The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It had been a quiet night on the Angels’ first patrol as free women. So they had had plenty of time to talk about things, to work things out. Tawnya was somber, subdued. Sioban had never seen her like this before, but she could tell it was temporary. Even so, she hoped that her brash, playful ‘T-Baby’ would come back soon. It was a bit of a downer, especially considering how Katie had been of late. It was tough to deal with BOTH of her bright, bubbly friends on a down streak.

Even so, that mood had been useful for serious discussion. They laid out and renegotiated the ground rules for their partnership. They discussed their relationships with Nigel and especially with the ex-Tearbearers. And, of course, with Katie. Both of them were at a loss with Katie. Sioban admitted that she was falling in love with the Frasier girl. Of course, Tawnya knew it already. “I think I knew it before you did,” she quipped.

Tawnya talked about her parents and her brother, about her upcoming freshman year in college, about Darryl and her fear that she had lost a friendship. Sioban reassured her. Sioban was certain that the big guy was just waiting for Tawnya to acclimate to her new life.

Tawnya turned and grinned at her. “And have I, Dr. MacMillan? Have I ‘acclimated’?”

Sioban laughed. Now there was her T-Baby! “Not yet, but you’re getting there! Let’s just say that the limit as ‘T’ approaches the Grimalde family is bounded and very, very real.”

Tawnya was suddenly sober again. “I hope you’re right. I need all the friends I can get.”

“Well, rein it in there, kiddo,” Sioban replied, trying to lighten the mood again, “I’ve got nothing to wipe your nose with if you start bawling.”

“HA!” said Tawnya, looking at her partner’s scantily-clad body, “You got that right. There hardly two square feet of cloth between us and it’s all on active duty, no reserves anywhere. What I wouldn’t give for something with pockets.”

“Yeah, and durability, this bra-and-panties shit tears like tissue paper.”

“And a decent color scheme.”

“And something resembling, well, modesty. I mean, I like my figure as much as the next girl—”

Tawnya did her best leering Groucho impression, “You ain’t the only one, sister.”

“—but that doesn’t mean I want to expose it to the world.”

“Preach it, Bonnie!”

“T-Baby, we have GOT to redesign these suits! I’m tired of prancing around like a goddamn Frederick’s of Hollywood model.”

“YES! And our names! We GOTTA pick better names! I’m tired of these fuckin’ cornball names!”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Um. no. Haven’t thought about it much. You?”

Sioban blushed.

Tawnya pursued, “Oh, c’mon, Bon-bon. Give. It can’t be any worse than what Nigel gave us. I mean, I love the guy, but SERIOUSLY...”

Barely above a whisper, Sioban said, “I was thinking... maybe... ‘Dragonfyre’... with a ‘y’. Oh Gawd, forget it, that’s almost as corny—”

“That’s an amazing name,” interrupted Tawnya, “You should use it. Seriously. And if you use ‘Dragonfyre’, I think I’m gonna use ‘Ravenheart’.”

“’Ravenheart’,” said Sioban, a grin growing across her face, “I love it! And now we HAVE to redo the unif—”

At that moment, there was a particularly bright lightning flash in the overcast sky. Of course there had been lightning off and on all evening. It’s Oregon. It comes with the turf. But what brought Sioban up short now was that she realized that, in spite of all the lightning, there had, not once, been a delayed answering rumble of thunder. Furthermore, even though the clouds were blowing from west to east, the lightning had been moving steadily from the center of River City, toward the northwest.

“Hey T-Baby? Watch the next lightning flash with me.”

“Um, sure... Oh... Wow. They don’t usually change colors like that, do they?”

“No. And they don’t travel that straight either. It looks more like some kind of weird laser light show inside the clouds... or maybe...”

The Angels looked at each other and exclaimed in unison, “KATIE!”

Meanwhile, at the Prentice Mansion, the Grimaldes were starting their day early, with some verbal fireworks.

“Brooks, Willard, B-R-O-O-K-S,” said Patricia into the phone in her most exasperated voice, “I’m calling about Special Agent Stephanie Brooks.”

Nigel sat in his chair, tying his tie, watching his wife pace back and forth like a tiger preparing to pounce. Seeing her husband smiling up at her, she flashed him a return smile and a wink, and then she was all business again, her face a mask of serious concentration.

“Don’t you dare say ‘Who’ again, Will. You know damn well who she is. Even if she weren’t one of your most accomplished specialists, she was at the top your ‘Most Wanted’ list for four freakin’ months... You know what I want, Will. What you’re doing to her is a crime. She was a prisoner in her own head for almost a year, and now you want to fire her? You’re just traumatizing her all over again. You’re punishing her for something that’s not her fault.”

Nigel smiled and gave her a thumbs up. Willard Danforth was not the brightest bulb on the Christmas Tree, but he was tenacious and politically savvy. He had managed to hang on as Director of the FBI through 3 administrations and 5 Attorneys General. Ostensibly Patty and Will were peers because they both reported directly to the AG, but her responsibilities were regional instead of national, which left her at a disadvantage. So she was going to have to pull out the big guns now, and Nigel was ecstatic to have a ringside seat.

Shifting the phone to her other hand, she continued, “Oh, boo-hoo for you, Will. You think it’s too early for you to deal with this crap? In DC? It’s only 5:30 here in Oregon. Get with the program! Y’know, Will, I’ve been considering a run, into politics... Oh, you heard? Great. Well, I had thought maybe Governor, but I just heard that Ainsley is retiring this year. I could run for US Senate instead. And just think what a great poster girl Dr. Brooks would make for my campaign. What do you think? Brilliant hero? Turned into a mind-controlled dupe? Then punished by the very government that should have protected her? And then there’s the waste, the millions of taxpayer dollars that went into her training and advancement, all gone since you FIRED her. Wouldn’t you just love to see the political ads I’d make on this issue? Wouldn’t it be just so FUN to sit across from me in an appropriations hearing and talk about this?”

Standing at the dresser listening to Danforth talk, Patty picked up her hair brush and ran it through her long wavy brown locks a few times. Nigel figured that Danforth was probably prevaricating, looking for some out. For him Stephanie Brooks had been a convenient scapegoat. The public had already been predisposed to hate and fear her, so Danforth was using her to divert attention away from a black eye on his Bureau.

But Nigel knew that Danforth didn’t want to tangle with Patty. Her star was on the rise, and Danforth’s best move was to stay out of her way.

“So, you’ll review her case? Personally?” Danforth was trying to save face. Patty knew he was going to cave. Nigel knew he was going to cave. Hell, Danforth knew he was going to cave. He just didn’t want to do it on the phone. Patty continued, “Well, that’s all I wanted, Will. I’m sure that when you look things over, thoroughly, when you consider all the ramifications, you’ll welcome her back to the Bureau with open arms... Thanks, Will. Oh, and one more thing. Don’t call me ‘Trish’. I hate that.“

One floor below and a few doors down, someone else was on the phone. Delores was chatting happily, albeit a bit nervously, with her old mentor Ellen Hofstadter. Phone braced awkwardly against her shoulder, she prattled on while she folded her warmest clothes into the suitcase.

“So you’re sure it’s not a problem? I really won’t be imposing?” asked Deedee.

“Absolutely not! Please come, stay as long as you like. We’re sorta between hunting seasons anyway, so the lodge is kinda empty. For the first couple of days you’d be our only guest.”

“And you’re sure you won’t let me pay?”

“Oh, come on, Dee—”

“No, really, Ellen, I’m loaded and I never spend it on anything. Let me help out. Let me spend some on you.”

“Deedee Gutierrez! Do you want me to treat you like a friend or a customer? I knew that money-grubbing lover of yours would corrupt you, but really!”

“Okay, Ellen, okay. You win. I’ll be happy to be your house guest. You’ll pick me up at the airport?”

“Yep. And then your trip will be half over!”

“Um. What?”

“Deedee. Our hunting lodge isn’t in downtown Saskatoon. After we pick up your bags it will still be another seven hours drive, but most of that is on paved roads at least. Sure you can’t convince that uptight boyfriend of yours to come?”

“My ‘boyfriend’ is trying to run a multi-billion dollar business after his headquarters was blown up. He’s a bit busy. Besides, he’d probably want to bring his wife.“

“Oh, that’s right. ‘Open Marriage’. One man, half-a-dozen women. Sounds great... if you’re the man.”

“Not ‘open marriage’, Ellen, ‘group marriage’. And he more than makes us all happy.”

Ellen hissed derisively and said, “I guess.”

“Look, Ellen. We’re all loyal to each other, we’re not hurting anyone, and we may be lying about it, but not to anyone that deserves the truth. Sound familiar?”

“Okay, okay, down girl! But didn’t you say there was some trouble in paradise? Isn’t that why you’re coming here?”

“Ellen, please! Can we not talk about this on the phone? If I’m going to bare my soul to you, can I at least wait until I can look in your eyes?”

“Sure. Sure, baby.”

“Oh Ellen, I can’t wait to see you.”

“Same here, Deedee. Same here.”

As she hung up the phone Herb Hofstadter looked quizzically at his wife.

“She’ll be at Saskatoon Airport at noon tomorrow. You’ll have to drive all day to get there and all evening to get her back.”

“That’s not a problem, sweets.”

Suddenly Ellen’s face clouded. “She’s upset about something, something to do with that jerkface Grimalde.”

“You always hated him.”

Ellen objected, “I’m not a hater! I don’t hate anybody!” Herb raised an eyebrow. “But yeah,” she continued, “I really, really don’t like him. Whatever happened to Carlos?”

“Well, aside from the fact that Carlos was over 20 years ago, you hated Carlos.” At her sharp look he held up his hands in surrender. “You ‘strongly disliked’ Carlos. You drove him away. Of course, you were right about him; he really was a macho, misogynist bastard. But when you get right down to it, your attitude was always the same, whether it was Carlos, or Nigel, or Winston, or whoever. You ‘really really didn’t like’ any of her lovers.”

“Well,” she said, “except you. I didn’t hate you.”

Herb’s face turned to stone. “You’re not ready to talk yet.”

Now Ellen had her dander up. “Don’t you tell me I’m n—”

“You’re not. All you’re doing is making mean sarcastic jokes about your best friend’s love life. You’re not ready to talk to me, and you’re certainly not ready to talk to her.”

With that, to Ellen’s surprise, Herb stood up and left the room.

Half an hour later, Ellen found Herb on the front porch, tuning his guitar.

“You’re right,” she admitted, defeated, “I’m not ready yet. My head is in a really evil place.”

“It still is?”

“Yeah... but I’m fixing it.”

“Well, fix faster, babe. She’s gonna be here tomorrow evening. And she’ll be looking for wisdom and love and sympathy, not bile and snark.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said with fresh resolve. Then she looked at her husband and cocked her head to the side, “And speaking of wisdom, look at you. How did you get so wise?”

“I married a brilliant woman and had to run like hell to keep up.”

Carefully she picked up his guitar and put it on its stand. Then she sat on his lap and snuggled into his shoulder.

“Well, I think you passed me standing still a while back. I love you, Herbert Hofstadter. Stay with me?”

He grinned and kissed her forehead. “I love you too, spicecake. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away from you.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, truly contented.

I groaned softly, opening my eyes. Or, I tried to anyway. They felt gummed together, as if I’d gone to sleep crying. Not exactly a common occurrence in general, but one that’s happened a lot lately. I raised a hand towards my face, then sighed, dropping it back down. Too much effort. Much better to just lie here on the soft... er, not too soft... whatever I was lying on.

“...a...i...e ..ke... up...”

I frowned slightly. A strange pressure on my shoulders was bearing down, taking me out of my comfort zone. Worse, some strange noise was warbling near me, cutting through the gentle peaceful numbness that was holding me down like a nice warm blanket.

“...at...ie w...k... up...”

I groaned again, expending the effort to use my hands to push away who or whatever was disturbing me. No... someone. Definitely someone, ’cause instead of going away, they had grabbed hold of my hands, and used them to jerk me upright. A second someone was there as well, poking and prodding me, patting me down... touching me in ways that would have been nice if not for the awful warbling sounds that my sluggish mind finally recognized as words being spoken.

“C’mon... Kat.. ie... wak... p.. dammit!”

Grunting, I forced my eyes open, then winced slightly, not from the brightness of what was obviously daylight, well, sunrise at least, but from a wave of nausea and vertigo as the world around me shuddered and shimmied a bit before stabilizing. Two soft beautiful female faces peered down at me, and it took me another second or two to recognize them as Sioban MacMillan and Tawnya Parkinson. Close friends, though killing my buzz makes them not my most favorite people at the moment. They glance at one another a bit, gesturing... and I giggle, I’m obviously still fucked up ’cause it looks like they’re moving in slow motion.

“Geez... she’s stoned out of her mind,” Tawnya commented, peering into my face.

“Look at her eyes!” said Sioban, “The blue’s all gone, they’re completely dark grey!”

“Katie... can you hear me?” Tawnya asked, her voice sounding like she’s underwater. “Damn, girl, can you at least say something? Or blink once for no, twice for yes!”

“Oh... um... yeah. Sorry, I c’n hear ya,” I reply after a bit. “I’m just... what’s going on? Why are we...” I glanced around. Huh. Guess I was laying in an actual ditch... surrounded by an open field... somewhere in the countryside, definitely not in the city limits, but I was really not in any shape to, ah, articulate such nuanced thoughts. “Why are we outside? Where are all th’ houses an’ buildings an’ stuff?”

“Great. She doesn’t remember anything, but at least she’s responding now,” Sioban muttered, shaking her head. “Katie, sweetie, do me a favor and lean your head forward a bit, and tip it to the side?”

“Um... okay,” I agree, not exactly sure why Sioban would want me to do such a silly thing, but, like, she was my friend, and she was sooooo smart, and it’s not like I had anything better to do. So. Y’know. Why not? I tilted my head, and then groaned softly, as pretty much every pleasure center in my brain was teased, stroked, and tickled. My eyes nearly rolled back into my head, and I wobbled, starting to tip over, when Tawnya grabbed me from behind, holding me up. I heard a strange sound... a sifting, fluttering sound, and all too soon I realized it was all the Dust I’d snorted earlier pouring out of my ear onto the ground.

I groaned a little, wanting to tip my head back over, not wanting to lose the precious Dust, wanting, needing to keep it inside me, safe and sound in my head, where it could blot out all the nasty-bad feelings, the sadness and pain... the emptiness. But Sioban and Tawnya held me in place, not letting go, until finally, after what seemed like forever, the last bit of Dust poured out of me. I whimpered at the loss when they finally released me.

“Wow,” Tawyna whistled in amazement, kneeling down to stare at the large pile of slate grey powder on the ground. “All that... was inside her head? I’m not sure how that’s even possible.” She glanced up to look at me. “Katie... I know you’re hurtin’ after your girlfriend’s death and all... but how could you do... this,” she said, gesturing to the pile, “to yourself? Hell, you’re lucky you didn’t overdose on the stuff!”

“I have it on g’d authit...authorumy... I’ve been told that you can’t OD on ‘Dust’,” I commented woodenly, brushing myself off as I sat up straight again. “It’s not even a drug... not really. It’s just...” I frowned, thinking... well, trying to think, with my brain still greyed out, “Okay, I don’t know exactly WHAT it is, but I do know it’s completely ‘all natural’.” I didn’t need to explain Aunt Sarah’s old Chronos buddy Dust, or the fact that the drug she was peddling was basically castoff from her body. Which, if I thought about it too hard myself, would make this whole situation REALLY creepy.

“Fuck that, Katie,” said Sioban angrily, tears in the corners of her eyes, “Rattlesnake venom is all-natural too, but if I ever have to drain a pint of that out of your head. You’ll be... you’ll...”

The look on Sioban’s face was breaking my heart. Horror and sadness and anger and mourning all rolled into one. I was ready to promise her anything, anything at all, if she would just never look at me like that again. Then suddenly her look changed to one of annoyance.

“Oh, fuck, the cops,” she said, “Just what we need right now. Look, I’ll... I’ll go handle this. If anyone asks, Katie was battling a flying mind-controller up above the city most of last night. She managed to drive him off, but she was pretty wiped out in the process. Okay?”

Not waiting for a response Sioban stood and walked over to the approaching squad cars.

“Look, Tawnya, I’m fine now,” I said, “Just feeling a bit raw after being numbed out for so long. And anyway... why are you here?”

I sighed inwardly. I hadn’t meant to say it so sharply, and Tawnya winced at my hurtful tone. You see, this is why I needed the Dust, to keep me mellow, to keep me under control. It hasn’t even been a full minute with it out of my system and already I’m hurting the ones I care about.

“Katie,” Tawnya said after a moment, “we’re all worried about you. You parents, your aunt and uncle, Bonnie and I... we’re all concerned. You’ve taken Jessica’s death so hard, and—”

“I’m taking her death, hard?” I snapped back, glaring at the big teenager. “Did you REALLY just say that, T? I mean, you were there. You saw what... what... ha-happened to her!“

“Yeah, I know,” Tawnya said softly, walking over to squeeze my shoulder. She remembered only too well—when they’d finally pulled me away from Jess, I was soaked, soaked with her blood. She and Sioban had held me tightly, letting me cry myself out, but afterwards their own costumes had been so covered in blood they’d both had to toss them out.

“We know. We get it, hon, we really do. But—”

“You DON’T GET IT!” I yelled, pulling away. Goddamit why did EVERYONE keep saying they ‘got it’ when no one ever did? “You don’t understand!! You mean well, and you sympathize, but no, ‘hon’, you DON’T get it! Not even close. You haven’t got a fucking clue!”

Over by the police, I saw Sioban turn around sharply and look at us. Maybe I should chill a little and let them help me.

“Hey!” Tawnya said, “Calm down a little! We’re just trying to help, okay?”

Inside I knew it was true. And she was just saying the same thing I’d just said to myself. And I knew I was poisoning my best friendships since Jess... since she... Aw, fuck, I didn’t care. I did have enough sense to tone down the volume though, to keep the boys in the blue suits from taking too much of an interest. “Help?” I hissed angrily. “Hah. As if! I was never your friend, just your pet project! You don’t want to help me. Seduce me, maybe? Drug me and take me back to your beloved MASTER as a new sex slave? Probably. But, no, not help me!“

Tawnya froze, staring at me in stunned disbelief and hurt. I knew Sioban had heard me too, and that, if anything I had hurt her worse than Tawnya. I was doing it again, pushing them away. I wanted, no... NEEDED them to hold me, to hug me, love me, make me shut the hell up and just calm down, but I couldn’t just let it happen. My hurt and anger was taking over again, stripping away the mind to mouth barrier, and making me blurt out hurtful remarks that I didn’t mean! I wasn’t angry at T or Bonnie, not even a little bit, but they were taking the brunt of my sorrow. Just like Mom. Just like Yancy.

Oh goddess... why do I keep doing this to people I love?!? Why was I always saying and doing the most hurtful things possible? Was I... was I actually TRYING to sabotage myself? Was this my subconscious trying to isolate me... to protect everyone around me from the next time my stupid fucked up good luck had to make a life or death choice for my survival? If it was... then maybe that was for the best.

“Well... fine.” Tawnya said, huffily, turning away. “If that’s how you really feel, if you don’t want us around, we’ll... we’ll go,” she said, bringing out her wings, preparing to take flight. “Please don’t kill yourself, Katie. You’ll break poor Bonnie’s heart.”

Sioban motioned frantically to the cops, and then turned and ran back over to us. “No, please, wait Tawnya!” Sioban said, peering at me, a deep pain etched on her face. I turned away, not wanting to meet her eyes, but she reached down and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look her in the eye.

“Okay, Katie,” she said grimly, “I know you didn’t mean any of those awful things you just said. You’re hurting, and acting self-destructive, and you’re trying to push us away. But I’m not budging. You need my help, so you’re getting it whether you want it or not.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she surprised me by kissing me, a searing tongue deep kiss that left me panting and weak in the knees.

“I love you, Katie... I... I mean ‘we’... We love you. We’ll never leave you,” she said gently, caressing my face... the way Jess used to. She smiled. How could a smile look so sad? “I guess you’re just stuck with me, ah, us.”

Then Sioban excused herself and walked over to my pile of Dust, still sitting down in the ditch. She knelt and shoved the pile into the little rivulet flowing down the center of the ditch. Then she washed her hands in the dirty water.

When she came back she told us what that was all about. “When Officer Shaw over there relayed our story to his dispatcher, they asked us all to wait here. It seems that Chief Brennan wants to inspect the scene himself.”

Then Sioban gave it to me with both barrels. I’ve never seen such intensity, such fire in her eyes. It made me want to melt.

“Look, Katie... Baby... You say we don’t ‘get it’, that we don’t understand. Fine. Then explain it to us. MAKE us understand.”

I stared into her intense, piercing blue eyes... and then into Tawnya’s warm, soft brown ones as well, just as concerned, just as confused... and... I just fell apart. “I... don’t... deserve... your friendship...” I sobbed, the fight draining out of me at last. “Sorry... so sorry... I didn’t mean that... please, Bon-bon, " I begged, tearfully, “I didn’t... <sniff> mean to ... <sniff> hurt you... but I can’t... you can’t... be my friends... anymore...“

“Katie, baby, sweetie,” Sioban murmured, hugging me tight, while Tawyna caressed my back, stroking my gently and holding me up. “C’mon, baby. You don’t mean that. Why can’t we be your friends?”

“Because... you’re not safe...” I managed between sobs. Goddess... just when I thought I’d cried myself dry, that I couldn’t possibly have another tear inside me, I was flowing like Niagara Falls. But... they deserved to know the truth. “I’m a... a monster..” I managed through chattering teeth, feeling suddenly cold. “I killed... the woman... I love...” I gasped, feeling lightheaded. I was hyperventilating, their confused faces swimming in my vision. “I... I killed... Jessica...” I managed just before passing out in their arms.

Chief Brennan arrived on the heels of Katie’s shocking revelation, but Sioban—no, Ivory Angel—was able to get herself together in time to meet him. Taw—, ah, Ebony Angel, cradled the unconscious K—, um, Luminaire. Ivory Angel wiped her eyes and put on her ‘game face’.

“Hi, Chief,” she said, trying to smile, “How are you this morning?”

Chief Brennen looked her over, then looked over at Ebony and Luminaire on the ground by the ditch.

“I’ve been better, Red,” he said to the tiny heroine, “I’ve been better.”

He paused, seeming to gather himself for what he wanted to say, then he met her gaze.

“Here’s the truth, Red. I didn’t always have much respect for you Flying, er, Angels. You always seemed like kind of a joke to me.”

“Now see here, Chief—”

“Now, now, let me finish! The fact is you really pulled my fat outta the fire over that ‘Sweet Tooth’ incident. I owe you. I owe you big.”

Ivory Angel remained carefully neutral. “You’re welcome.”

“So, if your tellin’ me that your buddy over there, ‘The Light o’ Everlovin’ Justice’, was attacked by some mind controller? Well, I’m no expert in mind control, so I can’t say. But let me tell you, little lady, I AM an expert in mind-alterin’ drugs, with a Master’s degree to prove it. And if I were to find out that a badged super was doin’, say, DUST?...” He paused. Ivory Angel’s poker face held.

“Well... then I’d have to come down on that super like a freight train comin’ over a cliff. This ain’t no game, Red. I can’t have out-o’—control supers flyin’ around my town with badges.”

The heroine nodded to him to continue. Still silent. Still carefully neutral.

“But hey,” Chief Brennan continued, “I heard you the first time. You’re tellin’ me that’s not the case here, that your little girlfriend was NOT zig-zaggin’ around above my city puttin’ on an impromptu fireworks show while high as a kite. And you’re an officer of the law, just like me, so you wouldn’t... lie... to me... now would you? So I have to trust you... right?”

For the first time since she saw him Ivory Angel visibly relaxed. “Right, Chief Brennan. You... you can trust me.”

The Chief relaxed too. He smiled. She understood. Still, he was going to have to drive the point home. “Oh, I think that by now we’re past the formal title stuff.”

Suddenly the gruff man seemed... awkward, unsure.

“I mean, when it’s just the two of us. I mean... call me Jack. I understand if you can’t return the favor. It’s different when you have to wear a costume... if that’s what you call that get up. No offense intended, Red.”

“None taken, Chi—ah, Jack.”

Jack’s demeanor became serious again, but with a softer edge now. “Just one thing. I really did get the memo, so I don’t want to harp on this; it was mind control, not Dust. Just don’t EVER let me find out different. Do we understand each other?”

“Yeah, Jack. Perfectly.”

“Oh, and another thing. I really am trusting you, Red. I’m trustin’ you to fix this. So fix it.”

Sioban smiled. “I will, Jack. I’ll fix it.”

Now it was her turn to be awkward, to tiptoe around a burgeoning... friendship? partnership? “Oh, and, ah, not that I don’t like ‘Red’, but if we are gonna be on a first name basis, then, well... call me Bonnie. You know, when it’s just the two of us.”

He favored her with a big grin and held out his hand. “Thank you, Bonnie.”

She shook it, smiling back confidently, looking him in the eye. “You’re welcome, Jack.”

Whatever this new relationship was, they were both taking a risk. The lawman and the (albeit licensed) vigilante. They were each trusting the other... to help them... to have their back... to do the things for each other that the other couldn’t do for himself.

Turning away she walked back to a very worried Tawnya. Sioban showed her what to listen for to reassure herself that Katie was okay: the steady breathing, the strong and regular heartbeat, the subvocalizations of a healthy but troubled girl talking in her sleep.

Satisfied she was, for the moment at least, okay, Sioban and Tawnya discussed what to do with their troubled friend. Katie needed help, medical help. And she needed a safe place, a private place, to convalesce. Clearly their temporary home at the Prentiss Estate was more than adequate for that. Showing Tawnya how to hold the unconscious Katie securely, supporting her head, supporting her back, so that the shock of takeoff would not jostle the unconscious girl too much, the two heroines took flight for home.

As they flew off, they debated openly about getting proper medical help, about doctors. Getting a doctor to Katie wouldn’t be hard; doctors eagerly make house calls for billionaires. But they didn’t want just ANY doctor, they needed someone special, someone in the know, and someone they could trust. Sioban and Tawnya brainstormed together about the knowledge that doctor would need: someone who knew about regular drugs as well as magic-laced drugs, about metahuman physiology, about grief trauma, and brain chemistry, and psychotic breaks. They also needed someone they could trust to care for the girl without turning around and blabbing their secret identities all over town. They had no idea who that doctor might be, but they were absolutely sure they knew the person who could find such a doctor.

Tawnya tried to call Angela Prentiss in flight—since Sioban was carrying Katie—but she ended up with Angie’s voice mail. She was probably just busy. It was probably a bad time to call. No matter. She would try again later.

“Pardon me, lass, is this a bad time to visit? I could always come back later.”

Angela Prentiss glanced up from her desk at the familiar voice behind her. Turning in surprise, she smiled at the aged Scotsman, his wheelchair just outside her doorway, a small silver briefcase sitting in his lap. “Eugene Frasier! It’s good to see you out and about so soon! This is certainly a surprise. Does Nigel know you’re here?” She was pretty sure her Master was unaware of what was obviously an impromptu visit, else he would have sent word to let her know beforehand.

“Nae, lass,” Eugene replied easily, wheeling into the room. “And officially, I’m not technically ‘out and about’ just yet. Dr. Raine finally allowed me to leave the bed and make short trips around the hospital ground, as long as I don’t overexert myself. But it’s been nearly a month now, and I’ve been getting a wee bit stir crazy. So when her daughter came home to check on her mom, I convinced my lovely niece to teleport me here for a quick visit.”

“Your niece? Ah... Sarah’s daughter.” Angela grinned. “Funny, I’d think by now you would have invented your own teleporter to get around.”

“Ach, no,” Gene replied seriously. “There are two areas of science that I decided long ago to stay out of: teleportation, and time travel. Teleportation, because it’s just too... messy. Too many variables, and too, too many things that could go wrong. I’ll leave that one to the magic wielders. As for time travel...” he paused, considering. “Let’s just say I have it on good authority that time is best left in the hands of the gods. ’Tis not for the likes of simple men to fathom.”

“Um... okay,” Angela replied, a bit confused by his strange choice of words. On good authority? Hands of the gods? The only gods she knew about were the Nornir, and what she remembered of her Tear Memories from the Valkyrie Brunhilda certainly didn’t make her eager to meet them... or trust them.

Moving up to the large window, he peered down at the production floor. “So... ye seem to be having a problem with the prototype weapon I gave ye, eh?”

Angela blinked, trying to keep up with the sudden topic change. “How did you... well, yes, actually,” she admitted with a sigh. “The basic structure is sound, and the working prototypes, the gun and the gauntlets, still, um, work, and my team and I were able to decipher most of the schematics... but we’re having a little trouble with the regulating the power output—”

“Aye, as I suspected,” he stated, opening the case in his lap. Inside was a blowup of the prototype currently being worked on below. “I was tinkering around in my hospital room, trying to keep my mind busy, and reproduced this schematic from memory... and it occurred to me that ye might have an issue with it.” He handed her the paper. “Note the areas circled in red, there, and there,” he pointed out.

“Ah, the power regulating diodes we were installing,” she murmured, nodding. “We were a bit concerned about that. They weren’t included in the original specs.”

“That’s because they’re not needed,” he replied, wheeling over to glance at the stack of papers on her desk.

“I see. Well that... wait. What?” she exclaimed.

“Hmmm... interesting. That looks promising. Ach... forgive me lass,” he said contritely, blushing slightly, remembering his manners. “I probably should ask before looking over yer project list. I hope it was nothing secret or restricted? If so, I can simply ‘forget’ what I read... but if not, I have a few suggestions for improving the second one.”

Angela blinked. “I, um... no, they’re not top secret or anything... well, technically, they are, they are all GrimTech projects in the works, and you’re not a part of GrimTech... but... Look, can I get you to sign a Non-disclosure Agreement? If you’ll sign an NDA I’d be happy to let you look at anything you want.” She reached into her third drawer and pulled out the paper with one hand and reached across her desk for a pen with the other, all in one smooth, well-practiced motion.

“Sure. I’d be delighted.” He smiled and signed.

She snapped a photo of the signed NDA with her smart phone. “You can keep the original if you want. This is all I really need. So, now, tell me... What did you mean that the weapon didn’t NEED power regulator circuitry? It’s an energy weapon. By definition, it HAS to have a way to regulate the power flow, otherwise you have a bomb, not a gun!”

Eugene chuckled. “Aye. In most cases, that would be accurate. It’s why I knew ye’d be struggling with this part without a clearer explanation. Ye see, lass... it’s not actually a gun per se, it’s more of...” he frowned, considering. “Think of it as more like a lightning rod, or an antenna, or maybe I should say a lens. Omega particles are basically a unique type of cosmic energy that operate at a specific wavelength, like microwaves, or gamma rays, or radio waves. The device doesn’t so much create Omega Beam energy as collect, focus and funnel it in whatever manner ye see fit to wield it. All of the energy and electronics in the device are merely to ‘tune’ the weapon to the appropriate frequency to collect the energy.“

Angie nodded, her quick mind processing this new information. “That’s,.. amazing. Brilliant and amazing.” Taking the paper, she began making shorthand notes, scratching out some sections of the diagram and penciling in others. “Ah! That explains why you included that... I’d wondered why you needed one of those...”

Eugene chuckled softly, moving back to the window, giving her a few minutes to finish going over the diagrams. Clever girl. I expect she’d have figured it out eventually, but ’twas good to save her a few weeks of headaches and frustration. He sighed softly. Truth be told, he missed this most of all. This... a pristine lab, filled with books and papers and diagrams, schematics and circuits... with workers, a view over a construction floor, and a staff of like minded individuals working hard to bring his ideas into fruition.

He’d started Frasier Electronics in a building about half the size of their construction floor, with just himself and three of his closest friends. He hadn’t known anything about the business side of things; he’d left the money to his partners and merely concentrated on his gadgets. And they’d grown quickly. Within a year, they’d branched out to become the fastest growing electronics firm in the city, competing with the major established firms.

And then, just when things seemed to truly be taking off, he found out about the other side of business... the dirty, sleazy, underhanded side of things. His partners, his so-called friends, had been embezzling heavily from the company, cutting corners, providing cheap second-hand parts instead of the certified top-of-the-line components he’d ordered. Just as quickly as they’d risen, things had fallen apart. Between breach of contract at being unable to deliver scheduled projects and lawsuits over faulty and non-working devices, it was a miracle that he’d managed to hold onto anything. Still, he’d learned his lesson. At least he’d thought ahead to patent all of his inventions in his name, so when the split came, his greedy partners took their ill-gotten money, but HE kept the technology that had earned it. And when he started again from scratch with Frasier Industries, he’d kept creative AND financial control over the company.

Aye... and that bloody devil Braxton Van Hoffe’s been kicking himself for thirty years that he wasnae able to con me out of that as well, he thought with a measure of satisfaction.

“Gene? Are you okay?” Angela asked, peering down at him.

“Aye, lass,” he sighed softly, shaking his head. “Just thinking about the past. Reminiscing... thinking back when I was first starting out and I was where you are now.” He sighed, then forced a small smile. “By the way,” he said in a lighthearted tone, “would ye happen to be hiring? I’m currently without employment of my own, and this seems a top notch facility.”

His levity faltered slightly as Angela stared at him in confusion. “Ach... a joke, lass... and a poor one at that. Ye ken... maybe if I’d stayed in the Director’s chair instead of moving up to CEO, then maybe my company’s stock options wouldn’t be selling at cost right now to the highest bidder.”

“Your company... oh...” Angela said softly, looking away. She remembered Nigel commenting about it at breakfast but it had slipped her mind until now. After nearly a year of lawsuits and senate committee meetings, the final decision had been rendered, and Frasier Industries had been sundered as a corporation. “Gene... I’m... I’m sorry.”

The fact that all of the stock manipulation, the leaked and stolen design specs, the failed deliveries, the contract breaches—everything that had plagued FI for the past year, was all due to Duncan Frasier’s evil machinations was apparently a non-issue. The senators’ feelings on the matter, for or against, was a non-issue. The bottom line was that the company’s CEO had failed to deliver as promised, regardless of the reason. The public had lost faith in his company, and thus in him. At noon today, Frasier Industries was liquidated, assets sold to pay off any and all debts, its listing removed from the NASDAQ exchange, and its doors officially shut.

The Scotsman merely shrugged. “Ach... it’s a bitter pill, mind, but ’tis not the end of the world. And... I’ve been down before. As my Da used to say, the true test of a man is nae how many times he gets knocked down, but how many times he gets back up. Granted... I’m not precisely able to stand up at the moment,” he gestured to his wheelchair, “but perhaps with your help we might be able to remedy that as well.”

“My... my help?” Angela said slowly, frowning. “I’m sorry, Gene. I seem to be really slow on the uptake today. I’m not sure I know what you mean...”

“Did ye have the chance to look over the files I pulled from my brother’s computers?” Gene asked, wheeling over to her desk, retrieving the metal case, and opening it once more. “I gave it to Nigel at the hospital. It’s the sum total of my brother Duncan’s genetic research over the past half century.” He shook his head. “The man was madder than a march hare, and evil as the devil himself. But giving him his due, he was brilliant. I was wondering if ye’d managed to make heads or tails of his files.”

Angela smirked. As a matter of fact, she HAD perused a few of Duncan Frasier’s files. Genius did not even begin to describe the man. The notes were detailed and intricate, a veritable roadmap of not only what he’d discovered, but how he’d come to such a discovery, and the steps that had lead to it. Granted, a lot of his methods made her nauseous just thinking about them, but the results couldn’t be argued. The treasure trove of data had advanced her own ‘private’ project to restore Nigel’s youth and vitality from hopeless fantasy to nearly obtainable. A few weeks, a couple of months at the most, and she’d have it locked down. She wondered, though, at Eugene’s interest. Was he somehow aware of her intentions as well? True, if it worked, she planned to share the formula with him as well—it was only fitting, as Eugene himself had pretty much handed the solution to her on a silver platter. Plus, she genuinely kind of liked the guy, and wouldn’t want Lacie to go through the same worry and pain that she, Patty, and the others shared watching Nigel’s slow but steady decline.

Her thoughts of the past were shattered and brought back to the present as Eugene placed a small glass vial on the desk in front of her. “I dinnae ken how much ye knew about my condition, lass,” he said soberly. “It’s not widely known, and while Nigel Grimalde is as thorough and meticulous as I myself tend to be, I doubt he’d have any way of finding this out, even if he’d even known what to ask.”

Curious, Angela examined the vial, eyeing the small drops of silvery liquid critically before shrugging. “Okay. You had a broken thermometer or something? I don’t get it... what am I looking at?”

Grinning, saying nothing, he took back the vial and wheeled over to the electron microscope in the opposite corner. “Trying peering at it with this,” he said helpfully. “I’d suggest.... ten to the twelve magnification to start.”

“Very well, if you insist,” she replied grinning back, preparing a slide. “You’re being awfully cryptic. It must be something really—HOLY PEPTIDES, BATMAN!” She stepped back, rubbing her eyes, then glanced at Eugene who merely nodded. Then she peered back down at the sample again. “Is that... is it really... am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”

“Aye,” he replied gravely. “’Tis. That, lassie, is the REAL deal. True microscopic nanomachines, each one a separate, working entity roughly one third the size of a single living cell. The nanotechnology ye and yer lads are trying to replicate for the DNA reader for the prototype gun I gave you was child’s play compared to what you hold in your hands right now. Building the reader for the gun was like crafting a soapbox derby car. Creating more of those, mind, would be akin to creating a Ferrari. By hand.“

“Yeah, using only stone knives and bearskins. I get it,” Angela said softly, still staring at the nanites. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you created something so.... so...” She frowned, peering closer. “Wait... something’s wrong.” She stared for a few more minutes, then turned to face Eugene. He nodded again, silently, waiting for her to put all the pieces together. “Okay... let me see if I have this straight,” she said after a moment. “You, or someone working with you, created these nanites some time ago... years, decades ago, presumably back when our technology wasn’t nearly as advanced as it is now. Which, in and of itself is beyond amazing.”

Gene smiled. “Aye. Go on.”

“This sample is damaged,” she pointed out. “These nanites are broken, malfunctioning... Some of them still work, but they still can’t do what they are supposed to, since they are all supposed to work together. If it were a simple machine or something, I’d say something had shorted out.” Gene nodded again, but said nothing, so she continued. “From the design, I’d guess they have a purely biological function. Their basic structure reads as organic, despite the mechanical function and the metallic color. The motions seem to mimic protein folding more than, say, joints and shafts, levers... human machine components, and, damn, if I’m not mistaken I seeing a variant of the Krebs cycle for fuel consumption. Inconceivable!“

“Lass,” said Eugene, with a twinkle in his eye, “I dinnae think that word means what ye think it means.”

She looked at him stoically, and then suddenly burst out into raucous, uncontrolled laughter... which they shared. Finally pulling herself together, she struggled to continue, “Heh. I must say though, Eugene, as a Spanish swordsman you’re more Juan Ramirez than Inigo Montoya.”

Laughing still, he stopped suddenly and looked up at her, not getting the joke.

She burst out laughing again, but fought to get it under control, to at least pretend to be serious for a moment, “He-eh! Never mind. I think you’re the first Scotman I’ve met who hasn’t seen that movie. I thought it was required for citizenship or something. HAH! Where was I? Oh yeah! Ha-ha. And... from our, hum, earlier conversation, and the questions you asked... I’d also guess that until recently these nanites were inside you, running through your body... in... in your bloodstream, Eugene?”

“Close,” Gene said, raising a hand, finger and thumb almost touching. “They were in my spine, actually. On my own, I’ve been paralyzed since my teenage years. Duncan pushed me into traffic and a bus ran o’er me. Those nanites were a joint project the three of us were working on—m’self, Duncan, and our younger brother, Malcolm.” He sighed softly in remembrance.

“Malcolm... Malcolm had cancer. Inoperable. The original idea was to infuse the nanites into him, to clear out the cancer and repair the damaged tissue without destroying everything around it the way surgery or chemotherapy would have. Aye... but then Duncan decided he wanted the nanites for his OWN self, to make himself immortal, immune to any disease or poison... to augment himself physically to make himself faster and stronger. He saw me as a threat to that plan, so he tried to get rid of me. Unfortunately for him, I lived. And Malcolm, dear sweet, gentle Malcolm... seeing my maimed wrecked body, he reprogrammed the nanites as substitute nerves and injected me with them to save my life... at the cost of his own.” He glanced away, not wanting to relive the bitter sting of Malcolm’s death again—GODDAMN YOU DUNCAN!!—and with an effort, pushed aside the memories.

“People think me a genius,” he said softly. “I’m nothing of the sort. I tinker with circuits and semiconductors and make fancy little gadgets, nothing more.”

Angela snorted in disbelief. Humbleness aside, Eugene Frasier was arguably the smartest man she’d ever met, hands down, even more so that her beloved Nigel, who was a genius in his own right. She was about to raise her voice in protest, but Eugene saw her and waved her back.

“Now, now lass. None of that. ’Tis nae false modesty. I know I have gifts that few men possess. I’m nae daft. But, Angela dear, ye’ve nae met Malcolm. Else you too would see the quantum leap between my gifts and Malcolm’s genius.” He paused and sadly hung his head for his lost brother. Then he raise his head with a fresh fire in his eyes. “Ach, and then there’s Duncan,” he continued, “aye, he was gifted as well. A twisted genius, the kind of cold heartless intellect that only a true sociopath can employ, aye... but a genius likewise nonetheless.” Angela nodded. She was fortunate never to have crossed paths with the eldest Frasier, though Nigel had shown her the footage of the inhuman behemoth fighting Omega Girl, Armor Man, and several other Supers from twelve years ago. She’d never before in her life wished someone dead—not even Parker Albinn, back when he was still considered the enemy of everything she loved and held dear—but seeing that inhuman creature fighting Omega Girl to a standstill left her with a coldness inside that she had never felt before. Goddess help me, she thought, I wanted Duncan Frasier dead. And I’m more that happy that the man before me felt the same way, and had the brains and courage to kill him.

“Aye... but Malcolm,” Eugene continued, heedless of her inner musings, “he was THE genius. The lad... words cannae even begin to describe his mind. It was like he instinctively understood how things worked, the very nature of everything. Those nanites are HIS brainchild, not mine nor Duncan’s. Malcolm melded the best of my technology and Duncan’s biology together, creating a microscopic living, breathing, full functioning machine. And in fifty years, I’ve not been able to duplicate it. I’ve come close, and I’ve created fully functional inorganic nanomachines that work nearly as well. The suit of armor I wore the day I visited Nigel in his office was a nano-suit. But for something like this... something to replace damaged cells or dead nerve endings in a human body, it has to be the real thing.“

“And you think I can somehow duplicate what neither you NOR Duncan could master is half a century?” Angela asked, wide-eyed. “I appreciate the vote of confidence in my abilities, but frankly there’s no way!” She gestured to the screen in front of her. “I mean... I’m not ‘daft’ either. I know my strengths, and I’m vain enough to toot my own horn when its warranted... but something like this? Uh-uh. This is... it’s decades beyond me! I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Aye, well, neither did we, when we began,” Gene said simply, wheeling his chair towards the door. “Forgive me for wasting so much of your time... I’ve grown fatigued. I’d better be heading back to the hospital now. As for the nanites... if ye think it cannae be done, then I’ll accept yer word. Ye’d know better than I what yer capable of. But I think you sincerely underestimate yourself, lass.”

He paused at the doorway. “I ken, it’s selfish of me to ask this of you, to add more to the already considerable load you’re carrying. And I dinnae wish to take time away from the work yer already pursuing. Still... I’ve met a few truly gifted minds in my time, of many different disciplines. My wife Lacie is one of them. Theoretical energy and particle physics is her specialty—’twas she who designed that prototype weapon, by the way, not I. I merely built the bloody thing. My point is simply that I didnae pick yer name out of a hat, Angie. I came to you with this because of all the people I know, you alone have the intelligence, the drive, and the skill to solve this puzzle.“

He smirked. “Ye kind of remind me of him, ye ken. Not in appearance, mind—no one could ever look at yer curves and mistake ye for Malcolm! But yer nature, yer manner, that introspective look ye get when yer thinking deep thoughts... even yer sense o’ humor... aye.” He rolled out of the room, into the hallway, just as a tall young redhead stepped into view. “Yer Malcolm’s twin,” he said just before vanishing with his niece. “Of that I’m sure.”

After they vanished, Angela noticed that she had missed a call... from Tawnya. She dialed back immediately, and listened patiently as the frantic teen told her all about their encounter with Gene’s poor, troubled daughter.

“I know just the person, Tawnya, let me bring her into the call and then I’ll drop out.”

Minutes later, having arranged everything, she finally relaxed. She wondered if she should call Eugene and tell him about Katie. She decided against it. He’s got enough stress in his life right now without this. And he’ll find out soon enough anyway, hopefully at some time when he’s surrounded by loved ones. His wife has lost her powers and her confidence. His son has vanished from the face of the earth. He himself is recovering from a heart transplant, and, maybe with my help, from partial paralysis and God-knows-what-else. He didn’t need to hear that his little girl was spiraling into drug abuse, too. How much stress can the poor man take? All this happening at once; it’s just ridiculous.

This is just ridiculous, Karen Summers said to herself for the thousandth time as she paced back and forth in front of the driveway of the huge palatial mansion before her, looking over at the guest house where Darryl Jeffreys lived. She reached up idly to twirl the end of her long blonde hair around her finger, a nervous habit she thought she had cured before she’d even graduated college.

I’m a grown woman. He’s a grown man. And I’m just dropping off his clothes to him. That’s all. There’s no reason whatsoever to be this nervous.

She twirled her hair again, then noticing, let out a soft groan before stuffing her left hand forcibly into her pants pocket. Ahhh. Shit. I can’t do this. I don’t even know what I’m doing here! I should just... drop these clothes off here with a note. Yes... no! Stupid, Karen—you can’t just leave loose clothes sitting at someone’s front door! If you’d thought ahead and brought a box or a suit bag or something... but noooo... you rushed here straight from the cleaners without even taking the time to consider something like that! It’s a good thing I didn’t tell Elise I was coming here... she’d be laughing herself silly by now. Sighing inwardly, she shifted the small bundle of clothes onto her shoulder and turned away. I should just go and come back later. Yeah. Leave. Return once I’m a bit more settled...

At which point, the front door opened, and a familiar face stepped into view.

“Hello?” Darryl said, peering over the visitor about to leave. “Can I help you?” Freezing, knowing herself caught, Karen turned, giving the handsome black man a weak grin. “Ah! Miz Summers? What a nice surprise. What brings you here? You’re not about to leave so soon are you?”

“Ah, um, no, no, not at all,” Karen replied, blushing hotly. “I was just.. I, um...” Remembering the clothes she was carrying, she jerked them suddenly off her shoulder, presenting them to him. “Here! Your clothes!” she said briskly. “I mean... I, um... washed them. Well, not washed, they’re permanent press, so I had them dry cleaned, actually...” Her hand twirled a strand of hair so tight she only noticed when it began to pull painfully at her scalp. Darryl, for his part, merely chuckled lightly, taking his jacket and belt back.

“Well, Ma’am—” he began.

“It’s Karen,” she cut in, blushing even deeper. “Please. Calling me ‘Ma’am’ only reminds me of my age.”

“Then, thank you, Karen,” he answered, flashing her a wide bright smile that made her breath catch momentarily. “You didn’t have to bring this all the way back here. But, I am glad for the visit and the chance to see you again. And, if I may say so, not knowing your actual age, you have nothing to be ashamed of. I personally think you look stunning for a woman of ANY age.”

Oh my gaaawwdd, this guy is PERFECT! she thought giddily. She stood there preening for a long moment, remembering just a week or so before when she and the others had flown to Grimalde Tower to rescue the survivors of the explosion and fire. The fire had burned away her costume, leaving her skin untouched but completely uncovered. Darryl had nobly leant her his jacket to cover herself until she was able to get new clothes... and she still remembered the sight of his ripped and muscular chest clad only in a thin, stretched out white tank t-shirt as he handed her his jacket. Hmmm... I wonder if he’s naturally that big, or if he works out...

“Um, Karen?” Darryl prompted her again.

“What? Oh, sorry... I, um... you were saying?”

“I asked if you’d like to come in and ‘sit a spell’, as my mama says. Or maybe I can get you something to eat or drink?” he gestured towards the open door. “Actually, I was just about to sit down to an early lunch myself. The guest house is pretty empty, I have it all to myself since everyone else lives in the main mansion.”

“Exiled to the servant’s quarters?” she said, and immediately winced, kicking herself mentally for saying it.

But he seemed not to notice it as any kind of slight or insult, merely as an innocent misunderstanding. “Oh, no,” he replied, “Not at all. I think they offered me the guest house so I could have my privacy. You know, young single guy. I think they didn’t want to cramp my style... I mean, not that there’s a lot of style to cramp. But really, the whole estate is kind of empty except for the cooking and housekeeping staff. And me. Angela and Mr. and Mrs. Grimalde are at work. The children are in school. Delores is away on vacation right now. And the last I heard Sioban and Tawnya were still out on patrol. But we were talking brunch, right?”

“Um, yes, actually, that sounds nice,” Karen said with a smile, following him inside. “I have to say, I was a bit curious as to where you and the Grimalde clan would be staying, being homeless now.” Eyes widening, she froze, not believing that she had put her foot in her mouth again. “NO! Sorry, I didn’t mean that! I mean, of course, you guys aren’t ‘homeless’, your boss is a billionaire... I meant with Grimalde Towers being totaled from the fire and all...“

“Karen, it’s okay,” Darryl said simply, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “I know what you meant. It’s fine. Just, relax okay? You don’t have to try so hard to make a good impression on me. You did that weeks ago when you helped save Mr. Grimalde’s life.”

Karen let out a small sigh of relief, heartened by his words. “Thanks, Darryl. I’m not usually such a basket case. Really... I’m usually a lot more composed than this. I don’t know why I’m so... so... off-balance today.”

“Well, Karen,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, “Let me convince you that I’m not just blowing smoke up your, aah... Look, I know that you have powers and abilities that I could never have, that I could never understand... But you dove into a burning, exploding hell with no thought for your safety, your well-being... not even your modesty! I don’t have the words to express how deeply, how profoundly, you impressed me.”

“Oh!” said Karen, “Oh m-m-my!” bringing her hands to her mouth, stunned speechless.

Darryl merely nodded, saying nothing in return. Truth be told, he had his own ideas on why she was so flustered. Likewise, he felt a strange but not unpleasant tension being this close to Ms. Summers as well, though her penchant for nervously gabbing gave him a chance to merely sit back and observe and quietly consider his own feelings without embarrassing himself. He was amazed that he had managed to say his own piece without coming off like a jibbering fanboi.

I guess it helps that I live in a home with five beautiful, sexy, and officially-single women, any of whom would have gladly spent time with me had I shown any interest. But no... he was an employee of the Grimalde household, first and foremost, and he respected Nigel Grimalde too much to ‘dip in another man’s pool’ even if such an offer were made. As a result, he had a lot of experience playing the calm, composed, and purely platonic employee and bodyguard, always on the outside, keeping watch from a distance.

Of course, that didn’t mean he lacked the same desires as any normal man. And despite any outward appearance to the contrary, watching her glance around the foyer from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but recall the sight of her the day of the fire, rising up naked out of the fire like some sort of wet-dream phoenix, flames dancing about her skin and hair, yet not touching her in the slightest... and again as she landed lightly atop the roof, standing proudly, the light glinting gently of her lightly tanned form. Truth be told, he’d thought about that image more than once over the past several days. And acted on those thoughts. And silently thanked Nigel for giving him his privacy when he did so.

Now fighting to regain his composure, he backed away, beckoning her to come in and heading for the kitchen.

“So, what’s your poison?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Excuse me?” Karen asked, pulled again out of her thoughts. “Um, poison?”

“What you would like to drink? I have water, tea, lemonade, soda... and if you prefer something a little harder, we have wine, scotch, gin, vodka, beer—”

“Um, tea sounds good, actually.”

“Tea it is then,” Darryl agreed, opening the cabinet, gesturing proudly to his selection. “Do you have a preference?”

Karen blinked. Oh! Camomile? Raspberry Hibiscus? Green tea? WHITE tea? “Ah, not really. I, ah, sorta assumed you meant ready-made tea, y’know... instant powder or maybe Lipton teabags with the little string. You know, um, if you don’t already have some made, I can have something else. You don’t need to go to the trouble.”

“Nonsense,” he replied smoothly, placing the kettle onto the stove. “It’s no trouble at all. I’d like a nice hot cup myself, so I really hope you’ll join me. I thought I’d make some Earl Grey. It’s my boss Delores’s favorite, and she turned me on to it as well. The first time I had it was when I interviewed for this job. Delores and I were both as nervous as hell. Me, because, well, all this wealth is kinda intimidating.”

“HA! Tell me about it!” laughed Karen.

“But Delores was nervous because... well, you know what dangerous secrets are like, right?“

Karen nodded—secret identities, secret powers, secret alliances—yes, the superhero biz had taught Karen all about dangerous secrets.

Darryl continued, “She already knew that she was going to offer me the job. There really wasn’t anyone else with my, ah, qualifications. But that meant that she was about to lay a BUNCH of dangerous secrets on me. She didn’t know if I could handle it. So, anyway, the tea helped both of us calm down. A lot!”

Turning away from the stove, he grabbed a small platter of baked goods and brought them over to the table, placing them before her. “While we’re waiting for the watched pot to boil, would you like a scone? Baked them myself, just before you arrived.”

“You bake too?” Karen asked, reaching for a pastry. Taking a bite, she nodded. “Mmm... good. Wow... is there anything you don’t do?”

“I can’t sing, I’m afraid,” he admitted after a bit, looking slightly embarrassed. “Just don’t have the voice for it. I can play the piano, and the guitar fairly well, and I can really wail on the sax when I’m in the right mood, but when it comes to singing, stray cats howling at the moon in the rain sound better than I do. Oh! And my dance moves aren’t quite the same since I injured my knee, but I still try to hold my own.”

So, no midnight serenades, then? No dancing until dawn? Ah, well, I guess my perfect man DOES have flaws after all, she thought with amusement, I guess I’ll just have to settle for merely a fucking amazing mortal instead of a god. Jeez, girl, get a hold of yourself!

At the kettle’s whistle, Darryl moved back to the stove, cutting the heat, snatching up the water, and pouring into a pair of cups in a movement almost too smoothed and practiced to follow. Stirring them both lightly, he brought Karen her tea, then returned shortly thereafter with his own, as well as a small metal caddy. “Not sure if you like milk or sugar with your tea,” he said, gesturing to the caddy. “Personally, I like a little sugar with mine.”

“Well, then I’ll try it your way,” she replied, following suit. She took a careful sip... then nodding in approval. “Mmmmm! This IS good! Much better than that instant crap! I could drink this all the time!” She grinned, blushing slightly at her outburst, noticing that Darryl wasn’t drinking. “What’s the matter? Is there something wrong with your tea?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,” he said with a laugh, “it’s just a little too hot right now. But I guess if flying into a burning building doesn’t bother you, then a little hot water wouldn’t faze you at all.”

She laughed. He smiled, thinking to himself that she had a great laugh, warm and friendly. not braying or giggly, just... open.

“No,” she said, “Not really. In fact, when I cook, I always forget to warn people when something is hot. It doesn’t help that I’m always carrying hot skillets and pans and things to the table without potholders. My friend Elise really gets on my case about that.”

As they drank, they talked and chatted and laughed, about important things and inconsequential things, about their work, about their hobbies, about their friends and families, all through the morning and then on into the afternoon. When Darryl’s watch beeped shortly before three o’clock, it took them both by complete surprise. “Oh, wow. Is it really that late?” he mused, staring at his watch. “I suppose I’d better be heading out. The children will be getting out of school shortly, and I need to be there when they do.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Karen said, standing up, walking with him to the door. “I really had fun. It’s a shame it has to end...”

“Yes,” Darryl nodded, agreeing. “A real shame...”

They stood at the door for a long moment, staring down at the ground, considering. “Maybe we—” they both blurted out at the same time, then burst into laughter. “Sorry, you go first,” Darryl said after a moment.

“No, no, you go first,” Karen giggled back.

“No, no, I insist,” Darryl said firmly, still smiling. Karen, staring into his warm brown eyes, lost for a moment, decided to bite the bullet and go for it.

“Um... would you like to do this again?” she asked shyly, eyes lowering demurely. “You know... like, um... somewhere else? Maybe later at night?”

“My dear Ms. Summers,” Darryl said, chuckling again, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“Um, yeah, so?” she said slightly defensively, glancing away. “It’s the 21st century, you know. Women can ask men out if they want!”

Emboldened by her move, Darryl decided to make one of his own. Taking a chance, he took a step towards her, and as she turned, he kissed her. It was a soft, gentle kiss, inquisitive, making a statement but not presuming too much. Karen’s eyes widened in surprise, and she went stiff for a moment, then relaxed, opening just a little, invitingly. When Darryl finally ended the kiss pulling away, she followed just a bit, reluctant for it to end, but resigned as the distance between then lengthened. Flushed, slightly breathless, Karen took a moment to compose herself, then asked the only question on her mind.

“So... I take it that’s a ‘yes’?”