Wake-up Call – Chapter 45
"Are you… all right?" I ask her.
And the question is stupid, something I berate myself for as soon as it leaves my lips, but I still need to say the words to beg her to tell me…
She nods, her chin briefly digging in the crown of my head as I lie on top of her, unwilling to move away from her embrace.
Ah, right. She lost her voice after that first shout.
Well, 'lost' from a certain point of view.
"Can you… can you use your swarm? To tell me? Please, I just… I just need to hear you say it."
Her fingers tighten on my bare back, the little finger on her left hand pulling at my bra strap. And then I wait, just wait until…
"[I am all right, Liz,"] a thousand chirping and buzzing sounds around me say.
And, unlike nearly anyone who will ever get subjected to this experience, I allow myself to deflate, reassured by Taylor's nightmarish swarm voice.
On my shoulder, the cute jumping spider from earlier comfortingly pats me with its foreleg, and I twist my face to the side so I can smile at it. And it waves.
I snort a brief burst of laughter, and Taylor's hands relax over my skin, spreading her touch in soothing warmth.
I need to get up and call Colin, make sure that he's the one who takes care of the sniper incident that must've already reached the news cycle; cover up whatever we can about a gigantic, swirling mass of black, buzzing death blanketing my neighboring building.
I need to move, manage the aftermath, finish the fight.
But… But, right now, I also need to hug and be hugged by my fiancée and know that she's alive.
***
It turns out that, after facing the mortal terror of losing Taylor and the somewhat disturbingly lesser horror of being shot myself, the day still holds new ways to make me shiver in, up till now, new and novel fears.
"So, this is your apartment," Colin says in a conversational tone as he looks disapprovingly at the large TV in front of my sofa.
Yeah. That.
Taylor rolls her eyes as she takes another sip of her chamomile tea mug while sitting on my already ruined sofa, her injured arm on a safe, almost comfortable-looking sling that Colin put on her after giving her some proper painkillers and redoing my bandages just because he's that much of a perfectionist. Of course, the old bandages are lying on top of the last intact cushion, the blood having seeped into the white fabric. It turns out it is the fate of all obscenely comfortable sofas associated with the Undersiders to die an early death.
Hannah is sitting beside her, on top of a feather-covered cushion, alternating between trying to coddle Taylor without aggravating her wound and looking at me with naked concern.
"Are we really doing this? [Now?"] I ask him as he turns to face me with what is obviously a raised eyebrow hidden behind his blue visor.
"I don't understand what you're trying to get at, Ma'am. We're obviously just here to check on the victims of a parahuman incident. I was just commenting that this looks like a very… [nice] place."
"Okay, you couldn't have made that 'nice' more offensive if it told me I look prettier when I smile. Now, is this [really] the right time to criticize my living arrangements? Because I assure you I usually have fewer bullet holes in my wall—"
And he hugs me.
The arms around me are perfectly still, holding my face right against his rigid breastplate, but I don't need Power to know the man inside is… everything but.
Like I am. Because I'm a moment away from breaking down and crying myself into a wrecked mess, and it's taken us about two minutes of pretending to play at normalcy and snark before we finally got to this point.
And he still hasn't made his armor huggable. Really, such a slacker.
"You are moving in with me," he says.
What the Hell—
[Concern about leaked identities—]
Oh, thank God. Also, thanks for the save, Power. I was about to freak out.
[More]. I was about to freak out more.
"I can go to a hotel; there's no need to—"
He looks down at me, visor still down, mouth furrowed into—
[Colin Wallis's concern—]
… Oh, dear, he's in full Papa Wolf mode. Good thing I'm not bi at all.
Speaking of… Ah, no, Taylor's still sipping on her mug, likely overestimating just how quickly chamomile will help heal her throat. Which means I get to have a pseudo-mute girlfriend for a while.
I'm sure I won't abuse that power. At all.
"Look, I'm grateful, really, I am, but do you actually want a Thinker seven to—"
"Thinker threat ratings—"
"If you end up that sentence with [any] number, I [will] hurt you—"
"—are partially based on the willingness to use them in a hostile manner," he finishes with a smug grin that makes me want to punch his armor before I remember, oh, right, [armor].
[Lisa Wilbourn's readiness to engage in physical confrontation—]
Don't get uppity with me; I know where our strengths lie. Speaking of…
Hannah's been suspiciously silent, hasn't she?
[Reluctance to offer extraneous information to Thinker. Lack of eye contact with Colin Wallis. No noticeable spike in stress despite current circumstances suggests previous lower stress than baseline. Colin Wallis's stress levels lower than predicted and inconsistent with displayed concern—]
…
No. Way.
They went out on date?! Why I'm only hearing about this [now?!] This day is just—ugh! Damn your schizo mood swings, Today! Damn you!
Wait, wait, priorities. I [need] to tease him.
"Fine, but… are you sure I won't 'cramp your style?'" I ask him with all the saccharine innocence I can muster.
Hannah freezes.
Heh.
"Can't I have a [day] of privacy?" Colin grumbles, finally lifting up his visor to rub at the bridge of his nose.
He still isn't letting go of the hug.
"That's a weird thing to want after asking Taylor and me to move in with you." He starts to turn toward Tay, and I quickly tap 'later' in Morse on the back of his armor, trusting either the paranoid man or the always lurking Dragon (and isn't that a lovely mental image) to have that memorized. That, or trusting he's smart enough to deduce that the weird, frantic tapping must mean something, and that said something is not to be discussed out loud with present company.
Really, this is me doing the Thinker equivalent of stomping on his foot before he puts it in his mouth. That is: unnecessarily complicated for only marginal benefits.
Speaking of unnecessarily complicated, Taylor is waving her mug to get my attention with an inquisitive look.
"Oh, sorry. You see, Colin and Hannah finally went on a date—wait. Why are you two—[no]. Really?! After your [first date?!] Hannah, you—but what about Dragon—Dragon [too?!] Oh, that's… I mean, I'm happy for you, I really am, but… that's… [ugh]. TMI! God, [why?!] I was already on the verge of a Thinker headache, and now [this]? You can't just wave a poly relationship in front of me and expect me not to dig deeper! And you can't get me to dig deeper and not catch hints of [that]! Ugh! [Gross]. And you two just—oh, that's… Tinker equipment? [There?] How are you even [walking]?"
Hannah's eyebrows are up to her forehead, and Colin has finally let me go.
And taken a couple of steps back while studiously refusing to meet my eyes as he either scratches his beard or tries to hide his blush.
…
I [may] need to work on my Power-to-brain-to-mouth filter.
Yes, Tay, I know. You can stop the whole 'overdramatic facepalming' thing.
"Lisa… are you all right?" Hannah asks, bravely defying her own blush.
I look at her, and…
And close my eyes. Take a deep breath, one that doesn't strain my ribs to the point of hurting, but only barely, as I imagine a cloud of dark mist going out of my mouth as I release it slowly, focusing on the slackening of my muscles, the softening of my body as I convince myself I'm letting out all the tension of the morning so far.
And then I relax just enough to stagger to the sofa by Taylor's uninjured side, lean on her, bury my face on her shoulder, and almost cry.
Hannah reaches a hand around Taylor to soothingly rub my back, and I hear a brief whir before Colin's bare hand pats my hair while Taylor kisses the side of my face.
She's the one who got shot. We should be reassuring [her.]
"I… I was so afraid I'd lose you," I tell her.
And she nods, her lips gliding over my hair.
And then she leans against me, her healthy hand grabbing mine, fingers interlaced, and she… slumps. Just lets herself fall against me, supported by my own slack weight holding her up, as two exhausted girls get to stay upright just because of each other.
Oh, and the two superheroes surrounding us. I guess they also help.
Even if they inflict more mental damage on me every time their eyes meet, and Hannah cutely averts them, blushes, or shyly smiles.
Damn it, girl! I knew you were pent-up, but… time and place, people. Time and place.
***
"I don't think she needs further medical attention. You did a good job," Colin tells me after we move Taylor to my bed so that she can sleep and rest while we discuss things.
Knowing her, that's code for, 'I'll lie in the dark and let you come to your own conclusions about just how many bugs are watching you, suckers.'
… I dread the day she manages to learn how to parse words. Which can't be that far, if she's already making out detailed images.
"Are you sure?" I ask, knowing he is, but still anxious as I fret with the expresso machine.
Hannah's already drinking her own mug of chamomile, sitting at my kitchen counter. Not because I'm a great host, but because I need to do [something].
"Yes. The scans show everything's going as well as can be expected after a wound like this. It was a really lucky shot, precise in the damage it caused, and the immediate attention likely saved her life."
"She'll still need to do rehab, though."
"Obviously. But I expect her to pull a complete recovery in as little as two months."
I look at him like he's lost his mind.
"Do you expect me to keep [Taylor] benched for two months?"
He smirks.
"No. I expect you to fix the world's most powerful biokinetic in less than a week, because you couldn't get a more urgent motivation for that than having Panacea heal your girlfriend."
I blink.
Then I facepalm.
"You know I currently can't use Power to get a good retort and are now taking ruthless advantage of that, aren't you?"
"You're too dependent on your powers," he says, not even pretending he isn't enjoying every single second.
"Says the man who brews himself Tinker coffee," Hannah mutters.
Colin shoots her a betrayed look, and I shoot [him] an agonizing, heart-wrenching, desolate one.
"You've got [Tinker coffee?!] And you haven't given it to me [why?!"]
"Because I've met you for more than five minutes?"
"He's got a point there, Lisa," Hannah says, making me start plotting how to have Dragon become first bride, or however this shit works.
Look, I'm as cultured as the average netizen, but harem shenanigans aren't my thing. Otherwise, I would already have one.
"I'm surrounded by traitors," I tell the two traitors.
"Yes. And precisely because of that, you're packing your things and moving out of here in less than an hour," Colin seamlessly retorts.
Damn it.
"Look, I appreciate the concern, I really do, but Victor was operating solo. That's why this was such a shit show, and—wait, is he still sedated?"
"Thoroughly. I also took the liberty to gag him, blindfold him, and put noise-canceling headphones on him. Sensory deprivation is a standard Thinker-restraining tactic."
"It's also a form of torture," Hannah says, lightly blowing over the steaming white mug with the placid expression of someone who's thoroughly enjoying the notion of 'acceptable target.'
"Some people do it as a meditative practice," he comments as he takes the cup of expresso I hand him with a raised eyebrow, as if challenging her to question the wisdom of New Age practitioners bathing in warm salt water.
And then he proceeds to spoon out the foam on top and put it in his mouth like he's tasting the world's most delicious lollipop.
…
Power, thank you for your new practice of remaining silent when the pain starts, but it felt really weird not to have you comment on 'Colin Wallis's sweet tooth' right now.
"Right. So, I've got an illegally detained, torture-undergoing parahuman stuffed in my bathtub. Great. [That] won't lower the property value."
"It is Brockton Bay. Some moron will pay extra to have the chance to bathe himself in the same place Victor almost asphyxiated in," Hannah comments with a ruthlessness that makes me remember that, oh, yeah, she probably doesn't like being called a towel-head.
Note to self: buy a towel set for the wedding.
I'll be the best daughter-in-law ever.
[Lisa Wilborn unlikely to be—]
You couldn't resist, could you? Also, [ouch.]
"Right, setting aside the disturbing lack of survival instincts of my fellow Brocktonites… I don't even know how to continue. I… I really need to move, don't I?"
Colin takes a moment to take the spoon out of his mouth and into the cup of defoamed expresso with barely a clink as his expression turns more serious than usual. That is, more serious than when he's with us, at least.
"Victor's disappearance will be noticed in a matter of hours, and the Empire has enough moles in the local police force that they will likely make the obvious jump in conclusions to today's sniper incident. We can't take much longer in here."
There's not a trace of joking in his tone, it's just matter-of-fact. Because…
No, Power, let me do this.
Because he's used to it. To villains uprooting people, to all the little plans and hopes that get tossed aside just because someone powerful and uncaring acted for their own goals and nothing else.
He's not even angry. Not at this.
He's just… efficient. Planning, acting, reacting.
And working for a world where this doesn't happen anymore.
I bite my lip as I fight a brief outburst of [something].
And then I nod.
"Taylor hadn't finished unpacking her stuff. I just need my electronics and a few clothes, then we're out of here."
He nods, Hannah sighs, and I move.
***
Colin's apartment is, as expected, the kind of tidy that comes from it being more of a hotel room than an actual home, because he spends too much time out of it. Privacy won't be a concern.
Not with how few cues he's left lying around. Damn it.
"The guest room has a sofa bed big enough for you two if you must, but I would suggest you sleep on the living room's couch until Taylor's arm gets better," he says, carrying my suitcase behind me.
And standing awkwardly in front of me in his civilian clothes for the first time.
In his home.
… I don't think he's thought this through.
"Hey, I really can go to a hotel, you know? We already did just that while hiding from Coil," I tell him, patting his right arm more awkwardly than I would like to.
He closes his eyes and sighs before carefully setting down my suitcase by his side.
And then he hugs me.
Warm, strong, firm arms around me, a broad chest in front of my face, and the scent of machinery that follows him around even after he takes off his armor. His non-huggable armor.
Yeah. This is much better.
"Just… don't burn the place down? Or have something explode? Or the windows shot?" he nervously mutters as I wrap my arms as tightly as I can over his soft leather jacket.
"I make absolutely no promises," I tell him as Hannah and Taylor come through the door, take a look at us, and discreetly go down the corridor toward the guest room.
"Good," he answers, his left hand slowly ruffling my hair, "I wouldn't have believed you if you did."
I snort against his white shirt, the laughter almost enough to shake the anxious tears loose despite my best efforts, and then I tighten my arms with strength I didn't know I had.
It's not how defeating a murderous supervillain should end. I should be triumphant, exulting in my skill and wit, celebrating with my comrades.
Instead, I am a wreck of a neurotic girl, hugging her unhealthily attached father figure after having had to flee her own home.
…
I wouldn't have it any other way.
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This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/wake-up-call-worm.15638/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 86 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).
Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Power's intrusions into Lisa's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance
Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon, and aj0413. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and helping me keep writing snarky, useless lesbians, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!