With Great Power: Weight of Witness

The window groaned in protest as Taylor shoved it upward, the sound uncomfortably loud in the quiet suburban night. It took more effort than usual for Taylor to haul herself over the sill. Her muscles ached from the journey over and the adrenaline had long since faded, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion.

Taylor rolled over the edge, tumbling onto the carpeted floor of Emma’s bedroom with none of her usual grace as she landed in a heap. She panted, staring at the ceiling as her shoulder throbbed in time with her heartbeat, before a voice cut through the silence.

“Get up.”

Taylor blinked, her vision swimming slightly as she pushed herself up onto her good arm. Emma was sitting on the edge of her bed, illuminated by the harsh, blue light of her laptop screen that was sitting nearby She wasn't looking at her computer, though. She was staring right at Taylor, her hands resting in her lap, clutching a white plastic box with a red cross on the lid.

Taylor swallowed as she got to her feet. “Emma, I–”

“Strip.”

Taylor paused, the demand hanging in the air. “What?”

“Take off the jacket, take off the shirt, and sit on the floor right there.” Emma pointed a shaking finger at a spot on the rug directly in front of her bed. Her eyes were red, but her voice remained terrifyingly monotone. “Now.”

Taylor swallowed the lump in her throat. She awkwardly reached across her body, hissing through her teeth as the movement pulled at the gash on her collarbone. The jacket peeled away with a sound that made Emma flinch. Underneath, Taylor’s shirt was utterly ruined, soaked through with a dark stain that had spread from her shoulder down to her breast.

“Oh my God.” Taylor winced at the whisper.

“Believe me, it's not as bad as it looks.” Taylor said, trying to put some levity in her voice despite the fact that it absolutely was as bad as it looked.

It didn't fool her best friend in the slightest. If anything, her words seemed to make Emma angry.

“Shut the fuck up, Taylor.” Emma’s voice cracked, losing its flat affect as a note of hysteria leaked through. “Seriously. If you say one word, I am actually going to scream and then both of us are screwed. Just shut up and sit down so I can take care of that.”

Taylor shut her mouth, swallowing roughly. She shuffled forward on her knees and collapsed into a sitting position in front of Emma, as if the other girl was about to braid her hair or something.

Emma placed the first-aid kit on the bed beside her, before reaching down to a bowl of water on the nightstand. Taylor somehow didn't even notice it before, and she watched as Emma dipped a washcloth into it and wrung it out with a twisting motion.

Holding it in one hand, Emma reached for the hem of Taylor’s shirt. Taylor tried to help, but Emma slapped her hand away. With jerky, forceful movements, the redhead pulled the ruined fabric up and over Taylor’s head, exposing her wound.

The air in the room slapped against Taylor's bare skin, stinging like ice. Emma inhaled sharply, a ragged sound that made Taylor's chest hurt. She didn't look over, she wasn't sure she wanted to see it if the reaction was that bad

“Don’t move.” Emma whispered, leaning down. She pressed the damp cloth to the skin surrounding the gash. The water turned pink instantly, rolling down Taylor's shoulder and chest in thin beads

Emma scrubbed at the dried blood caked on Taylor’s neck and chest, her movements bordering on aggressive. Taylor grit her teeth, her head falling back to stare at the ceiling fan. She counted the blades to keep from crying out every time Emma nudged the wound.

One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two…

Emma worked in total silence. She swapped the cloth for alcohol wipes, and the burn was sudden and white-hot. Taylor’s whole body seized, a hiss escaping her lips.

“Sorry.” Emma muttered, though it didn’t sound very apologetic.

She applied a generous amount of antibiotic ointment to the area around the wound, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the jagged line where the kama had sliced through muscle and flesh. It was deep, but as the redhead inspected it, she seemed to decide it didn't need stitches. Or at least, she decided that they couldn't risk a hospital trip to get them.

Emma reached for the roll of gauze and unraveled it. She leaned forward, her red hair falling like a curtain around Taylor's head, jolting the girl from the daze she had fallen into. Emma's breathing was even, warm air caressing her scalp as the girl began to wrap her wound.

When she was done, she sat back, her chest heaving. Her hands were stained with Taylor’s blood. She looked at them for a long moment, her expression unreadable, before wiping them on the bloody washcloth.

“There.” Emma said as Taylor rolled her shoulder. “I’m not a nurse, but you’re not going to bleed out at least.”

Taylor slumped, the tension leaving her frame now that she was patched up. The pain was a dull throb now, background noise in comparison to the crushing guilt weighing on her chest as she realized how badly she fucked up.

“Em,” Taylor whispered, her voice cracking. “Are you mad?”

Emma didn't answer immediately. She capped the ointment, closed the first-aid kit, and moved the bowl of bloody water to the floor. It was all done in silence, and the weight in Taylor's chest only grew heavier as her friend failed to respond.

Then, when there was nothing else to clean, Emma finally looked at Taylor, and her eyes were like chips of ice.

“Get out.”

Taylor flinched as if she’d been slapped. “What?”

“Go home, Taylor.” Emma turned away, pulling her laptop onto her lap. “I can’t look at you right now. Just… get out. I need to think.”

“But–”

“Go!” Emma shouted, the volume startling them both. She clamped a hand over her mouth, glancing at the bedroom door, waiting to see if her parents stirred. When silence reigned, she turned back to Taylor, whispering fiercely. “Please. Just go."

Taylor scrambled to her feet, clutching her ruined jacket to her chest. The rejection stung worse than the sonic attack, worse than the slice of the blade. It settled deep in her gut, a heavy, leaden weight.

“Okay,” Taylor said, her voice trembling. “Okay. I’m going. I’ll… see you later, I guess.”

Emma didn’t respond. She just stared at the her laptop, eyes unblinking.

Taylor slipped back out the window, the cool night air doing nothing to soothe the burning in her eyes. As she swung away into the darkness, the ache in her shoulder lessened, only to be replaced by one in her chest.

~~~

Thursday was gray and miserable. Rain lashed against the windows of the Barnes household, turning the world outside into a wet, dreary mess that was miserable to even view

Inside Emma’s room, the atmosphere wasn't much better.

The floor was a graveyard of technology. A desktop tower lay on its side, its casing ripped open like a ribcage, exposing the organs which spilled out onto Emma's floor. The girl herself sat in the middle of it all in her chair, a screwdriver in one hand and a pair of wire cutters in the other.

Music thumped softly from her phone on the mattress, playing some upbeat pop song that clashed violently with her mood. Emma barely heard it. She jammed the screwdriver into the computer chassis, prying a capacitor loose with a violent snap.

Taylor, stumbling through the window. The blood soaking through her cotton shirt. The way her eyes looked, glassy, tired, half-dead. The images flashed through Emma's mind, one after the other like a montage of misery.

“Idiot.” Emma hissed, tossing the capacitor into a sorting bin with a clatter. “Stupid, reckless idiot.”

Her power hummed in the back of her skull, a constant, nagging pressure. It looked at the pile of junk and whispered secrets that no one else was privy to, showing her how to build a dozen different things that could have helped against Cricket. Not weapons – she couldn't make those – but tools to even the playing field: A tiny dampener in Taylor's inner-ear to render Cricket's sonic attacks useless or simply tune out their frequency, or a gel mesh underneath Taylor's shirt to keep her from being cut. There were a dozen different things that Emma was capable of creating that could have helped

But she hadn’t built them. She hadn’t been ready.

Emma ripped a cooling fan out of the housing, tearing the wires rather than unplugging them. She didn't need it, which was good because that action completely ruined it.

She had been treating this like a game. That was the truth that was eating her alive from the inside out. Since that night, she had been treating this all way too lightly. Even mired by her useless legs, it was fun to watch Taylor beat up muggers and perform acrobatics like a circus performer. She didn't just urge Taylor to fight Trainwreck because he insulted her, she wanted to see her friend in action again. Wanted to see her beat the snot out of some loser who thought he was tough shit.

She forgot that this wasn't a game and that despite how well she had done so far, Taylor wasn't invincible.

Last night, watching the feed through Taylor’s goggles had been a nightmare. One moment, Taylor was quipping and flipping around like always, untouchable. The next, she was screaming, clutching her head, helpless. Emma had watched, screaming into her microphone, terrified and utterly impotent, as that woman walked up to her best friend with a blade in her hand.

If Taylor hadn’t thought on her feet, if she hadn't composed herself enough to distract Cricket with that couch force her outside so she could get away…

Emma dropped the wire cutters. Her hands were shaking.

She looked at her own legs, useless and thin under her pajama pants. She had felt helpless when she was shot. She had felt helpless lying on the floor when she triggered. But last night? Last night was a different kind of helplessness. She had power, but she was still completely useless when it mattered.

“She turned me off.” Emma whispered to the empty room.

That was the worst part. When Taylor had rushed into the house, when she had pulled out the earbuds because Emma was distracting her… It felt like her stomach dropped out of her feet.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, Taylor Hebert!”

She remembered screaming that when the line came back on, but underneath the anger was a terror so profound it made her stomach do cartwheels.

Emma reached into the computer casing again, her vision blurring. Her hand slipped, and the jagged edge of the aluminum case sliced through tender flesh.

“Ah!” She hissed, jerking her hand back.

A bead of bright red blood welled up on the tip of her index finger. It grew heavy, trembling with her pulse, before sliding down the side of her finger. Emma stared at it, reminded of last night, before popping the digit into her mouth with a scowl.

Last night showed her something important. This wasn't a game. There was no main character, and Taylor wasn’t the protagonist of a movie who had plot armor to protect her from bullets and blades. She was just a girl. A girl who tried too hard, who cared too much, and who was going to get herself killed in a dirty alleyway while Emma sat safe and warm in her bedroom, watching it happen in high definition.

Trainwreck. Uber. Leet. They were jokes. But all of them could kill her just as easily as Cricket almost had if they took this too lightly..

Emma swallowed the metallic taste in her mouth and her expression hardened.

“I won't let them.” She promised the empty air.

Her power surged, responding to her resolve. The blueprints in her mind shifted to suit her needs and desires. She abandoned her previous projects, the fun little gadgets that she wanted to try out. This wasn't the time for fun. Not anymore.

Emma looked at the pile of scrap. It wasn't enough. She needed better materials. But this would have to do for now.

Emma grabbed her screwdriver again, her grip tight enough to whiten her knuckles. She wasn’t going to be useless ever again.

~~~

Friday at school sucked more than usual for Emma. Without Taylor to act as a buffer, she felt exposed. Usually eyes strayed past her and straight to her friend, but without her, they were all on Emma. Every glance felt like it stayed a touch too long; every whisper sounded like it was about her.

“That’s the girl who got shot, right?”

“Where’s the other one?”

“Maybe she got sick of wheeling her around? I know I would”

“That's messed up, man. Don't say that.”

Emma kept her head down, her wheels squeaking on the linoleum. She hated them. She hated their pity and the unpleasant feelings it brought up. They looked at her and saw a victim. Damaged goods.

If only they knew.

Emma sat through class, barely listening as Mr. Gladly droned on about industrialization. She spent the entire period sketching schematics in her notebook, hiding the complex diagrams under her arm whenever someone walked by. It was the only thing keeping her sane.

By the time lunch rolled around, Emma’s nerves were frayed to the breaking point. She maneuvered her way through the chaotic cafeteria, balancing her tray on her lap with practiced ease, and found an empty table in the corner. It was their usual spot, her and Taylor's, but without the tall brunette sitting across from her, the table felt empty.

Emma picked at her salad, stabbing a cherry tomato with more force than necessary. She checked her phone. No emails or missed calls from Taylor. She told her she needed space, but part of her had hoped Taylor would ignore her and text anyway.

She's too nice for her own good. She thought fondly, though the worry was still there. She doubted it would go away for a while.

A shadow fell over her table.

Emma didn't look up immediately, assuming it was just someone passing by. But the shadow didn't move. A tray clattered onto the table opposite her.

Emma looked up, a scowl already forming on her lips, ready to tell whoever it was to get lost, but the words died in her throat.

Sophia Hess took the seat across from her. Taylor's seat. The girl looked tired. There was a bruise on her jaw that had faded to a sickly yellow, and a scab on her forehead was slowly healing.

Emma went rigid. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. The memory of the alleyway flashed through her mind with blinding clarity.

“That seat is taken.” Emma spat, her voice dripping with venom.

Sophia crunched on a chip, chewing slowly. She stared at Emma with dark, predatory eyes. “Doesn’t look taken. Looks like your little helper is home sick.”

“I don't need a helper to handle freaks like you.” Emma’s fork bent slightly under her grip. “I don’t want you here.”

“Relax, Barnes.” Sophia leaned back, draping an arm over the back of the chair. “I’m not here to start shit. I’m just watching.”

“You’re gonna watch me stab you with a fork if you don't screw off, Hess.” Emma threatened.

Sophia snorted, a brief sound of amusement, masking a bit of shock. “Looks like you finally grew some teeth. Are they gonna fall out this time too? Or have you figured out how to keep it together past a little punch?”

Emma saw red. The world narrowed to the girl sitting across from her. “Get. Out. Of. Her. Seat.”

“Hebert’s doing pretty well for herself too.” Sophia continued, ignoring the threat completely. She reached into her bag. “I saw the stream with the Cape geeks. Shame she let them get away too. I figured she would have learned her lesson by now, but I guess not.”

Emma went to respond, but something heavy suddenly slapped onto the plastic tabletop, right next to her tray. She flinched, her eyes going wide at the sight of the black composite notebook Sophia had thrown her way. One with her name on it. One she was sure was in her locker right now.

“You really should get a better lock,” Sophia said casually, leaning over to grab an apple from Emma's tray.

Emma’s blood ran cold. Her hand shot out, snatching the notebook and pulling it into her lap like a shield as heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. “You broke into my locker!?”

“What can I say? You've been doodling a lot in class. I guess I was curious.” Sophia's smirk was smug and Emma wanted to lung across the table at her, but she held herself back.

“Bullshit.” She hissed, glaring daggers at the girl as she took a bite of the fruit she stole. Her mind whirled at this new development. How did Sophia get into her locker? She wasn't stupid, she knew she locked it.

Right, she's fucking Shadow Stalker. The answer came to her almost immediately She probably just reached in and grabbed it

As Emma put the notebook away, Sophia leaned back, crossing her arms with a smirk. “ That’s a lot of doodles for a History class.”

Emma glared at her, fear warring with anger. “Did you come over here just to mess with me? If that's the case, let me know now so I can scream and get every wannabe Empire kid over here to kick your ass for bullying the poor little crippled white girl.”

Sophia raised an eyebrow at the response. Emma wouldn't normally resort to such tactics, but Taylor wasn't here and she'd rather deal with a few days of rumors than taking whatever shit the athlete decided to spew at her.

“You're angry.” Sophia said it like it was some sort of surprising observation. Like she wasn't a few words away from breaking the Rules, and Emma gave her a nasty grin that she hoped hid the panic in her chest

“So was that a yes?”

Sophia didn't respond, she just stared at Emma for a long second, silence stretching between them. Emma fought the urge to look away from that intense gaze, staring straight into those brown eyes without flinching.

Seconds passed and a grin slowly grew on Sophia's face. Her eyes flashed with something before she broke the stare.

“You know,” Sophia mused, examining her apple. “I always figured you were prey. You had a chance to do something that night, but you crumpled like a wet party towel the second you got some pushback. Now you look like you're about to tear my throat out and threatening to hate-crime me just for talking to you. You're different."

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Emma asked dangerously. “Coming from you, it’s more like a diagnosis.”

“Take it however you want.” Sophia shrugged. “I’m just saying maybe I was wrong about you. I thought Hebert was the one with the claws, but if you've been the one keeping 'em sharp… maybe you’re not totally useless after all.”

Emma gripped the edge of the table. “You think you know us? You don’t know anything. You watched me get shot and did nothing, psycho.”

“I watched to see if you’d rise to the occasion.” Sophia corrected calmly. “You didn’t. But maybe you just weren't ready yet.”

She stood up, grabbing her tray. She hadn’t finished her food, but it seemed like she had gotten what she came for. She looked down at Emma, her expression unreadable.

“Keep her sharp, Barnes. The city’s gonna chew her up if she stays soft.”

Sophia turned and walked away. Emma watched her go, disappearing into a crowd of students coming in late for lunch, before she looked down at her hands. They were trembling.

What was that? Emma wondered. Why did Sophia come over in the first place? Just the fuck with her? She clearly read the notebook, so there wasn't a chance that she didn't at least have some idea about Emma's powers, but she didn't even mention them.

If was like some weird dominance display, which was probably exactly what it was to Sophia's fucked up mind. Taylor told her about her last encounter with the girl, and this sort of reaction was par for the course for someone who thought of the world like a literal animal.

Emma pushed her tray away, her appetite gone. She pulled her notebook back out, flipping to a fresh page. Her hands were still shaking, but as she put pen to paper, the lines were steady.

If nothing else, Sophia was right about one thing. The city would try to chew Taylor up.

Let it try. Emma thought viciously, sketching the outline of her next project. I’m going to break its teeth.