My take on the premise
@Ack presented in
Hostage Situation, with two different divergences.
Track A: Freedom (Worm)
"So, what now?" I asked. As irritating as it had been, I couldn't really fault the PRT for engaging in Master/Stranger protocols after the bombshell I'd dropped on them.
"Now, nothing," Director Piggot said simply.
Wait, what?
"You heard me," she said. I must have said that out loud. "Since we've determined you are, in fact, who you appear to be, and that you're not under the influence of a Master, I'll be happy to forward your request to release Marquis from the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center. I'll have someone notify you if and when I hear back on it."
I blinked. "What about the Wards?" I blurted out. They were still hurt from the bank robbery. They couldn't go back to school with those injuries, or their identities would be exposed!
"What
about them?" she echoed. "The Wards are none of your concern, as you've made
abundantly clear." I waited, but she didn't elaborate. Instead, she said, "While we do appreciate the assistance you've provided in the past, the PRT, the Protectorate,
and the Wards program have all managed for many years without your assistance. We will do so again. Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Dal- ahem,
Miss Lavere, I have a lot of work to do." With that, she turned and walked away.
I stared as she walked away. That wasn't how this was supposed to go.
I hadn't really expected her to give me what I wanted, to free my father from the Birdcage. But I hadn't expected her to just... dismiss me either.
I had
expected an outright denial, perhaps an appeal to my conscience and good will or posturing about how what I was demanding was outrageous, maybe even leveraging the M/S protocols to keep me locked up until I "came to my senses," not... this.
In a daze, I walked the familiar path out of PRT headquarters, only to find my fam-
the Dallons waiting for me. Mark was barely there, as usual. Victoria looked confused but offered me a supporting smile, which I tentatively returned. As for Carol, she bore her usual look of-
No, there was something different about Carol's expression, something I couldn't quite place, something beyond the cool disapproval she usually radiated.
My stomach sank.
Was I really destined to villainy? Had I just proven her
right?
I closed my eyes and steeled myself. No. No compromise. For the first time I can remember, I'd done something for
myself, and I sure as hell wasn't going back on that.
I was
done being the world's doormat.
Squaring my shoulders, I marched out.
* * *
"Well, that's good to hear."
Wait, what? I blinked.
Arnold Sanders was the director of Brockton Memorial Hospital. Despite how I felt about the PRT,
he had done nothing against me. He at least deserved to know that I would no longer be healing for them.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Director Sanders hesitated. "Well," he said finally, "you've been putting in a worrying amount of time over the past two years. People talk. They worry. Frankly, if I wasn't so sure you'd just go somewhere else -- and, well, the
incredibly bad press we'd get -- I'd have started turning you away a couple of months ago just to get you to take a vacation."
"But..." I stared. "Will the hospital be okay without me?"
He laughed. It was friendly. Good-natured. It sounded
wrong for someone who'd just learned that the world's best healer would no longer be offering him her services.
"We'll be fine," he assured me. "Sure, your presence gave us a lot of medical tourism, and that'll dry up, but without you, we couldn't handle that workload anyway. An occupied bed generates the same revenue whether it's the same patient staying for two weeks or a dozen being admitted and discharged over the same time."
I recoiled, horrified at how he broke it down to- to
accounting. "But what about all the
patients?"
His face went grim. "One thing you learn in this business, Panacea," he said quietly, "is that you can't save everyone. You'll save a lot more people by taking a break and unwinding than you will by burning yourself out trying. So go. Take a break. Don't come back until
you want to. We'll be here."
That's right. I hadn't told him
why I was stopping, just that I was. He thought I was just taking a break. I considered telling him the truth -- that I wouldn't be back until my father was released -- but I didn't.
Instead, I nodded. "Don't worry," I said numbly. "I won't."
* * *
Leaning on the sill, I stared out the window.
The city was on fire.
The ABB's newest recruit, Bakuda, had started a mass bombing spree, and the casualties were mounting up. The PRT had brought in a couple of healers from out of town. It was bad enough that the
villains had set aside their differences to help deal with the ABB. Rumor had it, even
Othala was pitching in to heal people, not just her fellow Neo-Nazis.
I should be out there. I should be healing people. People were
dying, and I could save them!
I closed my eyes. My hands clenched into fists. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes again, looking out across the city.
No. No compromise. Not even in the face of armageddon.
I heard a hesitant knocking on my door. I didn't answer. After a moment, I heard the door open.
"Ames?"
Victoria. I closed my eyes and refused to respond. I couldn't let myself, or I'd give in. I just knew it.
"We're heading out," she said. "Are- are you coming?"
Footsteps. "Victoria." Carol. "We have to get moving."
"But-"
An exasperated sigh. "Amelia's made her decision. It's not up to us to change her mind, and every moment we waste here is a moment longer that madwoman is free to hurt more people. Let's
go."
The door closed. Footsteps faded into the distance.
I couldn't help but feel perversely grateful to Carol, though. She was right. I
had made my decision, and her refusal to pressure me, to try and make me change my mind... it warred with what I'd always expected of her if I'd ever stopped healing, right up until I'd actually done it.
It was strange, and I was still horrified over what was going on in the city, but despite that, I felt... good.
Like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
* * *
I looked up.
"Tattletale," I said, tilting my head to the side. I felt oddly detached, seeing her again. I should have been furious, but I could only muster a vague respect.
The PRT had tried to suppress it, but information leaked out anyway, and the way they'd crashed the fundraiser had gotten the rumor mill going. While the heroes had disarmed Bakuda's superbomb, it been an alliance of villains -- particularly the Undersiders -- who had taken down Bakuda. And during the Leviathan fight, the bug-bitch had personally gone toe to toe with the Endbringer; that took some
serious guts. She'd disappeared after the dust settled; rumor had it she'd been recruited to the Wards and moved out of the city.
Either way, the Undersiders had earned a measure of respect.
"What can I do for you?" I prompted.
"You know the Slaughterhouse Nine is in town," she said. I nodded. "We want an alliance to deal with them, but the PRT shut us down; they won't talk to us. We're pretty sure you're one of their targets."
"I was," I confirmed. "Bonesaw's been dealt with." It had actually been surprisingly easy. All I'd needed was a single touch to neutralize her.
She blinked. I don't think she was expecting that. "And..." she hesitated, "I wanted to apologize. For what I said in the bank."
"Actually," I said, "I should thank you. You forced me to reexamine my life. I doubt I'd have been able to deal with Bonesaw quite so effectively if I were still the same helpless little healer I used to be." The kicker was, I was being honest. About a week after Leviathan, I had actually gone back to healing, but on
my terms. Once people realized they couldn't guilt me into anything anymore, things had gone much smoother.
I hadn't felt more free -- more at peace with myself -- in my entire life. Still...
She pulled back just a little too slowly as I reached out and caught her wrist.
"But that
doesn't mean this is over between us," I hissed into her ear. I'd paralyzed her so she couldn't pull away; temporarily, of course, but it would last long enough to get my message across. "Once the Nine are finished, we're going to...
revisit this."
Track B: Monkey's Paw (Worm)
I saw a flash, and my father's head exploded.
"No!" I shrieked. "Daddy!"
I grabbed him. No. Nonono. I-I couldn't fix this. I
couldn't! Some of his tissues were still alive, yes, but his head was gone, his brain -- what him
him -- splattered all over the sidewalk.
My head whipped around toward where I'd seen the flash, and I ran. I wheeled around the corner to confront the shooter. She stood there, waiting for me, no mask, the rifle -- the murder weapon -- leaning against the concrete planter next to her.
I marched up to her and grabbed her. I was only vaguely aware of my power filling me in with the details of her biology. I ignored the tears streaming down my face.
"Give me one good reason not to kill you," I snarled.
"That would be hypocritical," she said, her voice tired, belying the small spike of adrenaline in her system.
I blinked but didn't let go. "What?"
"He was your father, right?"
"Yes," I confirmed warily. "So?"
She shook her head. "
So trying to convince you not to kill me would be hypocritical. It's why I killed
him, after all."
"
What?"
"After Marquis killed my father," she said, her eyes boring into mine, "I made a promise, but the Brigade got to him first, and in the Birdcage, he was beyond my reach. Today, I fulfilled that promise."
