Bite 3.2
"So how does this look?" she asked, holding up a long, flowing skirt. It was dark brown, the kind of thing you wore to an interview for an important internship, and I tried to be objective and thoughtful about it, looking from the blonde to the skirt, and then back again.
"Maybe too plain, I guess? But really, I'm not the person to judge this kind of thing," I said, looking at Lisa. She was really getting into this, while I really… wasn't. It was a nice shop, though. It sold gently used, as the euphemism went, clothing. She'd chosen it, I bet, because she knew that I might feel uncomfortable watching her buy expensive clothing with stolen money.
But really, back when I was friends with Emma, I would have been all over a place like this. It was a way to stretch what little money I had while being as fashionable as Emma. Now, well. Rachel was right. Clothes really mattered for their function. That meant that I could probably use some more sports bras, since I'd not wanted to spend on them for my jogging before. But with all of the hero business I was doing, all the running around and danger, well it made sense.
On the other hand, it was thrift store. But, with a shrug, I decided I'd get the ones that looked like they really were 'gently used.'
"No, you aren't," Lisa said. "But it's fine. Not everyone's into fashion. I'd been thinking that maybe you'd want to dress up a little, since you and Rachel…"
I flushed, and said, "Um, she doesn't care that much about clothes."
"Does she?" Lisa asked. "After all, all sorts of guys say they don't care about clothes, and then they do. It's sorta the way of the world."
"I think I know Rachel a little better than you," I pointed out.
"Well, maybe. Still, for me at least, dressing up nice is important. So I spend a little extra on it."
"I've seen how you dress, it's very formal."
"No, it's very normal. Normal and yet professional when I need to be," Lisa said. "I'm not dressing for a runway or a prom."
"Neither am I. Who would even ask me?" I said.
Lisa turned, and I saw that I'd said something wrong. "Don't talk about yourself like that. Especially since you have a lot fewer reasons to be so down on yourself. Rachel probably would."
"We're friends with benefits," I pointed out. "Maybe best friends with benefits." I blinked, and focused on a more important problem, "Plus, she's not even in my school, and there's the whole wanted fugitive thing."
"Ah, have you looked into that?"
"I'm working on it," I said. There wasn't any really simple answer, but I figured if I could convince her to start acting like a hero, which was to say fighting villains and then turning them into the Protectorate or something like that, they'd be forced to change how they treat her. And as long as I was there, then we'd be a package deal.
And I'd done enough that I thought I deserved some credit. Two E88 busts was a lot more than I'd heard the Brockton Bay Protectorate do in the last while.
"There's no easy solution. Especially depending on what you want," Lisa said, quietly. "What do you want?"
"I want what's best for Rachel," I said, hoping it wasn't a lie. Perhaps I was just being selfish and wanted this to continue without the guilt of… of. The guilt of having sex with someone who was a villain. I hesitated. "I guess I also just want to keep what I have, too."
"I'm not the sort of person who can understand that all that well," Lisa said, turning her head a little. "My power gives me too many details at once. If I tried to kiss someone It'd tell me when they last brushed their teeth, what they thought about me, whether they had any cavities…"
She trailed off, and I nodded. "Wow," I said. That really did sound like it sucked.
"Wasn't much interested in it before I had my powers, but that's why I'm not exactly up on the details. Just that if you're enjoying it and she's enjoying it, then that's what matters. As long as you're happy."
"I am. I'm also not sure why you wanted to go shopping. Bonding?"
"Hah. Not just bonding," Lisa said. "Disguises."
"Disguises?"
"If you go after the ABB, Merchants, E88… anyone, then you need to be able to blend into the area. Wearing the wrong thing could get you spotted, and if you're out of costume, that's a bad idea."
"Ah, right. But I'm not exactly… I mean." What I meant was that a lot of the things that people wore in areas with heavy gang presence were pretty embarrassing. Especially if you were a woman, for that matter.
"Just go with the androgynous look. Or get used to showing a little skin. It's not as if their eyes mean anything," Lisa said. "Oh, and here you go." She tossed me a smartphone, a rather old looking one at that. "I made sure it was as old and worn down as possible, to minimize the guilt of taking it."
"Gee. Thanks." I almost stuck my tongue out at her. Something about her definitely brought out the playful side I'd had when I was around Emma. Or at least, there were flashes of it. If only I liked being reminded of Emma, and if only she didn't smile so much. It seemed that that's what she did when she didn't know what to do. The same way a person might tug their hair if they were thinking, or might say, "Um" while they were searching for the next word.
Lisa smiled.
They were very nice smiles, and maybe I was spending too much time with Rachel, but it was a little harder to just 'switch off' the social cues, at least compared to earlier.
I mostly didn't notice it, since it wasn't as if I was all that happy outside of the time I spent with Rachel, so there weren't all that many smiles to hide anyways.
"So, my idea is simple… just follow me. I can pay for it, and none of it will be expensive, but a good disguise is worth every penny no matter how much it costs."
I wasn't so sure about that. It felt a little wrong, really, being out of costume. It wasn't the way the game was supposed to be played, and while Lisa hadn't yet told me all of the rules, I knew that there had to be a reason people didn't go around out of costume all the time using their powers.
Yet here I was, picking disguises. Of course, we did run into problems.
"I'm not wearing that," I said, pointing to a crop-top shirt and a pair of jean shorts that looked like they'd probably look good on someone who wasn't nearly as bony and flat as me.
"Well, think about it. You'd look good in them, but more importantly, you wouldn't look like you," Lisa said. "I have all sorts of outfits for when there's trouble that share nothing with how I normally dress or my costume either, for that matter. Some of them are sorta like that, some of them are rags. You can go for different looks."
"And what happens when my Dad sees this?"
"Just keep it at Rachel's. She's not going to mind, I'm sure," Lisa said, pointing over to a skirt. "That'd be good if you wanted to blend in at a nice store, or walk around an upper-class neighborhood and look only a little out of place. The key is, beyond looking somewhat nice, the average rich person mostly dresses like anyone else, but in brands if they care. So if you find something that looks nice, or maybe has the right brand on it even if it's an old fashion, nobody will care on that front. It's really harder to disguise yourself as someone poor, I think," Lisa said.
All of this talk was just a little uncomfortable considering that my own, real clothes were often worn out and worn down. Dad wasn't poor, he was even middle-class, but basically everything was sunk into the home. We'd gotten one of those long mortgages or something like it, where you pay it off forever at a little bit at a time. But when Mom had died, we'd lost her source of income, and there had been huge medical bills to pay, even if insurance (thanks, college!) covered most of them. So suddenly the payments which had been a tiny part of their spending blew up.
Big time. So suddenly a large part of Dad's paycheck went to pay off the house, which was starting to get old and creaky anyways.
As far as it goes, there had been a before and after, as far as my life went, even without Emma turning on me. My clothes, what we ate, how much money we had? Everything went from solidly middle class to, effectively, something like lower middle-class.
"Sure," I said.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Money," I said.
I wasn't a greedy person. I didn't believe that money solved all of the world's problems, but I did think that having a little more wouldn't hurt us. But I was going to be an independent hero. I'd just have to deal with it. Protectorate heroes made a very, very good wage, though of course there were huge risks, and villains could be rich, if they did well.
But independent heroes basically just had to suck eggs.
"I know you won't accept charity, except maybe me buying you some of these clothes," Lisa said. "But just think about what you want."
I frowned. "I guess I don't have a lot of complicated wants right now. I want to be a hero, I want to be with Rachel. Everything else is just too distant to care about. It's going to be years until I go to college, and it feels even more distant now."
"Independent heroes can take from the criminals, if it's a small amount. Or at least, nobody cares about it, as long as they aren't stealing drugs and evidence," Lisa said. "But that's not really a solution, and I bet you wouldn't do it anyways."
"I wouldn't," I said, glancing over at a ratty pair of jeans that, if Lisa's coaching was any hint, would be good for pretending to be a hip young teen. If they were the right sort of ratty. It all seemed a little like hanging clothes on a stick, admittedly. "So, I was going to ask you…"
"Ah, and here I was hoping you'd forget."
"Yes. About the Merchants."
"We have… well, we have a mission of sorts," Lisa said. "Can you promise not to tell the Protectorate? For one, they can't do anything and we aren't that important, and for two, it'd put your girlfriend in danger."
"...Okay," I said, taking a breath, aware that she was dragging me in deeper to this, and also aware that there was nothing I could do about it.
"Well, we have an employer. He or she pays us for each job we do, and gives us suggestions on what to do. I have to assume they have some larger plan, but so far it seems mostly like they just want us to be there. All they give is the occasional bit of help--"
"Or," I said, piecing things together, "a few people to help Rachel move the dogs?"
"Yes, that too. When I looked into their backgrounds, I couldn't find much that stood out, and a lot of the names were fake." Lisa shrugged. "I really do want to learn more about him or her, but…"
"I get it," I said, though it felt like she was holding a little back. "So, what else?"
"Well, I think you have enough clothes to last forever, you have the smartphone, and you have a plan. And more information to chew on. We could go out for smoothies, but I'm sure you have other things to do," Lisa said. "This was fun, and we should do it again. Please allow me to pay for it."
"Well, if you say so…"
*******
"That'll be $98.75, sir," the cashier said a few hours later. I glanced at the shopping cart, loaded down with groceries. I'd gone to the store with Dad to help him get food for the week, which meant entering a grocery store. Which was weird and awkward because there were plenty of bugs, but not nearly enough, and if I brought in bugs people would notice them.
There were tons of bugs in the back, especially near the trash compactor, but the size of the store meant that I couldn't monitor even half of the people there without running into problems. It was also just so wide-open and huge that I couldn't monitor everything. I'd been getting used to following everything everywhere, so thoroughly that I didn't notice it.
For instance, during that talk with Lisa, there had been twelve other people in the store, counting the two clerks. One of them was a woman who, from what I could tell, was looking for sexy lingerie. Another was a mom and her daughter, and there was also a man who seemed to be looking for whatever was cheapest.
I'd even picked up their tone of voices through the bugs, despite the fact that they weren't so far away that I couldn't hear them with my own ears.
All of it had just been without thinking. I hadn't concentrated on it, it'd just been done. Instincts existed for a reason, and Rachel sure knew how to listen to them, so maybe I should as well.
It was training of a sort. I was getting better, but I had no idea when I'd cross the line where I could listen in on conversations. I did know that a bug's sense of smell was a pretty good thing too, as far as using senses to know things.
Long story short, though, a place like this didn't feel safe because I couldn't put a bug on everyone without someone noticing or swatting it. Rachel didn't swat bugs - in my presence, at least - because she knew that I was using them to see, or notice things.
Not everyone would know that, and plenty of people wouldn't want me spying on them. It was still something of an overload if you got too many bugs and I was trying to do too many things, but I guess I was just good at multi-tasking, because I seemed to be getting the hang of it pretty quickly.
None of this was the only reason I was worried, though.
In the cart were two cases of beer. Dad had gotten both, saying, "I ran out on Friday."
Because now, where he would have drank two beers, he drank three. Or four.
Maybe I was worrying too much, but then he was also not talking about work much anymore, and I didn't know what was up with that, but I didn't trust it.
"Thank you," he said, adjusting his glasses slightly as he pushed the cart forward.
I followed close behind him, following him out into the parking lot, thinking about everything that could be better about our relationship.
But what was I supposed to do? Having Rachel come over could work, but what if he said something? What if he found out I was sleeping with… no, fucking her. That I was having sex with her, or that she was a villain, or even that I was an independent hero, since apparently the chance that I'd be dead in a year was startlingly high.
Independent heroes didn't last long, all things considered. Not normally, at least. It was enough to make any father worry.
"Dad?" I asked.
"Yes?"
"... what are we having for dinner?"
"I dunno. I thought you were going to make dinner," Dad said.
Well. I could do that. But usually on the weekends he was more willing to take that duty over. But perhaps he was too busy, or perhaps he was too tired. I could help out there, but it made me wonder about a lot of things.
******
On Monday, school started to kick into overdrive. It was inevitable, because now that it was getting well into May, there was only about a month or less until we got out of school. That meant final exams, that meant standardized testing, and it also meant students who were sick and tired of school and just wanted to get it all over with.
People paid less attention in class if they didn't care, or struggled to pay even more if they wanted to do well on the tests that the state set. And that meant I was torn, somewhere in the middle, honestly.
I wanted to do well on the tests, but I had so much more to do with my life now. It didn't seem to matter as much now that I was a parahuman with someone I wanted to woo. So I paid enough attention not to be called out, and tried to deal with the other problem.
They kept on trying to trip me, and the rumors just got worse and worse. Emma smiled smugly at me whenever I saw her, and Sophia looked like she'd like nothing more than to hit me. Madison seemed to act like normal, but she'd always been the one to get the least into any of these games, relatively speaking.
All of this felt like it was building up, and even if I could use my bugs to avoid some of the traps, I couldn't avoid other problems. I knew that if they had even the slightest idea of what I was doing when I wasn't at school…
They'd make it sound horrible. I'd be a villain, or worse, before I knew it.
The day was only looking worse and worse, and if this was representative of what would wind up going down, then there was no way I'd last the week.
I wanted to just trip them back, but then what would that do? I remembered what I'd told Rachel: I also remembered what Rachel would have done. I wasn't sure whether my own choice to be 'above it' wasn't just letting myself be trapped.
I had to think that I knew what I was doing. But Winslow was the kind of environment that brought out the worst in me, which made it odd that my range always felt best there. The only place I could remember where my range felt longer was when I was institutionalized. Then it'd felt like I could feel every bug in the city, though some of that was just my inexperience and confusion.
If I'd been in there longer, perhaps I would have learned to despise routine even more than I did. As it was, some routines could be good, and I was looking forward to seeing Rachel again.
In fact, I was barely thinking about lunch as I ate.
"Whoa, Taylor, slow down," Greg said, which was pretty hypocritical of him, all things considered.
"Sorry, distracted."
"How did it go with her?"
"How did it go?" I asked, playing dumb.
"Yeah. Did you level up the relationship?"
"Did I what?" I asked, genuinely baffled and amused at the same time.
"Or do you still need to give her a few more items to raise the relationship values," Greg said.
I knew for a fact that as socially awkward as Greg was, he didn't actually think that romance worked like it did in western RPGs. Which meant he was making a joke. And that should be encouraged. "Well, I'm not sure what I'd give her. A collar? She already has some for all of her dogs," I said, "and dog food? She has that too."
I shrugged, "Who knows?"
"Is that a yes?"
I nodded, "But don't go spreading it around, you know what those bitches would say."
"Whoa. Man, you're really getting into this whole… thing."
"What thing?" I asked, and now I was really getting confused.
"I mean. You've been changing, Taylor. It's not always bad, though some of it is sorta weird, but if you're happier, that's the important thing."
"I am."
"Good," Greg said, sounding a little nervous, as if it was in doubt that I was happy. "So, uh, um. Can I meet her sometime?"
This time I actually kept my mouth shut and thought about whether it'd be a good idea or not first, because you could make the same mistake time and again, yes, but eventually you had to learn from your mistakes or you were a fool.
"I… maybe. We'd have to find time, and I'm not sure how she'd react to that." I also didn't know how he'd react to Rachel. And what if he recognized her or looked her up a little more? I wasn't sure whether things would get out of hand.
It wasn't that I didn't trust him, but this was, honestly, something I didn't want to mess up, and I knew I'd messed up relationships before. Friendly and otherwise.
"Oh. Well, okay," Greg said, sounding a little put out. "So have you been able to play any Gotcha Racers?"
"Well, a little, but I've been very busy lately."
Every night, out and hunting down Merchant locations. It was a wonder I hadn't witnessed a murder yet.
"Uh, well, feel free to call me."
"I'll try--"
If I had time.
"Sure," Greg said, awkwardly.
"Don't worry, if you go to the big tourney city-wide, I'll be there to back you up."
"Really?" Greg asked, and he was back to excitable puppy. And trust me, I knew enough about puppies now to know that even among puppies, there were ones that were even more enthusiastic.
The dogs were easy to deal with, though I was busy thinking a lot more about the person who came with them. They liked me, I liked them, and I fed them and cared for them and, if need be, cleaned up after them.
That many dogs meant that it was all a lot of work, but I got used to it, and I dealt with it. It really was that simple.
"Yes. Of course," I said. "Why would I lie to you?"
"Right, right," Greg said, biting his lip. "I do wanna meet her, though. I mean, we're friends and all, and… stuff." He waved his arms vaguely.
"I'll think about it. I'd have to ask her, of course. And she's very busy with her job."
"Her job?"
Oh. Uh. Crud. "Taking care of the dogs is basically a full-time job when you have as many dogs as she does," I said.
"That many?" he asked, sounding almost suspicious.
"Dogs are cool."
Greg did something halfway between a giggle and a snort. "Of course you'd… sorry. Anyways, so, we should talk more about games. I never taught you that game you watched, did I. I could do that this weekend?"
"Sure. We could talk via the phone."
"I could come over."
I frowned, then shrugged. "Why not? But be careful. Dad's sorta… suspicious lately. For whatever reason."
"Does he know?"
"No," I said.
He mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key, and then started miming other actions that were rather more extreme, all of them, I assumed, to hide the secret.
"Well, I'm going to trust you."
"Aye aye," he said, with a salute, "I won't let you down."
If he was trying to improve my mood… than it worked. If he was trying for any dignity at all, not so much.
********
That night, I witnessed what might be a murder. By witness, I meant I was three or so blocks away, maybe a little more, and the person wasn't moving, but I couldn't feel or smell as much blood as I thought there'd be.
And that wasn't all. Half a block from me, before I realized and hurriedly evacuated my bugs, some prostitute was having sex in exchange for a needle. My bugs could feel her shudder when she plunged it in, could see the needle.
I could see, in some vague way, through the eyes of my bugs now, but hear?
'Oh… God?'
Is that what she said? Then I realized it had to be, when those words were repeated again and again, and then I got my bugs out of there, and fast, because I didn't want to see any of this. Hear any of this.
The Merchants were disgusting, though also smart at times. They moved their stash houses, I thought, as I went from one fast food joint to the next, dressed in baggy jeans and a crop-top shirt that made me feel as if I were on display. But nobody gave me a second look, which was about what I was expecting.
Smart at times meant that they moved their stash houses every day, and they didn't take about business where everyone could hear it. Of course, everyone didn't include bugs, and I was getting closer and closer to cracking how to interpret sound into words, at least some of the time.
The way I saw it, despite the headaches it gave me, the more practice I got with it, all the time, everywhere, the more likely I'd figure it out. That meant that I was doing it 24/7, more or less, and making sure to track absolutely everyone and listen to all of them, too.
Add enough data up and you ended up with facts, if your brain could interpret them. And for whatever reason, mine could, even though the mix of information, all at once, should have been as overwhelming as it'd been months and months ago when I'd triggered and wound up in a psych ward because of it.
*******
An ordinary enough Tuesday, almost better than Monday even, found me getting home a little later than usual by five or so minutes, only to find that Dad's car was already in the driveway. Huh, he was home early.
When I opened the door, I noticed a can on the kitchen counter, and my Dad already in front of the television. It was the beer he'd bought, and he was already one can in, and he was drinking his way through a second. Normally he waited until dinner to start drinking, and I hefted my backpack and said, "I'll start dinner soon. How does steak and potatoes sound? Plenty of meat."
"Yeah, it's fine," Dad said.
I hesitated, and almost just went up to my room, as I had before. "You okay?"
"Fine," Dad grunted, again.
"So, will you need any help this year?"
"For what?" he asked. His voice wasn't slurred, at least, but it sounded a little thick and heavy.
"The proposal? You do it every year."
"Yes. I did," Dad said. "Every. Year."
It was hopeless, the ferry, but that was Dad. Mom had confided once that that's one of the things she loved about him, his willingness to stand up for a cause even if it was hopeless.
"I'm sure that we can do better this year. Did you hear, there's an upswing on shipping," I said, firmly. "At least a little of it has to go our way, and Brockton Bay needs a kick in the rear. The mayor also has to run for re-election, and that means your vote matters."
"Not enough." Dad got up, having finished a second beer. He set the can down on the counter, and then got another. He drank it rather quickly as I tossed my backpack aside. I wanted to kick up my feet, but I had cooking to do. "You know it, Taylor."
"Maybe I like being hopeful," I said, my words coming out rather sharper than I thought they would.
"About what?"
About the girl I want to be girlfriends with? About my hero career?
"About friendship and life and all this other shit," I said.
"Taylor. Don't curse."
"Really?" I asked, glancing over at the beers. I knew that there wasn't a lot of alcohol in them, so that slight heaviness could just be exhaustion, but when he finished a third, that meant that he was at least getting a bit tipsy, and he grabbed a fourth while heading for the television.
It was blaring news about some disaster or another in some whole other country. An earthquake, and now a bunch of villains were stealing from disaster victims. The news was because they were foreign villains, and despite it being an isolated incident, they were calling it "Disaster Villain Tourism", like there were villains from the U.S. just jaunting around the world committing villainy.
Jack Slash notwithstanding, that is.
"Yes. This is my house," Dad said. He was well on his way to a fourth beer, in what seemed to be under an hour, and I knew it wasn't a good idea at all. I had no idea what had set him off, but I'd never seen him like this. There was anger, yes, in his voice, but the exhaustion didn't fit well with it.
"Oh? I didn't notice," I said, before I realized just how much I'd regret it.
Dad just hunched his shoulders and sat back down. I could see the way his features were trying to compose themselves. I had to guess that he was holding himself back from saying something very unwise.
"I'm going to make dinner now," I added, and slipped into the kitchen.
I began getting things out and ready, looking forward already to leaving home and visiting Rachel. I knew that Dad was great, considering how much of a wreck I'd been after Mom died, but he'd been drifting at times, and he seemed to be getting worse recently.
When I was sure he wasn't watching, I grabbed one of the beers he'd set on the counter and sniffed at it, and then looked inside. There was a little left, and I tipped it up to give me a sip. There was a little left, and I wasn't going to actually get drunk.
I tasted it, and almost immediately spit it out in the sink.
How did he drink this? How the heck could this be enjoyable, let alone four cans of it? I wiped my tongue, but that couldn't get rid of the taste, and it was in my mouth the whole time I was cooking dinner for the two of us.
The steak was good, though. I couldn't use the grill, but I made a pretty good attempt despite that limitation, and potatoes and the vegetables weren't hard. I probably should eventually try to learn a little more than just literal meat and potatoes, but it fit what Dad was hungry for, and if I ever needed to cook for Rachel, it'd probably fit her tastes as well.
Though the thought of cooking for her was weird. A little
too domestic, in a way. Better to just order food out. Felt more like a date anyways. Upstairs, I had clothes that were almost, but not quite, done. I couldn't give them to her tonight when I saw her, but just a few more nights, and I'd have at least a decent part of a costume, and some underwear for her as well. I just dyed them black, because it was cheapest and because it made sense as a plain, ordinary color that didn't stand out.
I had all of the clothes at least in their finishing stages, and I knew that if I kept this up, I was going to actually start to learn how to make even more complicated clothes than my costume. I didn't know how to feel about that, considering it wasn't really a sideline I'd ever thought of.
I didn't picture myself as some sort of weird clothes making rogue, even though there was a cape called Parian who did exactly that.
This was just a side-project compared to what I was really going to be doing.
I glanced over at the beer several times as I was cooking, almost wanting to find a way to steal it as 'evidence' or to ask if Rachel drank. She could if she wanted to, but I'd feel a little disappointed if she drank all the time. Though, if she did, I would have seen it, right?
Maybe I was just being paranoid. Actually, there was no maybe to the situation at all. I was worrying over almost nothing, and as soon as I'd washed the dishes, I headed out of there, trying to avoid talking to Dad as much as possible. He seemed to be doing the same with me, having concentrated on his food, and his drinking, and the television.
It was a miserable night out, almost drizzling a little, but I hurried there, and arrived panting probably a little bit before yet another thunder shower. May, what could you do?
Rachel was already there by the time I knocked, having heard the dogs go crazy.
"Man, you know, one day they'll get used to it," I said.
"They won't," Rachel said. She wasn't frowning, though, and she sounded amused by my optimism.
I didn't need amusement right now. I hurried forward, closing the door, and she finally realized something was wrong. "Taylor, you okay?"
I sighed. "Not really." She looked at me for a moment, as if she wanted to hear more, but she didn't ask. We went to the door and opened it, and then dealt with the barrage of dogs.
I let myself be pulled down to their level and scratch ears and rub bellies for a while. It was relaxing, if the reason why our house's water bill was just going up and up. I didn't want anyone at school to notice me smelling like dog, even though I was sure that Rachel didn't mind, considering that she constantly smelled that way. At least a little, no matter what.
She was watching me, a concerned expression a face that couldn't objectively be called attractive, but which felt familiar and comfortable.
"Do you drink?" I asked.
She shrugged, clearly not sure what I was getting on about. Her arms were crossed, and they seemed damp. Had she been working out before I got there? If so, despite my poor mood, a part of me wished I'd gotten there earlier. But probably it was just that she'd been out during some sort of brief shower.
Rachel shrugged. "Done it a few times. It's alright. Nothing special. Do you want a drink or something?" She didn't seem troubled by the idea that I would, despite the fact that I was fifteen, though I wasn't naive. I knew that tons of teens did it.
"No. Dad was drinking today." I saw a look of anger flash across her face, and wondered, as I rubbed one dog's head, just what she expected. "Oh, he didn't do anything. He was just… defeated. Hopeless. Exhausted. And frustrated with me in general. It just got me thinking. I don't like it, the way he was, but it's not like I'm not my father's daughter. I could give up that easily, or something. I dunno." I tried for a shrug, but Rachel was moving forward.
She wrapped her strong arms around me into a hug that was almost crushing, but not quite. I breathed in, and out, and smelled soap. She must have washed just before I got here. Washed the sweat of a day off because she knew I was coming here, and however much my brain might throw up attractive images of her lifting weights or running, that didn't mean I liked sweat or anything.
I wasn't crying, not even close, but I did sort of feel in the kind of place where I could have. I hugged her back, not in the mood for anything more than that.
"Didn't know my father," Rachel admitted, frowning.
"And I guess you never really fear that you're going to become your stepmother, do you?" I asked. "Fuck, I mean. If you'd told me a few years ago that I was my father's daughter, I would have liked it. Or my mother's daughter. Now, I don't know. He doesn't approve of you, and he hasn't even met you."
Rachel was frowning, when I looked in her face, and I could tell she was holding back something just like Dad was.
"What is it?"
"Fuck him," Rachel said. "You're fifteen, not five."
"Well, yeah, but…" I shrugged. "I'm doing a lot that I'm not used to. I mean, I'm not trying to babble but all of this is new and I'm not experienced like you might be and yes, yes I was bisexual, but all I've had so far before you were a bunch of crushes on celebrities or that kind of random thing. It's never been flesh and blood, and I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to do with that."
I took a breath, a deep one, but the words still wanted to spill out.
"What celebrities?" Rachel asked.
I blinked, surprised by the odd question, or rather, the completely normal question. "You see, there was this fantasy movie that had this warrior queen hero, played by Lucy Holden, it was. I kept on sharing articles with Emma about how awesome she was, and this thing, and that thing, and then eventually she accused me of having a crush on her, and I thought about it and I kinda did. But Emma was okay with it, not like later when she used it as a weapon against me. And there's always been a few others like that. Female celebrities that draw my attention, I crush on them for a while, and then it goes away. Never any chance for it to be real, so when I had a crush on you, I guess I just sorta treated it the same way I would have anything else?"
"Okay," she said, blandly. "Got that."
"What about you?"
"Was, what, seven? I dunno. Had a crush on this girl with really nice pigtails or something. I can't even remember her name, cause it wasn't important. Wound up saying something, and the foster dad at the time wasn't a complete bastard, or if so he was weird. He said he was fine with it, and said that I'd have to be strong to be like that, or something, and then he kept on trying to make me watch sports with him. Bonding or something."
"And you didn't want to?" I asked.
Rachel snorted, "Fuck no. Sports are boring. Just a bunch of pointless running around." She pulled away from me a little bit, and the dogs were of course sniffing around us, trying to get in on this cuddling though.
"Nice pigtails?" I asked, touching my hair.
Not because I was going to wear pigtails, because that was silly, but because I wondered if that's what had attracted her first, my hair.
Rachel reached a hand out and touched my hair. "I like it," she said. "Just like this."
I flushed. I still wasn't in the mood at all, I was still not interested, but she knew just what to say. "Oh, well. Thanks. I know I'm maybe, I mean. We don't really talk about the… the."
"Fucking?" she asked. She didn't even sound amused at how I could have sex with her multiple times and yet hesitate to say it outright. Instead she sounded like she was just helpfully filling in the blanks.
"I know I'm not really experienced, and if there's anything…"
"Only had sex once before anyways," Rachel said.
I looked up, not sure whether I was more surprised that she wasn't a virgin, or that she had only had sex once.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Nothin' to talk about. Some weird homeless lady, year ago or so. Said she liked my muscles, asked if I wanted to fuck. I did," she said, as if it didn't mean anything, "and we did. Then she kept on coming around, and I think she was part of some gang or shit, but I just scared her off. Plus, there's been a few people I run across, they're straight and all. So I made sure before asking you."
I blushed. "I was that obvious?"
"Yeah," Rachel said bluntly. "Staring at my arms. So I started working out more and shit, cause then you'd stare more and maybe say yes faster."
"Faster? You always knew I'd--"
"Figured you would," Rachel said.
I took a breath, and nuzzled my nose against the nape of her neck. "You were right. So, I mean, is there anything…?"
"I'd tell you if you were screwing up," Rachel pointed out.
"We could try new things," I said. "I could look up stuff."
"If you want," Rachel said, sounding neither for nor against the idea. "I like what we do."
In the last week, then, she'd had more sex with me than she'd ever had in her life, I thought, feeling oddly accomplished, even though that tiny voice in my head kept on whispering that it wasn't, that only a slut would care about that.
But whatever. Blast it. I felt proud in some strange, hard to define way. And I wanted to keep on making her feel good, especially since she was pretty good at returning the favor.
Though honestly, as red as my face was, it was a wonder I didn't combust. "Thanks," I said. "Sorry that I'm coming here and bringing all my trouble."
"It's fine. I could meet your Dad or whatever if that helped."
"Maybe. As far as it goes, well, Rachel, what do you know about dockworkers?"
"Nothing."
"Okay, just tell me if I'm boring you. Ever since Leviathan started doing his thing, combined with the general trends in general, it's been going downhill. Brockton Bay too, I think, though there are the new biomed corporations and all of that. But my Dad works on the dock. Loads and unloads ships. He thinks that if we had a ferry between parts of the city that it'd help, and that there were a bunch of other things we could do," I explained, hugging her tight.
She was warm, and the dogs made it even better. Just laying there.
She didn't complain that I was heavy, even though I was kinda sprawled out on top of her.
"And every year, he keeps on proposing it to this mayor, or that mayor. He does work, sometimes even spend a little of the dockworker's funds on surveys and studies and the like. Not full ones, because he can't afford it, but enough to show it's popular, or that estimates are that it wouldn't be too expensive. Or whatnot. And every year it fails. And a person can get tired of failing again and again, but I just… I don't know. I get tired too, sometimes."
"Lisa once told me I don't give in," Rachel said.
"As a good thing?"
"She said I was stubborn," Rachel said. "It was back when I first met her and she was baring her teeth at me all the time and hanging around. I made her shovel shit, and she didn't even push back like you did."
"Ah," I said, wondering about that. Or rather, wondering about Lisa and Rachel. "She just doesn't know how to talk to you. She's not a bad person, even if it's fine that you don't like her. Maybe I'm already used to people like her?"
"Maybe," Rachel said. "She said I'd just keep on getting up and trying the same thing again."
I frowned, "You mean, strategy wise?"
"Sure."
"Well, you know. I think I appreciate that. Or I could, right now. Better than giving up," I said.
"Course," Rachel said.
We stayed like that for a few dozen more minutes, and then pulled apart and talked about books and video games, or rather she listened to me ramble and, I assume, appreciated it at least enough to nod along.
I didn't feel great, but I did feel better.
********
A/N: This was actually originally part of the next update in the draft, but when I was writing I realized that it really didn't all fit in one chapter, possibly not in a length sense, but definitely not in a thematic sense. Thanks to
@NemoMarx.
