Writing Challenge: 150 stories. Go.

[Robbie Wilkes]

150. Happy Birthday

"So when Henry left, Sam started kicking up a fuss which I thought was incredibly adorable. I told him that Daddy would come back soon but he wouldn't have any of it so I played that video you made for our wedding. You remember the one with me on Henry's shoulder?" Estelle laughed, covering half her face with one hand in embarrassment.

"He calmed up in a snap. He was pawing at the screen, calling out Daaa Daaa. Maggie came in about ten minutes into that video and she was in tears." She brushed a bit of lint off her sweater, rubbing her arm slowly to ward off the biting cold. "I told her Daddy will come home soon. Just because he packed a bag, doesn't mean he was not coming back, you know? It seemed to placate Maggie and we sort of just enjoyed the video as it was. I had to close their eyes way too often because of you, you oaf. There were way too many shenanigans on that thing that were just not appropriate. Thanks." She laughed, shaking her head in embarrassment.

"And I had to keep replaying the video until Sam fell asleep. Maggie went to do her homework and I ended up watching the video a few more times before I started tearing up. I felt sort of dumb but the video was amazing. I loved the one where you had the stuff from when we were younger. Those were my favourite. I can't believe you did that self insert, but I shouldn't be surprised. You've always loved yourself." The metallikinetic gave a small laughter, wiping off the tears that were rolling down her cheek.

"Oh, Maggie had a birthday last week. She's fourteen, man. I can hardly believe she's growing up. You remember when you first saw her? I swear I've never seen you so happy in your life. Like you were holding your own daughter. I keep having to remind her not to call you Daddy too."

Wiping off the snow that had accumulated over the black marble, Estelle stared at Robbie's name and sobbed softly. "Happy Birthday Roberto. I miss you every day. I'm sorry for hating you for leaving me. I know the military did you plenty of good but I still hated it for taking you away from me. From all of us. You'll be fine up there. I love you." She closed her eyes, letting the tears stream down her face as she bent down to place the single white rose on the ground to join the hundreds of other miscellaneous gifts for the fallen soldiers.

A hand clamped on her shoulder and she stood up, turning to bury her face in Henry's chest. The tall man stroked his wife's hair, making comforting sounds. "Come, the children are waiting for you in the car." Estelle peeked through Henry's arms at their car, seeing her two children waving at her with smiles on her face. She waved back, forcing a smile on her face. Nodding, she calmed down and followed her husband to their car.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#2 – Dry*

“What are you doing here?” The bespectacled man asked, his expression bewildered.

“We need to talk.”

“We’re not supposed to talk,” the attorney protested. He then looked around, looking for the woman with whom these talks usually occurred, the woman with whom these talks only were supposed to take place. She was nowhere to be found. That caused him to frown. “Where is she?”

“Playing with Sean and Ansley.”

“Why does he get to play with a baby while I have to talk to you?”

The penguin’s beak was clenched tightly, the closest approximation of a frown of which he was capable. “I’m going to say this once, and only once. Four of us are involved in this, and of us four, you’re the only one who greets me with such distaste.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“I’m no more dangerous than she is.” The penguin shrugged his shoulders and then hopped up onto one of the two chairs available for this chat. “Probably less, in the aggregate.”

“But-”

“The knot in your stomach isn’t my work. Let’s leave it at that.”

The attorney’s face fell. “Why would she do that?”

“You take that up with her when she next wants to talk to you. I’m here to talk about Sean.”

“Why? Is he hurt? Why is he hurt? Why would you try to keep us apart if he’s hurt?”

The penguin sighed softly and gestured with one flipper at the chair across from him. “He isn’t hurt; I just told you that he’s playing with Dryope and Ansley, so please listen to me and try not to panic.”

Inwardly, the penguin decided it might be time for Sean to broach the topic of Xanax with Josh. Once this meeting was over.

Once Josh had reluctantly seated himself, and had tried to covertly check for traps, the penguin leaned forward slightly. He clasped his flippers in his lap. “I’m here to let you ask some questions and to answer them to my best ability. In exchange, I want two promises from you.”

“My eternal soul and my firstborn child?”

“Funny.” Deadpan. “The first is that you don’t panic.”

“And the second?”

“That you take what I say to heart and don’t forget about it because you get distracted.”

Josh pursed his lips together, staring at the penguin sitting across from him. “I don’t do that.”

“We all know that you do. So, do we have a deal?”

“She doesn’t make me promise anything when we talk,” he added, stalling for time.

“I’m not her.” The attorney weighed this reluctantly, but the promise of having information about Sean from someone who would know and would actually discuss it without deflecting elsewhere was too tempting. He sighed in capitulation and then nodded. “You have a deal.”

“Good.”

The penguin and the attorney stared at each other for a long moment in silence. The attorney found the silence more oppressive than the penguin did and finally broke it. “Well?”

“Well what? I said I would answer questions; the ball’s in your court.”

“Ahh. Well.” Josh lapsed into silence again as he turned over various options in his mind. At least he didn’t have to worry about being judged for these questions, since the penguin wasn’t a peer and certainly not a loved one. Finally, he thought of one and asked, “Why doesn’t he find someone better?”

“Because there isn’t anyone better.”

There were two ways to interpret that statement: one was the baffling explanation that Sean gave and which Josh didn’t actually believe; the other was the explanation that Josh secretly feared. He frowned, feeling panic rise in his chest. Remembering his promise, he tried to calm himself and forced himself to ask for clarification. “What do you mean?”

The penguin shrugged. “He’s crazy about you. He never stopped loving you.”

Josh absorbed that for a moment, and then he rejected the notion with a shake of his head. “He’s dated other people; he cared about them.”

“Of course he did.” Both the penguin and the attorney knew that Sean was capable of great caring in relationships and he didn’t enter relationships idly. “That doesn’t negate what I just said.”

“Well, he had to have stopped loving me, at least a little, if he loved other people.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” the penguin chided with another shrug. “Sean didn’t give away the love he had for you; he just found more love to give to other people.”

Josh furrowed his brow in disbelief. “That doesn’t make any sense.” Love didn’t work that way; that was the reason Josh had had so much difficulty with other relationships, because he only had so much time and affection and a fair amount of that had been reserved for his best friend. Too many people had been incapable of understanding that.

“It makes perfect sense, because you two aren’t alike,” the penguin replied. “Now, you can sit here and argue with me about it, which won’t make this any less true and will only waste time and energy, or you can accept this as true and ask another question.”

Josh opened his mouth to protest, and then thought better of it. Instead, he asked, “Why does he love me?”

“Because you’re Joshua Oren Bernstein.”

The attorney gave the penguin a look. “That isn’t helpful. In fact, now I see where he gets that Oracle of Delphi act from.”

“What do you want me to say? When he was a teenager, he had a crush on Maggie Donovan because her hair smelled like strawberries, but it wasn’t actually because her hair smelled like strawberries. He thought he had to have a reason back then and it was the only one he could articulate.” The penguin shrugged again and folded his flippers in his lap. “He learned that he doesn’t have to articulate a reason that other people can understand, as long as he knows why. He knows why he loves you.”

“That’s great,” the attorney said with thinly-veiled sarcasm. “Now could you enlighten me so that I know?”

“He loves you because you care about other people, and you’re intelligent, generous, and friendly; and he forgives you when you aren’t because nobody is perfect. He loves you because you let him love you. He loves you because your mind is unlike anyone else’s, because it’s yours and it feels like home.” It was the penguin’s turn to affect a deadpan expression. “Is that still too cryptic?”

Josh sighed, thought better of his sarcastic retort, and instead asked, “Is he happy?”

“Happy enough.”

The attorney sighed again and gave the penguin another look, staring daggers and judgment at the bird sitting across from him. “She said you were meticulous and that know more about Sean than most people work out for the rest of us, but I think she lied. You just like toying with people.”

The penguin cocked his head to the side, a substitute for raising an eyebrow since birds had no such expression. “You want meticulous?”

“Of course I do!” Josh snapped. “I want real answers, answers that he wouldn’t give me. That’s the only reason I agreed to this conversation in the first place.”

“Very well.” The penguin leaned forward, looking the attorney squarely in the eye. “When I say that he’s happy enough, I mean exactly what that implies. He loves you, and he’s happy with you. He also spends a great deal of time worrying about you and dancing around your anxiety and guilt because he doesn’t want you to feel bad and prioritizes your safety, comfort, and happiness above his own. He doesn’t know how to do anything else, and the fact that you can, quite frankly, be somewhat selfish and oblivious, even though he would never say this and makes excuses for you, hasn’t helped him learn how to do anything but prioritize you first.”

The attorney stared, wide-eye and mouth agape, at the penguin, and he immediately felt the twin crests of guilt and anxiety rise within him. His worst fears were true after all...

“You promised not to panic,” the penguin remarked.

“Then what else am I supposed to do?” The attorney asked. “You just told me that I’m making him miserable and taking away from his life.”

“I didn’t say that. And you’re supposed to listen and not panic because that was the bargain. You asked for meticulous, and I’m giving you an outsider’s perspective. Sean doesn’t think this of you, because he forgives you your shortcoming; and at the end of the day, you’re still Joshua Bernstein and he’s ecstatic to have you with him again. Whatever you might think, and whatever other people might think, he considers himself the lucky one.”

It took every ounce of calm and perseverance for Josh to bite back the guilt and panic. He wanted answers, and he didn’t want to offend the penguin or lose this opportunity. He was sure that the penguin, unlike his partner, would have no qualms walking out of this argument if he didn’t behave. That the penguin wouldn’t so readily forgive his shortcomings.

Deep breaths and slowly but surely some of the panic abated. He found his voice. “He’s the lucky one? Does he...does he think so little of himself that he considers himself lucky to have me?” The attorney thought of his relationships with Saul and Simon, both of which had gone down in flame, and of his relationship with Sanjay where casual had been the governing description. He had precious little experience, and the experience he had was poor.

“No, actually he has a fairly good self-image: aware of his strengths and cognizant of his shortcomings, which he tries to overcome. With varying degrees of success.” The penguin shrugged slightly.

“Oh.” Josh was silent for a moment and then asked, “Does he have needs and just doesn’t talk about them? Or has he given up on any expectations because I can’t meet them and it isn’t worth holding out hope?”

“He still has hope.”

“Then why doesn’t he...?”

“Because there’s always something else to do and something else to worry about. He’s a telepath; he’s a giver. It’s all he can be.”

Josh pursed his lips together. “His powers can’t be the be-all end-all of his personality.”

“No, but they are one of the greatest contributing factors.” The penguin clasped his flippers in front of him in a gesture that approximated what a human would do with hands but looked odd because he had no fingers. “You cope with telepathy or you don’t. If you do cope, you either end up like Sean and Robert did, or you end up like Gabriel and Anastasia.”

“What about Anastasia?” Josh asked with a furrowed brow.

The penguin sighed. “Nothing. Just accept that he’s a giver, and try to pay a little more attention because you’ll both lose sight otherwise.”

The attorney considered that and then nodded in acceptance. He could try, at least; he owed Sean that much. He was silent for a moment and then asked, “Do you plan on giving him Alzheimer’s when we’re older. I don’t-don’t think either of us could bear that.”

“I’ve told you: canon is canon and AUs are AUs. I like exploring depressing themes in AUs but that’s all they ever are.”

“So we’re safe?” Josh asked hopefully.

“Well, Sean is safe. You need to take your ultimate fate up with Dryope.” The penguin’s beak turned into what passed for a smile when one didn’t have lips. “But that’s a matter for another day, because I’m starving and it’s time for brunch.”

The attorney nodded absently. Then it occurred to him that he should probably be polite. “Thanks for the talk.”

“Let’s just hope it does some good.” Then the penguin was gone.



*With apologies to Dryope

[Chloe Singleton]

46. Patient

“I know.”

“You know? What do you mean you know?” Ella balked at her sometimes-girlfriend, eyes wide.

“I mean just that. I know. I've known for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Um, about two years.”

“What!? And you never said anything?”

“I... thought about it, but...” Chloe trailed off, still looking at Ella while she tried to find the right words. “It doesn't bother me anymore.”

“It doesn't bother you?”

“No, not anymore. I was upset at first, but I'm not anymore.” She was remarkably calm, a far cry from the shock and confusion that Ella was dealing with.

“But... why not?”

“Because you always came back to me.” Chloe smiled. She smiled and Ella just gaped.

“How... How did you find out?”

“It wasn't hard. You think I didn't notice when you tried to sneak into bed early in the morning? Or that I'd learn how to tell when you were lying? Or wonder why you came home with wet hair when it wasn't even raining?”

“But...” Ella didn't know what to say to that. She didn't know what to say in general. After three years of their on-again off-again relationship the guilt of her unfaithfulness, her lying, had finally caught up to her. And after a month of planning what she'd say to Chloe and after confessing everything, Chloe had told her that she'd already known. Not only that, but she wasn't mad, she didn't cry, she just sat there smiling, completely understanding.

“I love you, Ella, and I know that you don't want to be tied down. At first I thought it was because of me, but no matter what you did or who it was with, you always came home. I realized that it's just who you are. You're young and beautiful and wild and I can't stop you from doing what you want to do. All I can do is be there for you when you're ready to come back.” Chloe laid her hand over Ella's own, curling her fingers around it.

“It's not fair to you.” Ella finally said after a long silence, looking down at Chloe's hand. Here was this wonderful young woman who'd stuck faithfully by her side through all the horrible, selfish things she'd done. Someone who still loved her despite all of that. A woman who was so incredibly patient and so sweet, who would go out of her way to make Ella happy. Chloe deserved so much better.

“So I've been told, but I don't care. I know what I want, I know what makes me happy, and that's you, Ella. If, someday, you're ever ready to settle down, I'll still be here. And if you don't want me anymore by that point, that's okay. I'll be happy for having you as long as I did.”

Ella finally looked Chloe in the eye, feeling slightly overwhelmed, but she could tell that every word that Chloe said was the absolute truth. She was right. Ella had always come back to her, always sought comfort in her arms, and somewhere deep down she knew that she cared very deeply for Chloe. If only because the thought of the blonde with someone else made her stomach churn with jealousy. It might have been hypocritical of her, but having Chloe there for so long... Ella had just grown used to it. She didn't want to admit it, but over the years, she'd grown hopelessly attached. That she felt guilt for the cheating and the lying was another hint that Chloe was more than just a pretty girl to take to bed when she was feeling needy.

“Chloe...”

“It's okay, Ella. You don't have to say anything.” Chloe's fingers brushed her cheek while Ella drew in a shaky breath. The brunette shut her eyes tight for a moment before leaning in and kissing her girlfriend, enjoying the feel of those familiar lips against her own.

“I think I love you too.” Ella finally mumbled, feeling like a weight had lifted from her shoulders and like she'd been hit by a bus at the same time.

And Chloe? Well, Chloe just smiled.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#115 – Swim

And I never really sleep anymore.
And I always get those dangerous dreams.
And I never get a minute of peace.
And I’ve got to wonder what it means.

In his dreams, he was falling. He was always falling.

Conventional wisdom asserted that the only two natural fears were of loud noises and of falling; the rest was social conditioning, and thus this fear was natural. Freudian psychoanalysis and Jungian interpretation asserted that falling dreams indicated insecurity and a fear of responsibility. Telepathy reassured him that these dreams were common.

An old wives’ tale from his childhood asserted that if one didn’t wake up during a falling dream, then one would die. That one died in real life when one died in dreams. But this was only an old wives’ tale; it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

If it was true, then he had died a hundred deaths.

But he never hit the ground. He never hit the ground because he always hit the water, and then he would sink right to the bottom; the water did nothing to slow his descent.

He would flail and shout for help, and the water would fill his mouth, burning his throat and nose as it filled his lungs.

Suffice it to say, he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in longer than he could remember. He coped as best he could: coffee and early morning jogs usually did the trick. He maintained his glucose intake and took another caffeine break at 3:00p.m. For the most part, nobody could tell that his nights were plagued by such visions.

He hadn’t gone swimming in so long, which was a shame because water used to be soothing. But thoughts of water burning his lungs from the inside out was enough to make him avoid the NYU pool the same way that students had avoided him at Hammel.

Lighting up with Greg and Daphne, and the other Radicals, helped to take the edge off. If nothing else, he found himself more relaxed when winding down in the evenings with friends. Even if he knew that when he shut his eyes to sleep off the high, he’d find himself falling and drowning again.

Sometimes he wrote Robert or called and left messages asking for advice. Robert, in that patient yet candid way of his, told him not to worry because this was normal. He’d had plenty of nightmares as a student, after all. Those had been other people’s nightmares; well, his mind’s attempt to make sense of other people’s thoughts which had led to nightmares. These were his and his alone. He knew that, he felt that, and he couldn’t change that.

Robert told him not to be distressed; eventually, they would go away.

Sometimes, Sean wished that he was a dream walker. He had a fair idea of what Greg dreamed about, and those were a thousand times better than falling and drowning. Even if they didn’t have the same taste in people at all. He wished he had Daphne’s dreams. He would love Daphne’s dreams, because they were full of color and vivid imagery; at least, the ones she discussed over coffee were full of color and vivid imagery. Sandra had dreams about babies; those would be nice. Dave had dreams about...well, Dave seemed highly susceptible to the hallucinogenic effects of marijuana so his dreams were interesting. “Alice in Wonderland meets Jefferson Airplane” he’d described once, seemingly unaware of the fact that there was a song about that and it had sold a million copies.

Then one day Greg invited a freshman to one of the Radicals’ meetings. He introduced himself as Josh, and he had the most incredible blue eyes and excited, friendly mannerisms. Sean walked him home from the meeting.

They started meeting for lunches, and Sean helped the younger boy with his science homework. They talked about politics and social justice and their respective families and childhoods. Josh always asked questions, and he was so enthusiastic; the telepath felt such a pull towards him. The tension between them built and built, becoming more intense.

One day, at a party, Sean could no longer stand it, and he kissed the younger boy.

That night, when he fell asleep, he dreamed of falling, but when he hit the water, he swam. And Josh swam with him.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

106. Always

Dario's 12th birthday party had been going off without a hitch. The break dancing Ninja Turtles were still going, (though Anastasia thought that maybe Dario was getting a bit too old for that sort of thing), there was still plenty of ice cream cake (though far too much of it was peppermint), and the pile of presents from all of his little friends was adequately high.

Also, Dario was having a lot of fun.

It was just... Anastasia's powers had manifested a little under a year ago, as it was still hard, being around so many people. She was sitting at the now mostly deserted table, methodically sorting out her M n Ms into colours and trying to practice the blocking exercises her trainer at Hammel had taught her.

"Staciieeeeeeeee,"

Dario had found her, his miniature leather jacket (a present from their uncle) combined with his spiked hair was, she assumed, supposed to make him look tough. He looked adorable, of course. Still baby faced, and she pinched his cheek as he stole her whole section of red MnMs.

His whole body screamed <IAMHAVINGAGOODTIME> and Anastasia tried her best not to flinch as she hugged him back. "What's wrong, Dario?" she asked, smacking his hand as it snuck back towards her chocolates.

A grin spread across her brother's face and, out of the corner of her eye she could see the gaggle of 12 year old girls watching him. He was going to have it easy there, at least. Which was good.

"You wanna come learn to do the worm with us?" he asked, and she noticed his voice was a little higher. Sugar rush. She'd told mother not to let them serve raspberry lemonade, he always had too much then crashed.

"Stacy?"

"Hmm?" Anastasia's eyes widened, caught out in her distraction. "Oh. No thanks, I'll watch you guys. It might get my dress dirty."

Wrinkling his nose, as he did every time his sister used her clothes as an excuse, Dario quickly snuck himself another candy and raced back to the dance floor over the lawn.

"STACCCEEEEEIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE, watch this! Are you watching me?"

Rolling her eyes, the blonde 14 year old looked over to the dance floor and waved, hardly able to mask her smile as Dario started showing his attempt at break dancing. Of course she was watching him. Anastasia always watched over her brother.

****

"Eva!"

Dreams always clung to her a little longer then they should, and once she'd stopped gasping like a landed fish the heiress shuddered off the last of the last shreds and took a ragged breath.

Ivan had her, one arm around her shoulders as he wiped at the traces of tears still on her face. "Eva?"

He wouldn't ask her, she could feel his <worry/curiosity/resignation> instead. Sometimes, she felt like she would drown, just dive into her dreams and never come up for that damning saving gasp of air. Swap her lover for her brother, and do it right.

But she couldn't speak it, her throat was dry and she swore she could taste chocolate.

[Jennifer Joy]

#105: Never

“Jennybird wake up…” Slowly she opened her eyes to Adam. She moved her head a little and watched him with a smile. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he in Iraq? Her eyes scanned his and she sat up stretching. She was glad he was home but she was going to scold him for not giving her any warning. Smiling even more she yawned as she stretched her hands around his neck pulling him closer to her. He was taller, then when he left. Rougher too. “What are you doing here Adam?”

“I came to see you Jennybird.” Aww that was sweet. Besides, she rarely got to see him anymore. She hoped he was all right, hoped he was surviving over there. She knew war wasn’t easy, but he always tried his best. It still scared her though. She wasn’t sure what to do anymore, he was and had been gone so long. She knew he wasn’t going to be here long anyway. Their time was almost up as it was.

Jen looked down, her eyes soft and about to cry when she felt a hand on her face. Looking up she saw it was Adam and she tilted her head into the hand. “My darling what is wrong?” At the words Jen started to cry. What was wrong? What was wrong? He had been gone so long. She didn’t remember the little things anymore. It was heartbreaking. “I just miss you that’s all.” Through tears Jen looked up at her husband, hoping he would still be there. She had to smile though, had to see the good in things.

“Oh my dear, I am sorry to have made you cry, that was never my intention.” The look on his face just made her hurt more. He was hurting as much as she was. She just wished he was here, with her now. “I know, and I know you never meant this. Why did you have to go and fight though? I just wanted to you to be safe.” Jen looked down as she asked the questions. “ Jenny, you know why.”

And she did. Adam was a solider and a damn good one. It was what he knew and what he was good at. She would never ask him to change himself, it would be a useless matter. Instead she could only do what she had done, and to keep doing it.

“ I will always love you Adam Joy.”

“ And I you Jennybird. Never forget that.”

“Never.”

Jen yawned as her alarm blared. She smiled knowing that Adam would always be with her, and always love her. She would never forget that.

[John Thornton]

108. Meddling

You couldn't sneak up on a telepath. You'd think, after living with one on and off for twenty years she'd have learned that. But Mia was stubborn, and there were few living people who could sneak as well as she could now. 50 feet away. 40. 30. 10. Her feet slid along the bar floor as she used her stature to her advantage, sliding behind patrons as she neared her target. This time...

"Hello Mia."

The technopath curses loudly, then laughs and pulls herself onto a bar stool. She doesn't ask if he wants company, nor does she know one way or the other. He is the mind reader, not her. But Mia has never really showed much regard for Sean Neville's preferences towards her behavior before and, as they say, you can't change that much even in twenty years.

She hasn't gotten any taller, anyway.

"I'm more then happy to have your company," her old shrink says in that off hand way of his, and Mia rolls her eyes and raises a hand to order a drink.

"You still do that?"

She doesn't need to say what. He knows. He knows and he nods. "It's unavoidable," he says and again she snorts, a sound that has not changed much in twenty years.

"What're you drinking?" She asks, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Mia, you're aware of where I live, my local drinking place, exactly when I go here, how long I stay for. You know where I buy my groceries, what groceries I buy, how I cook them. You know what I drink."

She is silent for a moment, before ordering two doubles of Jonnhy Walker Blue Label.

"That's not what I drink." he says, but takes a sip anyway and she laughs.

"You know about the survailence then?" she asks, and sighs when he nods. "I warned them. God, you'd think they realize when you live with a telepath you do pick up on a few things."

And he doesn't ask why he's under surveillance, and she doesn't tell him. But she does think it, because there's no one here to stop her doing that, and living with Jonah has made her something of an expert in communicating without words. After all, she can't control her thoughts, can she? And if she happens to dwell on the interest in recruiting high powered mental metas after a particular incident, and the lengths they are going to, well, that was just a mistake. And sure, she thought of exactly who knew who Mr Bernstein was and just how important he was to a powerful telepath-

Sean's eyes had widened, and he opens his mouth but Mia just points to his drink. "Bet I can finish mine first," she says lightly, and thinks as loudly as she can; shut up, shut up, or we are both in serious shit.

He seems to get it.

Mia, what exactly is going on.

His voice in her head is just how he sounds in real life, maybe a little younger, but Mia doesn't give any indication she's heard him, and just tips the rest of her glass into her waiting mouth. "I win," she says.

Your country wants you, Sean, because in her head she is not called upon to use fancy titles. And they don't really accept the whole pacifist thing. If it makes you feel better, I've tried to convince my superiors you'd be terrible in the military.

"Thank you," he speaks out loud, and follows suit, draining his glass. "Another?"

"My shout," Mia insists. "It's not like I'm paying for it."

They sent you to recruit me. The disbelief is palpable. Odd choice.

Mia grins at her old teacher, eyes as sharp as ever as she rubs her tattooed neck. I requested the mission. "I should take a photo," she says, "No way King will beleive I had drinks with Sean Neville.

Sean does not take his eyes from her, and she seems to have the same thing in mind though turns to the bar tender and slides over a heavy looking black card. "You both are doing well."

It's not a question, of course. "We do alright," Mia shrugs, though her eyes have hardened.

Ah. So their interest in telepaths is not restricted to Hammel staff?

I can keep him safe. They mess with him, who're they gonna use against me if I go rouge?

"He knows you're here?" Sean asks mildly, That does not sound ideal

"Oh yeah. He wanted to say hi. Would have come himself but someone's got to feed the baby." You have no idea.

It is the first time he's looked surprised by something she's spoken, and Mia looks happy. Why she has become extremely good at masking the presence of her son in her mind is something Sean can make his own assumptions about.

He's our dog, Mia thinks, even as he congratulates her and she accepts out loud. Bit of a joke at work. Bitch, with a puppy. You know that rumor about laptops affecting reproductive systems?

He feels real sorrow for her, but does not attempt to show it. It would be like waving a red flag under a bull's nose. Adopt?

We're not married. Paper trails. You need to get out of the country. "How's Hammel?"

"Much the same." Is it that bad?

"Any new terrors?" You do not want to know.

"A few. Don't worry, people do still talk about your pranks." I do.

She scoffs, her face slightly flushed by the alcohol. "They weren't pranks. Who do you think I was? Waylan? They were carefully orchestrated missions." You need to trust me.

Even with the level of seriousness going on in their unspoken conversation, this makes them both laugh out loud. Who would have thought? But her eyes are meeting his with the same level of stubbornness he remembers seeing when she was 17 and asking if the parcel in his office was an attempt to blow her up.

"They apparently were good practice." Both glasses are empty, and they both raise their hands for a refill. Where would we go?

He is looking closer now, at the crows feet and laugh lines that have appeared, the faint scars were he remembers metal rings through her flesh, another that splits her left eyebrow and that eye has a strange quality to it. A shade or two darker, and something in the way it reflects...

"It's a prosthetic," she supplies. Europe. Greece, maybe. Not Switzerland. Jonah's working on getting a safe house for transit.

"Very modern of you," he is finishing his drinks with the patience of a seasoned functioning alcoholic. Is the school safe? The children?

She does not look at all surprised. "They're perfectly safe," she says, and he swears that behind the pupil a shutter snaps a photo. "Heat vision, night vision.. A little lop sided, but I was only willing to part with one of my own."

The school is safe. They're not looking for children.

There is a yet in there but he does not ask about it. Are you absolutely sure I need to go.

Her face flickers for a moment, a split second of frustration before she smooths herself back down into lighthearted amiability. Yes. It's not just your safety that would be compromised if you don't, and I can't start pulling half the teachers out of here without getting asked some very very angry questions.

He nods, and she raises a hand for the bill. Her signature is an angry scrawl that in no way keeps to the allocated area. "It was great catching up," she says, dropping to her feet and holding out her hand. "I'll be in touch."

He takes it to shake and fixes her a stare at memories of a mob of brown hair, a round face with blue eyes. She pulls her hand free and the corner of her mouth twitches. Our little secret, she thinks, and he nods slowly. The metal shields it would take to keep something of such significance private...

He finishes his drink and calls Josh. They need to start packing.

[Danicca Waylan]

124. Laundry Day

_{Very cracky. Neon, I apologize for stealing you and John.}

[/sub]

There is such a thing as a John Thornton Fanclub.

The cast members are rotating, people usually don't stick around too long. Mostly female students, from as young as eleven to as old as twenty-one. Many heated debates break out over what he was wearing, what they should do to show their appreciation, and even if he was seen with another faculty member.

The rules of this fanclub are strict, and enforced by the only two constant members: An older girl with short purple hair, and a rather young-looking girl with extremely long reddish hair. Never once have any of the people in the club gotten away with breaking the rules, not with President Neon and Secretary Ysa running it.

The rules, written by the latter, are as follows:

1. Obey Eternal President Neon and Angelic Secretary Ysa.
2. If you do not follow 1, you will be kicked out for certain.
3. No contacting The Object of Our Affection, who shall in all documentation remain unnamed, with any sort of deceleration of affection.
4. No naming The Object of Our Affection in any documentation, writing, or speech that can be heard by outsiders.
5. No telling outsiders of the fanclub.
6. No stealing any of The Object of Our Affection's possessions.
7. The President and Secretary reserve the right to kick any and all members for breaking the rules.

The final rule may or may not be the reason for the rotating cast.

Like all fangirls, Ysa and Neon enjoy seeing their idol their Bias Mr. Thornton. They have scheduled meeting times to discuss him, and unscheduled meeting times to watch him work. If the scheduling of one of his more interesting training sessions clashes with either Neon or Ysa's schedule, Neon simply uses her power to suggest someone reschedule their training session.

Ysa mostly sits back and watches, gauges what others in the room/area are feeling, and tells Neon what she's overheard and what certain people felt. It's a lovely system they've developed, and to think it all started with the younger one nearly fainting the first time she ran into the gruff Powers Trainer.

Today, they were gathered just outside the training room, peeking in and hoping to not be noticed. There was only the two of them, as Gert and Ali had broken the first rule of Fanclub.

As Mr. Thornton began to speak in his wonderful voice, Ysa felt the usual <possessiveness/admiration/anticipation> coming from Neon, and allowed it to fuel her. They both snapped to absolute attention when he said and my clothes are flammable. He was working with a pyro today.

The two girls silently began rooting for the clothes to catch fire. They knew what his ability was, and that it meant he was essentially fireproof. So he would be safe, and they would get to see what he looked like under that shirt.

Ysa tried to block it out, but she felt the <concentration/mildconfusion/let'sgetthisoverwith> coming from the pyro. She drew on Neon's <anticipation> again.

Watching the training session was amazing, as always. They got to hear his voice, look at him, and witness all his mannerisms without having to be up close. As a bonus, his shirt did catch fire.

When the training session ended, both Neon and Ysa were high on <excitement/admiration>, and happily stepped out of the way of the door for the males to leave. Once they were gone for sure, the girls went into the training room and sat on the floor, just thinking about him. Every once in a while, they would comment on something and begin to laugh.

After a bit of silence, Ysa asked, "I wonder if he brought a spare shirt with him, or if he'll be walking around campus like that until he finds one?"

This set the girls running to the door, trying to locate him before he located a shirt.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#72 – Alter

There hadn’t been a moment of peace since the boy’s arrival months ago. Seemingly every day, there was another emergency that detracted Robert’s attention from his other students. There was always clean-up to be done, always a lecture to be given. The trainer had lost count of how many essays he’d assigned, how many afternoons the boy had been forced to stay after class to clean the blackboard for lack of something more productive to do with him.

Every night, Robert went home with a migraine, and that was interfering with his marriage. Beth was sympathetic, because Beth had always been sympathetic to the stresses of his job and his side effects. At the same time, the trainer always looked forward to date nights with his wife, and he regretted canceling. He was apologetic over the fact that even when he was home with her, after the work day had ended; he was still on call because this boy was a walking disaster.

He hadn’t had the leisure time to read a book in months. He had to do all of his lesson plans on weekends, as well as his grading because his afternoons were invariably interrupted. Other students barely received face-time, although he tried his best to provide for them.

“Focus, Lily. In a minute, I’ll lower my shields, and I want you to project onto me. Keep the illusion as solid as you can, all right?”

“Okay,” the girl said. She closed her eyes and poured all of her concentration into the task of making the castle in her mind real.

Robert lowered his shields and saw the stone castle walls surrounding them. “Very good, now-”

The drawbridge opened to reveal one of the security guards standing in the doorway. The illusion abruptly dissolved, returning them to the office. The guard jerked his thumb over his shoulder and spoke with urgency. “Robert, we need you.”

The trainer didn’t sigh; he merely reached out to pat Lily on the shoulder. “Stay put; I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Then he raised his mental shields and followed the guard into the hall. He could imagine what mess that he would have to clean up today.

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

Head bowed, hands clasped in front of him in his lap, it appeared that he was praying. Those familiar with him knew that this was meditation. The door to the faculty lounge opened and-

“Hello Claude.” Robert didn’t open his eyes or lift his head.

The young trainer glanced at the older man in surprise. “You look exhausted,” he remarked.

“He doesn’t sleep,” the telepath murmured. A deep breath; a slow exhalation.

“I heard about the stunt he pulled last night,” Claude said. He went over to the coffee pot to pour two mugs, and brought one over to Robert, setting it down beside the telepath’s chair. “Is his roommate all right?”

“He should be.” Another deep breath, in and out. “Gerald found a psychoanalyst.”

“You think he’d go willingly?” Claude asked, surprised.

“Not for him, for his roommate. There was some inevitable scarring.”

“Poor kid.” Claude frowned and shook his head to himself. “This isn’t my just my imagination; he’s getting worse, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is.” For the first time in the conversation, Robert opened his eyes and unclasped his hands. He reached for the coffee mug and took a sip. “And he will continue to do so.”

“What are the rest of us supposed to do?” Good luck was no substitute for strong mental shields, and most of the staff lacked that ability. Certainly the student body hadn’t the capability. Robert was alone in his ability to protect himself and to mitigate the damage; it was quite a burden to place on one man’s shoulders.

“Let me handle him and attempt not to panic.” Robert took another sip of his coffee. “Every day, we encounter powers we have no personal ability to counteract. Neither of us is flame-retardant but we cope with Alicia and the other pyrokinetics.”

“Alicia doesn’t want to burn the school down,” Claude replied. She was one of his, and she had the sweetest disposition. Not like...

“I know,” Robert replied. “I know.”

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

Robert didn’t care for the odor of cigarette smoke; he found that it exacerbated his headaches. Since his constant default status these days involved a throb in his temples, he would have greatly appreciated it if the other faculty didn’t smoke inside the building. Or, at the very least, if they waited until after the staff meeting. However, he understood that it was a coping mechanism and a way for those who did smoke to calm their nerves. Facilitating calmness was worth the pain, and thus he made no comments about the smoke.

Of course, the yelling didn’t help his headaches either.

“I want to know what you plan to do with him,” Eliza Harding said, her voice several decibels too high for comfort.

“I have him writing an apology-”

“An apology?” Eliza humorless laugh caused several of the other teachers to shift uncomfortably. “After what he did to my class? Bernie and Janet-”

“Will be fine,” Robert replied patiently. “Nothing was lost in translation, and their memories have been restored properly, none the worse for wear.”

“He shouldn’t have been able to do it in the first place,” Gerald Hitchens pointed out, taking another drag from his cigarette.

“He shouldn’t have tried to do it in the first place,” Eliza corrected testily. “If you would just stand up to the little monster, he wouldn’t think he could get away with this and wouldn’t push the envelope.”

“We’re just trainers, Eliza,” Claude pointed out. “We can only do so much.”

“Well, obviously you have to do more,” she said.

A cloud of smoke was puffed in Robert’s direction, and he held his breath until it passed by. Then he replied, “You shouldn’t call him a monster.”

“Excuse me?” Eliza turned her full attention to the trainer. “Don’t give me that liberal hogwash about finding the good inside everyone, Robert. That privileged brat is rotten to the core.”

Robert clasped his hands before him on the table. “He knows that you’re afraid of him.”

“Of course I’m afraid of him,” Eliza hissed. She gestured at the other faculty. “Look around the room; do you think I’m the only one?”

Robert knew for a fact that she wasn’t. “What would you suggest we do then?

“Juvenile detention,” Eliza replied. A few of the other faculty members murmured their agreement.

Gerald took another drag of his cigarette, and then shook his head. “Out of the question. He hasn’t done anything that would result in charges.”

“Yet,” Eliza corrected.

Gerald ignored the comment. “Even if he had, the detention center could only hold him until he was eighteen, twenty-one at the most.”

“That’s still ten years that he’s locked away,” Michael Dawes pointed out. “We’ll have a better game plan in ten years.”

“Right. In the meantime, your solution is to put him in a place where nobody has any experience with meta powers at all, let alone mental powers, where he’ll be surrounded by other children who have a predisposition to rebel against authority and no natural defenses to his abilities. Aside from the fact that this would be wholly irresponsible and could get the school shut down, we’d only set ourselves up for more problems down the line.” David Abrams extinguished his cigarette in the nearest ashtray.

“At least he wouldn’t have training lessons in that time,” Michael retorted.

“Even if that’s true, he already knows enough-” Gerald began, and Robert closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to ward off the headache.

The back and forth continued for a few minutes before Gerald finally managed to stop the musing on hypotheticals. “It isn’t going to happen.”

“Well, we can’t just send him back home. That would be a disaster.”

“We can’t send him anywhere,” Gerald emphasized. “As distressing a notion as it is, he’s our responsibility; we’re stuck with him.”

That resulted in murmurs from several of the faculty, and Robert reached up to rub his temples to alleviate the pressure.

“We could stall his training lessons anyway,” Michael suggested after a moment. At least that would halt further progress. He turned to look at the telepath. “Robert? Would you be on board with that?”

“That won’t make a difference,” the telepath replied.

“Pardon?” Michael asked.

“That won’t make a difference,” Robert repeated himself. “Gerald is correct when he said that he shouldn’t be capable of this so quickly, but he is. I certainly haven’t taught him any of these tricks, but he discovered them regardless, which means that even if we were to put an immediate halt to his lessons, he would continue to discover and improve. His shields are already better than several of the upperclassmen’s are.”

Frowns crept across faces around the room. Eliza asked, “Then what have you been doing with him this past year?”

“Trying to teach him empathy and responsibility.”

“Oh, well, that’s been so successful. Keep it up.”

“Eliza.” That was a warning, and both she and Robert turned to look at Gerald. “Robert has never failed to do his best; none of us have. Lashing out won’t accomplish anything except to fray nerves. We need to calmly think of a plan.” Gerald gave his full attention to the telepath. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“I need some time to weigh the options,” Robert admitted.

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

ROBERT!!!!! The mental scream was so loud that it caused the telepath to drop his teacup; the mug shattered on impact and splattered hot liquid across his desk, his papers, and his lap. He recognized the mental voice as belonging to Henry Longfellow, one of the math teachers. Robert rose from the desk, ignoring the fact that he was covered in tea, and bolted out the door for the other man’s classroom.

Reaching Henry’s classroom would have been easier but for the stampede of children running in the opposite direction. When he finally reached the room, it was empty but for Henry who was kneeling beside one of the more popular students among the middle school grades. His eyes were blank.

Robert knelt as well, reached out to lay a hand on the boy’s face and closed his eyes. “What happened?”

“What do you think happened?” Henry asked, shifting out of the trainer’s way.

“I mean, what set him off?”

“Nothing. We were doing fractions.”

Robert didn’t sigh. Instead, he picked up the boy and cradled him in his arms. “We need to cancel classes for the rest of the day, and we need to find him.”

Projecting outward, he found Gerald’s mind. I made my decision...

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

The headache wasn’t as bad as he had expected, but the nausea more than split the difference.

There had been no choice, but that did nothing to quell his mind’s natural sympathetic urges. Moreover, with the walls he had torn down and the box he had built, he was exhausted. He needed to sit down and eat an entire sleeve of Saltines, drink a pot of tea, and consider tendering his resignation.

Of course the last was impossible. With the task he had completed, Robert had ensured that he would have to work at Hammel forever, to keep an eye on the boy. The Galatea to his Pygmalion.

He felt the boy begin to stir; the connection he’d forged was deep, and as he returned to the sofa, he checked the blocks. They were all carefully in place. Strong, firm. Safe.

The boy slowly opened his eyes and looked at Robert; they held only admiration and trust, the fire in them extinguished. “Everything’s so loud,” he said quietly, bringing his hands to his temples.

“I know,” Robert replied. “But when you learn control, you’ll find serenity.”

“How long will that take?” Sean asked, still rubbing his head.

“Years,” Robert said. “But that’s to be expected. You only just got here, after all.”

[Fifi Hart]

36. <3

[/u][/center]



“I don’t know if that’s the best…” Morgan murmured to his specialist, the small, bookish woman shaking her head.
“Morgan, you need closure on this. I think it’s the biggest thing that is holding you back.” She said resolutely, looking at him with reserved grey eyes.

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, studying the swirls in the carpet. “I just don’t think I can. And I’m not sure I know how to reach him anymore. Not really.”

Doctor Lisbon shrugged her shoulders and laid down her pen and
paper. “Use the last number you had for him. If there’s no answer, just say it to the phone.” She smiled encouragingly at him. “This is for you, not for him.”

Morgan rested his head against the rest in his car, feeling heavier than he usually did after a visit to his psychiatrist. He picked up his and scrolled to the name with the little “<3.”

Jake never thought that phone would ring again. When it did, he never answered it. His heart twisted in knots every time it rang just in case….but it never was. Until today. His hand hovered over the receiver for three rings.

The phone rang once…twice…This was stupid. There was no way Jake would have kept this number. But it was ringing. Which was odd. Perhaps it belonged to someone else now. When the machine clicked on though, the voice was unmistakeably Jake’s. The same as it had always been.

Jake waited until he knew the machine had click on, then discreetly picked up the phone. He felt sick when the voice came over the other line, totally unsuspecting.

Morgan sighed after the beep, silent for a moment. “Jake it’s me. It’s…Morgan.” He began, looking out his window at the bright spring afternoon. “I’m calling to tell you that…Well…” He paused. What the hell was he doing? “That Levi is fine. That I’m fine.”

Just fine? Jake knotted his fingers in his pajama pants, trying to find the courage to speak.

”I can see again.” He laughed slightly, nervously. “It’s good to see the light again.”

Tears sprang to Jake’s eyes. Oh god, he could see.

”And I plan to…to stay where the lb]ight is.” Morgan said, swallowing hard and remembering what his psychiatrist had told him. Truth was the only way to heal. “Even if that means leaving you behind. Everything about you.”

Jake opened his mouth to protest.

”I’m moving on.”

Don’t leave me. He thought.

”Goodbye Jake.

“Don’t leave me.” Jake finally choked out to the dead line.

Morgan scrolled down to the name with the little ‘<3’



He deleted the number.




He drove away without another thought on the matter, feeling lighter than he had in three years.

[Samuel Rixon]

92. Brawl

In over a decade of friendship, some things just never change.

In the cases of Vincent Verax and Samuel Rixon, well, sometimes that was a good thing.

And sometimes, it really wasn’t.

“Y’ shoulda SEEN IT, CHARMANDER! ‘t was fuckin’ AWESOME.” A twenty nine year old Vincent was practically bouncing on the couch, his hands moving rapidly as he regaled his best friend with the story of how he’d managed to mangle himself yet again.

Sam grinned, thrilled to be catching up. Since going their separate ways, Sam with getting married, and Vincent still in that odd triangle with Brendan and Fifi... they really didn’t see a lot of each other. The last time Sam had spent any extended time with Vincent had been at his bachelor party well over a year (or was it two, now?) ago.

“I’m never gonna get sick of those stories, Vin.” The pyro leaned forward, his fingers steepled together. “But that’s not all I made you come here for.” He was grinning, and the sudden pause Vincent made proved he was still semi-paying attention.

“Y’ got cake?” He absolutely lit up at the notion of cake. Sam laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, but it’s for later.”

“Screw later! Cake now!” From the kitchen, even Spencer had to laugh a little. Sam scowled and tossed a throw pillow at his best friend.

“Shut up and listen, Verax!” The look Vincent shot him made him wonder if the other man would still stoop to things like tackling and hitting. Honestly, he wouldn’t put it past him. They seemed to reach a stalemate, both staring, before Vincent finally flopped backwards.

“Fiiiiine. ‘m listenin’.” Of course, he couldn’t be still as he listened, and he proved that by scuffing his feet against the floor like a toddler having a tantrum.

“Spence is pregnant,” Sam said after a moment, a proud grin on his face. Vincent stopped kicking long enough to peer across the room at his best friend. A slow, devious grin spread across his lips.

“’Y knocked her up? DUDE! I dinnit think y’ had it in y’!” He leaned forward to clap Sam on the shoulder. “I can’t call y’ gay ‘nymore!” Sam scoffed and shoved at him.

“I ain’t gay, Manson!” Vincent just giggled gleefully, keeping Sam at an arm’s length.

“Yer face is gay!”

“YOU’RE G – ”

“Sam?” Spencer stood in the threshold between the kitchen and living room. In her hands was the cake they’d picked up for the visit. It had a tacky stork on it, with the word ‘Congratulations’ written in pretty scripted icing. Both men paused to look at her.

“’S fuckin’ CAKE!” The little brawl forgotten, Vincent leapt up to eye it up. Spencer pulled it away from him and marched back to the kitchen to serve it up, a little smile on her face. She knew exactly how to distract them from each other.

And it also reminded Sam of the main reason he’d invited Vincent over. Before his friend could follow Spencer (and the cake) into the kitchen, he grabbed his arm. “Hey, Vin?”

“Yeah, bro?”

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to be the baby’s godfather.” Vincent considered this for a moment.

“Y’ mean... like THE Godfather? All gangsta ‘n stuff?” Sam shook his head.

“No. Just... it’s like an uncle. Only better.”

“Then shit yeah!” Vincent grinned and grabbed at Sam, giving him a firm noogie. The pyro snorted and squirmed, trying to get free. It ended in a kidney punch, hair pulling, and swearing. Spencer just rolled her eyes and dished up the cake, leaving them to be the mature creatures they weren’t.

Things were surprisingly peaceful in the Rixon household for a good few minutes. At least until Vincent lifted his head, his mouth still half full of cake. “Y’ know what? Y’ should totes name th’ baby Yoshi!” Spencer gave Sam a look, and Sam yanked on a piece of Vin’s long hair.

“We’re not naming it Yoshi.” Vincent looked crestfallen.

“No one ever wants t’ name kids Yoshi.”

[Elaine Tonaya]

17. Facebook

Elaine was not very good with technology. This had never really been a problem, since she worked in a flower shop, and all she really needed to know was enough to work the register and keep all of her files in order. She had a great organizing system, too, keeping everything in nice manila folders in a filing cabinet in the back room. They were labeled. With color-coded tabs. And smiley faces.

But in order to keep up with the changing times and to keep in touch with all of her friends, she decided that she needed to find some way to stay online. She had an email account, but it was primarily for work-related items, such as people placing orders. At one point she had debated setting up a webpage for the store, but that seemed like so much trouble. She could ask Jonah to do it, but he was already so busy, it just didn’t seem worth it.

Everyone told her, though, how easy Facebook was. It wasn’t like this “mySpace” that was so complicated and outdated anyway. Surely she could work a Facebook. Everyone was on Facebook.

So she got onto her home computer one evening and pulled up the Facebook page. It didn’t take so very long to log in, but at certain points she had to really think about what she was doing. Did she have friends she wanted to find? How was it supposed to search her address book? That was on a shelf on the desk. Surely Facebook wasn’t capable of reading it, no matter how widespread it seemed.

Eventually, though, it was all set up. She was left staring at a fairly empty screen, wondering what one was supposed to do next. She hadn’t even found that many people to become friends with. Most of her friends who came into the store were not on Facebook. It seemed that was a younger generation thing.

Why hadn’t she been told this before?

Morgan had Facebook. He had a lot of friends, as well. She had sent him a request. Some people had said you shouldn’t be friends with your parents, but that seemed ridiculous. Morgan was one of her best friends, so naturally they should be friends online.

Almost against her will, Elaine started searching for names of people she once knew. The women were the hardest—she wasn’t sure who they might have married. Being from Hammel helped, since she could search through old classmates. But then there were a few people she wanted to see who weren’t on Hammel.

She had a thought, but hesitated for a moment. “Well, it’s not as though he’ll know I looked, right?” she said under her breath. Then she typed in the name “Anthony Tonaya.”

Her brother was married. The picture he had up showed him with three children. The oldest looked about ten, but then the picture might be old. He looked so…happy. He’d attended a university in New York and gotten a computer science degree. And now he was working with a computer rental store. Remembering how he had always enjoyed tinkering with electronics, Elaine smiled. She hadn’t seen him in so long…maybe she should just send a quick message. He wouldn’t have to be her friend, just know she existed.

But then she saw his family list. Deidre Mulligan-Tonaya. Without even thinking, Elaine clicked. She was surprised to discover that Deidre, as well, looked happy. She was married, she had a family…everyone had managed just fine without Elaine. And if everything was doing so well, would they really want to have the disgraced member of the family waltz back into their life?

So she exited the page, turned off the computer, and got herself a slice of pie to eat in front of the television before going to bed.

[Fifi Hart]

#60. Single

Fifi did not like being pregnant. She didn’t mind the idea of eventually being a mother, but her toothpick of a frame was not meant to hold another human being inside her belly. She would come home from university exhausted, with dark bags under her eyes. Her feet throbbed, her back throbbed, even her hands ached---no one had told her her hands would hurt!

The worst part of all of it, she thought, was that now she was showing. Friends from school would invite her out and she would decline. Then the rumors. A single mother. Single. Fiona didn’t usually mind the word. It was better than trying to explain why she lived and slept with two men who were technically in a committed relationship. But it stung to think that her baby might have to deal with it.

Absently in one of her night classes, she rubbed at her growing belly, chewing her lip.

“Fifi, you look a little green.” Murmured her class buddy slowly, patting her on the hand. “Maybe you should just go home?”

She had agreed passively.

When she unlocked the door, her head swam with a mixture of exhaustion and hunger. Did she nap? Or did she eat? Her head thrummed…

…and she began to cry.

This was something else she didn’t like about being pregnant.
Why the fuck was she even crying?

The sound of soft footsteps were lost on her in the midst of her soft keening.

“Fifi? Is that you?” came Brendan’s voice from the stair. Fifi wiped at her cheeks as he scuttled into the living room. “Aww…hey~. What’s wrong?” He cooed, sitting down next to her as she drew up her knees as best she could, the baby getting in the way.

“I fucking hate being pregnant. I’m hungry and I’m tired and my feet hurt.” She let out a broken sob, which beckoned Vincent to the living room, video-game controller still dangling from his hand.

Taking a seat next to his boyfriend, Vin reached over and rubbed
at the side of Fifi’s belly. “He bein’ mean t’day?”

Fifi swatted him away. “No I…I…just…” She took heavy breaths between cries. “I just don’t want to be a single mom!” She finally whined , her head falling heavily onto her arms.

Brendan and Vincent looked to each other with confused gazes. As Fifi’s shoulders shook with sobs, Vincent rolled off the couch and on to the floor, grabbing one of Fifi’s legs and resting his cheek on her shin.

“Wull…wha’bout me? An’ Bren?” He said, blinking up at her. “Yoshi s’our baby too.”

“We’re not naming it Yoshi.” She pouted pathetically, her watery eyes peering at him from under her elbow as he began to rub her leg soothingly.

“Still,” Vin grunted, put out that no one would take his name suggestion seriously. “Yer wit’us.”

Bren ruffled Fiona’s hair. “And we’re with you. Even if you are a crazy pregnant lady.” He assured her, kneeling to kiss Vincent before he moved to the kitchen. “What do you want for dinner, Mama?”

Fifi sniffed and wiped her cheeks, smiling slightly. She opened her mouth to list what she felt like eating when---

“PIZZA!” Vincent hollered, scrambling away from her and into the kitchen to butt in to whatever Brendan was trying to accomplish. Fifi laughed and shook her head, wondering if being single(ish) wasn’t so bad after all.

[Leila Gold]

18. MySpace

So I’m kind of in the business of making connections right now. The whole politics thing. You know how it goes. You kiss a few babies on the head, shake a lot of hands, set a few world records for saying the most bullshit in a five-minute period, and all the people love you. Well I’ve been so busy making new connections that it struck me recently that it’s been forever since I caught up on old ones.

Do you remember the MySpace craze? Well, I do. I was caught right up in it. I posted pictures every day, put up movies, talked about my favorite music…and guess what. It’s all still up there. All my friends with their pages, me with mine. I thought I was the coolest thing in the world.

Dear god, what is wrong with my hair?

Why am I looking at this now? Well part of it is that I’m sick out of my mind. It’s not the right time for me to be calling people or out campaigning or putting up signs or anything. Okay well maybe I’m not sick out of my mind, but it’s enough that I’m lying in bed not wanting to do anything much. But I’ve also been lying here for two days, and I am so bored. So bored.

Anyway. I was browsing, looking for something to do, and here I ended up. Pretty dumb, really. But it’s hard to stop looking at the failure I was back in college. I remember those days…oh yeah, and that time I tried to roller skate down Suicide Hill. Heh. Lucky me, Jen had her camera with her. Where is Jen now? I know she was talking about joining the Peace Corps, I wonder if that ever worked out. Oh, and there’s Aaron. I hope he stopped wearing that earring after a while being married to Maddie. She had all the brains.

Oh, wow, and there’s me and Carmen. I should call her. We haven’t talked in so long. And she was like my sister! How did that ever happen? When did I grow up?

Damn. There’s Spencer. I can’t believe I still have any pictures of him. I thought I burned all those. Damn, damn, damn. Jerk. I hope the cops got him, eventually. He must’ve been doing drugs or something. Something to get him locked up forever.

Why in the world did we put our lives up for everyone to see? Why do we keep doing it? God, this was dumb. I can’t believe I bothered to look. Why are you still here? Why are you still listening to me? Get out of here. I just…I just want to be alone.

[Sam Caraway]

#35. Special.

There’s a pause as soon as he sits down – a cessation in conversation. He gives them an awkward smile. ‘Only free seat in the house’, he smiles by way of apology, and takes a sip of his beer. They look at him for a moment, and Mike feels distinctly uncomfortable.

But what the hell? His drink is cold, he hasn’t had leave in months, and the woman sitting at the table is simply stunning. He holds out his hand to her.

‘Mike Wilson,’ he says, refraining from adding his rank: they're off-duty, after all, and nobody is in uniform.

‘Sloane Devereaux,’ she replies, taking his hand with an expression of obvious amusement. Mike can tell from the way she pushes her hair away from her face that she doesn’t know how beautiful she is – and he can tell from the expressions of the men that they don’t appreciate his eyes being on her in the way they are. There are three of them: a tall black guy, a blue-eyed blond, and an Asian.

‘Special Ops, huh?’ he asks the question by way of conversation.

The blue-eyed man grins. ‘Yeah. Real special.’ There’s something in his expression, something behind those bright, seawater eyes – something which makes Mike want to take his drink somewhere else.

‘What – uh – what do you do?’

‘Reconnaissance,’ Sloane tells him, although the blond guy was obviously about to tell Mike where he could shove his curiosity. ‘Go in, report back.’

There’s a chill in the air, that much is obvious. But Mike is into his second drink in weeks, and he keeps his gaze on her. ‘But what can you do?’ he asks, leaning in a little. It’s no secret – everyone knows what Special Ops really means, these days. Metas who didn’t take the Cure.

Obviously uncomfortable with how close Mike is to his team-mate, the black guy reaches a large hand over to pick up his own drink – a subtle reminder that he is definitely present. ‘I can fly,’ he says with a slight smile.

‘I’m under the radar,’ the much younger guy says.

The blond gets to his feet, downing a shot of something as he does so. ‘I get lucky,’ he tells Mike with a mirthless grin, a smile which makes his insides feel as if they’ve been drenched in ice water. With a nod to the others he leaves for the bar, and they exchange glances: the worry is only there for a second, but it’s there nonetheless.

Mike looks questioningly over at Sloane, and she raises an eyebrow at him. ‘I’m a lot of things,’ she says eventually, and Mike doesn’t miss the way the other two snort into their drinks.

‘Uh-huh.’

She takes a slow sip of her own beer and then looks up at him. The silence stretches out, and finally he reads the message in her dark, dark eyes: Why are you still sitting here?

He takes the hint, and departs as gracefully as he can – he’s flagged down on his way to the bar by some of his own friends and he joins them, relieved.

But as he sits down he catches sight of the ‘lucky’ man standing at the bar with another glass in his hand, eyes closed. One hand is buried in the blond hair, and he has such an expression of longing on his face that Mike has to look away, ashamed at witnessing such an obviously private moment. His eyes meet Sloane’s across the room, and she shakes her head at him almost imperceptibly.

Jail, the Cure, or the Army.

Mike takes another deep drink, and thanks his lucky stars that he isn’t part of Special Ops.