2.5
Vicky, I had found, was a force of nature once she got going. Unstoppable, and ever moving forward while dragging everything caught up along with her. We had gotten to the hospital and it took all of three minutes before she steamrolled her sister out the door and out to meet me with barely an explanation. The girl was still in costume even, but then again I was the only one not in costume. Vicky was still Glory Girl, Amy was
Panacea, and I was….some teenager. And now we were all at Fugly Bob's, which was surprisingly busy for a Monday night. Vicky was busy arguing with someone at the counter about our collective order while I sat in our corner booth somewhat awkwardly with Amy.
I was, thankfully, effectively deaf to the thoughts or feelings of the people around me for the moment. It took the sudden exposure when I had come into the restaurant to make me realize that the sudden change from sky-borne isolation to a crowded shop had left me open to the sounds of a few dozen customers, the sheer number of people and their mental voices breaking through my now-flimsy protective shell.
Had I really been so off my game that it had slipped and I didn't even notice? Either way, it had almost been overwhelming before I put a wall back up. Being able to perceive someone's intentions and know exactly how your words affected them wasn't as much fun as you would think. After today, I was tired of people doing things that made me angry with good intentions behind their actions. Maybe I was being childish, but I had just had so little control over everything today. It was easier to block that off for now and focus on other things.
And not think about the series of bombshells that had been dropped on me. Or now, as the fires died out, how I could have done better reacting to them.
No, right now I had other things to worry about besides my potentially self-destructing life. Like how incredibly awkward the table was at the moment, or rectifying the fact that Vicky's sister was Panacea and how I was about to have dinner with her and Glory Girl. I suppose the only comfort to the fact that I couldn't think of anything to say was that Amy didn't appear to know what to say either. So while Vicky was busy arguing, we were sitting here and it was
incredibly awkward.
"So, Hurricane Victoria, huh?" I asked, seizing on the first thing I could think to break the silence between us.
Amy's head snapped around from where she had been staring off into space to look at me. "What did you say?"
Maybe that wasn't the best choice of words. "You know, the way she barreled in at the hospital and then next thing you know, we're here?"
"Oh," Amy said, relaxing a little and releasing a small chuckle. "Yeah, she gets that way sometimes. Best to just go along with it."
I nodded, feeling on more solid footing so I kept talking. "Sorry she sprung this on you. I had a pretty crappy day and she's been trying to cheer me up. I didn't expect for her to just pulling you into coming along without really explaining anything."
"It's okay," she said, staring at her hands for a moment. "I… ah, well, she's mentioned you once or twice, but never said a lot about you."
Well, at least I can say that everyone and their brother doesn't know where Vicky's concerned. I closed my eyes for a moment. No, that wasn't fair to think. I thought about what she had said and the expression that had briefly crossed her face as she spoke. I didn't have to be be a mind-reader to pick up on something that obvious.
"Not much to say," I said with a shrug as I looked around Fugly's. "We bonded over clothes and she ran across me today after everything else went south and made it her personal mission to make my day brighter. Or night, I guess. This is actually the second restaurant she's taken me to tonight to be honest."
Amy looked up, a look of surprise sliding smoothly across her face before frowning slightly at my statement. Or was it at me? "Second? You must have had a
really bad day. She doesn't usually do that unless I'm… I mean, unless someone she's close to is really depressed."
I turned slightly in Amy's direction, the temptation to let my walls down a bit and figure out what she was thinking strong. "It hasn't been the best, no. Again, sorry she dragged you into her plans for cheering me up."
"It's fine," Amy said quickly. "I like spending time with her and if she's made a new friend in you, I'd like to get to know you too."
I looked away from her, letting my eyes drift across the room and noting the stares being directed toward us and toward where Vicky was apparently winding down her argument. I didn't need telepathy to tell what everyone was thinking, to feel the curiosity directed toward me since I was sitting with Glory Girl and Panacea.
Lovely. More attention that I just know will come back to bite me somehow. I wasn't sure if I-
"I bring food!" Vicky announced, setting a tray down, drawing my attention from my moment of distraction. Three fugly burgers with all the trimmings and fries on the side, and three sodas sat there and she shifted two of them over to me and Amy.
"Thank you," I said quietly, lifting a fry and dipping it into the ketchup. "Thank you for dinner, Vicky."
"Eat first, then thank me," Vicky told me glibly. "Move over, Ames." She slid into the booth as her sister shifted over.
"So, Taylor was telling me about how you two know each other," Amy said, glancing from her sister to me with a sort of half-smile. I squeezed my french fry a bit harder than necessary and grimaced, switching for another one that wasn't squished.
"Oh, we met while clothes shopping," Vicky said easily. "Taylor's got a great eye for clothes. We spent a while bonding over that. I ran into her again a few weeks ago while I was out with Dean and that's when she got that nice jacket she's wearing right now."
I tilted my head up slightly. "I only have this jacket because someone took advantage of her boyfriend's generosity."
"Oh, please," Vicky said. "Dean could care less about the money. Anyway. I ran across her this evening after I had dropped you off at the hospital, Ames. Skipped my patrol because she seemed rather stressed out."
"You saw her after you dropped me off?" Amy asked, frowning slightly. "Did you stop somewhere? You're usually flying around…"
I saw a look of surprised realization flash across Vicky's face halfway through a fry, her eyes flashing to me and then out across the restaurant and the customers still blatant enough to openly stare. My own realization came a half-second later as I figured out what she was thinking without even needing to listen to her thoughts.
Do I tell her?
For now, at least, the answer was instant and obvious as I shook my head to the negative. In return, Vicky finished off her fry casually before laughing. "Ya, I spotted her moping around a bus stop and dropped in on her."
I finished off another fry, swallowed, then interjected. "I'm just lucky there was no one else at the bus stop. As it was, you scared me silly by just dropping out of the sky like that."
For a moment, I could swear that Amy's frown deepened as she chewed it over in her head. But then she smiled and nodded, seemingly as much to herself as to the white-lie we had both just told. "Well, Vicky does have a soft spot for people having bad days. It's endearing, really."
I picked up another french fry and ate it. These were some of their better fries. Usually they were a touch too greasy, but that wasn't the case tonight. The taste of them helped distract me from the faint sense of
something that I couldn't quite identify from Amy. Even through my walls, whatever she was feeling was strong enough that I could feel it. "I'm just glad she happened by. I'm not sure what I would have ended up doing if she hadn't talked me out of my funk with ice cream."
"Ice cream?" Amy repeated, her voice catching oddly as she pinned Vicky with a stare. "You took her out for ice cream?"
Vicky shrugged, unfazed by the accusing stare of her sister. "She was really down and it's the fastest way I know to cheer someone up. Besides, well, you know." She gave a sort of shrug and Amy nodded slightly.
"Well,
I don't know," I said with a grin, pointing a french fry like it was a sword at a spot between where they sat. "But that's okay. Your mission of cheering me up has succeeded, unlikely as I thought that was."
"Vicky is a miracle worker," Amy said, "She has a talent for making just about anyone feel better." She gave her sister a bright smile at the compliment even as frowned ever-so-slightly. Something else had bled through with the statement, flowing against the wall around my mind leaving behind something sour and bitter sweet.
Externally, I smiled in response. But internally, I had to stop myself from gnawing on my lip. It was certain now. Or at least, I was certain. Amy didn't like me. Or, she was at least unsure of me and was giving me a cold shoulder. The question was why. Without letting the wall I had raised to dull out the restaurant at large down, I couldn't peek to now. Then there was the whole thing about looking in the mind of my friends sister.
"Vicky, if it's okay," I said, unwilling to go rooting around in her thoughts for the reason why and unsure how to do that while keeping everyone else out. Something to try and practice with at school when I had the chance. "I think I'm going to get this to go. I don't want to go deal with that other thing, but you were right earlier. Putting it off is only going to make it worse."
Vicky's eyes were sympathetic as she nodded. "Go ahead. Let me know how things turn out. I'll come flying if you need support."
I concealed a wince as I felt the thing from Amy again. "I will. Thanks for everything today. It was nice meeting you, Amy."
"The same," Amy said, the words ringing a touch hollow to me as I carried my plate to the counter for a to-go box rather than wait for a server to happen by, given how busy they were. I spent all of thirty seconds at the counter before a plastic bag full of take-out at my side as I returned to the booth one last time. "Thanks again Vicky. I'll see you later, hopefully."
She nodded, smiling warmly at me. "No problem Taylor. Good luck." In return, I chuckled darkly as I turned and left. But as I reached the door, I looked back over my shoulder. "Thanks. I'll probably need it."
Vicky waved in my direction and I smiled before slipping out the door. Foot traffic on the sidewalk was still busy and I navigated it using my precognition until I found a secluded spot. Grateful for my dark clothing, I took off, unnoticed, adjusting my course. The temptation to go to Catherine's and smooth things over with them first was great, but I wasn't sure exactly how to get back there and, more importantly, it was rather late to show up at their doorstep again.
So, instead, I was aiming toward home and what was no doubt going to be an argument with my dad. But for some reason, part of me worried that there wasn't going to be one. Part of me was afraid that when I got home, there wouldn't be a single word said, just a silence that would speak volumes in itself. I honestly didn't know which one I wasn't looking forward to more.
I dropped into a park not far from home, landing in the middle of a cluster of old trees before walking slowly, reluctantly toward the house. No one disturbed me as I followed the road and made the turn onto our street. My dad's truck was in its usual place, so I knew I wasn't going to get the opportunity to avoid this by having him out, letting me pretend to be asleep when he came back.
Stopping a few houses down from ours, I bit my lip as I hesitated. Unbidden, my foresight triggered, playing out several options in turn as my thoughts flickered between action and inaction. I could find a place easily enough. I had the money and with my precognition and ability to read minds, I could easily find a hotel that would let me stay the night. Even a good one, regardless of what Vicky said. Multiple nights even. Money was not an issue that I was likely ever going to have as long as I was careful. I could avoid this entire situation, come back when I knew he wouldn't be here and get some things. Like my costume. Wait till I knew how to handle this so it wouldn't blow up in my face anymore.
The option of going forward played out as well. I couldn't see the present or the past, as far as I was aware, despite that weird moment at the boardwalk, so until I actually entered the house and confronted him it was impossible to say what he had been doing since walking out at the meeting. I shifted my feet against the concrete of the sidewalk, uncertain which way to go.
I was frozen by indecision, eyes clenching shut as I focused and probed my own future. Looking forward, he was there sitting silently in the living room. But at the same time, he was brooding over my costume in the kitchen. My visions
splintered like never before. Where I could once follow a thread of thought or a set of action and consequence through several choices if I pushed myself, now the uncertainty I felt shattered the possibilities like glass.
My thoughts swirled and a surge of pain hammered against the inside of my skull as my visions of reality continued to fracture, bringing up more and more options until I braced myself and willed it to stop. When I opened my eyes, I found myself leaning heavily against a wall. My heart and breath were racing, while I was drenched in a cold sweat. The pain was gone, but the impressions of a dozen different possibilities remained.
I waited until my breathing calmed before hesitantly moving away from the wall, trying to make sense of everything. Normally, there was a sense of perfect detail, of clarity. But everything had rushed past so quickly that nothing was clear. I was left with impressions and I took a deep breath before reaching out toward them, focusing not on the possible but the certain.
Splinters of the future slipped out of my hands as I closed in, until ultimately only one remained as it tracked myself into the house, where my father sat with his back to me at the kitchen table. There was
something in front of him, but while I couldn't tell what it was, I could tell what it wasn't. And it wasn't my costume.
That, at least, was some form of relief. I could go in to face this argument or whatever with at least one thing still a definite secret. I took a step forward, letting the sequence play out a bit more in my head. Perhaps I could find out what it was he was looking at. I grimaced as I saw myself entering the house, but my dad's arms were across whatever it was. Papers, it looked like, but I couldn't tell anything more than that.
I cancelled the vision, not wanting to deal with the headache that was threatening to return with faint pinpricks of would-be pain. Dad wasn't moving so I guess I was going to have to find out what the papers were the regular way. I sighed and started toward the house, having put this off long enough.
The front porch, for once, made little sound as I reached the front door. It wasn't locked, for which I was thankful and I went inside quietly. My backpack settled on the steps upstairs with a thought and I walked past them toward the kitchen, where I knew my dad to be. I stopped in the kitchen entryway, staring at his back for a moment as he shifted, undoubtedly aware of my presence.
"Sit down, Taylor," he said without looking or turning around. "We need to talk, I think."
I walked past to the refrigerator and got a bottle of juice out. "About what?"
"Today," he said and I didn't need precog or telepathy to feel the hesitation from him. "And other things."
"I don't see that there's much to talk about," I replied. "You weren't keen on talking earlier, remember? When you left me alone to be interrogated by the Protectorate?"
"That was.. I was… upset," he began. "I shouldn't have done that."
"And I likely shouldn't have said what I did," I answered with a shrug. "I did and you did, though, so it doesn't matter what we should have done, only what we did."
"Taylor," my dad said and I turned finally to look at him, my eyes drifting to the papers that he still had covered with his hands. "Is what Armsmaster told me true? Are you a cape?"
I finished the juice bottle and tossed it in the garbage. "Didn't you already hear the truth from Armsmaster? I assumed you had a long talk with him before you showed up with your ambush earlier."
"He's concerned about you, Taylor," he said. "So am I, for that matter."
"That was a funny way to show it," I snapped, then shook my head. "What did he even tell you? Had to be
something that got you in there."
My dad's expression tightened. 'Yes. He...he told me that you were a Parahuman. Not just a parahuman, but that you were already out as a cape. Even gave me a voice recording of you as...Siren? Silan? I heard it and I knew it was you..."
"Sirin," I corrected, grimacing. No wonder he hadn't pulled my costume out then. "Well, there you go. Armsmaster has told you everything already and you have an answer."
"No, he hasn't, and I don't," my dad said, his voice rising slightly. "How did this happen, Taylor? When did this happen?"
I froze for a moment, before choking back a sour laugh behind the palm of my hand. "You really need to ask that?
When? Of course.
Of course. You wouldn't have a clue would you? Can't even guess..."
"How could I?" he demanded. "You never talk about anything!"
"Neither do you!" I retorted, fists clenched at my sides as I stared at him. "That's part of the whole problem! You've completely
forgotten how. And you expect me to talk?"
My dad fell silent, lacking a reply to that and I let the silence stand, taking the opportunity to calm myself as I felt my temper spiking.
"You're right," he finally said. "I don't know how to talk to you any more, Taylor." He glanced down at the table and my eyes followed to the papers he had there. His hands shifted and the logo of the Protectorate became visible. I frowned at it and gave the papers a tug with my telekinesis, shifting them a bit more.
"You might not know how to talk to me," I said, the word almost a snarl as the title of the papers became clear. "But I guess you know someone who does, huh? Application for Wards entry, really?"
His voice was firm as he moved his hands to show the papers. "This is the best thing, Taylor. They can help you."
"Help me?" I repeated, a bitter edge to my voice. "How? Convince me to work alongside people who would do things to me like Sophia did? To deal with all of that again?"
"Deal with what, Taylor?" he demanded. "How am I supposed to make a decision when I don't know everything, much less
anything? You're right that I don't know what to do. They do. And at least with them, I can feel as if I'm doing the right thing in keeping you safe."
"Safe? This isn't safe, this is you wanting to feel like you're doing something!" I snapped, almost shouting. "You've made up your mind already, haven't you? What I want doesn't even figure!"
"This is safer than what you've been doing!" he countered. "Going out alone, with no one to back you up! Not telling
anyone!"
"I did tell someone!" I fired off, unwilling to back down. "I just didn't tell
you."
His expression darkened. "Yes. You didn't tell me. I don't know if you ever intended to. And that's the problem. At least the Wards will. Maybe then I can understand what's happening."
I stared at him, stunned, as the meaning of his words sunk in. "You're going to sign those, to make me join the Wards."
"You need help, Taylor," he insisted. "I can't give that. They can."
I shook my head, biting back a retort that would have sounded childish. "I don't get any input, then?"
He stared at me. "I wasn't aware that decisions about my daughter's safety were something that I had to open for discussion."
"It is when it's to force me to do something I already told them no about!" I shouted. "You can sign those all you want, bu-"
The look on his face was stony as he cut me off with a shake of his head while crossing his arms. "But for once, I can do the right thing. I can do
something now which I should have long ago. No matter if you like it or not. It might be late for me to try, but as your parent, this is something I think I
have to do," His expression softened, and I was almost taken back by the sudden lack of aggression. "Please Taylor. Don't fight this. I just...I just don't want to lose you."
I could feel the emotions flashing across my face, matching the ones I was feeling both from myself and my father.Just....too many to handle. But anger, even dulled, was the strongest. I distantly noticed that all the heat in my voice had been replaced with a calm, icy tone. It wasn't an accusation, or even hostile. Somewhere, I knew it was just an admittance. "Yes. I suppose if anything, you're late to trying."
I turned away, starting toward the hall. I didn't even need to see as I
reached out to the hiding spot in my room. The door banged open an instant later and I caught my costume before it would have hit me in the face.
"What are you doing?" my dad asked, shock clear in his voice at the display of my powers as my bag flew into my hand and I carelessly shoved the costume in and zipped it closed. "Taylor?"
"I'm sorry, Dad," I said, starting toward the front door. He clearly had figured out what I was doing as he came out of the kitchen, trying to move past me to block the exit. I didn't even slow down, simply blocking him with a telekinetic wall.
"Taylor, what…" he began, realizing he couldn't move forward. "Taylor!"
I pulled the door open. "I'll be back, maybe, after I've had some time to think." He was saying something, but I tuned him out as I walked through the door. Six steps forward and I was clear of the porch and airborne, letting the wall holding back my father vanish. I glanced down to see my dad coming out, but I was already well out of reach. But the sad look on his face as I rose into the air pulled at my heart even as I kept going.
~~~~~~~~
"Understood," Armsmaster said, wincing at the distinctly unhappy voice almost yelling in his ear. "No, I do understand, Mr. Hebert. I'll see what I can do." The line disconnected and he guided his motorcycle to a stop. Miss Militia brought her own motorcycle to a halt beside his, glancing his way with an inquisitive tilt to her head.
"Hebert," he said shortly, a sour note to his voice. "Her father's decision apparently did not sit well at all and she, and I quote, flew off."
Miss Militia frowned, even as she looked up the street ahead. "I'm still a bit surprised myself that you were right, but you feel responsible, don't you?"
"This is exactly the scenario I wanted to avoid," he grimaced. "Now we have an angry, disillusioned teenage girl with powers somewhere in the city. Which could, in fact, be anywhere since she can apparently
fly too."
"You're certain she was telekinetic?" Miss Militia asked, looking thoughtful.
"The door moved with no visible input from her," he replied. "It was a logical conclusion. Mr. Hebert said she prevented him from stopping her using some sort of invisible wall," Behind his visor, his eyebrow hitched. "Why do you ask?"
Similarly, she smiled from behind her costume. Albeit he couldn't see her mouth, he was familiar enough with her to see the signs. "Well, it sounds like you intend to try and find her. I believe having an estimate of her abilities, considering it sounds as if she is in less than an open mood seems wise. So a telekinetic, or some sort of projected force-field?"
There was a moment of silence as Armsmaster considered her statement, before nodding. "There is also a thinker aspect as well, but I am uncertain of what it is. It seems to be related to gathering information, but that is all I know."
Miss Militia took a moment to be silent herself. "Given that your conversation suggested that she is likely to respond negatively, should we have a squad standing by if she becomes hostile?"
He shook his head, the motion sharp and frustrated. "No. This has already gotten out of control. The last thing we should do now is have a squad nearby. If she picks up on it, she'll definitely turn hostile. Damnit, I wanted to give her time to mull over what we discussed. Her father meant well, but his actions have made this situation more complicated. I expect we'll hear from the Director shortly."
The internal clock built into Armsmaster's armor clicked past precisely three seconds after he said that before the built-in comm came to life with the Director's line. He grimaced and sighed as he accepted the call.
"Director," he answered evenly. "What seems to be the issue?"
"
The Hebert girl," she said, going straight to the point. "
I've looked over the information from her father and listened to the recent call. What is the status on this?"
"You know as much as I do at the moment, Director," he replied, rolling his eyes and glancing toward Miss Militia. "I was preparing to try and track her down when you called."
"
Find her and bring her in, Armsmaster," she said firmly. "
Once the father signs the papers, we're going to have to meet with her anyways. I want her in my office as soon as possible, not tearing about Brockton Bay doing who knows what!"
"As soon as I have a-" he cut off as his display flashed a message that the call had disconnected. "Riveting discussion as always, Director."
"Displeased, is she?" Miss Militia asked.
"To put it mildly," he answered, grimacing yet again. "Assignment is to locate Miss. Hebert and have her in the Director's office as soon as possible," He sighed, before adding "As expected."
"I'm surprised she's still in the office, given the hour," she observed with a frown. "It can't be healthy for her."
"She rejected my latest submission for upgrades to the dialysis machines," he shrugged. "They would have improved things for her by quite a bit. At any rate, you're with me. So, you're a teenage girl on the outs with your father. Where do you go?"
"A friend's house?" Miss Militia offered, then shook her head. "No, she wouldn't want word getting back to her dad. If not a friend, then somewhere she knows. Some place she feels in control. Or, if she's angry, some place she can take it out on. Or someone. She's been out in costume, correct?"
"Twice," he nodded. "Or at least I believe so. Friday night and she was in the company of Glory Girl, then Saturday night she stopped some men ripping off an electronics store. Fairly minor, but I'm certain she was testing herself."
"So, someplace she feels in control or can take out her frustrations on," Miss Militia repeated. "Someone is possible as well."
"To take her frustrations out on," he repeated to himself as he mused for a moment, rolling the words around in his thoughts as he spoke. "It's a long shot, but we do know someplace that was recently trashed…"
"The Boat Graveyard?" she asked. "You think that might have been her?"
"As I said, a long shot," Armsmaster replied. "I'm hoping not, because the amount of damage there…"
Miss Militia simply frowned. "I suppose we should hurry then." He nodded and started forward, her own motorcycle following closely behind.
* * *
The Boat Graveyard lay dark before them and Armsmaster eyed the mass of ships sourly. "Well, there's no signs of anyone trashing it at least. Finding her if she's here brooding might be a chore though."
"I don't think we'll have to look very hard," Miss Militia said and he followed her arm to where she was pointing. There, barely visible except for splashes of color, Taylor Hebert hung in the air.
"Well, now we have to figure out how to get her attention and get her down here to talk to us," he remarked, his systems enhancing the image several times so he was certain it was her. Confirmation was easy enough. She was wearing the same clothes as when he had met with her at the school. But the stillness as she simply stared out across the graveyard didn't give him the highest of hopes.
Instead, he turned to Miss Militia. "It is her. But I don't think I should be the one to approach her."
Miss Militia nodded, but there was a quirk to her eye as she did. "Is this because of the school, or…?"
He paused for a moment, continuing to look up at the distant figure. "Both. If I approach her, there is a high chance that this will simply come apart at the seams. She has a distrust for authority figures and I've already pressured her both directly and apparently indirectly today. If it's me, she will simply refuse to talk to us at best. Actively work against us at worse. If you're the one to approach her, she
might listen."
"And what will you be doing?" she asked, frowning as she tracked the barely noticeable movements of the girl.
"Here, but keeping my mouth shut as much as possible," he said. "It would probably be best if I weren't here at all, but since I am, the best course is if I stay quiet and avoid drawing her attention. The longer, the better the chances you have."
"More and more, I'm thinking that this is a bad idea, you realize?" she told him with a faint grin.
For a moment, he looked like he was about to agree. But ultimately he just shook his head. "Miss Hebert's issue is that she doesn't trust anyone. Everyone is an enemy, either working against her or not helping her at all. And trying to talk to an enemy is rarely a good idea. But getting her to talk and listen is the only option we have to convince her otherwise. All we can do is try to get her to actually think about what we are saying rather than rejecting it out of hand."
Miss Militia looked over at him, a wry smile beneath her bandana. "You should teach more often, I think. It
has done you a world of good. Next time you do, take the paperwork with you."
"Go get her attention," he said gruffly, shifting his stance awkwardly. "I'll be over here out of the way. You can keep doing the paperwork, you're clearly more efficient at it than I am."
"Right," she rolled her eyes and started toward the edge of the dock where the boats were piled against. "Ms. Hebert, could you come down here, please?"
Standing where he was, Armsmaster felt when her attention shifted from whatever she had been contemplating toward them. It was like a palpable weight settling on him and he was struck by the thought that she had likely known they were there the whole time.
Still, she did not turn and leave, instead dropping down until she settled on the ground a short distance away from Miss Militia.
Her arms crossed as a displeased look appeared on her face. "Haven't you contributed enough to today? What do you want now?
Another slice of my life up in flames?"
Miss Militia didn't appear to be fazed by the hostile tone. "We had heard about things not going well, and we, I, wanted to clear the water. This isn't ideal for anyone. The last thing we wanted was to force this."
"Really? Clear the water from what? You getting what you want? Not going to try and sell me what you've already sold my dad about the Wards again?" Taylor snorted bitterly, her gaze flicking toward him for a moment. "I mean, you've already pulled that stunt after I told you I wasn't interested weeks ago. But no is hard to understand, I guess?"
"You're right," Miss Militia said simply.
The girl blinked, a look of almost-stunned surprised flashing on her features before they hardened again. "What?"
"We should have accepted your answer when we spoke after Sophia, even if we didn't know for certain at the time that you were a parahuman," Miss Militia went on. "But there were larger things in play, and your case got caught in the middle."
"You aren't the one who needs to apologize," Taylor said, a flash of heat entering into her voice. "My dad filled in the papers long before I got home. He made his choice. My issues are with the ones who gave them to him in the first place. The one who scared him into this. I said 'No' to the Wards. And
someone decided that meant 'Yes' at some point. The Wards were the
last place I wanted to be. But apparently that was never going to be my choice."
"Taylor," Miss Militia said calmly. "Most capes operating alone don't last long at all. The independent villains are the only known exceptions and that's only because most of them are too small time for the gangs to pay them any attention. I've seen more people like you than I care to think about, teenagers who get powers and go out on their own. More of them die within their first week than I like to think about."
"I know that," Taylor snapped. "I did my research on that much at least. I never planned to go in blind, and I
didn't. I made sure I knew the risks. Made sure that I never went above my head. I was being
careful."
"I'm not saying that you weren't, or that you haven't," Miss Militia said. "The fact is, that operating alone means you have no support network, no one to back you up. It only takes one mistake, Taylor."
Armsmaster frowned as the last exchanged caused the girl's face to twist with another flash of barely concealed anger. Had Militia unintentionally hit on something? But at the same time, he could see that she was
thinking. It was
working. He hoped.
"And the Wards are supposed to be the answer to that?" she countered. "The same program that you told me Sophia could and likely would be forced into? How is what's happening now any different from that?
He used my dad to railroad me into this!" She pointed at Armsmaster, who shifted at the statement, but said nothing.
Miss Militia didn't look in his direction. "Armsmaster took action on his own initiative, yes. This was not the result he intended. He misjudged the situation and none of us were expecting things to play out as they did. He wanted to reach out to help, allow you make the choice. Not force you into this."
"And, what, that makes it alright?" she demanded furiously. "My dad's already made up my mind for me, apparently, so I think you're wasting your time here."
"We don't want to be at odds, Taylor," Miss Militia said evenly. "If you'll be joining th-"
"Don't you mean
when?" Taylor asked snidely, her face flushed.
"We aren't your enemy, Taylor," Miss Militia told her.
"You aren't my friends, either," she snarled. "And even then, I've had enough of them today. So don't try painting this as some altruistic act. That damn bird appeared and suddenly, everyone is paying attention to Winslow, to me. I get powers, and then every single time I turn around someone is dropping bombs on my life. I was at least able to live together with my dad even if it wasn't perfect, and now I can't even do that. All because some
idiot took a match to the sky."
"That is a concern to us," Miss Militia said. "Less of one now that there hasn't been another appearance, but it isn't what has motivated anything that we've done where you are concerned."
"Maybe you are," she said grudgingly, as if the admission cost her something to say. Her hand came up to point at Armsmaster again. "He's more concerned about that damn bird than anything else, though!"
Armsmaster shifted, frowning at the absolute certainty in her voice. It was like during the meeting, when she had figured out he was her teacher. How did she know that was something he had been musing on while Miss Militia made her case?
"Armsmaster and myself are concerned, just like your father is. While we didn't mean for this to happen as it did, we do want to help. We want to fix our misstep and try to get off on a better foot." Miss Militia said firmly.
"You do mean that," Taylor said quietly, a touch of confusion in her voice. "But I don't think you can fix this."
"Unless you let us try," Miss Militia replied gently. "We'll never know whether we can, Taylor."
The underlying hostility in the girl's stance faded and her shoulders slumped slightly. "Fine. What do you want? What is it that we do now?"
"The Director would like to speak with you," Miss Militia told her. "To advise you on expectations, I assume."
Taylor made a face, shaking her head. "Now?"
"That is what she instructed, yes," Miss Militia said.
"Then I suppose we should go," Taylor said, shifting where she stood and turning to look off away from them, her forehead creased slightly. A moment passed and she looked back in their direction, the oddest smile on her face. "I suppose I should hear her out then."
"I don't believe you should accompany us on our motorcycles to the PRT headquarters," Miss Militia said. "Too much of a risk that someone might see your face. You can fly, correct?"
Taylor nodded. "I know where the PRT headquarters is. I can land on the roof or something. It's late enough that no one is likely to see me."
Miss Militia looked toward Armsmaster, who nodded curtly. "That will do. We'll call ahead so that no one attempts to restrain you or attack."
"Whatever," Taylor said. "I'll meet you there." Without another word, she took flight and was gone. Miss Militia stood for a moment, trying to see where the girl had vanished to before turning to Armsmaster.
"We should go," he said. "If her flight speed is anything like those we have on record, she'll be there well before us."
"Agreed," Miss Militia said. "That went better than you were expecting?"
"It did," Armsmaster rumbled. "Though I can't explain the sense of impending doom that I have when I think about her meeting the Director."
"You're being paranoid," she told him with a short laugh. "It won't be that bad."
"We'll assume you're right," he said, mulling over the vacant look Taylor Hebert had before that odd smile. "Either way, let's go." He didn't wait for a response, stepping onto his bike and taking off in a fluid motion. Miss Militia looked around for a moment before following after him.
--
