Chapter Text
Dad was driving me over today. Most of the time, the other Wards and I would walk over, taking various routes and hidden shortcuts, and access points to get to the building discreetly. It wasn’t a long drive; I could have walked or taken a bus, but I did appreciate the transport. We chatted back and forth during the drive. I had a pretty good relationship with all of my direct family, and we got along well. We were chatting about the weekend plans Melody and I had been trying to lock in as we pulled up to the parking garage entrance to the building.
Mirror glass-faced robotic scanners directed at the entrances and exits to the building scanned our car and license plates as we approached one of the gates that barred the traffic lanes. The system saved a ton of time checking in and out of the building, but more importantly, didn’t require us to get in and out in a public manner for anyone who might be snooping. Security for the building and the immediate perimeter was tight. The building wasn’t anywhere near as robust or fortified as The Rig in the bay, but that didn’t mean that security wasn’t formidable, as well as placing a priority on identity protection.
Pulling up to the underground curb at this level’s subfloor entrance, my dad looked over at me and said, “You know, I probably should have made you drive over here, come to think of it. You need to get more time behind the wheel in downtown traffic under your belt if you’re going to ace the driving exam.”
I groaned. It wasn’t that I hated driving. Driving was fine, cool even. I just didn’t have the bandwidth to dedicate to putting as much time behind the steering wheel as Melody could. She was happy to drive more often than not when the opportunity presented itself, and I thought it was nice that she had something that she was way better at. I worried about how she might feel with the change in our dynamic after my trigger.
“I know, Dad, I’ll get more time in, we still have a good amount before the test.” I was booked for a road test in June for my full license.
“Just so long as you’re staying on top of it, Morgan! See you later, huh? We got someone pulling up behind us.”
“Love you, Dad. I’m doing some training with the team after my appointment, so I’m going to be home a bit later.”
“Have fun!” I grabbed my backpack and opened the door. My dad spoke up as I was about to close the door. “Try not to kick their asses too hard in training!”
An eye roll and thud later, I was through some doors, into the primary elevator banks, and scanning my very fancy PRT ID card for the restricted access areas. It sounded cheesy, but I liked the little stuff. My PRT ID badge had these complex holographic shield logos printed into it, and something about the holographic designs always caught my eye. Pulling my BBU lanyard out from the shoulder strap pocket I tucked it into, I clipped the little alligator-style snap clip into the slot on my ID card and tugged it over my head. Most people in the building knew who I was, but every so often, we’d get a real dickhead officer or guard who’d comment about a lack of visible ID on a Ward. Of course, never a peep when Protectorate capes strolled around, in uniform or otherwise. Stupid pecking-order games like that annoyed me.
My floor came up, and I stepped out. It was an admin floor on the upper half of the building, reserved for the various middle-management and administrative staff in the building. One of a few. Making my way along the corridors, I did my best to clear my head of anything on my back burner. I checked my phone, right on schedule, meaning early, and I stepped through the doors into the reception area. The secretary waved at me, and I smiled back at her. She tapped something on her keyboard and then glanced back from her screen to me.
“She’s ready for you. Head straight in whenever you’re ready!”
I stepped into the office.
“Ms. Rivera, welcome, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Yamada,” I said, stressing the honorific and name.
Another game, just between the two of us, was a running gag. Mrs. Yamada wasn’t fond of most titles or aliases, and it was something she opined about somewhat regularly. I settled into a plush chair that wasn’t at all out of place in a pretty, warmly decorated, and furnished room. Leaning into the back, I flipped my hair over the front of my shoulder and rested my head against the backrest, closing my eyes for a moment. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Jessica waited a long moment before speaking. “Good day or bad day today?”
I kept my eyes closed. There was something peaceful about this room. Beyond the sound-dampened quiet and the sound of air cycling through the central ventilation. I suspected it was probably Jessica herself who was responsible.
“Uh, you know, pretty good if I had to summarize.”
“You look pretty tired, Morgan.”
“I am a little exhausted, but not too bad. Energy levels are good, motivation’s good, just a little fatigued feeling.”
“Under the weather or…?” She let the question fill the space. I took a moment to rub my temples and wrinkled my forehead to tighten the skin around my eyelids. I didn’t want to smudge my makeup by rubbing my eyes. I’d put on concealer this morning, and I’d like to think I did a pretty solid job of it. I was guessing Jessica was taking cues from my body language elsewhere, but she was hawk-eyed.
“Didn’t sleep well last night. Or the night before. Sorry. Last three nights, come to think of it.”
We, no, I was edging around discussions of my power, which was not going to be avoidable during this session. I was sure we’d get there in no time at all, and it wasn’t going to do me any good to turtle up my defenses or try and dodge the blows.
“Nightmares again? Do you want to talk about it? We can discuss something else if you’d like to.”
She’s so good at this. I really envy her. On some level, manipulation is the game here, but she never makes it feel that way. Not like some of the others.
Opening my eyes, I blinked a few times and looked back at her. “Not… precisely. No, I don’t think I’d call them nightmares, exactly. It’s not that they’re scary, I mean, sometimes they are, but I tend to call the ones that aren’t scary nightmares too because… You know. But not just because of that stuff, but because of the response, or maybe the way I feel? Aroused? Excited? Not uh-” I blushed a little and clarified: “Not sexually, I mean.”
“Energized, maybe? Engaged?”
“Yeah, something like that,” I nodded in agreement.
Jessica made a notation with the smooth sound of a pen on the notepaper. I looked at her blouse. It was a nice cream color with warm tones, and maybe just a hint of some pink. The material, probably some kind of polyester blend, had a very faint shimmer to it. It looked great, but also very comfortable.
“Do you remember much about any of them?”
Pursing my lips, I glanced up and thought back. “Bits and pieces, they’re exceptionally detailed, but they tend to be like, jumbled up, or something? They jump around a lot. Flying around. Something where it was incredibly hot, humid, and wet. Raining, and I remember the sensation of this big leaf or frond tipping down with some water and running down my back. It felt good. Uhm. The sort of stuff that usually tends to happen, too.”
Jessica wrote something else, then placed her pen on the pad and looked back up at me.
Uh-oh.
The chiding I was expecting didn’t come, or at least, not in the way I was expecting. She asked: “By stuff that usually tends to happen, do you mean hunting?”
I shut my eyes for a moment and nodded as an unbidden flash of the dream hit me.
Leaping down from a branch above, I dropped my weight on top of the snake-dog, my jaws already closing over its angular head. A flex of muscles made my teeth bite in, and crunching the creature’s skull in my mouth was trivially easy. The taste of tangy blood and rich, creamy brains filled my maw-
My breath caught in my throat, and I slumped in the chair, back in the office, safe, bound in reality and not in fantasy.
“I’m sorry, Morgan.”
I took a breath and let it out. “It’s not your fault, Jessica. I just wish that they weren’t so fucking vivid.”
“I don’t know if it helps any, but there are a number of medications that cause people to have dreams very similar to the ones you experience. So you’re not alone, it’s something that plenty of people, millions, even, experience on a somewhat regular basis.”
I cracked an eye at her before opening the other. “Really?”
She nodded to me and explained, “Many kinds of antidepressant medications can have effects almost identical to what you’re describing. And it’s not uncommon for people to have very vivid dreams because of that. They can be pleasant, or they can be terrifying in the case of nightmares, largely in part to their visceral nature.”
I smiled just a little bit. Hearing that did help a little. Not that it changed them or how they made me feel, but in hearing that, it was something other people had to deal with.
“Thanks. It does, a little.”
“Shall we discuss stuff while we’re on the subject of your sleeping lately and dreams?”
I bobbed my head. Not because I wanted to talk about it, but more because I knew that discussing my power was unavoidable, and I’d rather get it over with. Sort of like getting slammed into the mat. It’s going to happen sooner or later; sometimes it’s better to go in expecting it so you can properly respond.
“Have you had any opportunities to explore what we talked about last session? Maybe experimented a little with your ability to see how you feel about it?”
“I-” I really didn’t want to lie to her. We’d been clear about establishing how to best get myself set up for success, and obfuscation doesn’t actively help those efforts. And truthfully, I did want to get over my hangups with my power. Sighing loudly, I continued, truthfully: “A little but only in really minor ways that aren’t, you know, super useful or anything.”
Jessica offered me an encouraging smile. “Even minor ways are something. Little steps like that still matter. What kinds of things have you been experimenting with?”
I played with my fingertips with my hands together on my lap. Reluctantly, I offered: “I was playing with colors. Skin colors. Eye colors. At home, in private.”
“And how did that go?” There wasn’t any judgment in her voice, and the tone suggested that answering was optional.
“It...” I frowned a moment and looked up at her. “You know it actually went pretty well. I don’t know why, but some things are easier than others, and I guess that’s one of the easy ones.”
“By easy, do you mean in terms of the effort or the way it made you feel?”
I shook my head. “I mean that when I try and do something like that, I seem to basically always get the expected result without any unpleasant surprises or extras.”
"What you’re feeling is really common for parahumans, Morgan. A lot of people struggle with their powers, whether it’s fear, control, or just understanding how they work. But I can tell you with confidence that the people who improve? They get there through practice, testing, and, sometimes, a little trial and error."
I spoke out loud a nagging thought I’d had many times: “But what if someone gets hurt because of me? Because I can’t get the result I want when I need it the most?”
“That’s a completely valid fear. A lot of heroes–especially those in the Wards–worry about the what-ifs. But avoiding your power won’t make you more in control of it. If anything, the more familiar you are with what you can do, the more you’ll be able to trust yourself when it does matter. And that’s what we’re working towards. Giving you that confidence, little by little.”
I hummed a flat note under my breath and fidgeted with my fingers while Jessica took some notes. Without looking up, she spoke: “Try and think about the first time you learned a difficult technique, maybe a kick, or a takedown. At first, it felt awkward, and it could have been dangerous if you got it wrong. But you practiced, you built muscle memory, and eventually, you did it without actively thinking about it.”
That’s… actually a very good point, but… hrm.
“I don’t have to worry about people screaming bloody murder and terrorizing people if I misjudge a kick in practice and accidentally hurt someone.”
“Certainly, that’s true,” Jessica said with a nod. “But that’s also why a fighter doesn’t just throw their hardest strikes the moment they step into a gym. They practice slowly and deliberately, correcting and getting better control. They train with coaches and partners who help them refine their technique, so that when their real fight comes, they don’t rely on instinct or brute force, they’re relying on their skill.”
I considered, and she continued: “You’re afraid of making a mistake, and I understand why. But that’s all the more reason to practice now, in a setting where you have control, rather than in a moment you aren’t expecting, where you’re reacting without thinking.”
I nodded and made an effort to try and make a mental note of what she’d said. It sounded stupid, but my dumb jock's brain parsed what she was saying when she contextualized it in terms of a practice and structured match. The topic of my power was wearing on me a little; I’d want to get off it pretty soon.
She seemed to pick up on this vibe and asked me a sort of follow-up question: “Any unwanted or unprompted manifestations since we last spoke?”
I thought back and abruptly laughed upon remembering. She quirked an eyebrow at me. “I was brushing my teeth the other morning after getting out of bed and thinking about braiding my hair. It decided to braid itself.”
Jessica smiled, a big smile, one that reached her eyes. I sorta blankly stared at her response.
“Hair isn’t supposed to move itself, Jessica.”
She crossed one leg over the other and tapped her pen on her notepad. “Morgan, you’re a parahuman. There isn’t a hard and fast rulebook of how things should and shouldn’t be. What you think is strange and weird might be a perfectly average and unremarkable experience for another.”
I very dramatically rolled my eyes, but I think my grin gave away that I wasn’t too serious.
“I think we’ve covered some good ground today. It sounds like you’ve made good progress, too, even if you aren’t sure about it. Have you talked about any of this with your family, friends, or team?”
Well played. Caught me flat-footed again.
I let out a little huff. “Not… really, no. I don’t like talking about my power at all to my family, especially after some of the experiences we’ve been forced to share at bad times. Melody is good about not pressing, but she’s, of course, fascinated with my cape life. She’s too good to me; I don’t deserve her. I don’t have many friends left outside the Wards and some of the other capes in town.”
The admission stung a little when I thought about it, but it was true. Most of my other friends were athletic teammates, and losing that life was still a sore spot. Hanging out with them and hearing about their stories and seeing their progress hurt. I’d gotten distant, but I’d sorta slid into different social circles at the same time, during my ‘recovery.’
Continuing, I said: “I don’t like talking to the team about my power issues because I don’t want to seem like I’m weak or not in control of myself. Some of them depend on me. I’m second in command, I have to be steady, reliable, and there for them if Carlos goes down, or if I’m in the lead. If they ever thought I didn’t have their backs, always, and without question… I would be devastated.”
“I understand that you don’t want to feel like a burden on your family and that you feel a responsibility to your team. But keep in mind that trust goes both ways.”
She set her notepad aside and gave me her full attention. “Being a leader doesn’t mean having all the answers or being faultless. You know this; don’t allow your doubts to hinder you. They trust you; you can trust them. You’re not in this alone.” Her eyes glanced at her watch, one of those thin ones that toyed with the idea of being a decorative bracelet as much as it was a timekeeping device.
“I think that’s a good place to stop for today. But think about this, what would it feel like to let someone in, even just a little?”
I tongued my cheek in thought, then nodded and stood up. “Will you be here next week?”
Hoisting my backpack over one shoulder, I headed for the door.
“No, I’m going to be in Boston next week, and then the following week I’m at another PRT facility. Sorry- I know it’s a pain, and I’m not a fan of it either, but we’re making due filling shortages with district rotations.”
“Suuucks. You’re the best, Miss Yamada. The others are alright, I guess, but it’s not the same. Enjoy Boston, I’ve been wanting to visit the PRT teams there for the past year!”
“You’ve got my number, keep in touch and call if you need to talk about something. Never a burden.”
“I will. Speaking of burdens, I need to go deliver a reality check to a certain goober in red and white spandeez downstairs. My reign of terror has been challenged.” I laughed and waved over my shoulder as I headed out of the office.