For a moment, she considers going back to the office and doing her filing now. She's let it slip for several weeks, in the wake of the frenzy of work that had come about as a result of the civil suit against the singer. The longer she puts it off, the more there's going to be, and she hates pushing her filing off on the firm's interns. Few of them ever understands her filing system, and none of them enjoy working beneath her once the novelty of working with a cape wears off.
But as soon as she considers the idea, she dismisses it. It's a fifteen-minute drive back to her firm. By the time she gets there, there won't be much time for her to do her filing anyway. She'll do it tomorrow. Hopefully. Assuming that Chief Sanders actually schedules her meeting for tomorrow, at any rate, and she doesn't have to spend half the day trying to get him in again.
And she has more important things to do than her filing.
She drives unhurriedly over to the clinic Amy is working in tonight. The route is slowly becoming more familiar to her, which is good. She doesn't spend as much time in this area of town as she should.
It's twenty past six when she arrives. Forty minutes early. She considers for a moment whether it's worth leaving and buying some coffee for the two of them, but— maybe if it was Sarah. That kind of gesture always makes the atmosphere feel too intimate. Besides, Amy hasn't been sleeping well for the past few months. More caffeine probably isn't a great idea.
Instead, she lifts her chin up high and climbs out of her car, locking it behind her as she heads into the clinic, attempting to walk confidently. She doesn't feel half as confident as she tries to make herself look, but nobody can ever tell the difference.
Once she's in there, she heads straight for Kirk's office, not pausing to greet any of the hospital's workers or clients along the way— although she does give a small nod to Neville, the only one of the PRT troopers assigned to the hospital that she actually knows. She knocks on Kirk's door, almost able to hear his exasperated sigh from here, and waits patiently. He's long since gotten used to her showing up half an hour or more before Amy is due to finish for the day.
There's the rattling of the doorknob, and it swings open, revealing Kirk standing there, giving her a look. "Brandish," he sighs tiredly. "Come in."
She nods and follows him into his office, where she sits in the comfortable armchair he has waiting for visitors. He sits down in his own, a rather less comfortable office chair, and turns to his computer.
Silence stretches for a few minutes, the only sound in the office the sound of Kirk's typing. She waits until the silence becomes uncomfortable— for her, it has long since become uncomfortable for him— before she says anything.
"How is she doing?" she asks quietly.
His fingers stop moving on the keyboard, and he turns his head to look at her. "You could ask her yourself, you know," he says mildly. At her reproving glare, he gives her a half-hearted smile before it drops from his face. "Honestly, I'm not sure. The nurses are still too in awe of her to talk to her personally, and I've had to reprimand several of the volunteers for crowding her."
Her face twists into a sour expression. "Damn," she mutters.
He gives her a small smile. "She's making friends with a couple of the volunteers, at least," he informs her. "Bernadette tells me that she doesn't mind Oliver's presence, and she seems to be on good terms with Taylor."
Carol frowns. "I thought she— never mind." She's not sure how she feels about her daughter befriending two men away from her supervision, but— that was part of why she had organised for Amy to come here, wasn't it? She can't complain about Amy making friends after she'd told her to make friends.
Kirk smiles at her. "Don't worry," he says, seemingly reading her thoughts. Oh— yes, that's right. Kirk does have a child of his own. And grandchildren. "They're both good people. Oliver is studying medicine himself, and Taylor is still in high school, but she has a good work ethic." ... Oh, yes, Taylor can be a woman's name, as well. She's suddenly glad she hadn't said anything.
She just shrugs half-heartedly in response. "It's good she's making friends," she says eventually. After Arcadia— well, she'd been worried.
Kirk waits, but when she doesn't say anything further, eventually goes back to typing up whatever he's typing up. His quarterly report, she assumes; it's nearly time for the next one.
Actually— she pulls out her phone for a moment and opens her calendar. She should make sure to note that down.
Time passes in idle silence as she scrolls through her calendar, occasionally pausing to add a new entry in there, reminding her of one event or another. She should really hire a personal assistant for this kind of thing, but she dislikes handing her phone over to people she doesn't trust.
Finally, enough time passes that her phone ticks over to six-forty. She stands, stretching, then gestures for Kirk to rise. He does, looking at her with a questioning look; she responds by giving him a tired and hopeful smile. "Could you show me to Amy?" she asks weakly.
He sighs, but pulls himself to his feet. "Sure." He sweeps out of his office, holding the door open magnanimously for her, then sweeps ahead to lead her confidently through the clinic. "She normally finishes up with her patients around four, so she spends the rest of her time doing the schoolwork you've assigned her," he confides in her. "There have been a few times where patients have come in later, though."
She just nods in response. She'd assumed that Amy got some of her English and Maths work done while at the hospital; she never seemed to do it at home.
He leads her to the clinic's break room. One day, she should figure out how to navigate this clinic; then she won't have to rely on Kirk and Amy to lead her through it. She can't even tell it's the break room until the door swings open on silent hinges.
The two of them pause as it swings open. Kirk begins to retreat awkwardly, but Carol doesn't.
Amy is sitting on a chair beside a table, with a girl laying splayed awkwardly across two other chairs beside her. Taylor, if she had to guess. Taylor lays there, head on Amy's lap, giggling at something Amy had said before they entered the room. Amy has her hands resting on Taylor's head, gently massaging her temples— Carol glances, and yes, there's a small bottle of pills on the table. Likely painkillers. Codeine, if the girl's tired and slightly loopy laughter is anything to go by. Neither of the two look up at her approach.
Amy is smiling.
It's been a long time since she saw Amy smile when Victoria isn't nearby.
Carol retreats out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Kirk takes one look at her stoic and forbidding face. "It— that probably wasn't what it seemed," he begins. "There could be-" She holds up a hand, and he falls silent.
"I don't care," she says. He shuts up, searching her face for something. Whatever he finds, it's to his satisfaction; he nods.
Honestly, she does care. Not about the tender scene between the two girls— she wouldn't be a very good person if she let something as simple as her daughter's sexual orientation affect her opinion of her. She's just happy— no, not happy. She's just satisfied that there's someone her daughter feels comfortable around again. After the hounding Amy had received at Arcadia, she'd been scared that her daughter would retreat completely into herself.
She leans against the wall beside the door, and doesn't say anything as Kirk beats a retreat back to his office. She notes the time— six fifty-one— then ignores it, sweeping her calendar app closed and opening her e-mail program. She mostly ignored the Guild's e-mails, given their irrelevance to her family's mission in the city and how stretched New Wave already is, but she had definitely seen a request for New Wave to hold a fundraiser to raise awareness for LGBT issues recently.
She finds it, buried deep in page 4 of her e-mails, those from yesterday. She should organise her e-mails, too. Another thing she should get an assistant for. Another thing she won't get an assistant for.
While waiting, she idly taps out a response to the e-mail-
Narwhal,
We would be happy to host such a fundraiser. Please forward me all relevant details at your earliest convenience.
Regards,
Brandish.
Even if she's reading the situation wrong, it's still a good thing to do.
Then she waits, staring at her phone's clock. The minutes tick by slowly, but she can be patient.
At ten past seven, she stands, brushing the dust off her jacket from where she'd been leaning against the wall. She has given Amy as much time as she can— she does have an image of her own to maintain.
When the door swings open, she's not sure if she feels relieved or disappointed to find the two girls have separated. Taylor, if it is Taylor, is already standing, a backpack slung over her shoulder— had she come here straight after school?
Amy looks up, seeing her enter this time. The smile on her face slides immediately off.
"Mom," she says neutrally. Carol nods at her, but doesn't say anything. Taylor pauses, looking over at her. No recognition shows on her face. Unsurprising— she is open about her identity as Brandish, but it's always hard to connect a mild-mannered lawyer with the tough superhero portrayed on TV. Carol spares the girl one glance, then turns her attention back to her daughter. She's acutely aware of the girl's presence as she lingers awkwardly at the door, twisting the door's handle anxiously— squeak squeak squeak— before opening it and walking out.
"Are you ready to go?" she asks finally. Amy nods unhappily.
"Yeah, I have my stuff," she responds. That's all she says. Carol frowns internally as she waits for Amy to move over and pick her bag up from where she'd placed it beside the break room's coffee machine.
"Have you finished your homework?" Carol tries again.
Amy nods. "Yeah, it's all done. Don't worry."
Slightly frustrated, Carol tries to think it through. What else can she say? If she asks who the other girl was, Amy is likely to take it wrong, and she doesn't want to break up their budding... whatever it is. If she asks how her day was, it's going to sound like an interrogation.
In the end, she settles for saying nothing. She just keeps her face deliberately neutral, trying not to let her frustration at herself leak through, fully cognizant of Amy's unhappy expression behind her back.
Neither of them says anything as she unlocks her car's doors and climbs in.
She closes her eyes briefly as Amy walks around the car to the passenger's side door. A sigh nearly escapes her.
One of these days, she's going to figure out how to talk to her daughter.
Apparently, not today.
2.2
> Success chance: 90%
> Necessary roll: 10. Rolled: 48. Success.
> Success chance: 50%, 80%.
> Rolled: 55. Two integers of success.
Spoiler: Winning Votes
[] The situation with Emma didn't go too well. You're not very sure why— you'd been too caught up in your power's grip to get a good sense of what's going on there— but the halls had just been too busy for you to find a place for the two of you to talk. Still, your reasoning still stands. You do need to talk to her. You still feel incredibly nervous at the thought, but this time, you won't be caught up in your power's grip. If necessary, you'll ask her to meet you after work on Friday morning. You just hope she isn't away for whatever reason.
Roll: 48. Action succeeded.
[] Your headache is bad enough that you don't think you want to strain yourself reading next year's textbooks just yet. In fact, it's bad enough that when you're at home, all you really want to do is curl up on the couch beneath a blanket and watch some quiet TV.
[] You need to do something about the situation at Winslow. You're not really sure what you can do, but— you're not the only person at Winslow. You don't want to drag anyone else into it, but that doesn't mean you can't ask some questions. And hopefully, if you ask the right ones, you might learn some of the information you need to know.
Roll: 55. Action succeeded, with two integers of success.
Your headache isn't better come Wednesday morning, precisely, but it's not as bad after your experiment on Monday, or even yesterday. You're not sure if the codeine is finally kicking in or if it's just your headache fading over time, but either way, you're feeling a lot better. It's surprisingly hard to focus when you have a headache that bad.
Or, well, not really that surprising. It's hard to ignore a headache. It's like a constant distraction, something trying to tug your attention away from whatever you're trying to pay attention to. You'd even found it hard to pay attention to Madison, although you'd definitely tried your best.
Either way, your headache has faded into something more manageable. It's more of a dull throb now than a sharp, stabbing pain, although— you wince, and immediately regret testing it; yes, it still definitely hurts to move your head too fast. You're definitely not going for a run today.
Your movements are slow and cautious as you amble over to your dresser and get out your clothes from your dresser. Nothing fancy, again— not that you really own fancy clothes anyway, you're not really sure why you constantly expect to find them in here. The few pieces of fancy clothing you own are tucked securely away in Dad's room, where you know they won't get messed up.
It's a relief to step into the shower, once you've made your way out of your room and to the bathroom. The shock of the cold water hitting your skin makes your eyes snap open, but it soon turns to a nice warm spray, and you spend a good amount of time just luxuriating in the warmth as you wash yourself and carefully shampoo your hair.
Stepping out of a warm shower always does funny things to a headache. It dulls the pain, kind of— except it's more like the dull throbbing is just spread over your entire head, rather than emanating from somewhere around the back of your head. It makes it more tolerable, somehow, but it also makes you feel a little light-headed. It's a confusing feeling.
You unhurriedly get dressed and make your way out to the kitchen, where Dad's already waiting. He gives you a concerned look when you clutch at your head at a sudden spike of pain— god, that sun shining through the window is bright— but you wave his concern off and turn the coffee maker on. Then, you heave out a great sigh when you realize you left Amy's painkillers in your room. At least the coffee maker has finished bubbling away by the time you come back out. Surprising, until you suddenly realize that Dad probably made one while you were in the shower. Then you just feel a little silly.
