Taylor Hebert, Medhall Intern [Worm Fanfic]

Taylor Hebert, Medhall Intern

Part Thirteen: Ongoing Developments

[A/N 1: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: Racial slurs and attitudes appear in this fic. You have been warned.]


PRT ENE HQ
Brockton Bay
Thursday Morning

Gillian Hapworth, Youth Guard representative, strode out of the elevator and down the corridor like she owned the building. She loved confronting the PRT and Protectorate about their misdeeds; the look of panic on the faces of the bureaucrats when she lowered the boom was something she lived for. And from the rumours she'd been hearing about Brockton Bay, this visit was long overdue.

Barely giving her PRT escort a chance to get to the door in front of her—seriously, are they trying to intimidate me with those faceless helmets?—she swept into the office she'd been brought to. However, instead of the overweight figure of the Director, she was confronted with a gray-haired older man. The nameplate on his desk read DEPUTY DIRECTOR RENICK.

"Good morning—" he began, rising to his feet.

He didn't get any further than that. "What's going on here?" demanded Gillian. "I've got an appointment with the Director." She wasn't going to let these power-hungry bureaucrats push her around, no sir!

"Correction," Renick said mildly. "You made an appointment with the office of the Director. She did not consider it more important than her other current duties, so I have been delegated to speak to you in her stead." He stepped around the desk and held out his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, and I hope we can work this matter out to our mutual satisfaction."

She ignored the proffered olive branch. "I demand to speak to the Director immediately!"

Renick raised one eyebrow. "You may demand all you like, but the Director is currently busy, and will be so for the foreseeable future. Or you can speak to me right now; I still have fourteen minutes free before I need to attend to other matters."

Gillian pressed her lips together. Didn't he know who—or rather what—she was? By rights, he should be babbling apologies and moving heaven and earth to accede to her wishes. The Youth Guard was not an organisation to be lightly ignored. By the time she was finished here, they'd have a representative permanently installed in the building, perhaps even at this very desk!

"Perhaps you aren't aware of who I represent," she said, when glaring didn't work. "The Youth Guard—"

"Yes, I know," he said, cutting her off before she could get properly started. "Director Piggot briefed me comprehensively when she passed this one on to me. What I'm unaware of, because this was not specified when the appointment was made, is exactly which one of our Wards you're here to speak to me about. If you could fill in that blank, we might yet be able to have a mutually beneficial conversation. If not, then this is merely a fishing expedition, and I have explicit orders to cover that case as well. Specifically, it will involve me indicating the existence of the door behind you, and inviting you to leave the building until you have something concrete to bring to our attention." He raised an eyebrow, silently telegraphing that it was her move.

Fishing expedition? Fishing expedition? How dare he …?

Gillian could feel the righteous indignation building up within her. The Youth Guard did not embark on fishing expeditions. The very nerve of the man. Certainly, it was one of her favourite tactics to keep things vague and see what touched a nerve, but that wasn't anything so tawdry as a 'fishing expedition'. It was good, solid, common-sense negotiation.

Once more, he failed to crumble under her glare. Ostentatiously, he checked his watch. "As entertaining as this is," he said, "I am not actually being paid to stand here and attempt to guess your motives without any clues. So, if you're not actually going to speak to me—"

"Shadow Stalker!" she snapped. She was irritated that none of her other ploys had worked, so now she had to name names. Renick would pay dearly for this, she decided, and so would Piggot for snubbing her like this. "I'm here about Shadow Stalker."

"I'm aware of the person in question." Renick, Gillian decided, must play a masterclass hand of poker. His expression did not so much as flicker as he moved back around behind his desk, and took a seat. "What about her?"

She noticed that he didn't ask her to be seated also, but she took a chair anyway. "We got a report that she's being railroaded into leaving the Wards with racial motivations, and framed for a crime so that she's going straight into juvenile detention once she leaves here." Which was unconscionable. By the time she was finished, this PRT building would be a figurative smoking crater, and Shadow Stalker would be reinstated with all privileges intact.

To her distinct pleasure, she saw him frown and take off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Really?" he murmured.

"Really," she confirmed acidly. "Now, I'm going to want to see—"

He held up his hand to stop her, then replaced his glasses on his face. "Let me see if I can guess at the sequence of events. First, you got the call from Shadow Stalker, yes? Then you didn't bother checking any of her wild allegations, or even going on social media to see if there's anything solid behind them. Instead, you booked the first flight to Brockton Bay, and called through to make the appointment with Director Piggot. That's how anxious you were to get here, and blow the lid off the whole thing. Am I close?"

She considered his words, then nodded. "Yes, that's essentially how it happened, but I take exception to the tone of your statement. Anyone can say anything on social media; it is an inherently unreliable source of information." Except when she found information that she could use on there; but of course, that was different.

"Indeed." He narrowed his eyes slightly, as though he'd picked up on the thread of her thoughts. "I, too, find that anyone can say anything on social media. But when many people are saying the same thing, it is usually worth looking into."

"Echo chambers are also a thing." It wasn't a sneer—she didn't sneer—but she did her best to express her distaste for his deflection. "So, do you have anything to excuse your execrable conduct in this matter?"

He didn't have anything concrete; that, she was sure of. She looked forward to dismantling his feeble excuses and transparent lies. Shadow Stalker was as good as reinstated.

Opening his desk drawer, Renick took out a single sheet of paper and wrote briefly on it, then slid it across the desk to her. "You are going to need to sign this before we go any further," he said almost nonchalantly, as though her presence didn't bother him.

She knew his attitude was a lie, so she drew the paper to her, eyeing it suspiciously. After a moment, she realised it was a standard government NDA form. Renick had filled in a few spots, indicating that the form would constrain her from revealing any incriminating information about the upcoming trial of Shadow Stalker to the public or prospective jurors. He'd even signed it, leaving an 'x' next to where she needed to append her own signature.

"What's this for?" she asked. "There's going to be no trial. We both know this."

He spread his hands. "In which case you should have no problem with signing it."

She tightened her lips. Logic was on his side, but she hated signing anything that might restrict her actions or activities as a member of Youth Guard. "And if I say no?"

"Then this interview is over." His tone was still bland; however, a glint in his eye told her that he would like nothing more than to kick her out of his office. She wouldn't even be able to complain about it; NDAs were exceedingly commonplace when it came to anything regarding superheroes.

"Fine." She snubbed the proffered pen and took one from her inner jacket pocket to sign it. As NDAs tended to be, it was remarkably short on detail about what this 'incriminating evidence' might be. Affidavits from her putative superiors? Please. She could dismantle those in her sleep.

"Thank you." He reclaimed the document and separated the layers, handing one to her. "Now, if you will bear with me just for one moment …" Taking his place in front of his computer once more, he focused on the screen and clicked the mouse a few times. In the corner of the office, his copy machine started humming as it printed something out.

"You don't really think this will stand, do you?" She had to say something; otherwise, the only noise in the office was sheet after sheet of paper being printed out. Those seemed like a lot of pages to make it seem like Shadow Stalker was a troublemaker.

Perhaps they'd gone the extra mile to make it seem they weren't being racist about it, and gotten statements from her supposed teammates at the same time. Children were so gullible. They could be convinced to say almost anything, given enough coaxing. She'd made use of that herself, more than once. For their own good, of course.

"Oh, I think it will stand quite well," Renick said in an irritatingly unconcerned tone. He didn't say any more, and the bzzzt-humm bzzzt-humm of the printer took over the office once more.

"Look, just what do you have against Shadow Stalker, anyway?" asked Gillian, trying to push for any kind of admission that they'd been unfair to the girl. Even the most innocent comments could be used for the right purpose.

"Nothing," Renick told her. "I encountered her from time to time in the course of my duties, but I wasn't the one who had a problem with her. Neither was anyone else at this level. She did that, all by herself."

Gillian frowned. What sort of an admission was that? Was he trying to imply she'd somehow self-harmed?

The printer's noise came to an end, and Renick got up to collect the sheets. The machine was one of the more sophisticated models, Gillian saw, given that it had sorted the sheets and even stapled them into sections.

"Once I give you the verbal run-down, I'll show you the supporting evidence. All to save time with he-said-she-said." He settled back in the chair. "When you're ready?"

She eyed the papers in his hand. "One moment. What's that?"

"The supporting evidence," he repeated; a little patronisingly, she felt. "You see, Shadow Stalker has been bullying one of her fellow high school students for more than a year. That student, a Ms. Hebert, recently began working as an unpaid intern at Medhall, one of our local corporations. Shadow Stalker apparently took offence to that, and made several attempts to dissuade her from attending her prescribed working hours. At one point, she made a false statement to the school authorities to force her to miss the bus, and when Ms. Hebert left the school anyway, she attempted to drag Ms. Hebert off the bus again. Ms. Hebert then pepper-sprayed her in self-defence. Are you with me so far?"

Gillian blinked, scrambling for verbal footing. "I … if that happened in her secret identity, it doesn't apply to her Wards membership."

Renick lowered his glasses and looked severely at her over them. "She still attacked Ms. Hebert with the specific intent of preventing her from performing worthwhile, career-improving extracurricular activities. In addition, she and two of her friends maliciously stole the work attire which Ms. Hebert purchased with a bonus she was given by the corporation. We know this for a fact, because one of those friends was still wearing some of the work attire when the authorities were eventually called in on this … the first time."

"The first time?" That didn't sound right to Gillian. "Is this all you have on her?"

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Hardly. Not long after, she attacked Ms. Hebert and another member of the internship program, a Mr. Veder, at school, with the help of her friends. She attempted to force Ms. Hebert into her own locker, and was going to empty the contents of a pepper spray canister in there before locking her in. I personally consider this to be attempted murder. We have audio of her discussing this with her friends, and video footage of her physically assaulting Mr. Veder when he attempted to save Ms. Hebert from them."

Gillian took a deep breath. "This … this is no more than high school hazing. Normal school discipline should handle it. It should not impact her Wards career, and certainly not mandate criminal charges. Attempted murder? Ludicrous."

Even in the face of her patent disbelief, Renick didn't so much as waver. "I'm not sure where you attended school, ma'am, but I would consider that to be far more than mere 'hazing'. However, that's nothing to what came next. You see, Mr. Veder had contacted Medhall before attempting to rescue Ms. Hebert. As luck would have it, Alexander Grayson, the head of the Medhall legal department, was already on the way to Winslow to speak to them about the previous incidents. He arrived just in time to record the assaults and prevent any further harm. When Shadow Stalker was taken to the principal's office and one of her cronies began to confess to everything, she physically attacked the other girl and injured the principal when she tried to interfere."

"Were you there?" Gillian shot back. At Renick's head-shake, she pounced. "So how do you know that this other girl wasn't merely trying to throw Shadow Stalker under the bus? This whole narrative is starting to sound remarkably fishy to me. You speak of these 'friends' doing things and implicating her by inference, but how do you even know she was there?"

"Because we have footage of her punching and kicking Mr. Veder, along with audio proving that he was trying to rescue Ms. Hebert from her," he replied imperturbably. "Also, independent witness statements from everyone in the office at the time. But we haven't gotten to the impressive part yet."

"'Proof' is a very slippery concept," she stated. "But continue." She needed the whole narrative laid out before she could dismantle it, after all.

Renick smiled slightly. "The police arrived, as did her PRT liaison. However, while they were being transported to the precinct house, Shadow Stalker used her powers to slip the cuffs and escape from the police car. We have tentative evidence that she may have been involved in a car crash on Captain's Hill, resulting in the death of one Medhall employee—with whom Ms. Hebert was friendly—and the injury of another. And we have actual hard evidence that she then invaded the Medhall building using her powers, then employed her signature weapon—using broadhead arrows—in a very definite murder attempt on both Mr. Grayson and Mr. Veder."

"It—it may not have been her." Gillian was determined not to give an inch. "Anyone could have acquired those crossbows, especially if a frame job was in the works. A lookalike—"

"She was subdued and knocked unconscious by Mr. Veder." Renick's voice was implacable. "The security camera footage is continuous. The Shadow Stalker taken into custody by the PRT is the same one who nearly murdered Mr. Grayson. Her fingerprints match the ones we have on file." He stood up behind his desk as his voice grew in volume. "Look at the evidence before you, madam! This is not a poor misunderstood child! She has maliciously and repeatedly flouted the rules and regulations placed upon her, and when she was finally called to account for it, she resorted to murder! And then, when we gave her a single unmonitored phone call, she called you and spun a ludicrous tale to get you to bail her out!" Seating himself once more, he appeared to regain his composure, then slid the papers over to her. "Read this. I've given you the overview; that is the truth of the matter."

Shaken by the story he had spun, she began to look through the pages. Every image, every phrase, chipped away at her remaining certainty. Shadow Stalker, roaming through an office building with a hand crossbow. Shadow Stalker, viciously assaulting a teenage boy. The notarised audio transcript, with Sophia Hess' name featuring prominently. Witness statements. Police reports. Photographs. All laid out in black and white, with not a single crack or crevice of doubt left to lever open.

A dozen different approaches occurred to her, but she knew they were all weak at best. Her training had emphasised the need to search out every possible avenue to beat the PRT at their own game, but this little fool had managed to close them all by herself. The PRT had both independent witnesses and physical evidence.

Shadow Stalker, she reluctantly decided, was a lost cause. But there was no point in broadcasting defeat. She would go out on a high note.

"After reviewing all the evidence," she announced as she stood, "I have decided that there are more deserving cases at the moment. But keep your files current; we will return if we see fit."

"Of course," he replied, so readily that she almost suspected he might be able to see through her bluff. "Have a pleasant day."

She would not; she knew that much. Ahead of her was a phone call where she would have to justify why she was pulling Youth Guard from the case, without violating the NDA.

Some days, life just wasn't fair.

Silently, she rose from the seat and headed for the door.

"Ms. Hapworth?" It was Renick, standing again.

"Yes?" She tried not to snarl the word. It would fail to impress him, and would not fit the image of the Youth Guard.

"When you're explaining this to your superiors, I suggest you make use of a phrase I've found handy from time to time." He paused for a beat. "She lied to me."

"Hmph." She opened the door and left. Still striding along, but there was no joy in it anymore for her.

After that humiliating episode, she sincerely hoped they threw the book at that little moron.

Whatever else happened, Shadow Stalker wasn't the Youth Guard's problem anymore.

And good riddance.

<><>​

Thursday Afternoon
Undersiders' Base
Tattletale

When Brian's phone rang, Lisa looked around with interest. She knew it wouldn't be the boss calling him (she was the only one who knew that aspect of their employment) and he rarely got calls from anyone apart from her or Alec. From the expression on his face as he answered, he was equally puzzled.

"Hello, Brian Laborn speaking," he said cautiously.

She couldn't hear enough of the voice on the other end to tell what they were saying without exerting her power, and she was already on the verge of a Thinker headache from hacking the PRT servers earlier. But from the way he sat up, she could tell it was important.

"Yes, I can certainly come in tomorrow." That was Brian's 'respectable citizen' voice. "What time should I be there by? Yes … yes, of course. Thank you, sir. Yes, I'll be there."

After a few more minor platitudes, he ended the call then sat there, staring at the phone. "Well, I'll be damned," he said at last.

Even without her powers active, Lisa could connect the dots when they were outlined in flashing neon. "You got the job at Medhall?"

"An interview and a tryout, at least," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "I never thought …"

"… that doing something good would actually get you something good back?" Lisa smirked and shook her head. "I will admit, that's pretty damn unusual, especially for Brockton Bay."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he muttered, then turned to face Lisa fully. "Is the boss even going to be okay with me having an outside job, if I get it?"

She frowned. That was a good point; his working hours had the potential to clash with his availability for the Undersiders. "Give me a second." Taking out her own phone, she dialled a specific number.

It only rang twice before the boss answered. "Yes?"

"Hi," she said briskly. "Due to a series of unlikely events, Grue may end up being employed as a security guard at the Medhall building. He's due in for his interview and tryout tomorrow morning. Is this likely to be a problem for our other operations, moving forward?"

There was a long pause, then Coil replied. "No. No problem. Let me know how he goes." The call ended.

Lisa blinked as she put her phone away. "Well, that was direct and to the point, even for him."

"Crap," said Brian with a frown. "He doesn't want me to do it, does he?"

"On the contrary, my dear Watson." Lisa gave him a full-wattage smug grin. "He says it's no problem and he wants to hear how you go with it."

"Well, shit." Brian rubbed the back of his head again. "Security guard? Should I even show up? I've got no qualifications."

"Incorrect." She shook her head, still grinning. "You're big and strong, you can think on your feet, and you can fight. If anything, you're overqualified. And don't forget the other aspect."

"Other aspect?" He tilted his head. "You've lost me."

She ticked off words on her fingers. "Respectable paying job. Just what you need when you're trying to get custody of someone, y'know?"

"Right." He blinked, his head coming up as he realised what she was talking about. "Right. Hell, yes!"

"That's the spirit." Lisa left him to his ruminations, and turned to her own thoughts.

Coil really wants an inside man in Medhall. Is there a reason, or is he just getting his fingers into all the pies he can?

Only time would tell.

<><>​

At the Same Time
Coil

Calvert put the phone down, a smile crossing his face (hidden under his mask, of course). He already had men inside Medhall, but only so many ex-military types could apply for work there before someone would start to wonder. Having one of his capes get a position purely because of chance and luck was an opportunity he didn't want to miss out on.

It was also a useful fallback, in case someone managed to stumble onto his other moles. Unlikely to happen, of course, but Calvert had learned long ago that 'never' was a really big word.

<><>​

Medhall Building
Early Friday Afternoon
Taylor

I jumped down the last few steps of the bus with Greg right behind me. This time, we kept an eye out for Merchant assholes, each of us covering the other's back. It wasn' something we'd spoken about. We just did it.

This hyperawareness got us up the steps and in through the front doors of the building, whereupon we both laughed and exchanged a high-five. "We made it," I said.

"At least until we leave this afternoon," Greg reminded me. "Hey, you want to go hang out someplace, after?"

I nodded without even thinking about it. "Yeah, sure. Sounds like fun."

We got up to the turnstiles and I swiped my card for entry before I realised there was a new face on the desk, one that I recognised. "Oh, hey. Uh … Brian, wasn't it?"

He looked up and frowned momentarily before his face lit up with a smile. "Yeah, hi, uh … Taylor? Sorry, I'm just learning how to do this, so I can't stop and talk."

"Sure, no problem. I know how that goes. See you around." I gave him a smile and wave and kept going.

Greg fell into step beside me. "That was the guy from the other day, right? He got the job, it looks like. Mega cool."

"Yeah." I glanced back once, pleased. Brian had done Greg and me a huge favour, and gotten hurt in the process. It was nice that Medhall was willing to give him a chance like that. "So, where d'you want to go after work?"

The elevator doors dinged and opened, and we stepped inside. I hit the button for my floor, and he did the same for his. "Oh, uh, how about Fugly's?"

I considered that briefly. "Sure. But I am not trying the Challenger. That thing weighs as much as I do."

"Both of us put together," Greg amended. "Nope, not the Challenger. But their curly fries are amaze-balls."

"Yeah, I'll grant you that." The elevator stopped on his floor, and he stepped out. "See you then."

The doors closed on his "Bye!", and I proceeded upward again. This was looking like a good day, of which I seemed to be getting more and more, entirely in opposition to previous trends.

It was Friday, nothing of note had happened at Winslow (after the locker debacle and subsequent events, nobody dared do anything that might so much as resemble bullying, so I was treated with … entirely welcome peace and quiet). Greg and I hung out between classes, and we compared homework. We even ate in the cafeteria, and nobody did anything. The Empire guys who had left the note on our table had yet to come back about it. It seemed 'pretend it never happened' was a workable course of action.

Plus, Mr. Anders and Bradley had clearly decided to give Brian a chance, and why not? He was definitely competent at the whole 'kicking ass' part of security guarding. Although it had been their decision, I was still quietly proud of my part in it.

I was still smiling when I reached Tracey's desk. She looked up, and beamed at seeing me. "Hi, Taylor! At last, we can actually get some work done around here."

Going to her desk, I gave her a quick shoulder-hug. "It's good to see you, too. How are you feeling?"

She shrugged carefully; her arm was still in a sling, of course. "Well, every day is another step upward, I guess. But it's nice to have friends like you around to make my day brighter."

I rolled my eyes and grinned. "You're just saying that because I know how you like your coffee."

This time, she actually laughed out loud. "Well, that doesn't hurt in the slightest. And now that you mention it …"

I took the hint (any broader, and she could've landed jets on it) and her proffered cup, and went into the kitchenette. We bantered a little longer while I made the coffee, then I settled down at my desk to see what new tasks awaited me. Thankfully, it wasn't more piles of paperwork with bugs (eww) in them. Instead, I was apparently going to be looking over a whole bunch of expense accounts, to see if I could spot any irregularities.

While I was pretty sure I didn't have any formal training for this sort of thing, it seemed word of my little exploits had been getting around. Tracey informed me that apparently I was to be familiarised with all manner of Medhall's paperwork that I had the clearance to see, so that in future when they did have something they thought was hinky, I could be part of the team to check it over. Personally, I thought they were making far too much of a few minor lucky breaks, but what Mr. Anders wanted, Mr. Anders got.

And so, I brought up expense accounts. One after the other, studying them from all angles, seeing if I could figure how they ticked. I suspected that quite a lot of personal habits could be derived from the correct sort of analysis, but I also knew I wasn't anywhere near capable of knowing how to do that.

It wasn't the most exciting job in the world, but I had good company and I knew I was being helpful to Tracey (and Medhall) so I buckled down to earn my salary. Time passed, the clock ticked on, and I learned about expense accounts.

<><>​

Augustus Country Club
Saturday

The funeral for Justin had been … fitting. A lot of people from Medhall showed up, far more than I'd met up until that point. From Mr. Anders on down, they were all immaculately clad. Greg and I had done our best to emulate this; Tracey seemed to approve of the modest black dress I was wearing, and Greg somehow managed to be much neater and tidier than he had on the first day, despite wearing almost exactly the same outfit.

Some of them had looked puzzled when I placed a to-go coffee cup on the coffin before it was lowered into the grave, but a few quiet words from the people in the know had them nodding their heads. Mr. Anders made a stirring speech about friendship and brotherhood over the grave. While he didn't mention Greg or me by name, he made allusions to how I'd saved Tracey and Greg took down Sophia, which garnered us more approving nods.

Dad had taken the day off work, and once we got to the Country Club for the wake, he was greeted by more than a few Medhall staff. Apparently, he was well-known in certain circles for his efforts in keeping the Association up and running, not to mention gang-free. He seemed a little bemused to be recognised as "Taylor's father", until they regaled him with a few more stories of my supposed exploits.

"Whoa," murmured Greg as we strolled along the huge patio at the back of the Country Club. It was getting on to sunset, and the shadows of trees were cast wide across the enormous expanse of the golf course behind the club. "This place is amazing."

"I know, right?" I shook my head. "I think I've been here about once before, but that was when I was five or six. Mr. Barnes invited Mom and Dad along to some sort of party, and they couldn't get a sitter. I'm pretty sure I ate way too much ice cream, and threw up."

He snorted with amusement. "I bet I could've done something even more embarrassing, given half a chance."

I gave him an appraising glance. "Well, I will concede the possibility, but you've really come a long way since we started working for Medhall. I mean, would the old Greg have taken on Sophia Hess not once but twice? On purpose, I mean?"

He rolled his eyes. "If you will recall, I got my ass well and truly kicked, the first time around. That wasn't me taking her on, that was me throwing my sorry butt in the way of the whirlwind."

"Same result, in the end." I took his hand and squeezed it. "You held on long enough for the cavalry to come over the hill. Cavalry that you'd called in the first place. And the second time around, that was all you."

"I guess." He sounded uncomfortable, talking about himself like this. "You got to beat up Emma the first time, and you made the connection about Shadow Stalker the second time. You probably saved lives right there … well, you would have, if Director Piggot hadn't called it through herself."

"I didn't do anything special." Well, to me it wasn't. "Tracey just told me what she'd seen, and I put the pieces together."

"Which I understand is rather a specialty of yours." A new voice intruded on our conversation, and we turned to see a petite lady with mousy hair and a distinct pregnancy bulge. She wore a gray dress and black armband, the latter mimicking the ones Greg and I were wearing. A pudgy teenage boy about my age, or maybe a little younger, slouched along with her. "Hello, Ms. Hebert, Mr. Veder. Max has said nice things about both of you."

My head came up as I recognised her face. She'd been in the Who's Who of important people I'd be likely to encounter within Medhall, and I'd done my best to memorise the faces. "Hello, Mrs. Anders," I said, holding out my hand. "It's nice to meet you, though the circumstances could be a lot better."

To Greg's credit, he caught on very quickly, carefully shaking her hand as well and mumbling something polite. Mrs. Anders gave us each an appraising look, then nodded. "You're not wrong, there," she said sadly. "Justin was … a character."

"He certainly was," I agreed. "He even helped Greg and me out with a school project, just before … you know."

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows, apparently interested. "I hadn't heard that one."

So, Greg and I told her the story about the Book, and she nodded and smiled sadly. "Yes, that does sound like Justin." Looking past my shoulder, she raised her head slightly. "Oh, it appears I'm wanted elsewhere. It's been very nice to meet you." Apparently coming to a decision, she glanced back at the teenage boy. "Theo, would you like to talk to Taylor and Greg for the time being? That way, you don't have to listen to the boring adult chatter if you don't want to."

His shrug managed to neatly pass along the idea that he didn't care where he was left, but that talking to me and Greg was possibly not the worst idea in the world. If he really had to. Looking at Theo, I got the impression of someone with very few fucks left to give.

"Oh, good," she said with a beaming smile, probably having picked up about one-tenth of his body language. "I'll be around somewhere if you need me." With a last nod for Greg and me, she moved off again.

"Well, that was smoother than her usual." Theo had a slightly petulant way of talking which I suspected could become grating to the ear if he kept it up. For now, as he was clearly related to the boss in some way, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"What do you mean?" asked Greg, beating me by a second or so. "She seemed nice."

Theo shrugged again. "Sure, she's nice. She doesn't mean anything by it, but she's prepping so hard to be a mom once she has the baby that she isn't sure how to be a mom to me. Usually at things like this, she rescues me from my father, then dumps me with someone else once she realises she has no idea how to talk to me."

I blinked. Someone had their filters turned off today. "Sorry, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm Taylor Hebert and this is Greg Veder. We're interning at Medhall. You're Theo …?"

"Anders. My father is Max Anders." He squinted at me. "Are you gonna be telling him what we said? Because it doesn't matter if you do. Nothing I ever do is good enough for him anyway."

I caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath. "We're not gonna say anything, are we, Greg?"

On cue, Greg shook his head. "Nope. Not a word. I didn't hear a thing."

"Also on the topic of not hearing or seeing a thing … have you been drinking?" I peered closely at Theo. "Because if he catches you doing that, you're likely to get in a lot more trouble than if you just say stuff."

Not that I was totally comfortable with what he'd been saying. Mr. Anders had always come across as an understanding and generous boss … well, even if he had stolen my coffee, that one time. I understood that workplace interactions were different to home life, but it shouldn't be that different, should it? Maybe he was trying to get Theo to shape up with tough love, like they'd done with Greg?

"Doesn't matter." He made a throwaway gesture. "I didn't want to be here. Didn't get a choice. The servers know who my father is, so they gave me some booze before Kayden caught up with me."

And that explained the other thing that had been bothering me. Mrs. Anders had looked to be in her late twenties, far too young to have a teenage son. Referring to her by her first name was the final piece in the puzzle. "She's, uh, not his first wife, is she?" Saying she's not your real mom would be insensitive at best and horrifically crass at worst.

"Nope." He shook his head. "Mom got killed by a supervillain. One of the Teeth, I think. Back when I was just a baby."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I said at once. I'd been older than that when Dad and I lost Mom, but it was never easy to lose someone you were close to.

"'s not a problem. I never really knew her, anyway. Just my father. And he's always trying to toughen me up so I can take over someday. When I'm ready." He didn't sound thrilled at the idea.

"Yeah, that would suck if you're not into it." Greg's tone was understanding. I silently agreed; while running a company like Medhall was probably second nature to someone with an outgoing personality like Mr. Anders, it would be hell for someone who didn't want to do that.

"I know, right?" Theo gestured for emphasis. "I don't want to do it, and he can't make me."

"Have you ever said that to his face?" I asked. "I mean, if he doesn't know, and he personally can't imagine not wanting to be in charge, he might not have ever considered that you don't actually want it."

He blinked slowly, as though he'd never looked at it that way before. "I … dunno if I ever have. I mean, just come out and said it like that. I just thought he knew, y'know?"

Greg and I shared a glance, then chuckled ruefully at the same time. "Trust me," Greg said. "You might think someone knows what you want, but unless they come right out and say it? Don't ever take that as given."

"Yeah," I agreed. "What he said. Though if I was you, I'd wait until you don't smell like you've been drinking, or your message will get totally lost in translation. You want him focusing on you, not what you've been doing."

Theo nodded. "Yeah, good point. Thanks." He wandered off across the patio, discontent evident in every line.

I waited until he was out of sight, then turned to Greg. "The perils of being the boss' son, I guess."

"Yeah, good point." He tilted his head slightly. "So, what's your dad think about you working at Medhall instead of at the Dockworkers?"

It was my turn to shrug. "He's fine with it. I mean, it's just an internship, and I am picking up valuable experience."

"True dat." He leaned on the rail and looked out at the golf course, now almost hidden in the gathering dusk. "In twenty years' time, can you see us down there, playing golf and hobnobbing with the rich and famous of Brockton Bay?"

I shuddered. "God, I hope not. I can't see the point in golf, can you?"

Greg chuckled. "I think the point is the exercise you get, not the actual part where you hit the ball."

Equally amused, I nodded. "You may have something there."

"Of course I've got something there." Greg turned to look back at me and tilted his head. "Hey, are you doing anything important tomorrow?"

I thought for a moment. "No, not really. Why? Did you want to come over?"

"Well, yeah, I could. Or we could go out somewhere. Window-shop at the mall, or go down to the Boardwalk. Whatever you want to do." His tone left the options open.

This was different, but it was a good kind of different. Friday afternoon was the first time we'd actually gone and hung out together, and it had been fun. The same sort of fun I'd had with Emma, years before, when we'd still been friends.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I'd like that."

<><>​

Medhall Building Front Desk
Monday Morning
Grue

"Okay, you know what you're doing?" Tarrant eyed Brian closely. He'd handled the induction and introductory training on Friday, and seemed tough but fair. Less standoffish than some of the other guards, anyway.

Brian was used to people not being totally comfortable in his presence. He was tall and muscular—and a guy, of course—and some people saw that as potentially threatening. Others reacted to the colour of his skin, some apparently not even realising that was what they were doing. He could've called people out on it, but in a town with an active neo-Nazi gang backed by capes, that was a potential recipe for disaster.

So, he did what minorities throughout history had learned to do; he kept his head down, didn't make waves, and worked at just surviving from day to day. Showing attitude at his new workplace on day one was the best way he knew to ensure there wouldn't be a day two. In any case, nobody had thrown any slurs or left nasty surprises in the locker he'd been assigned—both of which he'd heard of in other places—so he settled down to do his job and learn the unwritten customs.

There were always unwritten customs; things 'we always do' but sometimes didn't get communicated to the new guys until after they'd breached them. As a form of hazing, he supposed it was relatively harmless.

"I think so," he replied to Tarrant's question. He knew how to answer the phone, and what code represented what emergency—there was a handy cheat sheet anyway, just in case—and how to switch the security monitors from one camera to another.

"Good." Tarrant leaned back in his chair. "You're in charge. Let's see how you do."

Brian tried not to show his nervousness. He had no illusions of actually being in charge; if something serious came up, Tarrant would take over in a heartbeat. But it still felt like being thrown in at the deep end, which was probably the intention.

People entered and left the building, and Brian weathered the curious stares. He knew he was probably the youngest guard in the building, as well as a new face, so there were inevitably going to be some odd looks. But the only real way to prove he could do the job was to actually do the job, so that was what he did.

After about half an hour, after the foot traffic had died off, he began to relax very slightly. Nothing had come up that he'd actually screwed up with, though he'd stumbled a few times on phone calls and the like. At all times, he'd felt Tarrant's gaze on the back of his neck, but the older man never said a word.

"Well, you're doing okay so far," Tarrant decided. Getting up, he stretched briefly. "Gonna hit the head then grab a cup of joe. Want some?"

Brian thought quickly. He knew he had to be on the lookout for hazing and other 'get the new guy' pranks, and dosing his coffee with a mild laxative might just fall into that category. "Thanks anyway," he said with a slight shake of the head for emphasis. "I'm fine for now, though I might get one later."

"Suit yourself." Tarrant tapped his lapel mic with one finger. "Anything comes up, you call me, y'hear?"

"I hear you." Brian watched as Tarrant headed back into the building, then returned his attention to the desk. If he could maintain this job, it would be a solid plus toward his chances of getting (and keeping) sole custody of Aisha.

Flicking through the various cameras on the desk monitors, he determined that nothing untoward was happening. Settling back in his chair, he glanced around the (still empty) lobby, then out through the massive glass doors to the street outside.

Which was when he saw the girl being attacked by two guys.

"Oh, hell no," he murmured. Even though they were outside, he was pretty sure they were on the Medhall footprint, and thus they fell under his jurisdiction. Grabbing his lapel mic as he stood up, he spoke quickly. "This is Laborn, front desk! Girl being assaulted, outside! Going to assist!"

It would take too long to go around through the little doorway they used to get into the lobby, so he vaulted over the desk and hit the floor at a dead run. He made it across the lobby in record time; as he reached the doors, they whooshed open. "Hey!"

<><>​

Thirty Seconds Before
Rune

Tammi grinned as she stepped off the bus. She knew she'd catch some flak from Max about ditching the afternoon classes, but who needed history and physical education and stuff like that anyway? It was hella more fun to come over to Medhall and chill with her cousin down in the clinic until it was time to go out and about as the Empire Eighty-Eight.

Heading across the sidewalk toward the Medhall doors, she nearly ran into a pair of ABB baby gangers, about her age but wearing the red and green. She sneered at them as she passed by; if the government could just reach down and find a pair, and deport every one of those—

"Who the fuck you think you're looking at, bitch?" A hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

Of course, it was the bigger of the two gooks. Some part of her advised caution. If she just said nothing and went inside—

Fuck that. I'm an American. I can look the way I want at whoever I fucking want. "Go back to your own fucking country, why don't you?"

"How?" asked the smaller one. "I'm from Kyushu."

Tammi grinned. "Then fucking learn to swim."

"Fuck you!" They came at her side by side.

Suddenly aware of her peril, she turned to bolt up the stairs to the doors but only got within a few steps of the top when her arm was grabbed. One of them pushed her over, and the other one kicked her in the ribs. He had a bad angle, but it still drove the air from her lungs.

"Get her bag!" yelled the first one. She felt one of them grab it and try to pull it off her back.

Fuck! No, no, no! Her Rune costume was in the backpack, as well as her school ID. If they got away with it, they could out her as an Empire member anytime they liked. She grabbed the straps and kicked out blindly. Her heel glanced off someone's leg, the grip on her bag loosened, and she scrambled desperately toward the doors.

"Get the bitch! Kick her head in!"

A hand tangled in her long blonde hair and dragged her back ... just as the doors opened anyway. Framed in the entry was a massive black guy, sending a spike of terror through Tammi; was he teaming up with the ABB to get her stuff?

"Hey!" shouted the black guy. He came forward like a Mack truck, swinging a massive fist. Tammi cringed, expecting to be beaten unconscious with one blow, but the fist whistled past her ear and impacted solidly with something behind her.

She was released then, to fall on her side. The black guy moved up, stepping over her, then snapped out a kick that caught the bigger Asian guy in the chest and sent him in a half-somersault back onto the sidewalk. His buddy was already there, sprawled back with a busted nosed that was adding a lot more red to his clothing.

Muttering the usual empty threats that punks did once they know they've had their asses kicked, the two assholes scraped themselves up off the concrete and staggered off. Tammi watched them go, then stared up at the big black guy, wondering if he was going to make a try for her backpack next.

"Are you alright, miss?" he asked, extending a hand downward to help her up. Dazed, she accepted it, while inside her head she ran in circles, gibbering to herself.

He saved me? What the fuck?



End of Part Thirteen