The snow is thick on the streets as I head towards the HQ. Each step is muted, leaving shallow marks on the white canvas. It's almost New Year's, but the city feels stuck in between Christmas and the uncertain future. The festive decorations still cling to the windows, their bright colors contrasting with the desolate streets. It's like walking through a ghost town, where memories of laughter and celebration echo through the empty sidewalks. Parties that were had last weekend, not this one. Everyone's asleep now.

Christmas came and went in a blur, hardly registering in my memory. And now, I see Valentine's Day decorations appearing in store windows, a stark reminder that time keeps moving forward, even when it feels like my world has come to a stop.

I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets, seeking refuge from the cold. It bites at my fingers, nibbling like fish at worms. I haven't been here in weeks, not since… well, you know. I try not to think about it, but it's impossible. The thoughts are always there, coloring everything like a pink elephant in the room. Impossible to avoid, and impossible to stop thinking about.

I pause in front of the warehouse that hides the entrance to our HQ. It looks just as inconspicuous as ever, the perfect disguise for a group of teenage superheroes. But today, it feels like a barrier, a doorway I'm hesitant to cross. I take a deep breath, preparing myself. I'm not sure what I'm more scared of - facing my teammates or confronting my own guilt for avoiding them. It's like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing I have to jump but not ready for the fall.

The air is crisp, biting at my lungs as I exhale, my air gathering in a condensed cloud in front of me while I try to gather my courage. The world around me is still, the usual hustle and bustle of the city muted by the snow and the time of year. It's almost like I'm the last person left in a world that has moved on without me. Damn. I need to get a diary so that my melodrama can be left in there instead of in my train of thought.

I look at the windows of the surrounding buildings, distorted by the icy glass. They're empty, devoid of the usual signs of life. It's eerie, this silence. It feels like the city is holding its breath, waiting for something to break the stillness. I half expect something to explode every other minute, or to hear the distinctive popping of distant gunshots. I don't even get that much.

I step forward, my feet crunching in the snow. The sound seems loud in the quiet air, declaring my presence in this abandoned scene. I approach the warehouse, its familiar front disguising the well-hidden secrets within. It's time to face what I've been avoiding. It's time to reenter the world, even if I'm not completely ready for what's on the other side.

The airlock hisses softly as I step inside, offering some comfort in its well-known hiss. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, finding myself in the hallway, just like I remember.

Today, I am going to yell at Mr. Davis.

I cautiously make my way forward, my footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. The weight of my absence weighs heavily on me, reminding me of how terrible I've been as a teammate. I've missed training sessions, ignored their calls… truth is, I've been a lousy superhero. I keep telling myself there were valid reasons, but deep down, I know I've been avoiding everything - the loss of Liberty Belle and my own overwhelming pain. I still feel her hands sometimes, like a phantom limb.

Finally, I arrive at the locker room, and the door protests with a small creak as I push it open. The room is empty, the lockers standing like silent statues, their labels mocking me. I trace a small line of dust in the one for me, just at the end. The lockers line the walls, and echoes of laughter and conversation from the past seem to fill the empty space. But today, it's silent. Sounds emanate from the gym, and my grim determination only grows.

The entrance to the gym is right in front of me, and faint sounds of activity reach my ears - the rhythmic thud of a punching bag, hushed conversations. My heart starts racing, a rush of nervous energy surging through me. I know I'm not fully ready for this, but hiding away forever is not an option.

Summoning all my bravery, I take a deep breath and push open the gym door, preparing myself for whatever lies on the other side.

The training room at the Delaware Valley Defenders HQ is buzzing with activity, a whirlwind of movement and color that feels comfortably familiar, like stepping into an old pair of sweatpants. I stand in the doorway, kind of like a ghost who's stumbled into the wrong place. Everything's the same as before, but there's a new vibe, a different energy that's hard to explain.

Everyone is here today, doing their usual thing, but it's Spindle who catches my eye. He's in the middle of the floor, contorting and twisting in ways that make my own joints ache just from watching. His new outfit clings to his body, a sleek design that's all sharp edges and vibrant patterns on black - a far cry from the old ragged clothes he used to wear. It hugs his lanky frame, black with sharp accents of red tracing angular lines that seem to highlight his every exaggerated move.

Wait, Spindle is here? He hasn't gone home yet? Or… I guess, hasn't found a home yet?

He's grappling with Playback, who's trying to teach him some kind of hold or throw, but Spindle's body moves in ways no one else's can. He effortlessly slips out of every grip, as if he's made of water. It's impressive, in a creepy sort of way. I can't help but wonder who came up with his new outfit, who's been guiding him through these moves. It's obvious he's been getting a lot of help - help that I haven't been around to provide. I have to assume Gossamer made him a costume, but I have no idea if I should still be calling him "Spindle" or if we've moved on to newer pastures in the name fields.

A twinge of guilt, maybe even regret, stirs in my chest. I've been absent for what feels like ages, lost in my own thoughts while life here at HQ continues on. Seeing Spindle, so transformed yet so enthusiastic, it hits me hard. It reminds me of all the things I've been avoiding, all the responsibilities I've been neglecting.

Spindle notices me then, and his face lights up with a grin that reveals all his teeth, but in a way that seems almost enthusiastic. He disentangles himself from Playback and bounds over, leaving the other hero looking a bit baffled. "Hey, king, we're not done yet!"

"Sam!" he exclaims, a mix of excitement and surprise in his voice. "You're here! Did you see? I've been working really hard, and they gave me this new outfit, and I've been learning so much!"

His enthusiasm is infectious, and despite the weight that's been clinging to me, I can't help but smile back, even if it's forced.

"Yeah, I see that," I reply, trying to sound more positive than I feel. "Looks like you've been keeping busy."

Spindle's eyes are practically sparkling with excitement as he catches his breath, words tumbling out in a rush. "So, they've been showing me all these awesome moves, right? Like this one--" He launches into a quick demo, limbs twisting in a way that'd make a pretzel jealous, "--it's called an omoplata. It's like, I can use my, uh, bendiness to trap someone's arm with my legs. Pretty cool, huh?"

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I nod, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, trying to keep up with his rapid-fire speech. "Mmhmm, cool," is all I manage, my gaze drifting over his shoulder for a second.

Playback gives me a thumbs up from across the room, and Gale… she's literally hovering, a good foot off the ground, drifting towards us with that calm, collected grace she always has. Rampart just nods from where he's lifting what looks like a ridiculous amount of weight, and even Puppeteer pauses, a rare moment of stillness from her.

"And check this out," Spindle continues, oblivious to the gathering crowd, "Crossroads taught me this grappling hook thing where I--"

Gale's gentle voice cuts in, "Hey, Sam." She touches down, and the air around us feels a bit cooler, a bit fresher. "We've missed you around here."

"Yeah," Playback chimes in, walking over with a soft clap on my shoulder, "It's not the same without our Bloodhound sniffing out trouble."

I can't help the half-smile, even as my heart does a complicated dance. "Missed you guys too," I say, voice softer than I want it to be. "And it looks like I've missed a lot."

Spindle, finally catching on to the others' presence, wraps up with a flourish, "Yeah, and there's this one kick Rampart showed me--it's like, well, I'll just have to show you sometime."

The rest of the team forms a loose semi-circle around us, and I feel the warmth of their presence. It's like coming home after a long trip away, where everything's the same but you're the one that's changed. I take a deep breath, ready to dive back into this world I've been away from for too long. "I'd like that," I say to Spindle, finally meeting his eyes. "I really would."

But as I listen and watch him speak with obvious pride and joy, a small flicker of warmth ignites in my chest. Maybe it's hope, or maybe it's just the tiniest glimpse of normalcy. Whatever it is, it's enough to keep me rooted in place, listening and watching as Spindle - this new and improved Spindle - shows me just how much can change when you're not paying attention.

I lean in, lowering my voice even though I'm pretty sure everyone's too wrapped up in the reunion vibes to eavesdrop. "So, Spindle, how're you not in Juvie, anyway?" I ask, half-expecting some superhero legal jargon I won't understand.

He scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish grin flickering across his face. "Uh, well, it's kinda complicated, but they put me in this… diversion thingy?" He flails a hand, as if trying to pluck the right words out of the air. "I'm on probation, and I gotta check in with this officer guy, and do community stuff, like a lot."

"Diversion program," Crossroads corrects, making me jump. I have no idea how he manages to be quieter than Playback all the time. It's scary. "It was my idea to give the kid a shot. And hey, he's got a knack for rescuing those feline menaces from trees."

I raise an eyebrow, looking back at Spindle. "Really? That's what you're doing?"

He nods vigorously, the awkwardness from before replaced with a flicker of pride. "Yeah, and I'm also learning all these martial arts moves, but not for, like, fighting bad guys. More like just… knowing them. And helping out where I can. It's all about… rehabilitation?" He sounds like he's asking me if that's the right word, and I can't help but smile.

"Rehabilitation. Got it," I say, punching his shoulder lightly. "Well, I'm glad you're here, not there."

"You and me both, home slice," He replies, punching me back.

The air's thick with that mix of rubber and sweat, the familiar scents of the training room. I'm here but not here, you know? Like a ghost that's just clocked in to haunt her old haunt. I muster up a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes and throw him a "It all looks good, Spindle. Really sharp."

The words are right, but they sound hollow, even to me. My voice echoes a bit too much in the vast room.

He beams at me, and it's like the sun breaking through clouds, all warmth and blinding brightness. "Thanks, Sam! It feels amazing," he says, twisting his arm in a way that makes my own bones wince.

Around us, the team's kinda gathered, a semi-circle of cautious stares and half-smiles. Puppeteer's giving me this look like she can read every page of the last month's diary in my eyes. Gale's got that mother-hen worry etched on her face, and it makes my stomach twist just a little. Rampart's this silent sentinel at the back, his nod so subtle you might miss it if you're not looking for that kind of thing.

I know they're trying to be all welcoming, but it's like coming back home to find someone's rearranged your room. Everything's familiar but just… off. I've been gone, like really gone, lost in my own head where the shadows play. I showed up for the funeral, a specter in the crowd, then poof, back to ghosting.

They're trying to bridge this canyon-sized gap with jokes that land in the void between us, and I can't help but feel this ache, this sore spot that's been tender since the funeral. It's weird, being the one they're all tiptoeing around. I'm used to being the strong one, the punch-first-ask-questions-later gal, not this… whatever I am now.

"So, uh, how's everyone been?" I ask, my voice a little too bright, a little too forced.

"We've been… you know, training, keeping the streets clean. The usual," Gale says, and there's a tremble in her usual storm-strong voice.

"Missed you out there," Playback adds, and it's kind but also like a tiny guilt-trip all gift-wrapped.

I nod, 'cause what else can you do? "Yeah, I… I needed some time," I admit, and it's like confessing to a room full of priests, each one with their own brand of absolution to offer.

There's this pause, a beat of silence that feels like an hour, before Puppeteer steps in, her voice a gentle prod. "We're just glad you're back, Bee. We've all gotta take our breaks."

I look at them all, my team, my friends, and I feel this tangle of gratitude and guilt and a million other things. "Thanks, guys. It's… good to be back," I say, and I mean it. But there's a part of me that's still out there, lost in the shallows. Still in the snow in the PES refinery.

Crossroads nudges into the circle, casual as ever, but his voice cuts through the buzz. "Okay, team-up time. Dr. Leonard Harris, our friendly neighborhood NSRA doc, is swinging by next month. Exams for everyone. Bee, that includes you."

I stiffen at the acronym, a cocktail of dread and defiance bubbling up. "Next month's packed for me, Crossroads, really packed," I say, maybe too quick, too sharp. Crossroads knows, I know he knows, he knows I know he knows. But do the others know? Do they know that the government has it out for good ol' Sam Small personally?

He raises an eyebrow, a silent call-out. "Too packed for a standard power check?"

Before I can cook up an excuse, Spindle, with his new-found bravado, chimes in, "I'm in. I mean, I'm practically part of the furniture around here." He knocks his elbow against a wall for emphasis, a grin spreading on his face.

Playback shoots him a half-smile. "Furniture that can crab-walk through air vents is a bit fucked, yeah?"

Crossroads ignores the banter, his gaze steady on me. "It's just numbers and notes, Bee. Dr. Harris is good people. He's here to help, not to prod and probe. And Spindle, you also have to come anyway."

"Good! I was planning on it," Spindle replies, beaming.

"That's extremely not true, Cross," Gale quips, using a hand fan to gently blow his braids out of place. "He's like 80% poking and prodding. That's how he gets the numbers."

"You're really not selling me on this guy, Gale," I mumble.

She reaches out and grabs my hand, giving it a sort of limp squeeze. "Well, it's just like a doctor's physical. Except he does physical's stuff on our superpowers. With a bunch of equipment and stuff like that."

"Yeah, alright," I relent, feeling the push and pull of their expectations, "physicals." There's a beat where I'm weighing up trust against instinct, but the room's full of it, trust. Maybe I can borrow some.

Crossroads gives a nod, satisfied, and the conversation swells around us, back to the safer shores of training schedules and patrol routes. But his words linger, offering a kind of peace treaty with the part of the world I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive.

Turning from the light-hearted chatter, I fish around for my next move. "Anyone seen Councilman Davis around, or do I have to summon him with a phone call?" The words feel too heavy, too real for the joking vibe we've got going.

Heads shake, and Rampart offers up, "He's on a break between legislative sessions. Taking some personal time."

Personal time. That sounds like a good enough reason for me to drop in unannounced.

"Well, then," I say with a determination that I hope sounds more convincing than it feels, "guess I've got a good reason to interrupt him."