She set Dot aside, on the tray of medical instruments, gently, tugging the little goblin’s colorful dress into place, so it wouldn’t ride up or cut off circulation.

“I just wanted a moment with you where you weren’t being unreasonable or glaring. Being accusatory, holding on to old grudges. Carol still hates Marquis, you know? You got the grudge thing from her. And he never really hurt her. Never attacked her. He did what he needed to do in the moment, ran his gang like a business in a time period when violent criminals like the Teeth and Slaughterhouse Nine had kind of been the norm. He gets a bit of credit for bringing a measure of civility to Brockton Bay.”

Victoria was utterly still in repose. This moment was the eye of the storm, the stars aligning, all thanks to a doctor who hadn’t listened to her, or who had taken a suggestion from Lab Rat. Preceded by Victoria barging into the prison, and sure to be followed by more rage, more grudges. Maybe.

But for the moment? She could force everything out of mind and she could exist in the now. For the first time in four years she didn’t feel like half a person.

She hadn’t wanted this, after all.

But she’d needed it.

“From the way Carol detests him, you’d think he was worse than the Slaughterhouse Nine. He wasn’t anything close to perfect, but he wasn’t as bad as them. Daughter and daughter, we’re playing out the exact same storyline. The insane thing is, if you took away artificial barriers, heroine and villain, they would get along, I think. It would be an antagonistic friendship, I think that’s just who my father is, but…”

Amy sat on the edge of the bed. She looked down at Victoria’s arm, which was limp, marred with so many individual scars, wounds. The more injured hand was bandaged.

Each one of them a rebuke to Amy. A lasting pain that could have been healed. Amy held her hand out, tattooed, marked with strands of gold, like the hair draped over the pillow.

“…it’d be exactly the same for us. We’d get along again, given a real chance.”

Amy touched Victoria’s arm. A furrow of scar tissue. Victoria’s image leaped into her mind, top to bottom. The fatigue, the injuries, the muscles and the muscle memory. She could tell Victoria had been in physio, that Victoria was taking medication before bed to make it easier to sleep. Small, controlled amounts.

Amy removed the gouges in Victoria’s right arm. The muscle damage. The tears. Scuffing at the knuckles where Victoria had thrown a few too many punches. Knitting skin together with care and tenderness.

Bruising at the ribs. Lung damage from inhaling smoke, a few weeks ago.