Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 8-8: Requiem for a Dockworker

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]​

Monday Morning, November 4, 1996
Kansas City, Missouri

Captain Taylor Snow, PRT (Intelligence)

The oversized mechanical T-rex stumbled and lost its footing, mainly due to the fact that Lisa had shot out the steam-line providing power to its left leg. Live steam hissing in great blasts every which way, it tried to maintain its balance, but its gyro systems proved unequal to the task and it collapsed to the ground, shedding parts here and there.

I skidded my motorbike to a halt and stepped off it; Lisa joined me a moment later as we moved cautiously up to our fallen prey. One large mechanical eye swivelled to track us. There would have been two, but I'd blasted the other one out of its socket halfway through the chase.

These mechanical dinosaurs had a weak spot, but it was on the chest, directly under the jaw, not easy to target if it was running away or charging with its mouth open. Lisa unslung her shotgun and worked a steel-cored slug into the breech, then took aim. "Any last words, ugly?"

It tried to move, but enough steam had leaked from its perforated systems that there wasn't enough pressure to do anything except activate the vocal emulator. "Rrrrrrarrrrr …"

"Sure, that'll do." She fired, and the big red button on its chest disintegrated. Immediately, the mecha-dino slumped, all imitation of life gone.

Well, that was fun, I said with a grin. Got that information on the bombers?

"Chapter and verse." She handed me a tablet. "Also, you're going to need to brace yourself. There's some bad news incoming from Brockton Bay."

My head came up, and ice-cold worry deluged through my guts. The Lord's Port thing. Who got hurt? Danny? Gladys?

"Neither one." She put her hand on my shoulder. "It's George."

George? When I'd first found myself cast up on a shore far distant in time if not space, I hadn't imagined I would become close to the irascible patriarch of the Hebert family. But after our initially rocky beginning, we'd bonded over my joining the PRT, of all things. What happened? How bad?

"Heart attack in the middle of a fight. They saved Lord's Port. Danny was actually kinda badass. But George isn't likely to survive, sorry. I know you liked him."

God damn it. I clenched my fists. There's always something.

"I know, I know. Kiss before you go?"

Her lips tasted of dust and blood. I closed my eyes tightly, already mourning George.

-ooo-​

When I opened them, I had several stacks of photos in front of me, and a map with markings on it. A bunch of people from the Kansas City PRT building were looking at me expectantly. It had taken time to convince them that I needed access to the entire body of their intel, and time to process it all; apparently, some of them either hadn't read my file or didn't believe what was in there.

It wasn't that I wanted to bask in the glory of my accomplishments—staying low-key was still a major aspect of my modus operandi—but when small-minded bureaucrats decided to dig their heels in and query my every need, it made it much harder to do my job. In addition, the last time I'd been through here, I'd had sharp words with them about the state I'd found their security system in. For those that knew of me, it seemed that a combination of resentment at having to call me in again and 'what have you done for us recently?' syndrome was at work.

"Well, Captain Snow?" asked Director Pettigrew. "You've been going through all that data and ignoring us for the last hour. I've heard stories about your analytical abilities from Chicago and other points, but I still don't necessarily believe them."

I stood up, just as the door to the conference room opened. I was pretty sure it was going to be Kinsey, and I was correct. Given Lisa's words to me, I had a very good idea of why he was there.

One of the officers alongside Pettigrew frowned. "Sergeant, you're not cleared to be in here."

"On the contrary, Major." I knew I was drawing this out, but there were some things I would not stand for, and anyone disrespecting Kinsey was one of them. "Standing orders from Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton are that Sergeant Kinsey has access to me, all hours. He's my bodyguard as well as my orderly."

"Oh, come now." Pettigrew shook his head. "You're in a PRT building, in a room full of PRT officers. What possible danger could you face here?"

"Two years ago, I was attacked by a PRT officer and the Master who was giving him orders, in a PRT parking lot," I reminded him crisply. "Just because it hasn't happened since, doesn't mean it can't. We're all human beings here, which means we're all fallible. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton's orders have been endorsed by both Director Rankine and the Chief Director. Sergeant Kinsey automatically has clearance to go wherever I do, and to go armed while he does it. Now, Kinsey, what was it?"

"There's an urgent phone call from Brockton Bay, ma'am." His tone never changed, but I saw the flicker of expression that showed deep concern. "Mr Hebert is in the hospital."

"Thank you, Kinsey. I'll be there in a moment." I returned my attention to Pettigrew. "I have a location for your strike squads." My fingertip prodded a point on the map, which I'd marked with a helpful X. "After the first abortive attempt to bomb your building, the conspirators retreated here and regrouped. But they've since moved on and are now here, on the first floor." I tapped another X, this one with a circle around it. "They have a hundred pounds of C-4 that they liberated from a military convoy last year, and an access swipe card that they stole from one of your janitorial staff."

There was a moment of stunned silence, before the major who had tried to order Kinsey from the room spoke. "How the goddamn hell do you know all that? You were only looking over the material for an hour!"

"This is why I requested all the data. I also made some phone calls before I got here." I tapped one stack of photos: mugshots and security camera stills. "These are the people involved. They'll be armed with pistols and assault rifles, and the C-4 of course." Taking my jacket off the back of the chair, I began to put it on. "I leave the rest up to you, gentlemen. Director Pettigrew?"

He jerked his eyes off the map and the photos, and back to me. "Yes, Captain?"

"After I finish my phone call, I'm going to need a helicopter to get me back to Chicago. Could you have your people prep one for me, please?" Once I was in the air, I'd call ahead to Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton to okay my travel onto Brockton Bay. Splashing out a bit with my accumulated pay would allow me to charter a jet (Andrea's money would allow me to charter it fast) that would get us to Boston in time for a PRT chopper to deliver us to Brockton Bay just in time (because we were on a deadline).

While Hamilton had never met the Heberts, he knew enough about them to understand that George Hebert was as close to being my father as anyone could be (in this era, anyway). Absent another crisis, he would hurry me on my way.

"Certainly, Captain. Uh, dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." I drew myself to attention, about-faced, and marched from the room.

Kinsey was waiting outside, of course. "This way, ma'am." He led me to the desk where he'd taken the call, the receiver still lying on the desk. Mobile phones were on the market even now, but they hadn't hit their stride yet; I didn't own one, and neither did Kinsey. That would change, once I found one that was versatile and dependable enough for my needs.

"Thank you, Kinsey." I took up the receiver. "Captain Snow speaking."

"Oh, Taylor, thank God." Danny sounded like he was running on adrenaline and coffee. "Did Sergeant Kinsey tell you?"

"Just that your dad's in the hospital." I knew a lot more from Lisa, of course, but I'd have to let him fill me in all over again. Pulling out the chair, I sat down. "What happened?"

"It's all my fault." His voice was wretched. "If I'd been there instead of on the Puck, I could've—"

"Slow down, slow down. If there's anything that working for the PRT has taught me, it's that ifs, buts and could-have-beens are a good way to stress yourself out for no good reason. First off, what's the Puck, and why were you on it?"

Slowly, I coaxed out of him how he'd been detailed to make sure nothing untoward happened on the ship anchored across the mouth of Lord's Port. With Gladys' help (though he had no idea of the identity of the mysterious sniper) he'd succeeded, but he was blaming himself for not being there when his father succumbed to the heart attack.

"If I'd been there …"

"Then you wouldn't have been where he told you to be, and that might just have turned out a lot worse than it did." I hardened my tone as much as I dared, considering his fragile state of mind. "You did what you had to, and he did what he chose to. Do you think you could've stopped him?"

"Well, no, but …"

"Listen, we'll talk more when I get there. What's the current situation?"

"Right now, they've got him on life support, but the doctors aren't optimistic," he concluded. "I just … I just thought you needed to know."

"No, no, I absolutely appreciate you letting me know. I'll be there as soon as I can." I breathed deeply, trying to assuage the ache in my own chest. Even with the warning, the news still hit hard.

I put the phone down, and stood up. "Kinsey, there should be a chopper in prep for us. How soon can we be packed and on it?"

"Any time you wish to leave, ma'am. I commenced packing as soon as you walked into that room."

Because of course he had. "You know something, Kinsey? You're depriving some over-indulged member of the rich and famous of having an amazing butler."

"I believe I'll pass, ma'am. I prefer the peace and quiet of the PRT."

The funny thing was, I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. "I guess that makes two of us. Let's get airborne, Kinsey."

"Ma'am."

-ooo-​

Four and a Half Hours Later

Brockton Bay General Hospital

Danny Hebert

The gentle beeping of the machines keeping Danny's father alive was gradually drilling into his head. He'd sat by George's bedside with his mother for hours, only taking a break to make the phone call to let Taylor know what was going on. That had been more problematic than he'd expected, though they'd patched the call through once he explained the situation.

It had been a relief to speak to the stolid, reliable Sergeant Kinsey, and even more of a relief to hear Taylor herself on the line. While she wasn't the first one to tell him that he wasn't at fault, she'd been the only one to make him believe it. This was mainly because of all his friends, she was the one least likely to feed him a line of bullshit, and she'd understood his father as well as anyone of their generation he knew.

Anne-Rose came back into the room with Tyler riding on her hip. A bright kid, he was already walking and picking up toys (but not putting them away, though it was still a start). Of late, he was even making it clear when he needed to go to the bathroom, so they were leaving him out of diapers except at night.

"Mamaw," Tyler said clearly, pointing to where Dorothy was sitting by George's bed, his weathered hand clasped in both of hers. "Want. Go."

"Okay, hon. Go to Mamaw." Carefully, Anne-Rose set Tyler down.

He toddled over to his grandmother and tugged at her sleeve. "Mamaw?"

She turned and looked at him, as if for the first time. "Oh, Tyler honey. Come to Mamaw." Bending over, she picked him up and set her on his lap before reclaiming her grasp of George's hand. But her arm went around him, as he hugged her in turn, consoling each other across the generations.

Anne-Rose turned to Danny. "If you want to catch a breath of fresh air, go right ahead," she whispered. "We'll be here when you get back."

He nodded. "Okay. Thanks." Leaning in for a kiss, he stood up and gave her his chair. His back creaked and his legs felt as though they were about to fall asleep, which showed just how long he'd been sitting there.

Once he got out into the corridor, he went over to the nurses' desk. "Excuse me?"

The closest nurse, her nametag reading STELLA, looked up from her terminal. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, is it possible to get onto the roof? I just want to clear my head."

"Well, visitors to the hospital aren't really supposed to go up there …" Stella paused, looking at his expression. "Listen, I go on break soon, and I really need a smoke. Do you smoke?"

The conversation had taken an unexpected turn. "No, uh, no. I don't. Sorry."

She smiled briefly. "Don't be. It's a terrible habit and I really should quit. But you can come up with me and talk while I'm wrecking my lungs. You're in five zero six, right? Hebert? The heart attack?"

"Uh, yes, my father."

She nodded sympathetically, or at least with as much sympathy as someone who dealt with people in his situation every hour of every day could muster. "Sorry to hear that. Your mom's a nice person."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." He waited until Stella had shut down her terminal and put on her coat, then followed her to the stairwell door. They climbed the concrete stairs in echoing silence, the musty smell of the little-used space impinging on his nostrils and providing a welcome distraction.

When they reached the roof, he was almost surprised by the fact that the sun was past its zenith and starting on its long slow decline toward the evening horizon. Taking a few steps away from the door, he drew a deep breath of the cool air, feeling the bite of the breeze this far up. He was vaguely aware of Stella taking out a cigarette and lighting it up as he tried to get a handle on his emotions, but he paid no attention otherwise.

"Sure you don't want one?" she asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke that got whipped away by the breeze. "Helps me keep my head together when everything's going to shit."

He shook his head. "Never started, and I've got a small child. Besides, my wife would kill me if I showed up smelling like an ashtray." Not to mention the lecture he would undoubtedly get from Taylor, the moment she found out.

"Smart man." She took a few steps downwind then went back to smoking, while Danny surveyed the horizon, huddled his arms against the sharper-than-expected breeze, and tried to compose himself.

At the other end of the roof there was a proper exit, along with a large H in a circle painted on the roof. "What's that?" he asked, pointing. "Why didn't we come up there?"

"That's the official helipad entry." She shook her head. "Remember, we're not supposed to be up here. If we tried using that entry, there'd be hell to pay."

"Right, right." He huddled his arms again, regretting the fact that he'd left his jacket back in the ward. "I don't want to hurry you, but are you nearly done? I'm starting to get cold, here."

Stella shrugged. "You know, you can just go down yourself."

"Oh, okay. Good point." He started toward the door, then stopped as a distinct repetitive sound reached his ears. Turning and straining his eyes to the south, he made out the silhouette of a helicopter, heading straight for the hospital. "Wow, do you have many people come in by chopper?"

Frowning, she looked around. "A few. But I never heard about any today." She shaded her eyes, peering at the oncoming aircraft. "And that's not a HEMS chopper anyway. What's going on?"

"No, it's not." Danny copied her gesture. "Does that look like PRT paintwork to you?"

"You know, it does." Stella frowned. "Why would the PRT be landing a helicopter on our roof?"

Her confusion was understandable. With the relatively low level of parahuman crime in Brockton Bay—though the battle at the Medhall building had caught the public awareness in no uncertain terms—there wasn't even a dedicated PRT building in the city yet, much less a Protectorate base. According to Taylor, all that would change in just a few years.

He blinked, the chill forgotten. "Shit, I know why. They're dropping someone off."

She stared at him. "Dropping someone off? Who?"

There wasn't much to smile about right now, but he managed a grin anyway. "Only the coolest person I've ever met."

Holy shit, Taylor made it.

-ooo-​

Captain Taylor Snow, PRT (Intelligence)

As the chopper rested lightly on the helipad, rotors still turning, Kinsey and I decamped with our luggage. Fortunately, we hadn't needed anywhere near the amount required for our near-endless odyssey around the continental United States, so we didn't have to go back for more. Kinsey slammed the side door loudly enough for the pilot to hear, and we duck-walked out of the arc of danger before the chopper lifted off again.

We headed for the roof entrance, with automatic sliding glass doors that opened for us. Within was a door for a stairwell, and a large set of elevator doors, of a size to admit a patient on a gurney or a stretcher. The down button had a card reader next to it—no sense in allowing free entry to anyone who could scale the building—so I pressed the alert buzzer next to it.

Thirty seconds later, the elevator doors opened to reveal an orderly—hospital, not military—standing inside. "Uh, you're the PRT folks?" he asked. "I'm, uh, Benjamin."

As Kinsey and I were both in full uniform—slightly creased, unavoidably so, due to the four hours and change of helicopter transit between Kansas City and Brockton Bay—I just gave him a couple of seconds to think about what he had just said, then nodded. "Yes, thank you, Benjamin. We're here to visit George Hebert."

"Oh, uh, right." His eyes opened a little wider as we lugged our gear into the elevator. "Director Portman said to give you every assistance. Can I help you with those?"

Kinsey and I didn't even have to check with each other; we both shook our heads in unison. "We're good," I assured him. "Just get us to Mr Hebert's room, and we'll be out of your hair."

"Uh, yes, ma'am." He prodded a button on the control panel and we rode down a few floors, then the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. "Sorry, this is the only floor it goes to. Just let me, uh, find out where …" Benjamin scurried out of the elevator in the middle of his speech; I shrugged, and we took up our luggage again and followed him out.

In the bustle of the hospital, with scrubs-wearing orderlies and nurses (and doctors, for all I knew) we were more out of place than a sore thumb would've been. Heads turned as we followed in Benjamin's wake, but then they got back to business because after all, this was a hospital. We caught up with him at a nurses' station where the number of ringing phones outnumbered the number of people capable of answering them.

"Sorry," said someone who had to be a senior nurse from the sheer aura of 'aggravated sergeant' that radiated from her, and from the way she said 'sorry' without meaning it in the slightest. "Who exactly are you looking for again?"

"George Hebert," I said clearly; my command voice was still coming along, but it cut through the cross-chatter at the desk well enough. "If you don't mind."

Once again, all eyes turned to us. Tall as I was, my size would never win prizes for being imposing. However, Kinsey could loom very effectively indeed, sometimes even when seated.

It also helped that we'd both donned our medal ribbons for the occasion when travelling down to Kansas. Even if the viewer was ignorant of the actual significance, they indicated that the wearer had done things of consequence, and perhaps some of the bullshit could be bypassed. In this specific instance, they had the desired effect. Within thirty seconds, we had our directions; Benjamin was dismissed, and we were on our way.

It turned out that George wasn't on the same floor as we'd ended up on, but that was hardly a surprise. I'd excelled in orienteering and map-reading back in boot and officer training (there was no way I'd wanted to become the 'idiot lieutenant with a map' stereotype) so we forged our way through the maze in search of our goal. I may have overdone the whole 'on a mission' air, though; people flattened themselves to the wall as we bore down on them, but I didn't care.

I'd already known we were on the right track, but when we turned a corner and I saw Danny, it was confirmed for us. He spotted me at the same time, and his careworn appearance—seriously, it looked like he'd aged twenty years overnight—brightened into the ghost of a smile. "Taylor! It's good to see you!"

"And you too, Danny." I put my luggage down and hugged him, uniform or no uniform. "How's he doing? And how are you doing?"

Still hugging me, he tried to put on a brave tone, though I could feel the quivers in his chest as he spoke. "He's the same as when we got him here. On life support. I'm … god, I'm not sure how I am."

Kinsey spoke quietly from behind me. "Ma'am, I'll just go in and see Mr Hebert, if that's all right?"

"Sure," I said without turning around. "Go right ahead, Kinsey. Leave your luggage here. We'll watch it."

"Thank you, ma'am." He put his cases down and headed into Room 506, which was where we'd been told to go.

"Danny," I said as we let go of each other. "You need to listen to me. There's something important I have to tell you."

He took a deep breath and looked at me with eyes that were reddened with tears already shed, and the promise of more to come. "Before you say what you've got to say … did you know? Was this going to happen, no matter what?"

"What?" I was taken aback for a moment, but then I got his gist. "No. No, I didn't know. I knew what would happen if I didn't do anything, so I armed you against it as best I could, but I didn't know this would happen to George."

"Why not?" His voice, pitched low for privacy, still managed to convey a world of hurt. Behind his glasses, his eyes searched mine for any sign that I had a way out of this. "I thought—your friend—"

I took a deep breath. "Danny, she can't tell me the outcomes of my own actions. I can only advise and step back, or jump in and handle it myself. Anything I do even peripheral to what's going on muddies the waters."

"But … you could've checked—" He was grasping for straws, not that I blamed him in the slightest. However, it was time for some hard truths.

"Not easily. If I get Lisa to scope out a situation too soon after I've laid the groundwork, it muddies the waters again. Sometimes I've just got to trust people to get it right. And besides, have you met your dad? If he'd known this was his time, but he could die making a difference, he would've been right in there swinging without a moment's hesitation."

His expression tortured, he looked down and away. I was right, and he knew it, but he didn't have to like it. "God damn it," he muttered, then looked up at me again. "Did he make a difference? Or would we have won anyway?"

Did my father throw his life away for nothing, he was asking.

"Lord's Port was saved," I said carefully. "Mainly due to him sending you out to oversee the interdiction of the Puckatawney. Without you there to inspire the men, things may have gone badly. As for what he did … well, the group he led the fight against was determined to sabotage the port. If they'd been left to their own devices, or if he hadn't been there to lead his men, they could've knocked the whole port out of operation for quite some time. Giving their paymasters breathing room to sneak in more saboteurs at a later date. So yeah, what he did absolutely made a difference."

"Oh." He seemed to draw some comfort from that. "That's … good to know. I guess."

"I know this is cold comfort, but here's something else to think about." I waited until he was paying attention again. "His death makes every one of the saboteurs guilty of felony murder. More than a few of them will take plea bargains and rat out the entire operation, just so they don't have to face that sort of charge. The people who arranged this will be going down, all because of George Hebert."

"So, he is going to die, then?" Some tiny part of him broke, at that moment. I could see it in his face. "You know it for a fact? Mom says he's been drifting in and out."

I nodded. "I checked with Lisa, yes, on the way here. He's going to wake up again, in about …" I checked my watch. "Eight to ten minutes. He'll be lucid and talking for a few minutes, but it'll be his body's last gasp. Say your goodbyes then, because after that he will be gone."

"Oh. Oh, God." He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "How long … how long would he have lived …?"

"If this hadn't happened?" I paused to think back. "I know he made it to retirement age, but the loss of Lord's Port embittered him. He was always angry. I'm pretty sure he had a heart attack or a stroke in his sleep, but I'd have to check with Lisa to make sure."

Danny shook his head. "Don't bother. This is what's happening, here and now, not some what-might-have-been." He squared his shoulders and faced up to me. "So, you had something you wanted to tell me? Or was that it?"

"A little bit of it was that." I put my hand on his shoulder. "The rest of it, you're not going to like. Your life is never going to be the same again. You're the 'man of the house' now, whatever that means for you. Dorothy's not going to be in any fit state to make decisions for quite some time, so you're going to have to step up. Ask her for input, sure, but try to take as much of the load off her as possible. And you and Anne-Rose are going to have to move back home again, to take care of her."

"What?" He shook his head. "She's strong. She won't need me—"

I talked over the top of him. "In my timeline, she insisted that she was fine on her own, and everyone took her at her word. But she never stopped grieving, and she passed away less than a month after he did."

"Oh." He stared into nothingness as he no doubt wrestled with the logistics of the move. "My room—"

"—will be extremely cramped, with both of you plus Tyler, I know." I nodded. "If you tough it out, in time she'll suggest of her own accord that you swap rooms. But she has to make the suggestion. The last thing you want is for her to start feeling like a guest in her own home."

"Right, right." He ran his hand through his hair; thick now, it hadn't started to thin out as it would in fifteen years' time. "Thanks. I needed to hear that. So, what—"

Whatever he was about to ask next was broken off when several people came around the corner. Andrea was leading the charge, pushing Alec in his stroller, with Dragon alongside her. Behind them was Gladys, looking equally determined.

"Ah, good." I went to meet Andrea. "You made it."

"Of course I made it, you big doofus." Andrea hugged me, but refrained from too obvious an expression of public affection. Her expression told me that she'd make up for her restraint once she got me in private. "How is he?"

I shook my head briefly. "Not good." I turned to Gladys, who had just finished hugging Danny. "It's good to see you, too."

Her hug cracked the few vertebrae in my back that hadn't fully popped back into place after the helicopter ride from Boston, and I reflected that life as a vice principal seemed to agree with her. "How've you been, Taylor? Still keeping the free world safe for the rest of us to live in?"

"Doing my best," I replied once I got air back in my lungs. It was only true, though she was unlikely to ever find out the full extent of what I was getting into. "Blackwell behaving herself?"

She rolled her eyes. "Most of the time. She tries to stir trouble behind my back, but Principal Woodbine likes me more than he likes her." It was interesting that Carrie Blackwell had given us both problems during our respective times in Winslow, but now that Gladys was vice principal, history was unlikely to repeat itself. Especially since Gladys had proven herself entirely capable of punching Blackwell out if the need arose.

"Good to hear. It's when they go totally quiet that you need to worry." I lowered my voice so that only she could hear my words. "Nice shooting, by the way. You saved Danny's life, and you helped save Lord's Port from being shut down altogether."

"Oh." The tinge of surprise in her voice told me that she hadn't been fully aware of that. "Good. Thanks. I was wondering. The one I, uh, the one I shot?"

I shrugged. "He'll walk again, once he receives the appropriate physiotherapy." My demeanour and tone evidently communicated my lack of care factor regarding the asshole's well-being. After all, he had tried to shoot Danny. "Depending on which prison he gets sent to, he might even get it in the next few years."

"I see." Gladys still didn't look happy about having shot someone, and I could sympathise with her. She was a teacher, not a soldier or a trained sniper, and she lacked the emotional toolkit to handle that sort of burden. Or to put it another way, she still hadn't internalised the simple truth that some people just plain needed shooting. "Thanks for letting me know."

"Not a problem." I looked over to see Dragon standing with Alec, Andrea having gone to greet Anne-Rose, who had come out of the room to see what was going on. "Hi, kids. How's things?"

"It's good to see you again, Captain Snow." Dragon gave me a hug, which I returned. "Mom Andrea says that we should call you Aunt Taylor, but I think you deserve to be addressed by your rank."

"Aun'taylor!" announced Alec, pointing at me. "Aun'taylor!" He burst into giggles.

I tilted my head and grinned. "It seems he's made his decision."

She let out a remarkably realistic sigh. "He does that, a lot. Every time I get frustrated with him, Mom Andrea reminds me that everyone has the right to make their own mistakes. It's the only way some people learn."

I raised my eyebrows slightly. "And you can honestly say you've never, ever made an error in judgement?"

Either Andrew Richter was a genius programmer (okay, yeah, he was) or teenagerhood was a universal constant (also a distinct possibility) because she actually looked shifty for a second. "I didn't say that," she prevaricated. "And note, I'm only admitting that much because you'd probably ask Father for my experiential recordings if I denied ever being wrong about anything."

I was about to make a joke about that when Anne-Rose stepped into the conversation. "Hi, Taylor, Dragon." She gave me a one-armed side-hug, then switched Tyler to her other hip so she could do the same with Dragon. "Taylor, thank God you're here. Danny's been as twitchy as a mouse at a cat convention, but now that he's spoken to you, he's calmed right down. What did you say to him?"

"Just what he needed to hear." I shrugged to show how inconsequential it was in the grand scheme of things. "So, how's my other nephew doing today?"

"A little young to be here, but I couldn't find a sitter on short notice, so here we are." She looked around at the hospital corridor. "Not exactly where either one of us wanted to spend our day, to be honest."

"I know, I know." I put out my hands, and she passed Tyler over to me. "Hi, Tyler. You don't know me, but you were named after me. You can call me Aunt Taylor if you want."

Tyler didn't fight back against being held, but he stared at me with wide eyes while sucking his thumb. I hadn't expected him to leap into my arms with a cry of recognition—the last time I'd seen him, he'd only been six months old—but I figured he'd come around eventually. Once certain plans I had in play came to fruition, I would probably be spending a lot more time in Brockton Bay.

But just for the moment, looking at him, it was almost like staring at a distorted mirror image of what I'd been at that age. His mop of curly black hair was almost the same as mine, and he already had my long face and serious expression. From the slightly unfocused look in his eyes, he probably needed glasses too, but that would come in time.

Danny stuck his head out of the room. "He's waking up!" he announced.

We all crowded into the room, while Kinsey stepped to the door where he could observe the proceedings and keep an eye on our luggage at the same time. Anne-Rose ended up sitting next to Dorothy, who was holding onto George's hand. Dorothy looked around and smiled to see me holding Tyler, then returned her attention to her husband.

George wasn't all that old, I realised with a shock. When I first entered his household as a traumatised teenager, my vague memories of him as a retiree had been aided and abetted by his irascible mood to make him seem as ancient as the hills. But now, with a few more years under my belt (seven years, hah) my view of him was suddenly morphing to show me a man who was only in his early fifties.

A big man in a profession where big men prospered, he was broad and solid through the chest and shoulders. He'd worked hard all his life, and had resisted every suggestion that he might want to slow down. But lying there in the hospital bed, hooked up to all the lines and tubes that were keeping him alive for the moment, he looked downright frail.

His eyelids, which had been flickering, opened fully and he turned his gaze to take in his surroundings. "Dottie," he rasped through what experience told me would've been a phenomenal case of dry-mouth.

"I'm here, George," she said, squeezing his hand and leaning forward. "Save your strength. The doctor's on the way."

"Don't bother." His voice was barely audible over the beeping of the machines. I was almost holding my breath trying to hear him. For a miracle, Alec and Tyler were also quiet. "Just tell me. The Puck?"

"It's all good, Dad," Danny answered. I could hear the catch in his voice, but he pushed through nonetheless. "They had scuttling charges, but we dealt with them. We saved the port. Everyone's still got a job tomorrow."

"Good work, son." He took another couple of laboured breaths. "Dottie, I'm going soon. You let Danny and Annette help you. Don't try to do it all yourself. You hear me?"

Dorothy hunched her shoulders, squeezing his hand tightly with both of hers. "George, don't you talk like that. You're going to come back to us. You're going to get better. Please come back to me." My heart ached at the anguish I could hear in her voice.

"No help for it, Dottie." He rasped another few breaths, in and out. "I can feel it. Not long now." His eyes turned to me. "Captain Snow. Taylor."

"Yes, sir," I said automatically. George Hebert was one of the few civilians I knew who rated that level of respect from me.

Unsurprisingly, he took it as his due. "Honor to have known you and your sergeant. Credit to your profession. Do me a favour, Captain?"

"If it's in my power, yes." I nodded firmly, in case he hadn't heard me.

"The boy respects you. Be there for him and Annette. And Captain?"

"Yes, sir?" I'd thought I would be able to get through this without tearing up, but there was a lump in my throat now.

"Win your war. For all of us." He took another few breaths while I assimilated that, then he turned his gaze to Anne-Rose. "Annette girl. Are you there?"

"I'm here." Anne-Rose leaned forward and put her hand on his wrist.

"There you are." He forced another laboured breath. "Staunch girl. Never prouder of you. Stand by Danny and Dottie. Listen to Captain Snow. Head on her shoulders, that one."

In the midst of my grief, my brain was awhirl with questions. I'd gotten along with George better since I'd joined the PRT, but I had no idea he respected me that much. Or that he'd intuited so much about my work with the PRT.

But George wasn't done yet. "Miss Campbell."

Andrea almost certainly hadn't forgotten his rudeness at the Christmas party, but she nudged my hip with hers and raised her chin slightly. "Yes, Mr Hebert?"

He seemed to take longer with what he wanted to say to her, though I suspected that was more due to dwindling strength than any hesitation. Whatever George Hebert's other faults, a lack of nerve wasn't one of them. "We've had our differences. But you were a good friend to our Taylor. Took her in. Now you're a mother, raising fine children. I admire that."

He subsided then. I could tell, even without knowing what the traces on the machines meant, that his strength was nearly at an end. Andrea, beside me, was blinking back tears. So was I.

"Tyler." It appeared he had one last burst in him. I stepped forward, so that he and his grandson could see each other.

Tyler stared at George, thumb forgotten, his eyes as wide as they'd been when he first saw me. "Papaw?" I could tell he knew something was wrong, but not what.

"Strong lad. Be good for Danny and Annette." George paused for breath. "I'm going away now, Tyler. Not coming back. But I'll always be there for you. Inside." Another pause; they were coming more frequently now. "Wish I could've seen …" He faded out, and his eyelids drifted shut.

An alarm began to sound on one of the multitude of machines he was connected up to, then another. Kinsey stepped aside as a doctor burst in through the doorway, and we all moved back to give him room. Anne-Rose helped Dorothy up, as the older woman seemed incapable of independent movement right then.

"Papaw …" Tyler said, holding on to me as if to a lifeline, but looking toward where the medical professionals were working on George.

"It's okay, Tyler," I said, trying to soothe him. "It'll be okay." It wouldn't, not really, but tiny lies like that were necessary to deal with children of a certain age.

In silent shock, we trooped out of the hospital. Tyler continued to cling to me, which actually served to comfort me in some small way, while Danny and Anne-Rose shepherded the distraught Dorothy along. Gladys assisted Kinsey with our luggage.

Gladys peeled off once we reached the parking lot, mainly because she still had duties at Winslow to cover, but she hugged me and promised to catch up as soon as she could. But it was then that we hit our next snag, in the unlikely shape of Kinsey himself.

"Ma'am, if you'll excuse me, not one of you is in a fit state to drive." He stood firm as we all turned to look at him. Danny opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. I didn't even get that far; he was right, and that was all there was to it. Once a military cop, always a military cop.

Andrea looked at Danny's car, and then at hers. "Jim, I love you dearly. But there's no way we can fit everyone in either car."

He nodded. "Understood. That's why I'm going to drive the Captain, the children, and one other adult to the Hebert home in Andrea's car, while everyone else follows in a cab. Then I will return in the cab to fetch the other car."

Danny blinked at him, then finally nodded. Like me, he was all out of energy to argue. "Okay. We'll do that."

-ooo-​

The mood was still grim as we reconvened in the Heberts' living room. Tyler was beginning to get restive so I held him while Anne-Rose got Dorothy upstairs and convinced her to lie down for a while. I gritted my teeth and tried not to hear the heartbroken sobs of the woman who'd been my mother in all but name since I'd arrived in this era. It was at this time that Tyler, to my discomfiture, began to cry in sympathy; I rocked him in my arms, but nothing seemed to work.

I was still trying to figure out what had served to calm me down back when I was very young (and failing) when Andrea stepped up in front of me. "Here, I'll take him."

"Thank you." Sobbing in my arms, my namesake felt like one more reminder that the world had changed yet again, and all I wanted was a distraction, something—anything—to take my mind off the hollow ache that had taken root ever since George had passed.

With some relief, I handed him over to her—so much for the rapport that I thought we'd built—whereupon she pulled some bullshit trickery that had him calmed down in about ten seconds. "Okay, how did you pull that off?" I wasn't really all that curious, but I was desperate for anything to distract me from my personal grief.

Despite the tears yet standing in her eyes, her snarky personality managed to shine through as she gave me a superior look. "If you were a mother, you wouldn't need to ask."

"Don't listen to her." Anne-Rose appeared beside me, having come silently back down the stairs. "She's got a talent for this. Probably because she never grew up herself." Her smile was forced at best, but I could tell she was trying to lighten the atmosphere. I had to give her props for the effort, however flat it fell.

Andrea was more successful; her reply, consisting of the thoroughly mature and grown-up expedient of poking her tongue out at Anne-Rose, seemed almost natural. "You see if I ever volunteer to babysit this little tyke again." She stopped and visibly reconsidered. "Scratch that. I'll take him as long as you need me to, while you're taking care of Dorothy."

Anne-Rose wrapped her in a hug, and Tyler as well. "Thank you," she whispered, then turned to me. "She loves having Tyler over, and so does Alec. Dragon dotes on him."

"It's true," confirmed Dragon. "While Mom Andrea didn't start taking care of me until Alec was several months old, I was able to meet Tyler shortly after his birth. Being part of both their lives has been very rewarding."

It was truly nice to see that Anne-Rose and Andrea were still close friends, though it was still painful to smile about anything. "I'm glad." I glanced at Andrea, still trying to distract myself. "What's Dragon's dad think of her spending so much time with the kids?" Had he eased up on the idea of AIs being dangerous to humanity, I meant.

Andrea rolled her eyes and issued a wan smile. "You know scientist types. Always going off into side tangents about 'emergent socialisation behaviour' and stuff like that. Though from the basic gist of what he says, I'm pretty sure he's in favour of it."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that." I pulled Dragon in for a hug; I needed it, and she returned it as though she did too. "You're doing well, kiddo."

"Thank you." She glanced up toward the ceiling, and deliberately took a breath. I wasn't sure if this was a learned mannerism or something that had been programmed in (I suspected the former) but it still served to humanise her as she lowered her voice. "This was the first time I've been present at the death of a person. It affected me more than I expected it to. I did not know Mr Hebert except by anecdote, but I still feel a sense of loss. Is this normal?"

"Very." I tightened the hug for a moment, then let her go. "If you're lucky, you won't have to experience it too often."

"Darn tootin'." Andrea passed Tyler back to his mother, then leaned over to check on Alec in his stroller. "Taylor, if you and Kinsey want to come with us, we're about to head home. It's about time Alec went down for a nap, and I'm pretty beat myself."

"Copy that." I looked around for Kinsey—he'd just returned with Danny's car—and gave him the nod that meant 'get ready to move out'. "I'll just say goodbye to Danny, and we'll be set to go."

"Good." Andrea freed one arm briefly to give me a quick hug. "The reason for it's crappy, but it'll be good to have you home again."

Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead against hers for a moment. "I can't argue with any of that."

End of Part 8-8​