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Chapter Text

TUE MAR 1

Learning to build arches was interesting, as it was a sequential process even 'cheating' as hard as I was with my powers. With everything else done, I capped off the drain, finished bricking the tunnel, and we left. Arthur complemented how much I'd gotten done, and told me not to worry about the closet space. They'd install a trapdoor and reinforce the room over the rest of the week. I checked in with Sue, got to pet both her less skittish cats, then grabbed my bags and headed home.

I spent the bus rides on the phone with Gram, letting her know I'd picked up my suit, and seeing how business had been going. There was a surprising amount of behind-the-scenes networking involved, talking to banks, credit lenders, and land owners, before ever approaching the clients of theirs she'd actually be doing business with. It made sense as far as casting the right net for the fish she actually wanted went, though. Why bother asking every business in the city who needed money or were making profits, when someone else was already tracking that information?

After getting home, I ran down my mental checklist of who needed calling, and decided to try for the two-fer of informing Vicky about Lung and my changed schedule Thursday, first. When she didn't pick up, I got a little worried. Then I reasoned it was still around dinner time, and Carol did seem like the sort who'd be a stickler for 'family time' meaning no phones. I sent her a text asking her to call me back, rather than bother with voicemail.

After that, Amy and Dinah both got texts asking if they were busy. Dinah didn't answer, but Amy said she was at the hospital.

'Got news. Lung back in town. Vicky didn't answer. She okay?' I guess I wasn't over that worry, after all.

'D8 nite. Prb plyn pony w D.' It took me a few seconds to parse that out, causing me to blush.

'As long as you're both okay. Wanted to reschedule some things with her, too.'

'Plz tellme spa days dead'

'Thursday plans, sorry.'

'Fuck' I don't know why, but that had me snorting. Maybe it was the image of a grumpy pouting Amy?

I grabbed my cape phone and dialed the PRT, while tapping out a conversation on how her day at the hospital went. It took a few rings, to the point I was wondering if the call was just going to disconnect, before it was picked up. "PRT hotline, how may I help you?"

"Hello, this is Terraform. I have some not-currently-pressing, moderately-critical information to pass on to the Protectorate."

There was a sound of surprise, followed by typing and muttering. From the sound of it, he was checking my phone number against my file to see if it was really me. "Alright, uh. Let me transfer you up." I thanked him and sat around listening to the holding music for half a minute.

"Miss Militia."

"Oh, hi. This is Terraform." Be cool, Taylor. I took a breath and swallowed my nerves. "I, uh. You know how Lung hasn't been active lately? I got word earlier today that he's back in town. He might try something in the next few days, show off and project force."

She gave a hum, and I couldn't tell if it was worried or frustrated. "I see. And you got this information...?"

This is the part I'd been practicing in my head off and on for about two hours. "From a source I trust. An associate of mine who would rather stay anonymous at this time."

"Understood." I think I caught a hint of disappointment. "Thank you for the information, and if you don't mind... I'd like to make a point and say that I think you'd make a fantastic Ward."

I couldn't help the cringe, and hoped it didn't carry through in my voice. "I'm sorry. I admire you, and I've had nothing but positive interactions with the Protectorate, but... I don't play well with agendas. I'd always wonder where the orders were coming from, who they were benefiting, if they were actually helping the people we're supposed to protect, whether or not they should be followed... I'd spend as much time fighting the chain of command as I would actually helping people. I think it's better for everyone if I work with the Protectorate, not for the Protectorate." I'd already told Dauntless, and I think Armsmaster got the memo, but I was still a bit frustrated that Miss Militia would ask about it.

"Ah. I see." There was that neutral hint of disapproval, again. "This city does need every hero it can get. I'm glad to have you on our side." She added, diplomatically.

I wanted to change the subject, and my thoughts jumped back to earlier. "I've been thinking about Lung, though."

Her tone shifted again, hard with a hint of an edge. "You're not considering fighting him?"

"Little bit. I can't catch him. He can't be caught, he'll just heal, or ramp up until nothing holds him. He'll break out of anything I can think of. But..." I swallowed, wondering if I should even be considering this, let alone telling a hero. "I could kill him. Before he gets too big. Shear him apart with enough stone, drown him in the bay, shove him down and crush him under the city..." I sucked in a breath, snorting back the moisture in my nose and throat. "It's not fair, he gets to walk all over us, and we're not allowed to touch him."

"Terra." She said after a tense silence. "Do not go looking for Lung. Instigating damages, causing casualties, that's going to end poorly even if he's gone. The PRT cannot officially condone killing anyone." I felt my chest tighten, and couldn't breathe. "That said, if your life is on the line, if civilians are in danger... don't hesitate."

On one hand, it was what I wanted to hear. Someone else thought Lung was better dead than murdering anyone else. On the other, it was one of my heroes saying it. The paragon veneer stripping away more each day. I got what I wanted, and didn't think I could be happy with it. Story of my life. "Alright." I quietly heaved, as my chest finally released the trapped tension, and the breath escaped my lungs.

"Are you okay?" Came with the air of a practiced platitude.

I snorted out half a chuckle. "I'll live."

She let me have my moment. "Do let us know if you learn anything else."

"Alright. Will do." We hung up, and I let myself fall back on my bed and melted into a puddle of conflictions. I hated it. I felt like a hypocrite, wanting to be a good hero, but also wanting to save people. Understanding some people needed to die, but not wanting to dirty my own hands. Getting approval to end Lung if it came to it, but wondering if I could pull the trigger. I felt like a child, demanding options I'd never use, just because I hadn't already had them. I was still trying to work my way up to bridging the intellectual 'I should kill Lung' into the emotional 'I would kill Lung' when my phone rang.

"Hi, Taylor. You- you wanted me to call?"

"Dinah, hi." Right, back to work. I took a deep breath and did by best to shelve the internal struggles of the past twenty-ish minutes. "Yeah, was wondering if you- uh, I had new information. I'd like you to add a few questions to your list, but I don't want you to overdo it."

"I'll be fine." She said, with the same immediacy I could imagine myself giving, on my way out the door to Winslow again. Damn it, this was exactly what I was trying to prevent. I was about to start speaking, when she cut into the silence. "I know you wouldn't ask, if you didn't think it was important. So, it must be important. I don't... I want to help, and if it's important and I didn't..." I could hear her take a deep, steadying breath, and her tone turned stern. "It's just a headache, Taylor. Would you let that stop you?"

My jaw clicked shut. What would I do with Dinah's power? I know I'd find a way to be a hero with it, but it doesn't lend itself to fighting. I'd probably run myself out of questions every day, trying to save lives and hinder villains. I'd keep going until I couldn't, because that's all I could do. "I'm sorry." I muttered.

"I know." She shot back. "What's wrong?"

It was hard to feel frustrated with her, when she sounded so earnest and worried. "It's Lung. He's back in town, and likely to act up given what's happened while he was gone. People could die, heroes could be caught up to contain fights, things could get bad. We need to know when and where. He might hit the Merchants for making him look bad, or the Empire or Protectorate as a show of strength."

She started muttering to herself, asking herself questions. I let her at it for a couple minutes, starting to worry just before she responded. "Not tomorrow. High chances after that. I don't think he's attacking anyone Thursday... 82% chance Merchants, after."

"Probably hitting a place, instead of a group."

Dinah started again without further prompting. "Lord's Market, 65%. Maybe the Trainyard, 43%, or Boardwalk, 35%. Nowhere else is close."

"Makes sense. That's Merchant territory." If he wanted to double up, scare them by being close and make a show, that'd be the best place. "And the other two are the nearest other landmarks. If someone tried to drive him out of the Market, they'd try to push him into the Trainyard. He might try charging the Boardwalk to make them pull off and stop the fighting." I rambled, thinking out loud. "Your head okay?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

I shook my head. She'd say that even if she wasn't. "If you're up for it, I want you to keep asking about it, especially Thursday. Maybe something like 'chances Lung is at the Market' every half hour? Could that work?"

There was a pause, probably her power activating. "Yes. I can do that."

"I can't get messages at school, but Lung would want an audience anyway. He might wait for the afternoon... Text me if you can, I might take the day off to make sure I can get it. And if you can't reach me... we really need to get you a cape phone. Do you have something to write with?" My rambling halted just long enough for her to confirm she did. I rattled off Sally's number. "That's the number for a police officer I trust. If anything bad happens and you can't go through me, she should be able to help you get word out."

"Like, uh. A pay cell? I... Could you get one?" I gave a confused hum. "I don't think I can get away, and... don't have... cash."

"It'd be on a credit card in your name." I realized, out loud. "Yeah, I can get one for you. Can hand it off... before school?"

"That'd work. I get there a little early." She haltingly confirmed.

"Alright, I'll grab something on the way to school. Text me when you're up?" After that, we started talking about nothing in particular. How school was going, how she was getting on with her school friends now that she was doing better, how her parents were doing. She also mentioned there was a good chance they wouldn't bother watching next weekend, which was interesting.

We said our goodbyes, and I double-checked my lack of new texts or messages. Then I looked up the number for City Hall, and dialed it. I said who I was and that I'd told the PRT I'd be calling, and that got me transferred somewhere else, where I repeated it. After that, it was a simple matter of picking a day a couple weeks out, just in case I needed to reschedule it, or the thing with Lung went badly.

Then I called Lisa. "Terra, fancy hearing from you."

"Just doing the rounds, and covering bases." I sighed.

"Aww, worried about little Lisa?"

I had no idea what she'd picked up on, or what she thought she had, anyway. "You're no good to me barbecued, and Lung is back in town."

She made a quiet noise of surprise. Apparently she hadn't known, yet. "Well, I'll avoid ordering flambe for a while. Was that everything?"

"Nothing new on your end?"

"If it were easy, I'd have done it already."

I heaved out a frustrated breath. No use getting worked up over it. If she didn't know when or how to hit him safely, that was that. "Right, right."

"Hey." She cut in, more seriously. "You're no good to me fried, either."

"Why does everyone think I'm going to fight Lung half-cocked? I'm not stupid." I ground out.

"Probably the martyr complex." Her voice chirped happily.

"The what?"

"Talk to you later!"

"No, wait, I don't have a-" I stopped when the click of a disconnected call caught up to my brain. I glared down at my cell, then tossed the stupid thing on my bed, perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

She had no idea what she was talking about. I didn't have a complex. I was a hero, and I helped people. That's all there was to it. I stumbled over tiredly, plopping down next to my phone and rubbing at my face. I had trust issues. I had trouble with authority. I wasn't st- I sucked in a breath. I didn't want to die, I didn't want to suffer. I didn't have a martyr complex. I had two issues I knew how to handle, and that was it.

My phone chose that moment to start ringing, which came as a welcome distraction from my introspection. Everything felt heavy as my hand drifted over to it, dragging it up so I could answer it, and pushed it up to my ear. "Hey." I dully muttered.

"Hey, Tay!" Vicky chirped in my ear, in what I could only imagine must be the giddy, breathy tone of the recently laid. Why yes, I was incredibly jealous. This was infuriatingly unhelpful, when I knew I'd never be able to stand letting someone get close enough to actually feel like I could both have sex, and have fun doing it. Maybe eventually I'd find someone I trusted that much in my age group, but I was... not looking for girls, and didn't know any boys that I thought were a good fit. Carlos was nice, but I thought not being able to read him might make it hard to trust him that way. "I got your message, what's up?" She asked, when I failed to respond.

I set aside the rollercoaster that was my emotional response to relationships, and took a calming breath. I didn't want to tear down her good mood, but I'd be lying if I said at least part of me wasn't giddy at ripping her back down to my level. "Lung is back in town. Shatterpoint thinks he's going to act up Thursday to prove he's still the big dog around."

"Shatterpoint?" Her voice was hard, she was frustrated with the news, and I could tell her mood was crashing. I didn't feel as good about it as I'd hoped.

"Thinker. Amy knows her. Can probably introduce you, over the weekend."

"Oh, her." I didn't remember telling her about Dinah, but Amy might have. "That works, but what about Lung?"

"We're hanging out that day anyway, right?" I barely waited for her to confirm, before I continued. "I already called the PRT, and I might take the day off just to respond faster, but if we're already together, we can respond together. Might have to push things back, though. I'm supposed to be patrolling with the Wards just after school that day."

"Why don't I just come with? I can drop Amy off and meet up with you."

I flopped back on my bed, considering it. "I guess that works. The patrol should only be a couple hours. Then we can go do... other stuff?"

"Was thinking we'd hit the mall. Boardwalk's fun, but it's not as good when you've got a real goal in mind."

"'Shopping' versus 'buying'?" I hedged, a hint of wry cheer creeping back into my voice.

"Something like that." She sounded excited. "I've gotta go pick Amy up, though. Does she-?"

I scoffed. "I called her first, because someone was busy."

She barked out a sharp cackle. "Ahah, yeah..." Her tone turned whistful, and I could almost hear her shaking herself to focus. "Anyway, talk to you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, later." I let my arm drop back to my side, carrying the phone with it. I think that was everything, right? All the calls I'd needed to make, all the fires to be put out, all the effort needed... It took more energy than it really should have to pull my arms back up and rub the heels of my palms into my eyes. Why was I so tired?

I pulled myself upright, taking a moment to rest before pushing myself to my feet. I trudged down the stairs, and leaned my weight on the doorway to the kitchen. Dad was there, making food. I wasn't sure if he'd heard me on the phone and hadn't said anything, or if he was having a bad day too and hadn't thought to check on me when he got home. It took another ten seconds to work up the effort to say anything. I took a deep breath, and wandered in to plop myself down at the table. "Hey, dad."

He glanced back at me. "Taylor, hey." I could tell he was trying to find something meaningful to say, as he turned back to continue working on food. In the end, he defaulted to, "How was your day?"

"Productive, I guess." I shrugged, glancing around and thinking. "I got my suit."

"Oh, that's good. I'll have to see you in it, sometime." The fact that he wasn't jumping right to it made me think today wasn't a good day. His emotions were still responding, just flattening out faster than usual. It kinda' felt like looking in a mirror.

I grabbed my phone before that thought could leave, and texted Tracy. 'Want to meet in the library for lunch? I want to look up therapists.' No backing out, now. There was something else, though... I glanced back at my phone.

"Hey, dad?" He hummed an acknowledgment. "We have a Tinker for our team, now." He stopped again, turning to give me a questioning look. I could tell he was happy for me, the feeling a mix of joy and pride, but he mostly felt confused. "I was wondering if there was any scrap around, you had access to? Maybe through the Dockworkers? I know the Association had to downsize a lot in the past decade, there was probably a bunch of stuff that got mothballed and never reactivated, might be worn to the point it'd just be replaced if you needed it. That, or stuff businesses left in the warehouses and offices when they bailed on the Bay?"

He gave a thoughtful grunt, taking a few moments to consider it. "Probably. I mean, I don't think the Association has since I've been there, but it wouldn't be the first time the Union 'lost' its trash rather than pay shipping and dumping fees..." I nearly bounced in my chair at him all but committing to help, but restrained myself to a wide, toothy grin. "I'll kick the bean counters. See if anyone has a recent tally. If we can pare things down enough to pay rent or tax on even one fewer warehouse or garage, I'm sure they'll be all for it."

"Yesss." I hissed cheerfully.

That got me a long-suffering look. "It's hardly a sure thing, Taylor. I'll see what I can do, though."

"That's all I'm asking." I replied, and settled down to wait for dinner. Conversation turned to idle chatter on work or school, and the meal itself was fairly quiet. I stopped by the bookshelves in the living room on my way upstairs, picking out one of the less dreary titles from Mom's collection to re-read before bed.

---

WED MAR 2

I got up a little early, to get through my normal morning routine and also hit a convenience store on the way to school. So I spent ten minutes on stretches, another ten on weights, and decided I had enough time for a fancy breakfast. I fried up some onion and garlic, dropped eight eggs and some diced pepper on top, spiced it to hell with pepper and herbs, and scrambled the lot of it. Then I made myself some toast, set a little under half of it aside for Dad when he woke up, and put on the news while I ate, to make sure nothing had exploded overnight. Dinah texted me while I was on my run to the store, letting me know she was up and would meet me where we first met in about half an hour. While I was there, I grabbed some iced mochas and snacks to pad out the phone purchase, stuffing it all in my backpack and continuing to school.

"Hey," I called, jogging up to the bike racks. "how are you doing?"

"I'm fine." She replied, straightening up from where she'd been leaning and dusting off her fairly conservative skirt. She looked cute in it, with her well-ironed jacket and well-starched blouse, and the little pack completing her schoolgirl look. "No trouble today, and no headaches yet."

"That's good." I dropped my bag and started digging. "So we're still on for tomorrow?"

"My school doesn't have the Faraday cage. I shouldn't have any problems."

"Good." I ripped the packaging off, handing her the little flip phone and its power cord. "You want a drink or some snacks, by the way?"

"Uhh, alright."

She left with one of the coffees and a bag of jerky. I told her not to drink the whole thing at once, but I couldn't stop snickering at the thought of her teachers having to deal with her on a caffeine rush all morning, once she'd left. I sipped my own on the way to the cafeteria to track down Amy, who simmered balefully at me once she saw me with it. She perked up a bit when I offered her the last one I had, though.

"This almost makes me consider forgiving you, for today." She muttered as we picked away at the junk food, clutching her precious bean nectar to her bosom whenever she wasn't drinking it.

"It's not going to be that bad."

"You've clearly never been."

"I didn't say it wouldn't be bad, I just think you're catastrophising."

She shuddered, muttered a denial, and changed the subject. We had to fend off a few bottom feeders who could smell the highly processed grease, but I had fun.

---

I met Tracy at the library, having scarfed down a small lunch on the walk from the cafeteria. She was just finishing her sandwiches when I got there, and we headed inside together. "Do... you know what you're looking for?" She asked.

"Not really. I just want to get the process started, I'd be happy just getting some phone numbers or email addresses, some next step past 'look up how to get a therapist'."

She chuckled. "First step?"

I sat down and made a show of typing that exact thing into the internet search bar. "First step." The results indicated step one was 'call your insurance', since they were likely to have a list of providers in the area that would take payments from them. Assuming you didn't have insurance, or there wasn't anyone they worked with in the area still taking new clients, that changed to 'look up practices in your area, and try your luck'. A more detailed look- actually reading articles and checking several pages through the search results- stressed that therapy was just like any other relationship; two people could be entirely wrong fits for each other, and that was fine. If you didn't mesh well with your doctors, it's better to just find a new one, assuming that was an option. Therapists had specialties, and fields they focused on. 'Depression' 'Youth support' and 'LGBT support' were ones that popped to mind immediately, from the suggestions. For Tracy, I mean. Definitely her. Though the fact that apparently there were therapists specializing in helping people with too much money to deal with the problems that came with having a lot of money was surprising, and I filed it away for later.

Then we narrowed things down to Brockton Bay. I wasn't sure if it should feel surprising, or like it made sense, that we actually found a fairly broad listing to pick between. We compared what we found, and agreed that a few of them were far too white and working from Empire territory to be trusted, but we wheedled each other into writing down at least a few names and numbers each. Lunch had to end eventually though, and we resolved to both call our insurance agencies on our own as a next step forward. I reiterated my offer to bring her along today, which she declined, saying she was excited to get back to 'hobby time' at home. Which, if she felt good about Tinkering, was only a good thing, right?

Though, I didn't bother telling her about my talk with Dad yet. I didn't want to get her hopes up if it fell through.