Wake-up Call – Chapter 24

Waking up next to Taylor is both a familiar sensation, something I've horribly missed over the past few days, and an awful ordeal involving a cramped back, a cold, uncovered leg, and the terrible, dreadful certainty that I'm going to be renovating her whole bedroom's furniture without her permission nor input.

Sleeping in a single bed is something best left to the young and healthy. I'm far too mature to be snuggling next to my lesbian girlfriend in a…

The golden morning light filters through the gap between her curtains, and to my right, I see her head peeking from beneath her white blankets. She's lying on her side, facing me, one arm over my stomach, her head tilted down, her eyes closed, her lips just open enough that I can see them gently move with each exhalation.

She's relaxed, at peace.

She looks so beautiful right before she wakes up…

I mean! Prepare for the dread villain Tattletale's latest scheme! We shall raid Ikea!

Or someplace with better furniture and a floorplan that doesn't involve an architect with a Stranger six rating.

[Lisa Wilbourn resentful—]

You're goddamn right I am.

[Lisa Wilbourn's pettiness—]

Who the fuck designs a shop that makes you go [through the whole thing just to get to the batteries—]

There's a knock at the door.

[Daniel Hebert unlikely to knock if—]

I know! I'm panicking, not brain dead!

"Lisa, would you wake Taylor up and go down to get breakfast? She's going to be late to school if she doesn't start—" Fuck! He knows!

"Good morning!"

"Good morning, yes. Now, would you—"

"Uh? Liz? What time is—what the [Hell—"]

"Dad says it's time for breakfast or you'll be late—"

"You already have a male parental figure! Don't start collecting them!"

"I mean, like, father-in-law! It's a joke!"

"It'd better be. You haven't asked me for my daughter's hand in marriage."

At Danny's awful reminder of my [slightly] inappropriate way to go around this whole engagement thing, both Taylor and I look at each other, panic apparent in our faces in a way I don't think it was when we recreated an Akira scene while being chased by the Godzilla knock-off (he even was half-Chinese).

"I won't tell him if you don't," I whisper.

Taylor frantically nods.

"… My parental senses are tingling," a tired, male voice mutters from behind the door.

"Those aren't a thing! Like healthy relationships and boundaries; it's a myth that's been debunked!" I yell back.

And Taylor, for some unfathomable reason, pinches my arm hard enough I think it will bruise.

Really, am I the only reasonable person around here?

[Lisa Wilbourn not—]

Shut up.

***

It's… a few minutes after being surprised by my fiancée's father in her bed without anyone resorting to violence that I find myself sitting at the kitchen table with an enormous mug of coffee towering over the, far less significant, solid portion of my breakfast.

I guess familiarity breeds contempt…

"So…" Danny says, not paying too much attention to the bacon on his plate and studying me with the air of someone who is trying very hard not to look like he's studying someone.

Taylor remains silent, her own gaze fixed on her lap.

I, unlikely as it seems to even contemplate, may have made some slight miscalculations.

Such as not bringing a change of clothes with me during my tree-climbing, window-jumping adventures.

Which means I currently am wearing…

"When did you get a bike, Lisa?" Danny asks conversationally.

And both Taylor and I try very hard not to keep in mind that I'm only wearing my leather bodysuit and a pair of very skimpy, sexy panties underneath it.

"I… A few days ago? It's not stolen!"

[Lisa Wilbourn needing to clarify—]

Shit.

Danny raises an eyebrow as he takes a long, [long] sip of his own coffee. The bastard.

"Never said it was," he finally adds.

"… Force of habit."

"Indeed."

[Lisa Wilbourn's ability to converse with Daniel Hebert—]

Yes. I know. I'm choking worse than the time Alec decided it would be a brilliant idea to integrate pepper spray into his taser. I need help.

[Allies—]

Taylor is blushing up to her ears and pretending the world doesn't exist. She's useless.

[Useless lesbian trope—]

Hate you.

"So… What have you been up to?" Danny finally decides to end my suffering after seeing me writhe in sheer agony. That, or he's preparing the coup de grâce.

So, win-win, actually.

"You know, dealing with a baby Endbringer, getting to know the oracle that I'm pretty sure has adopted me as a big sister, bantering with the mayor, trying to decipher what it is that Dragon—"

Maybe I should shut up.

Call it a moment of insight, call it my senses having come back from their momentary leave, call it my intuition finally kicking in. Or, speaking of kicking in, call it Taylor frantically stomping on my foot.

"A baby [what?"] Also, Danny is kinda pale right now.

"Nothing! Nothing! She's just a Case 53 that has horrifying, ever-growing powers that involve cannibalism, regeneration, and cloning and mastering capes, nothing to worry about at all!"

Taylor, dear, sweetheart, love of my life, if you keep your mouth shut and put me under the spotlight of parental interrogation, you lose the right to facepalm. Just so we are clear.

[Taylor Hebert expressing displeasure and exasperation through body language while—]

You can't even tell me that you are pretending to be useful, at this point.

"Anything to add to that description,[ kiddo?"] Ha! Look who's writhing under the withering glare of—

"She was Coil's prisoner. Armsmaster and Dragon are dealing with it," she mutters, apparently having developed some immunity to the withering after enough exposure.

"And me!" I cheerfully add.

"And she," she dourly confirms.

For some strange reason known only to middle-aged men who regularly deal with Tay, me, or a combination of both, Danny's gently massaging his temples.

Taylor looks like she wants to join in.

And I start eating my bacon, because... Well, it's [bacon]. I don't need any more reason than that.

With a sigh, Danny decides to follow my wise decision and devotes himself to consuming the, blasphemous in a couple of major religions, dish in front of him. Who knew sin tasted this good.

I did, actually. Since about… Well, since I woke up in the middle of the night, tied down with silk lines and—

"By the way, Lisa, if I have to wake up in the middle of a school night to my daughter screaming her lungs out ever again, I'll be putting up electrified bars in the windows. Just so we are clear."

I don't dramatically drop my fork, but that's mostly because I had grabbed the strip of bacon with my hand. Tay, on the other hand, looks like she will be asking me for Cranial's number in the near future. That is, if her current catatonic state is reversible.

Danny looks at the both of us over the rim of his mug, his lips carefully hidden from me by the implement, and his eyes set in the best poker face I've ever seen after being professionally acquainted with people who regularly wear masks.

He doesn't meet Taylor's eyes, mostly because she's currently refusing to acknowledge the world exists.

When he meets mine…

[Daniel Hebert unwilling to install electrified bars.]

Yeah, I guessed—

[Daniel Hebert willing to inflict psychological—]

Yeah, I guessed…

"I missed her? We lived together for quite a while, I got used to… You know…"

"Having sex with my daughter?"

"[Dad!"] Oh, she lives.

"Not that! I… Just waking up next to her. I missed her. A lot."

"You seem to believe your feelings grant you rights."

… He did not just—

"Danny, you are Taylor's father, and just because of that you'll always have my undying gratitude and respect."

"Which extends to not sneaking into my house without my knowledge?"

"Which extends to cherishing your daughter with my whole being. Which means that [yes], my feelings grant me rights, just as Taylor's do—"

"Lisa, you don't have to—" Taylor starts to visibly panic. Which is never good.

"I do, sweetie. Because your father is testing me, seeing how much I actually care about what he thinks about me rather than about your feelings. And I [hate] being tested. I hate that somebody even thinks he has the right to do that to me. But he's your father, Tay, and so he gets a free pass this one time. I'll let him do this awful, twisted thing to me, I'll show him I care enough about you not to back down, and that I care enough about your relationship with him to swallow my bile, be civilized, and finish breakfast without throwing a tantrum."

"You call this not throwing a tantrum?" Danny has the gall to ask.

"I'm a Thinker seven. If I ever feel like throwing a tantrum, you'll catch it on the news."

Then, he finally lowers that damned mug.

And, of course, he's smirking.

"National?" he says, letting his amusement show.

"Please. That's for a Thinker five, [tops]."

And I go back to munching on my bacon.

After a silence that's equal parts tense, relieved, amused, and utterly confused, depending on which of the participants you quiz about it, Taylor speaks.

"You know, Armsmaster keeps saying—"

And I stomp on her foot.

Turnabout is fair play, [honey.]

***

We finish the rest of the breakfast more or less in silence, but without any further testing of boundaries. Which at least allows me not to completely spoil my appetite.

[Completely].

Danny keeps being circumspect, something about him off in a way I can't quite put my finger on. Because, yes, we have all heard the horror stories about shovel talks and all that jazz, but that's not a thing rational people do. Most parents accept their daughters are sexual beings, especially after they have hidden from the authorities in a hotel with their girlfriends for an extended period of cohabitation (a precedented, sane circumstance to consider). This isn't about that.

Well, not [completely] about that, because it can't be pleasant to get woken up in the middle of the night by your daughter deciding being loud is her new fetish…

But that just makes my point for me: if this was about the sex, he would've burst into the room right after Taylor subjected him to her banshee impersonation, not lied in bed for who knows how long, processing things, deciding how to approach this breakfast confrontation…

No. No, there's something else, something I'm not getting—

"I need to get going," Taylor interrupts my train of thought, like it's almost her habit by this point.

"I'll take you," I automatically reply.

"Again?" Danny asks.

And I take about half a second too long to get the joke, because Taylor is once again burying her face in her hands and blushing up to her ears.

"… You are enjoying this far too much for it to be healthy," I speak for those that don't have a voice. Currently.

I mean, she has that creepy chorus of the damned thing if she wants to pull it off, but I don't want to hear that [thing] being embarrassed. My nightmares would have nightmares.

"I am a middle-aged widower whose daughter likes to punch dragons in the mouth. 'Healthy' stopped being an appealing option quite some time ago."

"And it left behind snark?"

"It's called being a parent. You have a quota of mental damage to inflict through their teens; it legally counts as self-defense."

Acerbic, ironic, apparently deadpan…

Not. It isn't.

"Bet you would like something more reactive than self-defense."

He freezes, his half-smile twitching.

And he meets my eyes.

I look to Taylor, who's still too busy pretending the conversation isn't happening. And I shake my head.

Danny nods.

Fuck.

"The law is the law. I will have to use the tools afforded to me." And Taylor will understand he just said one thing.

While I know he just said another.

I smile, keep the banter going, and get Taylor to rush so that I can get her on my bike.

Danny says not to bother with the dishes, that he will get them when he's done with breakfast.

A breakfast that takes him just long enough that, by the time Tay and I leave the house, he's still sitting down.

Which means none of us have seen him walk since we got up to find him waiting for us at the table, where he's been sitting very still, barely showing any signs of the amount of painkillers he's taken after having injured his leg in a fight.

Fuck.

***

"You don't need to take me to school," Taylor says, barely hiding the disgust with which she stares at my baby.

"I don't need to. I [want] to," I answer, barely hiding the queasy feeling at keeping a secret from my girlfriend.

"I can take the bus."

I kneel down and start undoing the, apparently sufficient, abundant chains wrapped around my wheels.

"You can. Or you can sit down behind me and wrap your arms around me while I wear tight, [tight], form-fitting leather."

She pauses, unconsciously craning her neck to watch my ass while I kneel in a way that may not be as practical and natural as one would expect.

[Heh.] Thinker [six], they called me. Fools. I'll show them. I'll show them all!

[Lisa Wilbourn's exhibitionism—]

Not like that!

"I can't show up to school… You know. So flashily," she mutters, scuffing the tip of her old sneakers on the torn asphalt of this backstreet.

"Flashily?" I ask, my hips swaying slightly in a, if I may be so bold, mesmerizing pattern.

"Brand new motorcycle? Bombshell blonde? [Leather?"]

I suppress a pleased flush. Bombshell blonde? Really?

Also, I make sure to add an extra sway to my hypnotic induction.

"You could always not show up, you know?" Come on, Tay, after I count to three, you'll realize how deeply undesirable it is to attend the gangbangers' breeding grounds and want to spend a pleasant day with your girlfriend who has her own apartment. One… Two…

"I'm not playing hooky. I've missed enough classes already." Damn it! Just a second more, and the trap would've been sprung. Ah, well.

No longer having much of an excuse to keep being bent over in front of Taylor (and that is such a terrible thought to think), I stand up, stretch my arms, and groan with relief.

Exaggeratedly and giving her a bit of an extended show. Obviously.

"No. I don't mean playing hooky," I say as I turn to face her.

"… I don't think I can get a shot at Arcadia with my grades—"

"If you want to get to Arcadia, I will have Blackwell begging you to transfer by the end of the day. I mean you can test out."

"… What?"

And I sigh.

"Tay… That thing you do on the battlefield? The way you intuitively grasp tactics, strengths, and weaknesses, improvise on the fly? Without [any] formal training? You are a genius."

"I… I just have a knack for—"

"Nobody has a knack for that and is a regular person. That's not how intelligence works."

"I… I am [smart]. I know that, on an intellectual level, but I am not… I mean, after so much time, I just don't have the same… Things were [easier] before. I may have thought I was smarter, but now I am—"

I hug her. Before she breaks my heart.

"You still are. Stress inhibits cognitive function. That you manage so well, so [much] while still going through everything you've gone through… It's like… You know those cartoons where a character wears some training gear, some weighted vest or something, and then they take it off at a dramatic moment? That's what stress does to your brain, except it only trains it to feel weighted down; it doesn't give you any of the benefits—"

"I don't know what the Hell you're talking about."

"Right. Right, I forgot you are an uncultured swine. Guess nobody is perfect."

"See? If you quote a classic movie, I may get it, but don't talk about your Chinese cartoons like I'm supposed to glean some kind of wisdom from them."

"I'm pretty sure that's racist."

"I'm pretty sure that no cartoon ever had a line like 'kiss me as if it were the last time.'"

I almost recoil. Because her voice is raw, something about the conversation striking at her, at her insecurities, at the self-image she's still fighting to regain. And when I lean back and look into her eyes…

My hands tangle through her hair, and I drag her down to me as I stand on my tiptoes. Her lips are rough once again, and, yet again, I wet them with my own, softening them in slow caresses until she opens her mouth and her tongue gently pokes at me, asking for an entrance that I grant her as soon as she wants me to. Our tongues entangle, and our breasts press together, the leather fighting to keep my shape as her own arms surround me, as she deepens the kiss, and the world fades until there's only her and…

But that's not it.

No. This is one of our kisses. Passionate. Loving. Perhaps a bit more emotionally intense.

But, if it was my last kiss with Taylor? The last one that really mattered?

If I was saying goodbye?

I pull her back, a thread of saliva connecting our mouths, trembling with our ragged gasps.

I look at her. At eyes wide, wild.

I lean forward and kiss her cheek. Gently, softly, barely a touch, just slightly more than breathing over her soft skin and rustling the peach fuzz that tickles me as I advance to her ear.

"If it was our last kiss, our last time… One of us would be about to die. And I would tell you how much I've loved you, how I've loved you a bit more every day since I first laid my eyes on you. I would tell you how much I'd miss you wherever it is that I end up going to, and how I hope you won't follow me in there for years, decades. Because you are Taylor Hebert, an extraordinary woman, and the world needs you so much that I will have to swallow my selfishness and wait until you're done with it."

She grabs me so hard it hurts, and she tries not to tremble as I try not to sob at my own self-inflicted… Whatever that was.

"I'm not what you see in me, Liz."

"No," I whisper in her ear, my voice a bit shaky. "No, you're not. You're so much more. I'm only a Thinker seven, after all."

And she laughs, and it's the best sound I've heard all morning.

I would stretch it a bit farther back, but, well, she was pretty vocal last night.

***

For once, Taylor hugs me from behind while I dodge Brockton Bay's multiple potholes without too much complaint.

"Can't believe you made me miss the bus…" she grumbles, right within the limits of just enough complaint.

"Right, that's me: all part of the plan."

"You were crying just as hard as I did!"

"I'm just that good."

"You don't know how to fake cry!"

"Certainly. Keep believing that, Tay. It will make things far easier in the future."

I'm [so] glad she can't see me blush through the helmet.

"You know… There may be a fly right over a very prominent vein in your neck telling me your heart is racing a mile a minute."

… Surrounded by freaking cheaters, I swear.

"That's gross. Your power is gross. And nightmarish."

"Didn't hear you complaining the first night I used it on you," she says. And [squeezes].

Which, given the position we are in, means my back is getting the tactile equivalent of a peepshow.

…

I now know why men like motorcycles so much.

"Your power is awesome," I finally say.

"Thank you. Was that so hard to admit?" she purrs.

And I park my bike in the next alley we come across before I crash it.

Taylor has the gall to look confused.

"You do realize I never learned how to drive, don't you?"

"Wha—I only [joked] about that—"

"Right. Right. But, you see, getting a driving license takes time, time I literally don't feel like wasting when I can abuse my power to get enough hints that, in a few days, I'll be a far better driver than people who've been doing it for years."

"Days where you could crash—"

"No. No: days where I'm perfectly fine as long as my extremely cute and sexy girlfriend doesn't get me horny enough that even my power decides that getting her naked is a higher priority than staying on the road."

"… You say the sweetest things, Liz."

I take off my helmet and dismount.

"I know," I say. Then I take Taylor's helmet off, and, before she can shake the helmet hair back in place or, Heaven forbid, think to dismount from my sexy, sexy bike, I grab her head and kiss her silly In the middle of an alley.

Yes. I think I perfectly understand why men like bikes so much.

Also, Hannah, you're missing out.

***

Despite my dignified, perfectly reasonable, and not at all needy protests, Taylor finally dismounts from my bike in time to get to class. It's a testament to the Bay's public transportation system that, even with an almost complete emotional breakdown, a horny make out in an alley, and an argument about whether or not an extra day playing hooky would be such a terrible thing, she still gets there before the bus she was supposed to take.

Which… Well, all within expected parameters.

Feeling a bit queasy yet again, because I guess that's the flavor of the day, I mount my bike once more and drive to my next appointment.

It… doesn't take that long, even if I wish it did.

Because, after mere minutes of emotional turmoil and regret, I park my bike in front of the Undersiders base.

Guess some things never change.

… Except the bike. The bike is new.

Which means that change can also be amazing.

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

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 85 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!