In which Emma throws Sophia under the bus as hard as parahumanly possible to try and make amends with Taylor. She just wants to be friends again, and... maybe more? Emma has a lot of ground to make up for before Taylor even begins to trust her, but it just might be worth it.
A project on the backburner, will update sporadically.
The doorbell rings and Taylor flinches. She shouldn't have any reason to flinch, but she knows that there's no good reason for the doorbell to ring at this time of day. The mail already came this morning, hours ago, and her dad is the only other person that would come around. He wouldn't ring the bell.
Taylor takes a deep breath and pushes herself off the couch and to her feet. She's shakier than she'd like, but two weeks in the hospital and psych ward will do that to a girl; she'd only gotten out yesterday. She walks to the door with a sense of dread, knowing nothing good can come of a mid-afternoon visitor. She tries to reassure herself that this is a neighbor asking for a cup of sugar, or a busybody door-to-door campaigning for mayor, but the thoughts ring false.
She makes it to the door and open i– Taylor slaps it shut and stumbles into the wall as soon as she catches a shock of red hair. Emma.
What is she doing here? She never came here, she was content to keep the bullying to school – Stupid! Of course Emma would come by to rub it in, of course she wouldn't leave Taylor's home alone forever, of course she would demolish that last vestige of a safe place just as Taylor's at her lowest.
"Taylor?" Emma calls from the other side of the door, voice clothed in condescending worry. "Taylor, I know you're there. I– We need to talk. Can I come in?"
As Taylor panics, hundreds of thousands of blips in her mind writhe. Insects, under her power's control. She'd only learned she wasn't hallucinating them a couple days ago. Taylor heaves in ragged breaths as she tries to push them down, push the iotas of light back into the darkness, tries to ignore the numerous little buggies all around.
"I guess not. That's fair," Emma mutters, barely audible through the door. Louder, "Listen, Taylor, I– I'm sorry."
Taylor sinks to the floor, sliding down along the wall. She buries her head between her knees in a useless attempt at blocking out Emma's voice.
"I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to be like this," Emma continues on. "She was never supposed to go that far. She told me she wouldn't. She said if I did what she said, she wouldn't have a reason to go after you like that. Please, Taylor, you have to believe me when I say I didn't know about the locker."
Emma sounds genuine. Taylor wishes she didn't. She wishes it was easier to tell when the other girl was lying. The only thing she can rely on to navigate that is the knowledge that Emma is lying, because she must be lying. What she's saying makes no sense.
"I didn't. I didn't know about it. She said we were done with you. She told me she was happy, that we didn't need to go any further. If I knew, I wouldn't have let you– I would have told you, or told someone. I–"
Emma stops talking to shiver audibly. It's January.
"T-taylor, are you there?" Emma asks. She sounds distraught, almost in tears. "Taylor, please, I– I don't know what to do. I don't know where else to go. Please, Taylor, I need you. I can't– I don't– I–" She sobs.
Emma… sobs.
Taylor stares at the door, tries to stare through it, tries too hard and is hit by a headache. She winces and grits her teeth, then forces herself onto her feet, clawing at the wall to get there. It's a trap. Taylor knows this is a trap, somehow. It has to be. There's no way Emma would show up at her door begging for help – The old Emma wouldn't have to beg, and the new one would rather die than reach out with anything gentler than a knife.
"She's going to kill you," Emma wimpers through the door, her voice coming from lower than before. She's on her knees?
Taylor doesn't know what to do. She should call the police or her dad, but that wouldn't help. Not against Emma. Not for Taylor. She should go upstairs and ignore Emma, but then she might break in. She should grab the baseball bat from the kitchen and beat the snot out of Emma, but she definitely shouldn't do that.
She could run. Taylor could go out the back door and leave. But then what? Emma's shown she's willing to come to Taylor's house, so why wouldn't she come back? Running wouldn't fix anything. Calling for help, hiding, running, fighting: none of those will do anything other than maybe get Taylor arrested.
She– She has to confront this, head on. Taylor throws open the door and snarls, "Get the fuck a–"
Only for her voice to seize when she actually sees Emma, on her knees, tears streaming down splotchy, red cheeks. Her makeup isn't running, because she's not wearing any. Taylor hasn't seen Emma without at least some makeup on in almost four years. Her hair is limp and oily, like she hasn't shampooed in a week, and her clothes are closer to what Taylor would wear: a sweatshirt and unattractive jeans, both obviously nicer than anything Taylor owns, but not the standout, trendy, fashionable sort that Emma trends toward.
All of that has far less of an impact on Taylor than Emma's swollen, black-and-purple-bruised eye. It's ugly, wholly and fully hideous in a way that doesn't at all line up with what Emma should look like.
"Emma, what?" is all Taylor can find in herself to say.
Emma shakes and sobs instead of answering, and Taylor has even less of an idea of what to do than before. For a while, maybe a minute, she just dumbly stands there and watches Emma cry on her knees on her front porch. She looks up and around, and doesn't see anyone else on the street: no Sophia, no sycophants, no camera crew, no family. Nothing. As impossible as it is to believe, Emma is here alone.
Against her better judgement, Taylor doesn't just shut the door and go back to the living room to finish her book. Instead, she reaches a trembling– She takes a breath and does her best to still her hand's shaking, and then reaches out to lay it on Emma's shoulder.
Emma flinches.
Emma never flinches.
Feeling adrift, Taylor finds herself taking pity on the bitch. "Come on, get inside," she hears herself say.
Emma pushes herself to her feet and tries to compose herself, sniffling and wiping her face with her sleeve and staining it snotty. She follows Taylor inside, her eyes downcast, and Taylor shuts the door behind her. Taylor keeps an eye on Emma as they go to the living room and sit: Taylor on the couch, Emma in the chair. Taylor feels like she should get Emma some tissues, or a glass of water, or something, but she doesn't. Emma doesn't deserve that. She's already gotten more pity than she deserves.
"Wh–" Taylor's voice cracks. She winces, expecting a round of mocking. When none comes, she clears her throat and tries again. "Why are you here?"
In a tiny voice, Emma replies, "I didn't know where else to go."
Taylor grits her teeth. "You said that already. That doesn't answer my question. Why are you here? What are you talking about? Why would you think I'd want to hear about whatever you're crying about, much less help you?"
Emma flinches with every sentence, curling into herself until she's miserably tiny looking. "I… Fine," she says. "Don't help me, but please just listen?"
Taylor says nothing, and Emma takes that as permission to talk.
"It's– It's Sophia. She's crazy."
"She's not the only one." Justified as Taylor feels for that snipe, she can't help but frown at how Emma shrinks further into herself from it. She feels like a bully, which is all sorts of complicated that she's not capable of dealing with at the moment, or maybe ever.
"I'm sorry," Emma says. "I never meant to… I didn't want things to be like this, but I didn't have a choice."
Taylor snarls and stands, but before she can call bullshit, Emma shouts over her,
"She was going to kill my family!"
and Taylor's stunned back into her seat. "What?"
"Sophia. She said if I didn't do what she said, she'd kill my family and then– and then… you. I was trying to keep you safe."
"Fat lot of good you did there."
Emma winces. "I know. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to go this far. She promised me you'd be fine but–"
They both hear the unsaid, but you're not fine.
"Why should I believe any of this crap?" Taylor snarls. "If Sophia's threatening your family, why didn't you call the cops? You had a year and a half to do it, and instead you, what? Went along with everything she told you to do? What the hell sort of excuse do you th–"
"Shadow Stalker!" Emma interrupts.
Taylor blinks. "Come again?"
"Sophia is Shadow Stalker," Emma repeats. Her eyes plead desperately for Taylor's understanding. "I would have gone to the PRT, but they can't hold her. She can move through anything. If I snitched, she'd know, and she'd kill everyone. Dad, Mom, Anne, you, and me."
"But… she's a hero," Taylor counters weakly, mostly just reeling from the news.
"No," Emma says, shaking her head solemnly. Her one visible eye full of terror. "She is not a hero."
"She's a Ward. They wouldn't let a Ward…" She can't finish the sentence. Too much is falling into place now: the particulars of some of the bullying, why no one bothered to help, Emma's abrupt personality shift.
"I got her to join the Wards," Emma says, like every word is another stone in her lungs.
Taylor can only stare at her, confusion writ across her face.
"She was getting too much heat from the empire, so I convinced her to play it safe and join. I thought – hoped – they would get her under control, or move her to a new city, or she'd let slip what a monster she is and they'd take her down, but–" Emma chokes up. She can't continue. She doesn't need to.
"She joined in November," Taylor states numbly.
There's too much info to take in, and every bit of it is a world shattering revelation, dominoing on a galactic scale into the heat death of Taylor's feelings. The two sit in the quiet. Taylor tries to process, and Emma tries to stop her hand from shaking. Taylor takes a breath, and pushes the information into a box in her head. She can process later, after she's gotten the full story.
"It happened while I was at camp, didn't it?" Taylor asks. "That's when you and Sophia met, right?"
Emma nods.
"How?"
Emma takes a visible breath, and then recounts the story of the alley, how she and Uncle Alan were ambushed by the ABB and Emma was almost mutilated.
"And then I looked up, looking for some sort of escape, and I saw Shadow Stalker, sitting on the roof of the car. Just… watching. She had her crossbow and a knife, but she just sat there and watched as they pressed a knife to my face and– and she– and they– I didn't– I just–"
Emma's words cut off with a plaintive wail as she expunges the memory. Taylor can only watch as the girl she once called a sister falls apart over something from over a year ago. She's never seen Emma cry this much before, not when she came in second in Junior Miss Brockton Bay, not when she broke her leg and had to skip Halloween, not ever. She reminds Taylor of Taylor, after her mom died, but at least then Taylor had Emma. The only person Emma has had is Sophia. Taylor started to get better before everything with Emma fell apart, but Emma never had a chance to do more than pretend.
Taylor so fiercely wants to comfort her, but she can't. She stays rooted in place as she watches the outpouring of pain. Even now, with Emma so rawly opened and bleeding, Taylor can't trust it. She keeps looking for how Emma's going to turn this on her and use it to hurt her. She can't figure it out, but she keeps looking.
Eventually, Emma quiets. She's brought her feet onto the chair so she can wrap her arms around her knees and she stares at nothing in particular. Taylor can't stand it. She can't bring herself to reach out and offer comfort, but she can't just sit there either.
She gets up, goes to the kitchen, and fills a glass of water for Emma. At the same time, she grabs one of those blips of light in her consciousness – a fly – and lands it on Emma's head. If she tries something while Taylor's in the other room, if this whole thing was some weird trap to get access to her living room, Taylor will know.
Emma does nothing. She doesn't so much as twitch until Taylor returns to the living room and prompts her to take the water. She takes it, stares at it for a moment, then drains it. Taylor sits back down. Emma finishes the water but keeps the glass in hand, spinning it in her hands slowly. For a while, there's only heavy silence. Then,
"She gave you that black eye, didn't she?" Taylor guesses.
Emma nods. "I tried talking to her yesterday. I told her the locker was too far, that you could have seriously died. That that wasn't the deal."
"The deal?" Taylor asks. "What deal?"
"Sophia and I made a deal. She said I owed her, and she wanted to be friends." Emma shudders. "But she–"
"That doesn't make any sense," Taylor challenges, trying to catch the lie. "Why would you owe her if all she did was watch?"
"She fought off the gangsters after she watched. She wanted to see if I was a– a predator or prey. When I saw she wasn't going to do anything, I screamed and clawed at the…" She takes and lets out a wet breath. "Then she jumped in and beat the shit out of them. She followed me and Dad home after that. She wanted to be my friend. She wanted to be my only friend. When I told her about you, when I said you were my best– my best friend, she said she'd 'take care of you.'
"Then I made a deal. In exchange for her not killing you, I had to break our bond. I had to make it so we could never be friends again. And then I saw you walking down the sidewalk. I thought if I was mean enough, you'd take your ride to Arcadia and we could be done and you would be safe, but… but you still came to Winslow, and Sophia, she said I had to drive you off, prove to her that I was her friend. She said that if you really weren't my friend, I wouldn't care if she pushed you around, or if we called you names, or any of the other horrible things we did to you. It wasn't supposed to be like that, she was supposed to stop, but she never stopped so I couldn't stop or she'd kill you, just for me not hating you! And then… then the locker. She told me we were just going to ruin your locker, but then she pushed you in and–"
"Stop," Taylor whispers.
"And you were screaming and begging and I wanted to help but I was scared if I did, Sophia would do something even worse."
"Stop, Emma," Taylor grinds.
"But then you went quiet and– and I thought you'd died in there and– and that it was my fault because I couldn't keep Sophia in check or–"
"SHUT UP!" Taylor shouts. "Shut. Up."
Emma flinches and stares at Taylor with wide eyes, terrified of… terrified of Taylor. She stares at Taylor like she thinks she might get hit, or worse. The anger falls out of Taylor at the sight. She'd never seen Emma scared like this. The girl in front of her is so different from the Emma at school or the Emma from their childhoods. Emma…
For almost a year, Taylor wished that Emma would change back to the girl she knew. That wish was killed by inches, and Taylor thought she'd said goodbye to any hope or want of Emma changing back and making things how they used to be. Things aren't how they used to be. They can't go back.
But Emma changed once. Maybe she's changed again?
Or maybe this is all a ruse. Maybe she'll change again-again, back to bitchiness. As much as Taylor wants this, she can't have it. She can't trust it. This is too easy. Everything Emma's said could be a lie. The black eye could be makeup. The story about the ABB and the alley and Shadow Stalker might– It's a trick. It's a trick to get Taylor to try and out a Ward: a felony. Emma's trying to get Taylor sent to prison!
"I don't care," Taylor says without inflection.
"What?" Emma asks, trying to sound small and pitiful.
"I don't care, Emma. I don't care about your sob story. I don't care why you're here. I don't even care if that black eye is real or not. We're not friends. We're never going to be friends again, because I cannot trust you. I know how good a liar you are, and I don't believe a single word you've said today."
Defeat and despair fall onto Emma's face, and she quickly covers the mask with another mask of stubborn dedication. "Fine. You don't trust me, you don't want to be friends, you don't care about me: fine. That doesn't matter. Just. Just tell me what I can do. Tell me how I can make it up to you or make things right, or at least make things better, please. I'll do anything. I'll fess up, I'll go to the cops, I'll tell everyone everything if that's what you want. Just tell me and I'll do it."
Taylor stares at the begging girl for a long moment. "Get the fuck out of my house."
Emma's face falls. She says nothing more. She stands, moves to the front door, and casts a look back to Taylor. Her mouth opens, and then closes. It opens again.
"The offer's open," she says.
And then she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Taylor locks it, then returns to the living room to peek through the blinds to ensure Emma actually leaves. She walks down the drive, turns onto the sidewalk, and disappears down the road. Only then do Taylor's shoulders fall.
"Fuck," she says with a shake of her head.
Fuck indeed.
This fic is more than it seems. You all know how much I love romantic horror.
Taylor stares at the phone in her hand. she shouldn't call. It's stupid. she puts it back on the wall and returns to her seat. She tries to focus on her book, an encyclopedia of insects, figuring that since bugs are her power, she should know about them. It's dry, even with live specimens in front of her.
She looks back up at the phone. She could call Emma. She shouldn't, but she could. Despite her better judgement, she can't stop thinking about what Emma said the other day, her offer to do anything to make any sort of amends. It's stupid, she has to have been lying. Taylor figured out the ploy, so there's no need to think about it. She should get back to her book – She needs to know this stuff if she's going to be a hero, and she's going to have a lot less time to learn this stuff when she goes back to school on Monday.
She tries and fails to ignore the pressing weight of that particular countdown. School is going to be miserable. Nothing is going to change because no one is willing to help.
...no one except Emma. Allegedly.
Taylor heaves a big sigh and stands back up to approach the phone. It's a bad idea. There's no way this will actually amount to anything, but at least when it doesn't she'll know. She dials the number she knows by heart. She learned it as a jingle that she can't help but sing in her head as she presses the buttons.
It starts to ring.
On the fourth, someone picks up.
"Hello?"
"Uh. Hey, Aunt Zoe."
"Taylor? Oh my goodness it's been so long! How are you?"
"Im uh." She hadn't planned on talking to anyone other than Emma, but she should have known Zoe would pick up; Emma's at school right now. "Im alright."
"Yeah? That's good. You've always been one to bounce back. Emma told me about your trip to the hospital the other week."
"Ah- oh? She did?"
"She visited, but you weren't... well, you know."
Taylor trembles at the idea of Emma visiting her while she was unconscious or in the psych ward. She needs to be done with this phone call.
"It's good to talk to you," Taylor says, "but I'm kind of busy with uh. Physical therapy? I should get back to that, but could you maybe get Emma to call me when she gets home from school today?"
"Of course, dear. And let me know if you need anything else. No matter what, I'm here for you."
If that were true, she would have checked in at some point in the last year and a half. "Okay. I uh, bye. Thanks."
And then Taylor hangs up. She lets out a whoosh of air and collapses back into her chair. Unexpected and awkward as it was, it was nice to talk to aunt zoe. As complicated and painful as Taylor's relationship with Emma has become, the rest of the Barneses have always been nothing but good to Taylor.
And their lives are in danger. They might die, if Emma's being honest, if Sophia is Shadow Stalker, if she actually threatened them, if if if: nothing but ifs, ands, and maybes. Taylor hated it. She hates the uncertainty and the elusive danger. She hates not knowing what to do.
She had a plan to be a hero: figure out her powers, put together a costume, fight crime and maybe some low level villains, impress the Protectorate, and then join them when she's 18. But if Sophia's a Ward, if what happened to Taylor happened under the PRT's watch, how can she even think to join their sister organization? Maybe they don't know, but they should.
It's all too complicated, too much, too heavy, and Taylor cant go snooping to try and figure it out because trying to unmask a Ward is a felony, and if Sophia catches her out, she'll kill Taylor, powers or no. Or at least beat her half to death and leave her in an alley for someone else to finish off. And Taylor wouldn't be able to fight back without a different, equally bad felony falling on her shoulders: assault with a parahuman ability. Most likely both would happen; Taylor would sic bugs on Sophia, and then, because they're only bugs, Sophia would kick her ass.
She just... Taylor needs to know something. She needs to be sure of one thing so she can at least begin to sort out this pile of shit. She needs to know that Emma's full of shit. She needs to confirm Emma's a lying liar who was lying the whole time. If she can be sure of that, she can be sure the rest of what she said was just as fake.
A couple hours pass as Taylor studies her insects and book and tests her power, confirming its perfect and absolute control of her thralled insects, the range of a couple blocks, and her ability to make them fly in dizzyingly complex patterns.
The phone rings, and Taylor's eyes snap to it. School is out. That's Emma. It can't be anyone else. No one else has a reason to call, unless Winslow is calling to tell her she's expelled for some reason or another. Honestly, she would prefer that, as disappointed as her mom would be.
The phone finishes ringing before Taylor can find her feet. She waits for it to ring again, intending to actually answer it this time, but it doesn't. She waits for almost five minutes and it doesn't ring again. Taylor doesn't know what to think about that.
She stands, takes the phone, and dials the well-worn number again. Before the first ring ends, someone picks up.
"Taylor?" Emma asks.
Taylor swallows. "Emma."
A faint sigh is heard on the other end. "Mom said you called? You wanted to talk?"
"Yeah, I..." Taylor wishes she'd prepared what to say. She thought she knew what to say, but already her words are failing her. "You said you'd stop it."
"...I did, yeah."
"Then make it stop."
"I... okay. What do you want me to do?"
"Why are you asking me?" Taylor snarls. "If I knew how to fix this, I would have done it myself. Just, fix it. Or don't. Then at least I'll know you're full of shit."
Emma is quiet for a long moment, long enough that Taylor checks to see if the call is still ongoing or if Emma had somehow hung up without a dial tone. Finally, "You… think I might not be?"
Taylor grits her teeth at the obvious taunt. "Don't think for a second I actually believe you. I'm just proving you're full of it."
"Okay, okay," Emma hurries to say. The smile that carries on her words makes Taylor want to slap her, distance be damned. "How… how can I prove I'm not?"
"Again: why are you asking me? Just… fix it. Make the bullying stop."
"I want to."
"Then do it."
"I… can't. It's not up to me, I can't–"
Taylor hangs up. Emma said she'd do anything, and now she says she'll do nothing. It's a waste of time. She sits back down and focuses on her book. She'll deal with Emma and Sophia at school, same as… same as always.
The phone rings. Taylor lets it. She tries to ignore the nausea worming in her gut.
It rings again. Taylor clenches her eyes and ignores it. She tries to forget about the possible way out of the hell that is Winslow.
It rings a third time, and Taylor gives in. She answers the phone.
"What?" she demands of Emma.
"I'm sorry," Emma blurts out. "I'm sorry, I want to help, I just– I don't know how. Taylor, please, I'm not good at making decisions. Just look at what I did to you. I was trying to protect you and I almost got you killed! I don't make good decisions. I just– I need you to tell me what to do, tell me how to help, tell me what you want and I swear I'll do it. I don't trust myself to know what to do."
She sounds as pitiful as she did when she was here the other day. Taylor still isn't sure what to make of that. It has to be a ploy, right? It has to be. That's why Taylor called Emma, to prove that. She can play along for another bit to prove it.
"What even can you do?" Taylor asks. "You already said you can't go to the PRT, and if she really is Shadow Stalker, you can't fight her, and I know you're not going to fess up and go down with her, so what are you even calling for? You say you'll do anything, but we both that's a lie. So why are you wasting my time?"
There's another long pause as Emma no doubt tries to think of a way through this, to keep the lie going. A minute passes in silence. Taylor almost hangs up, content to know it's all bullshit – She would be disappointed if she had any belief it could be otherwise. But then Emma says, at the last second before Taylor loses her patience,
"I'll do it. I'll fess up. I'll come clean to the PRT, the police, the school board, my parents: whoever."
"Wh– What?"
"If you think that's what I should do< I'll do it. I'll tell them everything. I… I don't know if it'll be enough, but I have a bit of leverage over Sophia. It should get the PRT to at least listen, and if I'm the one confessing to what we did to you, then they'll have to believe me, right?"
Taylor moves the phone away from her ear to stare at it. It doesn't look broken. Emma's words don't make sense, but… they could just be yet another lie. She still hasn't proven she's not just spouting lie after lie. She puts the phone back in place against her face.
"Fine. Do it," Taylor says, feeling tired and done with this.
"Okay. Okay, I'll do it," Emma promises, sounding relieved to have direction.
"Sure. We'll see."
Taylor hangs up. This time, the phone doesn't ring again, and she's allowed peace and quiet to fill the rest of the day as she distracts herself with soured dreams of heroism.
Huh. Interesting… obviously this isn't going to be a cut and dried solution. Still firmly on the rails here, and I can't quite see how it's going off them yet. Still, color me intrigued! Looking forward to doing where this goes.
Quietly and suddenly, everything changes for Taylor. She's called in to the principal's office when she gets in on Monday, but instead of Blackwell, superintendent Hughes sits in the office and informs Taylor that Blackwell has been fired and is under review for all that went on under her supposed watch. He tells her that Sophia and Emma are gone and the bullying dealt with, and assures her that if anyone gives her trouble, they will be harshly reprimanded.
True to the superintendent's word, Sophia is gone. Emma too. Most of the other girls don't so much as look at her, and those that do do so with suspicious, worried, scared expressions. By contrast, the teachers watch her like hawks, intensely enough to discomfort Taylor.
Nothing happens all day. Not so much as an insult reaches her ears all day. Even with the looming dread that breaches the surreality Taylor feels, it's the best day she's had at school in months.
It's beaten out by the next day, and then the day after as well. It's quiet all week, and with every day that passes, the dread and the surreality dim. Taylor's not stupid enough to let her guard down, of course. She remembers how calm and quiet things became after Thanksgiving. After Shadow Stalker publically joined the Wards. But the first week passes, and the next one starts, and there's no sign of Sophia or Emma returning.
Taylor wants to ask. She wants even more to not jinx it.
Luckily, she doesn't have to ask. Before her second Thursday back at school, she gets a call from Emma. Taylor still tenses at the sound of Emma's voice, but gets through the girl asking her to meet up so they can talk. She doesn't owe it to Emma to hear her out. She doesn't owe Emma anything. If anything, Emma owes her. Taylor doesn't agree to meet up because she feels like she owes it to Emma, she agrees to meet up because she wants to know what Emma did to affect so much change so immediately.
So she sets a meeting and decides the when and where: today at five, in the Ocean Grind coffee shop downtown. Emma asks if they can push it back some, and of course Taylor says no, unwilling to give even the smallest concession. She hangs up, and the day passes in an anxious haze as Taylor tries to find the double cross, only to second guess whether there is one at all. As hard as it is to admit, Emma's been straight with her since their conversation in the living room.
Taylor gets to the coffee shop at four thirty, orders a cup of hot tea, and then waits. She sips her tea and keeps an eye out for Emma's distinctive red hair and fashionable clothes. Five o'clock comes and there's no sign of her. Five fifteen comes and goes, and just when Taylor's getting fed up waiting, a brunette in a BBU sweatshirt slides into the booth across from her, breathing heavily, like she'd just jogged.
"Can I help y–" Taylor starts to ask, only to be shocked into silence as she recognizes the face under the messy brown hair.
"Sorry I'm late, I got here as soon as I could," Emma explains.
"Emma?"
"Hey." The former redhead gives a tiny smile, but it dies almost as soon as it appears.
"Hey…" This is already not going at all like Taylor expected.
"I tried to get here on time, but the alternative school doesn't let out until four thirty and I just… I'm sorry, that doesn't matter."
"Alternative school?" Taylor questions. "They expelled you?"
Emma blinks. "Yes? Did they not tell you?"
"Not really. Superintendent Hughes just said you and Sophia were 'gone.' She's not… with you, is she?"
"No. No, Sophia's gone-gone." Emma blanches. "Not like, dead gone. She's in juvie, is what I meant."
"How?" Taylor asks. "What did you do?"
Emma hesitates and glances around. Taylor had chosen a booth in the corner away from anyone else. They're alone, and when Emma's assured herself of such, she says, "The reason I believed for a fact that she would kill my family or one of us was because she has killed before. I only knew about three, but there had to have been more. I knew where the bodies were."
"You told the PRT that?" Taylor asks.
"Yeah. I told them where to find the bodies, I showed them Sophia's texts bragging about it, I showed them everything I could to get her put away. And it worked," Emma says with a weakly relieved smile that doesn't last. "She's gone for at least a couple of years. I don't know what'll happen to her after, but if she gets out… If she gets out, she'll go after me first. She knows I'm the only one who could have ratted her out. So I'm your canary, okay? If I die or disappear, it's her, and you need to hide. Get away and stay alive until they bring her in again. Hopefully she'll go to the birdcage after, but…" Emma shakes her head.
Taylor nods, slowly. "Is that what you wanted to tell me?"
Emma blinks and then shakes her head. "No, it's… Here."
She reaches over and opens her bookbag, and Taylor tenses, expecting something she can't even name: a bottle of juice to pour on her, a stack of embarrassing photos to pass around the shop, a knife to stab Taylor with. They all seem ridiculous when she thinks of them, but she can't put it past Emma. But instead of anything suspicious or malicious, she pulls out a case and sets it on the table. It's a very familiar case.
Emma slides the improbably case across the table to Taylor, who lays a hand on it as she stares wide-eyed at it. She has a hard time trying to open it, not because it's locked, but because he knows what should be inside, but she knows just as well that it's impossible. Her mom's flute was destroyed, desecrated, and disappeared. It can't be here. Then again, maybe Emma's stuffed the case full of literal shit and is just rubbing it in.
Taylor opens it. It's pristine. For a moment Taylor thinks Emma got her a regular, new flute as some sort of weak apology, but no, it has her mother's name engraved in it: Annette Rose Evans. Taylor pets her mother's flute with a featherlight finger, just to prove it's real.
"How?" she asks.
"I uh. Sophia wanted to throw it in the bay after we were done with it, but I convinced her to let me hold on to it. I told her I was going to mail you a couple pieces to rub it in. She liked that idea."
Taylor can only stare at the good-as-new flute. It's not sullied or wrecked, and if Taylor had any skill whatsoever she would put it together and test it out. She decides to do that when she gets home – She's going to learn how to play this while she can.
"I would have given it back sooner, but… you saw what happened. I couldn't just, you know, give it back like that." She pushes a strand of her hair back behind her ear: a nervous gesture. She's so openly uncertain, it's putting Taylor off balance. "The repair shop just finished it yesterday. I got it done as a rush order to try and… I don't know. Make it up to you? But I know I can't. I know I can't make things right. But…"
Emma trails off, unable to find the end to that sentence. She's right. She can't make things right. She can't make the year of bullying up to Taylor. But… this is a start. Even if it's an unreachable goal, this is a good fourth or fifth step towards it.
Wary of jealous eyes, Taylor closes the case, sets it beside her in the booth, and swallows. "Thank you, Emma."
Those three words make Emma grin, nearly. Even if she ducks her head to downplay it, Taylor knows Emma too well to miss the rest of her body language. Just those three words got rid of so much tension the other girl was carrying. Taylor isn't sure what to make of that. She's finding herself unsure of a lot of things around Emma.
"It's the least I could do," Emma says. She's right. "Winslow's better now, right? No one's giving you any trouble?"
"It's uh. Fine."
"You sure? You made a weird face."
Immediately Taylor wipes it clean of expression and kicks herself for dropping her guard around Emma. She saw, and now she's… going to… do nothing? There's not really anything she can do. Taylor's not a captive audience any more. If Emma tries something, Taylor can just leave and be done with her forever. She makes herself let her guard back down, just a mite, enough to talk halfway openly.
"Winslow's fine," Taylor says. "It's just weird hearing you ask that, even if you don't really care."
"I care!" Emma snaps desperately. Then she shrinks back. "Sorry. I know you don't believe me, but I do care. I always cared. I wish I didn't, some days, but… you're like a–" She cuts herself off.
Taylor knows what she was going to say, and is glad she didn't. Taylor doesn't know what to say next. It's been months since her last actual conversation with someone. She doesn't know how it works anymore and malformed words keep catching in her throat.
"I am glad it's better," Emma says with a corpse of a smile, preserved for viewing but dead inside. "This whole thing would've been stupid if, I don't know, Madison kept going on you."
"No, she's scared to even look at me, I think. All of them are," Taylor says haltingly. "I think superintendent Hughes scared them straight, or something."
"I hope so. I told the school board about everyone who'd joined in. Maybe they had a private assembly or something."
"Maybe." Taylor sips at her tea. "That would make sense."
"So… uh." Emma tucks her hair behind her ear again. It's so weird seeing such a familiar gesture return after almost two years, and with such different hair. Emma lets out an abortion of a laugh. "I don't really know what else to talk about."
Taylor sips at her tea again and sets a hand on the flute case, just to reassure herself. "Me neither."
"We could just… talk? Maybe? I'd love to just hang out for a bit. I haven't really had a chance to, since… yeah."
"What about your friends?"
Emma blinks. "Taylor. I ratted all of them out to the school board and the cops. I don't have any friends."
It's Taylor's turn to blink.
"Honestly I'm not really sure any of them were really my friends when I was there. We like, hung out, but. I think they were scared of me, at least a little."
Taylor says nothing.
"What?"
"What?"
"You just thought something mean, didn't you?"
Taylor schools her expression again. And then lets the mask come down again because she's not at school, Emma's not trying to hurt her, and there's no malicious prank to be had at her expense, as hard as that is to believe.
"I thought, 'yeah that makes sense.'" She resists the urge to follow that up with an apology. She's not going to apologize to Emma. Whatever insult or offense she throws at her couldn't possibly tip the scales enough to demand one.
Emma doesn't need an apology though – She laughs a sad little laugh. "Yeah, that's fair. I guess it does make sense."
A silence descends upon them. Taylor sips her tea – almost empty – and Emma picks at her cuticles.
"How's uh, alternative school?" Taylor eventually asks.
"It's good," Emma answers.
"Really?"
"...No. It sucks. The teachers are total hardasses, which is probably for the best. Someone got shanked on Tuesday."
Taylor's eyes do not go wide, but it's a near thing.
"Yeah. Metal detectors didn't catch it because it was a sharpened down toothbrush."
"Like in prison?"
"Yeah! It was insane. And then we just went to class and ten minutes later it was like it didn't happen. He's not dead, I checked, but still."
"That…" Taylor isn't sure how to finish her thought. "A lot."
"Yeah. If you thought Winslow was bad, you haven't seen nothing. This is where they send the kids that are too bad for even Winslow."
"Are you… you know. Safe?"
"I'll be fine, don't worry about me. I can get through it. I just have to keep my head down and… I don't know. As much as I hate it, it was so much easier with Sophia. It was stressful and terrifying, but with her at least I only had to worry about her," Emma admits miserably.
Taylor frowns. As much as she'd dreamed of seeing this sort of scene – Emma miserable, remorseful, and at Taylor's mercy – the reality is mostly just uncomfortable. "Maybe I could talk to someone? Get you back into Winslow?"
"You would do that?" Emma asks incredulously. "Why?"
"I… don't know."
After a moment of looking lost, Emma shakes her head fondly. "Thanks, but no. If you said anything, they'd probably assume I was threatening you to do it. Seriously, Tay, you're sweet, but worry about yourself. I can handle me."
Taylor's disturbed. Awkward as the offer was, the Emmas Taylor knew would have jumped on it. It's almost like the girl sitting across the table from her isn't Emma at all: too timid, too considerate, too awkward. But this is definitely Emma, just… a side of her Taylor's never seen before. A side that grew in the shadows of her reign over Winslow's class of 2013. A side that maybe no one has ever seen before.
"If you're sure," Taylor offers again for a reason she can't determine. A test maybe, to see if Emma will jump on it now that it's offered again? Or maybe just words to fill the air.
"I'm sure," Emma says with a sad smile. She changes the subject. "You still read, yeah?"
"Yeah," Taylor answers, suddenly wary again.
"Read anything good lately?" Emma asks. She seems genuine. She seems lonely. She seems desperate for this conversation to continue. Taylor isn't sure how to feel about any of that.
"Yeah, sorta. My dad got me the new Maggie Holt novel for Christmas. I've been reading that."
"Still? It's been like a month since you got it, hasn't it?"
"Well, it's a reread," Taylor defends. Emma nods.
"Gotcha. Yeah, that makes sense. I can't believe they're still coming out with those. What are they up to now, the sixth book? Fifth?"
"Eighth," Taylor corrects.
"Seriously?"
"Have you not been keeping up with them?" Emma used to love them. She and Taylor would spend hours talking about the kinds of practitioners they'd be.
Emma's half-smile falls. "No. Sophia… She didn't really like books. She said they were a waste of time, so… I haven't really read anything in like, a year."
"Oh." Emma was never a voracious reader like Taylor, but she did enjoy it. When they were little, every so often the two girls would just grab a pair of books and read next to each other, or take turns reading aloud from one. It makes Taylor a bit sad to hear Emma was disallowed from reading.
"Has Maggie fought that um… What was she, that big goblin in the first book? The one she made a deal with? What was her name?" Emma asks.
"We don't know it yet. Maggie's been calling her 'the blood, darkness, and fire goblin.'"
"Kind of a mouthful."
"Yeah, I guess."
"So, no big confrontation with her yet?"
"No, that's gonna be in the next and last book, book nine. It's supposed to come out this summer, according to McCrae."
"Huh. I guess I should catch up."
Taylor thinks about letting Emma borrow her copies. "Yeah, maybe."
Emma looks down and squirms a little in her seat.
Taylor finishes her tea. "I should probably get going."
"Already?"
"Yeah, it's starting to get dark."
Emma looks over her shoulder at the early dusky sky visible through the window. "Oh. Okay."
Taylor gathers her things – really just her mom's instrument case and her trash – and stands.
"My mom's supposed to pick me up, maybe she could give you a ride?" Emma offers.
Taylor considers, then dismisses it. She needs to get away and get her head sorted, and talking with her Aunt Zoe would only confuse her more. "Thanks, but I'll just take the bus."
"Oh. Well, uh… I had a good time?"
Taylor feels the case in her hand. "I'm glad we did this."
"Maybe… we could do it again?" Emma asks. Taylor looks for any hint of deception, malice, trickery, subterfuge, or other such unfriendliness, but only sees naked and anxious want on Emma's face.
"...Maybe," Taylor says at length. It's all she can make herself commit to at the moment, but it's at least enough of a not-no for Emma's shoulders to drop an inch with relief.
Taylor leaves before Emma hoists anything else onto the massive pile of things she has to think about, tossing her trash on her way out the door.
She can't make the year of bullying up to Taylor. But… this is a start. Even if it's an unreachable goal, this is a good fourth or fifth step towards it.
Like, this. If a relationship does develop then Taylor could end up trapped in circles by this sort of thing, becoming a sort of controlling/abusive partner above and beyond what might be 'justified'? Especially as the power dynamic is so skewed in her favor now, physically as well as emotionally.
Unless something weird is going on… like, everyone is scared of her which is weird I feel like? Maybe Emma/Sophia fabricated some sort of evidence that Taylor is a cape that needs to be stepped around on eggshells or something to cause it? That's outlandish though… but it does seem weird that no one has talked to Taylor about it aside from the superintendent? And Emma did say don't talk to them further when Taylor offered to try getting her back to Winslow.
I hope Taylor doesn't fall into thinking like that?
"Hey, Shadow Stalker, you have a minute?" Aegis asks as she enters the Ward's base, before she's had time to do more than drop her bag on the table.
"What do you want?" she asks gruffly. She has patrol today, and she's antsy to get out there.
"Miss Militia was asking for you. She's in meeting room D, and wants me to bring you there."
Shadow Stalker pauses. Meeting room D is even more basemented than the Wards' base; it's nicknamed the dungeon because it's near the holding cells the PRT building has. Thus, it's almost only ever used for discussions about recently captured villains.
"Who'd we get?" Shadow Stalker asks, actually a bit intrigued now.
"What?" Aegis asks dumbly.
Shadow Stalker grits her teeth and spells it out for him since Militia must not have told him and he's too stupid-shit to piece it together himself, "I'm meeting Militia in the dungeon. What villain did we bag? And why does she need me there anyway?"
"Oh, uh, she didn't say," Aegis dodges. "I'm sure she'll tell us when we get there."
Contrary to popular belief, Shadow Stalker isn't stupid and she does understand people, she just doesn't usually care enough to try. She's more than smart enough to know that Aegis is being shifty. There's no way Militia wouldn't tell him about that if she's asking him to bring her there. He's useless, but he's the Wards leader. He would at least know if there was a villain brought in. Something's up.
Shadow Stalker takes a closer look at Aegis. Not much of him is visible in his costume, only his eyes, which is weird because he hardly ever wears his mask in here. The emotions held in those eyes aren't his typical naive, people-pleasing stupidity. His eyes look disappointed. Wary, even. Something is definitely up.
She casts a look around the lounge area. No one else is here. Usually she'd be less-than about that, but right now it raises the hairs on the back of her neck. Someone is always here. She's supposed to patrol with Kid Lose today, so he at least should be here. And Aegis wouldn't put on full costume if he's just running console.
He's also one of the only people on the heroes' side that she would have trouble taking down – Her tranqs won't have any effect, and neither does anything else she could bring to bear. And Militia was the one who brought her in, originally. If Shadow Stalker were arranging a hit on her, those two and maybe Armsmaster and Dauntless are the ones she'd put on the team.
"I've got a patrol in half an hour; can't it wait?" she asks, testing the waters.
His shoulders rise fractionally. If Shadow Stalker wasn't looking for it, she would have missed it. He's expecting a fight.
"Afraid not. She said it was urgent," Aegis says.
She throws a punch, lightning fast and pinpoint precise, clipping him in the jaw and sending him stumbling. His power takes a bit of time to adapt, so he should be dizzy for at least a couple seconds: long enough for her to slip through the wall and into her room to grab her mask, but has to hit the deck – her head impacts painfully with the floor – as Assault lunges at her with a taser.
Before he can try again, she flings herself to the side and shifts into her power again, moving through the wall next to the door where she knows there are no wires. She's relying on memory and guesstimates to not get zapped now.
She keeps going, across the hall and into Clockblocker's – empty – room, catching sight of Aegis already back up and coming her way as she moves. Fuck. Quick as she can, she grabs the knife she stashed inside Clockblocker's mattress. Only an idiot keeps contraband in their own room.
The door slides open, a half second motion complete with a little whoosh. Aegis stands there, taser in hand, a scowl on what little of his face Shadow Stalker can see. He eyes the knife in her hand for a moment, then turns his attention to her. Shadow Stalker is coiled tight, ready to move in any direction at any moment, as soon as she finds the right one.
"Stalker, stand down," he says with as much authority as he can force into his limp-dick voice. "You're only making things worse for yourself. Right now we just need you to answer some questions. That's all we're asking. "
"Bullshit," Shadow Stalker snaps. "Tasers, ambushes, trying to talk me into the dungeon: I know what this is and it ain't talk."
"It doesn't have to go down like you're–"
Now!
Shadow Stalker throws herself at him mid sentence, the moment the taser wavered in his hand. He swipes at her with it as she charges, tongs crackling, but she leans back – he fell for her feint – to dodge. As it passes in front of her, she goes shadow and brings her knife clean through his forearm.
The weapon falls to the ground with the hand holding it and Aegis sucks in a breath. Shadow Stalker doesn't give him a moment's respite, going solid only long enough to start another swipe, this time aiming for his neck. The dumb asshole has at least enough sense to lean back, turning a decapitation into a messy tracheotomy. He swings at her and she moves through him, letting her knife drag through his side as she passes, opening another wound.
None of this is enough to stop him, but she just needs to slow him down long enough to escape. It doesn't matter how much she slows him down, however, as there's a full-fledged Protectorate cape she didn't take stock of. Shadow Stalker screams in agony as Assault bullets into her with his taser before she even notices him, far too fast for her to dodge.
She goes down, convulsing the whole way, and no matter how hard she tries to hold on to her knife, it slips out of her fingers. She's jabbed again, screams again, and then everything goes dark.
[scene break]
Sophia sits in the empty interrogation room with a set of specially made electrified handcuffs around her wrists. The chain is run through an arch bolted onto the table, keeping her hands on the table in plain sight. Every few seconds, she jerks at the cuffs as if trying to break the chain but only succeeding in hurting her wrists. She treats the ankle cuff keeping her seated similarly.
Minutes pass as she stews and the others ready themselves to handle her. Despite being told the cuffs have a current, she tries to use her power to get out of her restraints and is forced back into solidity with a shock and a cry of pain. She slumps over, twitching all over, and lets out something that is almost a sob before covering it with a snarl.
She forces her head up so she can glare at the two-way mirror. She doesn't look frightening like so obviously trying to be. The sweat and unwilling tears spoil any chance of that, and instead she just looks miserable.
A PRT agent, Daniels, enters the room with a folder and sits across from Sophia.
"Fucking finally," Sophia snarls. "Are you gonna tell me why I got jumped in my own fucking base?"
"Your base?" agent Daniels asks. "That would imply you're a Ward."
Sophia's eyes narrow. "You saying I'm not?"
"The Wards program is for parahuman youths looking to improve themselves and their cities in a safe and expert environment. The Wards program is also used to try and rehabilitate vigilantes who go too far. It's understood that accidents happen and things can get away from you and go further than intended. It is not a place for killers."
Sophia goes completely still at the agent's last word: not in the way that a lamb goes still when it feels danger, but in the way a cat goes still before a pounce. Despite the cuffs, lack of equipment, and ragged state, Sophia's gaze is threatening.
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"It means we know about the three men you killed."
Sophia, for a moment, looks surprised. And then she gets angry. "How the fuck do you figure that?"
"We found the bodies of misters Tanaka, Hunt, and Han."
"Bullshit you did! I hid those in the ground! No fucking way you found them."
Agent Daniels blinks, and then frowns. That was a remarkably quick and easy confession. Too easy. It's uncertain what that means, if Sophia recognizes she's cornered and lost and doesn't care, or if she made a mistake just now, or something else. It does, at least, expedite things. Agent Daniels closes his folder and stands. He's done his job, gotten what he came for.
"How the hell did you find them? Tell me!" Sophia demands.
"At this point," agent Daniels says, "that doesn't matter."
"No it fucking does matter. That shit was locked down. Nobody knew about it except– Oh. It was Emma, wasn't it?" Sophia suddenly sounds lost, rather than angry, like the thing she was struggling so hard for just broke. "I knew she was being weird, but… No, no she wouldn't. She wouldn't. You– You assholes brought in a Thinker or some shit to stalk me, didn't you?"
The anger is back.
"You hacked our phones or did some Thinker bullshit, didn't you?! You stay the fuck away from Emma, you hear me? If any of you fuckers laid a hand on her, I'll kill your entire fucking family," she snarls, meaning every word.
The Protectorate capes watch through the two-way mirror as Sophia snarls and thrashes against her restraints, even going so far as to test her power against them for again, succeeding only in shocking herself. Again. She seizes and goes limp, but only for a few seconds; then it's back to thrashing and howling like a mad dog.
"I don't understand," Miss Militia admits in a soft voice. "She didn't seem this… wild, before."
"The school didn't report any disciplinary issues in her civilian life, even after they started talking," Armsmaster provides. "She was obviously able to control herself when she felt it necessary."
"Maybe," Miss Militia concedes. "But, there's none of that here. She should have gone quiet or tried to make a deal, shouldn't she have? It's what she did before."
"She might not see a point in it, now that she knows we know about her kills. Teenagers lack development in the parts of their brains centered on long term planning; it's possible she doesn't see a difference between three or thirty years in prison."
Miss Militia says nothing to that, conceding the point. She's known plenty of kids who had never thought about their lives six months from now, much less planned for six years in the future.
"I can't stop thinking there was something we must have missed," she says, "that if we'd gotten to her sooner or given her a better outlet or an actual, stable therapist, we could have helped her."
"According to Ms. Barnes, this sort of behavior went back at least two years, well before she'd proven to be a serious danger to herself and others. Thomas Hunt's disappearance came four months after the two girls met. We couldn't have known until she became obvious this fall. We had no reason to bring her in before then."
"I know. I just…"
"Hannah."
"Hm?"
"Look at me."
She does.
"It's not your fault," Armsmaster says. "It might not be anyone's fault. We all thought Shadow Stalker had it in her to shape up, but some parahumans won't fit in right no matter what you do. Some are just beyond help. It's a sad fact of our line of work and we have to be prepared to do what's best for everyone, even when it hurts. Especially then."
Miss Militia takes in his words, and after a moment, nods. She tries to accept it. She knows he's right; she's known it longer than Armsmaster has even been a hero. There are always going to be people who refuse help and choose to drag others down as they self-destruct. No one can help all of them, not even a hero.
But a hero has to try, every single time.
Miss Militia turns and walks away. There's a new vigilante that appeared the other week. A brute. Maybe they'll be a better fit. Maybe she can help them.
Second… this clarifies some things, but raises new questions. So clearly Emma is being truthful so far as laying everything out, Sophia is out of the picture, etc. On the other hand, Sophia isn't explaining anything and it doesn't look like anyone will be digging into her side of the story after all that. So how true the details are, who was the driving force behind bullying Taylor, etc isn't exactly clear; we only have Emma's word for it.
I guess… we'll see how things go. Slightly more wary of Emma than before? She has been sooo pathetic and miserable though, it's not hard to want to take her side. Like, I want Taylor to just drop all her baggage and leap into her arms right now (or vice versa, Taylor is taller?) but… hmm. Obvs that's not healthy? Aaah.
God is Emma good at acting the poor little meow meow. Sophia clearly cared about Emma, so much so she didn't believe she would betray her and threatened their lives if they went after her. Is it possessiveness like Emma said? Or is it something she thought was more mutual and Emma has been twisting the truth?
And yeah, Taylor def has the capability to be abusively controlling. Justifying it in her mind while Emma does the same out of guilt.
I do think her concern about Emma is very telling - why does she think that's a risk, if she's been bullying Emma into all of it? Pieces don't line up neatly there.
Hrm... My thought process jumped to Emma being some sort of Master, manipulating Sophia and Taylor either via powers or standard gaslighting and emotional abuse.
There was no point to Sophia just, admitting that she killed them. Militia said it herself, last time she was quiet, ready to enter a plea deal. Her just blurting out that she had them buried in the ground and not even trying[\i] to deny that she killed them has me thinking this is some mk ultra shit that Emma's programmed into Sophia
So... this is fucking great. That's to be expected of something written by @R3N41SS4NC3, but it still needs saying.
Things definitely seemed pretty normal until the interlude, where we see that Sophia apparently has a shocking sense of faith and loyalty towards Emma. I've got a few ideas about what this could mean.
Option A: Sophia really did threaten and abuse Emma and she's just so fucked up that she can't conceive of a world in which Emma betrays her. This would probably be the happiest situation for Emma and Taylor, which is why I think it's the least likely, having read several of @R3N41SS4NC3's other works.
Option B: Emma is some sort of psycho master-manipulator who decided wanted to be friends with Taylor again so she made up the threats and abuse and ratted on Sophia to gain Taylor's trust. This seems much more likely to me because it means there will be more opportunity for horror and tragedy going forward that isn't really possible if Sophia, the supposed 'real' bad guy all along, is locked up. Also it fits with the title.
Option C: There's parahuman fuckery afoot and it's too early to tell what's what. I think this is somewhere in between Options A and B in terms of likelihood since it has horror potential, but not as much potential for psychological horror and tragedy as Option B.
Option D: Something I haven't thought of is going on. Yeah, that seems most likely.
In any case, this has been a fantastic start to a story. I've actually never read an 'Emma redemption' fic before, at least not for more than a chapter or two before getting bored, so I'm really looking forward to seeing where this thing goes!
So... this is fucking great. That's to be expected of something written by @R3N41SS4NC3, but it still needs saying.
Things definitely seemed pretty normal until the interlude, where we see that Sophia apparently has a shocking sense of faith and loyalty towards Emma. I've got a few ideas about what this could mean.
Option A: Sophia really did threaten and abuse Emma and she's just so fucked up that she can't conceive of a world in which Emma betrays her. This would probably be the happiest situation for Emma and Taylor, which is why I think it's the least likely, having read several of @R3N41SS4NC3's other works.
Option B: Emma is some sort of psycho master-manipulator who decided wanted to be friends with Taylor again so she made up the threats and abuse and ratted on Sophia to gain Taylor's trust. This seems much more likely to me because it means there will be more opportunity for horror and tragedy going forward that isn't really possible if Sophia, the supposed 'real' bad guy all along, is locked up. Also it fits with the title.
Option C: There's parahuman fuckery afoot and it's too early to tell what's what. I think this is somewhere in between Options A and B in terms of likelihood since it has horror potential, but not as much potential for psychological horror and tragedy as Option B.
Option D: Something I haven't thought of is going on. Yeah, that seems most likely.
In any case, this has been a fantastic start to a story. I've actually never read an 'Emma redemption' fic before, at least not for more than a chapter or two before getting bored, so I'm really looking forward to seeing where this thing goes!
This comment and the absolute read you have on me was so funny i choked on gumbo a little (if its not clear, that means i love it, ty). No comment of if ur right about any of this tho.
I do agree that most Emma redemption fic trend toward the boring bc they try to make emma into a healed, better person. They forget that awful women are the best part of worm.
Taylor glances at the girl sitting beside her, Jackie, then returns her attention to packing up her books. She got too comfortable not being out the door before the bell's finished ringing and now she's going to pay for it.
"You've got a good grade in this, right? I saw you got an A on the last test?"
Taylor gives Jackie a wary, appraising look.
"Me and a couple other girls are putting together a study group, and none of us are really all that good at English. Like, I'm great at math, but English just doesn't fit right in my brain, you know?"
Taylor continues to stare unnervingly at Jackie, who presses her lips together and then barrels on.
"I was wondering if you wanted to join," she says.
Taylor stares for another moment, then looks around. No one else is lingering or gathering out in the hall, from what she can see. This doesn't look like a trap she knows. She looks back at Jackie.
"Why are you asking me?" Taylor asks.
"Well, because you're good at English."
"Yeah. So are half the people in the class. Why are you asking me?"
"I'm just, trying to be friendly, I guess," Jackie says awkwardly. "I mean, I guess it's a bit selfish; you've got good grades all around, right?"
Taylor sees the trick. She stands and makes to leave as she says, "I'm not interested in doing your homework for you."
"What? No, it's not like that," Jackie says, scrambling to gather her stuff and follow Taylor out the door. Incoming students slow Taylor enough to let her catch up. "It'd be a mutual thing. You help us out, we help you out."
Taylor turns sharply to glare at her with undisguised indignation. "I don't want or need your help anymore. Leave me alone."
She pushes through the crowd as quickly as possible when she can't shove through because there's a not-insignificant chance she would shove a junior gang member, and she's enjoyed the break from her regular beatings at the hands of Sophia too much to give someone a reason to pick up the slack. It's quick enough because Jackie makes no further attempt to follow, instead stopping for a moment to process Taylor's anger, then turning around and heading the opposite direction.
Taylor does her best to put Jackie and her bullcrap out of her mind during her next and final class of the day. It's Wednesday; she's halfway done with the week. School's better than before, but she still counts the minutes until it's over. She's still not being bullied, but everywhere she looks all she can see are the people who looked the other day when she needed them.
The final bell rings and the building clammors with relief and hurries to leave – Nearly everyone has something they'd rather do than still be at school for another five minutes. Taylor moves ahead of the crowd, unburdened by a need to stop by her locker for obvious, traumatic reasons, burdened by her heavy as fuck backpack.
As she moves through the administrative wing and toward the exit, she's waylaid.
"Miss Hebert, do you have a moment?" superintendent and interim principal Hughes waylays. "I'd like to talk with you in my office."
Taylor shoots a look at the doors outside: so close. Reluctantly, she follows superintendent Hughes into his office and wonders why she's being singled out. She tries to not jump to any conclusions – he's done his job by her so far – but even a normal kid gets nervous going into the principal's office, and Taylor is far more paranoid than a normal kid. She can't help but think Sophia, Emma, and the rest of the bullies will somewhy be lying in wait for her in there, ready to… do something.
It's a silly, unrealistic thought, not least of all because Sophia's in super juvie and Emma goes to another school and has been less than shitty to her since Taylor got out of the hospital, but it's also not an entirely baseless thought as the locker was far beyond the pale and didn't see any sort of justice until Emma decided to tear her and Sophia's shitty high school kingdom to pieces and throw herself at Taylor's feet – As far as Taylor is concerned, nothing is impossible at Winslow. Nothing terrible, that is. It's unimaginable that good stuff could happen to her here.
They enter the office, and it's empty of people. Hughes sits behind his desk and Taylor in front. He doesn't keep her waiting for long.
"First of all, you're not in any trouble, so you can relax," he says. "I just want to check in and make sure you're settling into the routine well. No one's given you trouble, have they?"
She shakes her head, only barely relaxed.
"That's good to hear. And how are your classes? From what I've seen, your grades are good, but that's only half of the story."
"They're… good," Taylor says.
"That's good. Have you made any friends?"
She narrows her eyes in confusion. "Why does that matter?"
"Friends are important, and you've had trouble making them in the past."
"Yeah. Because of the bullying."
He nods. "Right: the bullying that's no long happening. The harassment's been dealt with…" he trails off, leaving room for Taylor to interrupt and correct him. She doesn't. "…but loneliness can be just as painful. So, have you made any friends? Have you chatted with anyone between classes? Maybe joined an afterschool club? Or a study group?"
"No," Taylor says to all of it. Especially the last one.
"Why not?"
"Why would I want to be friends with any of these people?" she snaps.
He raises a bushy eyebrow.
"Half the people in my grade either pretended not to see anything or watched it all happen, and the other half joined in on it. Why would I give any of these people the time of day?"
He looks at her for a long, impassive moment. "Taylor, do you know Marissa Huang?"
She frowns at the non sequitur. "No?"
"She was on the varsity volleyball team here at Winslow last year. She was good: the best spiker and server Winslow's had in at least a decade. And then she broke her leg last September: a nasty compound fracture that benched her for the rest of the semester. She went through months of physical therapy, but she'll never stand on the court again, according to her doctors."
"O… kay?" Taylor responds, still unsure what this has to do with anything. "That sucks, I guess?"
"It does suck," Hughes says. "She lost any chance of a scholarship or going pro. Worse, all of her friends were on the team. They didn't keep in contact much after Marissa had to leave the team." His eyes get heavy. "I'm pretty sure all contact stopped when she dropped out. Hasn't been to school since the semester started. She works at the Piggly Wiggly on Jefferson now. We had a chat, and she's not interested in much of anything anymore, from what I could tell."
"What does any of this have to do with anything?" Taylor asks. She's fed up now, having concluded that he asked her in here just to waste her time talking about some other girl.
"Tell me, Miss Hebert, did you notice Ms. Huang's pain? Did you visit her in the hospital after the accident, or check in with her after she stopped going to the games to watch, or say hello and ask to have lunch with her?"
"No. And I know what you're getting at but it's not the same," Taylor says waspishly, mostly holding back a glare.
"Isn't it? You didn't notice her problems, just like she didn't notice yours."
"She saw. Everyone saw. Everyone knew, even before the– the locker. And no one said anything."
"Maybe she did see, maybe she didn't," Hughes hedges noncommittally. "Either way, she had her own problems taking up her attention."
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Taylor says. "She didn't care to look: no one did."
"Just like you didn't care to look at her problems?"
"That's different," Taylor stresses.
"Is it?" Hughes asks.
"Yes," she says like he's an idiot asking a stupid question.
"What you went through was awful, there's no two ways about it, but your pain isnt special or unique. Everyone has felt helpless and alone. Everyone has problems, and everyone feels like their own problems are the biggest."
She stops trying to hide her glare at this point. She thought he understood, or at least was trying to, but he doesn't. He thinks she should just forgive and forget? Ignore all the crap that happened to her and everyone's fault in it? Just because 'everyone has problems'? He just lost practically all of the good will he'd built up with Taylor in the last three weeks.
He is unphased by the visage of righteous anger on this lonely, unfit fifteen year old girl's face.
"Taylor, this is going to hurt to hear even though I think you already know it, but most people don't care about anything that doesn't affect them or the people they know. People don't care about people they don't know. If they don't know to look out for you, they won't care to see your problems. Make some friends."
"Are we done?" she asks. "I need to be getting home."
Hughes sighs almost unnoticeably. "One more thing. It'll be announced tomorrow, but we found a new principal. She'll be starting next Monday and I'll be going back to the school board's office full-time. Tell her if things escalate again."
"And if she doesn't do anything?" Taylor snipes.
"Then I would hope your friends will support you when you all come to talk to her."
Taylor stands and leaves without another word, seething. All this bullshit and they couldn't just transfer her instead? She's glad to see Blackwell gone, Sophia in juvie, and the hangers-on scared to act else they be the next to get expelled, but Taylor's not sure it's worth it. At least she handled it on her own and didn't have to tell her dad about the bullying.
The school is empty and there are only a handful of kids hanging out in the parking lot when Taylor gets outside. It's precipitating tiny, sharp drops somewhere between rain and fog: a miserable day to be forced to miss her usual bus. Terrible urban planning and racist design philosophies endemic to the USA means she has to wait for the next one without any sort of shelter from the weather.
Taylor stands alone and tries to not think about how alone she stands at school. She's still unconvinced she needs or should even want friends at Winslow. They did all just stand around while she was isolated, harassed, beaten, degraded, and dehumanized for over a year, and even though at least a quarter of the students were only at Winslow for one semester of that, she can't forgive the freshmen either; even a month of looking the other is too much for Taylor to ignore.
She'll make friends next year, when there are some people who actually aren't to blame for what she went through. Until then, she'll keep being fine. Being alone doesn't bother her, if the only other options are starring in a pity party, getting taken advantage of, or ignoring the worst parts of others.
And plus, she has Emma again. She doesn't trust her, but she can't deny she enjoyed their conversation in the coffee shop. It was nice to be what Emma needed again, as complicated and anxious as that feels to think about. Emma burned practically her entire life down to try and make things right by Taylor, and even if she was the one who made things wrong, that has to count for something. Especially since she was coerced and threatened into it. She's still the only one to try and make right.
Taylor can't consider them friends, but she's… 51% sure Emma would have her back if she needed her. Taylor doesn't trust her. Whenever she thinks of Emma, she can't help but turn every interaction and word over and over and over again in her mind to find the hidden barbs and carefully laid tricks and traps, but she also can't forget that Sophia wanted to throw away her mom's flute and Emma kept it in secret for months until it was safe to return it, almost as good as new.
Against all instincts, Taylor wants to call Emma to hang out again, because despite all objections, Taylor is lonely and has been for the last two years. She has been chronically malnourished and has finally been fed something filling, and even if it makes her queasy and break out into hives, it's the only option she has any reason to trust to eat again – no matter how contrived, circular, and unreasonable that reason is. What choice does she have but to take another bite?
Weeks pass, as they often do – which is good because it's when they don't pass is when you should worry – and Taylor continues to reject olive branches when they're held out to her, holding on to the blame in her heart. She is broken and angry at the unfairness and apathy in the world, and does her best to hold accountable everyone who was responsible for her pain and suffering. She considers that group to be everyone who has stepped foot in Winslow High school since her freshman year. She is uninterested in whether that's fair or not.
Eventually, people stop reaching out and she tells herself she's happy for it. The new principal, Mrs. Schofield, called Taylor in in her first week there to reiterate the zero tolerance policy on bullying and that any accusations made by Taylor will be taken seriously. She condescends to Taylor less than Hughes did too, which she appreciates.
Luckily Taylor has yet to find herself in a situation where she needs to test how serious Schofield is; the girls who joined in on bullying her continue to eye her warily as they wonder what Taylor did to turn Emma and disappear Sophia. Rumors abound, but Taylor minds them less than usual as at least these rumors give people pause before messing with her.
Taylor's allowed to go to class; sit, listen, and learn; eat lunch in the cafeteria and read; and go home, all without anyone bothering her. She tells herself that that's enough. Things are so much better than they were that this solitude feels like happiness.
And once or twice a week, she spends an afternoon with Emma, usually at the public library and only ever when Taylor arranges it. Even if she would be justified in ditching Emma and never seeing her again, she couldn't make herself do that. Emma would be all alone, if Taylor did that – The naked relief in Emma's voice and her obvious desire to keep the conversation going past its natural conclusion made that obvious the first time Taylor called to make tentative plans. Even if she deserves it, Taylor can't bring herself to afflict that punishment.
One day, near the end of February, the two are doing homework with each other at the library. Taylor works on a history worksheet and Emma, math problems.
Taylor glances at Emma when the other girl sighs. She's scowling at her paper. Taylor leans over to see she's in the middle of finding the area of a triangle: typical high school math stuff.
Though she's usually reluctant to offer, Emma has only asked for help a handful of times during their sessions, and only when she was legitimately struggling. So Taylor asks, "Do you need help?"
"Huh? No, I'm fine. I can do this," Emma says.
She returns to writing math, and Taylor returns to answering questions about the early days of parahuman history. A minute later, Emma's pencil stops and her scowl returns. An uneasy feeling begins to grow in Taylor's gut.
"What's wrong?" Taylor asks.
Emma glances up at her. Her scowl lightens with a quick smile, but resettles into a frown. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
Taylor stares at her. She knows Emma's lying. Why? Taylor glances around the room as discreetly as she can, searching for anyone eyeing her. She sees no one; it isn't reassuring. She tries to refocus on her worksheet, but can't put her attention towards anything but listening for approaching footsteps.
"Taylor?" Emma probes, earning a snappish look.
Taylor's eyes bore into her. She says nothing, but is understood anyway. Emma's eyes go wide, and then she winces.
"Sorry, no, it's really nothing, Taylor. I'm just… bored."
"Bored?" Taylor asks with a slow blink, as if not understanding the concept of disliking nothing happening. The answer lets her heart slow, though it's more because she received an answer than that specific one.
"Yeah, bored. Like I said, it's nothing. I can deal with being kinda bored. Hanging out with you is cool, even if we're not really doing anything. I'll be fine."
Emma returns to her math, and Taylor tries to return to her history, but she can't quite focus on it at the moment – It's mostly review for what they went over in class. She mostly watches Emma out of the corner of her eye instead.
She can kind of see where Emma's coming from about being bored. She can admit that hanging out at the library isn't most teens' idea of a fun afternoon, but when she tries to think of anything that would be considered fun, she cringes. Going to the mall to look at clothes she can't afford never much appealed to Taylor, and she has a similar problem with coffee shops – Once in a blue moon is fine, but she cannot afford to regularly spend four dollars on a cup of hot water and a tea bag. Neither she nor Emma are sporty, so throwing a ball around is right out.
Taylor tries to think of other stuff that girls their age do for fun and comes up uncomfortable – Bullying and drugs aren't for her.
"What would you want to do?" Taylor asks, after a couple minutes of quiet thought in which Emma plugged numbers into formulae.
"Huh?" Emma asks.
"For fun," Taylor clarifies. It's as much a test of Emma's priorities and wants as it is actual curiosity.
Emma thinks for a couple seconds. A couple seconds becomes a few becomes half a minute of Emma squinting at nothing as she tries to think up something to say. "I wanted to say we could go to the mall or the boardwalk, but I don't really want to risk running into any of the girls from Winslow."
"You're not worried about that here?"
Emma frowns at her. "Taylor. You know the kind of girls I hung out with there. None of them are the type to go to the library unless they have to."
Taylor supposes that's fair.
"My parents cut my allowance after my expulsion, so I couldn't exactly buy anything even if we went out."
"You don't have money from modeling?"
"They let me go when I dyed my hair. Turns out my most striking feature was my hair," she says bitterly.
"Why did you dye it anyway?" Taylor asks. She's been curious for a while now.
"I needed some sort of change. I couldn't stand who I saw in the mirror, I guess is the best way of putting it."
Taylor hums in acknowledgement. She holds her tongue for a moment, then decides to say what she's thinking. "It looks good."
Emma blinks and meekly brushes a lock behind her ear. "You think so?"
"Yeah. You always look good," Taylor mutters, reluctantly honest and a bit mad about it.
Emma's cheeks turn a bit red at the compliment, and Taylor assumes it must be because she's self conscious about it. She's wrong, of course. "Hey, they have movies here, right?"
"Yeah," Taylor says.
"We could watch a movie. That could be fun," Emma suggests.
[scene break]
"They're gonna kiss," Emma says out of nowhere.
Taylor and Emma sit on the Hebert's couch in the living room. Playing on the TV is a DVD from the library, currently showing two women arguing. The girls are only about ten minutes into the movie. Unbeknownst to Emma, a dozen black widows work to weave a strip of fabric: a test to see if the documentary was right about spider silk's strength.
"What?" Taylor frowns at the movie, then at Emma. "You told me you hadn't seen this movie."
"And I haven't."
Her frown ebbs. "Then why do you think they'll kiss? They have no chemistry."
"They don't need chemistry; this is entertainment. Hollywood. It's how this type of story goes."
"This is an action movie."
"Mhm."
"I don't see it."
"Okay, so!" Emma pauses the movie and turns bodily to face Taylor. She points at the screen. "She's the nerdy best friend of the main character; those sorts almost always step up and prove themselves badasses near the end."
"Sure, but that doesn't mean she has to kiss the other girl. We don't even know she's gay."
Emma blinks and then fights down a smirk. "Taylor. She's gay. Just look at how she's dressed."
Taylor looks at the stilled character on screen. She wears slacks, a white button-up shirt, suspenders, and a bow tie. She doesn't see it.
"Just, trust me on this," Emma says, and then continues talking before Taylor can object. "Then there's the other girl. She's the main character's love interest's best friend – That character doesn't exist unless she's either telling the love interest how bad of an idea being around the main character is, or she's getting with the guy's best friend. She doesn't have a reason to be in the movie, otherwise."
"I still don't see it," Taylor says, shaking her head. "The guy's friend hasn't shown any interest in her, or dating at all. It looks more like they hate each other."
"Exactly." Emma's so excited by her nonsense point she leans over and tips the popcorn bowl over, spilling fluffy kernels over the couch and her lap. She leans back and stares down at the mess with wide eyes. "Crap, sorry, I–"
"It's fine," Taylor says, moving the bowl to the floor while Emma picks up loose popcorn.
It wouldn't be fine if the corn had spilled the other way, but this was obviously an accident – She can't see how Emma buttering her own pants is supposed to hurt or humiliate Taylor. Emma fills her hand with popcorn to discard, and then has nowhere to discard it. Taylor goes to the kitchen and grabs the trash can for her to dump it in. Taylor picks and discards a few pieces from the middle, but leaves the stuff on Emma solidly on Emma.
As she cleans, she mutters, "Dammit this is going to stain my pants."
Before she can think better, Taylor opens her mouth to offer to throw them in the washing machine, but stops herself before any words leave. Then, after thinking better, she offers anyway. Her dad probably has laundry to do, and she knows she does.
Emma looks up at her. "Are you sure?"
Taylor shrugs. "I can throw it in with a load of mine, and my dad probably has some to do too."
"You don't have to. I can deal with some stains. I mean, I don't even really like this pair." It's a lie. She says it too flippantly and dismissively for it to be the truth, and Emma wouldn't wear them if she didn't like them.
"Don't lie," Taylor says.
Emma blinks.
"I'm putting them in the wash," Taylor decides.
Taylor gets up before Emma can protest, lands a couple flies on Emma to keep watch, then goes upstairs to grab her dirty clothes hamper and a clean pair of sweatpants. She stares at the sweatpants for a long moment as she second guesses this. Even if Emma likes that pair of pants, she has more. She can deal with one pair getting a little bit stained. But Taylor knows she'll feel awkward if she just lets Emma sit like that for the rest of the afternoon when she has the opportunity to help, even if it's something small and stupid like this.
And… Taylor's still scared of Emma leaving her again. She doesn't want that to happen, and it shouldn't now that Sophia's not threatening her and her family, but that doesn't erase the worry that she'll mess up and push Emma away again forever. It's… mostly nice spending time with her again – At least, it's nice when Taylor relaxes enough to forget the last year and a half of trauma and everything Emma did to her.
…Everything Emma did to her because she was trying to keep Sophia from killing her. Her feelings on that are still too complicated to wrestle with. She wants to reject it and say that it doesn't matter since Emma still did it, but that feels unfair when Emma's intentions were good and she was the only one to try and make things right when it wasn't easy.
Taylor makes her decision when she feels Emma finish cleaning and curl up on the couch, wrapping her arms around her knees, obviously worried about what's taking Taylor so long. Taylor throws the pants on top of the dirty clothes and stops by her dad's room to grab his dirty clothes out of his hamper before heading back downstairs. When she steps on the squeaky step, Emma winces at the sound and hurries to stretch back out into a more casual position.
Taylor heads to the laundry room to empty the basket, and then returns to the living room with the sweatpants.
"Here," she says, holding them out to Emma.
She stares at them warily. "It's really no big–"
"Just take the pants, Emma," Taylor says, done thinking about this.
Emma takes the pants without further argument. She stands and starts to remove hers, and Taylor turns her head.
"Oh, sorry," Emma says as she stops, her waistband only an inch or two lower than it should be. "I can change in the bathroom or something, if you want."
Taylor keeps her face purposefully neutral. Emma changing in front of her should be fine. They've changed in front of each other before. But that was when they were little, before everything changed. Some stuff has sorta changed back, but body-stuff doesn't change quite so easily, and it doesn't change back.
"It's fine," Taylor eventually decides.
She still tries to not look as Emma strips – 'Tries' being the operative word. Taylor can't help but steal a couple envious glances at Emma's shapely legs, nothing like Taylor's bony twigs that keep her standing. If Emma noticed or cared, she doesn't show it, pulling on her loaner pants as soon as hers are off.
Taylor takes the jeans from Emma and returns to the laundry room to toss them in with the rest – checking pockets for dye packets or sand or something – before starting the wash. She comes back to the living room as Emma returns from putting the trash can away, and they sit back down on the couch.
For a minute, they don't say anything. Taylor presses play on the movie to fill the silence. As they watch, the awkwardness eases. After ten minutes, Taylor makes a comment about one of the main character's banal quips, and that opens the door for more words to flow between them, increasingly easily.
When the two girls kiss in the last five minutes, Emma graciously says nothing and instead only smiles expectantly at Taylor. Taylor narrows her eyes at her. Her smile grows.
"Shut up," Taylor says.
"I didn't say anything," Emma says, on the verge of giggles.
"It was a lucky guess," Taylor says.
"It was not! I totally called it in their first scene together," Emma protests good naturedly.
"That's how I know it was lucky."
Emma lets out a smiling gasp of indignation. "Fine. We can watch another and I'll prove it wasn't lucky."
It's startlingly easy for Taylor to pop another borrowed DVD into the player and spend another two hours with Emma. By the end of the second movie, Emma sits on the middle cushion with the – second – bowl of popcorn in her lap.
Hmmm. Okay… so I get where Taylor is coming from here. It can be nice to be petty and vindictive in a self harming way. But there isn't exactly catharsis in it if you don't admit to anyone, let alone yourself what you're doing?
He is unphased by the visage of righteous anger on this lonely, unfit fifteen year old girl's face.
"Taylor, this is going to hurt to hear even though I think you already know it, but most people don't care about anything that doesn't affect them or the people they know. People don't care about people they don't know. If they don't know to look out for you, they won't care to see your problems. Make some friends."
"Are we done?" she asks. "I need to be getting home."
I'm… okay so this could be genuine. Could also be underhanded and manipulative? Like, the movie thing is… weird? Like, gay representation is pretty sparse, in action films less so. I feel like the odds of Emma picking out a movie with gay rep at a public library in a city with a big nazi problem by chance is kinda slim. So it feels kinda calculated and so on?
But also, it's nice. It's a lovely scene and our gals are getting closer and it's real cute. It's nice to have movies like that for characters to watch and relate to, so. Happy either way this ends up having been.
Emma fills her hand with popcorn to discard, and then has nowhere to discard it. Taylor goes to the kitchen and grabs the trash can for her to dump it in. Taylor picks and discards a few pieces from the middle, but leaves the stuff on Emma solidly on Emma
Okay, so… what the fuck? First off, how much butter is on this popcorn that it's staining pants??? And like, throwing it away? It got on clothes and a couch, that's totally still fine to eat. It's basically impossible to eat popcorn without loosing a few kernels in random places. I feel like I'm going insane wtf. Liek, if it was nachos or something, like, chips and salsa mb? Fukkin dip n veggie sticks? Any number of other snack foods, no issue. Point is for there to be stained pants. No worries. But I just cannot square this with the decision to make it popcorn??!?
Otherwise, nice scene. I'm overreacting a bit to this. I don't care (i do care how dare you slander popcorn like this fu >XP) and it isn't important what the plot device is, it serves its role well.
Hmmm. Okay… so I get where Taylor is coming from here. It can be nice to be petty and vindictive in a self harming way. But there isn't exactly catharsis in it if you don't admit to anyone, let alone yourself what you're doing?
I have absolutely been this child.
I'm… okay so this could be genuine. Could also be underhanded and manipulative? Like, the movie thing is… weird? Like, gay representation is pretty sparse, in action films less so. I feel like the odds of Emma picking out a movie with gay rep at a public library in a city with a big nazi problem by chance is kinda slim. So it feels kinda calculated and so on?
But also, it's nice. It's a lovely scene and our gals are getting closer and it's real cute. It's nice to have movies like that for characters to watch and relate to, so. Happy either way this ends up having been.
Okay, so… what the fuck? First off, how much butter is on this popcorn that it's staining pants??? And like, throwing it away? It got on clothes and a couch, that's totally still fine to eat. It's basically impossible to eat popcorn without loosing a few kernels in random places. I feel like I'm going insane wtf. Liek, if it was nachos or something, like, chips and salsa mb? Fukkin dip n veggie sticks? Any number of other snack foods, no issue. Point is for there to be stained pants. No worries. But I just cannot square this with the decision to make it popcorn??!?
Otherwise, nice scene. I'm overreacting a bit to this. I don't care (i do care how dare you slander popcorn like this fu >XP) and it isn't important what the plot device is, it serves its role well.
Remember about gay rep tho: this is earth bet and Legend fixed homophobia :^) so theres plenty of it :^) because he fixed it :^)
(This is one of my fave canon pieces or words of god (i forget which) to poke fun at because its so... nothing. Like what does it even mean for homophobia to be "fixed", wildbow? Who cares, its fixed, no one has problems with queers anymore, the structures that reinforced it are gone without disrupting society otherwise, and its all cool for gays of all ages, ethnicities, classes, and bsckgrounds. Somehow.)
That popcorn is the poor kinda popcorn where you pop it stovetop, pour it into a bowl, add salt and chunks of butter, toss, and hope the butters melted enough to spread and not just form lumps of popcorn fused together by a buttery nucleus (its always lumps tho). U right tho, i shoulda coulda used nachos or smth messier. Rip to the art of the first draft
Tbh I always read that as "straight girl Taylor thinks that homophobia is over because of Legend in the same way she thinks the iPhone exists because of tinkers" but
it's hard to tell how much nuance to credit wildbow with
like did he actually think about it at all? dubious
Remember about gay rep tho: this is earth bet and Legend fixed homophobia :^) so theres plenty of it :^) because he fixed it :^)
(This is one of my fave canon pieces or words of god (i forget which) to poke fun at because its so... nothing. Like what does it even mean for homophobia to be "fixed", wildbow? Who cares, its fixed, no one has problems with queers anymore, the structures that reinforced it are gone without disrupting society otherwise, and its all cool for gays of all ages, ethnicities, classes, and bsckgrounds. Somehow.)
Ah. Right… well thanks for doing more to back up that wog textually than I can remember from the entirety of worm?
That popcorn is the poor kinda popcorn where you pop it stovetop, pour it into a bowl, add salt and chunks of butter, toss, and hope the butters melted enough to spread and not just form lumps of popcorn fused together by a buttery nucleus (its always lumps tho). U right tho, i shoulda coulda used nachos or smth messier. Rip to the art of the first draft
Mmm. Could always melt butter in the pot/microwave, pour it over like that to prevent clumps? Sorry for being weird about this.
My boyfriend gets on my case for eating popcorn as a meal sometimes. Which it absolutely can be? I don't get what his issue is. Enough of any type of food can be a meal?? It's not like it's pure sugar or anything. Most foods in the us are almost 100% corn derived, so it's not like raw unprocessed corn should count as less food somehow than whatever else imo.
Fun fact, air/stove popped popcorn from loose kennels might not relinquish all of its moisture, so you can nuke it for a little bit after it's popped to get the crispy/not slightly squishy texture you get from the microwaveable bags. Or baking a bit would work too now I'm thinking about it. Presumably that's what they do to the pie popped stuff too by in stores? Though that's probably an actual like, dehydrator? I probably should just get a new air popper, Been using the same one for like, 10 years at this point.
You might've noticed the title is different. That's because I changed it. Jezebel's a loaded term that carried racist connotations I didn't intend to put into this story; that was pointed out to me, so this is the new title. I'll be removing the "formerly Blameless Jezebel" part when I put out the next chapter. I'd only intended to use Jezebel in the context of Jewish history, of the queen and false prophet who brought ruin, but the word is too charged for that to be obvious. So, my bad. The new name carries different but hopefully equally appropriate connotations for this story.
Fridays after school quickly become movie time for Emma and Taylor. Emma comes over when her school lets out and they'll watch the movie or two they picked up from the library during the week. It's structured, regular, and has a time limit, which Taylor enjoys. When the second movie is done, she has an excuse to kick Emma out. They're friends, yes, but it's tiring being around Emma. There's too much for Taylor to think about, always, in every exchange. Her guard occasionally drops and she's able to unambiguously enjoy a few moments, but that's only maybe ten percent of the time.
If Taylor weren't so lonely – not that she'd ever admit that, not even to herself – and Emma weren't so pitiful, they probably wouldn't spend time together three times a week. But they both are and both do. And despite the exhaustion that comes with reviewing and rehearsing nearly every word exchanged, Taylor finds herself able to think about these moments together with a smile, once they're over.
The two girls sit on Taylor's couch, a bowl of chisps in Taylor's lap and waters on the coffee table. A nature documentary plays on the television, narrated by some European guy, focusing on urban and suburban wildlife. Taylor'd picked it out because there was a picture of a bug on the back of the case, and she'd hoped to learn something interesting. So far, it's mostly focused on birds.
As the possibly German man explains the mating habits of the barn owl, Emma sighs and lays her head on Taylor's shoulder. Taylor freezes.
Not a single muscle twitches as she feels the foreign weight resting on her shoulder. She tries to breathe but can't draw breath; it catches in her throat. She can't even move her eyes, stuck in place staring at the television with decreasing comprehension. The voices, music, and sounds from the movie blend into a distant rumbling. All she can focus on is the searing chill Emma's touch provokes.
It leaves her.
"Taylor? You okay? You got really tense all of a sudden."
She swallows, and that's all she allows herself. Her eyes drift placidly over to look at Emma. Emma with brown hair. Emma who doesn't go to Winslow. Emma who was threatened and scared. Taylor nods, and turns her attention back to the television. None of the noises or lights make sense, and if she was following what was going on earlier, she's not now.
Taylor can feel Emma's gaze – worried, not searching for weakness, she knows this, it's been months since Emma did anything – on her, but she can't make herself turn to return it. After a minute, Emma returns her attention to the movie too, though she keeps glancing at Taylor until it ends.
The credits roll. Neither of them have spoken in at least half an hour.
The credits finish, and return to the option select screen, which is loud, bright, and repetitive. Emma turns it off.
"So…" she says and says no more.
Taylor sucks in a breath and lets it out. She wants to say sorry, but not to Emma, so she says, "Yeah."
"Did I do something wrong?" Emma asks in a small, worried voice.
Words catch in Taylors throat, same as the last few times she tried to defend herself from the bullying, when she was only just internalizing that her words meant nothing and the other girls would ignore and talk over and around her. But unlike then, no one else is talking, the only other girl here is Emma, and Emma is waiting for her to speak. Eventually, words spill out.
"Don't touch me."
Emma blinks, and then shrinks. "Okay. I won't. I didn't know you'd react like that."
Taylor nods. The uneasiness that simmers inside her cools fractionally.
"Can I ask why?" Emma asks after a moment. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to, I just… want to know why, if you're okay saying."
Taylor bites her tongue before admitting how long it's been since she's last been touched, since she's been hugged by her dad or given so much as a high five. Instead she says, "Why do you think?"
"Oh." To her credit, Emma seems to understand with that little, adopting a now-familiar guilty expression. "Is it just me?"
"Is what just you?"
"The no-touchy thing."
Taylor purses her lips. She's learned that telling Emma the truth is a quick and easy way to have it turned against her. But that was Before. She hasn't hurt Taylor since the locker. At least, not intentionally. And she seems so small right now.
They used to be fused at the hip, when they were kids. Emma was always there waiting with a hug every time Taylor wanted one, until Sophia entered the picture. Taylor spent months missing her embrace. If she were more aware, she'd know she still misses that closeness. It seems Emma is the same. If they could go back…
"I don't know," Taylor finally says.
Emma tilts her head confusedly. "You don't know if it's just me?"
"I don't know, okay!" Taylor snaps. "It's not like I have people lining up to–" She can't think of a not-lame way to end that sentence so she shuts up.
"What about your dad?" Emma asks.
Taylor has to remind herself that's not a taunt. The tone is all wrong, not nearly cloyingly mockish enough. It's meant with sympathy, she convinces herself. She says nothing.
"Oh. Oh damn," Emma says. "Well. Why can't I lay my head on you? We used to, all the time."
"That was Before."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"…Do you think we'll ever…?"
"I don't know," Taylor huffs. "Maybe."
"I know I don't deserve your trust, but could you tell me why you don't like it?"
"I just… It felt like you were setting up for something, when you touched me," Taylor says. She cuts off Emma's following protests before they can start, "I know, I know you aren't going to… do anything, it just feels like it."
Emma frowns contemplatively and doesn't respond.
Taylor pushes down her guilt. She's explaining things, and Emma asked. It's not her fault it hurt Emma's feelings or anything. It's not Taylor's fault, none of this is – And as hard as it is to keep in her head, it's not Emma's either. It's all Sophia's fault, and the pain that bounces between Emma and Taylor is part of the scars Sophia left on both of them.
"What if we had a way to make sure I wasn't going to do anything?" Emma finally asks.
"What do you mean?"
"Like, what if we could make sure I couldn't try anything, even if I wanted to?"
"Like what?"
"You could tie me up."
For a moment Taylor doesn't quite process Emma's flippant words. When she does, she balks and recoils as if struck.
"Listen, just hear me out, okay? If I'm tied up, I couldn't hit you or kick you or anything, and you could take my phone too so I couldn't call anyone or take pictures to try and get you in trouble. And plus, then I wouldn't even really be able to touch you, you'd be the one touching me; you'd be the one deciding what happens; you'd be in control, and we could go at whatever pace you're comfortable with."
Taylor's eyes widen as the words spill out of Emma. She can't deny the idea holds a certain appeal – Taylor had thought about tying Emma up and forcing her to tell Taylor why she did everything, but those fantasies were revenge-ideas, almost always parceled with violence, recorded in the margins of her bullying record. To just tie her – or anyone – up for the hell of it just feels weird.
"I don't know, Ems. That seems kind of… extreme."
"Well… maybe. But don't the circumstances call for it? Desperate times and all that, right?"
"Are these desperate times?"
Emma's shoulders fall. "Maybe not, but… it's not fair I can't hold my best friend. We used to do it all the time. I miss it. I miss how close we were."
"…Me too," Taylor admits.
"Then, can't we? This could help us fix things."
"It's still a lot. That feels kind of like a punishment."
Emma looks down and glares sullenly at her lap. "Maybe… Maybe that's good," she says in a low voice. "I mean, I did bad stuff. I hurt you. Maybe you should punish me."
Taylor can't deny it. She doesn't want to try to. "Maybe."
Emma looks up and her intense and hopeful eyes drill into Taylor's. "Is that a yes?"
"It's a 'we can try,'" Taylor says. "But if I don't like it, if it doesn't make anything better, that's it, okay? Don't bring it up again."
"Absolutely," Emma agrees readily.
"And you're not allowed to tell anyone about this either." She doesn't need it getting out. People already think she's weird enough.
"For sure."
"And… you'll tell me if it's uncomfortable or you don't like it." She's not setting out to torture Emma: just a mild punishment, sort of.
Emma's excited smile softens. "Of course, Tay."
Taylor exhales long. This is happening.
"I think we have some rope in the basement," Taylor says. She knows for a fact they do. She's feeling it with a handful of insects right now. It's maybe a half inch thick. Emma all but bounces with excitement as Taylor gets up and moves to go get it.
When Taylor makes it downstairs, she takes a moment to check her black widows' work. It's slow work, but it's coming along well. The mottled yellow-grey is kind of gross and will need dyeing before Taylor can go out in it, when it's done, but she can't cut it with a kitchen knife or a pair of scissors, so it'll be worth it.
She checks to make sure everything is still alright and laid out where she wants it. It is. Of course it is. She felt as much with her bugs. She grabs the coil of rope off its hook and stares at it. It's rough, brown, and long. It's rope, perfect for tying things up. She can hardly believe this is happening; it's so weird. Who ties up their friends?
She feels Emma pull out her phone upstairs and immediately starts to worry that this was some sort of trick after all and Emma's calling someone to come over after Taylor's tied her up to try and frame her for kidnapping or unlawful imprisonment or battery or whatever Emma thinks will stick because this whole thing has been a long con to get Taylor sent to prison to get shanked by Sophia in the showers in her first week there while the guards are busy with something so Taylor will bleed out or get a nasty infection that'll go untreated for too long and end up gangrenous and needing amputation and then she'll be stuck in a really shitty wheelchair because wheelchairs are expensive and insurance is super spotty when it comes to mobility aids and the decent or good wheelchairs are way outside her and her dad's budget and–
Taylor drops the rope and hurries back upstairs.
Said friend perks up when she enters the room.
"What are you doing?" Taylor demands, staring at her phone.
Emma blinks. She turns the screen so Taylor can see. "I'm looking up knots."
The phone screen backs up her words, opened to a diagram of arms bound by rope and step-by-step instructions on how to tie the knot. Taylor feels her heart unclench and start to beat again. She was looking up knots. Of course. Duh. She can't just use any old square knot; that could cut off circulation or something.
"Did you get the rope?" Emma asks.
Taylor says nothing and tries her best to keep the embarrassment off her face. Emma hiding a smile behind her hand proves Taylor didn't do as good a job as she needed. Without waiting for any sort of further comment, Taylor turns around and heads back into the basement to grab the rope.
When she comes up for a second time, Emma has the grace to not say anything. She just hands Taylor her phone and turns so she's facing away from Taylor with her arms behind her back, hands holding the pits of her elbows. Taylor sits behind her and fiddles with the phone for a moment to enlarge the image of the first step. She readies the rope as instructed, folding it over on itself so it's doubled up.
Then, she starts to bind Emma's arms together.
Taylor can't help but brush up against Emma as she moves the rope hither, thither, and throughther, slowly but surely binding Emma's arms. The rope is rough, but Emma's arms are smooth and soft. This close, Taylor can't help but smell the coconuty scent of Emma's conditioner every time she inhales.
The proximity, the feel of her skin, the scent, the way Emma is helpless: it all makes Taylor feel weird. She hopes this is really okay. It's a weird thing for friends to do for sure, but so is… other stuff that doesn't come to mind right now.
Taylor pulls the knot tight and Emma sucks in a sharp breath.
"What?" Taylor asks. "It's not too tight, is it?"
"No," Emma squeaks. "It's good. The rope's a little rough, but it's good."
The back of her neck is red; she's blushing. Taylor takes solace in that Emma's feeling weird and embarrassed about this, same as her. Taylor's not weird for finding this weird, it's just a weird thing to do. Oh! Sending snail mail: that's another weird thing friends could do.
"I think we might have enough to do your legs, if you want," Taylor says.
"Do you want to?" Emma asks. Her voice wavers.
"Do you want to?" Taylor counters. "They're your legs."
"Like I said earlier, we can go at whatever pace you're comfortable with," Emma says. "If you think this is good for now, then I'm happy. If you want to do more, we can do more. And if you need to slow down because you're not comfortable with something, just let me know and we can stop."
After a moment, Taylor says, "You're being weird."
Emma's face goes nuclear and she turns her head to glare at Taylor. "I'm trying to be communicative and stuff!"
"Yeah. It's weird," Taylor repeats with an invisible smile.
"I guess I'll just shut up forever then," Emma harrumphs, returning her head to not look at Taylor.
"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea, now that I think about it."
Emma gasps. "You jerk!"
"You know, you're doing a lot of talking for someone that's taken a vow of silence," Taylor points out.
Emma purses her lips and turns again to glare at her again, and Taylor can't hold back anymore. She starts to laugh. A moment later, Emma follows. Two girls, being silly for the hell of it.
Taylor's laughter is quiet, but a smile remains on her face. She lays a hand on Emma's back, between her shoulder blades. It's been too long since she's laughed like that. Or at all. She feels tears prickle at the corners of her eyes, but she can't cry, not here and now. It would make things weirder than they already are.
So she focuses on the spiders in the basement instead, feeling and directing their every movement as they spin web together into a lattice, over and under and around each other. Two are getting low on silk. She brings in some flies for them to eat. She'll have to find more if she wants to get her costume ready anytime soon. Maybe she should take a walk around the neighborhood or to a park. If Taylor hides the spiders, Emma could even come with.
"Do you want to watch the other movie?" Taylor asks.
"Sure," Emma answers. "I picked out a chick-flick; I hope that's okay."
Taylor shrugs and gets up to switch the DVDs. Taylor's never had strong feelings about them, but Emma's always loved love stories: the cheesier the better. When they were younger, the two of them used to play 'Royal Affair' with their dolls, full of cheating, backstabbing, arranged marriages, executions, true loves running away to be together, poisonings, rituals to bring dead loves back to life, and all that good stuff.
Taylor presses play when she gets back to the couch and remote and settles in next to Emma. She can tell Emma wants to lean on her again, but is thankfully holding herself back. She fidgets. Her phone's on the table next to her drink, and she probably can't even pick it up, much less use it. She can't do anything – Taylor's made sure of that.
After a few minutes, when the movie's finished introducing the characters and started to actually tell its story, Taylor leans over and rests her shoulder against Emma's. It doesn't feel like the cold burning from earlier. It feels warm. It feels nice. It feels like coming home, and the knot inside Taylor's chest unwinds.
If I were going with cool titles for my chapters, I'd have named this one something like "'Welcome back to your Parlor,' said the Fly to the Spider," or "And so the Spider is webbed by the Fly." Or something else reverse-predatory.
Taylor: "I don't want you touching me."
Emma: "Okay... Wanna try bondage?"
Taylor: "Fuck yeah! I've got rope and everything. Damn, I feel so powerful and in control!"
Emma: "Sure you do, sweetie."
This is about the part where I started giggling and just didn't stop.
This story continues to be a hell of a fun ride. I hope there's more cute and silly stuff like this before things inevitably start to crash and burn. Great stuff, @R3N41SS4NC3!
I reject the implication that bondage and kink is inherently sexual and thus disallowed on these sites. Bondage is an exercise in trust and power, and it doesn't need to be part of a sexual act for it to be satisfying and meaningful. In other words, just because Emma's tied up doesn't mean she's going to be put into any sexual situation.
I'll be honest, didn't see this coming. It's like… right there though now that I think about it with the spiders and silk and all. Wonder if Emma knows about Taylors powers at this point?
While I can see this skirting the lines, it's certainly possible to imply a lot while fading to black. That being said, the part that makes this work is that Taylor is a Master, and thus is subject to the generalized Master need for control. Sadly it seems to me that they're going to develop a very unhealthy co-dependence as a result of Taylor's self-isolation, even if justified, and Emma's guilt & manipulation.
