A hushed stillness wrapped around Taylor as she sat perched on the edge of her normal rooftop. She hugged her leg, chin resting on her knee. Skeins of wispy clouds stretched across the constellation infused night sky.

Taylor was lost to what time it was, lost in her thoughts over what the crime family was planning. Weston and she had spent an hour speculating until they had finally given it a rest. As he went home, Taylor returned to her usual haunt, deciding to give up one more hour before calling it a day.

When sleep dragged at her, she lifted her head. Cold had stiffened her joints and she felt a hundred years old as she untangled her limps and climbed off the ledge. She was working out the kinks in her shoulders when she felt the familiar Pull in her stomach. Listening to the call, she vanished.

When she reappeared she stood in the city's wealthier residential area, towering apartment building soaring into the sky around her. She spun, trying to locate where help was needed.

A sharp cry had her running towards an alleyway between two residents. From the lighting of the streetlights, Taylor could make out two struggling figures. One hooded and one in a pantsuit. When the woman in the pantsuit was slammed up against the wall, Taylor saw more of her appearance.

The breath was sucked out of Taylor's lungs. The woman's skin was the same dark shade as her father's and there was a ferocity in her face that seemed to show she burned with life.

The ghost of her aunt was suddenly standing beside Taylor. Anger exploded inside her, grief over the loss of a vibrant life spurring her forward.

The woman fought against her attacker, making him stumble back. As he regained his balance, he pulled out a switchblade and flicked it open. Taylor took the opening. She winked out and winked back in front of the woman, shielding her.

In the man's startled second and hearing Clint's voice in her head, Taylor grabbed hold of the wrist with the knife in it and punched the man in the throat. He coughed and reached for his neck. As he did, Taylor bent the wrist backward, forcing him to drop the knife. It clattered to the ground. She then kicked the man between the legs. As he bent double, she brought his head down on her knee.

The man crumpled to the ground with a groan. Part of Taylor knew she should stop there, but grief and rage were in control and she couldn't stop. She wasn't seeing this man, but the one who had taken away someone she loved. Someone who she had looked up to.

Kneeling beside the guy, she grabbed the front of his jacket, curled her fingers and punched him in the face. Pain flared in her fist but she barely felt it, caught up in something she couldn't stop. Behind her, she heard the woman making a run for the alleyway as she hit the man again.

With each strike, she felt herself shattering. Breaking over her aunt, who was never coming back. Someone who inspired Weston to help others and in turning inspiring Taylor.

When the pain in her hand became too great, she stopped. Only then was she aware of the bloody mess that was the man's face. Shocked, she scrambled back. For a heart-stopping moment, she feared the man was dead.

But he moaned and Taylor released a shaky breath. In the distance the sound of sirens rang out in the night, drawing closer. Taylor whipped her head around and saw the silhouette of the woman standing in the alleyway opening.

Taylor looked back to the attacker, at the blood pouring from his nose, the cut in his lip, and the eye that was already swelling. Nausea climbed up Taylor's throat and she disappeared.

She was barely aware of her dark surroundings as she pressed her back against a wall. Shaking, she tugged off her gloves and horror filled her as felt her knuckles and the sticky blood from where one of them was cracked. A sob escaped her lips and she pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to stifle the sound.

Sheets rustled and a second later a lamp was flipped on. Taylor closed her eyes against the light, tears streaming down her face. Whether they were from pain, shock, grief, or revulsion she didn't know. Dominic rubbed his eyes and stared at Taylor huddled at the far side of his room.

"Taylor?" he said, groggily.

She couldn't respond. Flinging aside the blankets, Dominic climbed out and crouched in from of her. When he saw her hand, he swore.

"What happened?" he asked. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Taylor shook her head and covered her face with her hands. Sighing, Dominic sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her. Taylor fell into his embrace.

When she finally stopped trembling and the tears had left her head hurting, she wiped at her face and stared up at Dominic. He looked back, his brow wrinkled with concern and confusion.

"Sorry," she said.

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

Taylor dropped her eyes and truly saw the state of her hand. It was an ugly mess of blood and forming bruises. As she stared at it, the pain she had been able to ignore surged back and she cradled it against her chest, feeling how even her wrist throbbed. Dominic stood and held out his hand.

"Let's clean that," he said.

Taylor accepted his help. She glanced at his shoulder and noticed the remains of her tears darkening his shirt. Hollowed out, she trailed after him into the bathroom and sank onto the toilet seat.

As Dominic pulled out medical supplies, he shifted his foot over, pressing it against the side of Taylor's shoe. Everything paused and the pain in her hand faded. When Dominic motioned for Taylor's hand, she held it out without question. The alcohol stung but she didn't pull away.

"Are you going to explain now what's going on?" he asked.

Taylor swallowed. "My aunt was killed four years ago by a mugger." Her voice was empty, all her emotions spent. "Tonight I found out the whole story of what happened." She paused, staring blankly at the floor. "I stopped a mugger who was attacking a woman...something about her made me think of my aunt...then all I could think about was how she probably had a family that loved her. Needed her and this guy could take it all away. I got so angry and kinda...lost it."

Dominic took out an Ace bandage and wrapped Taylor's hand and wrist.

"Is the guy still alive?"

The question was barely a whisper. Taylor nodded. After a long moment, he spoke again.

"I'm sorry about your aunt."

Taylor raised her head, meeting his gaze. Even though his face was controlled, there seemed to be a storm building in his eyes, but he said nothing more.

"Thanks," she said. She fingered the bandage on her hand. "I'm sorry about showing up here."

Dominic shrugged, the edge of his mouth curling. "I'm sort of used to it by now."

**********************************************************************

"We are not doing 'get help'."

(Which coincidentally is what Taylor actually did do, get help.)

Boy! That was a wild ride! Taylor completely lost her cool! Not cool (sorry, I had to). At least she knows she can count on Dominic to be a good friend and be not at all shocked to find her in his room. But still!

What can you make of it all? And don't say you can make it into a hat because you can't fold your phone. That would be crazy! 🦸🏻‍♂️🦹🏾‍♀️🦸🏽‍♀️

Honestly, I never expected it of Taylor. Of Carter, yeah definitely, but Taylor? I mean she's so chill so much of the time! But I guess everyone has their limits they reach and they just snap.

When I reach my limits, I don't snap, instead I get completely quiet and still. Which is really eerie. But then again I don't reach my limits very often.

What about you? What do you do when you can't take it anymore?

సరదా కబురు (Telugu): Agent Coleson wasn't even supposed to have a name but since he had such a good dynamic with Gwyneth Paltrow and Robert Downey Jr. the character was expanded.

Vote, comment, follow but only if you stand for helping those friends who teleport into your room and need help after beating up a mugger...so you probably don't have to do any of that then.