Wake-up Call – Chapter 57

"Are you [really] comfortable with those?" Taylor asks as she points to my shoes with the hand not resting on a sling.

My white kitten heel shoes.

Sinking into the lush, pistachio carpet of our hotel room with vistas to the sea.

…

Look, I may or not have expectations about how a date between Taylor and me goes, and I may as well flex my financial muscles to provide the best environment for the activities ahead.

"I'm actually a bit more comfortable when walking with a bit of a heel. Before you start, it's not that weird," I finally say, trying not to blush at the fact that Taylor being so focused on my footwear makes it so she's, by mere adjacency, also focused on how my legs look when clad in white, silk stockings.

"Before I start what?" she dares to ask as she pretends to be clueless and crosses her denim-clad legs before daintily resting her hand on her knee while her shapely behind hides away from my hungry eyes in the plush, seafoam green duvet.

And then she waits for an answer she damn well knows—

[Taylor Hebert's genuine confusion—]

Look, I know. It's not even paranoia on my part; it's just…

OK, people can look at you differently according to how you present. And it's one thing for Taylor to be with Lisa Wilbourn, actually a millionaire but not precisely acting like old money, and another for her to meet…

Well.

Sarah.

[False dichotomy—]

Easy for you to say. It's a name I haven't used in a long time.

[Sherlock—]

Nope. Nope, nope, [nope].

[Lisa Wilbourn's lack of support—]

I am not going to be guilt-tripped by my Power!

"You aren't going to [what?"] Taylor asks, her eyebrows having climbed to quite an impressive height, given they aren't being carried by sherpas.

… Damn it. This is all your fault, Power.

[Lisa Wilbourn's hypocrisy in claiming own self-designation—]

That has nothing to do with it, and you know it!

"Lisa!"

"Power wants me to call him Sherlock!"

Taylor blinks at me.

Then [smirks].

"So, will your hero name be 'Watson,' or—"

"Watson was a perfectly fine character on his own! He learned Holmes' methods! Was a surgeon! A soldier! A fricking genius, by everyone's standards other than those of the fricking roommate from Hell who kept using their door for target practice!"

"You seem to have… opinions on the subject," she says in the soothing tones of one who's talking to drunkards, children, or somebody holding a dead man's trigger.

"… Watson rules," I say, not petulantly grumbling.

And she cocks her damn eyebrow.

Which makes me take a deep breath that, incidentally, makes me quite pleased at how she guiltily darts a quick look at my breasts when I do so.

"It's…" I hesitate on how to continue. "Look, you know how people always gush about how a character can manage some incredible feat and how they're the coolest thing ever just because—"

"Unlike you, I don't live on the Internet. Which I'm assuming is where you're getting those ridiculous arguments from."

"Yes, of course it's the Internet's fault. Go ahead and besmirch my cultural heritage, why don't you."

"Lurking on forums is not a cultural thing!"

"Shows what you know…" I tell her, not at all grumpy.

She, for some reason, facepalms.

And I hold back my smirk by the painful yet necessary method of biting the inside of my cheeks.

"OK, if you're done being racist—" I say.

"Being a troll is not a race!" she says.

"You've clearly not delved into the shipping section of PHO. Anyway, the thing is, many people tend to idolize some characters just because they have some kind of innate power or advantage. Like… there was this old character, Superman, who could fly so fast he could turn back time. But that was just because of who he was, not because some kind of achievement, or special training, or… or something [earned]. And…"

I stop, still standing in front of her gaze, revealing yet another shameful detail of my wretched self.

It should be routine at this point.

"And?" she prods me to continue.

"And it's just not [fair."]

"Fiction isn't fair?"

"I… It should mean [something]. Power earned through virtue, or deeds, or character, or… or anything but breaking down because you were too wretched to stand up to what happened to you, and then you were suddenly gifted with something that should have been the answer to everything you lacked, if only it hadn't come too late, and you break down [again] when you realize just what you could've done, and—"

And I'm crying, and Taylor's holding me, and…

[Revisiting traumatic memories stipulated to lessen emotional impact—]

Yeah.

That.

***

We are sitting around the small, round table at the corner of the room, right by the floor-to-ceiling window, and I've pulled the curtains open, because I still want to watch the glittering sun over the ocean, and…

And Taylor is holding my hand.

"Do you want to… tell me more?" she asks.

I look into her clear eyes, the contact lenses far less intrusive than her glasses.

And I smile.

"You already know the broad strokes. My brother… he… He did what many of us think about doing. And I didn't know why, obsessed over it, over all those awful, terrible secrets I hadn't been aware of until I broke. Like we all break. Like we all do when it comes time for our powers to manifest. Except what I got was a voice in my head that was smarter than I, constantly whispering all the things I had missed back to me, and…"

"And you listened. You listened to that voice, and talked back, and made it [yours]. You're not just a mouthpiece for Power, Liz; you're partners," she says, the conviction in her voice so heavy it feels like only Taylor Hebert could carry it.

And she smiles.

And so do I.

"It's… I like to think so, you know? He sometimes tells me. How he hasn't said something because I had already figured it out, or how I've learned how to follow along, or… It's… In some ways? I really think Watson would fit me. Because I've learned from him, and he's turned me into this… this new girl. This girl who maybe wouldn't have been oblivious when everything went down, who maybe would've known Rex was about to—"

Her hand squeezes mine, the blue cloth of the sling rustling against her white blouse when she moves.

And her other hand brushes the corner of my left eye, something wet disappearing with her touch.

"Liz, I don't know about the girl you were, but I know [you]. And I don't need anything else," she says.

And I kiss her.

Because I don't have the words. I don't know how to tell her how much it means what she just said, how many ghosts she just laid to rest with a careless remark, and so I have to show her with my lips on hers, with a touch that lingers, retreats and comes back, with…

With all the love I can show her.

It will never be enough.

And so I lean back, our noses brushing past one another, and I see her looking at me yet again with green eyes entirely unlike my own even as a surprised smile blooming on her lips catches her unaware and makes my heart flutter.

Stupid valve systems, I swear…

"I… I don't even know what to say," I tell her, my own smile trembling on my lips.

"Well, that's a first," she answers, her lips quirking into something a bit sharper.

"That's a lie, and you know it. I've been tongue-tied plenty of times around you."

Her eyelashes flutter.

"If only I could do it on command," she [laments.]

"Way to ruin the moment…"

And she laughs. And then I join her.

"OK," she says, holding an unrestrained hand up. "Now, before we get sidetracked [again], you're going to tell me about your meeting with the one man in the city who could sign a kill order on us."

"You sure know how to set the mood."

"Knowing you? Yes, that may do it."

I grumble something maybe slightly uncharitable about know-it-all fiancées who think just a [tiny] emotional breakdown gives them the right to be smug about things, and then proceed to rethink my whole presentation.

No, there's no PowerPoint involved. Even my villainy has limits.

[Lisa Wilbourn's use of PowerPoint—]

It was one time! And Brian deserved all of it!

"OK, so… I may have negotiated terms," I say.

Taylor answers with a flat, unimpressed stare that all but screams her startling lack of surprise.

I roll my eyes.

She pinches the back of my hand.

"Hey!"

"Get to the point, " she says, leaning back on her chair, her right elbow resting on the armrest, the side of her chin on her knuckles.

…

I think I'm gonna buy her a throne.

[Lisa Wilbourn kneeling—]

Yup. Precisely.

"Liz…" she says with a warning tone that would only be better with a riding crop and—[nope].

"I promised to solve an exclusion zone in ten days!"

…

Well, she's not yelling, so this is either very good or very bad.

"[Why?"] Or maybe she hasn't decided yet. Yeah, that's also a possibility.

"Because I like a challenge?" I tell her with my most endearing, guileless tone.

She, again, pinches the back of my hand.

"Hey!"

"Why the Hell would you do something so reckless—never mind, I feel stupid for asking."

"You know me so well…"

"Are you enjoying the pinching, or are you just that naturally infuriating?"

"You know me [so well]…"

She, for some reason, facepalms.

Truly, she's so voluble. She's lucky she's got me to rely on when her moods take her.

"The exclusion zones, Liz…" she mumbles through her fingers.

And I…

Lean back on my chair, and sigh.

It's one of those wood and fabric things, the armrests and backrest a single, C-shaped piece that offer just enough support to not dig into my back, but little else, and I…

I am looking at Taylor still holding my (abused) hand on top of a round table covered by a pistachio cloth that perfectly matches the carpet, and this is… This is nice.

A nice hotel room, with gorgeous vistas. Close to her.

So I look up from her long fingers and into her eyes as she lowers her palm enough that I can see them once more.

"Because I love you," I say.

"What?" she answers, blinking in sheer confusion.

"I… I don't want to be a Ward. Colin means well, but I don't have a legal guardian, and that's giving them too much power over me. Power they could use to take me away somewhere else, and I—"

Her hand squeezes mine over a tablecloth that's softer than many sheets I've been forced to sleep on.

Without pinching.

"That won't happen," she says.

And I, of course, believe her.

So I exchange with her the kind of smiles I can't see us sharing with anybody else in the world, the shy, unsure, [unguarded] things.

"OK. Be that as it may, the deal I made with Tagg is that he'll give me enough leeway if I succeed that I'll get to manage my own operations, so…"

She bites her lip for a moment, searching my eyes, and nods.

"Right. What do you have?"

And I sigh.

"Very little. The only two exclusion zones that are public knowledge are… Well, Ellisburg is notorious enough. And then there's the Machine Army," I tell her leadingly.

"What's the matter with Ellisburg?" But she doesn't bite.

Damn it.

"On paper? Nothing. Nilbog is the only cape I'd need to deal with, and both his identity and trigger are a matter of public record. I should be able to solve that in two days tops."

"But?"

"But… But he's a biotinker."

I stop and, shamefully, look away from her.

And she sighs.

"Which means you'd ideally want to rely on Panacea being there to give support in case he unleashes some dead man's switch," she says.

And I nod.

Taylor… stands up, still holding my hand, dragging it up with her before she turns her own hand around within the blue sling and laces her fingers through mine so our palms touch as she clasps my chin and tilts my head up.

"You need to deal with her at some point," she says, her tone warm enough that the accusation barely stings.

"I know," I tell her, trying not to sound like a reprimanded child.

"Then—"

"But I can't."

She tilts her head to the right with more curiosity than anything else.

And I try to answer in something other than a panicked rush.

"It's… I [know] how to break people. It's easy. Easier still with parahumans, because we all come pre-broken, but fixing them? There's… I told you, didn't I? How easy it would be for you to end the world and how hard to save it? I am the same, Tay; I've always been. I am… I'm meant to do terrible things, awful things, and I don't want to, but I could… I could so easily slip up and do something irreversible, and she's… she's already on the edge, so what if I push instead of pulling? What if I'm the last thing she needs to snap? What if every single wrong thing I did—"

"You are a hero," she whispers, her face suddenly in front of mine. And I can only stare as her lips say words I don't understand. "You saved [me]. You saved Dinah, you saved [Colin], and you're going to save [Dragon]. Every one of us would be so much worse off without you it's not even funny, Liz. It's a tragedy—a tragedy you averted, because that's what heroes are supposed to do. You say you like Watson because he earned everything he had? You've earned [me]. You've got me, Liz, and you've got the love and support of everybody who knows the real you—"

"Sarah," I say, my eyes stinging.

"What?"

"Sarah Livsey. That was my name. Before I escaped. Before I fled my first family, because I can't face my mistakes, I can't fix the things I've broken, and I had to leave and never go back, and… and I was Sarah, and now I'm Lisa, and I don't want to be her, but I still am, and I'll always be, and… And I want you to like her, even if you'd have hated her, and… And I'm such a horrible mess."

She kneels in front of me, her hand on my cheek, and forces me to look at her.

"I love you, Sarah," she says. And my heart almost stops as my throat clenches.

Because… Because Sarah stopped thinking she would hear those words a long time ago.

So I let her hold me, and I…

"I'm not going to cry…" I murmur right by her ear, my nose buried in fragrant, soft hair.

"Of course you aren't," she says, her arms tightening around me.

I close my eyes, breathe in her soothing scent, and return her embrace.

"Thank you," I murmur.

"Always," she answers.

And that could mean a lot of things, really. That she will always be there to catch me when I fall, that she will always claim she loves me even when I'm a wretched thing unworthy of it, or that she will always be strong when I'm weak.

Knowing her? It's not any of those.

It's just…

That she will always be here.

With me.

Forever.

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

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 88 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!