Worm

by John Mccrae Wildbow

  “Okay.”

  I looked at Charlotte and the kids, the steaming plate in my hand, a coke in the other, my right foot resting on the bottom stair of the staircase. I asked Charlotte, “Are you okay with the status quo?”

  “Yeah. But I’m just looking after the little ones, and making sure people get fed. I’m out of sight, I don’t come off like a second in command or anything. I- Sierra and I have talked about this, before, her being uncomfortable. I’m okay because this works for right now, but I understand what she’s saying?” Her voice quirked with uncertainty as she finished speaking, as if she were asking a question, or asking permission to have that opinion.

  “I understand too,” I said, sighing. ”I’m sorry I haven’t been around enough for you to talk to me about this, Sierra.”

  “You’ve had bigger things to worry about.”

  “And I shouldn’t have forgotten about this stuff while I was doing it. I’m sorry. You do what you need to do, decide if there’s any compromises or options you want to ask for. I think I’ll understand, whatever you do.”

  She nodded.

  Grue had walked ahead of me and stopped halfway up the stairs. I followed him, leaving my nanny-cook and reluctant lieutenant behind.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “You going to work that out?” Grue asked. He paused on the second floor. After a moment’s thought, I tilted my head up toward the next set of stairs.

  “Don’t know. Hope I can keep her. Wouldn’t have made it this far without her to hold things together when I was away. If there was something I could do for her, maybe I would. I dunno.”

  We stepped into my bedroom. I was glad I’d left it more or less tidy, but I had to take a second to hastily make my bed and throw some stray clothes in the hamper. I moved some folded clothes from a wooden chair and let Grue take the seat. I grabbed a remote and turned on the TV, only to remember that there wouldn’t be anything to watch. I left it on the display screen for the DVD player.

  Edgy with nervous energy, I took a moment to remove my mask and find a pair of glasses from the bedside table before seating myself on the edge of my mattress, my soda at my feet.

  Grue had pulled off his helmet in the meantime to start eating, and I saw his face for the first time since we’d left his apartment for Coil’s. I could see the dark circles under his eyes, which suggested he probably hadn’t slept well last night. He wasn’t better, but it wouldn’t be reasonable to expect him to be.

  Brian swallowed, “I wish I could offer you advice, but Imp and I are at a point where it’d be nice if we had to worry about retaining… what did you call them, way back when?”

  “Employees.”

  “Right. If we had to worry about keeping our employees, it’d be good, because it’d mean we actually had some. I’m not sure how to get underway on that front. We’re intimidating.”

  “I’m intimidating,” I said, admittedly defensive.

  “You are. But I’d say you’re more intimidating as an idea than you are in person.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No. That’s not bad. You’re more intimidating overall than I am, and yet you’re more approachable than I am. I’m tall, I’ve got broad shoulders, I’ve got the mask, I’ve got the mass of darkness rolling off me. People run when they see me coming for them.”

  “My costume isn’t exactly lovey-dovey, either. I’ve got the bugs crawling on me. Sure, I’m smaller, narrower, but-”

  “The idea of being attacked by you might be spooky, but even if you can hold your own most of the time, people don’t imagine getting in a hand to hand fight with you and feel scared. It’s your power that’s scary. Me? I think people look at me and they can imagine me pounding them into a bloody pulp, or worse. My power’s inconvenient, it’s spooky, but it’s not the scary thing.”

  “You can’t really see your darkness, though.”

  He shook his head, “I know where it is, but I don’t really see it.”

  “I think you underestimate what it’s like.”

  “Maybe. But my point is that people are more likely to run than stick around and talk when I’m approaching. You can take your bugs off the table, make it clear they aren’t a threat, and people feel less threatened, they’re willing to hear you out.”

  “Maybe. But if that’s the case, don’t give them a chance to run.”

  “What? Pop out from around a corner, scare the living daylights out of them, then offer them a job?”

  “Sure. Why the hell not? Or have Imp break into apartments and leave a card.”

  “I don’t think that would send the right message. It’s vaguely threatening.”

  “You’re vaguely threatening. If your prospective hires can’t deal with that much, then they probably won’t handle the job all that well, either. If you can’t find anyone, then maybe I send some of my people your way to help get you started, or you could shell out for some decent mercenaries.”

  “Maybe.”

  “There’s options. Don’t stress about it. Whatever else happens, we have a few days before we decide on the next leg of our plan. Let’s relax. Movie?”

  “Sure.”

  I stood from my bed and began going through the box of DVDs that Coil had supplied with the TV. Most were still in the tight plastic wrap that they’d been bought in. I looked through, then handed some to Brian before turning back to the bag to keep browsing.

  What the hell were we supposed to watch? I didn’t want anything that would ruin Brian’s mood or remind him what had happened, so horror was probably out, I was sick of the high intensity stuff, but I couldn’t stand romance or bad comedies.

  “Going back to the earlier topic,” Brian said, “The subject of leadership, being in charge…”

  I winced.

  “You took over today. Are you wanting that to be a permanent thing?”

  I turned around. ”No. Not permanent. Just until-” I stopped short. How to put it?

  “Until?”

  “When I was getting really obsessive about what I was doing, when I was losing sleep and making mistakes, I deferred control.”

  “To Trickster,” Brian said. I could see a shadow pass over his expression.

  “Yeah. And that’s a bad example because it didn’t work. It’s just that we both know you’re not getting enough rest. So maybe I can pick up the slack in the meantime.”

  Brian sighed. He didn’t look any happier.

  “I don’t want to make you unhappy,” I said. ”I’m not wanting to oust you, or co-opt your role permanently or completely. You were the leader, even if we didn’t really establish an official title over it. But we can divide the duties for the time being. Tattletale handles the information angle of things, I maybe keep Bitch reined in and handle the spur of the moment calls, while you handle Regent and Imp and all the rest.”

  “Which is less than it sounds like, especially when you and Tattletale contribute on ‘the rest’ in little ways.”

  “No-” I started, then I sighed. ”Maybe, yeah. I don’t want to come off as manipulative or anything. Like I said, I don’t want you to be unhappy, but at the same time I do want the whole team to get by in the meantime.”

  “You don’t sound manipulative,” he said. His fork hit the plate with a clatter. ”Jesus, this sucks. I know you’re right. I know this is for the good of the team, and if I could just get over this shit-”

  “It’s not that easy. Don’t do yourself a disservice and expect too much.”

  “My whole life, I’ve been bigger than my peers, I’ve been stronger than most. Spent my time around pretty powerful guys. Boxers, martial artists, other criminals. I didn’t have many friends, but they were the people who were around me, you know? And they were the types to go after you if you show any weakness.”

  “You get shot, nobody’s going to call you a wimp. I don’t see why it’s different if the damage is mental or emotional instead of physical.”

  “I know, but you’re not getting it. I was the typ
e to go after someone if they showed a vulnerability. Wasn’t until I’d had my powers about a year, Aisha tells me I was being an asshole, just like one of her stepdads used to be. So I tried to be better, but I always wanted to protect her, always wanted to help others. Teach you and Alec to fight, step up and take charge when a situation demanded it. Sometimes when a situation didn’t.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So it isn’t just about me trying to adjust. Christ, it’s me having my world turned upside down. It’s others protecting me, others helping me, others covering me in a fight, others taking charge. Aisha’s the one fixing things for me. And you-”

  “Me?”

  “This thing with Coil. Don’t think I’m so obsessed with what’s going on with me that I don’t see it. It’s like a burden’s fallen from your shoulders. You’ve got concerns, but you’re more relaxed. You’ve got hope that you didn’t have twelve hours ago, and it’s dramatic enough that your posture’s changing. Even since we left the mall, it’s like you’re slowly convincing yourself that this is over, Coil’s going to follow through, we’ll move on to taking care of our territories and everything works out in the end.”

  I folded my arms. ”I don’t think that. Like I said, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  “You say that, you tell yourself that, but I don’t know that you’re feeling it. I’m worried you’re setting yourself up for a massive disappointment, and that you’ll be affected enough that you won’t be able to deal when it happens. But I’m mostly worried that all that will happen and I won’t be in a position to help because I’m distracted by my own shit.”

  “You don’t have to take up all the slack. We have other teammates.”

  “Lisa isn’t exactly a heavy hitter, and let’s not fool ourselves into believing that Alec, Rachel or Aisha are going to offer any meaningful emotional support.”

  “We’ll manage,” I said. ”We’ve managed this far.”

  “More or less. Problem is, ‘managing’ is fine, up until we don’t manage, if that makes any sense. Then it’s over.”

  I sighed. ”How did Genesis put it? There’s no use in getting worked up over it if we can’t plan around it or do anything to change it. So we’ll each do our own imperfect jobs of taking care of each other and taking care of ourselves, and be as ready as we can for whatever comes up.”

  He sighed.

  “We’re not perfect. We’re flawed people, and as much as I want to help you in every way I can, I know I can’t. I don’t- I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to act, or what to say. But I like you. I care about you. I’m going to do my best, even if I know it’s not good enough. And I won’t expect any more of you.”

  He nodded, but he looked glum.

  “No hard feelings?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t look happy.

  “I won’t be leader forever.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. ”Might be better that you keep the job, even if I do bounce back eventually.”

  “Except I don’t want the job.”

  “That might be why you should take it. I don’t know. Can we drop the subject?”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Just… heavy topics, with lots of ramifications. And it’s hard to shake the negative thoughts. I’d rather talk along the lines of what you said before, about taking care of each other.”

  “And taking care of ourselves,” I said. ”Getting enough sleep, eating right.”

  “Okay,” he said. There was a pause. ”I slept well the other night.”

  “Then stay over. There’s nothing pressing coming up, so we’ll watch movies until we fall asleep.”

  He smiled a little, and for the first time in a long time there was a glimmer of that expression that had gotten my attention in the first place.

  I put three DVDs into the drive so I could use the remote to play the next movie without having to get up, then pulled off the armor panels of my costume before settling into bed. My back pressed against his chest, and I could feel his breath against my hair.

  I felt so self conscious that I could barely keep track of what was going on. I was thinking every unromantic thought there was: worrying if I had body odor from being in costume and running all day, wondering if I should get up to go to the bathroom now so I wouldn’t have to go as desperately as I had the other morning.

  I felt his hand on the zipper at the back of my costume, lowering it an inch, then stopping. A fingertip traced from the ‘v’ where the top of my costume parted, all the way up to the the nape of my neck, then back down. I could feel his fingers on the zipper, felt every tiny hair on my body standing on end.

  A million thoughts raced through my head at once. All put together, they amounted to a mumbled, “Um.”

  There was no response from behind me. I could hear him breathing, I could feel the warmth of his breath, the slow rise and fall of his chest against my back. He was waiting for me to make my decision, and the thing that loomed largest in my mind was the sensation of his fingers on the tiny tag of the zipper, strong, insistent, there.

  Any confidence I’d picked up in the past weeks or months fled. I felt as vulnerable as I had in early April, brought to tears in front of my worst enemies. Except this… wasn’t wholly negative. Not entirely: I still felt acutely aware of every vulnerability, I thought of every part of myself that I tried to ignore when I looked in the mirror in the same way I might see my life flash before my eyes before I died.

  Again, thinking that way. Why couldn’t I think in a more romantic way at a moment like this? Was I broken in my own way?

  “Let me get up and turn off the lights?” I asked.

  His power blanketed the room. I could feel the phantom touches of it on against the thin fabric of my costume and my bare face, leaving me blind and deaf as we were plunged into darkness.

  As I was plunged into darkness; he could see just as well. This totally wasn’t what I’d wanted.

  “That’s not fair,” I murmured.

  He placed one hand on the side of my head to get me to turn his way, then pressed his lips against mine.

  I didn’t protest any further.

  16.y (Donation Interlude #2; Defiant)

  Heavy footsteps carried him through a crowd of people who were having the worst days of their lives. There were doctors and nurses who might never be able to return to the careers they had worked so long to achieve. He saw new parents, almost all in their twenties and thirties, huddled close and openly weeping or staring into space with puffy red eyes. There were family members trying to give them support, not knowing how. Not that the extended family would be suffering any less. Police officers and detectives were trying to gather statements, well aware that the families wouldn’t know anything pertinent. Some were standing by, notepads in hand, unwilling or unable to proceed with their witnesses.

  He’d known this feeling, once. To be the bystander, watching the aftermath, agonized as much by the inability to help, the lack of knowledge about what he should do as by the tragedy itself. To have it happen again and again. He banished the memories before they could take hold. It was easier to distract himself and think about the work. If there was no work to be done, he would let himself slip into that other state of mind, seeing the world coming apart, ways things could fit together.

  But right now, he would focus on the job.

  He glanced at the window. Four or five hours ago, these same parents might have been standing outside the window, watching their new babies sleeping. Now there was only a sheet taped up to block the view, marked for what it was by a yellow ‘x’ of police tape.

  Keep walking. Something nagged at him as he set his right foot down, like a pebble in his boot, except not. He reached out, as if he were trying to move a finger, but the artificial nerves were hooked into his suit, and the impulse didn’t go anywhere in his body. He felt the air shift as the openings in his mask sealed shut. He sent out another command and the microphone came online.

  W
hen he spoke, only his ears and the microphone heard his voice. ”Note to self. Prosthetics in right leg feel alien. I should check the treads on my old boots, see if one of my legs was longer than the other, maybe try to dig up recordings of myself to match my new gait to my old one. Should time adjustments to coincide with next procedure.”

  Note made, he shut off the microphone, opened the vents. He saw two women embracing one another, eyes red, staring at him as he passed through the last of the gathered crowd. They were hoping for the impossible, willing it. But bringing their child back wasn’t in his hands. The best he could manage would be revenge. Or justice. The line between the two got pretty damned thin at times like this.

  The local sheriff was waiting for him as he approached the waiting room.

  “Defiant?” the sheriff asked. She looked small, mid-sixties, gray-haired. He suspected she was someone who had gleaned some experience in Boston or Brockton Bay and then ‘retired’ out to a smaller town in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn’t have expected to face a situation like this in her retirement, nobody would, but she was holding herself together in a way that suggested she had some experience to fall back on. She’d lost officers, and the town was small enough that people she knew would have been among the casualties, but she was all business, her chin set, her small dark eyes hard with determination.

  He liked her right away.

  “Yes ma’am,” He shifted his spear to his left hand, extended his right hand to shake hers.

  “Miranda Goering. Sheriff. No need for that kind of formality here.” She sounded like she said something similar on a routine basis. She frowned. ”I… would have a hard time expressing just how much I appreciate your being here.”

  How was he supposed to respond to that? He couldn’t think of a response.

  She was studying him. Her eyes settled on his weapon, the fourteen foot long spear. “How on Earth do you carry that spear indoors?”