(LIMITLESS) CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: DADMASTER???

Waking up in the hospital wasn’t new to Taylor. 

The sterile scent of disinfectant, the bzzt of the overhead lights, and the constant beep of a heart monitor were all things she was beginning to recognize far too easily. Even the dull ache that settled into her bones as consciousness returned felt routine. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t new.

What was new was the sight that greeted her when she blinked her eyes open.

Armsmaster sat beside her bed, not in his gleaming and iconic power armor, but in plain civilian clothes. His beard was trimmed short, his hair neat, and for a moment she almost didn’t recognize him. It was strange seeing him like that, so much so that she wasn't sure she would ever get used to it. So for a moment, she just stared.

Armsmaster—no, Colin, she supposed—looked almost out of place without the suit. Less larger than life, and very, very tired. His posture was still rigid, his shoulders squared, but there was a weariness in the line of his mouth that hadn’t been there before. Unfortunately, that was all she could glean of his expression. Even the simple domino mask he wore did well to hide them from the world, though his eyes flicked to her the instant she stirred.

She wasn’t as disoriented as she expected to be, but it still took a few seconds for her to piece everything together. It didn't help that there was a fog behind her eyes and a weight in her limbs that told her she’d been out for a while. After all, though it was her second time waking up in a hospital bed, that dull sense of deja vu hit harder than she wanted to admit.

And then it clicked. Of course he was here.

Ever since her dad’s death, Colin had made a habit of checking in on her. Always in that same awkward, overly formal, but oddly charming way that only he could manage, his concern masked by professionalism. But she’d noticed. She couldn’t help but think that part of it came from guilt. Guilt over Sophia, over how that situation had been allowed to fester under his watch. Maybe guilt over failing her dad too, though admittedly, that might be a reach. Or maybe it wasn’t guilt at all, just his ingrained sense of duty. That cold, structured need to take responsibility for those under his command.

Whatever it was, it didn’t surprise her anymore.

What did surprise her was the other person in the room.

Dean sat near the foot of her bed, dressed in casual clothes but wearing a domino mask too. Without the armor, he looked like any other teenage boy, though admittedly attractive, with kind eyes and an easy smile, though said smile was strained now. It was almost unsure, as if he wasn’t sure if he was meant to be here. It caught her more off guard than the first, though when she gave it a second thought, his presence made sense. They were… friends, after all. Or close enough to count.

Still, it felt strange. Wrong, even. Waking up and seeing anyone other than her father sitting beside her was like being reminded, all over again, that he never would be. For a brief, cruel moment, she imagined him there instead, his familiar, awkward smile sent her way, and his calloused hand around hers. The ache that followed tightened her chest until it hurt to breathe.

Thankfully, Dean chose that exact moment to move. He reached for a plastic cup on the bedside table, the one with a straw bent at the top, and held it out to her.

“Here,” he said softly.

The gesture was small, but it pulled her out of the impending spiral. She managed a grateful smile, both for the water and for giving her something else to focus on. Her throat was dry, her voice rough as she muttered a quiet, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, returning the smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She took a slow sip, the cool water settling her nerves as much as it could.

Colin waited until she set the cup down before speaking.

“Bakuda is dead,” he said, in that careful, almost stoic tone of his. “You stopped her.”

Taylor blinked, the words landing slower than they should have. She remembered flashes of the battle, the unbearable heat from the numerous explosions, the noise of the dead and dying, and the awful sensation of it all, but not the end. Hearing him say it out loud made it real.

Colin went on, his voice lowering almost conspiratorially. “There are… consequences. The PRT has mandated therapy sessions with an approved specialist. It’s standard procedure, given the circumstances.”

He didn’t elaborate on what “given the circumstances” meant, but he didn’t need to. She understood, and to be honest, she didn’t trust herself to say anything. Her mind was still catching up. Instead, she nodded, the motion small and stiff. 

“And,” he added, “there are political complications.”

He didn’t go into detail there, either. But just the way his jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, told her enough.

“The Director has approved a legal transfer of guardianship,” he said finally. “Effective immediately, I’ll serve as your legal guardian until you turn eighteen.”

Taylor stared at him, the words taking a moment to land.

He must have read the confusion on her face, because he kept going before she could ask. “It’s primarily to prevent interference from outside organizations. The Youth Guard, in particular, have expressed… interest in your situation. This move should give us some breathing room, and about your welfare. This arrangement should make things simpler, at least for now.”

Us.

He said it like they were in this together, and maybe, in a way, despite her skepticism about the subject matter, they were.

“It’s mostly a formality,” he said quickly, though she could tell he meant the opposite. “But if you’re not comfortable with that arrangement, you can suggest someone else. The decision is yours.”

Taylor looked at him, uncertain what to say. The thought of being anyone’s responsibility again made something inside her twist. It wasn’t about trust—she didn’t doubt his intentions—but the idea of anyone replacing her father in that role felt wrong. Like rewriting something sacred.

But she didn’t have the strength to unpack that now.

Colin must have seen something in her expression, because he gave a short nod, almost like he’d expected it. “Rest,” he said. “You’ve had a long few days. We’ll talk more later.”

He stood, offered Dean a glance and a brief nod, and left the room with his usual gait. Unbidden, she wondered whether his secret identity was as secret as he thought it was; the man acted the same in and out of armor. 

For a few moments, the silence stretched. Taylor sank a little deeper into the bed, exhausted but unwilling to close her eyes just yet.

Then Dean smiled faintly, a little unsure. “You know, things have been kind of dull without you around,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Clockblocker’s been trying to run training drills, and Vista keeps finding ways to make him trip over himself.”

Taylor let out a soft huff of laughter, more breath than sound. “Sounds like I didn’t miss much.”

“You missed enough,” Dean replied, his tone gentler now. “Everyone’s… glad you’re okay.”

She didn’t know how to answer that, so she didn’t.

He kept talking, filling the room with quiet stories about the others: harmless things, meant to comfort. She let his voice wash over her, a low drone against the steady beep of the monitor beside her.

Sleep crept up slowly, and this time she didn’t fight it.

The last thing she heard was Dean’s voice, recounting some ridiculous stunt Clockblocker had tried to pull, before the world faded around her.