Agrippa
patreon
Wake-up Call – Chapter 92
🕑 Added 2023-07-28 02:09:03 +0000 UTCThe streets are empty, the Endbringer truce enduring unusually longer as it’s mixed with celebration and grieving.
So I can drive by slowly, approaching what was the Undersiders’ lair until I rebranded them into the kind of people who have secret bases rather than lairs.
No matter what Alec insists on calling it.
There’s… There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips, and the pain in my temples has receded just enough that the hint of it, the expression of not quite joy, but something close enough, endures.
So I take my time. I drive down small, narrow streets so I can feel the heat of the families inside their homes. So I can partake, distantly and vicariously, of the still incredulous victory shared the world over, even if it’s tinged with the defeats of all the times that came before, all those losses we had resigned ourselves to believe necessary.
Unavoidable.
It… It maybe was easier that way, when we thought their evil couldn’t be resisted, only delayed. When we thought that every single one of us who fell was just… another one. A name called out in a lonely, unending litany that would keep growing through the next attack.
I haven’t celebrated.
Maybe, if Colin had died, I would have, if only for his sake, in his name, to honor him.
Maybe I would’ve organized his funeral and spoken to heroes gathered the world over about the man under the armor. Told them of a knight who had almost lost himself before pulling back and finding the things he had forgotten he’d always been fighting for.
Maybe… Maybe I would’ve told them about how proud she made me just… just by being there. By offering an open hand to a villain that had yet to reform, joining forces to save his city from a death that had been coming for years.
Maybe I would’ve cried, slow tears falling from my eyes as I tried to look at each and every one of them, showing them a smile that would’ve told them of the joy at having been a part of his life. At having found him and known him just enough for him to change me.
And maybe Taylor would have dragged me away from the podium before I made a mess of the whole thing, stealing the spotlight from those that deserved it more.
From Dragon, showing off her reclaimed humanity. From Hannah, telling them that Armsmaster was Colin Wallis, and Colin Wallis had loved and been loved. From…
From others that I hope…
Lisa Wilbourn’s plan—
Yes. Plan. I’m good at those, aren’t I?
Lisa Wilbourn’s reliance on parahuman ability’s interface to prop up own ego—
Screw you.
Lisa Wilbourn’s unwarranted hostility—
This coming from the snark machine that honed my own sarcasm into a lethal weapon through sheer virtue of the most horrendous application of the adage that ‘steel sharpens steel?’
Role of flattery in human bonding—
You’re impossible.
Factuality of parahuman abilities—
Okay, fine, you’re improbable. Is that much better? Do you enjoy being called—
Famous quotation ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth' referenced by—
Motherfucker!
Anthropomorphizing of parahuman ability’s interface—
I’m not calling you Sherlock, and that’s for your own good, not to mention my own (horribly abused) survival tendencies and how I reallydon’t want to deal with your own self-inflicted cringe when you get to be self-aware enough to realize just why that name is your worst idea since that time you decided that we could deduce a slot machine pattern after enough tries.
… Practicality of—
Yeah. No. It was not practical. At all.
Lisa Wilbourn’s tendency toward grudge-holding—
Yes, I’m petty. What’s your point?
Taylor Hebert’s tendency toward—
Oh. Shit.
I get out of my own head just enough to realize that I’ve driven on automatic to the back of the Undersiders’ former lair, and I’m now surrounded by gravel and sparse tufts of grass.
Also, a chorus of crickets.
It takes me a moment to realize the significance of it, and then it hits me that spring is already almost over and summer is soon coming.
The changing of the seasons. How symbolic.
Tay should remember her mother taught literature more often.
So I head toward the streetlight that I usually chain my baby to and turn off the ignition before taking off my helmet, wishing once again that I had her ability to just shake my head and have my hair fall into place as I instead am forced to comb through it with my fingers until I can pull it into my currently favored side ponytail—sans my blue streak, until I get my hands on Tinkertech dye.
Then I dismount and lean back against my still warm seat, my helmet hanging from the handlebar and my gloveless hands spread behind me, leeching residual warmth from the black leather as the night’s breeze washes over the back of my hands.
“Hi, love,” I say with a lazy smile and my eyes closed.
“Hi,” she murmurs as her arms surround my waist and she pulls me back, against her chest, as she dips her mouth to the right side of my neck and has my breath hitch yet again.
She… She isn’t passionate or intense, or, at least, she’s only as much of those things as Taylor can’t help but always be.
No, she’s supportive. A tall girl enveloping her shorter lover. Holding her.
Keeping her together.
Like she’s done since Colin’s coms went silent.
And now it’s the two of us that stay silent, except in Taylor’s case she keeps the crickets going, a small, quiet orchestra just for the two of us, surrounding us with a variation of their natural chorus, adding just enough variation to the melody to keep my mind engaged even as I drift away into an almost dream.
Into the sleep I have so rarely gotten since the battle.
I… I have woken up in the middle of the night. Sometimes due to vague nightmares, sometimes just carried away by an impossible energy I couldn’t suppress, by the need to act and do something, anything, even if my mind wasn’t up to it. Even if I would just crash a few hours later, falling into another restless sleep.
And she was there.
She was there when I whimpered, half-awake, only falling back to sleep due to a whispered word or a reassuring caress. She was there when I took notes and read the same paragraph on Amy’s profile for the third time, the words not registering despite having been written by me. By a marginally more lucid me.
She was there when I fell apart and struggled not to. When I pretended I could work. When I did my best to make a difference.
I would say that I only have managed because she was there, but that would be a lie. I only managed because of what was at stake, because I refused to give up, because failing wasn’t an option.
But I have only managed this well because she was there.
Because she knows me. Because she understands. Because she knows what losing a family means.
Because she is my family now.
And I…
I lean back. Against her. Against the reassuring presence and warmth behind me, going through my leather jacket like it isn’t even there. Like I’m yet again naked in her arms.
But, this time, I can rest.
“You are done,” she says rather than ask.
I make a small sound that could be assent or protest.
She tsks.
Darn it.
“I… Amy is under control. So are Piggot and Victoria,” I say.
“So you are done,” she repeats.
I think about it.
About all the ways I could still meddle, the levers I could pull.
An interview with Carol under the pretense of consulting some legal matters (And if she handles divorces, that wouldn’t be much of a pretense, would it?), some gentle nudges sent Crystal’s way so that she will encourage her cousin’s best tendencies, maybe a bribe to the hospital staff…
“You are plotting,” she murmurs against my neck, right under my ear, her lips brushing over a wet patch of sensitive skin and making me shudder.
“When am I not?” I answer, lifting my hands to clutch at her forearms, pressing her embrace tighter against me.
“When you relax,” she mercilessly answers, making me chuckle.
“I… haven’t done that in a while, have I?”
The crickets quieten their music, slowing the rhythm down into something gentle, almost like a lullaby.
And she sighs.
Over my saliva-wet skin, of course.
“We’re not having sex tonight, Liz,” she says, right after I shudder.
So I, dignified and self-possessed as ever, whine.
“Liz…” she almost growls.
“Just kidding; I just… I just want you to be there. To hold me.”
“And to sleep?” she asks, a hint of a scold in her tone.
I take a deep breath, letting the chorus of crickets wash over me as cool air goes into my chest.
Then I, without any pattern or visualization to accompany it, let the air out.
Slowly.
Until I feel as empty as I should be.
“Maybe,” I finally answer.
And Taylor nods against my collarbone.
But she doesn’t let go.
She just stands there, behind me, waiting for me to further relax into her embrace, to let out all the energy still rushing through me, through my sluggish mind, crashing against stumbling blocks that shouldn’t be there until I finally realize just how tired I am, how far I’ve pushed.
And, most of all, that I don’t have to push any further than this.
Not today.
Not until after I’ve woken up in her arms.
And that’s the last thing I knowingly think until I briefly wake up in Brian’s arms as he walks me up the stairs of our lair and to my old bedroom.
