Chapter Text
The water rushes in around her, filling the space around her without stopping and suddenly Sophia understands that she is going to—
"Are you listening, Miss Hess?" A voice cuts through the memory, and suddenly her world snaps away from what it was, and expands back to the size of an office. The feeling of rough and soggy wood beneath her hands fades until she can only feel the wool and cotton of her chair, with the very faint sensation of springs beneath it all. Idly, she rubs her hands back and forth across the material, grounding herself as she does nothing to quell the bobbing of her leg in her chair as her impatience grows. The boring, dull grey walls don't seem all that interesting to her in truth, but it's way better than looking at the person next to her deciding she was insane.
"Sophia." That fucking shrink Yamada prods her once more, and Sophia finally graces her with her attention. It's difficult to curb the urge to sneer at her, sitting across from Sophia with soft features, a gentle, less chiseled physique than Sophia's own.
It drove her crazy, staring at her, listening to her talk to Sophia like she understood, like she knew exactly who Sophia was, who she had been. As if she's ever had a moment of hardship in her quiet little life of judgement, ever fought for anything she truly wanted, ever bleed for the right to keep living, to survive and stand above others. But no, she just lived her cushy, peaceful little life, making a paycheck telling psychos that of course they weren't crazy and what they were going through is natural.
Heh, as if Sophia hadn't heard that line from everyone and their mothers by now. Anyone who had heard about what happened had at some point said something so fucking condescending about it, forcing Sophia to wade through endless fake smiles and all the store bought, cookie-cutter "Get Well Soon!" cards from nobodies and spineless prey that saw nothing but a chance to suck up to her. Sophia fights down that heat, burying it deep into the shadows of her mind and tries her best to put on an air of boredom, like she hadn't, for a single moment, slipped back into that night, slipped all the back back into the very fucking reason she had ended up having to do these stupid sessions for anyway.
"Of course I'm listening," She bites back. Yamada sighs slightly, scribbling another thing down on that damn clipboard she always has. One these days she'll end up snapping and ripping it out of her hands, breaking it in half and making that sighing noise like she was disappointed in Yamada for not stopping her. That'll be more therapeutic than any of this bullshit.
That's the thing that no one seemed to get about her— Sophia was a woman of action, not sitting down and talking about how certain shapes or sounds make her fucking feel. She'd gain more out of punching some Nazi's, roaming the rooftops of the Bay than sitting here in this boring room, trying to pass the time as she was forced to answer and talk to this woman who pretended to know exactly what was going on in Sophia's head, like she had been through all the fucking strife that Sophia had been born from.
"So then you'll answer my question?" Yamada asked, tilting her head almost innocently. Sophia scowled.
"Fine. What the fuck was it again?" Sophia could guess, but she wasn't going to give this shrink any ground. Play stupid, act dumb, get through this. Get through this, and go back to being a hero.
"Why do you think you are here?" Of fucking course it was that question. The same one Sophia got asked Every. Single. Time. It was like she had nothing better to do than to repeat the same fucking bullshit to her and expect something different. Like she had come to a glorious epiphany over night and had come to see what everyone else saw.
Because I got fucking caught, Sophia could say. She didn't think it would go well, but it'd be the truth, instead of a lie. Because some fucking punks decided to mess with the laws of nature and thought that they could become predators by striking at the Apex. Because they got fucking lucky. Because I got cocky.
Because now everyone thinks I'm a ticking time bomb and going to kill myself.
"Because my bosses," she replies instead, stressing the word. "Think that I'm a fucking nutcase, and need to be sorted out before I can do any real work again."
Sure, Sophia was still allowed on base, allowed to wear her costume and allowed to train. But Patrols? Out of the question. She assumed she was lucky she got to do Console Duty but even that was so fucking boring she'd rather just be kept completely away. At least then she wouldn't have to sit and watch others go out and fight crime when she was kept under watch, everyone watching for a timer that they were sure was going to go off at some point and ignoring her pleas that she was fucking fine. Sophia rubbed her arms, feeling that itch to be out there again, to see the city the way that only she could see it.
"You know that's not true. You've undergone a traumatic experience akin to a trigger event, no one comes out of those unscathed." She hadn't: the new tricks she had were a dead giveaway for that. She kept that card to herself for now, however—better to save it for when she was back on duty than to make everything worse by showing that yes, she had in fact triggered again, big deal. Her first one had come and gone years ago and she was over it, a fresh one wouldn't do much to her. She was a diamond, fucking polished and un-fucking-breakable.
Being treated like cracked glass however was starting to piss her off. No one was acting the same, or even considering that Sophia had come out fine and could just get back to work . It's hard, real hard to control outbursts of rage and annoyance when everyone was just on edge, waiting for her to snap, to have an excuse to get rid of her, to label her as goddamn wackjob. She needed a way to vent soon, or else someone was going to get hurt, and it wasn't going to be her. Preferably Nazis.
"These sessions are merely to help you adjust and have an outlet for anything that might be lingering after the...event. I am here to help you work through any problems you think you maybe have."
The Event. The fucking Event. Sophia heard every way they could call it without calling it what it was— a mistake.
'The Event' 'The Incident' 'Your Traumatic Experience' 'That night' Sophia could put together a bingo board at this rate. She scoffed at Yamada's comment. 'Traumatic experience', if Sophia hears that one more time—
"Miss Hess—" Sophia feels herself bristling at the condescending, quiet tone. "Sophia. I understand your feelings on these sessions. I understand that someone of your caliber and experience in your field finds these degrading, useless and all but pointless— but I assure you that co-operation and paying attention is the easiest way for these sessions to stop, and for you to go on with your Wards experience."
Yamada shifted in her chair. "Believe me, nothing would make me happier than for you to have fewer of these. Unfortunately that is not the case." She sets her clipboard aside and meets Sophia's gaze directly now, leaning forward and giving her a fucking puppy-eyed expression.
"So please, take these sessions seriously." The wool under her fingers pulls tight as Sophia's grip tightens.
She hates this. She hates these sessions, hates the condescending tone everyone had around her lately, hates the pity in their eyes and the kiddie gloves that everyone decided they had to wear around her because fuck them, she was Shadow Stalker, the thing that went bump in the night, the motherfucking Hero that made thugs cower in fear and flee at the sight of her—
"Why should I?" She snaps out. "You said it yourself: I think these things are fucking useless and for psychos. I'm not insane, but you all are treating me like I'm going to snap and fucking kill myself!" She rises out of her chair, and Yamada barely moves, not even blinking as Sophia gets up and starts pacing around her own chair.
"You went through a traumatic experience." Yamada begins, and Sophia can feel the last traces of her patience snap clean away "These are just precautiona—"
—ry Measures, We are doing what we feel is the best for you, don't you see that? Don't you see I'm doing what's best for you, Sophia?
Everything goes red for a moment, and suddenly the chair Sophia had been sitting in is across the room. It slams into the bookshelf on the wall, collapsing it and sending all of its contents to the floor as Yamada rises, an accusatory tone on her lips as Sophia cuts her off before she can even begin.
There's a twist, a shift in the back of her mind and suddenly everything is different.
The color of the room warps suddenly, the colors and hues fading out until suddenly everything is hues of purple and blue, save for the streaks of color that now dash around the room like brushstrokes. They cover the walls, the floor, the furniture, all of it turning into something straight out a comic book.
And it was hers. One of the facets of her new power, anyway. The streaks told a story, interwoven and painted in forms to become what looked like street art, their paint fresh and misty, like someone had recently come through with a spray can.
She ignored them all of course. They weren't worth her fucking time, just scraps from someone else's fucking life. Leave her out of it.
The most interesting of all of them, however, came from Yamada. She was lit up like a Christmas tree in color, the pale blues and whites painting her in a faint light. The strokes painted her in an almost tribal fashion, going around her eyes and streaking down her arms and shoulders in soft waves. It took a moment and a little bit of squinting to realize that it was trying to represent a mirror, to show some part of Yamada that was key to her. Sophia had no fucking idea what that meant. She parroted what others thought? Who fucking knows.
(She ignored the momentary wonder of what she might look like, what marks and paint may cover herself. She's been very careful to avoid looking at it. She knows who she is: Sophia doesn't need any introspection on herself.)
Sophia decided to ignore the big picture, however, and looked closer. Seeing the difference of color on her hands and mouth, where traces of grey paint reached outward, curling and fading in time like smoke. Her fingertips were a faded orange, making it vague, but enough that she had something. Bingo.
"Is smoking what's best for you? Huh?" Sophia pressed, and suddenly Yamada looked alarmed. Sophia sneered. If she just pressed enough, then maybe the shrink would see where she really stood, and Sophia could leave and never have to come back to these.
"So little miss shrink's got her own vices. Is that healthy, huh? Smoking your lungs out, using drugs instead of facing your problems? You hypocrite." She hissed, and watched with some fascination as the smoke paint actually grew, stretching out more and more covering the mirror parts of her. The 'glass' of the mirror cracked slightly as well, smoke leaking out and trailing around her body.
"How can you say I'm fucked up when you're pushing yourself to an early grave, huh?" Sophia took a step forward. She was running on this one thing, but if Emma had taught her anything, its to push what you have to the brink. "You can't say one thing and then do the other, Miss Yamada." She said, her tone oozing with false sweetness.
The grey streaks pulsed with life, coalescing into a large orb in front of her. For a second, it seemed to even take a bestial shape: Sophia caught the glimpse of something feline, something ready to pounce before Yamada's expression changed. Then, like a switch, the paint started fading, and Yamada regained her original composure.
"No one is perfect, Sophia; I never said I was either. Smoking is something I used to do—It's something that I'm fighting to keep away from. It's work, but I'm getting there." And suddenly, the paint fully receded, curling in on itself and shrinking back, the life it once had lost and gone far beyond what it had looked like when she first prodded at it.
"We're only human, after all. We make mistakes, and we're weak alone. But together we can do impossible things. Make people better." All of Sophia recoiled at that remark. She was a predator, an apex in a world of prey, where she stood on top and was strong, was powerful, was...was—
"I don't know how you knew I smoked, but I do know how to help Sophia. If you let me." She said softly, holding her hand out towards Sophia. The honesty in her eyes sickened Sophia, but it also gave her pause. Was she genuine in wanting to help—
No. Fuck that. Sophia didn't have issues, she wasn't a basket case to sit down and be worked and prodded at, she needed to be left alone, and to be allowed to kick someone's ass.
"Fuck this." She said, slapping Yamada's hand away.
"Fuck you. Fuck these Precautionary Measures, fuck Piggy, and FUCK THE WARDS!" She turns, stomping over towards the door and yanking it open, barely registering the yell coming from Yamada or the PRT Trooper at the door reaching out for her to stop before she ducked around their arm and all but booked it out into the winter streets. This place was stifling, and her head was roaring at her to leave. So she did.
~