Reading Time: 111 Minutes

Title: Dawn
Author: Timothy Wren
Fandom: Parahumans
Genre: Action Adventure, Fusion, Het, Pre-Relationship, Science Fiction
Relationship(s): Pre-relationship Alec | Regent/Taylor Hebert | Skitter
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Hate Speech. Discussion- Canon Child Abuse and Rape, Hate speech is for Nazis Naziing (minor)
Author Note: The discussion of canon child abuse and rape is non-graphic and refers to Heartbreaker/Nikos Vasil and Alec’s canon backstory.
Beta: Undiene
Alpha: Polyanna94
Word Count: 51,548
Summary: Roughly a year before anyone can get shoved into a locker, Taylor Hebert manifests a different power that changes her circumstances dramatically. Being a hero on her own is hard, but her power means she’s never alone– and making an unexpected friend in Alec, a strange boy who ran away from home, changes things for the brighter.
Artist: Librarycat9

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Prologue

Taylor tried not to hunch her shoulders as she shut her locker with a small mechanical click. Around her, teenagers mulled about the halls, laughing and generally goofing off. It was Friday, which was normally excuse enough for the good cheer, but today was worse—because it was both the first and last day of the week.

Schools across America had cancelled halfway through Monday morning, as Behemoth attacked Iceland.

They and most businesses had remained closed throughout Thursday, allowing capes across the country to recover—the quiet concession to secret identities that Taylor had a new appreciation for these days.

Normally, she’d also be content with just a broad summary of events, but this was the first Endbringer attack since she got her powers– and it brought up concerns she’d never even considered.

Leviathan, the city-killer, who sank Japan. Behemoth, the Herokiller, who glassed New York City in nuclear fire. The Simurgh, the hopekiller, with her great winged form that left entire cities quarantined, or worse, in the wake of her descent.

Nobody could kill them; the best humanity could hope for was to do enough damage to drive them off—at least until their next attack, roughly every three months. They were the horrors heralding the slow decline of the world, the living apocalypse that Earth Bet constantly tried and failed to recover from.

And they were suddenly and viscerally more real to Taylor, than the previously distant but comparatively simple worry that they’d choose Brockton Bay for their next target.

Now, there was the probability—undeniable—that as one of the empowered, a parahuman, she could go to them. Answer the call for humanity’s defense.

She hadn’t.

Reykjavik, Iceland had been the target. Analysts suspected the Herokiller had taken exception to their commitment to clean energy and sustainability. They had been projected to be completely carbon-neutral by 2040. Now, the city was a disaster zone, thousands dead.

And Taylor hadn’t helped. Hadn’t even tried.

True, she barely had a costume, and had only just settled on a name– one she wasn’t even sure about! It changed nearly every time she went out, and she was almost glad she hadn’t run into any active crimes, gangs, or villain fights, and thus hadn’t had to introduce herself with a label she’d be stuck with.

She abandoned her locker with a sigh.

Such a concern seemed paltry when even the villains of her city were traveling across the world to fight the Herokiller.

Meanwhile, she couldn’t even manage to find a purse-snatcher. Some hero!

While she might be grateful to put off officially choosing a name, some people were not so glad at the inactivity, and even Taylor could admit to mounting frustration.

“This is the worst.” Tsubaki moaned, floating on her shoulder. The little fairy was dark-haired, tan-skinned, and draped in black. He was like a little ninja, and had the same bloodthirst as one.

“I’m going out again tonight.” Taylor said quietly, trying not to move her mouth. “We can’t strike out every time we ‘patrol.'”

The fairy scoffed.

“This city is supposed to have villains, princess. Nazis. Nazis! We need to go fight a fricken nazi, already. And you said there was a rage dragon. We haven’t seen a hint of the regular Azn Bad Boys, much less a rage dragon. I feel lied to.”

Taylor struggled not to smile. As grumpy as he was, having a fairy– one of the little manifestations of her power that only she could see– with her had dramatically flipped her school experience. It was like night and day. Was it pathetic that her only friends were invisible spirits that she talked to like a crazy person?

Maybe, but it was also the only thing saving her sanity at Winslow High School.

It had been almost eight months since her life-long best friend had turned on her, ghosting her during the worst summer of her life, and starting the school year off with a steadily-escalating torture campaign that showed no signs of stopping.

Keeping her head down hadn’t helped. Avoiding them hadn’t helped. The teachers weren’t willing to do anything. Sometimes Taylor wanted to just start screaming and never stop, see if someone noticed, then!

It was late March, three weeks since she awoke the ability sleeping inside her. Now, a different fairy accompanied her at all times in the hellish halls of Winslow. They made it bearable. All six of them, usually dormant in her hair pins, all different and unique and most of all they liked her.

Even Tsubaki, abrasive at the best of times and talking like a little devil on her shoulder during the worst, urging her to unleash him on the Trio, was a grounding element– a tether to a world outside, where she was more than just a victim.

And she was. She was a hero. Even if she hadn’t had a chance to show it, yet, and her only mask was made out of paper, tape and a dream.

“I’m going out again tonight.” She repeated.

First home, then dinner with dad, then the streets– the cool spring night of Brockton Bay blanketing her and everyone else in tense, fearful darkness, gangs and villains pressing over the city like a noose and a sword.

But Taylor was different, now. She didn’t have to get swallowed up by that slow, oppressive darkness.

She could bring the light.

–

Chapter 1

The sound of a scuffle caught her attention.

Finally, some action! Taylor jogged over, cognizant of the ocean breeze and the moths buzzing against light posts.

For all that she’d been told her entire life not to wander after dark, it was quiet. It was Friday, but far removed from March 12^th, when she’d first hardened her resolve. To her dismay, and Tsubaki’s increasingly pissed off temperament, the entire week after their return had been horribly quiet.

Apparently, there was an unspoken “truce” after Endbringer battles that didn’t end when schools and jobs started back up. There hadn’t been so much as a minor villain attack, according to the Brockton Bay news page on ParaHumans Online, the major cape forum!

That didn’t stop Taylor from trying to find something, though. Anything to let her try to make her debut as a cape.

She’d been out every other night this week and this was her very first—potential—hit of criminal activity.

The sounds were coming from the alley between two buildings—because of course they were—and she had just come into sight of the dumpster at the mouth of the alley when a gunshot rang out.

Taylor ducked by instinct, which was stupid. If a bullet was coming at her, it would have hit at the same time as the sound, not five seconds afterward; nor would she have been fast enough to get out of the way.

Cursing rang out; a woman’s scream. Grunting.

With the gunshot, her excitement had flipped to fear. Would her shield stop a bullet?

It was the same worry that had kept her afraid and staring into a mirror when the sirens sounded across the Bay. Everyone held their breath waiting for a second tone, or worse—that damning, horrifying third that said almost everything you know and love is about to be destroyed.

One ring for an Endbringer attack.

Two rings for an Endbringer attack in the States.

Three rings for a local attack– get to the shelters now.

The single tone repeated, every five seconds, echoing through town. Not in the U.S.—and definitely not local. Schools closed so Wards could change into costume without outing themselves; businesses shut down so rogues, villains and independent heroes could do the same.

Heroes and villains came together to teleport to the site of the battle, converging on the Protectorate East-Northeast Headquarters. The nazis had come, as they always did for an Endbringer fight, the Empire Eighty-Eight standing shoulder to shoulder with the very minorities they disparaged.

Worse than her shield failing against a bullet, could she live with herself if she did nothing, here? She’d not volunteered for an Endbringer fight, the highest calling of capes everywhere, out of fear. Fear, inexperience, and the knowledge that Behemoth killed many– if not most— of the seasoned heroes he fought against.

With barely a grasp on her power, she’d be worse than cannon fodder, potentially even a distraction for the other capes. Of course, that was just how she justified sitting in her room when even the nazis stood in front of humanity. Was it cowardice? Or practicality?

All she knew was that a Behemoth fight was the worst place for a new cape, unless they were the second coming of Alexandria or Eidolon. She could have gotten far more people killed than she saved.

This was different, small-time stuff. If she couldn’t even do this, what was the point of being a hero at all?

If her shield couldn’t even stop a bullet—

Footsteps, and her overthinking came to an abrupt end. Taking a deep breath, she shoved herself the last few feet into view—

Only to immediately take a large, smelly guy to the face, his weight half-bowling her over.

Shit.

She wobbled, dangerously off-kilter, and caught the glint of metal. This was the guy with the gun!

“H-hey!” she tried, only it came out hoarse and quiet. Too low to hear.

Great. Her first minute of being a hero and she’d already lost track of the things she’d done wrong—things she’d need to study and correct for.

The gunman had shoved past her and was running out of the alley.

Well. There was one thing she could do, and something she’d practiced over and over again, though she immediately realized she hadn’t tried it in this exact way.

She’d only ever summoned her shield directly in front of her. Oh, well—there was literally no time to figure it out, just a split second to react.

She could barely get the words out fast enough.

“HinagikuLilyBaigon! Santen Kesshun! I reject!” All in one breath, at first she worried she was too late.

The air in front of the gunman flickered, erupted in gold, and he bounced off her shield—which immediately shattered, her concentration nowhere near enough to keep it going.

She bit her lip and ran forward.

“Hey!” Caught completely off guard for the umpteenth time, she spun. Of course, the gunman hadn’t been shooting at nothing. There was a woman in the alley, red spreading along her leg, and a boy in a mask next to her.

A boy in a–?

“Forget that guy, help me with her!” Oh. Oh, she’d been shot.

The gunman was groaning on the ground, pained sounds emanating from his general vicinity.

“Do you know any first aid?” she asked stupidly.

“No!” The boy snapped, a helpless snarl in his voice. “Do something!”

She dropped to her knees next to them. Alleyways were just as grimy as you’d think, refuse and uncomfortable rocks around the concrete, strange substances making everything sticky. Cardboard boxes piled up next to the dumpster.

Pressure, right? You were supposed to apply pressure? But wouldn’t it hurt? What if she made it worse?

Now she was hovering just as uselessly as the boy—the other cape. The red was spreading, high up on her thigh. She was going to take all the first aid classes after this.

And also carry bandages. Fuck. Taylor pressed her hands to the wound on her leg and she jerked, screaming. She just tried to ‘apply pressure’ to the bleeding, even as she fought her.

“Fuck, fuck—do you have a cell phone?”

“No? What— you don’t either!?”

“No!” The boy punched his thigh. “We need to call an ambulance.”

Her mind was working so fast and yet every thought was some useless version of “it wasn’t supposed to be like this” and more panicked thoughts.

She forced herself to take deep breaths.

“Is that guy still down?” Her chin jerked toward the smelly gunman.

“Yeah, but fuck him.”

“First of all he still has a gun, so he could shoot one of us. Second of all, he’s probably got a phone on him.” She said through gritted teeth.

Red welled between her fingers. The woman was fading in and out of consciousness, moaning pitifully. Gloves. Gloves would probably also help. Taylor pressed harder.

The boy disappeared, landing back on his knees what felt like seconds later. He flicked the safety on the gun with stunning ease and flipped the phone open with impatience.

Suddenly, he was arguing with someone—911 operator?—and Taylor was so dazed she only caught on to his frankly rude tone. Panic made some people rude, probably. Taylor shouldn’t judge.

Panic was certainly making her all kinds of on-edge and freaked out. It was an ache behind her teeth, a tension around her heart that made her sternum pound with agony. Anxiety, the familiar friend, shook Taylor’s arms.

Her hands.

The blood wasn’t stopping.

The lady’s hand fell limp.

The first real ‘action’ she’d seen, and it was failing to stop even an unpowered mugger, much less a cape—much less a superpowered villain who could probably snap her and all civilians in the area like twigs.

No.

Come on, no. She tried applying more pressure, leaning her entire body weight into it. She wished she had a cloth, anything, her fingers weren’t cutting it.

Her first act as a hero, letting someone bleed to death under her hands.

“Fuck!” she shouted, throat tight with emotion. “No, you can’t, come on, lady.”

Taylor didn’t even know her name.

She couldn’t fix her.

Did you do CPR on someone bleeding out? Taylor’d have to let go of her leg to do that, and despite the feeling of abject failure, it was better than nothing, probably. Taylor’s palm was making some kind of seal.

“What do we do?” The boy said, shrill. “Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to—this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

There was an undertone in his voice, something dead and disheartened. He was still on the phone, though there were no more voices coming through.

“Is an ambulance coming?”

“Yeah, but it’s like—twenty minutes out.” His hand was shaking.

“We can keep her alive until then.” She croaked, though she wasn’t really feeling confident. “We have to.”

“Here.” Something was shoved in front of her—cloth. She took it quickly and ignored the gush of blood in the intervening time, pressing it wadded up against the wound.

“It’s not stopping. The bleeding. It’s not—”

“Calm down.” The boy said, that flat tone repeating itself.

How could she?

“This can’t happen.” She said, somewhat hysterically. “Come on, come on. It’s not even in her chest. People live without legs, right? If we can just get the bleeding to stop, she’ll be fine—”

“Femoral artery.” The boy noted. “Not sure if that’s what was hit, but—leg wounds can be fatal.”

“Shut up!” she snapped, then winced. “Sorry, sorry. Oh, god. Oh, god. Lily, we can’t let this happen, right? Can we—maybe a shield right on the wound, stop blood from getting out?”

The sprite was floating next to her, having quickly returned from the shield creation. The others floated nearby, watching. Waiting.

A familiar feeling was welling up inside of her. She didn’t dare hope.

“That’s not my power, Princess.” The pink-haired fairy said gently.

“She’s not going to figure it out.” Tsubaki said, voice snide. Taylor ignored him, as she ignored the masked boy asking who she was talking to.

“Damn it. Damn, damn, damn. I don’t want this to happen. I don’t want her to die! I—I reject it!”

Blood was now welling through the fabric of the improvised bandage. Her vision was hazy with tears.

This woman was going to die. Taylor was going to have her blood—literally—on her hands. Die in an alley in a stupid, freak accident. Die like mom did, senselessly, with nobody caring to save her—any heroes too late or too incompetent to bother.

“I reject!” She shouted, over and over. “I reject—please! Please, I reject it, I—”

“Hey, crazy girl, come on.” The boy said, as though from far away. A hand on her shoulder that she shrugged off almost violently.

She screamed, a high wordless noise of rage and denial.

“No! No! God-damnit, no!” The rising note in her chest hit a crescendo. It welled out, useable, instinctual—powerful. Two of her fairies flew to her aid before Taylor even called their names. “Ayame! Shun’ō! Sōten Kisshun! I reject!”

And the alley lit up with golden light.

Taylor sat back, completely numb, as she watched the shield flow over the woman. Her arms interrupted it, but it was like touching light—nowhere near the impenetrable solidity of her other shield.

“Congratulations, dickhead, you tapped into it. Barely.” Tsubaki scoffed.

“Oh, leave her alone, you big bully.” Lily laughed, easy-going. “I knew you could do it, princess!”

There was no blood on Taylor’s hands. The blood on the cloth—which she could now see was a torn piece of the boy’s shirt—was receding. It fell away and the bullet slid out, the wound sealing itself. The hole in the woman’s pants closed up.

It took long minutes, achingly slow, but she couldn’t look away.

“I’d ask why you didn’t do it in the first place, but it looks like you didn’t know you could.” The clipped tone of the boy reached her.

Then the snap as he closed the flip phone and tossed it at the thug—who was rather more unconscious than he’d been last time she looked.

“Do you have any zip-ties?”

Numbly, she shook her head. Yet another thing to fix about her cape approach, apparently.

“Guess this is good enough.” He bent down, took up the woman’s purse, and walked over to the thug with it. Ironic, since she was probably mugged at gunpoint over it.

He used the straps to wrap up the guy’s arms behind his back, twisting until the thug groaned in his sleep. It was uncannily similar to the pained moans of the woman as Taylor tried to hold her blood inside her body.

The shroud over the woman finally faded.

Shun’ō and Ayame returned to her.

“We can reject events inside this shield.” Shun’ō told her cheerfully, as they landed in her numb fingers. “Don’t despair, princess! Nothing is beyond your power if you wish it hard enough.”

Ayame giggled, by far the shyest of her powers.

“Hmph.” Tsubaki said, the most talkative—and opinionated—of them. “Doubt she’ll ever figure out what I do.” He grumbled.

Baigon rumbled out a counter-argument, but before she could really listen they all flashed back into their standard form—the hairpins on either side of her temples.

A hand flashed down, taking up the space they’d been in.

“Come on.” The boy from earlier. His face was a white mask, like they used in old theatres and ballets. “We shouldn’t be here if you have no idea how to explain that.”

“O-okay.” She said numbly. She took his hand and he hauled her to her feet, deceptively strong despite his lithe figure. He was thinner than her.

“I don’t have a name yet.” The boy said, again something about his tone falling flat. “This is supposed to be my last-ditch effort before I join the Wards. Don’t want to, but don’t really have the resources to cut it on my own. I suck at this, apparently.”

“Antheia.” She managed, banishing the stutter on the second attempt. “I’m also… new. And don’t want to join the Wards.”

He appraised her with a somehow obvious look, despite the mask.

“Huh. We have that in common then.” He tugged a little on her hand and she realized, belatedly, he was still holding it. “Well, Antheia, you look like you’re going into shock. I have a safe-house nearby, you can rest for a bit—unless you’d rather talk to the police?”

She was in absolutely no shape to talk to any figures of authority, let alone the cops. Everything felt floaty and strange, an unreality settled over the world.

It was probably a bad idea—certainly reckless—but fuck it. They’d bonded over their mutual uselessness in trying to keep a woman alive. And he was a hero.

“Sure. Lead the way.”

–

Chapter 2

“Safehouse,” she learned, was a generous term sometimes awarded to abandoned gas stations with the windows boarded up.

The masked boy had to heave to get the large, certainly not fire-safe, door open, scraping against the concrete. Probably why no homeless people or addicts had gotten to the place yet.

“There’s still power, believe it or not.” He said dully, but if she strained she could hear something of good humor.

“If you say so.” Shattered glass had been swept mostly out of the way. They walked past the completely empty counter to one of the ‘back rooms’, where someone had set up a mock living space.

There was a sleeping bag on the ground, anyway, and non-perishable food littered about—cans, mostly.

“So you see why I’m thinking about joining the stupid white hats.” He said, gesturing as though a much grander reveal. “It’s either that or take up villainy for the cash, and that would bring way too much heat.”

“Independent heroes have to make their money somehow.” She said faintly. There was a rickety chair in the corner and she slid into it, thankful to be sitting down.

She was tired enough to not even feel alarm at the idea that the boy—a stranger who she was very much alone with—was considering going villain.

“Well, if they do, I’m not sure how.” He set aside something. She realized he’d been carrying it—a staff, makeshift to the extreme, with a bit of metal at the end of it.

“Taser.” He explained. “I knocked out the guy from earlier, in case he had any other unexpected tricks. This being a ‘hero’ shit is rough. I tried to stop a mugging and got the victim shot.”

He laughed, but it was entirely without humor. She could sympathize.

“I tried to stop a bad guy from getting away, and instead I couldn’t even do basic first aid. Some hero.” Taylor agreed, glum.

He made a considering noise, somewhat surprised.

“Better than me. I was more worried about how to hurt villains than help people, I guess. Think the PRT offers first aid classes?”

The PRT, or Parahumans Response Team as they were formally called, was the government’s answer to the threat parahumans posed: like SWAT, they were half shock troopers and half bureaucracy, working with the Protectorate—government-licensed and sponsored heroes.

“To Wards, maybe.” The Protectorate junior team. She leaned her head back. “Nice secret lair, by the way.”

“Nah.” He said easily. “Villains have lairs. This is… a hideout, maybe. What do heroes have? Bases? Secret base?”

“Get a big enough team together and you can call it a ‘headquarters’. Like the Protectorate.”

“Pass.” He sighed. “Hey, this is kind of where I’m staying, so… would you freak out if I take the mask off?”

“Um!” She said loudly. “I thought… we really weren’t supposed to do that?”

Taylor bit her lip.

The paper domino cutout she had tied around her face hardly counted as a “mask” but it was doing something for her identity. Probably.

“I don’t really have a civilian identity.” He said tiredly, taking off the mask. And wow—he was pretty. She didn’t expect it and stared for a second.

“Call me… Alec, I guess?”

“Is that not your real name?” She asked stupidly. He shot her an unimpressed look.

“Right. Right. Antheia is fine for me, still. It’s my cape name. Not my real name. And I’m not taking off my mask. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, you barely know me.” He set the mask down and dropped into a crisscross position on the sleeping bag. Then he groaned and laid back.

“God, this isn’t worth it. My power’s not really meant for independent work. I should join a team, but the Wards—urgh. If I can avoid it, I will. They can’t piss without permission.”

Unexpectedly, Taylor snorted.

Alec opened one baleful blue eye and looked at her. “Yeah?”

“Imagine the forms. Today-I-breathed-on-Sixth-Street.”

He made a face.

“Bureaucracy. Pass.” A hand wiped down his face and he shuddered theatrically.

“I didn’t do too hot on my own, either.” She said, throwing him a bone. He laughed a little, sounding as tired as she felt.

Stunned, she realized this moment to recover was the most friendly conversation she’d had in—years.

And it was with a complete stranger; one who gave off more than a little ‘lunatic’ vibes. If she wasn’t so emotionally exhausted she’d be questioning—all of this. Every bit.

How desperate was she for company to follow some random cape to their hideout?

“Yeah, that was weird. New to your powers?”

She winced.

“That obvious?”

“Well, you did spontaneously manifest a new aspect of them during the middle of a screaming, nervous breakdown.” He said, which was—honestly, a generous way of looking at it.

She slumped. Alec sprawled out on his sleeping bag fully, looking a bit ridiculous in the costume but more comfortable than Taylor, at least. It was a ruffled, white ‘pirate’ shirt and black pants.

“Still better than me.” He reminded, turning his face to look at her. “And hey—a healing power. That’s rare as fuck.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I heard there’s another healing cape in the city, too. Must be something in the water.”

“Panacea, yeah.”

She was a big deal. Tourists came in by the busloads for a chance to get into her lottery system, which as Taylor understood it was only for one weekend a month, or something.

Thinking that she had a power even remotely similar was crazy. She had to ask Shun’ō more about it.

Alec threw an arm over his face, sighing dramatically.

“Fuck it. Want to team up?”

Taylor stared.

“Uh, no? Maybe? We don’t even know each other.”

Alec sighed again, this time sounding as exhausted as she felt.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I guess I’m a little desperate. I don’t want to join the Wards and if I keep fucking up on my own, that might be my only choice.” He looked forlornly at his meagre food stash.

She immediately felt awful. Money was tight, but at least she and dad had a roof over their heads. No funds to go out to dinner like they once did, but food on the table.

“We can… try it.” She said cautiously. “I think there’s paperwork or something for independent hero teams.”

Now that she was thinking about it, there was probably paperwork for solo independent heroes, too.

“All official-like?” He asked, a hint of surprise evident. “I guess. Probably for the best and might even get some perks out of it—keep things above-board, or legal, or something.”

“What’s your power?” She asked.

He grimaced faintly.

“Not a good one. I’ve been trying to focus on the less-scary aspects. You’ve got a bright glowing thing, but mine would get a villain label slapped on me right away if I used it.”

“Oof.” She winced. She’d barely tapped into the internet’s opinions on capes in general, and even she knew that ‘villainous’ powers got a bad rap.

Strangely, she wasn’t afraid, despite the confession. He just looked too pitiful.

“I was thinking… maybe play up the sensor aspect? I can usually tell how many people are around. Might be useful for like… I don’t know, when they go around looking for people trapped under buildings in an earthquake.”

“Search and rescue.” Taylor supplied distractedly. “Hmm. Can you tell if someone has powers?”

“Usually, yeah.”

“Might be helpful, then. Definitely kind of heroic. Maybe useful for tracking people?”

“Maybe.” He didn’t sound enthused, but perked up. “I can always taze someone.”

“I see how it’d be more useful with another person or a team.” She admitted. “Intelligence gathering or something. We can… try it.”

She didn’t set out to join—or form—a team, but the terror of that night’s failure, flailing about on her own, mired in confusion, was hard to ignore. And if you’d asked her yesterday whether or not she could open up to someone her age, cape or not, she’d have laughed in your face.

The betrayal from Emma still stung sharply.

This was somehow different, though. If he betrayed her, she’d just be back where she was—on her own, a girl in a cobbled-together costume, pretending she knew what she was doing, getting people killed.

“Antheia—what’s that from?” Alec’s voice interrupted her musing.

“Greek mythology. Goddess of flowers.” Taylor answered somewhat shyly. “Ah—my powers are flower themed, believe it or not.”

“If you say so… you did shout something about lilies.” He looked skeptical, but let it go, waving a hand up toward the ceiling.

“I guess since I haven’t picked a name yet, I could match yours.” He sighed. “Cape teams do that shit, right?”

“Um, I guess New Wave does. I haven’t really been up on the ‘cape’ scene. Don’t really know any of the big names beyond, like, the Triumvirate.”

“Better than me.” He admitted. “I haven’t even been in the city long. You at least recognize the locals.”

“I’ll bring you a list of Greek gods, then. If you don’t mind me coming back to your… hideout. Where are we, anyway?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t pay attention to the street signs.”

“I’ll…pay attention on my way out, I guess.”

“You’re feeling better, then? You were as white as a sheet earlier.”

“Yeah. You were right, it was probably shock.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Well, fuck, neither of us has a cell phone.” He said what she was thinking. “I guess we could just meet back here?”

“Yeah, I guess.” This was painfully embarrassing. “I can try to buy us some cheap pre-paid things.”

She hadn’t even considered getting a cell phone, and even now the idea rankled. But not being able to call an ambulance as someone bled out under her useless hands was—not something she wanted to repeat, ever, and who knew the limits to her new healing ability.

“Oh. Thanks. I’ll pay you back once we figure out the ‘legally make money as heroes’ thing.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Taylor’s eyes refused to glance at his food stores again. Her meagre savings would—barely– account for those cheap phones at big box stores, the kind you paid for ‘minutes’ on.

She stood up.

Alec collapsed dramatically on his sleeping bag. He waved her off and she walked around him and his small cache of belongings, feeling even more gangly and clumsy than she usually did.

“Not too early,” He warned, as she approached the door. His voice was muffled by fabric. “I’m tired as shit. Probably going to sleep in.”

Taylor nodded, getting the light on her way out.

The walk back home was slow. She took off her mask before leaving the gas station, realizing her ‘hero’ costume was just a hoodie and jeans without it. A plain gray hoodie at that.

By all rights, blood should have been seeped into the cuffs of her sleeves, but they were as pristine as they were when she left home on ‘patrol’.

She slipped inside the house before midnight.

Dad was asleep, as he usually was, with none the wiser. Belatedly, she realized she could have caught the bus home. Everything still felt a little… hazy.

When she got to her room, all six fairies came out, congratulating her on surviving her first ‘real’ night out. The praise fell on deaf ears.

She didn’t quite feel she deserved it.

–

Chapter 3

The next morning was, thankfully, a Saturday.

Taylor didn’t have school, which made it one of the best days of the week.

Items and excitement ran through her mind, almost too quick to track. She decided to write down the important stuff before she could forget.

Dad was gone when she walked downstairs; he usually worked at least one day of the weekends, if not both, for the extra hours.

“I’d feel bad just raiding our pantry—well, a little, Alec clearly needs it more than us—but I don’t feel bad making lunch for dad and taking half of it with me.”

She had some off-brand cereal for breakfast and got to work making a pasta dish, scooping the leftovers into a Tupperware.

“He doesn’t have a refrigerator, obviously, so I’m only bringing one meal’s worth. Okay, maybe a little raiding the pantry.”

Ayame giggled and Taylor smiled at her. It occurred to her that having the fairies to talk to these past few weeks—carefully, so she didn’t seem insane in front of other people—was maybe what had gave her the confidence to talk to Alec in the first place.

To trust, even a little bit, that he wouldn’t set her up for failure or worse.

“You should take ramen, princess! Everybody loves ramen!” Excited Hinagiku said. He was the go-getter of her six, rivaling Lily for energy.

Positive energy, anyway. Tsubaki sulked. He’d been sulking at her since she refused to ‘let him loose’ on the trio, whatever that meant.

“He doesn’t have a microwave either, probably. The gas station looked pretty gutted.”

Also probably why it had been abandoned by the gangs and ne’er-do-wells—they’d already pulled up everything that wasn’t nailed down.

“Canned stuff, then.” Hinagiku shrugged. “It’s all calories in the end!”

Shun’ō laughed at him.

“It’s kind of you to take him anything, Princess. I’m so glad you made a friend!”

“Friend is probably a little premature, I think.” She said, practically. “But I didn’t expect to make a teammate, either.”

“I’m glad you’re not alone!” Ayame cheered quietly, smiling.

Tsubaki rolled his eyes.

“What do you think, Baigon?” she asked her quietest spirit. “Campbell’s or Progresso?”

“Perhaps one of each, Princess?” He rumbled. “I’ve not tried either.”

“Do you guys eat?”

“Mm-mm!” Ayame denied, even as Shun’ō shook their head. “No, princess.”

She packed up the canned goods—just a couple—and the pasta container into a small backpack. It was generally a bad idea to carry much but the one she picked was ragged and didn’t look expensive—because it wasn’t.

She also packed in the mythology guide/dictionary she’d borrowed from the boxes of mom’s books, much more carefully and hesitantly. This, she didn’t want damaged or stolen at all.

But mom would probably rather she get some use out of it. Even if Taylor wasn’t sure how she’d feel about her daughter being a cape. Or moonlighting as a hero.

Surely she’d rather she not do it alone, though?

“Have you thought about telling your father?” Shun’ō asked, catching her silence.

“No.” She said sadly.

“He’d make her join the Wards.” Tsubaki scoffed. “We don’t need that kind of oversight– cramping our style.”

“The resources would be nice.” Taylor allowed– fairly, she felt. “But the bureaucracy… I’d consider joining the Protectorate, as a legal adult able to sign my own contracts. But the Wards? They’d have far too much authority over me. Teenagers already have basically no rights.”

“Okay, as long as you’re sure.” Shun’ō shrugged, their blonde hair dancing over one shoulder.

“Mm.” She made sure to grab her list before leaving the house.

Hinagiku tugged her sleeve.

“Cell phones next, right? I want to see the big store.”

“Right.” Unlike last night, which was over an hour of walking, this time she could take the bus. Which ironically took longer due to the roundabout nature of the trip, but spared her feet.

Both burner phones cost less than fifty dollars, though as she expected, had to be loaded with ‘minutes’ on little prepaid cards. They offered her a plan of some kind that she denied out of fear of registering her name with the phone number—far less anonymous than their needs warranted.

The cashier shrugged, not broken up about the lost sale.

Something caught Taylor’s eye as she was browsing, though, and she was another thirty dollars broker by the time she left—pretty much down to the last dregs of her savings.

Three wigs, on sale from some promotion, hung around her wrist in a cheap plastic bag, along with the phones. She put all of it in her run-down backpack and shuffled back onto the bus, getting off near Alec’s gas station and walking over.

Even in the muddy light of the overcast day, the signs of use weren’t evident. It helped that the back door opened up into yet another dingy alley, blocked by two dumpsters this time. She had to squeeze around one to get to the back door, which she hadn’t noticed last night.

She thought about knocking, ultimately deciding against it lest she draw attention.

Instead Taylor wedged the door open and carefully shut it behind her. She took a moment to fish out her sad little mask and tie it on. Slow steps took her to the room she’d visited yesterday, its door wide open, and with only a little hesitation, she knocked on the door frame.

“Wha–?” Alec jerked upright, clearly having been sleeping. She averted her eyes at once when his bare chest was revealed. Then she turned her back for good measure.

“Um! It’s T—Antheia. It’s Antheia. With the phones!” She squeaked. “I also uh. Brought some food.”

“Oh, worm? Food’s the best.” His sleepy voice had gravel in it. She heard shuffling. Cautiously turning around, she jerked right back to her previous position when she saw even more skin revealed—thankfully from the back.

“Why do you sleep naked!?” She demanded, red faced.

“What? What’s it matter?” He yawned.

“It’s—indecent!”

He laughed a little, still flatter than she was used to with most voices.

“I guess, if you want to be all prudish about it. I only have two sets of clothes, which is a genuine fucking travesty, and one of them is my ‘hero’ get-up. It’s about ninety percent of the reason why I even considered joining the kiddy hero brigade.”

“I spent all my cash buying the phones, but… you might be my size in some things?” They were of a height, as she remembered, and he was thin. Would a boy want to wear ‘girl’ clothes?

“Ugh. Hand-me-downs. What lows have I fallen to…?”

“You don’t have to take them.” She snapped.

“No, no, I’ll take them. I just hate being reduced to this.” He sighed. “Still, better than what I left behind—don’t ask.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

Obviously, whatever had caused him to run—to willingly live on canned goods in an abandoned gas station—was absolutely dreadful.

“Are you dressed yet?”

“Almost, keep your panties on.”

“Ugh!” Taylor was immediately rethinking this team thing.

She grumpily busied herself unpacking her haul, tossing the packaged phones to the side—and the wigs—in favor of the pasta dish. She put a fork on top of it and held it out, eyes closed.

“I’m dressed, I promise.”

Opening her eyes revealed a stone-cold liar.

“Put on a shirt.” Taylor said through gritted teeth.

“What, really?”

“Yes!”

Grumbling, he did so, and took the food.

“Oh, this is homemade. It’s been an age. Thank you.”

“So he can show gratitude.” She grumbled, only to look up and see a glint in his otherwise blank eyes.

“Oh, peerless hero Antheia, to whom I can never repay—”

Taylor blanched.

“No.”

“Whose deeds echo across the bay, no, the world—all the lands—all who hear her fair name and rejoice—”

“Stop!” She didn’t have a pillow so she threw a wig at him, which he caught easily, keeping the plastic packaging from getting in his food.

“Hey, this is actually pretty good.”

“Thanks.” She sat down, out of breath, red-faced.

“So what’s with the wigs?”

“Well, they were on sale.” She fidgeted.

Alec slurped pasta with a raised brow.

“And I figured I could use them in my ‘hero’ costume, to hide my original hair color. The mask doesn’t do much to obscure my identity.”

“Yeah, hiding your cheekbones isn’t fool-proof, and your mask doesn’t even do that.”

Instead of bristling she slumped.

“I knoowwww.” She groaned. “Once we get established, I can hopefully get something better.”

The ‘we’ made some color flush to her cheeks. This was real. ‘They’ were really doing this. Alec, a skinny, pretty boy eating pasta on the floor, and her in her shitty DIY mask of cardstock and clear tape.

Okay. Okay. Stick to the list.

Eyeing the phones with distaste—they could do the headache of setting them up later—she pulled out the Greek names book.

With Alec’s agreement, she ran through the gamut while he ate.

Time passed surprisingly fast and he was much more tolerable company when he was dressed and fed; some of the awkwardness of being in the space with a stranger—a boy stranger—even died down.

“You’ve got to pick one.” She insisted, after a long—long—string of rejections.

“I told you, Adonis.” Alec lounged easily on his little pile of sleeping bag and thin blankets.

“That has nothing to do with your powerset.”

“But it’s fitting, no?” A touch of French entered his accent, and he pursed his lips.

She threw a chip wrapper at him.

“You should really clean up in here.”

“If we’re going to use this as a base of heroic operations, I guess.” Alec sighed, misbegotten. “And I’ll make a list of names I can tolerate. Do you mind leaving the book here?”

Taylor’s throat tightened, hugging the book close.

“It…was my mother’s.” Too much information? Probably.

“Shit.” Alec said at once, commiserating. “Just bring it next time, then. Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Glad he didn’t push it, or push for more info, she slid the book back into her bag.

She eyed the phones and the wigs. Alec also eyed them. They looked at each other.

“Want to figure out the wigs first?” He asked.

“Yes.” She tried not to trip over her own tongue in eagerness.

Turns out, Alec knew a surprising lot about hair care—which explained his own curly black locks, in surprisingly good shape considering his living arrangements. Though he had already admitted to having water here.

“Stop fidgeting—god, your hair is thick.” Alec moved her hair around like a pro, fitting it under the included wig cap in a kind of braid, despite their dearth of supplies—bobby pins and clips, apparently, which she was ordered to bring from home tomorrow, along with any clothes to donate to him or stash here for herself, if needed after hero-related shenanigans.

“It just makes sense.” Alec said lazily. “Keep spare clothes, first aid kits, that kind of shit. There, I’m finished. Go look in the mirror in the bathroom. Uh, mind the laundry.”

She did in fact mind the laundry, keeping her eyes averted from the hero outfit—and the boxers—that were washed and strung up to dry. The mirror was gross to say the least. She mentally added some cleaner to her list of things to bring.

And in the mirror, she was blonde.

“Weird.” She said, but despite the relative cheapness of the wig, it didn’t immediately look fake. Apparently, wig glue would really sell the look, but also last for a week, so it was good she hadn’t grabbed any.

She didn’t want to imagine the trio’s opinion of that.

“Not too weird.” Alec opined from the doorway. She shrieked.

He flinched, brows furrowing.

“What was that for?” He complained, voice a drawl, rubbing his ear. She hadn’t shut the bathroom door. Arguing for privacy was useless in the face of that.

“Scared me. Sorry.” She managed, charitably.

“Whatever.” Alec visibly let it roll off his shoulders. He was kind of casual that way. Whatever the opposite of ‘high-strung’ was.

“Looks decent, anyway. Sure you wanna be a blonde hero?”

“There was blonde, pink and black-with-purple-streaks.” She said flatly. He shrugged. Then hummed.

She didn’t like the sound of that hum. It was mighty suspicious.

“You should probably bring some hair care stuff, too.” Alec said with obvious glee. “If you ever need to shower here.”

Indeed, there was a tiny shower in the bathroom.

“Are you just trying to get free shampoo out of me?”

Alec laughed, surprising her.

“Nah, I’ve got my own stuff. It was one of the first things I bought.”

“Can’t have the hair suffering.” She said wryly, and he pointed a finger at her.

“Exactly.”

Grinning, he turned around, and she spent some time looking at her blonde reflection. Still weird. With Alec gone, a few fairies chimed in that she looked nice.

They were usually good about not distracting her when she had company—which was admittedly rare these days.

Alec volunteered to handle the phones himself once she left, perhaps seeing her obvious discomfort, or maybe just trying to be more useful in their partnership. Either way, she agreed at once, grateful to avoid the process and not minding the delay. Another night without a phone wouldn’t hurt, and she would hardly be texting him casually, anyway.

They used the rest of the afternoon to plan out holes in their knowledge, with a plan to meet up at the nearest public library for research tomorrow. A plethora of unanswered questions had joined her list.

She would be bringing small amounts of clothes with her at a time, largely because she was limited in carrying space. If they had a car, it’d be easier, or if he could help—but she’d not unmasked to him yet, so showing him where she lived was out.

Even if she felt like a hypocrite for it, sitting in his living space.

Plan set, she went home for the day. If she made a little bit extra food at dinner for leftovers, dad didn’t question it.

For some reason, Taylor went to bed with the unshakeable feeling that she was forgetting something.

–

Sunday morning dad was home, so she told him—truthfully—of her plans to hit up the library.

This was perfectly in-character for her, so he told her to be safe and didn’t seem otherwise concerned. They ate lunch together, after which she packed a ‘snack’ for herself of leftovers, and stuffed the rest of her bag with old clothes.

Some, she thought might fit Alec, though she tried to find the least ‘girly’ pieces—neutral t-shirts, sweat pants, a pair of jeans that wasn’t too form-fitting.

For herself, she wasn’t sure what to bring, and didn’t wear much of her ‘old’ wardrobe, anyway. Finally, she just started grabbing stuff from every drawer, thinking she could donate anything if she ended up hating it, but that she’d rather have it and not need it, etc. Plus, it helped her declutter!

They had decided meeting up at the library was least conspicuous, so she took the familiar bus route, clothes and food in her backpack.

Alec was waiting on the steps—maskless.

And so, Taylor immediately realized, was she. Of course.

Alec stared with wide eyes as her approach froze.

“Damn. We are bad at this.” He said, face dropping to completely expressionless.

“I know.” Somehow, in the planning, it hadn’t occurred to either of them that meeting at the library would mean her unmasking—even as she’d cultivated other parts of their plan to avoid that.

Even as she’d gotten ready and stepped off the bus with her naked face.

Fuck.

Well, the other elements of the plan might still work.

“I brought you some food.”

Alec perked up at once. “Bless you, you’re a saint.”

Food was the easiest solution with him, she discovered.

They moved out of the entrance-way and to the outdoor tables in front of the library—not wanting to take the food inside. Alec ate with no shame, wiggling in joy.

“You’re a little bit of a hedonist, huh?” She said as she watched him eat. At first she tried to avoid looking and then realized they might as well embrace the awkwardness of working together.

Alec swallowed, shooting her a sideways look.

“You have no idea.”

She started to look through the backpack, wishing she had brought a second bag. Finally she just passed the whole thing over.

“I’m not sorting through all this here. Just take what you want and set aside anything else for my stash of back-up outfits.”

“Ah, yes, the beginning of your second, secret wardrobe.” Alec finished his food, remarkably fast, only to look forlornly at the bottom of the plastic dish. “It’s still a good idea.”

“I know. That’s why I agreed with you.” Having clothes to change into beyond her ‘hero outfit’ was a good plan.

She took the container from him and set it aside.

“Alright—the list. We can split the questions. Sitting at two computers will speed things up.”

“They just let anybody use them?” Alec asked curiously.

She paused.

“Yes, but anyone without a card has to use a guest account. Do you have a card?”

His expression was perfectly flat.

“I have literally never been inside a library.”

“Not even your school library?”

He laughed.

Taylor’s shoulders hunched instinctively. She frowned, shoving down a defensive response.

“Let’s get you a card.” She marched in like someone going to war.

“Hello, Taylor.” The librarian smiled at her. Ah, another foil in her plot. Maybe using the same library she’d always used was a mistake.

“Hi, I wanted to get my—Alec—a library card.” She stumbled a little.

“Sure. Does your Alec want to provide his information?” The librarian looked eminently amused.

Taylor’s entire face was red.

“Of course.” Alec was suddenly—looking at him had her eyes widening. His usually muted expressions were gone, replaced by a soft smile and bright eyes. He looked—completely normal.

It was so creepy a contrast that Taylor’s spine crawled.

He moved forward and charmed the librarian, Miss Kotts, before her very eyes.

“Oh, Taylor, what’s your address?” He asked smoothly. “Staying with my cousin, you understand, while family things are sorted out.”

“Oh, you poor dear.” Miss Kotts cooed over him as Taylor wrote out her address, Alec dutifully not even glancing at it. She jotted down Hebert as his last name while she was at it.

In for a penny.

“Here you go.” She handed the paperwork back to the librarian as well as three dollars for the initial fee. She now had less than ten bucks to her name.

“We’re just going to use the computers for our homework.” She said weakly, before clearing her throat. “Thanks so much for your help!”

She said the last much more confidently.

“You’ve been the soul of hospitality.” Alec said grandiosely, causing the woman to get all aflutter.

Then they went to the computer room and she glanced back in surprise—all the charisma was gone, Alec once more looking bored at best.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Nevermind. You start at the bottom of the list, I’ll start at the top.”

Alec visibly thought about making some comment, thought better of it, and tore her list in half. She jumped.

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” Non-plussed, Alec sat down at the computer. “Oh, thanks for the card or whatever.”

“No problem.”

She looked at her list.

For two hours, they deep-dove into legalese, published bills, reactionary articles, and mostly-useless PHO posts.

Then they stepped out and quietly walked the distance to the gas station.

“Okay, so, the difference between capes, villains, vigilantes, independent capes, and independent heroes.” She started. “If anyone asks, we’re studying for a modern history exam.”

“Of course.” Alec said, expression bored—what she was beginning to think was his default.

“Capes are anyone with powers. Villains break the law and use their powers for crime. Vigilantism isn’t illegal any more but vigilantes aren’t affiliated with the PRT or Protectorate and aren’t registered. They often break the law.”

“Being a vigilante isn’t illegal but beating the shit out of someone is?” Alec asked, a glimmer of interest.

“Exactly. If the PRT doesn’t like you they can slap a label of excessive force on you pretty easily—which is much more unlikely if you’re an independent hero, like Glory Girl.”

“I looked up New Wave.” Alec agreed. “Hot, but probably crazy. PHO called her ‘collateral damage Barbie.’”

“Yeah, exactly. I don’t think she’d get away with that if she wasn’t part of a well-known hero team. An ‘independent’ hero team.” Taylor agreed, moving her pen down her half of the torn list. “Heroically inclined capes who don’t want to join the PRT can register themselves as independent heroes—agree to follow the law and announce their intent to be heroes and work with the heroes when necessary.”

“Us.” Alec said.

“Mmm. And then independent capes—not heroes or villains—like Parian, a local cape who does puppet shows at the boardwalk—don’t do any hero work at all.”

“So how do ‘Independent’ ‘Heroes’ make money?” He asked, addressing the main question on her side of the list.

“Well, two ways basically.” She counted on her fingers. “First, you get incentive pay for solo take-downs of villains, providing the villain is captured. There’s a little incentive for non-powered gang members but only if they’re charged and found guilty of a gang-related crime. A smaller reimbursement is available for stopping muggers like we did earlier—but you have to stop and talk to the police. And fill out paperwork.”

“Our nascent team’s archest of enemies, truly.” Alec lamented dramatically.

“The second way is by raiding criminal enterprises. We can’t rob the street-level gangers, but we can raid safe houses and, I don’t know, obvious criminal activity like arms deals and grab any weapons, money or interesting things. Weapons and drugs have to be turned over to the police, with a small finder’s fee available. Some material salvage for tinkers is available, but doesn’t apply to us. And finally we can take the cash, but we have to bring it to a drop-off point to be sorted. They check it for counterfeit bills and note where it came from.”

“And take their cut.” Alec said shrewdly, at once.

“And take their cut.” She agreed. “Anything less than a thousand is all ours, and then they take ten percent of anything over a thousand, and half of anything over ten thousand.”

“Leeches.” Alec said, but he didn’t seem particularly bothered.

The gas station came into view and they slipped inside with relative ease.

“I’m going to go try these on right now immediately.” Alec scurried to the bathroom with the backpack and she looked at his room and the one chair. Oh, well, he snoozed and lost.

She sat down and looked around for her fairies, who obligingly manifested.

“So our power works best with a team—someone to shield and heal—but we’re working with Alec, who also works better with a team, since he’s mostly willing to use a thinker power.” Taylor said thoughtfully.

Tsubaki scoffed loudly, ignored by his fellows.

“We could walk forward with our shield, letting the bullets ricochet off—if the shield stops bullets—”

“The shield stops anything, princess.” Lily said cheerfully.

“And then heal anyone injured in the crossfire!” Ayame said, equally as cheerful, but several shades quieter.

“Well, it’s kind of morbid when you put it like that…” Shun’ō laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of their head.

Alec swanned out of the bathroom, door banging open with a dramatic noise.

“What do you think?” He asked in an excited—for Alec—voice.

Taylor looked over and her brain short-circuited.

Alec pouted when she didn’t react for long moments.

“You’re wearing a skirt.” Taylor’s skirt. He was wearing one of her skirts. Actually, she thought it was one of Emma’s skirts back when they used to share clothes as easily as secrets and snacks.

“Yeah, I’m surprised it fit!” Alec did a little twirl, giggling. It was a pleated black skirt that fell just short of his knees.

He’d paired it with a lavender blouse, not quite thick enough to be a sweater, but long-sleeved.

“You’re wearing the black and purple wig. And a skirt.”

“Mm-hmm!” Alec twirled again, clearly delighted. The skirt didn’t even ‘twirl’ like that, really.

“Should I be looking at Greek goddess names?” Taylor finally asked.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m a dude, but it might throw another wrench into the PRT’s inevitable plan to unmask us.”

“You think they unmask heroes?” She asked, sharply and alarmed.

Alec sat down on his sleeping bag, completely unconcerned. His skirt fanned outward and he played with it.

“I’m sure they have a dossier of everyone they work with, hidden at some high clearance level or whatever. We shouldn’t sign up with them if they require names on the paperwork.”

“… Okay.” She agreed, wrestling with that. Taylor’s identity needed to be kept secret at all costs. If Alec was comfortable heroing as a girl—which blew her mind, the skirt thing already hard to wrap her head around even when it was right in front of her—then that would add an extra layer of protection to his secret identity.

“I don’t think I’m comfortable pretending to be a boy hero.” She admitted, after a minute of thinking.

“Then don’t.” Alec shrugged fluidly. “I bet there’s better options for goddess names, though, let me get the book.”

He took off the backpack and rummaged through for the glossary of names, making appreciative noises when he saw the cans of food.

“Really digging the whole ‘feed your teammate’ aspect.” He laughed and she shrugged awkwardly.

A bit of research later and they had a list of appropriate names for Alec to choose from—surprisingly, more options than they’d found on the ‘male gods’ side of things. He narrowed it down to his favorite with little fanfare.

And, for secret identities’ sake, he’d somehow convinced her to wear the pink wig. It just didn’t seem too outlandish compared to his own willingness to cross-dress completely, and all of Taylor’s arguments fell flat.

By this point they were both laying on their stomachs, knees bent up, looking over the book, when he finally decided on a name. Their shoulders brushed as they read, an amiably sort of companionship. Taylor didn’t hate it at all, had relaxed the more time they spend reading and giggling at the entries.

She bit her lip.

“Wait, go back to that one.” Taylor’s hand moved across the page, smooth and well-worn by her mother’s hands– and now hers, and Alec’s. Something had stood out to her.

“What, this? C’mon, we just finished. It took ages and I was finally done. I actually like the name I picked!”

“Me, too.” She said distractedly. “Here, look. Not for you, for…”

“Oh.” Alec rolled over, scootching closer to read over her shoulder. “For you? Hmm, I can see it. You’re thinking about changing your name, then? Antheia is kind of… obscure.”

“And I can heal now.” She murmured absently. “My powers changed and I want to make sure the name reflects that. Something that will make them take me seriously…”

“Isis.” Alec rolled it around his mouth. “Sounds very ‘royal.’ I like it.”

Taylor flushed a little.

“I think it’s better with the Greek theme to use Isis– though Aset also fits. She’s known for healing and protection, and that’s kind of… exactly what my powers do, right?”

“Dork.” Alec nudged her with his shoulder, a companionable bump. “It makes more sense than mine does, for sure. Less reaching. By a lot.”

Taylor let out a small sigh of relief. She tried for a wobbly smile and bumped him back. There. That was their main struggle solved: names for each of them. Names that the other heroes would hopefully respect.

They went on to talk about the other answers they’d found, about the legalities of hero work, paperwork for independent hero teams, and what guidelines they’d have to work under to get less grief from the PRT—basically, use the bare minimum force available to handle a situation, and not one iota more, and always have a justification for escalating.

The afternoon ended with them agreeing on a team name, fitting with the theme of the Greek goddesses they’d chosen. Anyone else—if there was anyone else—who joined their team in the future would have to get with the theme ‘or else’, according to Alec, who was already flatteringly invested.

Tomorrow, they’d fill out the paperwork—and do their first patrol together.

–

Chapter 4

Approaching the PRT building was… mildly intimidating. Alec, of course, strolled right beside her without a care in the world projected outwardly. Taylor wished she had his calm.

They had taken precautions. He was wearing the purple wig, a face mask covering his mouth, and some make-up she’d unearthed from back when she wore it. He’d contoured his face subtly to be more feminine, in some dark witchcraft kind of way that was beyond her.

Their discussion about the PRT figuring out their identities had led her to dress completely different from how she normally did, and add a face mask to her ensemble. Buying it had eaten the last of her money, but Alec had made it ‘worth it’ by finding a cheap pack of black dominos that were apparently sold for capes and cape groupies.

Now Taylor’s mouth, cheeks, and the area around her eyes was completely covered, obscuring the lines of her face from any cameras– only showing her eyes and a sliver of forehead.

If she could have afforded contacts, she’d have bought them. Instead she was going in blind, glasses forgone to conceal another facet of her identity.

She was also wearing the pink wig. With a black t-shirt and artfully torn jean shorts, she hardly recognized herself. The bit of thigh showing above her high socks was enough to make her reconsider the entire ‘hero’ thing this morning, but Alec and the fairies had given her enough assurance that she could go outside. Barely.

She mimicked Alec’s body language as best she could—confidence, even fake confidence, would distance ‘Isis’ from Taylor Hebert.

Giving him one final look—he nodded encouragingly—Isis began the steps up to the main building. It was a square, multi-storied affair with big wide doors up front. Tourists walked in and out, groups with cameras, business people in suits, and PRT officers in various states of gear.

Walking in, they made for the receptionist at a big, central desk.

He looked up and smiled blandly, making no move of “eek! Cape!” Nor did he reach for any obvious big red buttons. She wondered what PRT countermeasures they had in place against villains walking in, because she was sure they had them.

“Hello,” Alec said, charm on full. He was leaning into the girl hero persona.

He’d even, to her mild horror and strong embarrassment, commandeered a bra to fill—somehow—and give the suggestion of a chest at least as big as Taylor’s was, which admittedly ‘wasn’t very’.

“We’d like to fill out paperwork to, like, make us an independent hero team.” If he had gum, he’d be popping it. She resisted the urge to elbow him.

He could be a girl without being an airhead, goddamnit!

“Of course.” The receptionist smiled at us. “Let me print off a copy.”

It surprised her that they didn’t have them available already, but then she thought about how often that particular piece of paperwork was needed—not often in Brockton Bay, she’d wager.

The only other independent team of heroes was New Wave and they’d formed years and years ago.

They filled out the paperwork to the best of their ability, listing the generic aspects of their powers—her with shields and healing, Alec with a sensory power and a taser as his equipment.

They gave their burner phone numbers as contact points because why not? It wasn’t like they were using them in their civilian identities—Alec didn’t even have one.

Ultimately the process was far simpler than she could have imagined, even after reading about it the day before.

As they were walking out they were surprised to see two costumed people come out of the elevators, prompting a flash of cameras from some of the people in the lobby—though most were PRT operatives in some fashion who didn’t even look up at the Wards’ entrance.

While Isis had a vague sort of background knowledge that the Wards existed, she hadn’t known their names and costumes by sight until the research binge from yesterday.

Because of that research, she was able to recognize the futuristic, sleek blue and grey armor as Gallant, and the other in a full-coverage, black, white and yellow bodysuit, as Eclipse.

The bodysuit was mostly black, with white taking up the ‘inner’ portions—inner thighs, inner stomach area, and so forth. Gold accents here and there really played up the theme.

“Oooh, like, let’s go talk to them.” Alec said, already waving. It took her a moment to wonder why he was going out of his way to interact with heroes, and then she remembered his original goal to be well-regarded by them, and ‘definitely not’ villainous.

Being friendly and cheerful was a great way to be seen as heroic by the local capes.

Eclipse and Gallant came over, at first seeing two girls with bright hair—possibly fans—and then clocking the masks.

“Hello, ladies.” Gallant said, voice strong, steady and friendly. “New in town, or new to the stage?”

Alec giggled.

“New heroes.” He said, extending his hand. Gallant, like his namesake, ‘kissed’ the knuckles instead of shaking it, leaving Alec wide-eyed and a little flustered.

“We’re a new independent hero team.” Isis said, trying to sound just as confident, although she was sure nerves made it through anyway. “I’m Isis, this is Eos.”

“It’s good to have new heroes in the city.” Gallant said easily. At first glance he seemed fairly handy with PR-appropriate answers.

Eclipse spoke then, “Greek names?”

“Oh, yes. Greek mythology. Minor mythological figures.” She said, surprised to be recognized right away.

“Goddesses, though.” Eclipse said. “A bit of a brag, isn’t it?”

“It’s just a theme,” Alec said, rocking on his heels. “Maybe we’ll get a chance to work together in the future.”

Was he batting his eye-lashes? She felt like he was doing something weird and—and flirty with his face.

“Well, we just finished submitting registration paperwork.” She said, briskly and hopefully ‘no-nonsense’—a perfect counter to Alec’s ‘devil-may-care’ persona. “So we won’t keep you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ladies.” Gallant said. Beside him, as they turned, Eclipse muttered something else.

She didn’t catch it but Alec snorted.

They got out to the street in front of the PRT before she asked.

“He said ‘oh, god, we’re going to have to tell Clockblocker.’” Alec said gleefully.

Isis paused.

“Why’s that funny?”

Alec chose to be cryptic instead. “You’ll see.”

Irritated, and nerves more than a little shot from the professional environment—and once again very aware of the little scrap of fabric hiding her face—she finally gave into the urge to elbow him a bit.

He dodged it neatly.

Since they were already in costume, they set out for their first ‘patrol’.

It was a Sunday and they were at the PRT building, which naturally had its own ‘territory’ of relatively crime free activity. Thus there wasn’t much to see at first, with the area gradually growing more ramshackle as they wandered away from downtown.

Her phone didn’t have anything like an internet browser, of course, and she daydreamed of having a cool Iron Man-style visor for a few minutes before sighing.

“Local wards—Gallant and Eclipse, obviously. Then Clockblocker, which has to indicate a sense of humor.”

“My kinda guy.” Alec said idly.

“Right. Then Triumph, Vista, Aegis and… is that all of them?”

“So far.” Alec agreed, brightly. “Triumph, Gallant—they’ve got a Dauntless on the main team. If I’d joined I’d have probably been ‘Heroic’ or ‘Valiant.’ Unless those are already taken across the country.”

“Huh. They do tend to just use descriptive words synonymous with heroic, don’t they?”

“Speculation says the press release later today might be introducing a new Ward. Poor fucker will probably be ‘Victory’ or ‘Nobless’ if they’re a girl.”

“What, really? Is that why so many people were in the lobby?”

Alec shrugged.

“I don’t know, but the speculation and gossip is surprisingly valuable. A computer with PHO access is going to be a necessary upgrade for the Secret Base.”

“Your lair is a long way away from internet access.”

Alec’s glare did not phase her.

–

With a possible Ward introduction on the horizon, the clearer streets made more sense. The Protectorate had probably been working overtime to clean things up for a day or two, and the gangs getting wind of something the PRT considered worthwhile going down would signal a holding pattern until they could figure it out and resume normal nefarious operations.

She dropped Alec off at the lair—still funny—and divested herself of the bright pink wig and clothes that she’d been half-blushing to wear for most of the day.

The complete divorce from Taylor Hebert was a necessary step, however. Watching Alec lazily lounge in his wig and skirt-blouse combo was almost more normal by comparison.

Then she went home, and seeing they had a few more hours until it was suitable to cook dinner, booted up the home computer.

The PRT website was a treasure trove of links; though most of its helpfulness seemed to be limited to internal systems and account access, it did point her to an email address for inquiries.

Good evening,

I hope this email finds you well. To whom it may concern, I am Isis, a registered Independent hero, affiliate identification number 1XXX91, of affiliated team Pantheia, identification number 1XXX05. One of my power aspects has manifested in a healing effect and I’m inquiring into possible testing, qualification, and information on contracting agreements the PRT has with independent healers if such a thing exists.

Pending contractual agreement, I am tentatively willing to heal Protectorate heroes outside of incidental team-ups, and PRT personnel in general. Thank you for your time and consideration on this matter.

Respectfully,

Isis – Pantheia
Independent Hero
Contact: XXX-XXX-XXXX

Reading it over, it all looked incredibly formal, even when she tried to edit it to be more friendly. Oh, well, it was meant to be formal.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she hit send.

She texted Alec, just to be a good teammate.

Isis: Offered to heal for the PRT for $ (email sent)

Eos: lmao my girl

Isis: ???

Eos: $$$$ 👍 😍

Snorting, she pocketed the phone, not wanting to get into the habit of texting for fun instead of work. For that matter, she turned it to silent and set it inside her bedside table.

She killed an hour by finishing her homework, trying not to dread the return to school on the next day. That done, she got started on dinner a little early, timing it pretty well to when her dad’s car pulled up.

The dinner bread was coming out of the oven right as the pasta finished.

“Oh, Taylor.” Dad came in through the door like a zombie, then sniffed curiously. “Spaghetti?”

“Spaghetti.” She confirmed. She hadn’t had powers long but part of the hard reset it’d done to her life had been convincing her to make homecooked meals—not just Rice-a-Roni or TV dinners—for her dad. And to talk to him more, at Hinagiku and Shun’ō’s shameless wheedling.

Even Ayame was in on it.

Serving it up—on real plates, not the paper ones they’d got into the habit of using for easy disposal—was the last step to get the table finished while dad changed out of his work clothes and into home loungewear.

“Oh. This is good, Taylor.”

She preened.

“How was the library today?”

“Not bad. We did a little homework and watched some cool hero interviews on PHO.”

Silence for a beat. She looked up and saw dad’s fork was on his plate, him looking at her strangely.

Her head tilted of its own accord.

“Who were you with?” He tried to ask casually, missing it by about half a mile. He cleared his throat and purposefully began eating again.

Oh. ‘We.’

“Just a friend.” She said casually. She wondered—offer more information? Less?

“Anyone I know?” Dad was also trying to keep it casual, speaking around the glaring elephant in the room—she hadn’t mentioned a friend since Emma.

“Probably not.” She demurred. “Uh, it’s a new friend.”

Stupidity reared up in her, and she cleverly said, “Alex.”

A girl’s name. For sure.

“Oh? How’d you two meet?” More genuine curiosity now, warm.

Not Winslow, that’s for sure. Was it weird to say she met him at the boardwalk? She hadn’t asked for permission to go there in a while. A new neighbor? No, he’d want to see their house or meet the parents.

Keep it simple, stupid.

“At the library.” Playing it so safe. “Alex’s homeschooled, actually.”

Too casual, maybe.

“Oh? I remember you said you didn’t want to try that. Rethinking it?”

She did remember talking to him about that once, when the trio first started escalating so hard. To the point that she’d even looked into the details of it.

At the time, every feverish bout of research had ended with a stubborn rock in her stomach, determined not to let them win.

Having a teammate—possibly a friend—outside of school seemed to rock that certainty. What if she could just… not go back? Dive fully into heroics and dedicate all her time to her impossible new team?

“Maybe.” She said slowly, chewing on it. “Alex is… really happy with it. I know New Jersey has really easy requirements. We wouldn’t even need to spend any money.”

“I thought you had to have a special school send you materials in the mail or on the computer? And pay for it?” Dad looked surprised.

“Uh, no, not in New Jersey. You don’t even have to take placement exams or end of the year tests. A parent just says they don’t want to have their kid in the public school system and that they’ll handle the education at home—that education can be anything, even just teaching the Bible as a religious nut. State law says they have to be educated, but doesn’t set standards. And you don’t even have to get a GED at the end.”

“You would be doing that, though, of course.”

“Of course.” She pushed a meatball around on her plate. “Are we really considering this? I mean, as long as I did self-study into each of the categories the GED tests for, I’d be good.”

“There’s really no oversight?”

“Technically they could look into it and slap you on the wrist if someone reported I wasn’t actually home schooling. That never happens, though—that’s like, if I were to just jump straight into working instead of school, and not meeting the legal work hours for a student.”

Dad frowned hard. As a union man, he was a firm proponent of those labor laws.

“Which you would not be doing.”

“Of course not.” She agreed easily. “I think I could—maybe even take the GED early, as soon as I’m eligible at sixteen?”

“Taylor.” Dad frowned. “You need to be in school.”

“I know!” She said sharply. “Um, I mean—I know. I was thinking. I could graduate early and do some college classes. Get out of Winslow and… make some real friends. Start my real life.”

“Taylor.” Dad’s voice was pained. “This is your real life. You deserve a normal high school experience. Friends, trips… prom.”

“I…” Her voice warbled. One by one, her fairies manifested next to her, reassuring in words and presence. Even Tsubaki, a silent support on her shoulder.

It cost so much to admit it, like reaching out for help after being kicked a thousand times.

“I hate it.” Taylor managed, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Dad, I hate it so much. There’s no fixing it. I… haven’t thought about killing myself, but…”

Dad’s chair abruptly hit the ground as he stood, coming around the table to her.

“I haven’t.” She insisted, voice hitching, as he wrapped her in the first hug she could remember getting in over a year. “But I can’t find a way out. I don’t want to go there anymore. I—I—”

Admitting it took everything out of her. Sobs shook her. Years of strength, finally crumbling as she let it out. A previously steady pile of hurts destabilized by trying to let a single one free, and then it was an avalanche.

“Fuck it.” Dad said, voice warped and scratchy. “Fuck it—Taylor, it’s not worth this. I’m not going to tell you to push through and go anyway. If we had the money to switch schools I would, but until then—you won’t go. You don’t have to go. We’ll get it figured out. You can be…” His voice cracked hard. “You can be happy right now, Taylor. You don’t have to get through it alone and find happiness when you’re ‘done’.”

Just get through high school, she’d been thinking. Push through. College will be better. And then just get through the year. The semester. The month. The week.

Until it became ‘just get through the day.’ And ‘just get through the hour.’

Just get through one more minute. One more second. Survive, survive, survive.

That wasn’t living.

Happiness couldn’t breathe, there. It couldn’t bud or take root, let alone thrive. It strangled to death in the cradle, with no air, no future, no chance.

She gasped, sobs shaking her entire frame. A nervous breakdown hadn’t been on her plans tonight. She’d even done her homework, bracing herself for getting to the school, getting through first hour, barely even being able to think past that.

And now she couldn’t breathe from sobbing, but it felt like… she might be able to, when she was done. Like a great and terrible weight had been lifted off her, as unexpected as an earthquake, and just as devastating, rending her emotional landscape and putting great cracks in her foundation.

Like a lanced wound, letting the putrid infection out, so she could finally begin to heal.

–

Taylor woke up Monday morning with a familiar dread. A cold numbness in her body, rib cage tight with cortisol, hands shaking as she mechanically forced herself through the morning routine without thought.

If she thought about it, she’d go crazy. Distance. Distance, disassociation—whatever you want to call it. She went to that place in her head where everything was foggy and unreal, putting one foot in front of the other.

Clothes on. Teeth cleaned. Hair brushed. Backpack—backpack? Why did her backpack have a bunch of clothes stuffed into it instead of textbooks?

The fog was penetrated. She stared blankly at the floor. Then around the room.

Then Lily appeared in a rush of gold light, whooping for joy.

“Fuck yeah, princess! You don’t have to go back there!”

The other fairies burst into existence with their light, flying around. Even Baigon did a little flip, all of them celebrating.

She’d like to say she smiled, then, and took on a ‘conquer the world’ attitude, launching into a plan for the day that involved their plans as heroes. That she made breakfast, made a list, and got cracking.

Instead, it didn’t feel real.

She took several deep breaths and made it to her bed, curling up in the soft sheets and blankets, still warm from her sleep. For the first time she could remember, she went back to bed on a Monday morning. No Winslow today.

No Winslow ever.

No Emma, Madison, Sophia or their army of sycophants. No Mr. Gladly. No teachers with their eyes sliding over her like she didn’t exist, pretending they didn’t see anything. No Blackwell. No Greg Vader.

Not just today, but forever. If she happened to avoid seeing them around town, she could live her life without ever seeing them again.

The reality of it was staggering. Still impossible to believe. She curled up and let the feelings wash over her, the fairies vanishing and appearing throughout the morning.

Shun’ō sat on her pillow, playing with a lock of her hair, soothing and being there for her without tacky reassurances, but without silence either. Ayame made idle chatter about the birds outside the window, looking for seed in the brisk January air.

Hinagiku was the one to try to cheer her up, a little—though she wasn’t ‘sad’, just drained– curious and excited as he brainstormed different foods they could make, different things they could do.

Lily kicked her feet, dangling off her bedside table, and talked a mile a minute about how much time Taylor should spend studying, what kind of materials she could find, what subjects she should focus on and when.

Baigon looked through her textbooks, quietly determining which would be of use to her in the future.

Finally, a little past noon, Tsubaki bullied the bedside drawer open, dislodging his sister, and hefted the phone out to Taylor.

“Call your teammate. Let’s go kick some ass tonight.” He said, no-nonsense.

“I can’t call, we don’t have the minutes for that.” She said, voice groggy. She checked that dad’s car wasn’t out front and then went downstairs with the phone. Then went back upstairs and changed back into loungewear, out of her school clothes.

She did text Alec, as she was preparing simple fair of sandwich and chips—having nowhere near the bandwidth to prepare something more complex than bread, ingredients, bread.

Isis: I’m dropping out of school.

Eos: uwo drop out buddies??

Isis: My dad thinks I’m homeschooling along with a girl named Alex I met at the library

Eos: I will be the prettiest girl and so so schooled at home

Isis: What if he asks to meet you???

Eos: then I’ll wear the blonde wig lmao. Purple one’s already taken by “””hero””” me.

Isis: … fuck it, wanna come by?

Isis: wait no what if he wants to ask your parents

Eos: this is a many layered scheme young padawan dw

Eos: we will Plot through it together

Isis: stop wasting minutes. I’ll meet you tomorrow for patrol

Eos: ^_^ 😀 😘 11am? We can convince the street mooks we’re over 18 by being out when normal kiddos are at school

Isis: sure

Feeling overwhelmed at even that interaction, she closed the phone and set it aside. Then, feeling like it was mocking her, she dropped it off upstairs again and came back down.

Part of her wanted to marshal the fairies and talk battle strategy, patrol strategy—plan, plan, plan.

Instead she still felt drained, as though the horrible mess of suffering inside her had left a great empty space when it flooded out last night, and nothing had yet filled the void.

So she shakily told them that they’d be taking today as a rest day, and Ayame beamed at her, large oversized sleeves under her hands as she put them under her chin in happiness.

“Yes! Princess! Exactly this! You’ve got to take care of yourself before you can take care of others!”

“Mm!” Shun’ō agreed, bursting with pride and joy.

It was a little much, sometimes, how invested they were in her success, her triumphs and mental health. Then again, they were her power—of course they wanted to help her, wanted to see her succeed.

They loved her and that love had helped draw her out of a very dark place.

A quick shower turned into a long, self-indulgent stay under the hot water, until it started to run out. Not wanting anything to mar the experience, she got out before it was even lukewarm, ending on a good note.

She used her fluffiest towel, with another for her hair, ignoring that cotton was bad for it for just today, and sat in bed like that, completely lazy, wrapped up in white.

Then Lily and Ayame suggested they do her toes, which she hadn’t painted in years, though Emma and she used to do that at sleepovers sometimes.

She couldn’t help but think of doing it with Alec, sometime, of whether his willingness to dress feminine extended to nail polish. Considering he wore a bra, she was betting ‘yes.’

They found a bright gold to match the sprites and Taylor’s power, though they didn’t do the fingers for fear of it being identifiable in her hero persona. The gloves she’d found were some of dads old ones, working gloves, but she hoped to upgrade to fingerless in the future for her costume—and nail polish lasted a while.

A quick check once the polish cured showed the PRT had yet to email her back. Understandable, as it hadn’t even been 24 hours, but frustrating.

Studying was out of the question, as her brain still felt buzzy and strange, unable to focus. Instead, she spent a few minutes looking at maps, drawing one out, trying to figure out which gangs were most often seen where.

Even that couldn’t hold her attention long.

Her backpack was already full of clothes for Alec, and her, as part of operation: backup wardrobe.

“Can you think of anything I can do to be more ready for tomorrow?” She queried the room at large.

“Learn to fight!” Tsubaki said at once, predictably.

Hmm. And how could she do that with just the fairies?

Despite her so far useless patrols—at first in her pulled-up hood and plainclothes, and then with Alec as Pantheia—and the walking that went along with that, she wasn’t really… in shape.

“Do you think running will help?”

Instead of scoffing at it being a useless contribution, her most violent fairy seemed thoughtful.

“It can’t hurt. You need to be stronger, faster, more resolved. To win.”

“Oh, no, Princess, that’s a fantastic idea! Imagine how much better you’ll feel with a dedicated workout regimen.” Shun’ō said cheerfully.

“You could practice with the shield.” Hinagiku piped up, to Lily’s nodding agreement—so hard she almost fell over.

“The more you use it, the stronger and faster it’ll be!” She agreed.

“Okay, we can do that.” Taylor said, surprised. “Let’s see how many shields I can send out in thirty minutes.”

“You could also practice endurance.” Baigon said quietly. “Time and the duration of the casting, princess.”

“That’s also a great idea, Baigon.” She agreed, pleased with his contribution—that he was comfortable enough to offer his opinion.

It was a little more work than she’d wanted to do, on the ‘lazy’ Monday, but it helped settle her in a way that just lounging around didn’t—each chant on her lips felt like progress, measurable in the light of gold.

–

Chapter 5

“Alright this is some shit.” Alec said Tuesday afternoon after yet another patrol ended with no interaction. “I get things calmed down yesterday during Kid Win’s debut, but this is boring.”

“Maybe we’re doing it wrong?” Taylor drawled, just to watch him scowl.

“Brockton Bay is such a shithole you should be able to kick over a rock and find a nazi.” He complained.

“Hey, it’s my shithole.” She said with offended pride of a local. “…But it does seem that way sometimes.”

It was past noon by then so they meandered over to the boardwalk. Not that they expected any assholes there. In fact, it was the most common spot for Wards patrols, and usually bereft of assholes as a result.

“We barely look like heroes.” Alec grumbled. “More like we’re going to a rave.” He held his scepter, the only thing that really stood out as a weapon.

No armor for either of them yet.

“What do people wear to raves?” Taylor asked, with morbid curiosity.

Alec grinned.

“Less than this and most of it see-through.”

She quickly changed tracks.

“Maybe overt power displays will make it obvious we’re parahumans?”

“Yeah but my power is invisible.” Alec sighed. “Well, there’s one or two ways to make it visible, I guess. All objectively horrible ideas.”

She carefully kept her questions to herself, despite the curiosity. Alec was very tight-lipped about his power and she wasn’t going to push.

A bout of nerves hit her.

“So, just me huh?”

“Yeah, flower girl, just you.” Alec huffed a little, faintly amused. “Bring on the light show and we can probably attract some attention.”

“I guess it’s good practice.” She conceded.

The creation of her shield was getting more familiar all the time, helped by the thirty minutes she’d spent practicing yesterday—and again this morning.

“I’m supposed to practice endurance so that’ll be what I’m doing.” She said, for his benefit and her fairies.

Alright. Most of her shields only lasted for a few seconds at a time unless she was really, really concentrating.

“Hinagiku, Lily, Baigon,” She said with slow emphasis. “Santen Kesshun. I reject.”

Three bright points of light erupted into existence, a blaze of gold connecting them. The shield washed over her vision in a vivid triangle.

The few people on the streets stopped to stare.

A few brought out camera phones.

She thought about saying something but even that half-second of inattention caused the gold to waiver.

“Can you even move when you’ve got a shield in front of you?” Alec asked, a touch of curiosity in his tone, muted as always.

“Let’s find out.” She said through gritted teeth, shield rippling as she multitasked to talk.

Slowly, she took a step forward, and the shield stayed right where it was in relation to her—about two feet in front of her in front of her hands, held up palms out.

She got four steps before something across the street caught her eye, and her concentration slipped. The shield shattered.

Panting, she stopped for a moment.

“Woah, you good?” Alec asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” She managed breathlessly. The fairies that formed the shield were fine, too, not even tired. It was her that was the weak point.

She repeated the spell, and again gold rippled over the world.

Don’t let it shatter, don’t let it shatter, don’t let it—

“Ah, fuck.” She only made it a half dozen steps.

“Looks like you ran into your hard limit there, flowers.”

“No… that’s not it…” she muttered to herself. “Guys, what am I doing wrong?”

Lily chimed in at once.

“The shield is based on your resolve! Your willpower, your desire. If you believe it won’t break, it’ll stand strong!” She fist-pumped.

“Yeah, princess!” Hinagiku vibrated with excitement. “The sky’s the limit for us, for real!”

“Baigon?” she asked.

The little fairy hummed behind his facemask.

“Don’t think of the shield.” He advised. “Think of what you’re trying to stop, as you reject it. Think of what you must keep safe on the other side.”

Thoughtfully, she nodded.

“It is weird that your power talks to you.” Alec observed, before shrugging. “Eh, all powers are weird though. You certainly got us some attention.”

“My shield is based on will power.” She told him. “So you’d think willing it not to break would be the answer…”

“Well, maybe it’s like trying not to think of a purple elephant.” He said.

“What?”

“If you try not to think about it, it’s all you can think of. Whereas when you’re not trying not to think about it, you never think of purple elephants. Probably.”

“So by thinking of the shield not shattering…”

“Yeah, you’re thinking about it breaking, still. Don’t break yet, implying it’s on a time limit, that it’ll break soon. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“No, it’s a good idea.” She admitted as they turned onto the boardwalk proper. “One of my spirits said I need to focus not on the shield itself but on what I’m trying to protect—why I’m rejecting the attack on the other side of it.”

The sea came into view as they trod onto a path parallel to it, the first of shops appearing.

“I guess.” Alec shrugged. “I’m telling you right now I’m not going to be the brains of this operation. Hope you figure it out, though. Most of the time having a shield last for ten seconds is a hard limit of the power, though, not the mindset. Powers can be pretty fixed.”

“Well, mine’s not.” She said curtly.

He shrugged again.

They wandered the boardwalk, drawing a little bit of a crowd, though not as much as when she’d had a four foot shield up.

“Want to try again?” Alec asked as they reached the most popular part with the biggest crowd of shoppers, most of them giving us a wide berth because they looked so weird in colored hair.

“Sure. Hinagiku, Lily, Baigon,” She said, cheerfully and conversationally this time. It wasn’t a life or death situation, after all. “Santen Kesshun! I reject!”

Holding her hands up, she smiled as the shield appeared, more overhead this time.

What was she rejecting? Vulnerability, maybe. She didn’t want them to get hurt, so the shield formed overhead, keeping them safe.

They walked all the way down the street, to more talking and phone videos, before she let the shield fall, more because her arms were tired than anything.

“More than ten seconds,” She told Alec smugly.

“Yeah, I guess. Who’s counting?”

Ugh.

A low whistle drew them out of it.

Turning a corner, they’d finally found a Wards patrol.

Three figures greeted them, all in costume. The one who’d whistled was wearing a skin-tight grey bodysuit, barely visible for the number of white armored panels covering it. His face was completely hidden by a mask.

The clocks all over the outfit gave away his identity at once.

“Pretty flashy!” Clockblocker said appreciatively.

“Clock.” Triumph sighed, the Wards leader identifiable by his lion motif, noticeably taller than the younger Wards with him.

“What? Using their powers in broad daylight, it’s bold. I like it.” He gave a thumbs up.

Next to them was the newest ward, Kid Win, in a gold and red bodysuit. His visor was red and the only thing covering his face—hair, forehead, mouth and nose all visible.

The mouth was a bit open, as if surprised to meet other capes on what was meant to be his first day out.

“We didn’t mean to interrupt your first patrol.” She said a bit stiffly, not having considered it. If he was just introduced yesterday, surely he’d need some time to get used to his powers and such?

Kid Win looked to Triumph and then back at them, smiling. It was only a bit wobbly.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re hardly the only heroes in the Bay, after all.”

“Yep, gotta share. Speaking of—”

“Clockblocker.” Triumph said again.

“Hey! You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Do I want to?” Triumph said, smiling despite his tone for the crowds, too far away to get audio in their recordings.

“Wow rude. I was just going to ask these two—new heroes, right?—if they wanted to join us for a leg of our patrol.”

“Is that usual?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Eh.” Clockblocker waved his hand in a so-so motion as Triumph sighed. “Gallant patrols with Glory Girl a lot, so there’s precedence for teaming up with Independent hero teams.”

He looked to Triumph for corroboration, who nodded.

“Yes, especially when they’re registered. I recognize you now, there was an email about the new team in the area. Pantheia, right?”

“That’s right.” She said, trying to keep her voice stable. “We registered yesterday.”

“That was fast.” Alec drawled, speaking for the first time. “Y’all move quick around here, huh?”

“New capes on the scene are identified pretty fast.” Triumph said good-naturedly. “If any of the Wards or Protectorate sees you, they need to know you’re an ally. It helps prevents misunderstandings.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know we had a new team of heroes. And trust me, I’d have noticed. And remembered.” Clockblocker said, a quick lilting cadence to his voice.

Taylor got the feeling he could talk and talk, filling up silence easily.

“Well, it was Kid Win’s debut yesterday.” She said magnanimously. “Sorry again for interrupting your first day out.”

“I don’t mind.” Kid Win said at once, smiling more genuinely now. “Let’s keep walking, we’re drawing a crowd. Right?”

He looked to Triumph again, getting praise for the decision in return.

“Call Console and let them know,” Triumph said to him.

Kid Win nodded, falling back and giving a halting brief to someone on his radio.

For a moment she was jealous of their funds.

“So. Ladies.” Clockblocker fell into easy step with them. Alec got a funny look on his face; it went blank for a solid few seconds before a twitch of smile betrayed him.

He immediately fluttered his lashes a little.

Oh, no.

“So. Lady’s man.” Alec practically purred back—for Alec. Only a hint of flirt in his voice. It would probably be more if he wasn’t—well, Alec.

“Oh-ho-ho! I see my reputation proceeds me.” Clockblocker said, grin in his voice. It was strange not being able to see his face at all.

“I’ve heard on PHO that you’re a bit of a character.” Alec continued, swishing his hair as he walked. He’d gone with pig-tails today, which was utterly ridiculous.

“Well, I try.” Clockblocker said. “What about you, what are your powers?”

“Sensor-type.” Alec said easily. “I can tell how many people are around me, with a pretty good idea of their location if I need to.”

“Nice.” The Ward said easily. “Handy in plenty of situations, but not really suited for combat. Is that why you joined a team?”

Instead of being offended, Alec laughed.

“Yeah, basically. I know my limits.” He winked and Clockblocker almost, but not quite, stumbled.

“Heheh, yeah. And you?” He asked her, turning his helmet to clearly show who he was talking to. “I saw the forcefield earlier.”

“Forcefields,” She confirmed. “I’m also a healer, but it’s a newer aspect of my powers I haven’t explored much.”

Clockblocker whistled again.

“Wow.”

“Is that rare?” Kid Win asked, on Clock’s other side.

“Very.” Triumph said, looking her up and down in a new light. “Have you considered liaising with the protectorate to become a licensed parahuman healer?”

“I sent an email in yesterday after we registered but I haven’t heard back yet.” She confirmed and he nodded.

“I’ll see if I can’t expedite that. We need all the healers we can get. Panacea flat-out changed the game when she came into the field, but she’s still only one person.”

“How rare?” Kid Win wondered, while Clockblocker made a thoughtful noise.

“I’d have to check.” Triumph said. “I think maybe only a dozen in the entire U.S. Protectorate. Of course, none as powerful as Panacea. She’s frankly in a league of her own on that front.”

“Striker 12 will do that for you, yeah.” Clockblocker said.

This time Triumph lightly reached out and flicked the back of his helmet.

“It’s not polite to use threat ratings for heroes.” He said sternly. Then, to her, “The PRT only uses threat ratings on heroes in case they’re being controlled or compromised. It’s not a representative of how powerful they are, strictly speaking, just an assessment of how many resources would be needed to subdue them if worst came to worst.”

Beside her, Alec was slightly tense.

On complete impulse, she reached out and took his hand.

Clockblocker made a sound that wasn’t quite a choke, swallowing harshly.

She smiled.

“Isn’t that a little weird? If there’s no power classification other than the threat ratings, it’s hard to talk about what people can do it a measurable way.”

“That’s true.” Triumph said, the slightly tense moment passing.

Alec began to swing their hands slightly, squeezing her palm once in wordless thanks.

“The threat ratings do get bandied about unofficially as a way to talk about power levels.” Clockblocker said sheepishly. “I wish there was a different system so we could use it. Like, Vista is an insanely powerful shaker, but I can’t say the number without being rude?”

“I see the struggle.” Alec said dryly.

“It’d be nice to know where my healing rated, for example.” She continued thoughtfully. “Like on a scale of 1 to Panacea, I mean.”

Clockblocker snorted hard.

Kid Win laughed. He had a good laugh, deep and masculine despite his age.

“Maybe the new scale could use nicer terms.” Kid Win said. “Striker for enemies, a bunch of side terms for friendlies. Instead of Striker 12 she could be Healer 10.”

“Naw, dude, you gotta let her keep the 12. It’s badass.” Clockblocker insisted.

She looked at Triumph again. While Kid Win was mostly paying attention to the conversation, Clockblocker had at least been looking around, eyes roving the streets. Triumph was much less focused on the talking and more on his surroundings—as expected of an experienced hero.

Keeping that in mind, she made sure to keep an eye on the boardwalk around them.

“You could be like—Shielder 5, or something.” Kid Win said.

“Only a five? Wow, rude. How strong is your shield?” Clockblocker asked her conversationally.

“As strong as I need it to be.” She said truthfully. Triumph flicked his eyes over to her as She said it, but she couldn’t see from his expression if he was interested, skeptical, or what.

“Wow, badass.” Clockblocker sighed. “Oh da—dang. I just realized I didn’t catch your name. Pantheia as the team name, huh?”

Something about his voice had her frowning.

“Yeah, Pantheia, like Pantheon. We went with a Greek mythology theme.” Alec said. “I’m Eos, this is Isis.”

“I have literally never heard of those gods before. Goddesses?” Kid Win said to himself. “Granted, I’ve never taken any classes that covered Greek mythology.”

“Wow, goddesses. Best team ever.” Clockblocker threw up two thumbs up. “I too have never heard of your most esteemed namesakes.”

“Eos is the goddess of the dawn.” Alec said absently. “Dawn as another name; Aurora for the Romans. Hang on, there’s a group of people ahead, unmoving.”

“Call it in.” Triumph said at once.

They all paused as Kid Win shakily touched his radio, reporting in.

They were at the tail end of the ‘boardwalk’, well away from the popular shops and restaurants.

“This is close to our turnaround point.” Clockblocker told her quietly, taking several pieces of paper from—somewhere. “If we were likely to see any issues, it’d be here.”

“Any sign of a cape?” Triumph asked Alec.

“No, not that I can tell.” He flicked a purple pony-tail over one shoulder impatiently, fiddling with his taser scepter.

“We’re cleared to check it out and engage if there’s no hostile capes.” Kid Win reported.

“If it’s just unpowered gang members or teenagers up to no good, five parahumans is a little bit overkill.” Triumph said with amusement. “Still, better too many of us than too few.”

“Eos, how many are we looking at?” Taylor asked.

It took Alec a moment to respond to the name and he got a faraway look in his eyes, head tilting.

“Eight. Three on one side of the alley, five on the other. Two of those are closer to the middle, across from each other.”

“Sounds like a potential drug deal.” Triumph said. “If they’re unpowered we need to be very careful in terms of force, but wary for weapons. If someone pulls a gun specifically we’re to disengage and find cover. Clockblocker, freeze your costume immediately if needed.”

The five capes walked to the mouth of the alley.

Instead of a drug deal, it was immediately apparent that it was punk kids who were graffitiing the walls with cans of spray paint, with two on ‘lookout’ at the mouth of each alley.

“Shit, heroes!” One of them yelled, and suddenly paint cans were being kicked as the kids scrambled away from the capes, bolting for the other end of the alley.

“Lily, Baigon, Hinagiku! Santen Kesshun, I reject!”

The three fairies flew in a blindingly fast eruption of light, hitting the middle of the alley entrance together and then splitting into four points of light, carrying the edges of the shield into a square. It blocked their escape almost instantly.

One of the kids smacked hard into it, dropping to the ground with a scream; the others scrambled back and fell in their haste to avoid touching it.

Taylor stood with a hand raised, thrown out as she chanted and left there.

Triumph did something that resulted in a low sound permeating the alley and a few of the vandals tripping at once.

Clockblocker slipped in and started tapping shoes, freezing them where they were and zip-tying hands behind backs with a smooth, fluid ease.

“Aw, I don’t think I should tase the punks.” Alec said with a pout audible yet invisible behind his face mask of the evening.

“Probably an inappropriate show of force, yes.” Triumph put a hand on Kid Win’s shoulder, nudging him. “You can go help Clockblocker detain the rest, except for the one with the broken nose.”

“Oops.” Taylor said faintly. “If it helps, I can heal that.”

“In most situations as a healer you’d be required to get tested first, such as if you went to the hospital or the PRT with the intention to heal. Combat situations you’re a part of are an exception to that, provided you get consent from the victim to heal or an arrested individual is injured to a certain extent. You’ll have to look up the specifics.”

“Noted.” Taylor said, walking over to the guy who was still clutching his face and cursing, blood running between his hands.

“Hello, you and your friends are still in trouble, but I’m a healer and can fix your nose up for you.”

“Really?” The voice was somewhere between skeptical and hopeful. A defeated slump to the kid’s shoulders had her mentally dropping his age a point or two. “Okay.”

“Shun’ō, Ayame. Sōten Kisshun, I reject.” The lights flung out, arrows of power, and coalesced into an elongated dome covering part of his face—not unlike a rebreather.

He didn’t remove his hands so the blood vanished from them as well, only taking about a minute before the entire thing was healed. Taylor stepped back, task accomplished. The barrier at the end of the alley had faded at some point, all her fairies back with her.

“Ch.” Tsubaki said with disgust. “Not even worth my time.”

Was it her imagination, or did the little fairy seem disappointed?

He was the only one who wasn’t part of a shield, and the only one who she hadn’t got to see in action.

Actually, that was something to rectify, surely?

Then again, she’d only manifested the healing shroud once she needed it. His time would come. Taylor simply hadn’t been in a fight that was worth testing out her sixth fairy’s threats.

“Now,” Triumph said, for her and Alec’s benefit as much as Kid Win’s. “We’ve already called this in, so the police will be here soon. A PRT representative—not a squad– will also be here because of parahuman involvement—ours. Mostly to liaise between us and the BBPD to make sure all the paperwork is completed properly.”

“Ah, paperwork.” Clockblocker said wistfully. “The bane of heroes everywhere. Excellent form by the way, ladies.”

He once more gave a thumbs up to their team.

“Technically,” Triumph continued, “We don’t have the authority to arrest and Mirandize non-parahumans. We’re therefore making a citizen’s arrest and waiting for the appropriate authorities.”

“Technically,” Clockblocker echoed cheerfully, “Wards don’t have the authority to arrest parahumans, either; that’s also a citizen’s arrest until a member of the Protectorate or the PRT can take over.”

“Fascinating.” Alec deadpanned, causing Clock’s shoulders to droop just a little, and the conversation turned towards how to collect evidence—even for ‘minor’ crimes such as vandalism.

Soon enough a few squad cars arrived, which confused Taylor until she realized it wasn’t for the severity of the crime but rather a logistics concern; eight bodies, three cars.

Additionally, as promised, a PRT liaison arrived and got their statements, rather than the police. She was a short, no-nonsense woman with cropped blonde hair, and a black suit. Not the usual get-up Taylor had expected from the PRT, who often wore riot gear on TV.

“—may yet have gang affiliation; that’s for the BBPD to figure out.” Triumph was saying, when Taylor wandered back over.

Taylor and Alec’s portion of the after-action report, collected on-scene, was honestly just the woman asking what had happened. They explained casually, and yet the PRT liaison transmuted that information neatly.

“Want to see?” She asked, seeing them looking at her clipboard with interest. Taylor nodded.

“Affiliated independent hero Eos of Pantheia detected suspicious grouping of people in an alley. Investigation revealed vandalism in progress.” She read aloud. “Affiliated independent hero Isis of Pantheia stopped fleeing perpetrators using a barrier forcefield. One perpetrator was injured after running directly into the barrier, suffering a broken nose. Isis secured consent and provided healing to the perpetrator, minor Kevin Golgeist.”

“That’s it?” Alec asked, surprised at the minimality of paperwork.

“You’d have more as a Ward.” Clockblocker said with an overdramatic shudder.

“Extra glad I didn’t join up then.”

“In a bigger incident or one that involved criminal parahumans, you’d be asked to deliver a verbal or written report.” The liaison explained easily enough. “Rarely, independents are asked to come to the PRT building itself to de-brief.”

“Eh, about half the time, for New Wave.” Clockblocker again made a so-so gesture. “Brockton Bay has an unusually high level of cape conflict for a city this size, due to all the gangs.”

Some of that explanation was for Kid Win’s benefit, who nodded attentively.

“Pantheia. Thank you for your cooperation.” The liaison, Lieutenant Fields, said professionally. “I’d like to give you these. Please use them when appropriate.”

She handed them a series of printed brochures, most of which contained information they’d picked up from the paperwork filled out previously, but some of it was new. A list of helpful phone numbers, for one, as well as when to call which.

“In your solo operations, please call the BBPD or PRT as needed to report engagements, secure prisoners, and feed into our overall intelligence picture.”

“We will, thank you.” Taylor said, tucking them away awkwardly in a pocket.

That was another note—they needed a backpack or something for being handed things.

“Isis, as you healed someone today, we will be in contact if there are any unforeseen side effects.” She paused. “Officially, the PRT recommends coming in for testing of that ability and potential licensing as a parahuman healer.”

“I’ve already reached out to the PRT regarding that.” Taylor said for the second time that day. For also the second time, she got the assurance that someone would be enquiring to potentially push that response timeline forward.

Clockblocker volunteered to give both Taylor and Alec his Wards phone number in a mostly professional way, with only a hint of flirting. Meta-flirting, almost, as he did mention it was for hero-related reasons but with a bit of an amused air at the situation being similar to getting ‘two pretty girls’ phone number’, which he even went to far as to acknowledge.

“Don’t be a stranger.” Clockblocker told Alec in particular, causing Taylor’s teammate to blink quickly as the only tell that he was actually surprised.

After the last of the scene was cleaned up and all prisoners transported, they parted ways. Taylor and Alec went back to the gas-station-turned-base-of-operations and got dressed in their civilian clothes again, before Taylor went home for the day.

–

Chapter 6

Taylor’s week was abnormal.

Instead of going to school, Monday was spent decompressing and coming to terms with her future.

Tuesday was spent on patrol with Alec and then a surprising number of Wards, while Wednesday…

Wednesday, Taylor starts making a plan to study. She pulls what publicly available information she can find about the GED test, prints it off, and heads to the gas station.

Still no sign of anyone else accessing the back door between the two adjacent dumpsters, and she pushes it open with familiarity. She eyes the dusty and empty front room—the ‘store’ part when it had been functional—and grimaces.

If you came in from the front, the doors which are boarded up like the windows, you’d see the front room. Behind a counter which used to house a cash register, there’s a doorway leading to the backdoor that now serves as their entrance.

Along the hallway, the bathroom door, and the door to the break room now repurposed into a bedroom—without the bed. It doesn’t have a sink, but there’s a divot in the counter where one might have lived, now just a hole.

No microwave or anything else. No refrigerator.

The other door in the hallway leads to a ‘cargo room’ of sorts that’s empty aside from card board boxes and various debris. Likely where supplies were stored to refill the shelves. She hadn’t been in there, only looked into the room out of curiosity.

She walked to the doorway of Alec’s makeshift bedroom and knocked on the wall. He was completely curled up in the sleeping bag, only the sliver of one forearm visible.

“Hey.” Taylor said loudly. He only groaned, the entire sleeping bag rolling over.

“Come on, I brought breakfast.”

Grudgingly, a head of dark curls emerged, the sleeping bag retreating to just over his nose—baleful blue eyes narrowed over the hem of it.

“Cahurrnnaf” He said, which she generously translated to ‘What did you make me for breakfast?’

Alec’s true love in life was food, a fact which Taylor leveraged with strategic might.

“Bacon. Mmm.” She waved a brown bag to-and-fro, hoping the scent would waft towards him.

“Alright, fine.” Alec grumbled in a voice rendered deep and scratchy with sleep. His eyes still weren’t open all the way. He shuffled around, apparently finding the sleeping bag’s zip, because suddenly the cocoon started unravelling—and Taylor whipped around quickly at the first sign of pale skin emerging.

A small squeak may or may not have escaped her throat as she squinted her eyes shut.

Alec’s little laugh followed her, barely loud enough to shake the air, clearly under his breath and not meant to travel. Of course he found her reaction funny, the jerk.

A yawn followed, along with the sounds of someone sluggishly moving across the floor, kicking things here and there.

“So, I was thinking,” Taylor said, when he was dressed—grudgingly in both a shirt and pajama pants, instead of bare-chested as he preferred—and they sat across from each other, eating breakfast.

“Mmmhm?” Alec’s bedhead was a riot of curls, unbrushed. The shirt he wore was too large for him, collar wide and exposing some shoulder.

“My healing power, right? It fixed that woman’s clothes.”

“Huh.” Alec swallowed his mouthful, looked mournfully at the rest of his bacon sandwich, and manfully spoke before taking another bite. “You think it might repair stuff?”

“That’s my thought. I came up with a list of ideas to try.”

“Can’t you just ask your power? It talks to you, yeah?” Restraint expended, Alec tore back into his sandwich, devouring the rest of it in a few bites.

Crumbs stuck to his mouth. Taylor grimaced and looked away. Ugh.

“I guess I could.” She hadn’t really thought of it that way. “Usually they wait until I’ve actually discovered a new part of the power to tell me things, though. Huh.”

“Well, try out your ideas and if it doesn’t work, ask them then.” Alec shrugged. “The worst they can say is ‘no.’”

“… I guess.” Taylor repeated. She played with the edges of her notebook before flipping it over to the page.

“Alright, test one. Can I heal myself?” She marked it down. “I wear glasses so that’s what I’ll test. Instead of something crazy like giving myself a cut or burn.”

Alec watched as she went through the chant, a small golden bubble encasing the top part of her head. When it faded, Taylor squinted around.

“Okay, I can see without my glasses. So, that worked. Are you hurt anywhere? I can try to heal it.”

He shrugged.

“No, not really. I mean, want to try removing a scar?” He held up a hand, twisting to show a thin white line going down the heel of his palm and around.

“Not on my list but good idea. What happened, and how old is it?”

“Surprise game of Knife Catch.”

“What?”

Alec snorted.

“One of my psycho little siblings was being a shithead.” He held out the hand and Taylor took a more careful look at the scar. “I caught the knife, though.”

His hand was soft in hers. Surprisingly delicate, no other blemish aside from the thin white line. She traced it carefully, then flipped his hand over and traced down the side of his forearm.

“It was about four years ago.” Alec said, voice unconcerned. He wasn’t impatient or uncomfortable, seeming to let his hand rest with her as long as she needed.

Finally, Taylor repeated the chant again.

The scar disappeared, leaving unblemished skin behind.

Alec whistled.

“So what I’m hearing is, you could probably do some crazy plastic surgery work for people who like, got half their faces melted off.”

“Seems that way.” Taylor was frowning in thought. Plastic surgery, sure, but healing someone who was that dramatically injured? There surely had to be some limit.

“Alright, next, torn clothes.” She cleared her throat. “Any test subjects?”

“I ripped my shirt for bandages in the alley that night.” Alec got up with only minor grumbling and went to his little pile of clean clothes.

“J’en ai marre!” He snapped as he didn’t find what he was looking for, something in French, only to grumble hotly under his breath: “Je vais poutain de coucher avec ta femme…”

It did not sound polite.

Then he walked to the bathroom, emerging a moment later.

“I forgot I didn’t want to go through the effort to wash this one, since it was fucked up. Still with the dirty laundry.” He held up the garment, a black, long sleeved sweater with part of the stomach piece missing from the hem up.

Taylor remembered pressing the fabric into a bullet wound, screaming and crying. She shivered.

“Alright. Ayame, Shun’ō– Sōten Kisshun, I reject.” Her resolve strengthened, focused on making the shirt whole again. The twin pinpricks of light shot out, forming a shroud.

The material was made whole before their eyes.

“Okay, bullshit.” Alec said, after feeling the fabric with long, pale fingers. “Your power made mass out of nowhere. It’s still soft, look.”

Taylor felt it, surprised at the quality. It felt expensive.

“… It’s clean.” She said, looking over the entire sweater. An understatement: it looked brand new. “I thought you said it was dirty?”

“Maybe your power is like a dry-cleaning service.” Alec perked up. “Actually, maybe it’s repairing them like new. Like, to the condition it was when I got it. Or shit maybe the condition it was when it was made.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.” Taylor frowned, pondering the implications.

“Do the rest of my clothes. I can’t stand having to wash them, anyway. If I had money I’d buy new every time instead of doing laundry.” He shuddered theatrically.

Taylor rolled her eyes at the exaggeration. She gamely walked over and repeated the spellchant at first his clothes, then his sleeping bag, and at seemingly every single one of his possessions.

“The only reason I’m not protesting is because this is good practice.” She warned him.

He didn’t care.

“Do the backpack next. It’s raggedy. I haven’t put anything in it since that hole wore into the bottom.”

“Let’s see if I can just repair the hole and not make the entire thing new.” She decided, wondering at the limitations.

She did the backpack, focusing on not repairing it to new, but to… hmm, restoring it to how it was right before Alec stopped using it. Light flared out, enveloping the bag.

Alec paused immediately, a strange stillness coming over him.

“Taylor… the backpack just got heavier.”

“What? Why? Is the hole fixed?”

They both looked at it. The hole was fixed, but the empty backpack wasn’t empty anymore. Alec unzipped it, demonstrating the contents.

Inside was a strange plethora of things—snacks, jewelry, more clothes and a little handheld gaming device.

“What the fuck? Did my power somehow make things?” She reached out and it was all solid.

Alec was wide-eyed.

“This was all stuff that was in the backpack before it got a hole in it.” He said. “I pawned some of this stuff back in—it doesn’t matter. This is my old Gameboy.”

He picked it up, powered it on, and stared.

“My save file is still here.”

Taylor giggled a bit nervously. “UM.” She said, louder than intended.

She and Alec exchanged a look. Alec abruptly dumped the entire bag out at their feet. Taylor cursed and stepped back, things rattling against her shoes.

Alec’s eyes were wide.

“Taylor. ‘Repair’ the backpack to how it was thirty seconds ago.”

She stared at him.

“No. Come on. That’s not going to…”

Taylor called her fairies. Performed the spell.

Alec opened the backpack.

Inside was jewelry, clothing, snacks and a game boy.

They looked at their feet, where the same clothing was spilled out. The same snacks. The same jewelry.

Alec sat down with a thud.

“So anyway I don’t think we’ll have money problems anymore.” He managed shrilly.

“There’s got to be a limit.” Taylor’s own voice was faint. “Come on, I mean… what if we put diamonds in a bag and ‘repaired’ it over and over again.”

A hysterical giggle wormed its way out of Alec’s throat.

“Is it too late to be villains? Because I’d be a villain for that, honestly. Just to see.”

Taylor stared at the contents of the bag—identical—and then at the ceiling for a little bit. A part of her brain was screaming.

“Oh, fuck!” Alec abruptly scrambled to his feet. “Come on, come on.”

Startled, Taylor allowed herself to be pulled up, his hand warm in hers. He tugged her around the pile of stuff and to the doorway, and then into the empty front room of the gas station.

“What…?” She asked, as he looked around.

“Taylor. How big can you make your shroud?”

“As… big as it needs to… no. Come on, that’s crazy.”

“Is it? Is it crazy? Powers are bullshit and yours are apparently nonsense. Why wouldn’t it work?”

He shook their hands lightly.

“Actually, let’s go to the doorway. Don’t include the windows or the doors, we need them boarded up. If this works, anyway…”

“I should ask my fairies.”

“Nah, what if they say no? Just go with it. The whole room, minus the doors and windows.”

His eyes were uncharacteristically bright. She found herself swept up in the excitement, even though it was… just bullshit. Just so much bullshit.

Taylor performed the spell. The room changed, becoming less dusty. Some boxes moved around. Two more shelving units appeared.

Alec breathed out a disappointed sigh as the shroud faded.

“I guess that wouldn’t have been too crazy…” He laughed without humor.

“Alec.” Taylor said, a bit numbly. “When was the gas station boarded up?”

“Um… a few years ago. But you’re not really turning back time, right? The thing you do—‘I reject.’ It’s like rejecting how it is now, wanting it how it was.”

“Okay.” Taylor took a breath. “I was thinking just now about turning it back to before you got here. But that’s not it, right? Because before you got here, it was still abandoned. I want it how it was at the height of its… glory, whatever.”

“Right. So you’re ‘rejecting’… the emptiness? The abandoned-ness?” Alec played with her fingers absently. “Conceptual powers are weird. Does it really matter how you think of it?”

“I think… it really does.” She took a deeper breath, planting her feet. “I have to be specific about what I’m rejecting.”

“Ayame, Shun’ō. Sōten Kisshun, I reject.” Taylor said sternly, summoning the spell a second time. The shroud covered the room. In an explosion of color, things appeared on the empty shelves—wrappers, snacks, candy, chips. Machines materialized, microwaves, freezers, drink dispensers. Refrigerators lined the walls, stocked with soft drinks and beer.

The shimmer washed over the room in a wave, starting at the bottom and rising up, leaving bounty in its wake. The shield broke, leaving a fully functioning convenience store behind.

Taylor jerked hard, doubling over. She was abruptly exhausted, panting for breath.

Alec walked over to a large display, a refrigerated open-air shelving unit with gas station plastic containers—fruit, cake, sushi, sandwiches and more.

He picked up a container of mixed fruit, popped it open, and tried a strawberry. It gushed on his tongue, real and full of flavor. He looked around the room at the rest of it. There was a microwave. A sink. A hot dog machine rotating cheerfully, stocked with hot dogs.

Carefully, Alec set the fruit container down again and walked over with a trembling frame. He picked up both of Taylor’s hands in his and looked at her with an oddly intent look.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you were into it I could kiss you right now. What the fuck.” He said the last part wonderingly.

Taylor blushed hard, mind going blank.

“Um! Um.” She said, intelligently.

Alec sighed, letting one hand go to pat her shoulder.

“We are set.” He said, grinning. “Oh, my god. We need to pawn some jewelry. And diamonds. We need to find so many diamonds.”

He stepped past her down the hall, cackling to himself: “Diamonds!”

Taylor briefly reconsidered telling her dad she was a cape.

–

Chapter 7

Wednesday afternoon, they had shifted back to a focus on homeschooling, so she could truthfully tell her dad she’d worked on it if he asked. Alec wasn’t really interested in learning in general. He picked up a few of her textbooks with idle curiosity, and she successfully argued he should at least be aware of the subjects they were allegedly studying.

Taylor had set up ‘shop’ at the break room table, newly rematerialized by her power. Alec’s sleeping bag was now on the far side of the room, since there was now a table and three chairs where it had previously been.

It was now next to a full-sized refrigerator. The cabinets lining the walls had been likewise reconstituted, so he was using them to store his clothes and belongings.

The fridge—and its freezer– were now full of perishable food from the gas station front room, since there was no way he could eat it all in a day and her power didn’t keep it frozen in time.

Thursday sees her walking to that same table, still littered with textbooks, and thinking of how to get internet. It’s early and she’s exhausted, having come up with the frankly horrible idea to jog to get in shape.

She’d only managed about a quarter of a mile on the way to the gas station and promptly walked to a bus stop for the rest of the trip.

Alec is asleep and for once she chooses not to wake him.

Taylor sets up at the same chair from studying yesterday, going with math this morning. It’s a bit remedial as she hasn’t exactly paid attention to any of her classes at Winslow in weeks.

There’s light enough to read by despite the lack of natural light; she’d turned on the hall light and left the ‘bedroom’ door open, so a cut of it slants through into the room, illuminating the textbook.

It’s oddly quiet with the room lights off and Alec’s breathing barely audible. Taylor briefly feels like an intruder, an interloper—is it weird to be here while he sleeps?

Then again, he likes to sleep in, and she was always waking him. Letting him wake up on his own seemed like the polite thing to do. Even if it has her feeling like a creeper.

It was almost noon before he stirred.

Her heart stuttered for a moment—literally. She froze, wondering if it was weird that she hadn’t woken him up. Then it smoothed out and Alec groaned from inside the sleeping bag.

“Ugh, Taylor?”

Right, sensor. He’d probably known she was here as soon as he regained consciousness. She was lucky coming into his range hadn’t woke him.

“Wanted to let you sleep in for once.” Taylor said, stifling the urge to apologize. She shook out her arm, feeling weirdly numb like it had pins and needles.

Alec hummed in acknowledgement, and she knew she was forgiven. He then went about making a plethora of other sleep-heavy groans and movements, waking up over the course of several minutes.

When he climbed out of the sleeping bag, Taylor kept her gaze focused casually on the page in front of her, though she wasn’t reading it.

“Did you have any plans for today?” She asked.

Alec yawned.

“I want to go shopping.” He said readily, words slow with lethargy. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a shimmying motion, likely him pulling on—

Nope, clearly she was seeing too much.

She closed her eyes.

“Good news, by the way. The cash register had cash in it. We’ll probably get fucked up by the PRT, Protectorate and the literal Secret Service if we repeat that trick, but the bills should be safe to use this one time as long as we mix them up with others.” Another yawn. The refrigerator opened and then closed.

“Wait, really?” Taylor said, looking over out of habit. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt and she sighed.

“Mm. I pawned some of the jewelry already so we’ve at least got an influx of other bills to mix them up with. Also, it’s not much cash, so hopefully the PRT gets back to you soon about healing, or we get other shit on the horizon.”

“I did get an email.” Taylor said. “It was basically a formality offering me two choices. Non-local capes are apparently brought to Panacea—after a short but thorough round of PRT power testing, to weed out liars or time-wasters, I presume—”

“Naturally.” Alec drawled. “I’m not going anywhere near PRT power testing, though.”

His voice took on a hard glint.

“Of course.” She didn’t want to, either. “The easier option for a local is to reach out to a local hospital and one of her medical liaison’s—Panacea’s, I mean. I’m a registered local independent, so I can sign up with an appointment. Panacea will be there, but I don’t know what all we’ll be doing. If you come, you might just be moral support.”

“That’s fine then. I’ll stay here and keep my phone on me.” Alec leaned both forearms on the back of the chair across from her, tilting it back with his weight. And his bare chest.

Taylor looked up at the ceiling and Alec laughed softly, almost under his breath.

“Do you mind?” She finally said.

He rose an eyebrow—she was looking again. Damn.

“Do you? This is technically my bedroom, but I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Ass.” Taylor said, face pink. “Put on some clothes.”

“Does my fair countenance disturb the lady?” A grin in his voice now.

“Fair—ugh. Oh my god.” Taylor laughed despite herself. “If the lord would clothe himself, all virtue can be maintained.”

A snort of laughter.

“I did not threaten your virtue.” He said, landing the chair back onto all fours and rolling his eyes. “I haven’t gotten dressed because I’m not sure if I’m going to be Alec or Alex for our shopping trip. What do you think?”

Taylor choked.

“Um!” She said loudly. “I guess… that’s up to you? Are you planning to buy girl clothes or boy clothes?”

“A little of both, but I guess the ‘boy’ clothes I get are feminine enough that ‘Alex’ could wear them. We’re the same size, after all.” As he spoke, he wandered over to where he kept his clothes.

“Obviously.”

“But if I just wear jeans, is that ‘girly’ enough? Don’t I just look like a boy in a wig?”

Taylor shuffled a little uncomfortably in her chair.

Finally, she took a breath and forced her gaze over, to where a shirtless and pantsless Alec was looking at an array of options—skirt, blouse, jeans, and a t-shirt.

All jokes about ‘fair countenance’ aside, he was beautiful in a way Taylor would never be.

“What all do you do for Eos?” She asked, trying to push aside inappropriate thoughts. “I know about the makeup, and you wear a skirt, which almost always reads ‘feminine.’ And— and the other thing.”

“Taylor, I literally wear your bra, talking about it can’t be more embarrassing than the act itself.” Wry amusement again, he grinned over his shoulder at her. But a pronounced lack of shame.

“Easy for you to say! You don’t get embarrassed.”

“I do.” Alec claimed, before growing more serious. “A little bit, anyway. I… I don’t feel things normally. Emotions are… muted.”

“Oh.” Taylor said. “That must be… hard.”

“Yeah.” He reached into the cabinet and pulled out a smaller piece of fabric. “It can be easy to… chase them. Fall into abject hedonism and look for greater and greater ‘hits’ of emotion. Some things give stronger feelings than others.”

Alec sat down in a chair and dropped the bra in his lap. He exhaled, a quirk of a smile.

“Then again I don’t think I can feel shame for something like this. A little embarrassed, maybe.” He licked his lips. “If I try.”

A touch of pink stole into his cheeks, barely, as he made direct eye contact.

Taylor couldn’t believe the audacity. Her face burned.

Alec maintained eye contact like a dare as he slipped the band behind his chest and fastened it, raising the straps over his arms.

“It’s novel to be so concerned over something so small.” He said, finally looking away and giving Taylor a second to breathe. With nonchalance he slid the bra into place and glanced over his shoulder at the shiny steel fridge, catching a muddied reflection.

“Do… you pack it with toilet paper or what?” Taylor finally asked.

It was a black bra so it stood out with perfect contrast against his milk-pale skin. It matched his boxers which were also black, like a set.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Alec complained, face twisting up, and the tension of the room dropped almost all at once. “I need some fake tits somewhere. They sell those, surely. Why don’t you have push-up bras?”

“Honestly? I don’t like the hit to my self-esteem.” Taylor let herself laugh a little. “Also, buy your own bras instead of complaining.”

“Maybe I will.” Alec fluttered his eye lashes at her. “Wanna help me pick out something sexy?”

Taylor looked around for ammunition and, finding a handy pencil, lobbed it at him.

“You don’t need sexy. You need functional. And something to go with your costume.”

“Oh, speaking of.” Alec tugged a blouse over his head with a distinctly masculine flair, more jerks and shrugs than delicate. “We should probably find something more Greek-like than your short shorts and my skirt.”

“The costume budget is not robust.” Taylor reminded him. “When we get set up, we can get something permanent. You were looking on PHO, right?”

“Yeah, there’s a surprising amount of freelance capes who make costumes. Downside is I’m not sure who’s legit or not, yet. Maybe the Protectorate will have some advice.”

Taylor looked over and saw Alec had put on a pair of jeans after all. With the unstuffed bra on under his shirt he looked like a girl who was just a little ‘flat’—like her.

The short hair was incongruous, still giving off androgyne rather than proper femininity.

“So the blonde wig for ‘Alex’?” She asked, clearing her throat.

Alec grinned and looked downright pretty.

“Yeah. I’m kind of excited. Is that weird? I get a kick out of this.”

“No yeah I can tell.” Taylor considered it. “I don’t think it’s too weird. It’s not something people do but… it doesn’t bother me, at least.”

“Good enough for me.” Alec shrugged fluidly. “I’m not really concerned with anyone else’s opinion, as long as I ‘pass.’”

Taylor was turning that over in her head as he left the room, headed for the bathroom. Pass as in a grade? Like a good score on dressing in girl’s clothing?

When Alec emerged, ‘she’ was ‘Alex’. The wig was styled impressively, as Taylor had come to expect from her teammate, this time in a low ponytail. The chest looked natural, a subtle roundness that managed to make his hips and waist slant towards ‘definitely feminine’.

Which brought up a good point.

“Should I call you a girl when you’re dressed like this?”

Alec shrugged.

“I’m not particularly attached to any pronouns.” He said nonsensically. “Probably better for the cover if you use she/her when I’m dressed like this, though. If you’re asking if I get dysphoria over it—no. It’s actually—nevermind.”

“So… call you a girl? Just like when you’re Eos?” Taylor had understood maybe one word out of five in that, and tried not to be defensive about it.

“Yes, Taylor.” He said, rolling his eyes. “Call me a girl—out loud, anyway. Your friend Alex.”

He looked good with blonde hair. You’d think the color would clash, since he was so pale, but it didn’t. Alec sauntered over, perfectly confident. He was also wearing makeup, again the witchcraft that made Alec’s jaw into something softer and his nose smaller.

It made Taylor abruptly aware that she wasn’t wearing makeup.

“Should I wear—that?” She asked, gesturing at her own face.

“Hmm? Why, do you want to?” Alec asked without judgement.

“I know I’m not exactly…” Taylor trailed off and Alec just waited, staring blankly.

“You’re not… what?”

Taylor huffed. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Say what?” A hint of frustration in his tone.

“I’m all—this.” Taylor gestured to her face again. “Not, you know, pretty.”

“Are you… asking me for a complement?” Alec finally said, amused. “You can just ask outright. I don’t mind giving praise.”

“What? No, I’m saying I—I know how I look, alright?”

“Unbelievable.” Alec came over, stopping a few feet away. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach out.

“You’re fine.” He said. “I don’t think anyone should wear makeup unless they like it. I’m only doing it for the—y’know, gender of it all.”

Eyes rolled, one hand waving to emphasize his point. Alec caught a glance at his own nails and frowned.

“I think nail polish while we’re out, definitely.”

“You’ll have to keep it simple.” Taylor said, glad to have something solid to stand on after so much nonsense. “Maybe French tips, believable enough that Eos could have it too without you being the same person.”

“Ha, French tips.” Amusement flickered over his face. Taylor remembered the cursing of yesterday, and that he spoke French. “Eos wears gloves, but I agree. Are you ready to go?”

“Sure.”

–

Chapter 8

“This isn’t necessarily common knowledge.” The blonde woman in scrubs told Taylor in a no-nonsense, professional voice. “It delves into federal and parahuman law. I’m versed in it because I serve as Panacea’s primary contact in this hospital and assure all necessary paperwork is filed and regulations are observed.”

Taylor shook her hand calmly, pushing down any nerves that may or may not be present.

“It’s estimated that there are less than fifty parahuman healers worldwide. I’m not privy to the exact PRT reports. However, statistically, many ‘healers’ are highly specialized or can only handle stabilizing trauma patients—catastrophic bleeding, loss of limb, severe burns, et cetera. Once stabilized, the patients require specialty medical care afterward.”

Taylor nodded; that made sense. Parahuman powers were often very specific—oddly specific, even.

“To the best of my knowledge Panacea is the only parahuman healer who can truly heal anything, up to and including ‘incurable’ diseases, cancer, and genetic issues. While heroes with healing capabilities are tested to ensure everything goes smoothly, you shouldn’t expect to come anywhere close to that level. To be clear, on a scale of one to ten? Panacea is a 12.”

Taylor had to refrain from laughing. It wasn’t a joke, but the woman probably didn’t realize Panacea was considered a Striker 12 by the PRT. Or maybe she did and had a hidden sense of humor.

“With so few healers globally, we’ve found the easiest way to test new healers is to involve Panacea directly. If a tinker causes super-cancer with his ‘healing’, she’s the only one who can fix it. Before she triggered, we had a complex process involving a lot of scans and probationary periods.”

Abruptly, Taylor realized why she was getting the Panacea 101 briefing. The case worker took Taylor’s signed forms and then led her through a room where the girl herself was waiting in her robe, looking tired.

“Nurse Williams.” Panacea greeted.

Taylor had never been in the presence of the healer before and was somewhat underwhelmed by what appeared for all intents and purposes to be an exhausted, mousy brown-haired teenager about her age.

“Do your powers offer you any diagnostic abilities?” Panacea asked, straight to the point.

Taylor startled, standing up straighter.

“Not that I’ve explicitly noticed.” She admitted. “I’ve only used it once in an emergency situation and I’ve refrained from testing it unsupervised.”

Panacea looked surprised.

“That’s sensible.” She said, with a very slightly approving air. “Powers are notoriously weird and pure healing affects are rare. It’s not often new triggers have enough restraint to resist.”

“It’s not my primary power.” Taylor explained. “I’ve got a shield like a forcefield. I only discovered that putting someone inside a shield let me heal them.”

“What type of injury did you heal? If it was an emergency right in front of you, you likely won’t face legal consequences.”

“It was a gunshot wound.” Taylor said. “To the… thigh?”

Panacea snorted.

“Don’t worry about trying to get the terminology right. Did your power appear to fully heal the patient?”

“It appeared to.” Taylor neglected to mention they’d fled the scene just before the ambulance showed up.

“Alright, let’s get started. We’ve reached out to other hospitals and gathered a few sample patients in various categories. Obviously, we don’t have any true emergent situations.”

“Of course.” Taylor hadn’t expected any. What, stop someone who was having a heart attack long enough to get them to her?

“We do, however, have a few serious cases.” Nurse Williams said. “Normally we’d ‘start small’ and work our way up, but many patients with severe but not time sensitive problems agreed to wait for you, for the guaranteed chance to be seen by Panacea afterward.”

“Wow.” Taylor said. “That makes sense. There are far too many people in this city to all get seen by you.”

A haunted look came over the healer briefly. Nurse Williams frowned.

They led her to a room with a man sitting inside in regular clothes. Taylor had been almost expecting a hospital gown.

He looked up, visibly brightening when he saw Panacea.

“Thank you for your participation today,” Nurse Williams handled most of the meet and greet, turning to Taylor.

“The smallest injury to start out with would be lacerations—cuts—or bruises. For obvious reasons, we don’t have anyone with an open wound available on short notice.”

“Mr. Obdula was hit in the face with a table leg. We’ve examined the injury to ensure he doesn’t have spinal damage and was safe to be moved. Panacea will examine him to determine the extent of his injuries and any previously existing conditions he may have; we will not tell you the results of this exam.” Nurse Williams said.

“Hold still, sir. Do I have your permission to examine you?” Panacea stepped forward.

“Yes, please.” She reached out a hand and laid it over his. From what Taylor understood of her power, the girl could literally poke him with one finger and do the same.

“Alright.” Panacea stepped aside in a surprisingly short amount of time. Wow, fast.

Taylor wondered if her powers would heal injuries she didn’t know about. With the previous example, she didn’t know how to heal a gunshot wound, yet it had healed. However, Shun’ō and Ayame had explained that she’d simply reversed the woman to how she’d been prior to the gunshot wound; exactly how she’d been a few seconds prior to getting shot.

So if she’d had cancer, Taylor wouldn’t have known.

Did that mean she could only be an effective healer if someone like Panacea was along to give her an entire report of the patient’s condition? In that time, Panacea could have healed the patient; rendering Taylor’s contribution completely unnecessary. Redundant, even.

No, Taylor refused to accept that. Her powers were intent-based. Will based.

“Ayame, Shun’ō.” She said, getting things started. The fairies appeared, at once, but Taylor paused. “Wait. Do you want me to see if I can detect anything, or see if my healing is effective even when I don’t diagnose the patient first?”

Amy looked slightly pensive. Almost interested.

“Good question. Let’s try both. Heal this person first without trying to figure out what’s wrong with him, unless your power feeds you that information automatically. We’ll see if it works without that input.” She looked to Nurse Williams who nodded.

“Alright.” Taylor took a breath, allowing power to well up inside her. “Sōten Kisshun. I reject.”

She focused on anything wrong with the man and instantly ran into a wall. The fairies formed the shield easily, making the man shout in surprise, yet this use of her power felt strange to her.

The shield didn’t want to activate. It was incomplete. She needed… something? ‘Fix anything wrong with him’ was making her power upset. What was she rejecting? What would be ‘wrong’ with Mr. Abdula? By whose definition? Taylor’s? The man himself?

Conceptual. Her power was conceptual.

I reject anything Panacea would see as a medical concern, or any doctors, or any scans. I reject anything keeping him from peak physical health.

Her resolve hardened, brows furrowed, and the light flared golden and bright. When it faded, faster than her other healings, Panacea stepped forward to touch him, curious.

His black eye was healed, at least.

His whole face looked less… wonky? Was that the technical term? Probably not.

“I can see better!” The man said at once, as Panacea spent a significantly longer time this time examining him.

“Eyes are tricky because they plug right into the brain. Most senses do, including the skin and nerves, so it’s the most delicate part of any procedure. She healed his broken orbital bone, the tissue damage surrounding it, the damage to the eye itself, the nerve, and headache he had because of it. He had compartment syndrome; proptosis, restriction of eye movement, RAPD, reduced visual acuity, color vision and worsening pain. Healed now. The retrobulbar hemorrhage is healed and there’s no lingering blood, all reabsorbed. No, wait…”

“Yes?” Nurse William stepped forward.

“He’s not showing signs of being healed. No increase in white blood cell counts, no recently forced cell division. The blood wasn’t reabsorbed; it’s like the injury never happened.”

Fascinated, she turned to Taylor.

“Do you know what could cause your powers to do this?” She asked sharply, intently.

“Yes.” Taylor inhaled, feeling like a bug under a microscope. “My power rejects phenomena. It’s intent based. I specifically focused on anything you or another doctor or test would register as abnormal or suboptimal and rejected that. From existence.”

“Rejected from existence.” Panacea registered flatly. “The conceptual injuries? Not just the physical blood vanishing or being ‘removed’ but causality? You turned back time on the wound? No. That wouldn’t explain it.” She reached for the man again, this time cupping his face.

“You also ‘rejected’ his high blood pressure, residual damage from early heart disease, fatty tissue from his liver, signs of acid reflux, every scar on his body, the signs of aging on his telomeres, and some cells that were slowly moving to be bone cancer in maybe fifteen years, and dozens of other very minor imperfections. It can’t be a time-wind because you also healed his asthma and removed a few recessive genetic markers associated with diseases he’d pass onto his children with the right partner. He is quite literally in perfect health.”

“Did you do this with the gunshot victim?” The nurse asked in alarm. “We might need to find them.”

“No.” Taylor said, picking her jaw off the floor. “I just rejected the gunshot wound, returning her body to how it was before she was shot.”

“Did you get any feedback from Mr. Obdula’s injuries to know all that? Everything you healed for him? Or was it literally just ‘whatever Panacea would consider a problem?’” Panacea asked, something… strange in her voice.

“Granted, if you focus on the concept of what I think would be a problem… if I did an in-depth exam enough to look at his telomeres and recessive genetics, which I usually don’t…” She trailed off.

Panacea laughed abruptly. “I don’t even need to be near you, do I? Your power lets you copy mine at my best.”

The nurse stared at Taylor now. Her clipboard abruptly fell to the ground.

“I don’t… have to heal at that level?” Taylor offered. “I just couldn’t use the generic concept of ‘wrong’ because different people might think different things were ‘wrong’; it’s too broad and subjective. I could also use ‘things that I would see as a priority if Panacea were to tell me about them.’ Should I try to see if I can get a diagnostic scan from my powers?”

“I mean, why bother.” Panacea barked out a harsh laugh. “You can skip it entirely as if it had happened. And just get results. The healing process looked slightly slower than mine but you were able to bypass the time for a diagnosis entirely.”

So Taylor’s power was, in some ways, better.

Um. She had not come in here to get added to the 2^nd or god forbid first spot on the best healer roster.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Nurse Williams took a short breath, picking up her clipboard. “Mr. Obdula, remember that you signed a stringent non-disclosure agreement to this procedure. You may not repeat anything you heard here or you will be added to Panacea’s no-heal list.”

With wide eyes, he looked to Taylor.

“Isis also will not heal you.” Nurse Williams said sharply. Then, to Taylor, “Speaking of, be sure to ask permission before healing a patient. Also, introduce yourself. This case is strange because everyone has already provided written consent but they can revoke that at any time verbally.”

“I’ll make sure to do so.” Taylor nodded, still feeling faint.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” The woman repeated, looking rattled. She took a few breaths. “You may find some illnesses or conditions impossible to heal. Panacea, for instance, can’t heal the brain. Everyone has a limit, even her.”

Panacea’s expression was flat once more. She regarded Taylor with curiosity and a few expressions around her eyes that Taylor didn’t know her well enough to decipher.

“… Can Panacea diagnose issues in the brain?” Taylor asked as they walked out into the hall again. “Because if so, my method will…”

Panacea stopped walking. So did Nurse Williams.

Taylor swallowed.

“I can reject anything Panacea considers to be a medically significant problem.” She said it out loud and it seemed big.

“Ethically.” Panacea snapped, before taking a few shaky breaths. “Reject anything Panacea considers or would consider, if she knew about it, to be a medically significant problem that is ethical to remove.”

“… We’ll workshop it.” Nurse Williams muttered under her breath, before shaking herself. “Well, my week just became a lot busier. We’ll probably be here longer than a day, Isis, if you’d be willing to come back to test the extent of your abilities.”

“Okay, I guess.” Taylor said. “Are you required to report this to anyone?”

“Required? No. It’s complicated.” The nurse paused. “I’ll have to note that you’re cleared to handle anything Panacea is cleared to handle. That report would usually go to the PRT, so they’d be aware of your capabilities while working with you. In this case, I believe I’ll reach as far up as I can—the regional director at the very least.”

She looked at Panacea meaningfully.

Panacea sighed.

“I have Chief Director Costa-Brown’s personal number.” She admitted very quietly. “It’s for national emergencies that hospital protocols don’t cover; if Bonesaw showed up and released a plague, I’d call at that level for an uncontrolled parahuman-related epidemic.”

“I’m hesitant to go directly to the Chief Director in this case but you have to understand; knowledge of another healer of Panacea’s capabilities—and we are getting ahead of ourselves here—must be handled at that level to avoid many of the issues we’ve run into with Panacea herself. Mismanagement, kidnapping attempts; her presence changed the landscape of S-class threats and Endbringer battles dramatically.”

Taylor’s head swam. She needed to sit down but didn’t want to appear weak, here.

“I think I need to speak to a lawyer before you make that call.” Taylor said, causing some surprise. “I’m not beholden to the PRT at this moment and want to handle that kind of announcement carefully. I need to know what rights I have to heal—or not heal—at my discretion. Panacea is part of a very visible, very well-known hero team. I don’t want to get disappeared into some kind of government black hole.”

She waited for both of them to say ‘the PRT wouldn’t do that.’

It never came. Both looked somewhat green.

“In that case… I’m not sure if we should continue your power testing here.” Nurse Williams said delicately. “Despite the NDAs, there’s the risk that word of your healing could get out to the gangs. In fact, though we’ve kept it quiet aside from obtaining consent from the specific patients you’re going to be treating, news that a healing parahuman was testing her powers today might have already leaked.”

“There are teams that would kill for a healer.” Taylor realized. Her face went pale. “Um. I think I need to leave. Do you have a lawyer?”

She asked Panacea, who frowned.

“My aunt, Brandish, is a lawyer. She isn’t an expert on medical law so we retained legal counsel from first a single lawyer and then an entire team. Panacea is huge; the scope of injuries and people I treat is… massive. NAPEA-5 was thrown out specifically because of the outcry over parahuman healing that I brought with my existence.”

“I actually have 24/7 legal counsel on standby from the firm and I’m their only client. Yes, it’s ridiculous. I call them at once if anyone is giving me any trouble, threatens legal action, or tries to detain me. My cousin Victoria is on the hospital roof right now and remains there for my extremely limited volunteer hours every week; I have a panic button. Normally we don’t disclose this, for obvious reasons. One press for her to come to me, through the walls or ceiling or people; two presses for her to come the slow way for a potential situation; three presses for Victoria to come to me the fast way, but also alerts the rest of our family for backup.”

She paused.

“If I hold that button down, Legend is deployed to my location. Listen to me, Isis; this button was the alternative to having a constant team of parahuman security—there are volunteers willing to commit to it—and a tinker-tech teleporter on me at all times, a precaution I had to talk them down from.”

“You do not have a button.”

Taylor took out her cell phone with a shaky hand.

“Can I have the number for your legal team? And do you think they’d mind a second client?” She coughed. “I think you should probably call them first, though.”

“I’m going to heal all of your patients.” Panacea said calmly, after programming the number in Taylor’s phone. “Then, I’m going to call Vicky. She’s going to take us both to a secondary location, in case the hospital is being watched. As desperate as they are, no gang is going to attack us when I’m in the air with you. This is because she can’t take you anywhere on your own; leaving me here alone is against our protocol.”

“Okay.” Taylor said.

“I’m going to file a piece of paper saying you declined testing after all.” The nurse said. “It’s a voluntary process. I believe I’ll say you had an emergency phone call for a matter regarding your civilian identity and left before we could test anything. Appointment terminated, pending reschedule.”

She waited with Nurse Williams while Panacea went around offering unexpectedly free healing, no guinea-pigging for the new parahuman needed. They probably didn’t ask her too many questions.

Taylor called Alec, using up some of their limited minutes.

“Hey.” She said, to his surprise. He wasn’t asleep, agreeing to be on hand in case anything went crazy wrong—unlikely but not impossible.

“Code red?” he asked at once.

“All gold.” She assured him, their ‘all clear’ signal; the color of her shields.

“What’s up?”

“My healing is as powerful as Panacea’s and we’re suddenly worried I’m a target. Glory Girl is getting us both out of here and I’m going to sign up with Panacea’s army of lawyers so the PRT doesn’t disappear me before anyone knows who I am.”

Alec choked.

“Okay then.” He finally said. “Have fun with that. I’d say text me your new location for backup but if they get past you and Glory Girl, the Triumvirate will probably show up, if only to protect Panacea.”

Literally.

He didn’t know how right he was.

“I’ll text you when I’m all clear.” She said instead, swallowing as Panacea returned to them, her own phone at her ear as she talked to her cousin.

“Let’s go. Thank you for being sensible about this.” Panacea said to Taylor. They proceeded up the steps to the hospital roof where Glory Girl waited.

Taylor had never seen her in person before—overhead once or twice, never up close.

‘Gorgeous’ was a bit of an understatement.

Perfectly symmetric face with stunning features, long, blonde hair curving in gentle waves around her face and chest, and an outfit that would make anyone stop and stare: a long-sleeved dress with a short, loose skirt, waving in the wind, all white with gold accents running up and down some of the seams.

Taylor had to pick her jaw up off the ground.

She had the kind of face that was made for smiles and from her reputation, Taylor expected her to crack a joke. Instead, she was unusually serious—matching her cousin.

“Alright, no need to be too doom and gloom about this,” Glory Girl said, offering the expected smile. “I’ve carried two passengers before, so don’t worry. Just don’t move too much.”

“I wasn’t worried. Until now.” Taylor said. “Would putting us in a forcefield help?”

“Does the forcefield glow like your healing bubbles?” Amy asked, and at Taylor’s nod frowned. “No, we’d be a glowing gold target. Best to be quick and pretend nothing different to normal is happening.”

“Oh, hey, forcefield buddies!” Glory Girl lifted her fist for a bump that Taylor numbly returned, speaking in a tone like she was trying to reassure a traumatized victim. What kind of face was Taylor making?

“Vicky!” Panacea snapped.

“Normally, that’s classified intel, but I figure we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. Plus, you’re a hero!” Glory Girl smiled like sunshine. “Don’t tell anyone though. Uh, please.”

“No worries.” Taylor stood awkwardly. “Uh, how are we going to–?”

“How about a piggy back ride? I’m way too used to playing air taxi.” She stepped down, allowing Taylor to climb on her back—feeling the unexpected softness of the costume, her skin, and hair.

Taylor was blushing.

Amy was scowling.

“Let’s go.” She said, and Glory Girl obligingly swiped her up in a princess carry like she’d done it thousands of times before—and probably had.

Suddenly, with no warning or step or leap, they were flying. Floating at first and then accelerating into the sky at speed.

“Where are we going?” Taylor tried asking, to distract from the rapidly plummeting ground.

“Don’t try to talk!” Glory Girl yelled. “We can’t really hear you against the wind!”

Brockton Bay looked different from above. Taylor had never been on a plane so had nothing to compare it to. They weren’t at cloud level, maybe three hundred feet off the ground if she had to guess. Some buildings were still taller downtown.

Abruptly, they jumped up to above the cloud layer, the temperature dropping rapidly, before Glory Girl plunged straight down with the speed of a falling star, faster than a roller coaster.

Taylor muffled a scream into her shoulder.

“Hey, don’t worry, we’re fine.” Glory Girl said. The rooftop was surprisingly enclosed with billboards on all sides, a natural kind of cover. She bent down to let Taylor and Amy go.

“Why the dive?” Taylor demanded breathlessly, wobbling onto her feet.

“A sharp rise and then drop disguises our location from anyone tracking our flight path.” The blonde explained pithily. “If they were tracking our horizontal position, we confused them by vanishing, and then they’d have to be looking at just the right spot to see us reappear—the dive was about two blinks. If anyone was watching, they’re hopefully still watching the clouds.”

“I guess.”

Amy flipped out her phone and made another call.

“Reinier, hello, it’s me. Another healer has triggered with abilities like mine. No, exactly like mine… One person, before we realized what was going on—R.N. Georgette Williams. Yes, some patients who volunteered for a nondescript parahuman healer’s power testing but didn’t get a name, in exchange for me looking them over afterwards—skipping the queue, yes. I healed all of them. We left with Vicky. A safe location.”

“No, not the PRT. A local independent, new to the scene.” She paused. “Are you part of a team?”

It took Taylor a moment to realize she was being addressed, what with the rapid fire answers Panacea was giving.

“Uh, yes. Pantheia, registered with the PRT.”

“Do you want to join New Wave?” Impatient, almost.

Taylor boggled.

“Uh, I have family, so… no? Also, I can’t abandon my team.”

“They can join too.”

“Hard no, then.” Alec would laugh in her face if she suggested he unmask.

“Alright.” She went back to the phone, answering more questions.

“Aww.” Glory Girl said, pouting a bit, which caused Taylor to snort—likely intentionally, as her expression brightened smugly afterward.

“Don’t worry, it’s not for everyone. I don’t know if I’d have joined for sure if I hadn’t triggered publicly. Amy, too—we didn’t have much chance for a secret identity.”

“Amy?”

“Uh, Panacea? Amy Lavere?” Victoria laughed. “You’re very new, huh?”

“That obvious?” Taylor asked.

“Well, look at it this way—at least you didn’t start healing on the streets. The gangs would have been a huge problem.”

Amy didn’t close her phone but looked over at them.

“Panacea Law has agreed to take you on as a second client, effective immediately and retroactively for the two counts of healing you’ve already performed. Are you available tomorrow to discuss?”

“I… can be?” Taylor said, bewildered. “Can my teammate come? Eos.”

“Sure.” Amy said flippantly. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but they will be extremely lenient with you. By healing a few millionaires each year, I keep them paid completely. Doubling that would be… enticingly lucrative.”

“Yeah, no, I can see how.” Taylor paused. “Do they help you with branding?”

Amy raised a hand and wiggled it in a so-so motion.

“They coordinate with New Wave, who handles most of that. I make a lot of money, which they primarily manage. Most of it is held in a trust until I turn eighteen. I have a generous allowance—Vicky gets a cut for ferrying me around and bodyguard duty. Mom didn’t want to go for it at first but the lawyers were fierce, especially as we’re both minors. None of our time goes unpaid or untracked, so that we’re not taken advantage of—not even by our own family.”

Taylor whistled.

“Wow. I bet that was a conversation.”

Glory Girl scoffed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“Worth it, though.” Amy said. “It was… rough at first. Very rough when I had just triggered. Now I have strong limits on how much time I spend healing.”

“And a therapist!” Vicky chimed in. “Me too, by the way. It’s great.”

“Is tomorrow at eight okay?” Amy asked. “Let’s have you meet somewhere relatively private. I’d normally suggest the PRT building but—yeah. How about the park near Arcadia? Next to the fountain.”

“Okay? Nobody’ll be there on a Saturday morning.”

“Great.” Amy said as much into the phone, who seemingly did not mind to be kept waiting, made short work of the rest of the conversation, and hung up.

“This is not how I expected today to go.” Taylor said faintly.

Victoria laughed.

“Oh, I know that dance. Don’t worry—you’re good. You handled this exactly right. The PRT would have played hardball to get you into the Wards, at best.”

“It bothers them a lot that I’m on New Wave.” Amy confided. “They don’t ever say it; we can still tell.”

“Thank you for saving me from that.” Taylor said. “Now, um, how are we going to get to the ground?”

“Getting to the ground’s the easy part.” Victoria said. “It’s blending into the crowd without your mask that’s the hard part. Usually easier because the other heroes are unmasked to me and I can just drop them off in civilian guise.”

She put her hands up.

“Not that you have to unmask to me! Seriously, don’t, even if you want to. That’s a ‘sleep on it’ kind of decision.”

In the end they repeated the carrying set up of earlier. Taylor asked to be dropped off in an alley a block away from the gas station, since she didn’t have a change of clothes on her—note to self: look at ways around that—and walked in to Alec blinking up at her from his chair and his handheld game console.

“How’d it go?” He asked casually, going back to his game.

“Good, I think. Terrifying, but good. I’m going to meet up with Panacea’s lawyers tomorrow. You’re invited.”

“Neat.” He clicked his tongue on the ‘t’ sound, dragging the word out.

Now she had to tell Alec he was waking up at seven on a Saturday. Oof. Hopefully the ‘glorious amounts of money’ bit would sway him.

–

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