Earning Her Stripes Pt 22 (Patreon)

Cards on the Table

[A/N: This chapter commissioned by @Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Hebert Household

Taylor

Putting down the book I'd been reading, I got up from the sofa and went to the front door. Madison was still kneeling beside the flower garden, industriously weeding. The basket we'd scrounged up from somewhere now had a lot more weeds in it, and the stretch of garden bed to her left looked better than it had in more than a year. From the back yard, I could hear our aged lawnmower chewing its way through the matted growth that Dad occasionally trimmed when he had the time for it.

The mower hadn't wanted to start at all, but Madison had partly disassembled it, made a few minor adjustments (I hadn't even known she was carrying a toolkit), then put it back together. Emma had yanked on the cord and it had roared to life, whereupon she'd set to work cutting the lawn down to size. I had to admit that building an eight-foot set of power armour was impressive, but getting that old mower to work properly was damn near miraculous.

I still wasn't sure how I felt about Emma and Madison coming over and doing our lawn care for us. Sure, they'd screwed with me for months on end without respite (along with Sophia, but she was another story). Part of me wanted them to pay for what they'd done, another part of me wanted nothing to do with them, and a third part saw how earnest they were at trying to make amends and kind of wanted to see how dedicated they were to that idea.

As the first and third parts tended to end up with the same result, the second part was usually overruled. I compromised by telling myself that I'd keep a close eye on both of them, and the first time either one tried to pull shit on me, I'd yank the rug out from under both of them. Not that I expected or hoped for this to happen, of course; I was just going to be ready in case it did happen. Whoever made up the saying 'once bitten, twice shy' had nothing on me.

The mower engine fell silent at the rear of the house, and I headed through to the back door. I didn't think it needed more fuel but I wasn't an expert on lawnmowers, or any other kind of machine. When I opened the door, I saw the reason; the lawn had been completely mowed, making it look better than it had in months. Emma, trundling the mower across the smooth green expanse to the little shed we used to shelter it from the elements, looked over and waved with a cheerful smile.

I came down off the steps and strolled over toward the shed. "It's done?" I asked, though the evidence was right there in front of me. "That was a lot of mowing."

"Not really," Emma said, expertly manhandling the mower into the shed. "It was kind of fun, actually. I haven't really had the chance to switch off inside my head since … well, you know since when. A little bit of repetitive physical exertion while I work things out in my own mind goes a long way, you know?"

That in itself was a huge difference from the Emma I'd known before. She'd been moderately fit, just enough to maintain her muscle tone for modelling, but not to the point that she would casually refer to wrestling the mower through our stubborn grass cover as 'kind of fun'. Hell, she wasn't even really sweating hard. And from what I could see of her arm muscles, she was ripped.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it." I gestured at the house. "I've got some chilled lemonade in the fridge. I'll go and tell Madison she can take a break too."

"You can try, but she'll probably say no unless she's done with weeding." Emma followed me up the stairs again. "She's gotten to be really hard to budge that way. Me, I'm thinking I'll wash my hands and face before I sit down."

I nodded. "Knock yourself out. You know where the bathroom is." You should, I thought snarkily; you stayed over enough times, back when we were actually friends.

The look she shot me was full of regret, making it plain that she'd picked up on what I hadn't said. "Thanks."

Steadfastly refusing to feel bad for digging the knife in a little, I went to the front door again. As Emma had predicted, Madison was still steadily weeding away. She'd made noticeable progress since I'd last looked, and it wasn't far to the end of the garden bed.

"Come on in and have a break," I said. "Emma's finished the mowing and she's washing her face. I've got fresh lemonade."

She looked around at me from under the sun-hat she was wearing. From what I could see, she was sweating even less than Emma had been. "I haven't got far to go," she said. "I'll be done in ten minutes, maybe less."

Well, Emma had predicted that too. "Okay, I'll hold you to that. There's a half-bath under the stairs if you want to wash your hands when you're done." I went back inside and closed the door.

Again, I was struck by the sheer contrast between the Madison I'd been victimised by for at least a year, and the one currently weeding Mom's garden bed. That Madison hadn't missed a trick when it came to looking cute and appealing, from using cosmetics to make her eyes look bigger to wearing denim skirts and going bare-armed even in winter. This one had no problem with putting on shapeless gardening clothes and marring the polish on her perfectly manicured nails with garden dirt.

Heading through the living room into the kitchen, I got out three glasses, then took the pitcher from the fridge and poured two of them full of fresh-squeezed lemonade. We had cookies too, so I put some of those on a plate then sat down to wait for Emma.

She came into the kitchen about thirty seconds later, and her eyes lit up at the sight of the glasses of lemonade. "Mmm," she said, dropping into a chair and taking up the one I'd put on her side of the table. "You always make the best lemonade."

I wasn't sure if that was an attempt to reconnect with the old friendship we'd once had or just a passing comment, so I left it alone. The lemonade was pretty nice; as Emma well knew, it was a recipe Mom had once taught me.

I nudged the plate of cookies so she'd know it was okay to have one. "You've, uh … you've really done a great job on the lawn today. Dad'll be pleased."

She shrugged and took a cookie. "Like I said, it was easy. A lot easier than it would've been before I got my powers, anyway." She rolled her eyes. "Can you see me mowing any lawn, the way I was then? I was a total diva."

Well, she wasn't wrong, but I didn't want to make her think I was getting soft on her any time soon. They'd originally formed this team with the express purpose of making me into their own personal super-powered punching bag, and I wasn't quite ready to let bygones be bygones over that yet. Or over the twelve months of bullying they'd put me through prior to the Great Super-Powers Bullshit Plot.

"Mmm-hmm," I said non-committally, and picked out a cookie of my own. Taking a bite, I washed it down with a mouthful of sweet, tart chilled lemonade. Lingering over the drink meant I didn't have to say any more right then, saving me from being drawn further into the nascent conversation.

Emma must have figured out what was going through my mind, because she switched conversational gears effortlessly. "So, I think you'll like whatever Madison puts together for you. I've gotten a lot of use out of my throwing discs. No matter what I put them through, they don't bend and they don't break." She raised an eyebrow at me. "Except where you're concerned, of course."

Was she trying to draw me out and form a connection? I couldn't tell, so I nodded. "It'll be helpful." There; I'd answered the question without committing to getting deeper into the back-and-forth.

Again, she picked up on my stonewall tactic with impressive ease. She took another drink from her lemonade and sat there silently for thirty seconds or so before she spoke next.

"Taylor, this isn't going to work." Her voice was quiet and patient, not whiny or complaining or accusatory.

"What?" I looked at her questioningly. "What isn't going to work?"

"This." She gestured from me to herself, and out toward the front of the house where Madison was still presumably weeding. "You, as team leader."

"And why not?" My hackles started to rise. "You need someone there to keep an eye on you, and make sure you don't backslide. You said so yourself."

"Yeah, I did." She spread her hands and looked me in the eye. "And what's the most important quality a team leader needs to have?"

"Uh …" I was caught on the back foot for a moment. "Knowing what you should and shouldn't do?"

"That's up there, sure," she agreed. "But the most important aspect is communication. Being able to listen, and being able to make yourself understood. If you shut us out, if you shut me out, we'll never be able to communicate, and we'll never know what you want from the team. Feedback; it's important."

"Oh." I hadn't thought about it quite like that.

"I mean, I get it." She smiled understandingly. "You're still pissed at us. I don't blame you; if I could go back in time, I'd be first in line to smack my younger self upside the head. But you can still talk to us without feeling like you're letting us off easy. And we need to know what you want from us. It's not like there's any Thinkers on the team to read your mind, you know."

"Well, yeah. Good point." And it was. I took a deep breath. "Sorry, I'm still … well … trying to figure out how I got to this point, to be honest. And how to handle it now that I'm here."

"No harm done." She leaned back in her chair. "So, did you have any ideas for exactly what kind of weapon you want Madison to forge up for you?"

The front door opened and closed while I was still thinking about that. "Just me!" Madison called out.

"We're in the kitchen!" Emma replied.

"Cool, I'll just wash up!" I heard the door to the half-bath open—it was a cramped affair, with one corner of the door cut off to make way for the stairs, and the toilet under the lower section—and the sound of splashing water as Madison cleaned her face and hands.

I got up and went to the fridge to get the pitcher of lemonade. Madison's glass was already on the table, so I poured it full, then topped up Emma's glass and mine while I was at it.

Moments later, Madison came into the kitchen, looking somewhat fresher than she'd been out in the garden. "Garden's finished. You've got some nice flowers there."

"They were Mom's choice." I said it as a simple fact, not for sympathy. "I've tried to keep the garden up but …" I ended with a shrug.

"Yeah." Emma looked down at the table. "That's on us. Sorry."

"Not totally." I felt obliged to be honest about the matter. "After she passed, Dad and me … well, we got wrapped up in our own heads for a bit there. Dad took longer to come back than I did. But every time I tried to tend to the garden after that, it reminded me that she was gone, so I … just stopped doing it." I took a deep breath, recalling the conversation I'd had with Emma earlier. "Because turning your back on a problem is a perfect way of dealing with it."

"Well, I'll be happy to come over and do some weeding whenever," Madison offered. "I came up with two more designs in my head while I was doing it." She sat down and took up the glass of lemonade. "An auto-defence gun turret that walks to a spot, sits down, and defends the area, and an armoured vehicle for breaching defended buildings."

"Breaching them?" I asked. "How?"

Madison chuckled. "Drives straight through the wall. When you've got enough traction, most obstacles are visual cover only." She took a sip of the lemonade. "Ooh, this is very nice. Really hits the spot."

"I know, right?" Emma took another drink of hers. "The perfect mix of tart and sweet. I'd come over and mow the lawn just for this."

I'd just nudged the cookie plate Madison's way when the phone on the wall rang. Frowning, I got up. Dad had to know that I'd be okay at home, even with Emma and Madison there. And if it's not him, who else would be ringing here at this time of day?

Well, wondering about it wasn't answering the phone. I picked up the handset. "Hello, you've reached the Hebert residence. Taylor speaking."

"Good afternoon, Ms Hebert." It was a woman's voice, one I didn't recognise. "This is Director Emily Piggot, of the Parahuman Response Teams." The voice, no; the name, definitely yes.

"I, uh, hello, Director," I stammered. "Uh, if you're looking for my father, he's still at work. I can get you the number, if you want."

"That won't be necessary." She sounded sourly pleased with herself. "I already have that number, and I've already contacted him. However, it is you that I'd like to talk to at your earliest convenience."

I blinked. Shit, she knows everything I've done, she knows about the truck, she knows about Uber and Leet, she knows about fucking Winslow, I am so dead. Fighting to quell my raging panic, I breathed in through my nose. "Uh, I mean, what about?"

"The events of last night, for the most part." I heard a rustle as a page turned. "Also, we've gotten a statement from Sophia Hess, and we'd like to run it past your recollection of events."

Even as unobservant as I was, that sounded awfully like 'we want to see just how badly she lied'. Unless they were taking her word for whatever bullshit she'd spun for them, and they just wanted me to come in so they could arrest me.

"Um … am I going to need a lawyer for this?" This was the first time I'd ever asked this question in my life. Considering the school I'd very recently attended, I was lagging behind by several grades. But as an old union man, Dad had always impressed on me one very simple rule: never talk to the police without a lawyer present, no matter how innocent you thought you were.

"Interestingly enough, your father asked that very same question. I gave him the same answer I'm going to give you—I personally don't see any need to bring one, but do so if it makes you feel more comfortable—and I believe he was arranging that matter after we finished the call."

"Right. Thank you. Uh, so did you want me to come over to the PRT building and wait for him there?"

"That would seem to be reasonable, yes." She paused. "I have you pencilled in for three PM; that is, one hour from now."

"Okay, right, I guess we can do that. I'll, uh, I'll see you then."

"Yes." She hung up then, and I stared at the phone before putting it back on the hook.

When I turned to face Emma and Madison, Emma was talking on her phone while Madison was working to finish her lemonade. My heart rate was still elevated as I came to sit at the table. "Well, that happened."

"What happened?" asked Madison. "Is someone asking about us?"

"In a way." I clasped my hands in front of me to stop them from shaking. "That was the Director of the PRT. Reading between the lines, Sophia's made a statement that the Director doesn't believe for a heartbeat, and she wants me to come in and vet it."

"Shouldn't your dad be there too? And maybe a lawyer?"

Madison was definitely more switched-on than she'd been back in the bad times. Or maybe it was just the calm, matter-of-fact tone she used. Had the cutesy ditz persona just been an act all this time? I had no idea; nor did I much care. "Yes, and yes. She told me Dad was arranging one."

Emma finished her call and put her phone away. "He is. My dad. He says your dad's gonna come by on his way from the Dockworkers' Association offices and pick us all up. Dad's going to meet us at the PRT building."

"How does he feel about representing me in a situation that might involve getting you in trouble?" I had to ask the question.

Emma snorted. "You saw him last night. When he found out what we'd done, he was pissed."

"Yeah, true." I nodded. "Well, if my dad doesn't have a problem with it, I don't either."

"Besides," Madison chimed in, "this gives you a chance to put Sophia away for good."

I looked at her and shook my head. "I'm not disagreeing with you. It's just so damn weird to be on the same page as you guys. Like I've fallen into the Twilight Zone or something."

"Look at it from our side." Emma spread her hands. "As far as I'm concerned, the way I feel now is perfectly normal. So when I look back at how we used to be, that's the damn Twilight Zone."

Madison nodded. "Damn right."

<><>

PRT Building, Fifty-Nine Minutes Later

Danny Hebert

Despite the fact that Taylor was (as far as Danny knew) entirely impervious to any physical attack, she still looked jittery and nervous as they sat in the conference room, awaiting the Director's arrival. Alan Barnes sat on her other side, closed briefcase on the table, looking every inch the confident, prepared lawyer. Danny wasn't quite sure what he needed the briefcase for except as a prop, but it was an effective prop all the same.

"Relax," Alan advised her quietly. "We've got this. Just remember; if she asks you anything, check with me before you give her new information. And if I say we're done here, shut up altogether."

"O-okay." She straightened in her seat and pressed her hands flat on the table. "Thanks for being here."

He let out a grim chuckle. "Hey, I'm not blameless in this little circus, so I figured I'd help out where I could."

The door opened and Director Piggot entered, followed by Miss Militia. The PRT soldier who'd been standing guard outside the door stayed where he was. Piggot stumped over to the head of the table and seated herself, while Miss Militia took up a position behind and to her left. The superhero's weapon of choice seemed to be an ornate sabre at the moment, which Danny decided wasn't too intimidating.

"Good afternoon," the Director announced. "I apologise for the delay. We'll begin with introductions. I'm Emily Piggot, the regional Director for the East-North-East department of the PRT, and behind me is Miss Militia, the second in command of the Protectorate branch assigned to this department."

Danny knew damn well she was aware of the identity of everyone in the room, but he decided to play along. "It's nice to meet you, Director, Miss Militia. I'm Danny Hebert, this is my daughter Taylor, and that's Alan Barnes. He's acting as our legal counsel today."

Piggot nodded once, briefly. "Mr Hebert, Ms Hebert. Mr Barnes, I presume you're the father of Emma Barnes?"

They'd already figured Sophia had revealed everything she could in a fit of spite, so Danny wasn't totally surprised by the question.

"I am, yes." Alan nodded. "She's down in the lobby with Madison Clements, browsing the gift shop." He indicated his phone, lying on the table. "Did you want me to call them up here?"

"Don't bother." The Director placed on the table a briefcase almost the twin of his, and snapped the latches open. "Ms Hebert, I have here the collated transcript of several interviews with Sophia Hess. I would like you to go through it and advise me of any corrections that you believe are warranted."

Taylor glanced at Alan, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. "I, uh, sure, I can do that."

"Excellent." Taking the stapled pages from her briefcase, Piggot laid a pen on top. "If anything requires more than a simple note, tell me directly. You've already been advised that everything in this room is recorded, correct?"

Danny nodded. "We were told that, yes." Reaching out, he slid the statement over to Taylor

"Good." Piggot folded her hands in front of her. "In your own time, Ms Hebert."

Wordlessly, Taylor took up the pen and started reading through the statement. Almost at once, she snorted and made a brief correction, then kept going. Several more times on just the first page, she changed just a couple of words at a time, then stopped at the bottom. Leaning over to Alan, she had a brief whispered conversation with him, then turned back to the Director. "Uh, just so you know, anytime I change something that I didn't see for myself, I'm putting in Emma or Madison's initial so you know who I got it from, okay?"

"Understood." Piggot nodded. "Please continue."

Page after page went by under Taylor's pen, as she corrected the account already there. At one point, Alan tapped the sheet and cleared his throat. She nodded and made a few more corrections. Finally, she flipped back to the first page and nodded. "Okay, that's it."

"Thank you." The Director accepted the annotated statement back and skimmed through it. A few times her eyebrows rose, but she said nothing about what she'd seen. She kept going until she reached the end, then put the statement back in her briefcase. "I appreciate your time. Would you be able to answer a few questions for me before you go?"

Danny froze. The phrase 'answer a few questions' rarely boded well when asked by a law-enforcement officer. He glanced at Alan, who had already drawn breath to address the subject.

"Director Piggot, before my client agrees to any such thing, is she under arrest?"

Piggot shook her head. "No, Mr Barnes, she is not. She is free to go at any time. I would just like to clear up a few points of ambiguity within the statement itself, and about the events of last night."

"Very well." Alan didn't let down his guard. "What's your first question?"

"Ms Hebert." The Director leaned forward slightly. "You did not dispute Sophia Hess' statement that you and your father were involved in a traffic incident yesterday, where a pickup truck suffered moderate damage to its panelling down the right-hand side."

Taylor glanced at Alan, who nodded. "That's true," she said, her voice sounding like her throat was dry. "That was me. I stepped into the road without thinking. I'm sorry."

Danny heard Alan draw in his breath between his teeth at the unsolicited extra statement. He tensed, waiting for Piggot to land on Taylor with both feet, but instead she asked another question. "In that case, were you also involved in the incident where Uber and Leet totalled their car, not so long ago? In a suburban park, just one block from your house?"

Wait, what again now? Danny stared at Taylor, as did Alan. "Taylor?" he asked.

Taylor shrank into her seat under the sudden scrutiny. "Uh … maybe?"

"Hmm." Piggot eyed Taylor closely. "Have you been involved in any other breakages, accidental or otherwise?"

"Director." Alan spoke sharply. "If you're going to attempt to trick my client into admitting wrongdoing, I'm going to have to insist that you direct all such questions through me."

Piggot sighed. "Very well. Please ask your client if her powers involve teleportation. Specifically, the ability to teleport large masses at once."

Alan turned to Taylor, and offered his notepad. "Write the answer in here and pass it to me."

"Don't bother." Taylor faced the Director, looking her in the eye. "I don't have teleportation powers."

Piggot studied her for a moment. "May I ask what your powers are?"

"You may ask," Alan interrupted before Taylor could speak. "My client is under zero obligation to inform you about anything that cannot be derived from observation. Specifically, anything that could be used against her at a later date."

"Very well." The Director nodded in acknowledgement. "Now, about these supposed vials that granted you your powers. What can you tell me about them?"

"Very little," Taylor admitted. "I never saw them, either before or after the act. All I can tell you is that it was literally the worst thing I've ever tasted. If you spent a month wearing the same socks without ever taking them off, then strained stagnant pond water through them, it would still taste better than whatever was in that vial."

"And where they came from?" Piggot was reaching now, for anything to go on with. "What do you know about that?"

Taylor shrugged. "Apparently, Sophia claimed to have retrieved it from the site of a firefight between two groups of out-of-town capes. Of course, Sophia is provably delusional and psychotic, so I'd take anything she says with a distinct grain of salt."

"I already do," growled the Director. "Now, as for your current … ah … teammates. From Sophia's account and your lack of denial, they appear to have committed crimes against you. Do you wish to confirm that at this point in time?"

"No." Taylor didn't even hesitate. "From the way they're acting now, I would suggest you look into Sophia's powerset to see if she possesses the ability to subvert non-capes into acting like her. Maybe her smoke form has minor psychotropic effects if inhaled. In any case, from the moment they got powers, they started shaking off her influence. This is most evident in the fact that when Sophia tried to murder my dad, they acted to save him."

From the way Piggot sat back, she had clearly not thought about that aspect. Neither had Danny; he'd taken Emma's swing back toward the light as proof that she'd just gotten over Sophia's bullshit. But now Taylor's suggestion had him wondering if there wasn't actually more to it.

"That's … something we'll definitely look into." The Director touched her fingertips together. "Now, then. About last night. Why did you lie to Armsmaster and the police about what had happened? Why did you hold back information from them?"

Alan Barnes cleared his throat. "I think you will find that my client acted to preserve her secret identity, and those of her teammates, as well as the lives of myself, my wife, and Blockade's parents. When Ms Hess got to me and Zoe anyway, they acted with wit and alacrity to save our lives and bring her to justice. If you intend to hound her over a few white lies, then where does it stop? Superheroes need to keep certain things secret in order to be effective."

Taylor held up her hand, as though she were in class. "May I ask a question, Director?"

Piggot tilted her head. "Certainly."

"The cuffs and the block of good steel that Blockade supplied. How did you go with them? Blockade's gonna want to know."

The Director's eyebrows raised slightly. "That material has engendered frustration wherever it went. The cuffs worked exactly as advertised, giving us a safe method of maintaining Shadow Stalker and similar capes as prisoners. Armsmaster apparently has yet to make a mark on that block, which I find even more impressive than the cuffs. Would Blockade be interested in providing more of that sort of thing as needed?"

Taylor grinned. "I'd have to ask. Just one thing: she doesn't make stuff that's lightweight."

"So I gathered," Piggot conceded dryly. "Well, that's everything I wished to cover."

"Good." Alan Barnes gave the Director a searching look. "Is this going to happen again? Are you going to be pulling my client in for questioning, however polite it may be, every time some cape does anything unusual? Because I'm reasonably sure I can build a case for harassment out of that."

"No." Piggot shook her head. "This is not going to be an ongoing thing. Though if I ever find out that your client did have a hand in the destruction of Winslow …"

"… I will expect you to have ironclad proof to hand." Alan rose. "Okay, we're done here."

Danny stood as well, and he and Taylor followed Alan from the room. The elevator trip down again was just as quick as it had been going up. They walked out through the lobby, Emma and Madison falling in behind them.

"So, how—" began Emma as they exited the doors, but Alan snapped his fingers.

"Not here," he warned. "This is a public space."

Silently, they went on to Danny's car and got in. He started the engine and turned on the radio. Once they were out on the road and driving away, Alan drew a deep breath. "Okay, we can talk now."

"So, how'd it go?" asked Emma. "Are we in trouble?"

Taylor shook her head. "Not as far as I can tell. But the Director really, really doesn't want us to do that again."

"And the good steel?" asked Madison. "Did you find out about that?"

Taylor grinned. "Both Sophia and Armsmaster are pissed off at it."

"Yess!" Madison fist-pumped. "I told him it was stronger than anything he had!"

"Well, we get to walk away this time," Alan reminded them. "Sophia named you in her statement, but Taylor struck your names out under my instruction, which means that the Director doesn't have official confirmation, so she can't use that information against you."

"So, unofficially they know who you are, but officially they have to pretend they don't." Danny shook his head. "I will never understand cape culture."

Taylor shrugged. "So long as I can be a hero, and make sure these two miscreants stay on the straight and narrow, I'm good. Right, guys?"

Emma and Madison spoke at the same time. "Right."

Part 23