Hiding in an alley while we wait for Armsmaster to finally make his appearance isn’t as nerve-wracking as it could be. The immediate danger has already passed, and Taylor and I are more than capable of monitoring our surroundings for any disagreeable surprises, so it’s just a matter of waiting.

And waiting.

Waaaaaiting.

“Hey, Tay, do you—”

“Lisa, I am as keyed up as you are, so this better not be a repeat of this morning.”

“I thought you liked this morning. If you didn’t, you shouldn’t moan and writhe like that; it gives a girl the wrongest of ideas—”

“Lisa!”

“Taylor!”

And she kisses me.

She is pressing me against the wall of the alley (I sure hope my jacket won’t be scuffed—priorities), and her tongue is roughly invading my mouth, leaving me with no recourse but to respond to her own lead as her hand creeps up under my top, my belly trembling under her firm caress as she draws her fingers higher and higher…

Uh, I mean, that’s not at all what I was going for, but I will definitely take it.

And then she backs off, and I catch myself chasing her up, unwilling to let her get away from my lips.

“Armsmaster is here,” she says, smugness dripping off her tone and washing over my face. Uh, no, sorry, that seems to be her warm breath that makes my knees—

Focus!

“Uh?” I reply with all the sharp wit I am renowned for.

“Armsmaster. The man we’ve been waiting for. You know, beard, maybe around forty years old, wears power armor to parties?”

“You timed that. With your bugs. Just so you could shut me up and fluster me.”

“Of course.”

“I am so getting back at you for this later.”

“I hope so,” she says, with a wink that makes me feel… A lot of things. Pride, mostly, seeing as how she would have been unable to do anything like this just a week ago. Who knew tender, loving sex could have such therapeutic effects regarding the healthy expression of emotions?

Taylor Hebert far from neurotypical standards—

Baby steps, Power. Baby steps.

With barely seconds to spare, I fix my clothes and my side-ponytail (with blue streak still attached, because I have a right to self-expression even if—especially if—it bothers my girlfriend and makes her prone to quipping battles—a girl needs foreplay) and look at Taylor doing pretty much the same. I mean, we are both in civvies, but that’s no excuse for appearing unprofessional.

Lisa Wilbourn prone to flaunting conventions when—

Fine, fine, but playing against type has its own appeal.

And now the clacking of his metallic—ceramic alloys supplemented to display metallic properties—fine, the clacking of his needlessly tinkertech boots approaches, and he turns the corner of the alley, full armor on display under the citrine light of the sodium lamps, the yellow streak glinting off his visor shifting with every measured, careful movement.

There’s a beauty to it, to Colin’s economy of motion, almost like watching the world’s less expressive dancer performing a heartless yet impeccable routine. It also gives the completely wrong impression about a man who is far from devoid of emotion, but far too apt at keeping it hidden. Damn, first Taylor, now him? Is the universe telling me to hurry up and become the most inappropriate therapist in history?

“Armsmaster,” Taylor gravely greets him and curtly nods, following cape etiquette as established by far too dramatic TV shows.

“Skitter,” Colin replies with the same nod, because of course, then turns to me, greeting me with that same solemn, flat tone. “School-shooter.”

I almost manage to not burst out laughing. And then he nods.

Likelihood of Colin Wallis enjoying dry humor—

Oh God, my stomach, it hurts!

“Lisa, for fuck’s sake, get ahold of yourself,” Taylor shoots me through her teeth.

“Don’t worry, I can wait. It’s not like I am the leader of the local superhero team in the middle of a city-wide emergency.”

I raise one finger, silently asking him for mercy.

“Lisa! This is completely unprofessional!”

“Yes, unlike any of our other interactions. I am agape with shock and surprise. Agape, I tell you.”

Mercy! Mercy, I said!

“You aren’t helping!”

“Me? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You know perfectly well why she’s laughing her head off!”

“No, I am not a Thinker. The only one of us who isn’t. I am feeling a bit left out, actually.”

“Lie… Detector… Technically Thinker…” I manage to gasp out between dry, silent spasms.

“Oh, right. Now I feel included. Everything’s fine, then.”

And I lose it again.

Taylor patting my back with what appears to be equal parts concern and exasperation finally manages to bring my breathing under control (even with the occasional, extremely annoying, hiccup), and Colin mercifully manages to keep quiet long enough for me to raise my mental defenses against his weapon’s grade deadpan.

I shall plan my vengeance, mortal, and I will strike when you least expect it.

Lisa Wilbourn overly dramatic—

I have found my worthy rival, Power. You shall assist me, or you shall stand aside.

“Well, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, everything went as planned?” I say, with all the fake dignity I can muster.

“We will know in a few hours. At the moment, she’s sedated while I prepare the fake evidence of her capture.” And now Colin’s all business. Which isn’t that different from his deadpan, so, Power, I will be extra grateful for any early warnings.

“Right, so we don’t need to warn Coil yet about—”

And my phone buzzes.

‘Emergency. Protection dropped. Take care with Bakuda.’

And I let out a stream of curses that would have made Alec proud.

“He found out?” Taylor asks, concern sweetly evident in her tone.

“I don’t know, maybe. Or maybe he got into something dangerous in his other timeline and he needed to use his power. I don’t have enough facts to say one way or the other.”

“That is unfortunate, but at least it will give us more time to discuss matters,” Colin says with a hint of relief, something oddly out of place given we were about to hand him a Bond supervillain on a silver platter.

“Or we could move out right now and hope he doesn’t have enough time to act before it’s too late.” Taylor, once again, demonstrates she hasn’t been replaced by a shapeshifter while I wasn’t looking.

“And then what? We strike to kill until we are sure he isn’t getting up like a movie monster?”

“If that will keep you safe—”

“Tay, I am grateful for the feeling, really, but…”

“But what? He will avoid the law just like Bakuda would have if we hadn’t—”

“Miss Hebert, as much as I appreciate your help tonight, I should tell you you are about to cross a line.”

“What? Telling you how utterly ineffective the organization that allowed one of its members to almost torture me to death is? Is that a line I shouldn’t cross?”

“No, telling a superhero, in detail, how you plan to murder someone in cold blood is the line.” And now there’s no dry humor there. I wish there was, no matter how dark the shade.

And Taylor must have realized the finality of the moment, because she shuts up. I can see her seething, planning any and all ways she can work around Armsmaster to do whatever it is she intends to do, and I know she would be doing it out of protectiveness, out of care, and I love her that much more just because of it. But, maybe, I love her enough to…

“Oni Lee.”

“What?” She looks at me, surprised by my interjection, and Colin tenses.

“We agreed he was far too dangerous, that he had crossed too many lines, that he would kill anyone sent against him that wasn’t a police sniper. Colin gave us the go-ahead.”

“And now he’s dead.”

“And you hesitated.” She looks at me as if I had just slapped her.

“Wha—what do you mean—” No, I won’t let you recover from that, Tay, I will keep pushing.

“Bakuda pushed the button. I gave the order. Colin made the call. You just had to relay my words to her, barely more than a glorified radio.”

“And I did! I ordered the fucking psycho to kill the bloody—”

“No, Taylor, you repeated my words. You didn’t have to make any hard choice, just follow my lead. You knew what they had done, you saw as much of the aftermath as I did—more of it, given your bugs. And you hesitated.”

“Stop saying that! Yes! Yes, I hesitated, but I did it anyway! I did the right thing, and now Oni Lee is—”

“Dead. Because of something you did.” And she flinches away from me, and I almost stop when I see it. “Because of you, a man died tonight.”

“All the more reason. What’s one more?” she says, her voice cold and emotionless as flies buzz ever so much louder around us.

“No, Tay,” uncross my arms, open body language, face her at a slight angle, palms toward her, “you misunderstand.”

I cross the growing distance that has separated us as we argued, and slowly raise a hand to brush a strand of dark hair away as I cup her warm cheek and stare straight into her far too wide eyes.

“A man is dead because of something you did, but not because of something you choose. And it’s eating at you inside, as you wonder if you couldn’t have done it any other way, even if it meant risking your life, even if it meant you could’ve died just to spare the life of a monster.”

And I hug her against me as she tries not to sob between my arms. And then I whisper, warm, gentle, caring, into her ear.

“Because you are hero. And that’s what heroes do.”

And we stand in silence, under the citrine light of sodium lights and the watchful gaze of another hero.

“Ritchie Williams,” he says, after Taylor sags and releases whatever it was that had been keeping her upright.

And Colin leans against the wall opposite us, looking at the sky as if giving us a measure of intimacy.

“He wasn’t a cape, barely a man. I was a rookie on patrol through what was supposed to be a nice neighborhood when I heard the screams. Domestic dispute. I called it in.”

He takes a pause that makes me think he’s mentally taking a drag out of a cigarette, because that would be the perfect moment to watch the smoke stream up.

“They told me the police would take care of it, that it wasn’t the kind of thing a newbie should get into, but they would have taken too long to get there, and I didn’t—couldn’t think about walking away and then just reading…”

He swallows. Pauses. Taylor’s transfixed, as if about to find the answer to a question she desperately needs to understand. And I…

I look at Colin with far more gratitude I ever expected to feel for this man.

“So I got in. The door was open and probable cause had been screaming at the top of his lungs for far too long for me to get in trouble, so I walked into a suburban house to find a girl kneeling on the ground, clutching her face, while a muscled man waved a knife at her. I tried to deescalate, to warn him, but he just laughed at my armor as if it was some kind of a joke, because it was far more functional than aesthetic… Back then I didn’t understand that aesthetics have a function all of their own, and every time I design a new accessory or paint a pattern approved by the image department I have to wonder if…”

He takes a deep breath.

“Sorry, I am rambling. The thing is, the thug doesn’t take me seriously and screams at me to get out of his house, that what happens under his roof is none of my business. And I am terrified of letting him be alone with the victim, but he seems to be channeling his aggression toward me. And I can take it. He’s only a thug with a knife, and I can see he doesn’t know how to use it, so I let him focus on me and don’t back away. I keep talking, trying to get him to drop it, but if he gets a bit madder at me, if he gets more overtly aggressive as he forgets all about his girlfriend sobbing on the floor, I don’t think I am doing something wrong. No, I think I am being pragmatical, doing what’s best in the circumstances.”

He releases something under his helmet, and his visor slides up.

“And then he tries to stab me.”

And I know how this ends, of course I do. But I listen anyway.

“He aims for my face, for the unprotected part,” he points at his jaw, “but it’s easy to see the blow coming, especially when it is aiming at the only obvious weak spot. I sidestep him, grab his outstretched arm at the wrist, palm strike to the elbow to incapacitate him as I direct him toward the ground. And it all works precisely as I pictured in my mind, exactly the same as my training simulations.”

And he looks straight into my eyes before he closes his own, and I am sorry for what I see in there.

“Except he steps on a baby’s toy car, and the smooth motion jerks his arm out of my grasp. He tries to get back up before he’s finished falling down, but only manages to accelerate forward and he crashes headfirst into the doorframe. And something splits open.”

He stops, Taylor watching like a hawk, not a single insect buzzing in the alley.

“Ritchie Williams. The ambulance didn’t get there in time. The first man I killed.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say, before I can even consider whether it’s the right thing to say.

“There was nobody else there.”

And that’s it, isn’t it? He was there, he was a hero, someone died.

So it’s his fault.

And I want to scream at him how moronic that is, how utterly unfair that his colossal ego can’t stand not being the center of the universe for just long enough to not be responsible for something. And I am angry and upset; at him and on behalf of him.

But that doesn’t matter. Not now, perhaps not ever, because he didn’t tell us this story because of me. No, he did it because of Taylor.

And Taylor is looking at him… like she has found something she had thought lost forever.

“What should I do?” she says, voice unnaturally steady.

“Give it time. It doesn’t make it better, not really, but… It gives you perspective. There are people trained to help you deal with these situations, but the Protectorate’s policy on therapy won’t ever let you actually find the help you need. For what it’s worth, Taylor, Lisa, I am sorry I let you… kill him. I wasn’t thinking straight. I should have known.”

Oh. He thinks I also need help. That’s adorable.

Lisa Wilbourn—

Not now. I am deflecting far too much to let you give me a sudden glimpse into the dark corners of my psyche.

We stand there for… a while. It’s hard to measure the time that goes into shared silences full of half-starts and quiet questions. Taylor is the one who finally breaks it.

“So. No killing,” she says, wrong, stupid, idealistic, and I could kiss her right now.

“No. No murders,” he says, right, experienced, caring, and I could hug him.

Except that armor doesn’t look all that cuddly. A design fault, obviously.

“I… I don’t understand,” Taylor seems almost afraid to admit.

“If you are facing a lethal threat? If you are in mortal danger? Don’t pull your punches. You had the right idea with Lung, and I am sorry I didn’t tell you so at the time. I am… sorry for a lot of things, actually.”

She stares at him, at his uncovered eyes, maybe finally realizing what it means for him to show us so much, to not even mention it before he exposes his face to what are still technically a pair of villains.

I mean, I already knew, but… It’s still not the same.

“I forgive you.”

My eyebrow couldn’t be more arched if it had been studying Gothic architecture for years.

“Tay, are you feeling okay? Do you have a fever?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You just forgave someone; that’s not normal. Quick, Colin, how do those Master-Stranger protocols go? Do we need tinfoil hats?”

“Not since the latest regulations. A regular dose of fluoride is enough.” Oh, are you really…?

“Doesn’t that make the frogs gay?” Come on, take it, take it!

“Yes, of course. It’s a plot to sell more Legend merchandise.” Yes!

“Oh God, now there are two of them…” Silence, Taylor, you are interrupting the sacred ritual of my people.

Lisa Wilbourn enjoying bonding experience with Colin Wallis.

That’s… quite obvious?

Colin Wallis older male. Lisa Wilbourn’s parental figure absent due to—

Go fuck yourself.

“Is she…?”

“She does that sometimes. I think she’s arguing with her power or something.”

“Oh, that’s all right then. I was afraid she was showing signs of emotional instability.” Oh, make fun of me when I have been brought low, will you?

“My power thinks I have daddy issues I am projecting on you as a surrogate father figure. There, now my suffering is shared.” Vengeance executed.

“… Thinker seven, you say?”

“I think the phrase ‘mad genius’ is an apt descriptor.” Yeah, keep making this genius mad and see how that works out for you, Tay.

“Please, do contact me in time if she starts ranting about shooting anything at the moon.” Ha. Ha. Very funny.

“An early warning sign, is it?” If you align yourself with the enemy, you won’t get any warning. Nice legs or not.

“You would be surprised.” Fuck. He’s serious.

“All right, no giant lasers in my future; I just get a bit grouchy when Power insists on psychoanalyzing me. He’s not very boundary conscious.”

“So you speak with your power, whose name is Power. My moon-related fears are assuaged.”

“Now we only need to take care of all the other ones,” Taylor quips. Oh, is it fun to pile up on me? Is it? You ingrates, you shall come to rue the day—

‘Rue the day’ is a phrase often associated with comic book villains—

That was the joke!

Contemporary psychological theories suggest sarcasm often used to mask underlying truth—

I hate you all.

***

“So, we are in agreement?” I ask, after all the completely unwarranted teasing being thrown my way has stopped for long enough to resume a productive conversation.

Lisa Wilbourn’s hypocrisy—

That’s it, no Dragon papers for you.

“I wish we weren’t, but I don’t see a better alternative,” Colin says with a sigh.

“Of course you don’t. You aren’t a Thinker seven, are you?”

“According to my lie detector, no, I am not.”

“Hah. How droll.”

“What’s the matter, Liz? Can dish it but can’t take it?” Taylor smirks far too mirthfully as she says that particular line. Note to self: look into strap-ons and whether they can have a custom engraving…

“If we could stop the snark parade for just a minute—and fuck you all for making me say this and affront the most deeply held tenets of my religion—we could maybe bring this clandestine meeting to an end before someone realizes an old, masked man hanging out with two teenage girls in an alley isn’t a good look?”

“Well, if you call me ‘daddy’—”

“I have a gun.”

“Do you have a license?”

“… I will only speak in the presence of my lawyer.”

“If only…” Ouch, Taylor. Ouch.

“Look, it’s really getting late and I have spent the whole day planning how to demolish the mind of a terrorist into compliance, so, if you would all kindly finish this up without raising my hackles anymore so I can go to sleep, I would be grateful enough not to plan your inevitable downfall for at least the next week.”

“Hey, Colin, what does your lie detector say?”

“If I hear a single ‘nine thousand’ out of you, Colin, I swear I will shoot you.” Taylor looks at me uncomprehendingly, and Colin raises an eyebrow. Heh. I knew it. Nerd.

“I think it says the young lady is past her bedtime and getting grouchy.”

“Either that was intentionally weak so I can get a break, or you are also past your—wait, how many caffeine pills?! Are you insane?!”

“Sleep is for the weak.”

“Yeah, and for those who don’t suffer waking hallucinations while working with highly unstable exotic technology, AKA, people who don’t end up splattered all over their workshop!”

He has the decency to shift uncomfortably at that. Good, he doesn’t get to tell me I should go to bed—

Parental figure often responsible for—

I will end you.

“I am the only one currently sane and not arguing with the voices in her head, aren’t I?” Yes, Taylor, you should feel proud about your lack of mental issues. Revel in the novelty of it.

“It appears so. Very well, our agreement will remain in place for the foreseeable future, at least until Coil is brought to justice. You can count on my support.”

“And you will both refrain from further assaults on my mental stability.”

“No deal.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine. Fair warning, though: after Coil, you two are next.”

And Taylor sniggers as Colin flashes me a grin full of white, gleaming teeth that can only be accomplished with frog gayifiers.

“Bring it, Tattletale.”

And he turns on his heel and gets out of the alley.

That’s it, run away while you can, coward.

Lisa Wilbourn actually glad Colin Wallis teases her about parental—

I wonder if Taylor will ease up on the snark if I start sobbing?

 

 

 

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This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ, where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available Patreon. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 81 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

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 Amazon. Thank you for reading!