With Great Power: Silk and Steel

​Taylor woke to the sound of rain pattering against her window, a dry mouth, and a headache thumping through her head. She groaned, pulling her cover closer to her and rolling over, only to immediately regret every single life choice that let her to that decision as a hot, throbbing lance of pure fire lanced through her collarbone and up the side of her neck.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breath hitching in her throat as she waited for the pain to go away. The seconds passed like minutes as the throbbing agony in her shoulder pulsed with every heartbeat, slowly abating into a manageable pain that was actually within her threshold to endure.

“Oh my god…” she groaned, slowly opening her eyes to stare at the popcorn ceiling above her. “Kill me now.”

The gash Cricket carved into her torso thrummed in agreement, an angry heat that poured through her nerves like liquid venom. Taylor took a breath before sitting up – much slower this time. She propped herself up on her uninjured arm, swinging her naked legs over the edge of her bed.

The world outside was painted in shades of grey and orange from the rain peeking through the setting sun, and Taylor glanced at her clock.

6:28pm

I slept all day? Taylor stared at the number in surprise. She missed an entire day of school and didn't even realize it. How did she sleep through her alarm? Why didn't her dad wake her up?

Another flash of pain had Taylor hissing, and she gingerly reached up with her left hand, pulling back the collar of her oversized t-shirt to peek at the bandage Emma had applied. She expected to see the white gauze soaked through with fresh, dark blood. Instead, the bandage was stiff, but dry. Beneath it, the wound didn't feel like a raw, open gap anymore. It was stiff and tight, like a scab that was one wrong movement from splitting open.

The memory of Cricket's kama carving its way through her flesh played across her mind as she gently caressed the rough bandages, followed by the events of the previous night and she frowned, slipping out of bed with a grimace before moving toward the bathroom.

Standing naked in front of the mirror, Taylor carefully pulled off the bandages Emma had painstakingly wrapped around her wound. The bandages on top were stiff but the ones underneath were heavy and damp with the blood they absorbed, trying to stick to her skin as she pulled them away with a wince.

The wound on her collar was ugly – red and wet with ointment, while the skin around it had puckered up angrily, but Taylor knew just enough about medicine to know that it should definitely be worse.

She gingerly rubbed the area around the wound.  The edges were already beginning to pull together, a thin, translucent layer of new skin forming over the deepest parts of the gash. It was a transformation that should have taken days,but somehow she had managed it in only a few hours.

I guess I can add a healing factor to the list of powers. Taylor thought as she eyed the wound. If it continued healing at this rate, it would be gone by the beginning of next week which was… nuts, honestly.

Taylor turned away from her mirror and to the next daunting task, cleaning herself without undoing all that progress.

In the shower, she gingerly rubbed the area around the wound with a damp washcloth, cleaning away the dried salt of sweat and the crust of old blood that the bandages had soaked up. She worked with a clinical detachment, trying not to think about how close that blade had come to her throat. After stepping out from under the spray and drying herself, she applied a fresh, smaller bandage from her own stash, making sure it was flat enough to be hidden under a thick enough top.

Pulling on a bulky, dark-grey sweater and a pair of loose jeans, Taylor took a deep breath. She looked at herself in the mirror one last time. She looked pale, her eyes a bit sunken, but she didn't look like she was about to keel over so it was an improvement from last night. Probably.

The stairs creaked under her feet as she descended, each step sending a dull throb echoing through her shoulder. The house was quiet, but as she reached the bottom, the air changed. The stale smell in the air was replaced by the warm, savory aroma of vegetable soup, the kind with the thick broth and overcooked carrots. Her stomach rumbled, making her realize just how hungry she was, and she sped up to get to the food a bit faster.

Her dad was in the kitchen as she entered, standing over the stove with a wooden spoon in hand that he was using to slowly stir a pot of thick broth. He wasn't paying attention to the meal, staring out the window with an almost vacant expression. He didn't even seem to hear her enter.

“Dad?” Taylor said softly.

Her dad jumped, nearly dropping the spoon. He spun around, his glasses sliding down his nose. “Taylor! You’re up. I didn't hear you.”

He quickly set the spoon down and walked over to her, his hands hovering as if he wanted to touch her forehead but wasn't sure if he should. “How are you feeling? You gave me a real scare.”

“I’m fine,” Taylor said, feeling warm at his concern. “Just a little groggy. I can’t believe I slept through the whole day.”

Danny sighed, moving back to the pot.  “I tried to wake you this morning for school, but you were out cold. You were burning up too, so I figured you’d caught that bug going around the Docks. I figured I'd let you sleep it off.”

Taylor’s stomach did a nervous flip. Her dad was close enough to take her temperature? She felt a surge of relief that he hadn’t seen the bandages.

“I guess I just needed the rest,” she murmured, moving toward the counter to grab a glass of water. “The soup smells good. Is it almost done?”

“It’ll be ready in a minute,” Danny said, following her with his eyes. “What are you in a hurry for?”

“I'm feeling better so I thought I'd go to Emma's. We're… working on a project together and it's due on Monday.” Taylor fought to think of an excuse as she poured herself a glass and sat at the table.

Her dad seemed unconvinced. “You’ve been spending a lot of time over there lately. I know she’s going through a lot with the recovery, but you’re there almost every night.”

“She’s my best friend, Dad. She needs someone who isn't her parents or a therapist. I’m just trying to be there for her.”

Danny nodded, but there was a hesitant, awkward look on his face. He cleared his throat, staring intently at a spot on the linoleum floor. “I’m glad you're there for her but Taylor… I have to ask. Is there something going on between you two?”

Taylor nearly choked on her water. She set the glass down with a sharp clack, staring at him in genuine bewilderment. “What? Dad, no! What gave you that idea?”

Danny’s face flushed a dull, mottled red. He adjusted his glasses frantically. “I’m sorry, it's just the way you talk about her. And you two have always been joined at the hip since you were little girls. I wouldn’t be upset if you wanted to… experiment, but I would like to know.”

Taylor felt a hysterical bubble of laughter rise in her chest, but she suppressed it. The idea of her and Emma ever getting together like that was crazy. 

“Dad, Emma is straight,” Taylor said firmly. “We’re best friends, but there’s no ‘experimenting.’ We're just dealing with some heavy stuff, and she’s the only person I can talk to about it. That’s all.”

He seemed to deflate, a mixture of embarrassment and a strange, lingering disappointment crossing his face. He didn't push though. Like always.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to the stove to stir the soup. “I just wanted to make sure you knew you could talk to me.”

The irony was so thick Taylor could almost taste it, and she swallowed guiltily. She wanted to tell her dad things, but what could she say? ‘Hey dad! I'm actually a vigilante and almost got carved up like a turkey by a mute woman! Here, do you want to look at the gaping wound in my shoulder you somehow missed last night?’

She had a feeling that wouldn't go over very well so she kept her mouth shut. It was easier for both of them that way.

“I know, Dad,” she said, her voice soft as she stared at her water. “I appreciate it.”

They ate in a comfortable, if slightly strained, silence. Her dad told her about the latest drama at the Union – another pier closing and another group of men losing their pensions – and Taylor listened, nodding in the right places while her mind drifted to Emma and their argument last night. She needed to get over there and apologize. For what, she wasn't sure, but she needed to clear the air between them.

As soon as her dad headed into the living room to lose himself in the evening news, Taylor made her move. She grabbed her bag, tucked her old, ruined hoodie into the bottom and another one on top, and headed for the back door.

“Heading back to Emma’s?” Danny called out over the sound of the TV.

“Yeah, we have that project and I should probably get caught up on what I missed in class.” Taylor said, the lie slipping easily off her tongue.

He bought it without question. “Alright. Be careful, Taylor. Tell Alan to call me if you decide to stay the night.”

“I will, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too, kiddo.”

The door clicked shut, and Taylor slipped into the rainy evening.

~~~

Taylor knocked gently on the pale door of her best friend's bedroom. The sound rang softly in her ears, barely audible past the rushing of blood in her skull and she waited with baited breath for the response.

“Come in.”

​The air was alive with the smell of ozone, burnt plastic, and the frantic, high-pitched hum of a soldering iron. Emma was hunched over her bed, her back to the door as she worked on something. She didn't turn around when Taylor walked in.

​“I didn't think I'd see you today. Are you finally done ignoring me?” Emma said, though her voice wasn't as biting as it had been last night. 

​”You're the one who asked for space.” Taylor said as she closed the door softly behind her. “I slept all day. Dad said I was running a fever so that's why he didn't wake me up for school. It probably has something to do with… you know.”

​Emma flinched and the electric hum abruptly cut off. She spun her chair around, staring at Taylor with a terrifying  intensity.

​“Let me see it.” she commanded.

Knowing that it wasn't a request, ​Taylor walked over and gingerly pulled down her collar. Emma inspected the bandages that Taylor had applied with a critical eye, before reaching up to touch the bandage gently.

“You already cleaned it?” She asked, and Taylor nodded. “Good. It's not bleeding through so you did a good job. You didn't tear it open.”

​“It actually hurts less today,” Taylor offered, trying to soothe the tension. “I can barely feel it.”

​Emma looked up, her gaze locking onto Taylor’s with a fierce heat. “Don’t lie to me.”

​Taylor sagged. “Okay, it hurts a lot. But it is scabbing over already which is weird. I think in healing faster than normal.”

“Really?” Emma eyes the bandage, an unreadable expression on her face “That's… good. But don't think that means you're getting off easy for that stunt you pulled. I'm still mad at you, Taylor Hebert.”

Though her words were threatening, her tone was anything but, and Taylor found herself smiling easily as she took a spot on the bed beside Emma's self-made workstation, watching as she picked up the soldering iron once again.

“What are you working on?”

In lieu of responding, Emma pointed at an open notebook resting against her pillow, propped up so Emma could easily see it from where she was working. Taylor grabbed it, looking it over, only to realize almost immediately that she couldn't read any of it. She was good at math, clearly Emma's tinkertech operated on an entirely different plane of existence.

The only thing she could make out was the fact that all the diagrams seemed to be centered on a single piece of tech in the middle – a piece that looked remarkably similar to what Emma was working on now, if a little more complete.

“Yeah, I have no clue what I'm looking at.” Taylor said, tilting her head as she examined the piece. “Earplugs? Is that what you're making?”

“Sort of.” Emma answered. “They're sonic dampeners. If they detect frequencies above or below a certain threshold, they'll vibrate at the opposite frequency to counteract it. If Cricket's power works how I think it does, this should completely nullify it.”

Taylor's heart squeezed as she realized what this was about. “Emma you didn't have to do this. I'm not gonna fight Cricket again.”

Emma just snorted. “I thought I told you to stop lying to me. We both know that if you came across a situation like last night, you'd do the exact same thing. You might be more careful, but you aren't gonna just run away when you think you can save some lives.”

Taylor flinched guiltily. “I–”

“And I'm fine with that.” Emma interrupted her. The redhead brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face, squinting at her work as she examined it. “You're a hero, Tay – a real one with morals and all that junk. I know you're not gonna change that just because you almost got killed, but that doesn't mean I'm just gonna let you throw yourself against a brick wall until your skin gets tough enough to break through.”

Emma put the piece back down, pulling out a pair of needle-nose pliers. “I can't make weapons like, at all; my power hates them for some reason, but I can still help you. I'm not gonna sit there and watch my best friend almost die and do nothing about it like last night. When you're put in that situation again, you're gonna be there with more than just a cheap hoodie and bracelets.”

​Taylor looked at the device, then at her friend. Emma looked exhausted, but there was a fire in her eyes.

​“Look, Taylor, I’m sorry about last night,” Emma continued, her voice softening. “I was a bitch, but seeing you bleed on my carpet... it did something to my head.”

​Taylor reached out, taking Emma’s hand. “I’m sorry, Em. For being reckless. For scaring you. I thought I could handle it.”

​“You couldn't.” Emma agreed, squeezing Taylor’s hand. “But you'll be ready next time. I'll make sure of it. But in the meantime, while I work on this, you need something that'll protect you from the stuff I can't. Go to Parian’s tomorrow. There’s no way your costume isn't finished by now. You need real protection, and I can’t provide that yet.”

​“Thirteen thousand dollars,” Taylor muttered. “I hope it’s worth it.”

​“It’s Parian,” Emma shrugged. “It’ll be worth every cent. Besides, you're getting a hell of a discount.”

Taylor laughed, “That's true. Thirteen thousand is a lot better than thirty.”

Emma nodded in agreement, though her attention had already gone back to her project. She didn't let go of Taylor's hand however, something that the brunette only noticed as she moved the grab the notebook again.

Taylor's eyes slid down to their interlaced fingers and something occurred to her. “Hey,” she said, earning a hum from her friend, “Did you know my dad thinks we're dating?”

​Emma turned to Taylor, eyes wide, before a snort ripped its way out of her throat. “Seriously?”

Taylor nodded, “Seriously.” 

“You and me?” Emma seemed mystified, “Has he met me?”

“Apparently he thinks that we're spending so much time together because we're ‘experimenting’. Yeah.” Taylor grinned as she saw Emma blanch with horror.

“Clearly we've been spending too much time together.” She muttered., staring at her work.

​Taylor laughed again. “He seemed almost disappointed when I told him you were straight.”

​“Of course he was. It’s a much easier explanation for why his daughter is acting like a lunatic than the truth.” Emma patted Tayor’s hand consolingly, giving her friend a pitying look, “You're wonderful, Taylor, but if we ever dated, one of us would end up in the newspaper.”

“As a headline?”

“That, or an obituary.”

And just like that, with a quick flick to a scarlet scalp and a well-timed dodge of a subsequently thrown computer mouse, things were back to normal.

~~~

​The following morning, Taylor headed toward the Boardwalk. ​The rain had cleared, leaving the city smelling of salt and wet pavement. She walked with a slight stiffness in her right side, but it was a lot better than yesterday, proving her theory right. She definitely has some sort of healing factor to be able to shrug something like this off so fast.

She trailed her way through the streets sliding past all the people commuting to work or simply out for a morning walk. She earned some off glances thanks to her attire, an outfit akin to her costume sans the blood, but she wasn't stopped or accosted as she came upon her destination: The Dollhouse.

Stepping inside, the scent of lavender and expensive textiles greeted her. Parian was standing behind the counter, her porcelain-doll mask reflecting the morning light. She didn't say a word as Taylor entered, but her posture seemed to relax as she got a good look at her.

“Ah, Widow. Good morning. I take it from your change in attire that you're here for your costume.”

“Hello, Parian.” Taylor greeted, smiling behind her mask. “Yeah, I ran into some issues the other day and… well let's just say my old outfit didn't survive.”

Parian simply nodded, not pressing further. The mark of an astute business woman, that.

“Well I have your costume ready; just finished it yesterday, in fact. It's yours, assuming you have the money.”

​Without a word, Taylor reached into her bag and pulled out three thick, heavy stacks of cash. They were bound by thick rubber bands – money confiscated during her outings. Thirteen thousand dollars and not a cent less.

​She set the money on the glass counter. It felt strange to part with it, but it wasn't everything she had. Vigilantism was surprisingly lucrative. Who would have thought. 

​Parian picked up the stacks, her gloved fingers flickering with a professional speed as she counted through the notes. It took her less than a minute to count it all and she nodded, setting the stacks back on the counter.

​“It’s all here,” Parian said, her voice muffled but pleasant behind the mask. “Give me just a moment.”

Parian ducked into the back for a moment before returning with a large black box emblazoned with her logo. She placed it on the counter and lifted the top, revealing an eye-catching swath of black and gold fabric. Taylor reached for it before hesitating. “Can I?”

Parian's head tilted and Taylor got the impression that she was smiling. “It's yours now. Please, tell me how I did.”

Taylor unfurled the costume, holding it up for view. It was a full body suit, just like she requested, composed entirely of a deep, charcoal black with gleaming gold accents. Taylor originally wanted to go with all black so she could blend in better when skulking around in the dark, but Emma talked her into adding some extra designs on there to keep the outfit from looking too boring.

“Is this padding?” Taylor ran her fingers along the shoulders of the costume which were fully gold. Parian nodded, stepping up beside her.

“Like I said, my power can't do armor, but the material you chose was pretty thin. I had a bit of space to work with so I made the important parts a bit tougher.”

“I didn't pay for that.” Taylor said hesitantly. Parian just shook her head.

“It's complimentary. You helped Sabah so I owe you that at least. Plus it'll help my schedule if you don't come back here every week for a repair.” Parian chuckled. “Do you want to try it on? I have a changing room in the back.”

Taylor's worry that she was taking advantage of Parian fell away at the woman's words, replaced with an eagerness that sat tight in her chest. “Please.” 

Taylor was led into the rear of the shop, towards a small room surrounded by high walls of dozens of different types of fabric and textiles. The air back here smelled like lavender with an undertone of something more musty, a fresh fragrance disguising the scent of dust and old canvas.

Parian's costume fit just right, as expected of a rogue known for designing them. It formed around Taylor's body perfectly, clinging to her joints and muscles yet not so tightly as to tear when she stretched. It was easy to put on as well, a simple hidden zipper near the chest allowed her to slide inside like a glove.

Flipping up the hood, Taylor eyed her reflection in the full length mirror. The costume was primarily a dusted black, with a dark hood lined with velvet and a half-mask that connected to the neckline of the outfit for easy access. Golden web patterns stretched across the tops of her arms and torso, alongside bands of solid gold on her hips so the design wasn't too dizzying. A pale spider crawled across her chest, taking up the majority of her upper half with legs that reached down out to connect with the one on her back.

It looked sleek, professional. Like a costume an actual cape would wear instead of something thrown together with whatever was found in their closet. Taylor adjusted her goggles before stepping back and jumping onto the ceiling, hanging down to stare at her upside down reflection.

“It might be a little narcissistic to say this,” Taylor whispered, staring at her reflection in the top of the mirror. She smiled widely. “But I look awesome.”

​“I’m glad you approve,” Parian’s voice came from the doorway, sounding amused. “But please, stop talking to yourself for a moment. Are there any alterations needed? Does the range of motion feel correct?”

​Taylor dropped down, landing silently. “It’s perfect. More than perfect. Thank you, Parian.”

​“The next one will be full price.” The Rogue warned. “But you may come in during working hours for minor repairs. Just don’t expect me to stitch a tattered sheet back into a full costume. Even my power has limits.”

​“I’ll try not to make you work too hard,” Taylor promised. “Thank you.”

​She left the shop, her old clothes stuffed into her backpack. Stepping out onto the boardwalk, she felt the eyes of people tracking her and stood tall, feeling a giddy tingle in her chest at the awe and surprise of those around her.

​​With a single, powerful leap, she fired a web-line and climbed into the sky. The wind whipped past her new, velvet-lined hood, and let out a heartfelt cheer as her joy overcame the throbbing in her shoulder.

Cricket had shown her that heroism wasn’t all fun and games but that woman, for all that she broke Taylor’s pride, didn’t break her spirit.  Far from it in fact. Taylor only felt a stronger desire to go out there and do what she did best. She was still a real hero; she was Widow. 

And despite her recent stumble, she was here to stay.