“Do we really have to go back?” Amy grumbled as I locked the front door.

  “Unless you want to subsist off shitty Alphagetti and beans until we run out and starve,” I replied with a shrug. “Come on, it's not going to be that bad...at least for you. I'm probably going to be in for a world of crap though.”

  “Then why do you want to go back?” I grimaced.

  “Got to,” I said simply. “What are my other options; join the Undersiders, whatever's left of the Nazis, or go out on my own? I'm going to get flak, but it's just going to be a bunch of complaints about what I did, which I don't care about, or restrictions which are annoying but survivable. Plus, I know at least I'm not actively making shit worse here.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Amy said, sighing. “Not really selling me on it.”

  “Amy, you're a healer, and I'm a C-tier Master with a D-tier brain. They're going to make you their golden calf,” I countered as we started walking.

  “We'll see I guess.”

  We had wound up spending the night at my house, snoozing intermittently on the couch upstairs. Neither of us got a full night of sleep, and more than once I'd woken up to Amy's cries; she'd probably been woken up by me more. When the sun finally rose, I'd started getting ready to leave...to go home.

  Definitely wasn't looking forward to it. Well...I was looking forward to sleeping on a real bed, and even a shower. Of course, that came with a dressing down, debriefing, probation, and probably some pretty intense M-S checks. All worth it...I hoped. No, it was definitely worth it. Hurt as she was, Victoria was her own woman, two years of her life given back. Same with Amy, she'd dodged the Birdcage, dodged...what she did. A few months probation and getting bitched at by heroes for a few hours would be cheap at twice the price.

  I sighed as we entered the downtown, ignoring the looks from the few people out on the streets this early. I'd resigned myself to stares when I went out in costume. I...probably could have grabbed something from home, but too late now. The PRT building loomed ahead and, with my stomach churning, I led Amy up the steps and inside. I made a beeline for the door that led towards my little apartment, then swore under my breath as the elevator doors opened before I could take three steps.

  “Amaranth,” Weld said gravely as he stepped out, flanked by Clockblocker. I paused as they angled towards us, eyes flicking to my side as Amy grabbed my hand. “You're back. And you brought a...guest.”

  “Yeah, hey, tadaima or whatever.” I jerked my chin to the side. “Come on Amy.”

  “Where do you think you're going?” I caught the glare he shot me, but quickly smothered.

  “My quarters,” I replied flatly. “Come on A-- what?” I jerked to a halt as he stepped in front of me.

  “Director wanted you for a debriefing once you're back,” Weld rumbled. “And you're back.” My teeth creaked as I clenched my jaw.

  “Weld, I've spent the last few days being tormented by the cruelest fucks on the planet. I lost three god damn fingertips, slept maybe thirty minutes out of the last thirty-six hours, and am running on one can of Alphagetti. I'll deal with the director, take my licks, but first I need a fucking nap. Amy, come on.”

  I shoved past him, dragging Amy along behind me. She let out a noise that may have been an apology, but followed easily enough. Weld, for his part, didn't try and stop me at least. I guess that was at least worth a couple points. The halls had been swept since Shatterbird blew everything up, it seemed almost everything had been fixed really, besides the scars in the cement walls.

  We came to my door and I pulled off my glove and pressed my hand to a new-looking scanner. The locks clicked and I pushed my way inside, grimacing. It seemed my room hadn't been high on the PRT's priority to clean. That was fair enough, I was AWOL, but it was irritating that I couldn't just lay down and relax for once.. I told Amy to sit at the kitchen table and got to work.

  “Hey,” Amy spoke up quietly as I was rolling up the glass-covered rug in the living room. “Um, do you need help?”

  “Nah,” I replied, grunting as I dragged the carpet to the door. “You...it's fine, take a break.”

  “You need one too,” she complained. “Healing isn't exactly easy on your body, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said as I retrieved the broom. I wasted no time in tackling the carpet of fine glass on the floor. “But at the same time, I got healed and you didn't, I'm probably in better shape overall. So, leave it to me; I owe you anyway.”

  “Owe me?” She sounded almost offended.

  “You saved my life,” I explained. “And...and now you know exactly what that means, Amy. You didn't just save my life, you saved...” Your sister, yourself. “Just, I owe you, okay?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Was it...” Amy swallowed hard.

  “Later, Amy, later.”

  Mercifully, she listened, and I was allowed to finish cleaning up the floors. I dumped the piles of dusted glass into an empty trash bin. I could take it out later, when I didn't feel like my eyes were full of the stuff. I moved into the bathroom and swept the mirror up, then did the same. Once I was done, I let Amy know and she made a beeline for the shower. Fair, I guess I'd go in after.

  I took the sheets off the bed and shook them hard. Fine glass shards fell out and tinkled as they hit the floor. Probably not all of them, so I bundled the sheets up and stuffed them in the hamper to deal with later. I retrieved the spare set from the closet, where mercifully there hadn't been any glass to ruin them, and set it back up. I sighed and stared at it, then shook my head. Later.

  Well, that was cleaning basically done. Checking the kitchen, I found everything intact besides the electrics of the fridge. Fortunately, the half-loaf of bread I had left in there was pretty much intact and I brought it out. The peanut butter I'd managed to snag a couple weeks back was good too, so that was food sorted.

  I went to the closet and opened it, then fumbled with the zipper on the side of my costume. Once I'd got it, I peeled the top of my costume off, wincing as the scabs on my arm were torn off. I unclipped my belt and let it fall to the floor with a dull 'thud', pointedly ignoring the pistol that fell with it. I froze, half-dressed, as I caught sight of myself in the mirror on the door.

  I couldn't help but flinch as I saw my right arm. A lot of the ink had run, not surprising since I hadn't exactly been practicing aftercare and sure as fuck wasn't starting, but every symbol was recognizable. I was lucky there hadn't been time to fill it all in, between the manual needles and Victor's interruption. Hopefully that Nazi fuck was still nursing his pulped hands.

  Even if I ignored the ink, I looked like shit. I seemed even shorter than normal, my shoulders hunched and rounded. I'd lost weight, enough that my cheeks had sunken slightly, enough that my ribs were showing when they hadn't before. How much of that was from fighting for my life on an empty stomach and how much from Amy's healing? I stepped closer and narrowed my eyes, staring at my face.

  God I looked like crap. I poked at a painful patch of acne that Amy had apparently decided didn't need healing, wincing. My freckles were coming in, where they weren't covered by zits, and it made everything look patchy and shit. When did I start hating my freckles, I thought they were cute didn't I? No, no I'd always hated my face, at least since puberty blessed me by cratering it. Fucking bullshit that I'd remember otherwise, but I remembered a lot otherwise. What did that mean for--

  “Fuck.” I whirled and winced as I saw Amy staring at me. “H-holy--”

  “Sorry,” I apologized quickly, grabbing a hoodie from the closet and covering my ugly body up more than my stained sports bra did. “I, uh, M- Mannequin's trial, had to 'change' for the worst so I...I changed back. Sorry.” I swallowed and wrapped my arms around my waist. “Um, you can take whatever if you need a change. I'm gonna go shower.”

  I snatched a pair of sweatpants from the closet and brushed past Amy before she could say anything. I slammed the bathroom door behind me and let out a shuddering breath. I stripped and got into the shower before I could see anymore of myself, a yelp escaping my throat as water blasted over my skin.

  My heart was pounding, but I made sure to scrub myself thoroughly. Really I needed a proper decontamination, fighting Bonesaw like I had, but this was fine for now. My arm smarted when I began cleaning it, and I dug my nails in to scrub it. Didn't care about how the tattoos turned out, hell maybe if I scrubbed hard enough I could tear it out of my fucking skin.

  I shut down the water, breathing heavily. My heart was racing, and I gripped my chest over top of it. It didn't hurt, but after yesterday the feeling made my knees weak and my ears ring. I got out and toweled myself off before throwing the sweats I'd retrieved on. I bundled up my costume and left the bathroom, throwing it back into the closet on the floor. It would probably have to be burned, at this point. I caught Amy glancing away from me quickly, huddled up on the couch. I sighed and walked over, taking the other end and leaning back.

  “Do...” Amy began quietly after a few minutes of silence. “Do you want me to...fix it?”

  “Fix...oh.” I grimaced. “No, it's fine, you've done more than enough for me as it is. Do any more and I won't be able to pay my debt, then you'll have to kneecap me.”

  “I'm serious Lia,” she snapped. “I...you...I saw those when I healed you. Not directly, but I could see the scarring. I made sure it wouldn't get infected or anything, but I thought it was something personal, something you wouldn't want me to touch. But seeing it...I don't think I cleared up the infection, not totally.”

  “That's grim,” I said sarcastically. “Look, it's fine, just a scar like any other but...uglier. And it's a good reminder about how bad things can get, how bad people can make them.”

  “You don't need a fucking swastika on your elbow to do that,” Amy said bitterly.

  “It's not a swastika, it's a black sun,” I corrected her. “Schwarze Sonne, some esoteric Nazi bullshit. Not a single swastika on me, actually; not that it's much better.”

  “And I thought you weren't a Nazi.”

  “I'm not,” I bit out through clenched teeth, pulling up my sleeve and showing the deep scratches I'd made on my arm. They were oozing a little...I may have gone overboard. “You think I wanted any of this? I didn't have a choice, I was born to be one, and then I—” I bit my tongue. And then I started remembering being a real Nazi. “So leave it, Amy. It's better that people know what they're getting into with me than me trying to hide it all.”

  “That's...” She paused, staring at my arm with a look of disgust that mellowed when she met my eyes. “That's fucked up, but I get it. A reminder so you don't do it again.”

  “That too, I guess.” I shrugged and hid my throbbing arm from sight. “Not like I don't appreciate it though, you offering to heal it I mean. If it was anything else...maybe, you know?”

  “What do you think the Wards will say?”

  “I think they're going to hate me,” I replied simply. “Not that they're wrong to.”

  “But you helped--”

  “I did one good thing, Amy,” I cut her off, shaking my head. “You said it a while ago, that doesn't make me a good person. I wish I could argue that, but, yeah.”

  “Sorry,” she said quietly.

  “Is what it is,” I replied, reaching out and giving her shoulder a brief squeeze. “At least I'm around to live it, so thanks again.”

  “You're welcome, I guess.”

  “So.” I slapped my hands on my thighs, done with moping at least for a second. “Lunch?” Amy nodded and I sighed with relief. At last, a break.