Kinsolving

Happy Birthday!!

Tahiti – 150 miles west of the Marquesas Islands – Seven days later

The sun hung high above the sky blue waters as the 100 foot sailing yacht sliced through the waves, its sail billowing in the stiff breeze. Ian Scott gazed up at it, shielding his eyes with his hand and smiled, squinting. It had been a week since the little…debacle…in Paris and he desperately needed to clear his head. Nothing accomplished that for him better than an extended cruise out into the deep blue.

He began to think of Rosie again. God, she still looked magnificent, even after all these years. Meeting her there was not something he had been expecting, but it was more than a pleasant surprise, even with the sudden arrival of her…associate. There was definitely something secret shared between the two women, but whatever it was, they were both skilled at keeping it just that.

It was a pity things had to fall the way they did between them all those years ago. Interpol was hot on his trail and he needed someone to take the fall. He figured doing a stretch in prison for one crime would be better on Rosie than if she were implicated in all his other heists. She looked none the worse for wear, anyway.

He began to reminisce about all the good times they’d shared: the dancing, the parties, the sex…God, the girl had been a voracious animal in the sack. He wondered if she still was…

A bemused, but polite female voice from behind him answered that question for him, surprisingly enough, “Yes, Rose is quite an…energetic lover, isn’t she?”

He whirled around in the open bridge to see a woman dressed in a flowing white linen sundress seated at the table next to the wet bar. She held a flute of his finest Veuve Clicquot in her hand. Golden brown locks fluttered in the wind beneath a wide-brimmed sunhat. It partially hid her face, as did the oversized sunglasses, but there was no mistaking the voice. Ian composed himself, being more than slightly intrigued, and more than a little self-assured.

“Hello again, madame. It’s a pleasure to see you again. But, I must admit I wasn’t expecting company on this voyage.”

The woman smiled and raised her glass slightly, “You remember me. I’m flattered.”

Ian smiled that smile that could charm a cobra right out of its basket, “How could I forget someone as alluring as you? But, I must sate my curiosity - how did you get on my ship without my knowledge? And why are you here, if I might ask?”

The woman’s tone was light and amused. “Why, Mr. Scott, I should think that my intentions would be patently obvious to someone with your…reputation. And, as to the how…well, never underestimate a woman with determination.” She flashed him a sultry look behind her raised glass.

His intrigue grew, as well as his libido. He was getting old, but he wasn’t dead, and this woman screamed exotic and dangerous at the same time. It was a combination that both excited him and made him extra cautious. He walked over and picked up the bottle of champagne, pouring himself a glass of his own. He did not, however, sit down to join her., “Let’s pretend I don’t fathom yuir intentions, shall we? What, exactly, did you have in mind?”

The woman regarded him momentarily, then glanced out over the ocean. Her tone changed and became more detached.

“Paul Gaugin lived most of his life in Tahiti and died there because he’d been tupping too many island ewes, you know. Syphilis is a nasty disease, wouldn’t you agree?”

If the sudden change in her tone affected Ian Scott at all, he did not show it. Instead, he calmly sipped from his glass, “Pursuing one’s desires can indeed be ruinous without moderation.”

She made no sign of agreement. She just kept staring out at the blasted horizon.

“Rose went to prison for five years because of your betrayal. During her incarceration, she was subjected to a crude surgical procedure that would forever prevent her from bearing children. Once healed, she was whored out to the other inmates and violated brutally and repeatedly.”

Her eyes sliced back and cut into him, defying him to defend his actions. This had most definitely taken a turn down a much darker road. Ian’s face sank at the revelation.

“I…I had no idea…”

Grace cut him off before he could continue, her voice growing significantly colder, “No, I suspect you were too busy building your little paradise with your ill-gotten gains and tupping the local ewes to be bothered with such trivialities.”

Still holding to his air of calm, but visibly shaken by this news, Ian slowly began making his way back to the bridge, still sipping his champagne.

“I had no choice, Grace. Interpol was too close. If they’d caught both of us, Rosie would never have seen the light of day again. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this was the best option at the time - five years or a lifetime behind bars. I had no idea she’d been so cruelly treated inside. If I’d known that…”

Again, Grace interrupted him, “You’d have done nothing differently. Don’t pretend otherwise. It’s insulting.”

If Ian didn’t know better, he’d have thought this woman was somehow reading his mind, but that would be…

“Impossible? I’m a woman of many talents, Mr. Scott.”

So, she was a metahuman of sorts. Intriguing. He was almost to the bridge, just a few more steps. “Please. Call me Ian.”

“I’d rather not.”

Once at the bridge, Scott reached under the counter and produced the Walther PPK he always had concealed there. He set his glass down on the console and aimed the pistol at Grace’s head. The blasted woman did not flinch.

“It saddens me that this meeting has to come to an end now, Grace. Pity. Under different circumstances, I think we could have hit it off exceptionally well,” He watched the sun reflect off the golden highlights in her hair and felt no small amount of regret as he repeatedly pulled the trigger.

When he stopped firing, Grace still sat in her chair, unmoved and unharmed.

Blanks.

Ian began to feel a sinking feeling in his gut.

Grace smiled sweetly and lifted her cupped hand, letting the sun glint off the bullets she held there, “Looking for these?” She then proceeded to drop them over the side into the ocean. She smile then faded from her lips.

“I had truly hoped you wouldn’t choose the low road, Mr. Scott. For Rose’s sake.”

Before he could blink, there was a silenced Glock in her hand – the same one she’d used on Fournier. Without another word, she fired twice – shattering each of his kneecaps.

Scott collapsed heavily to the deck, shrieking in agony. Blood began to pool underneath his huddled form. The click of stilettoed heels on the deck before him caused him to look up, his vision hazy through the pain. Grace stood above him, gun still in hand, her face impassive, shielded from the noonday sun by the brim of her hat.

“Sweet dreams, Mr. Scott.”

Ian’s world went from hazy to black and silent.

The pungent smell of ammonia startled him awake and the pain in his legs came shooting back with consciousness. Dazed, he surveyed his surroundings. She’d dragged him below decks and left him on the floor of the lounge. The white shag carpet was stained deeply with his blood.

He tried to stand, but his legs failed him. He tried to crawl, but achieved little progress there, either. Her voice crackled over the cabin’s intercom.

“Welcome back, Mr. Scott. You’ll find the door to the cabin securely locked and your radio is sadly out of commission, so you shouldn’t bother trying to utilize either of them.”

Ian began to panic.

"One of my associates has been kind enough to supply me with a bomb capable of sending this lovely craft to the bottom of the ocean without a trace. He’s taken the liberty of placing it somewhere amidships. It will be up to you to find it before the timer runs out. If you succeed, then consider yourself fortunate to have gained another lease on life, such as it is. It’s better than the chance Rose had. If you fail, well, we don’t need to discuss such unpleasantness.”

Ian's voice cracked, “Please! I’ll give you anything you want!”

Grace’s voice was venomous. “Can you give Rose back the ability to have children? Can you erase the memories of those thugs violating her day in and day out while she just lay there and cried?”

Ian hung his head and tried desperately to make his way toward the engine room. If a bomb had truly been placed aboard, that would be the most logical place to set it.

“Yes, it would be, wouldn’t it, Mr. Scott? You should probably check, just to be sure. Oh, and one more thing. You see, it seems you changed your will just before taking this little outing. If you should meet with an unfortunate end, the entirety of your estate shall be donated to the Louvre. Very generous of you. I’m sure your private collection will be the highlight of Paris for some time to come.”

His legs felt like they were afire and the engine door seemed miles away.

“And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my sisters. And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee. You have exactly ten minutes left, Mr. Scott. Do make the most of them. May you get what you deserve. Good day.”

The intercom clicked off and he heard a smaller engine rev outside and eventually fade into the distance. Ian frantically clawed at the carpet, trying to pull himself along with his fingertips. He had escaped every trap set before him in the past. Surely he could do the same here. If he could just find the bomb, it would be a simple matter to defuse it.

Sadly, when you’re incapacitated, ten minutes can fly by like ten seconds.

Sitting at the helm of the speeding cigarette boat piloted by one of her faithful Salt, Grace looked over her shoulder at the brilliant explosion miles behind them and raised her glass of champagne in salute.

The needle pricks the skin of my neck and I can see my blood course down into a reservoir in Rasputin’s arm. He keeps at it for several minutes. I do not move to stop him.

He finally removes the needle and, within seconds, his expression shifts into one of pure elation, “Incredible! I can feel…I can feel my body again! It is a mirac --!”

Elation turns to confusion. Then pain. Then horror.

“Wha-- ?! What have you done to me?!” His eyes plead with mine, but I have no answer for him. Instead, I look at Rose. He follows my gaze, only to see her grin with smug satisfaction.

“Nice knowing you"

With that, she thrusts an elbow into the diaphragm of the thug with the black eye and grabs his pistol when he buckles. She tosses it to me and brings her knee up to his face, connecting with his nose with a sickening crunch.

Catching the gun, I waste no time in proceeding to place one bullet into the forehead of each of the remaining three henchmen before they have time to react.

Rasputin can do nothing, save scream and writhe on the floor of the vault, his face twisted in agony. The whites of his eyes turn dark red, and blood flows from his eyes, nose and mouth. Slowly, what remains of his skin turns grey, then black as pitch, and shrivels.

Soon, there is no flesh left and the remaining metal husk lies still. A small black cloud emerges from his open mouth and coasts toward me, merging through my pores. Curiously, I feel nothing.

Rose walks over to me and touches my cheek gently, “I’m sorry about that, love. You know I didn’t mean any of it…right?” She looks concerned.

My soft smile is reassurance enough to her and I return the gesture in kind.

“I know.”

Then my expression turns quizzical. “But…how did you know what would happen?”

She smiles in satisfaction. “Actually, I didn’t. It was an educated guess. You told me that the nanites were probably specifically keyed to your body. So, I made the assumption that they’d treat any other host sort of like an infection and…eliminate it.”

I cannot help but be impressed by her ingenuity and she feels it. With a playful sparkle in her eye, she says, "Just remind me never to ask for a transfusion from you, okay?"

I chuckle quietly.

Then, her slender eyebrow lifts with an expression of bemusement, “Now…I think you and I have something to discuss..."Anastasia"."

“There’s only one reason you’d want that, old man. It’s so disappointing to discover that the immortal mad monk, Rasputin, for all his posturing, has been nothing more than a common thief all along.”

It’s time for his eyes to narrow this time.

“Besides, I don’t have it.”

He thrusts a metallic finger at the music box and bellows, “I know that trinket is more than a mere child’s toy! It’s a puzzle box and it contains the Cross! Open it and give it to me or die.”

I grace him with a bemused smile, regardless of how I actually feel inside.

“You disappoint me, Grigori. If you kill me, you’ll never get the Romanov fortune. What shall you do? Torture me right here? On the table?”

His rage grows and, for a moment, I tense, expecting him to launch himself bodily at me. But, a commotion in the hallway outside distracts him and, after a few moments of scuffling, two more of his men enter, dragging a struggling woman in between them.

Rose.

I set aside our link. I’m a fool. And because of that slip, she is once again a captive. Aside from appearing ruffled, she is otherwise unharmed. This relieves me to some degree. The black eye and bloody lip of one of her captors relieves me even more.

Rasputin’s eyes flick from her to me, something dawning in them. “And who do we have here? Someone close to you, Nastya?”

Rose looks confused at the name. “Grace? What’s going on here? I thought –“ Rasputin interrupts her with a slap to the face. I wince at the pain that shoots through her, but she does not falter. Her eyes spell death for the man, should she get loose.

“Enough! Nastya or Grace…whatever you see fit to call yourself now, it seems we have something to bargain with, da? The life of your…friend for the treasure. What say you? Shall we end this before it gets…bloody?”

Rose’s eyes flicker at the mention of treasure, but she remains silent. I turn my attention back to Rasputin.

“Should I trust the word of a molester of young girls?”

His face twists in rage.

“I have not forgotten the trust betrayed, Grigori. I will never forget what you did to me.” An old pain, one I’d thought long gone, begins to thrum dully in the very center of my being.

He flies into a rage again. “That treasure is mine by right after what I have suffered! I alone protected you! I alone gave your mother the solace your father never could!”

A blade arcs from his mechanical finger and slices Rose’s neck lightly. “Give me the cross or she dies.”

My mind goes to Rose’s, comforting her. I feel a plan forming there and a desire for me to follow along.

I feign concern – not much of a stretch, really, since I truly do fear for Rose’s life. “No! Wait! I’ll give you what you want.”

He nods at the music box in response.

I turn the box over and twist the silver key exactly seven times. Replacing the box on the table, the bear begins to dance. When he lifts the hat off his head, I gently pluck it from his hand, releasing a trigger that pops open the velvet cover.

Flushed with anticipation, Rasputin thrusts Rose back at this two men and seizes the box from the tabletop. He greedily removes what is contained inside – a large ornate silver cross on a long silver chain.

Anticipation swiftly turns to rage again, “It’s not complete! Where is the crucifix?!”

The mention of the crucifix triggers recognition in Rose’s mind.

I try to keep my voice calm. “I told you. I don’t have it. Kill her if you must. I cannot give you what I do not possess.”

Rose’s eyes fly open in shock. “What?! You [censored]! I thought you loved me!”

Rasputin’s face belies a vulgar pleasure in that bit of news and he grins at Rose, “It seems she does not care for you as much as she does herself, little one.”

My face remains impassive.

He nods to his men. “Kill her.”

As the thugs begin to drag her to the corner, Rose shrieks, “Wait! I know something that’ll be worth more to you than any treasure!”

Rasputin simply looks at her with an air of bemused indifference. “And what could that possibly be, hm?”

Rose glowers hatefully at me. “The secret of her youth.”

I try not to express shock.

“And what, pray, would that be?”

“Let me go and I’ll tell you.”

He laughs. “I think not, devochka. Tell me first.”

Rose smirks ruefully at me. “It’s in her blood. Just inject it into yourself and it’ll make you young again.”

“She’s lying. There’s no such thing inside me.”

His curiosity has been piqued. “Perhaps not, but…” A long syringe needle springs from another finger.

“…it cannot hurt to experiment, da?”

I do not turn around at first. I cannot bear to look upon his face again after…he should be dead. He has to be dead.

I try to keep my voice steady, despite the butterflies raging like carrion birds at a slaughter within my gut. The pistol strapped to my thigh seems so far away…

“Prevyet,Grigori.”

I finally turn and face him. He is flanked by two armed men bearing the tattoos of Russian mobsters.

What I see before me is not the man I remember from so long ago. He is dressed in an exquisitely made Italian suit, and his beard has been neatly trimmed, but that is where the humanity ends. His hands are fashioned of bronze. His face is the only thing still of flesh, and it is more akin to a mannequin wearing his face – the skin stretched tightly over a blank skull, looking as old as blue-veined parchment.

“The years have not been kind to you, I see.”

He smiles – a gesture that only serves to make him appear less human than possible – and he opens his arms warmly.

“But the years have favored you greatly, I see, Nastya.”

My eyes narrow. “Do not call me that.”

He clucks his tongue in disappointment. “You would rather I call you by your official title? Very well, ‘Your Imperial Highness, Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova’. I, your humble servant, Grigori Rasputin, am ever at your service.” To further mock me, he bows deeply.

“I do not answer to that name any longer. She died many years ago, along with her family. *You* saw to that, my “friend”.”

His smile becomes one of feigned innocence and he changes the subject. “I have waited a very long time to see who would come for this vault. Imagine my surprise when I was told it was you.”

Bertrand. I’ll have to find a way to thank him…

“How is it you’re still alive, Grigori? The last I heard of you, you were floating down the Neva, quite dead.”

His smile fades slightly. “Not for the lack of trying, da? I have your father and his sympathizers to thank for that. As you can see, reports of my demise were…greatly exaggerated. An…associate with a knack for the mechanical fashioned this steam-powered bronze coffin for me. It has served well enough since. But, tell me, how is it that *you* have avoided the grasp of the ages? You look quite well for a woman of eighty nine years.”

I smile thinly. “We all have our secrets.”

He nods solemnly. “Yes, I suppose we do at that. Which brings me to the reason behind my little visit…” His eyes slice through me.

“I want the Romanov Cross.”

The remainder of our stay in Paris after that little "situation" was, to say the least, much more relaxing. I even managed to convince Rose to accompany me to a rather favourable rendition of "Pelleas et Melisande" at the Opera-Comique. She did so more to impress upon me, than going for her own benefit, but as it progressed, the emotion of the tale clearly overwhelmed her.

However, throughout the remainder of the trip, I couldn't help but feel a touch of depression coming from her. She so had her heart set on becoming rich off Ian's painting. She puts on a smile and does truly enjoy being here with me - she hides her disappointment well.

The day before our flight was scheduled to depart, I reluctantly decided it was time to finally take care of that bit of personal business.

Rose wanted to accompany me, but...there are still deeply buried things that I am not ready for her to know. She tells me she understands, but, I can feel differently. It saddens her that it seems I still do not trust her, but I am not willing to budge on this. I kiss her goodbye and promise her I shan't be long.

The cab ride to the Banque de France is quiet and uneventful. Rose’s disappointment causes me to shift our link, so that, although I can still sense her, it does not preoccupy me for the time being. The slight dreary rainfall does little for my demeanour.

I exit the cab in front of the bank and, after paying the driver his due, hesitate at the entrance, looking up at the edifice, one of the oldest in Paris. I haven’t been here in so long…and there is a reason for that.

Steeling my resolve, I enter the richly appointed foyer and approach the manager’s desk. Monsieur Bertrand is a slight, older man and his father before him ran this bank the last time I was here. He puts his pen down and looks up at me with a professional smile, folding his hands on the desk.

“How may I assist you, madame?”

“I would like to peruse the contents of my safe, if you please.” I hold up a key.

He takes the key from my hand and reads the number imprinted on it, inputting it into the computer console at his desk. His expression changes from indifferent professionalism to pure awe as he reads the screen.

“Madame…zis safe…”

I finish his statement for him, “…is one of the oldest you have in this establishment, yes. I am well aware of that.”

“Oui, of course. It is just that…well, this particular safe has never been opened since it was purchased. In fact…there are no official records of it actually existing. It has become, how do you say, a legend amongst the employees here.”

He’s beginning to irritate me.

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Monsieur Betrand. Now, may I see the vault, please?”

My tone sobers his enthusiasm and the air of professionalism returns. “Oui. Of course, madame. My apologies. Zis way.”

He gestures for me to follow him and we make our way down a carpeted hallway, toward the back of the bank.

Using a touchpad, he keys in his access code and we enter the safety deposit chamber. Hundreds of brass drawers face us, but he does not stop there. I follow him into yet another room, this one containing only three larger antique safe doors in the wall. He motions to the one on the left. “Zis one is yours, madame. Ah…if you would be so kind?”

He gestures to a keyboard and monitor built into the surface of the only table in the room. I remove my glove and type in my password, then place my hand on the monitor screen. A green light signifies a successful entry. Monsieur Betrand steps up to the safe door and turns the handle. A hollow metallic clank and it partially swings open. With that, he bows and respectfully leaves the room. He may be curious, but he knows better than to defy protocol.

Once alone, I stand there and stare at the half-opened door. My hands are actually shaking. The voices in my head speak in turn.

The Warrior: “Go on, girl. What bedevils you? Are you such a coward to be afraid of the past?”

The Ascetic: “For better or worse, the past makes us who we are, child.”

The Woman: “Do this for her.”

Silencing them, I open the door and reach in to remove the safe’s single contents and place it on the table before me. Taking a seat, I open the box and take out what’s inside.

It is a music box, silver-chased, topped with a red velvet cushion. Standing on the cushion is a small automaton of a bear dressed in a red and gold vest, wearing a hat. The mere sight of it brings an almost childlike smile to my face. I touch the bear’s nose ever so gently and whisper,

“Hello, my old friend.”

A voice behind me responds instead, tightening my stomach into a firm knot – a voice like honeyed poison – a voice I have not heard in a lifetime.

“Prevyet, little Nastya. It has been too long.”

When you've done the things I've done for as long as I've done them, you can't help but begin to wonder if there's anything left of your soul to salvage.

There was a time when I would not have thought such things - not that I wouldn't have dared, they simply wouldn't have even entered my mind. I had a mission, a purpose, a calling. I knew who I was and I was content with that.

That was before I died.

Now, I stand here, naked before the mirror and, for the first time, I don't recognize the woman standing before me. All my eyes see is a complete stranger.

I can't decide if I think that's a good thing or not.

Why is it so hard to look at her?

I see a shapely body - athletic, perhaps even comely to some. But the scars...years of dedication to the war has allowed the darkness to leave its marks upon my flesh.

I trace them with my fingertips...these reminders of my own mortality.

Bone replaced by metal. Organs no longer of flesh and blood. How much of that which once made me human still remains?

My thoughts drift from the woman in the mirror to the one who will be at my doorstep soon.

How can she find this beautiful?

Is it love, as she claims? Or the nature of her obsession?

The stranger in the mirror suddenly becomes three.

The Ascetic: "It is a violation of your vows to do this with a man, let alone with a woman. Why, the mere thought alone is sinful."

The Warrior: "One must do what one must to ensure loyalty from her troops. You must allow her to have what she wants, or she'll become discontent and abandon your cause."

The Woman: "Perhaps it's past time to let someone into the fortress surrounding your heart."

Voices.

Reflections.

Myriad rivers, branching out, but all stemming from the same source.

A quiet knock on the door of my sanctum causes the reflections to go quiet. They all look to one another, then to the door, then to me.

Their silent eyes ask the question I do not dare...

Which one shall I listen to?

((I've been waiting months for this! Since Nick figures so prominently in this one, Roy gave me the opportunity to preview the whole thing earlier and I was just completely floored. Trust me when I say it only gets better from here.

I'll stop gushing now and let you guys get back to the story. ))

[ QUOTE ]
“You were… you were pregnant.”

[/ QUOTE ]

o_O !!!

[ QUOTE ]
Dunno how Nick's gonna take this. He’s prob’ly gonna be duck-fittin’, cow-birthin’ piiiisssed off. Prob’ly gonna wanna fire me. Too freakin’ bad. He’s a smart guy, but sometimes he’ll go in swordfirst when he oughta lead with his brain...

She’s got some supersh***y taste in boyfriends, but she’s real sweet – too sweet fer a stick in th’ mud like Nick Kinsolving. But that’s not stayin’ on th’ subject.

[/ QUOTE ]

((Oh, it's SO on, mister! ))
((Loving it! More!))

*Sits, listening in rapt attention with all the lights off, ready to cover eyes with a pillow at a moment's notice.*

I've been waiting for this story for over a month now. Every bit as amazing as I anticipated

*Waits for more, writing down a bunch of questions for later RP.*

You've got to pick up every stitch,
You've got to pick up every stitch,
You've got to pick up every stitch,

Mm, must be the season of the witch,
Must be the season of the witch, yeah,

Must be the season of the witch.

-Donovan


Tess pirouetted in midair above the pond.

All around her, wisps frolicked and flew, responding to and mimicking her movements.

She danced and chased after them…

She laughed and sang…

She loved this time of year. Autumn. The season of changes.

The air turned crisp and cool. The leaves changed from green to colours of fire.

It was the time for All Hallow’s Eve – Samhain - the time of the year when the realm of spirits touched this earthly plane and when magic was most potent…

It was the month of her birth. The seventh daughter of a seventh daughter…

Born a witch to a witch…

There was a time she’d hated that word. There was a time that being branded as such had cost her her life…

Now, she reveled in it. Just as she reveled in nature around her.

Croatoa was a magical place – so much like the home she remembered…

And now, so close to Hallowe’en, Tess felt more alive than ever.

She had a love in her life…a spectre of Delphine materialized and began to dance with her…

She had a family to raise and cherish…illusions of beloved Billy, Erik, Jericho, Amelia, Uldi, Seishuku, and so many others…all appeared from thin air to celebrate with her.

She was beginning to come into her own, finally, after all this time - flourishing.

It was, after all, her season…

The season of the witch.

4:57 pm.

Three more minutes.

His eyes stared down the clock on the wall, almost threatening it into moving faster, but it remained as impassive as ever and the seconds ticked by slowly.

As much as he hated to admit it, he found himself anticipating her visits now. He couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why she kept coming back. He’d certainly done his best to make her feel unwelcome. But, still she came, every day at five o’ clock on the nose.

It’s not like he didn’t appreciate getting visits from such a looker – that coppery-red hair worn loose down to her waist, those sparkling gray eyes, that smooth, fair skin, those pink, full lips…

He shook off the image. His head was about the only thing he could move now. Every other part of his body was ravaged by the virus within him, eating him alive. The docs had only given him a couple more days, tops, despite the life sentence he was serving. His own body had become a worse prison than any jail. The death penalty was beginning to sound better and better every day.

His mind went back to her. It almost felt dirty to think of her in that way. Yeah, she was beautiful – angel beautiful, in fact. But…surprisingly, that wasn’t really the reason he wanted her to return.

Every day, she walked into his room. And every day, she wore that soft, tender smile. No way someone could fake that…at least, he hoped not. She always had a kind word or a gentle touch for him. He just couldn’t figure out why.

Hell, he’d killed an up-and-coming hero and tried to kill a little kid. No way he deserved this, especially from the likes of her. He was a monster and he deserved what was coming to him.

At first, he’d thought she came to make him feel guilty about it. He waited for the condescension and harsh words, but they never came. He’d curse and yell. Say filthy things to her. Try and make her hate him. She should hate him.

But, she never did.

The docs at first tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. They were afraid for her safety. She had that “innocent maiden’ air about her – made people want to protect her. But, he knew she was anything but. They cuffed him to his bed, here in the prison infirmary, his home for the past three months, hoping that would be enough to restrain him. Truth was, they didn’t even need the restraints. He couldn’t even flick a fly off his nose in his current state, let alone lash out at anyone. He needed a machine to help him breathe and a tube down his throat to eat and drink. He wasn’t a threat to anyone any more, not even himself.

4:58.

Maybe she wouldn’t come. The thought of that actually made his stomach flutter. Maybe she’d had enough of him and had just decided to let him die alone.

He thought back to her prior visits. Sometimes, she would just come and sit in silence with him. Sometimes, she would tell him about her work and about the kids she cared for. She always sounded so proud of them. It reminded him how much of a “life” he’d been denied and, at first, he’d come to hate hearing about it. He found he didn’t mind so much now.

Sometimes, she’d bring a book to read to him. Always some classic, like Shakespeare or Poe, never any of that crap that seemed to be ground out into stores these days. He didn’t understand most of the Shakespeare stuff either, but she had a way of making it sound just right with her way of speaking - like she was meant to recite it. He didn’t much care about the content or plot of the stories. He just liked listening to the sound of her voice.

And, sometimes – and this was his personal favorite – she would sing to him. She had a great voice – soft and clear. She could definitely be a pro if she put her mind to it. He entertained the image of her onstage, wearing a slinky black gown, slit up to her thigh, but then shook it off, feeling dirty again.

4:59.

She wasn’t coming. He could feel it in his bones…what was left of them. His heart sank and he tore his eyes from the clock’s stark face.

She believed in him when no one else would, or should. He’d assaulted and killed. He knew she disapproved, but she never told him that. He could see it in her eyes. She didn’t judge. Never judged.

She even gave him a name. Jacob. Jacob Kirby. He wasn’t thrilled about the last name, but she’d said that no one should die without one. That made him feel better about it. He liked the sound of “Jake”, anyway. Made him think of those dime store pulp detective novels he used to read as a kid.

Oh wait…that was someone else’s memory.

He scowled.

Just as his eyes flicked back to the clock, the big hand struck five and he heard the familiar click of the room’s door handle. He turned his head and tried not to smile a smile of relief as she walked in.

Tess.

The only person in Paragon who believed the man once known as zZythe deserved a shot at redemption before he kicked the bucket. He found himself hoping she was right.
__________________________________________________ ________________

Two days later, a lone woman dressed in black stood over a freshly dug grave. She watched silently as the large casket was slowly lowered into the earth, her hands folded politely in front of her.

Tears trickled down her cheeks - the only tears that would be shed for the man who had died Jacob Kirby.

It had been a very long time since Nick had to wear a suit. He never did like the way they felt, although Maggie used to tell him how dashing he'd look in them - that was a lifetime ago, though.

As he walked alongside Tasenka and one of the Rock's many lawyers, he couldn't help but feel a little of something he thought was long dead inside of him.

He felt good.

He was actually helping someone.

Not retrieving a purse from a gang banger or saving a surgeon from Vahzilok: these were things he could solve at the point of a well-placed arrow. No...this felt...different. Tasenka had come to him for help because she felt she had nowhere else to turn. She felt alone and helpless. She'd been slapped with an avalanche of legal jargon by someone who'd hoped she'd become overwhelmed and confused by it. The timing of its delivery was no coincidence either, with more than half of the KGB team dimensionally displaced.

He'd almost declined when she'd asked, but, after seeing the frightened look in her eyes, he found that he couldn't. And seeing her now, walking beside him with an air of comfort and confidence, made it all the more worthwhile to him. He'd failed Melodie - he'd not fail Tasenka.

As they walked by the three men whispering together in the courthouse hallway, Nick took note of the expression of guarded fury on the face of the one holding the coffee cup. That one, he decided, must be Ivanovitch.

Although he didn't allow his face to betray any emotion, nor did he meet the man's gaze, Nick took silent pleasure in thwarting the man's plans...whatever they were. He wasn't going to get anything from Tasenka. Not this day.

Nor ever, if Nick had anything to say about it.

((Just gotta interrupt for a minute here and say: This is some great stuff, Shae. ))

Tess opened the formal-looking envelope and read the invitation contained inside.

"Curious..."

She ran over, in her mind, the possibility of whether this was indeed someone she should be familiar with. So many new faces visited Gemini Park, and she tried to greet as many people as she could, so it was difficult to remember who she had met and who she had not. She decided, however, that this name did not ring any bells.

It sounded like a very pleasant, formal event, and she had been so disappointed to miss her chance to attend Bridget's ball. Perhaps she could give this a try?

She smiled to herself and made a mental note to ask Parzifal if he, too, had received an invitation in the mail...

((Again, Roy, very touching.))

I have to say, just...wow.

This was a wonderfully touching series of posts and everyone involved should be congratulated for their hard work and creativity.

Roy, this was a really amazing storyline and I'm grateful you allowed Tess to share a part in it.

Looking forward to the next one.

“Somnium eo ire itum…”

Tess chanted quietly in the darkness of the bedroom she shared with Sasha. Her sister would not home again this night, so Tess knew she would not be interrupted.

Ever since she had heard that the Destroyer had been defeated and that Roy was caught “in dream”, she knew she had to try and reach him – if for nothing else but to ensure that her friend was all right, that he was safe.

She imagined others would feel the need to try as well. He had many who cared for him, many who might be familiar with the Dreamways. Tess herself was not, but she had spent the better part of the day at Tabitha Fabish’s in Talos Island, researching a spell that might aid her in this endeavour. She felt confident that she could succeed in making the journey.

She closed her eyes and regulated her breaths. She felt her heartbeat slow within her breast. The darkness grew and silence reigned.
__________________________________________________ ___

She rode the courser over the grassy hills and meadows. The land here was flat and offered little protection from the blazing sun, but Tess didn’t notice.

It had been so long since she had ridden horseback. She had almost forgotten how wondrous it felt, almost like flying in its own right. She felt the horse’s powerful muscles working under her as they pressed onward; her long coppery red tresses flowing behind her in the wind like a fiery banner. She smiled broadly, urging her mount onward.

Creating the last hill, she saw it - his home. She wasn’t certain how she knew that…she just…did. She adjusted the leather satchel strapped over her shoulder, and urged the horse down the hill.
__________________________________________________ ___

As she entered the property, she reined the courser in and came to a stop at the edge of a ploughed field. Not far off, she could see a man driving a motorized vehicle of some kind, turning the earth as he went. She squinted a bit and shaded her eyes with her hand. A smile crept across her lips.

Roy. Alive and well…or so it seemed.

She felt the young man’s presence before she heard the gravel crunch under his shoes. She turned slowly to meet his gaze. He was still young, perhaps not more than twenty summers, and he looked very much like his father; not just in appearance, but also in the way he carried himself. He approached Tess and her horse with a small amount of caution.

“Somethin’ I kin I help ya with, ma’m?” he asked.

His voice held an air of trepidation, almost as if she were not the first stranger to set foot on this property in recent days. She could sense such thoughts floating to the surface of his mind as well, without the need to intrude further. Tess graced him with a warm, genuine smile.

“Aye, good sir. I am…traveling through these lands and I did notice thy farmstead. ‘T hath been a long and arduous journey. Prithee, might I be so privileg'd as to speak to the landowner here?”

The young man regarded her with no small amount of confusion, no doubt trying to work his mind around her rather unusual speech pattern. She was used to such a reaction by now. However, much to his credit, he masked it well, not wishing to seem impolite.

“Um…that’d be my pa. He’s out there on the tractor.” He motioned his hand at the vehicle in the field.

“You, uh…you want I should fetch ‘im for ya?”

Tess smiled at the youth again, noting a slight flush coming to his cheeks that was not caused by the sun.

“If thou wouldst be so kind, sir. I would be most appreciative.”

Ben Jr. nodded to her and trotted off into the field, flagging his father down.
__________________________________________________ ___

Roy noticed his son running out to him, waving his hand. He reached down and killed the engine, pulling out a handkerchief and mopping his brow.

“What is it, son? You wanna turn at drivin’ this thing?” He joked with a half-cocked grin.

“Nah, Pop. There’s someone here ta see ya. A lady. Talks kinda funny-like, but she’s real pretty.”

Roy glanced over at the house and saw the red-haired woman standing near a horse at the edge of the field. She waved at him when their eyes met.

Another redhead?

Weird. Why would he think that?

He climbed off the tractor and they made their way back to her.

“Ben, why dontcha see ta the lady’s horse? He looks real tired.”

The boy nodded rapidly and held his hand out for the reins. Tess complied with another kind smile. Ben’s cheeks flushed a bit again and he led the horse away with a lopsided grin of his own. Tess turned back to Roy, her gray eyes sparkling.

The woman had a calm, graceful beauty about her. Her voice was soft and those eyes...they were captivating. It was almost like they were looking deeper into him. Roy found he had a hard time looking away, and flushed just a bit at the thought of that.

“Gramercy, sir. ‘Tis most kind of thee. I fear I have ridden him far too hard this day. My name is Tessa Reynault. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet thee.”

Tess held out her hand with an almost regal air. Roy wiped his hand off with the handkerchief and shook hers firmly, but gently.

“The pleasure’s mine, ma’m. Th’ name’s Ben Kirby, but most folks ‘round here just call me 'Roy'.” He smiled broadly.

She smiled brightly back at him. Why did she seem so familiar?

Roy scratched the back of his head. “So, uh, what brings ya out ta these parts anyway?”

“I am merely traveling through, on my way back home to see some friends.”

“Oh yeah? Where’re ya headed, if ya don’t mind me askin’?”

“Paragon City.” Tess said, matter-of-factly.

Roy blinked. “Paragon City? Jeez, lady, that’s a heckuva trip ta make on horseback.”

Tess nodded. “Aye, I know. Howe’er…I cannot drive a ‘car’ and I cannot afford passage aboard an ‘airplane’.” She spoke those words almost as if they were foreign to her.

Roy nodded back, understanding.

“Well, ya oughta let him rest fer a spell then. Um…why dontcha come on inside and Becky’ll make ya a glass o' iced tea ‘r somethin’. She’s real good at doin’ that – she’s a real special gal.”

Tess noted that Roy sounded almost as if he were trying to convince himself of that fact moreso than her.

“Thou’rt most gracious, Mister Kirby. I would be glad for the rest myself.”

“Er…sure…an' it’s ‘Roy’, ma’m. ‘Mister Kirby’ was my pa.” He winked at her and led her up the porch and into the house.

“Certes…Roy. And thou canst call me “Tess”…all my friends do so.” She gave him a meaningful look, but it seemed lost on him. Roy simply nodded as he held the door open for her.

“Becky! We got a visiter!” Roy bellowed as he closed the screen door behind them.

A slender woman with golden hair stepped out from the kitchen, flour dusting her hands and apron.

“Oh? Well, just sit down anywhere. I’ll fetch you both something to drink.” She smiled graciously and walked back to the kitchen.

Roy motioned for Tess to sit down on the sofa, waiting until she did so before taking a seat himself.

“So…Paragon, huh? I’ve heard it’s a real nice place. Been meanin’ ta take th’ family up there sometime on vacation. Y’ know…ta see some real superheroes ‘n all. Farmwork just seems ta always get in th’ way, though.”

Tess nodded. “Aye, ‘tis a most wondrous city indeed. In fact, many of the friends I have there art ‘heroes’ in their own right.”

“Yeah? Ya say yer from there? Yer accent sounds kinda foreign, no offense o‘course. It’s pretty ‘n all, but I can’t place it.”

“Aye, ’tis...foreign indeed. And nay, I am not from Paragon originally, although I do call ‘t home now.” Tess politely left it at that.

Just then, Roy’s wife re-entered the living room, carrying a tray with two glasses of tea on it. She set it down on the coffee table, giving Tess a warm smile. She then gave Roy a quick peck on the crown of his head and left them to their business. Tess removed the satchel from her shoulder and set it in her lap. She unbuckled the straps as she spoke.

“Thou didst mention thou didst wish to see ‘heroes’. ‘T doth so happen that I have some pictures of my friends with me…mayhap thou wouldst like to see them?” She pulled out a manila envelope and opened it, looking at him expectantly.

“Yeah? Sure, why not.” Roy hunched over the table, setting down his glass, his eyes and thoughts betraying not a small hint of idol worship.

Tess removed a sheaf of photographs from the envelope and placed them, one at a time, in front of him on the table.

“This is Sir Parzifal. He is a knight, of all things. A very noble and gracious man.”

She watched Roy, hoping to see some recognition. He picked up the picture, studying it for a moment.

I know this guy…don’t I? How…how could I know ‘im, though?

She hated spying on his thoughts so much, her trusted friend, but she had to be sure…had to know if it was working or not.

Roy just nodded and laid the photo back on the table. Tess placed another on top of it.

“And this is Ireland Love. Her friends call her ‘Maggie’ She is most belov’d by the community.”

Roy’s eyes widened.

“Now her I’ve seen...”

…Haven’t I?

“She…wuz just here…

I think.

…no way I’d ferget a face like that.”

Could I?

Tess regarded him curiously. Could it be that Maggie was trying to reach him as well? It would truly make sense if she had. She made a mental note to ask her as soon as she could.

“Aye? Here, thou dost say? At thy farm? What a curious coincidence. Well, I suppose ‘tis not outside the realm of possibility. She doth travel quite extensively, after all.”

Roy just nodded, feeling numb. He didn’t put the photo down on the table, however. Tess continued to place more pictures down, naming each one: Soviet Shadow, Comrade Smersh, Nimue’, Krickette, Shinsektor, Baron Vladimire, Scape Kid, Kelp Plankton, Sidney Brewster, Shae Firewarder, Steel Butterfly…all names he should know, all close friends of his - each time, studying his mind, hoping to see a spark kindled. Roy grew noticeably paler with each photo. He began to sweat a bit and wiped his brow, never taking his eyes off the images before him.

“And this is…Fire.Hawk, known as Julia to her friends…” Tess carefully laid the picture of the blond woman on top of the pile.

Roy swallowed hard. He wiped his mouth with his hand, picking up her picture and looking intently at it. His hand shook noticeably. He felt his heart skip a beat, but couldn’t for the life of him figure out why that was.

Tess just watched silently.

Julia?…I…I know her too. Jeez. What’s goin’ on here? Why ‘m I feelin’ this way?

After a few moments, Tess laid her final photograph on the table, her calm eyes never leaving his face. Roy shifted his eyes nervously from the picture in his hand to the one Tess had just put down.

Julia’s picture fluttered to the floor.

Roy just stared, unblinking, at the red and white armored man in the picture on the table.

Tess spoke quietly.

“And this is HEROID…coincidentally enow also call’d ‘Roy’ by his friends.”

She waited a moment before continuing, but his mind was a complete blank, shocked.

“He is one of my most dear and trust’d friends. A kinder, gentler man thou shalt ne’er find, despite his size and strength…”

Tess’ eyes became wistful as she continued to speak.

“Sadly, he is…trapp’d. Imprison’d in a cell of his own devising, but unknowing of his own plight. He doth believe his life is well and normal, but…’tis naught but an illusion…”

Roy finally blinked and forced himself to speak.

“Wh…what? Trapped? Illusion?”

“Aye. He is a prisoner of his own mind. We, his family, his…loved ones, we fear for him, howe’er. We miss him terribly and wish to see him return to us.”

Tess’ eyes bore into his as she spoke. It felt like she was trying to tell him more than she was saying, but…he felt so confused – suddenly nothing made sense.

He remembered the red-haired beauty on the motorcycle…what was her name again? Maggie?

Then he remembered the brash girl in the monster truck…and that guy whose car broke down. They all felt...familiar...to him.

And now…this woman. He really did feel like he knew her from somewhere also, but…why was she staring? It was intent, but…gentle, desperate, even. As if she were searching for something inside him. Tess just sat there, patiently, her gaze still focused on him.

It was almost like he heard her voice in his head…

Roy.

He leapt to his feet, startled. His foot struck the leg of the table, causing the pictures to scatter across its top. The half-full glasses tottered in place, ice clinking. He put his hand to his temple and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to stop his mind from racing. Finally, he managed to speak…

“Look, lady…Tess…I’m…not feelin’ so well all of a sudden. Mebbe I’ve been out in the sun too long ‘r somethin’…I think…I better lie down fer a spell.”

Tess cast her eyes down at the floor and nodded slightly.

“Certes. I…I should be on my way anyway, methinks. I am sorry if I disturb’d thee somehow.” She began to gather the photos up as she spoke, arranging them in a neat pile on the table, with HEROID's on top.

Roy waved his hand. “Naw…naw, not that t‘all. I…appreshyate ya showin’ ‘em ta me…really.”

Tess buckled her satchel and stood up, purposely leaving the pictures behind.

“Gramercy for thy hospitality, Roy. I am most grateful.”

Roy nodded, and slowly walked her out the door, calling to his son to bring Tess’ horse around again.

Suddenly, a realization hit him. “Hey! Don’t ferget yer pitchers.” He began to re-enter the house, meaning to retrieve them for her but Tess gently put her hand on his arm, staying him. He turned to see her soft smile once more.

“Nay, ‘tis all right. They’rt merely…copies. I had sev’ral made. Thou may keep them.”

Roy just nodded silently and let the screen door swing closed.

Outside, Tess swung herself back into the saddle and looked down upon Roy one last time. Her eyes speaking more than any words ever could.

Roy felt that feeling of familiarity coming back.

“Mayhap, one day, I shall see thee again, Roy. In Paragon.”

Roy scratched the back of his head again.

“Dunno…mebbe. There’s a lot here I gotta tend to though. I got the farm, ‘n my son jest came back from college ‘n all. Dunno when I’d have the time.”

Tess smiled softly, if not a bit sadly, and reached into her pocket, pulling something out and handing it to him. He took it in his hand without looking at it.

“Something to remember me by, then. Fare well, my friend. Thou shalt e’er be in my prayers. I look forward to thy return.”

Why would she say somethin’ like that ta someone she jest met?

She turned the horse to leave, but paused just then, glancing back at him over her shoulder. Did she hear that? Did he speak out loud by accident?

"Remember, Roy...there is no place like home."

With that, she waved, and spurred the horse on, riding off in a cloud of dust. Roy stood there, dumbstruck, watching her until he couldn’t even see the cloud any more. Only then did he open his hand and looked at what she had given him.

It was a silver cross on a silver chain.

There is no place like home.

Tess knelt down beside the window again and lowered her head in prayer.

After last night, she knew the Lord was listening (as if she had ever had any doubt) and her prayers had been joyfully answered.

But then, she recalled what Julia had told her and Parzifal about Roy. She wanted so desperately to believe that Roy had indeed resurfaced, at least for a time, but every time she had seen him emerge herself, it had only been for a brief moment or two, and very strained at that. It didn't seem possible to her that, even if he had emerged, the first thing he'd do would be to ask someone out on a date. She feared for Julia's safety...and her heart.

Still, she knew that Roy was in there - alive. She could feel his faint presence, although the Deceiver was too powerful for her to actually reach him.

She wanted to believe that it was actually he who had asked Julia out. That would be so wonderful for her dear friend. It had been so painful to see him pine away for Maggie before. He deserved happiness.

But, she also knew the Deceiver was fond of wearing Roy's guise and trying to fool people...

Standing up against him always made her tremble afterwards. Although she put on a good show of defiance to his face, it was so very hard sparring such harsh words with a man who had once been such a caring and noble friend.

This night, she made a special prayer for Roy. She prayed that the Lord would touch him, and give him strength and comfort in this trying time; that he would know that his friends would never give up on him; and that they would be shown how to be rid of this creature forever and free their beloved friend once and for all.

She spoke with much conviction in her voice. She just...knew that things would be all right.

She had faith in her Lord and had faith in Roy.

((Er...does this explain why Roy hasn't been in human form lately? *Wonders* ))