and unfair aspects of the situation was more comforting than Battery's attempts to downplay things or make her feel better. He may have been over the top at times, but he at least was willing to acknowledge how much things sucked for her.
"I hope so." She muttered. She saw Assault roll his eyes and smiled slightly.
"Did you girls eat my share?" He asked, looking over the empty containers.
"It's in the fridge." Battery said. "Sorry Amy, but we need to run."
"That's right. Busy day full of things we aren't allowed to talk about." He paused, then looked back at the agent. "Hey, is admitting we have a busy day itself something we also aren't allowed to talk about?"
"Schedules and obligations of Protectorate members are not part of approved communication." The woman said in a tired voice.
"Oops." He smiled. "Guess that's another one. Better write up the report in triplicate. Can't have Amy knowing that the Protectorate is busy."
"Please, ignore him." Battery said as Assault collected his share of dinner from the fridge.
"Come on, the girl has enough on her plate. Don't saddle her with an impossible task." He quipped, snatching a dumpling from one of the containers before closing the lid again.
"It's fine." She assured Battery. Then she paused. "So, this 'busy' that I'm not supposed to know about…"
"Be a bit pressed in the morning, but I can still stop by. I'll drop off some donuts for breakfast, including those bear claws you like." Assault assured her.
He meant the bear claws HE liked. Of course, they would be buried in a box of assorted donuts, and probably paired with some PRT approved magazine or other reading material. Assault was never stingy when it came to comfort food. It made her very glad the place had its own gym.
"Thanks. And good night. Thanks again for dinner." She said.
"It's no problem. We're just doing our duty." Battery said.
"Yeah, need to keep a close watch on this one." Assault said. "Take your eyes off her for a second and she'll be off to the secret treasure island with the priest's map, then it'll be overly elaborate revenge plots for all of us."
Battery rolled her eyes as she guided Assault out of the door, pausing just long enough for the agent to buzz them out and document their departure.
"Um, I'm going to turn in, alright?" Amy said, heading for the stairs. She got a curt nod in response, which was about as much as she had come to expect from the woman.
The house had six bedrooms, though none of them were exactly spacious. She had to wonder, if there was some disaster out there, would a place this size be better served as some operation center, or as housing for agents or whatever it had been intended for before?
That was the thing. She didn't think this place would normally be used to hold a single person in these kinds of circumstances. Maybe if everything was fine, but everything was clearly not fine. It was like someone had made a decision that probably made sense at the time, then immediately became pointless the second circumstances went to hell. Somehow, she had the feeling that had happened repeatedly over the course of her containment.
She turned on the light in her bedroom of choice. The window overlooked the 'yard' of the house, meaning it was one of the few that hadn't been covered in a translucent film. And one of the ones that wasn't locked shut. It wasn't much of a view, but at least it was clear. Fresh air and actual sunlight, rather than the blurred-out stuff she got from nearly every other window, felt like it was one of the few things keeping her sane.
A sound caused her to freeze. She waited, wondering if she imagined it, but then it came again. Her mind reeled at the cliché, but that didn't change the fact that someone was throwing pebbles against her window.
Her window that faced the enclosed yard, when nobody was supposed to know about this place, much less have access to it. She wrestled with the possibilities. What she should do. The official answer of going downstairs and reporting the possible breach to the agent on duty was handily discarded. That kind of blind compliance would have been a tall order a week and a half ago. Right now, she frankly couldn't care less.
Which meant taking the risk and finding out what was happening. Whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than being stuck here, could it?
Well, of course it could. She knew enough about the cape world to know that. Still, it was a risk she could live with.
She slid open the bedroom window and peered out. She couldn't see anything in the darkened yard and didn't hear anything but the background noises of the city.
"Hello?" she whispered, probably too quietly for anyone to hear. She was about to give up when a red glow drew her attention towards the sky.
It was Crystal. Dropping nearly straight down with minimal use of her powers, just enough to arrest her fall. Her cousin halted right in front of the window, hovering with a faint red glow.
"Amy!" Crystal said in a quiet voice. "It's so good to see you." She peered into the room. "Is it safe for you to talk?"
"Um, probably?" She whispered, glancing back at her closed door. "There's only one agent by the door. It should be fine as long as we're quiet."
"Thank God." Crystal said. She leaned forward and hugged Amy through the window. "I've been so worried about you. We've all been so worried."
Amy felt herself tearing up and did her best to control herself. After more than a week the hug meant so much for something so simple. She sniffed once before trusting herself to reply.
"How did you find this place? Are you supposed to be here?" She asked.
"Absolutely not." Crystal said, breaking the hug. She wobbled slightly in the air, then generated a small force field platform outside the window sill to sit on. "Uncle Mike overheard where they were keeping you. I'm definitely not supposed to be here."
"Are you going to get in trouble?" Amy asked.
"I guess that depends on if I get caught." She said with an irreverence Amy had never seen from her cousin. On closer examination, she could see the exhaustion on Crystal's face.
"You're serious?" Amy asked.
"Completely." Crystal said in a tired whisper. "Amy, we just had a team meeting."
Amy felt herself tense. Old worries were coming to the surface. What could have been discussed, what could have been decided for her. About her. About what had been revealed about her father. About the reason why she was being kept here.
"No, no, no." Crystal said quickly. Amy flushed as she realized how much of her reaction must have leaked through. "You're fine. I mean, you're going to be fine. Mom's going to be dealing with the PRT tomorrow to try to get you released as soon as she can."
"Aunt Sarah?" Amy asked. "What… why is she…" She didn't know how to finish her question. The first time she had been able to talk to someone without regulations and information control hanging over her in over a week and she didn't have any Idea where to start.
Crystal took a breath. "Look, a lot has been going on. Not just about you but that's a big part of it. I wanted to check in on you, and Uncle Mike knew where you were, so…" She shrugged.
Amy swallowed. "Did Uncle Mike… did he say, tell you about…"
"Your father?" Crystal asked. Amy's throat went dry but she nodded. "Yeah. It was actually Uncle Mark who told us about Marquis, so we would know before the meeting. Amy, I'm sorry you had to find out that way. I can't even imagine what you've been going through."
"It hasn't been great." She muttered. She looked up at her cousin, but saw nothing but concern in her eyes. Not the hate or distrust she expected. Crystal didn't hate her. She had told herself she probably didn't need to worry about that, but that didn't make the worry end. Not until she could see it for herself. "So, everybody knows? And they're okay with it?" She asked hopefully.
"Everyone but Vicky." Crystal said.
"What? Why not Vicky?" Amy asked in concern.
"She's still in New York." Crystal said, only adding to Amy's confusion. "Look, that's why I'm here. A lot has happened and I don't like it being kept secret from you. Not for important stuff like this. But it might mess up the kind of thing they're testing you for, so it's up to you whether you want me to tell you."
"How could it mess that up? What are they even testing me for? The questions haven't made any sense." Amy hissed in a frustrated whisper. She saw Crystal's expression. "Of course. Knowing what they're testing for will mess up their tests for it."
"Sorry." Crystal said. "Things aren't that bad. There's other stuff in play that's been affecting the situation, but once again…"
"It'll mess things up if I know?" Amy asked.
"Maybe?" Crystal said. "I don't know for sure. Like I said, Mom's going to be doing everything she can to get you out of there, but I don't know how long that's going to take."
Mom, meaning Aunt Sarah. Meaning not Carol. In fact, Crystal wasn't mentioning Carol. Something was happening there. Something with Carol, and Vicky was in New York, and the city was dealing with some mystery disaster and a tinker who had possibly only been active for a few weeks had created a mental effect that should be impossible and everyone was acting like it was normal, or at least not worth mentioning.
"I thought you deserved to know what's going on, if you wanted to." Crystal shook her head. "The situation's a mess, but I didn't want you to be kept in the dark anymore."
Amy sniffed again. It was stupid, for something so basic to affect her like that. Just having a choice. Having a choice and knowing people were working on her behalf. That made a difference. More of a difference than she could put into words.
She could leave it here. Take her cousin's words to heart. Trust Aunt Sarah to get her out of here and kill time hanging out with Assault and Battery, eating junk food, watching movies, and reading magazines. A happy little boring vacation in ignorance.
No. She'd had enough of waiting. Enough of boredom and enough of trying to kill time between periods of dread or frustration as her mind bounced from one hypothetical situation to another. She'd had enough hypotheticals. She wanted to know the truth of the situation. Even if it made things more complicated, she at least deserved that.
"Please." She said as quietly as she could. "I want to know what's going on."
"Alright." Crystal said "But this might take a while."
"Believe me, I've got time." Amy said with a slight smile.
(Author's Note: As mentioned above, next chapter in two weeks. With the third anniversary of the story coming up on May 1, I'd like to thank everyone who has supported me and this work over the past three years. This story wouldn't be the same without the amazing community of readers that have provided me with their encouragement and feedback. To both long time readers and those who had found the story recently, you have my deepest gratitude.)
