Phia's Fragile and Fantastic Fingers || ONC 2023

The Rescue

"I'm armed," Mercy says. John snorts. Of course Mercy is armed. She's armed and also in posession of the power to fly, punch things very hard, and shoot blue laser-ish horror from her hands. She tried it on me once, and even the eyedropper amount of laser she poked me with felt like being plunged in ice and electrocuted. I had to lie down for hours. John doesn't let her touch him with those powers. Especially now that he's got a thing against being cold. I wonder how he's gonna deal today. Then see that he grabbed his uniform with a built in heater. I look down. Mine does too. Oh right. We're going to an icy death and John's good at planning ahead.

"Well, we have the layout on this guy's last lair," Mercy says, and then she launches into her clear explanation of best tactics. She's got schematics and suggestions. How did she have time to come up with all of this? I thought I was the manic one who never slept. 

I struggle hard to pay attention, but my brain has grumbled from manic to sleepy and disorganized. I feel like I'm sitting at twelve different cafeteria tables at once and can't follow the conversation at any of them. At one of those tables Mercy gets about 1/12 of my attention, no matter how hard I try to tone down the screaming conversations at the other tables. 

"Hold up-" John cuts Mercy off before she starts assigning possible roles for us. His voice is tinged with surprise. He has our rapt attention. Even I'm over 50% zoomed in. I put my hands on weather side of my face and narrow down my field of vision, just to be sure.
"I'm getting a weak reading," John says. 

"How?" Mercy leans over to see his scanners better. Four years ago we traveled thousands of miles looking for Penelope and never once have we gotten a reading.

"It's on the coordinate line Phi suggested," John says. His eyebrows crinkle and wiggle as he tries to triangulate while still steering. Mercy slaps his hand away and leans into the scanner to do what he can't. I nearly crawl over the seats to see.

"It's right on the longitudinal line you suggested," Mercy breathes. "What the hell, Manic Wonder." 

She leans back and I stare gape-mouthed at the flickering light on the blue nothing of the satellite readout. I almost didn't believe it myself. How could I have figured something out that no one in all of YEPP had?

Because I cared about Penelope, had unearned confidence from my fingers talking to me, and the focus of a bipolar seventeen year old with broken meds on a manic bender. It would be almost like a magic power if it didn't hurt so much. If the come down didn't feel like being shredded through hell, and if I didn't hurt people while on the ride. 

I look between John and Mercy then the screen. Maybe it's the lingering mania, or the possibility of finding Penelope, but I feel real love for them. Heart aching love. Mercy is here, even after I shoved her and ran away. John's been there the whole time, watching me spiral and gently putting bumpers around my body until he could walk me safely to the med center. All the snacks they passed me, and times they got me into clothes and to class and lunch. Each moment of loving me through the worst of me, and trusting me and believing me when it mattered. I love them. I lean my head forward, into John's shoulder, because Mercy isn't a snuggler while on missions, but John is always available for a kiss on the forehead. He does that now. Turns his head, eyes still ahead and kisses the spot where my unbrushed hair tangles worst.

"We'll get her back," Mercy says quietly.

We'll get her back.

John follows the weak beep of the green dot to a white snowy scatter of icebergs. 

"Merce, scan for any heat signatures, or something that could possibly be a building. I need a trajectory." 

"Copy that." Mercy readjusts in her seat and starts pulling up data on the copilot screen. I watch her work. I see nothing, and more nothing, as John nears the green dot. Mercy scans deep and I squint for some sign of our evil master mind's lair, but my scan is cut short when John careens to the right. Mercy and I both tilt hard in our seats.