Another Way Pt 4 (Patreon)

[A/N: the emergency room scene was directly inspired by the omake by edale ]

Late June, 2007

“You're not ready.”

Claire eyed the principal of the Northwest Middle School thoughtfully. Just a little closer and I could change her mind for her …

But no; Mrs Cooper was not what she and her father had agreed to be a valid target for her powers. And besides, her father was right there; he'd seen what she had done with that Schmidt character, and he would probably suspect similar shenanigans if Claire's principal suddenly pulled an about-face on the matter.

“Mrs Cooper,” he stated now, “Claire really is very bright. The only reason that she didn't finish seventh grade in school was that I couldn't allow her to attend school, following a kidnapping scare.”

Mrs Cooper stared at him forbiddingly. “You could have brought in a qualified tutor.”

“We did interview for one,” her father replied. “He was … unsuitable. I tutored her myself, after that.” That hadn't been perfect, but it had worked. After a fashion. However, as her father wasn't recognised as being qualified …

Mrs Cooper shook her head. “I'm sorry, but regulations are regulations. Your daughter is going to have to repeat the seventh grade, now that she's enrolling in my school.”

Claire raised her head. “Mrs Cooper?”

“Yes, Claire?”

“If I get good enough marks, may I skip a grade next year?”

The middle school principal frowned. “If you do well enough … then yes, that can be considered.”

Claire beamed. “Thank you, Mrs Cooper.”

<><>

“You took that remarkably well.”

Claire looked up at her father's comment as they walked from the school. “Yeah, well, it's not like I could argue her around, is it?”

He raised an eyebrow speculatively. “The temptation to … change her mind … must have been strong.”

“It was,” she admitted. “But I realised something.”

“What's that?” He paused. “Apart from the fact that you knew I'd know about it, that is?”

“Well, that,” she agreed, “and the fact that if I'm go to be making my mark as Marchioness, I'm going to be up long hours without much time to study. Going to school in a new city, with new surroundings and a whole new curriculum, it's probably a good idea that I know at least part of the material already.”

“You do realise,” he pointed out firmly, “that if your schoolwork suffers due to your extracurricular activities, I know which of those I will be curtailing. And it won't be the schoolwork. So I expect you to apply yourself.”

“Yes, Dad,” she agreed meekly.

<><>

Early July, 2007

“So where are we going today?” Claire looked out the window at the passing scenery, the buildings basking in the mid-afternoon sunlight. They were in the north of the city, the less affluent area. She had seen several gang tags over the last few minutes; each of them was the red and green of the ABB, Brockton Bay's burgeoning Asians-only gang.

“To see an old contact of mine,” her father replied absently. “He used to live around here somewhere.”

“Maybe he moved?” she suggested.

“Maybe he did,” he agreed. “But maybe not.” He frowned. “I don't recall these back streets as well as I should. Let's see what's down this way.” Turning the wheel, he guided the car down a narrow street, which was as much a wide alleyway as an actual vehicular thoroughfare.

“Uh, Dad?” She pointed.

“I see it.” Up ahead, a grimy dumpster had been set up, deliberately or accidentally, to block the street. Turned sideways, it left no way for a vehicle to get around it.

“Maybe we'd better back up.” She twisted and looked over her shoulder. A white van was pulling into the alleyway behind them. It stopped, and people started getting out. People wearing gang colours. Walking toward the car. “Uh, Dad?”

“I see them.” He was peering into the rear-vision mirror. Abruptly, he smiled. “Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any.”

“A good time for what?” she asked.

“To give notice that I'm back in town, of course.” He opened his door. “Coming?”

Oh shit. He's going to confront these guys.

And then she caught herself. What the hell am I worried about? He's Marquis, and I'm Marchioness. I've trained for this sort of thing.

Pushing her body into the form that she had practised, she climbed from the car. He glanced sideways as she carefully closed the door, and smiled approvingly. “Ready for this?”

Belying the nervousness in her stomach, she showed her teeth in what might have been a smile. “Oh yeah.”

<><>

It was the first time that Yan had been allowed to come out with the actual gang members; she had listened to their boasts about how they shook people down, but this seemed even easier than they had told her. The car had stopped, hadn't even tried to ram the dumpster out of the way. When the two, the man and the girl, got out of the car, she was sure they were going to run. But they didn't; they came toward the gang members.

“Is this supposed to happen?” she whispered to Sugito, who was only a little older than her. “Aren't they supposed to be scared?”

“Shh!” he hissed back, but he looked thoughtful.

The man and the girl weren't armed, or at least their hands were empty. They were dressed in evening clothes, not uniforms or costumes. But what really worried Yan was the faint smile on the man's face. A smile that promised, I know something that you don't.

The girl wasn't smiling. She was merely … intent. Studying them each in turn. Yan wasn't sure she liked that level of scrutiny.

“Gentlemen,” the man addressed them, in cultured tones. “And lady, of course.” He had inclined his head toward Yan. “If I may have your attention?”

Oh hell yes, you've got my attention. Yan studied him carefully. Shoulder-length brown hair, tied back in a ponytail. Clean-shaven. Something in her memory twinged, and she frowned. It wasn't coming to her, so she looked at the girl. Black hair, as black as Yan's own. Wearing an evening gown and heels, no less. Strong chin, high cheekbones. I would kill for cheekbones like that.

“Yeah, what?” growled Dao. “You got something to say before you pay toll?”

“Toll?” The man chuckled, obviously highly amused at Dao's words. “Why would we pay toll?”

“You're on ABB turf,” cut in Sugito, anxious to appear tough. “You pay toll, or we take it out of you.”

“Ah yes, Asian Bad Boyz,” the man agreed. “I've heard of you. There's only one unfortunate issue here.”

Dao produced his butterfly knife, flicking the blade open in a ballet of movement. “Only unfortunate issue here is -”

He dropped the knife. He actually dropped it. In all the time Yan had known him, she had never known him to drop his butterfly knife. It was like forgetting to breathe, for him.

“As I was saying,” the man went on imperturbably, even as the butterfly knife clattered on the asphalt; the sound was loud in the alleyway, “the one unfortunate issue is that this is my territory, and all of you owe toll to me.”

Obviously torn between bending to pick up his knife, and thus losing face, or confronting the guy without a knife, Dao chose the latter. “How the fuck do you see that?” he demanded. “This is ABB turf, has been for years.”

“Let's just say that I've been away for awhile,” the man explained. “But I never ceded claim to my territory. And to be honest? You've done a terrible job at keeping it up.” Fastidiously, he toed an empty tin can away with the tip of his well-polished shoe. “So I'm taking over again. Putting my house in order. Fixing things.”

“Who the fuck are -”

Yan cut in on Dao's growl, as memory clicked into place at last. “Dao! Marquis! It's Marquis!”

Dao paused then; Marquis had been away for years, but he'd also been a scary bastard when he'd been in the 'Bay, and stories like that didn't go away in a hurry. “Marquis? Seriously?”

“Oh, yes.” Bone plates emerged from nowhere, cladding the older man in top to toe armour, giving him a ragged crown of sorts. “Very seriously indeed.”

Dao pointed at the girl, who stood unafraid beside Marquis. “So who's that then?”

The girl's unsettling gaze switched from Yan to Dao. “You may call me Marchioness.”

“Fuck you,” growled Dao, bending to scoop up his butterfly knife. “You can't tell us what to do on our turf.”

“As I said, you're on my turf," Marquis corrected him. "And I will warn you exactly once. Do not speak to my daughter again in that fashion."

"Or what?" Dao seemed to be getting bolder by the moment. "There's a dozen of us, and two of you." He held up his knife, letting the lowering sun flash from the blade. "Your armour looks cool, but how are you gonna protect her?"

"You mistake numbers for strength," Marquis retorted, his tone sharper. "Be smart. Yield. You will not be harmed. All I require of you is -"

Dao lunged forward and grabbed Marchioness by the arm. An instant later, he had her arms trapped, holding her from behind, while his blade hovered next to the hollow of her throat. "No," he snarled. "This is what you're gonna do, old man. You're gonna get rid of that armour, or I'm gonna -"

"Excuse me," Marchioness interrupted him. Yan could not credit it; the girl calling herself Marchioness was held securely, a razor-edged blade mere inches from her carotid, and she was still as calm and collected as if she were asking Dao to pass the salt. "How old are you?"

To her surprise, Dao grunted out an answer. "Nineteen."

Her expression wasn't quite a smile. "Good. I really don't like people who point weapons at me, and you're old enough to know what you're doing." And then, to Yan's utter astonishment, she stepped forward out of his grip, pushing his hands aside. He continued to stand there, arms held oddly, until she reached out and nudged him slightly; at that point, he fell over, landing heavily on the asphalt. Even then, his arms stayed in those odd positions, eyes still open, fixed, staring …

"Allow me to correct myself," Marquis stated punctiliously. "All but that one will not be harmed. Attempt something stupid, as he did, and suffer the consequences. Yield, and undertake to pass on a message for us, and you will be allowed to leave unharmed."

"Allowed to leave?" blurted Sugito. "How you gonna stop us?" He turned and bolted; before he got more than a few paces, a line of grey-white bone streaked across the ground from Marquis' feet, following Sugito and then passing him.

Yan tore her horrified gaze from Dao – I don't think he's breathing – and followed with the rest of them. Just as far as the latticework of bone that had sprung up from the ground between them and the van.

“Like that, I would imagine,” Marquis advised Sugito. He and Marchioness unhurriedly followed the abortive retreat of the ABB contingent, keeping pace with one another. “Your choices remain the same.”

“I'm pretty sure some of them are children, Marquis,” Marchioness pointed out. “And that one's a girl.”

Yan paid no attention to his reply, pushing to get to the latticework so that she could climb it, get over and away. Some capes you avoid, some capes you fight, some capes you just run like fuck.

Screams from above sounded, and everyone who had gotten more than four feet off the ground fell back, their hands bleeding. Yan looked up; the latticework now sported wicked spikes. Some of these were bloodied.

“All right, once more for the hard of thinking,” the girl spoke up. “Marquis can create and shape bone. He can make it any shape he wants. A fence as high as he wants. A fence with spikes on it. Are we getting the hint yet?”

Sugito, one of those who had fallen from the fence, got up, cradling a bloody hand. “What … what the fuck do you want?”

“For you to surrender, to stand down. Drop your weapons,” Marquis ordered. “It's not like they'll do you any good.”

“Are – are you going to kill us?” quavered Yan.

“No.” Marquis' voice was firm. “You will carry a message for me. A message to Lung. Tell as many people as you can, along the way. Promise to do that for me, and you will live.”

“Wh-what's the catch?” asked Sugito.

“Two catches,” Marquis told him. “One, in doing this, you accept that this alley is my territory, not ABB.”

Sugito shrugged. “Sure. Have it. Not my hassle.”

Marquis smiled briefly. “A man after my own heart. The second catch is much more serious. You have to survive giving Lung the message.” He paused. ”How old are you?”

“S-sixteen,” Sugito stammered. Yan blinked; she'd thought he was eighteen for sure.

“Damnation,” muttered Marquis. “I can't send a child. Lung will almost certainly kill him.” He raised his voice. “Who among you is over eighteen?”

For a moment, there was silence, then Yan pointed to Dao's still-frozen body. “Him.”

“Of course it's him.” Marquis shook his head slightly. “Marchioness, my dear?”

“Oh, all right.” Marchioness walked back to Dao's body, leaned down, and hauled him to his feet by his arm. He staggered and inhaled great gulps of air, rubbing his eyes and blinking.

Marquis walked over, leaned in to stare into his face. “You will carry a message for me.”

Dao blinked. “I'll carry a message for you, sure.”

“You will tell Lung this; rather, you'll tell Lung as soon as you can, but you'll also tell everyone else who's listening. The message is; Marquis has returned. He will be taking back what is his. Repeat the message back to me.”

“Marquis has returned. He will be taking back what is his.” Dao's eyes were glazed over.

“Perfect. You can release him now.”

The second part was obviously aimed at Marchioness; she lifted her hand from Dao's arm, and the gang lieutenant staggered, life coming back into his eyes. Did she do something to him?

“The fuck?” he demanded. “What did you do?”

“You attempted to hold a knife to my daughter's throat,” Marquis advised him. “That action has consequences. You have a message to deliver. I suggest you get about it.”

“But how -” began Sugito, even as the bone barricade began to shrink and degrade away. “Oh. Right.”

Dao didn't waste time; he headed for the van, with the gang streaming behind him. Yan hesitated, then followed. Even as she climbed in, a treacherous thought assailed her, followed shortly by another one.

I wonder if they're hiring.

I wonder if they'd let me join.

<><>

Late July, 2007

Jonas helped Claire lift out the folding recliner chair out of the trunk of the car. Next came the rolling cooler; she pulled out the extending handle and stacked the recliner atop it.

“I can give you a hand, chick,” offered Jonas. “Make sure nobody bothers you.”

“I'll be fine,” she assured him. “Thanks for helping me this far.”

“I don't know that your father will be very pleased with me for letting you do this alone.”

“I'll talk to him, all right?” She gave him a winsome smile. “I do stuff with him; this is me doing stuff for me. I'll call when I need pickup.”

“Okay, then,” he agreed. “Be safe, chick.”

She watched him get back in the car and drive off before she took hold of the handle of the rolling cooler; with a determined stride, she set off for the nearby bulk of the Brockton Bay General Hospital; more specifically, the emergency room.

<><>

It was an average night in the emergency room; the usual assortment of minor accidents, children with mysterious ailments, and the silently suffering. The night nurse looked up as the doors hissed open, then her eyes widened as a girl who couldn't have been more than fourteen wrestled a rolling cooler into the room.

All eyes turned to the newcomer – dressed in a fancy gown of some sort, albeit fitted perfectly to her frame – as she rolled the cooler across to what seemed to be the geometric centre of the room. Pulling what turned out to be a folding recliner from atop the cooler, she unfolded it, then arranged the cooler next to it. After that, she looked around a little aimlessly, then strolled over to the night nurse's desk.

“Can I help you?” asked the nurse. She knew the question sounded ridiculous, but she had to ask. “Are you injured or unwell?”

“Neither, actually,” the girl replied brightly. “I was wondering if you knew where the TV remote was.”

“I have it here,” the nurse told her defensively, glancing at where the TV showed the twenty-four hour news channel. “Why do you need it?”

“Because I want to watch cartoons.” The line was delivered with cheerful self-mockery, and the nurse found herself smiling. “May I have it, please?”

“All right, here you go.” She handed it over, then watched as the girl went back to her recliner. A moment later, she asked herself, why did I do that? She had never given out the remote before. But it seemed such an effort to go and get it back …

Seating herself carefully, the girl used the remote to locate the cartoon channel. Still the centre of attention, she popped the cooler and opened a bottle of soda that she had in there. Settling back with the fizzy drink and a bag of gummy bears, she proceeded to watch cartoons with the greatest of enjoyment.

<><>

The first people to filter out were the family sitting right next to the strange girl in the black evening gown. They had two children, each with a hacking cough; within minutes, it seemed, both children had stopped coughing and were avidly watching the cartoons. A few moments later, a man sitting on the other side of her frowned as the bandages began falling off of his no longer swollen leg.

It took less than fifteen minutes before people started noticing that those sitting closest to the mystery girl – who was by now laughing out loud at the timeless antics of Road Runner – were looking better, feeling better, and in some cases, getting up and walking out. A sort of subtle Brownian motion began to occur, with people drifting toward the middle of the room, leaving the corners empty.

The night nurse got up and headed through to the examining rooms. The person she was looking for was in the second one she checked. “Doctor Harmon, can you come with me to the front desk a moment? I've got something you need to see.”

Harmon, who at that moment was wrestling with hour fourteen of a twenty-hour shift, looked around with some annoyance. “I have a patient here,” he reminded the nurse.

She didn't need reminding; she had admitted that very patient, twenty minutes beforehand. A lacerated foot, courtesy of a malfunctioning lawnmower; nasty and possibly infected. He'd be lucky to keep most of his foot.

“I know, Doctor,” she told him. “But this is something you really do need to see.”

Harmon knew her, knew that she did not say such things lightly. “Hold on for just a moment,” he told the unlucky lawnmower man, and followed the night nurse into the corridor. “What -” he began, but she ignored the question, and led the way back to the desk.

“What?” he asked again.

She pointed at the girl on the recliner. As they both watched, she handed out gummy bears to two little girls, then took a sip of some sort of purple soda. “She's been there for about fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“And she's lying on a recliner, drinking soda, and watching cartoons. In general, treating my ER like her living room. Why, exactly, haven't you had security remove her yet?”

“Because in the time she's been here, no less than thirteen people have gotten up and walked out, apparently healthy.”

Harmon stared at her, then at the girl. At that moment, the parents of the two girls got up and led them out.

“Wait a minute,” he muttered, pointing at the girls. “What was wrong with them?”

“Allergic reaction,” the nurse recited, not bothering to check her notes. “They had lumps all over them.”

“Is she … speaking to them? Touching them? Using visible powers?”

“Not that I can see,” the night nurse told him. “She's just watching cartoons.”

“Right, okay. Thanks.” He went back out into the corridor.

The night nurse, for her part, went out into the ER, to stand next to the girl on the recliner. “You like cartoons, I see,” she observed.

“Yeah,” the girl admitted. “Silly, I know, but it's a thing.”

“Uh, is it you who's doing … this?”

The girl glanced up at her. “Doing what?” she asked ingenuously. Even as the words were spoken, the nurse felt her body go from feeling worn-down to totally refreshed, as though she'd just had a hot shower and a long nap. Even her feet stopped hurting.

“I … see. Well, uh, enjoy the cartoons.”

“Sure thing.”

She pushed her way back into the corridor, to meet a wheelchair coming the other way. It was Doctor Harmon with his lawnmower victim, the vicious wound loosely covered.

“What?” he asked, misinterpreting her look. “It's worth a try.”

“Oh, it certainly is,” she agreed. “I'm not stopping you.” She sidestepped to get to the reception desk, then sat down to watch the show.

The girl on the recliner didn't look around as the wheelchair was rolled up alongside her; she did offer Harmon a gummy bear, however, without taking her eyes off the screen. Looking somewhat bemused, Harmon accepted it, then took a seat beside his patient.

The man in the wheelchair, face initially grey with pain, gradually began to pay more attention to his surroundings; he tapped Harmon on the arm, and pointed at his foot. Carefully, Harmon removed the dressing, to reveal a perfectly normal foot. Not even scar tissue marred what had previously been a mess of mangled meat.

Harmon looked up, and his eyes met those of the night nurse; the girl on the recliner didn't seem to notice at all.

<><>

Elsewhere in Brockton Bay

“Stand down.” Armsmaster underlined the command by activating his halberd; the ominous hum was audible for several yards around him. It certainly reached the ears of the girl in the cobbled-together powersuit; she took a couple of nervous steps backward into the wreckage of the pharmacy, servos whining.

“I don't have to do what you say,” she tried to retort defiantly, but couldn't quite pull it off.

“In case you hadn't heard, yes, you actually do,” he stated flatly. “I've been put in charge of local Protectorate forces, which makes me an officer of the law. Using a powersuit to steal non-prescription drugs is definitely against the law.” He paused. “What name are you using, anyway?”

“I was thinking Traction,” she replied sulkily. “It's not fair.”

“What's not fair, Traction?” He didn't relax his stance, but if she was talking rather than acting, he'd prefer that. As an afterthought, he activated the recorder he'd built into his helmet.

“I heard about how Brockton Bay was all about the capes, how they'd fall over themselves to hire a Tinker. Had to be better than Boston, anyway.”

“What happened in Boston?”

“I tried to see Accord, get a job with him. But before I even got in to see him, I got told that I'd be better off leaving town before he had me killed. I'm too chaotic for him or something.” She sniffled. “I thought being a villain'd be easier.”

“So you came to Brockton Bay. What then?”

“I've been here one fucking day, and I wanted to figure out who to join. I'm not Asian, so the ABB won't have me. I'm not some racist, so I wanted to steer clear of the Empire.” She sniffled again. “So I decided to get something to clear my head, and you turn up. You're a Tinker too, right?”

“Yes. I am.” He hefted his halberd. “Traction, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up this right, anything you say -”

“But if you're a Tinker, we're kind of the same,” she forged on desperately. “I mean, you could let me go, say you never saw me.”

“We are nothing alike,” he growled. “Anything you say can be taken down and used -”

“No!” she shouted. “I'm not going to the Birdcage!” She raised her arm and pointed it at him; there was the crackle of an energy buildup, and an aperture that was beginning to look rather like a gun muzzle started to glow. He went to dash forward -

Glass sprayed as a slim form smashed in through the window. Armsmaster caught just a blur of motion as his trainee slammed into Traction, driving her through a display case. The energy weapon went off, blasting away some of the ceiling. They were out of sight; he pulled aside wreckage and slashed his halberd through some more, to clear the way.

When he reached them, Traction was on her back, with Armsmaster's trainee kneeling atop her. As he watched, she punched the recumbent Traction one more time, then grabbed the arm with the energy weapon and squeezed. There was a crack, and a flash of light, and she was flung backward; Armsmaster fielded her inexpertly, then placed her on her feet.

“Are you all right, Mega Girl?” he asked.

“Uh, sure,” she replied. “My invulnerability took it.”

“Good,” he told her grimly. “Now let's see how she is.”

<><>

Traction wouldn't have been very attractive in the first place; she had a pasty complexion, bad teeth, and ratty blonde hair, which Armsmaster rather suspected was dyed. But Mega Girl appeared to have punched clear through her faceplate, breaking her cheekbone and jaw, and embedding fragments of plastic or glass in her face. Worse, when she broke the energy weapon, it had exploded, doing serious damage to Traction's right forearm and hand. She was unconscious, which was a mercy. But her life signs were less than comforting; Armsmaster suspected internal injuries.

“What have I told you about using excessive force against unpowered foes?” he asked; his tone wasn't as harsh as it could have been, but Mega Girl still looked as though she were about to burst into tears.

“I'm sorry,” she ventured. “I – I thought she was going to shoot you -”

“I had that under control,” he assured her. “I told you to stay back and observe for a reason. Now we have a villain who desperately needs medical treatment.”

Now a few tears did trickle down her face. “I'm s-sorry,” she sniffled again. “A-are you going to kick me out of t-training? C-crystal said s-she loved it.”

“Hey, it's all right,” he told her. “No-one's dead, and this one's fixable. But you can see how this could have gone a lot worse, yes?”

Mutely, she nodded, then sniffled again. He sighed, turned to a display which held absorbent bandages, tore one open, and handed it to her. “Blow your nose, then see if you can't tell me which way to the nearest emergency room.”

<><>

Brockton Bay General

Claire had been watched cartoons for about three hours now; in that time, several more people came in, sat near her – following not so subtle coaching from the night nurse – and then walked out again under their own steam. Other patients were wheeled out to her; she ignored them while letting her power go to work on their ailments. She began to gain an appreciation of what doctors and nurses must go through every day, just in those few hours.

She had noted something interesting about her powers, which was one of the reasons that she had decided to visit the ER. When she was relaxed, her powers seemed to relax with her, and spread out, achieving a greater area of effect. This seemed to attenuate the strength of her power, reducing the speed with which healing – or other effects – took place, but she could live with that. So long as she didn't try to concentrate on her power, it still worked, just more slowly than normal. On the upside, she didn't have to consciously direct it to heal more than one person at once when it was working like this; it just worked.

She almost sat up in the recliner when her sensory field picked up the next people coming in. One flying, one walking, one being carried. That's different. The one being carried was injured; neither of the other two were. When the automatic doors hissed open, she sneaked a peek that way, and nearly inhaled her drink.

Holy crap, that's Armsmaster!

The tall hero, clad in blue and silver armour, was an icon of Brockton Bay. He appeared on lunchboxes, school supplies, T-shirts, and she'd even heard there was an underwear line. Claire had seen him on TV, but this was the first time she'd met him in person.

In his arms was a young woman, with injuries to her face and her right arm; a roughly-wrapped bandage around the latter was heavily stained with blood. Entering behind him was a girl around Claire's own age; she was tall and slim – naturally instead of power-enforced – with blonde hair, a gold domino mask, and a grey-and-white costume. The girl didn't look happy at all; Claire wondered what was going on here. Oh well, I'm just minding my own business. Not my problem.

Armsmaster, after one sweeping glance of the room to establish any threats – no threat here, nope, no sir – gave Claire one penetrating and inquisitive glance, then quite obviously dismissed her from his priority list. Carrying the injured woman past her, he strode up to the night nurse's desk.

Claire popped another gummy bear – not here to force healing on anyone, no matter how much they might need it – took another drink from her bottle of soda, and kept watching cartoons. After a few moments, the girl – who she'd kept track of, of course – moved up beside her.

“Uh, excuse me?”

Claire looked over. “Yeah?”

The blonde looked positively hangdog. “Can I – is it okay if I sit here?”

“Sure. Take a seat. Gummy bear?” She offered the bag.

“Uh -” The girl glanced up at where Armsmaster was placing the woman on a gurney. “Sure, thanks.” She accepted the gummy bear and sat down. “Thanks.”

“No probs.” Claire took another drink from her soda. “So what's the deal here?”

The girl took a deep shuddering breath. “I – I can't say much, because legal issues, but I'm Mega Girl. I'm training with Armsmaster. That's a – a villain, I guess. We arrested her, but things went wrong, and now … “ She sniffled. “I suck at being a superhero.”

“Hey. Hey hey hey. It's all right. We all have bad days.” Claire retrieved a tissue from her bag, carefully not letting Mega Girl see the pistol she had stashed in there, and handed it over. “It'll be okay. She'll be okay.” She cheated a little, tilting the blonde's brain chemistry more toward optimism. “You'll see.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Mega Girl blew her nose and brightened a little. “I mean, this is a hospital.” She turned toward Claire. “What's your deal, anyway? How come you get to sit here in a recliner with a cooler full of soda? Your dad the head surgeon or something?”

“Heh, no.” Claire was about to expand on the topic, when the gurney returned, Armsmaster trying to argue with Doctor Harmon and failing.

Mega Girl looked around in bafflement as the orderly parked the gurney right behind Claire's recliner. “What's going on? Why did you bring her out here again?”

“You'll see.” Doctor Harmon was positively radiating smugness; Claire could pick it up from where she was. She rather liked the doctor; he cared about his patients and really was a nice guy. She decided to let him have his fun; sipping her soda, she popped another gummy bear and kept watching cartoons.

“What's going on here?” Armsmaster must have noticed the way that the shards of plastic had pushed their way out of the woman's face, and her cuts and contusions were healing nicely. “How is this – is this you?”

Claire guessed this last question was aimed at her; she turned her head to look up at the armoured hero. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you.” His mouth was set. “Are you healing her?”

“Probably. And by the way, that old break to your left kneecap? You're welcome.” She extracted a card from her bag and handed it back up to him. “My card.”

He took it, and examined it closely. “Marchioness?”

“The very same.” She settled back into the recliner. Mega Girl was staring at her with undisguised curiosity; she wanted to giggle so very badly, but she kept herself under control.

He must have turned the card over. “'By Appointment Only'?”

“Congratulations,” she drawled. “You can read.” Mega Girl's eyes went wide, and she covered her own mouth with her hand. Claire grinned and passed her a card as well.

“Marchioness, Marchioness … “ He paused. “Female form of marquess, British nobility. Marquess is the British form of … Marquis?”

Claire could feel the adrenaline ramping up through his system; she popped another gummy bear. “That's my dad, yeah.”

"I'd heard rumours of Marquis being back in town, and how he's got a sidekick. That's you?"

"I object to the term 'sidekick' on general principles, but yes, that's me," she agreed. Mega Girl was staring at her; Claire shrugged. "Hey, it's a thing."

"And why would you decide to heal people, in that case?" Armsmaster asked.

"Because I chose to."

"When she came in here," Doctor Harmon pointed out, "this waiting room was full. We were pushed to the limit. Now look at it." As Armsmaster turned his head, looking around the empty room, the doctor went on. "We've been bringing our worse cases down from Intensive Care and Oncology. Some of them are still undergoing follow-up tests, but every one that we can clear, has been cleared." He pointed at Claire. "She cured them."

Armsmaster rubbed his chin. "Interesting. A self-admitted sidekick of Marquis spends her time healing others without asking anything in return."

"Hey, enough with the 's' word, all right?" She swung her legs off of the recliner and stood up to face him. "I'm not Marquis' sidekick, I'm his daughter. Or maybe 'associate'."

Mega Girl broke in at that point. "Oncology means the cancer ward, right?"

"Yes, it does." That was Doctor Harmon.

The blonde stared at Claire. "You can cure cancer?"

"Well, sure." Claire shrugged. "It's easier to get rid of than your boss here. Less talky, too." She paused. "In any case, I never said I'd be healing for free." She handed Harmon a card. "I meant to do this later, but when you get a chance, pass that on to whoever runs this place, so we can negotiate a price scale for when I drop in next, yeah?"

"A ... a price scale?"

"Well, yeah. You don't think I'm gonna be doing this for free all the time, do you?" She shot him a grin. "Don't worry. I'll tell my dad's lawyers to keep it fair. We won't gouge you too much."

Harmon drew himself up. "Considering the work you've just done tonight, I'm not sure that any price would be considered 'gouging'. I just hope we can afford your rates."

"Pretty sure we can work something out," she assured him.

"Will these rates also apply to healing heroes?" Armsmaster asked.

"You can discuss that with my dad's lawyers," Claire told him with a cheeky grin. "Oh, and by the way? Your prisoner's fully healthy, plus I cured her ongoing drug addiction. She's been faking unconsciousness for the last few minutes; I think she wants to make a break for it once you get her out the door."

The prisoner erupted into movement, rolling off of the gurney; Armsmaster grabbed for her and missed. Coming to her feet, the prisoner bolted toward the doors; Mega Girl levitated straight up out of her seat. Claire ducked and sat back down on the recliner as the blonde passed over her head.

Mega Girl got to the doors first, landing in front of them and spreading her arms wide. The woman recoiled, hesitating just a moment too long. Even as she looked for another way out, Armsmaster grabbed her from behind. Pulling her wrists together behind her back, he began to secure them together. "You have the right to remain silent," he panted. "If you give up this right ... "

Getting up from the recliner, Claire strolled over toward where Mega Girl was still guarding the doors. "Nicely done," she observed. "New to the Wards, I'm guessing?"

"I'm, uh, not in the Wards," the blonde admitted. "I'm actually part of the Brockton Bay Brigade. M- uh, they've got me doing my initial training with the Wards, to learn teamwork and stuff."

"I suppose that makes sense," Claire noted. "How long have you been doing it?"

"First week," confessed Mega Girl. "I was supposed to hold back and observe, and I just jumped in." Her voice lowered. "I suck."

"Well, you'll get better at it," Claire assured her. "My first week of pistol training, I was horrible."

"You get to use pistols?" Mega Girl's eyes were wide. "That's so cool."

"Actually, it's noisy, smelly, and hard on the wrists," Claire responded. "But you've got the potential. You'll get there, I bet." Again, she pepped up Mega Girl with a little more optimism; the blonde seemed to need it.

That earned her a smile. "Yeah, thanks. I appreciate it."

"No problem." Behind her, she knew, Armsmaster had the prisoner secured and Mirandised. "See you round. Keep the card. Feel free to text me if you want to chat. And one more thing."

"Yeah?"

She couldn't resist grinning again. "Tell Brandish that Marquis' little girl says hi. And that the table didn't really deserve it."

"I ... don't get it."

"Don't worry. She will."

Leaving Mega Girl staring at her back, she wandered back to the recliner. Armsmaster, determinedly ignoring her, walked his prisoner toward the doors. “Oh, by the way,” she called out to the armoured hero.

He paused, then after a long moment turned to face her. “What?”

“When they ask you, tell them that yes, I will be attending Endbringer battles. For free, even.”

He nodded once, then guided the woman out through the doors, followed by Mega Girl. She waited till all three life signs had left her range before beginning to fold the recliner.

"Oh, you're going?" Doctor Harmon looked a little taken aback.

"Yeah, sorry. Past my bedtime and all that. We'll work out that price schedule, yeah?" She handed him the TV remote.

"Uh, yes, yes, of course."

"Excellent. See you around. Have a good night." Putting the recliner up on the cooler, she headed for the doors.

<><>

The car pulled up next to her, and Jonas got out to help her put the recliner and cooler into the trunk.

“So how did it go, chick?” he asked. “Nobody bothered you?”

“Nope, it all went well.” She climbed into the front seat and did her seatbelt up. “And Dad will never believe who I met.”

Part 5