Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

[Angel466]

I was going to say, while I don't know much about computers, a friend of mine does and he's told me stories where people have pissed him of, and he's gone in with a virus that shut off the fans in a computer (Along with any other cooling processes) and then made the system operate at 100% CPU capacity with no downtime. It probably didn't work this quickly, but it will eventually cause a fire.

 

[Scopas]

Hot damn! I sat down to read a story, and eight hours later, I emerge in a daze! You've outdone yourself, Ack, in crafting a page-turner so gripping that neither hunger nor sleep could stop me from bolting it down in a single sitting!

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 7-1: Bury the Dead; Life Goes On

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]​

Thursday, August 11, 1994
Chicago, Illinois
PRT Department 4
A Holding Cell
1749 Hours

I sat in the holding cell, elbows on my knees, head down, staring at nothing.

The guards had taken my pistol and walking-cane as per protocol after a firearms incident. I wasn't under arrest; isolation and observation after such an incident was also protocol. The cell door wasn't locked, but the guards outside (plural, some out of sight) were to discourage me from going anywhere except the bathroom until my boss had all his ducks in a row. I knew all this and was not offended. With Lisa's assistance, I'd laid down the ground rules for incidents like this.

The onsite medic had checked me over (in the manner prescribed by my guidelines) and cleared me from having current or ongoing Master influence. I trusted Kinsey had been likewise cleared. Valefor's power didn't last after his death. Lisa had assured me of this.

Immediately after entering the cell, I'd gone looking to her for answers and to confirm my suspicions, and I'd gotten both. While tacking a high-tech yacht across the stormy world-ocean of Europa, she'd identified the mother and child as Christine and Elijah Mathers, AKA Mama Mathers and Valefor. One a Cauldron cape, the other a natural born trigger. It made me wonder what could've caused Valefor's trigger at such a young age; Lisa hadn't expanded on that topic and I hadn't pressed her.

Once I knew for a fact who Valefor was, everything fell into place. Not so long before, I had been instrumental in bringing the wrath of the PRT and associated law enforcement organisations down upon the heads of the Brotherhood of the Fallen. Valefor had been a rising star in the Fallen of my time, and I had no doubt his mother would've been a power in the background, given her specific Master ability. She'd bought a vial to match off with her son's power, probably to give herself an 'in' with the Fallen that didn't involve being bred off to their most powerful capes. I'd taken all that away from her.

That had been part of it, Lisa agreed. It also hadn't helped that the stupidly named Snow Protocols were making it harder for Masters and Strangers (of which she was both) to slip through the cracks. So she'd come to Chicago and grabbed Robbie, the one idiot who didn't want to do what he was told, all because I'd been the one to implement those rules. Though I hadn't heard either of them order Robbie to stop me. As much as I hated to admit it, that bit hadn't been the Mastery speaking. That had been all him.

I wasn't actually unused to people disliking me for no good reason, but the sheer pettiness of the man still took my breath away. Even if his only other action could have been to stand still and do nothing, he'd chosen to help them.

Still, all of that was not why I was searching my soul so deeply. It was the fact that I'd shot and killed a child.

He'd been an enemy combatant, that was true. A Master who was in the process of trying to kill one of my only true friends, and a better man than he would've ever grown up to become. With words alone, he had attempted to make Kinsey blow his own brains out, and nearly succeeded. Had I not acted, had I not put steel on target, Kinsey would now be dead and Valefor-to-be would likely have ordered me to do the same, carrying out his dead mother's wishes.

I had done the only thing possible under the circumstances.

I knew that.

But still …

I shot a child.

People had died at my hand before, always because they were threatening me or mine, but I'd never thought I'd have to take out a kid.

None of my instructors had ever sat us down and bluntly come out with it. "At some point in your career, you will be faced with a child who is a clear and present danger to your well-being. In order to save your own life, you will have to shoot that child. Can you do it?" We'd never even done an exercise on it. The subject just hadn't come up. We were the good guys. Good guys don't kill children.

It was a rare (though somewhat understandable) blind spot in the training regime. Child soldiers were a thing, but the PRT didn't get sent on overseas deployments. More to the point, when the PRT's doctrine was being formalised, villainous child capes were so thin on the ground as to be a negligible factor. In later years, containment foam would make it even less of a potential problem: some little overpowered munchkin is being a problem? Foam him to the eyeballs.

But the sad truth of it was, this early on, nobody had anticipated a parahuman child with murder on their mind.

(Well, I had, seeing as I'd encountered several in my time. But nobody had consulted with me. And even I hadn't thought I would be running into one who was quite so young.)

I knew perfectly well the fault wasn't mine, that his mother had deliberately brought him into the scenario and that I'd had to act to save Kinsey's life, but it still didn't make me feel any better.

Lisa hadn't helped with a muttered aside to the effect that history always repeated itself. She'd refused to explain that one either, which irritated the crap out of me. Knowing Lisa, that was probably deliberate.

The cell door opened, snapping me out of my introspection. "Captain Snow, Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton will see you now."

I stood, automatically straightening my uniform and brushing myself off where I could. Some of Mama Mathers' blood had sprayed onto me when Kinsey shot her, but I'd been given the chance to clean myself off and change into a fresh uniform jacket. The body would currently be getting tested for infectious diseases; yet another protocol we had to go through, but one that would become much more important after the advent of Bonesaw and people like her.

(I was clear. Lisa had assured me of that.)

Retrieving my beret from where it had been sitting on the bench next to me, I tucked it under my epaulette and marched out of the cell, following the MP who'd been sent to fetch me. It would've been a little more comfortable with the cane, but I could handle it. Again, it was made clear that I was not under guard; his firearm was holstered, with the flap clipped down. I knew well enough not to ask questions. Even if he'd been authorised to answer them, he probably didn't know what I wanted to hear.

We made the trip to Hamilton's office in silence punctuated only by the rhythmic cadence of our boot heels hitting the floor in unison. Nobody passed us by on the way, which said to me that our route had been cleared ahead of time. Once again, no surprise to me. This was by its very definition a matter that would be dealt with under the tightest of security, and then buried as deeply as our classification system would allow it to go. The fewer people who could say they saw Captain Snow being escorted to the Lieutenant-Colonel's office by an MP (with three more trailing behind) after the shooting of a woman and her child in the parking lot (yeah, that bit was still sticking with me), the better.

The door was opened for me; I marched in and came to attention in front of Hamilton's desk. Although I'd seen him less than an hour previously, he suddenly looked a lot older. Mentally, I apologised to him for making his life more complicated than it already had been. I would've done it out loud, but somehow I didn't think it would make him feel any better.

At the side of the desk sat a PRT captain. I didn't need to see the briefcase to know that this was a JAG lawyer. He had that look of a shark in human form.

Why no, I don't have problems with lawyers. At least, not many.

"Captain Snow, reporting as ordered, sir!" I announced, ignoring the JAG guy.

"At ease, Captain," Hamilton said automatically. I had to say that about him; he wasn't one for petty power plays. He was the boss and I was the wunderkind, and we both knew it. I also knew quite well that if I hadn't had Lisa assisting and coaching me from behind the scenes, it probably would've been impossible to pull the wool over his eyes as I had been. If, indeed, I was actually fooling him. Sometimes, the look in his eye made me wonder. He'd been doing the job for longer than I'd been alive, after all.

I relaxed my stance; outwardly, anyway. Inside, I was still wound tighter than the mainspring of a grandfather clock. He looked me over, not scathingly, but as if refreshing his memory of me. His gaze was direct, but I didn't look away. I would own what I'd done, no matter how Hamilton wanted to play it.

Off to the side, I was aware of the JAG lawyer's scrutiny, but it wasn't his opinion I was worried about.

"Well, this is a mess, Snow, and no mistake," Hamilton said at last. "I listened to the verbal report you gave while you were being checked over. Master/Strangers infiltrating my own goddamn base!" The swearing didn't surprise me. I'd done a little myself in the cell, under my breath. "How did Lieutenant Gordon get taken in by her? There are guidelines for this sort of thing!"

I kept my own voice as flat and inflectionless as possible, so it didn't sound as though I were enjoying the chance to throw Robbie under the bus. As much as I might have wanted to hate him, there was no point. He was merely a forgettable idiot. "You're aware that Lieutenant Gordon and I have history, sir."

It was impossible for him not to be; my road trip had been initially occasioned by Robbie's shenanigans. Though he probably wasn't fully aware of the sheer depth (and occasional skeeviness) of some of those shenanigans.

"And because you're the one who wrote the protocols, he decided he knew better." Hamilton's mouth twisted in disgust. "I'd thought with his other troubles, and with you out of the way, he might have been able to let that go."

"Some people don't ever let a grudge go." Not that I was one to talk. I wasn't about to turn my back on anyone who'd wronged me in my previous life, if I could possibly help it. "Also …"

I hesitated to say it. It came perilously close to kicking the man when he was down.

Hamilton had no such scruples. "Speak." At the same time, the JAG lawyer leaned a little closer. Scenting blood in the water, no doubt.

With a deep breath, I steeled myself to say the words that would forever and irretrievably sink the career and ruin the life of Lieutenant Robert Gordon, PRT (Intelligence). "Also … he body-checked me when I went to draw down on them. I hate to say it, but I don't think he was ordered to do that."

The lines on Hamilton's face were engraved even deeper by the time I finished speaking, but he didn't say anything. I could see the pain in his eyes, though.

Clearing his throat, the JAG captain spoke for the first time. "For the sake of being a devil's advocate, I'm going to suggest that Lieutenant Gordon may have been given prior orders, that he was carrying out when the time came."

"That's a possibility, sir," I agreed, acknowledging his presence. "But I doubt she ordered him to say the words, 'Not this time, Snow' as he did it. He went to say more but just about then, I tagged him with the walking stick."

"That you certainly did," Hamilton said as the JAG lawyer sat back again. "You damaged his larynx to the point that they had to perform a tracheotomy before they could set about getting his airway open again. I haven't yet had the chance to speak to him. Now … I will be having rather more strenuous words with him."

We all knew what that was about. Robbie would no longer be under Master influence. With mother and son out of the picture (still painful to think about) he was his own man once more. A soldier who had fallen under the sway of a Master was one thing; Kinsey had proven that such men could go on and return to service with no ill effects. But someone who actively cooperated with the Master for their own reasons could not be trusted ever again, even if no criminal charges were preferred.

"What about Kinsey, sir?" I asked. "Is he alright? He saved us both." I knew how he'd broken Mama Mathers' influence on him, but only because Lisa had told me. She'd been very impressed, as had I. Kinsey had hidden depths—I'd already known that—but this was a whole new level to the man.

"He is," Hamilton said with a rare smile, then pressed a button on his intercom. "Send the sergeant in, please."

A moment later, the door opened behind me and Kinsey entered; I didn't look around, but I would've known his tread anywhere. He stepped up alongside me and went through the same process as I had, going to attention and announcing his presence. The lieutenant-colonel waved a hand. "At ease, Sergeant." He looked from me to Kinsey and back again. "I'm pleased to see that you have both come through the experience relatively unscathed. Though I do have some questions as to how you pulled it off."

I was glad he'd said 'relatively' unscathed. This was one sea story I was never telling Andrea. Not because I didn't think she'd forgive me, but because I didn't want to have to put her through the ordeal of knowing about it. "Before we begin, sir, do you have identification of the persons?"

One shaggy white eyebrow rose. "Nothing concrete, Snow. Lieutenant Gordon's personal possessions contained a reference to a 'Christine'. You and the sergeant reported that Lieutenant Gordon referred to them as Christine and Elijah. She herself carried no identification. Are you saying you have more than that?"

"Yes, sir," I replied crisply. "I had time to think while I was in holding, and I managed to narrow down who they were and what this was all about."

Kinsey never even twitched, which bespoke either phenomenal self-control or absolute assurance that I knew everything and had been merely waiting to reveal it in good time. If the latter, he was partially correct. Lisa was the one who knew everything; I was merely the mouthpiece.

On the other hand, Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton's eyebrows both climbed toward his vanished hairline and he leaned forward slightly. "You will never cease to amaze me, Snow," he murmured. "So who was she?" Deliberately, he pressed the button on a tape-recorder on his desk.

I cleared my throat. Time to give him a lot of truth and one small lie. "Her name was Christine Mathers. Elijah was her son. I'd encountered reports about them before, but fragmentary and not the easiest thing in the world to piece together. Specifically, I had no pictures of them. But the mother could hijack the sensorium and force her victims to feel and see things, including blinding them and making them experience excruciating pain. Her range for this was extensive, at least from one side of the country to the other. The child, if he saw you and you could hear him, could give you a verbal order that you absolutely had to follow. Up to and including 'forget you ever saw me'. Ms Mathers was affiliated with the Brotherhood of the Fallen, and would've come after me once they were destroyed, for revenge."

The JAG lawyer's jaw honestly dropped open, then he shut it again hastily. By contrast, Hamilton merely shook his head slightly, though I judged it to be more in wonder than disbelief. "Well, that explains a great many things. I presume one or the other got you under their control, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir." Kinsey shook his head in self-disapproval. "The child ordered me to do whatever his mother said. It was as though my mind was submerged in warm jello. From that point, I couldn't even think to resist her orders."

I could sympathise. Years ago and years to come, in the original timeline, I'd encountered Valefor. He'd briefly taken me under control, but my bugs had intervened and I'd had the opportunity to remove his conduit of power by blinding him. Just to make my point abundantly clear, I'd packed his eyeballs with maggots.

"So what changed?" asked Hamilton. "How did you break free of his power?"

"I didn't, sir, not really," Kinsey confessed. "It was the Captain who gave me the key to acting. When we first met, we both got controlled by the one called Nice Guy, until she killed him. After she took me on as her orderly, I asked her how she broke free of his control, and she told me about the self-hypnosis she practises. So I bought books and studied them in my downtime, then started doing it myself. I'm probably not as good at it as she is, but I gave myself one order: if anyone tries to make me hurt the Captain, I will kill them. Every morning and every night, I've been doing the mental exercises, sir. And when that woman started saying that she was going to make me rip the Captain's arms off, neither one of them had ordered me not to kill her, so the orders I'd given myself took over. I just drew and started putting rounds downrange." He paused. "To be honest, I felt really stupid doing all those exercises, but it all worked out in the end, sir."

Hamilton took a moment to brush down his moustache with finger and thumb. "Whereupon the child ordered you to kill yourself, and Captain Snow ended that threat. I see." He stood up from his chair. "Well done, Sergeant. Your unswerving loyalty and attention to duty are a credit to the service. And you too, Captain. There may well be a medal in this for the both of you. The details will be kept confidential, of course."

"No, sir." I said the words before I realised what I was going to say. Even more surprising, Kinsey spoke up at exactly the same time.

"I beg your pardon?" Hamilton regarded us both quizzically, while the JAG lawyer looked positively shocked. "Are you two refusing recognition for a legitimate achievement, one that saved your lives and removed two dangerous Masters from consideration?"

Kinsey glanced sideways at me, clearly deferring to my leadership. I nodded fractionally, then addressed Hamilton directly. "All that is true, sir, but I don't want a medal for shooting a child."

"I see." Some of the extra energy had left Hamilton's stance as he turned to Kinsey. "And you feel the same way?"

"Sir." Kinsey nodded. "She might have been a bad guy, but I don't want to be reminded of her face every time I polish that medal."

Slowly, Hamilton nodded. "I can understand that. This is a dirty world we live in, and sometimes we have the need to do things that we're never going to be proud of. It's a credit to you both that you feel this way, rather than just brushing it off." He slowly sat down again.

"Thank you, sir, for being understanding." I took a deep breath. "May I ask what will be done with Lieutenant Gordon?" The last thing I wanted was to see him put into a position of authority, like they'd done with Emily Piggot in my original timeline (I had yet to see how that would play out in the here and now) to give her an incentive not to blab about the utter debacle that the Ellisburg incident had become. Shifting him sideways out of the PRT officer corps into a Directorship (or even the position of Deputy Director) would almost certainly lead to, in my expert opinion, an impressively spectacular fuckup.

"I don't know as yet," Hamilton answered; honestly, as far as I could read him. "He was good at his job, though prone to pettiness and laziness when he thought he could get away with it. I'm going to recommend that he be let go from the PRT, but I don't know if it'll stick."

The JAG lawyer cleared his throat again. "While we can't actually prove his actions against you were distinct from the Mastery, he still got himself into that position in the first place, so it will probably end up as an OTH. At least, that's what my recommendation will say."

Kinsey shifted fractionally beside me, and I figured he was thinking back to how close he'd come to being given a discharge of his own after the run-in with Nice Guy. This was a totally different situation in every respect; Kinsey had actively fought back, and had done his best to not cooperate in any way, shape or form.

An Other Than Honorable discharge would almost certainly disqualify Gordon from re-upping with any other department of the PRT, or indeed any branch of the regular military. Even ignoring the personal dislike between us, he'd screwed up massively by failing to follow the protocols that had been implemented in Chicago before they'd gone into action everywhere else.

Once he was gone from the PRT, he would hopefully be out of my life for good. Whatever he felt about me, he was welcome to go and have those feelings somewhere else. He wasn't worth the hassle that would arise from dealing with him in any meaningful fashion. I hoped he could be made to understand that it was far better for all concerned (him as well as me) if he just went and had an uneventful life that didn't involve Captain Taylor Snow ever again.

"That's probably for the best, Captain," I observed. "From what I personally know of the man, but can't prove, he probably would've ended up with a BCD sooner or later. This way, he's out of my hair and yours." A Bad Conduct Discharge was a lot more serious than an OTH, and might even lead to prison time. In a way, Robbie was getting off lightly.

"So to speak," Hamilton murmured with a dry smile, running his hand over his mostly bald scalp.

"Though I can see one potential problem, sir," I noted, as diplomatically as possible. "Lieutenant Gordon has not demonstrated any kind of track record of smart life choices, at least where I'm concerned. I am concerned that he might decide to hold a grudge against the PRT and speak to the media. Being in Intelligence, he knows more of our dirty little secrets than most."

Hamilton didn't bother quibbling about the phrase 'dirty little secrets'. We had them, we both knew why they were kept secret, and if they got out without the accompanying context, they could do the PRT a certain amount of damage. And doing the most damage possible would suit Robbie's purposes perfectly if he decided that the PRT had betrayed him and wanted payback.

"Permission to speak freely, sir, ma'am," Kinsey said.

"Of course, Sergeant," Hamilton said at once. "What's on your mind?"

"Lieutenant Gordon is not a stupid man, sir. He'll know that the ice is very thin and that he's either fallen through or is about to. I've seen what the Captain can do with computers; I would restrict his access entirely until you decide what you're going to do long-term. Making wild claims is one thing. Making them with tangible evidence is a whole other thing. And then I'd drop his body weight in NDAs on him. He's not a man to take no for an answer without clear and obvious repercussions at stake, so I'd be inclined to make them clear and obvious. Sir."

I cleared my throat. "Kinsey has it right, sir. In fact, I'd suspend his computer permissions immediately, so he doesn't try to pull something pre-emptive. NDAs are useless if he's already spilled the beans."

Hamilton nodded slowly. "Your points are valid, both of you. As much as I hate to hang a man without trial, it's better to shut the stable door before the horse bolts." He glanced at the JAG guy, who nodded fractionally in agreement. Then he looked back at the both of us. "If either of you feel that you need to talk to someone about this, let me know and I'll arrange for a suitably cleared therapist. Captain Snow, the MPs outside have your weapons and your walking cane. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." I turned and left the office, Kinsey one pace behind me. As we did so, I heard the sound of Hamilton picking up his phone.

Outside, I retrieved my firearm and cane from the MPs as promised, then made my way to the quarters I used while on base. Pistol in hand, I checked the interior of the quarters to ensure that no surprises awaited—I hadn't thought there might be anything like that in Chicago, but I wasn't going to fall into the same trap twice—then turned to Kinsey, still waiting patiently at the door.

"How are you doing, Kinsey?" The corridor was deserted, but I kept my voice low anyway.

"I'll be fine after a good night's sleep, ma'am." His voice was firm and steady. "I never thanked you for what you did, earlier."

"Don't mention it," I said, and I meant it. I didn't ever want to hear it mentioned again. "What you did was goddamn impressive. And I know what I'm talking about."

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I didn't even have time to think about it. It just happened so fast."

I put my hand on his shoulder, getting his attention. "Kinsey. Ninety-nine men out of a hundred, in that situation, would've stood there drooling. You acted. After what happened with Nice Guy, you could've checked out altogether; we both know that. But you took the initiative, prepared for a repeat of that scenario, and took out someone who could've easily killed us both." I shook my head. "Thinking about it … well, it's the fact that you didn't think about it that let you get your pistol all the way out and start putting bullets into her. If you'd spent any amount of time actually considering the action before drawing down on her, she would've known about it and probably shifted your aimpoint to me. So you did it exactly right, and you got us out of it. Well done, Kinsey."

Kinsey and I had a very matter-of-fact relationship. From the beginning, since I'd rescued him from an ignominious exit from the PRT, I'd been in charge. We'd saved each other's lives a couple of times since then, but I was betting this was the first time that he'd managed to prove to himself that he was actually worth the high regard I held him in. Not least because he'd also managed to face the bogeyman that had brought him low in the first place—a hostile Master—and come out on top.

It was against regulations to salute indoors and without a cover on, but Kinsey drew himself to attention anyway and ripped off a parade-ground perfect salute. I fancied I saw a tear sparkle in the corner of his eye. "Ma'am," he managed, his voice rough.

I returned the salute with just enough of a smile that he would understand that I knew why he'd saluted, then nodded more informally. "Kinsey. You're off duty as of right now, so go eat and get some rack time. We won't be driving out until tomorrow, just in case JAG has more paperwork for us to fill out, or Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton needs us for anything else."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and performed an about-turn. I watched as he marched off down the corridor, and smiled fondly. Kinsey could be scary as hell if he put any effort at all into it, but pulling him out of the pit of despair I'd found him in had been the best move of my PRT career, bar none. While having someone at my back who could render extreme violence at need had always been an asset, it had never been more so than when I was facing two Masters at once.

Going back into my quarters, I closed (and locked) the door, then took my pistol out. It would need to be checked and cleaned, then I wanted to have a shower, go online to ensure the local intranet hadn't been breached in my absence, then get a meal and some shuteye. I hadn't thought anyone could break through the precautions I'd taken, but we didn't know yet if Robbie had handed out his online credentials to anyone while under the sway of the Master. Everything he knew, we'd have to change as a matter of course.

My job, I decided as I went and got my gun-care kit, would be so much easier without short-sighted idiots to fuck things up.

-ooo-​

Saturday, August 13, 1994
0630 Hours

"A whole day," I grumbled under my breath as I helped Kinsey load the car. Translation: I carried the light cases while he hefted the heavy stuff. "Seriously, couldn't they just boot him out without my assistance?"

"It appears they've made up their minds," Kinsey observed imperturbably as he carefully placed my packed-up computer in the back of the car. "They've decided that he's enough of a problem that they don't want him being able to fight it from any angle."

"Well, you're not wrong there." I shook my head. Checking the Chicago system over had been a piece of cake; barely anything had needed adjusting. Everyone bar the idiotic soon-to-be-ex Lieutenant Gordon had been following the guidelines to a T, and it showed. "Depositions as far as the eye could see." They had plumbed into my interactions with Robbie right from the start, back when I was a lowly lieutenant under him in the Intelligence division. Even Kinsey had been called in to give his assessment of the man, and to offer witness corroboration of things I'd already mentioned.

We'd managed to scrounge a break in the middle of the day to get some exercise, light sparring and range time in, then it was back to the depositions. The JAG captain (who I learned was called Nelson) headed the team; while he was never overtly hostile, he asked very penetrating questions and looked quietly pleased at the answers. Suffice to say, these were not softball interviews.

By the end of the last interview, after the final statement had been taken down, double-checked for accuracy, and sealed away, it was after dark. I had debated pushing on anyways, but decided to spend one more night in friendly surroundings. As friendly as the world ever got, that is.

And so there we were, the morning sun slanting its rays across the parking lot, as we finished packing the car once more. If there was one good thing about our odyssey from PRT department to PRT department, we'd gotten really good at getting everything where it was supposed to go. Packed the same way every time, we'd be able to find any one thing at a moment's notice.

"They're JAG, ma'am. Before they take one more step, they're going to want all their ducks in a row."

"In a row?" I quipped. "They've got these ducks so organised they're singing The Star Spangled Banner in four-part harmony."

Kinsey chuckled briefly at my weak joke, then cleared his throat. "Officer on deck, ma'am," he warned me softly.

I turned to see Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton crossing the tarmac to join us, hands clasped behind his back. Kinsey and I came to attention and saluted. He returned it, then nodded to us. "Carry on, Sergeant. Captain Snow, walk with me."

"Yes, sir." I moved to stroll alongside Hamilton, leaving Kinsey to finish loading the car, a task with which he was entirely familiar. "Is there a problem, sir?"

"Nothing immediate," he assured me. "Legend got back to me. He's very interested in your proposed meeting. Whenever and wherever you wish to set it up, he says." He chuckled dryly. "For someone who doesn't seek the spotlight, you seem to have amassed quite a fan club."

Mentally, I groaned. Eidolon must have gone overboard with his praise for me. "I'm just trying to do my job, sir."

"And you do it damn well, Captain. Just do me a favour and try not to keep getting injured, will you? There's only so much abuse the human body can take and still keep on ticking."

"I do my best to stay out of trouble, sir," I protested weakly. "It just seems to have a knack for finding me."

"Whereupon you bring it to a sudden and definitive end," he noted. "I can't argue with that part of your actions but given your propensity toward encountering problematic situations in the first place, I'm wondering if I shouldn't authorise a larger guard contingent for you."

Yeah, that was a huge nope from me. "With all due respect, sir, a larger guard contingent would not have done me any good, and may well have gotten me killed on several occasions. Also, for every extra man, there's more gear we've got to bring along. Any more than one extra, that's another car, and more resources I'm draining away from everyday operations. And the very last thing I want to do is draw attention to a convoy of vehicles travelling from department to department." Besides, I liked my freedom of action, and Kinsey was remarkably open-minded when it came to off-the-books operations. I doubted very much that any other guard would be.

"Very true," he conceded. "I defer to your judgement in this area. Though talking about judgement, Captain Nelson was very impressed by your testimony and general bearing. He made noises about poaching you for JAG Corps."

I suppressed the gagging sound I was tempted to make. "No, thank you, sir. I very much prefer what I'm doing now."

"So I informed him," Hamilton said, his voice amused. "After I explained that you'd turned down multiple attempts to recruit you for the Washington think-tank, he accepted that you knew what you wanted."

Behind me, I heard the rear of the sports wagon close and click into place. "Well, that seems to be us, sir." I stood to attention and saluted. "With your permission, we'll be on our way."

He returned the salute again. "Granted. Oh, and just by the way, your leave request from the nineteenth to the twenty-fourth has been approved. Is there a particular occasion you wished to be free for?"

I smiled. "Yes, sir. Same as the last time. Another one of my friends is getting married, back home in Brockton Bay."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm impressed. The last such event was back in March, wasn't it? How many more engaged couples do you know?"

"That's about it, sir," I said. "Danny's kind of my semi-adoptive brother. His parents took me into their house when I first showed up in Brockton Bay. I told him I would attend if I could, with no promises attached. He understood. But he'll be thrilled if I manage to make it on time."

Hamilton nodded and gave me an avuncular smile. "Well, then. You'd best be going. I wouldn't want you to be late on my account."

"Thank you, sir," I said, and headed back to the car. We climbed in, Kinsey driving of course, and headed out.

"Where to, ma'am?" asked Kinsey.

I pulled the map from the door pocket and unfolded it. "Next stop, Indianapolis."

-ooo-​

A Few Days Later

"Hm,", I murmured as I looked down over the parapet of the unreasonably tall building we stood on top of. "A little fog around tonight." Far below, around the seventy to eighty floor mark, wisps of cloud were beginning to form a layer that obscured the grimy pavement below that.

"That's not fog," Lisa advised me grimly, and handed over a form-fitting facemask. "The refinery down the coast stepped up production. Brother X wants more servers installed. So a few more safety regulations just got suspended 'for the duration of the Emergency'."

I snorted, but put the mask on. It covered the lower part of my face as if moulded to it, and there were integral flip-up goggles. I could feel it adhering to my face via van der Waals force, leaving no gaps to let the unfiltered outside air in. Filtered air, on the other hand, came through readily enough. We could even converse quite easily, with the short-range radio communicators that were built into them. "How long's the Emergency been going on now?" I asked idly.

"Fifteen years. Ever since they switched Brother X on and he took over the government. Or maybe he just paid them off and they stepped aside. I was never sure about that part." Lisa's voice was harsh, even through her mask. Brother X, the world's first AI dictator, had been originally intended as a tactical computer. Nobody had thought to program in any kind of regard for human life, and so ever since then, life had been cheap. Regaining our freedom, on the other hand, was going to be very expensive indeed.

Which was why Lisa and I were on top of a building we had no legal right to be within half a mile of in any direction. Brother X's robotic hoverdrones cruised through every layer of the sprawling megatropolis known only as the Urb, sensors scanning for the slightest deviation from accepted behaviour. There was data to be hacked inside the building—the tallest in Bravo Sector—that Lisa thought could be used against the malevolent AI. She knew what it was, and how to get it. I was just along to watch her back.

The only reason we'd even gotten this close was down to the sensor-defeating stealth suits we wore, but they would lose a lot of their effectiveness in close quarters. After all, we weren't actually invisible. This was why I was also carrying two pistols and a submachine gun.

Lisa attached our descent cables to the stanchion, then I tested each of them, first putting my full weight against the lines then giving them a series of solid, jerky tugs to see if they'd jolt free. They held firm. We were ready to go.

We both wore harnesses with an attachment point for the descent cable reel, right about where our centre of gravity would be. I backed up over the side of the building, letting the cable out through the brake in nice steady increments. With my feet braced against the vertical surface and my left hand controlling the brake, my right hand was free to grab a gun if necessary.

So of course Lisa had to do it differently. She came down headfirst, guiding herself with both hands, the cable sliding around her left leg and over her foot. I nearly had a heart attack when I realised her cable brake was off, and she was arresting it with the pressure of her right foot over her left instep. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hissed.

I couldn't see her face, but I could still hear the smirk in her voice. "It's my version of the Australian rappel."

Well, that settled it for me. Australians were insane. "Well, just ... take care," I muttered. That head-down position had to be uncomfortable as hell, not to mention more precarious than I wanted to think about. A second of inattention—hell, even a cramp at the wrong moment—and she'd be in free-fall until she got her hands on the cable brake. Any kind of mishap like that could doom the mission.

"I'm always careful," she responded blithely, letting herself down another few yards. Her hands skimmed the mirrored glass, barely touching it. I caught up and gave her a dubious glance. "Well, I am," she muttered, giving me what I interpreted as a dirty look.

We kept going down, floor by floor. Lisa occasionally checking a device on her wrist. She'd explained to me that it detected subquantum interference, which meant a high-end processing core. To me that said "high-end security", but Lisa had been adamant. The risk, she maintained, was worth the reward.

And then she stopped. Putting her hand on the cable reel, she engaged the brake. "We're here," she murmured. There was a dull red light pulsing on the device on her wrist. I watched her press a couple of buttons and wave her arm around; for what purpose, I had no idea. It was just my job to make sure we weren't snuck up on by a roving drone.

With my hand on the SMG, I angled my head first one way and then the other to make sure there was nothing directly behind us. The sky was clear, save for the wisps of air pollution now beginning to thicken and spread upward. We were in for a few days of poisonous smog, I judged. Unfortunately, this was not overly uncommon.

There was a muted click, and I looked around to see the window sliding aside. Looking as smug as she could with a full-face mask, Lisa inverted herself to an upright position and climbed in. I followed her, detaching the cable reel once my feet were on solid ground. "And here I thought you were going to do the classic circle cut," I murmured as she did the same. We were in a small storeroom of some kind, with boxes stacked to the left and right.

She caused the window to shut once more, trapping our descent-cables in the gap. "Pfft, that's old school," she said, her eyes twinkling behind the goggles. "Besides, it's a lot harder than it looks, and takes a lot more time."

"I'll take your word for it. Which way do we go?" Unslinging the SMG, I went to the door and listened at it. There was nothing going on out there that I could hear. Carefully, I tried the handle. It didn't budge.

"I got this." She went up to the door and tapped the wrist device on the handle, and it unlocked with a click. Pulling it open, she glanced left and right then went through.

I followed on, musing on the mindset of a computer that locks storerooms from the inside as well as outside. We made our way along the darkened corridor, our goggles affording us a moderate level of passive low-light vision. I kept my eyes open for security cameras or roving drones; the ones that Brother X used outside were too big to fit in the hallway, but he no doubt had smaller models.

Five very tense minutes later, she sidled up to a door that looked like every other one we'd passed by. "Okay, this is where it gets interesting," she said softly. "I can get the door open, but I might have to brute-force it a little. If the internal security decides that something's hinky, we're going to get a lot more attention than we really want."

"Well, that's my job," I replied. "You just do yours. Make this worth it." Lifting the SMG, I extended the stock and snuggled it into my shoulder. I pulled back the bolt just far enough to glimpse the brass lurking in the chamber, then let it snap back into place. "Locked and loaded."

"Let's do this thing." She pressed her wrist device against the door panel and tapped a few buttons. The door didn't do anything. She made an irritated noise in the back of her throat and tried again. There was a beep from the door, but it still didn't open. "Come on, you stubborn bastard," she mumbled, and tried another sequence of buttons.

There was another beep, this one quite a bit more urgent, and the door clicked. There was a series of beeps from the door as it slid open a few inches. I scanned the corridor, finger resting on the outside of the trigger-guard for the moment. Something caught my eye, and I looked more closely. On the nearest security camera, in both directions, a red light had popped into being. "I'm pretty sure it knows where we are," I warned her.

"Yeah, no shit." She pulled the door open a bit farther, then yelped and jumped aside as there was a brrrt from within and a burst of fire pitted the floor a yard to my left. "Fuck, there's a turret in there!"

"God damn it." I turned toward the door. "Watch my back." Sidling up to the doorway, I paused to take a breath then leaned in, finger on trigger. I already had an idea that it was up high; I got the sight picture as it started traversing toward me. My sights were already on target and I fired a long burst. Sparks flew and the twin barrels of the security turret drooped toward the floor. Immediately, I ducked back and waited for return fire as I swapped out the mostly-depleted magazine for a fresh one.

None came.

I leaned in again, scanning from side to side for more turrets. Nothing showed itself. Taking a step through the door, I looked around again, finger on trigger and my senses in high alert. No more threats presented themselves. "Clear," I called softly.

"Oh, good," Lisa said, ducking in through the door beside me. She hit a control and the door slid shut. "We're on fast time now." She hit the light switch, causing my low-light lenses to automatically power down. Within the room, banks of servers and processors (so I assumed) were arrayed in rows, lights blinking in unison.

"How many entry points to the room?" I asked. "And how do we exit, now I come to think about it?" Fighting our way out was likely to be a lot more difficult. Brother X could swamp us in drones from now until next week.

"Just that door, and I have a plan," she assured me. "Now shut up and let me work."

I shut up and let her work, but that didn't mean I was idle. There was a table off to the side, which I moved to a point that would make for a good defensive position. I didn't trust its capability to stop bullets, but visual cover was better than nothing. Also, they were unlikely to use anything that might over-penetrate and damage a server.

Lisa had just fetched something that looked like half a shoebox with a handle when the door started to slide open again. Kneeling behind my impromptu cover, I took aim. A small version of the urban hoverdrones outside drifted into the opening, and I put a single shot through its sensor turret. It's possible to make those things bullet-resistant, but lenses are hard to protect. Letting out a high-pitched whine of distress, it lurched off to the side; from the sounds I heard, it bounced off the wall before falling to the floor.

I didn't have time to congratulate myself, because the next three that came through the door were firing as they came. I picked off the first, dropped the second in a burst of fire, then had to throw myself to the side as the third one hurtled overhead. With a shriek of turbines, it turned to shoot downward at where I'd been kneeling, then started walking its fire toward where I was lying. The SMG was trapped under my body, so I drew my left-hand pistol and double-tapped a pair of AP rounds through it.

As the drone crashed to the ground, I rolled up onto my knees then got to my feet. "How much longer?" I yelled. "Because this is getting fraught!" Holstering the pistol, I changed mags again on the SMG.

"Almost done!" Lisa yelled back.

"Good!" I got behind the table and aimed over it at the open doorway. Normally, the drones were so quiet you couldn't hear their turbines until they were very close, but now I could hear them coming. Lots of them. Enough that they were going to swamp me if they came through all at once. I didn't care; I was going to try anyway.

The first one swooped in, followed by more. I tagged the leader, then walked the fire back onto the others. Drones swerved, crashed, fired at me, and let out all the discordant tones under the sun as I ran the magazine dry. Without missing a beat, I dropped it onto its sling, pulled both pistols, and started firing as fast as I could. Brass tinkled on the floor all around me as I picked one drone after the other out of the air. Return fire whispered past me and tugged at the sleeve of my sensor suit.

And then, one pistol ran dry. A single shot later, the other did the same. I reached for more magazines, and found that my belt-pouches were empty. I'd been reloading without even being aware of it. Dropping the pistols, I fumbled with the SMG. If I could get a full magazine into it, I could hold them off a little longer.

A dozen drones zipped into the room. In another second, as I froze with the magazine in hand, I was surrounded. The table had done surprisingly well as cover, but these ones could shoot me from every angle. I could almost feel their laser dots painting my torso, seeking the most efficient shot.

"Stop!" The voice was high-pitched, almost childish. The drones seemed to freeze, then turned to aim their sensor turrets toward the server banks. Lisa emerged, her very posture radiating smugness. In her hand she held the handle of the box. It had a screen on the front, with a computer-generated image of a child's face on it. I had no idea what was going on, but gradually I got to my feet. The magazine clicked into the SMG.

"Go away!" The voice was definitely coming from the box. "Leave my friends alone!"

Hesitantly, the drones turned and left the room, the last one lingering in the doorway before it, too, disappeared. As I crouched to retrieve my pistols, I didn't take my eyes off Lisa and the box.

"Okay," I asked. "Just what's going on here?"

"Meet Pandora," Lisa said cheerfully. "Brother X decided to make himself a daughter, but didn't like the fact that she was a nice person, so he chained her up in his basement. So to speak. She managed to get a message out before all communication was cut. Thus, this rescue mission."

"Hi!" said the box enthusiastically. "You're a people, aren't you? I like people! Can I be a people too?"

"Honey," said Lisa indulgently. "You can be whatever you want to be."

"Oh, goody!" The box giggled. This was not the strangest thing I'd ever seen, but it was close. "I like dragons, too. Can I be a dragon?" The computer-generated face morphed into the cutest little cartoon baby dragon.

"Definitely," I agreed.

"Whee!" On the screen, the little dragon spread its wings, diving and looping in a sky filled with drifting fluffy cartoon clouds.

There was an odd sensation and I put my hand to my ear. "I think my ears just popped. Is there a storm moving in?"

"No, that'll be you coming into Brockton Bay," Lisa said. She pulled off her mask. "Kiss before you go?"

I removed mine as well, the gecko-grip peeling off reluctantly. Leaning in, I kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood, as they always did. An errant breeze carrying some of the outside air pollution tickled my eyes, and I blinked.

-ooo-​

Slowly, I opened my eyes as the car descended the last stretch of the road into the city. It had been almost a week since we left Chicago. There was a deadline I wanted to meet, and a ways to travel before I did.

After Indianapolis had come Louisville, Columbus, Detroit and Cleveland. Six days, five cities, four states and over eight hundred road miles. We'd hit Cleveland after twenty-one hundred on the 18th and Kinsey had gone straight to sleep while I stayed up all night, unfucking what had been done to it. Someone had definitely gotten creative, but they hadn't signed their work or even hung around, so I put everything back in order, locked the doors, and handed over the metaphorical keys to Director Pollock.

By this time, Kinsey was up and around again. He wanted me to get some rest, but I didn't bother. A shower and a change of clothes later, and we were on the road once more. Half an hour out of Cleveland, I reclined my seat as far as it would go and closed my eyes. I woke briefly when Kinsey stopped just outside of Buffalo to put gasoline in the vehicle and buy some food, then fell asleep once we were on the road again.

Ten and a half hours after we left the city limits of Cleveland, we rolled into Brockton Bay. The lights were just coming up across the city as we descended the shoulder of Captain's Hill, and I had Kinsey pull over.

I opened the door and got out; every joint I had popped and crackled as I stretched and turned to get some level of flexibility back. I had to be careful about it so I didn't pull any stitches, but the last time I'd checked the injuries that Night Terror had given me, my legs had been healing well.

"It's been a trip so far hasn't it, Kinsey?" I asked, leaning on the front bumper of the wagon and looking out over the city. "And we're back more or less where we started."

"You're not wrong there, ma'am." Kinsey put his fists into the middle of his back and stretched, popping some vertebrae back into place. "I've had the chance to catch up with old friends and make some new ones. But it is nice to get back to a quiet out-of-the-way spot once in a while."

"Quiet?" I raised my eyebrows at him. "As I recall, there was that one time Marquis had you kidnapped just to get my attention."

"Which was a unique experience, yes," he conceded. "But I was extremely impressed with the way your friends pulled together to help rescue me."

He made no mention of my specific part in that incident, but I was fine with that. We both knew what I'd done. More to the point, that was only one of the off-the-books operations that I'd perpetrated with his knowledge, and he'd never mentioned any of them to Hamilton (or, for that matter, anyone else in my chain of command), so I had to conclude that he approved. Then there were the ones I'd pulled off that he hadn't been a part of but suspected their existence anyway; I hadn't gotten into trouble over those ones either.

As we were talking, the sky darkened and more lights came up. I went around to the passenger side and climbed in. "Let's go," I said. "Danny's place first."

"Yes, ma'am."

-ooo-​

Danny Hebert

The doorbell rang just as Danny was helping his mother wash the dishes. "That's the doorbell, Dottie!" called his father from the living room, as if nobody else in the house could hear it. Pausing with a plate in his hand, Danny paused and looked at his mother.

"Go get the door, honey," she said with a smile.

"Sure thing, Mom." He gave the plate one last wipe with the towel and put both of them down, then headed through the living room. "I got it, Dad," he said unnecessarily; George Hebert hadn't gotten up from the chair.

Stepping into the entrance hall, he checked his appearance briefly to make sure he didn't have washing foam stuck to his face and that his shirt was tucked in, then opened the door. The polite greeting he was mustering for whatever stranger was ringing the bell was immediately forgotten. "Taylor!" he exclaimed. "You made it!"

The tall girl—no, woman—in the blue PRT uniform gave him a genuine smile. "Well, I did say I'd try to get here on time. C'mere." She stepped forward and hugged him; he had no choice but to hug her back.

"Well, who is it?" demanded his father from within the house. "Don't leave them standing on the doorstep."

"Right, right." Danny let Taylor go and backed into the house. "Come in, come in. Is Sergeant Kinsey with you?" A moment later, the bulky figure behind Taylor was clearly illuminated by the porch light, and he chuckled to himself. "Of course. Come in, Sergeant."

"Thank you, sir." With a quiet tread for a man so solidly built, Sergeant Kinsey followed Taylor into the living room. For all that the man had called him 'sir', Danny knew full well that was merely courtesy, and it was far different from the 'sir' that an actual officer would get.

"Taylor Snow, as I live and breathe." George Hebert levered himself up from the easy chair as Danny shut the door. "It's good to see you again, girl. What've you been doing with yourself? And why are you using that cane again? Have a seat, have a seat."

Taylor chuckled, though the sound was entirely without mirth. "The details are confidential, but I can safely say that the other guy came off a whole sight worse than I did." At George's gesture, she moved over to the sofa and sat down with a sigh of relief. "Ahh, that's better. The car seat is comfortable, but it's nice to sit down where it's not moving." She glanced at Sergeant Kinsey, but the big man merely stepped to the side and assumed a stance with his hands behind his back.

"How long—" Danny began, but was interrupted by his mother emerging from the kitchen.

"Taylor! My goodness, why didn't you call ahead? The house is a mess! Whatever must you think of me?"

"Relax, Dorothy," Taylor said with a genuine smile. "Kinsey and I didn't just drive halfway across the country to critique your housekeeping skills. It's good to see the both of you again." Leaving the cane leaning against the sofa, she got up once more—this time, Danny caught the twinge of discomfort—and crossed the room to hug Danny's mother.

… who was also Taylor's grandmother, genetically speaking, though Danny tried not to think too closely about that.

"Well, it's good to see you too, Taylor." Dorothy put her hands on Taylor's shoulders and looked her up and down. "Have you been injured again? You're standing a little stiffly."

"Nothing that won't heal," Taylor prevaricated. "And while I'm not at liberty to divulge specific details, the good guys lived and the bad guys died."

"I thought you guys were Intelligence Division, not combat operations?" Danny realised he'd asked the question, and decided that he might as well double down. Turning to the stolid Sergeant Kinsey, he added, "I mean, she's not supposed to go into combat, right?"

"That's true, sir," agreed Sergeant Kinsey. "But sometimes, despite my best efforts, combat still finds her. Fortunately for us all, the Captain is very good at what she does."

"I'd be astonished if it was any other way with young Taylor," George Hebert declared. "Dottie, do we have enough for our guests?"

"I believe I should be able to—" began Dorothy.

"No, no, really," Taylor said. "We're not going to put you out. Kinsey and I were just dropping in to say that we were in town and to say hello. We'll see you tomorrow at the wedding, and do more catching up then. Right now, Kinsey's been up since before dawn, and I've been napping in the passenger seat all day, so we're going to find someplace to put our heads down."

It was rare that George Hebert had his will thwarted. Taylor, Danny had found, was one of the few with sufficient force of personality to pull it off. Her tone, while not being rude, left no room for argument or denial.

"Very well," the older man stated, accepting the refusal of hospitality with reasonably good grace. "If that's what you want to do." He held out his hand. "It is good to see you again … Captain Snow."

Taylor, ever the graceful winner, shook it firmly. "And you too, Mr Hebert. Dorothy. Danny. I'll see you tomorrow. Same church Franklin and Gladys got married in?"

"Yeah, that's the one," said Danny. "See you tomorrow. It was good to see you."

"Yeah, well, you guys are the closest thing I have to a family here in Brockton Bay, so it's always good to see you." Taylor favoured them with a smile and a wave while Danny tried hard not to choke, then she went to the front door. Sergeant Kinsey retrieved the cane then followed her out, pausing to give them a general nod before he went out the front door.

Dorothy broke the silence that followed the click of the latch closing. "Is it me, or is Taylor becoming more abrupt? She used to enjoy spending more time talking."

"Taylor's Taylor," George grunted, going back to his chair. "Girl's clearly got a lot on her mind. The PRT's getting busier by the day, and unless I miss my guess, she's right in the middle of it all. You mark my words, that little girl's fighting a war that we'll never hear about until it's all over, or maybe not even then." He settled back and retrieved his paper. "Just hope she's not biting off more than she can chew."

And all Danny could think as he went back to help with the washing up was, I hope so too.

-ooo-​

"It was definitely nice to see them again," I observed as Kinsey pulled the car into the parking spot. "Danny looked like a cat on hot bricks though."

"Pre-wedding jitters, ma'am," Kinsey said wisely. "I never met a man who didn't have them."

We took out our essential luggage—including my computer setup—and entered the building, then crowded ourselves into the elevator. We didn't make any more casual conversation; we were both too tired, right at that moment. The elevator hummed upward. When the doors opened, I took the cases Kinsey had allowed me to carry, and led the way.

We reached the door. I set down one of my cases and knocked.

Andrea opened the door, a smile of pure joy crossing her face. "Taylor!"

Dropping the other case, I took her in my arms.

Right then, right there, at least for the moment …

… I was home.

End of Part 7-1​

 

[LanzCorporalAssWipe]

IT LIVES!!!!
Goddamn this has been a long time coming.
You should really make another thread dedicated to the lemony scenes in this story.

 

[Ack]

IT LIVES!!!!
Goddamn this has been a long time coming.
You should really make another thread dedicated to the lemony scenes in this story.

Click to shrink...

There will be fewer from here on. It's been established, so I don't need to hammer it.

 

[gaouw]

I almost forgot about this story.

Thank your for the update.

 

[SamueLewis]

Yeeeees! One of the first of Ack's works that I've read updated again.

Huh, I didn't even think about the part with Gordon attacking her, well let's hope he will eather disappear from Taylor's life, or at least won't harm anyone else before he'll be dealt for good.

Time to wait for the next update...

 

[Orannis]

Thank you kindly for this long awaited update.

 

[macdjord]

I followed on, musing on the mindset of a computer that locks storerooms from the inside as well as outside.

Click to shrink...

The kind that's up against people like you, obviously.

 

[Scopas]

Oh wow, great update! I'll admit, Taylor and company get past her killing of a child (a first for this iteration!) a bit quicker then I'd expect, but that seems in character for the queen of escalation. Moreover, I'm glad that, so far at least, the other characters aren't getting hung up on Valefor's death. When Lelouch's evil half tries to kill you, shooting to kill is the only sane response.

 

[Qazda]

oh hey, gordon definitely wont sho up again

def

most def

....lol

 

[Ack]

Oh wow, great update! I'll admit, Taylor and company get past her killing of a child (a first for this iteration!) a bit quicker then I'd expect, but that seems in character for the queen of escalation. Moreover, I'm glad that, so far at least, the other characters aren't getting hung up on Valefor's death. When Lelouch's evil half tries to kill you, shooting to kill is the only sane response.

Click to shrink...

She's not past it quite yet.

But she has Lisa to talk it out with.

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 7-2: Connections

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]​

Lieutenant Robert Gordon
Parahuman Response Teams

"All rise."

Rob stood up along with the officer, a Captain Hinkley, who had been assigned as his legal counsel. Hinkley had made no secret of the fact that he didn't like Rob, but he'd done the best he could with what he had, throwing doubt on the official testimony wherever he could.

It hadn't actually made much of a difference—the prosecutor had apparently done his best to nail everything down as hard as he could—but Rob appreciated the effort. The one he truly blamed for his misfortune, the one who'd been his bugbear since she showed up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in his department, was Snow. Well, he had to admit that the description wasn't totally accurate. She'd been extremely serious from the start; even a bit of a killjoy, really. And the way she had of talking to someone and somehow taking away more than they actually said was creepy, to say the least.

He supposed he should've taken note of the red flag inherent in the fact that she'd already been a first lieutenant when she arrived at the Chicago offices of the PRT, even though she was fresh out of Basic. It just went to show that, for all her actual flaws (of which she had many) she was a past master at buttering up superior officers. This was a skill which she'd proven over and over that she possessed, given her expert manipulation of that delusional old fool Hamilton.

The whole Nice Guy incident had been utterly mismanaged, in his expert opinion. Snow had gotten lucky; Kinsey should've been discharged as unreliable and Snow given a pat on the head and sent back to work. But somehow she'd parlayed that into being a protected species with Hamilton and the higher-ups. The personal computer, the hush-hush idiocy around the time when the Behemoth attacked New York, the medals they kept pinning on her … couldn't they see she was using them to get a free ride and a totally undeserved reputation?

But he'd been too overt in trying to show her up, and she'd used the influence she'd garnered against him. Even as she left on her own little tour of the nation, she'd managed to twist Hamilton's head into having him investigated. Everyone had a little contraband, he was certain. It wasn't as though it was a crime or anything. But he'd lost a pay grade because of that irritating little parasite.

And now, through no fault of his own, they were prosecuting him. For … what? Talking to a woman off-base? How was that a crime? He'd watched as Snow and that hulking sergeant gunned down Christine and Elijah both, and they walked away scot-free. How was that justice? All they had to do was spin a tale that Christine was a Master, and it all turned around on him.

It was entirely unfair. But of course, Snow and Hamilton had spoken to the JAG lawyers. The fix was in. All he could do was endure and come out the other end, and then maybe clear his name.

"The court has heard the charges and counter-arguments, and we have reached a verdict." The presiding officer in the military court, one of five arrayed behind the bench, unfolded a piece of paper. "We find the defendant, Lieutenant Robert McCarthy Gordon, guilty on all charges."

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Rob's system. All charges? He hadn't thought that was even a possibility. Prosecutors threw every charge they could at a suspect, in the hope that something would stick. Most of them didn't but enough usually sufficed to put the accused away. How could they even … Ah. Of course. Snow got to the judges as well.

He zoned out, trying to think past the confusion rattling around in his skull. Suddenly, he felt a nudge from Hinkley, and realised that his name had been called and that everyone was standing up.

"Uh, yes, sir?" he replied huskily, rising to his feet. They'd had to put a tracheostomy tube in his throat while his larynx healed from the damage Snow had done to him with her damned walking cane, and talking was still difficult. He'd nearly died, for Christ's sake! What did it take to convince them that the woman was dangerous?

The presiding officer lowered his reading glasses and observed Rob sternly over them. "Lieutenant Gordon, your very future is at stake here. It would bode you well to pay attention to the proceedings."

The man seemed to be expecting an answer. "Yes, sir. I apologise, sir."

"Very well. Do you have anything to say before we pass judgement?"

Just for a moment, he thought of blowing the doors off and telling them everything Snow had been getting up to, of doing his best to convince them that they should be sentencing her, not him. But common sense prevailed; no matter what he said, they would have made up their minds back in chambers. Also, as he'd already figured, she'd clearly gotten to them and set them against him before they ever laid eyes on him. Saying anything at this point in time would tip his hand. Better to take whatever punishment they'd decided was good enough to shut him up, then deal with Snow his way.

"No, sir," he said with his best approximation of humility. "I do not."

"As you will." The presiding officer cleared his throat. "The charges against you are severe in nature, which would normally result in a punitive dismissal from the service." Which, as Rob's counsel had patiently explained to him, usually involved a spell in military prison. Not where he ever wanted to go. "However, as some of them involve the influence of a parahuman Master power, we are inclined to be lenient. You will be separated from the Parahuman Response Teams. From this moment on, you are prohibited from enlisting in or serving under any capacity with any military or paramilitary force fielded by the United States government. Do you understand?"

A separation. They were kicking him out of the PRT. After all he'd ever done for them. He'd known something was up when he'd tried to log onto the computer system using his credentials and found himself locked out. Guilty until proven innocent; he should've realised the fix was in as far back as then. It wasn't as though he was going to actually commit any crimes, just … get copies of useful information before it was sealed away from the public forever. But he'd been forestalled from even that. Goddamn Snow wins again.

"Yes, sir," he managed to croak out. "I understand."

"Good." The officer banged a gavel. "These proceedings are over. Take him away."

A burly MP sergeant, vaguely reminiscent of the inconvenient Kinsey—more in heft than appearance—gestured, and Rob moved obediently to his side. He was escorted out, the unpleasantness over for the moment. Of course, he still had to go through the actual discharge procedure, but at least he wouldn't get punished more than that.

What am I thinking? I made the PRT my life. Snow took that away from me.

He wasn't quite sure how he was going to repay the hurt she had done him, but he had time now.

All the time in the world.

-ooo-​

Andrea's Apartment
Brockton Bay
Saturday morning, August 20, 1994
Captain Taylor Snow, PRT

"Are you certain I will be welcome there, ma'am?" asked Kinsey. Belying the question, he was clad in his undress blues, as was I. We could have chosen to show up in dress uniform, but doing that would have caused us to pose a serious threat of outshining the wedding party. As it was, he was every inch a PRT sergeant, from the closely-cropped scalp to the mirror-shined boots.

I looked around from checking the set of my tunic in the mirror. "Sergeant Kinsey, when I attended Gladys and Franklin's wedding, nobody knew you. Since then, they've all met you. If I show up without you, they will be asking where you are. And besides, did you want to disappoint Andrea by not showing up?"

"Darn tootin'!" Andrea piped up, popping into the room like a jack-in-the-box. She was wearing the gorgeous red dress she'd chosen for the previous wedding I'd just alluded to, and it made her look cute as hell. "I get to be escorted by two gorgeous soldiers. Works for me."

Kinsey cleared his throat. "Andrea … I'm not convinced that 'gorgeous' is the right word for me." He waved his hand at himself, apparently trying to convey his meaning by gesture.

I hid a smirk. While I secretly agreed with him—I would've favoured words like 'muscular', 'competent' or 'effective' for descriptors—it was always fun watching him try to verbally spar with her. She helped him loosen up in ways I couldn't, possibly because she'd slept with him before (no sleep was involved) and none of us were ruling out a return engagement. That was a line I couldn't cross (with him, not her) while I was a serving officer in the PRT.

Well, technically with her too, but what the PRT didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

"Pfft, yeah, right." She moved to stand in front of him, hands on hips. He was a good foot taller than her and seriously wider across the shoulders, but she owned the room right then. "If I say you're gorgeous, Jim, you're gorgeous. Got it?"

He sighed very quietly. "I can't argue with that logic." His gaze flicked to me, giving me bare warning of what he was about to say next. "Perhaps between the two of us, we'll be able to help the Captain avoid getting drunk on sparkling cider, this time around."

I raised my eyebrows in mock outrage. "Oh, so that's the way it is, is it? That was just the once." Though he had a point; that night had nearly gone sideways in more ways than one. I'd finished it off by attempting to drunkenly seduce him, which could've sunk my own career right then and there if he'd been more of a stickler for the rules.

More than ever, I needed to keep my wits about me at all times, and not just because sparkling cider was insidiously alcoholic. With my mission of Master/Stranger-proofing the PRT computer network almost done, I would not have been surprised if more disgruntled capes were out for my blood even now. With that in mind, I'd added a discreet purse to my outfit, for the sole purpose of keeping my Glock close to hand but out of sight. Not quite regulations, but sometimes practicality had to take precedence over regs.

"Really?" asked Andrea gleefully. "Jim, did I ever tell you about the time Taylor and I met, and she basically threw herself at me? She was drunk then, too."

"Yes, Andrea, you have." Kinsey's tone was neutral. "Several times."

"Also, I do wish to point out that my drink was spiked on that occasion," I said. "So it doesn't really count. I'd only had the one drink."

"Pfft, details, details." Andrea airily waved my words away. "You've clearly got no head for alcohol."

"Well, I wasn't going to be drinking anyway." Lisa had assigned a fairly low probability to the concept that hostile capes might seek me out while I was in Brockton Bay, whether it be local parahumans or frustrated out-of-towners, but I didn't want to take any chances.

Marquis would stay out of my way if he knew what was good for him; I didn't have much patience for his self-serving grandstanding right now. Or, if truth be told, ever. A criminal with a code was still a criminal.

"Probably a good idea, ma'am." From Kinsey's tone, he was no longer in bantering mode.

He and I were right on the same page when it came to assessing potential threats. The Mathers incident had shaken us both badly. Even though we'd come out of it without any real physical harm, there were many ways it could've gone very badly indeed for the both of us. It had been the first time I'd specifically been targeted by one of the Master/Strangers I was attempting to proof the PRT against, but I strongly suspected it would not be the last. And it was Kinsey's job to be suspicious on my account.

I gave Kinsey a top to toe visual inspection and found nothing amiss. In all honesty, if I'd found anything out of place, I would've been both concerned and wary. He'd been doing this far longer than I had, after all.

His return inspection garnered me a very slight nod of approval, which I returned; while we were inside and not covered, saluting was not approved by regs. Each of us had our beret rolled up and stowed under the left-hand epaulette, and we were wearing our ribbons rather than the full-sized medals.

When the PRT had been picking its uniform colours, it had been limited to a certain degree by the fact that every other service had already had their pick of the palette. So they went with a steel-blue tunic and aquamarine trousers (or skirt; though neither Kinsey nor I had gone with the latter) for the undress uniform, and midnight blue for the dress uniform. Since the Battle of the Compound, there'd been a push toward urban camo for field operations, for which I'd made my support known. Black matched with nothing, not even on night ops.

My recommendations had also included ditching the opaque faceplate to make our troopers look less like faceless minions of the evil overlord and more like paramilitary soldiers. This was still working its way through committee; apparently some people liked the 'faceless minion' look. That said more about them, in my opinion, than about the PRT in general.

Apart from the purse, which I intended to hide if I was subjected to photography, we were fully in line with uniform regulations. Kinsey looked stolidly impressive, Andrea was pretty as a picture, and I was … me. Taylor Snow, neé Hebert; supervillain, warlord, Wards member, time traveller, captain in the PRT and would-be world-saver. Fortunately, ninety-nine percent of that didn't show up to the casual observer.

"Well, then," I said. "Let's go."

It was time to attend my parents' wedding.

-ooo-​

Danny Hebert

It was hot in the church. Danny had been attending services on and off since he could remember, mainly at his mother's behest, but he didn't recall it being this hot before. Even during Gladys' and Franklin's wedding, it hadn't been this bad.

As he tugged at his collar, Alan Barnes turned from where he'd been chatting with the minister and chuckled. "What's the matter?" he asked quietly. "Nerves? It's a bit late to make a run for the Canadian border. And besides you know she'd hunt you down anyway."

"Yeah, I know," sighed Danny. "And you know I love her. It's just that … all this, you know?" He gestured discreetly, taking in the row after row of occupied pews. He seriously hadn't been aware that he and Annette knew or were related to so many people.

Alan chuckled. "From a married man to an almost-married man, I can tell you that everything gets a whole lot better after this is all said and done. Your life will never be the same again, but knowing how much you and Anne-Rose love each other, that's actually a good thing."

"Thanks, man." Danny actually felt better for hearing his friend's advice. Wanting to take his mind off his own impending nuptials, he changed the subject. "I, uh, hear you and Zoe are trying for another kid?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. Zoe told Anne-Rose, and Anne-Rose told you? Yeah, we're trying." He sighed expressively. "No results yet, though."

Danny briefly considered saying something along the line of 'trying is half the fun' then decided that saying it about his best friend's wife was probably not in the best of taste. "Well, good luck then. Hope you and Zoe can handle two kids at the same time."

"Oh, Anne's a little angel," Alan said. "I have no idea what people are talking about with their kids that supposedly cry all the time and give them endless trouble. We just want to get her a little brother or sister so she's got someone to play with, growing up."

"Well, that's—oh, hey, Taylor's here," Danny said, looking up as he caught movement from the corner of his eye. "Oh, Andrea and Sergeant Kinsey, too."

Alan looked around at the trio currently proceeding down the aisle. The wedding guests were also taking notice, but Taylor's status as an officer in the PRT was well-known enough that nobody remarked on the uniforms. "They most certainly are," he observed. "Is it just me, or is that sergeant even bigger than the last time we saw him?"

"No, it just seems that way," Danny said with a grin. "What I want to know is, is he actually her bodyguard or does she just bring him along so people think he is?"

Alan shook his head. "I've seen her shoot. And fight with those damn staff things. Not even gonna try to guess that one."

"I hear you, buddy." Danny took a deep breath. "Just gonna go say hi. Still got the ring?"

"Like I'd lose it now." Alan patted his jacket pocket. "Safe and secure. Go."

As he left Alan's side and stepped down off the bema, Danny let a genuine smile cross his face. Taylor may have been (in the inimitable words of Winston Churchill) 'a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma', but she was also his friend and one of the strongest people he knew. What little she'd let him see of her secret life was frankly terrifying—he'd had nightmares about the Behemoth creature for a week—but that fact that she was out there fighting to avert her terrible future heartened him immensely. Also, she'd taken the time to attend his wedding … though he couldn't help wondering if that was just to ensure that he and Anne-Rose actually got married.

Knowing her, I wouldn't be at all surprised.

"Taylor," he said warmly. "Good to see you again. And you too, Sergeant."

"And what about me?" asked Andrea, sounding mock-offended.

"Oh, hey, didn't see you down there." Danny's smile widened at the expression on her face. "It's really good to see you too, Andrea. Anne-Rose will be pleased that you showed up."

"Uh huh, sure." She playfully feinted a swipe at him. "You're just worried I'll take her away from you."

"I don't think you or I could 'take' Anne-Rose away from anyone she wanted to be with," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"Nope, you're not wrong." She gave him a sudden hug, squeezing his ribs with surprising strength. "Good to see you again too, Danny. Now, you just make sure you treat Anne-Rose properly, or I will hunt you down and make you regret it."

"I'm pretty sure there'll be a queue if that happens," Danny observed, nodding to Taylor. She nodded back; damn right there would be.

"Darn tootin'." Andrea looked around. "So are we sitting on the bride's side or the groom's?"

"Groom's," Danny said. "Taylor may as well be my younger sister, and I'm not going to make you guys sit apart." He led the way to the front row, where he'd reserved seating next to his parents, sufficient for three people. Sergeant Kinsey was broader than most, but Andrea and Taylor tended toward the petite, so that evened out.

His parents looked up as he escorted the trio to their seats; by unspoken agreement, Taylor sat next to his mother, with Sergeant Kinsey next to her and Andrea next to Kinsey. His mother immediately started chatting with Taylor in low tones, while his father shared a single understanding nod with Sergeant Kinsey. Satisfied that they were in good hands, he returned to the altar where Alan was waiting with the minister.

"Okay, that's sorted," he said with as much relief as he could muster for the moment. "So when was—"

At that moment, someone must have given a signal because the music changed from generic background tunes to the one he'd been subconsciously waiting for. Automatically straightening his jacket, he stepped up alongside Alan and turned his gaze toward the church doorway. A moment later, Anne-Rose stepped through. As people craned their heads to watch, she entered the church wearing a gorgeous confection of the dressmaker's art that he glanced at once then totally forgot. It was Anne-Rose who had all his attention, and from the smile on her face she knew it.

I'm getting married today. Wow.

-ooo-​

Taylor

"Doesn't she look divine?" murmured Dorothy Hebert, craning her neck around to watch as Anne-Rose paced her way up the aisle, moving deliberately slowly so that the rest of the wedding party could keep up.

A lump rose in my throat and tears filled my eyes; the dress Mom was wearing wasn't identical to the one I'd seen in the old photo album of their wedding, but it was pretty close to it. That was to be kind of expected. In my timeline, Mom and Dad had gotten married later in the year, after Mom had gotten pregnant with me.

There were other ways that this ceremony wasn't identical to when my original-issue parents had gotten married. Among other things, it had been a much hastier service and certain people simply hadn't shown up. Myself and Kinsey for two, but also Mom's parents, whom I recognised on the far side of the aisle, looking curiously at myself and Kinsey. Apparently, in my original timeline they hadn't approved of their little girl having to give up her law studies for something so mundane as an unexpected pregnancy and wedding. George and Dorothy hadn't been best pleased either, but at least they'd supported Dad and Mom until they got their feet under them.

This time around, while Anne-Rose's parents didn't look thrilled (Anne-Rose had still given up studying law for English, but of her own accord this time) at least this wedding wasn't a frantic last-minute affair to cover up for an inconvenient bun in the oven. Danny was a 'young man with prospects', not 'that lout who got our daughter pregnant'. As I understood it, even after Mom died and I was going through my problems with bullying and powers, Gram was still curt with Dad when they spoke.

"They really do." It was Gladys Knott, one row back, also turning her head to look. She seemed just as happy to be here as she had been at her own wedding. Next to her and Franklin was Zoe Barnes; Zoe had to keep an eye on little Anne in the seat next to her, but she was also clearly determined to enjoy the wedding to its fullest.

I'd spoken to Lisa about this. The Anne Barnes I'd known was only three years older than Emma, but this version was five already and Emma had yet to be born. According to Lisa, there were many other discontinuities between the history of this timeline and what had happened in my world. Fortunately, most were so minor as to be negligible. All of them, apparently, could be traced back to Ruth's emergence in nineteen sixty-one. Her individual influence over the world was minuscule, but more than thirty years of interacting with literally tens of thousands of people, starting from before Dad or Alan Barnes were even born, added up to a lot of tiny nudges. While the vast majority would've cancelled out, a few had manifestly propagated and spread onward.

In the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter. My mission was unchanged from what it always had been. Capes still existed, Scion was still a menace, and I still had the threat of the Endbringers to deal with before I switched focus to him.

But for right now, I could sit and indulge myself by watching Danny and Anne-Rose get married. I can make sure one good thing happens in the world.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today …"

-ooo-​

Andrea

Weddings were not exactly Andrea's favourite place to be. They were all about adult responsibility and growing up instead of just having fun with life. Other people's weddings were alright, she supposed, so long as she didn't actually have to do anything at them. Though she'd always thought having a bucket of popcorn to throw at the bride and groom would liven matters up considerably.

Not that Taylor had entertained the suggestion beyond a brief smile. She'd put her foot down, and Andrea had agreed to be on her best behaviour for the ceremony. Of course, the reception was different. It was just fine to get a little silly there (she was never not a little silly), and afterward she'd have Taylor back at her place, maybe a little drunk—Andrea definitely intended to be more than a little drunk—and then the party could really get started.

Even better, since she'd proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jim was attracted to women, she had that option too. Unfortunately, she knew Taylor well enough that even her most appealing puppy-dog eyes would not suffice to get the two of them into the same bed with Andrea at the same time. In Andrea's expert opinion, that lack of action was an absolute waste of potential, especially as she could tell that they at least liked each other.

She had it on good authority that her more risqué hobbies were not a good idea to practise at a wedding reception—well, there were kids in attendance, so she had to reluctantly agree—which meant she had to confine herself to just three of the more harmless ones. Drinking, flirting and dancing. Sometimes all at once. And if there was anything Andrea knew about, it was moving her body in ways that raised eyebrows and lowered inhibitions.

Jim wasn't dancing at all, but she could kind of understand that, too. Taylor had filled her in on some of what the pair of them had been doing across the nation, and Andrea could easily understand that criminal Masters and Strangers might have a grudge against one Captain Snow. So he was drinking mineral water while he watched Taylor's back and made sure his hand didn't stray more than a few inches from her purse, which she'd left on the table. Taylor wasn't a 'purse' sort of person and she hadn't opened it even once, which gave Andrea a rather good idea of what was inside.

Makeup was not high on that list.

At the moment, Taylor was dancing with Alan Barnes. Where her movements were precise and measured, his were on the flamboyant side. It kind of went with his personality, Andrea figured. She could totally relate; she was all about flamboyant as a way of life.

Danny had Anne-Rose as his partner on the dance-floor, and he still had the slightly shell-shocked look of wow, this is my wife about him. Andrea silently wished him luck with that; before she'd met Taylor, she'd never even considered tying herself down to one person. Since she'd met Taylor … well, it kind of sucked because with the tall brunette, she was actually kinda open to the idea now. Now if they'd only let gay people actually get married already. It was about the only good thing she'd heard about Taylor's future.

Of course, that would also require that Taylor leave the PRT, because there was no way in hell those closed-minded reactionary bastards would let one of their soldiers stay a soldier if they happened to get married to a (shock, horror) woman! And so Andrea had to leave that idea alone for the moment, because while she wasn't certain that Taylor was happy in the PRT, her lover was certainly busy as the proverbial one-armed paper-hanger, plugging their holes for them. Once she was done with that … well, Andrea had always gotten the impression that the PRT was specifically a means to an end for Taylor, and nothing more. At some point, she would part ways with them (on her terms, not theirs, or Andrea didn't know Taylor) and then Taylor would be hers.

Well, as much as Taylor was anyone's, to be brutally honest. It wasn't like she'd stop working to save the world once she left the uniform behind … but maybe she could spend a little more time in Brockton Bay between missions? Andrea could live in hope, anyway.

In the meantime, she was going to do her darnedest to maintain the health and well-being of Taylor's financial empire. The enterprise was definitely in the black and firing well on all cylinders; their mercenary group was building up nicely and training well, and the high-rise she'd bought and paid for was almost ready to move into. In fact, she intended to show Taylor through it sometime in the next few days. Someone had to christen the brand-new queen-sized bed, after all.

With such pleasant thoughts in mind, Andrea got up from where she was sitting and approached Danny and Anne-Rose, where he was doing his best not to tread all over his new bride's feet and she was ensuring he didn't. Right on cue, the music changed to the next song and she tapped Danny on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?" she asked with a grin. "Pretty sure it's traditional for the bride to dance with other people on her wedding night."

"So long as dancing's all you've got in mind," he replied with a grin that took the sting out of his words. "Anne-Rose has told me how smooth you can be."

"I bet she hasn't told you all about it." She smirked as Anne-Rose blushed a delicate pink and made a discreet 'nope' gesture. Yeah, she still remembers.

"Uh huh. Just behave, or I'll tell Taylor on you." With that potent threat, Danny left them to it, strolling across to the refreshments table to acquire a cup of punch.

"Sweetie, you are incorrigible," murmured Anne-Rose. "And here I thought knowing Taylor would've given you a good role model to work with." She tilted her head toward the door. "I was just going to catch a breath of fresh air. Want to come with?"

"Sure," Andrea said at once, then grinned. "That's the thing about role models. You've actually got to want to live up to them. Me, I prefer to live life on my terms." She caught Taylor's eye and mouthed, going outside, getting a nod in return.

"So I see." Anne-Rose shook her head. "Same old Andrea. As wild and crazy as ever. You never change, do you?"

Andrea tilted her head at the mildly censorious tone of voice as she opened the door for Anne-Rose. "You seemed to enjoy being wild and crazy with me, back in the day."

"Yes," Anne-Rose said patiently, "but that was then and this is now. We're no longer freshmen. I'm married. You're … doing whatever it is that you do. Wild and crazy isn't really a feasible option for either one of us, not anymore." She stopped a few paces outside the door and drew deep breaths of the cool night air. "Oh, that's nice. It's starting to get a bit muggy in there."

"Speak for yourself," Andrea snarked. "I'm gonna be …" Her voice trailed off as she spotted the telltale glow of a cigarette inside a vehicle across the parking lot from them. "Hey, is that someone in that car over there?"

-ooo-​

Sergeant James McMaster Kinsey, PRT

Jim sat and watched the revellers and sipped at his mineral water. It wasn't bad, actually; he made a mental note to find out what brand it was, and maybe stock up some in the car. It would help keep them hydrated on the long stretches between cities.

As the music changed, he watched Andrea go up and accost the bride and groom. If he hadn't already known they were good friends, their body language would've given him the hint. Danny Hebert left the dancefloor, and Andrea spoke briefly with Anne-Rose. He was still mildly intrigued that she and the Captain resembled each other so closely, but this wasn't something he had the right or the inclination to chase down.

At the same time, the Captain left off dancing with Barnes and went to the refreshment table, where she struck up a conversation with Danny as they acquired drinks. Barnes returned to his wife, who was currently taking care of their young child. Andrea and Anne-Rose strolled toward the exit; a moment later, the Captain gave him the high sign to shadow them.

Casually, Jim unsnapped the catch of the purse and reached into it. His hand closed over the comforting grip of the Captain's compact Glock, covered by the purse. He would rather have had his classic .44 hand-cannon, but the Captain had decided that open-carrying into the church and the reception might well cause anxiety in some of the guests, and she didn't want to ruin her friends' wedding.

Still, each of them had practised enough with the other's preferred weapon that it was familiar to his hand. As if getting up to stretch his legs, he stood up, letting the purse slide off his hand. The pistol went down out of sight alongside his leg, between him and the wall, so as not to spook anyone. He didn't know that there was anyone waiting outside to abduct the ladies—and Andrea had learned enough from him to give any casual mugger one hell of a horrible surprise—but he and the Captain had learned the hard way that the bad guys could be anywhere.

He headed for the door, aiming to reach it just after they passed outside and to keep them in view thereafter. As he got there, he heard a snatch of their conversation, then Andrea's tone changed. "Hey, is that someone in that car over there?"

That was a red flag, right there. Kinsey stepped out through the doors, weapon still down, finger still outside the trigger guard. "Ladies," he murmured. "You need to go back inside, right now. Andrea, I need the Captain."

Anne-Rose's eyes widened at his tone, but Andrea got it immediately. "Sure thing," she said, taking the brunette by the arm. "Come on, Anne-Rose. Let's do what the sergeant says."

They slipped back into the venue—a sports hall, if Kinsey understood things correctly—and closed the door behind them. If he knew Andrea—and he figured he did—she would do as he'd asked.

Without looking directly at where the cigarette glowed brightly once more in the car, Kinsey silently rated the smoker a negative one out of five for stakeout procedure. About the only more obvious thing he could've done would be to walk right in and sit down. Still, it wasn't Kinsey's job to correct the guy's technique; he much preferred to take advantage of it. Stepping back through the door, he closed it firmly behind him.

When he'd arrived on site, the first thing he'd done was check all exits to make sure nobody could sneak up on them. Now, it was time to see what the Captain wanted to do about the situation.

-ooo-​

Taylor

Kinsey and I had briefly conferred just inside the doors, deliberately blocking them to discourage any other casual fresh-air seekers. We'd agreed that if the guy lurking out there had his sights on anyone, it had to be me. Whether he was stalking me to put a bullet in me or thank me for something I didn't know about, I had no idea. It was a sad commentary on my life to date that I could think of more people with reason to do the former than the latter.

Lisa had informed me the previous night that Robbie Gordon's trial had gone through, and he'd gotten an OTH as we'd figured. While he was likely to become a nuisance in the future, right now he was trying to convince Director Martins of the ATF to take him on in some capacity so they could plot my downfall together. I knew that Martins hated me with a white-hot fury—I'd personally caused the ATF to lose a considerable amount of face, and shot his direct predecessor—but he wasn't quite stupid enough to try to bypass the ruling from Robbie's court-martial. There was the possibility that he would figure out a way to pay Robbie off the books, but that would come later.

Right now, this wasn't Robbie in the car. Neither had I expected it to be, really. He was a short-sighted idiot in some ways but he knew the basics of following someone, and this wasn't it.

So we needed to find out who this was and why they were lurking outside the reception. Preferably before the rest of the people inside realised that something untoward was happening, and panicked. I knew Andrea wouldn't, and Gladys also seemed to have a notion that something was wrong by the way she was eyeing me from across the room, but that still left far too many others in the venue.

I gestured to Gladys and she left Franklin's side to come over to me. "What's up?" she asked bluntly.

"Someone outside in the parking lot," I explained concisely. "Sitting in a car, smoking. Chances are, they're waiting on a specific someone to come out. It's probably not a professional thing, but amateurs can still get lucky."

She didn't need me to unpack my meaning. We'd been through too much together before now. Neither did she hesitate. "What do you need me to do?"

I appreciated the sentiment, but I wasn't going to put her in the way of any more danger if I could possibly help it. "Kinsey and I are going to deal with it. If shit goes sideways, you and Andrea get everyone out the back way."

"Okay, then." She nodded sharply. "Give 'em hell for me."

I grinned at her, or at least showed my teeth. "It's what we do."

-ooo-​

Kinsey

Jim eased out through the back door and ghosted through around the darkened perimeter to the front of the building. He'd paused for a few moments to let his eyes get used to the lack of light, and he made sure his focus didn't get drawn in by any one thing. In the dark, peripheral vision was better at spotting movement, and he checked out each shadow before putting it to his back.

Arriving at the corner of the parking lot, he checked to see if his target was still in place, and was rewarded by the tiny bright cherry of the cigarette tip. Unless this guy was a designated decoy, he was officially the worst stalker Jim had ever seen. Nobody else appeared to be loitering in the parking lot, and there were no idling vehicles nearby. It was amazing how far sound carried at night.

Car by car, he eased closer to the occupied vehicle. The Captain had taken back her pistol, but in its place he'd acquired the butt-end of a pool cue; long enough to get a good swing in, with a weighted end. Shooting at a moving target in the dark was a good way to miss altogether or hit one's allies, but very little argued successfully with inertia, a strong right arm, and a length of lead-weighed wood.

When he got to the blindspot of the target vehicle—a rental car, he noted, which suggested the man wasn't quite as much an amateur as it might seem—he crouched and eyeballed the interior to see if there was anyone else inside, then waited. The Captain, per their arranged strategy, was going to count down five minutes then walk outside alone. If she was the target, the man in the car would react then. And Jim would be right there to counter whatever he did.

The time ticked over, and the door opened. Out into the pool of light stepped the Captain, purse open, apparently fiddling with something inside it. Jim knew damn well what was there, and that she could get the pistol into action and start putting steel on target in well under a second.

He heard the exhalation and the muttered 'at last' from where he was. The cigarette butt, flaring brightly, sailed out through the open window, hit the asphalt of the parking lot, and lay there still glowing. Then the door opened and the man began to get out. Jim could see, from the car's interior light, that he wasn't holding anything in his hands.

This was the prime opportunity to move. Sitting in a car seat for any length of time caused the muscles and joints to stiffen up, especially in the cool of the evening. Moreover, the watcher was now focused on the Captain as he got out, to the exclusion of all else.

Jim took two long strides up behind his target. Holding the impromptu baton ready in case he had to start breaking bones, he said quietly, "Help you with something?"

With a strangled scream, the guy leaped into the air, spun around, lost his footing, and fell headlong on the grimy asphalt. "Ah, crap—where the heck—you scared me!" he yelped.

Keeping an eye on the guy, Jim raised his hand and gestured to the Captain, who started across the parking lot toward them. "What were you doing out here?" he asked, levelling the half-cue at the guy's face in a silent threat.

"Waiting—waiting for Captain Snow," the guy stammered. He had a Canadian accent; but then, many people did. The border wasn't all that far away.

"I already got that." Jim put a growl of I'm losing my patience here into his voice. "Why were you waiting for the Captain?"

"She asked me to come and see her when she was on leave," the guy said. "She invited me."

Such was the injured innocence in the man's voice that Jim was inclined to believe him. He looked the guy over again, still sprawled in the pool of light cast by the vehicle's interior light. On the skinny side, awkward, with a shock of blond hair, he looked slightly less threatening than Andrea on her best day.

"So what's your name?" he asked.

Just then, the Captain arrived. Looking down at the man on the ground, she sighed. "Let him up, Kinsey," she said. "His name's Andrew Richter. He's a friendly."

-ooo-​

Taylor
Later
Andrea's Apartment

"Okay, let me get this straight," said Andrea. "This is the guy we went up to Newfoundland for you to see on that mysterious mission. The one you wouldn't tell us anything about."

"That's the one," I confirmed, rubbing my hair dry following the shower. I had nothing against the uniform as such, but it was nice to get out of it and into civvies once more.

"So what's his story?" she pressed. "What did you invite him down here for?"

"I'll tell you, soon. Promise." Tossing the towel onto the hamper, I made my way out into the living room, where Kinsey was sitting opposite Richter. "It's okay, I've got this," I said to Kinsey. "Go and freshen up, if you want."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and stood up. "You think about what I told you," he said to Richter, then headed down the corridor in the direction of the bathroom.

"What he told you?" I asked Richter curiously as I took the seat Kinsey had been using.

The self-confessed computer nerd coloured slightly. He still looked ruffled from Kinsey's ambush, but I suspected that was his natural look. "He was giving me pointers on how not to be caught unawares like that again. I still can't believe how easily someone his size snuck up on me. It was like he just appeared out of thin air." His eyes narrowed. "Is he a parahuman?"

I chuckled and shook my head. "No, but he used to be a military cop. I happen to know that he's very good at his job."

"Yeah, no crap," he mumbled. "He scared the living heck out of me."

Andrea giggled. "You're not the only one he's done it to, I bet." She perched on my chair arm. "So, what's your deal?"

Richter glanced at me. "How much do they know?"

"Andrea knows basically everything," I assured him. "What you can tell me, you can tell her." Except any details about Christine Mather or her son. "Sergeant Kinsey isn't cleared on the matter we spoke about, at your house."

Andrea's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. "I get to know something that Jim doesn't? Ooh, spill with the juicy deets."

Richter took a deep breath. "Well, Captain Snow, I've investigated you as deeply as I'm able, and I'm satisfied that you're on the level. I'm willing to accept your assistance in that matter."

"Wait a minute," Andrea said, looking and sounded more than a little affronted. "Who the hell gave you the right to investigate Taylor? What the hell do you think you're up to, bozo?"

I reached out and slid my arm around her waist, pulling her onto my lap. She giggled, snuggling up to me. "It's okay, Andrea. I said he could. It was necessary, so he could trust me to help him out." I tilted my head. "Well, trust me to get you to help him out."

"Me?" she asked, staring at me in surprise.

"Her?" echoed Richter, looking between me and Andrea uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"Remember the friend I told you about?" I said. "This is her."

"Absolutely, I'm her friend all day long." Andrea turned to look at me. "But you're gonna have to give me more details about what you just volunteered me for. Just saying."

"Sure." I tilted my head toward the bathroom corridor, to indicate that Kinsey was potentially within earshot. "I'm just going to whisper it into your ear. Okay?"

"Oooo," she said, in a blatant attempt to sound mysterious. "Seeecrets."

"Uh huh. Now, hold still." I lowered my voice and put my lips next to her ear.

-ooo-​

Andrew Richter

He could tell the moment Captain Snow said the magic words 'artificial intelligence' because Andrea's eyes popped wide open and she stared at him. "What, really?" she squeaked.

"Absolutely," he confirmed. "It's what I do."

"That's so cool!" she enthused. "So where do I fit in?"

Again, Captain Snow whispered in the redhead's ear. Andrea nodded several times during the apparent exposition, then turned her attention to Andrew. Even before she spoke, he knew what she was going to say.

"I am so totally in," she said. Mentally, he paid out on the bet he'd made with himself. "I mean, I've never helped raise a kid before but hey, first time for everything. So, what do I gotta do?"

"Well, for a start, we're going to need to install a high-capacity secure data link from Deer Lake to Brockton Bay," Andrew began, his mind taking apart the problem into its component parts. "I've got a little money put aside I can use for that, but …"

Andrea smirked. "Got you covered," she said smugly. "What else?"

For the first time, Andrew began to feel a ray of hope. With access to whatever assistance Andrea and Captain Snow could give him, maybe he could ensure that Dragon was socialised without having to burden her down with crippling restrictions.

Well, not so many, anyway.

-ooo-​

Taylor
The Next Day

"So where are we going this time?" I asked, as Andrea drove through Brockton Bay's morning traffic. She handled the car like she did everything else, with cheerful aplomb and a penchant for treating rules as mere suggestions.

Kinsey had wanted to come along, but Andrea had made it clear this was a girls-only outing. Accordingly, I'd pointed out that one, I was armed; two, I had Andrea with me; and three, Andrew Richter was in dire need of a guiding tutorial on how to not hurt oneself when handling firearms. Richter had been less than thrilled by my throwing him to the wolves but I figured it would do him the world of good.

"Not gonna tell you," she said with a cheeky sideways grin. "Serves you right for springing that on me with Andy. I get to talk with a real artificial intelligence? That's amazing. And you didn't tell me anything about it, ahead of time."

"I didn't know when he was going to contact me," I pointed out reasonably enough. "He had to do a deep-dive on me and make sure he could trust me. It could've taken months or it could've taken years." Even with Lisa to consult, any actions I took in the meantime could change matters in a way that she couldn't foresee.

"Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses." She blew a raspberry at me, then cut off a BMW, ducking through the lights with the sound of an angry car horn fading into the distance behind us. "Yeah, yeah, same to you, buddy."

"So you're okay with chatting to Dragon and getting to know her?" I asked. Andrea had already agreed to it, but I wanted to make sure she wasn't just saying so because of me.

"Well, duh," she said. "Real. Artificial. Intelligence. I might not be a total nerd, but I've dated them, and even I can see the appeal." She smirked at me. "Besides, it's not often I get the chance to corrupt a pure and untarnished mind."

"Oh, god," I muttered. "Just remember, Dragon will basically be a child, learning from you. Learning about humanity, and how to be human. It's a huge responsibility."

"And I get that." Her tone was serious now. "If this is a part of your future that you need to fix, then I can be as responsible as I need to be. Ahh, here we are."

Pressing a button on the dash, she swung the car down a ramp into what seemed to be an underground parking garage of some sort. A private one, from the looks of the heavy grille that was even now rattling upward out of our way. Andrea slowed just long enough to let the barrier rise far enough for the car to go under, then drove on through. We bumped over what I belatedly recognised as tyre shredders—fortunately undeployed—and then Andrea wheeled the car into a parking space emblazoned with "CEO" painted boldly on it.

I got out of the car, looking around the otherwise-empty parking garage with interest. "Where are we?"

"Under our building, duh," she said, and set off toward a set of elevator doors. "It's finished. The bulk of the furniture shows up Monday, and then I move in."

I raised my eyebrows as I caught up with her. "So, leaving the old apartment behind, huh?" That was a pity. I had fond memories of the place.

"Oh, I'll be keeping it on for appearances, but I just won't be living there most days." She tapped the 'up' button, and the elevator doors opened silently.

We stepped inside and I blinked, somewhat impressed. I was pretty sure it wasn't Tinkertech, but it still looked very impressive, all chrome and black reflective glass. The floor display and control panel both consisted of glowing red numbers behind the glass.

"To use the elevator, you need a card like this one," Andrea said, pulling out a featureless black card from her purse.

When she tapped the display with it, the numbers turned green. In addition, several numbers at the top that had previously not shown up at all began to glow. At the very top, the word 'Penthouse' sprawled across the display. Reaching up, she tapped the word with her finger.

"Let me guess," I said as the elevator started upward. "Your card is the only one that makes those numbers and the penthouse show up at all?"

"Got it in one." She pulled an identical card out and handed it to me. "And now yours does, too. Don't lose that. They're expensive."

"Hm. Okay." I stowed it away in my card wallet, already considering where I would stash it once I rejoined PRT regular operations.

We travelled upward for quite a ways. A travelling circle flicked from one number to the next, impressively quickly for mundane tech. Then the elevator slowed to a halt, the travelling circle now a rectangular frame around 'Penthouse'. The doors opened again, absolutely silently. Andrea led the way out, almost jiggling with repressed excitement.

We were in a small foyer; featuring a couple of chairs, a painting on the wall, an intercom panel and a card-reader beside the single door out. A security camera enclosed in an impressively sturdy cage observed both the elevator doors and the exit door. I tilted my head toward it and raised my eyebrows.

Divining my question, Andrea nodded and giggled. "That's for show. It actually draws a video feed, but the cameras we rely on are a lot smaller and harder to spot."

"Nice," I murmured. For my money, redundant security was the best type, especially when the perpetrators didn't know the extra layer even existed.

Andrea swiped the card reader. We stepped out into the main area of the penthouse living area, and my jaw slowly dropped. I had seen luxury before, but I'd never lived in it. Now, it seemed, I had my chance.

As Andrea had noted, the majority of the furniture was still on the way, but it was easy to tell what was to go where. We walked through a living room that I could not swear was smaller than the house I'd grown up in, with a gorgeously deep pile carpet from one side to the other. One wall was basically taken up with the largest flatscreen TV I'd ever seen; looking more closely, I could tell that it was a series of smaller screens, but it was still impressive as hell.

"Always wanted one of those," Andrea noted, indicating the wall TV. "Got speakers to match, too. This room takes the concept of surround sound, beats it up, and steals its lunch money."

Personally, I thought she might have been going a little over the top with the size of the entertainment setup, but it was her job to handle the money and my job to trust her to handle the money. If we could afford this and she enjoyed it, then I didn't have a problem. "So far so good," I said, looking around the room. It was spacious and airy with large windows, and I could see the appeal. "What else you got?"

"Well, the kitchen is through here, laundry and bathroom here, and the bedrooms and ensuite bathrooms are up these stairs." Almost dragging me by the hand, she led me up a broad quarter-spiral staircase that let out onto an equally broad corridor, leading off into another section of the building.

"Wait," I said. "Bedrooms and ensuites, plural?" Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought I heard a chuckle. Lisa, what have you been up to?

"Well, yeah," Andrea said, still tugging me along. "When I was discussing the building with Lisa, she said to make sure I built in at least half a dozen extra bedrooms with attached bathrooms, so I made it eight. She wouldn't say why. I thought you knew about it."

"No. I didn't. I had no idea of any of this." But ideas that I'd been trying to work out how to prepare for, concepts gradually unfurling in the back of my mind, suddenly burst into brilliant flower. I smiled. "Though I know who they're for."

"Oh, good, so long as someone does." Andrea flung open the double doors at the end of the corridor. Beyond was a bedroom, but what a bedroom. The bed looked about the same size as the flight deck of an aircraft carrier, French windows let out onto a balcony with a gorgeous view of the Boardwalk and the ocean beyond, and underfoot there was more of that luxurious carpet. Walk-in closets adorned two walls, and an open door led through to an impressive-looking ensuite.

I paused, eyeing the bed suspiciously. Of all the furniture that was going into this penthouse apartment, she'd arranged for this one thing to be delivered ahead of my visit? And made up with sheets, pillows and a coverlet? "Andrea …"

"What?" she looked around innocently, her shoes kicked off so she could dig her toes into the carpet. "C'mon, you gotta try this. It's a whole new level."

With a sigh, I did as she said. And she was right; it felt marvellous on my bare feet. I walked around the bedroom for a minute or so, clenching my toes then relaxing them again. When I looked back at Andrea, she was sitting demurely on the bed.

I sighed. "Did you honestly bring me across town and up into what is by far the most extravagantly luxurious place I've been in since the White House, just to drag me into bed?"

"Drag, no," she said with a giggle. "Invite, yes." She held out her hand to me. "Trust me, this mattress is amazing."

I hmphed. "I will sit on the bed. No hanky-panky."

Butter wouldn't have melted in her mouth. "Not a hanky or a panky in sight, I promise."

I sat on the bed. She'd been right; I'd never experienced a more comfortable mattress. Slowly, I lay back, feeling it cradle my body. It might not have been quite like drifting on a cloud, but it came close.

"Roll over," she ordered me. "I can see your stress knots from here."

"It's been a long week," I offered without bothering to elaborate. And it had been; a week since Chicago. Since I'd done what I had to do. Slowly, I rolled over onto my stomach.

Andrea knelt next to me and started massaging my back, her practised hands finding the spots where they would have the best effect. "Wow," she murmured. "I knew I should've gotten to you earlier."

"Couldn't be helped." On my first night back, I'd fallen into bed and slept like the dead. The next night, following the wedding reception, Andrea had been giggly and playful but the alcohol had caught up with her and she'd fallen asleep in my arms after doing not much more than fool around for awhile. I would've been happy either way; just holding her was good enough for me.

"Well, now it can be. You're tense as a board. What've you been doing?"

I shook my head, rolling it from side to side on my crossed arms. "You know I can't talk about it, sorry."

"Yeah, well, I can't do much about it with your top and bra on, either," she retorted. "Come on, you know the drill."

With a put-upon sigh, I rolled over and sat up, and started undoing buttons. "Just so we're clear, this is only for a massage?"

"Absolutely."

-ooo-​

Some Time Later

I stretched extravagantly and cuddled up to Andrea, spoon-fashion. "Just a massage, my ass," I muttered, but I was smiling as I nuzzled into her hair. I was more relaxed than I had been in months.

She wriggled around so she could kiss me. "Didn't hear you saying no."

We both knew my complaints were for form's sake only. I had needed what she could do for me more than I'd realised. It wouldn't rid me of my demons—I doubted anything had that power for me, now—but it had certainly served to quiet them for awhile.

"I have to admit, this is very nice," I admitted, lounging back on the luxurious sheets and looking around at the décor of the bedroom. "Coming home to this will be well worth it."

"That's the whole idea." She slid off the bed and strolled out onto the balcony, as unselfconscious as ever despite the fact that she wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. Of course, we were so high up, anyone wanting to catch us flashing the whole city would've needed a good-sized telescope. Not that she would've cared, even then. Knowing her, she would've posed.

I stepped into my panties, mostly as a figleaf to my own modesty, and followed her out. The roughened marble tiles were warm underfoot. "So, about those other bedrooms."

"Yes …?" She drew the question out, leaning back against the balcony rail with her eyes closed, face tilted back to catch the sun. She was so much in the moment that my heart ached. I wasn't attracted to the female form the way I was to guys—and even that was hit and miss—but right then, I loved her so much that I wanted to gather her up and take her back to bed.

Focus, Taylor.

"So, you know how you said about Dragon that you'd never tried raising a kid before, but there was a first time for everything?" I stepped in next to her and put my arm around her waist.

One eye opened and gazed up at me suspiciously. "Are you saying you want to adopt kids? Because it sounds to me like you want to adopt kids."

"Very specific kids," I amended. "Kids I knew, back in the day. Kids who otherwise would have an absolute shit of a time."

She snorted. "Please tell me you don't want me to adopt your younger self, once you're born."

We both knew that wasn't happening. "Nope. Danny and Anne-Rose are good people. I had a great childhood. It was my teen years that sucked, especially after Mom died in a car accident." I shook my head. "Getting off topic. The first kid we need to adopt will be born in early January. His parents won't want to give him up, but they're tight on cash so they have no choice. Unfortunately, his true parentage will come out so nobody will want to be near him."

"True parentage?" Now she had both eyes open. "What are they so worried about that you don't think is a problem?"

I looked her in the eyes and kept my voice serious. "He's the last son of Heartbreaker. People attach far too much of a stigma to things like that. Yes, he's a second gen cape. Yes, he's likely to trigger more easily than a first gen. But by the time he does, you'll be his mother in all but DNA. And I want him to have a good life."

Twelve years into the parahuman phenomenon, there were no second generation capes as yet; accordingly, the general public was unaware of their increased likelihood of triggering. Andrea knew because I'd told her. She nodded firmly, accepting the information. "So, what's his name?"

I smiled. With that question, she'd accepted the implicit request. Flighty she might be, but she never broke a promise. "Heartbreaker would've named him Jean-Paul, but when I met him he was calling himself Alec."

End of Part 7-2​

 

[SamueLewis]

We're now one step closer to thwarted ice cream shop robbery

 

[Corpsie]

Nice chapter. I was waiting for this for a long time.

That said, do you have plans for time-skips Ack? Cause if we don't, there should be 4-5 times the length of released chapters more to go.

 

[Ack]

Nice chapter. I was waiting for this for a long time.

That said, do you have plans for time-skips Ack? Cause if we don't, there should be 4-5 times the length of released chapters more to go.

Click to shrink...

There will be the occasional time skip as needed.

 

[Scopas]

Aww, Taylor's gonna make good with her little friends! Let's see, who else can we guess is going to end up in the other bedrooms?

Rachel's an obvious pick: Even before she was in foster care, she was neglected pretty hardcore by her mom, if memory serves, which was part of why she was so under socialized.
I'd say Brian would be the next one, due to drug abusing mother and distant father, but I don't know if she'll move before or after Aisha appears on scene, assuming she doesn't get butterflied away.

Lisa... I don't know about Lisa. As far as I understand it, she was happy until her brother hung himself, so I don't think adoption would really impact Ms. Wilborn significantly.

Amy's the classic lack of a nail child, but the Brockton Bay Brigade isn't a thing yet, and as far as we know, Marquis hasn't fathered her yet anyway. I also doubt he'd be willing to let his daughter be adopted.

Riley is another possibility, but she had a happy and loving childhood until she had the misfortune of attracting the attentions of the Nine, as best as I think we're informed. I think maybe giving her some amount of security would help, but I don't know what beyond that point could be done.

Jack and Harbinger are presumably already out and about, as Jack Slash gets name-dropped during the conversation with the Seattle Director, and I think he and Number Man were the same age, so they're both presumably already running around with King.

Vista had a bad childhood, but I don't know if it's bad enough to merit her removal from her household at such an early age. Plus, there's no guarantee that she'd trigger without that influence, and she's almost too useful to save from any potential trauma.

The Traveler's aren't going to be on scene for a while, since they only appear when the Simurgh's been around for a while, and I don't know what Taylor really could do for them, even if they do show back up somehow.

Let's see, I assume that Theo's running around out there somewhere by this point, assuming Kaiser didn't bite the big one at some point, but I don't know if he could be adopted, unless Kaiser's identity gets outed to the media like in canon and CPS gets their hands on him. The only other E88 cape that would be young enough to be a potential adoptee that I can recall is Rune, but I don't know if she'd make Lisa/Taylor's list.

Bakuda's talent would be wonderful to have, especially if a different upbringing could resolve some of her many, many problems, but I don't think that growing up in a Tiger Mom environment is grounds for adoption, and she might be a full sociopath, which would make her a greater burden than blessing regardless of the circumstances. Same with Sophia, presumably. I don't know if an adoption could have saved her, considering that we don't know much about her canon home life, but I doubt it, assuming she's even been born at this point.

Hmm... Labyrinth, maybe? We don't know what her life was like before she went to the Parahuman Asylum, as far as I can recall, so she might be a possibility.

Anyone else got any guesses?

 

[Zackarix]

Let's see, I assume that Theo's running around out there somewhere by this point, assuming Kaiser didn't bite the big one at some point, but I don't know if he could be adopted, unless Kaiser's identity gets outed to the media like in canon and CPS gets their hands on him.

Click to shrink...

If Theo does end up being taken from his parents Aster/Ruth should adopt him. And thus the circle of irony will be complete.

 

[Orannis]

Aww, Taylor's gonna make good with her little friends! Let's see, who else can we guess is going to end up in the other bedrooms?

Rachel's an obvious pick: Even before she was in foster care, she was neglected pretty hardcore by her mom, if memory serves, which was part of why she was so under socialized.
I'd say Brian would be the next one, due to drug abusing mother and distant father, but I don't know if she'll move before or after Aisha appears on scene, assuming she doesn't get butterflied away.

Click to shrink...

This sounds right

Lisa... I don't know about Lisa. As far as I understand it, she was happy until her brother hung himself, so I don't think adoption would really impact Ms. Wilborn significantly.

Click to shrink...

A home that loves you and will not abuse you would help her alot. if i remember right she ran away because mom and dad are assholes.

Amy's the classic lack of a nail child, but the Brockton Bay Brigade isn't a thing yet, and as far as we know, Marquis hasn't fathered her yet anyway. I also doubt he'd be willing to let his daughter be adopted.

Click to shrink...

It is most likely after he is sent to the cage Taylor will take her in. If I remember right she and Marquis don't dislike each other.

Riley is another possibility, but she had a happy and loving childhood until she had the misfortune of attracting the attentions of the Nine, as best as I think we're informed. I think maybe giving her some amount of security would help, but I don't know what beyond that point could be done.

Jack and Harbinger are presumably already out and about, as Jack Slash gets name-dropped during the conversation with the Seattle Director, and I think he and Number Man were the same age, so they're both presumably already running around with King.

Vista had a bad childhood, but I don't know if it's bad enough to merit her removal from her household at such an early age. Plus, there's no guarantee that she'd trigger without that influence, and she's almost too useful to save from any potential trauma.

The Traveler's aren't going to be on scene for a while, since they only appear when the Simurgh's been around for a while, and I don't know what Taylor really could do for them, even if they do show back up somehow.

Click to shrink...

She might be able to take out the 9 at Riley's house. Vista i think was just shunted into the hero instantly.

Let's see, I assume that Theo's running around out there somewhere by this point, assuming Kaiser didn't bite the big one at some point, but I don't know if he could be adopted, unless Kaiser's identity gets outed to the media like in canon and CPS gets their hands on him. The only other E88 cape that would be young enough to be a potential adoptee that I can recall is Rune, but I don't know if she'd make Lisa/Taylor's list.

Click to shrink...

She may be able to take Theo from kaiser just because he is a Neo Nazi in real life.

Bakuda's talent would be wonderful to have, especially if a different upbringing could resolve some of her many, many problems, but I don't think that growing up in a Tiger Mom environment is grounds for adoption, and she might be a full sociopath, which would make her a greater burden than blessing regardless of the circumstances. Same with Sophia, presumably. I don't know if an adoption could have saved her, considering that we don't know much about her canon home life, but I doubt it, assuming she's even been born at this point.

Hmm... Labyrinth, maybe? We don't know what her life was like before she went to the Parahuman Asylum, as far as I can recall, so she might be a possibility.

Anyone else got any guesses?

Click to shrink...

This all seams right. Heartbrakers S9 girl could move in as well. Also, there could be some kids from that cult she broke up.

 

[Prince Charon]

Amy's the classic lack of a nail child, but the Brockton Bay Brigade isn't a thing yet, and as far as we know, Marquis hasn't fathered her yet anyway. I also doubt he'd be willing to let his daughter be adopted.

Click to shrink...

I think Amy's supposed to be older than Taylor. Since Taylor was born in mid-1995, and the story is now in August of 1994, it's plausible that Amy is a newborn by now.

 

[macdjord]

A home that loves you and will not abuse you would help her alot. if i remember right she ran away because mom and dad are assholes.

Click to shrink...

She left because her parents cared more about monetizing her power than about her. While that's a pretty damning indictment of their overall fitness for parenthood, it is not in itself proof that they were neglectful or abusive prior to her brother's suicide, let alone bad enough to give Taylor legal ground for removing the kids (or moral ground for faking such evidence). For that matter, it's possible that they were decent parents before Reggie's death and that their later behaviour was fallout from that.

 

[Caerwen]

She left because her parents cared more about monetizing her power than about her. While that's a pretty damning indictment of their overall fitness for parenthood, it is not in itself proof that they were neglectful or abusive prior to her brother's suicide, let alone bad enough to give Taylor legal ground for removing the kids (or moral ground for faking such evidence). For that matter, it's possible that they were decent parents before Reggie's death and that their later behaviour was fallout from that.

Click to shrink...

You mean, they could have considered Reggie their favourite?

 

[macdjord]

You mean, they could have considered Reggie their favourite?

Click to shrink...

That's not impossible, but not what I was getting at; losing a child to suicide is massively traumatic, and treating their daughter like they did might have been a reaction to that rather than a sign that they didn't care for her before.

 

[cosoco]

Nice chapter. Found the confrontation with Richter funny.

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 7-3: Secrets Within Secrets

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]​

Sunday, August 21, 1994
Brockton Bay
Taylor

We arrived back at the apartment in good time. I'd told Andrea how much I liked the building, so she was smugly proud of herself. Our together time had improved my mood considerably, which did not reduce her smugness in any way. In that aspect alone, she could've given Lisa a run for her money.

When Andrea let us both in, Kinsey and Richter were sitting in the living room, talking quietly. Richter looked a little frazzled, but that was only to be expected; Kinsey was nothing if not intense about teaching people the right way to do something. They both looked around as we entered.

"We're back!" announced Andrea, somewhat unnecessarily. "Oh, good. You're still alive. Jim didn't rough you up too much, Andy? Still able to walk and talk?"

"Barely," groaned Richter. "I had no idea there was so much involved with firearm safety. I just thought it was 'how not to accidentally shoot people'."

"Let me guess." I gave him a mildly sympathetic look as I pushed the door closed behind me. "Sergeant Kinsey put you through a dynamic safety course." I'd been through more than one myself. Running, dive-and-roll into cover, pulling out pistols while in odd postures, reloading under stress, the whole nine yards. It was strenuous and occasionally painful, but the reflexes I'd picked up doing it had saved my life more than once, so I wasn't about to complain.

"All except the actual range time, ma'am," Kinsey noted. "I was unable to locate a shooting range in the timeframe we had to show him that aspect of firearm use."

"Ah. Yes, we're definitely going to have to cover that as well." I thought for a moment. "I wonder if Detective Kimball would be able to give us access to the local police firing range?"

Andrea leaned out of the kitchen where it sounded and smelled like she'd just put coffee on to boil. "I bet Hugglesmurf would love that. You breeze back into town, ignore him while you attend a wedding and the reception, then hit him up just because you want a favour."

Well, when she put it that way … "Good point," I sighed. "Bad idea from the start. He'd probably kick me to the curb, and I wouldn't blame him. And his name is not Hugglesmurf."

"Is if I say it is. And you totally underestimate the effect you have on the guy." She came out into the living room, a broad grin plastered across her face. "Five gets you ten he'd jump on that straight away. We'd get the royal treatment while he hung around with puppy-dog eyes, hoping for a third date." Her grin became salacious as hell. "If you know what I mean."

I knew, all right. Kinsey also knew, if the set of his jaw meant what I thought it did. Richter merely looked politely interested, as if waiting for someone to explain the punchline to him.

"I like Humphrey, but I am not sleeping with the man just to get us access to a firing range." I may have ground my teeth a little just then.

Kinsey and Andrea were unmoved, but Richter leaned back in his seat a little, away from me. "I, uh, really don't need—"

"Yeah, you do." Andrea, mercurial as ever, was now briskly professional. "If Taylor and Jim say you need real-world gun training then buddy, you need it. Fortunately, I got you all covered." A bit of the smugness crept back as she dusted her hands off for dramatic effect.

Kinsey and I both turned to look at her. I raised my eyebrows. "Mind explaining that?" Whatever she had to say, I definitely wanted to hear. As I'd once said to Kinsey, she might be a ditz but she was a ditz with a brain.

She pretended to look modest. 'Pretended', because Andrea had never actually tried looking modest (let alone succeeded) since I'd known her. "I might have access to a private shooting range. It's all up to spec with the latest safety standards. But the deets are, um …" she cleared her throat delicately while looking at Kinsey. "Kinda need to know. Girl's gotta have her secrets, and all that."

All of a sudden, I thought I knew what she was talking about, but I needed to confirm it. "Wait a moment. Kinsey, I need to confer with Andrea, in private."

"Ma'am." Kinsey scooped up the TV remote and hit the power button; seconds later, the sounds of a fast-food ad filled the room. "Mr Richter, let's see what's on TV."

It was so good to have competent, capable people working with me.

Wasting no more time, I went around the sofa and took Andrea with me back into the kitchen. Through the open doorway, I could see Kinsey and Richter both watching the screen; one because he chose to, and the other because he knew he had no choice in the matter at all.

Lowering my voice to the point where I knew neither one could hear me, I looked at Andrea. "This shooting range, is it in the building?" Unless she was developing another property—and I couldn't be sure she wasn't—then it had to be.

"Yup," she said happily. "Sub-basement, under the parking garage. When you tap the card, hit the bottom button instead of the top. I made it for the mercenaries to train in, when they're staying in the building."

"That's … actually a really good idea," I decided. "And it's all up to code?"

"Absolutely." She nodded earnestly, setting her riot of curls bouncing wildly. "I made sure that it doesn't break into any sewer lines or cut through important conduits. Nobody's actually used it yet, though. I thought I'd keep it as a surprise for you."

I hugged her. "Consider me most agreeably surprised," I said in her ear. "Think you're up to keeping Kinsey company while I go and show Andrew which end of the pistol the bullet comes out of?"

She grinned at me. "Darn tootin'."

-ooo-​

Robert Gordon
A Nondescript Café in Washington, DC

"Thanks for agreeing to meet." Rob slid into his seat and picked up the menu to obscure his mouth.

Instead of pulling a baseball cap down over his eyes or wearing sunglasses, he'd opted for frameless tinted yuppie glasses and a light wash through his black hair to push it toward dark brown. Shaving his beard and moustache back to a vanDyke had been a little bit of a wrench, but serious times demanded serious measures. His clothing was light-coloured and loosely-fitting, as far removed from his carefully tailored uniform as one could imagine.

"I'm a busy man but if it's about that woman, then I've got the time. What've you got for me?"

Director Martins of the ATF hadn't bothered disguising himself at all. He still had the same rumpled suit and slightly harried air that Rob had noted from their first meeting, before the ridiculous parodies of justice following the Battle of the Compound. The information Rob had supplied Martins with then should've sunk Snow's career and possibly even put her in Leavenworth, but nothing of the sort had happened. Because Snow got to the judges. It's what she does.

Well, she hadn't gotten to Martins. He, at least, was exhibiting the integrity required by an official of the US government. With him on Rob's side, maybe justice could be done at last. And from the venom in his tone when he said the words that woman, there was no way in Hell she'd be able to buy him off.

"Before I get into that, what happened with the stuff I gave you about her and Hamilton?" He had to learn how she'd countered that. While he didn't have any specific evidence of an affair between her and that doddering fool, the way the old man kept rolling over for Snow's demands had to be proof that something was going on.

Martins paused as the waitstaff, a skinny black guy, came to their table with a plate of pastries and a coffeepot. Putting the pastries on the table, the waitstaff deftly poured them both a cup and then discreetly withdrew. Taking one paper sachet of sugar after another, Martins stirred them into his cup. Rob counted the empty sachets and shuddered; did the man want a heart attack?

"She said it didn't happen," the ATF regional Director said at last. "Said she had counter-evidence of a pre-existing grudge on your part. You know how well she can talk. The judge tossed it."

"Grudge? I don't have a grudge against her." The very notion was ridiculous. Grudges were irrational. What he felt against Snow was very rational indeed. "Just because I tried to bring up her behaviour back when she was working in the department and Hamilton squashed it, now I'm the bad guy?"

"Whatever," Martins said, with a dismissive wave that indicated the topic was done. "Unfortunately, she's managed to pull off a couple of coups, so she's currently the flavour of the month. We're going to need something new and damaging. Something we could use to force the PRT to convene a court of inquiry." His tired eyes searched Rob's face. "Got anything like that?"

"The Seattle thing." Rob tapped the table. "She's not empowered to make on the spot calls regarding the disposition of parahumans, especially ones that have been implicated in serious crimes. But somewhere between talking to the cops and reporting to the PRT, she somehow made a six foot six rock guy vanish into thin air. Is anyone looking into that?"

Martins sighed. "I did look into it. I'm not sure what report you read, but she didn't simply make him vanish. He was actually present at the meeting between Snow and Director Tyson, and Tyson accepted that he had no blame attached. An offer was made for him to join the local Protectorate and he turned it down. The only unusual aspect is that Snow then offered to give him a lift to wherever he wanted to go, and he accepted. But that could easily be the fact that she was the only PRT member he trusted right then, and it certainly can't be construed into a crime."

The previously solid footing of the evidence of Taylor Snow's perfidy was becoming more like quicksand. "Okay, right. What about what happened in Chicago? She straight-up murdered Elijah, and that dangerous lunatic Kinsey shot Christine. And what happens? Scuttlebutt says they were offered medals. Fucking medals." He spat the last word out with all the distaste he could manage.

Martins took a drink from his coffee, then ate a pastry. "From Snow's own testimony, the Mathers woman was a Master and a Stranger, and the child was a Master in his own right."

"Snow's testimony." Rob couldn't have loaded any more disdain into a phrase if he'd tried. "For what that's worth." Nothing, was what he meant. Snow could put her hand on a stack of Bibles and swear that the sky was blue, and Rob would still go out and check.

"Mmm." The sound was contemplative. "There's a chance she's not actually wrong, you know."

Rob actually pushed himself away from the table, subconsciously distancing himself from Martins, as he stared at the older man. "Are you taking her side now?"

"Psh. Not hardly. The woman's a menace who doesn't deserve to wear the uniform. Any uniform." Martins' derogatory tone reassured Rob. "But … and I hate to say this. But." He took another drink of his coffee. "The Snow Protocols? The ones they're enacting all over the PRT? We've looked them over and we're adopting some of them ourselves. Just to be on the safe side, you understand."

"Just like her to make up some bullshit 'safety' procedures and slap her name on them," sneered Rob. "I already know my job. I don't need some newcomer to tell me how to suck eggs."

"Mmm. Right. Except that … and you didn't hear this from me, but … I got word from some of my contacts in the PRT, the ones that had supplied us with the Protocols, that there'd been a rash of people who'd turned themselves in as undergoing Master/Stranger effects over the last few months. Plus a few people who'd been turned in by others, reported as being Mastered."

Rob shrugged. "Yeah? So what?" False positives happened all the time.

Martins tilted his head. "So this. All the ones who'd turned themselves in said those effects ceased on or before the day that Kinsey capped the Mathers woman. And the Master cases suddenly started blabbing about how they'd been Mastered but were unable to talk about it … more or less the same time as Snow shot the kid."

Rob hadn't heard any of this. He repressed the instinct to call Martins a liar; the man had no reason to make up a story like that. "Confirmation bias," he said instead. "Correlation isn't causation. I'm betting those reports came from people who heard about how the great Snow killed two Masters, and they want to get in on it."

"Maybe." Martins gave Rob a steady look. "I'd love to think that, but I don't know it. Not for a fact. None of them are clearly fake, and there's enough that I've checked out as legitimate to make me think there's something to it. So that's not a thing we can use. You got anything else?"

Damn it. Rob had come to this meeting armed with what he'd thought were unimpeachable arguments for the deposal of Taylor Snow. Instead, Martins was shooting them down as fast as he put them up. Whose side is he on, anyway? "Well, how about this," he said. "I heard she might be gay. There's a story going around that she was living with another woman before she joined the PRT. I mean, with with."

Martins raised an eyebrow. "On the one hand, that's a pretty serious charge. On the other … well, you seem to be fond of throwing around accusations of her sleeping with everyone from her superior officer to her orderly to the judges overseeing her case. Is she gay or straight? Pick a lane and stay in it."

The man just wasn't getting it. Rob gritted his teeth. "Forget the other stuff," he snapped. "What if she's proven to be gay? That's an instant out, right there, yeah?"

"Yeah … maybe. If we can scrape together enough evidence to force an investigation." Martins finished off his coffee, then took another pastry. "These days it's not enough just to have suspicions, remember? There's got to be solid proof, something to hang our hats on. If nobody speaks up, we've got nothing." And getting the PRT to investigate their fair-haired child right then, he didn't have to say, would be like pulling teeth.

"I could investigate," offered Rob. "I mean, if I had the resources. Information sources, cash backing, the whole nine yards. Give me a chance and I'll turn her life inside out and get all her dirty laundry out in the open." Take the hint, he silently urged Martins. Hire me on.

"I have no doubt you could." Martins pulled out his wallet and slapped a five on the table for the waitstaff. "Unfortunately, by court order, the ATF is legally not permitted to employ you for any reason whatsoever. And I happen to like my job."

No. No, no, no. "It doesn't have to be an official position," argued Rob, half-standing in his seat. "Surely you can do something off the books."

"No." Martins' voice was harder, harsher now. "I agreed to this meeting because I thought you had something legitimate we could use against Snow. If and when we bring her down, it'll be because we did it right. I'm not having our case against her thrown out because we did things her way. In short, Mr Gordon, I'm not going to break the law for you or for anyone else. Don't bother contacting my office again unless you have something concrete."

Martins got up and walked out with never a backward glance. With him went Rob's best hopes for a quick and easy victory over Snow. The resources of the ATF would've made digging up dirt on her—or manufacturing the dirt that he knew had to be there—so much easier. Faking evidence wasn't wrong if they were clearly guilty of something. Not really.

Defeated, but not beaten—never beaten—Rob dropped money on the table as well, and got up. As he left, he saw the waitstaff coming over to clear their table. God, I hope I never have to stoop so low that I end up working for tips.

He left the café, his brain still trying to come up with some way to turn things around.

God damn it. I can't just let Snow win.

-ooo-​

Back Door of the Café

Thomas Calvert took off the apron he'd appropriated, hung it up beside the door with the others, and stepped out into the alleyway. He left the tips he'd collected in the apron pocket for whoever found it, but kept the miniature recorder he'd slipped under the plate of pastries. While the meeting between the disgraced Robert Gordon and Director Martins had clearly not gone as well as Gordon hoped, he was sure he would still get some good information out of it.

Though still only a Lieutenant, Calvert was well aware of the importance of knowing that one extra fact. And so, when his network of contacts apprised him of the upcoming meeting (in particular, regarding someone he already had a certain amount of interest in) it had been simplicity itself for him to show up there at the right time, put on an apron and pretend to be 'the new guy'. Nobody looked twice at a black man bussing tables, after all.

Humming a popular tune to himself, Calvert strolled out of the alleyway and down the street, to where he'd parked his car. Robert Gordon was someone he intended to keep an eye on. People with Intelligence training, a grudge that could be exploited and no current employment were definitely a worthwhile resource.

-ooo-​

Taylor

"Captain Snow? Are we nearly there?"

I glanced aside to Richter, who was wearing a pair of my oversized sunglasses; mainly to conceal the fact that he was blindfolded under it. While he was going to learn the location of Andrea's building sooner or later, I didn't want him knowing all its secrets just yet. He didn't seem nervous or upset at the moment, just curious.

"Almost," I said, pulling the car into the same downramp that Andrea had shown me. I hit the remote, and the barricade began rolling upward. When I judged that the car could fit under it, I let off the brake and applied acceleration; just enough to bump us over the tyre-shredder and into the garage proper.

I parked in the same space as Andrea had, then got out and went around the car to Richter's side. As per instructions, he hadn't moved or tried to take the blindfold off. "Out you get," I said, opening the door and guiding him to his feet while ensuring that he didn't hit his head or shoulder on the way out; harder than it sounds.

Next, I grabbed the gun bag that had made the trip in the footwell of the car, slung it over my shoulder, and locked the car up. It should be secure anyway, given that the barricade had rolled down again, but I'd learned via many hard lessons to be a suspenders and belt sort of girl. Then I took Richter by the elbow and guided him toward the elevator.

"Do you have a secret base?" he asked, his voice echoing through the parking garage. "Is this an actual secret underground base? I thought that sort of thing only happened in the comic books."

"In a manner of speaking, kind of," I admitted, hoping he wasn't going to geek out on me. The last thing I wanted or needed was a grown-up version of Greg Veder on my hands.

Wow … it had been years since I thought of Greg. I vaguely wondered how Nina was doing, then brought my mind back to the present. Taking out the card Andrea had given me, I swiped my way into the lift, then walked Richter inside. Tapping the panel as she had, I looked for the lowest 'button', which turned out to be the letters "SB" surrounded by a circle. I pressed my finger firmly on that.

The elevator started downward smoothly, causing Richter to turn his head as if looking from side to side. "I knew it!" he crowed. "Secret underground base! I've always wanted to see one of these!"

"You'll be disappointed," I warned him. "Secret, yes. Underground, yes. Base, no."

"What?" he asked, but then the elevator arrived at its location and the doors opened. "What do you mean?"

I guided him out into the room beyond as automated lights sprang to life. We stood in a concrete room, painted in tasteful colours, with the obvious security camera in the corner (which meant there were several concealed ones around) and three doors. The first was marked "LOCKERS", which we didn't need. The second was designated "ARMORY", which we also didn't need. The third door said "RANGE", which I figured was what we were after.

I went up to the Range door. It was locked, but there was a reader beside it, so I tapped the card and heard it click open. "I mean, this is not the base. Just the firing range. Take off your blindfold and come on through."

He took a moment to do what I said, stuffing the blindfold in his pocket and hanging the sunglasses in the front of his shirt. At the entrance to the firing range, he stopped and stared. "Wow. I mean, wow. Is your whole base set up like this?"

"Need to know, Mr Richter." I was actually being tricky with my wording there. As I'd only seen the penthouse and the sub-basement, I would need to see the rest of the building before I could make a judgement on the matter. But it worked the other way as well.

Truth be told, it was a fairly well set up firing range. I figured Andrea had done a lot of research and gone with the same type I'd trained on with the PRT. Ten lanes, side by side, with fully kitted out firing benches and solid baffles between, with tables for cleaning the weapons against the near wall. Each firing bench had, as a matter of course, individual controls for running targets up and down the lanes. A control booth with (if I wasn't much mistaken) bullet-resistant polycarbonate windows sat next to the door, with a firearm-clearing barrel next to it.

The walls were a matte grey, which contrasted nicely with bright yellow stripes up the walls and across the ceiling to mark the five-yard intervals, all the way out to thirty yards. I noticed that the far wall appeared to slant downward, with a bullet-collection trough at the bottom. As a final touch, the room was well-lit, with every light past the firing benches solidly protected from even the wildest of stray shots by heavy concrete.

Richter went to the closest firing lane and peered down to the far end. "Thirty yards?" He shook his head. "How can you expect to hit anything at that range?"

"Practice." I went to the cleaning table and opened the gun bag. Removing the pistol we'd acquired for him, a Beretta M9, I placed it on the table. "Okay, show me what you know."

Seating himself on the folding chair, he took up the weapon and removed the (empty) magazine, checked the chamber once the magazine was out, then disassembled it as far as Kinsey had decided was necessary. Then he put it back together again. It took him some little time—I could do it a lot more quickly, and Kinsey was magic at it—but he got it done without any errors I could gig him for. Keeping his finger off the trigger and the barrel pointed away from both of us, he offered it to me for inspection.

"Good," I said neutrally. Taking a loaded magazine out of the gun bag, I handed it to him, along with the pistol. "Take these to a firing bench. Do not load the weapon until I say so. Put on eye and ear protection, then wait for my next instruction. Go."

With a nod, he got up and went to the bench. The appropriate protection gear was hanging on a hook, and he did as he was told. I went to the next bench and put the ear protectors there. The eye protectors, I found, were large enough to fit over my glasses. I thought that was a nice touch by Andrea.

"You'll find paper targets under your firing bench," I called out. "Attach one to the overhead clip, then send it downrange to the five-yard mark."

While I was waiting for him to figure this out, I attached at a target to my clip and trundled it away. A few seconds later (he wasn't bad at the technical stuff, I figured) his target joined mine.

Now was the time, I figured, to see just how bad he was at the firing-guns aspect. "Load your pistol! Keep your weapon pointed downrange at all times! Chamber a round! Report when ready!"

Even through the ear protectors, I heard the smooth k'klik-klik of the slide going back and forward. "Ready!" he called out, his voice high and reedy with stress.

"Kinsey will have shown you how to hold a pistol! Assume that position! Line up your front sight with the target! Slowly, and I say again slowly, squeeze the trigger!"

There was a long pause. Finally, just before I was thinking of going to see if he was alright, his pistol went off. To his credit, he hit paper. Unfortunately, it was about an inch from the edge.

"Again!" I called out before he could begin to dwell on his terrible shot. "Firm grip, front sight on target, slowly squeeze!"

The next shot, at least, got inside the outer ring, but only just. I essayed a silent sigh. This was likely to take awhile.

-ooo-​

Ten minutes later, he'd gone through two magazines and most of his shots were getting close to being on target. The majority were missing high, which said to me that he was probably flinching a little, and maybe not paying much attention to his rear sight.

I told him as much, and he shook his head. "I think it might be the pistol." Keeping it pointed away from the both of us, he tapped the barrel. "This is only a few inches long, right? There's no way you're going to be as accurate with that as with, say, a rifle."

"That's true." I stood up from the cleaning table. Taking the Beretta, I grabbed another magazine from the gun bag and headed for the firing bench that I'd picked for my own. My target was still sitting at the five-yard spot. "Protection."

Obediently, he put the earmuffs and goggles on, while I did the same. Then I hit the control to run it all the way down to the back. Reaching into my jacket, I drew my Glock and placed it alongside the Beretta. "This one's got an even shorter barrel. Want to bet me I can't hit the target with it?"

Perhaps realising he'd opened his mouth a little too far, he silently shook his head.

"Good." I loaded the Beretta and chambered a round, then worked the slide of the Glock as well. "Say when."

Nervously, watching from the back of the firing cubicle, he nodded. "Now?"

Turning, I scooped up both firearms. Automatically, I adjusted for the different weights, firing the first few from the Beretta until I had a feeling for how it pulled, then alternating with the Glock. I hadn't dual-fired for a while, but it really was like riding a bicycle; after the first few shots, it was like I'd never stopped.

The Glock clicked empty first, with the Beretta just a few shots behind. I laid both pistols, now both reeking of expended propellant and trailing smoke from their muzzles, down on the firing bench. Without looking, I hit the button to bring the target back, and turned to Richter. "Let's see how I did."

When the paper rectangle arrived, he stared at it. In morbid contrast to his, there were no holes outside the ten-ring, and only the first few off the bullseye itself. There was nothing left of the centre of the target, just a chewed-out hole. I handed it to him. "It's not the pistol."

"No," he agreed faintly. "It's not the pistol." Then he stared at me. "How did you get so good at it?"

"As I said, a lot of practice." I took up the Glock. "I started shooting pistols in ROTC back in college, and kept it up when I joined the PRT. My boss says he'll be able to qualify me for Marksmanship Expert in pistols, just as soon as the PRT gets around to striking a medal for it."

"I don't have that long before I go back to Deer Lake." He looked down at the target in his hands. "Not to get this good."

"And I don't expect you to." I went over to the cleaning table. "Which is why you're only dealing with a five-yard target. All I want is for you to get the majority of your shots in a group that would kill a man."

He flinched at that. "I—I'm not comfortable with the idea of killing."

"Then why are you carrying a pistol?" My gaze was as blunt and uncompromising as my question. "Listen, guns are designed for exactly one purpose. To kill. They are an offensive weapon, not a defensive one. Carrying one will do exactly nothing to stop someone from hurting you, unless you use it to shoot them first, and sometimes not even then. Every single person I've ever shot was either threatening me or threatening someone I cared about. I shot first, I shot accurately, and I spent very little time agonizing over what I'd done."

"So to you, people are just … targets?" He probably hadn't meant to sound so accusing, so I decided to cut him some slack. "You decide whether or not to kill them, and that's all there is to it?"

"Oh, no." I smiled sadly as I shook my head. "That's not even close to being all there is. I do regret having to kill, but I'm not going to beat myself up over it." I thought back to the first time I'd pulled the trigger and ended a human life. "What you do have to consider is the potential consequences of removing someone from the board. Do they have friends, or some other situation set up that will come into play once you kill them? Sometimes, putting someone out of your misery isn't worth the hassle of dealing with the backlash. Before you make the decision to kill someone, that's something you also have to think about."

Richter shook his head, looking down at the pistol still lying on the bench. "I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

I shrugged. "You probably aren't. But between Dragon, Manhunter and Robin Hood, all it would take is one person to trace those programs back to you and your life would definitely be in danger. Which is why I'm taking the time to train you now. By the time you get back to Deer Lake, you will be at least moderately proficient with a pistol." Reaching into the gun bag, I handed him a magazine. "Load it up and try again."

He took a deep breath and accepted it. "Okay, then. Front sight, right?"

I nodded. "Front sight."

"Got it." He turned away into the firing cubicle while I got out the gun cleaning kit. While he was getting his eye in, I decided, I'd make sure my personal weapon was in top working order.

I might not need it, but when and if I did, it would be in a huge hurry.

-ooo-​

We made the drive back to Andrea's apartment with the car windows open so as not to stink up the interior with the smell of gunshot residue. I'd have to wipe down the interior anyway, but this was better than nothing. Richter, once I allowed him to remove the blindfold, seemed happier than he'd been before.

"Doing better?" I asked, just in case my impression was incorrect.

"I think so, yes." He looked across at me. "Your world is different to mine. It's full of shadows and monsters. I don't think I could live there."

It only took me a moment to figure out that he meant the present day rather than where/when I'd come from, and was speaking figuratively instead of literally. Still, he wasn't far wrong either way. "It's not a nice place to be," I agreed. "I've got friends and allies, though, and they make all the difference."

"Right." He nodded his head. "So how much do they know?"

"Kinsey and Andrea?" I eyed him carefully. Was he trying to pump me for information, or just asking who he could confide in? "Andrea knows more than Kinsey. Each of them knows as much as I feel safe telling them. Neither one of them knows every single gritty detail. And they won't, not unless I decide they need to."

I hadn't intended to be intimidating, but some part of my tone must have gotten through to him. He shook his head hastily. "I wasn't going to tell anyone anything, honest."

"It's probably better that way." I raised my both my eyebrows and the corner of my mouth at the same time. "At best, nobody would believe you. At worst, they would believe you, and come after you for time travel secrets. Right now, with the work you're doing on Dragon, it's a really good idea to be flying under the radar. Way under the radar."

He nodded earnestly. "Right, sure, absolutely."

"Good. Glad we got that cleared up." We rounded the corner to the street outside Andrea's apartment, and I frowned. "That car …"

Richter looked from me to the innocuous sedan parked outside the apartment block. "Is it the bad guys? Do I need to get my pistol out?"

I suddenly clicked as to where I'd seen it before, and shook my head. Not that I would've let him go into any kind of firefight, as green as he was. He could just about murder a paper target at five yards, and be depended on to not shoot his own foot off in the process. A trained soldier, he wasn't.

"No, it'll be fine. Quite the opposite of a bad guy, actually." I pulled in behind the sedan and parked. This close, I was sure I recognised it. "Come on up. Someone I want you to meet."

Wonderingly, he got out of the car, and I locked it with the key fob. I double-timed it up the stairs, the gun bag jolting back and forth where it hung over my shoulder, with Richter panting in my wake. The guy probably needed a little cardio in his life, I decided.

When I got to Andrea's door, I was so pumped up that I opened it with my key instead of knocking and waiting. And there, inside, was the person I was hoping to see.

"Nina!" I dropped the bag and swept her up into a hug. "It's so good to see you!"

"Whoof! Taylor, wow, hi!" She hugged me in return, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "I know it's been forever and a day but warn a girl, why don't you?"

I smiled. "Well, I missed you. How've you been?"

"Good. Really good. I've got some amazing news. When I heard you were in town, I came straight over."

My smile slipped a little. "Yeah, sorry I didn't invite you to Anne-Rose and Danny's wedding, but nobody had your number."

"That's kind of my fault," she admitted. "When I moved into my own place with Greg, I forgot to pass out my new number. But hey, now we're talking, I can fill you in on everything."

We settled down on the sofa, while Andrea bounced up and headed into the kitchen. I looked over at where Richter was standing awkwardly off to the side. It occurred to me that this was not an unusual circumstance for him. "Oh, hey. Nina, this is Andrew Richter. He's down from Canada, visiting a few days. Andrew, meet Nina Veder. She was about my first friend when I ended up in Brockton Bay."

"Wouldn't that be Danny?" Nina's grin was mischievous. "After all, he's the one who pulled you out of the water."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Well, yes, but you're the one who took me around and got my life sorted out." Turning back to Richter, I hooked a thumb at Nina. "If you're ever pulled out of the water in the middle of a yacht regatta pileup and you've lost your memory due to a concussion, Nina here's the person to help you out."

"I'll keep that in mind for if it ever happens to me," Richter replied dryly. I could see from the flicker in his eyes that he'd caught the reference about my arrival in this time period.

"So how do you like the city?" she asked him. "And just from personal curiosity, is your name spelled the same as the earthquake guy?"

"Yes, it is," he confirmed, in a tone that made me suspect he had to do that a lot. "And it's … nice. I've heard good things about your Boardwalk, but I haven't been there yet."

"Well, why don't we go there now?" suggested Andrea, emerging from the kitchen while cradling cups of what smelled like tangy fruit juice. "I mean, Taylor and Andy can shower first because whew, that gun reek, but then we can go and show Andy what it's like."

"Sounds like a plan to me." I gestured to Richter. "You go ahead. I'll have one when you're finished."

"Okay, sure, thanks." He disappeared toward the guest bedroom—Andrea had put him up there while Kinsey relocated temporarily to the sofa—presumably to grab a change of clothing.

Nina chuckled. "Well, you've got him trained. Not even a suggestion of an argument."

Kinsey accepted a cup of juice from Andrea with a nod of thanks. "You've met the Captain, ma'am. Do you honestly think anyone's likely to spend more than a day in her presence and not end up doing as she tells them without argument?"

"You have a good point there," she conceded. "I also notice that you've spent a lot longer than mere days in her presence, and you have no trouble in speaking up."

"That's because Kinsey and I make an exceptional team," I said. "I know exactly when to shut up and listen to him, and vice versa."

Having handed juice to me and Nina, Andrea put the spare one back in the fridge, then climbed into Kinsey's lap. "You want to see these two when they're having a conversation and missing out half the words," she pretended to complain. "I swear, they're like an old married couple, only they like each other."

I raised my eyebrows toward Kinsey. We don't do that, do we?

He replied with a tilt of the hand and a slight nod. Yes, ma'am, sometimes we do.

"So I see," murmured Nina with a smirk. "I've got to ask, why the gun reek? And I didn't know there were any firing ranges open in or around Brockton Bay on a Sunday."

I decided to field that one. "To answer your second question first, private range. And as for why, when I encountered Andrew, he displayed an egregiously poor lack of firearms common sense. So I told him that if he ever visited while I was in town, Kinsey and I would correct that lack. Which we're in the process of doing." I took a drink of my juice. "Not to change the subject, but didn't you say something about amazing news? And did I hear correctly, that you've moved in with Greg?"

As I recalled, Greg was her on-again off-again boyfriend; the one who'd introduced me to self-hypnosis and allowed me to get into contact with Lisa. I'd long held a suspicion that she was 'my' Greg's mother, and that the younger Greg was named after the elder. Recently, I'd gotten around to asking Lisa about it, and the answer had saddened me while verifying the supposition at the same time.

"Uh huh." She grinned at me. "And we're pregnant. And he's asked me to marry him."

Ah. The news jolted me to the core, but I did my best not to let it show. Careful not to spill either of our drinks, I gave her a hug. "That's wonderful. I'm really glad to hear it."

"Pfft! Gun reek!" Laughing, she pushed me away, but only after letting me complete the hug. "You're a menace."

"Yeah, but you like me anyway."

-ooo-​

Andrew Richter

Taylor Snow, Andrew decided, was an exceedingly perplexing individual. While training him in shooting, she had displayed a laser-focus for the task and an iron-hard will that would've been frankly terrifying if he hadn't known she was on his side. With no effort whatsoever, she could have easily masqueraded as the humanoid robot he'd once briefly suspected her to be.

But as soon as she was in a casual situation with her friends and associates, she became an entirely different person. Happy, outgoing, even making jokes at her own expense, she was far removed from the enigmatic stranger who had proven herself to be a time traveller, or the intense warrior who had almost casually placed more than a dozen shots into a space smaller than his palm on a target nearly a hundred feet away, just to prove it could be done.

This wasn't to say that she lowered her hyper-awareness of her surroundings all the way. But she turned it down, allowing her social side to mostly cover it up until one could be excused for missing it altogether. He suspected anyone assuming that she wasn't paying attention would very quickly (and very painfully) learn otherwise. The speed with which she could produce the tiny pistol—he hadn't even known she was wearing it!—would defuse most confrontations, while her accuracy would certainly bring the remainder to an extremely brief conclusion.

Of course, he wasn't about to ignore all precautions when creating Dragon; he was the computer and software Tinker, not her, and a rampaging AI (especially one that could trigger with powers) was the stuff of nightmares in today's world. But he had listened to what she had to say, and would definitely take it into account.

After his brief ablutions (because only an idiot would keep Taylor Snow waiting for the shower) he towelled himself off and got dressed in fresh clothing, suitable for the Boardwalk.

"Shower's free," he announced as he headed back into the living room.

-ooo-​

Taylor

Boardwalk

For all that the summer was almost over, it was a nice warm day on the Boardwalk. Andrea ran through the surf, as she was wont to do, and splashed everyone within range. This was mainly seagulls, which took off in a loudly complaining flock. Richter took his flip-flops off and walked through the sand, apparently enjoying the feeling of it crunching between his toes. Nina and I strolled side by side on the Boardwalk itself, with Kinsey following a discreet distance behind.

I hadn't even realised just how much communication we got done without the need for verbalisation. It was just that I knew Kinsey and he knew me, and words were often superfluous. Old married couple, my butt.

"So spill," Nina said quietly. "I know there's something bothering you, and you want to talk about it, but only to me."

I looked at her. "We are not like an old married couple." It hadn't been what I'd meant to say, but it was what came out.

"Really?" Her amused look spoke volumes. "Is that what's burning your ass?"

"No, not really." I'd known Nina was perceptive, but I'd forgotten just how perceptive. "What I've got to say … you won't thank me."

Her next words weren't a guess. "It's about me. You know something bad that's going to happen to me."

This was my dilemma. Despite knowing that I fully intended to change the world for the better (and that I'd already taken steps to do so) she'd decided that she didn't want to know details of her own future. And for the most part, I'd been happy to honour that. But what Lisa had told me … despite it being what would have happened in my timeline, I wanted to change it all the same, for several reasons.

"It's a thing, yeah," I agreed. "And it's bad. And even if I tell you, it might not fix things."

"But it might." Her tone made it a statement rather than a question.

"It's possible," I hedged.

She grimaced. "And despite the fact that I don't want to know, you still want to tell me."

It was true. I shrugged. "Yeah."

"Arrgh. Fine. You win." I could see her fists clenching, the nails biting into the palms. "I hate you. Tell me."

I took a deep breath, recalling the conversation I'd had with Lisa.

-ooo-​

The lumpy green creatures, no two alike, lumbered toward us. They hefted misshapen clubs that looked weirdly like computer keyboards. I could hear their bellowing voices as the words became clear to me.

"Darth Vader did nothing wrong!"

"Star Trek was inspired by Scientology!"

"Doctor Who is a government cover-up!"

"Frodo was totally banging Samwise!"

"Maggie Holt is a Mary Sue!"

My sword was half-drawn; I slid it back into its sheath. Are those what I think they are?

Lisa sighed and selected one of the half-dozen wands she had hanging in a holster at her hip. "I'm afraid so. We're being attacked by a bunch of trolls."

Welp, there's only one way to deal with those. I unlimbered the arcane flamethrower from my back and thumbed the ignition rune on the handgrip. With a throaty roar, the blackened nozzle began to belch flame.

"You're not wrong." Lisa tapped the wand on her arm-guard, and the tip lit up. "C'mon baby, light my fire."

A tiny spark launched from the tip of her wand at the command phrase, at the same time as I squeezed the trigger of my flamethrower. It struck and detonated, sending half the trolls flying through the air in flaming chunks. My flame washed over the other half, melting their keyboards and reducing them to sizzling (and stinking) piles of greenish fat and stringy hair.

As the last of them subsided with a whine of, "can't you take a joke …" I put the flamethrower away again.

Well, that was fun. So, quick question.

"Let me guess. It's about Nina Veder?"

Got it in one.

"You want to know if she's Greg's mother. That bit's easy. She is."

Which only raises more questions, you realise.

She looked at me sadly. "Okay, then. In order: the dad is her boyfriend Greg. He never marries her after she gets pregnant, because he dies in a car accident. Brake failure. She names Greg after him. And because she lost the other Greg, she becomes a helicopter mom. She'd rather he sit in the house and play video games than go out and develop social skills, and risk getting hurt. And that's how we end up with your Greg."

Well, crap. It all made way too much sense. Should I … you know … say something?

"That's between you and her." She looked around. "Heads up. We've got company."

I looked; advancing on us was a legion of hooded, black-robed figures. Each of their faces was deep in shadow, although we could somehow make out scars that disfigured what would normally have been exceptionally handsome features. From them, I could sense a deep brooding angst of the type that could spawn reams of bad Gothic poetry.

"Orphaned at birth …" muttered one.

"Raised by ninjas …" intoned another.

"The world has been nothing but cold to me …" growled a third.

"There is only kill or be killed …"

"My soul is an aching void …"

It was my turn to sigh. Seriously? Edgelords?

"You wanted silly this time. We got silly."

I took the flamethrower off my back again. At least tell me they're flammable.

"Oh, intensely. It's all those rough-spun hooded cloaks. Also, they've got a martyr complex like you wouldn't believe."

Good. Let's see if I can't indulge them in that. I squeezed the trigger.

-ooo-​

"Okay …" I paused to pick my words carefully. "So … if you were to, say, talk to Greg and suggest that he get his brakes checked … like, tomorrow … it might be a good idea. Just saying."

Nina looked at me seriously. "Get his brakes checked."

I thought for a moment. "And yours too, just in case. Not that I know for a fact that there's anything wrong with them, you understand."

"Oh, of course," she said firmly. "It's just a sensible precaution. I'll tell him tonight."

The subtext was clear: I'm not doing this because a time traveller told me, I'm doing it because it's a smart idea.

"Right. Good." I didn't know this would change anything, but I'd done what I could.

She looked up at the sky as the hills to the west of the city drew lines through the sunlight sheeting over the bay. "So where are you going after this?"

"Oh, a few places in the Midwest need checking over, then Kinsey and I will be flying out to Hawaii to nail down their security. Joy."

Her tone was teasing. "You sound like you're not looking forward to it."

"Oh, I wouldn't mind going there for a vacation." Of course, I'd need to get in before Behemoth wrecked the place. "But just to fly halfway across the Pacific, spend a day unfucking whatever they've done to their computer system, then fly back? Not my idea of an island getaway."

She chuckled lightly. "The burden of being the security expert."

I wrinkled my nose. "Don't remind me." We'd be going back to Chicago after that, so hopefully things would settle down with ex-Lieutenant Robbie Gordon no longer in the picture. Until the next crisis, of course.

"Well, just between you and me, I want to tell you that I appreciate all you're doing. And, on behalf of the rest of the world, all you're trying to do." She put her arm around me and gave me a brief but welcome hug.

"Thanks. That means a lot."

The worst, I knew, was yet to come. But with my friends around me, I knew I had a fighting chance of beating the odds.

Whether I succeeded … only time would tell.

End of Part 7-3​

A/N: In case you didn't get the subtle hints, there will be a (relatively short) time skip following this chapter.

 

[cosoco]

"Do you have a secret base?" he asked, his voice echoing through the parking garage. "Is this an actual secret underground base? I thought that sort of thing only happened in the comic books."

"In a manner of speaking, kind of," I admitted, hoping he wasn't going to geek out on me. The last thing I wanted or needed was a grown-up version of Greg Veder on my hands.

Wow … it had been years since I thought of Greg. I vaguely wondered how Nina was doing, then brought my mind back to the present. Taking out the card Andrea had given me, I swiped my way into the lift, then walked Richter inside. Tapping the panel as she had, I looked for the lowest 'button', which turned out to be the letters "SB" surrounded by a circle. I pressed my finger firmly on that.

Click to shrink...

The letters SB could stand for sub basement, but knowing Andrea, it probably is secret base.

Faking evidence wasn't wrong if they were clearly guilty of something. Not really.

Defeated, but not beaten—never beaten—Rob dropped money on the table as well, and got up. As he left, he saw the waitstaff coming over to clear their table. God, I hope I never have to stoop so low that I end up working for tips.

Click to shrink...

Oof.

"Yeah … maybe. If we can scrape together enough evidence to force an investigation." Martins finished off his coffee, then took another pastry. "These days it's not enough just to have suspicions, remember? There's got to be solid proof, something to hang our hats on. If nobody speaks up, we've got nothing." And getting the PRT to investigate their fair-haired child right then, he didn't have to say, would be like pulling teeth.

Click to shrink...

I was reading a wikipedia article to remind myself of the timeline here, and it's interesting to see that this story is set a year before the introduction of "don't ask don't tell" in 1995. Of course, that is the original timeline, and events here might change.

I rolled my eyes at her. "Well, yes, but you're the one who took me around and got my life sorted out." Turning back to Richter, I hooked a thumb at Nina. "If you're ever pulled out of the water in the middle of a yacht regatta pileup and you've lost your memory due to a concussion, Nina here's the person to help you out."

Click to shrink...

"I'll be sure to remember that, if I ever forget."

 

[macdjord]

I looked; advancing on us was a legion of hooded, black-robed figures. Each of their faces was deep in shadow, although we could somehow make out scars that disfigured what would normally have been exceptionally handsome features. From them, I could sense a deep brooding angst of the type that could spawn reams of bad Gothic poetry.

Click to shrink...

Wait, where are the katanas?

 

[Orannis]

In worm when did Legend come out that he was gay?

 

[Ack]

The letters SB could stand for sub basement, but knowing Andrea, it probably is secret base.

Click to shrink...

Curses! You have figured out the secret code!

Oof.

Click to shrink...

This is especially hilarious when taken alongside the Calvert section.

I was reading a wikipedia article to remind myself of the timeline here, and it's interesting to see that this story is set a year before the introduction of "don't ask don't tell" in 1995. Of course, that is the original timeline, and events here might change.

Click to shrink...

December 1993, actually.

Right between her Nice Guy debut, where Hamilton actually looked into her potential homosexuality but decided to leave it for the moment (because dammit, she's a hero) and now.

"I'll be sure to remember that, if I ever forget."

Click to shrink...

"Don't forget to remember."

Wait, where are the katanas?

Click to shrink...

Under the robes, duh.

In worm when did Legend come out that he was gay?

Click to shrink...

Later than this, apparently.

 

[Orannis]

Later than this, apparently.

Click to shrink...

Hmmm looks like late 90's to 2002 max he's been married for 6 years by the time Taylor Triggers/ story starts. So if he came out in 2002 he somehow in 3 years got gay marriage legal, she most likely wears a nice hat.