Once again, the Hero saved the day. She had smashed Chaos down, right through the macadam of the street, and now order could reign again.
Her breaths came hard through her battered body, exiting her mouth tinted with the taste of blood. Drops of it dripped from her knuckles, knees, her cheek, her flank. She hated projectiles. Hated it when she couldn’t focus solely on reaching the villain and had to take too many other elements into account. She wasn’t as good in defense as she was in attack and it showed, especially with Chaos. Big scraps of ground, rocks, cars - everything had swirled and swung and soared. She was nothing if not one big throbbing pain - but the Hero was still standing, and Chaos was dead, and order would reign again.
Until the next villain came, and it would start all over again.
*
Sounds were coming back to her ears. Cries, cheers and the distinct flashes of the press. The Hero straightened her back. Looking like a winner - a savior -, the Hero gave the gathering crowd a solid smile for them to hold onto. They screamed and laughed and cried and the Hero stood in a plain of debris. Then the flock of journalists swooped on her, and the Hero smiled and smiled and talked, and the journalists asked and asked and fought, and when the questions became barbs the Hero pushed on through.
She flew off. The crowd on the ground gasping as one was the last thing she heard before wind filled her ears. She flew for a long time, too broken to speed through. She could feel the tissues starting to grow and mend and scar, and the blood stopping to drip. It itched terribly every time.
When she came home, she was greeted by silence. It almost felt off, this emptiness, but she remembered then and shrugged it through. She peeled her mask off in the equipment room, and walked on to the repair room before she stepped out of her suit. The material was solid, but it was not armor, and she would have to stitch it up before giving it a good wash. Speaking of a good wash… she left her suit next to the sewing machine, shuffling around in her underwear to the bathroom. She took a long, scalding shower, letting the water flow until it didn’t came down red, or dirty, or with piss. She was the only one to ever use that shower - if she was too tired to prevent herself from peeing right now instead of later in the toilet, no one would mind.
Once she was all dry and dressed, she poured herself a large glass of water. She gulped it down, then downed three more of them. When that was done she started to stretch, battling hard not to wince at every pull and flex and twist. It was a painful half an hour before she could finally eat something. She made meat, a lot of it, with vegetables and a big glass of milk. She did the dishes. She sat on the couch and ate an apple. She sewed her suit back up and put it in the washing machine. She brushed her teeth. She did not look at her phone. She went to sleep.
----------------------------------------
“Mom! I’m leaving!”
“Have fun at school!” Cordelia shouted from the lab and into the intercom, careful not to let her eyes wander away from the operation she was conducting. Surgery and transplant on the ocular system was always delicate - the one she was trying to achieve was more than that. One tiny fraction of a millimeter off and Danton could not only lose his left eye, but half of his face and probably his life as well. Cordelia was confident she could do it, as long as no one and nothing decided to chip at her concentration and distract her. She was the best surgeon to have ever surged, after all.
A few hours after Deb’s departure - and eleven and a half since the beginning of the operation -, Cordelia was done. She moved the camerarm (a robotic arm with a built-in camera of her invention that she used for particularly delicate or small-level interventions) away from Danton’s eye with extreme caution, then rolled it to the sanitizing room where it would be cleaned with a thoroughness no health facility could yet achieve. She rolled the rest of the equipment back in its place and away from the bed, which she pushed through the automatic door of the operating room. On her way to the resting room, she flicked the switch from a red OPERATION IN PROGRESS, DO NOT DISTURB to a green DONE, PLEASE CLEAN. The message was displayed in every room of the mansion, and on every device belonging to a resident. For those on cleaning duty, it would even come with instructions. Cordelia was pragmatic like that.
Once Danton’s bed was settled and Danton himself was connected to the monitors, Cordelia fished her phone out of her pocket. She typed a short message.
[To: William] I put him in room 05. He should wake up in about an hour.
She checked every screen and digits one last time to make sure it was as safe as could be, then hit send and left the room.
*
She was almost done with the pasta a la carbonara when her alarm went off. Danton was starting to wake up.
She texted Andy to come season the sauce and make sure lunch would be ready in half an hour, and was off. She ran down the flight of stairs to the underground floor, ecstatic and worried all at once. She really hoped the operation had worked. She stripped quickly and stepped into the sanitizing airlock, where she dressed back up into her surgeon clothes as the sanitizor did its work. When the screen on the right wall of the airlock declared she was clean, Cordelia was free to step out and half-run to Danton’s room.
William was here, of course, looking at a slightly stirring Danton with concern etched in every line of his body, craving but not daring to take his hand. He glanced up at Cordelia when the door slided open, and managed a small smile. Cordelia hoped the one she flashed back was as reassuring as she wanted it to be.
Then Danton made a feeble sound, and Cordelia stepped further into the room. She checked the monitors: everything was good. He was waking up normally, slowly, and with his regular heart rate. He didn’t seem in pain, either. William gasped, and Cordelia almost asked him why before she saw that it was just Danton gripping his hand. Somehow, in semi-consciousness, he had still managed to find it. It was Danton’s turn to gasp, then, and Cordelia turned to him.
“Breathe, Danton. Danton, it’s me, Cordelia. Breathe. I’m with William,” she said, stroking his mess of a hair. She glanced at the monitors. Still nothing. “Everything’s fine. Just breathe. You’re home, in the resting room, after your operation. Do you remember?”
Danton’s breathing slowed. His body relaxed back down, and his eye fluttered open. He fixed his eyes first on the ceiling, then Cordelia. Carefully, he nodded. Cordelia smiled.
“Good. Don’t talk yet, just breathe. You have to drink some water first,” she said, and as she did so turned to grab the glass of water she had prepared on the nightstand. “Will, can you make him sit up, please?”
William startled away from Danton’s face, and immediately bent down to push one of many buttons linked to the many functions of the bed. With very low speed, so as not to frighten or strain the patient, the first fifth of the bed raised Danton up in a sitting position. He was still holding William’s hand, and Cordelia had to touch his shoulder to make him look away from William long enough to drink the whole glass.
“How long,” he croaked at her, and Cordelia made him drink another full glass.
“About twelve and a half hours,” she said when he was done, and he nodded.
“How are you feeling?” Will asked, brows furrowed.
Danton smiled at him. “I’m fine. Missed you.”
“Missed you too,” he said back with a tremor and a smile.
Cordelia rolled her eyes, but let them have their moment. The operation hadn’t been without risks, and she could understand the emotion - she herself was being washed over by a wave of relief. And she remembered love, too; she remembered caring for someone so strongly she had feared it would break her. She remembered the meetings of eyes that shut everything else away from them, remembered holding hands like a lifeline. She remembered how intense it could be, and so she let them forget she was here, for a time. Then she clapped.
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They both jumped. She grinned.
“Alright! Now let’s see what this eye can do. May I take a look at it?” she asked, and Danton nodded, letting go of William’s hand. She gestured for Danton to lie down against the mattress and scooted her chair closer to the bed. The eye looked good. Normal, or at least somewhat close to it. The pupil looked reactive, and bigger, as it occupied the space that the iris previously had. It didn’t look much different than if Danton’s iris hd been black, except that it shrank and extended depending on the light, like any normal pupil did. The eyelids were gone - she hadn’t had a choice.
“Well, this looks good,” she said, and patted Danton’s shoulder. “How well can you see with it?”
He blinked his right eye, looked around, squinted, then shut his right eye closed.
“P- Pretty good, actually. Better than with the other one, and much better than before. It… it does feel kinda weird though.”
“How weird?”
He frowned and shook his head, visibly troubled. “I don’t know, like… enhanced, or something. Saturated, but not just the colors, it’s everything . And it kind of hurts, too, but I’m guessing that’s normal.”
Cordelia nodded, smiling. “It’s all normal, really. The change is a lot to take in, and you’re going to have to get used to it before you can really deploy its full potential… Do you want something for the pain?”
“Oh, okay, cool, and uh, no thanks. I’m good,” he said, not really paying attention but looking around instead. “This is really cool.”
Cordelia smirked. “Wait until you try the coolest part.” Both William and Danton turned to look at her, a question in their look. She wiggled her eyebrows. “You can actually shoot laser with it.”
“ What? ” they said, then looked at each other.
“This is so cool, ” Danton whooped, at the same time that William said: “That’s terrifying .”
Cordelia grinned, pleased by both of their reactions. “Isn’t it great? You’ll have to learn how to use it first, but once that’s done you’re going to be amazing . And it’s perfectly safe, too,” she added, looking at Will. He seemed dubious, but Danton was excited enough for the two of them. “Wanna try it?”
He looked at her like she was giving him the best of gifts. “Can I?”
“Just look to the ceiling, and think about it. I built it like a muscle, so if your brain sends the command, your eye should respond.”
Danton did as she said. He looked up, frowning - and a ray of laser shot to the ceiling, not leaving so much as a trace on the surface. That all walls should be laser-proof was a doctrine of Cordelia she was particularly proud of.
Will and Danton gaped at her. She beamed.
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The Hero woke up with a start and a gasp in a puddle of sweat. The whole room stank with it. It took her a second to figure out what’d woken her: her phone, ringing, buzzing, on the nightstand. Without thinking she grabbed it and pressed ANSWER. She only realised her mistake when a voice started speaking through it.
“Hello? Misha?”
She wanted to throw up.
“I can hear you breathing, Misha. I know it’s you.”
“...Nataly,” she croaked, slumping back against the wall in defeat. Her ceiling was so white.
“So you still speak. Good.”
“Why are you calling?”
Silence. Then: “Are you serious?”
She sighed, and let her head thump backward against the wall. Nataly swore.
“You really are serious. I worry, Misha. That’s why I called. I saw the pictures and the articles they wrote about yesterday.”
Nataly waited for her to say something. She said nothing.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
She heard Nataly sigh. “I’m not stupid, Misha. I saw the state you were in.”
She wanted to throw up. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to smash the phone.
“I’m fine.”
She hurt all over, but she was alive. She could still fight. She could still save the world.
“I don’t believe you.”
She pinched her nose, fighting the urge to crush the phone and the annoying voice within.
“I don’t care,” she groaned. Nataly swore.
“God dammit, Misha, I care about you. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going on like that.”
She let out a breath through her nose, slowly and with intent. She made herself lighten her grip on the phone.
“We are divorced,” she forced out, through gritted teeth.
“So what, you think just because we’re not married anymore, I don’t worry? That I don’t care about you? I love you, asshole. I’m not going to stop loving you just because you divorced me.”
She wished she could just smash her head against the wall. Be done with Nataly and all those aggravating headaches once and for all.
“But I did.”
Silence.
The bile was rising in her throat.
“...I see,” Nataly said, and her voice broke on the last word.
She flinched, but said nothing.
“...Take care of yourself, Misha.”
Nataly hung up.
The Hero sagged against the wall, empty and drained and hurt. She hoped Nataly would stop calling. She hoped Nataly would be fine. She hoped Natlay would move on, now. She hoped Nataly would not find out she’d lied.
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As Cordelia was leaning against the car, waiting for Deb’ to get out of class, she thought that trees were really beautiful. Both materialistically and metaphorically: labyrinth of intricate roots scavenging the soil, a solid, reliable trunk, branches like dozens of arms reaching for the immateriality of the sky. Life, growth, death, with reproduction thrown into the mix. Humans were really just ugly trees. Weak, mobile trees that made far too much noise.
The end of class rung then, and a flow of teenagers ran out the doors. Or dragged themselves out the doors, depending. Cordelia looked for a flash of blue on top of the most beautiful, most handsome face in the world. It wasn’t hard, in this mass of stupid, ugly trees, to find the one she was looking for. Deb’ was making their way through the crowd with ease and a grace none of the others possessed. When they spotted Cordelia, Deb’ shot her the brightest smile and pushed some kid out of their way, extracting themself out of the crowd with class. Cordelia grinned.
“How’s my favorite person ever?” she asked, ruffling Deb’s frizzy hair.
“I pushed an asshole down the stairs and he broke his leg,” they said, grinning.
“Good. Did anyone see you?”
“Nope, not even him!”
Cordelia smiled, feeling like her heart was taking all the room in her ribcage. She ruffled Deb’s hair again, smiling. “I’m proud of you, you know?”
Deb’ smiled back, dimples digging in their cheeks. Their dark skin shone like no other under the afternoon sun, reflecting the light like a little moon. Deb’ really was the most beautiful person in the world.
“I know, mom. I am too,” they said, circling the car to get to the passenger seat. Cordelia shook her head lightly and got into the car.
“Ready to go home?”
Deb’ looked at her, amusement and fondness shining in their eyes. “You know you don’t have to come get me every time, right?”
“Nonsense. Now work your magic, little beetle.”
Deb’ shook their head at their mom, smiling, and snapped their fingers. A fraction of a second later the school disappeared, and they were home.
Cordelia saw Andy jump at their appearance, and bang her head against the hood of the car she had been tinkling with. She stifled a laugh to spare her friend’s dignity, but Deb’ snapped their fingers again and appeared right next to Andy, scaring her to death. Cordelia shook her head, smiling despite herself, and got out of the car. Deb’ had always liked messing with others as soon as they’d discovered what they could do. Cordelia thanked the universe for linking the trigger of Deb’s power in a snap of their fingers, and not something easier to learn. She didn’t know if she would have survived a teleporting baby - raising a regular one had been hard enough as it was.
“Sorry we scared you, Andy,” she said, shooting a look at her kid. Deb’ shrugged.
“Couldn’t help it.”
“That’s alright,” Andy laughed, rubbing her head where it had met the hood. “I’ll get used to it eventually.”
Deb’ leant forward to peek into the car, eyes roaming along the pipes and pistons, trying to make sense of it all. “What were you working on?”
“Oh, uh, nothing much, just - trying to make this one work again, I guess,” she said, and blushed at the curious look Deb’ gave her. “What?”
“Why would you want this one to work, when we have dozens of others much nicer vehicles?” Deb’ gestured to the rest of the garage.
Andy looked around too, considering the question, but her gaze quickly found its way back to the old, dusty car she’d been trying to fix. “I like this one.”
“Why?” Deb’ pressed on, sounding frustrated. Cordelia smiled.
Andy shrugged, hand brushing along the red edge of the car’s guard, smiling fondly at its chipped paint job and dated engine. “I like that she’s old. They don’t make these anymore. They’re too slow, and too small, and not adapted to the engines we make today. Trying to fix her - it’s like flicking through an old photo album.”
“So you’re, what, nostalgic? Did you use to have one like this before?”
“No, I wasn’t born when they stopped making them,” Andy said, shaking her head. The light caught on the shaved skin, and Cordelia spied Deb’s eyes briefly glancing at it. “It’s more like looking into the past, I guess? And dusting it off,” she added with a grin.
Cordelia smiled. It was a nice thought, that in the present the past could be fixed.
“You know,” she said, “I don’t think I ever saw this car working. It’s always been sitting here, as far as I recall.”
Andy looked at her then turned to the car, looking wistful. “That’s a shame, it’s a beauty.”
“If you can fix it, it’s yours.”
“Really?” Andy gasped. There were stars twinkling in her eyes, brighter than Cordelia had ever seen.
She laughed, patting her shoulder. “Of course. Now come, the both of you. I smell dinner.”