Taylor Hebert, Medhall Intern [Worm Fanfic]

Taylor Hebert, Medhall Intern

Part Fourteen: Moving Along

[A/N 1: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: Be aware that this fic delves into the personal thoughts and motivations of white supremacists and people who are generally racist, and there may be racist slurs and points of view expressed from time to time. The author does not agree with any of these. You have been warned.]


Medhall Clinic
Rune

"Are you sure you're alright?" Diane Grayson, otherwise known as Othala, leaned in close to inspect Tammi's face. "From what I was told, you took a nasty spill out there."

"Pfft, I'm fine." Tammi waved her cousin away. "It was just a couple of bumps and bruises, and they're all good now." Although there was nobody else in the room, she carefully didn't mention Othala's ability to bestow regeneration. Max might be a boring adult, but his lectures on not talking about cape matters in her civilian identity made sense.

Also, being yelled at sucked balls.

"Okay, good." Diane nodded and let Tammi get up from the examination table. "So, I hear it was the new security guy who saved you. The, uh …" She paused questioningly.

"The black one, yeah." Tammi nodded. "When I first saw him, I thought for sure he was coming to help them, but then he just started kicking the living shit out of those two slant-eyed assholes like it was an Olympic event. I couldn't believe it. I still can't. Not really. I mean, what are you supposed to do when one of them does something like that? Pat them on the head and say, 'That's a good boy, here's a treat'?"

"What, security guards or black guys?" Diane grinned to show it was a joke. They both knew Tammi was talking about the blacks.

"Haha, yeah." Tammi snorted in amusement, because it was actually funny. "Is it true he only got the job because he helped out a couple of the interns?"

"Well, we've only got two interns, but yes." Diane nodded. "I'll introduce you, if you like. They're both around your age. Taylor's a real go-getter. She's managed to impress both Max and Ms Harcourt a few times, and she's the one who raised the alarm about Shadow Stalker being in the building the other day, then figured out that it was Shadow Stalker and warned Bradley and the others."

Tammi's eyes widened. She'd heard a little of this but she'd taken it with a large grain of salt. Ms Harcourt was the most formidable non-cape Tammi had ever personally met, and her force of will was such that the jury was still out on her having a Master power based around pure intimidation. And this 'Taylor' person had actually managed to impress her?

"Well, damn." Tammi was beginning to wonder if it would be a good idea to meet Taylor after all. Someone like that sounded like they had their life totally in order, and they knew exactly where they were going with it. Which wasn't to say Tammi didn't, but … sometimes she wondered a little. Would someone like that be even interested in hanging with someone like me?

"Yes, I'm kind of impressed with her too," Diane noted, taking totally the wrong message from Tammi's silence. "She's also the one who went into the car when Shadow Stalker murdered Justin, and got his girlfriend to safety."

"Okay, yeah, she sounds cool," Tammi said hastily. The image she was building in her mind was something like a teenage non-cape version of Alexandria; someone who didn't need powers to impress Max. Tammi hadn't even met her, and already she was feeling inadequate. "What about the other one?"

"Oh, Greg?" Diane smiled again. "He had a little bit of a rocky start, but he managed to get his act together in the end. Nice kid. Polite."

Okay, so it's nice to hear that only one of them's a superstar in the making. "Polite is good," agreed Tammi. "I like polite."

Diane nodded. "Yes. Ms Harcourt only had positive things to say about him after he saved her and some of the staff from Shadow Stalker. That was right before he captured Stalker himself."

Tammi's jaw dropped. "The fuck? How'd he pull that off?"

"With panache and flair, from what I hear." Diane raised an eyebrow, possibly in amusement at Tammi's astonishment. "Bradley says Greg's got enough promise that he's got Melody giving him close-quarters combat training."

"Well, damn." All that without powers? What am I doing wrong?

<><>​

Hookwolf

Max slid the beer across the desk to Brad, then leaned back in his chair and raised his glass slightly to look through it. "Well, it seems as though our new hire is turning out better than expected."

Popping the cap off the bottle expertly enough that it landed in the wastepaper basket, Brad chugged about half the contents of the bottle in one hit. He stifled the following burp more out of respect than anything else, then nodded. "Yeah. The Laborn kid's one of the good ones, alright. I thought he might be when he stepped up for young Taylor and Greg, but saving Tammi's ass just proves it as far as I can see. He's respectful, he's smart, he pays attention, he doesn't try to play the race card—" Brad shared a grin with Max over exactly how far that particular ploy would fly in Medhall, "—he's tough, and he can fight. Oh, and when I checked the security footage, he didn't even bother going around the desk. As soon as he saw Tammi was in trouble, he went over it."

"Hmm." Max took a drink from his glass as he seemed to mull that over. "It appears that Ms Hebert's instincts extend beyond analysing paperwork. If this is no fluke and her judgement where it comes to people is equally valid …" He let the notion hang in the air between them.

Brad took a drink from his beer. "The Veder kid," he said when he surfaced. "We were getting ready to cut him loose after his trial period, but she gave him a few pointers. Helped him straighten up and fly right. All we could see were his screwups."

"Whereas she could see deeper. She could see his real potential," Max agreed. "Thus, enabling everything that has followed, including the capture of Shadow Stalker on Medhall premises." He gazed beatifically at the ceiling. "The telephone conversation with Director Piggot was amazing."

Brad chuckled. "Not for her, I bet."

"No." Max's smile never dimmed. "And I imagine it didn't get any better when she had the inevitable conversation with the Chief Director. Personally, I'm astonished she still has her job."

"Fat bitch is better at tap-dancing than we thought," grunted Brad, finishing his beer off. "That, or she knows where a few bodies are buried."

"I strongly suspect that it's a little bit of column A, and a little bit of column B." Max opened the bar fridge and slid another beer across to Brad without so much as looking. "Were you aware that Tammi had her costume and school ID in her bag? If they'd succeeded in getting away with it, she would've been more or less automatically outed, putting most of the Empire in peril and drawing unwelcome attention to Medhall itself."

Brad froze with his thumb pressing against the lower edge of the bottlecap. A chill raced up and down his back as he realised how close they'd come to disaster. "Jesus fuck. No, I didn't. I was right there, and she didn't say word one to me about it. How'd you find out?"

"She let slip to Diane, who passed it on to me." Max sat forward, placing both elbows on the desk. "I understand you've been talking to Ms Hebert and Mr Veder about weekend self-defence training sessions? Go ahead with that, and sign Tammi up as well. Perhaps a few bruises will serve as a reminder."

"My goddamn pleasure." Brad popped the cap off the beer bottle, scoring another three-pointer into the wastepaper basket.

"In fact, while we're at it," Max added, "not just Tammi. I'll be sending Theo your way as well."

Brad raised his eyebrows. The boss' son was usually very much on the protected-species list. "What'd he do to piss you off?"

Max subsided back into his chair and closed his eyes. "I heard a whisper that he was drunk at the wake. Then this morning, he came to me and said to my face that he didn't want to take over Medhall when the time came, and he didn't want to be a part of the Empire Eighty-Eight at all, even if he did end up with powers."

From what little Brad knew of how that sort of thing worked, the last bit was almost certain to happen, given that the ungrateful little shit was third generation. As for the rest of it … that was another thing altogether. He let out a low whistle. "Well, fuck. I wonder who put that wild hair up his ass?"

Max grimaced and rolled the glass across his forehead. "Part of me wants to know so I can crucify whoever it was, and part of me doesn't care. The boy's got a duty to the Anders name, and it's about time he learned what that means."

"So have you thought about setting him up with a Herren girl around the right age?" Brad knew there was a slight risk talking about Theo's love life with his dad, but it seemed the obvious solution. "Once he's got a reason to want to stick around, he might see sense, you know?"

"No, for two reasons." Max raised two fingers in a parody of the victory salute. "One, when my son gets married, it'll be to a cape. Two, he's not interested. They're friendly to him, but he just ignores them."

"Well, shit." Brad could think of three explanations for this. First, maybe the little shit's balls just hadn't dropped yet. Late development was a thing. Second, maybe he was actively avoiding girls with Empire connections for fear it was a setup by his dad—not a totally unwarranted concern, Brad admitted privately. Or third, and least likely (and least palatable), it could be the kid was a swish. Which was something he was never going to suggest, even jokingly. Some things you just didn't say to the boss, no matter how good your working relationship was with him. "So what are you gonna do?"

"Not me," Max said, opening his eyes. "You and Melody. While you're teaching Ms Hebert and Mr Veder how to fight and giving Tammi her reminder to be more careful, you'll also be toughening up Theo and showing him that he can stand on his own two feet. If anyone can do that for him, it'll be the two of you."

"Sure, I can do that." Brad skinned his lips back from his teeth in what might've been mistaken for a smile in poor light. "But I bet Taylor and Greg are gonna pick it up faster than Tammi and Theo."

Max snorted and shook his head. "I believe they call that a 'sucker bet'. Mr Veder's got a head start, but Ms Hebert has determination in spades. They'll be focused and learning while Tammi and Theo are still complaining about being there at all." He snapped his fingers. "And see if Laborn is amenable to helping out as well. It'll give you a working baseline on how good that boy really is, and he'll be able to keep Ms Hebert and Mr Veder busy while you and Melody are giving our two the close and personal attention they'll almost certainly be needing."

Brad grinned. Max's idea meant at least one sparring session with Laborn, and it had been way too long since he'd gone at it with someone, no powers involved. This was gonna be fun.

While he was taking a drink from the fresh beer, a question occurred to him. "So, is this whole thing supposed to be about toughening up your kid, making sure Tammi never fucks up like that again, or so your favourite interns can kick ass when and if necessary?"

Max finished the glass and gave him a self-satisfied look. "I believe it's called killing three birds with one stone. Now, I'm sure I can trust you to break the news to Tammi as gently as you feel like."

Brad smirked. "I can definitely break it to her."

<><>​

Tuesday Morning
Winslow
Taylor

"Hey, Greg."

"Hey, Taylor."

I gave him a kiss on the cheek; it seemed the thing to do. Nobody around us made any comments, though we would've ignored them anyway if they had. In the absence of physical bullying, mere verbal harassment was basically nothing.

In any case, Greg's standing at Winslow seemed to have risen dramatically since the footage came out of him beating the snot out of Sophia. Not just among the guys we were pretty sure were Empire Eighty-Eight (and were still assiduously ignoring), but also with other people she'd snubbed and pushed aside along the way. I didn't care; he could be friendly with other people all he liked, but I was the one he ate lunch with.

Our friendship might not have been forged in fire and blood, but it was close enough. (I may have printed out a still of him clocking Sophia with the fire extinguisher, just to take out of my pocket and look at from time to time). We had each other's backs, and that was that.

"So, did they tell you the good news yet?" he asked. It was a measure of both how much he'd matured and how well I knew him that his excitement was abundantly clear to me, even though he wasn't hopping around like a terrier anxious to go walkies.

"Well, I've been told some good news," I said. "What've you been told?"

"Bradley got back to me on the training thing," he said. "Saturday afternoon at Medhall, you and me both, if you still want to come along. Him and Melody and Brian are going to be teaching us self defense, as well as Theo and that girl Brian rescued on the steps."

I'd heard about Brian's daredevil rescue, though I didn't know any details about the girl. "That's amazing," I said, and hugged him. "Thanks for putting in a good word for me."

"Oh, I didn't have to." He shrugged. "Bradley just asked me if I thought you wanted to be in on it, and I said I was pretty sure you did, but I'd ask anyway."

"Hell yes, I do," I agreed. "I wonder who the girl is, that she gets in on this too?"

"Oh, uh, she's someone's cousin, I think," he said, a little less assuredly. "Medhall's like one big family, only not dysfunctional. They all look out for each other."

"We all look out for each other," I corrected him. "We're Medhall too, remember?"

"Yeah, I know." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I have to keep reminding myself when I'm at Winslow, because it's so damn cool and I have trouble believing that this is us."

"Don't I know it," I sighed. "Medhall's the best damn thing that ever happened to us."

"So, what's your good news?" he asked. "Are we getting a limo to school or something?"

I snorted and elbowed him in the ribs; he was already chuckling at his own joke.

"Don't I wish. No, this is even better. Mr Grayson is awake and lucid. He'll be able to testify that Sophia shot him. They called last night and told me that he wants to thank both of us in person tomorrow when we come in."

"Damn." Greg looked suitably impressed. "The level of care in Medhall's clinic must be off the charts. So he's gonna make a full recovery?"

"Well, they were already saying that," I agreed, "but yeah, that's definitely what it looks like. I'm really pleased for him and his wife."

"That's who the girl's related to!" Greg snapped his fingers suddenly. "Mr Grayson's wife! She works in the infirmary sometimes. They're cousins or something. I, uh, got told and I forgot."

"That's okay," I said generously. He got things right ninety-nine percent of the time these days, so I was willing to forgive him a tiny lapse like that.

Well, to be honest, I'd be willing to forgive a lot more than that. Without the pressure on both of us from the Winslow pecking order, and after the maintenance crew had finished with him, he'd actually turned out to be someone it was a lot of fun to be around. Our Fugly's meet-up had been thoroughly enjoyable, and we'd walked along the beach afterward. I was actually looking forward to our next date.

… date?

My brain skidded to a halt with an entirely imaginary screeching sound. Equally imaginary smoke curled out my ears.

Am I dating Greg?

Are we a couple?

Is he my boyfriend?

Up until this point, I'd been getting along quite comfortably with the idea that Greg was just a good friend. A really good friend, sure, but not my boyfriend, anymore than I was his girlfriend. We were … just friends … who only went out with each other … and nobody else.

And when I'd seen him just now, I'd kissed him on the cheek because it felt perfectly natural.

Doing my best to restrain the mad flailing of my brain, I went back over the questions I'd just asked myself. For each one, the answer 'yes' seemed to be the most logical choice. Far more than 'no', anyway.

"Um … Taylor?" Greg peered at me with concern. "Are you okay? I think you're hyperventilating."

"I'm not sure," I said. "Greg … don't take this question the wrong way … but are we dating?"

He blinked, looking more than a little startled. "I … uh, I hadn't thought about it like that. Do … do you want us to be dating?"

"I'm not sure." I seemed to be saying that a lot. "I really like what we've got right now. Can we call it 'dating' without it being weird?"

"Yeah." He nodded in relief. "Yeah, we can. Absolutely. Non-weird dating. Totally a fan."

"Good." I looked up as the home-room bell went. "Oh, uh, that's us. See you in World Affairs?"

His sudden grin gave me the hint as to what he was going to say next. "It's a date."

I rolled my eyes. "Dork." But I said it fondly, and gave him another kiss on the cheek. That was what people who were dating did, right? Right. "See you then."

As I headed off down the corridor toward Mrs Knott's Computer Studies classroom I felt as though I was dancing on air. We're dating!

<><>​

A Few Hours Later
Winslow
Greg

"… and that concludes today's lesson." Mr Gladly looked up as the bell rang. "Don't forget; five hundred words tomorrow on the destabilising factors in the Colombia/Brazil skirmish."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Greg murmured to Taylor as they got up from their desks. "He more or less laid it out for us in detail." It was amazing how much easier this stuff was when he was actually paying attention.

"True," agreed Taylor. "If you want to go on ahead, I just need to talk to him for a second."

"I'm good. I can wait." As far as Greg was concerned, so long as people like Julia were around, Winslow was hostile territory. His job was to watch Taylor's back, just like she watched his. When she'd asked him if they were dating, it was like one of those weird magic eye puzzles had just fallen into focus. He totally understood what she'd meant when she said she liked things the way they were. So did he.

I'm the luckiest guy in Winslow.

Mr Gladly looked up as Taylor approached him. "Ah," he said. "You're here to reclaim the book?" To Greg's ear, he sounded a little disappointed.

"Yes, sir," Taylor confirmed. "We're still working out exactly who wrote it, so I'd be happier if I had my hands on it until then."

"Understood." Mr Gladly started rummaging around in his desk. "It would be a pity to see a masterpiece like this go unpublished, though."

Taylor nodded. "I know, and I'm going to be asking someone about that tomorrow. I can let you know on Thursday what the situation is. They may be okay with it, and they may not."

"That's fair." Mr Gladly chuckled wryly. "I've been trying to read through it and grasp the idea as a whole, but every time I hit a new level of the plan, I just have to give up and go back to the beginning. Whoever wrote it, I'd hate to play chess against them. Ah, there it is." Unearthing the Book, he handed it over to Taylor. "Thank you for the loan."

"You're welcome, sir." Taylor carefully tucked the Book away in her pack, then turned toward Greg. "What do you say we go and get some lunch?"

"That's fine with me." Greg led the way out of the classroom, then fell into step alongside Taylor as they headed for the cafeteria. "But I think I'll stick with what Mom packed for me. I still think the mystery meat waved at me last Thursday."

Taylor shuddered theatrically. "Yeah, I'll pass on that too. The biggest mystery about that stuff is how they get anyone to eat it."

"Haha, yeah, I—"

Greg broke off as half a dozen older students emerged from a side-corridor and blocked their way. There were four guys and two girls; from their manner, this was not an accidental meeting. While Greg was a little more buff than he'd been before he started the internship, he knew for a fact that any two of them could kick his ass with ease, despite the training he'd been getting from Bradley and Melody.

"Veder, Hebert," said the oldest guy, who looked old enough to be a senior. "We've been waiting to hear back from you about our offer. Kind of rude to ghost us like that, don't you think?"

"Offer?" asked Taylor. Greg knew her well enough to see through her façade of surprise as her eyes widened slightly behind her glasses. "Oh, that note was you guys. What was that all about, anyway? We couldn't figure it out and we don't like going into stuff blind."

"Wasn't it obvious?" The oldest kid began talking; from the sound of it, he was following a script in his head. "We're the only ones standing between Brockton Bay and the degenerates and filth that infest the gutters. The blacks, the Asians, the Hispanics and the rest of them. Hess was just the tip of the iceberg. You need the protection of the Empire Eighty-Eight, and we need people who can fight the good fight."

Greg knew a cue when he saw one. "Um, well, seeing how Sophia's been arrested and all, it looks like the problem's solved." Shrugging, he added, "Sorry, guys. No offense, but we're not interested."

"Well, you should be interested." The older kid moved forward and more or less loomed over Greg. "People like Hess are a menace who don't belong in polite society, but she's not the only one. Once the rest of her kind hear about what you've done, they're likely to be coming to take you down. It's a matter of safety in numbers."

Taylor stepped up alongside Greg, her jaw thrust out. "That's all well and good, but where was your 'safety in numbers' when Sophia was screwing me over on a daily basis?" It was the perfect answer to knock this guy off-script, and Greg could've kissed her for it. With her permission, of course.

While the hamster was still getting up to speed in the bigger kid's brain, Mr Gladly came around the corner. "Taylor," he said. "Greg. Are you alright?" The subtext was as clear as a bell: are you being bullied?

"We're fine," Taylor replied, heading toward the teacher. Greg followed, mainly because she had a firm grip on his hand. "Just having a little exchange of views. Nothing to be worried about."

"Good," Mr Gladly said, not without a certain amount of relief. "Principal Blackwell would hate to need the police called again for this sort of thing."

Whether he'd intended for this effect or not, the word 'police' did its job, and the would-be recruiters dispersed. Greg and Taylor watched them go, then Taylor turned to Mr Gladly. "Good timing, sir."

"I'm glad to hear it, but what exactly did I interrupt?" Mr Gladly looked down the corridor in the direction that they'd gone. "Were they trying to steal your lunch money or something?"

"Not exactly," Taylor said. "Let's just say … it was an overly enthusiastic attempt to recruit us into an after-school club. Of sorts."

Greg had to admire the way she'd worded it; she hadn't mentioned the Empire Eighty-Eight even once, but Gladly would easily be able to figure out what she wasn't saying. No snitching involved, and it gave him an out, so he didn't have to officially notice it.

The teacher's head came up at the same time as his eyes widened slightly. "Ah," he said. "Is this likely to become a problem?"

Greg translated that one easily enough, too. Do I have to tell Principal Blackwell that the Empire is trying to recruit you two?

"Not for me," Taylor said. "I'm going to be transferring to Arcadia just as soon as they can finish expediting the paperwork."

"And I'll be fine," Greg assured them. "If they start pushing too hard, I'll sic Bradley on them."

"Warn me first," Taylor said. "I'm going to want popcorn for that."

Mr Gladly tilted his head a little. "And 'Bradley' is …?"

"He works security at Medhall," Greg explained with some relish. "And the amount of crap he takes from anyone is slightly less than zero."

"He showed up to save me and Greg from Sophia and Emma and Madison that one time," Taylor added. "When Sophia started beating Madison up, he put her in time-out so fast her head was still spinning five minutes later. It was amazing. A bunch of uh, kids like that?" She snapped her fingers. "He wouldn't even break a sweat."

"I'll, uh, take your word for it." Mr Gladly was clearly in the loop about what had gone down in Blackwell's office. "If they keep bothering you, let me or one of the other teachers know, okay?"

Taylor's smirk was a little bitter, in Greg's opinion. Not that she was unjustified; the only reason that Winslow was bending over backward so hard to help them out now was that they'd been caught so hard on the back foot by Bradley and Mr Grayson. They were absolutely going to be smashed big-time by the legal penalties, but they knew it could get exponentially worse. Thus, the tap-dancing act.

"Sure," she said. "We'll do that."

"Good, good." Mr Gladly headed off in the general direction of the office, leaving Taylor and Greg to make their way toward the cafeteria.

Greg took a deep breath. "Well, that happened."

"It did." Taylor gave him a concerned look. "Are you sure you'll be okay here without me?"

He rolled his eyes. "You won't be here, so duh, no. I'm gonna want total deets on how you're going at Arcadia, by the way."

"Doofus." She elbowed him in the ribs. "I mean, with the Empire assholes."

"I'll be fine. So long as the PRT manages to keep hold of Sophia this time around, and she doesn't come to Winslow looking for me so I have to beat her unconscious with a folding chair or something …" He paused to draw breath, then looked up at the stained ceiling. "And no, that wasn't a challenge." His attention switched back to Taylor. "What I'm saying is that so long as I don't get their attention again, they'll lose interest in me soon enough."

"Well, I hope so." She slid her arm through his, and held it close. "I'm really getting used to having you around."

"Me too," he blurted, then stumbled over his own words. "Uh, I mean, it's really nice having you around, too."

"Good." She didn't let go of his arm. "So, what do you want to do Sunday?"

"Movie," he said decisively. "Or a nice quiet stroll along the Boardwalk. Because I can guarantee we're not going to be up to anything physically challenging after Bradley and Melody have finished with us on Saturday afternoon."

"Cool. Movie it is."

Together, they entered the cafeteria.

<><>​

That Afternoon
Medhall Building
Rune

Tammi stared at Bradley. "What?" She'd heard him perfectly well; she just didn't believe what he was saying.

He folded his arms and glowered at her. "You're going to be attending combat training. This weekend. No ducking out of it. Kaiser's orders."

"But … but why?" She knew why, alright. Othala snitched. But it was ever her way to try to beat punishment with feigned ignorance. It had worked more than once, too. If they didn't know everything you'd done, there was no sense in making their job easier by confessing.

His lip curled. "One, you ditched class. That sort of thing draws attention. We don't want you drawing attention. Two, you had your costume in the same bag as something that could've been used to identify you. If those pricks had gotten away with your bag, it would've been bad for everyone, not just you. And three, I watched the footage. You made the situation worse with no fucking backup. If you'd just kept your fucking mouth shut, none of this would've happened. You didn't, so now you get a combat training refresher."

"They were just chinks!" she burst out. "They were nothing! Why should I be polite to them?"

His hand lashed out and wrapped around her throat. "Protective camouflage," he growled. "When you're in costume, you can treat them any way you like. Drop cars on them, for all I care. But when you're out of costume, when you're Tammi, you've got to pretend to be the same as everyone else. I thought you already knew this, you stupid little cow."

She fought for breath, even though she knew he wasn't really squeezing hard yet. "Okay," she managed. "Got it. Polite."

"Good." He let her go, then paused, an evil grin spreading across his face. "Oh, and you know Laborn? The guard who rescued your sorry ass from your own stupid trouble?"

She nodded, even though she was still having trouble reconciling the idea of Medhall letting one of them work alongside everyone else like an equal. Bradley was right; he had pulled her ass out of the fire. But that didn't mean she had to like him, or even respect him. You didn't give a guard dog extra praise for just doing its job, after all. "What about him?"

"He's gonna be there, helping me and Melody do the training," Bradley told her, his tone full of sadistic relish. "So you gotta be as polite to him as you are to me and her. And when he gives you an order, you gotta do it."

Her response was automatic. "Like fuck I will!"

Pain exploded across the right side of her face as she was driven off her feet to the left. Face down on the floor, she felt the rush of blood in her ears. Leaning down, Bradley picked her up by her shirt front. This close to his face, she could see tiny blades poking out of his skin around his eye-sockets. "I didn't hear you right," he growled with infinite menace. "I'm pretty sure you just said you'd do what you're told. Didn't you?"

She shook her head to try to clear it. "Wait'll … wait'll I tell Kaiser you're making me do what a—"

He sneered in her face. "It was his fuckin' idea. So you'll do exactly what Laborn orders you to do, and maybe next time you won't nearly bring down the whole fuckin' Empire Eighty-Eight."

There was no way out of it. She had no doubt that Kaiser had given the order. It sounded exactly like one of the boss' bullshit head-game plays. Even if it wasn't, as the junior member of the Empire Eighty-Eight, she lacked any sort of seniority, and had to follow Hookwolf's orders anyway.

She slumped in defeat. "Okay, fine. But I can't believe you're actually making me do this."

He cuffed her again, much more lightly this time. "Suck it up. You made your mistake. Now do what you gotta do to make up for it, and we'll be done. Keep whining and shit will keep happening. Got it?"

This totally sucked huge donkey balls, but she didn't want to get hit again. "Got it."

<><>​

Wednesday Afternoon
Medhall Building
Taylor

I didn't know if it was just me, but the world seemed a brighter place as Greg and I crossed the sidewalk and climbed the steps to the front doors of Medhall. I held his hand until we got inside, where we let go by mutual silent agreement. We had to present a professional front, after all.

Admitting to ourselves that we were dating—that we were an item—had been like both the most obvious step in the world and the biggest, all at the same time. I'd never seriously expected to be dating someone who felt the same way about me as I did about them, and I was pretty sure Greg hadn't either. Until we'd started interning at Medhall, he'd barely even known how to talk to girls, much less relate to us. But once I took the time to give him a little coaching, he'd come a long way in a short time.

We weren't flaunting our newfound relationship in Winslow; even after taking down Shadow Stalker, Greg preferred to keep a low profile. Between girls who wanted to get to know Void Cowboy now that he was actually cool, and the Empire guys who wanted him as a recruit, it was easier for him just to keep his head down.

Diane Grayson was actually waiting in the lobby for us when we walked into Medhall. "Oh, good," she said. "You're here. Alex has been asking about you."

"I'm just happy he's going to recover," I said. "When I first saw him, with that arrow sticking out of his chest …" I shuddered. It had been a viscerally horrifying moment.

"Well, I'm just glad you did," Mrs Grayson said as we went through the security scans. The guards—Brian wasn't on at the moment—gave us nods of recognition as we headed on to the elevators. "Locking his office door saved both your lives, I think. Shadow Stalker was trying not to out herself, so she couldn't just ghost through it."

"She absolutely tried to kick it down," I agreed, recalling the damage she'd done to the outside. "It's a good thing he didn't cut costs with one of those cheap ones."

"Yeah," agreed Greg. "He doesn't strike me as someone who settles for second best." We stepped into the elevator, and Mrs Grayson hit the button for the clinic level.

"Well, no, he isn't," she said, a note of pride in her voice. "Of course, now that it's actually saved his life, he'll be insufferable to live with."

I put my hand on her arm briefly. "I'm just glad he's alive."

"That's true," she said; this time, her smile was less wan.

The elevator came to a halt and the doors opened, letting us out into a familiar corridor. This time, there was a distinct lack of armed guards and tense atmosphere. It was almost silent, with only a faint electronic cycling noise in the background.

With Mrs Grayson in the lead, we headed through the corridors to where her husband awaited in his bed. Despite the cords and tubes hooked up to him, he looked a lot more alive than he had last I'd seen him, and when he raised his eyes to where we were, his flashing grin took away a lot of my worries. "Taylor!" he said cheerfully. "Greg! I understand you two are the heroes of the hour, and deservedly so."

"Greg's the one who saved Ms Harcourt and beat up Sophia," I said, determined not to sound like I was trying to grab credit. "I just figured out what was going on and let Bradley know."

"Taylor, Taylor, Taylor," Mr Grayson chided me gently. "You do realise that one of the reasons we hold you in such high esteem is your ability to figure things out so readily, yes? But of course, I'm not in the least bit surprised it was Greg who ended up taking out the trash. Bullies like Sophia Hess tend to lack critical judgement skills, so they often get caught out by taking on more than they can handle."

"I guess," mumbled Greg. "Though I still don't know who got the photo of the hole in the ironing board and put it up on the wall in the break room."

"Oh, that reminds me," I said. "Mr Grayson, Mrs Grayson, have you seen the footage of Greg knocking Sophia out?"

Mrs Grayson nodded. "I have," she confirmed, giving Greg an approving look. "I was very impressed. You thought fast."

"Well, I haven't." Mr Grayson hitched himself a little higher in the bed, an exercise that caused a wince to cross his features. "Though I've been promised a showing on the big screen in Conference Room One as soon as I'm healthy enough to walk up there."

"Well, it's not the big screen, but here's a still I printed out," I said, digging into my back pocket.

Greg's eyes widened. "Taylor, you didn't."

I raised one eyebrow at him as I handed the folded piece of paper to Mr Grayson. "Nobody said I couldn't. And I like to look at it when you're not around."

Mr Grayson unfolded it, and even Mrs Grayson leaned in to have a look. The image had captured Greg from the side as he swung the fire extinguisher and connected with Sophia's head. The expression of oh fuck on her face was priceless, and I wasn't the only one who liked it; apparently it had gone viral as a meme on PHO. The moment she knew when she done fucked up was one of the more common captions.

"I still can't believe you did that," Greg said, then peered at the paper himself. "Okay, yeah, wow. I do look kinda badass, don't I?"

"That you do, young Veder," Mr Grayson agreed, folding the paper up again. "Taylor, thank you very much for that. You have sincerely made my day with that image."

"You're welcome," I said awkwardly, putting it back in my pocket. "Sophia made my life hell for so long, it's kind of cathartic to be able to remind myself that she's well and truly behind bars, and exactly how embarrassing it has to be that Greg took her down the way he did. Especially with how little regard she held him in."

Greg had raised a finger in protest halfway through my little speech, then he lowered it as I put my arm around his waist. "Well, yeah," he agreed. "She did kind of look down on me a lot."

"Which just shows how ill-informed she was," Mr Grayson said. "Between the two of you, you saved Medhall a tremendous amount of trouble, and you saved my life as well as potentially several others. I don't think any of that is pure luck or happenstance. Here at Medhall, we like to recognise and reward skill and talent, and that's why you've got the positions that you do."

I shrugged. I'd been getting more than a little praise of this type since commencing my internship at Medhall, but it still felt decidedly weird. "I honestly didn't know how things would turn out when I got here. I definitely didn't expect it to be like this."

Greg chuckled. "Let's be realistic. You expected me to screw it up for you, didn't you? Because the way I was messing around, that was something that totally could've happened. I'm personally surprised that I'm still here."

I tightened the arm I had around his waist. "Well, you are, and I'm glad of it." I could even recall the first time he'd really stepped up for me, loaning me his phone to call ahead when Emma and Sophia had tried to stop me from getting to Medhall for the second day of internship.

"I think everyone is." Mrs Grayson checked her watch. "However, I believe it's time you two went upstairs and actually started earning your salaries. Thank you for coming down, though."

"It was totally my pleasure," I said, nodding to Mr Grayson. "I'm glad to see you're doing as well as you are."

"Me too," added Greg. "If I'd known she'd hurt you so badly, I probably would've hit her a second time."

Mr Grayson chuckled, then winced again. "Word to the wise. In situations like this, laughter is not the best medicine. But yes, it was very good to see you two. I'm glad to see you're doing well."

We said our goodbyes and headed back along the corridor to the elevator. Greg elbowed me in the arm and murmured, "I can't believe you kept a picture like that, and didn't tell me!"

"What?" I asked. "Are you really mad about that? I thought you were just putting it on."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, where's my copy? Framed, for preference."

I was still laughing as we stepped into the elevator.



End of Part Fourteen

 

Taylor Hebert, Medhall Intern

Part Fifteen: More Troubles

[A/N 1: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine.]

[A/N 2: Be aware that this fic delves into the personal thoughts and motivations of white supremacists and people who are generally racist, and there may be racist slurs and points of view expressed from time to time. The author does not agree with any of these. You have been warned.]



Winslow High School, Girls' Bathroom
Thursday, September 30th, 2010; 12:01 PM

Taylor

Winslow, I decided as I washed my hands, was considerably less unpleasant since Emma and Madison had been suspended and Sophia arrested. It wasn't so drastic an improvement that I was reconsidering the move to Arcadia, but I wasn't dreading just the idea of coming to school every day either. And of course, seeing Greg in World Affairs and at lunch was always a definite boost to my day.

Greg … wow. I shook my head as I held my hands under the hot air jet. If anyone had asked me before summer break what I thought of Greg Veder, my answer would've fallen somewhere between 'who?' and 'obliviously irritating creep'. Even at the beginning of the new school year, when we were chosen for the internship, I'd fully expected his cluelessness to scuttle the whole idea for both of us.

But somehow, it hadn't. In fact, it had all worked out, better than I'd ever expected it could be. With a little direction and determination, Greg had managed to evolve from semi-housebroken puppy to a pit-bull steadfast in my defence. And in the process, he'd gone from hapless fellow intern to friend to … boyfriend?

It had been somewhat of a surprise to both of us to realise that we were effectively dating. We'd already been seeing each other exclusively and holding hands before that point, so all we'd really done was slap a label on it. Once my transfer to Arcadia went through, I was going to miss seeing him in school, but we'd still have Medhall and after school to spend time together.

My thoughts were interrupted by a bunch of girls barging into the bathroom, doors banging open and then shut again. I tensed momentarily, but none of them were people I recognized from Emma's coterie of assistant bullies. In fact, I was pretty sure I'd never interacted with them at all. So, I waited politely for them to get past so I could head for the cafeteria.

"Hey, it's Hebert." I wasn't sure who'd said it, but all eyes swung to me.

The four girls, two of whom were in my year and two from the year above, moved in my direction. Perhaps it was merely the case of long experience, but I began to get a bad feeling about this. I gripped the strap of my backpack more tightly, not sure what their intentions were.

"Excuse me," I said, pretending I hadn't heard one of them call me by name. "I just wanted to head down for lunch. Can I get past, please?" There was no harm in being polite, and rudeness just gave bullies an excuse.

Of course, if they really wanted someone to bully, nothing would change matters, but I didn't want to make things worse.

"In a minute." The largest of the girls, a solidly built blonde with shoulder-length hair, stepped up to me. She was almost as tall as me, but built like the metaphorical brick outhouse. I had no doubt she could put me on the floor in any one of a dozen painful ways. "Want a word with you first."

"I'm listening." It wasn't as though I had any kind of options, here. And at least she'd spoken instead of punching me.

"I hear you and Veder disrespected the guys, the other day. They extended the hand of friendship, and you smacked them in the face with it." The girl did her best to loom over me. "That's not friendly. That's not friendly at all."

Her phrasing needed work, but I absolutely was not going to point that out to her. "No disrespect intended," I said as calmly and rationally as I could. Raising voices could only go one way, and that was 'badly'. "We're just not interested. Sorry."

"Not interested?" That was another girl, with dark auburn hair, stepping up to the plate. "Hebert, for fuck's sake, Hess beat you up and was gonna shove you in your own fuckin' locker. She's been pulling this shit on you all fuckin' year. How long were you going to let that nigger cooch hold it over you?"

Well, if I hadn't been certain who they were trying to recruit me for, that basically laid it out for me. "If it was just her, not long. But there were white girls doing it too. Popular white girls. Or is it okay for white people to bully white people?" Maybe not the smartest thing for me to say, but I really didn't like the idea that they might think I was down with their brand of bullshit.

"'Course not," sneered the blonde. "But there's race traitors everywhere. Weaklings who let black scum order them around."

Logic clearly wasn't going to work with these people. It generally didn't, with idiots. They'd made up their minds, and that's all there was to it.

"So why didn't you do something about it before?" I asked. "Because I can't help noticing that you've waited until after Greg kicked her ass to say anything."

"Kicked her ass?" retorted the second one. "He was the one who got his ass kicked, Hebert. Your boyfriend isn't all that, and don't you forget it."

Belatedly, I remembered that nobody here knew that Sophia was Shadow Stalker. We were literally thinking about two different fights. "Right, right. Anyway, why didn't you help me out six months ago?" If someone had offered assistance then … I may have taken it. That's how low I was.

"Didn't know if you were worth the time and effort," the blonde told me bluntly. "All you ever did was roll over and show your belly. But this time you fought back."

"Yeah, I fought back this time," I said bitterly. "It was the only time I was able to. Because someone stepped up for me. Not one of you. Greg stepped up. Because he doesn't care about waiting until he's got four-on-one odds. He cares about me. You don't. And if you're not gonna step up when I need help, then I don't need you."

For a moment, I thought blondie was going to punch me, but she didn't. Instead, she leaned in close. "You just keep telling yourself that, Hebert. Sooner or later they're gonna come back, and Veder won't be any use at all. You'll come crawling to us then, and I hope I'm there to see it."

No they won't, and no I won't, because I'll be in Arcadia. But I didn't say a word, because I knew all too damn well how spiteful people could get if they thought the object of their derision was escaping their grasp. "We'll see," I said, and ducked past her.

I figured they wouldn't actually assault me (because that would be the stupidest way ever of persuading me to join their little Heil-Hitler cult) but I didn't feel like actively provoking them to test that out. So once I got around the group, I just left. No snide remarks, no smart comments, as much as I wanted to.

Let them think they've won.

The inner door banged behind me, then the outer one. They didn't seem to be following me, which was a relief; my heart was racing and I had a sour taste in the back of my throat. That had been uncomfortably similar to my various encounters with Emma, Sophia and Madison over the last year. How does that work, anyway? Do I have 'bully me' tattooed on my forehead?

Musing over the fact that even the assholes who wanted me around were all too willing to be unpleasant if they didn't like the answers they got, I went looking for Greg. Whether I'd tell him about it or not, I wasn't sure; I didn't want to spoil our lunch together.

And then I heard the shouting. Normally I would've ignored it—settling scores with a little fisticuffs during lunch hour wasn't totally unheard of among the guys—but one of the voices was Greg's. And it wasn't a high-pitched yelp of fear; instead, it sounded more like "Come get some!".

The fact that I'd never heard that particular phrase come out of my boyfriend's mouth was just one of the reasons I broke into a run, right then.

<><>​

Greg

"Hey, Veder."

Greg stopped scrolling through his phone and glanced around. He'd been aware that people were approaching him—since the thing with Shadow Stalker, he'd been paying more attention to his peripheral vision—but it wasn't Taylor, so he hadn't reacted. Perhaps, he realized after a second or so, he should've.

"Guys," he said, straightening up from where he was leaning against the wall. "Can I help you?"

For all his unconcerned tone, he recognized the boys now standing around him. They were the same ones who'd confronted him and Taylor on Tuesday, and it didn't look as though they were here to ask for tips on the math exam. Without taking his eyes off them, he slid his phone into his pocket, where it was less likely to be damaged.

"Yeah." The tallest of the boys moved forward half a step. "You can explain why you and Hebert think you're too good to hang out with us."

Greg thought fast. "Whoa, whoa, guys. We don't think we're 'too good' for anything. All I did was smack out Shadow Stalker, because she had it coming. It was just a one-off."

"Yeah, well, we think you're underselling yourself," another boy chimed in. "We figure you got the right stuff to be part of something bigger. And we made an offer in good faith and you've been telling us to fuck off. And that's just not polite. What do you think, guys?"

It was like what he was saying wasn't even registering on them. They had their script, and they were going to stick to it come hell or high water. This wasn't a total surprise, but sometimes he wished things would actually turn out in a different way to expectations.

Well, okay, Taylor being his girlfriend was definitely not something he'd expected. Fine, that's one miracle. Now how about another?

"Hey, nobody told anyone to fuck off." Bradley had explained that de-escalating a tense situation was a lot harder than escalating it. When people got past a certain point, they wanted to fight. Looking them straight in the eyes could be seen as a challenge. So could certain gestures; pointing or jabbing with the fingers, among other things. With an effort, Greg didn't let the adrenaline in his bloodstream affect his voice as he spread his hands. He wanted to sound boring. "You got your buddies. I got someone I want to hang with. We can just chalk this up to a misunderstanding and go our separate ways. No harm, no foul."

"No, you're the one who doesn't understand," the first one said, pointing a finger at his face. "Hebert only wants to hang with you because you kicked that black bitch's sorry butt. We can introduce you to girls who are way hotter than her. I can guarantee, you'll forget her skanky ass in a hot Brockton Bay minute, and she can go back to being the nobody she always was."

He shouldn't have reacted. He knew he shouldn't have reacted. But there was no way he was letting the insult to Taylor pass.

More of Bradley's advice came back to him. If the other guy's pushing for a fight, he expects to get the first punch in. Get in there first.

"Ain't gonna …" Taking control of the guy's arm, he stepped in, turned, and heaved. With a startled yell, the asshole went up and over, then landed hard on his back. "… happen!"

The rest of the Empire contingent stared in astonishment, but he knew that wasn't going to last. Lunging forward with his shoulder, he caught the second guy in the chest and knocked him off his feet. If you're gonna fight, kid, go all in. Don't hold anything back. If they think you're nuts, they'll back off. Nobody wants to get in the ring with crazy.

There was shouting now, but he didn't care. His anger overrode his fear. "You want some?" Inexpertly swung, his fist still clipped the jaw of the nearest Empire asshole with enough force to make him step back. "Come get some, then! Come get some!"

And that was when someone grabbed him from behind.

<><>​

Taylor

It felt like an eternity before I reached the group of shouting students. Pushing and shoving through the crowd that had formed, I gasped with horror when I got to the front row.

I didn't know how long the fight had been going on, but Greg had already put two of them on the ground. Empire Eighty-Eight, for sure; these were the same ones who had confronted us already. But now, one was holding Greg's arms from behind while two others beat him up. Or tried to; he was struggling like a maniac and still shouting defiance, despite having a swelling lip and a bloody nose. Even as I watched, he lashed out with a kick that made them jump back.

This was my chance; as the one holding Greg's arms concentrated on maintaining his grasp, I stepped forward and swung my backpack in a two-handed arc, putting all my strength behind it. I hadn't taken the Book out since getting it back from Mr Gladly on Tuesday, and the World Affairs and Computer Studies textbooks weren't all that light, either. The pack caught the Empire guy in the side of the head with a dull thump and he released Greg, staggering sideways.

"Leave him alone!" I screamed. "All of you, leave us both alone!"

I didn't even see whoever it was that came in from the side, but there was a stunning impact to the side of my face that sent me staggering sideways. Vaguely aware that I'd lost my glasses, I dropped my backpack and put my hands out to steady myself.

"You don't touch Taylor!" There was a rush and a thud as (I presumed) Greg barrelled the guy who'd hit me into the wall. He certainly sounded pissed-off enough to do it.

The ringing in my head eased enough for me to catch my bearings and my balance, and I looked around. Even without my glasses, I could still see well enough that we were surrounded by Empire guys, and their expressions were not in the least bit friendly. Greg was trying to put the guy he'd rammed into the wall in an armlock, but the guy was fighting back, and it looked like it could go either way.

And then I heard the sweetest sound in the word. An angry teacher clearing their throat. "Mr Veder, let Mr Ferguson go! Exactly what is going on here?"

Well, I told myself as the Empire guys melted back into the crowd. Better late than never, I guess.

I should've known better.

<><>​

An Hour Later
Principal Blackwell's Office

Greg

It was amazing. One bunch of bullies had just been taken off Taylor's case, and these guys seemed to have decided it was their job to step in and take up where Emma and company had left off. While their whole mission seemed to be different, Greg was no more in favour of it that he had been of Emma and Madison's little power games.

He sat alongside his mother in the conference room. Taylor sat next to him, with her dad at her side. The three Empire guys who'd been caught on the spot had their fathers along as well, all managing to look clean-cut and law-abiding. The guy who'd punched Taylor and knocked her glasses off—she'd retrieved them, though the frames were slightly askew now—was apparently called Peter Ferguson. His father, Edward Ferguson, looked downright prosperous.

"All we did was offer them a place in our after-school activities group," Peter explained. He was tall, well-built, and had such a persuasive way of talking that even Greg was half-convinced, and he'd been there. "For some reason, they took offense and physically attacked us."

Taylor made a rude noise. "'After-school activities group', my ass," she said derisively. "That's nothing but a—"

"Ms Hebert!" Principal Blackwell said sharply. "I've done everything by the book for this meeting. Your father was contacted, and we're sitting down to see if we can mediate an equitable outcome for all concerned. Now, Mr Ferguson was polite in his statement. Perhaps you can reciprocate."

"Polite, okay." Taylor drew a deep breath. "Those three are Empire Eighty-Eight. They've been—"

"Now, hold on a minute." The elder Ferguson raised his hand as he spoke. "I'm sorry for interrupting, young lady, but are you insinuating that my son is involved with a known criminal organization within this city?"

Taylor raised her chin and looked him right in the eye. Greg had never been prouder of her than this moment. "No, Mr Ferguson. I'm not insinuating. I'm saying. Between the note they left me and Greg and what he himself said—"

"Excuse me again. I'm very sorry for this," he said, raising his hand again. "What note is this?"

Greg cleared his throat. "Last week, after the Shadow Stalker thing at the Medhall building. A bunch of guys, including these three, dropped a note on our table during lunch. It said something about how we seemed to be strong, right-thinking people, and invited us to join a 'club' of people with similar views."

"Taylor asked me about it," Mr Hebert interjected. "The phrase 'right-thinking' has always been a favourite with white-supremacist groups. We've had enough trouble dealing with them in the past in the Dockworkers. I advised her to stay well clear."

"Really?" Edward Ferguson raised a polite eyebrow. "A single chance phrase that a bunch of teenagers use in an invitation note, and you're blowing this out into Empire Eighty-Eight membership?" His tone lowered, as did the brow. "I'm just going to say this once. Peter is a fine boy, with very strong prospects. Such an unfounded accusation could destroy his future career before it ever takes off. I would be very careful about what you say about him without good, strong evidence that can be backed up in a court of law."

Before Taylor could react, Mr Hebert matched Mr Ferguson's tone. "And I'd be careful about what tone you use with my daughter. If your boy's done what she says he's done, then it's about time he faced the music." He turned back to Taylor. "You were saying?"

"We wanted to just let it slide and walk away," Taylor protested. "But they confronted us on Tuesday." She pointed at Peter Ferguson. "He said that we needed the protection of the Empire Eighty-Eight!"

Peter blinked, looking nothing less than astonished. It was an amazing portrayal of innocence, neither too wooden nor over-acted. "I said … what again, now?"

"I heard it too," Greg said firmly. "He said that exact name, as I'm sitting here. I'd swear to it on a stack of Bibles."

Edward Ferguson gave his son a measured look, then turned to Taylor. His expression was entirely open and reasonable. Greg didn't trust it for an instant. But as he opened his mouth to speak, Danny Hebert cleared his throat again.

"Mr Ferguson," Taylor's dad said firmly. "Do us all a favour and address your questions through Principal Blackwell."

Ferguson's jaw hardened, but he nodded. "Fair enough. I just need to ask Taylor one question. After my son apparently admitted to holding a membership in a criminal organization, who did she report this to? Principal Blackwell? Her father? The police? The Parahuman Response Teams? Surely she was concerned enough to report it to someone."

Blackwell tilted her head as though considering the question, then she nodded. "That's fair," she allowed. "Taylor, did you actually report this to anyone?"

Taylor's face froze. She drew in a shuddering breath. "Why?" she demanded. "Reporting stuff did me no good for the last year."

"We're dealing with that right now, Taylor," Blackwell said hastily. "So you didn't report it?"

"No," Taylor replied coldly. "We didn't."

"Hmm." Mr Ferguson turned his attention to Greg, then just as smoothly looked at the school principal. "Could you ask Mr Veder if he reported it to anyone, or even discussed with Ms Hebert whether or not to say anything? Or did he just choose to do nothing about this blatant admission of criminal activity?"

Before Principal Blackwell could ask the question, Greg shook his head. "I didn't do anything about it." The admission left a sour taste in his mouth, but it was the truth.

"Greg, honey, why not?" His mom put her arm around him for a hug. "You know I would've listened."

He hated the feeling he got that he'd let her down. "We just … wanted to be done with it."

"And there you have it." Edward Ferguson sighed. "Curious, isn't it, that the thing they were apparently so concerned about last week, that they bring up today to excuse the fight, was never so much as mentioned to a parent when it happened?"

"Hey, that's not fair," Greg protested. "Like Taylor said, she spent all last school year being ignored by everyone."

"In fairness, Taylor," Principal Blackwell noted, "you told your father about the note. Why didn't you get back to him about this, if only to tell him he'd been correct?"

"We just didn't want anything to do with it, or them," Taylor tried to explain. "But Mr Gladly was there. We told him that they were trying to recruit us at the time."

"But not who they were trying to recruit you for?" Mr Ferguson had a very expressive line of raised eyebrows. At the last second, he seemed to recall that he was supposed to be addressing Principal Blackwell, and turned to her. "Did Mr Gladly contact you about this, at all?"

"He did not," Principal Blackwell admitted grimly. "I'll be speaking to him about this, afterward. Ms Hebert, did you make it plain to him where the recruitment attempt was coming from?"

"We thought he'd know what we meant," Greg protested.

"Principal Blackwell." Mr Ferguson was the very picture of patience. "Could you please ask Mr Veder if he actually told Mr Gladly outright that my son had admitted to being part of a criminal gang?"

The answer was clear to all concerned, but Greg shook his head anyway. "Well, no."

Blackwell's grim look intensified. "If he understood, as you say, then he should at least have reported this to me."

Mentally, Greg rolled his eyes. Yeah, that'll happen, right after he does karaoke with the Simurgh.

The inference was clear. Without ever actually calling them liars, Mr Ferguson had gone a long way toward undermining their credibility in saying that Peter had admitted to being in the Empire Eighty-Eight. He was right in one way, however; it was their fault that they hadn't told a single authority figure about the encounter.

Taylor evidently had the same idea. "Well, anyway, today they tried again. This time, it was the girls in the bathroom for me while the boys cornered Greg out in the corridor."

"Which girls?" asked Principal Blackwell, picking up a pen. "Can you give me their names? What did they say?"

"I—I know their faces, but not their names," Taylor admitted. "But they asked me why I wasn't joining, and referred to Sophia with really racist terms."

"Did they assault you? Call you names? Steal your property?" Blackwell had the pen poised over her pad now. Greg could almost hear her thinking, Give me something, anything I can act on …

"No, none of that." Taylor shook her head. "They just said I'd come crawling to them when the bullies came back. That was when I walked out."

"And you, Mr Veder?" Principal Blackwell turned to Greg, her eyes laser focused. "Tell me about your encounter. The one Coach Sorensen walked in on."

Greg shook off his sense of frustration. He had to get this right. "Okay, Peter and his buddies there, plus some others—" the other two, he now knew, were called Bronson and George, from the introductions that had taken place, "—came up to me and started pressuring me over why I didn't want to join. Like Taylor said happened in the bathroom, they were using some pretty racist terms. They were acting like we'd disrespected them by not accepting. I said no, and tried to wind it down. Then Peter said some nasty stuff about Taylor, how she only hung out with me because I beat up on Sophia, and how he could introduce me to way hotter girls and she could go back to being a skanky nobody. That's when I, um, got mad and did a hip throw on him."

Principal Blackwell's pen froze in midair. "—you made the first hostile move?" she asked, as if hoping that he would retract his statement.

"Wait, wait." Edward Ferguson had a look of faint disbelief on his face. "Young man, you're saying that you threw my son? Successfully?" Turning, he stared at Peter, whose face had turned beet red.

Greg had no idea where this was going, but he'd already admitted to doing the throw. "Well, yeah. He made it easy. He was sticking his finger in my face, so I just grabbed his arm. I did it the way Bradley, uh, Mr Fieldmark, showed me, and I made sure not to hurt him," he added belatedly. Bradley had explained to him the difference between throws that put people on the ground, and throws that hurt.

"Bradley … Fieldmark?" Mr Ferguson seemed about to ask more questions, then stopped.

"Yeah." Greg nodded. "He's the head of security at Medhall. Him and Ms Jurist have been showing me a few moves since the Shadow Stalker thing."

"Hmm. I see." Edward Ferguson rubbed his chin between forefinger and thumb. "Well, he had insulted your girlfriend, and he was poking his finger in your chest … carry on. What happened after that?"

Greg wasn't at all sure about where this turnaround came from, but Mr Ferguson seemed a lot less antagonistic now. "Well, um, Bronson was right there, and Mr Fieldmark told me that if you start a fight against longer odds, you keep going full-on and maybe the other guys'll back off. So I shoulder-slammed him and he fell over, and then there was another guy, he's not here, and I tried to punch him and that didn't really work, and then George grabbed me from behind, and Peter and Bronson started hitting me …"

Taylor raised her hand. "And that was when I came in. I hit George on the side of the head with my backpack to make him let Greg go, and then someone punched me and knocked my glasses off."

"That was Peter." Greg took up the tale again. "He was better at staying on his feet than Bronson, but I charged him into the wall and I was trying to get him in an arm-bar, but he kept getting out of it, and that's when Mr Sorensen showed up."

"Well, then." Mr Ferguson glanced at Bronson's and George's fathers, then back to Principal Blackwell. "I believe the sequence of events is clear to see."

"You're damn right it's clear to see," Mr Hebert snapped. "Your boy and his friends aggressively pushed Taylor and Greg to join whatever 'club' this might be, provoked Greg with a finger to the chest, and insulted Taylor to his face. They're not sliding out of this one while Taylor and Greg take the fall."

"Well, no, and I wouldn't ask Ms Blackwell to countenance such a miscarriage of justice," Mr Ferguson responded smoothly. "While I personally believe that Peter and his friends meant well deep down, they acted rashly, phrased things badly, and in general contributed strongly to the eventual conflict. However, while I have sympathy for Taylor and Greg, the fact remains that they did initiate active hostilities." He turned to Principal Blackwell. "I propose that all involved face exactly the same penalties, favouring neither one side nor the other. Perhaps a little light suspension to drive the message home, then the slate is wiped clean? No hard feelings on either side?"

Principal Blackwell frowned. Greg could see her problem; given her current legal situation, she had to be trying hard to appear absolutely non-partisan in the matter. "Mr diAngelo, Mr Alfred, does Mr Ferguson speak for you in this matter?"

The fathers of the other two boys nodded in unison. "Yes," Mr diAngelo said. "He does. Equal punishment for everyone."

The principal made a note on her pad, then turned to Taylor's dad and Greg's mom. "Mr Hebert, Ms Veder, do you agree with this solution?"

Mr Hebert glanced past Taylor and Greg to Greg's mom and raised his eyebrows in query. After a moment, she nodded. He turned back to Principal Blackwell. "I want it down on the record that I believe this is mainly the fault of Peter and his friends—if they'd just backed off, all of this could've been avoided—but for the sake of having it over and done with, I will agree to light suspension only for all parties, and no punishment that might interfere with the internships." He took a breath. "And for Peter and his friends to apologise to Taylor and Greg here and now for their pressuring tactics, and for them and their friends to stay the hell away from Taylor and Greg."

Principal Blackwell wrote busily for a few seconds. "Down on the record … hmm … light suspension … internships … staying away." Then she raised her head to look at Mr Ferguson. "Do you agree to that last addendum?"

"I do." He turned a stern eye on his son. "Peter?"

Drawing a deep breath, Peter stood up. Whether he gave a signal or not, Greg couldn't tell, but Bronson and George stood as well. "Taylor, Greg, I'm sorry for us pushing you to join like that. We were way out of line." Whether he meant it or not, Peter still managed to sound absolutely sincere. "We won't bother you anymore. Right, guys?"

"Right." Bronson nodded.

"Totally," agreed George.

"Well, then." Edward Ferguson dusted his hands off almost cheerfully as the boys sat down again. "Does that satisfy the requirements?"

Mr Hebert nodded. "It does. Just don't let it happen again."

"Oh, I have no intention of that." Mr Ferguson turned his attention to Principal Blackwell. "We appear to have reached an accord. Your final judgement, ma'am?"

She ticked off something on her pad and nodded. "If both parties are in agreement, then I will institute a general suspension, starting right now, on Peter Ferguson, Bronson diAngelo, George Alfred, Greg Veder and Taylor Hebert. This suspension will last until Monday morning, by which time I expect all of you to have let go all ill feeling that might have arisen from the matter. I will also inform your respective teachers to not require homework from you. You will be expected to keep up your studies in the meantime. Does anyone have a problem with any of this?" Her tone said, Nobody better have a problem.

Greg's mom shook her head, as did Mr Hebert. "We're fine with it," he said.

"As are we," declared Mr Ferguson. He stood up and walked around the table toward Mr Hebert. "I've heard much about you. It's a pity that we had to meet under such inauspicious circumstances."

"Could definitely have been better, yes. But so long as this is over and done with, I'm good." Mr Hebert shook his hand.

Greg turned to Taylor as everyone else began to get up and drift out of the room. "Is that it?" he asked in an undertone.

"Well, it went a lot better than most every other time I complained to the principal," Taylor murmured. "At least this time, the other guys took it on the chin too."

"True." Greg grinned. "You know what this means?"

Taylor looked at him queryingly. "What?"

"Long weekend." He held up his hand in a high-five.

She returned it, then raised a finger. "Long weekend with bruises. Don't forget Saturday afternoon."

"Oh." All of a sudden, the weekend looked a lot less attractive. "Oh, boy."

<><>​

Taylor

As we walked out of the school—Mr Ferguson's contingent staying a careful distance away from ours—Dad turned to me. "In there, when you said that young Ferguson directly mentioned the Empire Eighty-Eight, you weren't exaggerating, were you? He said those literal words, not something that suggested them?"

I looked him in the eye. "He said, and I quote, 'You need the protection of the Empire Eighty-Eight'. Those words, exactly."

"That's more than a little scary," Ms Veder said. "Do you think he's really a part of it, or was he talking himself up to impress Greg and Taylor?"

That was definitely a scary thought. The Empire Eighty-Eight didn't recruit in schools as a matter of course, not like the ABB did. I'd seen the pamphlets the school counsellor had for Asian kids in case they were approached. This was totally different. If Peter wasn't just boasting, this meant that the Empire had a presence in the schools, even if they didn't sit around with swastika tattoos, sporting the red and black.

Greg had a pensive look on his face. "And how hard his dad was trying to downplay it … was that because he doesn't want people thinking his kid's a member … or is he a member too?"

I blinked. Mr Ferguson was as far away from the pop culture image of an Empire Eighty-Eight member as anyone could get. For one thing, he was obviously rich, well-educated, and cultured as fuck. No shaven head, tattoos, leather jackets, or anything else that screamed 'racist prick' …

… just like Peter himself, in fact.

In fact, while Peter had been offensively direct when he was talking to us out of adult hearing, he'd also been as smoothly persuasive as his father when it came to talking to Blackwell.

It was something to think about.

"I considered that," Dad said soberly. "And that was why I didn't push the Empire angle in the meeting, or after it. Better to let them think that we're not taking it seriously than to possibly make a high-ranking member think we are. Because that's a good way of ending up under the foundations of an overpass."

"Oh," said Ms Veder. "Oh, dear. Do you think we're in danger? Is Greg in danger?"

Dad looked thoughtful for a moment. "I … don't think so," he said at last. "I hope not. Ferguson was not in the slightest bit happy that his boy let that slip, and if anything untoward happened to any of us after this, it's on record that young Peter was accused of being a member. That's something any one of Ferguson's business rivals would give his eyeteeth to find out about, and if it came out as part of a potential murder case … well." He didn't have to finish that particular statement. "The best way to draw attention to something is to try to silence the people saying it, after all."

"Well, I'm not going to go blabbing it far and wide," Greg said hastily. "They can be in the Empire. I'll be over here, minding my own business."

"Me, too," I agreed, taking his hand.

Though I couldn't help wondering. If Mr Ferguson really was a member like Greg thought, that meant they could literally be anywhere, at any level of business. I began to wonder exactly how good Medhall's vetting process was. The last thing Mr Anders would want was for white supremacists to infiltrate his company. The damage they could do to the good name of the business would be catastrophic.

<><>​

Medhall Building
Midday, Friday, October 1st

Greg

The bus pulled up at the stop with its customary squeal of brakes. Greg climbed out of his seat, then stepped back to allow Taylor to stand up as well and lead the way off the bus. She was already dressed in her office clothing, which Greg still thought made her look like a million bucks. The only flaw in the picture was the bruise on her cheekbone, which she'd done her best to hide with makeup.

While he wasn't pleased that she'd taken the hit—if he could've put Peter through the wall, he would've—he was proud of her for stepping up and clocking George with her backpack. Anyone else would've just stood back and done nothing, he just knew it. Not my Taylor.

Keeping an eye out for errant bag-snatchers, they crossed the sidewalk and climbed the stairs to the front doors of the Medhall building. The heavy glass panels rumbled aside, and they entered the climate-controlled interior. Taylor produced her Medhall ID and swiped her way through the turnstile, with Greg right behind her.

"Miss Hebert, Mr Veder," said Brian politely. "Good to see you … wait. Are you okay? Did someone hit you? Did this happen at school?"

Taylor turned her head away. "It's okay. I'm fine. No real harm done."

"Sorry, no." Brian picked up a phone. "Mr Fieldmark gave us instructions to contact him immediately if it looked like you'd been getting bullied again. And from the bruises on Mr Veder's face, it looks like someone's been doing a lot more than call you unpleasant names." He lowered his voice and spoke a few terse phrases into the phone.

Greg glanced at Taylor, who shrugged. The burly security head of Medhall was a force of nature unto himself. It was readily apparent that the smoothest course of action was to answer his questions.

"Okay, we can wait," agreed Taylor. She stepped aside from the turnstile and smoothed her skirt down. "So how've you been, anyway? Settling in okay?"

"Oh, yeah, it's good here." Brian put the phone down, then leaned back in his chair a little and smiled. "I want to thank you two for putting in a good word for me. I think it really helped."

"Pfft, yeah, right," Greg said dismissively. "You had it in the bag and we all know it."

The elevator opened and Bradley stepped out. He walked over to the security desk, glanced at the monitor screens, and nodded to Brian. "Any other problems?"

"No, sir," Brian replied respectfully. "Just the thing with Ms Hebert and Mr Veder."

"Got it. Half an hour, take a lunch break." Bradley turned to Greg and Taylor. "Come on."

They followed him—there wasn't much choice being given in the matter—into the depths of the building, until he swiped a door open into what turned out to be a break room of some kind, with a table, chairs and a kitchenette. Parking his butt up against the table, he folded his arms as he studied them both. Greg would've bet good money Bradley could even tell where he was bruised under his work shirt.

"Okay," Bradley grunted at last. "Tell me everything that happened, from the top."

Greg shared a glance with Taylor. "Uhh … part of it, we're not supposed to tell anyone."

Bradley frowned. "Why? Does it involve a cape's secret identity?"

"Not a cape, no," Taylor explained. "But …" She paused for a moment. Greg could tell the exact instant she decided, Screw it, we can trust Bradley. "… it involves someone being in the Empire Eighty-Eight, and that's kind of dangerous knowledge. So you can't tell anyone, okay?"

Bradley nodded firmly. "Secrets like that, I can definitely keep. Spill."

So they told him about the note and the followup confrontation, then finished off with each side of Thursday's fight. It took a little while, but between the two of them and some clarifying questions on his part, they managed to lay it out for him. Greg was glad he wasn't on the other side of the equation; when Taylor described how she'd been sucker-punched by Peter, the big man's fists clenched hard.

"Dad says the safest thing is to keep quiet about it," Taylor concluded. "I mean, we've got no evidence except what Peter said, and he could've been lying to make himself look good. So even if the police acted on it with no repercussions, we could just be overreacting. He might be an arrogant jerk, but I wouldn't wish that on him."

Bradley nodded. "That's all true," he conceded. "Your dad's a smart man. I'd follow his advice from now on. Don't either of you say a word about the Empire to anyone else. If someone wants to know, refer 'em to me."

"Absolutely," agreed Greg, with Taylor chiming in a moment later.

"Good." Bradley waved his hands in a shooting motion. "Now, go to work. Git."

They got.

<><>​

Medhall Building
Office of Max Anders

Kaiser

Max looked up as his intercom chimed. "Yes?"

"Sir, Mr Fieldmark to see you."

"Send him in." He leaned back in his chair and flicked the unobtrusive switch under his desk that set the floor-to-ceiling windows vibrating in harmonic patterns, designed to mess with laser microphones. The office had been swept just that morning, so he was currently unworried about physical bugs. The reason for all these precautions was simple: Bradley rarely came to him during work hours, and never for mundane problems. Those were routinely dealt with over the phone.

Bradley entered, closing the door behind him. His thumb flicked the lock across; if Max had needed any more proof that this was a serious situation, that was it.

"Take a seat," Max invited. "What's on your mind?" Reaching down to the bar fridge built into the desk, he selected one of Bradley's beers by touch, and sent it skidding over the desk.

Bradley caught it, then lowered himself into one of the visitor chairs. "We might have a problem with the Ferguson kid," he said, and popped the top off the beer with his thumb. As the cap landed neatly in the wastepaper basket, he took a long pull of the brew.

Max paused in the act of pouring himself a finger of bourbon and frowned. "Peter?" The boy had two younger sisters, but he couldn't imagine that Bradley was referring to either of the girls. Peter was his nephew and one of the front-runners for inheriting from Max if Theo somehow managed to make himself unavailable. As such, he was smart, athletic and was growing into a fine young man. "What happened?"

Bradley growled deep in his throat. "Little shit must've heard Ferguson talking about how great it would to have Taylor Hebert and Greg Veder in the Empire, so him and his buds decided to recruit her."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Max face-palmed. He didn't often swear, but he suspected this warranted it. "How badly did he screw it up?"

"When they turned him down the first time, he doubled down. Things got heated. The girl's got a bruise where Ferguson junior punched her in the face. Oh, and he apparently told both of them that they needed the protection of the Empire."

And that was almost as bad as it could get. "Please tell me he didn't let anything slip that connects him or his father to Medhall. Such as him being my nephew."

For a mercy, Bradley shook his head. "Nothing like that, no."

"Good." Ignoring the glass in front of him, Max put his fingertips to his head and did his best to think coherently. "Send word to Ferguson and the boy. I want to see them tonight."

"Sure thing, boss." Bradley finished the bottle then lobbed it into the basket and got up. He unlocked the door on the way out.

Max emptied the glass and poured another. Ed Ferguson was his brother-in-law, and played a moderately important role in one of Medhall's subsidiaries, but the fact remained that he was replaceable. Literally anyone could do his job.

On the other hand, he had Taylor Hebert who, in the short time she'd worked for Medhall, had saved him in the region of a million dollars' worth of potential losses, in the course of simply doing her job. And that wasn't even counting her exemplary performance going above and beyond for the company.

If it came down to a choice between blood and talent, he would choose talent every time.

Now, how to best phrase that so Ferguson and his irritating little spawn got the message?



End of Part Fifteen