Another Way (Worm AU fanfic)

Another Way

Part Eight: Many Happy Returns


Monday, September 3, 2007

“Happy birthday, Miss Claire.”

“Thank you, Jonas.” Because they had company, Claire didn't hug her burly bodyguard, but she did favour him with a smile as she accepted the present. “What did you get me?”

He smiled avuncularly at her. “That would be telling. Why don't you open it and see?”

“Yeah, c'mon Claire,” Lindsey urged her. “Open it up.”

“Don't rush me, don't rush me,” Claire told her friend. Carefully, she began to separate the paper from the tape holding it in place. “Have I thanked you for coming? If I haven't, thanks for coming.”

“Hey, it's no big,” Roger said. “Your dad chartered a bus to get us and our folks here, just so you'd have someone you know here for your birthday.”

Lindsey looked around the decorated living room, over to where her parents were chatting with Claire's father. “That's some kinda awesome, right there. But it's also kinda sad that you haven't made any more friends since you got here.”

Claire shrugged a little as the paper came off. “Haven't had much chance to mix with kids of my own age, you know? I start school tomorrow and then we'll see. But for now, I'm just glad you guys are here.” She held up the revealed gift, which appeared to be a folded bundle of cloth.

Roger squinted at it. “Okay, I give. What is it?”

Claire shook it out. “Oh. Oh wow. It's a new gi.”

“Oh, one of those martial arts things?” Lindsey stared at her. “Wow, you do martial arts?”

“Not seriously,” Claire assured her. “But Dad wants me to be able to defend myself, so he's got Jonas teaching me.” Though I wish Damien and Abigail were here to do it instead.

“So how come you never talk about it?” asked Roger. “If I could kick ass with martial arts, I'd want everyone to know.”

Claire snorted. “And then they know you do martial arts. Rule number one with going into a fight. Never let the other guy know what you've got up your sleeve. If you've got a weapon, wave that at them then kick them in the kneecap and run like hell.”

“So no flying jump kicks?” Roger sounded obscurely disappointed.

“Hah, no.” Claire grinned at him. “If you're in a fight, you don't want to fall over. Jumping in the air, or even kicking at anything above the knee, is a great way to fall over. I told you. I'm just in it for self defence.”

“So what happens if you run into someone who knows martial arts too?” asked Roger. “Or has a knife, or a gun?”

I turn off his voluntary nervous system and see how he likes flopping around like a fish. “I try to surprise him with something that'll slow him down and then run like hell.” She shrugged. “Sometimes, running away is the best defence. Especially if you drop your purse first.”

“But then you've lost your purse,” Lindsey pointed out.

“No,” Claire corrected her, “you've lost a purse. Which is what muggers are generally after, anyway.”

“Wow, this conversation's taken a turn for the dark,” Roger said cheerfully. “Linds, you're forgetting Claire's best tactic.”

Lindsey frowned. “And what's that?”

Roger pointed at an imaginary perpetrator and put on a dramatic tone of voice. “Sic 'em, Jonas!”

Lindsey giggled; Claire snorted with laughter. She shook her head. “If I ever said that … wow. No, I don't think I'll ever say that.”

“Thank you, Miss Marchant,” Jonas said imperturbably from right behind Roger; the boy jumped.

There was a brief silence, then Lindsey changed the subject. “So wow, this is a big house you've got. With a heated indoor pool, no less. I gotta say, I'm just a little bit jealous.”

Claire shrugged. “Dad always says, if you've got the money, you may as well enjoy it. And Brockton Bay winters might not be that cold, but I bet they're too cold to really want to go swimming.”

“I hear it can get pretty cold in Chicago, too,” said Roger. “I wonder how Everett's getting along there?”

“Oh, probably just fine,” Claire replied. “He always made friends easily. You can bet, whatever group he ends up in, he'll be the one calling the shots.”

<><>​

“I'd like to thank you all once more for coming.” Earl Marchant, better known as the supervillain Marquis, shook hands with the men, then gave each of the women a decorous peck on the cheek. “You and your children really made the party work for Claire.”

“Hey, it's no problem, Earl.” Lindsey's father, a heavy-set man, slapped him on the shoulder. “You've helped us out enough in the past. This wasn't anything at all. You've got a good kid there.”

Earl looked over at where Claire was saying her own goodbyes. “Well, I try. You've done a good job with your daughter as well. If you ever decide to move to Brockton Bay, look me up. I'm reasonably certain I can find work for your construction company.”

“What's this?” asked Roger's mother, who happened to be a corporate accountant. “Favour trading and kickbacks? I'm shocked, I tell you. Shocked.” Her giggle betrayed the several glasses of champagne in which she had indulged.

The hand she laid on his arm could have also been attributed to the champagne; in point of fact, she had slept with Earl twice since Abigail's departure. Roger's father, Earl was certain, did not know of this indiscretion. Nor had Earl been overly disappointed when the move to Brockton Bay put an end to the affair; she had been dropping hints about leaving Roger for him, which he most certainly did not wish her to do.

“Not at all,” he said airily. “I just like to work with people I know and trust.”

“Well,” agreed Lindsey's mother, “I can't argue with that.”

<><>​

“I wish you didn't have to go.” Claire hugged Lindsey tightly, then Roger as well.

“I wish we didn't either,” Lindsey said. “But school starts tomorrow, and you know how the parental units are about that.” The roll of her eyes and the dryness of her tone conveyed her opinion quite readily.

“So when are you going to visit next?” Claire looked from one to the other.

“Uh, when we can?” Roger shrugged. “Maybe I can talk Mom and Dad into letting me stay over for a weekend?”

Lindsey slugged him on the shoulder. “Not without me, dork.”

“Ow. Hey. That hurt.” Roger turned to Claire. “See what I have to put up with when you're not around?”

Claire grinned. “You do realise that means that, in teenage girl speak, she likes you?”

Roger rubbed his shoulder. “What?” He stared at Lindsey, who had turned an interesting shade of pink.

“Does not,” she muttered.

“Oh, really?” murmured Claire. Grabbing Roger by the lapels, she pecked him on the lips before releasing him once more. Bending a challenging look at Lindsey, she raised an eyebrow. “Still not interested in him?”

Lindsey's face was a somewhat deeper pink now; she mumbled something incomprehensible. Claire dusted her hands in satisfaction and looked at Roger, who had also blushed very slightly and was staring at her like a stunned trout. “Well,” she told the both of them, “it's about time someone sorted that out for the two of you.”

Roger finally managed to get his jaw in working order. “You kissed me!”

“And see what Lindsey thought about that,” Claire pointed out briskly. “You like her; she likes you. For God's sake, why don't you both just admit it? Then you can get on with the awkward teenage romance drama.” She turned to the girl. “And Linds, I expect a full report on a weekly basis. If he backslides, let me know and I'll be on the next train to straighten him out.”

Still just a little pink, Lindsey managed an awkward smile. “It's a deal.” She offered her hand; they shook solemnly.

“Hey, wait,” protested Roger. “Don't I get a say in this?”

Both Claire and Lindsey turned toward him. “Nope.”

<><>​

As the bus rolled away down the driveway, Earl turned to Claire. “Sorry to see them go?”

Claire sighed. “You know it, Dad.” She brightened. “But it was a great party. Thanks for getting them up here. That was a wonderful surprise.”

“Talking about surprises,” he murmured, “what was that about between you and young Roger? Am I going to need to be sitting down for a serious chat with the lad?” He seemed to be more disturbed by the incident than he was letting on; she wasn't sure why.

Chuckling, she shook her head. “Nope. I was just clearing the air between him and Lindsey. She likes him, but she didn't know what to do about it until I kissed him. After that, she was pretty certain.”

He echoed her chuckle. “May I assume that you were cheating just a little with your powers?”

Her expression managed to convey the impression of utter innocence. “Maybe?”

“Well, all I can say,” he said, “is that I'm glad that you didn't ensure that the boy would be besotted with you.”

She lowered her eyes. “I do kinda like him a bit,” she confessed, “and he likes me a bit. But he likes her more than he likes me and she likes him more than I do. And since I like her as a friend, that's why I did it that way.”

He nodded. “There are certain ethics that must be adhered to in our line of business. Finding them is the trick.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I hope they'll be okay.”

“I'm sure they will, chick,” Jonas said from behind her. Unlike Roger, she didn't jump. “In the meantime, you've got your preparations for school tomorrow, so I'll start with clearing up.”

“I'll give you a hand.” She paused. "Talking about preparations, how's that new muscle configuration working out for you?"

"Benched nine hundred fifty this morning, chick," the burly bodyguard replied with a certain amount of satisfaction. "Between them and the new bones you gave me, I figure I could push half a ton with a bit more work."

"Just make sure you don't push yourself too hard," Earl cautioned him. "Claire's putting a lot of hard work into making you as good as you can be. We don't want you hurting yourself because you're being careless."

"Believe me, sir, I'm bein' careful," Jonas said. "Miss Claire already yelled at me when I detached my shoulder tendons that one time. I don't want to have to go through that again." He paused thoughtfully. "You know, sir, you ain't got the bulk I do, but Miss Claire could surely make you a whole lot stronger'n you look. Just sayin'."

"There is something in what you say," Earl conceded, "but I think I'll stick with the basic protective upgrades for the moment."

"Any time you want to push it farther, Dad, just say the word," Claire assured him.

“I'll keep it in mind,” he replied urbanely; she knew that there was no more to be said on the matter.

<><>​

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Claire huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Dad, you know I love you dearly, but you're being way over the top protective, you know?”

Her father turned an amused gaze toward her and raised his eyebrow. “My darling Claire, I do not wish to belabour the point, but your life has come under serious threat not once but twice in the past seven years. Three times if we count that Schmidt character from Gesellschaft.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. He wasn't any sort of threat. I had control of the situation the whole time.”

“Be that as it may.” His voice was level and reasonable, holding no hint of his true thoughts on the matter. “There was the incident with the Brigade that forced us to leave Brockton Bay and then the attempt on Abigail's life in Boston. Either time, you could have been badly hurt or even killed. I do not wish to even chance that again; after all, we're back in Brockton Bay now, where it all began.”

“But I've got powers now, Dad,” she pointed out, attempting to match her tone to his. “You saw how I dealt with that boy who held a knife to my neck. I'm not going to say I've got nothing to worry about -”

“Good,” he interjected. “Because if you were so foolish as to say that, I would order Jonas to turn the car around and take you home again, school or no school.”

“And you would too,” she replied dryly. “But that aside, while I do have to worry about things, the fact is that I don't have to worry so much about them. For one thing, nobody is going to recognise us as Marquis and Marchioness. And for another, my powers are much more subtle than yours. I can use them to defend myself without drawing attention.”

“Your points are entirely valid,” he agreed readily enough. “However, do note that getting into the habit of depending solely upon your powers and not on your other skills and talents, however tempting, can lead to disaster. Especially if someone finds a way to circumvent them. Or to put it another way, Jonas and the others put a lot of effort into giving you the training that they did, and they wouldn't want to see it go to waste. Isn't that right, Jonas?”

“Never a truer word, Mr Marchant, sir,” rumbled Jonas from the driver's seat of the car. “You listen to your father, chick. You're good – better'n any other I've seen at your age – but he still knows more'n you do right now.”

Claire nodded earnestly. “Yeah, I know that. And trust me, I really do appreciate the time and effort you and the others have put into making sure that I'm not totally unprepared for whatever might happen."

“Just remember,” Earl told her seriously. “No matter how much you might prepare, it's what you haven't prepared for that will trip you up. So always be ready to react to unusual circumstances.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Dad. I'm just going to school.”

“My point exactly.”

<><>​

“Well, here we are.”

Earl knew that he sounded heartily insincere as Jonas pulled the car to a halt outside the gates of the Northwest Middle School. He didn't much care; his doubts about allowing Claire to come to school at all were beginning to surface once more.

“Looks like it.” Claire leaned across and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “See you this afternoon, Dad.” She undid her seat belt and grabbed her bag; by this point, Jonas had rounded the car and opened her door for her. “Thanks, Jonas.”

“My pleasure, Miss Claire.” Apparently oblivious to the stares of passing children heading into the school, Jonas seemed to be enjoying playing the role of devoted manservant to the hilt.

“Just one moment, Claire. Jonas, wait with the car.” Earl opened his door and climbed out. He walked around the trunk to where Claire awaited him.

“What's up, Dad?” She looked at him expectantly.

“I'm walking in with you, is what's up,” he explained.

“No, no you're not,” she retorted, keeping her voice down. “Nope. Just … nope.”

“Claire, I'm worried about your safety -”

“Dad, you can't hover over me every second of the day.” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “They don't know who you are. You won't be able to scare them like you could as Marquis.” Taking a breath, she went on in a normal tone. “Seriously, Dad. I'm thirteen, not eight. I had my birthday yesterday, remember? I'm perfectly capable of walking into the school on my own. In fact, you can save gasoline this afternoon; I'll take the bus back. There's a stop only a block away from home.”

Earl was astonished to find himself gritting his teeth. His girlfriends had all been besotted with him, while his employees had known to follow his orders. Rarely had he found his will being thwarted in this manner, in such a way that he could not retaliate. Claire was clearly his equal in stubbornness. To think I encouraged her to stand on her own two feet.

“No,” he ground out. “You will not take the bus. Jonas will pick you up in the car.”

“Then I'll walk into school on my own,” she shot back. “Jonas drives me to and from, but I don't get walked in like a kid. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agreed immediately, before she could change her mind.

“Great,” she said, swinging the backpack on to her shoulder. “See you this afternoon.”

Earl watched her walk away, joining the mass of adolescence currently pouring in through the gates; in moments, she was out of sight.

Did I just get played? I think I just got played.

Turning to Jonas, he found that the bodyguard already had the front passenger door open. Earl studied his expression; it was as bland and inscrutable as the man's broad, battered features could manage. Climbing in, he allowed Jonas to close the door, then put his seatbelt on. Jonas got into the driver's seat and started the car. Earl waited until the vehicle was in motion before he spoke again.

“Jonas?”

“Sir?”

“Did my daughter just do to me what I do to everyone else?”

There was a long pause, no doubt due to Jonas working out the most diplomatic way to answer.

“If she did, sir, it's only because she learned from the best.”

“Indeed.” Earl leaned back and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Jonas.”

“You're welcome, sir.”

<><>​

Holding a plan of the school in her hands, Claire manoeuvred through the surging, shifting crowd of her peers. Okay, if I'm here, then my locker should be just around this corner -

“- so I'm wondering if Mr Wilson will be as deadly boring in History this year as he was last, and have you seen the gym? I think they repainted it, I really do. Also, I think they rearranged the cafeteria a bit. Hopefully this means that we'll be able to – whoa!”

Rounding the corner, Claire nearly ran face-first into another girl, around her age but a few inches taller. The girl had long brown curly hair, large eyes behind round-lensed glasses and a wide expressive mouth; at the point of the almost-collision, she had been half-turned toward her companion, a strikingly pretty redhead. Her torrent of words cut off with the exclamation; Claire stopped her with a hand on each shoulder so that they didn't encounter each other more forcefully.

“Sorry, hi,” the red-headed girl greeted and apologised to Claire in the same breath. “I'm Emma, this is Taylor. She's a bit of a motormouth, but she means well.”

“Motormouth, hah,” Taylor replied good-naturedly. “I can hardly get a word in edgewise, the way you talk.” She turned to Claire. “Sorry about that. Taylor Hebert.” She held out a hand to shake.

Bemusedly, Claire shook it. “Hi,” she said. “Claire Marchant. Pleased to meet you. And you too, Emma.”

“Same here, Claire,” Taylor told her, then squinted. “Are you new here? You look new. I don't think I've met you before. Is that a Boston accent? Are you from Boston? Did you just move here? If you did, then welcome to Brockton Bay, our capes aren't as bad as they say, really. And welcome to Northwest, it might not be the best middle school in town, but with me and Emma here, it's definitely the coolest.”

Metaphorically, Claire staggered back under the torrent of words. “Uh, yeah, I'm new here,” she said. “Dad and I moved here from Boston back in July. I hope I'll like it here. They say the winters are milder.”

“Oh yeah, they're milder all right,” Taylor agreed. “Some days you can even walk along the Boardwalk in shorts and t-shirt – have you seen the Boardwalk? It's pretty awesome. Do you have anything like it in Boston? And the Market. You've got to see the Market. If you want to buy anything at a good price, go to the Market first. Emma and me can show you around sometime if you want.”

“Taylor, seriously, let the girl talk,” Emma cut in, laughing. “Sorry, Claire. Taylor can be a little overwhelming at first. I think she's a bit excited by the first day of school. And I think she also had too much coffee before she left home.”

“Too much coffee?” declaimed Taylor. “Never! No such thing! Though,” she added thoughtfully, “Mom is talking about weaning me on to tea. She says it might make me a little less hyper. Whatever that means.”

Claire tried not to let her grin spread too wide. “That's fine. Uh, I was actually trying to find my locker. I have the combination, but I just don't know where the silly thing is hiding.”

“Locker?” Taylor took on an expression of intense concentration. “Look no further. Sherlock Hebert is on the case. What's the number?”

Claire consulted the sheet. “Uh, one five four three.”

“That'll be just back this way,” Taylor stated at once. Turning, she ducked into the crowd; Emma and Claire followed, their pursuit made easier by the fact that Taylor was a bit taller than most of the others.

“So is she always like this?” asked Claire as they pushed through the mob in pursuit. “Not that I think it's bad or anything,” she added hastily. “But it must be a bit hard to keep up with her.”

“Oh, I just go with the flow,” Emma said cheerfully. “She only ever stops talking to let her brain catch up. But she's so much fun to be around. She's one of those people who doesn't even imagine the existence of a glass half empty, you know?”

“Wow, she's lucky.” Claire tried to imagine that sort of mindset. Not even acknowledging the possibility of something bad on the horizon.

“I dunno.” Emma frowned briefly. “If she ever did have something bad happen to her, I don't know if she'd crash hard or just bounce back like it was nothing.”

“Well, that's not something we can know till we find out, yeah?”

Emma glanced at Claire. “Yeah. Point.” She looked ahead again. “Ah. It looks like she's stopped.”

“Or run out of steam, one of the two.”

That earned her a snort. “Fair point.”

When they caught up with Taylor, she was nonchalantly leaning against a locker, looking somewhat smug. “Is this the locker you were looking for?”

Claire looked at the numbers stamped into the metal. “One five four three. Wow, you found it.”

“Hey.” Taylor buffed her nails, then casually examined them. “I'm just that good.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Claire told her sincerely. She checked the paper for the combination, then entered it into the lock. The locker popped open; Claire unloaded books on to the shelves, then took several out, checking with her class list in the process. “That should be okay for the moment.”

“So what are you going to be doing until the bell rings?” asked Taylor. “I was gonna go with Emma to the library and see if they have any new science fiction books in. Wanna come with?”

“Actually, that sounds like a lot more fun than what I need to do,” confessed Claire. “I need to go find all my classrooms so I don't get lost between classes.”

“Can I see, please?” Emma held out her hand for the class list. Claire handed it over. “Okay then … looks like you've got Math with us, as well as English. And PE. How are you at dodgeball? They're very big on dodgeball here.”

“I think they're very big on dodgeball everywhere,” Claire replied dryly. “I'm okay, I guess.”

“Anyway, it looks like English is your first. Where's your home room? Ah, okay. You're with Taylor in Mr Crandall's. I'm in Mrs Beeton's. You can come with us now, and Taylor can get you to English okay. Sound good?”

“Sounds awesome, actually,” Claire replied. “Thanks for helping me out like this.”

“That's okay,” Taylor told her. “I like meeting new people and talking to them. I learn all sorts of interesting things that way. By the way, did you know that Emma's dad is a lawyer? Well, just a divorce lawyer, not a criminal lawyer, but we don't hold that against him. So what do your parents do? My dad's in the Dockworkers' Association and my mom's an English teacher. If you ever need help with your English homework, just say the word. If I don't know it, Mom will. She's really cool like that. I mean, she's not just a teacher teacher. She's a professor at the college …”

And they're off and running again … Claire met Emma's eyes; they shared a mutual grin and followed their bubbly friend toward, Claire figured, the library.

Taylor would indeed take a little getting used to, but as far as Claire could tell, it would definitely be worth the effort. Good friends, after all, were hard to find.

<><>​

Danny Hebert stood up from his desk and stepped around it to meet his visitor. “Hello, ah, Mr Marchant, was it?”

“Earl Marchant, yes.” The auburn-haired man shook his hand. “Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.”

Danny's grin was a little self-conscious. “As someone who lives in a problem area of the city, I'm always willing to listen to someone who says that they can help with a solution.”

Earl tilted his head. “If you'll excuse me for saying so, Brockton Bay has more than its share of problems. I can't guarantee to help with all of them, or even most of them. But some of them, definitely, yes.”

“Some is better than none,” Danny agreed. “And it's far better than being part of the problem, as some people in the city seem to want to be.”

“I can honestly say that I came to this city to help solve its problems, not multiply them,” Earl assured him. “Now, to show you what I want to help with, are you free to come for a drive?”

Danny paused, glancing at his desk. “I've got nothing that needs my attention right this very second.” He stepped past Earl, into the outer office, where the receptionist sat at her desk. “Jude?”

The middle-aged woman – decorative she was not, but she knew her job backwards and forwards – looked around from where she was typing something into her computer. “Yes, Mr Hebert?”

“I'm going out for a bit. If you need me, call my cell.”

“No problem, Mr Hebert.” She turned back to her terminal and started typing again, fingers rattling the keys.

Danny turned to Earl. “So, where were you going to take me?”

<><>​

“The ferry terminal.”

Earl heard the mixed hope and curiosity in Danny's voice as Jonas pulled the car into the parking lot. “That's correct,” he said. “I understand that you've been trying to get it started up again.”

Danny turned to stare at him, then looked around, startled, as Jonas opened the passenger side door for him. Almost robotically, he got out, followed by Earl.

Jonas didn't need telling to stay with the car as Earl and Danny started toward the terminal proper. Danny tried several times to start a conversation, but Earl simply ignored him until they had mounted the steps to the patio overlooking the eponymous Bay. Earl leaned on the decorative stonework making up the safety rail, looking out toward the Protectorate headquarters. Talk about ostentatious …

“Okay, so talk,” Danny tried once more. “What was that crack about?”

“What, starting up the ferry again?” Earl turned to face him. Leaning back against the rail, he shrugged elaborately. “No crack. It was merely a comment. We both know that it would allow people to commute to the city and back with relative ease, allowing more people to take jobs and hold them. Bringing affluence back into this part of the community.”

Danny clenched his fists. “Yeah, all of that's true. Doesn't mean you're going to do more than talk about it, though.”

Earl tilted his head. “Very true. And you've had this conversation a dozen times before, right? With people who promised the world and didn't deliver.”

“Or flat-out told me that it didn't advance their agenda, so they'd back something else,” Danny's voice was tight.

“Well, then. Allow me to put your mind at ease.” Earl lounged against the stonework, his casual posture at odds with the intensity of his voice. “I want to see Brockton Bay thrive again. I want to invest in the city. If and when I need a workforce, I want to be able to call on the Dockworkers to provide the core of that workforce. And I agree with you; if the people living in and around the Docks are going to have a fair chance, then they need the ferry to be up and running.”

“And you'll put your money toward that?”

“I'll put my money toward that.”

For a long moment, Earl watched hope play over the face of the tall, skinny man before him. Here was a man who had lived through the worst times of Brockton Bay. It was hard for him to accept that there may actually be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Then Danny shook his head. “No. It'll never work.”

Earl's head came up. “Why not?”

“No matter how much money you throw at it, the Mayor's office has the same old answer. You can't reopen the ferry just yet, not until the gangs and the drugs are no longer an issue. They don't want gang members or drug dealers to have an easy way to get into Downtown.”

Earl let his eyes narrow just a little. “The drugs and the gangs … around here, that would be the Merchants, right?”

Danny looked at him intently. “You're right, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

It had quite a lot to do with it, as Earl well knew. Since the parahuman members of the Merchants had vanished quite literally overnight, the rest of the organisation had melted away like snow on a hot summer's day. As Marquis, he had found virtually zero resistance to moving in and laying claim to the area most adjacent to the ferry terminal.

Those in his area of control found their protection payments reduced to a pittance, while protection was actually a reality. Those men Claire deemed trustworthy had been given enhancements making them equivalent to low-level Brutes or Movers, allowing them to police those areas effectively. Those in the pay of Earl's enemies – and he had more than a few – were funnelled into their own groups where they spied upon one another and sent reports back to their various handlers.

“Well, then,” Earl said quietly, “I was just wondering. When was the last time you saw any Merchant activity in Brockton Bay?” A long pause, while he met Danny's eyes. “Because I haven't seen any in quite some time.”

<><>​

Danny blinked. On the surface, the words were innocuous. But the meaning behind them was something else altogether. Marchant hadn't spoken loudly or boastfully, but his meaning had been clear. The Merchants are gone, and he had something to do with it. Or he knows who did.

The Brockton Bay underworld was a vast and seamy place, where it would be quite easy to lose one's sense of moral direction. Danny wasn't entirely unaware of it; in his time with the Dockworkers, he'd brushed shoulders with many persons of shady character. Some of these people were inclined to speak loudly, but were in the end of little consequence; others didn't talk much but by God, when they did, it was wise to listen.

He wasn't quite sure exactly how shady Earl Marchant was, but he was certain of two things. The first was that the man was deadly serious about getting Brockton Bay back on its feet. And the second was that Marchant was connected.

“Admittedly, neither have I,” he agreed. “Well, let's assume that the Merchants are no longer an issue. With outside funding to get it all up and running, I should be able to talk the Mayor into letting it happen. But if you want commerce to really get going, there's something else in the way.”

“Oh?” Marchant looked interested. “What is this obstacle of which you speak?”

Danny had the distinct impression that Marchant already knew and was just giving him the straight lines. However, it didn't change anything. Stepping to the outside curve of the rail, he pointed north. It wasn't all that far away, but even if it had been, it still would have been visible. A vast spread of ships, fifty or so at last count, rode at anchor or lay half-foundered within what had once been called Lord's Port.

“The Boat Graveyard,” Danny pronounced the current name with distaste. “If we're going to have any chance at all, that's gotta go.”

“Ah. Yes. That.” Stepping up, Marchant shaded his eyes as he peered northward. “I see. Well then.”

Something about his tone plucked at Danny's curiosity. That didn't sound like he was giving up.

“'Well then'?” he echoed. “What do you mean, 'well then'?”

Marchant smiled. “I mean,” he replied, “well then. Challenge accepted.”

Danny blinked again. Holy shit. He's serious.


End of Part Eight

Part Nine

 

She saw him, standing on the edge of the rooftop, looking out over the city. Such was his belief that she would not attack him, he had his back turned, even though he had to know that she was there. For a moment, Skitter had the impulse to make something sting him, something non-venomous, just to shake him out of that supreme self-confidence. But she quashed it as unworthy. They were here under truce, after all.

"Skitter." His voice was rich and deep. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

She moved to join him, feeling the gravel turning under the soles of her feet. "Your message said that you had something for me."

"I do indeed." This close, she realised that he wore evening dress, illuminated faintly by the glow from the city lights below. Unclasping his hands from behind his back, he gestured out over the city. "We both care about Brockton Bay. You want its people to be safe. I want it to work again. Those two aims can go hand in hand. Currently, we have been working separately, and occasionally at cross-purposes. I propose to put an end to that."

"How?" She was wary, on her guard. The swarm she had gathered, just outside visual detection range, hovered ready to attack. Despite that, she was fully aware that he could probably kill or capture her in an instant, if he so chose. Of course, he did have a strong reputation for never breaking his word and never attacking women or children ... but one could never be sure. The vast profits from running a city unopposed could undermine the strongest principles, given time.

"I propose a partnership." His voice was smooth and measured. "You handle the street level side of things, with assistance as needed from my forces. I handle the higher level politics, with backup from your parahuman forces as necessary."

She paused, searching his words for any tricks. "It can't be that simple."

"It won't be simple in any way at all," he assured her. "But if we are able to work without looking over our shoulders, if I can run interference on the PRT for you, if you can handle the street-level problems for me, it will be somewhat easier for the both of us."

"Your methods -" she began, then paused.

"Are harsh, yes, but I have found them necessary in the past," he went on. "However, I will not be kidnapping twelve year old children. I will not be seeking to betray you while pretending to be your ally. If I am your enemy, you will know it. I would prefer not to be."

"No murder." The words were rough in her throat.

Carefully, he inclined his head. "As you say. No murder. What, then, do I do with those of my men who let me down or, inevitably, attempt to betray me?"

She turned her head to look at him fully. "Let them know that I'm working with you. If the problems persist, send them to me."

"Some would call that a more stringent punishment than my norm." His words were light, addressed to the city skyline.

"Doesn't matter. It's the way it's going to be if we're going to be working together."

"Of course." Again, he inclined his head. "So, then, shall we call it a partnership?" Turning to face her, he extended his hand.

"We've still got to work out the details, but sure." She took it.

It was only a handshake, but it signified much more to Brockton Bay.

 

Another Way

Part Nine: Close Encounters of the Interesting Kind


Friday, September 7, 2007
Northwest Middle School

“ - and then she said,” Taylor finished triumphantly, “'I've never seen it do that before!'”

Laughter burst out at the table; Emma, caught unawares, snorted banana-flavoured milk out of her nose. Claire found that even funnier than the joke; she kept laughing, even as she patted Emma on the back. Emma coughed and sputtered and turned red in the face, but Claire subtly helped her through the worst of it with her powers.

“Oh god, Taylor,” wheezed Emma. “What are you trying to do? Kill me? What did I ever do to you? Did I offend you in a past life?”

Taylor grinned unrepentantly at her. “Nope, but it serves you right. You were drinking milk while you should have been listening to my joke. You gonna clean that up, by the way? You sure made a mess. It's all over your face. And you got milk on your new top, too. Wow, your mom is gonna be pissed.”

Claire silently handed Emma some tissues; the redhead shot her a grateful look and wiped her face before dabbing at her blouse. “You know, you could warn us before you're gonna tell one of your jokes,” the redhead went on. “I mean, that was downright hazardous to the health.”

“So where do you get all your jokes from anyway, Taylor?” asked Claire curiously. “I mean, you're not exactly the rough, tough type.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “I might not be, but Dad's in the Dockworkers, remember? Every time they come over for a few drinks, I sit in the corner as quiet as I can. Once they've had a few beers, the jokes start coming out. And if anyone can tell a dirty joke, it's a Dockworker. Trust me, you haven't heard one tenth of the ones I know.”

“Yeah, trust her on that one,” Emma confirmed. “One time I challenged her to a dirty joke telling contest. Boy, did I lose.”

Taylor giggled. “That was hilarious. Your face was even redder than your hair. And I wasn't even telling the really dirty ones. There's ones I know that I don't even want to think about, let alone tell. I mean, there's one that goes -”

“So anyway, guys,” Claire interjected hastily, “I was just thinking. How would you like to hang out over the weekend?”

Taylor and Emma glanced at each other, then back at Claire. “Uh, well, it's just that Emma and me kind of have a thing where we sleep over at each others' places on a weekend,” Taylor said. “But if your dad's fine with it, you can sleep over with us.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “You're cool. We'd love to have you over.”

“I got a better idea,” Claire told them. “How about you both come sleep over at my place. Trust me, we've got the room.”

Again, that almost-telepathic glance, the exchange of information. “Uh, maybe -” began Emma.

“We've got a heated indoor pool,” Claire pointed out.

“Hell -” Taylor began.

“- yes,” Emma finished. “An indoor pool? Count me in.”

“You've just been wanting to show off your new bathing suit that you got for your birthday,” Taylor accused her.

“Yeah? So?” Emma spread her hands. “We don't have an indoor pool.”

Taylor turned to Claire. “Well, it looks like it's settled. Sleepover, your place. What time should we turn up?”

<><>​

“We're late,” fretted Taylor. “She said between six and seven. It's almost five after seven. She'll think I'm not coming. She'll think I'm a horrible person.”

“She will not think you're a horrible person,” Annette told her from the front seat. “She sounds like a very nice girl and I'm sure she'll forgive you for being just a little bit late. I'm glad you're making more friends, by the way.” She turned to Danny. “Dear, would you like me to help you navigate?”

“I'll be fine,” Danny said, just a shade tersely. “These streets look all the same to me. What was the address again?”

“One seven nine Hampton Way,” Taylor recited promptly. “I think we just passed it.”

“So we did,” Annette agreed. Just back that way, dear.”

“I see it, I see it.” Danny pulled over to the side of the road and manoeuvred the car into a U-turn, then trundled back toward the appropriate intersection. It was indeed Hampton Way.

“So what do her parents do for a living, honey?” asked Annette as they rolled down the street.

“Oh, her mom's dead, I think. But her dad's some kinda rich. I mean, they've got a heated indoor pool. I haven't met him, but Claire says he's a businessman of some sort. Maybe a stockbroker or an investor. They moved here from Boston a few months ago. Claire's really cool. She knows all sorts of interesting stuff. Emma likes her too.”

“That's nice,” grunted Danny, concentrating more on the house numbers than the conversation. “One thirty-one … one thirty-five … “

“If she's used to living in relative luxury, perhaps she might not be so interested in sleeping over with you,” Annette said, a touch of concern in her voice.

“Oh, she's not like that,” Taylor assured her. “She's a really great person. Genuine, you know? She doesn't put herself above everyone, just because her dad's got money. Anyway, I told her about our house and she says she can't wait to see it.”

“Ah-ha.” Danny pointed ahead. “That'll be it, on the corner.”

“Wow,” Taylor blurted. “That's a huge house. I mean, that's enormous. Her dad must be loaded.”

“It's definitely a large house,” agreed Annette as Danny manoeuvred the car in to the curb. “And look, dear. He drives the same type of car as Alan does.”

“That's not his car,” Taylor told her. “Or at least it's not the one Claire goes to school in. Mr Barnes must be just dropping Emma off.”

“Huh,” Danny said as they got out of the vehicle. He peered at the rear license plate on the red sports car in the driveway. “I think you're right. That's Alan's car all right. I recognise the vanity plates. BARNES-1. Nobody else would be using those.”

“Oh, it'll be nice to see Alan and Zoe again,” Annette declared. She straightened her dress and started up the driveway alongside her husband and daughter.

<><>​

Danny had associated with people used to wealth and privilege before. He had been to their houses and had even attended events at the Augustus Country Club. But he wasn't personally used to ostentatious displays of wealth. This house positively screamed, “I'm rich!” to all and sundry.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the doorbell. Sonorous chimes sounded within the house. He waited. Behind him, Taylor whispered once again, “This is a really big house.” Annette shushed her.

Footsteps approached the door from the other side. It clicked, then opened silently with not even a creak from the obviously well-made hinges. Standing there was …

Danny's brain took a few seconds to register who it was. “Wait … Jonas?”

The burly man inclined his head toward Danny. “Mr Hebert. Mrs Hebert. Miss Hebert. Won't you come in?”

“I – but – wait – what – what are you doing here?” demanded Danny.

“I work here, sir,” Jonas said simply. Stepping aside, he gestured, a come-in motion.

“Thank you – Jonas, was it?” Annette took the invitation; grasping Taylor by the hand, she stepped inside, leaving Danny to follow, feeling slack-jawed and stupid.

“Indeed, ma'am. Mr Marchant is in the living room, through there, ma'am.”

“Wait,” Danny began again. “This is Earl Marchant's house.”

“Yes, sir.” Jonas' expression was bland, unrevealing.

“So Claire is Earl's daughter.”

“Correct, sir.

“So my daughter's new friend is my business partner's daughter.”

“So it would seem, sir.”

Danny blinked and shook his head, trying to get his thoughts into order. “Right. Good. Glad we got that settled.” He set off in his wife's wake, following her to what had been described as a 'living room', but into which Danny could quite easily see his entire house fitting with room to spare. Acres of carpet, a flat-screen TV that would have barely fit through the door, amazingly comfortable-looking furniture …

“Danny! Glad you could make it.” Earl Marchant himself advanced across the room from where he had been chatting to the Barnses, husband and wife. Taylor and Emma were reuniting with a verve that suggested a parting of days, not hours. A girl whom he presumed to be Earl's daughter Claire was also greeting Taylor with comfortable familiarity. At the same time, Anne-Rose embraced Zoe Barnes with somewhat more restraint, but with no less sincerity.

“Earl.” Danny shook the other man's hand. “It's good to see you but I must admit, I'm more than a little surprised.”

“Why is that?” Earl tilted his head to the side. “Oh, you didn't know? Ah.” A smile crossed his face. “Well, when Claire told me Taylor's surname, I must admit, I checked the White Pages to make sure there weren't any other Heberts in Brockton Bay. So yes, I have gotten over the surprise. Coincidences do happen, after all.”

“Well, yeah,” began Danny, but was interrupted by Alan Barnes. The heavy-set man, his hair once as red as Emma's but now beginning to fade with age, came up to Danny and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Danny,” he exclaimed by way of saying hello. “Earl here was just telling me all about the plans you two have for fixing up the Docks. It sounds like a great idea. Why didn't you tell me about it earlier?”

“I … because we've only just started talking about it,” Danny hedged. “I wasn't going to say anything until we had signatures on paper.”

Alan nodded wisely. “Yeah. Distinct point, right there. You've been burned a few times, as I recall.”

“More than a few, but yeah,” Danny said. “These days, I'm more than a little careful about who I put my trust in until the contracts are signed, sealed and delivered.”

“A very wise policy,” Earl agreed. “I've been disappointed a few times in my career as well. After all, who hasn't? But I make sure that whoever does this to me doesn't get a second chance to do so. It all seems to work out in the end.”

Danny glanced at Alan, whose expression hadn't changed from one of polite interest. Was I the only one who caught that? The undertone in Earl's voice had been one of … it wasn't quite menace, but it did hold a promise that if you make a deal with me and go back on it, you will be very terminally sorry.

For a long moment, he wondered whether it was a good idea to even let Taylor associate with this man's daughter. But then Claire approached them.

“Uh, excuse me for interrupting,” she said brightly.

“Yes, honey?” asked Earl.

“I just wanted to say hello to Mr Hebert, and thanks for bringing Taylor over.” She flashed Danny a brilliant smile; Danny could not help but return it. At least the kid's polite.

“That's all right, Claire,” he replied. “She was really looking forward to this.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Me too.” She turned to her father. “May I show Emma and Taylor around the house, now that Taylor's here? And are we allowed to go for a swim?”

Danny blinked. Swim? It's September.

“Certainly,” Earl said. “But be careful and don't show off too much, all right?”

“Sure, thanks, Dad.” And she was gone again, more or less dragging Taylor and Emma away with a burst of enthusiasm.

Earl looked back at Danny and Alan. “I want to thank you two for bringing your girls over. Claire's been talking about nothing else since she got home today. She's had no real chance to make friends since we moved here, and I worry about her getting lonely.”

Such was the genuine emotion in his voice that much of Danny's concern melted away. He may be a dangerous man, but not to his daughter or her friends. “She's very polite,” was all he could think to say.

“Well, yes,” Earl replied. “Children hold a special place in the world, as far as I am concerned. But they also need to be taught how to be responsible adults.”

Alan nodded. “I try to make sure that Emma knows what's what.” He paused. “I understand,” he went on delicately, “that her mother has passed away?”

“Yes.” Earl frowned briefly. “It happened when Claire was very young. The big C. I've had to raise her on my own. It hasn't been easy, but it's been amazingly rewarding. I never thought I would have children, you see. But even after the first year, I couldn't imagine not having Claire there.”

Danny found himself nodding in unison with Alan. “Taylor was kind of a happy surprise,” he confessed. “Anne-Rose was in college while I worked with my father on the Docks, but we never even considered not having her. Her parents never really forgave us for getting pregnant so early; Anne-Rose had to drop out of her law studies to have her. Afterward, she got her English degree, but it wasn't the same. To them, anyway. Me, I wouldn't have had it any other way.”

“Zoe and I had it slightly easier,” Alan confessed. “Well, I was the one who had it easier, given that I was the one studying for the degree, while Zoe was the one getting pregnant. Not with Emma; she came later. Our first was Anne; she's in college.”

“Ah, yes,” Earl said wisely. “Of course, we all know the next scary thing that's going to happen, right?”

“Boys,” Danny agreed.

“And dating,” Alan supplied.

“I don't even know how I'm going to handle it,” Danny told them. “Seriously. If Taylor comes home one day and says she's interested in a boy, I'm strongly considering locking her in her room till she's about, oh, twenty-five.” He drew a deep breath. “Thankfully, the closest thing she's had to a crush is an Alexandria poster on her bedroom wall. So far.” He chose not to mention the Armsmaster underwear; she'd wanted it, he hadn't seen the point in it, but Anne-Rose had chosen to get it for her anyway. For his part, he'd done his best to forget about it.

“You think you've got problems?” Alan rolled his eyes theatrically. “I've got one in college. I don't dare ask her anything more than 'do you need more money' just in case she tells me about some boy she's seeing. Or some girl, for that matter.”

Earl frowned slightly “A girl wouldn't be so bad, would it? After all, it's not like she'd get pregnant.”

“Two words,” Alan advised him. “Matching. Tattoos.” The three men shared a theatrical shudder.

“At least you've been through the teen dating years with Anne,” Danny pointed out. “As I understand, the expected horror show never actually materialised.”

“Yeah, but with all fairness to Anne,” Alan lowered his voice and glanced around to make sure that Zoe was not in earshot, “she's pretty and she's a wonderful girl, but she's not drop-dead stunning gorgeous.” He looked toward where Emma had disappeared with the other two. “Emma's already showing real promise. The boys will be lining up to ask her out.”

“What about you, Earl?” asked Danny. “You're pretty quiet on the subject.”

“Well, one thing I have learned from spending so much time with my daughter,” Earl replied, “is that she has rather good judgement. I have no doubt that she will become attracted to someone at some point. At which time, hopefully, she will apprise me of the situation and I will make the decision to either give him the 'if you make my daughter cry' speech or have Jonas show him the driveway in a ballistic arc.” He paused. “Mind you, I've also made sure that Claire can punch out any overly grabby young lout if and when required.”

“That actually sounds like a plan,” Danny mused. “I wonder where I could get lessons for Taylor.”

“Emma could take them too,” Alan agreed. “She might like it better than horseback riding or piano lessons.”

“Point of fact, gentlemen,” Earl advised them. “No child enjoys starting on any new endeavour unless it's already easy for them, or unless their friends are also doing it. Piano lessons rarely fall into either category.”

Alan Barnes rolled his eyes. “Preaching to the choir here.”

Danny opened his mouth to make a comment, but was interrupted when Jonas stepped into the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.”

“Dinner?” Danny looked around. “I didn't know we were staying for dinner.”

“Of course we were, dear,” Anne-Rose said as she came over to take his arm. “Mr Marchant offered when we spoke on the phone. I accepted for the both of us.”

“But I'm not dressed for it -” Danny glanced down at his polo shirt and jeans.

“Nonsense. You look very smart. Come along now.”

Not for the first time in his life, Danny found himself doing as his wife told him.

<><>​

Later That Night

“Well, that was very pleasant,” Anne-Rose observed as they pulled away from the curb. “Earl Marchant is a nice man.”

That's because he only showed you that side of himself, Danny thought but did not say. However, truth be told, he had seen no cracks in the facade when it came to Earl's attitude toward Anne-Rose and Zoe. He had been friendly and attentive without being flirtatious or creepy.

It appeared that Earl Marchant was a man of many layers, one who chose which person saw what part of him. Zoe and Anne-Rose saw a genial host, while Alan Barnes saw a businessman who was interested in improving matters in Brockton Bay. Danny had seen deeper into him, but he could not be sure that Earl had not shown his darker side deliberately, to see his reaction. Because if their plans were to come to completion, Danny would see that side of him sooner or later. Better you see it now, than when it's too late to back out …

It was going to be a difficult decision, but he was reasonably sure which way he was going to jump. After all, if Brockton Bay was going to be pulled back into the light, it was going to need more than vision and resources to do it. A certain level of ruthlessness was also going to be required, a ruthlessness that Danny suspected Earl Marchant had in spades. Plus, someone with a daughter as polite as Claire can't be all bad.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “That was a really nice evening. And I still can't believe he has an indoor swimming pool.”

“The girls were certainly enjoying it when we left,” Anne-Rose said. “And Taylor was right. Claire is very down to earth. She's a delightful girl.”

“I think she gets it from her father,” Danny mused. “He strikes me as someone who hasn't always had all the advantages, but now that he's got them, he intends to enjoy them to the fullest.”

“And more power to him,” Anne-Rose said. “So I gathered from the small amount of shop talk that you shared at the table that he and you are going to be collaborating on improvements to the city, like the ferry and the Boat Graveyard?”

“That's the general idea, yes,” Danny admitted. “Though the full extent of our plans have yet to be worked out.”

“Good,” Anne-Rose declared firmly. “It's about time someone did something about that.”

And Danny could only agree.

I just hope I'm not making a huge mistake.

<><>​

Friday, September 28, 2007
Northwest Middle School

“Will the contestants for the under-thirteen four hundred yard race please report to the starting line … will the contestants for the under-thirteen four hundred yard race please report to the starting line.”

Danny looked up as the announcement crackled over the PA system which had been set up out on the playing field. “That'll be you, kiddo,” he told his daughter. “Now, are you sure you're up for this?”

Beside him, Annette put her hand on his arm. “Well, if she's not, it's too late to back out now, dear,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, like Mom says,” Taylor agreed rapidly, pulling off the jacket that she'd been wearing up till that point. Under it, she wore a racing vest with her number – 43 – displayed front and back. “I'm pretty good at it.”

“But some of these visiting runners are really good,” Danny fretted. “I -”

“I got it, Dad, I got it.” Taylor flashed him a wide smile. “I win, I win. I lose, at least I tried.”

Jumping down off of the stand, she trotted through the crowd to where the runners were lining up for the four hundred yard race.

<><>​

At the trackside, Claire watched Taylor and Emma take their places along with the rest of the runners. During the time she had spent with them, her power had worked on them, gradually improving their muscle tone, increasing their stamina and making them overall fitter and stronger – and just a little smarter – versions of the people she had met on her first day.

It would be interesting to see how they did in this race; Taylor's body was optimised toward speed, while Emma's focus was toward endurance. Neither one had been made over into superhuman capability as yet; any medical examination would simply find that they were a little faster, a little stronger than the norm.

She hoped they would do well. They were her friends, after all. She wanted the best for them.

<><>​

“Ready … steady ….”

The starter's gun cracked, sending a dozen girls hurtling forward from the blocks. Taylor was off like a hare, hitting the lead in her first few strides. Emma wasn't far behind, with the rest of the pack, but she was pacing herself. Very smart. Let the others wear themselves down and then make your move.

The better runners were coming to the fore now, a couple starting to draw up on Taylor. She flicked a glance over her shoulder and actually accelerated, scorching down the track at a pace that Claire suspected she could not maintain.

A few seconds later, she was proven right when another girl forged out of the pack and past the initial hopefuls; Emma was right behind her, correctly judging that now was the time to make her move. As the finish line came closer and closer, Taylor started to flag, with the other girl coming up fast now. She tried grimly to hang on, but the girl passed her just a few yards away from the line. They came in first, second and third, with about a tenth of a second between each of them, Emma just behind Taylor but closing on the both of them.

Claire had already been making her way to the finish point; she got there just in time to see Emma helping Taylor up from where she had collapsed on the ground.

“Is she all right?” Her concern was unfeigned; Taylor had pushed herself to the absolute max to finish as fast as she had. Subtly, her power began leaching lactic acid out of her friend's muscles and cracking the food in her stomach for more glucose.

“Yeah, hah, I'll, hah, be fine, hah,” panted Taylor. “Good god,” she added to the girl who had won, who was panting heavily herself. “You can run.”

“Yeah, well, you're not so shabby yourself,” replied the other girl. “Your friend was coming up behind me like a steam train, and I thought you'd never slow down long enough for me to pass you. That was a great race. They may as well just give you the one and two hundred yard trophies now and save everyone the time.”

Emma, still supporting Taylor, held out her hand. “Emma,” she greeted the girl. “Pleased to meet you. This is Taylor.”

The girl reached out a slim dark-skinned hand and they shook. “Yeah, likewise,” she agreed. “Sophia. Sophia Hess.”

<><>​

Saturday, September 29, 2007

“Wow, the parking around here's really horrible.”

“That's okay, dear,” Annette advised Danny. “Just park a little way away. We can walk.”

“Dad, seriously,” Taylor put in. “We don't have to go to a restaurant to celebrate getting those athletics trophies. I'll just admire them at home while we eat.”

“No, we arranged to meet the Barneses there, remember?” Annette said. “I just wish Claire and Earl could have joined us too.”

“So do I,” agreed Taylor. “But Claire said she had a thing on, so maybe another night. She was pretty cut up about it, though. I think she would really have liked to be here.”

“Finally!” Danny spotted a parking spot and wheeled the vehicle around to slide into it. A horn blared as another car, also aiming for the same spot, had to sheer off. As the other driver moved off in search of an empty space, Danny triumphantly pulled into the parking spot. “Hah. Got it.”

“Okay, now which way was the restaurant again?” asked Taylor. “Because I have no idea.”

“It's this way,” Danny declared, pointing down the street. “Down there, turn left and then right again and we're there.”

They started off, when they got to the corner, Danny began to turn left, but Annette stopped him. “I think we should be turning right here, dear,” she said doubtfully.

“You sure?” he asked. “I thought it was left and then right.”

“We did come the other way, you know,” Taylor added helpfully. “If it's right one way, it's left the other.”

“Yeah, but I took that into account,” he muttered.

“Dear …” began Annette.

“Just a minute, trying to figure out which way we came.”

“No. Danny, look.” The note of concern in Annette's voice was enough to make him look around. Half a dozen people wearing gang colours had emerged from an alleyway and were moving to surround them. Each of them held a weapon of some sort, be it a switchblade or a length of pipe or chain.

“Dad?” That was Taylor, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

Doing his best to do the same, despite the fact that his heart felt as though it had been plunged into a bucket of ice water, he spoke calmly to her. “It's okay. I'll handle this.” Stepping forward, he did his best to keep his hands from shaking too obviously. “Evening. Can I help you?”

The nominal leader of this little group of what Danny could see was the Empire Eighty-Eight nodded sharply. “Yeah, you can, four-eyes. You can give us your wallet an' watch an' the little woman's purse an' jewellery. Anythin' else valuable you got on you, too. Car keys. An' then maybe you c'n go on your way.”

The young man's arrogant tone pricked at Danny's pride in the worst way. Normally an even-tempered man, he usually did his best to keep his temper, inherited from his father, under control. The shaking in his hands changed from fear to anger; he dared not clench them into fists, for fear that the gang members would see it as a challenge. I can't risk Anne-Rose and Taylor. Not for this.

Growing up in Brockton Bay, the rule was very simple; if you were mugged, you handed over your goods. Fighting back only got you hurt. That was what the heroes were for. Where are they, now that I need them?

Taking a deep breath, he tried to quell the anger rising within him, the terror for his wife and child. I've got to do what they say. I can't risk Taylor or Anne-Rose. I just can't.

“I -” he began, but that was as far as he got.

“Excuse me, sir.”

The voice came from a little way down the street. Danny looked around, staring at the three men who hadn't been there a few moments ago. All three were dressed in black; long coats over shirt and trousers, with some sort of white emblem on the right shoulder. They stepped closer, moving in unison; despite the fact that they were unarmed, Danny got a sense of danger from them.

“Yes, sir, I'm speaking to you,” one of the men spoke up; this time, Danny realised the he was the one being addressed. “Are you in difficulty? Would you like our assistance?”

“A – assistance?” he asked, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Yes, sir,” the man said patiently. “Would you like us to deal with the situation you're in? It'll cost you a hundred dollars.”

The leader of the gang members stared at the three newcomers. “What the fuck?” he demanded. “Seriously, what the fuck? We're shaking these people down. You can fuck all the way off.”

The men kept moving closer, at a steady pace that Danny wasn't sure was not intended to be intimidating. “For a start,” the man stated clearly, “this is Marquis' territory. You're off your patch. Second, you're looking to rob them. We're offering them our protection. This protection, by the way, sir,” he added in an aside to Danny, “lasts for twenty-four hours. Forty dollars start-up, ten dollars per day or part thereof, half price for women and children. One hundred dollars all told.” One of his cohorts leaned in and murmured something. “Oh, I do apologise. I forgot; families get a twenty percent discount. Eighty dollars. Do you have that?”

Danny blinked, his brain finally catching up with the situation. He'd heard that Marquis was back in town; if he had to choose between the mercy of the Empire Eighty-Eight and paying eighty dollars to protect his entire family, he knew which he'd go for.

“Uh – yeah, I got eighty bucks,” he replied. Fumbling out his wallet, he extracted four twenties. “Got it right here. I accept your deal. Eighty bucks, right?”

“Correct, sir,” the leader of Marquis' men agreed. “Now, if you'll just all step back …”

“Hell with this!” snapped the Empire gang member. “Get those Marquis motherfuckers!” He gestured toward his colleagues and four of them started toward the men in black. Then he turned back to Danny. “And as for you, four-eyes, you're gonna pay all right and not just in money. Maybe we'll take your wife and have some fun with her. Teach you both a lesson about crossing the Empire.” With the last gang member, he began moving toward Danny, switchblade out and weaving, the chromed steel catching flickers from the street lights.

Danny spread his arms and started moving back, pushing Taylor and Annette with him. “Keep away from them,” he told the man as firmly as he could. “Don't hurt them.”

<><>​

“Mmmmm.”

Earl paused in his slow, careful massaging of the woman's lower back. “You like that?”

“Oh yeah,” she murmured. Rolling over, she pulled him to her. “But I like what we were doing earlier a lot more.”

“Hey, I'm no longer a young man,” he told her playfully, all the while responding to her caresses. “I've got to take time to get my strength back.”

“I'd be happy to do this all day long,” she told him, grazing his shoulder with her teeth.

“Well, we can only do it when your husband's occupied otherwise,” he replied, doing something that made her gasp. “You want to sleep around, sure, but I'm not going to have a hand in destroying your marriage.”

She pouted. “I'm pretty sure that he's got something going on with his new secretary. Have you seen her? Her bra size is bigger than her IQ.”

“No, I haven't met his secretary. And if he does come into the partnership, what we're doing is going to have to stop,” he told her firmly.

She stopped what she was doing and sat up. “What, really?” she asked disbelievingly.

“Really,” he assured her. “If a married woman wants to sleep with me, I'll happily accommodate. After all, you approached me and you are very attractive. But if I end up having legal obligations toward your husband, I'm not going to complicate that.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “So long as we're -”

His phone rang and he held up one finger. “One second. I have to take this.”

“I thought you turned your phone off,” she muttered.

“Not this one. Now shush.” He hit the answer button. “Yes?”

“Sir, we have a situation. Six Empire men, and they have the Hebert family cornered. I have two with me. It could get problematic.”

All lethargy fell away from him. “Location?”

“Jackson and Fogerty.”

“I'm on my way. Do what you can.” He was already standing beside the bed as he ended the call.

She stared at him as he began to pull his clothes on. “What? What's going on?”

Leaning down, he gave her a perfunctory kiss. “My dear Zoe, I have to go. We can finish this conversation at another time.”

And then he was gone, leaving Zoe Barnes sitting in the middle of her rumpled bed, wondering what the hell had just happened.

<><>​

Claire leaned back on the recliner and grinned as she popped another gummy bear into her mouth. Road Runner cartoons were so predictable and yet she loved them. The physics were almost as ridiculous as those exhibited by the average cape, but a lot funnier.

Turning her head, she gave the duty nurse a nod; the nurse gave her one back, along with a discreet thumbs-up. Claire presumed that meant she was holding steady on people going out versus people coming in. The doctors hadn't screamed too loudly at the numbers on the price schedule, especially when people were paying specifically to come into the hospital while she was there.

Her phone rang; she opened it. “Marchioness speaking.”

“We have a situation. The car will be picking you up outside in thirty seconds.”

Eyes widening, she sat up. “What? What's going on?”

“The Hebert family is being mugged.”

Taylor. Shit. “Right. Thirty seconds.” Standing up, she gestured to the duty nurse. The woman was looking at her with intense curiosity. “I have to go. Make sure nobody steals my stuff, okay?”

Not even waiting for an answer, she hurried to the doors. Barely had she made it out before the car screeched in through the drive-through; yanking open the passenger-side door, she tumbled in. Jonas barely gave her time to get her feet inside and the door closed before he powered off again; it took her three turns before she managed to get the seat-belt on.

“Situation?” she asked out loud.

“Six gang members, three of our own,” her father's voice emerged crisply from the car's speakers. “Jonas knows where to go. High possibility of one or more of the Heberts being injured.”

“Which gang?” she asked, hanging on as Jonas drifted the car around another corner. She had upgraded his reflexes and eyesight for just such an occasion, but she wasn't sure that he wasn't pushing himself beyond his limits.

“Empire Eighty-Eight.”

She drew an aggravated breath. “Dammit, Dad. I told you we should have done something about those racist thugs before now.”

“I know, I know. We'll talk about that later.”

“If Taylor's hurt, we're gonna have a lot to talk about.”

When he replied, there was mild censure in his voice. “You're not the only one with a friend in this situation, my dear Claire.”

“Yeah, sorry, Dad.”

“Never mind. New update. Gang members are down.” His phone signal dropped out for a second. “- is badly wounded.”

Claire gripped the handholds. “What? Who's hurt?”

<><>​

Taylor could not believe that this was happening to her. An actual real mugging, with actual real gangs fighting it out. Part of her was terrified; another part babbled, I can't wait to tell Emma and Claire when I see them! Dad's so cool and brave!

Her attention was on the confrontation between her father and the gang member, but then it was caught by the four Empire members closing with the three Marquis men. One moment, there were seven people standing, facing one another. The next, the three had blurred into action, telescoping batons extending from their right hands.

It was as though the fight had been choreographed and the Empire thugs were playing through in slow motion, while Marquis' men were not slowed down at all. The men in black moved around their opponents in what seemed almost to be a dance, but with each swing of a baton, a limb flailed uselessly or a weapon fell to the ground. The dance only lasted for a few seconds; as a finale, four solid meaty thuds were followed by four Empire members collapsing to the ground, down and out. Their three opponents still stood, apparently unharmed. They barely even seemed to be breathing hard.

“Hostages!” snapped the Empire gang member. “Get the woman and the girl!” He and his last remaining cohort moved forward with intent.

“No! No way!” yelled Taylor's father and surged forward. He must have caught them by surprise; his wildly swinging fist clipped one of the gang members on the jaw, sending him spinning to the ground with a look of utter astonishment on his face.

The other one, however, slashed at Danny; her father raised his arm more or less by instinct and caught the blade there instead of on his face. The sharp metal sliced his sleeve and blood flowed. Danny wasn't done, however; he swung with his left hand, slugging into the guy's shoulder. “Leave them alone!” he grunted.

The Empire gang member brought the knife around; Taylor saw her father double over, then fall to his knees. “Dad!” she screamed; she went to dart forward, but her mother held her back.

And then the three Marquis men were right there. One of them took hold of the Empire Eighty-Eight man who had attacked her father; she heard a horrible crunch, then the man was dropped to the ground like a rag doll. The one that her father had punched merely had his arms broken, or perhaps dislocated; Taylor didn't know and didn't care.

The third man rolled her father over carefully. Taylor gasped and her mother let out a cry of distress; there was so much blood, covering the front of his shirt and his right sleeve. For a moment, Taylor thought that he was dead, then his eyes flickered open.

“Taylor,” he rasped. “Anne-Rose.”

They stumbled forward, Taylor at her mother's side. Annette fell to her knees beside her husband, uncaring of the pool of blood on the ground. “Danny,” she gasped. “Danny, don't die.”

“Ma'am, I'm going to need you to keep talking to him,” the man told her. “Just do what you're doing right there.” He looked up at Taylor. “Miss, have you ever done first aid?”

Taylor shook her head so hard that she thought her glasses might fall off. “N-no. No, I haven't.”

“Well, that's okay,” he told her. “If you can get down here and press your hands here, you can keep your father alive.”

Hesitantly, she knelt down and pressed where he told her. Under her hands she felt a warm pulsing; when she realised what it was, she almost pulled her hands away. “That – that's blood,” she blurted.

“That's correct,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone that did more to calm her down than anything else would have. “It's supposed to be inside him. You're stopping it from getting out. Can you do that for me?”

“I – yes,” she agreed. At her side, she could hear her mother murmuring to her father, keeping his attention, keeping him awake. “But we need an ambulance. A doctor. I've seen enough TV shows. This won't save his life.”

“It only has to keep him alive long enough, miss,” the man told her. “Help is on the way.”

“It most certainly is.”

<><>​

Taylor looked around, careful not to lift her hands from where she was pressing on her father's injury. Descending into the narrow street were three people; almost immediately she recognised members of Brockton Bay's homegrown superhero team. It was Brandish, being carried by Mega Girl, who had spoken.

The rush of relief that she felt – the heroes are here. It's going to be all right now - was almost immediately overtaken by reality. What can they do here?

“Brandish. Lady Photon. Mega Girl.” It was the spokesman of the three Marquis men, careful to make no aggressive moves, who spoke. “I'm afraid you're a little late.”

“No, it looks like we got here just in time.” That was Brandish. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Lady Photon nodded to Mega Girl and gestured toward where Taylor and her mother were kneeling over Danny. Taking the hint, the teenage superhero hurried over. “Can I help?”

“I don't know,” whimpered Taylor. “I've never done this before. Am I doing it right? Can you fly him to the hospital?”

“I don't know,” confessed Mega Girl. “It depends on how bad the bleeding is. If he dies on the way, it doesn't matter where I take him. He's your father?”

Taylor nodded, tears leaking from her eyes. “I don't want him to die. He can't. He just can't.”

“It's okay, calm down, calm down,” Mega Girl soothed her. “Have you called nine one one?”

“No, but they said they have,” Taylor admitted, pointing with her chin.

“Who are they, anyway?” asked Mega Girl. “I've never seen that gang emblem before. It's not the Merchants.”

“No, they said they're from Marquis,” Taylor said, glad to have something to talk about. “You should have seen them, they just took those guys apart.”

“Villains fighting villains? That's kind of weird.”

“No, they said they were -”

<><>​

“- offering protection for money,” the man in the black long-coat told Brandish. “It's a perfectly legitimate business transaction. The police and the army do it all the time. So do bodyguard services.”

“And you're doing a bang-up job about it,” she retorted. “One of your 'protectees' is badly wounded and what are you doing about it? Standing around waiting for him to die so you can refund your money and then sidle off into the night?”

“No, ma'am, that's not what we're doing,” he replied, his tone even and polite in the face of her anger. “We're waiting for appropriate medical attention to get here.”

“We might need some for these gang members too,” observed Lady Photon, checking another one for life signs. “Some of them are pretty badly hurt and at least two are dead.”

“So we're looking at manslaughter, maybe murder, if intent can be proven,” Brandish stated flatly.

“Not at all,” he replied blandly. “Those men were threatening these three with lethal force. We defended them with lethal force. The fact that the man got hurt merely underlines the threat that they were under.”

“But you work for a supervillain!” Brandish's energy blade snapped into being in her hand. “I'm placing you under citizen's arrest.”

The roar of a car engine interrupted whatever he was going to say in return; first one car and then another roared up the street. They screeched to a halt just yards away from the ongoing tableau. A person got out of each car; the vehicles drove off once more.

<><>​

“I really would rather you didn't, Brandish dear,” Marquis said blandly, striding over to where Brandish was facing off against his minions.

“Marquis.” Her voice was liquid helium; the energy blade curved in his direction.

“Brandish.” In contrast, his voice was light, friendly. “It's so good to see you again. You really have done well for yourself; I would hardly believe that it's been one year, let alone seven.”

She gritted her teeth; Lady Photon stepped up alongside her and put a hand on her arm.

“What do you want, Marquis?” asked Lady Photon.

“For myself? Nothing.” Marquis took a deep breath of the night air. “But my men here used only appropriate force to subdue armed opponents. To arrest them would merely make you look incompetent.”

“And who is that?” asked Lady Photon, gesturing at the girl in the evening gown, who had approached the wounded man and his family.

<><>​

“Marchioness!” Unlike her mother and aunt, Vicky was actually glad to see the new arrivals. “He's hurt bad, I think. Can you help him?”

“I believe so.” The newcomer gave Vicky a smile. “It's good to see you too, Mega Girl. I see you've been passed on your Wards training. No more incidents like that other time?”

“No, thank God.” Vicky gave her brow an exaggerated wipe. “That was a real wake-up call for me. Thanks for bailing me out on that one, by the way.”

“No such thing,” Marchioness told her firmly. “I was just there and you brought her in.”

“Help.”

They both looked down. The skinny girl holding pressure on the wound was looking around wildly. “Help, I can't feel the bleeding any more. Does that mean -”

“It's okay, you can take your hands away now,” Marchioness told her kindly. “The bleeding's stopped because the wound has closed. He's going to be fine.”

The woman's head snapped up. “What? You healed him? But you didn't even touch him.”

Vicky's grin stretched the corners of her mouth. “Nope. She's cool like that.”

The woman bent over her husband again. “Danny? Danny, can you hear me?”

“Ow.” His tone was heartfelt as he opened his eyes.

“Are you still in pain? Where does it hurt?” She looked up at Marchioness. “Help him, please!”

“No, it's fine,” he grunted, sitting up. “Landed on my keys. I'm gonna have a really funny-shaped bruise there tomorrow. Ow.”

“Dad!” The girl's relief was obvious. “You're okay!”

“Well, I am now, yeah. What happened?”

“Ladies and gentleman, allow me to introduce Marchioness.” Vicky gestured at the girl in the evening gown. “She's the one you can thank for this.”

“Oh. Wow.” The skinny girl got up and, along with her mother, helped her father to his feet. Together, they looked like the unlikely survivors of a massacre, all three of them liberally bedaubed with blood, but Vicky took it as given that they were fine. “Hi, I'm Taylor. I'm really pleased to meet you. And thanks for saving my dad's life.” She offered her hand, then hesitated when she realised that it was covered in drying blood.

“That's okay,” Marchioness replied. Firmly, she took Taylor's hand and shook it anyway. “I understand that you're part of my father's protection plan so really, I had an obligation to come and do what I could.”

“Well, I don't care why you did it,” Taylor's mother told Marchioness. “I'm just glad that you did.”

“That's okay,” Marchioness said again. “Look, he's going to be a little weak, so when you get him home, make sure he has a large meal and plenty of fluids. His body needs to replenish all that. All right?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” the woman replied, nodding. “Thank you again.”

“And from me too,” the man – Danny, Vicky seemed to recall – added. “It sort of got fuzzy after I got stabbed, but I'm feeling all right now. I'm really glad you were here. Who did you say you were?”

“I'm Marchioness,” was the reply. “Marquis' daughter.”

Danny paused as this sank in. “You're a supervillain's daughter, but you're a hero.”

Marchioness paused. “Not … as such,” she said at last. “I heal people, but usually I get paid to do it.”

<><>​

“Brandish, kindly calm down a moment,” Marquis urged. His expression was polite, but Sarah got the distinct impression that he was enjoying himself hugely. “You're not arresting myself or my men tonight. We both know that. If you take away who's actually paying these men, they've performed a public service here. These people were saved from a mugging. If anyone deserves arresting, it's the gang members.”

“Two of whom are dead and the rest injured to one degree or another,” argued Brandish. “They're in no state to defend themselves, physically or verbally.”

“They were injured and killed by my men, who were defending others from their attack,” Marquis reminded her. “I am, as I told you once before, ridiculously rich. I can and will pay for the very best lawyers to defend them. You would end up as a laughing-stock.”

Sarah took Carol's arm once more. “Leave it,” she murmured. “He's got you, and he knows it. Now he's just playing with you.”

“Yeah, but he'll just get to walk away,” gritted Carol in an undertone. “Again.”

“But he's done nothing wrong, here,” Sarah reminded her. “And in fact, his men did come to the rescue of these people. And his daughter apparently saved that man's life.”

Carol turned and looked at where the girl in the evening dress was speaking to the rescued family. “His daughter?”

“That's what he said.”

“Well, that's not right.”

“What?” But Sarah was speaking to empty air; Carol was already making her way over to where the four people stood.

<><>​

“- but I usually get paid to do it.”

For Claire, it felt just a little weird to be speaking to Taylor via her Marchioness identity. She and the other two had become fast friends in the time they had known each other. It felt as though Taylor would see through her deception at any second, but of course she would not. In this persona, she was a few inches taller and a little more slender; her face was different, her hair was different and even her voice was different.

In fact, the oddest part was the look of hero-worship on Taylor's face. She was used to Taylor grinning, crossing her eyes, wrinkling her nose or sticking her tongue out at her. Acting as though she were just a normal person, in fact. Being treated as something special by her made Claire feel just a little uncomfortable in the role for the first time.

She felt Brandish approaching from the back, but did not react. I don't like her, but don't do anything to her. However, when the hand grabbed her shoulder to pull her around, the skin to skin contact overwhelmed the tight restraint she was keeping on her power.

“Ow, Christ!” blurted the superhero, jerking her hand back as though it had been burned. And in fact, large red welts were rising on the skin of her palm and fingers. “What the fuck did you do?”

Claire looked her up and down coolly. “Nothing. You performed an act of assault on me. Please don't do it again.”

Lady Photon caught up with Brandish and captured her hand. “How the heck did you do that? Acid?”

“No.” Claire told her bluntly. “She touched me without my permission. I'm a healer, but healing isn't all that I do.”

“Leave her alone!” Taylor told the heroes. “She wasn't doing anything wrong. She saved my dad's life.”

“She really did,” Mega Girl said. “She's not a villain like her dad.” But her body sang with tension; if this turned ugly, not even Claire knew which way she would jump.

“Everyone, calm down,” Annette urged, and Claire mentally blessed her. She sent a wave of her power out; the words affected them, making them actually want to calm down. “I'm sure that it was just a mistake. Marchioness, can you heal her?”

“I can,” Claire replied. “But I don't know if I should. The swelling will go down overnight, but she'll be reminded to not grab me ever again.” She looked at Brandish. “Why did you grab me, anyway?”

Brandish was clutching her stricken hand with the other, but her eyes on Claire were intent. “Because you're not who you say you are.”

Claire blinked. Oh boy. “I'm Marchioness. Who should I be?”

Brandish pointed her uninjured hand at Marquis. “Not his daughter, for a start.”

Marquis raised a cultured eyebrow. “Preposterous.”

“Uh, yes, I really am,” Claire assured the older woman.

“Uh, where are you going with this?” asked Lady Photon.

“You remember when we last faced Marquis?” snapped Brandish. “He brought his daughter out. Her face was different, her hair was different. This is not that girl.”

“Yes. I am.” Claire's voice was definite. “I remember that night. I was holding my favourite pillow. You were the shouty one.”

Lady Photon did her best not to snicker. “Well, she's got you there,” she murmured.

“But your hair, your face. You're different!”

Claire raised her eyebrow in imitation of her father. “And what's to say that I'm not allowed to change my look? Say, because a bunch of superheroes are likely to burst in and try to kidnap me?” She turned to Taylor. “Does that sound like a good reason to you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Taylor replied. “Wait, did that actually -”

“Yes. Long story, sorry. Otherwise, I'd love to tell you all about it.” Claire looked over at Brandish. “So yes, I am Marquis' daughter, but even if I wasn't, it seriously wouldn't be any of your business.”

Mega Girl cleared her throat. “Um, I've been meaning to ask. What was that about the table … ?”

Marquis hid a smile; Claire snickered outright. “Oh god, yes. We have a videotape that we pull out and watch every Christmas.” She saw Brandish's eyes widen, the anger building in her once more.

But it was Lady Photon who spoke. “You … have a tape?”

“Why, yes, dear lady,” Marquis replied genially. “Along with the burglar alarms, I had a whole series of security cameras installed, hooked up to a bank of video recorders. It took a little while to cut and splice the action, but I assure you, it was well worth the effort.”

The look of dawning horror on both adult members of the Brigade made it quite clear that both of them recalled far too much of that event to be comfortable with knowing that there was a physical record of it.

Once again, Lady Photon spoke up. “Uh … with that tape in your possession … it's potentially quite damaging …”

“Oh, it would be horrendously damaging to the Brigade in the wrong hands,” Marquis agreed cheerfully. “But in case you're wondering why I never tried to use it against you? The answer is quite simple. In order to do that, I would have to first consider you a threat.”

His delivery of the line was perfect, the sting in the tail biting deep. Both Brandish and Lady Photon winced; Marquis' expression never shifted, but he managed to look quite pleased with himself all the same.

Lady Photon rallied first. “About these gang members,” she managed. “Some are still alive. Marchioness, it's your duty as a healer …”

“Let me stop you right there,” Claire cut her off. “I'm not a medical professional. I have exactly zero obligation toward men who got hurt trying to harm or kill innocents. More to the point, I don't like them. However, to save your sensibilities, the ones who are still alive are going to stay that way. But I won't actually heal their injuries for them. Let 'em do that the old-fashioned way.”

“And thank you for the reminder, Marchioness dear,” Marquis cut in. He stepped over to the Heberts. “Sir, I believe that you contracted with my men for protection just before you were attacked?”

Danny nodded. “Uh, yes. Sir. Thank you for your assistance.”

Marquis made a throwaway gesture. “Think nothing of it. Really. The point here is that you were attacked and injured while under my protection.” Reaching up to his lapel, he removed the tiny gold “M” pin that normally resided there. “Wear this while you're in my territory. Any of my men who see it will be required to offer you all assistance and protection.” He gestured to Annette and Taylor. “Your wife and child are included, of course.”

Danny's hand closed over the pin. “I … thank you.” He paused, looking at the superheroes. “This doesn't break some kind of law, does it?”

Brandish sighed, aggravated. “No. It doesn't.”

“Well then.” Marquis took Danny's unresisting hand and shook it. “Take care, Mr Hebert.”

He was just turning away when Danny spoke up. “Wait. I never told you my last name.”

“No. You didn't.” Marquis met Danny's gaze. “I know people who know people. And those people say that you're trying to fix this city. I approve.”

Turning, he offered his arm to Claire. “Marchioness.”

She took it. “Marquis.”

“Shall we go?”

A smile. “It's a lovely night for a walk.”

Together, flanked by the men, they walked off. Inside, Claire was mentally bracing herself.

Oh boy, when Taylor gets back to me about this, she's gonna talk my ear off.

And you know something? That's okay.


End of Part Nine

Part Ten