Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

[alethiophile]

IIRC, Jack and Harbinger killed King circa '88; at that point, Harbinger left, going off to eventually become Number Man (and I'd really like to read the story of how he met Cauldron, for some reason), while Jack took over the Slaughterhouse and eventually turned it into the merry band of murderhobos we now know and...love (?). However, Jack was basically low-key for a while, because he hadn't yet built up a reputation and didn't have the powerhouses like Bonesaw and Siberian.

I don't know when Grey Boy joined the Nine, but I have the vague sense it was after King was already dead. Is there any canon on that?

 

[Ack]

I believe that the original lineup of the Nine was:
King, Screamer, Harbinger, Nyx, Psychosoma, Breed, Crimson, Grey Boy, Jacob (Jack Slash)

This is what I have in the Resources Thread, but I can't recall where I got it from.

 

[Chrisleech]

Sorry, I didn't remember when King died. I just figured that since this was rather early on that King would likely be the leader of the 9, and that it would be best to nip the Jack Slash problem in the bud by removing the man who taught him to be a murderhobo. I guess she can just go straight for Jack then.

 

[moontheir4]

Hrm. Way too early for Riley. Teacher, Manton, Sphere, or Jack all seem like possible targets for our Bad-ass (but well-informed) Normal. Not sure how that lines up with the timeline, though.

 

[Chrisleech]

Hrm. Way too early for Riley. Teacher, Manton, Sphere, or Jack all seem like possible targets for our Bad-ass (but well-informed) Normal. Not sure how that lines up with the timeline, though.

Click to shrink...

Well probably not Manton, or Sphere, since those 2 are still good guys at the moment. Both of which also won't lose it until after the Simurgh is around.

 

[pepperjack]

Well probably not Manton, or Sphere, since those 2 are still good guys at the moment. Both of which also won't lose it until after the Simurgh is around.

Click to shrink...

I don't think moontheir4 necessarily meant targets for assassination. You could say that Taylor just targeted Richter, for example.

 

[Ack]

Well probably not Manton, or Sphere, since those 2 are still good guys at the moment. Both of which also won't lose it until after the Simurgh is around.

Click to shrink...

Manton lost it before Ziz showed on the scene. It was unrelated to her.

 

[seeing_octarine]

Manton lost it before Ziz showed on the scene. It was unrelated to her.

Click to shrink...

The confusion is probably because Manton has that black swan hand tattoo. No idea why.

 

[Chrisleech]

The confusion is probably because Manton has that black swan hand tattoo. No idea why.

Click to shrink...

This is it. I had remembered the swan and cauldron tattoos being points out on the back of his hands in the story. So I figured that he was one of the ones released from a Simurgh Quarantine Zone after being tested.

 

[Ack]

This is it. I had remembered the swan and cauldron tattoos being points out on the back of his hands in the story. So I figured that he was one of the ones released from a Simurgh Quarantine Zone after being tested.

Click to shrink...

Either that, or he had the tattoos put on so that people would steer clear of him.

 

[Ack]

Recoil​

Part 4-10: Dinner and a Show​

On the small airliner back to Brockton Bay, I let Andrea have the window seat; I took the middle seat, and Kinsey sat on the aisle. The aircraft had all the legroom of a matchbox aspiring to become a sardine can, but the burly Sergeant could at least stretch his legs into the aisle when things got too cramped. I half-turned toward Andrea to give my knees more room, and endured.

As we lifted off, Andrea craned her neck to look out the window, but lost interest once we were properly airborne and winging our way back to the United States.

"Not going to give us a running commentary?" I teased her with a smile.

"Nah." She wrinkled her nose at me, then yawned capaciously. "Seen it all before anyway."

Kicking her shoes off, she tucked her legs under her in a way that no-one with a Y chromosome could duplicate, and put her head on my shoulder. Within what seemed like seconds, she was asleep, emitting tiny, kittenish snores. Lifting my arm, I put it around her shoulders; without opening her eyes, she snuggled into me and went straight back to sleep.

I had to admit that it was very comforting to have her curled up next to me, her weight warm against my side. My visit to Andrew Richter had reminded me yet again that I would not be able to finesse my way to a perfect solution every single time; my job was going to be difficult if not actually impossible. No. Not impossible. I refuse to accept that. I refuse to despair.

Andrea was my reminder that there were people I could trust, whom I could lean on. She gave me strength. She gave me direction. And, perhaps more important than anything else, she gave me an excuse to laugh and be silly. To be human.

A smile crossed my face as I recalled the tickle war in the back of the car. Had Richter witnessed that, he would never have questioned my humanity; his idea of artificial intelligence would simply not encompass antics of that nature.

"She's asleep?" rumbled Kinsey, beside me.

I nodded, very slightly, so as not to disturb her. "Out like a light."

"If I may speak plainly, ma'am?"

"Of course, Kinsey."

"I will admit that I had my doubts about her, at first," he murmured. "But my opinion has changed. She's good for you. With her in the same room, you're more relaxed. You need that, ma'am."

I nodded again, just as briefly. "Thank you, Kinsey. I'd already come to that conclusion, but it's good to have a corroborating opinion." My smile belied my formal words. I didn't bother mentioning the time they had spent together by the lake; that wouldn't have swayed his opinion of her one way or the other. If he'd thought she was bad for me, he still would have told me so; such was the measure of Sergeant James McMartin Kinsey.

"So, what are your plans from here, ma'am?" he asked, as if discussing the weather. "Is there anything else I need to worry about during the rest of your leave?"

"Actually, no," I replied. "I'm fully intending to spend the rest of the time just … being me. Unwinding. Relaxing."

An almost soundless snort from the sergeant. "As you should have been doing the whole time."

"Well, you can't say it hasn't been interesting."

"'Interesting'," he retorted, "will be facing up to the Lieutenant-Colonel after we get back. That is an interview that I'm not looking forward to."

"Why, Sergeant Kinsey," I told him, injecting mock surprise into my murmur, "I'm surprised at you. You're thirty years younger than Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, and outweigh him twice over with muscle alone. You almost sound scared of him."

"It's not fear, ma'am," he responded stiffly. "It's respect."

"I can accept that," I agreed. "I don't think I'll enjoy it either." I shrugged slightly. "With luck, he won't take our heads all the way off. After all, the news crews were singing the PRT's praises from the rooftops, last I saw."

He nodded. "We can only hope, ma'am. We can only hope."

-ooo-​

Andrea slept through the whole flight, only waking up as we were descending toward the Brockton Bay airport. She yawned and stretched like a cat; this was very impressive, given that she was still strapped into her seat.

"Yay!" she exclaimed, looking out the window at the landscape rising below us. "America! The home of the brave and the land of the Fred!"

I blinked. "The land of the … what?"

She turned her bright, ingenuous gaze upon me. "Fred. You know, the guy behind the counter at McDonalds? He gives me extra fries if I bat my eyelashes and look pouty." She demonstrated on me. I had to admit, she was very good at it.

"Andrea," I told her as sternly as I could while trying not to smile, "I'd say you were incorrigible and shameless, but … "

"But we both knew that already, yeah." She bounced in her seat, even with the seatbelt on. "So come on, get this thing on the ground already. I wanna get out."

"Andrea," I sighed, leaning back, "there are many excellent reasons why you should never be encouraged to join the military, but one of those would have to be your inability to understand the concept of 'hurry up and wait'."

"Hurry up and what now?" she asked, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that last word."

"I'll catch you," I threatened.

"Sorry to burst your bubble," she replied impudently, "but that happened a long time ago."

"Yeah, it did," I sighed, putting my arm around her again, and rubbing my cheek against her riot of curls, "and I'm pretty sure it's a terminal case."

"What, are you saying I'll be the death of you?" she retorted playfully. "Okay, challenge accepted. Sexual exhaustion it is."

"Oh god," I groaned, blushing despite myself. "You did not just say that on a crowded plane."

"I didn't?" She looked interested. "I must have been imagining it. Oh well, I'll say it out loud th-"

I only knew two ways to shut Andrea Campbell up. The first way, a hand over her mouth, generally didn't work all that well; even with her mouth covered, she could make the most amazingly obscene noises. Worse, as I had learned the hard way, she possessed little in the way of scruples as to where she grabbed or tweaked me, and so could usually struggle free with a little effort. And as I had also learned to my cost, the presence of other people would not inhibit her in the slightest.

So I shut her up in the one way in which she was guaranteed not to struggle; I leaned down and kissed her. Predictably, she did not object in the slightest, instead wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me down toward her.

Our kiss was interrupted by the chirp of the tyres on tarmac; I had to disengage and sit up to brace against the deceleration. Fortunately, Andrea had been sufficiently distracted by the kiss – or perhaps it had been her aim all along to get me to kiss her – and sat relatively quietly until Kinsey judged it worthwhile to try to deplane.

-ooo-​

I walked ahead, with Kinsey behind and Andrea in the middle, so that nobody jostled her. We carried our winter-weight jackets over our arms, given that the temperature in Brockton Bay, even getting toward evening, was well above freezing. Once more, we went through Customs, where our lack of luggage stood us in good stead; we had nothing to declare, and we had flown out only that morning, so we got back through with a minimum of fuss.

Our hire car was still in the parking lot; we piled in. Andrea pulled me into the back seat, and sat in the middle so that she could snuggle up to me. "Wow," she murmured, as Kinsey drove us toward the exit. "We parked here this morning, and we're driving out in the evening. In that time, we've flown to Canada and back, risked death by moose -"

"We saw two moose the whole way," I interrupted. "And they were in the distance. Neither of them even came close to the highway."

"You were asleep on the way back," she pointed out. "A whole squadron of moose could have done Swan Lake in the middle of the road, and you wouldn't have known a thing about it."

"Herd of moose," I corrected her.

"Sure I've heard of moose," she replied cheerfully. "Who hasn't? Moose are funny to look at. And it's fun to say. Moose."

Slowly, I shook my head. "You know I meant -"

"Anyway," she went on. "Before you changed the subject, I was saying something. About moose. Ah, right. We flew to an airport in the middle of nowhere that was named after some sort of goose, drove to the middle of more nowhere, and you spent about ten minutes talking to some guy in his house. And you won't tell us a thing about it. For that I gave up my day."

"I'm sorry," I told her.

"For what?" she asked, looking at me askance.

"For wasting your time."

"Pfft. This is the most fun I've had in ages." She leaned against me, holding my arm tightly. "Any time you want to take off for a mysterious trip into wherever, let me know. I'm coming along."

I met Kinsey's eyes in the mirror, and raised my eyebrows slightly in query. He responded with a very slight shrug. Well, it's official. Neither one of us can figure her out.

-ooo-​

"Ma'am, the parking lot is full up," reported Kinsey. "If I drop you two out at the front, you'll be all right to get inside?"

"I believe so," I replied dryly. "If anyone tries to mug us, I will explain to them the error of their ways. And then Andrea can go through their pockets for loose change while we wait for them to wake up."

"Okay, that sounds like fun," Andrea agreed. "I've never actually seen you go all psycho on someone. Except when you and Gladys were doing that stick fighting thing at the lake."

"Ma'am," agreed Kinsey. He pulled the car to a halt, hazard lights blinking, while Andrea and I climbed out. I closed the door, then slapped the roof of the car twice to let Kinsey know that we were out and clear.

As he drove off to find a parking spot, we strolled up toward the door of Andrea's apartment building. Despite my brave words, I kept a careful eye out while Andrea led the way to her front door. A single attacker, I was pretty sure I could handle. Two competent armed attackers, or three average ones, I might have trouble with. Not that I thought we would be mugged, but this was Brockton Bay, and these were what they used to call the 'bad old days'. Even though Brockton Bay in my time was apparently even worse.

However, we reached the apartment with no trouble, and Andrea unlocked the door. She made it two steps inside, then stopped dead. Nor did I move any farther myself; we had a visitor.

-ooo-​

He stood foursquare in the middle of the living room, hands behind his back. His clothing hearkened back to yesteryear, a ruffled shirt with full sleeves, and formal trousers. Over it, bands made of bone went over his forearms and crossed over his chest, with enough covering his face to act as a mask. His hair, worn long, was held back by the bone headpiece. On another man, the fancy clothing and the long hair could have looked effeminate. On him, it did not.

"Good evening, ladies," he greeted us; his voice was deep, smooth, courteous. Now that he wasn't shouting to make himself heard, I got the impression of cultured manners covering rough edges underneath. Of someone consciously trying to better himself.

"Marquis," I replied grimly. 'What is this?" Carefully, I stepped forward, put Andrea behind me. She didn't object, but she kept craning her head out to look around me.

"Nothing sinister, I assure you, my dear Captain Snow. Neither you nor the delightful Ms Campbell have anything to fear from me."

That left one person. "Kinsey." My voice was flat. "If your men have harmed him in any way -"

"Then I will deal with them as finally as I deal with anyone else who fails me," he pointed out. "I left specific orders for him to be detained but not harmed."

"I can't guarantee that state of affairs will hold true in reverse," I told him. "What is it that you want with me?"

"To ask you to dinner, of course," he stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I didn't answer, not at first. My gaze raked him; I studied him, committing every detail to memory. He didn't fidget, didn't keep talking. His return gaze was confident, self-assured, intense.

"Why?" I asked, eventually.

His head tilted slightly, as if questioning. "Captain Snow, that should be self-evident. You are clearly an intelligent woman, and very strong-willed, if your track record with the PRT is anything to go by. I find you interesting. Intriguing, even."

"Is this anything to do with the fact that your last girlfriend has just left you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes widened behind the bone mask. "Colour me very impressed, Captain," he responded. "You know more about my personal affairs than many." His smile broadened slightly. "And you realise that you've just piqued my curiosity about you somewhat."

"Well, that curiosity will just have to remain unsatisfied," I decided. "As interesting as such a dinner might be, I have no desire to be seen in public with an up-and-coming crime lord as yourself. People may not know your face now, but in time, they will. And then they may start asking questions. Questions which I would rather not have to answer."

"But aren't you the least bit intrigued?" he asked urbanely. "To break bread with a supervillain? To learn the thoughts and motivations of one of the people you're sworn to oppose?"

I smiled, grimly. "You would be shocked and astonished, Marquis, if you knew with whom I have broken bread, and under what circumstances. I know the supervillain mindset all too well. It's why I'm so good at my job." With Andrea still behind me, I moved to the side. Keeping one arm before her – more to keep her back than to protect her, given that I knew that she was perfectly safe from him – I gestured at the door with my free hand. "Your dinner invitation is declined. Feel free to see yourself out."

"Very well, Captain." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Should you ever change your mind, I'm sure that you will be able to find me."

"Despite what I know about you, I will not be bothering you," I answered his unspoken query. "Unless you ever come near my friend again. In which case, I will return to Brockton Bay, and 'bothering' will be far too mild a term to use to describe my actions."

"I give you my word. Ms Campbell will be safe from my attentions." His head tilted in an ironic bow, and then he strode past us and out the door.

I slammed it behind him and locked it, in one smooth move. Then I darted to my bedroom, wary for ambush; I didn't think he'd leave a man in the apartment, but I was trained to make no assumptions.

Nobody ambushed me, and I located my Glock; with it in hand, I cleared the rest of the apartment rapidly. Andrea was still standing in the living room, in what appeared to be a state of shock, as I emerged once more.

"You okay?" I asked her, guiding her to an armchair.

"Yuh," she agreed. "That was Marquis."

"I know, sweetie, I know." I kissed her. "Can you stay right here for me? Lock the door behind me."

"Uh, sure."

-ooo-​

Glock held low by my side, I stepped out through the doorway, checking left and right. It was all clear. I headed for the stairwell, and took them two at a time. If they've hurt Kinsey, I'll never be able to forgive myself.

I emerged on to the street, Glock still held down alongside my hip. Down the street, in the direction that Kinsey had taken the car, men were stumbling and staggering toward a canvas-topped truck. I moved in that direction, fast. The pistol was so small that it didn't unbalance me as I ran.

The last man scrambled over the tailgate, and the truck lurched into motion before I was halfway there. There was a small side street, almost an alleyway; the men had been coming out of there. I guessed that it was where Kinsey had decided to park.

Pistol now up and tracking, I moved into the side-street. My eyes flicked from side to side, the pistol following my line of vision. I heard a groan, but couldn't see anyone. Every instinct screamed at me to rush to the sound, but I kept moving carefully, ensuring that there was no more danger in the area.

"Kinsey?" I called. "Snow. Coming in."

There was no answer; the car had been parked, but one door sat open. I could see a pair of legs protruding from in front of the car. I could also see the damage done to the car itself; at first I thought that they had vandalised it, hitting it with sledgehammers or something. But then I realised that every dent, every smashed window, had been done with a rounded implement. Some had left behind smears of blood and hair. There had been at least six men that I saw climbing into the truck; Kinsey had obviously decided to take them all on. And from the looks of it – and from the looks of several of the trash cans in the vicinity, all of which bore decidedly battered appearances – he had given a good account of himself.

Finally, drawing a deep breath, hoping against hope that his injuries would not be too severe, I stepped around the door and approached Kinsey himself.

Except that it wasn't Kinsey.

It was a man whom I had never seen before.

-ooo-​

I drew a deep breath, looking around. Stepped back from the man, kept moving. Perhaps Kinsey was farther away. "Kinsey!" I shouted; my voice was reflected back at me by the buildings close by on either side.

He was nowhere close. I returned to the injured man, looked more closely at him. The clothing was bloodstained and torn, but now I recognised it. The pattern of the suit was one I had seen before; the man who wore it was tall, muscular, not the type to wear a suit.

One of Marquis' men. Too badly injured to move.

He groaned again, with a bubbling sound; I looked more closely. His chest was oddly shaped; it looked caved in on one side. I had some basic battlefield medical training, but nothing that could help this man. Even a full trauma team would be hard put to bring him back from the brink, and that only if he was on the table right there in front of them. About the only thing that could save him in his current state would be Panacea, and she had yet to be born.

It would probably take a forensics team hours to piece together the full action, but I could work out the gist of it. Marquis' men had been waiting for us to return. They had wanted to hold Kinsey while their boss spoke to me. Unfortunately for them, Kinsey fought back, and while I had never seen him in an all-in brawl, I could attest to how good he was when he was holding back.

It took me a moment to realise that the bubbling had stopped. Stepping forward, pistol at the ready in case this was some truly elaborate trap, I checked for a pulse. There was none.

Carefully, taking more time, I checked up and down the side-street for anything else; a clue, a hint that Kinsey might have gotten away.

Nothing.

Damn you, Marquis. I might just have to hurt you, now.

-ooo-​

Finally, I retraced my steps. It was full dark now, as I climbed the steps to Andrea's apartment. With my pistol still in hand, I knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Andrea's voice.

"Taylor," I replied.

There was a long pause. "How do I know someone doesn't have their gun at your head?"

"Moose," I called back through the door.

She opened the door immediately, and flung her arms around me. I hugged her back carefully, mindful of the pistol. Without letting her go, I moved inside and pushed the door shut with my foot.

"Where's Jim?" she asked, without letting me go. "Is he going after them?"

Carefully, I disentangled her arms from me. "Andrea," I told her carefully. "I think he might have been abducted."

Her eyes went very wide. "Kidnapped?"

I nodded. "By Marquis' men, I think. Because -"

"- because you said no," she filled in. "Oh shit. Oh shit. What's going to happen to him?"

"Absolutely nothing," I told her firmly. "Because I'm going to get him back."

-ooo-​

Andrea stared at me. "What? Shouldn't we call the police?"

Carefully, I placed the pistol on the coffee table, then took her by the arms. "Andrea. Sweetie. The police will take over the situation, assume they know much better than me, and fuck it all up. Marquis is ruthless; people will get hurt. Maybe even Kinsey. Although Marquis will probably be reluctant to harm him, given that he thinks I know at least a bit about his operation."

She stared back at me. "And you think you can do better."

I nodded. "I'm his worst nightmare. A woman, who can find out all the information I need about his operation, who's willing to walk right in and kill as many of his men as I need to, in order to get Kinsey back."

"Wow. Yeah. Are you gonna kill him too?"

"Nope." I shook my head.

"Shut him down? Hand him over to the cops?"

Again, I shook my head. "Just take Kinsey away from him."

"But why?" She stared at me. "He's a criminal! He's dangerous!"

"There's a girl. She's going to need him as a father for just a little bit, in a few years' time. I need him alive and free to do that."

"Doesn't sound like a very good father to me."

"From what Lisa's told me, when he puts his all into being a father, he's really good at it." I guided her to the sofa and pulled her down to sit next to me. From habit, she climbed on to my lap. We held each other close; she put her head on my shoulder.

"Just … be careful, okay?" she asked. "I mean, I can see that look in your eye. The look that means nothing's gonna stand in your way. I can't talk you out of this. But … be careful?"

I kissed her gently; she clung to me.

"Always," I whispered.

-ooo-​

"Oh, hey." Lisa turned from the sights of the ridiculously elaborate hunting rifle she had set up on the edge of the hunting blind; it made the Barret with which Gladys had ended Heartbreaker's life look like a cap pistol. She was back to wearing her dino-wrangling gear, topped by a weathered slouch hat. "Looking for information on Marquis, huh?"

You know it. I hugged her.

"What's that for?" But she hugged me back anyway.

Just letting you know how much I appreciate you.

"Hey, I appreciate you letting me live here rent free," she replied cheerfully. "So yeah, here's the skinny on the bone guy." Picking up a tablet from the gun rest, she handed it to me, then peered through the scope again. "Woo hoo. Thar she blows." Absently, she waved flies away from her face.

Leaning forward, I looked through the spotter scope. A huge furry beast shambled into view, reaching out with a trunk to pluck up a small shrub. What? A woolly mammoth?

"Yup." She grinned at me, then peered through the scope once more and began to rotate a crank attached to the mechanism that held the rifle in place. The rifle swivelled almost imperceptibly.

But … why?

"Have you seen the size of the rugs you can make out of those suckers?"

I guess you have a point.

"Well, I won't keep you. You've got a sergeant to rescue. Kiss before you go?"

I leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood and sun balm. A fly buzzed close to my eye; I blinked.

-ooo-​

My eyes opened to Andrea leaning against me, her head on my shoulder. We still sat on the sofa; in my hands was a large pad. On the pad was a carefully drawn diagram of the layout of the safe-house in which Kinsey was being kept, where Marquis placed his guards, and the actual location of the safe-house in Marquis' territory. Other notes went around the margin. A little separate was a string of digits.

Andrea pointed at that. "Is that … ?"

"His direct number, yes."

"Holy crap. You just pulled his number out of thin air. Oh wow." I could tell that she was starting to recover from the shock of the home invasion. "That could come in so handy." She paused, and checked herself. "Well, it could have, before I met you."

I suppressed a smile. "I am not your personal dating service." My tone was reproving but fond.

"Sure you are." She snuggled up to me. "We go on dates all the time."

"You know what I mean. Now, can I have the phone?"

Grumbling about having to get up, she fetched the cordless phone and brought it over to me. I waited till she was settled next to me before I dialled.

"Hello?"

"Marquis."

"Good god, Captain Snow?" A pause. "How did you get this number?"

"I'm a Captain in the Intelligence division," I told him bluntly. "It's what I do. Now, you have someone I want back, in one piece."

"Your Sergeant Kinsey. You warned me, but I didn't realise just how dangerous he was. One of my men had to be left behind; how is he?"

"He didn't make it," I reported. "There was nothing that could be done. How is Kinsey?"

"A little banged up, but he's in better condition than some of my men. He'll survive."

I didn't let my relief sound in my voice. "Good. I'm guessing that you pulled off this ridiculous stunt in order to insist that I have dinner with you."

"You are as perceptive as ever. A quiet dinner date in a private location, where prying eyes cannot see us together, then maybe a stroll along the Boardwalk, after?"

"Hmm. I have a counter-offer. You release Sergeant Kinsey, unharmed, and I don't bring the wrath of God down upon your head."

His tone hardened slightly. "My dear Captain Snow, I am trying to be gentlemanly about this, but may I remind you; the good Sergeant is in my hands, and as much as I admire you, threats will not work toward his best interests. My offer is this; have dinner with me, and he will be released unharmed. My word on it." He didn't say what would happen to Kinsey if I refused outright. I decided that I would rather not find out.

"Give me a few hours to think about it," I prevaricated. "Then I'll get back to you."

"Don't take too long," he suggested. "The man he killed was a good one."

"Oh, you'll hear from me soon," I assured him.

"Good. Oh, and in case you're intending to involve the police … don't. They'll take days or weeks to get any sort of result. And if I have to wait more than a day, it will not go well for your Sergeant Kinsey."

"Believe me, I know," I told him grimly. "This will just be between me and you."

"Excellent," he replied warmly. "I look forward to your call."

Andrea, who had been listening intently to both sides of the conversation with her ear pressed up against the handset, looked at me enquiringly as I ended the call.

"Are you actually gonna go to dinner with him?"

I snorted. "As if."

She frowned. "Well, why didn't you accept in the first place? He actually looked kind of sexy. And it might have saved some problems."

"The last thing I want to do in this town is give the local criminals the wrong idea about the PRT," I reminded her.

"I could go in your place," she suggested brightly. "I'm not PRT, and I've never had dinner with a supervillain."

"And if the other villains in town get wind of this?" I reminded her. "Butcher and the Teeth? Galvanate? The Empire Eighty-Eight? If they decide that you're a good leverage point, you'll be kidnapped, and your chances of survival after that go down dramatically."

"Oh." She drooped. "I didn't think of that."

"It's okay," I assured her. "And I appreciate the offer. But this is gonna have to go down my way."

"What can I do to help?" she asked immediately.

I smiled. "I'm going to need your biggest handbag and your slinkiest dress … "

Andrea grinned. "Challenge accepted."

-ooo-​

Humphrey Kimball bounded from his car and closed the door. The dinner invitation from Captain Snow – Taylor – had come out of the blue, but he hadn't argued. He pressed the buzzer at the apartment entrance door, and the lock clicked almost immediately.

At the top of the steps, he paused to catch his breath, then strode forward to knock on the appropriate apartment door. It opened; Taylor stood there, wearing a dress that flattered her figure dramatically.

"Hi," she greeted him, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I am so glad that you were free."

He frowned. "Uh … isn't that large Sergeant of yours coming along?"

She rolled her eyes, and gestured into the apartment. Now Kimball heard the noises; the squeaking of bedsprings were interspersed with the sounds of a woman in the throes of passion.

"Kinsey and Andrea have … discovered one another. I need to get out of the place. Can we go, please?"

"Isn't he supposed to be your security detail?" he pressed. "You were kind of insistent on that, before."

"Are you armed?" she asked bluntly.

He blinked. "Uh, yes."

"Then I feel secure enough. Come on, let's go, before they really get going. Again."

She took his arm, and pressed close to him; her perfume should have been illegal. "Okay, sure," he agreed. "Let's go." A thought struck him. "Where are we going?"

She closed the door behind her and smiled. "Well, how about dinner and a movie?"

-ooo-​

I had picked the restaurant; the lighting was low, with gentle background music to complement the clinking of cutlery against crockery. The food was excellent, but the main reason I had wanted to come here was its proximity to a certain area of town. We've wasted an hour and a half so far. God, I hope Kinsey's still okay.

Kimball sat back and sighed. "Wow, that was really good. But aren't you hungry? You barely picked at your meal."

I gave him the best smile that I could manage. "If I eat too much in this dress, I might just pop a seam."

He admired the dress, again; or rather, he admired the effect that it had on my figure. Which, I had to admit, was very flattering. "I have to admit, it's not one I imagined a Captain in the PRT wearing."

"Just between you and me, I stole it from Andrea's wardrobe," I confessed.

"Maybe I should arrest you for theft," he commented playfully.

"And let me guess, strip-search me?" I countered, with a smile.

"Well, maybe," he conceded. His eyes searched mine, looking for hints that I wasn't just flirting.

"Maybe later," I suggested. "We've still got a movie to watch."

"We could just go for a stroll along the Boardwalk," he suggested.

"No, this is one I want to see. And I'd like you to see it with me," I told him. And besides, I want to be in a dark movie theatre with you. Just not for the reason you think.

"Then I want to see it with you," he declared. Lisa was right. Men are so easy to manipulate.

I reached across and took his hand. "I'm so glad that you were able to come out with me tonight."

"Me too," he agreed, squeezing my hand gently. "Me too."

-ooo-​

"I can't believe Andrea's asking me to do this!"

Danny took Anne-Rose in his arms. "It's for Taylor. And Sergeant Kinsey," he reminded her. "His life's in danger, otherwise."

She leaned up against him. "But going out with the guy Taylor's dating?"

"All you have to do is sit in a dark movie theatre with him," Danny soothed her. "I'll be close by."

"What if he tries to kiss me? Or grope me?"

"Tell him 'not until later', and pretend you're really engrossed in the movie."

Despite herself, she snorted. "Can I at least slap him?"

He grinned. "Only if he gets really grabby. But she'll be keeping him at arms' length, so you can too."

A sigh. "Fine. But only because it's Andrea who's asking. And only to save a life."

He kissed her, as tenderly as he knew how. She responded in kind. For a long moment, she held him close, then slowly disengaged. "Okay, fine," she told him briskly. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it properly. Help me put my hair up."

-ooo-​

"You sure this is the theatre you want to go to?" asked Kimball doubtfully. "You do realise, it's in Marquis's territory. Kind of tempting fate, here."

"I told you, Marquis doesn't hurt women or kids," I assured him.

"So why did you have us sneak the back way out of the apartment building?" he asked.

Because Lisa told me that his men were watching the front, but not the back. "Because I like to vary my routine. Intelligence training; you know how it goes. It's good to get into the habit of not having a habit."

"I ... see." It was clear that he didn't, not really. Of course, the bad spy-movie dialogue didn't help. Which was really my intention.

Humphrey's good-casual attire didn't draw much in the way of attention as we entered the lobby, but my borrowed dress – showing off rather more leg than it did when Andrea wore it, given that I had quite a few inches of height on her – caused a few heads to turn. Of course, people were looking at the dress, rather than my face, which was also the intention here. That tall brunette in the dress? Yes, sir, she came in and watched the whole movie. Yes, sir.

I was personally a little dubious about the dress – it was considerably slinkier and more revealing than, well, anything I had ever worn before – but I had to admit, Andrea's judgement was right on the money. The whole time that we were purchasing tickets, the attendant's eyes did not stray above my collar-line.

Personally glad that I had chosen to wear flats – I didn't want to tower over Kimball, after all – I accompanied him into the theatre. The movie I had told him I wanted to see – Yesterday's Hero, an action drama about an ageing cape coming out of retirement one last time – was doing all right at the box office, but there were few enough people in the theatre that we could sit next to each other. After the meal, I couldn't justify popcorn, but I had opted for a large fizzy drink each, to give Humphrey's hands something to do.

I led the way down the aisle, and chose my seat before he could decide otherwise; right next to the aisle. He had to slide past my legs to sit down, which he managed to do without spilling his drink on me. "I wanted to sit closer to the wall," he murmured, gesturing at the large expanse of empty seating beside him.

"This dress is hard enough to walk in normally without showing off more than I really want to," I reminded him in a whisper. "Climbing between seats, no thanks."

"So why did you grab one that was so ... revealing?" he wanted to know.

"First one I could find that wouldn't get me arrested," I told him. "Trust me, the other ones were worse."

"So why not that outfit you wore the other day?"

"Because Andrea and Kinsey were on my bed," I retorted. "Now shush. I want to watch the trailers."

He took the hint and sat back to watch the screen and sip his drink, while I slurped mine through the straw. About halfway through the trailers, a familiar figure got up from the front rows and made his way back up the aisle; I watched him go past out of the corner of my eye, but didn't turn my head. A minute or so later, as the trailers were coming to an end, I put my cup down in the holder.

"I think I need to visit the ladies' room," I whispered.

"Now?" he hissed. "But the movie's about to start!"

"Well, I'm not going to last the whole movie," I pointed out.

"Maybe you shouldn't have had so much soda."

"I was thirsty." With that witty rejoinder, I got up from my seat and hurried up the aisle. If he wondered why I took the borrowed handbag with me, I didn't give him much of a chance to ask me about it.

I slowed down when I entered the lobby; Danny was loitering at the concession stand. Our eyes met briefly, and he glanced toward the ladies' bathrooms. At his side, his hand showed three fingers projecting downward; Anne-Rose was in the third cubicle. How he knew this, I wasn't sure; Anne-Rose had probably checked which ones were free, then ducked out to tell him which one she would be in.

Well, let's do this. I entered the bathrooms, and ran into my first snag.

The second and fourth cubicles were also occupied.

-ooo-​

I took a deep breath. Okay. This isn't the end of the world. I can get around this.

But I knew that whatever I did, it would have to be fast; if I took too long, Humphrey would start wondering where I was. If he came looking, and caught Anne-Rose coming out of the bathrooms, he might realise that she wasn't me; I would have a lot of explaining to do. And yes, he was interested in me, but he was also a police detective, and I had absolutely no guarantee that one would trump the other.

For perhaps ten seconds, I waited. Nobody flushed, nobody opened their cubicles. For all that the canard of 'women taking too long in the bathroom' was generally untrue, it seemed to be playing out in this particular instance.

So I stepped forward and tapped on the door of the third cubicle.

"Uh, occupied," came the voice of Anne-Rose from within.

"It's me," I hissed. "Open the door!"

"What?" But she was already undoing the lock. The door opened, and I slipped inside, coming face to face with a startled Anne-Rose. A startled Anne-Rose who was in her underwear.

Pushing the door shut with my butt, I reached behind me and turned the lock. "Help me," I murmured, turning so that she could reach the zipper. It went down at her tug, and I stepped out of the dress. Turning back again, I held it so that she could step into it.

It was fortunate that we were both on the skinny side; otherwise, dressing her in a toilet cubicle designed for one would have been absolutely impossible. As it was, I wasn't sure what the women on either side thought what was going on in our cubicle; nor did I want to know.

She shrugged the dress on over her shoulders, and I pulled the zipper up. It was fortunate that I had filled out a bit during my time in the PRT, because Anne-Rose would not normally have been as skinny as me; as it was, the dress was a little tighter around her, but not impossibly so. I kicked my flats off, and she slid her feet into them. "My god," she muttered, "there's nothing at all to this dress."

"It's Andrea's. Just try not to inhale too deeply," I advised her. "Here. Perfume."

She took the bottle and dabbed it on to her neck and wrists; immediately, the rich scent redoubled in the confined area.

"Right," she told me. "How do I look?"

Reaching up, I took the floppy cloth cap from her head, exposing her hair; it had been done up in a tight curl behind her head. With luck, in the darkness of the cinema, Humphrey wouldn't see any difference. I hoped.

"You look great," I told her. "I really appreciate this."

"You owe me for this," she told me feelingly. "You really do."

"I'll make it up to you. Somehow."

Closing her eyes for a moment, she sighed. "Okay. Danny thinks it's worthwhile. So let's do this. Where's he sitting? And where am I sitting?"

"About halfway down on the right. Danny knows where. He's one seat in, you're on the aisle. If he tries to kiss you, ignore him. Or elbow him, gently."

"It won't be gently," she told me grimly. "Okay, out of the way. He's got to be wondering where you are."

"Okay." I wormed around, then caught sight of the sparkle on her finger. "Shit, your engangement ring."

"Christ." She rolled her eyes and pulled the ring off of her left hand. "Kinsey better be worth it."

"He is." And then, just as she opened the door, I realised. "Glasses!" Pulling the pair I had off of my face, I handed them to her.

Putting them on, she nearly went cross-eyed. "Christ, your eyes are screwed up, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Now go!"

Closing the cubicle door behind her, I listened to the sound of her footsteps crossing the tiles, the sound of her briefly washing her hands, and then the outer door opening and closing. In the meantime, given that mostly everything in the cubicle was a blur, I was feeling through my handbag for my spare glasses, the ones I had been intending to give to her. I had also intended to swap bags after moving certain items from one to another, but we had been in too much of a hurry. Fuck, I hope it doesn't matter.

-ooo-​

Anne-Rose emerged from the bathrooms; across the lobby, Danny finally completed his purchase of a large box of popcorn. They converged on the entrance; the attendant at the door looked up. "Tickets?"

"Here's mine," Danny offered. "I was just getting popcorn." He held up the box to illustrate.

"No problem, sir. Ma'am, ticket?"

"My date bought my ticket," Anne-Rose told him. Shit, Taylor forgot to get it for me. "He's inside."

The acne-ridden boy – he couldn't have been over seventeen – shook his head stubbornly. "Ma'am, I can't let you in without a stub."

"But we bought our tickets just then," Anne-Rose protested. "I was just going to the bathroom." Oh god, it's all going wrong.

"Sorry, you should bring it out with you," the pimpled adolescent lectured her. "Rules are rules."

"Screw it," Danny told him. "Here, miss. Take mine. I'll buy another one." He passed her his stub; at the last moment, she remembered the engagement ring clutched in her hand, and pressed it into his. His eyebrows hitched up for a second, but he caught on quickly.

"Thank you," she told him feelingly. "Thank you so much." And people wonder why I want to marry him. With her head held high, she stepped past the teenager and down the corridor toward the entry to the cinema proper.

Danny was supposed to guide her back to where her seat was; all she had to go on otherwise was Taylor's 'half way down on the right'. She couldn't see crap through the glasses; pushing them down, she looked over them, walking carefully down the aisle.

"Taylor!" The sharp whisper came from behind her; she turned, and there he was, so she presumed; at least, he was beckoning to her. He was one seat in, just as Taylor had said. Backtracking, she eased herself down into the seat, feeling the dress stretch ever so slightly. Taylor's advice about not inhaling too deeply, she decided immediately, had worth.

"Sorry," she whispered, trying to keep her voice as low as possible. "Got turned around."

"That's okay," he replied. "I was beginning to think you'd ditched me."

"Forgot my ticket," she told him. "Little twerp on the door didn't want to let me back in."

"Is that so?" he asked. "I'll have a word with him when we get out … "

"Leave it," she advised him. "Can we just watch the movie? What've I missed? Who's that?"

"Oh, that's the main character, Steelheart," he explained. "He's just failed to save that bus full of schoolkids. Wasn't strong enough."

"Oh, wow," she murmured. "That's terrible." She picked up what she presumed was her cup and took a sip. It was still cold, but the melting ice had diluted it somewhat, and it was kind of flat. But she drank it anyway, and it helped with her dry throat.

"You're telling me," he replied.

She sipped at her cup again in lieu of an answer, and concentrated on watching the movie over the top of her glasses.

Taylor, hurry back soon. I don't know how long I can keep this up.

-ooo-​

Finally locating the glasses, I fitted them on to my face, and the world sprang into focus. I stood in the toilet cubicle, in just my underwear, and the clothes Anne-Rose had been wearing were folded neatly on the toilet seat.

Right then.

The black T-shirt went first; I pulled it on over my head, glasses and all, then pulled the cloth cap down over my head to hide my short hair. After that, the jeans and the sneakers; Anne-Rose had thoughtfully included a belt, which was useful; I was a little narrower in the hips than she was. Over the top of the shirt went a green and white hoodie; I didn't know whether she'd been wearing the hood up or down, but I went with 'down'. After that, I picked up my handbag and slung it back over my shoulder.

Go time.

Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the cubicle door and was just about to open it, when I remembered. Glasses. Anne-Rose hadn't been wearing any when she came in here.

Pulling them off again, I folded and palmed them, then pulled the cubicle open. Two women were washing their hands; as I emerged, they turned to give me what I presumed were speculative looks. Trying not to blush too hard, I headed for where I remembered the door to be; at the last moment, I realised where it really was, turned a little, and yanked it open. Giggles followed me out.

The lobby was blurry, but I could find those doors easily enough, as opposed to the white-doors-on-white-walls in the bathroom. As soon as I was outside, I put the glasses back on, then looked around. Danny's car, Danny's car, Danny's car …

It wasn't anywhere in sight. Beginning to feel the strain once more, I looked around, then headed for the corner. And around the corner, right there, was the car. Old, a little weatherbeaten, it was still one of the most beautiful sights that I'd ever seen. Striding over to where it was parked at the curb, I pulled open the passenger door and got in.

"Well, thank fuck," Gladys told me. "I was beginning to think you'd never get here."

I could have kissed her. I didn't, but I could have. Instead, I let my gratitude pour into my voice. "Thank you so much for helping out at such short notice."

She nodded as I fastened my seatbelt. "Okay, so what's going on here? Andrea called me up, said that Danny would be coming to pick me up, that you needed my help. And now you've come out wearing the same outfit that Anne-Rose wore into the place."

"Yeah, it's kind of a shell game," I explained. "I told you about the cop who wants to date me, right?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Anne-Rose is in there pretending to be you? Why?"

"Can we drive?" I pointed straight ahead. "I'll explain on the way."

-ooo-​

"Comfortable?"

Kinsey looked up from where he sat at the table. His ankles were fastened to his chair legs by thick bone bands; around his wrists were more conventional handcuffs. Two men were standing just inside the doorway; one had a stun-gun, while the other had a heavy baton. He really wanted to have some words up close and personal with the man holding the stun gun; it was that which had brought him down in the fight.

But his attention wasn't on that man; it was on Marquis, who was standing in the doorway itself, regarding him with a certain level of detachment.

"So-so," he replied, with a shrug that clanked the cuffs on the table. If he could get hold of a metal strip of some sort, he could pick them, he knew. But the room seemed devoid of handy metal strips. "I've been on worse training courses."

"Good to hear," Marquis replied, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Your Captain hasn't rung back yet. She has to know that time is running out for you."

"She's not going to buckle down to you," Kinsey told him evenly. "You're nothing but a two-bit thug with some powers. I've seen your type before. As soon as you meet some real opposition, you fold like wet tissue paper."

Abruptly, a bone spear had crossed the room, and was pricking at the hollow in the base of Kinsey's throat. Kinsey stopped speaking, stopped breathing. He held himself very still.

"You would do well, Sergeant, to recall to whom you are speaking," Marquis stated, his voice still calm and unhurried. He didn't seem to care about the spear which had erupted from his left shoulder. "I have a certain reputation in this town. If one of my minions fails me, he disappears – utterly. He is never seen or heard of again. The question you need to ask yourself is this; if I do that to my employees, what must I do to my enemies?"

The spear retracted a few inches; Kinsey took that as permission to speak.

"I don't know about your enemies, but I've seen what Captain Snow does to her enemies." The skin around his eyes creased as he surveyed Marquis. "If I know the Captain, you weren't on that list, not until you took me. But now you've jumped on it with both feet. And you are so very, very fucked."

-ooo-​

"So wait, you're going up against Marquis?" exclaimed Gladys. "Are you nuts?"

"No," I told her honestly. "Just pissed."

She took a deep breath. "Okay. Just tell me what you want me to do."

"You're doing it." I gestured at the car. "Driving me to and from."

"And that's it?" She frowned. "You don't want me to shoot anyone?"

"You told me not to call on you for that any more," I reminded her. "So I'm not. Uh, turn left here."

"Oh." She complied with my direction. "Are you sure you don't need help?"

I looked at her. In the dimness, I could make out her set expression. "Uh, are you offering?"

"Shit, I don't know. You're going up against Marquis."

"Lot safer than Allfather or Butcher," I pointed out. "Worst he'll do is humiliate us and kick us out."

"You're certain of that."

"Deadly."

"Oh, I wish you hadn't said it that way."

I shrugged. "Sorry. Pull in here."

She pulled the car into the alley that I had indicated, and stopped; we got out. I put my handbag on the hood of the car, and pulled out my shoulder rig. Removing the hoodie and cap, I strapped on the holster, ensuring that the Glock was secure in it. Then I pulled out a belt and slung it over my other shoulder; even on the last hole, it was never going to fit around my waist. On the belt was another holster, carrying Kinsey's massive .44 calibre hand-cannon.

"Hey, why do you get two pistols?" asked Gladys, sounding hurt.

"The other one's for Kinsey when I find him," I explained. "But here, I brought something for just in case. You can have it." I tossed it to her; she caught it, opening her hand to reveal an extendible baton.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, she opened it to its full length, then took a couple of practice swipes with it. I could hear the way it hummed through the air. A smile spread across her face, one with lots of teeth in it. "Oh, I like it."

Taking one last item from my bag – Kinsey's favourite clasp-knife – I tucked it into the pocket of Anne-Rose's jeans, then dropped the bag on the front seat, and closed the door. "Well, if you're in, you're in. If you're not, then you can stay with the car."

"You know something?" asked Gladys. "I'm gonna be Vice Principal. Maybe Principal some day. How the hell could I face all those little shits, knowing that I stepped back from something like this? I'm in."

I clasped her hand, then bumped knuckles with her. "Okay. Let's do this thing."

End of Part 4-10

Part 4-11​

 

[Asheram]

Good going, Taylor! Just try to not bruise Marquis too badly, I'm still shipping... Alternate you with Amy.

 

[CptTagon]

Tyres!

I must admit that I think Taylor/Lisa are being rather too clever with the shell game with Kimball, mainly because Anne-Rose doesn't seem like she'll be able to keep it up for long.

 

[Ack]

Good going, Taylor! Just try to not bruise Marquis too badly, I'm still shipping... Alternate you with Amy.

Click to shrink...

Bruise ... yeah

Tyres!

I must admit that I think Taylor/Lisa are being rather too clever with the shell game with Kimball, mainly because Anne-Rose doesn't seem like she'll be able to keep it up for long.

Click to shrink...

So? That's how I spell it.

And she only has to keep it up for so long.

 

[Asheram]

Bruise ... yeah

Click to shrink...

Hey, Amelia might want another sibling someday... then again, she's a second gen cape and will probably trigger anyhow, she can fix him up.

 

[tenchifew]

Great chapter, and unexpected developments.
The shell game is hilarious.
Really looking forward to the next chapter.
Thank you for writing.

 

[Starfox5]

Oh, nice troubles there. I wished Taylor had had dinner with the Marquis, but this is good as well. All the old gang, back in action. Though I assume the cop will see through the disguise.

 

[cosoco]

"If I know the Captain, you weren't on that list, not until you took me. But now you've jumped on it with both feet. And you are so very, very fucked."

Click to shrink...

Phrasing!

This really seems like a needlessly complicated plan. What's she going to tell her superiors when they ask her why she didn't notify them about this? Isn't there a dead guy lying in her car? Isn't Kimball going to be pretty pissed once he and "Taylor" leave the theater?

 

[tenchifew]

This really seems like a needlessly complicated plan. What's she going to tell her superiors when they ask her why she didn't notify them about this? Isn't there a dead guy lying in her car? Isn't Kimball going to be pretty pissed once he and "Taylor" leave the theater?

Click to shrink...

I think the plan is for neither police nor her superiors to ever realize what really happened.
Taylor plans to change places back with "Taylor" before the movie ends, and who is going to tell PRT?
Marquis?

 

[Ack]

Phrasing!

This really seems like a needlessly complicated plan. What's she going to tell her superiors when they ask her why she didn't notify them about this? Isn't there a dead guy lying in her car? Isn't Kimball going to be pretty pissed once he and "Taylor" leave the theater?

Click to shrink...

I think the plan is for neither police nor her superiors to ever realize what really happened.
Taylor plans to change places back with "Taylor" before the movie ends, and who is going to tell PRT?
Marquis?

Click to shrink...

That's the plan.

In brief:
She doesn't want to tell the police about Kinsey's kidnapping, because the police will fuck it up.
She's going to get Kinsey back on her own. Which everyone official would frown upon, but she knows it's the only way to get him back safely.
However, the body in front of her car (and the damage to the car) will be discovered sooner rather than later. The police will investigate, and this will lead them back to Taylor, Kinsey and Andrea.
Therefore, she's getting Kinsey back ASAP, so that he can claim never to having been kidnapped.
And she's 'going to the movies' with Kimball, so that she can claim never to have been present at the attack on the safe house.
The police are going to find a) a dead Marquis man next to the damaged hire car, and b) the aftermath of her attack on the safe house, but they'll have nothing else to go on.
Kimball looks at Taylor, and she goes, "What? I was at the movies with you."
He looks at Kinsey, and he goes, "What? I was in bed with Andrea. Ask her."
Andrea goes, "Oh yeah. Want details?" Because Andrea.
And while Kimball may have his suspicions, he won't have anything to go on.

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 4-11: Shell Game​

Time was ticking away in my head; I knew the approximate time that the body in the street was due to be discovered. Subtract from that the time that Anne-Rose and I needed to swap out in the bathrooms, and the travel time between this place and the movie theatre, and from the movie theatre to Andrea's place … we had a little leeway. But not much.

Unlike Galvanate, Marquis didn't make his men near-invulnerable. He just ensured their loyalty by making sure that any man who failed him significantly was never seen again. I had to presume that he didn't inflict this kind of punishment on someone who didn't properly make his morning cup of coffee; it probably required more than that, given the fact that he still had men working for him. But I was reasonably certain that they wouldn't be permitted to go against his personal code. Which, in this case, involved not hurting women.

This was precisely the same strategy that the Brockton Bay Brigade would use against him when they were due to take him down in just over six years, but in this case, it was for a good cause. Kinsey's life, after all, did hang in the balance.

-ooo-​

The safe house in question was actually an abandoned storefront; Marquis had placed men around it in pairs. I appreciated the forethought of the move, while wishing that he had been a little less efficient about it. As it was, I had to wait till Gladys got into position before making my own move. Time was ticking away, and we hadn't even gotten inside yet.

Of course, once we did, things were going to happen very quickly indeed.

I had two of them in my line of sight as I strolled casually down the alleyway; they looked like drunks sleeping it off, but Lisa had pinpointed them for me, so I knew they were more than that. Really, it was kind of unfair; Marquis was going for 'security by obscurity', but with my particular advantages, I could see straight through the subterfuge. Of course, I had never believed in giving the other guy a fair fight, and I wasn't about to start now.

They straightened up from their slumped positions as I neared them, and the door they were guarding. One of them spat noisily in the gutter, a move calculated to make me veer off. Instead, I came closer.

"Hey, get outta here," the other guy slurred, lurching to his feet. "Ain't a good place for a woman."

Reaching up with my left hand, I pushed back the hood, showing my face. "Really?" I asked. "I'm here for the date with your boss. Captain Snow, remember?"

It was obvious that he did remember me; he stared, then frowned. "Wait a minute. How did you -?"

I kept moving toward him; his buddy stood, and they both pulled pistols. "Stand right where you are," the first one ordered. "Arms out to the side."

"You do realise, if you shoot me, you'll wish that Marquis had only killed you." My voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

"If I gotta shoot you, I'll kill you, and I'll make sure the body's never found." So was his.

Gladys was good, I had to admit. She was very quiet on her feet as she sneaked up behind them; the other guy never heard her coming. But he certainly felt it when the extendible baton whipped through the air to impact with the side of his jaw. It was a difficult shot, taken from behind, but she pulled it off.

The one facing me heard the crack of breaking bone; he reacted, turning fast. But not fast enough. I came in, catching his right wrist with my left hand, and smashing him in the face with my right elbow. He staggered, and I kicked him in the crotch with all the force that I could muster. As he began to double up, I cupped my right hand around the back of his head, pulling him down faster; my right knee came up to meet his already-ruined nose.

He dropped; I kept hold of his right wrist, stepping over it and twisting his arm against my leg. His elbow broke like dry kindling; I plucked the pistol from his hand and let him fall the rest of the way. I was just checking chamber on the pistol when Gladys came over to me. She looked down at the man at my feet, then up at me, her eyes wide. "Damn, girl," she murmured. "Do you have issues, or do you fight like that all the time?"

"Oh?" I tucked the pistol into the back of my waistband, retrieved the second man's pistol, and checked it as well. "Oh, no, that's how Kinsey taught me how to fight."

"Christ," she muttered. "Now I see why you gave me the baton. You didn't need it."

"Happier with a pistol," I admitted, rubbing my elbow. "Here, you have this one. I'll have Kinsey's back, thanks."

Accepting the firearm, she unlooped the length of Kinsey's belt from over her shoulder – I hadn't been able to carry it for the approach, for obvious reasons – and handed it back to me. I slung it across my chest, then unzipped the hoodie. The small Glock in its shoulder holster was ready for use; I drew it, then swapped it into my left hand.

"Okay," I told her. "We'll be going in hard and fast. I'll shoot anything in the way; you stay a room behind me and mop up, the way we practised. Once we're fully invested, keep an eye on our six, because the other guards might come in that way."

She nodded briefly. "Okay." However, the white-knuckled grip on the baton gave away her nerves.

"Gladys." The tone of my voice made her stop and look at me. "There are exactly three people I'd prefer to have at my back in this sort of situation. One of them's in that room. Emily's out on ops somewhere. You're the third. I trust you in this. Got it?"

She took a deep breath; it seemed to steady her nerves. "Got it. Let's go kick some ass."

I grinned, showing my teeth. "Let's do this thing."

-ooo-​

"So tell me about your Captain Snow," Marquis invited. "You seem to have a high opinion of the woman. What's so special about her?"

Kinsey grinned tightly, all the while testing his legs against the bone bonds holding them in place. It was no good; they were as solid as rock. "She's done things that you wouldn't believe. Things that I have trouble believing, and I saw her do them."

"What sort of things?"

"Nope." Kinsey shook his head. "Can't tell you. I'd like to hang on to my clearance level."

"I'm fairly certain that your life is more important than a ridiculous security clearance."

"Fine. I'll tell you this much. My career was in the toilet, and she rescued me. Gave me a chance to redeem myself. I've worked every day, ever since then, to match up to the trust she's shown me. She hasn't doubted me, not once, not ever. The day I betray Captain Snow is the day I eat a bullet."

"You love her." Marquis' voice was light, amused, in contrast with Kinsey's deeper tones.

Kinsey grimaced. "You're delusional. She's my commanding officer, and I have every respect for her -"

"You love her. Ha. Of course. It would be clear to a blind man." Marquis' face was alive with delight. "And you serve her faithfully, just so that you can earn her praise. Have you ever told her how you feel?"

Kinsey gritted his teeth. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"So you haven't. Do you think she knows? A lady so intelligent, so insightful, how could she not? But does she look at you as Kinsey the man, or Kinsey the Sergeant? Have you never wished to step closer to her, take her in your arms, look into her eyes -"

There was a loud bang as Kinsey brought both fists down on the table; Marquis raised one eyebrow. "Temper, Sergeant. Temper."

"One more word about the Captain," ground out Kinsey. "One more word, and I'll come over this table, chair or no chair, and I will squeeze the life from your throat with my bare hands."

Marquis leaned down, placing his hands on the other side of the table at which Kinsey sat.

"You can do nothing to me, Sergeant, which I do not all-"

He was cut off by an explosion of firing from the next room. One moment silence, the next a full-on firefight. Marquis turned toward the door in question, a bone weapon of some sort forming in his hands. At the same time, the bone bands spread to cover his body. Kinsey didn't hesitate; he braced himself and shoved the table as hard as he could into Marquis' back.

The four men in the room were just starting to pull their own pistols when the door burst open. Marquis may have been able to react in time, but he was staggering from the blow to his back. Even as the figure of Captain Snow appeared in the doorway, there were two shots, and the villain went down, kneecaps blown out. More staccato shots rang out, the Captain servicing targets as coolly as on the firing range. With each shot, a man dropped; in these close quarters, she barely had to do more than eyeball the targets.

"Kinsey!" she yelled, while shooting to the left and right of him, to get at two men almost behind him. Her gun barrel jerked upward slightly. He took the hint, raising his cuffed hands high. The next shot passed between them, severing the handcuff chains. She had already dropped the pistol in her right hand; her hand dipped, and then an object was hurtling toward him; he recognised it as his .44. Catching it, he pointed it straight down at the bone bands holding his legs to the chair, and fired; the calcitic restraint shattered, and he was free.

She was now just holding her holdout weapon; he stepped in, back to back with her. There were other doors, other rooms. A man showed himself at one, then ducked back; Kinsey's hand-cannon boomed once, shooting through the wall eighteen inches back from the door frame. The man's body flopped forward into view a second later, but Kinsey was already firing at another doorway. Behind him, Captain Snow fired three times, then stopped. She tilted her head at the sound of shooting outside.

"That's all of them in here," she decided. "You all right, Kinsey?"

"A little cramped from all the sitting around, ma'am," he replied. "What kept you?"

"I had to arrange for a date," she told him.

"Beg pardon, ma'am?"

"Long story. Tell you later. Get the brass. Only the polished ones." As he complied, she stepped over to where Marquis lay on the floor. He turned his face up to hers, looking right into the barrel of her small Glock.

"Damnation," muttered the villain. "Did you kill all my men?"

"Only the ones I had to," she replied. "Some might survive. You will. I only shot out your kneecaps."

"Why so lenient, ma'am?" Kinsey slipped the last of the brightly-polished bullet casings into his pocket and thumbed back the hammer on his pistol; in the quiet room, the sound was ominous in the extreme. "One shot, and another problem gone from the world."

But she shook her head. "No, Kinsey. It suits me to leave him alive and free. This time."

Kinsey frowned. "But why, ma'am?"

"Much as I hate to agree with a musclebound brute, and much as I hate to appear ignorant … yes, dear lady, why?"

Captain Snow shook her head with something that may have been a smile. "One of these days, we'll meet again. And on that day, I will place you under arrest. Until then, you will leave me and mine alone, or I will come back to Brockton Bay. And on that day ... you will never see me coming." Dropping to a crouch, she looked into Marquis' eyes. "Do I have your complete attention, or do I need to start grinding my gun barrel into your wounds?"

"You have my attention," he admitted. "You and yours will be left alone."

"Good." She stood, moved over to where she had discarded the empty pistol. Using the corner of her hoodie, she cleaned the prints from it, and dropped it once more. "I'll leave you to your own devices now. Have a good night."

Kinsey shadowed her to the door; as she was about to leave, Marquis called out. "Captain Snow?"

She turned. "Yes?"

His smile was painful but genuine. "It would have been a romance for the ages."

She snorted, but one corner of her mouth quirked upward. "If you say so."

Kinsey paused, looked back. "Told you so." Then he followed her from the room.

He'd never had the slightest doubt that she would come for him.

-ooo-​

There were two men lying in the outer room, and one more in the doorway. As we stepped outside, Gladys laid out one last man with a punch to the solar plexus and another to the jaw.

"Ran out of bullets," she explained, "and I dropped the baton. Oh, there it is." Leaning down, she retrieved the weapon, which appeared to have more than a little blood on it. "It, uh, might need cleaning. Or something."

"I'll take care of it," I advised her dryly, accepting it from her and collapsing it. Holstering the Glock, I handed Kinsey's weapon belt to him. "Where's the pistol you were using?"

Picking it up, she handed it to me; I wiped it clean, then dropped it once more. "Coming, Kinsey?"

The Sergeant was looking at the men on the ground, then back at the others inside. Finally, he looked at Gladys. "You did all this?"

"Uh, Taylor did that one," she noted, pointing out the man whom I had first approached. "But yeah, I did the rest of them." She rubbed her face; a bruise was starting to show under her eye. "One of them tagged me."

His face was a study in consternation. "The Captain obviously did not fill me in on exactly how capable you really are."

"Walk now, talk later," I urged them. "We're on the clock."

"Shit, yeah," she agreed. "Okay, let's go."

-ooo-​

Sirens were starting to sound really close as we got back to the car; gang neighbourhood or not, a firefight like that was going to draw attention. Kinsey and I climbed into the back seat, and Gladys gunned the engine. Once the initial acceleration wore off, I reached down into the footwell and retrieved the bolt cutters that I'd had Gladys bring. It wasn't easy in the jolting car, but I managed to snip first one then the other bracelet from his wrists. They had left marks, but I wasn't worried about that. Opening the window, I wiped the the incriminating items, then tossed them out into the street.

"Back to the theatre?" asked Gladys.

"Back to the theatre," I agreed.

"Theatre?" asked Kinsey. "Why are we going to a theatre?"

"We aren't," I told him. "I am. You're going back to Andrea's."

"But why are you going to a theatre, ma'am?"

"I'm on a date. Right now, I'm in that theatre, watching a movie. With a date. Who happens to be a police officer."

He shook his head. "Ma'am, I confess myself to be totally at a loss. But I'll trust you on this."

I smiled. "Thank you, Kinsey."

Gladys brought the car into a screeching halt, just around the corner from the theatre. I climbed out, barely remembering to bring the bag along, but leaving the pistols and the shoulder holster for Kinsey to take care of. With my hood up, I headed for the theatre.

-ooo-​

Anne-Rose tried not to squirm. Kimball had his arm over her shoulders now, and was trying to edge her close to him. She was pretending to not notice, staring fixedly at the fuzzy image of the screen that she had through Taylor's glasses.

If he tries one more time to kiss me, this time I'm not going to elbow him gently.

Just as she thought that she was going to have to go ahead and do it, her elbow poised and ready, a pager went off. She had half a second to feel annoyance, until she realised that it was his pager. Oh, thank god.

"Oh, you have to be kidding me," he muttered as he took his arm from her shoulders – she did her best to hide her sigh of relief – and fished the offending device from his belt. For a moment, she thought that he was going to merely turn it off, but with an aggravated sigh of his own, he read the message on the tiny screen.

Oblivious to the glares of the other patrons – this must not be the first time this had happened to him, she realised – he climbed past her to the aisle. "Gotta make a phone call," he murmured.

"See you when you get back," she replied, just as quietly. But she didn't relax until he started up the aisle.

Hurry back, Taylor. The movie's almost over, and I don't know how much longer I can politely fend him off.

-ooo-​

I was almost at the theatre doors when they opened, and Kimball stepped out. Oh shit, was my first thought. He's twigged that Anne-Rose wasn't me. But on second glance, I realised that Anne-Rose wasn't with him, and he was holding a pager in his hand. He's been called in on one or other of the homicides. Shit.

That was when I realised that I was still wearing my glasses; reaching up, I whipped them off.

Too quickly, I realised a moment later, as the movement drew his eyes to me. He looked me full in the face for just a second; still distracted by the pager, he was slow to come to the realisation. But it would happen in just another few seconds -

Danny's face interposed between mine and Kimball's. "Sweetie!" he greeted me loudly, putting his arms around me; instinctively, I did the same for him. "I've been waiting forever for you!" And then he kissed me.

He kept his lips closed and so did I; all the same, we both made protracted mmmm noises. He embellished this with a loud smacking noise as he drew away, pulling my hood down over my face a little more as he did so. Behind him, I saw the blurry form of Kimball heading over to the nearby phone box; our little charade had hopefully fooled him.

"Come on, let's go in," he urged me.

We headed inside; the moment the doors closed behind me, I turned to him. "You kissed me!" I hissed.

"No tongue," he pointed out. "And it did the job."

"Well, true," I admitted. And thinking back, I'd let Lieutenant Calvert kiss me once upon a time, and that had been a much less pleasant affair. And on this occasion, it had well and truly saved my bacon. "Thanks. For the quick thinking."

"My pleasure," he told me with a boyish grin; just as I realised the double meaning behind his words, he pointed at the ladies' bathrooms. "You might want to go in. I'll get Anne-Rose."

Slipping on the glasses one more time to get my bearings, I headed for the bathrooms.

-ooo-​

"So you've got a dead man in midtown, and a bunch more over at the other site?" asked Kimball, notepad out and pen busy, phone wedged into his shoulder. "How are these all connected?"

"They're all Marquis men," his partner told him. "And get this. There's a car right next to the dead man. It's all beat up, windows smashed. Evidence that a brawl happened right on top of it."

"Yeah, so?"

"It's a hire car. Out of Chicago. I'll give you one guess as to whose name's on the lease."

"You're shitting me," breathed Kimball.

"That's right, buddy. None other than Captain Taylor Snow, Parahuman Response Teams."

"Wait, wait," protested Kimball. "What are you saying? That since her run-in with Marquis, she's decided to go vigilante and clean up the town?"

"Wouldn't surprise me, buddy. Prelim forensics at the multiple homicide shows single-shot kills, centre head. And you saw how she can shoot."

"But you said the single dead guy was beaten to death. She's good, but could she do that?"

"No, but that big sergeant of hers could do that easily."

"Yes. He could. Say, when was that firefight reported?"

"Fifteen minutes ago. Why?"

"Timeline doesn't work. Captain Snow's got an alibi."

"What? How? Who?"

He took a deep breath. "Me. I'm on a date with her. We're at the movies."

"You're at the movies. With our suspect."

"Yes. I've been sitting next to her for the last hour and a half."

"Well, fuck."

"Look, something's weird about this. You know where Snow's staying?"

"Yeah. She and her sergeant have been living at an old friend's place. Girl by the name of Campbell."

"Yeah, I know her. You might want to canvass that place, just in case."

"Already taken care of, buddy. Sent uniforms over there as soon as confirmation came back on the hire car thing."

"Good. Let me know how things turn out. Most especially, if Kinsey's actually there."

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, how's this for a scenario. Marquis wants something out of Snow. Maybe revenge for showing him up, maybe something else."

"Okay, that makes sense."

"So he sends his men to kidnap that sergeant. But it goes south, and one of the guys gets killed."

"I know I wouldn't want to try conclusions with him."

"Nor me. So. He's got the sergeant, he contacts Snow, she arranges a rescue."

"Except that there's no other PRT personnel in town that we know of, and sure as hell nobody who shoots that good."

"So it had to be her on the ground."

"Except that you say you've been sitting next to her all this time."

"Yeah. Fuck. Apart from that, it all holds together."

"So where are you going to attend?"

"You take the multiple; you're there already, right?"

"I am. Oh; fun fact."

"Yeah?"

"We've got more bullet-holes than shell casings. Some from a larger calibre than any weapon found on the scene, and no casings at all from that. Some of the brass is missing."

"They policed it up."

"Or they used revolvers. We dug a bullet from the floorboards that would fit a larger calibre, but it's a soft lead hollowpoint. No ballistics worth a damn."

"This is special ops shit, right there."

"No kidding. What branch did you say your girlfriend was from?"

"Intelligence. Or so I thought."

"Sounds more like double-oh bullshit to me."

"Well, I'm gonna go back in and have a talk to her, then drive her home and see if her friend Ms Campbell tells the same story."

"No. You hold her there. I'll send someone else along to pick her up."

"What the hell, man?"

"You know the rules as well as I do. You're on a date with her. This makes you automatically compromised."

"Ah, fuck. Seriously?"

"Seriously. Just keep her there. Someone will be along in a while. Okay?"

"Okay. Fine. I'll hold her here."

"And don't discuss the case with her."

"Christ, all right. I got it, already."

He hung up, and turned back toward the theatre. Taylor, what the fuck is going on?

-ooo-​

Kinsey pulled the cleaning cloth out of the bore of the .44 and inspected it in the glare of a passing street light. "Good enough," he decided, and began to reassemble the pistol. Despite the lack of light, the movement of the car, and the less than optimal conditions, he had it back together in less than forty seconds.

"Okay, wow," Gladys commented, keeping her eyes on the road as she swung the car around another corner. "Taylor was pretty good at that before she joined the PRT. But you just cleaned two pistols and a baton in less than ten minutes, in a moving car. That's just plain impressive."

"I'm trained for it, ma'am," he pointed out, reloading each weapon with the spare magazines that he had found in the Captain's handbag, and slotting them into their respective holsters. "Personally, I'm quite impressed that a high school teacher was able to participate to the degree that you did, tonight. Not to mention, very thankful."

"I took my ROTC training very seriously," she noted. "And I've kept up some aspects of it, since."

"Such as boxing," he observed.

"Such as boxing," she agreed. Pulling to a halt, she nodded to him. "This is your stop. See you later, Jim."

Reaching forward between the seats, he shook her hand. "See you later, Gladys."

He climbed out of the car, taking the handbag with him; the car moved off down the road. Turning, he headed into the building.

-ooo-​

Andrea heard the brisk knocking on the door and leaped up. Peering through the peephole, she recognised Jim's blocky silhouette almost immediately; hastily, she unlocked the door.

"Come in, quick!" she gasped, dragging him inside. He looked a little taken aback at her attire; this was not surprising, as she was wearing just a flimsy robe over even flimsier panties. Closing the door, she locked it before grabbing him, pulling him down to her level, and kissing him thoroughly.

To his credit, he kissed her properly in return; when they separated, she was breathing a little heavily. "Not that I'm not pleased to see you, but -" he began.

"But nothing. Get your clothes off and into the shower," she ordered. "You stink of guns." She grabbed the handbag from him. "I'll take care of this."

-ooo-​

He watched her barely-clad rear end dart from the room, and shrugged. Right now, she knew what was going on better than he did, so that put her in charge. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered, heading for the bathroom, pulling his shirt off as he went.

Thirty seconds into the shower, he had his head lathered, and his hands covered in soap; the last thing he wanted was for some busybody local cop to find GSR on his hands. And then the stall door opened, and a familiar body pressed up against his.

"Andrea?" he asked, opening his eyes.

"Who else?" she murmured, with a smothered giggle. "Come on, I'm trying to get you in the mood here. Work with me."

"But you – but I – the Captain –"

"Worked the whole plan out. This is part of it." She did something extremely naughty with her hands then, and he could not help but respond. Her body was smooth and warm and rounded under his hands. "Oh yeah, that's more like it."

But then she opened the door and slipped out. He stared after her. "What ...?"

She had already grabbed a towel and was vigorously drying herself off; he could not help but watch in fascination as various body parts were exposed and covered again. "Here." She thrust another towel at him. "Get dried. Race you to the bedroom.'

Never had he dried himself off in such a hurried and haphazard fashion; she only just beat him there. And then the real fun started.

-ooo-​

No-one was paying attention to me as I soaped my hands almost to the elbow, then dried them off. Next, I ran water over my head, rubbing a little hand soap into my hair. It wouldn't do for shampoo, but it would assist in getting rid of the smell of burnt cellulose. Just as I was flushing that out, Anne-Rose burst into the bathrooms.

"He nearly caught me," she gasped.

"Stall, quick," I ordered.

She ducked into one; as I went to step into the next, another woman went to take it. "Mine," I snapped.

"I was here first," she retorted, reaching for the door while fending me off. I took her hand and twisted her wrist, dropping her to her knees.

"Ow, hey!" she protested.

"My. Stall," I explained.

"Okay, fine. Your fucking stall. Bitch."

I let that go and allowed her up, then stepped into the stall. Just as I pushed the door closed, she kicked it from the outside; it nearly hit me in the face. This time, I slammed the stall door shut and engaged the lock; it would have taken too long to deal with her, and she wasn't worth it in the long run anyway.

The dress was already draped over the partition; I pulled off the hoodie and thrust it through the lower gap, just as the woman outside kicked my door again, rattling it on its hinges. The hoodie disappeared and I sent the T-shirt after, then kicked off the sneakers. Finally, I started wriggling out of the jeans.

My flats came back to me through the gap, then I bundled the jeans up and slid them through, with the sneakers following. The woman outside kicked the door again, and this time it jolted open; as she stepped forward, I turned and straight-armed her in the face. The last of her I saw as I pushed the door shut was her astonished expression as she sat down hard on the floor.

"Gonna need to borrow your handbag," I called softly. "Left mine elsewhere."

"Okay, sure," Anne-Rose agreed; as I wriggled into the dress, it came sliding under the partition. "Just get it back to me when you're done."

Carefully, I zipped up the dress and slipped my feet into the flats. My perfume was still in her bag, and I touched it up, just to cover any remaining smell of gunsmoke. Slinging the bag on my shoulder, I opened the stall door and stepped out.

Of course, the woman was still there. "You bitch!" she screamed. "I'll -" She paused. "What the fuck?"

There was nobody else in the bathrooms at that moment, for which I was glad. The woman stared at me, at my outfit. "What the fuck's going on here? You weren't dressed like that a minute ago."

"Maybe because it wasn't me that you're talking about." I didn't have much hope of pulling this off, but I decided to try anyway.

"No, no, fuck, no, you went in there. That stall. And then you changed clothes. What the fuck's going on here?"

This was the sort of attention that I didn't need. "The stall's free now. You can use it. Go ahead. All these stalls are free. Be my guest." I started to move away.

"No, bitch, you come back here. You're not going anywhere." She grabbed, not at my arm, but at my dress.

Oh, for god's sake. I don't have time for this.

I knocked her hand aside, and spent a good tenth of a second deciding not to hurt her too badly, although the temptation was definitely there. Already that evening, I had killed at least six people, and wounded a couple more. I couldn't punch her, because Kimball might wonder about skinned knuckles, and I couldn't kick her, because he definitely would wonder about a dress that was split up to my armpit.

So I slammed the heel of my hand up under her jaw, making her teeth smack together and sending her staggering backward, a little dazed. Then I grabbed her, spun her around, and put her in a sleeper hold. She struggled a little, but was still dazed, and went down relatively quickly.

Anne-Rose exited her stall at about this time, and stared as the woman sagged in my arms. "What the hell?"

"Don't ask," I advised her. "Just help me get her into a stall."

Together, we wrestled her into a stall and sat her on the seat. I pulled the door closed and held out my hand to Anne-Rose. "Back pocket. Clasp knife."

She blinked and fetched it out. "What were you doing carrying a clasp knife?"

"In case I needed to cut something." Opening it one-handed – which is difficult, but useful if you know the trick – I stabbed the point into the soft plastic centre of the VACANT/OCCUPIED indicator. Twisting my wrist, I rotated the indicator, engaging the lock. Then I pulled the knife out, closed it, and dropped it into the bag.

"You're just going to leave her there?"

I looked at Anne-Rose. "Yes. She'll wake up, open the door, and walk out. In about five minutes from now. Which will be about four minutes thirty after I leave. Now, how do I look?"

Looking at me critically, she nodded. "Yeah, you look okay. Oh, here, your spare glasses."

"Thanks." I dropped them in the bag as well. "Okay, wait about thirty seconds after I leave. All right?"

"Thirty seconds. Got it."

"And thanks for the help tonight."

She shook her head slightly. "I'm sure James Bond has it easier than me. Your boyfriend put his arm over my shoulders, tried to kiss me twice."

I grinned. "He's not my boyfriend, but in any case, I'll be leaving soon, so you can go back to your nice boring life."

"Just tell me this much – did it work?"

"Yeah, it did." I smiled. "Kinsey's safe and well."

"Okay, then. It was worth it. Now go."

Turning toward the door, I took a deep breath and pushed it open. Down the short corridor, and out into the lobby. Kimball was waiting for me when I emerged. "Taylor, seriously. What the heck were you doing in there?"

"Well, I could give you details, but I'm pretty sure you don't want those." I grinned as I took his arm and led him toward the doors. "What was next on the agenda? A moonlit walk on the Boardwalk?"

He stopped, and therefore, so did I. "We're not going to the Boardwalk."

"Okay then, where did you want to go?" I had turned to look at him, and I saw the bathroom door open, and Anne-Rose ease her way out.

"You're waiting right here with me, until someone comes to pick you up."

I tilted my head. "Comes to pick me up? You're not making any sense." I moved a few steps, around in a half-circle, and his gaze followed me. Behind his back, Anne-Rose strolled past, and out through the doors.

"You know what didn't make sense, Taylor? You calling me up for a date, all of a sudden." His voice was grim. "Unless you wanted to use me to cover something up. Use me for an alibi."

"Alibi. Really." I threw all the scorn I had into it. "I went to dinner with you. I went to the movies with you. And you call that setting up an 'alibi'? How's this alibi supposed to work, exactly?"

"I don't know … yet," he admitted.

"So, am I under arrest?"

"What?" He looked taken aback.

"Am. I. Under. Arrest? It's not a difficult question."

"No, you're not under arrest," he sighed.

"Can I at least know what's happened?" I asked. "After all, I am Intelligence Division. I might be able to offer some insight."

"You're a potential suspect. Not allowed to discuss the case with you."

"Okay, fine," I retorted. "Can I at least be allowed to go home and change? Hopefully, my bedroom won't be quite as noisily occupied by now."

He paused. "You know … I never actually saw what you said was happening with Ms Campbell and your sergeant. I just accepted what you said was happening."

Which was true, but I wasn't about to tell him that. Instead, I snorted. "What, would you have preferred that I give you a guided tour? Andrea wouldn't have minded an audience, but Kinsey might have objected."

"So, about your Sergeant Kinsey," he pressed. "If officers went to Ms Campbell's apartment about, oh, twenty minutes ago, would they have found him there?"

"I don't know," I told him. "Why don't we go there and find out? Or better yet, find a telephone and make a call? I have the number."

"I'll make the call." He strode out through the doors, and headed for the phone box. I followed along, hoping that nothing had gone wrong on that end. I was fairly sure that Gladys had had enough time to get Kinsey home before officers got there as well, but I wasn't absolutely certain.

-ooo-​

With my arms crossed, tapping my foot, I watched as Kimball dialled and waited for an answer. A few seconds passed, then the phone was picked up on the other end.

"This is Detective Kimball. Is Detective Parris there … oh, good. I need to talk to him."

A pause, then Kimball took a breath. "Parris, hey, it's Kimball. I have Captain Snow with me … how did it go there?"

I wasn't quite sure what Parris said on the other end, but Kimball's face fell slightly. "Really? So he was there?" A pause. "They were?" Another pause. "There's no doubt about it?"

He glanced at me, and I raised my eyebrows questioningly. Then he turned his attention back to the phone. "How about the weapons?" A pause. "Both? Have they been checked for having been fired recently? What, neither one? Both cleaned?"

"We did that this morning," I murmured.

He ignored me. "Have you checked the ammunition loaded in them? Copper jacketed? Not soft hollowpoints?" The answer evidently disappointed him. He rallied, though, and kept talking. "Listen, do you have anything on either one of them?"

The answer was, once again, not one that he would have wanted. Slowly, he put the phone down, then turned to me. "Taylor, I'm going to ask you a question, and I want a truthful answer."

"Sure you don't want me in an interrogation room first?" I replied. "But sure, I'll answer your question."

He took a deep breath. "Are you a parahuman?"

I hadn't been quite sure what the question was going to be; he had managed to surprise me. "What? Seriously? Are you asking me that?" My voice must have conveyed my disbelief quite neatly. "No, Humphrey, I'm not a parahuman. I don't have powers. You don't get to be a captain in the PRT if you've got powers."

"So how did you do it? Body double?"

"Really. You're going there." I rolled my eyes. "Body double. That I managed to arrange in what, one day? I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"Listen, I know you did it," he insisted. "Not the guy at your car; I'm putting that down to Kinsey. But the others, that's gotta be your handiwork. I just don't know how you managed to make me think you were still sitting beside me."

"Oh, for god's sake," I snapped. "You tried to kiss me twice. Are you pissed because I was more interested in watching the movie than making out?"

"I – uh - "

"How did you know I was in the theatre? Because you had your arm over my shoulders. How could I have gone anywhere? You were right there."

"In the movie," he asked suddenly. "What happened to Wingman?"

"He was shot down by the terrorists, but survived," I replied promptly; I hadn't seen the movie, but Lisa had fed me details such as that. I put my hand on his shoulder, made my expression sympathetic. "Humphrey. You have to believe me. Whatever happened – it wasn't me."

Since I had ended up in Brockton Bay, six years before my own birth, I had faced off Alexandria twice. This would only get harder through the years, but so far I was ahead of the game. Compared to her, Humphrey Kimball was a pushover. I did feel kind of bad about it, though. It reminded me, long ago, of what I had done to Greg Veder under similar circumstances.

"Fuck," he grated. "I was so sure. It all fitted so neatly."

"I'm sorry," I told him, and I was. "But it's not that cut and dried, today. Whatever happened, someone else did it. Sometimes the easy solution isn't the correct one."

"I never said it was the easy solution," he muttered; I immediately felt a little bit worse about putting him on the spot like that.

At that moment, a police car pulled in to the curb; the officer riding shotgun leaned out the window. "Detective Kimball?"

"Yeah, that's me," Kimball replied.

"We're here to escort your suspect down to the station."

"Yeah, there's a bit of a problem there," he replied heavily. "She's got an alibi. Me. I was sitting next to her the whole time that thing was going on."

"You're certain of that?" the officer asked. "Didn't duck out of the theatre for any part of the movie?"

"Only to go the bathroom," I told the officer with a smile. "The ticket attendant will verify that."

"Okay, fine, I'll call it in," the officer told him. "Safe night, Detective."

"And you," Kimball replied. He watched as the car drove off. "You realise, I am going to have to check with the ticket attendant,"

"And he'll tell you that I went to the bathroom, then went straight back to the theatre," I countered. "I didn't set foot out of the doors." I sighed. "Nor are there any secret passages, teleporters or other weird devices in the ladies' bathrooms." Just one unconscious troublemaker.

"Okay, fine, I believe you. Anyway, the more I think about it, the more I find it hard to believe that you'd know where to find your man, even if he was kidnapped."

I laughed out loud. "Oh god, that's what you thought happened? No, I told you. Kinsey was with Andrea."

"Which makes it a coincidence that your rental was the only vehicle to get trashed?"

My eyes widened. "Our rental car? Oh shit, how badly was it damaged?"

"I haven't seen it for myself, but apparently they smashed everything that could be smashed."

"Crap," I muttered. "There goes the security deposit."

"You're really worried about that?" he asked. "People are dead."

"Behemoth," I reminded him steadily. "New York. People died there too. Thousands of people. I watched it happen, live. You say that these people who were killed were criminals? I'm sorry, but I can't really muster much sympathy for them. I'm saving it for the innocents."

"Fine," he grunted. "I'll drive you home."

"Thank you."

The air of strained civility remained between us as we headed down the street toward where he had parked his car. As we climbed in, I saw my troublemaker friend wander out of the theatre, looking more than a little upset. It wasn't my problem; I closed the door and fastened my seatbelt.

-ooo-​

The Next Day

"Marquis has apparently decided to cut his losses," I explained. "He wouldn't talk to the cops about this sort of thing anyway. They've got no leads; or rather, their best lead has a really good alibi."

Gladys leaned back against the sofa and nudged Danny. "So we got to pull a full-on raid against a supervillain, while Danny here got to hang around a theatre, keeping lookout."

"And I had to pretend to be you," Anne-Rose put in. "I'm still not thrilled about that, mind you."

I decided to make it up to her in some way; maybe a vacation to Hawaii for their honeymoon. "Well, I appreciate it. If not for you, I'd be answering a whole lot of awkward questions, first from the locals, then from my boss."

Kinsey nodded at my words. "What the Captain said. I appreciate it, all of you. You went above and beyond, to help her rescue me." He put his arm around Andrea; she snuggled up to him. "Especially you."

Andrea giggled. "It was fun."

Anne-Rose had a look of fascinated horror on her face. "Please tell me you didn't actually -"

"Yup." Andrea's expression was pure glee. "The cops knocked on the door … "

-ooo-​

Officer Bob McAuley had done this many times. He'd been offered tea, had abuse screamed at him, and been spat on, at least two separate occasions. It was a never-ending process, going from door to door, asking the same damn questions, over and over, until they were burned into his brain. Have you seen this man? Have you seen this woman? Do you know who this is? Over and over again.

On this occasion, it was a good deal simpler. Along with his partner Danny Fargo, he had to go to one address and ascertain the presence or absence of just one person. They'd even been issued with a written description. Caucasian male, about six feet tall, very broad in the shoulders, dark hair, very short cut, clean shaven. No known identifying marks. Sergeant James McMartin Kinsey of the Parahuman Response Teams.

Raising his knuckles, he glanced at Fargo, who faded back toward the side of the door, one hand on his gun butt. Even in midtown, it was wise to be prepared. He went to knock, then paused. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?" Fargo frowned.

"Some kinda noise from inside. Sounds like someone crying out."

"Wait one." Fargo cupped his hands, placed them on the door, put his ear to it. A moment passed, then he grinned broadly. "Well, damn."

"Well damn what?" McAuley asked impatiently. "Is that a good 'well damn' or a bad 'well damn'?"

Fargo chuckled. "I dunno if it's that Kinsey guy in there, but whoever is, he's gettin' some."

McAuley rolled his eyes. "Well, we gotta sight the guy, so here goes." Raising his hand once more, he rapped loudly on the door.

There was no response, so he rapped again. The door didn't open, but doors up and down the hallway did, people peering out. He kept his attention on the door; this time, he thumped on it with his fist. "Open up!" he called. "Police!"

After a moment, the tiny spot of light on the peephole was occluded. "Who is it?" called a voice. Almost certainly not the Kinsey guy, not unless he'd had a drastic operation. This was high-pitched, feminine. McAuley held up his shield so that the peephole had a good view of it. "Police," he called back. "Ma'am, I need you to open this door, immediately."

The door opened, on a chain. A pretty face, freckled, topped by red hair, showed itself at the gap. "What's going on? Can't a girl have some me time?"

"Ma'am, are you Andrea Campbell?"

"That's me," the girl agreed. "What's the matter?"

"Ms Campbell, we need to enter the premises."

"What for?" she asked.

"We're searching for a Sergeant James Kinsey. Is he here?"

"I, uh, sure. He's here. What do you want him for?"

"We just need to see him, to verify that he's here," McAuley pressed.

"Uh, can I just have a minute?"

"No, ma'am. Please open the door. Immediately."

The door closed briefly, then she opened it again. This time, McAuley got a good look at her, and his jaw slowly dropped. She wore an almost transparent robe over similarly minimal panties, and she wasn't too careful about how she held the robe together. He shaded his eyes. "Uh, ma'am, could you please put something more substantial on?"

"Jeez, make up your mind," she muttered. "I'll just go and -"

Fargo raised his voice. "Sergeant Kinsey! James Kinsey! Are you here?"

After a long moment, a deep voice was heard from the rear of the apartment. "Affirmative!"

"Would you please come out here, Sergeant?" called McAuley.

Another long moment. " … why?"

"Oh, for god's sake," muttered Fargo. "Sergeant Kinsey, this is the police. We are coming in. Ma'am, step aside."

They stepped into the apartment; she tried to block their way in. "You don't want to see him, guys. He's perfectly okay."

"Ma'am, please step aside." Fargo ran interference so that McAuley could get past.

"You really don't want to see him," she insisted.

"We'll be the judge of that, ma'am." McAuley moved down the passageway, to an open door. "Kinsey?"

"No – don't -"

He pushed the door further open, and saw. Some part of him ticked off the checklist; six feet tall, muscular, broad shoulders, Caucasian. He also saw a great deal that he hadn't wanted to see. "Oh, god." Shading his eyes, he turned away from the doorway. "Sergeant Kinsey?"

"That's me."

The next question came out without checking with his forebrain on the way. "Why are you naked and handcuffed to the bed?"

Kinsey's answer was very dry. "Son, I'm going to assume that you don't get out much."

-ooo-​

I couldn't help myself; I burst out laughing. Gladys followed my lead, and Andrea was already giggling.

"You weren't." Danny's expression was now matching Anne-Rose's. "Handcuffed to the bed, I mean."

"Darn tootin' he was," Andrea told him with satisfaction. "Trick cuffs, of course. But we had to use something to hide the marks on his wrists."

"So what happened then?" That was Danny.

"Well, they got me to let him go, and he put some pants on, and I put on something a bit more substantial," related Andrea, eyes bright. "And then they asked us the kind of questions that they really didn't want to have to ask."

"But which you love answering," I supplied.

"Well, yeah," she agreed, readily enough. "The looks on their faces were amazing."

Kinsey coughed into his hand. "They had to ask her to stop going into detail."

Gladys shook her head. "I'm not sure if I wish I'd been here, or glad I wasn't. But it sounds funny as hell."

"Well, I enjoyed the heck out of it," Andrea declared. "So does this make us superheroes now? Because we rescued Jim from a supervillain?"

I looked around at each of them. "Well, it makes you all heroes in my eyes. I just want to say, thank you, for -"

There was a knock on the door. I looked at Andrea. "Are we expecting someone?"

"Uh, no," she replied. Getting up from under Kinsey's arm, she trotted over to the door, and peered through the peephole. "Huh. It's your boyfriend."

"Kimball? He's not my boyfriend." I sat up straight. "What the hell's he doing here? Now?"

"Dunno," Andrea told me, "but he's got one big-ass bunch of flowers."

"Okay, I've got to see this." Getting up, I headed over to the door. Peering through the peephole, I saw that she was correct; it was Humphrey, with a large bunch of flowers.

"Should I let him in?" Andrea grinned at me.

"Not in in, but I should at least open the door, I guess," I decided. Suiting action to word, I undid the locks and let the door open a little way.

"Taylor," he greeted me. "Hi. I, uh, wanted to apologise."

"That's okay," I told him. "It was a tough call."

"And I wanted you to have these," he added, thrusting the flowers through the gap. This pushed the door open a little farther, and he saw the gathering. "Oh. You have friends over."

"Yeah, just people I know from when I grew up here," I told him. "Now that I'm back in town for a while, they're visiting."

"Right, right," he murmured, then his gaze sharpened. "Wait a minute. That guy, the tall skinny one with glasses. I know him from somewhere."

"That's Danny," I explained. "Turns out he was going to the movies that night too. Went in just as we came out. He was just telling me about it."

"Yeah, I remember him, hanging around the lobby, right. Huh. Small world."

"You're not wrong there," I agreed. I didn't dare look toward the sofa; any minute now, I expected him to spot Anne-Rose. Side by side we didn't look totally alike, but Kimball still might twig. His 'body double' comment of the previous night had come a little too close for comfort.

"Well, anyway, I just thought I'd drop these off and say I'm sorry," he told me, returning his attention to me.

"They're beautiful," I responded, accepting the flowers. "Here, Andrea, hold these a moment?"

"Sure," Andrea agreed; I handed them off to her, and stepped forward, moving Kimball back a little way.

"I just wanted to say sorry for giving you mixed messages last night," I murmured, and kissed him. It was more than a peck on the lips, less than a full-on clinch. I only held it for a few seconds, but he looked a little dazed by the time I pulled away.

"Wow, okay, you can give me mixed messages any time," he mumbled; I smiled.

"So we're okay?"

"We're okay," he told me. He paused, and seemed to come to a decision. "Besides, I've been thinking."

"Thinking? That sounds ominous." My tone was amused.

"Yeah, thinking. What happened last night? Couldn't have happened to a bunch of nicer guys. So if you ever get it into your head to not do something like that again? However you did or didn't do it? Next time, just give me a heads-up, all right? Don't make me the patsy? Because right now, down at the station, my name's mud."

I blinked. "Humphrey -"

"No, let me finish. I don't know how you did it, which is good, 'cause that way I can't prove it, and I can't arrest you for it. Whoever did that hit Marquis hard, which can only be a good thing. If you did it, great. However the hell you pulled it off. But I just wanna say, if it was you, and if you're gonna do that shit again, get me in on it, instead of playing me like a damn violin."

"Well, not that I had anything to do with it," I pointed out, "but I'm fully intending for the rest of my stay here in Brockton Bay to be nice and quiet." I smiled. "But if I feel the need for company, I'll be sure to call on you."

"Yeah, okay." He nodded. "Yeah, that works."

Still smiling, I kissed him again, this time just a peck on the lips. "Thanks for the flowers."

"You're welcome. See you around?"

"See you around, Detective."

"See you around, Captain."

Turning, he strolled off down the corridor with a spring in his step. I watched him go, then let myself back into the apartment. Andrea was waiting for me, eyes bright; beyond her, I noticed that someone was missing. "Where's Anne-Rose?"

"Here," she replied, stepping out of the kitchen. "Has he gone?"

"He's gone," I confirmed.

"Good. I didn't want to come face to face with him. He might have figured it out."

"I think he did, except for where you come into it," I mused. "But I have an idea that he's decided that he's not going to try all that hard to solve it."

"Because you bribed him with a kiss," Andrea agreed cheerfully. "You know, you could have just gone back to his place last night. You'd both be a lot happier."

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously? My solution to everything does not revolve around sex."

"Why not?" she asked impudently. "Mine does."

No-one seemed inclined to argue with that; they knew her too well.

"So what are your plans for the next two weeks?" asked Gladys, seeking to change the subject.

"Believe it or not," I told her. "I want to take it easy. All I want is peace and quiet."

Andrea snorted. "Yeah, that's gonna happen."

Taking the bunch of flowers back from her, I swatted her gently with them. "Shush, you."

If anything disturbed my peace and quiet over the next few weeks, I decided, I was going to shoot it.

End of Part 4-11

Part 5-0​

 

[Starfox5]

Great chapter. Loads of action, spiffy dialogue, and funny moments galore! Well done!

 

[tenchifew]

Enjoyed this chapter a lot!
Suspense, fun and great dialogue all in one package.
And yes Taylor, shooting anything disturbing peace will help your remaining stay to be quiet. Honest!

 

[nobodez]

Excellent, good action, and excellent planning.

eventually, though, Taylor's 'I'm not a parahuman' excuse is going to fall through, and she's going to crash, both personally (since it means that Lisa is dead) and professionally (since she couldn't get where she is, or will be, in the PRT as one). Hopefully it'll be just before the climax and the fallout with make things just difficult enough.

 

[Ack]

Excellent, good action, and excellent planning.

eventually, though, Taylor's 'I'm not a parahuman' excuse is going to fall through, and she's going to crash, both personally (since it means that Lisa is dead) and professionally (since she couldn't get where she is, or will be, in the PRT as one). Hopefully it'll be just before the climax and the fallout with make things just difficult enough.

Click to shrink...

That will be dealt with eventually.

 

[CptTagon]

If anything disturbed my peace and quiet over the next few weeks, I decided, I was going to shoot it.

Click to shrink...

So the S9 is coming to town?

 

[Ack]

So the S9 is coming to town?

Click to shrink...

If they want to die, sure.

 

[vyor]

If they want to die, sure.

Click to shrink...

This is before bonesaw, manny, shatterbird, burnscar, and... manton?

 

[Ack]

Yes, yes, yes and yes.

Screamer is probably part of it, but Grey Boy would be dead.

 

[vyor]

Yes, yes, yes and yes.

Screamer is probably part of it, but Grey Boy would be dead.

Click to shrink...

This is before the birdcage though. Wouldn't GB still be alive(Ciara went there right after she killed him on contessa's... behalf?)?