Chapter 21: Coming Home

Guardian

a Worm/Destiny Crossover

Claiming a 20 million dollar bounty was complicated enough. To do that, only to give half back was – bureaucratically speaking – an absolute nightmare. Saying that the gesture was well-received would be an understatement. For a moment, Taylor thought that Officer in Charge Gordon was going to offer to adopt her, or maybe his firstborn son. It occurred to her that this would be a great way to get some good PR and build some goodwill with the Protectorate, but such a thought was in direct opposition to the spirit in which the act was taken. It wasn't about goodwill or PR, or even her conscience. It was about trying to repay something with an immeasurable value: sacrifice. Nine people had sacrificed their lives, and 10 million dollars wasn't nearly enough to make that right. There existed no amount of money to make that right. But 10 million was what she had to give, so that was what she did.

On top of all of that, it was right. She knew it in her bones.

"Well." With a practiced efficiency, Director Jones signed the last piece of the paperwork and handed it over. His signature looked incredible elegant, especially when put next to the scribble of Taylor's signature and whatever chicken scratch Lisa called an autograph. Still, she thought, an explanation could be made involving broken ribs that could be believed without much difficulty. "Now I get to say I've actually used an entire ream of paper on my expenses." It was an exaggeration, but not by much.

Taylor felt compelled to offer some complaint, though the worse she felt was some muscular soreness that had by now faded into nothing. So she kept quiet while Lisa complained. "We've done more for global warming today than a thousand airplanes made of...of other, smaller airplanes." Taylor smiled, a small sound of humor escaping her. Lisa shot her a Look. "Shut up. Complaining is hard."

Director Jones chuckled. "Indeed. Now. That's that done, and our doctor says that you, Miss Tattletale, are now recovered enough to move. I think it's safe to say that it won't be long now before you two are on your way."

"Just have to find our car." Taylor piped in. "Then we'll be out of your hair."

"I'll ask Agent Franklin to drive you to where you left it." He stood, shaking her hand, then waved Lisa out of her attempt. "It was an honor to have met you Guardian, Tattletale. Good luck and godspeed."

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Lisa slept through most of Florida. It was expected to happen, given what Taylor knew. Panacea had been either unable, unwilling, or disallowed to come to Florida to get her healing groove on, so they'd had to make do with the resources on hand. One of those resources was a member of Jones' PRT team who went by the name Big Pharma. He was a tinker whose specialty was in pharmacology and had developed a medication to promote the body's healing processes. He was also three hundred pounds and six feet tall. Hence, 'Big'. The pill had been a chalky white and the size of Taylor's pinkie. The injected version, they were told, wasn't quite ready. At any rate, as an effect of supercharging a body system, Lisa would be inordinately hungry and sleepy for the next few days while her body repaired the damage.

And it wasn't like she'd be missing any spectacular views. Taylor was driving and slowly being lulled into complacency by the flat, wide roads and trees lining the interstate. An endless parade of a rumbling engine, whirring road noise, and the gusting of wind over the car body. A monotony only broken by the occasional toll booth.

Lisa's head was leaned against the window, hair curling under her jaw. The sunlight would, every once in a while, play across her face to no reaction. She was deep in sleep, to the point that little snores would grumble from her on every exhale. Every line in her face was slack, and it was a stillness that Taylor infinitely preferred to that earlier, pale tension. Seeing that, and Lisa's subsequent tears, had been like choking on acid, lumping in her throat and mixed with a powerful urge to weep. It may just be a trick of the sunlight, combined with a night's separation from the emotions, but...it was better, now. Swamp Thing was gone, and with it all of the ghosts and misery and death it carried in its name. It was a bright, beautiful, hot Florida day and the world spun on. In the depths of Taylor's mind she wondered how Lisa filled out a bikini.

…

Hm.

Maybe they should come back, one day in the future. Like a vacation. Even though she didn't much care for beaches, making the sight in her imagination a reality would be the sand and sunburn. That aside, it could be nice. Like making good memories to override bad ones. Or maybe just the bikini thing, but who said it couldn't be both?

They rolled over the state border into Georgia before Lisa was woken by her own growling stomach, whereupon she immediately demanded food. Taylor rolled her eyes, smiled, and complied.

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The city of Brockton Bay was bordered on three sides by gently sloping hills and and on the fourth by...well...a bay. The Docks were the oldest part of the city and closest to the water. Brick buildings, re-purposed homes and shops, and winding, random streets defined a city built before city planning was a think. North of that was the Boardwalk, bright and shiny-new compared the old dark of the Docks. Inland from the Boardwalk was Downtown: office spires, streetlights, a grid-street system, and lots of glass. Inland and north of Downtown were the nicer neighborhoods – Capital Hills, Bay Landing, Ronan's Fork, and Crabtree. Immaculata, the Catholic school, was there. South of those neighborhoods were the slightly less nice neighborhoods: Elderwood, Fisherman's Pointe, Oak Ridge. Middle class. Clarendon, the less terrible version of Winslow, was there. Bordering the Docks and the Boardwalk was where everyone else lived. Lord Street. Snapfinger Road. Allman Drive and Harper Court. Winslow was there, which was really all that needed to be said. Joining it all together, snaking through every part of the city, was the interstate.

They came over the south hill, cresting just after a minivan with a reckless disregard for other drivers, just before sunrise. In that pale, predawn light the city looked beautiful. It didn't look like it was in the throes of a slow economic death, or that it was being hurried by the slow strangulation of gang presence. The rising sun was beginning to glint off the mirrored glass buildings Downtown. It looked... it looked a lot like home.

Taylor snorted. Apparently, she got rather poetic when she was tired and her mind allowed to wander. And she was tired. Unlike the drive down, she hadn't been able to switch with Lisa and get some sleep. They also couldn't yet use the half of the bounty they kept because the transfer hadn't gone through yet. According to Lisa, in one of her rare waking moments not consumed by food, they'd beat the money home by an hour. Or near enough that they wouldn't notice. So it had been down to her to shoulder the drive, relying on some shitty truck stop coffee and her own slight regenerative ability to power through. Not something she intended to make a habit of, but useful to know she could do it.

She took the Bay exit, joining the other early birds as they wound their way through the city, getting off at Lord and taking the side streets that would lead to her house. Their base wasn't appealing at all right then, and she didn't know where Lisa lived. So...yeah. Her house it was. It was five minutes from the off ramp to home, and they both dragged their feet and took way too damn long. But then she was pulling into their driveway behind her dad's beaten old pickup. The engine pinged and clicked after she turned it off, the only sound save breathing and some quiet snoring.

Home again, home again.

The front door opened, and out stepped her dad. His suit jacket was missing, and his tie was half done. There was a coffee stain on the front of his shirt that he hadn't noticed. It occurred to her that he looked far more relieved than someone whose daughter had called to tell him they were coming home. Or that she was still alive. Or called at all, really.

…

Shit.

=+= Chapter 21: Coming Home =+=

"I'm really sorry." This being the sixth or seventh attempt at making amends for flat forgetting to call. Like the first five or six, this one's reception was lukewarm at best. Even though she helped it as best she could with the most contrite, exhausted expression she could muster, her dad wasn't moved. With good reason. He had spent the better part of yesterday out of his mind with worry. In fact, it was only until around eleven that evening, when Director Jones called Lisa's emergency contact – him – to inform them of the injury, that he knew for certain they were alive. Forget being grounded, Taylor was pretty sure she was about to get buried. And really, apart from the knee-jerk, Hunter born reaction to any perceived threats to her freedom, she couldn't find it in her to disagree. There was also the guilt. The hot wash of guilt and shame chaser.

"I'm of more than half a mind to ground you again." He was growling. That was bad. He wasn't shouting. That was good. He was in the walk in closet he once shared with her mom changing shirts and she was sitting, shoulders hunched, on the foot of the bed. Which may go a long way towards explaining why her 'sorry' face wasn't working. "How on Earth do you just forget to call?"

"There was...there was a lot going on, and it – it slipped my mind." she shrugged, helpless. "It's not like I did it on purpose..." she trailed off. She didn't know what to do other than apologize again, and that clearly wasn't working. "There just wasn't any time."

"I understand that." He stepped out, doing up the topmost button, open cuffs flapping in response to his hands' motions. He also sounded and looked a lot calmer. "It's not that I can't grasp that you were busy, everyone gets busy. What I can't understand is why, from when you checked in with Alfred to when you pulled in just now, you never thought to call and let me know you were alive. No one is that busy."

Taylor opened her mouth and, lacking anything to say, kept silent.

He continued, having done up his cuffs and now did a half-Windsor knot for his tie in practiced motions. This was in direct contrast to his tone, which was forced calm above a remnant of some fierce emotion. "You had me worried, kid. You had me real worried." A pause. "I'm going to be late. Look. I'm not angry. Not anymore. But this can't happen again, Taylor, it can't. So, new rule. Whenever you're out there being a hero, you call every day, or you have your teammate do it. Even if it's just to say you can't talk, I want to hear your voice. Know you're okay. Deal?"

She went from sitting to hugging him in one, explosive movement. The breath whuffed out of him from the impact, and he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her. "Deal." She mumbled into his chest, taking in his aftershave, laundry detergent, and his general dad smell.

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After her dad left with a promise to bring takeout after seeing the aftermath of Lisa's attack on their granola bar stores, Taylor flopped onto the same couch her partner had stretched out on, shifting a pair of sock-covered feet out of the way only to have them drop into her lap. After a moment came a sleepy mumble. "He was really scared, you know?"

"Yeah."

Lisa's hand described a purposeless arc through the air before draping over the back of the couch. "Like, he thought you were dead at one point."

A flare of irritation sharpened Taylor's tone. "I know, Lisa. I don't have super deduction, but I do know my dad. You don't have to rub it in, I feel shitty enough."

"Kay." Lisa snuggled deeper into her appropriated throw pillow. "Don' mope, though. Mopin's bad for you. Broken ribs are bad for you, too, but you don' have those. I have those."

"Yes, you do." Taylor started toying with one of Lisa's feet, swaying it back and forth and generally being a mild pest. "For another couple of days, anyway." She was answered with a grunt, followed by the even breathing of someone just fallen asleep. After a moment, she let her head fall back and closed her eyes. I think I'm ready for today to be over.

She was woken by the muted ring of her pocketed phone. Due to the fact that even more of Lisa's legs had somehow ended up in her lap, extracting the device was a bit of a chore. After some wiggling, shifting, and a deft, delicate touch, she was successful. Just in time for her to miss the call. And since the number was blocked, she had no way to call whoever it was back. If she wanted to do such a thing, that is. She wasn't sure. Besides, if they really wanted to get hold of her, they'd call back. That occurred not ten seconds later. She groaned quietly, cursed herself for even thinking that, and answered the call. "Hello?"

On the other side was a man's voice. Professionally friendly. "Hello. Am I speaking to Guardian?"

"You are."

"Excellent! My name is Kenneth Sampson and I'm calling on behalf of Director Emily Piggot of the Protectorate. She would like to arrange a meeting."

That got her attention. Her eyes, which had begun their trek towards closed, snapped back open. "A meeting about what?"

Kenneth managed to convey apologetic reproach over the phone. Man had skill. "I couldn't tell you. I'm not privy to that information, I'm afraid. That kind of information is need-to-know, and it appears that I do not, in fact, need to." He didn't sound all that troubled by it, Taylor noted. "You aren't in any trouble, I can say that."

"Oh?"

"Yes. So, is there a time or day you'd prefer for a meeting? Keep in mind that it can last from anywhere between a half to two and a half hours." Really? "There's an opening today at...let me see...two thirty. Does that work for you?"

Taylor hummed noncommittally, looking over to catch Lisa snort in her sleep and turn over, kicking her in the stomach by accident. "Is there another time available? Today isn't looking good."

"Certainly. One moment...mmmm...that's – no...Ah. I'm afraid that the next available time is the middle of next week."

"That sounds much better."

"Excellent! I have you down for Wednesday, at...one in the afternoon. Will you be arriving by air or will we need to arrange sea transport?"

What? "Um. The second one, please."

"Alright then. Someone will be in contact closer to the meeting with the details. Have a nice day!" Then, Kenneth left her life by hanging up before she could say anything.

She closed the phone, turned it off, slumped lower in the couch, and closed her eyes. Not a single other thing would be accomplished today. Not one more damned thing. Not if she had any say in it.

=+= Chapter 21: Coming Home =+=

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