Chapter Text
With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power)
aka Power Plus Ultra
By Scriviner
PART 8:
Healer was sitting at his desk when Peter had entered. The older man was reading a very battered paperback copy of “Stranger in a Strange Land”. He glanced up at Peter, nodded absently, to which Peter nodded back.
The Doublemint twins seemed to be fine. Brute and Hump were both completely out, the two of them sprawled across three beds, snoring lustily.
Healer noted his glance and chuckled. “Those two lumps woke me up when they stumbled in here earlier. They’re fine. Brute’s never taken a bullet before. Just glad his skin’s tough enough to be bulletproof. Some subdermal bruising, so he’s not quite tough enough to take anything more than small caliber weapons.”
Peter winced. “You… uh… you see a lot of Morlocks getting shot?”
Healer shook his head. “Luckily, not so much. We see a lot more beatings and stabbings and the like.” He added in a mutter, “Usually among our own.”
From one of the nearby beds Sunder rumbled. “That’s how you teach discipline.”
Healer sniffed, making an elaborate pantomime out of turning his attention to his book as he muttered, “No fighting in my House.” They could hear the word capitalized.
Peter looked warily towards Sunder as the man sat up in his cot. Sunder met his eyes and there was acknowledgement there. As well as a grudging respect.
“Is fighting likely to happen?” Peter asked Sunder, keeping his voice cool and distant.
Sunder shrugged and it was an expressive shrug. The man had an immense set of shoulders.
“Callisto already told me when I woke up yesterday.” He pointed a blunt finger towards Peter, then back to himself. “You and me? We ain’t got beef. Not unless you start somethin’.”
Peter inclined his head. “I’m fine with that. I won’t start anything if you don’t.”
“Fair.” Sunder rumbled. “I ain’t the one you gotta worry ‘bout.”
“That so?” Peter asked carefully.
Sunder grunted an affirmative. “Masque’ll nurse a grudge.”
Peter nodded. “Caliban said he might.”
“I know for sure he will,” Sunder rumbled on. “Was already in here after Callisto left asking if I wanted a rematch. That he’d ‘let me take the first crack’ at you.”
Peter quirked an eyebrow. “Sounds like you decided not to take him up on it.”
Sunder shrugged once more, eloquently conveying how little that mattered to him. “I wouldn’t mind a rematch. Nothin’ fancy. No tricks. Be interestin’ to see who comes ahead.”
“But Masque?” Peter tried to lead him back to that point.
“Don’t expect to see him til he’s ready for you.” Sunder explained, his already low voice positively sepulchral. “He’s squirrely. He’ll keep out of sight and rabbit if you catch wind of him before then.”
“Thanks.” Peter said, keeping his voice neutral, but appreciating the warning. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Anyway, like I said, you and me got no beef, but I’d still like to get a spar in.” He cracked a smile and it wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t unfriendly either. “Don’t usually get into a dust up with someone strong as me.”
Peter chuckled. “I’ll see if we can fit it into my schedule.”
Healer looked up from his book and rolled his eyes, exasperated. “You two had better not come crying to me when you’ve punched each other’s faces in.”
- - -
A pretty blonde in a red jacket, a beret and pajama bottoms slid to a stop in front of Peter as he was stepping out of his room. The girl had a large box skidding into Peter’s ankles in her wake. He recognized her from the group that had unloaded the supplies from the subway car the day before. The one who’d been sitting on the tarp.
“Whoops, sorry about that!” She exclaimed, bending down to pick up the box.
Peter shook his head. “No, it’s fine. What’s going on?”
“Name’s Skids.” She said cheerfully, passing the box to him. “You asked Caliban about getting some cell phones?”
He blinked in surprise and opened the box, undoing the tape. Inside were at least a dozen flip phones, still in their original packaging. Cheap burner phones. Lots more than he’d originally thought he’d need.
“Where did–?”
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.” She grinned. “Lets just say sometimes stuff falls off the back of trucks and sometimes stuff finds its way down here.”
Peter chuckled. “Like Morlocks?”
“Amazing what ends up down here, right?” She laughed.
- - -
Mole shook Peter’s hand warmly as he ushered the boy into the room he was in. It looked like a brickwork basement that had been walled up and then tunneled into, because that was exactly what it was. There was a pristine ironwork wood stove with piping that led out of the room, a four-poster bed that had out of place flowered curtains around it. An old TV was mounted on one wall, with a bright yellow cable conspicuously leading up into the ceiling. In one corner was a large wooden desk, pushed against a wall that was covered in all sorts of papers.
“Make yourself at home. This is my place.”
Peter smiled. “I thought most of the Morlocks lived in or around the Alley. You’re… where is this? Under Midtown Manhattan?”
“Under 42nd Street, where all the good action is.” He waggled his eyebrows over his dark glasses at Peter.
Peter wasn’t sure what he meant so asked, “Broadway?”
“Uh… sure.” Mole concluded awkwardly. “In any case, I do have a cot in the Alley when I want it,” Mole explained with a shrug. “But I like having my own place. It’s quieter.”
“I get that.” Peter nodded agreeably. “Thanks for letting me visit.”
Mole waved a hand dismissively. “No, no. My place is your place. We’ve had an adventure together already.”
Peter chuckled. “We’re looking at another one soon. Callisto’s having me plan out the next supply run.”
Mole looked at him, his eyes narrowing. “I’m getting the feeling we’re not hitting the same place this time.”
Peter shook his head. “Caliban told me you had the most extensive maps of the tunnels we have access to as opposed to the ones that people above ground know about.” The phrase ‘above-ground’ was coming to Peter much easier now. The feel of the phrase referring to people outside of the Morlocks becoming familiar with an unexpected ease.
Mole stroked his chin. “Well, Blowhard’s got more of the maps for the Bronx and Queens, but for Manhattan proper? Yeah, I’ve got those.” He gestured to the wall covered in papers. Some of them were maps. Others looked like blueprints. Layers upon layers of them arranged in a vague sense of order for where branches would line up across the maps that were shown. “Most of these were from the City Planning office. Callisto boosted them years back so they never got digitized.”
“I’ve got a place in mind. It’s on 41st Street. Across from Bryant Park.” Peter explained.
Mole frowned. “That’s practically right on top of the 42nd-Bryant Park Metro station. Busy area. Active subway stations don’t tend to have a lot of unused tunnels too close to them.”
He walked over to the wall and squinted at the maps, lifting a few up, then letting them back down before finding the map he was looking for. “Ah-hah. There’s an older maintenance tunnel running parallel to the subway line. They shut it down around twenty years ago. It’s no longer on the records, but we know it’s there. Runs almost under the corner you want. Then I’d say we’re looking at at least fifteen, maybe twenty feet of rock to get directly under the foundation there.”
“You think you can manage to fully tunnel through that instead of just passing through it without causing it to collapse?” Peter asked.
“If we scout it out ahead of time? Sure. But you don’t want to just pass through it entirely?” Mole asked.
“You as our only exit strategy is a little worrying. So I want to keep our options open.” Peter replied.
“Fair.” Mole nodded. “I didn’t want all the pressure.”
Peter chuckled. “From that spot, how far would it be then to an unused maintenance station where we can have the subway car?”
Mole winced. “Less good. Around five or six blocks south.”
“Not absolutely awful. It’s going to make the time table a bit tight unless–” Peter trailed off considering just how quickly they could move things around. Especially if he wanted to get a bit greedy.
“Unless?”
Peter nodded absently, more to himself than to Mole. “We might need a second car.”
“Really?” Mole asked, not quite sure what to make of the comment.
Peter grinned. “We’ll need the room.”
- - -
Nimueh smiled. “This is really a lot more fun to do face to face instead of yelling the moves up the well hole.”
“You could still do that.” Peter pointed out.
“Nuh-uh. This is better. Also, check.”
“Wait. How?!”
“You tend to sacrifice your pawns way too easily. Leaves you vulnerable in the late game.”
“Caliban taught you to play?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’ll see if I can get him to play with me sometime. He’s just so busy.”
“Yeah, he is. So are you though.”
“There’s a lot to do.”
- - -
Dreamer’s feet were in Peter’s lap. This was entirely uncharted territory for him and he was simply doing his awkward best to ignore it while she sat back and got her hair shampooed.
They were in a chamber near the bathrooms, not simply an area delimited by dividers, but much like Healer’s House, an actual area carved into the material of the Alley and the surrounding bedrock, that Peter had been informed was referred to as the Salon.
Peter was surprised to learn that the bathroom weren’t just toilets, but also included a set of communal showers. The whole area seemed to have been part of the original construction of the Alley in its function as a nuclear bunker, but the area and the plumbing had clearly been modified by the residents to better suit their needs.
The showers had scheduled time for men’s and women’s use, as well as specific schedules for parents who would need to wash their kids, all with strictly monitored water rationing to ensure no one used up too much water while they got clean. It did explain a few things for Peter, like why it didn’t stink more down here.
The Salon was half-filled with racks of clothes. Mostly leavings from the bargain bins and Goodwill castoffs, but sometimes there were a handful of nicer items. The nicer things were hung up properly on the racks with actual hangers. Other items were sorted into general piles with hand-written cardboard signs taped up on the wall above them, such as “Men’s Shirts”, “Skirts”, “Kids play clothes”, and so forth.
The other half was a haphazard collection of items that seemed to have been taken from a beauty salon. There was a large wood and glass case filled with a wide selection of makeup, hair products, nail polish and other sundry items.
There was an actual barber’s chair and a magazine rack which seemed to be filled with nothing but very old copies of the Daily Bugle.
The proprietress of the Salon, whom Dreamer had introduced as Jo, was a voluptuous woman with long smooth legs and an hourglass figure. She dressed in a pair of black hotpants with a dark green tanktop and a set of shiny high-heeled boots that came to her knees. Around her throat was a black lace choker. Her hair was a dense mass of ginger curls that added another three inches to her height. There was something subtly off about her features, however. Her chin just seemed too long and her eyes set too low, making it seem like her face had been pinched down into a narrower space on her head. Peter wasn’t sure if it was part of her mutation or if it had been inflicted on her by Masque.
It seemed rude to ask. The question lingered in his mind a bit, as Dreamer’s insectile eyes had already been reshaped back to their original form. Peter noted that her eyes were an odd pinkish-purple color. She had explained to Peter that Masque had done so with an explanation that, “Perhaps he had been too hasty,” and that Dreamer should, “Explain all of that to the Dumas boy.”
The whole thing rang hollow, of course, since Peter still hadn’t seen any sign of him in the past week that he’d been among the Morlocks. Nevertheless, Dreamer had dragged Peter along for a celebratory shampoo, since she attributed the return of her eyes (circuitous means aside) to him.
This all explained Peter’s position at the foot of the reclined chair that was near the salon-styled sink. In trying to avoid paying too close attention to Dreamer’s feet, he’d had entirely too much time to contemplate Jo who was bending over as she dealt with Dreamer’s hair.
Dreamer cooed teasingly at him, wiggling her toes. “This is not the foot massage I was promised.”
“Pretty sure I did not promise one,” Peter said, chuckling faintly.
“I’m sure it must’ve been implied.” Dreamer drawled.
Jo snorted. “You are just a disreputable old bag, aren’t you?” Her voice was a breezy alto as she worked her fingers into Dreamer’s hair, working up a lather.
Dreamer snorted back. “You’re older than I am!”
Jo stood hipshot and grinned down at the woman who had her head in the sink. “I own it. You’re still pretending to be younger than you are.”
Peter chuckled.
Dreamer tapped her forehead with a finger and got some of the shampoo suds on it. “Age is in the mind! I’m as old as I feel and right now, I feel twenty-ish.”
That just sent Jo cackling.
Jo leaned over to Peter and told him conspiratorially, “If she ever tries to tell you she’s twenty, just know that she’s lying by about a decade or two.”
Peter gave a sharp nod, shying back. “I’ll… uh… keep that in mind.”
Jo gave Peter a small grin, half-teasing, half-sad. “Is it my face throwing you off?”
Peter shook his head hurriedly and replied. “Uh… no. It’s when you were bending over and the tank top is kind of loose and–” He abruptly blurted out, “I didn’t see anything!”
Jo laughed. “Oh, you’re adorable.”
“I told you!” Dreamer crowed.
Peter covered his face with both hands. “Uh… can we just forget I said that?”
Jo just kept laughing as she worked on Dreamer’s hair.
Dreamer chuckled. “I can’t help there.”
Peter frowned slightly as a few thoughts worked their way to the forefront of his mind. Not for his nightmares… simply part of how to get things done with no one the wiser.
“So you can’t make people forget things?” He asked.
Dreamer started to shake her head, but Jo gave her hair a sharp tug to get her to stop moving before she replied back. “A little? I can kind of paper them over a little. Make you remember something else in place of the original memory. Maybe make something that happened yesterday seem like it happened a year ago, but the original will still be in there.”
“But it would work on someone sleeping or unconscious?” Peter pressed.
Dreamer hummed agreeably. “Mm-hmm. If I get to them fast enough, I can make someone remember things and have them think they happened before they fell asleep.”
Peter nodded thoughtfully. “I may need a bit of your help in a few weeks time.”
Dreamer grinned. “Just say the word.”
“So when you cover over someone’s memory of something… is it like… can you make someone remember things differently rather than remove them entirely?” Peter asked.
He was asking for the job, he reassured himself. Not for any help with his nightmares. He could handle those just fine.
Really.
“It’s a bit tough to explain. Giving you a memory outright to swap in an existing one is one thing. The original memory sticks around, but a little disconnected? So it might not evoke the same feelings until it’s slotted back into place.” Dreamer explained, gesturing vaguely with her hands. “I could show you–”
“Wait til after you’re done, cause you are not lighting up one of your nasty cigarettes in here,” Jo cut in sharply. “Last thing anyone wants is clothes that stink like cloves.”
“Phooie.” Dreamer sighed.
Jo gestured pointed at Peter, “You keep distracting her, pretty-pretty. I think you need to go check out my rack for a bit.”
“Uh… what?” Peter stared, but made very sure to look her in the eyes.
Jo grinned, then gestured towards the clothes on the walls. “You look like you could do with a new outfit. So you need to check out what I’ve got.”
“Uh–” Peter began. “I guess?”
“But my footrest!” Dreamer whined.
Jo nodded. “Yeah, go have fun. Least I can do. Anyone who gives Masque a bad time’s in my good books and welcome to get into my lacy underthings.”
“Wait. What?”
Jo gestured vaguely. “That pile over there. If that’s what you’re into.”
The pile did, in fact, sport a cardboard sign that said ‘Lacy Underthings’.
- - -
Annalee pinned Peter in a fierce gaze as he helped her haul the large turkey frier pot from the large communal kitchens carved into the side of the Alley, over to the buffet tables. The air flow was directed through the kitchen specifically to blow the cookfire smoke and any other odd smells away from the Alley proper and directly into the Pandemonium ventilation tunnel.
Tonight’s dinner was a chili that actually smelled very good. By ‘helped her haul’ he was really doing all the actual carrying while she directed him.
“So you can read and do maths, yes?” She asked.
“Uh… yeah?” Peter replied carefully.
“Are you free during the mornings?” She pressed, her gaze still intense. He could feel the determination and cheer quite literally radiating off of her.
“I suppose so? I mean… there’s stuff I need to do, but nothing I couldn’t push back to later in the day.”
Her smile was almost painfully bright and Peter wallowed in the sunny happiness she was giving off. “It’s just since I’ve had to take over more of the kitchen work, I haven’t had as much time for the little ones. Do you think you could take a turn during the week helping them with the classes?”
Peter shrugged awkwardly. “Oh. I’ve never had to teach anyone before, but I’m willing to try.”
“You are a good boy,” Annalee declared.
“Happy to help, ma’am.” Peter replied.
- - -
Piper laughed, leaning against the pillar behind him. He wasn’t dressed in the overalls anymore, but still sported his tuxedo coat with its tails and stiff shirt front with its bow tie. He shakily pointed his pipe towards Peter and told him. “I’ll give you this. You are ambitious.”
“Is that a yes?” Peter was now dressed in a slightly threadbare, but serviceable black suit from Jo’s. With a white turtleneck sweater underneath and a somewhat ragged, but not as ragged as it could have been gray overcoat. Jo had insisted that since he could still pass among the normals in New York above, he had to play it to the hilt. Dreamer had backed her up on that. So in addition to a few more changes of more casual clothes, Peter now had a suit to blend in when he went above.
Like now.
He and Piper were in the Port Authority Subway station at the ground floor level. Piper had his hat at his feet while a handful of distracted commuters passed by. They were between subway stops, so Piper was between sets. Peter had gathered that as much work as the Bowling Green Rat Ranch was for him to run, he spent his weekends busking in various subway stations for loose change. He didn’t want for food or the necessities down in the tunnels due to his position, but he’d admitted to Peter that every once in a while a man just wanted a good falafel and you just couldn’t get that down below. So a couple of bucks in a man’s hat would also mean a good time at Radhu’s Mediterranean Meals around the corner.
“It’s not a ‘no’,” Piper replied, waggling his pipe a bit. “I have to admit I usually don’t come along on these shindigs.”
“Have you ever tried to see if your control still works from a recording or off of a transmission? Like a radio broadcast or over the phone? Or just gave them commands and left them to it? Cause if any of that works, you wouldn’t even really need to come with.” Peter pointed out.
Piper looked thoughtful at that, tapping his pipe against his bearded chin. “Pretty sure the recording wouldn’t work. I have to be actively directing the little bastards while I’m playing. Leaving them an ongoing command works sometimes, but usually only if it’s something really simple like ‘stay’ or ‘go that way’. They’ll keep following it til I give ‘em some other command, but otherwise, it’ll get finicky if I try to get them to do anything complicated. Never tried to use it over the phone though.”
“Something to try out, then?” Peter asked, with a grin.
Piper nodded. “I suppose so.” He snorted and reached over to tap Peter’s forehead with his flute. “Ambitious and clever. Lad like that could go far.”
“Ideally, yes.” Peter replied.
They both felt the burst of wind and squealing noise come up from the nearby stairs indicating that the next subway had arrived. Piper leaned down and pulled a twenty dollar bill from his hat and handed it to Peter.
Piper chuckled. “Fine. You’re helping me out, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to help you out.”
“It’s helping everyone out,” Peter pointed out.
Piper gave a snort as he brought his pipe to his lips. “We’ll see.”
The man began to play Ravel’s Bolero and as little exposure as Peter had to music, he had to admit Piper was good. Very good. Caliban had mentioned in passing that at one point Piper had been a professional concert musician, but something had happened and he’d given it up.
It was one of the Morlock ways. Don’t ask about anyone’s past. If they offer to tell you, that was something else. But let them bring it up.
Peter shook his head to break free of his woolgathering and focused on watching Piper’s performance. As they’d discussed earlier, he waited until people began to come up the stairs and escalators from the subways. Once there was a large enough crowd in the vicinity of people standing around and watching, Peter stepped forward with a flamboyant flourish.
He held the folded twenty dollar bill between his fingers and made sure the crowd saw him drop it into Piper’s hat, before stepping back into the crowd to continue watching.
That helped prod a few others to drop a few bills and coins into his hat and Piper gave Peter a wink as he continued to play.
- - -
Plague walked up to Peter and eyed him.
“Uh… can I help you?” He asked, straightening up from his task of picking up fallen branches in the Grove. Around him the Morlock kids were helping out in doing so as a general bit of unskilled labor. Wherever else Peter helped out aside, he liked coming by and helping around the Grove. It was nice here.
And a better way to get some sun than having to brave the winter wind Above.
The work at the Grove tended to require a certain amount of agility or flight for anyone who had to work the mirrors or pick the fruit, but anyone could help with the raking and keeping the branches cleaned up. Mostly the job went to the smaller children. Particularly the ones who were too young to work unsupervised. Whenever he was helping, he’d taken to organizing the kids into specific work gangs to gather the branches for their area, while he would go around collecting them for final delivery to the Tree-man’s sister, Mitya, who was running the carving station.
The old woman with the sour face and shabby clothes tugged her beanie off her head and fiddled with it, clearly uncomfortable. She fidgeted for a long moment before running a hand through her hair, clearly frustrated and said, “You’re the one who got stuff on the last supply run.”
“I was on the team that did the run, yes.” Peter replied carefully.
“Wanted to thank you.” She coughed weakly into her fist, then continued. “Sunder almost never got enough meds on his runs. First time in years that Healer let me have a whole bottle of ibuprofen to myself.”
Peter smiled. “I’m glad I was able to help.”
“I hear tell you’re going on another run in about a week?” She continued, gesturing vaguely, with her hat still in hand.
“That’s the plan,” Peter said, then adding confidently. “I’ll make sure we get enough medicine this time too.”
She scratched at her head, shuffling her feet. “D’you need any help?”
Peter was slightly taken aback by the question. “I… why do you ask?”
“I ain’t much good in a straight up scrap,” She admitted, running a hand through her unkempt hair once more. “But my power’s to make people sick. It’s why they call me Plague. One touch and I can knock almost anyone out. Even Sunder’s fallen over when I got my hands on him. Passed out from illness, you see? ”
“I do see.” Peter nodded. “How much control do you have over that, though? Can you affect longer distances? Make people fall over after a set amount of time?”
She waggled a hand uncertainly. “Usually they gotta be close up. If I don’t touch ‘em, I can maybe breathe on them and that’ll still work. Never really tried to make people pass out anything other than immediately. Only thing I ever tried before was how hard they get sick. Like if they’ll recover in an hour or a couple of days, like, you get?”
Peter looked thoughtful. “Being able to knock people out quickly might be helpful, but if it’s just one person at a time, I can do the same thing.”
She winced. “That’s what I heard too. Was just figuring a second person to help might make things go smoother.”
“It might, it might.” Peter allowed, still considering the possibilities. He put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but we’ll see if we need the extra help, alright?”
He felt out her power. It was not at all like Nimueh’s or his own. Rather than something directly affecting energies, it shaped things. It adapted. It created something meant to interface with other life. She was literally a walking bio-weapons lab, but one who had never tried for the limits of her power.
Thank God for that.
He blinked in surprise, keeping the smile on his face even as the sensation of his power touching hers abruptly cut off and he stopped feeling the easy strength that came from his predatory power.
He’d gotten used to that sensation as well.
He glanced over towards the approaching gaggle of kids who were all carrying armfuls of branches. They were among the ones he usually taught in the mornings. There were some older kids who were being taught by Healer.
Sarah was taking the lead, a massive set of deformed ribs coming out of her shoulder blades and a set of bone spurs rising from her scalp in a rough approximation of antlers. Behind her were the other kids her age who usually followed her around on their errands.
Me-Me, a bald, bright orange boy in shorts and an oversized tank top who had a set of rat heads poking out of his shoulders and chest who normally worked at the Rat Ranch. The rat snouts were all carrying branches in addition to the ones in his arms.
Hemingway, a skinny, gray-skinned boy with a skull face and exceedingly prominent spikey spinal bones protruding from his back that made it so the boy couldn’t wear normal shirts. He was using the spikes to help carry the branches by wedging them between various spikes, causing him to walk hunched over.
Artie who was actually fully dressed, but had a lumpy, over-sized head, massive white-on-white eyes, no ability to speak, and a cheerful demeanor.
Finally, the actual reason for his powers to have shut off, was Leech, a noseless boy with froggy-reptilian features, eyes that were a solid yellow from edge to edge and sported bright green skin with darker green spots.
Leech’s power uncontrollably interfered with most active usage of power within a few yards of him. He couldn’t shut it off. Physical mutations weren’t affected, like the ones the other kids sported, nor would it remove any changes that had already been put into effect by powers, such as the rats Me-me had absorbed into his body, Sarah’s bone spurs, changes to people that Masque had done, or even the stockpile of life Peter still had within him.
Nevertheless, his power put the poor boy in a situation similar to Nimueh in that he was an outcast among outcasts. Their powers were poor enough compensation for what most Morlocks had gone through in New York Above. Most Morlocks weren’t keen on being around someone who could take them away. At least the ones who had a handle on their abilities.
Peter had contemplated offering to take his powers from him, but the problem was that since just being around him shut Peter’s own powers off, he couldn’t actually get close enough to do so. It was on the back burner.
Sarah awkwardly waved at them, trying to balance the branches she was hauling as she did so. “Hey, Plague! Mr. Dumas!”
Plague ducked her head and seemed on the verge of coughing, but then stopped. Healer had said that Plague’s powers also affected her to an extent. He glanced over to Leech who had his chin thrust out defiantly. What he was being defiant against wasn’t clear. Peter smiled as the obvious thought came to mind.
“Hey, kids. Dump the sticks here and I’ll get them over to the carving table. I think we’re done for the day.” Peter greeted them.
“Are you visiting the Cistern again this afternoon?” Sarah asked cheerfully.
Peter nodded. “Just for a bit. I’m dropping Nimueh’s dinner off.”
The boys giggled and Hemmingway started singing, “Dumas and Cistern sitting in a tree–”
Sarah smacked Hemmingway on the shoulder and coldly told him, “You know she can’t come to the Tree! She’d kill him!”
“That’s not what the song’s about!” Hemingway whined. “It’s about the kissing!”
Me-me laughed. Artie laughed silently.
Peter just smiled. They were good kids. Little jerks sometimes, but good kids.
He nodded to Plague. “I’ll let you know if we do end up needing your help, but either way, I’ll make sure to pick you up some extra supplies, alright?”
She nodded back. “I’d appreciate it.”
- - -
Mrs. Penn gave a low, mournful noise and shook her head.
Peter, who had been walking next to her, shot her a look.
They were walking down the tunnel that Mole was preparing. Mrs. Penn had a sledge tied via a harness to her. The sledge was filled with rocks and dust that were the byproducts of Mole’s tunneling process.
There was far less in the pile than there should have been given how much tunnel the short man had actually carved out of Manhattan’s bedrock, but it was a large enough amount that if they didn’t clear it out of the tunnel, it would make things harder all around.
“I know it’s only sort of going well, but he is managing. He’s got a couple more days to figure out how to do a bigger opening and if he can’t then we do smaller bits, in sections. It might leave more traces, but it’s better than the alternative.”
Mrs. Penn nodded as though in agreement then moo’d and threw her head up sharply.
Peter rolled his eyes. “You and Sunder both just want to break in like a bull going nuts in a china shop.”
She snorted and gave him a level stare.
“No offense.”
She sniffed and seemed to roll her eyes.
Peter buried his face in his hands and muttered to himself. “The pressure must be getting to me. I’m talking to a cow.”
Mrs. Penn made an offended noise and bumped into Peter’s back with her nose.
“In my defense you are a really good listener.” He muttered. Even after all the time he’d spent among the Morlocks and the time he’d spent with Mrs. Penn (who seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of the tunnels), Peter still was not entirely sure if she actually was a person (albeit one in the shape of a cow), a particularly clever cow, or some other more esoteric arrangement.
Peter had even actually tried to use his power on her and the results had been… ambiguous. He wasn’t sure if that was because that’s how cows were supposed to feel to his powers or if she actually had some kind of ability, but not one he could actually grab hold of.
Mrs. Penn snorted again.
“Fine, I’ll stop worrying.” He said with a chuckle. “What did you want to talk about then?”
She moo’d and stamped her hoof a few times.
“Anyway, are you looking forward to movie night later?” He asked.
She nodded her head and made an elaborate show of licking at one nostril.
“I’ve never seen the Thing before. Is it any good, you think?”
The nodding this time was very emphatic.
“So you like it?”
The cow continued to nod very enthusiastically.
- - -
Tommy slipped out of the manager’s office from the floor, before sliding up a wall and into the quarter inch gap between the tiled wall and the back of the bank of freezers where all the artisanal ice cream was kept.
She slipped out from behind the freezer, sliding across the side of the freezer, then twisting herself back into three-dimensionality in front of the greeting card displays, exactly where she had initially entered through.
Peter was still there, maintaining the same position and making a show of perusing the greeting cards, specifically to keep the store’s security cameras from seeing her.
She flashed him a grin, slipping her hand into his long, gray coat and slipping the sheaf of papers she’d been holding into the inside pocket.
He gave a small squeak when she’d pressed up against him to cover the movement, but otherwise, kept himself stoically still.
When they’d first met, he’d only been a few inches taller than she was. But just a few weeks later, he was at least a head taller than she was and he’d filled out considerably. Was it odd to consider that someone had managed to thrive in the seedy underbelly of New York?
He glanced down at her with a small grin on his face as he contemplated the artfully applied makeup that covered up the multi-colored rainbow gradient that comprised her normal skin tone. She also had on a brunette wig covering up her multi-colored hair. All an elaborate disguise to blend in among the normal people. The pretty people.
Peter barely needed a disguise. He just put on a clean suit and walked a little straighter and everyone in New York Above acted like he was one of them. He’d barely gotten a second glance from any of the grocery employees, but a few people had given her a closer look. She was worried that she had blown it for them before they’d even started.
“So you got it?” He asked.
She nodded and grinned back. “Copies of the delivery and stocking schedules. Copies of the crew schedule. I also have the wiring setups for the cameras and the alarms figured out.”
“Perfect. I just wanted to wait til the last delivery truck for this week,” He tapped at his coat, where the papers were now. “Now we know when that will be.”
He inclined his head and started walking down the stairs, back towards the entrance of the store.
She looked around, then back towards him and followed, linking her arm around his to make them look like a couple. A move that somehow seemed to invite less attention. He stiffened as she did it, but allowed her to take his arm.
“You really sure about this?” She asked carefully. “It’s got more stuff than the warehouses we usually hit. It’s got better stuff.” She gestured around them. “This is the haves stuff. This is for the people with money. When crimes happen to these kinds of people, the cops actually show up.”
He snorted and his voice dropped before he replied. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to keep taking from people who don’t have anything. They’re in the same boat we’re in. We should take from those who’ve got things. They can afford to lose it.”
She shrugged. “You got things done the first time around. I’ll follow your lead.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He smiled faintly.
“Did you get the mask fixed tho?”
His expression twisted in distaste. “I should get something that’s less… reindeer skull.”
She snorted. “Uh, no. You’ve got a brand now. A couple hundred thousand views on YouView can’t be wrong–”
He returned her snort. “Those were because the videos were the first real clear view of Jewel.”
“Yeah, but you’re there too as her nemesis . Dumas is trending.”
“ Was trending. Since I haven’t made any appearances in almost a month, I’m sure the hype will die down soon enough.”
“At least until we do this place.”
He rolled his eyes. “I would really rather not run into Jewel again.”
She bumped her hip into his. “You miss her.”
“I will leave you for the cops.” Peter threatened, without heat.
She giggled. “Don’t worry about it, tho. We still have a couple days. You leave everything to Tommy. I’ll make sure you’ll look good.”
“Like I didn’t already have enough to stress about.”
She laughed.
- - -