Wake-up Call – Chapter 35

Finally, after what feels like a night far too packed with emotions, events, and parental figures being insufferably stubborn, I'm back at my apartment.

My peaceful apartment. The one place in the world I've shaped to my personal preferences and needs to be both safe and soothing, to be perfectly suited for me to unwind and allow the effects Power can have on me to harmlessly disperse as I relax while lying on my couch and sipping on something hot and disgracefully not-caffeinated.

"So… Do you have any free drawers, or…?" Taylor asks, fidgeting behind me and wearing her costume sans mask.

I feel like sighing.

[Outward displays of frustration while highly emotional—]

You don't need to babysit me [that] much. I'm not about to make my girlfriend—my [fiancée] feel unwelcome just because she's a bit inconvenient at the moment.

[Lisa Wilbourn's tendency to—]

Not with Taylor. Not with her.

[Lisa Wilbourn's infatuation—]

"Lisa?"

"Ah, sorry, sweetie, Power was being weirdly concerned about my social graces."

"Your [what?"]

"Ha. Ha."

I turn back to look at her, still standing near the door, and I…

She's awkward. As much as she was when she came earlier tonight before I rushed to tear a stripe out of her father's hide for daring to run her out of their home. And we never settled that conversation, because I was too busy being indignant on her behalf, and I…

"I'm sorry," I tell her as I go back to her, and I circle her waist, my hands clasped together behind her lower back.

She looks at me through the glasses she's replaced after taking off her mask, and she shoots me a shy smile before leaning forward, her only contribution to our hug being her weight resting against my chest, her face lying sideways over my shoulder, looking away from me and letting me kiss her hair.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," she tells me, lying as naturally as she breathes.

"Come on, at least try to make that more believable," I chide her as I tighten my arms around her.

She giggles.

And then goes silent.

We stand there, right in front of my apartment's door, just breathing together and sharing our warmth.

"I have a perfectly serviceable couch to cuddle in, you know?" I finally tell her.

"You and your need to say the first thing that goes through your overactive brain…" she grumbles.

But she follows me to the couch.

And we cuddle.

[Lisa Wilbourn's enjoyment of physical closeness—]

I'm only human, Power. Only human.

***

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want, you know?" I tell her, my back to the couch, and she… Well, let's just say she's the little spoon.

Taylor Hebert: supervillain, terrorist, inflicter of phobias, and little spoon.

…

I admit it takes me some effort not to giggle.

[Incongruity key component in humor—]

Look at that! We may get you a sense of it!

[Fish out of water humor often reliant on outsider's perspective—]

… Right. That fits you far too well.

Let's not do that.

"You asked me to marry you. I would hope a few nights at your place wouldn't be too much of a bother," Taylor finally comments in a tone that's just shy of being drowsy.

"[You] asked me to marry you. You made a whole thing out of it."

"In my defense, being in love is a mental impairment."

"That's the sweetest thing you've told me tonight."

We giggle.

Close together, her back flush against my chest, her body between my arms, her hair in reach of my lips, we shake with mirth and contentment.

Until we don't, as our bodies relax in each other's embrace, my obscenely expensive couch molding to our shapes, the warmth of her body soothing mine, making my breathing slow down, my eyelids close…

I smell Taylor's hair one last time. She's been using that apple-scented shampoo we talked about, and green apples roll down a meadow with bees swirling around citrine flowers, and there's honey on my lips that open to say something about—

***

The Sun is a hateful, spiteful [bitch], and there'll come a day I manage to get my vengeance on it for intruding on my sleep, and—

I smell bacon.

Uh. What do you know, there may be not-awful ways to wake up. Who would've guessed?

With an effort of will that proves my transition to herodom is more complete than I feared, I open my eyes and…

I've got an open kitchen, one of those where the counter acts as a divider between it and the living room. It has some disadvantages, but as I don't ever plan on cooking anything disgustingly smelly and I can afford someone to regularly paint my living room, those are mostly void, and I enjoy the increased sense of space and the ease of moving things from it to the dining/living room and back again. It's particularly nice to sit at the countertop during a lazy breakfast and have my TV in clear sight.

It's nice. I like my kitchen. I didn't think it could be substantially improved.

It turns out I was very wrong. Having Taylor wearing one of my long-sleeved, gray pajama shirts and one of her short, [short] black and purple exercise shorts, her legs bare, her back to me, and wearing my [white apron]…

Yeah. It's a definite improvement.

"Coffe's already done, and the bacon's almost ready," she says without turning around.

I blink a couple of times.

"You're keeping an eye on me?" I say, not taking my own eyes off her.

"You look very cute when you drool in your sleep," she replies with a tone that's almost dry.

I wipe my mouth with my sleeve and… Ugh, I'm wearing [yesterday's] clothes. Gross.

Taylor chuckles, and her hips sway from side to side in a way I'm [pretty] sure is entirely for my benefit.

[Taylor Hebert enjoying Lisa Wilbourn's attraction—]

Oh, good morning to you as well.

I ignore Power's likely attempt at a rebuttal and keep delighting in Taylor's almost dance as she keeps showing me why shorts are the superior exercise apparel. Her swaying hips make her thighs tense and relax in turn, the play of golden, morning light over shifting muscle—

…

I really, [really] smell.

"Gonna get changed," I mutter as I force myself to get out of the Lisa-shaped cavity in the sofa's soft cushions.

It's a struggle.

"Don't take too long," she says, bending over to, [presumably], check on the pan and the readiness of its contents.

Yeah, right. She knows what she's doing.

So I get up, go to my bedroom to grab my own set of fuzzy pajamas, and go to the bathroom to get my clothes in the laundry basket and at least soap up my armpits and underboob. I mean, not the most hygienic way to start the new day, but, just this once, I'll prioritize eating the breakfast my loving, kind fiancée made me before it gets cold over letting luxurious, sinfully warm water wash the night away.

I should still wash my face, though, because these eyes aren't getting on any magazine covers…

And, when I emerge from the bathroom, my metamorphosis into not-having-a-rough-day Lisa almost complete (I've still got bed hair, yeah, bite me), I find a softly smiling Taylor sitting at the counter, waiting for me.

Still wearing the apron.

She's adorable. And cute. And beautiful. And sexy. And—

"What?" she asks, bashfully lowering her gorgeous eyes. She isn't wearing glasses, and I can see the precise shade of her irises, the shift in light and shadow, the lines of radial green—

"Lisa?" she asks once again, this time looking straight at me.

"I love you," I blurt out.

She fidgets on her seat on the other side of the counter, a light, pink blush blossoming on her cheeks.

"You're starting early today," she finally mutters.

"Huh?" I answer with all the wit currently available to me.

There's a soft smile on her face, and she stands up, her hips once more swaying more than strictly necessary as she walks up to me until she's standing right in front of me, the white apron doing a marvelous job at evoking a short skirt with obscene side cuts that draw my eyes to her exposed thighs, and…

And she's cupping my cheek, the warmth of her palm far too noticeable on flesh cold after washing my face and…

And she leans down, her lips brushing mine in a soft caress that lingers, that keeps tingling after she finally separates enough that I can no longer touch her, yet I still feel her as her eyes are right in front of mine, and I can't even think to move from this wonderful, peaceful moment—

"The food will get cold," she tells me, her breath washing over me, carrying her warmth once more.

I grab her nape and her lower back before I dip her until our torsos are almost parallel to the floor, and I kiss her as thoroughly as I can, my tongue quickly coming into play as Taylor flails her arms and I keep trying to lick every single sensitive spot in her mouth and tongue.

She finally reacts in a not-panicked way, and her arms go around my neck, her bust brushing mine as she pulls herself up against me, and I almost grab her hips and sit her on the countertop to properly show every bit of her body just how much I love and appreciate her.

Only two things stop me, though:

I'm [not] in any shape to pick her up and casually manhandle her. The part about me not being a man a likely factor in such a sad state of affairs.

The second is that…

Well, I [am] kind of hungry, you know?

***

"Marry me," I muffle through a piece of perfectly browned toast, divinely fluffy eggs, and exquisitely crunchy bacon.

"You already asked," she says through a mouthful of smugness and some wry amusement.

"Yes, but that was because I'm madly, deliriously in love with you. [This] is because you can use your power to not get distracted and cook everything to perfection. Priorities, Tay."

"Well, [I] asked you because you never leave my mind and make my life worth living with every breath you take, but maybe I should ask you because you can use your power to guess precisely when, where, and how I like to be touched?" she ripostes before she takes a bite of the corner of her toast with a smile that makes some things inside me tingle.

"I love you," I tell her, again, in an inspired burst of genius and originality.

Her fingers dance over the top of the hand I'm currently resting beside my plate, and her smile goes from almost predatory to soft and caring.

"I know," she finally answers, her smile going from hungry and almost predatory to the kind of softness that can make me swoon.

I just stare at her, a silly grin on my lips that manages to make her finally blush as much as I'm blushing in turn, and…

Oh, shit! My bacon will get cold!

I start shoveling my perfect breakfast into my mouth at the precise rate that maximizes my enjoyment of every single mouthful while minimizing the chances the last bite will be at anything but the proper temperature to enjoy Taylor's work to its fullest extreme.

It may be the most frivolous use of Power I've engaged in [ever], and that's counting the time I played Mortal Kombat with Alec, but it's definitely worth it, and—

Ouch.

"Liz?" Taylor asks with some concern.

"Don't worry, sweetie. Just a bit of a headache. I'll pop a couple pill—"

"No," she tells me with the sternest look I've ever seen from her. Which… well, this is [Taylor].

It's quite a high bar to clear.

"No?" I ask her with some confusion that maybe I could—

"No pills. No strategy meetings. No suddenly riding off into the sunset. Not today."

"No [pills?] Tay, I've been using Power—"

"And no Power."

"… What?"

The gentle fingertips over my hand splay across it, and Taylor grabs me tight enough that she's both reassuring and demanding.

"I want my girlfriend to have a functional liver when we get to our thirties."

"[If] we—"

"No. [When]. I won't allow you to die, and I sure as Hell won't as long as you're waiting for me. So, stop living moment by moment and start planning on surviving the next few years, because I want you to enjoy life when we're old enough to regret not keeping a better eye on our habits when we were young and stupid. And that starts today."

"Today?" I ask, still a bit lost at her sudden barrage.

"Yes. Today. Today you're going to stay here; you're going to enjoy yourself, relax, and not even touch a single Tylenol tablet. You're going to be happy and cuddly with your fiancée, and you're not going to worry about every single one of the impending crises you keep piling on your shoulders—my own included. So no planning how to help me get a GED, no worrying about Dad doing whatever it is you think he's doing, no planning how to get the Undersiders rebranded as an independent hero team, no planning how to hire Cranial, no scheming how to lure out the mysterious rookie, no thinking about how to manipulate Victor, nor about whatever it is you've got going on with Dragon that Armsmaster doesn't know about, and… Holy shit, how do you even [function?"]

I look at her, trying to read whether that's a dramatic pause or she really expects me to answer. Honestly, the bacon is getting colder by the second…

Ah, that glare seems to imply actual input is expected. Damn.

"My power is to [think], Tay, I can handle—"

"Your power is not to carry the world on your shoulders. You're taking a break."

"But I—"

"What would you do if it was me doing all this?"

A moment of red flashes over my eyes, and I—

Oh.

Damn it.

"It's not the same," I mutter, not [quite] sulking.

"[My] power allows me to split my attention and not get distracted. If anything, I would handle this better than—"

"Don't even [think] about—damn it. You're baiting me."

"Of course I am. Also a Thinker, remember?"

"You, and Colin, and Dragon… Heck, even Hannah counts, seeing as she can manifest a rifle with nighttime vision. That damn label has lost all meaning."

Taylor snorts. It's cute.

"Right, but not the point. The point is that you're taking today off, and that's it."

"I can't just stop doing everything I—"

"I'll run you a bath."

"Deal."

…

Taylor's smirking, and I'm now blushing.

And the bacon's getting that greasy, slightly matte shine that means it just became colder than it should be.

Damn it.

[Lisa Wilbourn's emotional instability at demonstrated, reasonable concern—]

Yeah, pile it on, why don't you?

==================

This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/wake-up-call-worm.15638/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 85 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Power's intrusions into Lisa's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance

Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon, and aj0413. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and helping me keep writing snarky, useless lesbians, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!