The Slippery Slope [Worm AU]

The Slippery Slope

Part Sixteen: Montage



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



Medhall Building
Saturday, 12 February 2011

I followed Peter into the conference room. It was spacious, somewhat longer than it was wide, with picture windows down one side showing a view of the Brockton Bay skyline. A thick padded mat had been laid down over the expensive carpet, turning it into an impromptu dojo. The long table which I guessed normally made up the centrepiece of the room was now down at the far end, with a few guys stacking its ergonomically adjustable chairs against it.

Peter dropped the duffel bag he was holding and clapped his hands once. “Okay, that's fine. You can go.” He was wearing light sweats and was barefoot, but he still looked and sounded like a leader to me. Maybe I was biased, but I didn't care.

I was also wearing sweats, with the cog bandanna tied around my face as a mask. While Othala had gone shopping to get me clothes, she hadn't gotten the memo that I was supposed to be learning self-defence, so she hadn't picked up any exercise clothing for me. So Tammi had donated a set of her sweats to the cause until I could get my own. The trouble was that the outfit was a couple of years old, so that while the top fitted me well enough across the shoulders, Tammi wasn't very tall even now, so the trousers were about six inches too short. It looked like I was wearing the exercise equivalent of capri pants.

As the workers filed past us, each man gave Peter a respectful nod, as befitted the boss' nephew (and whatever else he was to them). When they got to me, I tried not to cringe. I looked ridiculous, and I knew it. But they didn't seem to care; instead, they practically bowed. “Ma'am,” they murmured as each one passed me. I was still blinking as the door closed behind the last one.

“What was that all about?” I asked Peter. “Did you set that up to make me feel good?” To be honest, if he had, then he'd succeeded. Having a bunch of tough-looking guys show me obvious deference was definitely a boost to my ego.

“Not in the slightest,” he said, with a gesture at my mask. “They don't know your real name, or that I'm your boyfriend. But they do know that the cog mask or armour means that you're Remote, who is an Empire cape.” He winked. “Which means that so long as you're wearing that mask, you could run around in a bikini and they'd still bow to you.” Grinning roguishly, he waggled his eyebrows. “I know that I'd be paying close and personal attention to you.”

“Peter!” I punched him in the arm, but I couldn't stop grinning under the mask. Or blushing. “You can't mean that. About them bowing to me, I mean,” I added hastily. I knew him too well to challenge the other bit.

Still smirking, he draped his arm over my shoulders. “Sure I mean it. You outrank me, and you definitely outrank them. So they're showing you the appropriate respect.” It was surreal, the way he made it sound so matter-of-fact. And then he had to spoil it. “I'll have to see Victor about getting you a cog-patterned bikini.”

This time, I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. “Don't you dare!”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Is that an official order?”

I blinked. “Wait … I can actually give orders? Is that even a thing?” I had to be hearing wrong.

He shrugged. “Well, yes. If you'd, say, told one of those guys to go and get you a soda, you can be damn sure he'd be getting you a soda right now.” Peter captured my hands, then leaned over and kissed me briefly through the bandanna-mask. “You're someone important now. And not just to me.”

I shook my head. “You have no idea how weird it is to be someone special for the first time in my life. I mean, it was one thing to have you guys say hi to me at Winslow, and another to be sitting in with the Empire capes, but this is … wow.” I squeezed his hands, then let go and pulled him into a hug. “I'm just so glad you're here.”

“I'm kinda glad you're here too, Taylor,” he said with a chuckle. “Even if you weren't a cape, you'd still be really special to me.” I felt his head rest against mine.

“You're special to me all the time,” I murmured. “It's so good to have you to lean on, in every sense of the word.” Suiting action to word, I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his arms around me.

“Well, you can lean on me all you like,” he assured me. “But right now, 'leaning on me' is going to have to be redefined as 'learning self-defence'.” He kissed the side of my neck; I shivered as the touch of his lips on my sensitive skin sent a thrill through my body.

“What if I ordered you not to?” I asked, more to see what he would say than from any intent to do it.

Peter chuckled. “Prior orders would supersede yours. Uncle Max wants you to be able to take care of yourself.”

I pulled back a little and lifted the mask so that he could see me stick my tongue out at him. “As my boyfriend, you suck at anticipating my needs. What if I don't want to do this training?”

For some reason, this seemed to amuse him even more. “Well, as it happens, I think you need to learn how to defend yourself. So whether Uncle Max said so or not, I'd still be pushing you to do it.”

I gave him my best puppy-dog eyes. “I'm not getting out of this, am I?”

“No,” he said, then cupped my cheek with his hand. “But if it makes you feel any better, if I wasn't already in the Empire, that look you just gave me would have made me want to join.”

I giggled, then kissed the palm of his hand. “It actually does make me feel a bit better, to be honest. But I suppose that we've wasted enough time. If Kaiser wants me to learn how to not get my ass kicked, then I guess I should learn that.” Although I wasn't quite sure how much this training would help me if I happened to find myself in a place where I didn't have anything to work with. Not that I expected that to happen, but recent history had made me a master of pessimism.

Still, I was now a member of the most amazing cape team in the city. They were kind, supportive, willing to help me out with armour and equipment, and my boyfriend was going to teach me how to kick ass and take names. Or rather, how to avoid having my ass kicked. And with Victor improving my armour, I was really looking forward to what he could make of it.

“We should definitely do that,” he agreed, walking out into the middle of the mat. “Come on out here. I need to see what you already know.”

“Easy,” I said, following him. “Nothing. It's kind of depressing.”

“What is?” He turned to face me.

I sighed. “In the movies, when you get your ass kicked a dozen times by the same bully, you end up learning how to defend yourself. In real life, when I spend a year being pushed around by the same black bitch and her suck-up friends, all I get is depression and bad grades.”

He tilted his head with an evil grin. “About that … would you like some incentive? For learning to defend yourself … offensively?”

I looked at him, wondering where he was going with this. “You gonna massage my feet afterward?” The idea made me melt inside, just a little bit. Seriously, the guy had magic hands. “And my calves?”

“Well, I was gonna do that anyway, but …” The abrupt 'but' caused me to snap out of my fantasy involving him, me, and a bottle of lemon-scented massage oil. Lemon … mmm …

“But? But what?” I asked, not sure where his serious expression had come from.

“But … Uncle Max told me not to tell you this before you had joined the Empire and proven yourself.” He put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “I need your word that you won't pass this on to anyone else, unless Uncle Max says it's okay.”

“Wow. Serious, much?” I tried to chuckle, but it didn't come out right. All this hush-hush business was making me a little nervous. “Sure, Peter. If you think this needs to be kept secret, then I'll keep it a secret. But what's this about an incentive?”

“Well, it's like this.” He took a deep breath. “Remember Sophia Hess? Numero uno in your bully brigade? Now, imagine if she was, say … Shadow Stalker, of the Wards.”

It took me a second or so to get it, then my eyes opened wide and I forgot to breathe for a moment. That black bitch is … a Ward? She got away with everything because she's a fucking superhero? It made sense. It made so much sense. Which made all of the Protectorate … “They're on her side,” I whispered. “All of them. Protectorate. Wards. PRT. Everyone. They must have talked to the school. That's why nothing ever happened to her. Because they were on her fucking side.” For the first time, I understood what 'race traitor' truly meant.

I recalled screaming at Blackwell to have her arrested. She hadn't been able to wriggle out of it, not after the locker incident. But I was willing to bet that the moment she was out of sight, the PRT had snapped Sophia up and spirited her away to safety, because they considered a psychotic black Ward to be more important than her unpowered white bullying victim.

“Probably,” Peter agreed. “It did answer a few questions I had. Though she hasn't been back to school, and Shadow Stalker hasn't been out and about recently.”

“They probably gave her a nice cushy vacation with pay or something,” I said bitterly. “'Oh, you got caught doing something naughty? Here, have a slap on the wrist.'” I put on a snooty voice and mimicked a limp-wristed slap at my own hand as I said this. Peter's appreciative chuckle didn't help my temper. “Meanwhile, if we'd done that to her, we'd all be in jail right now.”

He stopped laughing abruptly as the truth of what I was saying smacked him in the face. “Sonuvabitch.”

“Yeah. What you just said.” My own anger ebbing, I looked at him curiously. “How do you know that about her, anyway?”

He tried to assume an innocent expression, which I saw through straight away. “Well, you know that little chat I had with Emma at the time?”

I frowned, trying to think back. “Uh, maybe?”

“Well, I did.” He smiled. “I spoke with her about … let's say … atoning for her sins. She decided to roll over on Sophia. In the process, she told me about the Shadow Stalker side of things.” His smile widened until he resembled the cat with the canary.

“Wait, so you knew since the locker thing, and you didn't tell me?” Feeling a little betrayed, I shoved him lightly. “What part of 'girlfriend' do you not understand?”

“Like I said, Uncle Max said not to tell you until you were a full member of the Empire,” he reminded me. “Information security and all that. But now you're definitely a full member, so I'm telling you. You just can't use the information unless Uncle Max says so.” He took hold of my shoulders once more and stared into my eyes. “This is important, Taylor. I'm trusting you with this.”

I nodded. “Okay, yeah, I got it. I can't tell anyone, and I can't use it, unless Kaiser says so.” I didn't like not being able to shout it from the rooftops, but I could see the logic there.

He smiled. “Excellent. So, are you motivated to learn how to kick ass?”

“Oh, hell yes. Next time I see Shadow Stalker, I'm going to wreck her sorry butt.” Stepping away from him a little, I tried to stand like he was. “What do I do first?”

“First off, you need to put your weight on the balls of your feet,” he instructed me. As I tried to comply, he glanced down and shook his head. “No, no, the front of your feet.” Lifting his right leg, he showed me the sole of his bare foot and pointed at the section just behind his toes. “There. Not the heel.”

“But the heel's more like a ball than that,” I protested, even as I obeyed his direction. “Why do they call that the balls of your feet? It doesn't make sense.”

“I have no idea.” He moved back in front of me, making the light sweats he wore look kind of awesome. I just looked like I was wearing hand-me-downs, which I guess I was. “I guess it's better than calling it 'the lumpy bit just behind your toes'. Now concentrate. We're not going to be doing kicks for a bit, if ever, but you do need to know how to throw a punch and defend from one.”

I nodded and held up my hands, doing my best to emulate his stance. “What am I doing first?”

The corner of his mouth quirked wryly. “Well, to begin with, I'm going to smack you around a lot until you learn to recognise the beginning of a hostile move. I'll show you what I'm doing, and then we're going to do it over and over again. Once you show that you've got some idea of what's happening, then we'll move into more advanced territory.”

“Yay.” I made my voice utterly deadpan. “Some boyfriend you are.”

He stopped and dropped his hands, then stepped toward me. “Taylor, I'm sorry.” Gone was the bantering tone. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he went on. “I wasn't even supposed to be doing this. I asked – we were – Jenna was supposed to do this with you. I should have been sitting on the sideline, offering unhelpful advice and making this fun.” His voice broke, and he wrapped his arms around me, pressing his face into my shoulder. I held him tightly, feeling warm tears soaking into my top.

“Hey,” I said, rubbing his back in circles. “Hey, Peter. Anything I do with you is fun. I'm sorry, too. I wish Jenna was here to smack me around, so you could tell me what I was doing wrong.” Turning my head, I kissed him behind the ear. At the touch of my lips, I felt him shiver. I could have had fun with that, but instead I just held him more tightly. “I miss her too.”

Somehow, we found ourselves on our knees, still in one another's arms. I held Peter tightly as, for the first time since I had known him, he broke down and cried.

<><> ​

Coil's Base

In one timeline, Thomas Calvert was enjoying the weekend at home; at this particular moment in time, he was mowing the lawn. In the other, the lawn was going unmowed and he was in costume, sitting in the overpriced yet ergonomically comfortable chair in the office that he had set up in his underground base.

In an idle moment, he had wondered if he wasn't pandering to stereotypes by setting up the base, complete with explosives buried in the walls, in an underground lair. The number of hoops he'd had to jump through in order to build the base without coming to official notice was astounding, though he'd managed to avoid most of the bribery involved by indulging in a little blackmail here and some murder there. But that was so time-consuming.

Why not simply build an office block and keep ownership of the top five storeys or so? There's no rule to say that a secret base actually has to be hidden. It would be simplicity itself to put his mercenaries on the books as regular employees and rig up daily operational stats for the faux business … ah, who am I kidding? It's more fun this way.

So he sat in his costume in his underground base and picked up the phone. Two quick stabs of his finger and the call went through.

“Unit One.” It was a low voice, masculine. “No sign of targets. Unit One, out.”

Tapping the disconnect button, he speed-dialled Unit Two, and so on through the spotting units that he had placed throughout the city. The main target he sought was a teenage girl called Taylor Hebert; the evidence that had been gathered so far suggested that she had undergone a trigger event nine days previously. Since the brief encounter on the Boardwalk, she had dropped out of sight altogether. However, the smart money had her with the Empire Eighty-Eight, either willingly or otherwise, along with her father.

If, as it seemed, she had been involved with the massacre of ABB goons that left Lung missing an arm, then she would appear to be a cape of some power and capability. Exactly what she could do was still not quite ascertained; the PRT analysts had narrowed it down to a Shaker effect of some sort, possibly telekinetic in nature.

Fresh trigger, powerful cape. Better she work for me than end up with the already-overflowing Empire lineup. And of course, her father makes the perfect 'bargaining' chip.

His secondary target was Peter Ferguson, known to associate with her at Winslow High School. The third was unlikely to show, but Coil rarely left things to chance; if Daniel Hebert popped up in any of his normal haunts, Calvert would get a head start on the bargaining.

The day wore on. In one timeline, Thomas Calvert finished mowing his lawn and started in on trimming the edges. In the other, Coil checked in once more with his spotters. The day wouldn't be a total waste even if none of the targets popped up; after all, the yard work had needed to be done anyway. But he would much rather his other goals be advanced.

Such was not to be. As darkness fell, he dropped the timeline where he'd kept the mercenaries on alert all day. In the reality where he had been cutting the grass, they had been resting and relaxing, performing basic equipment maintenance, and in general having a quiet day. He would pay them all the same, of course; there was no sense in alienating a reliable source of useful manpower.

Without good reason, anyway.

<><> ​

Sunday, 13 February, 2011

With my powers activated, opening the meeting-room doors was simplicity itself. Kaiser, Victor and Othala turned to look as I entered, the doors swinging shut gently behind me. This time, I was wearing the armour that Victor had made. The Empire Eighty-Eight was a powerful group; it only made sense to project power and confidence of my own.

Kaiser afforded me a nod of greeting, then turned to Krieg and began a low-voiced conversation. I moved around the table and pulled out my chair. As I sat down, Rune turned from where she had been speaking to Crusader and whispered, “Hey.”

Sliding back the retractable plates from my face, I whispered, “Hey,” in return.

Politeness when dealing with allies maintains group cohesion.

On my other side, Victor leaned forward to speak past Othala. “You should see the armour I'm putting together for you now. It'll knock your socks off.”

Expression: smile.

Conclusion: pleased with himself.

“I look forward to seeing it.” It was true. The armour I was wearing right now was quite impressive. Any improvements would only serve to enhance my utility within the team.

“Well, with the amount of work you're putting into it, buddy, she should be able to kick Alexandria's ass with it,” Crusader commented. “I've never seen you work so hard on an engineering project before.”

Expression: grin.

Analysis: humour, truthful.

Secondary analysis: Victor must not perform much engineering work in general.

Observation: Victor is very enthusiastic about working on armour.

Conclusion: Victor may wish to use engineering skill more often than he normally gets the chance to.

It was an interesting hypothesis.

Othala took my hand. “I hear you've been training with Peter. I hope he hasn't been too hard on you?”

Tone: concerned.

Conclusion: Does not want personal training to cause dissatisfaction between self and Empire.

“Peter has been teaching me adequately,” I replied. “We only started yesterday, and he says he is pleased with my progress. I am choosing to believe him.”

Again, this was the truth. I had learned, after several repetitions, to recognise when a hostile move was being made. Occasionally, I'd managed to block a punch. True, it was after Peter had given me warning, but I still managed it. For one day's work, Peter had professed to be quite satisfied.

“You want to learn to fight?” asked Hookwolf from further down the table. “Come to me, I'll teach you to kick ass and take names.”

Expression: sneer.

Conclusion: does not believe Peter's training is adequate.

“Not the best idea, Brad,” said Victor. “She's a teenage girl, not an aspiring cage fighter.”

Gesture: headshake.

Conclusion: negatory.

Hookwolf may have intended to say more but at that moment, Kaiser finished the low conversation he'd been having with Krieg and turned to face the table.

Vocalisation: clearing of throat.

Intent: to get attention.

“Thank you all for attending,” he said smoothly. “I'm going to keep this relatively short. As we all know, Remote has debuted in the Empire, but has yet to show her capabilities in the field.” His voice was firm and commanding, the cadence regular. It was very easy to listen to him.

“Well, apart from where she kicked Oni Lee's ass and blew Lung's arm off.” I had not expected Crusader to say anything. He leaned back in his chair, visor open.

Expression: grin.

Conclusion: pleased with himself.

Kaiser's expression changed slightly.

Expression: Lips curled in smile. Eyes cold. Mixed messages.

Intent: unsure.

“True,” he said, “but for that she wore no costume, had no cape name, and was not publicly affiliated with us.” He gestured toward me with one metal-clad hand. “Remote is a powerful cape. For the public to truly respect her, she needs to be seen out and about, proving how effective she is.”

Othala leaned forward. “Kaiser, I hope you're not talking about throwing her in at the deep end.”

Tone: concerned. She cares.

“Indeed I am not,” Kaiser replied easily. “Despite the fact that she's already defeated Lung and Oni Lee once, I wouldn't put her up against them again so soon. Then, she had the element of surprise. On a second pass, unprepared, she may not be so lucky. This time, we're going to be handing out a beating to the Merchants.”

Observation: allies 'Othala' and 'Victor' relaxing slightly.

Conclusion: danger minimal.

“Well, that's all right then,” Crusader said.

Expression: broad grin.

Analysis: very pleased about something.

“Oh, man,” said Victor. “That's perfect. The closest they've got to a big hitter is Squealer. They are not gonna know what happened.”

Vocalisation: laughter.

Analysis: highly amused.

“Correct,” Kaiser said. “Remote will have backup, of course, but with the armour that Victor is building for her, I do not foresee a problem.”

Tone: firm.

Conclusion: believes what he is saying.

“So, are we actually taking their territory?” Hookwolf leaned forward on the table “Or just kicking the shit out of the druggies to show 'em who's boss?”

Tone: arrogant, dismissive.

Analysis: believes this is a waste of time.

Secondary analysis: combative, obstructive.

“We may take a block or two,” Kaiser allowed. “As you say, just to show them who's boss. But their greater loss will be watching their leaders humbled by just one cape. Once word of that gets around, the Merchants will start to fragment from the inside. When the time comes to take their territory, we will brush them aside with ease.”

Tone: pleased.

“That's if the kid can handle her end.” Hookwolf was looking at me, his lip curled upward.

Expression: derision.

“Well, Remote?” asked Kaiser. “Do you believe that you can pull it off?”

Tone: encouraging.

Situational analysis: a simple statement of fact will not suffice. An expression of humour is required.

Secondary analysis: a pun playing on the word 'merchant' would be ideal.

…

…

Pun achieved.

Assume expression: smile.

“By the time I'm finished with them, sir, the Merchants will be demanding a refund.”

Vocal expression from allies 'Victor', 'Othala', 'Rune', 'Crusader': laughter.

Facial expression from allies 'Kaiser', 'Alabaster', 'Menja', 'Fenja': smile.

“Well spoken, Remote.” Kaiser steepled his fingers together. “That's settled then. Does anyone have any other business they want to bring up?”

<><> ​

“So you're really going after the Merchants?” Peter closed and feinted at my face; I ducked out of the way, only to catch his foot in my stomach. He pulled the blow as much as he could, but it still kind of knocked the wind out of me, and I sat down hard on the mat.

“Whoof, yeah,” I said, rubbing my solar plexus gently. “No fair, you said we weren't going to be doing any kicking.” I tried not to let a complaining note enter my voice, but I did feel a little put upon.

“No, what I said was that you weren't going to be learning how to kick,” he corrected me, leaning down and offering his hand. I accepted, and he pulled me easily to my feet. “Kicking's not the easiest thing in the world to learn, and it's one of the fastest ways to find yourself on your ass. I will be teaching you how to recognise a kick before it comes at you, though.”

“Now you tell me,” I said, wrinkling my nose at him. “Peter, I love you dearly, but you're way too intense when it comes to teaching me how to fight.”

“Taylor.” He put his hands on my shoulders. I looked into his piercing blue eyes, and sighed internally. When he gave me 'that' look, I was powerless to disagree with him.

I looked at the floor. “I said something stupid again, didn't I?” I might be a cape, and technically his superior in the Empire, but he knew a lot more about how it ran than I did, so I was definitely willing to listen to him about what was going on. And besides, I knew Peter would never get angry with me; he'd had too many chances before now. But it was fun to pretend that I thought he was angry; him being extra nice to me was … well, really nice. Even though I couldn't help but suspect that he knew exactly what I was doing anyway.

“Not stupid. Never stupid.” He sighed, and used one hand to tilt my chin up to look at him. “Taylor, you're the exact opposite of stupid. But there's no sense in being anything other than totally dedicated about learning how to fight. If you're not paying attention, then you're going to get hurt a little now or a lot later on, when the fight's for real. You get what I'm saying?” His voice was patient and loving while managing to avoid being patronising.

Slowly, I nodded. “Yeah, I get it. If I'm gonna do this, I've gotta learn to do it right. And 'dedicated' is the right way to learn how to fight.” I stepped forward and put my arms around him. He reciprocated, embracing me warmly. I thought about kissing him, but there was a strong chance that if I did that, we'd never get back to training. So instead I held him tightly, shutting my eyes and enjoying the closeness.

“Besides,” he murmured into my ear, “if you think my training is intense, you don't ever want to train under Hookwolf.” His breath tickled, and I felt shivers down my spine. I wriggled and pressed a little more closely to him.

“Yeah, he offered,” I said softly. “Pass, thanks.” I was pretty sure that I wouldn't get hugs and kind words from the greasy-haired Changer; nor did I want them from him. Ew. Just ew.

“Okay,” he decided after a few more moments of just standing there, “time to get back to training.”

He loosened his grip on me, but I refused to do the same. “Do we have to?” I was trying not to sound like I was complaining, but I had been enjoying just being with Peter.

“Well,” he murmured with a grin in his voice, “I could always start tickling you.” I thought I felt his fingers start to ghost along my ribs …

“Eep!” I yelped, breaking my grip and leaping backward. “Hands off, buster!” While I enjoyed most forms of physical contact with Peter – those that I'd tried, that is, which didn't include any sort of adults-only activity, thank you very much – we had found that Peter was extremely adept at finding my ticklish spots, whereas I was only mediocre at finding his. So he had an unfair advantage in any tickle war.

“Make me,” he suggested, advancing on me with intent. I backed away for a few steps, then realised that was what Peter wanted me to do. Once you have your opponent backing up, it's not long before they retreat or surrender.

So I stopped and shaped up; when Peter got close enough, I threw a punch which hit him in the shoulder. He reached for me again, so I punched him in the chest. This time, he backed up a little. “Perfect,” he said cheerfully. “If someone's coming at you, you stand your ground and stop 'em hard. Rock them back on their heels and make them wonder if it's really worth coming at you again.”

That had seemed a little too easy. “You let me hit you, didn't you?” I accused him.

He smirked. “I plead the Fifth. But, if it's any consolation, pretty soon I won't have to. You're starting to show a little bit of form, which is good.” He smiled broadly as he tapped his shoulder and chest. “Good solid hits. I felt them both.”

I felt a surge of pride at his praise. Peter didn't lie about this sort of thing.

“So now let's see if you can do it again,” he went on. “But this time I'll be defending.” He brought up his hands in the now-familiar posture that he had been patiently teaching me.

Oh boy. This, I knew, was going to be a whole lot harder.

<><> ​

That Evening
Coil's Base

“Unit Six here. I have eyes on primary and secondary targets. On Boardwalk, just passing McKendrick Street, over.” The voice on the phone tried to sound detached, but Calvert could hear the suppressed excitement.

He sat up straight in his chair. “This is Coil. Any other Empire personnel on site, over?”

Unit Six did not take long to reply. “Affirmative. There's a loose cordon around them, not wearing colours. I count ten. Not drawing attention, over.”

“Trail and observe. Do not intercept. I say again, do not intercept, over.” Adrenaline washed through his body. Two days of searching almost everywhere, and the targets were spotted walking on the Boardwalk of all places.

“Trail and observe, do not intercept, roger. Unit Six, out.” The call ended, and Coil began checking the map to see where his other units were. He didn't intend to use half-measures here.

This was, of course, only half of what he was doing. In another line of reality, he had proceeded downtown and was watching a play. A pretentious piece of crap in his opinion, but it was something to pass the time and to keep his options open. And nobody would notice, or even mind, if he seemed to be zoned out while the play was going on.

Carefully, methodically, he began calling in his other units, the farthest ones first. By the time he finished, he intended to have that area of the Boardwalk saturated with his men. It would not be quiet or subtle by any stretch of the imagination, but he would be fine with dropping even a successful operation if he could get the information he wanted from it first.

One by one, his men began to call in, reporting that they were in place. Some had eyes on the couple, others had eyes on the obvious and not so obvious Empire members scattered around, and a few of his men were hanging back in case someone tried to make a run for it. The young couple seemed to be oblivious to it all, strolling hand in hand along the Boardwalk. If they were talking, nobody could hear what they were saying.

After half an hour that seemed to stretch into eternity, the last man was in place. There was now a cordon around Ferguson and the Hebert girl that was three men deep; four, in some places. His men knew their business; nobody crowded too close or gathered in groups. He spoke in a measured voice, detailing targets to each of his men. For him to capture the young couple, each of the Empire thugs would have to be neutralised first. Dialling in a conference call, he waited until the connections went through, then spoke a single word. “Go.”

Each of his men was wearing a body cam, combined with GPS technology, he was able to place them on the boardwalk, and see what was happening in front of them. From the moment he spoke, suppressed shots dropped nearly all the Empire goons in approximately two seconds. The last few survivors got off shots that killed two of his men and wounded three more, before they were cut down.

By this time, Ferguson and Hebert were running toward the oncoming cordon. The boy had a pistol out; the girl was unarmed but she seemed unafraid. Coil frowned. There was something wrong here. Is this a suicide play? “Arm and leg shots,” he ordered. “Take them alive.”

The boy fired at the nearest of Coil's men, dropping him. Damn. He's good. In the time it took for Coil to think that, another two men went down. The girl was bending over one of the dead goons, rummaging at his waist. But Coil's men were taking aim now; they had not been able to bring their rifles on to the Boardwalk, due to concealability issues, but they were trained in pistol combat as well. Their targets were stationary; basically, they were asking to be shot. But no shots were fired, except by Ferguson, who was calmly picking off the men as they came running at him.

“Shoot, I said,” snapped Coil. He began to suspect that this situation was starting to go out of control.

“Unit four here. We're trying. Our guns aren't firing.” On Four's body-cam, Taylor Hebert straightened up with a pistol in each hand. Pointing her arms straight out in two different directions, she began to fire both pistols as fast as the actions would cycle. Coil leaned back in his chair. There's no way she can hit anything without even … He blinked, and looked again at the screen. One after another, his men were falling like ninepins. More than half of his assault force mowed down by two teenagers! How the fuck is she doing that?

“Reserve force, you're up,” he ordered. “Rifles from long range. Tranq rounds. Keep firing until we know they're down.” He hadn't wanted to use tranq rounds before now because the formulation had different effects on targets of different body mass, and Ferguson was a totally different kettle of fish to his skinny girlfriend. A shot that would drop the boy might well kill the girl; alternatively, something that would put her into dreamland might only make him woozy.

However, he had also entertained the possibility that some unforeseen circumstance might cause problems with the main force, so he had set up the reserve force with rifles, concealed in cars parked across the road from the Boardwalk. It was a long shot for tranq rounds, but it was a very useful hole card to be able to play.

“Reserve force, roger. Readying tranq rounds now. We have eyes on, we have eyes on. Do we have a green light, over?” At last, something that was going to go right. Behind the cloth of his mask, Coil smiled.

“Green light. I say again, green light. Over.” He clicked the mouse button to select the camera attached to the spotter scope looking out through the car window. On it, he saw the Hebert girl shoot one of his men in the head, allowing Ferguson to scoop up his fallen pistol and shoot two more.

“Green light, roger. Firing now.” Coil leaned forward to watch. Torturing her for information was going to be fun. He waited for the shot.

“Weapon jam, I say again, weapon jam. Applying immediate action.” The spotter scope was jostled slightly, but on it, Coil saw the Hebert girl turn to look directly into the camera. Her lips moved, saying something. He wasn't great at lip-reading, but it seemed to be 'go away'. Abruptly, the viewpoint was moving sideways. “Hey, what …?”

“Reserve force, reserve force. Report status, over.” He tried not to clutch the phone too tightly in his hand. I need to upgrade her threat status immediately.

The voice that came through was the spotter. “Reserve force reporting. Status is that we are moving. Nobody is driving, but the car is definitely moving. Over.” There was a hint of concern in the man's voice, but he wasn't panicking, yet.

“Abandon vehicle,” Coil ordered. “Reserve force, abandon vehicle asap. I say again, abandon vehicle. Over.” This timeline was lost, Coil knew, but he had to find out the limits of the Hebert girl's powers. Everything he learned in this timeline was something he could use the next time around.

“Abandoning vehicle, roger.” The spotter scope was dropped, to point at one of the doors. A hand came into view, yanking at the door handle to no good effect. “Unable to abandon vehicle. I say again, unable to abandon vehicle. Over.” Now the man was definitely afraid. The vehicle must have swerved, because the camera rolled over and fell on the floor of the car.

“Oh shiii -!” That came from the sniper, but Coil could not see why he was screaming. There was a booming crash, and the camera rattled around so fast that he felt queasy watching the image. When it stilled, he could not make sense of the image at first, until he tilted his head sideways. The camera seemed to be stuck under the car seat, pointing at the left ear of one of his men. How the man ended up in that position, he had no idea.

There was little more that he could glean from that timeline, so he dropped it. The play droned on; checking the program, he decided that he hadn't missed much, even when he'd been distracted. And he would continue to be distracted, until he had figured out both what her abilities were and how to overcome them. As he pondered, he split the timelines again. In one line, he stayed to watch the rest of the play. In the other, he went back to his car, to return to his base. Once the play was over, that version of him would go home. Time for Plan B. If I can't get control of her, she's too dangerous to leave alive.

<><> ​

Boardwalk

Leaning on the rail, I smiled as Peter gallantly draped his jacket over my shoulders. “Thank you,” I murmured, leaning up against him. Truth be told, it wasn't that cold, but I did enjoy the little extra warmth, and I especially enjoyed the tiny gestures of attentiveness that he paid me. As his arm went around me, I snuggled into him.

“You're welcome, Taylor,” he replied. His voice held amusement as he went on. “So, was I right or was I wrong?” I could feel the smugness coming off of him. But if I was to be honest with myself, he had kind of earned it.

“You were right,” I conceded. “Yes, I expected someone to point me out and make a scene. But it's like nothing even happened here. No superheroes, no PRT. Not even a traffic cop.” It was kind of weird. The image that the PRT and Protectorate tried to project was that of incorruptible, relentless vigilance; I had been apprehensive about going out, on the grounds that I would be recognised and challenged before we walked ten yards. So far, the outing had been kind of anticlimactic. Which I didn't mind in the slightest.

When I came to think about it, though, it kind of made sense. The PRT only had so many people. So did the Protectorate. And if they were covering areas known for their crime rates, they weren't covering other areas. Which, right then, I was kind of grateful for. While the rooms that I shared with Dad weren't precisely a rat-infested dungeon, and I had all the companionship that I wanted (especially with Peter) it was still nice to get out and about. I had missed the open air.

Unfortunately, until I managed to clear up the misunderstanding about Dad and Panacea and Victor and Glory Girl, I was almost certainly wanted as an accessory or for aiding and abetting or something similar. I didn't know the exact term, but I was sure that the PRT or even the ordinary police wanted to have words with me, probably with the phrase 'under arrest' in there somewhere.

And it wasn't even my fault. Nor was it Victor's fault. Glory Girl had made it perfectly clear that she wasn't listening to reason, so while violence against her was doomed to failure, giving her something else to worry about (such as a lightly injured Panacea) was a perfectly valid tactic. Not that I had wanted the healer to get hurt, especially after saving Dad's life, but every other solution to the situation risked either too much collateral damage or capture at Glory Girl's hands. Or, of course, both.

“Well, the Boardwalk is more or less the last place that anyone would expect to find someone the police want to talk to,” he observed. “It's a really public place, but at the same time it's extremely private, if only because there's such a lot of it. You can't really surveil a place like this without either being obvious about it, or leaving gaps in the coverage.” He spoke with authority, but I thought I heard familiar phrasing in what he was saying.

“Is that you, or are you quoting someone?” I asked, reaching up to take his hand. His fingers immediately closed over mine, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.

“Uncle Max, mainly,” he confessed. “A lot of people in his position let the power go to their heads, and lean on their powers for everything. He's always careful, thinking about mundane ways to deal with problems. I admire that a lot in him.” His voice was meditative as he continued. “He once told Father, when neither of them knew I was listening, that I was his choice to lead the Empire, if and when I gained powers, and once I was old enough. Ever since then, I've done my best to learn how to be a good leader. Now I'm wondering if that accidental slip was so accidental after all.”

I had to chuckle; turning, I kissed him fondly, my lips only partly meeting his, but not caring. “Peter, your uncle is one of the smartest men I know. He had to have seen the potential in you from the beginning. I see it every day. I see his influence in you all the time.”

He sighed and turned his hand so that his fingers laced through mine. “I don't think he'd be so confident in me if he saw the way I doubt myself all the time. I'm constantly second-guessing myself. What if I'd brought more people to rescue you? What if I hadn't brought Jenna? Did I kill my friends through my stupidity? Did I nearly get you killed by being your boyfriend?” His cheek rubbed against my hair. “You're the only person I can even say this sort of thing to any more. I need a reality check. If I'm screwing up, please tell me.” His voice, low enough to not be heard by the surrounding bodyguards, was almost pleading at the end.

I felt awed and humbled that Peter, whom I admired above almost all else and wanted to spend my life with, was opening his heart and unveiling his secret fears to me. Letting go his hand, I turned and wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. I wanted to give him the sort of kiss that my grandfather had once referred to as 'requirin' an engagement ring' but I didn't quite have the nerve to do that in front of the men who stood around at odd distances, ostensibly enjoying the night air.

Instead, I whispered to him as intensely as I could. “Peter. Jenna was my best friend. I liked Bronson almost as much as I love you. Yes, they're both dead, and Dad's still in a coma, but it's not your fucking fault. You did the best you could with what you had, and as a result, we're both still alive, George is still alive, and you've proven that you're as good a leader as the Empire is ever likely to get.” He went to speak, but I rushed on. “Your uncle isn't stupid. He's seen what sort of a leader you are. If he'd thought you'd failed, you would know it. Tell me that isn't true.”

Peter stood silent for the space of two long breaths. Then he kissed me. I closed my eyes as fireworks flashed in my brain and I was sure that my toes were curling. By the time it ended, I was kind of breathless, but my heart was as calm as it had ever been. He held me tightly, and I returned the gesture. He had given me his answer, and shown his gratitude, in that one kiss.

“Taylor.” His voice was a whisper, his eyes searching out mine in the moonlit dimness. “I have two things to tell you. I'm pretty sure that I'm not cleared to tell you either one, but I can't do this any more. I can't lie to you. If we're going to be a couple, if you're going to be my wife when we're old enough, then I want it to be because you know and accept the truth, not because we've been lying to you all this time.”

His words sent a chill down my spine, even as my mind exulted, he wants me to be his wife! “Peter, what are you saying? Are we in danger?”

He grimaced. “No, but I'd prefer you hate me and leave me now rather than you hate me and leave me because you found out after years of living a lie with me.” I felt his fists clench as they rested at my back. “Just please understand, I never wanted to hurt you. Not ever.”

“Okay, now you're scaring me,” I said softly. “If you think what what you have to say will make me hate you, then never say it. I don't want to hear it.” I tried to convince myself that was true, even though a sharp, suspicious part of me wondered what he was talking about.

He took a deep breath, then let it out. His voice was sad. “I can't just drop it. One thing I learned from Uncle Max is that you can betray your enemies, but you can never betray your allies. Taylor … I first approached you because I wanted to get you close to the Empire, not because I was interested in you, personally.” He paused, as if expecting me to punch him or something.

I raised my chin. “Let me stop you right there. You wanted to present a fait accompli to Dad, that you and the Empire were protecting me from the bullies, and maybe he would look more favourably on the Empire? Maybe let them form closer ties with the Dockworkers?” It was one of three scenarios that I had worked out. Unworkable of course, but looking back, I could see how they might have thought it possible. “You do realise that Dad would have shot any idea like that down in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah, I know that now,” he agreed ruefully. “I can see where you get your stubbornness from. But … you aren't pissed at me?” He looked puzzled.

“Oh, yeah, I'm pissed.” I rolled my eyes. “I'm so goddamn pissed that the idiot who was supposed to be manipulating me to influence my father went and fell in love with me, and saved me from the bullies anyway.” My voice was as flat as I could make it. “You maybe didn't stop to think that I'm even more insecure than you are, and I've already been through every possible scenario in my mind as to why someone like you was choosing to spend time with someone like me? And that I just might have figured that one out and decided that even if it was true, it was no longer valid, and having you in my life is fucking worth it?”

He winced at the cutting sarcasm in my voice. “Um … no?”

I pushed back away from him, and prodded him in the chest with my knuckle, hard enough to hurt. To his credit, he didn't step back, although he did wince. I was pretty sure I'd gotten him on a bruise. Good. “So how stupid do you think I am anyway, Mister Ferguson?”

That was a huge, yawning pit trap, right there. Fortunately for Peter's future well-being, he didn't step into it. “I don't think you're stupid. I've just been a monumental idiot. I've been telling Uncle Max how smart you were, and all the while I've been forgetting that you are actually that smart.”

I chuckled hollowly and shook my head. “Peter, seriously? You're lucky I'm here now to bail you out of shit like this. You're handsome, you're smart, you're charismatic, your family's loaded as fuck, and you've got the makings of a great leader … but your timing sucks.” Grabbing him by the shoulders, I shook him a little.

“My … timing?” He sounded as bewildered as if he'd just wandered on to a movie set and been handed a script and told to get on with it.

“My Dad, you idiot.” I shook him some more, hoping it would jolt his brain into gear. “Currently under care in your uncle's own medical facility? Remember him? The only thing that's letting him get better is Kaiser's goodwill and Othala's power?”

“Oh. Fuck.” The sound of belated realisation in his voice was almost worth the irritation. “Shit. I'm sorry.”

I rolled my eyes again. “If I'd decided just now that I couldn't work with the Empire any more because oh, the betrayal,” I essayed a theatrical groan and put the back of my hand to my forehead, “where exactly would I take him where he could get anything like competent care while making sure that the PRT wouldn't be on my ass twenty-four hours of the day? The fucking PRT, that's where. And the very last people I want to be beholden to is that hot mess of assholes and race traitors. So if you really wanted me to have a fair choice, you could have at least waited until Dad was up and around again.”

He lowered his eyes, his shoulders slumping. “Taylor. I am so sorry. I never meant to put you through all that..” He sounded … defeated. Like all of his pride had just been dragged out of him and stomped flat.

“Hey.” My voice was quiet. “It's all right.” He glanced up at me as if to see whether I meant it, and I lifted one corner of my mouth in a half-smile. “I'm still here, I still love you for some unfathomable reason, and yes, you big dope, I do want to marry you someday. No matter how much you fuck up, I will support you every day of your life. So long as you admit it when you do fuck up. And trust me, I'll be there to point it out to you because I love you.” And I did. Despite all the twists and turns in our relationship, that was one constant. Once he fell in love with me, he was there for me, no matter what. Just as I would be there for him.

“Wow, Taylor, holy shit.” He sounded like a condemned man pardoned at the eleventh hour. Moving a few steps to a seat, he slid down into it, as if his knees would no longer support him. Although there was plenty of room beside him, I chose to seat myself across his lap.

“Yes?” I asked sweetly. Watching Peter flail like this was kind of entertaining. I put my arms around his neck. Well trained, he put his arms around my waist. Good boy.

He shook his head. “Uncle Max has one thing wrong. He thinks I'm the one in charge of this relationship. Please don't ever tell him differently?”

I giggled. “I respect the man immensely, but he is kind of patriarchal. Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Well, it was our secret, but much the same thing. I kicked my legs gently back and forth. “So, there was a second thing you wanted to tell me?”

He drew a deep breath. “After you hauled me over the coals for the first one, I'm not sure if I should tell you.”

“Peter.” I fixed him with a steady gaze. “Will it make me want to leave?” I devoutly hoped that it would not be a second secret like the first one.

He frowned in concentration. “I don't think so. In fact, if anything, it will make you more likely to want to stay.”

“So tell me.” I gazed at him expectantly.

“I'm not sure …”

I had rarely seen him so indecisive. This was not the time for indecision. “Peter. Yes or no. Tell me what it is, or ask me to forget that you told me it existed.”

“Right.” He drew a deep breath and made a high sign; all the Empire guys faded back until they were definitely out of earshot. “You know how Uncle Max has two lieutenants?” It was his turn to give me an expectant look.

“Krieg and Hookwolf, yes. Purity used to be one, before she left.” I had spoken with Krieg, very briefly. He struck me as someone with a lot of reserve. Hookwolf, on the other hand, was a savage in civilised clothing. He made no secret of who or what he was. Which was someone I didn't like and didn't want to know. But at least he didn't try to bully me. “What about it?”

To his credit, he didn't hesitate. “He approached me yesterday, and asked me about you. It was meant to be casual conversation, but Uncle Max never does casual conversation. I figured out afterward that he might have been sounding me out about the possibility of making you into his third lieutenant.”

“Me?” To my mortification, I was so stunned that my voice squeaked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Me? Why me? I'm the newest member, for fuck's sake!”

“My guess? Because you're the most powerful new member,” he said, quite accurately. “Also, you're young, and any new members we get after you are also likely to be young. So it makes sense that he'd want someone in a position of command who can relate to the new members. And, like I said before, he was really impressed about how you went after Lung with a pistol.” He grinned at the expression on my face.

I finally managed to pick up my jaw again. “But … but …”

“But wait, there's more,” he announced, mock-portentously. “As a brand new trigger, you were faced with Lung and Oni Lee. You not only survived, but you managed to think on your feet and beat the crap out of both of them. You think fast, and you make the right decisions. Uncle Max likes that a lot.” He hugged me to him, and kissed my earlobe. “I am so goddamn proud of you.”

“Great.” I managed to fake anger well enough to make him pull back and stare at me. “Thanks a bunch, you monumental idiot.” His jaw to dropped in turn, and it was all I could do not to snicker out loud at the look on his face.

“What?” he asked plaintively. “It's a good thing, isn't it?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, but now I've got to pretend to be surprised when he springs this on me. Do you have any idea how hard that's gonna be?” A moment later, I burst out laughing at the look on his face.

“You totally had me going.” His expression was rueful. “I really believed you were pissed at me.”

I let myself snicker out loud, then I kissed him. “I know. It was fun.”

“You are an evil, evil woman.” This did not stop him from kissing me back, something that I had been counting on.

“Well, duh.” I snuggled with him. Interestingly enough, now that the air had been somewhat cleared, I felt more at ease with him than ever. Sometimes, knowing that your idol had feet of clay took away the unreasonable expectations. I wasn't going to argue with that.

A cold breeze swept in, and I shivered, even inside the coat. “Wow, there's a bit of a nip in the air.”

“Nah, that's just what they said when you blew Lung's arm off,” he countered with a grin, miming a ballistic arc with one hand, and making the sound of something whistling through the air then hitting the ground.

The joke was terrible, but I couldn't help laughing. “You've been listening to your dad again, haven't you?” One thing was for sure; that wasn't one of Kaiser's. Kaiser didn't do jokes. Especially 'Dad' jokes.

“Guilty as charged,” he replied with a smirk. “Want to head back to the car? I mean, I'm good to keep going if you are, but it is getting a bit cold.” He would go with whatever I chose, I knew for a fact. Peter would hobble on bloody stumps before he would admit to not being able to keep up.

“That's a good idea, actually,” I said. “I think I've had enough fresh air for tonight. And you proved your point. Nothing ever happens down at the Boardwalk.” I got up off his lap and took his hand once he got up. His presence made me feel safe and secure.

“Can I quote you on that?” he asked ingenuously. I saw a grin spreading across his face.

“What? Nothing ever happens on the Boardwalk?” I raised my eyebrows. “Why would you want to quote that?”

“No.” He chuckled. “That I proved my point. You're about the only one of my girlfriends who ever let me have the last word on something.” His tone was light, but his eyes said much more.

I could have made a comment about a stopped clock or a blind squirrel, but I didn't. I just smiled and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

“Let's go home,” he said quietly.

“Let's,” I agreed.



End of Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen

 

The Slippery Slope

Part Seventeen: Behind the Scenes



[A/N: This chapter beta-read, and definitely improved, by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Monday, February 14, 2011
Coil

He stood atop the tallest building in Brockton Bay, surveying all that he ruled. Absolute power was his, now and forever. “Bring me the head of Emily Piggot!” he commanded.

“At once, Director!” exclaimed Armsmaster in an appropriately servile tone, and scurried off to do his bidding.

Rolling over in bed, Thomas Calvert smiled. In the other timeline, Coil could see the inconsistencies in the dreamscape, but chose not to bother his sleeping self with them. It was a very nice dream after all. A dream which, in one form or another, he intended to bring to fruition. Which was why he was up before dawn on this day, managing his troops. Plan B was simple. Acquire secondary target. Interrogate secondary target for information about primary target.

There were three places that Calvert could get hold of Peter Ferguson. The first was at home, the second was in transit to Winslow High, and the third was of course at Winslow itself.

He rejected the idea of grabbing the boy at the school, due to the high likelihood of unforeseen factors coming into play. While Shadow Stalker was no longer at Winslow, there were members of the Empire there who would most certainly object. They probably wouldn't succeed in driving off his men, but the chance of Peter being cut down in the crossfire was very much a non-zero factor.

In transit was also problematic; Ferguson drove himself to and from school in a four-by-four, and there was a good chance that he varied his routes and timing so that it would be hard for anyone to pinpoint him for an assassination or abduction attempt. It was what Calvert himself would have done.

So, a home grab was best. In addition, that ensured the presence of Ferguson's father and sisters; sometimes, the best torture was applied to someone the target loved. Thinking ahead, Calvert had placed Creep on the home invasion team. Some of his soldiers might balk at being ordered to brutalise children. Others … would not.

One timeline had Thomas Calvert asleep in bed, dreaming of universal conquest. In the other, he reached forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Go,” he ordered. The van's engine roared, as did those of the two other vehicles full of his men. The entrance to the Willow Heights gated community was directly ahead; there was a sliding gate, locked with a passcode. He hadn't bothered taking the time to acquire the passcode, reasoning that this was a disposable timeline after all. Smash their way in, hit the family while they were still asleep and get the information out of the boy. It was a plan.

As the van leaped forward, Coil sent an impulse to his other self to wake up and grab a notepad. He would need this information later on, after all. Bracing himself, he waited for the impact with the sliding gate. It was harsher than he had expected; the members of the gated community had obviously paid top dollar for their security precautions. Pity it won't do them any good.

The ram-bar on the front of the van did its job, smashing the gate off its runners and flinging it aside. He already knew which address they were heading for; it would only take a minute to get there, long before any police response could be arranged. Likewise, he had the layout of the house, acquired after hours of digging through old files online. Barring unforeseen circumstances, this should be a snap.

That was when all four tyres blew.

Fortunately, he was still bracing himself; as the van screeched and swerved to a halt, he wasn't flung forward. One of his soldiers was caught off guard; losing his grip, he cannoned into Coil, crunching him up against the framework behind the driver's seat. Calvert was reasonably sure he felt a rib go, but there was no time to shoot the man, or even reprimand him. They were on the clock. I'll torture him later.

“Out!” he shouted, trying to ignore the stab of pain every time he inhaled. “We're on foot now! Go, go, go!”

The side door was wrenched open and the men tumbled out, spreading out to form a perimeter. He climbed painfully out after them, favouring his left side. Something in there grated when he turned the wrong way, and the stab of agony nearly put him on the ground. Feels like a broken rib, all right. Calvert had suffered many broken bones, nearly all in discarded timelines, and he was reasonably good at identifying them. Just because it had never happened didn't mean he couldn't remember it.

All three vans had been stopped, skewed here and there on the road, tyres flattened. Looking back, it wasn't hard to determine the cause; a series of spikes had popped up from the roadway just inside the gate at the moment that the barrier had been breached. Fucking top of the line security precautions. God damn it. It was a good thing that this was a disposable timeline, because it was starting to exhibit all the signs of a classic clusterfuck.

Still, the overall objective was achievable if they hustled. “Move out,” he ordered. “You know the address. We need to secure it ASAP.” He gestured to Creep. “You're with me. The rest of you, go!” He watched them move off; in the predawn dusk, their urban camouflage let them blend in almost flawlessly with their surroundings. Despite their weapon loadouts and equipment webbing, they loped along tirelessly, justifying the money he spent on keeping them trained and fit.

“What do I do, sir?” Creep stayed alongside him as he hobbled along, trying not to wince at the pain in his side. The man was loyal to a fault, but he wasn't overly bright.

“You stick with me,” Coil told him. “Just in case one of these homeowners decides to defend his property with extreme prejudice.” He smiled under his mask. “Feel free to shoot to kill.” He hoped it wouldn't come to that – after all, he was wearing no body armour – but right now, he didn't want anything else going wrong.

Creep's face was hidden behind the visor to his helmet, but his voice suggested a cheerful smile. “Yes, sir.”

Calvert hobbled on a few more steps before he realised that something was wrong. All around him, in every house he could see, lights were coming on. Up and down the street, as far as the eye could see. This wasn't just one householder waking up and wondering what the noise was; it was everyone getting up, even those who couldn't possibly have heard it. Everyone in the gated community. Even the Fergusons. Fuck. They'll know something's wrong.

Still, the street was quiet. There was no rapid-response force bearing down on them right now. Which meant that there was still a possibility of success. Gritting his teeth, he hobbled on. The pain in his side was worse now, but he did his best to ignore it. He would hold on to this timeline until the very last moment, and get everything he could out of it.

It took ten long minutes to cover the distance that his men had covered in two. By the time he got there, with Creep still at his side, the man called Fish was standing out at the front, waiting for him. He eyed the house; the front door looked intact, and the men he could see were surrounding the house, not kicking their way in. And then he noticed that, while the surrounding houses were still lit up, the windows in the Ferguson residence were dark. What's going on?

“Report,” he husked. There was a coppery taste in the back of his throat now; whatever internal injuries he had were being exacerbated by the exertion. Not that he cared, right at this moment. As soon as he dropped the timeline, he'd be just fine. In the other timeline, he was still sitting on the bed with a pencil and pad in hand. Details of the Willow Heights gated community security setup were being noted down for future reference.

Fish gestured at the high fence that surrounded the property, and the gate that had apparently been forced open. “As soon as we crossed the perimeter, lights came up and shutters dropped over the windows. We dealt with the lights, but there's no easy ingress to be had. Even the front door is wood veneer over steel, as far as we can tell. We can get through the shutters easily enough,” he added, tapping the laser undermount on his rifle, “but we were waiting on you for authorisation.”

Coil nodded. Even though he had been hoping that they'd have the place secure by the time he arrived, it was a sensible move to wait for the okay before using the Tinkertech lasers. Nobody knew his men had them, after all. Of course, this being a disposable timeline, nobody would know even after this, so the point was moot. Not that Fish would know this. “Understood. You have a green light. Go.”

Keying his lapel mic, Fish gave the order. Coil watched as the men around the house employed their undermount lasers to carve holes in the windows and doors. The weird subsonic screech put his teeth on edge, but it was worth it to see the steel plates fall away, carved through like soft butter up against a hot knife. A moment later, the barriers were kicked out and the men were in the house. He started forward, through the gate, with Creep and Fish flanking him. Over the radio, he could hear steady reports as the men cleared the house, room by room.

By the time he reached the front door, the radio had mostly fallen silent. Nobody had been shot; in fact, there was nobody to be found in the house at all. Bedrooms had been located, the beds recently slept in, but they were empty. At his order, the men began to search the house more thoroughly, checking cupboards and closets, but he was starting to get a sinking feeling.

“You were covering the rear of the house as well?” It wasn't quite a question, but he strongly suspected that he knew the answer. His men might be mercenaries, but they were well trained.

“Well, of course.” Fish's tone was almost offended. “First place I sent them.”

“And you've secured the garage?” He had to cover that base as well. The last thing he wanted was for Ferguson to come roaring out of that garage in his truck when they had no means of keeping up.

“Yes, sir. Garage is secure and the vehicles have been disabled.” Which answered that. There would be no last-minute escapes for the Fergusons.

“Sir. Sirens.” That was Creep. He had turned and was looking toward the entrance to Willow Heights. That entrance was blocked, but there was another one, which the police would certainly know about. From the sound of the sirens, they were coming closer.

Fuck. He tried to think. How would I pull off a disappearing act like that? Option one was a panic room. That was a distinct possibility; it was a big house, after all. It wouldn't be hard to conceal a reasonably-sized bolt-hole in all that. And if the entrance was camouflaged, which seemed likely, then they could search the house forever until they found it. However, there was another option. What if the Ferguson boy is a parahuman? It was not beyond the realms of possibility, after all. For all he knew, the kid's father was Kaiser himself. It had been known for years that kids of parahumans tended to get powers.

I need more information. Which I'm not going to have time to collect right now. Fuck.

The sirens were much closer now. He estimated that it was only a few minutes before they got there. Looking around, he saw that the sun was just starting to rise. I'm done here. He dropped the timeline.

<><>

Medhall Building

Max Anders was watching the sun rise through the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, a glass of exquisitely expensive bourbon in his hand, when he heard the tap on the door. “Come in,” he called over his shoulder, but didn't turn. He knew who it would be; James knocked the same way, every time.

The door opened, then closed again. He heard the soft footfalls as James crossed to the small table that held the glass that Max had left for him. There was the faintest of scrapes as his lieutenant took up the glass, then James joined him in admiring the sunrise. As the light became brighter, the glass – actually, an expensive polycarbonate – automatically polarised, becoming darker to match.

“Good morning,” Max greeted him, then took a sip of his drink. It was perfect, as was everything else he arranged in his life. If things weren't perfect, then he made sure that they became perfect. He didn't believe that he was quite as obsessive over it as Accord, but the man did have a point; everything had its place, and if force occasionally had to be applied to make sure that things went where they were supposed to go, then that was just the way things were.

“Good morning, Max.” James also sipped. To Max's approval, he took a moment to savour the alcohol. “Is there a problem?”

James Fleischer was a good lieutenant. Correct and punctilious, he had initiative and drive. Max was fully aware that the man's loyalties were more with Gesellschaft than with the Empire, but so long as the two organisations had goals that ran in tandem, it would not cause him to lose sleep. If a problem should arise, he knew James would give him adequate warning of any impending clash of interests.

“A minor one, at the moment. But it may become more serious,” Max said. “Remote's father – Daniel Hebert. I find myself unsure as to which direction to go with him.” He took another drink. It really was very good bourbon.

“What options are you considering?” asked James. Short, and to the point. Also, he had not yet asked what Max thought of the options, so as to offer an unbiased opinion.

“Three options, really.” Max sighed. He hated being pushed into a corner. “One; he is allowed to recover under Othala's ministrations. She reports that he is improving a little every day. Two; she ceases to treat him, but pretends otherwise, thus keeping him in a sustained vegetative state. Three; he dies.” He half-turned his head toward his second in command. “As you can see, all three options have their pros and cons. I've been holding off on making this decision for several reasons, but the point of no return is rapidly approaching.”

James nodded. “The crux, of course, is to maintain the goodwill and loyalty of Remote.” He took a sip of his drink. “She's loyal to a fault. And powerful. Very powerful, under the right circumstances. She would be a great asset to the Empire. Except that her father, once recovered, would oppose this directly.”

“Yes.” Max rubbed his chin. As always, James could cut to the meat of the matter. “He would. There is one favourable outcome. One which I’ve already enhanced by priming Peter with hints concerning her future in the Empire. If we play our cards just right, she’ll choose to remain with us after his recovery.”

“Hmm.” James finished his drink. Moving aside, he placed the glass on the same small table that he had taken it from. “Could he be paid off?”

Now Max chuckled, amused. “It is said that every man has his price. Daniel Hebert's cannot be measured in money; or at least, not in amounts that it would be feasible to pay him. He is fixed in his loyalties and his duties; if he is half as devoted to his daughter as she is to him, he would find any amount you could offer him to be a direct insult.” He finished his drink off, as well. “Why do you think we've never been able to get a foothold in the Dock Workers, with him in place as head of hiring?”

“Well, then.” James sounded a little irritated. Max could understand why; the Empire rarely encountered people who could not be moved by the twin inducements of fear and greed. “He doesn't wake up. Othala simply ceases to lend him the capability to regenerate. He lives on, but never recovers fully.”

Max pursed his lips. He didn’t shy away from doing what was necessary, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed screwing over a teenager who thought the sun shone out of his ass. “That's possible.” Max moved toward the sitting area in the far corner of the office, and lowered himself into a comfortable leather-covered armchair. “Of course, it involves bringing Othala into this, and having her waste her time pretending to heal him for the foreseeable future. That's two points of failure.” He held up two fingers away from his glass to emphasise this.

James sat down opposite Max and crossed one leg over the other, observing him intently. “Was this your intention? To have me agree with the decision that you've already made?”

Max chuckled, but there was little humour in it. “Far from it. As it stands, I'm reluctant to commit to any course of action which could put Remote at odds with us. She has a history of being let down or outright betrayed by friends and authority figures. To be seen to harm her father would place us squarely in the category of 'enemy' for her. I'm good at talking to people, but I doubt that she would allow herself to be persuaded back around from that.” Quite the opposite, he suspected.

“So what then?” James was beginning to sound frustrated. Max felt a certain amount of schadenfreude-fuelled amusement; he had been through all this before. “Something mimicking a viral infection, perhaps? A slow decline, a gentle slide into death. Poison would do it, administered in subtle quantities. Call it an 'unexpected complication'. Real medicine has enough of those.”

This was why Max had called James in on this. He hadn't actually thought of poison. “It's a possibility,” he conceded. “But it would have to be a poison that's not noticeable by outward symptoms. Peter would have to be kept out of the loop, along with Othala. The nurse would have to do the dosing.”

James sat forward, sounding almost excited for the first time. “This is actually possible to do. We have access to any number of rare and exotic poisons here, and any we don't have, we could probably synthesise.”

“We could,” Max agreed. “The problem here is that the girl is quite intelligent. Peter's no slouch, and he freely admits that she's smarter than him. She's capable of thinking well outside the box, and while she is currently fiercely loyal to us, she's also the type to question suspicious circumstances. I doubt we could pull off 'unexpected complications' as a cause of death without causing her to harbour unpleasant suspicions. Panacea left him in the peak of health, after all.”

“Verdammt.” James grimaced. This was a sign of tension; he rarely relapsed into his native German without an excellent reason. “And you're sure that Othala and Peter would side with her?”

“Not under ordinary circumstances, no.” Max knew this for certain. “Peter and Othala are both as loyal as they come. But while Peter wasn't quite as hopelessly smitten with Taylor as she with him in the beginning, his feelings for her have become quite genuine. I’ve taken advantage of their budding romance to ensure that she sees him as her white knight and the Empire as her real family, including Othala in the role of a surrogate mother. However, because I've encouraged this to happen, that bond now goes both ways and it's likely that they’ll become conflicted if they find out that we're actively doing something to harm her father – or that we've already done it.” Oh, hello, Law of Unintended Consequences. I didn't see you there.

“She does seem to have engaged quite effectively with Victor, Crusader and Rune as well,” James mused, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. “If they decided that she was being treated badly, and chose to turn against the Empire, we face the distinct possibility of losing not just one very powerful cape, but four moderately powerful ones as well. A good third of our strength.”

“Which is something that we want to avoid,” Max agreed, with admirable understatement. “I would also like very much to not have to waste all the effort we've already put into bringing her into the fold.” He was shading the truth just a little; they’d done very little to gain Taylor Hebert’s loyalty. On the contrary, she had more or less fallen into their laps, only needing a few minor nudges to be set on the right path. The fact that she had then triggered as a powerful cape merely served to justify their work in bringing her on board. “Or to fight her, if it came to that.”

James' gaze sharpened; a lesser man might have looked startled. “You believe her to be so formidable, without her armour?”

“You don't?” Max riposted. “Imagine if she decided to turn against us without warning, today. Right at this very moment. Her range encompasses the entire building, and beyond. Do you know how many things there are in this building that she can manipulate to her advantage, against us? No? I don't either. But she does. No lock is capable of holding her out; every step that we took would be contested against us.” He permitted himself a shudder at the thought. To attempt to carry on a conflict in a landscape where every machine worth the name was a weapon for the enemy … it was a sobering thought.

“There is another option.” James's voice broke into Max's thoughts. His tone was light, but with an undertone of seriousness. “I could take her for … re-education. When she returns, she will be unshakeably loyal to you, and will care little about her father, or anyone else except whom you tell her to care about.”

Re-education. This, Max knew, meant 'brainwashing'. Gesellschaft did this on occasion, to turn enemy capes into allies or to turn those capes whose loyalty was suspect into fanatics to the cause. It also, if Max chose to use the profanity, totally fucked with their heads. Max was a pragmatist. Getting things done his way was how he ticked. But not like this. Not when – if he read his nephew correctly – he would soon be calling Taylor niece. He recalled Geoff and Dorothy, and how the couple had not a single shred of non-synthetic personality between them. Nor did they possess much in the way of imagination and creativity, save that which had been programmed into them.

“No,” he decided at length, if only to pretend to give it a full measure of thought.. “I don't think so.” Getting up, he went to the wet bar and set about pouring himself another drink.

“But why not?” James went and retrieved his own glass and brought it over. “I would think it solves your problems neatly.”

“To be honest,” Max said, “I doubt she'd agree to go, even if she just thought it was a field trip of sorts.” Recalling her comments about the Empire being an American group and not German, it wasn’t just a doubt. He already knew of her stance on the matter.

James shrugged, sipping at his new drink. “So we don't give her a choice in the matter.”

Max huffed out a dry laugh. “Causing her to decide that we're turning on her, and treating us in the same way as she treated Lung and Oni Lee. Only, they never pretended to be her friends first.” He recalled Peter's description of the girls bullying Taylor. “I'm reasonably certain that if she tried hard enough, with no regard for her own life, she could bring this whole building tumbling down into the sub-basement, and us with it. I don't ever want to bring her to that state. Not while I'm within range of her power.” And that wasn't even factoring Peter and Othala into the situation.

“So we lie to her.” James' voice was impatient. “Tell her we're taking her somewhere else.” He raised an eyebrow. “Surely you haven't forgotten how to lie, Max.”

“Indeed I have not, James.” Max let a little impatience into his tone. “But what happens once she's gone? Peter is her boyfriend. He'll want to know where she is, and why she can't contact him. Once he decides he doesn't like what he's hearing, he will start to ask questions. That alerts Victor, Othala, and Ferguson senior – who has, by the way, met Taylor, and quite likes her. So then he raises a fuss. In short? If she goes, we can't keep it a secret.”

“I refuse to believe that,” James returned. “First, we prime them both with a story that she will accept – perhaps a retreat involving the higher echelons of the Empire, or tell her that she's going for 'advanced power testing'. Your nephew understands information security; he won't be unduly surprised that she's being given special treatment, or that she'll be out of contact for a while.” He gestured with his glass for emphasis. “On the day, she is sedated before she knows what's going on. That shouldn't be hard to achieve. We spirit her away. She undergoes re-education. Her powers are not all-encompassing; it would not be impossible to set up a situation where she has nothing to work with. Once she's been remoulded into a soldier totally loyal to the Empire, she is returned. In the meantime, her father has declined and died. She doesn't care. And we have what we want.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if daring Max to pull apart his scenario.

Max took a sip of the new drink, in lieu of counting to ten. “And then what? She's a bright, caring, vivacious girl; someone who was once brutalised emotionally and is only now starting to re-emerge from her shell. Re-education destroys all that; you know this. They will never be able to put back anything more than a caricature of what she once was. You and I might not care, but Peter will certainly care when his girlfriend goes away and is replaced by a stuffed dummy with no more real emotion than a wind-up toy.” And contrary to that thought, I most certainly will care. I do not want my nephew’s children raised by a Night or a Fog. He also had serious doubts as to how much of her instinctive tactical awareness would survive the process. Or whether Gesellschaft would even return her after the so-called re-education; after all, a powerful cape in Germany was worth two in America (to them, anyway).

“So we ensure that she is amenable to his advances,” James sounded as though he could not quite understand why Max was objecting to this. “He's a teenage boy; having been one once, I would imagine that this would nullify most of his objections.”

“My nephew is more than just a teenage boy,” Max interjected coldly. “He is also in line to inherit the Empire, once he gains powers and I am ready to hand over the legacy. He has been groomed for this ever since I recognised the potential in him. If he were to fall for that, then I would no longer consider him worthy for the role.” He finished his second drink and put the glass down. “Re-education is not an option.”

“So what do you want from me?” James put his own glass down a little sharply; the alcohol remaining within slopped up the sides a little but did not spill. “You call me in here, present the problem, then shoot down every idea I come up with. What use has this been?”

What use, indeed. “It has assisted me in clearing my head, and considering the options that are still valid,” Max informed him. “While your suggestions have merit, we are more tightly hemmed about with limitations than would normally be the case. Thank you for your assistance in this matter.” He went back toward the windows overlooking Brockton Bay, turning his attention to the cityscape beyond.

James obviously took this as his cue to leave; he paused at the door. “So what will you be doing?” Or are you still lacking an answer? he didn't quite ask.

“I will be cementing her loyalty and dedication to the cause,” Max replied without turning. “The Merchants are a suitably despicable opponent. Giving her a good solid win against scum like that will give her a rush that she will not quickly forget. It will prove to her that the victory against Lung was not an accident, and that she can do real good in the Empire. I know I can count on Peter, Othala and Victor to provide her with adequate positive reinforcement in this matter. By the time her father wakes, she will be ours.”

“And if he objects to this state of affairs?” asked James. “Do we kill him?” Is your solution so elegant as you think?

“We will handle that aspect when we come to it,” Max decided. “The PRT will assuredly have linked her face and name to Remote by the time this happens. There will almost certainly be a warrant out for her arrest. He will not want her to go to jail. I believe that we should be able to reach an arrangement.”

“I hope so, for all of our sakes.” James waited for a moment, but when Max did not reply, he opened the door and exited. The door closed quietly behind him.

Max refused to allow himself to doubt. It would work. He would make it work. More than just the Empire was at stake, here. His family depended on it.

He resumed his study of the Brockton Bay skyline.

<><>

Winslow High School

Peter took a moment to step into a quiet corridor and pulled out his phone. Taylor should have found them by now. He pressed speed-dial and '1', then waited for the phone to be answered. This did not take long.

“Hi, Peter!”

“Good morning, beautiful.” Peter smiled at the sound of his girlfriend's voice. The sheer joy she exhibited when talking to him, even over the phone, awoke an answering warmth in his heart. She loves me for me. Not for my family, not for my prospects. Just me. It made him want to be better for her, to prove to her that he was the sort of person she saw him to be. “Happy Valentine's day, sweetheart. Wish I could be there with you, but school, right?” He looked around at the grimy off-white paint of the corridor wall. Oh, I could so be with Taylor right now.

“School. Bleh.” Then she giggled. “I got your present. You really didn't have to.” He had suspected as much; she sounded slightly giddier than normal. A chocolate high will do that.

“Oh, okay,” he pretended to agree. “So I should send the whole box back, then?” A smirk spread across his face as he waited for her reply. A triple-decker box of the most expensive chocolates he could find? Explosion in three … two … one …

“Don't you dare,” she laughed. “I love them. Nobody's given me chocolate for ages. And besides, I've eaten half of them already.” In fact, her voice sounded slightly sticky. He was pretty sure she was eating one right at that moment.

“Wow, that many?” It was fun to tease; something Julie didn't understand. She wanted everything to go her way. With Taylor, it's a two way street. “You realise they'll go straight to your hips.”

“Well, Tammi might have helped a little,” she admitted. “But so what if they go to my hips? I could do with having hips.” This was something that she might have said when they first met, but now her voice was filled with cheerful self-mockery rather than depression or unhappiness.

“Hey, I like your hips just fine,” he replied, and he did. Just because Taylor didn't have the extravagant curves of other women didn't mean that she had no curves at all. “They're just … tastefully understated.”

“So you have been checking me out,” she mused. “I thought so.” She spoiled the whole outraged act by breaking into a fit of giggles. “So, should I go shopping for more skinny jeans?”

“I wouldn't object in the slightest,” he replied with an answering chuckle. “We could go shopping together, if you wanted. You can model them for me before you buy them.” He actually kind of liked that idea. Shopping with the girlfriend was supposed to be the most deadly boring of impositions, but watching Taylor's face light up with happiness was always worth it. And Taylor in skinny jeans was very nice to look at, too.

“Aren't you supposed to hand in your man card for even suggesting such a thing?” Ooh, she was on fire today. “Mind you, I'm kind of lacking in money for fun shopping, but I guess I can still try them on for you.” And there was the old Taylor, the one who persisted in looking at the grim side of life. Except that he wasn't sure where she was coming from with this.

“So use your pay. Unless you're trying to save up.” It wasn't exactly a secret that Empire capes got paid. Costumes cost a lot to maintain, and so did other equipment.

“ … I get paid?” That took him off guard. From the tone of her voice, either she had just managed to lie perfectly to him for the first time ever, or she simply hadn't known about it.

“Wait, you didn't know?” Wow, way to be obvious about it. Why hadn't someone told her?

“Well, no. I guess I didn't think about it, so I didn't ask.” Which made a weird kind of sense, now that he came to think about it.

“And nobody thought to tell you, because they thought you already knew.” He shook his head in bemusement. “Yes, to clear this up, you do get paid.” He cupped his hand over the phone. “Did you think Hookwolf had a day job?”

“Um, no. I just … wow. Okay.” She giggled, sounding a little self-conscious. “I just didn't make the connection. Um, how do I access the money?”

“That part I don't know,” he confessed, trying to recall what he'd been told of it. “Card, maybe?”

“Oh, wait.” Taylor's voice held tones of deepest realisation. “Othala gave me an envelope just before. I was going to open it, then you called.” There was the muted sound of ripping paper. “And it's a charge card. Wow. Awesome.” Her voice became much more cheerful. “So, shopping sometime this week?”

“I look forward to it.” He raised his head as the bell went off. “Uh, oh. Home room beckons. Love you, babe.” It was so nice to have someone to say that to, and mean it. “And happy Valentine's Day again.”

The giddy tone was back. “I love you too, Peter. I'll see you this afternoon?”

“Definitely.” Even though he was now hustling to class, he didn't want to end the call. But of course, he had to. “Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye, love.” He could hear the smile in her voice, the one that went with the look of adoration in her eyes that made him feel ten feet tall and able to take on the world in her defence. Even though she could kick more ass than he would ever be capable of. Oh, yeah. Best girlfriend ever.

Ending the call, he slid his phone into his pocket and increased his pace. Kelly, walking alongside him, tilted his head. “Taylor?”

“What gave it away, the silly grin or the 'I love you'?” Peter replied with a chuckle. “Yeah, that was Taylor. I am so glad I met her.” Which was the understatement of the century.

“Yeah, me too. She's a lot better for you than that bitch Julie,” Kelly said bluntly. Taylor had been accepted by Peter's in-group long before she had chosen to officially join the Empire. That act had merely served to cement her status with them. Despite the fact that there was nobody nearby, Kelly lowered his voice. “So what was that about Hookwolf?”

So he caught that. Peter shrugged. “Oh, someone screwed up. Or rather, we all screwed up. Nobody actually thought to tell her she gets paid. For, well, you know.” Being a cape, he didn't have to say.

That got him a blink and a look of surprise. “Wait, what? How come nobody told her?”

Peter shrugged again. “Because everyone thought she already knew. And she didn't know because …” He didn't need to finish the statement.

“Huh. Oh, man.” Kelly shook his head, a look of bemusement on his face. “Gotta love communication. Mind you, she's a real smart cookie. She woulda figured it out.”

“Yeah, Taylor's smart as they come,” Peter agreed, letting the pride show in his voice. “Smarter than me, that's for sure.”

“Well, duh,” agreed Kelly. “Oh, hey, got one for you. What do you say if you wake up in the middle of the night and see your TV floating out the window?” He grinned, looking pleased with himself.

“I dunno,” Peter said. “What do you say?” He thought he knew where this one was going, but he decided to let Kelly have it.

Kelly's grin widened, and he put on a ridiculously dramatic voice. “'Drop it, Skidmark!'”

“Hah, good one.” Peter held up his hand, and Kelly high-fived it. Laughing, they headed off to class.

<><>

Arcadia High School
Lunchtime

“Ames! You'll never guess what happened!” A blonde-haired whirlwind of happiness attacked Amy Dallon, picking her up and spinning her around. Set back on her feet, she wobbled a bit until her inner ears stopped sloshing around, then gave her sister a mock glare.

“Seriously, Vicky? Do you mind not doing that to me?” She had to admit, Victoria looked positively vibrant. Hovering in the air, the blonde was a good two inches off the ground. A feeling of happiness threatened to overwhelm her. “Ugh. Aura.”

“Sorry, Ames. I was just so excited. I had to tell you the good news.” Vicky managed to sound contrite, at least briefly, as the unnatural elation melted away.

“Yeah, well. Next time I might puke on your shoes. Just to explain why you shouldn't do it.” Amy wasn't sure that she would actually throw up on Vicky, but the threat should do the trick. “Good news? Oh, the hearing?” This close to Vicky, especially with the aura involved, Amy would normally be doing her best to ignore her sister's proximity. Now, it was barely an effort. No unnatural longings raised themselves in her mind. Scapegoat, when I see you next, I'm going to give you a big kiss. Totally platonic, of course.

“Yup!” Vicky bounced on her toes, having to drop down a couple of inches to accomplish this. “What's stunningly beautiful, has blonde hair, and is the newest member of the Wards?”

Amy pretended to consider this seriously. “Hmm. If I'd known you were going to be asking me riddles … that's a difficult one. Can I have some time to think it over?” She put on a solemn expression and rubbed her chin, trying hard not to grin.

“Me, duh!” Vicky rolled her eyes. “I can see you smiling there. The people holding the hearing said they were satisfied that I was remorseful, and they listened to Mom speak, but it was your written deposition that really got their attention, I think.”

“I'm sorry that I couldn't come along,” Amy said immediately, and meant it. “I wanted to, but Carol decided that I should be in school. But they let me do a deposition, so I did that. You think it helped?” She brightened slightly at that news. Vicky was still her sister, and Amy still loved her. Just not in that way.

“Oh, yeah,” Vicky said happily. “I mean, you were pretty up-front with what you said about me, and Mom was a little pissed when she saw what you wrote, but they said that it was the most honest thing that had been said about me, and that the fact that you still advocated for my placement in the Wards meant a lot.” She grabbed Amy in another hug. “So thanks for that.”

Amy hugged her sister back. “Hey, if anyone can tell the straight truth about you, it's gotta be me. So, how are the Wards taking having you on the team?”

“Eh, we're still working out the kinks.” Vicky waggled her hand in midair. “I've worked with them before, of course, but I spoke to Triumph and apparently it's different now that I'm a part of the team. He actually expects me to follow orders.” The face she made defined exactly how she felt about that.

“That's actually probably a good idea,” Amy pointed out. “You've got a habit of breaking things.” And people, she thought but did not say. Vicky caught the inference anyway, if her expression was any indication. “And hey, this way you get the Wards trust fund. So, win-win.” Vicky poked her tongue out at Amy; Amy giggled. I wonder when I should tell her about the Valentine's card that came in the mail today, from San Diego?

<><>

Commander Thomas Calvert
PRT Building

Sitting in his office, Calvert split the timeline into two. In one, he continued to deal with the minutiae of running a strike team. Fitness reports, budgetary requirements and training schedules, all to be checked through and initialled. In the other, he pushed the paperwork aside and picked up the phone. The call he intended to make was relatively innocuous on the surface, but he didn't want anyone knowing about it anyway.

He dialled the number and waited. After three rings, it was picked up. A teenage girl, giggling over some joke or other. “Hello, Amy speaking. Who is this?”

“Good afternoon, Panacea,” Calvert said, putting on his best 'commander' voice. “This is Commander Calvert, Parahuman Response Teams. I need a few moments of your time, if I may.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” she replied, not sounding as intimidated as he'd hoped. “What's this about? Do I need to find someplace private?” He heard a girl's voice in the background, but not what was being said.

“Not necessarily,” he replied. “Is there someone there with you?” Not that it mattered, but he had to keep up appearances.

“Just Glory Girl. I can ask her to go away, if you want.” Panacea sounded uncertain.

“No, that's fine.” He straightened the sheet of paper in front of him. “I just need to ask you a few questions. All you need to do is answer yes or no.”

“Oh. Well, sure, I can do that. What's this about, anyway?” She was certainly inquisitive, but he didn't mind answering. He'd been about to tell her this exact information, after all.

“It's about the incident on the Boardwalk on February the second, with Victor and the people that you healed. Do you remember many details about it?” He hoped that she did, otherwise this call would be an utter waste of time. Of course, she'd never know that the call had ever happened.

“Uh, yeah. I remember about everything that happened. It's not every day that I get shot, you know?” Her voice was rueful, but at least she was engaging the question. “That kind of focuses the attention.”

“That it does,” he agreed. “Now, you're able to detect the presence of an active corona pollentia in people, right?” This wasn't a given, but from his understanding of Panacea's power, she was able to map out the body in detail. The corona pollentia was a defined brain structure, so she should be able to tell that it was there.

“I haven't been deliberately checking to see if people have powers!” she said hastily. He rolled his eyes. So much for 'yes or no' answers.

“I never said you have,” he said soothingly. “I was just wondering if you were able to detect it at all.” If she wasn't, he would have to find out some other way, but she could save him so much time.

“This is official PRT business?” she asked; not quite suspiciously, but definitely a little warily.

“Certainly,” he lied. “Come in this afternoon and I'll have all the documents lined up for you to check out.” Which ranked with every other assurance he had given someone in a discarded timeline; somewhere between 'when hell freezes over' and 'you have to be kidding'.

“Oh, okay. Commander Calvert, was it?” She seemed to be waiting for his assurance.

“That's me. Thomas Calvert, Commander.” He rattled off his identification number just to confuse her a little farther. “Ask Glory Girl about the takedown she helped my team with. She assisted two of my team out of a tight corner.”

There was some mumbling that he couldn't catch, then Panacea came back on the line. “Okay, that checks out. So yeah, I can tell you that yes, I can tell if someone has a corona pollentia and if it's active or not.”

He felt the tension ease out of his chest. “Excellent. Marvellous. Now, here's the big question. Do you recall if any of the people you treated at the Boardwalk had an active corona pollentia?”

The wariness was back. “Why do you want to know? The unspoken rules …”

“I'm not looking to unmask anyone,” he hastened to say. And for once, it was actually the truth. “It's just that there are some irregularities with this case that would be easier to explain if I knew whether the Ferguson boy had powers or not.” Again the truth, but set up to mislead.

“Oh, okay. Well …” She paused for a long moment. “The boy I healed had no corona pollentia, active or otherwise. Is that what you wanted to know?”

Okay, so it must have been a panic room after all. “Yes, that's precisely what I wanted to know. Thank you very much, Panacea. You've been a great help.” He wondered if there might be some way he could induce her to work for him; she would be an utterly invaluable asset. But no. It would be far too difficult to arrange.

He dropped the timeline; picking up the sheet of paper, he fed it into the shredder by his desk. Then he turned his chair and sat there, staring out the window. A lesser man might have felt doubt or worry about the task which he had set himself. Calvert felt no such emotion.

Taylor Hebert was a new cape in Brockton Bay, and she had proven herself to be both powerful and resourceful. Virtually every other powerful cape in the city was entrenched in one organisation or another; in a very real way, they were already part of the system. They did not effect significant change, because checks and balances were already in place to keep them in line.

However, the Hebert girl was a new piece on the board. Wherever she went, she would upset the balance; in the case of the Empire Eighty-Eight, she would increase the effective power of an already strong team to a level that nobody wanted to face. Just her ability to neutralise firearms and control vehicles made the PRT effectively useless against her, and it was possible that Tinkertech weapons and vehicles were equally vulnerable. For someone whose ability to project force lay in mercenaries carrying rifles, this state of affairs was intolerable. She had to be either co-opted or removed from the board.

He had yet to come down solidly on the idea of having her killed off; at the moment, he was still intrigued by the idea of having her working for him. The possibilities inherent in such an arrangement were endless. Of course, to get her to work for him at all, he would first have to rescue her father from wherever the Empire had him stashed, whereupon the man could then be used as either carrot or stick, whichever was most appropriate. The Empire Eighty-Eight would lose, Coil would win, and all would be right with the world.

Smiling, Thomas Calvert got back to work.



End of Part Seventeen

Part Eighteen

 

The Slippery Slope

Part Eighteen: Try, Try Again



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



February 14, 2011
Medhall Building
4:56 PM

I checked my watch again, then put my hands behind my back to forestall temptation. Peter was due to pick me up in the Medhall drive-through at five; not wanting to keep him waiting, I had been ready for the last fifteen minutes. Tammi had loaned me one of her nicer dresses and helped me do my hair, all the while teasing me about Peter. But now I was the one waiting, and he wasn't here.

I doubted that he would stand me up; the idea was slightly less likely than the entirety of Brockton Bay sliding into the ocean, so I wasn't worried. But time was passing so slowly. I wanted to be out with Peter, to do whatever he had planned for our first Valentine's Day together. That was how he had described it; like a bonus piece of chocolate discovered at the bottom of the box, that one extra word had made the phrase so much better. 'Our first Valentine's Day together'. Like he had taken it for granted that we would be together for many more. I was more than all right with that idea.

“Taylor.” I knew that voice; nobody else in the Empire had quite those smooth, rich cadences. It was my boss, Peter's uncle. The man to whom I owed so much. I turned to greet him with a smile, automatically smoothing down Tammi's dress with my hands as I did so.

“Mr Anders,” I said in reply. “How are you, sir?” I bobbed my head in respect. He was well-dressed as always in a suit and tie, the shoes shined to a mirror finish. I wasn't sure how he always managed to pull off that look, but he carried it very well indeed.

“I'm well,” he said. “I trust that you are settling in comfortably?” The look in his eye indicated to me that he wasn't just asking an idle question. He really wanted me to be settled in comfortably. A warm feeling spread through my chest.

“Oh, yes,” I told him. “Everyone's been so good to me.” I didn't need to mention Peter. If everyone in the Empire didn't know about me and Peter, then it was because they weren't cleared to know. “Thank you for asking.”

“That's entirely all right.” He paused, and his gaze became much more intense. “Tell me, do you know how many firearms there are within fifty feet of us right now?”

“Oh, uh -” I dipped into my power, absorbed the information, then dropped them again. “- seventeen, sir. Two assault rifles, fifteen pistols.”

“Indeed.” I began to feel a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “One more question. Did you know that before I asked?”

Oh. Oh. I flushed, feeling like an idiot. “No, sir,” I mumbled, dropping my head. “I wasn't checking.”

He raised one immaculate eyebrow. “And just because you're going on a date with my nephew, do you perhaps think that anyone harbouring ill intentions toward the Empire is going to lay off on you?” His tone was as smooth as ever, but the words cut deeply. It was a real wake-up call.

“Uh, no. No, sir.” Before he walked up, I'd been on top of the world. Now I felt about one inch tall. “I'll do better, sir.”

“I know you will, Taylor.” He smiled briefly and squeezed my shoulder. “You're new to this, but I have great expectations for you. Enjoy your evening.” Turning, he walked back into the building, leaving me in a turmoil of emotions.

Holy crap. Max Anders was the sort of boss that I'd never known I wanted. He could have been a lot nastier about it, but once he pointed out my mistake and I acknowledged where I had gone wrong, it was as if a switch had been flipped. He'd said he had great expectations for me. I wanted to dance in a circle, or squee to the rooftops that Mr Anders – Kaiser himself – had said nice things about me, to my face.

Taking a deep breath, I composed myself. Then I called on my powers in an attempt to get a complete picture of the surrounding area as quickly as I could before dropping them again. I didn't spot anything untoward, but I did detect a familiar-looking truck as it approached the building. Peter's here! Yay! I was glad that they'd repaired the truck for him rather than simply scrapping it and buying a new one; during the battle with Lung and afterward, it had served us well.

When he pulled up in the drive-through, I was waiting at the curb. He set the handbrake and got out of the vehicle so that he could open the door for me, although we both knew perfectly well that I was more capable of doing that – or, for that matter, driving the truck itself – than he was. However, he wanted to do that for me, and I wanted to let him, so that's what we were going to do.

“Hi, Taylor.” He smiled and kissed me, almost but not quite on the cheek. “You look lovely tonight.”

I hugged him and returned the kiss as the blush started to mount in my cheeks. He had a way of doing that with his compliments; it made them seem fresh and new every time. Maybe it was the fact that he meant it, and I knew that he did. Whatever the reason, I wasn't about to complain. Besides, he looked extremely sharp in slacks and a button-down shirt. “You look nice too,” I murmured as I held him close.

“Thank you, Taylor. I'll definitely take that from you.” Letting me go, he captured my right hand with his left and with a flourish, opened up the passenger side door. “Your carriage awaits, my dear.”

With a giggle, I let him hand me in, careful to settle my skirt so that the door would not close on it. “Thank you, sir.” Reminded of his uncle's words, I pulled up my powers for an instant and checked for nearby threats. There were none; before he got back around to his side of the truck, I had dropped my powers once more.

“So where are we going?” I asked as he climbed in. “I'm still not sure that the police won't get involved if I'm recognised.”

“I've got a place in mind,” he said; from the look and sound of it, he was rather pleased with himself.

“Oh? Where?” He didn't answer, so I looked at him sideways. “You're not going to tell me, are you?”

Putting the truck in gear, he started it moving. “What good is a surprise if it isn't surprising?” he asked cheerfully.

Although curious, I knew Peter well enough by now to understand that he wouldn't give me any hints if he didn't want to. And while pretending to badger him for answers would be fun for both of us, I decided not to do that. Reaching out to put my hand on his where it rested on the wheel, I decided to just relax and enjoy the evening.

<><> ​

Coil

Thomas Calvert had decided to change things up. In the one timeline, he was at home with the TV on, ostensibly catching up on his favourite shows. However, he had his laptop open in front of him, with the best secure connection that money could buy linked into his base computer system. His men were out and about on their latest mission, which was to trail Peter Ferguson whenever the boy left the Willow Heights gated community.

In the other timeline, he was in the base, digging deep into all of the online resources that he could locate in order to create a more complete picture of his foe. In this particular case, the foe was the Empire Eighty-Eight and Taylor Hebert in no particular order; together, they posed a far greater problem for him than they did apart. His first order of business was to figure out a way to separate them permanently from one other. Second was to work out a way to acquire Taylor's father, so as to bind the Hebert girl permanently into his service.

The men following Peter reported that he had just gone through the Medhall building drive-through, and now there seemed to be a second person in the truck. Positive identification had not yet been made, but there was a distinct possibility that it was the Hebert girl. This raised a whole string of possibilities in Calvert's mind; if it was indeed her, then she was staying at the Medhall building. Which meant that the Empire had an interest in the Medhall corporation.

Calvert followed the thought to its logical conclusion. In the other timeline, his counterpart feverishly pulled up all the information that he had been able to glean about the Empire's activities, then he matched it to what he knew about Max Anders, head of Medhall. If Calvert turned his head and squinted slightly, Kaiser could easily be Max Anders in a suit of armour. Purity, his second in command, had recently split from the Empire … and around the same time, Kayden Anders had separated from her husband of a year.

It fits. It all fits.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in his chair in both realities at once. All too well, he knew the dangers of allowing wish-fulfilment to colour his perceptions of how the facts fit together. Coincidences happened, and just because something looked right didn't mean that it was right. In the reality where his mercenaries were following the Ferguson kid's truck, he picked up a notepad and scribbled a memo to himself. Then he adjusted his headset microphone. “Alpha Squad, move in. I want imagery. Get closer, but do not engage, over.”

The reply was swift in coming. “Alpha Squad, moving in for imagery. Acknowledging do not engage, over.”

The mission consisted of three squads, each made up of three cars. As the initial group, the men and women of Alpha Squad were intended to determine if Taylor Hebert could detect electronic chatter with her powers. Calvert had given them very specific orders before sending them out; while they were to get close to the target vehicle, they were not to bring any weapons along or perform any hostile activity. Bravo and Charlie Squads were well-armed, but only Bravo was intended to do anything with their weapons.

Each car was equipped with a dash-cam. Calvert watched the split-screen closely as the vehicles of Alpha Squad eased into position. One of the pictures swivelled sideways as the mercenary moved the dash-cam so that it was pointed at an angle. Just a moment later, the rear end of Peter Ferguson's truck came into view; as the car moved up, the rear window passed by the camera, and then the front window. Calvert stared at the image, unable to make it out for a second. And then the girl in the front seat turned her head, and Thomas Calvert was looking at Taylor Hebert.

“Yes,” he muttered to himself in the other reality, then glanced around to make sure nobody had heard him. He usually didn't carry over behaviour from one reality to the other, but sometimes his excitement got the better of him. In this particular instance, there was nobody nearby, which was good; he had yet to decide which timeline to drop, and he preferred it be the one where he wasn't seen acting oddly.

Alpha Squad still held its position near Peter Ferguson's truck; for a moment, he considered giving the order to run the vehicle off the road and capture both of them. Then he thought better of the idea; while the girl probably didn't go armed, the Ferguson boy certainly did. In any case, she didn't need a weapon if she could control vehicles as well as Calvert suspected that she could. It was better to stick with the information gathering and let the capture happen in its own time.

“Alpha Squad, remain in position,” he ordered. “I say again, Alpha Squad is to remain in position. Bravo Squad, move in. Do not engage target until ordered. Charlie Squad, maintain relative separation from target, over.”

“Alpha Squad copies. Maintaining position, over.”

“Bravo Squad, that's a roger. Moving in, over.”

“Charlie Squad, roger. Maintaining separation from target.”

Sitting in his living room chair, Calvert re-adjusted his headset mic and carefully eyed the images he had of Ferguson's truck. It only took about ten seconds for Taylor Hebert to turn her head and speak to Ferguson. The truck moved ahead, its indicator coming on before it swung into the turning lane. For all his youth, Ferguson judged it to a nicety; as if he had set it up that way, they came up on the intersection just as the light turned green and he swung around to the left. Calvert's lips thinned as he saw two of the three cameras lose their picture of the truck.

“Alpha lead, Alpha lead, I'm out of position. Alpha Two, Alpha Three, say location, over?”

“Alpha Three, I'm on his six, following, over.”

“Alpha Two, I've got nothing. Moving to reacquire, over.”

“Charlie Squad, we've just lost line of sight, over.”

“Bravo Squad, still closing, over.”

He keyed the mic. “Charlie Squad, take the next left, over. Alpha Lead, Alpha Two, reacquire as soon as possible, over.”

Leaning back, he sighed. Ferguson's manoeuvre had scraped off two of the Alpha chase cars, but that was an accidental byproduct. His guess was that the Hebert girl had detected the cars full of heavily armed men and women closing on her position and told her companion. Ferguson had made the turn so as to determine if the cars were really following them, which they were; Calvert wanted to see what happened next.

He tapped keys and enlarged the scrolling map so that it covered half the screen; here and there on the map, highlighted dots indicated the positions of the cars. A click of the mouse centred the map on Alpha Three, the one car that had been able to maintain its proximity to Ferguson's truck. Bravo Squad had made the turn and were in the process of manoeuvring through traffic to get close to the target. Charlie Squad, on the other hand, were about one and a half blocks removed from the action. This was intentional; among other things, he wanted to see how she reacted to non-threatening but potential danger. Also, getting a better idea of her overall range would be a good idea in any scenario where he was to attempt capture of her.

“Alpha Three. Target is turning right right right. Sticking with him, but he's accelerating. Orders, over?”

This was not good. Ferguson's second turn had just put Charlie Squad out of position and ruined the attempt of Alpha Lead and Alpha Two to reacquire as they shot past on the wrong side of the road. As the truck powered away, Charlie Squad's separation increased to two blocks. “Alpha Three, maintain relative position. Charlie Squad, take an immediate right. Bravo Squad, acquire and engage. I say again, acquire and engage. Do you copy, over?”

“Alpha Three copies maintain position, over.”

“Charlie Squad, taking the turn now, over.”

“Bravo Squad, moving to acquire and engage, over.”

Over the radio, he heard the clicks and clacks as the team members pulled bolts and worked slides to ready their weapons. Approximately two seconds later, the view from Alpha Three of the rear of Ferguson's truck began to recede. “Alpha Three. Move up, you're losing ground, over.”

“Alpha Three, here. That's not us. The car engine just cut out. We've got no power, over.”

He had just enough time to register that she had made Alpha Three when shouts, screams and shots echoed through his headset. By the time he looked at the camera views, all three Bravo Squad vehicles were out of action. It seemed that one had rear-ended a passing police car, another had veered into an alley and rammed a dumpster, and the third had simply … pulled over?

No, not just pulled over, he realised a few seconds later, when they reported that the car doors had refused to open. Nor would the engine turn over. They're being held. “Bravo Squad, open your windows and get out that way!” he ordered.

The decision came far too late for the mercenaries in the car. A nondescript SUV swung in to a halt in front of the Bravo Squad vehicle, in full view of the dash cam. Several large men with shaven heads got out and headed toward the mercenaries in a purposeful manner. They went out of sight of the camera; over the radio, Calvert heard the sound of glass shattering. If that wasn't bad enough, he then had to listen to the shouts and screams from his men as they were dragged from the car one by one to be beaten to a pulp on the sidewalk. Or so he presumed, from the screams and ugly sounds that he could hear over the still-operating radio link. His men were tough, but they were still only human. Even the stubbornest soldiers of fortune could have only so many bones broken before they themselves snapped. So Kaiser does still have her tailed, just in case. Good to know.

He keyed his mic. “Charlie Squad, report status, over.”

There was a long silence. Then finally, just as he began to wonder what had happened to them, an answer came back. “This is Charlie Lead. Our cars have just … stopped. Engines are dead. Over.”

Well, that answered that. Her range is more than two and a half blocks. And she's more situationally aware than she was the last time I tried this. This is now officially a problem. And I'm almost done here.

Checking the note he'd written to himself, he thought about what to say, then dialled a number on his phone. It rang exactly once. “Yes, boss?” Tattletale's voice was as irritatingly chirpy as ever.

“One question. Answer yes or no.” His voice was crisp, in command. There was no hint of the irritation of the last few minutes; that had been shunted off to the version of himself that was sitting in the base. “Is Max Anders Kaiser?”

“Give me a second,” Tattletale replied almost immediately. He heard computer keys rattling, then a pause. "Okay ... huh, so he is. What are you going to do with that information – holy shit, you're going to unmask -”

He dropped that timeline, leaving the one where he was at his computer in the base. No need for Tattletale to know what she's just told me. It was a rather successful ploy that he made regular use of. Sometimes, as in this instance, he didn't even need to use torture to get the information that he needed. Of course, once in a while torture was the point of the exercise.

He split the timeline again. One instance of him got up and prepared to leave the base. The other stayed exactly where it was. He would have a good night's sleep while at the same time he gathered information and planned his next move against Taylor Hebert and the Empire.

I can't help but win. Really, she doesn't stand a chance.

<><> ​

Taylor

“So … what do you think?” If I didn't know Peter so well, I would have missed the anxious tone in his voice. As it was, I recognised it, but I was too busy blinking to take a well-deserved chance to tease him.

“I … wow.” I stared at the folding table and chairs which had been set up for us on the lookout area atop Captain's Hill. There was a tablecloth, and plates that looked like china, and food in a massive picnic basket, and candles. In a silver holder, even. Still slightly stunned, I watched as a burly leather-jacketed man with a buzz-cut finished lighting the candles with his Zippo. He gave me a nod of respect then backed off to join his buddies.

Reminded of my meeting with Kaiser, I flexed my power for a second; to my relief, the only guns within my range were the ones worn by Peter and the Empire men. The latter were now spreading out to form some sort of perimeter; it was kind of cute how they tried hard to look like tourists admiring the view while they watched the road and the other sight-seers. We weren't the only people up here, of course, but the other couples seemed to understand that we wanted to be left alone.

“How long did it take for you to arrange this?” I asked as he pulled my chair out for me. He knew how to do it properly, too; unlike some, he pushed the chair in just right so that I sat down comfortably. “I mean, wow. I heard nothing about this. Just that you wanted to take me on a date.”

“Since yesterday,” he admitted, with a smile that was just slightly self-conscious. “I asked Uncle Max if I could borrow the guys again, and he asked a few questions. Then the next thing I knew, I had Othala on the line, planning the whole thing out for me. Even the candles.” He glanced at them as they burned steadily in the cool evening air. “I wasn't sure about them, but I'm kinda convinced now. You don't think they're over the top?”

I reached across the table and took his hands. His skin was warm against mine as I squeezed his fingers. “They're perfect, Peter. Everything's perfect.” Careful not to knock the candles, I let go his left hand and waved toward the purple western sky, where the last remnants of sunset still lingered. “You take me to the most beautiful places in Brockton Bay. How can I not love everything about this? About the only way it could be more romantic would be if you were planning to get down on one knee and …” At the look on his face, I trailed off. My heart lurched in my chest. “Oh my god,” I whispered. “Are you going to … do you want to … I mean …”

“Taylor.” His hand squeezed mine. “Breathe.” His smile, although a little strained, settled my racing pulse slightly. Gently, he reached across the table and took hold of my right hand. “It's all right.”

I took in a breath of cool air, slightly flavoured by the scented candles. I don't know how to handle this. I want to marry him, I really do, but I'm too young! “All … right?” I managed.

“I love you, Taylor.” His words were balm to my racing mind. “I did actually think of proposing tonight, but Othala talked me out of it.” Now his smile had a distinctly sardonic quirk to it. “She said something about not freaking you out by moving too fast.”

At first, I felt a little upset that Othala had intruded into my private affairs, but then I took another breath and felt my pulse slow down a little more. “I … think she was right.” My return smile was more than a little sheepish. “I was kinda freaking out just a little there. I'm … well, you know I'm not sixteen yet.”

He squeezed my fingers and gave me that special smile; I felt tingles go all the way down to my toes. “It's okay. I'm only sixteen myself. Father says that we shouldn't rush into adulthood. It's not going anywhere, after all.”

I felt my heart swelling in my chest, and with good reason; his words were just what I needed to hear. “Thanks. I love you too. So very much. How did I end up deserving someone like you?” A tear overflowed my eyelid and ran down my cheek.

His smile widened into a grin. “I seem to recall this girl who kept angrily telling me to go away, when all I wanted to do was help her with a little bullying problem.” Letting go my left hand, he reached into his pocket and passed me a handkerchief.

Carefully I wiped the tear away, then blew my nose. “Stupid allergies,” I muttered, although I knew I wasn't fooling either one of us with my act. “I notice you didn't go away,” I said. “So how did we get from there to here, anyway?”

He shrugged, though his expression became more serious. “I started out just wanting to help, and ended up wanting to take you in my arms and protect you forever.”

I hadn't thought I could fall any more in love with Peter, but at that moment my heart proved me wrong; once more, I found myself sniffling again, with more treacherous tears on my cheeks. “God dammit,” I mumbled. “That line should have been cheesier than … than Mouse Protector's Big Book of Bad Puns. How can you say it like you mean it so much?”

“Because I do,” he said, before his eyes lit up with mischief. “Wait, you had that book?”

Right up until then, I had been totally proud of myself for not blushing even once, but that broke me even more thoroughly than if he had started quoting love poetry at me. I felt the flush start at my neckline and start moving upward at speed. “I, uh, it was a birthday present?” Which I had kept under my pillow for a solid two weeks, but he didn't need to know that.

“Uh huh.” From the way he had his eyebrows raised, he didn't believe me. That wasn't a surprise; between the flush and the limp-noodle excuse, I wouldn't have believed me, either. “Somehow I'm not altogether convinced. You strike me as someone who read it from cover to cover. More than once.”

I was guilty as charged, of course, but he didn't need to know that, either. “Uh, I might have glanced at it once or twice.”

“Really.” His grin was back in full strength as he leaned across the table. “I'm betting there's more to it than that. Am I in the presence of a … Lil' Mousey?”

How is he even doing this? My flush betrayed me; I was reasonably certain that I was glowing harder than the candles. “Uh, maybe?” I mumbled.

He cleared his throat, and in that moment I knew he was going to say something that would complete my transition into the uncontested winner of World's Most Embarrassed Girlfriend. A lifetime title, even. That, or I would spontaneously combust through sheer mortification.

“Oh, come all ye Mouse-fans, wherever ye may be,” he sang, in a voice so clear and rich I almost missed the lyrics themselves.

My first thought – of course he's a great singer – was quickly drowned out with astonishment at what he was actually singing. Almost by habit, I joined in on the second line, although I stumbled a little over the words. By the fourth line, I had caught up, though I had a suspicion that he had slowed down a little to make it easier for me. Whatever; I didn't mind.

Together, we sang the entirety of the anthem for the Lil' Mousey Club, which also doubled – mostly – as the theme song for the Mouse Protector show. “ … just look around, Mouse Protector will be there!” I finished triumphantly, then paused to catch my breath. Peter's eyes were alight, there was more colour in his cheeks than before, and his grin was as broad as mine. I stared at him. “How do you even know that song?” I asked.

Now it was his turn to lie badly. “I, uh, watched the show a few times?” The smile on his lips twitched a few times as he waited for me to catch him out. He was enjoying this, I could tell.

I made a rude noise with my lips. “Bull. You knew the secret verse that only gets sung by Lil' Mouseys.” All of a sudden, the dots connected themselves behind my eyes. “You – you were a Lil' Mousey too!”

“Maybe?” He was bad at being shy about it, and the grin that hovered on his lips didn't help in the slightest. Then he sighed. “Yeah. For a couple of years, then … well, life got in the way. But it was fun while it lasted. I even got an autographed photo of Mouse Protector kicking Ravager's ass. I mean, literally kicking Ravager in the ass.”

I tried to suppress the smirk but it wasn't easy. “I'd love to see that. I got one of her after she stopped Doc Iridium from blowing up the Sears Tower. I'm still not sure how she managed to get the rope over the lamp-post, or dangle him from it by his ankles, but she did it.”

Peter's laughter was infectious; I joined in without a care about my previous embarrassment, quite probably startling the other Valentine's sightseers, but I didn't care. It felt good to laugh, to let my cares just drain away. They would come back once we went back down to the real world, but right now, I was on a date with my boyfriend.

Reflexively, I checked with my power – all clear – then grinned broadly at Peter. “Oh, man. I needed that.”

“Me too.” He snickered. “By his ankles, huh?” Leaning down to open the picnic basket, he pulled out a bowl of chicken pieces, then another of potato salad.

“Yeah. Mmm, thanks.” I accepted plastic cutlery, then dropped chicken and potato on my plate. “And yeah, I read the Big Book so many times, Mom and Dad used to wince every time I opened my mouth. She must've had a ball writing it.” It was one of the few things Emma didn't use against me, mainly because she had been into it just as much as I had.

“I don't think she wrote it, so much as authorised it,” Peter suggested as he took a long-necked bottle and a couple of glasses from the basket. “I think they just took the funniest things she said on camera and put them in a book. Would you like some sparkling apple juice? I know it's not champagne, but I'm pretty sure you don't drink, and I'm driving.”

“Well, no, I don't,” I agreed. “And you're probably right about the book. Though I hope they gave her adequate royalties. Being an independent has got to be expensive. Ooh, gravy, thanks.” I tasted the gravy, my brow wrinkling. “Wait, this tastes familiar.”

He nodded earnestly. “It's the same recipe they use in the Augustus Country Club. I remember how much you liked it.”

For just a moment, I was rendered speechless all over again. He had remembered that? I'd totally forgotten about the delicious gravy – though, reminded about it, my tastebuds were currently jumping up and down – given that my most prominent memory of that Gathering was being beaten up by Peter's ex. Of course, at this moment I was being almost literally wined and dined by Peter, with the same delicious gravy, overlooking the tapestry of lights that was Brockton Bay by night. A candlelight dinner on top of Captain's Hill. Who else even was even lucky enough for something like this?

After I tried and failed to think of an adequate answer that didn't sound like well duh, now gimme the gravy, I gave up and just started spooning gravy over the chicken. “Wow,” I mused. “That was only last month. It feels like longer.”

“Well, a lot has happened,” he pointed out, then suddenly chuckled.

“What?” I asked suspiciously, my fork halted halfway to my mouth with some chicken on it.

He chuckled again. “If someone happened to tell Julie that you're a cape now, I think she'd jump at the option of grovelling for photos rather than face you in your armour.”

He was almost certainly right. I took a bite of the – exquisitely cooked, as it turned out – chicken, savouring the taste of the gravy, then wiped my chin with Peter's handkerchief. “I dunno,” I mused. “That feels a little like cheating.” Then I tilted my head. “On the other hand, screw it. If you're gonna tell her I'm a cape, I want to be there and see her face when you do.”

Peter's eyes were alight with mischief once more. “Oh hell yes. Imagine telling her that she's going to be introduced to our latest cape. She's all excited, right up until you open the faceplate and say hi.”

I snorted with laughter, smothered only a little by the potato salad I was eating. “If I'm gonna do that, I need to get Victor to build a camera into the armour.”

“Definitely.” Peter nodded. “Moments like that need to be preserved for posterity.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, then a thought occurred to me. “Um, about that. This is gonna sound a little silly, but … do you have a camera on you?” I hoped that what I was about to say didn't sound too ridiculous or needy.

“Actually, yes,” he said. “My phone's got one. Why?” As he spoke, he dug it out of his pocket.

I took a deep breath. “Because tomorrow I'll never believe that tonight's been so utterly awesome unless I've got a photo to remember it by. Because this sort of romance just plain doesn't happen in my life. Until I met you, anyway.” I stared into his eyes, silently willing him to understand.

“Well, yeah,” he agreed. “I was going to suggest one myself. And if it turns out well, we can get it framed.” He nodded at the candles. “We'll need to put those out. They'll glare out the city lights if we try to take the picture with them lit.”

“Two photos,” I suggested. “One with the candles, one without.” I really, really wanted a picture of me at a candlelight dinner. It would be my first ever.

“Okay,” he agreed. “We'll take the second one just before we start packing up. Wanna help me take the first one now?” He held the phone up so that I could help steady it, then with our free hands we toasted the lens with apple juice. After a brief pause so that we could link pinkies, I held the camera steady and he clicked the shutter button.

He took another one just in case, then we checked the results. I looked like such a romantic idiot, but my God I wanted a copy. Or two. And Peter looked almost as good on the screen as he did across the table from me. With idiotic grins on our faces, we kept eating. Periodically, I checked my power, but nobody seemed interested in sneaking up on us.

The Lil' Mousey episode had cleared away the initial embarrassment, and I found that I was thoroughly enjoying the romantic dinner without being overwhelmed by the strength of my feelings for Peter. We chatted about the latest improvements Victor had put into my armour, what little I knew of the upcoming raid on the Merchants, and how Peter's family was getting along. Helen's birthday wasn't far away, and I was looking forward to taking her to the Boardwalk with Peter so that we could carry out our promise of stuffing her with all the ice-cream she could eat. Of course, I intended to eat my share as well. Ice-cream was ice-cream, after all.

We also covered more serious topics, such as Dad's ongoing recovery. Peter held my hand as I told him how Dad was able to squeeze my hand just a little harder and a little longer each day that Othala treated him. In return, I held his as he talked about how George just refused to give up when doing his physical therapy. The fact that we could talk about things like that and still enjoy the dinner so much, convinced me all over again that Peter was the one for me. He didn't sugar-coat things; he told it like it was. But he still made me feel special every moment he was with me.

Eventually, it was time to go. I didn't want to, but I hadn't dressed for the cold, and it was even chillier at this altitude than it was down on the Boardwalk. Before we got up, Peter put out the candles and had one of the men take a photo of us holding hands with the backdrop of Brockton Bay behind us. I wasn't too sure how it would turn out, but at least we had the candlelight dinner one.

We left the men to pack up the table and chairs and made our way to where Peter had parked his truck. Even though he gave me his jacket, I was shivering by the time I got there. We climbed in and he started the engine and the heater in quick succession. But I noticed that he wasn't putting it in gear. “Peter?” I asked.

“I think it would be nice to just sit here awhile,” he murmured. “The men aren't going to bother us. We can just enjoy our date a while longer.” I felt his arm slither across behind me; with very little in the way of reluctance, I let him gather me into his embrace. Of course, the steering wheel was going to be a little bit of a problem, unless …

I exerted my power. No new firearms within range. Empire allies acting normally. Assume positive control of vehicle: “Peter's Truck”. Run front seats as far back as possible. Recline front seats.

I had managed to surprise Peter; as I let the powers drop away, he made a startled noise. “Taylor? That's you, right?”

“Uh huh.” A smile curved on my mouth as I removed my glasses and tossed them on to the passenger seat. I could find them at any time with my power, of course. The feeling of taking charge sent a deep-seated thrill through my body, and I liked it. Between the coat, Peter's proximity and the truck's extremely robust heater, I was no longer cold; I shrugged off the coat and snuggled even closer into his arms.

A few kisses later, I was starting to warm up even more; Peter didn't resist as I pushed him back and climbed up to lie astride him. Again, I felt the heady awareness of being in control, and I wanted to see how far I could take it. “So,” I murmured, “have you ever …” I moved my hips in that certain way and felt him stiffen slightly. This wasn't a spur of the moment thing; while I had never felt this way with anyone before, I definitely felt it with Peter, and right at that moment I wanted to explore it fully with him. The ultimate expression of our love.

His strangled grunt served only to drive me on, and I took the opportunity to unfasten the top two buttons of his shirt. His skin felt hot against my lips. “Taylor,” he groaned. “Please …” Two words that I wanted to hear. Unfortunately, the next one wasn't so agreeable. “Stop.” He caught my hands, pushing me back to arm's length. “We can't.”

I wasn't quite able to believe what I was hearing or what he was doing. “Peter, don't you love me? Don't you want this?” Hurt flooded through my heart. How could he reject me, reject what I wanted to share with him?

“Taylor, of course I want it. This is me. If I wanted it any more, then I'd be the one pinning you to the seat.” He ground his teeth together and shook his head. “But I can't do this with you. Not won't. Can't.” There was a finality to his voice.

I took one deep breath, then another. Then I climbed off of Peter and tapped into my power. All clear. After retrieving my glasses, I brought the seats back up to their normal position and dropped my powers again. When my emotions came back, they were still high, but while I was still a little pissed at Peter for shutting down my overtures so hard, I knew that he wouldn't have done it for no reason at all. “So talk.”

“Taylor.” It was a sigh more than anything else. “I'd love nothing more than to be doing this with you, but shortly before I came to Winslow, I got the absolute snot beaten out of me because of a pregnancy scare.”

“I …” I started to speak before I fully took in what he'd said, which brought me to a screeching halt. “Wait, what?” He obviously knew me well enough to not say anything, letting me process his words. Once I'd taken it on board, there was an obvious question to ask. “Who … oh.” Not only was the question obvious, but so was the answer, now that I thought about it. “Julie. Am I correct?”

“Julie.” His confirmation was firm, unapologetic. “It was my mistake. In more ways than one.”

I thought back to what I recalled of Julie. “No wonder she acted like you belonged to her.” A thought occurred to me. “Wait, who beat you up? Does she have a big brother?”

“No.” He shook his head, barely visible in the dimness. “My father is … a very strict man. Since we lost Mother, he's been extremely protective of the women in the family.”

“Okay,” I replied, to show that I was listening. “You told me how much he cares for your sisters.”

He put his hand on mine. “It's more than that. He likes you. Once he knew that we were serious, you were included in the family. So he warned me to treat you well. Which means … well, to not to do this before we're officially engaged and absolutely certain that you want to be a part of my life.”

I frowned as I tried to fit the jigsaw puzzle together. “So … you slept with Julie, and he found out about it, and disciplined you?”

“Actually, he never did take well to Julie,” Peter said, a trace of humour creeping into his tone. “No, that happened because she got me into bed exactly once, then went to her father and told him that she was pregnant to me after I turned her down for a second showing. Her father came to mine, demanding that I do the honourable thing. I managed to prove she wasn't pregnant, so -”

“Wait, wait,” I protested. “Hold up. How did you pull that off?” I had to admire Peter; in a situation where many boys might have resorted to bluster or grovelling, he was simply telling it like it was. Knowing that he'd slept with Julie gave me a slight pang, but that was a judgement error on his part; one that he had certainly since corrected.

“Oh, it involved Jenna, some strong-arm tactics, a pee cup, and a pregnancy test,” he explained succinctly. “When the test came up negative, I told Father. He wasted no time in telling Julie's father that the wedding was off. Then he made me get in the boxing ring and put on the gloves. Did I ever tell you that he was the one who taught me to box? We only went for three rounds, but he sure as hell took it out of my hide.” His voice was matter-of-fact, as if describing a movie he'd watched once.

“But you were the one who found out that she was lying!” I was horrified. “Why did he beat you for that?” It didn't make sense; at least, not to me.

“That's not what he did it for,” Peter explained. “He did it because I let myself get suckered into that situation in the first place. Because I believed her when she said she was on the pill. She was trying to get pregnant, to trap me into marriage. And I didn't see it coming.” His shrug was more felt than seen in the semi-darkness. “My fault.”

“But … I'm not trying to do that!” I protested. “I just wanted … I mean, you're the only boy I've ever even thought that way about, and tonight was so wonderful, and we were together, and …” I let my head thump back against the headrest. “I wasn't trying to trap you,” I said softly.

“I know that, sweetheart.” His voice was as gentle and loving as the hand he reached out to caress my hair with. “It's for your protection, remember? I'm to treat you well. Which means nothing untoward until I've put at least an engagement ring on your finger.”

His words sent a thrill through me, but I did my best to speak teasingly. “So when were you thinking of asking me, anyway? Sometime this century?” My hand crept up and captured his.

He squeezed my fingers; when he spoke, there was laughter in his voice. “Not sure. Maybe when I'm sure you won't freak out about it.”

It was a pity that he couldn't see me roll my eyes, but I did it anyway. “That was one time. But yeah, I think fifteen's a bit young to be getting engaged.” Leaning over, I pressed my lips to his, then whispered, “But you know, my birthday's only four months away …”

My lips were so close to his that I could tell when he smiled. “I'll keep it in mind,” he murmured. After a quick kiss, he added, “Thanks for not freaking out about Julie.”

“So long as you don't ever think about going back to her, we're good,” I said. Grabbing him by the shirt front, I forced him to kiss me again. He didn't struggle very hard to avoid his fate. “So, is she why you were at Winslow?”

“Yeah,” he said. “After the pregnancy thing, Father decided that it would be best if we were separated for a while. I happened to agree.” He turned his head to glance at the dashboard clock. “Uh, as much as I'd like to stay here all night, I've got school tomorrow, so we might want to get going.”

“Crap.” I kissed him one more time, then flopped back into my seat. Reaching up, I flipped on the internal light so he could see my smile. “I had a wonderful time tonight, Peter. I really did.”

He nodded seriously, then smiled back in a way that made my heart lurch. “So did I. Remind me to thank Othala for the planning advice.” He switched off the light, then fastened his seat belt.

I giggled. “Sure. I'll be thanking her too.” I clicked my own belt into place as he put the vehicle in gear, a dreamy smile on my face. Tonight had been about as perfect as it could get, a few minor hiccups aside.

Of course, I still had Julie to deal with. From the stunt she had pulled at the Gathering, she obviously hadn't learned her lesson. But, for the time being, she could wait.

“Peter,” I said as we started on the downgrade, “thanks for telling me all of that. It can't have been easy.”

He shot me a quick smile. “Yeah, well. I've got to own the space.”

“Own the space?” I was puzzled.

Taking one hand off the wheel, he waved it expressively. “It's from my favourite fantasy series. It means to accept your mistakes, to step up and take the punishment. Take responsibility for your own actions. The main character in the first book spends most of his time having to do just that.”

“ … huh.” I considered that. “Can I borrow it? I think that's a book I'd like to read.”

“Sure. I think you'll like it, too. He's got two daughters, and they're totally unalike. One's a little terror, and the other one's a real sweetie …” His tone was teasing.

“Ackh! No spoilers!” I slapped my hands over my ears, but I was laughing as I did so.

He laughed too, as we continued down the hill.

<><> ​

Coil
The Next Morning
Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Sitting at ease in his base, Calvert took a long drink from the large cup of coffee beside him. The bitter taste stung his throat, but it kept him awake. He had been up for almost twenty-four hours straight, but with caffeine and other stimulants blasting through his bloodstream, his alertness levels were still optimal. He keyed the radio headset. “All squads report status, over.”

“Alpha Squad, on site at east entrance, over.”

“Bravo Squad, on site at south entrance, over.”

“Charlie Squad at holding point, ready to assist, over.”

A tired smile crossed Calvert's face under the mask. The previous day's debacle had shown him what a bad idea it was to attempt to invade that particular gated community without adequate preparation. All it meant, however, was that he got to try again, without anyone in Willow Heights having an idea of what had happened previously.

“Bravo Lead here.” The man's voice held repressed excitement. “We have a vehicle of the correct type leaving the south entrance. Visual identification matches the target, over.”

Calvert keyed the mic. “Understood. Trail him for one block. Coordinate with Charlie Squad to block the road. Be aware; he is armed and dangerous. I want him alive and able to talk. Beyond that, I don't care. Coil, out.”

“Roger that, sir. Bravo Lead, out.”

<><> ​

Thirty minutes later, a bloodied and battered figure with a bag over its head was dumped on the floor in front of Coil. The boy's arms and legs had been bound, and he bore a crudely-bandaged bullet wound to his left forearm. Moreover, the fingers of his right hand seemed to have been broken. Looks like he put up a fight. Good. Coil shut the office door, then pulled the bag off his prisoner's head.

Peter Ferguson stared back defiantly, blood running from what looked like a broken nose. “What the hell do you want from me?” he demanded. “Whatever it is, you've bitten off more than you can chew. My father will find out who's taken me, and then all the shit in the world will come down on your head.”

Coil chuckled. “Oh, yes. But it will take them a day or two to find me. And in that time, I will find out everything that I want to know.” Crouching beside Ferguson, he unfolded a large clasp knife. “Feel free to scream. Everyone does, you know.”

<><> ​

As the screaming began, Thomas Calvert sat in his office in the PRT building and diligently typed away at his word-processor. Soon, Peter Ferguson would break. Everyone did, in the end. And when he did, Calvert would learn everything that Ferguson knew about Taylor Hebert.

Everything.



End of Part Eighteen

Part Nineteen