Yet Another Way [Worm AU Fanfic]

[Ack]

Yet Another Way
Introduction: A Death in the Family

A/N: The first three sentences are taken directly from canon.


Marquis surrounded himself in plates of bone that resembled the petals of a flower blooming in reverse, and sank into the ground.

Any other day, Brandish would have followed him into the room below. A wine cellar, it seemed.

Instead, she turned and charged for the closet, creating a sword out of the crackling energy her power provided, slashing through the plates of bone that had surrounded it, then drawing the blade back to thrust through the wooden door-

Marquis emerged between her and the closet door and ducked away, trying to draw her from her target. She plunged the sword into the heavy wood and through it, smelling the smoke from the charred door. Fuck you, Marquis. Whatever you're protecting is gone.

And then she heard the high-pitched cry, cut off a moment later. From within the closet. And she smelled the burning flesh.

"NO!" screamed Marquis. He held his hand out; the bones emerged from his hand, forming into a flat-based battering ram, smashing her backward until she formed into her invulnerable ball shape. A moment later, it spread outward, forming a barrier of bone around Marquis and the closet.

Manpower stepped forward, looking at Brandish and Lady Photon. "What the fuck just happened?" he asked.

The bone barrier dropped. Marquis was revealed, but now he was carrying a burden. A girl. A toddler, not much younger than Vicky. The girl was brown haired, freckle-faced, and wore a silk nightgown with lace at the collar and sleeves. It looked expensive for something a child would wear. There was a neat burn in the nightgown, just below the breastbone.

"Daddy," she breathed, then what little life was left in her was gone forever.

"Oh, god," whispered Lady Photon. "Your daughter?"

Tears were streaming down Marquis' face, unheeded. "The most precious treasure in the world. Her name was Amelia." Lowering his face, he planted a kiss on his child's brow.

"Christ, man, I'm sorry," Manpower muttered awkwardly. "We didn't know -"

"You didn't know?" Marquis asked, his head coming up. "You didn't know?"

His left arm still supporting his dead child, the hand turned; bone shot out to strike Manpower and drive him backward, fastening him to the wall in a cage of spikes driven deep into the wall.

"Did you even look?" he raged, turning his attention to Lady Photon. "Did you even try to find out?" Shards of bone speared from the floor, surrounding her. In a moment, she was entombed in a sarcophagus, only her face showing. Her arms, visible in relief, were crossed over her chest, the palms pressed to her shoulders.

Brandish ignited her light-sword once more, then the most terrible pain lanced into her back. She screamed at the tearing agony, as the spike of bone punched out through her chest.

But he doesn't hurt women or children!

Instinctively, she shifted to her invulnerable form, then back to human, once she was away from the bone spike. But the hole through her body was still there; she dropped to her knees, coughing blood.

"Congratulations, Brandish dear," he murmured to her, stepping closer. Bone encased her hands, pulled them behind her back. "Many have tried my resolve when it came to hurting women and children. Jack Slash came the closest, but even he failed. But you … you managed it. If I had let my weapon hurt you, then we would not have come to this. I failed my Amelia once. I will not fail her memory – murderer."

Bone shards speared throughout her body, entering every organ, setting off a blaze of agony. She went to her invulnerable form once more, went to human.

They were still there.

Marquis stood looking down at her, with absolutely no pity on his face.

And then the real agony began.

<><>​

The next morning, the caretaker at the Brockton Bay cemetery found an elaborate tomb constructed of some smooth hard white material, where none had been the day before. Two angels, intricately carved, held a plaque which read:

AMELIA CLAIRE LAVERE

BELOVED DAUGHTER

TAKEN FAR TOO SOON

1994-2000

"REST EASY, MY BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS ..."​

On a much smaller plaque, out of view of the casual onlooker, there was a different message:

Don't even think about moving her – Marquis

<><>​

An anonymous phone tip led ambulance personnel to a car on the outskirts of town, which held five people. Or rather, what had once been five people. Their skeletons were twisted, partly shrunken and partly expanded, to a degree far beyond grotesquerie. That they were still alive was a tribute to the art of whoever had left them in such a condition.

Worse, they still wore costumes, or the remains of costumes, that identified them as five of the six members of the Brockton Bay Brigade. Of the sixth member, Brandish, no trace was ever found.

They were admitted to palliative care in a parahuman asylum, where they would live out the rest of their lives under the care of others.

<><>​

"Crystal, Victoria, Eric, come in please."

The three children trooped into the director's office. She had done her best to make sure that it wasn't spartan and unfriendly to children, with beanbags and a colourful play area, to which Eric headed immediately. Accompanied by their carer, Crystal and Victoria fronted up to the desk.

Director Kelly looked them over. A not unkind woman, she liked to think that she had a certain empathy with children. It had been more than a month since they had been taken into care, following the … incapacitation … of their respective parents. Crystal, a solemn eight-year-old, seemed to be bearing up well, although there were reports of her younger brother crying at night and wetting the bed. Of course, he was only four, so there were some allowances to be made.

Victoria, on the other hand, did her best to be cheerful and upbeat; Kelly knew that she cried, but only when she thought nobody could see.

Their parents hadn't died, but what had happened to them was almost as bad; they could never exist in normal society, never live without care. They were healthy and young and would be a burden on the state for many years to come. She had viewed photographs of what had been done to them, and then burned the photographs. It didn't matter; she would never forget the images.

And left behind, there were the children. They wouldn't even be allowed to see their parents until they reached the age of majority; they could send them letters or speak to them over the phone before then. Of course, the Pelhams and Mark Dallon would be unable to reply, what had been done to them had left them entirely incapable of speech or writing, or even seeing in the same direction with both eyes at once.

She didn't even want to know what had happened to Carol Dallon.

"You wanted to see us, Miss Kelly?" asked Crystal politely.

Kelly nodded. "Yes. As it happens, there's a nice man with the very best of references who is willing to take in all three of you. Jenny will be going with you, of course. She'll take care of you while you're living in his house."

She had checked over the references herself, and had been impressed. A large house, a professed tolerance of the rambunctiousness of young children, and plenty of outdoor space for them to play in.

"Can I still send letters to Mommy and Daddy?" asked Victoria.

"Of course," Kelly assured her. "We'll be sending all the photographs you have of them, so you can put them up in your rooms."

"Good," Crystal stated. "Eric, come here."

Eric looked up from bashing a plastic locomotive on to the floor, and trotted over to his big sister. "What?" he asked.

"We've got a new Daddy, and Jenny's going to be like our Mommy," Crystal explained to him.

"I don't want a new Daddy or Mommy," he whined.

"Well, they won't be our real daddies or mommies," Vicky explained brightly. "They'll just be taking care of us until our real daddies and mommies come back from their secret mission."

Kelly was mildly impressed. The children had obviously come up with an explanation as to why they couldn't see or speak to their parents, independently of the so-called child experts who regularly checked to make sure that they had 'natural and healthy development'. It wasn't a bad one, either.

She pressed a button on her intercom. "Send him in, please."

The door opened, and a tall man with long brown hair, tied back, entered the room. "Hello," he greeted them. "I'm guessing you're Crystal," he posited, pointing at Eric.

Crystal giggled. "No, silly. I'm Crystal."

The man rubbed his chin, as if in thought. "Then you must be Eric," he decided, pointing at Vicky.

Vicky shook her head, giggling harder than Crystal. "No, I'm Vicky."

The man dropped to one knee before them. "Well, I'm very pleased to meet you all, Crystal, Vicky, Eric." He looked at each of them in turn as he spoke their names.

"What's your name?" asked Vicky.

"Oh, silly me, I forgot to introduce myself." The man smiled brilliantly. "My name is Mark."


End of Introduction

Part Two

 

[Ack]

Yet Another Way

Part Two: Family Matters


2003

Marcus Raymond, supervillain and father, paused in the doorway to the living room. Crystal was reading a book on the sofa, while Vicky sat on the floor, leaning up against the sofa to watch some show on TV. In the meantime, Eric lay on the carpet, colouring in a picture with rather more enthusiasm than accuracy. Marcus cleared his throat, then waited until each of them had looked around.

"What's up, Dad?" asked Crystal.

"Has any of you seen my newspaper?" he asked. "I left it on the desk in my study."

"Oh," nine-year old-Vicky blurted, looking embarrassed. "I took it to do the crossword. I know how you hate it when we take pages out of it. It's in my room. I''ll go get it now." She jumped to her feet.

"Thank you, Victoria," he replied dryly, stepping aside to let her pass. "Next time, ask permission to go in there, all right?"

"Okay," she called back over her shoulder as she took the stairs two at a time. "Sorry, sorry."

"Slow down," he called after her. "It's only a newspaper."

"Uh, sorry about that, Dad," Crystal offered. "Vicky asked me where it was. I didn't know she'd go in there and get it."

"As if the three of you don't sneak into my study from time to time," he replied with a raised eyebrow, seating himself on the end of the sofa. "I don't go into your bedrooms without asking permission first. Is it too much to ask for you to do me the same courtesy for my study?"

"But there's so much interesting stuff in there," Eric interjected. "Skulls an' books an' pictures an' all sorts of stuff."

"Which is my stuff," Marcus pointed out. "How would you like it if I went into your room and started digging through your private stuff?"

Eric dropped his eyes and mumbled something.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Marcus politely.

"I wouldn't like it," mumbled the boy, a little more clearly.

"And so." Marcus tilted his head. "I don't mind you coming in there. Just please, ask permission first. Best if you ask me when I'm in there already. That way, I can tell you about some of the things I have."

A junior-sized elephant thundered down the stairs and Vicky dashed back into the room, a little flushed. In her hand, she clutched the errant newspaper. "Here you are, Dad," she panted. "Sorry."

He accepted it from her, but didn't take his eye from her. "Thank you for the paper. As I said, next time, please ask permission to go into my study. And to take the paper, if it's there."

Eyes downcast, she nodded. "Okay, Dad."

"Good girl." He smiled slightly, and swatted her lightly on the rear with the folded paper. "And I know you kids are young and have all the energy in the world, but do me a favour and try not to run quite so much inside the house, all right? You've got an enormous back yard and a swimming pool to work off all that energy in."

This time, it was a chorus from all three of them. "Yes, Dad."

"Good." He smiled. "So, I was thinking we could spend tomorrow on the Boardwalk, then go to the movies in the evening. Why don't you put your heads together and decide what you'd like to see?"

That got an enthusiastic response, and the three children began discussing the choices with a considerable amount of animation. He was pleased to note, as he settled down in his favourite chair to read the paper, that they weren't actually arguing; that after even just a few years of his influence, they were able to debate a point in a logical and mature fashion. Except, of course, for Eric's tendency to state stubbornly, 'But I like it!'; however, the lad was still only seven. He would learn.

He was very fond of Eric, as he was of the two girls. Where he had at first thought that he could never take to another child, they had eased their way into his heart. Originally, his taking in the children of the Brockton Bay Brigade had been a self-imposed duty as well as a take-that to the surviving members; he would raise the children better than they ever could. But it had become much more than that; as they grew used to him as their foster father, they had opened up to him. And his heart had opened up to them in return.

They will never take the place of my Amelia. But I feel that I am beginning to love them. I will raise them as well as I know how.

"Uh, Dad?"

He raised his eyes from the paper; Crystal was sitting up on the sofa. Eric and Vicky were still deep in discussion over the movie choices.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Can I talk to you about boys?"

That got his attention. He folded the paper and put it down. "Yes, you can." Oh god, what do you want to know?

Her eyes flicked sideways to her siblings, who were absorbed in their debate. "Can we talk … somewhere else?"

"Oh, yes." He got up. "I think the back patio would be a good idea."

<><>​

He settled himself on to one of the patio chairs, and waited until she was comfortable in another. "So," he began, steeling himself as any father would, "what is it that you want to know?"

She seemed to want to look anywhere but at him. "What if there was a boy at school that I liked, and I think he likes me?"

"Crystal," he replied, trying to keep his tone patient. "You're eleven years old. You shouldn't even be noticing boys at your age."

"I'll be twelve in two months," she protested.

"Still too young," he maintained.

Taking a deep breath, she faced up to him. "But what if I am noticing him?"

With the feeling of a man finding his way through a quicksand bog, he nodded. "Okay, so does this hypothetical boy have a name?"

"Uh … " For a moment, he could tell that she was considering a lie, but then she discarded it and met his eyes. In doing so, she raised herself another notch in his estimation. "Yes, Dad. His name's Jimmy Leyland. He's really nice."

Jimmy Leyland. For a moment, he felt the urge to go and locate this boy and have a stern talk with him. The sort of stern talk that has the phrase 'blast radius' attached to it. But he suppressed it; Crystal liked the boy, and so he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

"So what do you want to know?" he asked. Not the Talk, he begged silently. Please not the Talk. He had done many things in his life, things that would cause strong men to run screaming into the night, but that particular task made him cringe just by thinking about it.

She swallowed nervously. Oh good, she's just as scared of this topic as I am. "I was just wondering … what's the best way of telling him that I like him?"

He blinked. "What?"

Gathering courage, she went on. "I like him. I think he likes me. How do I tell him? If I try to do it at school, there's kids all around, and I'm scared of being laughed at. Should I text him? Send him an email?"

Finally, Marcus was on familiar ground. "No. Neither of those." He shook his head. "Sending someone a text to tell them that you like them is about the least romantic way to do it."

"Then what should I do?"

"I suggest that you write him a letter."

She looked puzzled. "But you just said that I shouldn't use email."

"No, I meant letter as in actual pen and paper. On good paper stock. Something where you can take your time writing it, and think about what you want to say. Then you put it in an envelope, and put a stamp on it, and mail it to him. The old-fashioned way."

"But that'll take days to get to him!"

"Which is why you take your time thinking about what you want to say to him." Marcus shrugged. "Are you going to feel any differently about him in a week's time?"

"No." Her expression was firm. "I won't." She took a deep breath. "Can you help me write it?"

He let out an amused snort. "No. But I'll look it over after you've finished, if you want. Unless you're thinking of saying something really embarrassing in it."

From the look on her face, she was just now realising that what she had to say might indeed be embarrassing, if read by the wrong person. "I, uh, maybe I'll be okay."

He tilted his head. "All right, then. I'd suggest that you write out a draft on ordinary paper, then I can give you some good writing paper to do the final copy on."

Her smile lit up her whole face. "Thanks, Dad." Jumping up, she gave him a swift hug. "I'll go and do that now."

Her footsteps faded away into the interior of the house; he sat for a few moments, looking out over the back yard. My little girls are growing up. How time flies.

And the ache in his heart was barely a twinge, now. Amelia would have liked them.

<><>​

"Dad, I've finished the draft."

Marcus looked up from the paper to see Crystal standing in front of him. She held a folded piece of paper in her hand, and was jittering slightly with excitement.

"Good," he congratulated her. "Now, do you recall the calligraphy lessons?"

"Oh god, I'm not going to write him that fancy a letter," she protested. "He'll think I'm trying to impress him!"

"Well, aren't you?" he asked mildly, getting up from the chair and folding the paper.

"Yeah, but I don't want him to know it!"

"Well, I suppose," he agreed. "But you can still write it neatly, and sign your name with a flourish. That should impress him without making it look like you're trying too hard."

"Maybe you're right," she conceded, following him into his study. "I still can't do calligraphy like you can."

"All it takes is a little practice," he pointed out. Leaning down, he opened a desk drawer and removed a pad of expensive writing stock; the thick creamy paper held a subtle watermark. Along with it, he pulled out his calligraphy set. "Would you like to write it out here or in your room?"

"I'll do it in my room, thanks, Dad," she replied, accepting the pad and the box of pens. Pausing, she nodded to his desk. "I've been meaning to ask. Who's that?"

He followed her gaze to the gold-framed picture that sat just under the reading lamp, where the light would most readily fall upon it. The girl in the photograph had long brown hair and a brilliant smile; she wore a princess costume, and looked a little younger than Eric. He remembered the day when he presented the costume to her; she had been so excited, so happy to be wearing it. It had been so very worth the money he'd spent to have it custom made for her.

"That's … that was my daughter, Amelia," he told Crystal quietly. Slowly, he sat down in the chair, his eyes never leaving the picture.

"What … what do you mean, was?" she asked. "Did something happen to her?"

He nodded. "Yes. I … she died. When she was six years old. I loved her very much."

Impulsively, she put the pad and calligraphy set on the desk, and hugged him. "I'm sorry, Dad. How did it happen?"

He kissed her on the forehead. "It's a sad story, Crystal. Are you sure you're ready to hear it?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"All right then. Get a chair. You might want to sit down for this."

"Okay, Dad." She pulled a chair around so that she could sit in front of him, while he leaned back in the chair and contemplated the picture of Amelia.

When he gauged that she was ready, he commenced. "What can you tell me about the Brockton Bay Brigade?"

There was a momentary silence, then Crystal frowned. "Wasn't that our moms and dads, back before?"

"That's correct, yes," Marcus agreed.

"They were superheroes who disappeared or something, a few years ago. When they didn't come back, you adopted us."

"All of that's true," Marcus told her, "except for one important part."

"What part's that?" asked Crystal.

"Well, they said they were superheroes," Marcus observed, "and people thought they were superheroes, and for the most part they did good things. But sometimes they didn't do the right thing. They were careless and irresponsible with their powers. People got hurt. And sometimes, people got killed."

"What – what do you mean, Dad?" asked Crystal. Her eyes darted to the photograph. "Did they -"

Slowly, he nodded. "I'm afraid so, Crystal."

"What happened?"

"Three years ago," Marcus told her. "The Brockton Bay Brigade came to my home and attacked me. Amelia was with me. She was killed in the attack."

"You?" Crystal's eyes were wide, now. "Why did they attack you?"

He sighed, and took her hands in his. "Because they decided that I was a bad man, sweetpea. People called me a supervillain, so they attacked me. Over and over again. And I beat them, over and over again. But then they found out where I lived and came to attack me at home."

"And Amelia got killed."

"Yes. When they attacked the house, I hid her in a closet. But one of their attacks nearly hit the closet, so I protected it. They saw that, so they attacked the closet to distract me. I wasn't able to stop them in time." His eyes dropped. "She died in my arms."

Crystal got out of her chair and hugged him fiercely. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I never knew."

"It's not your fault, honey," he replied, returning the hug. "It never was your fault. That's why I took you children in. So that you didn't have to suffer for what your parents did."

"I always thought they were superheroes, not villains." Her eyes were full of tears. "They lied to us."

"They didn't lie," he told her. "They just didn't tell you the whole truth."

"That's the same as lying," she retorted, then she paused. "What happened then?"

"What happened when?"

"After that." She was obviously uncomfortable with referring to Amelia's death. "What happened?"

"Oh. I ... I was very angry, of course. So I made sure they couldn't hurt anyone ever again."

Her eyes were wide. "Did you ... kill them?"

He shook his head. "No ... well, not all of them. Just the one who killed my little girl. The others ... I punished them. Then I made sure they went to a place where they couldn't hurt anyone."

"Did you ... did you put them in the Birdcage?"

Marcus shook his head. "No, they're not in the Birdcage. They're in Philadelphia, to be precise."

Crystal looked confused. "What are they doing there?"

"They're in a place where they can think about exactly what they did wrong," he replied steadily. "In the meantime, I'm taking care of you because they can't."

"Wait a minute ... if they thought you were a supervillain, and you were able to punish them ... who are you?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" he asked. "You're a bright girl. There's a clue, right there in my name."

She frowned, concentrating in thought. "Marcus ... Mark ... " Her eyes went wide again. "Marquis?"

Solemnly, he nodded. "That's me."

"But nobody's heard from him, I mean you, in the last three years either." She stared at him. "Did you lose your powers or something when you fought the Brigade?"

He noted the use of 'Brigade' rather than 'mom and dad', and was heartened. "No. My powers are still as strong as ever." To demonstrate, he held out his hand. A bone-white rose grew from his palm; he snapped it off and gave it to her, concealing the stab of pain that resulted.

Wonderingly, she examined it. "But ... if you have your powers ... ?"

"I decided to learn from my mistakes. I can't be a father and a public supervillain at the same time, not without putting you at risk. What happened to Amelia taught me that. So I stopped."

"You ... you did that for us?" Unspoken were the words The children of your enemies?

Reaching out, he placed his hand on her shoulder. "I took you in from duty, but it has become more than that. You children are more important than anything else in the world to me. I will never allow any of you to come to harm. I promise."

Again, her arms were wrapped around him. "Thank you."

His heart swelled in his chest as he returned the embrace, his arms enfolding the slender body of his adopted daughter. He wanted to hold her forever, protect her from the world.

"Dad?" Her voice was soft in his ear.

"Yes, honey?"

"I love you, Dad."

He smiled, and gave her a little bit of an extra squeeze. "I love you too, Crystal."

"Thank you, Dad. For everything."

"You're welcome, sweet pea." Gradually, he let her go, and pretended not to notice as she wiped her eyes. After all, he was more than a little misty-eyed himself. "So, about this letter you wanted to write. I've thought of a perfect opening paragraph." Clearing his throat, he assumed a gruff voice. "Dear Jimmy. This is her dad speaking. Watch it, boy. I know where you live."

"Oh, Dad!" She laughed and punched him in the shoulder. "You leave Jimmy alone."

"So long as he leaves you alone," he stated firmly.

"Yeah, okay," she agreed. "Uh, Dad?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Can I tell Vicky and Eric about ... well, the Brigade?"

"Maybe when they're a little older, okay?"

She nodded. "That's probably a good idea. Okay."


End of Part Two

 

[Ack]

Yet Another Way

Part Three: Seeds of Regret

[A/N 1: This chapter commissioned by @GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: I wrote the first two parts to this story over ten years ago. Now I'm picking it up again, if only to see where it ends. Whee.]
[A/N 3: This fic will be posted in chapters of 3.5-4K, two at a time, 24 hours apart. So there will be another one in 24 hours, woo!]
[A/N 4: Trigger warning – mention of suicide.]


Friday Evening, September 14, 2007
The Raymond Household

Marquis

It started, as many things do, with a phone call.

<><>​

Marcus sat on one side of the dining table, with his three conniving children arrayed on the other. Between them sat a Scrabble game, with plastic letter tiles spelling out words here and there on the board. Eric had a dictionary at his elbow.

The adjustment in the rules had been Victoria's idea. Each of them had their allotment of tiles, but the three children were allowed to trade tiles and collude between themselves—with the assistance of the dictionary—to gain the best possible advantage over him. He pretended irritation at the chicanery, but in all honesty, he could not have been prouder of them. It was the way of the world that one had to make the very most of their situation, and teaming up to take down a superior opponent was part and parcel of that.

He'd laid down the rule that Eric had sole access to the dictionary. It was only fair to his son, and kept the lad from feeling left-out by searching for new words to use. Now he was murmuring something to Victoria, who was nodding. Taking a letter tile from each of their holders, she laid them down on the board. "'Equal' plus I-Z-E makes 'equalize', and that's a triple letter score for the 'z'," she announced triumphantly.

"Well done," Marcus said approvingly. "How many points do you get for it?"

Crystal grinned. "Doing that now." Her lips moved silently as she noted down each of the letter scores, preparatory to adding them up.

At that moment, his phone rang.

"Excuse me one moment." He stood up from his chair and started toward his study; not only was it rude to hold a conversation in front of others, but there were many things his children did not know about his business dealings. This was a state of affairs that he wished to maintain, at least for the time being. The caller ID showed that the call was coming from the Philadelphia Parahuman Asylum, which only served to raise his level of concern. "You have Mark Raymond."

Even after learning the truth about their respective parents (what truth he was willing to allow them to know at their age) they had still sent letters and the occasional photograph. Far from discouraging this, he had urged them to keep in touch. After all, what he had done to the Brigade was no punishment if its members were unable to see how their children were developing under his care.

Four years in, the first messages started coming back. Marcus gathered that the staff of the Asylum had managed to teach them Morse code, and were communicating with them that way. These messages were necessarily brief, but the children were pleased to get them all the same.

"Mr Raymond, this is Director Hargrave of the Philadelphia Parahuman Asylum. It's about Mark Dallon. I'm afraid he's passed away."

Marcus' eyes widened. This was not what he had intended, not at all. The Brigade had been supposed to live long and healthy lives, entirely unable to interfere further with the upbringing of their children—or any children at all, really—while he showed them how said children should be raised. "What happened?" he asked at last. "Was it a complication of his … condition?"

"Not that we can ascertain, no." Hargrave hesitated. "It appears to have been a deliberate act."

"What?" Marcus's spine straightened, and he gripped the phone more tightly. Hellfire and damnation! Did one of their enemies break in to finish them off? "I need more information." The growl that emanated from his throat was pure Marquis. "Now."

Something in his tone must have reached the director, because the answer came swiftly. "I – I mean self-inflicted. None of our staff would—"

"I'll be there in two hours. Have your answers ready by then." He ended the call, secure in the knowledge that this would be done. Director Hargrave and the rest of the Asylum staff knew him not as Marquis, but as Marcus Raymond, an exceedingly wealthy and generous donor to the upkeep of the Asylum. If they wanted the money to continue rolling in (and they did) then any number of rules and regulations would be twisted into pretzels in order to keep him happy.

The next call he made was to a rather more local number. "Good evening, Jennifer. I'm afraid I will be requiring your services tonight. I've been called away on unavoidable business. Quadruple pay, as per our standard arrangement, yes?"

"Of course, sir. I'll be over directly." Jennifer—'Jenny' to the children—had her own cottage on the grounds; most days she handled the cooking, housecleaning and mothering as needed, but it was understood between them that the weekends were hers to do with as she wished. Until situations like this came up, whereupon he was willing to pay well above top dollar without quibble.

Competent help, he had long since found, was worth far more than its weight in any precious metal he cared to name. "Excellent. I'll let the children know, then be on my way."

When he returned to the living room, Eric was already paging through the dictionary for the next word to use, but Crystal and Victoria were paying no attention to the board.

Crystal spoke first. "You've got to go, don't you?" Disappointment coloured every syllable.

"I'll be back before morning," he reassured them. "Something important has come up. I'm needed in Philadelphia."

Victoria perked up at that. "While you're there, could you let my father know I didn't get his birthday message last week? He's usually pretty good about that."

The breath froze in Marcus' throat; his usually glib tongue found not a word to say about the situation. "I … I'll see … what I can do." He took a moment to steady himself. "Jennifer will be over in a moment, and she'll keep you company for the evening and make sure you're in bed by a reasonable hour." A smile, feeling horribly fake, completed the masquerade. "Be good for her, please."

Turning, he hurried from the room before he could put his foot any further into his mouth. Why he'd even mentioned Philadelphia he had no idea, but even that was eclipsed by the fact that Mark Dallon hadn't sent Victoria her usual birthday wishes, and he hadn't noticed. Certainly, things had been busy over the last week, both on the criminal and the business side of things, but that was no excuse.

If I'd known, I could have … As he slid behind the wheel of his McLaren 722, he shook his head. What could he have done? Asked the staff of the Asylum to check on their patient more closely? Whatever Mark Dallon had done, it hadn't been on a whim.

The garage door opened automatically in front of him as he applied pedal to metal. His thumb found the button on the steering-wheel which enabled hands-free calling; the private airfield where he kept his Falcon 7X was less than twenty minutes away, and the standby pilots could be there in fifteen. In thirty minutes, he would be in the air.

Having super-powers was useful, but having money was better.

<><>​

Two Hours Later

Philadelphia Parahuman Asylum

Director Peter Hargrave

Peter watched as Marcus Raymond settled into the visitor's chair. Despite the fact that it was Peter's office, it was easy to tell who was in charge, and it wasn't him. Marcus didn't have a bulky physique, but he didn't need one to dominate the room.

"Tell me what happened. Leave nothing out." The words, spoken calmly, nevertheless promised a world of hurt—financial if not physical—if they were disregarded.

Fortunately, Peter had spent the last two hours digging hard into the circumstances surrounding the untimely death of Mark Dallon, aka Flashbang. He had all the facts at his fingertips; it just remained to be seen if they would satisfy Marcus Raymond.

"Two weeks ago," he began, "Mr Dallon began refusing to respond to simple requests. When staff asked what he wanted, he replied with one word: 'Carol'."

"His wife." Marcus was aware of the family's background, then.

Good; that would make this explanation marginally less painful.

"Yes. We believe she was executed by Marquis for … it doesn't matter what for. She was killed in front of Mr Dallon, seven years ago. He repeated the request several times, then became agitated. After analysis of his brain functions, his depression medication was changed. He seemed to respond, or at least become less agitated. Five days ago, he asked what the date was. When it was provided to him, he went quiet again."

"His daughter's birthday was last week." Marcus' voice was quiet. "He missed it."

Ah. Peter had been in possession of that data point, but he hadn't quite made the connection until now. "I see. Well, he resumed cooperation with staff until this evening's shift change. When the new shift noticed that his life sign monitors were flatlining, they came in to check on him. He had typed out a message on his Morse clicker, then contrived to wrap one of his support lines around his neck. Attempts were made to resuscitate him but were unsuccessful. I was alerted, and then I called you."

Marcus leaned forward, his expression almost painfully intense. "What was the message?"

Peter took a deep breath, then passed over the length of tickertape that had been extruded from the clicker. In block letters, it read: IM SORRY VICKY.

The paper crumpled in Marcus' fist as he lowered his head, eyes clenched shut; Peter could see a muscle jumping in the man's jaw. He stayed silent, judging that it was best to wait and see what Marcus wanted rather than making an assumption and being badly wrong about it.

There was genuine pain in Marcus' expression when he raised his head again. "Do the others know yet?"

"We haven't told them, but they may suspect that something is wrong." Peter grimaced. "They send each other messages over the Morse clickers. He's been uncommunicative for a little while, but they'll start asking questions soon."

Marcus stood up. "I want to see them. Now."

Peter also came to his feet. "That's highly irregular …" But he knew as well as Marcus did that he was only making the protest because it was expected of him.

Marcus looked him in the eye. "Did I perhaps stutter? Was anything I said hard to understand?"

Peter shook his head. "No, sir. I'll take you to them now."

<><>​

Marquis

The remnants of the Brockton Bay Brigade, as grotesquely malformed as he had managed to make them in his cold fury, occupied their own row of bays in the Asylum. Five lavage tanks, five net-like hammocks, five padded cushion-nests. The last one, Mark Dallon's, was empty. The other four were occupied by their sleeping inhabitants.

Marcus looked around at Director Hargrave, and the other staff who had trailed in after him. "I want to speak to them all, privately. Make it so, then leave us. No recordings. Is that understood?"

Hargrave looked like he wanted to argue for just a moment. But then he clearly came to a decision and turned to the staff members. "Get it done. Now. And double-check that the recorders are off."

Marcus waited patiently until their nest-beds had been wheeled into a rough semi-circle in front of him. Each of the patients was set up so one eye could focus on him. He hadn't closed off their ear canals, so they'd be able to hear just fine. Discordant mumbles indicated that they'd woken up and had noticed the odd activity. Fingers twitched on Morse clickers, and the displays above each nest-bed lit up.

WHATS GOING ON

WHY R U MOVING US

And then, the inevitable: WHERES MARK

As soon as the staff were finished, Marcus waved them out, the Director included. He waited until the door closed behind them, then moved forward a few steps. "Good evening. I have some bad news for you, and good news."

WHAT

U LOOK FAMILIAR

WHERES MARK

WHATS GOING ON HERE

He nodded. "For those who recognise me: yes, you are correct. I am Marquis, and I've been raising your children for the last seven years. For the record, they are thriving. Bright children, one and all. Now for the bad news. Mark Dallon took his own life earlier this evening. That's why I'm here."

Morse clickers rattled off the letters as fast as a teenager could text; they'd had a lot of practice.

MARKS DEAD

MARQUIS U BASTARD

U KILLED HIM

ILL KILL U

"If you will allow me to finish …" He paused for a moment, until the invective ceased flashing up on the screens. "Thank you. I did not intend for him to die. I've been investing quite a bit of money into your care here so that you can remain alive and healthy. But he thwarted me anyway, so I've decided to reverse your punishment. However, so that it's not too suspiciously miraculous, I'm going to stretch your reversion over several months. Once we're done, you'll be on your feet again, free to do whatever you want. Within reason."

WHAT DO U MEAN

WHAT DO U WANT FROM US

WONT CHANGE ANYTHING

WONT BRING BACK MARK

"No, true," he agreed. "It won't return your colleague to you. Neither will reverting your punishment return my Amelia to me. We all have losses we must face. What I want from you is twofold. First: that you never so much as whisper a word of my true identity to anyone. Second: that you do not attempt to take my children away from me."

OUR CHILDREN

U CANT KEEP CRYSTAL N ERIC FROM US

U MEAN IT

NOT JUST PLAYING WITH US

He sighed. It seemed that both the stick and the carrot were required here. First, the stick. "Yes, I can indeed keep the children from you. I have legally adopted them. You would have to prove yourselves competent to be parents once more, and I have sufficient contacts within the judiciary to ensure that it would be a thoroughly unrewarding process for you. An even simpler means would be to simply … not release you from your bondage, here. So do not try my patience." He paused to allow the words to sink in. "This is not to say that you cannot visit and spend time with them, once you are out and about. They would undoubtedly be delighted to see you. However. They are fully aware of the sordid details of Amelia's passing, and of your part in her death. Any attempt to sully my name in that fashion would very swiftly go astray. Do you understand?"

There was a long pause. He let them process the situation at their own pace while he calculated the easiest way of allowing each skeleton to return to its natural proportions. It would be gradual, of course, but they would be able to see the improvement as they went along.

I UNDERSTAND. That was Lady Photon.

DON'T LIKE IT BUT NO CHOICE YOU BASTARD. Manpower was somewhat more verbose.

I JUST WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE. Fleur sounded like she was trying not to cry.

LETS DO THIS. Lightstar was equally eager to take the deal.

"Very well." Now for the carrot. "Incidentally, I acquired your homes shortly after you were sequestered here, and sold them for a tidy profit. It's not as though I ever expected you to return. That money has been invested in long-term deposits; the children were to inherit those accounts when they chose to leave home. I am perfectly willing to turn them over to you once you leave here, as an added incentive to not break our deal. It will easily be enough for you to purchase new homes with a comfortable amount left over, even in the current housing market."

WE WERE RENTING, Lightstar pointed out. WHAT MONEY

"You will get the money from the Dallon house. Fear not for the children; they will be receiving an equivalent amount from my own pocket, so to speak, once the time comes. I had merely though this to be more elegant. But now there is a greater need for it."

AND OUR THINGS. Lady Photon seemed a little agitated. WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR THINGS

"In storage," Marcus assured her smoothly. "Kept safe until the children were old enough to look them over and decide what they wanted."

Again, there was a long silence, then Fleur clicked out a question. WILL U BE MAKING US DO CRIME TO PAY OFF DEBT

He had to chuckle at that. "Heavens, no. You would undoubtedly be terrible at it. Be heroes once more, for all I care. Just never interfere with me or mine, ever again. That is all I require of you."

Manpower had the last word. FINE WE LL DO IT NOW FIX US

"One step at a time." He went to each of them in turn, laying a hand on them and sinking a bone spike to reach their skeletons. At a thought, he adjusted the bones, reducing the degree of distortion for each of them, then stood back. "That's your first treatment. I will return in a month. Don't go anywhere."

<><>​

A Few Moments Later

Director's Office

Director Hargrave

"A specialist?" Peter blinked. "You can help them?"

"It's what I wanted to speak to them about. And get tissue samples for." Marcus patted his pocket and spoke with authority. "I know of a cape who may be able to assist in this matter. Up until now, I hadn't thought it worth the risk, but with the passing of Mr Dallon …" He shrugged. "I see no other way forward."

"And this cape is willing to assist?" Peter unconsciously leaned forward. "Do you know if he's able to help anyone else in the facility?"

"I can ask, but …" Marcus shook his head slightly. "I honestly can't see it happening. I've had to guarantee his anonymity just for this instance. So I will be personally escorting him into the facility and out again. Nobody else interacts with him. We will be showing up once per month, until his power cannot work on them anymore."

"Of course, of course!" Peter would not have argued if Marcus had required a marching band and a red carpet for the visiting healer. "Whatever he needs. We are at your disposal."

Marcus smiled warmly. "I knew I could count on you."

<><>​

Marquis

As he rode in the hired limo back toward the airfield, Marcus leaned back in the seat and smiled in quite a different way. He would be doing the healing, of course; the 'cape' would be one of his people, well-paid to follow the script and then refer no more to it afterward.

It should do the city of Brockton Bay no harm, he judged, to have the Brigade return after so many years away. They would no doubt be wanting to make their mark and prove their worth to a populace that had more or less forgotten them; in his humble opinion, the local criminal underground could do with a shake-up. His organisation not included, of course. He'd given them fair warning about that, and he was willing to enforce it if and when necessary.

When the limo arrived at the airfield, his jet was waiting for him, prepped to take off once more. He nodded to the pilots as he climbed on board, and relaxed in his seat for the flight back to Brockton Bay. As the Falcon rumbled onto the runway, he took out a notepad and began listing those members of his organisation he could most easily spare for the duty of masquerading as a healer. It wasn't something he had to rush into, but at the same time, it needed to be dealt with before the time came around.

Almost before he knew it, the plane was touching down in Brockton Bay. It would be attended to by his crew at the airfield, of course. They were well-paid for their time. Leaving them to it, he climbed back into the McLaren for the final stretch back home.

He'd been gone nearly five hours; by now, Jennifer would have put the children to bed. When he got home, he'd look in on them, of course. He was still mulling over what he was going to be telling Victoria about her father. Hopefully, he would be able to put it off until the light of day, when everything looked better.

The automatic garage door raised itself at his approach. He entered the garage in a much more circumspect manner than he'd left, and parked the McLaren in its usual spot. Climbing out of the car, he stretched, feeling his vertebrae click back into position. He could've done this manually, but somehow it was more satisfying to do it the old-fashioned way.

The first apprehension he had that things were not all exactly as they should be came when Jennifer met him at the door leading into the house. "Sir, thank goodness you're back! I've had a job and a half keeping her calm, and that's no lie!"

His head came up and he glanced around for signs of trouble. "Her? Who? What's happened?" One hand balled into a fist, ready to produce a razor-edged dagger at need.

"It happened not long after you left." She led him into the house, toward the living room. "We tried to call, but your mobile phone must have been switched off."

Frowning, he pulled his phone out. It was on airplane mode, and he'd been too preoccupied to turn it back. Several missed text messages and two missed calls showed up on the screen, but he shoved it away again in favour of asking the question directly. "What happened? Tell me!"

"I think it's better if Miss Crystal does." Jennifer opened the door into the living room. Crystal was there, and he immediately saw what the problem was. For one thing, she was hovering two feet above the carpet; for another, flickers of light were dancing around her hands.

"Dad?" She spoke hesitantly. "Dad, I think I've got powers."



End of Part Three

 

[Ack]

Yet Another Way

Part Four: Learning Curve

[A/N: This chapter commissioned by @GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



12:09 AM Saturday Morning, September 15, 2007

Marquis

"… ah."

There were many things he could have said, but as the moment overtook him, that was the only thought he was able to voice.

"Dad?" Crystal wobbled a little closer. An ephemeral bubble formed around her, then popped again.

The moment's respite had given him time to think. But first, he smiled. She needed to be reassured, not terrified. "Why, yes, dear girl. You do indeed appear to have powers. And if I am not much mistaken, they are the very image of your mother's abilities."

She blinked. "They are?"

"Yes." He held out his hand, palm up, open, inviting. She seemed to be maintaining control over her powers, despite the evident stress she was feeling, so he trusted her not to burn him with her nascent lasers. "Come out to the back patio with me, and I'll tell you what I know of them."

The warmth and surety in his tone steadied her, and she took his hand. Slowly, her feet lowered to the ground. "Okay."

"Jennifer; the other children?" He started toward the back patio, leading Crystal by the hand.

"In their rooms. They know of it, but I told them to stay clear." She was evidently almost as stressed as Crystal. "Did I do the right thing?"

"You didn't do the wrong thing, which is just as important." He gave her a smile over his shoulder. "Send them out to us, and mix us up some warm cocoa. I believe it will be a while before we manage to go to bed."

She nodded, relief radiating from her. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

As he and Crystal headed down the corridor leading to the back patio, she looked up at him. "Will Jenny be in trouble for telling Vicky and Eric to go to their rooms? She didn't know what was going on. I didn't know what was going on."

"No, she will not." He squeezed her hand to reassure her. "She made a judgement call and acted on it, and I will not condemn her for that. Everyone is alive and healthy, and the house is intact. Matters could be a good deal worse. Remember this moment; someday in the future, you will almost certainly be called upon to make a decision based on minimal data. It's almost always better to make the best call you can under the circumstances and act on it than freeze and hope for the best."

Crystal nodded. "She kept on saying that you would be home soon, and you would know what to do. That helped a lot. And she was right."

He chuckled. "I don't know everything about how to handle this situation, but I have a few ideas." Opening the back door, he ushered her out onto the patio. "Now, if you truly do have Lady Photon's powers, these will involve flight, lasers and a force field. We've seen the flight, and I think I saw hints of the other two. So, let us do some testing."

"You … you want me to fire my lasers?" Crystal sounded apprehensive all over again.

"In a moment." He generated a discus of bone from his hand, then flicked it so it spun out onto the manicured back lawn. Illuminated by the patio lights, it gleamed a soft off-white against the green. "See if you can shoot that with your lasers."

"O-okay." Crystal moved half a step away from him, stretched out her hand, pointed her finger, and sighted down her arm. A crimson beam erupted from her finger and she flinched; the beam carved an arc in the lawn, throwing up dirt and scorched grass. She stopped blasting and convulsively clenched her hand shut.

"Well, that was impressive," he observed. "You certainly have your mother's level of power, perhaps a little more. Would you like to try again?"

As intended, his unworried tone allowed her to relax; this time, she was able to walk the beam onto the bone discus, which was obliterated in seconds. "I thought it was just a laser," she said. "But it's more than that. It's like I'm blasting stuff as well."

"Well spotted." He afforded her an approving nod. "Yes, your mother's blast has a concussive aspect to it. Would you like to see if you can tone it down a little?" In another moment, he had generated a square white board of bone that he held before her. Behind it was nothing but lawn, because he wasn't foolhardy.

"Um, sure." Lighting up her finger, she traced lines on the board, gaining more confidence as she found herself able to easily change the intensity of her burn. "Oh, wow. This is so cool."

"It really is." He found himself able to brace the board against the push of her power, which also lined up with his prior experience. Hearing footsteps, he turned his head. "I believe we can take a break now. The others have arrived, and our cocoa should not be far behind."

"Okay." She stopped tracing lines on the bone board, just as Victoria and Eric emerged onto the patio.

"Crystal!" Victoria hugged her cousin, then Eric joined in as well. "I'm so glad you're okay! I was really worried!"

"You were worried? What about me? I didn't know what was going on!" Crystal embraced them both. "But it's all good, now. Dad's been showing me how to use my powers."

"Well, duh." Victoria giggled, though there was still a slight edge of concern to it. "Dad knows everything about everything. If anyone could fix it, he can."

"Again, you give me too much credit, but I like to think my experience in this sort of thing can show us the way forward from here." He ruffled her hair fondly. "Crystal, would you like to show your siblings what you can do?" Dissolving the bone board into its component dust, he created another target discus and flicked it out onto the lawn.

"Okay, sure. Watch this, guys." With much more confidence than the first time around, Crystal fired off what Marcus judged to be a mid-strength beam and nailed it on the first try. Three more shots eliminated the discus altogether, to the cheers of Victoria and Eric.

"Holy crap, that was amazing!" Victoria turned to Marcus, her face glowing with enthusiasm. "Are Eric and me gonna get laser powers too?"

He held up his finger as Jennifer appeared in the doorway, bearing a tray holding four steaming mugs, as well as a plate of cookies. "One moment, Victoria. Yes, thank you, Jennifer. Please put it down there. Much appreciated. I believe I have matters under control for the moment. Thank you for holding the fort until I returned."

"You're welcome, sir." She placed the tray as directed. "Miss Crystal will be alright, I hope?"

He nodded. "Crystal will be fine, now. You did well by keeping her calm. There'll be a little extra in your pay from this month onward, to show my appreciation for your steadiness under trying circumstances. That's if you're willing to stay on?"

"Well, of course I'll be staying on." Jennifer's gaze took in all three children. "I knew she wouldn't hurt me, and I'm not about to leave you to deal with this on your own. So I'll be seeing you Monday, sir, unless you need me earlier?"

He smiled. "Monday it is, Jennifer. Enjoy the rest of your weekend."

"You too, sir." She turned and strode back into the house, every inch of her posture showing the pride she felt at his praise.

Marcus waited until he heard a door close behind her before turning back to the children and taking up a mug of cocoa. "Before we go on, I want each of you to make me a solemn promise. Crystal, you already have powers. Victoria, Eric, I believe you will gain them as well. At no time will you ever use these powers to pull pranks on Jennifer or make her life difficult. Is that understood?"

Crystal nodded at once. "Totally, Dad. Jenny's nice. I'd never upset her like that."

"Me too," Victoria agreed; Eric was half a second later, but he nodded as well. "But does that mean we are gonna get laser powers? Because that'd be totally awesome."

"Perhaps. The way these things seem to work, there is a strong possibility of it. However, be aware that whatever powers you gain, they are likely to differ from Crystal's, while Eric's will be more like them." He sipped from his cocoa; it was strong and sweet and hot, just the way he liked it.

Victoria frowned. "Wait, why are my powers gonna be different? I want the same powers as Crystal an' Eric."

"Eric, don't be a pig." Crystal turned from admonishing her brother—who had stuffed two cookies in his mouth at once—to address Marcus. "I bet it's because of who our parents are, right? Me and Eric, our parents were Manpower and Lady Photon, and Vicky's folks were Flashbang and … her." Even now, years after having learned the truth behind Amelia's death, none of them would speak Carol Dallon's cape name out loud.

"I don't want her powers!" Catching herself, Victoria took a deep breath and calmed down even as Marcus watched. While she had yet to exhibit her mother's disastrous lack of judgement, he'd deemed it was never too early to learn moderation, so all three children had long been enrolled in martial-arts classes where they could absorb the precepts of self-control along with those of self-defence. "Sorry," she said once she'd regained her equilibrium. "But I don't. I want to have powers like Crystal's. Or maybe my father's. Even Manpower's. But never hers."

"While the powers do not make the cape—rather, the other way around—I personally agree with your sentiment." Heaven knew, he fervently hoped he would never have to observe her using the same powers that had killed his Amelia. "But we shall just have to see." He had mentally flinched as she referred to her father, but that danger seemed to have passed them by for the moment. "So, tell me. How did this happen? Powers do not emerge in a vacuum. Something must take place to bring them out."

"Um—" Crystal actually looked shifty for a moment.

"We were—" That was Victoria, before she also cut herself off.

"They were cheating!" And there was Eric right on cue, one hundred percent indignation and zero percent discretion. "After you went, we kept playin', but they started usin' the dictionary, that you said only I could use!"

"You were using words I never even heard of!" Victoria protested. She coloured a little under Marcus' gaze. "Well, he was," she mumbled, hunching one shoulder.

"I doubt very much that this was the whole of it," Marcus observed. "Crystal?"

She visibly steeled herself. "They were squabbling over the dictionary, so I took it. And … kinda held it up out of the way. Then they attacked me!" Her voice rose with indignation equal to Eric's. "Vicky tackled me then Eric grabbed the dictionary and started bashing me in the head with it while Vicky was tickling me!"

"And the next thing I knew," Victoria said as Marcus' gaze cut to her, "I was lying on the other side of the room and Crystal was just floating there with a force field around her."

"Eric?" Marcus drew his brows down. "I know I taught you not to hit girls."

"But she was being mean!" Eric seemed determined to dig himself ever deeper. "She took the dictionary, an' she wouldn't give it back!"

"And that's an excuse to hit her?" Marcus' tone was light, almost negligent.

Just for a moment, he thought Eric was going to stand firm on his convictions, but then Crystal nudged him, and he seemed to realise his mistake. "Uh, no, Dad. No, it's not." Turning to Crystal, he ducked his head. "I'm real sorry, sis."

Victoria nodded. "And I'm sorry too, both of you." She took a deep breath. "I guess we were all taking the game way more seriously than we should have. But I started it."

"Well, I escalated, so yeah," Crystal admitted. She took a bite out of a cookie then washed it down with cocoa. "I guess we all kinda screwed up, huh, Dad?"

"You certainly did." He nodded toward the brand-new scars in the lawn. "Any time a situation results in someone triggering with powers, I believe it's safe to say that boundaries were crossed and matters went too far. However." He held up one finger. "You've all understood your collective fault in the matter and expressed mutual contrition, so I'll leave it up to each of you to make it right with each other. One week from today, I expect each of you to be satisfied with how the other two have made it up to you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Dad." Crystal got in first, but only by a fraction of a second. Victoria and Eric both voiced their agreement with the concept as readily as she had. Marcus was pleased at that; it meant he didn't have to spend time and effort thinking up how each of them could make amends, and then enforcing it. None of them wanted to fall down on the appointed task, so they would police their own actions even more stringently than he would have.

If only it had worked so well for the low-lives he had employed back in the day. Particularly the little creep who had betrayed him for … well, Marcus wasn't sure what coin the man had been paid in, but he'd made absolutely certain those wages would never again be collected. Amelia's blood had cried out loudly for vengeance, and he'd answered the call with gusto.

"Excellent." He smiled. "So, I believe you also manifested a force field. Would you like to work on that one next?"

"Yeah," agreed Victoria. "I wanna see how you did that."

"She can fly too," Eric suggested.

"She can, yes." Marcus nodded. "However, I was going to wait until we'd figured everything else out before we worked on flight. One step at a time, missing nothing along the way."

"Totally." Crystal put her cocoa down and moved a few steps away from everyone else. She seemed to concentrate for a moment; then a transparent oval force field, crimson in colour, sprang up around her. "How's that?" she asked, her voice a little muffled by the barrier.

"Nicely done, my dear." Marcus rubbed his chin briefly. "Though, if you're taking suggestions, Lady Photon has a vast number of shapes she can form with her force fields, not just a simple bubble around herself."

The force field collapsed, and Crystal took a step forward. "Do you know how she does this? Because these powers don't exactly come with a user manual, you know."

"Ah … no," he admitted. "So then, we come to flight. Hands up for who wants to see Crystal fly?"

Three hands shot into the air.

<><>​

Twelve Hours Later

Philadelphia Parahuman Asylum

Marcus wasn't entirely sure what Director Hargrave thought of his precipitate return. Neither did he care. All he'd told the Director was, "I need to check on something," and with the dazzling magic only available to those who are capable of regularly writing seven-figure checks, the area was once more cleared for his convenience.

The grotesquely twisted forms of the Brockton Bay Brigade rolled their eyes to follow him as he passed by, and Morse clickers sprang to life.

WHATS GOING ON

OH SHIT THERES A PROBLEM

Ignoring the peanut gallery, he stopped in front of Lady Photon's nest-bed. "I have a problem, and you potentially hold the solution."

WHAT PROBLEM, she asked.

"Crystal. Last night, I got home to find that she has triggered with powers."

She was stunned for a long moment, then she started clicking out words. WHAT HAPPENED IS SHE OK WHY DID SHE TRIGGER TALK TO ME

He waited for the storm of text to abate, then held up a hand. "I will answer your questions, dear lady, but I will need you first to promise to answer mine."

I PROMISE NOW TELL ME IS SHE OK

"She's fine." He smiled. "In fact, she's doing quite well. She was rough-housing with Eric and Victoria, and apparently they got a little rougher than they should have. The interesting aspect is that she triggered with what appears to be a close copy of your own powers. Flight, concussive blasts—red, in her case—and a force field, also red." He leaned closer. "My question is … is there anything, anything at all, that you can tell me about using your powers that I can pass on to her? Most specifically, how do you reshape your forcefield out of a bubble?"

BRING HER HERE I WILL TELL HER EVERYTHING

"Uh-uh." He shook his head. "You promised to answer my questions. Going back on your word is a terrible precedent to our ongoing endeavour here. It might give me the idea that I can do the same."

She paused for a long moment. If she'd been able to grit her teeth at that moment, he had no doubt she would've been doing it.

FINE I WILL TELL U FOR HER SAKE DONT KNOW HOW MUCH IT WILL HELP THO

"Any information you can give me is good information," he assured her, and flipped the toggle-switch that sent the text to the tickertape printer. "Kindly proceed."

OK SO THE FIRST THING ABOUT THE FORCEFIELD IS THAT …

<><>​

Brockton Bay

As the Falcon touched down once more at his private airfield, Marcus finished re-reading through the immense amount of tickertape he'd taken away from the Asylum. At one point, the roll had run out and he'd had to ask Lady Photon to cease her explanation so that he could find the Director and get the roll replaced. All of this had taken time, but not as much time as she had taken in her rambling explanations of how she did things with her powers.

Fortunately, once he dug through the dross, there was sufficient gold there to justify his trip to Philadelphia several times over. Even if Lady Photon's explanations about how she manipulated her force field didn't work for Crystal, he now possessed sufficient material to provide her with a solid jumping-off point for learning what she could do.

Rolling it up again carefully, he stored it in the bag he'd brought along for the purpose, then alighted from the plane. Once he'd had a chance to transcribe it and distil the information within into useful advice, he would pass that along to Crystal and see if they couldn't figure it out between themselves.

By the time his 'specialist visits' had the Brigade back on their feet, he intended for Crystal to have full mastery of her powers. And under his tutelage, she would be well on the way to being as resourceful with them as he was with his powers. The work would not be easy, but he fully intended for her to have the best possible start as a cape as he could arrange.

It was fitting, he decided as he climbed into the McLaren for the drive back to the house, that she had chosen of her own free will to become a hero, and use her powers for good. While she possessed a certain ruthless streak—as a villain, he could recognise such things a mile away—it was tempered with mercy and kindness. She would never have made it as a villain, not like he had.

He took it easy on the way home, not bothering to try to race anyone at the lights and sticking scrupulously to the speed limit. While the car could and would leave any police cruiser in its dust, he preferred to keep that capability in reserve until he needed it. In addition, maintaining a reputation as a careful driver didn't hurt his standing as a pillar of the community one little bit.

As he eased the sports car to a stop in its customary place, he allowed himself a sigh of satisfaction at the way things were working out. He'd heard horror stories about teenagers triggering and everyone doing exactly the wrong thing; the results had ranged from comedic to tragic, but at no point had they actually turned out well for the brand-new cape.

As the father of a cape, I believe I'm handing the situation better than most.

He climbed out of the car, bringing the bag with him, and shut the door. When he turned around, Victoria was standing right there, where she most certainly hadn't been just seconds ago.

"Damnation, girl!" He suppressed his defensive instinct, and took a deep breath instead. "Don't do that to me."

"Sorry, Dad." She looked up at him with a certain amount of determination in the set of her jaw. "I just wanted to catch you before you started with Crystal again."

"Why?" he asked, but he already knew. The locomotive was bearing down the tracks toward him, and it had no brakes.

"Did you talk to my father about my birthday message?" There it was, the turning point. He had two paths to follow; one, where he lied to Victoria and the lies kept mounting up until they inevitably came crashing back on him. Or the other, where he bit the bullet and gave her the unpalatable truth.

It was not as hard a choice as he might have thought. One of the rules he'd laid down for himself was that he would never lie to them about important matters. He could refuse to tell them about things, and had done so more than once, but he would never knowingly mislead them.

"Come along," he said. "I have to speak to you about him." Together, they went through the house, all the way to the back patio. The groundskeeper had been through, replacing the sod to the point that only the faintest scar showed up where Crystal had shot her blasts at it. Shadows steadily lengthened as the afternoon sun shone down over the back lawn.

"What is it?" she asked as he sat her down. "What's happened to him? Is he okay?"

Marcus grimaced. "I'm sorry to have to tell you that he is not. You will recall the phone call I received last night. That was to tell me that he had passed away; I left for Philadelphia immediately so that I could find out the circumstances."

"And what were the circumstances? And why did you go back again today? Did you have to find out who did it and … deal with them?" She was gripping his hand by then.

"No. Today was more of a fact-finding mission, to do with Crystal's powers. But your father …" He held her hand gently. "He suffered from chronic depression, exacerbated by the situation he was in. That, and the medications they gave him for it, were the reason that he missed your birthday." Pausing, he took a breath to brace himself for what was coming next. "Last night, he took his own life. I'm very sorry."

"What?" She jerked her hand free of his. "What could possibly make him want to … to kill himself? Why? What situation?" Jumping to her feet, she stared at him. "You said once that you made sure they couldn't hurt anyone else, but you never said how. I always thought you just locked them up somewhere. But it's more than that, isn't it?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Yes. It's more than that. You must understand, I was very angry at the time, and I took it out on them. I used my powers to imprison them in their own bodies. They are dependent on others for everything. But they can't hurt anyone, not the way they are."

She glared at him. "So you put my father, who had depression, in that state, and left him there? What did you think was going to happen?"

"In my defence, I've also been covering the cost for any and all medical care they've required over the last seven years. His antidepressants seemed to be working quite well."

"Until now." She echoed his unspoken thought. "And I was looking forward to seeing him when I turned eighteen. He knew that, right?"

Sombrely, Marcus nodded. "Yes. He knew."

"And he didn't think about me at all?" She seemed to be working herself up to another peak of anger.

He hadn't wanted to do this, but she'd asked the question. "His last thoughts were of you." Taking out his wallet, he extracted the folded tickertape that contained Mark Dallon's last message to the world, and handed it over.

She unfolded and read it … and that was when the world exploded.

Or rather, it felt like it. Marcus found himself lying on the stone flooring of the patio. Several of the thick tiles were now cracked, and the chairs were lying on their sides. And hovering … hovering … several yards out over the lawn, was Victoria. Surrounded by a crackling electrical field, clad in something that looked remarkably like bone armour, and swearing more luridly than he would've given her credit for; but still, Victoria.

Painfully, he began to pick himself up, ruefully recalling his earlier complacent thought about how he was handling matters better than most.

I must really learn to stop tempting fate like that.



End of Part Four