XI.



"You're— you're kidding," Taylor said, at a loss for anything else. Even now, Lisa was still playing the upper hand. Still trying to take control. She felt the anger flare in her gut, melting away the faint pain of the headache and replacing it with prickling heat. "No. I don't care. I— I don't owe you anything." The words still sounded so small, so unsure, grating on whatever shreds of ego she had left. She wanted to stand, at least, to feel like slightly less of an invalid—but then her eyes flicked to the barrel of the gun, still pointed uncomfortably close to her chest, and she reluctantly relaxed.



"I want to leave. Right now." That last sentence was delivered with as much venom as Taylor could muster, and as she stared dead-straight, right into Lisa's eyes, she saw something that might have been the beginning of a flinch. A smile tugged at her lips.



"I know, I know! I get it," Lisa said, nodding quickly and breaking eye contact. "I'm not exactly handling this well because that's kinda tricky when you're analyzing the best possible approach to a grade-A clusterfuck from four different angles at once and reaching for the one that'll screw over both parties the least because despite surprise surprise, the Evil Villain Lisa actually has a fucking conscience..."



Taylor almost didn't realize what the other girl was saying, she was so focused on the words: they came out in sharp, tumbling bursts of speech, the natural cadence of Lisa's voice just off enough to be painfully noticeable. She was trying to sound obnoxiously airy and carefree, like she had earlier, but it was noticeable this time, almost stilted. She had to work at it, as if distracted by something else—



"But like, I was considering threatening you! Can you believe that?" Lisa laughed, and Taylor's jaw tightened. Had it really been that shrill and grating the day before? Did she even realize?



"That was my first thought, just double down on brute force and stay composed and you'll probably crack, right? But thank God my power's still doing its thing and caught me because, I mean, shit!" Lisa cut in again, the breathless, jerky sentence jarring Taylor's train of thought to a halt with all the grace and subtlety of an emergency break. The blond girl shook her head and smiled, just a little too wide. "You don't work like that, do you? When someone hits, you can't just take it. You wanna hit back harder." She paused for breath, staring at the empty space just above Taylor's head. The gun wasn't pointed at the bed anymore, but she could see Lisa's knuckles around it, squeezing hard enough that they'd blanched to white. "We're both kinda like that, actually. Can't stay down. Pretty fucked, isn't it?" She shook her head slowly, almost in wonderment. "But yeah, so plan number one was out, and then I cycled through six different variations of sedating you and getting you more malleable that way but that seemed even worse—but what about just straight-up earnestness? No way in hell, you're too cynical for that, you'd be suspicious no matter what—"



As Lisa paused for yet another unsteady inhale, Taylor seized her chance. "What are you trying to say?" she snapped, glaring. "You're just... rambling. What do you want?"



Lisa stopped short, blinked, cocked her head, and then gave a matter-of-fact shrug. "Rambling! Right. Yeah, I'm—I'm doing that. Coping mechanism for 26 hours of sleep-dep and counting. Hearing yourself talk is a good way to keep anchored, you know?" She flashed that same strained smile, even as Taylor's eyes widened in shock. "And I know what you're thinking! I did it to myself, so you couldn't wake up first and get the jump on me, right? That's the rational reason." She was pacing now, her path drawing loose, shaky circles in the carpet. "But yeah, no. If I'd had the choice, I probably would've! But I didn't have a choice." The frustration that oozed from her voice was so sudden and venomous it seemed to catch Lisa just as off-guard as Taylor. She paused for a second, composing herself, then continued: "I haven't been able to sleep for the last day and a half because you put a fucking hole in my fucking brain!"



Taylor winced as Lisa's voice rose to a falsetto shriek, pain flaring around the back of her skull. She reached up and pinched her temples, the bacon and eggs in her stomach suddenly feeling more like lead. A hole. Lisa had to be exaggerating, or speaking metaphorically. There was no way—she couldn't have...



"Uh. Sorry," Lisa said apologetically, shaking her head. "Mood swings, emotional outbursts... more fun side effects of sleep dep! You're welcome for the lesson, by the way—but anyway, the favor! I'm getting to that, I swear. But let's make one thing clear first, 'kay? I know what I said before, but I'm kinda done with the whole morality leapfrog thing. You want the high ground? You fuckin' got it, babe. Whatever helps you sleep at night." The glance she gave Taylor was most likely aiming for 'intimidating' but hit closer to 'manic'. "At this point? I don't give a shit who's in the right or wrong. But you, Tay—T-t-teh..." The stutter appeared as if from nowhere, making her pause and suck in an irritated breath through her teeth. "You, Tay-uh-ler H-hee-bert. You did this." Every syllable of the name was overenunciated, like Lisa was forcing each syllable out manually. Taylor felt another swell of something she couldn't describe, that odd Venn-diagram emotion halfway between guilt, satisfaction, and gut-dropping dread...



"So I'm asking you, politely, to fix it." Lisa leaned back against the bedroom wall, folding her arms and keeping that piercing eye contact the entire time. Her mouth opened, like she was about to add something more, then snapped shut again. The lead weight sank a little lower.



This was what she'd wanted, wasn't it? It'd felt so obvious then, the adrenaline and anger making it searing-burning clear. Lash out, hit harder, yank back control, forcing respect the only way she could until something inside of Lisa cracked. It had worked, and it had felt good, good enough that the memory still held embers of satisfaction. But now, as she stared at the gun—the barrel seemed to soak up the Brockton sunlight, tugging it towards its event horizon—all she really felt was irritation, shame, and a slowly rising current of fear.



"And if I say no?" she finally blurted, at a loss for anything else. "You're too good for murder, but I bet you wouldn't mind keeping a hostage, would you?" She gave her lens a cautious tug, just enough to catch a millisecond sliver of coruscating gold— and in an instant, the headache was back, less sudden and stabbing than before but still enough to make her snap the Web shut. She'd have to be careful about pulling something like the alleyway again, that was for fucking sure.



"Is that what you think?" Lisa laughed, shaking her head. "No, no. If you wanna take advantage of my selfless charity and free breakfast and waltz on outta here..." She jabbed a thumb in the air behind her. "Elevator's that way. You want me to call it?" At Taylor's bemused look, she rolled her eyes; they were noticeably bloodshot and seemed to blink just a little too often. "You can get up and go, right here right now! Be my guest! And, like, just to be clear, I'm not gonna hunt you down or work behind the scenes to ruin your life or any of that tryhard Machiavellian bullshit, because even though you're real cute and interesting—fuck me, did I say cute? Just... just imagine another adjective there, Jesus Christ—anyway the point is I have bigger fish to fry. Like, wok-size fish. But that said, if you step outta here without taking me up on that favor, you know what I am gonna do?" She flashed another fraying grin. "I'm gonna act in my own self-interest, as a citizen who now has a debilitating mental health issue from an encounter with parahuman. I'm gonna walk down to the PRT station— don't think I don't have a fat stack of aliases to do that with—report that I'm pretty sure I've been compromised by an unknown Master/Stranger, and then jump through every goddamn bureaucratic hoop they put in front of me until I get someone who can fix it. And before you say it, no, nothing's stopping you from following me and giving testimony too. But if you do that, we're back where we started! Same shit. M.A.D." Lisa tapped her fingers against her palm, emphasizing each letter. "'cept now, we've moved up from TNT to nukes." Her smile faded a little, softening at the edges. "But, okay. That's not a threat, all right? You can't blame me for this, it's for me. I'm acting in self-defense, here, because there is no possible universe in which Lisa Wilbourn dies from fucking lack of REM. Not a chance in Hell."



"You're out of your mind," Taylor snapped, her irritation burning through her dread at the idea that Lisa had a point. "That's it? Your best threat is—is running to the PRT and hope they clean everything up for you?"



"They call me Tattletale for a reason." Lisa was smirking, a fraction of her old smugness shining through. "And I just said it wasn't a threat, but honestly...what do I have to lose? Worst case, I get a cushy cell in a federal pen for a few years until my lawyers chew through enough of my bank account to get me out. But you?" She gave a slow, pitying shake of her head. "You've got a long, long way to fall."



"They aren't stupid," Taylor muttered, trying to sound more convinced than she felt. "It's not like I'm some fucking supervillain, or anything—they'll understand."



Lisa's lips curled, and she seemed to almost relish her reply: "You're going to to bet a lifetime in prison on that?"



It was quiet, then. Taylor swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. Lisa—or Sarah, she remembered, with sudden meaningless clarity—whoever she was, was an awful manipulative bitch who'd done nothing but take advantage of her and try to ruin her life... but she also might have been right, which made it so much worse. The realization made Taylor almost nauseous, washing over her in a slow, sickening wave. She hadn't meant for the alley to turn out like that. She hadn't. It had just sort of happened; she'd been stressed and scared and desperate to get an upper hand, if only to show that she could, and because all the jagged bitter parts of her had said someone like Lisa deserved it—



Excuses don't matter, anymore. You're fucked. You're fucked. The fear was back, thick and choking, throwing shadowy images of sedative injections and Birdcage cells across Taylor's mind. She fought the urge to let out a frustrated scream, instead settling for kneading the bed's down comforter tightly in her fingers. It was irritatingly soft and fluffy, so wringing it wasn't really satisfying, but it was something else to focus on. Something to steady her. But even if you're fucked, you aren't fucked yet. No point admitting defeat early. She took a deep, cleansing breath and imagined her own Web, in all its glory: every node neatly arranged, gently drifting through her headspace in shimmering clusters of semantic relation as the subshoots drew clean and beautiful lines between them.



As long as she was alive, she still had leverage. She still had control.



A smile crept across her face, making Lisa stiffen slightly. Thoughts flickered through her mind: money, enough for Dad to quit his job. Safety. Security. Making the Trio regret saying a single bad word about her. If Lisa was as well-connected as she said—and the more Taylor learned, the more it seemed like she was—all of that was in reach. All she had to do was ask; there was no way Lisa could refuse. Well, she could— but then Taylor would leave, and Lisa would be gambling her life finding another way to undo the damage she'd caused.



"So if I say yes," she began, keeping her voice quiet and level. "And that's a big 'if'." Lisa nodded vigorously, waving her hand in a 'go on' motion. "You aren't going to turn around and go to the PRT anyway." It was a statement, not a question, as authoritative as she could make it. "Because if you do—"



"We'd throw each other's lives away, MAD, blah, blah," Lisa cut in, rolling her eyes. "Like I said! Jesus, Taeeya... Taa..." She let out a frustrated huff as the mangled syllables ground the sentence to a stop. "...whatever. I'm stupid tired, not stupid stupid. I get it."



"Acting like a condescending bitch isn't a great way to earn favors," Taylor replied, doing her best to only let a sliver of irritation creep into the words. Lisa blinked, processing, then bristled like she'd been physically slapped.



"Oh well ec-fucking-scuse me, your highness, but I think I have every right to be a bitch, especially after someone decided to use my fucking head as a—" She stopped midsentence, closing her eyes and inhaling slowly through her nose. "Look. I just want closure, all right? That's it. A simple answer. 'Yes Lisa, I will help you fix your debilitating neurological degeneration that's also at least 80 percent my fault', or 'no Lisa, I'm going to leave and make you fend for yourself as your mental functions slowly degrade into a horrible sleep- deprived slurry.'" As Taylor's expression hardened, she quickly added, "Fine, call it, like, 60 percent. I think that's pretty goddamn generous, all things considered... but tell you what. You fix me, and I'll even give you a little token of my gratitude. You want stocks? Bonds? Offshore real estate, imported jewelry, fancy-ass wine—whatever. Name it; it's yours."



Their eyes met for a moment; Lisa was the first to look away. "So what's it gonna be?" she said softly, all traces of nonchalance gone from her voice. "Yes or no?"



This was it. Assuming Lisa wasn't lying—which was a pretty big assumption, Taylor reminded herself—she could get up and leave, right now, and start attempting to pull things somewhere back towards normal...



But did she really want normal?



Taylor frowned, unable to push the thought away. 'Normal' meant enduring useless days at Winslow, letting the Trio walk all over her, shrugging off harassment day-in-day-out. She could do better than that, and she'd been on the verge, too, so close to finding a way up and out of the slow-burning chunk of Hell that had been her life... until Lisa had flounced in and forced the world to revolve around her own delusions of grandeur.



Taylor had a right to be upset. She had a right to want revenge.



But there was still that little nub of niggling doubt, tempering her vindication every time it tried to bubble up and consume her. If she left, no matter what happened, she'd have a smirking blonde specter for the rest of her life. The PRT might have been the good guys, but she had an awful, crawling feeling that they wouldn't see things in nearly as sympathetic of a light as she did. And that was if Lisa actually managed to get help. If she didn't...



Taylor stared down at the bedspread. Despite the blackmail, despite the coercion, despite that stupid fucking smug grin...despite everything, she didn't actually want Lisa to die. Swallow her pride? Definitely. Suffer? Maybe a little. But die? She didn't even want Emma, to die, really—well, not by her hand, at least. And Lisa wasn't Emma, as much as her conscience wished she could equate them. She was brighter, sharper, more human. Not much more, maybe, but enough.



"...fine," she said, shattering the silence. "I'll do it. But—"



"Like I said." Lisa's voice was heavy with barely-disguised relief. "name it. I can have it at your house or in your bank account or whatever in a day or two, tops."



Name it. It would be so easy. Taylor nearly blurted out the first six-digit number that came to mind, just to get it overwith—but something held her back, that same bullheaded ideal that had caused this entire fucking mess in the first place. If she took anything from Lisa now, she'd be sinking to her level—taking advantage of a situation she'd mostly caused herself.



Heroes didn't take bribes.



You wish you were a hero, came the thought, rising dark and sticky and unbidden through her brain. Taylor forced it back, shoved it away, tore it to pieces and then to quarters of those pieces and burned the pieces to dust, refusing to acknowledge even a sliver of doubt. She'd made mistakes. Heroes made mistakes. This was her chance to fix them.



"No. I don't want anything." Saying it felt good; seeing Lisa's reaction felt even better. "Not from you."



"Nothing." The blonde cocked her head slightly, face a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Are you serious? Like— oh." She nodded, as if in realization. "This is some stupid code of honor thing, isn't it?" she said triumphantly, the sentence interspersed with a giggle. "Or you don't want to feel indebted to me? Whatever. You do you, I guess. Makes my life easy."



Taylor wasn't listening. She had her lens half-open again, trying different angles of approach to Lisa's Web as she let the flashes of light flare gradually brighter. The pain was fading, slow and steady—not gone, but at least manageable. She hoped.



"Anyway!" Lisa took a slightly-too-enthusiastic hop onto the bed. The plush mattress, to its credit, didn't let out a peep. She settled herself on the end, bringing the pistol up and fiddling with it for a moment before dropping her hand to her side, fingers loosely curled around the grip. "Go ahead and do your thing, I guess."



"Uh." Taylor frowned, staring at the other girl's hand. "What did you—"



"Popped the safety," Lisa finished, smiling innocently."Just in case you have a change of heart and try to vegify me instead." She drummed the tips of her fingers against the grip. "Not that I'm expecting you to, or anything. But I'm a Thinker; 'Paranoid' is pretty much a synonym. Don't take it personally, 'kay?"



"Try to— how would you even know the difference?" Taylor sputtered. Lisa rolled her eyes.



"I can feel it, dumbass—whoops, sorry," she said, her tone surprisingly close to actually apologetic. "Slipped out! Didn't actually mean it that way, promise. But trust me. I can tell when you're in my head, and there's a pretty big difference between window-shopping, reorganizing, and trying to kick over all the shelves.... wow, that was, like, an actually coherent metaphor! At 27 hours! I should get a prize." Her bloodshot eyes flickered closed as she giggled. "But unless you have any other burning questions, can we get started? We're burning daylight. And neurons."