Chapitre 53: Wake-up Call – Chapter 52
"You don't think this is overly dramatic?" Colin says by way of greeting as he gets out of the van parked in front of his apartment.
A beige PRT van disguised as a civilian vehicle that, I'm told, is perfectly suited to fulfill a lesbian's needs after a second date.
… Shut up. I'm allowed to joke about my own stereotypes.
Particularly when Taylor and I are in front of Colin's apartment building, waiting for him with our luggage to, in fact, move back in together.
…
Am I allowed to be giddy, aren't I?
[Lisa Wilbourn's infatuation—]
I swear to God, if you start saying 'humbug' come Christmas—
"Have you [met her]?" Tay says, both interrupting my incipient verbal sparring with the voice inside my head that I'm pretty sure is not the product of a psychotic break (even if it would fit far too many of the symptoms) and also answering Colin's question in a way that only leaves me one move to play:
"Hey!" I say.
Well played, Taylor. Well played.
Rolling her eyes, she lifts her suitcase with, obviously, the arm that isn't hanging on a sling and walks to the back of the van as Colin opens it for us.
"I just… don't want to have a chance to rethink it, you know?" I tell him when I'm near him, carrying my own suitcases.
Plural.
It's a wonder what you can accumulate in just one week.
"If you still need more time…" he says, about as lost as I feel.
"No. No, I… I want to go back. It's my home. I won't let them take it away from me."
Also, I've paid quite a lot to fix it up after the shooting, and I'm not just going to rent it to somebody who may desecrate my home in a way Power will [helpfully] point out until I give my mattress a Viking funeral.
"It's… It's secure. Nobody in the Empire knew that Victor had tracked you down, so this was just another incident of Brockton Bay's… peculiar traditions," he says, awkwardly scratching the side of his immaculate beard.
Because, as it turns out, he has a tinkertech trimmer.
… I'm still planning for the best way to ask him for a feminine hygiene version so as to maximize his embarrassment while minimizing mine.
[Mention of copious menstrual cycles—]
I'm not sure you're on my side on this one.
"Anyway… well, I guess this is it," I tell him, awkwardly smiling in a way that doesn't give away my nefarious designs.
[Lisa Wilbourn's self-designation as a villain—]
Shut up.
"Yes. How terrible, now I'll have to live alone yet again, without sharing my bathroom with two girls. I don't know how I'll be able to manage," he says, the deadpan as spectacular as ever as he ruffles my hair.
"I don't know either, given that we emptied your freezer and filled your fridge with fresh food," I answer, saccharine innocence dripping off my tone.
He freezes. Unlike his food supply.
"You wouldn't dare—"
"I guess you'll have to find out when you come back. I hope you enjoy the surprise," I tell him with a singsong that feels particularly delicious after far too many frozen lasagnas.
He plans his meals. He doesn't plan for [guests].
"You're terrible, awful, and I won't miss you at all," he says, letting out a grumpy sigh.
"I love you too," I tell him before I hug his broad chest, burying my face in his white shirt.
He immediately returns the gesture, his warm hands reassuringly lying between my shoulders and on the back of my head.
See? It's so much better without that stupid armor of his.
***
Setting foot in my apartment for the first time after an entire week is an eerie experience. I already stayed away during Taylor's and my fugitive days, when we were hiding from everyone after kneecapping Sophia in the school's toilets.
…
Yes, that still brings a warm, tingling feeling inside my chest. I guess there will come a day when I'll tell the tale to giggling grandchildren, passing down the family tradition of using guns against people who should be immune to them.
"You can come in, you know?" Taylor says, already dragging her suitcase to our bedroom.
And so I take a deep breath, and…
And…
And Colin pushes me, I guess.
"I was about to do it," I tell him with a resentful look over my shoulder as he steps around me and sets my luggage on the renovated wooden floor, one that doesn't have traces of my girlfriend's brush with death seeped into the grain.
"And now you already have, saving both of us time and mental anguish. You are welcome."
"… Ever heard it's about the journey, not the destination?"
"Yes. I do believe it's a nonsensical saying, seeing as if it wasn't about the destination, there would be no journey."
"I don't even know if you're purposefully missing the point or you're really that… [you]. Well done."
"Thinker si—"
"I [will] bite you."
"No, you won't."
And he hugs me.
Warm, strong arms hold me close enough that I can feel the pile of well-sculpted muscle shifting with emotion he rarely shows other than to a select few. And I know why. I know how he became like this, even if it hurts to think it, but I can't do anything about that right now…
Not…
Not until I fix Panacea, I guess.
What I can do is return the fierce hug.
"Be safe, all right?" he mutters over the crown of my head, because it turns out everybody I care about is embarrassingly taller than me.
Uh, I mean, other than you, Dinah. Please don't plot my incredibly convoluted yet inevitable demise.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you I will be," I answer, voice muffled by his broad chest.
"No. No, I wouldn't," he says, tightening his hold on me.
We stay there, barely past my door, until I hear Taylor stop pretending to do things in our bedroom as she waits for the moment to be over, and I guess that means it's… time.
"I'll… I promise not to dismantle a criminal organization with ties to international supervillains in the next week," I tell him, shooting for a reasonable compromise.
He chuckles. And lets me go.
Then, after a moment, [I] let him go.
"Well, I guess… see you around?" I tell him, that embarrassed, insecure girl from earlier making yet another appearance.
"Hopefully, without any luggage involved," he says, shooting me a smile that's…
Genuine, yes, but also…
Never mind.
"OK, that's it, go away before we turn this into something far sappier than a 'see you later' merits," I say, pushing on his chest until he allows me to move him past my doorway.
"Too late," Taylor comments from [right behind me].
"Ah! Fuck you and your ninja ways!"
"Thinker si—" she answers with a grin that stretches wider than anybody without a Glasgow smile should be able to.
"You, I [will] bite," I answer.
"And that's my cue to leave before I'm forced to witness something illegal for me to see," Colin says, hurrying to the elevator at a pace that I'm only half-convinced is an actual joke.
[Colin Wallis' humor—]
Shut up.
So I close the door after him, turn back to a smug Taylor (trademark, Tay, [it's a thing]), and grumpily proceed to carry my suitcases to our bedroom, shooting only a single mournful look at the sofa that replaced my old one.
I mean, it's the same model, but… the [memories].
Which reminds me, I should buy a certain hotel. Maybe I can get them to sell me that armchair? I mean, it doesn't fit my apartment at all, but what's one more clashing element in a place that Taylor Hebert inhabits?
"God, I'm so glad you're entirely lesbian…" she says, stubbornly taking one of my suitcases with her healthy arm until I give up the struggle.
"So am I. The daddy issues would be… ugh. How do you bisexuals handle that?"
"I [don't] have daddy issues," she says, arching that eyebrow of hers over the rim of her glasses in clear warning and what an ethologist would term a 'threat display.'
I answer with a very unimpressed eyebrow of my own, in what anybody with two brain cells to rub together would term 'you [are] shitting me.'
"Look, just because I'm giving him the silent treatment doesn't mean I have some deep-seated issues… Stop looking at me like that," she grumbles as she lies my suitcase on top of my bed.
"Stop saying things that make me look at you like that," I tell her as I do the same with the other suitcase, disguising the grunt of effort it takes out of me because I'm [not] about to have another discussion about my exercise regime or lack thereof.
"… You need to get into free weights, at the very least. It also helps with endurance."
"Will you leave it alone, already! And stop talking to Brian about this!"
"Oh? Are you trying to control who I speak to? My, my, Liz, such a possessive, controlling [fiancée] I have…" she…
Purrs.
And slides behind my back, her free arm sliding over my waist, her head turned down to breathe on the side of my neck until I [have] to rub my thighs together, and—
"Now, just imagine how much better this would be if you didn't run out of breath after your first—"
"Enough! I'll set up a home gym, but I'll do what every rational human being does and just spend money on it so I can stare at it guiltily while gorging myself on ice cream on the sofa!"
"… Baby steps, I guess."
"You aren't [that] masculine."
"Wha—oh. [Oh]. I, oh God, what are you even… You just did that to see me get flustered, didn't you?"
I turn around inside her embrace, returning it, looking up into her green eyes in that way I know makes her want to push me down.
"Turnabout is fair play, Tay," I tell her, unnecessarily getting on my tiptoes to kiss her nose.
She stares at me, sending thrills down my spine, and…
And she kisses me.
Her lips engulf mine, swallowing my whine of need and pleasure, my sheer exultation at Taylor wanting [me], at her body surrounding mine, her tall form engulfing me, making me feel…
Not safe. Not entirely.
But… cared for. Protected.
Free to let go.
Except not right at this moment, because I have to hold back just a [tiny] bit, just prolong the moment, the caresses that would usually inevitably end up with me on my back and she on top of me, but that I'm stalling as I shift from her lips to her neck, surprising her with an initiative she rarely sees as I'm usually on the receiving end of her intense eyes and demanding touch. And so I make Taylor moan with lips, teeth, and tongue, with fingers teasing right at the hem of her top, brushing over delicate skin, making her want to push back, to take away my control, and…
And my phone rings.
Just as planned.
[Lisa Wilbourn did not plan—]
Shut up; it was a loose prediction.
"Yeeees?" I sweetly answer while keeping eye contact with a visibly frustrated, clam-jammed Taylor.
"Lisa, why is there a sign on my door saying I can't come in until five p.m.?" Colin says with an even tone that's far, [far] from his humorous deadpan.
"Because yesterday I splurged for the expensive paint, and you'd get so high on the fumes that a Tinker fugue is all but guaranteed," I answer, my grin spreading to almost Taylor proportions.
There's a pause on the other side of the line, and I'm [certain] he's now, for the first time in his life, pondering the pros and cons of tinkering under the influence.
See? I'm a proper villain! Heroes don't tempt other heroes with drugs!
[Use of caffeine—]
Shut. Up.
"And why was there a need to paint my apartment?" Colin calmly states after likely discarding anything stronger than a mild nootropic.
… I will have to speak with Dragon about this before it becomes a problem.
[Villain designation rarely associated with behavior commonly referred to as 'mother hen—']
I swear, Power, I'll not even browse Wikipedia if you keep this up!
[Lisa Wilbourn's use of phone on bathroom breaks—]
Right, I'm ignoring you starting now.
"Colin, can't you take this as an unexpected gift, a show of gratitude after hosting us for an entire, incredibly stressful week?" I tell him after the perfect length for a pause.
Really.
"You [just painted my whole apartment without permission—"] Aaaaand there goes that perfectly calm tone.
Heh.
"I mean, how else would it have been a surprise?"
"Maybe I don't want surprises that make me [unable to enter my apartment—"]
"I feel like you're getting angry at me. That makes me sad."
"No, it doesn't; it just fuels that sadistic engine you call a heart that runs on snark and the suffering of others!"
All right, that one's funny.
So I snerk.
"Don't you dare laugh at me—"
Aaaand Taylor lets go of my waist to glare at me and take away the phone.
"Colin, do you want the actual reason she had your apartment painted, or would you rather just keep arguing and reaffirming your weird parental dynamic?"
"… The reason, please," I can hear him grumble.
"Right. It's because she decided she wanted to set up a romantic evening for Hannah and you that wouldn't end up with Hannah's libido withering."
There's [another] pause on the other end of the line.
"Olive green isn't [that bad]," he protests.
"She also bought you actual dishes and cutlery. You know, just so you don't come across as still living in a college dorm."
"That's entirely unneeded, intrusive, and—"
"Welcome to being the receptacle of her affections. I'd say join the club, but we tend to avoid gathering in the same place so she can't target us all at once," Taylor says in what, as far as I can tell, is an entirely serious tone.
[Taylor Hebert's tone—]
Shush. Let me enjoy the vague hint of uncertainty.
"All of this for a date I haven't even agreed to—"
"Hannah will be there at nine. Lisa took the liberty to buy you a pair of very flattering jeans, and the flowers will arrive at eight."
There's [another] pause.
I giggle.
"Goddamn teenagers…" Colin mumbles.
"You just summed up my entire high school experience. Good luck tonight," she says.
And hangs up.
Then she glares at me in that way she has of making my thighs rub together.
Yes, she has more than one way to do that. I'm thinking about cataloging them.
"There, happy now?" she grumbles.
"[Ecstatic]," I answer, my grin obviously still not as wide as hers, given my physical limitations, but valiantly trying to reach for that beyond its current limits.
"Good," Taylor says.
And, with one hand in the middle of my chest, she pushes me back on my bed, right between two suitcases, before climbing on top of me with a look on her face that tells me she knows I plotted for her to be interrupted and is now about to make me pay.
Again: just as planned.
[Lisa Wilbourn's libido's role as a cognitive enhancer—]
You say the sweetest things.
==================
This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/wake-up-call-worm.15638/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 88 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).
Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Power's intrusions into Lisa's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance
Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon, and aj0413. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and helping me keep writing snarky, useless lesbians, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone