Hostage Situation [Worm AU fanfic]

Hostage Situation

Part Three: Negotiations


“Well, I'll tell you what you're gonna do first!” snapped Glory Girl. “You're gonna let my sister out of that box, or I'm gonna let her out myself.” She eyed the guards. “You've got the choice of getting out of my way, or not getting out of my way. One of those doesn't end well.”

The guards stepped back, raising the containment foam sprayers. Piggot frowned. “Threats are not appropriate here, Glory Girl.”

The teen hero rolled her eyes. “Then open the damn cell already. You've proven that she's who she says she is!”

“I don't -” began Brandish.

Glory Girl whirled on her. “Mom, seriously? Do you even hear yourself? You sound paranoid! Are you honestly saying that she's been planning this for the last ten years? She didn't have powers till only a couple of years ago!”

“No, but -”

“And she didn't know about Marquis until just a little while ago. After she's done all the healing that she's already done! Seriously, look at the facts!”

“So she says,” Brandish returned stubbornly.

Glory Girl marched over to the intercom; the guards stepped out of the way, tracking her with the containment foam sprayers. She ignored them and pressed the button. “Ames. When did you learn about Marquis being your father?”

“Three weeks ago,” Panacea replied.

Everyone turned to look at Armsmaster. He nodded. “It's the truth.”

“See?” exclaimed Glory Girl. “No big Machiavellian plot! So let her out already!”

“I have to agree,” Flashbang stated. “Please let Amy out of there.”

Piggot nodded to one of the guards; whatever he did was not visible, but the plexiglass sheet split down the middle, along an almost invisible seam, and slid apart.

<><>​

The tiny, irritating sound of air hissing through the crack between the two sheets – they had been keeping my cell at a pound or two below standard air pressure to keep any pathogens I released in the cell with me, a standard bio-lab precaution – ceased, as the sheets slid apart. I was almost immediately assaulted by my sister; her hug sent me back several paces.

“Are you okay?” she demanded. “They didn't do anything to you?”

“No, just foamed me in the elevator,” I told her. “But I need a shower. Even with the dissolving agent, that stuff gets everywhere.”

Director Piggot cleared her throat. “Panacea.”

Vicky and I looked at her. “Yes?” I enquired.

“I will make facilities available so you can shower. We can provide clothing to replace your costume -”

“Nah, screw that,” Vicky broke in. “I can race home and get more clothes while Amy's showering.”

The Director paused, and waited until it was clear that Vicky wasn't going to keep going. “Whichever suits you. In the meantime, I will be establishing secure communications with the Chief Director, so that we can talk this out at a level where talking it out actually means something.”

Mark cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should get Sarah in on this.”

Carol turned to look at him, and he shrugged apologetically. “She is team leader, after all. And Amy's a member of New Wave.”

“Acceptable,” the Director noted. “You can bring Lady Photon in on this. But nobody else.” She then looked at me. “Is that satisfactory to you? To speak to the Chief Director?”

At that moment, I had a massive flash of insight. From the moment I had walked into the Director's office, I had been subconsciously been expecting her to shut me down hard, to bring up some legalistic argument that I couldn't counter. But she hadn't. Each time she had brought up an argument that I had countered, she had changed tack, not pressing on any direction.

It wasn't because I was a great negotiator. It was because she was soft-pedalling. She didn't want to lose me as a resource. She didn't want to refuse so hard that I walked out – as I actually had. As it was, even soft-pedalling, she had pushed me so hard a couple of times that I had almost stumbled; only the words of Dad's last minion had kept me going. Don't let the bastards wear you down, kid. So long as you're in there fighting, you've got a chance.

I did my best to contain the heady feeling that this gave me. I had thought I had the leverage here, and this reaction finally seemed to confirm it. But would the Chief Director acknowledge it? I had spoken to her a few times, but never at length. She was widely acknowledged to be an extremely sharp political mover and shaker, and I was just the adopted daughter of a lawyer. If it came down to a straight battle of wits, I knew who would win. And it wasn't going to be me.

On the other hand, if this didn't get kicked upstairs, it would never go anywhere. Approaching Director Piggot had been my first move. I just had to hope that I'd be able to figure out my next one before I was checkmated. Or something. I was never any good at chess.

With the feeling of stepping off of a cliff, I nodded. “Yes, please.”

“If you will excuse me, then.” Her expression didn't change; she still looked unhappy as she left the room.

<><>​

I didn't know where the bathrobe had come from, but I found it hanging in the shower enclosure after I finished scrubbing the gunk off my skin, and washing it from my hair. They had supplied me with a bottle of some sort of formulation that completed the cleaning process, but it left my hair feeling like barbed wire. Oh well, can't have everything.

The tap on the door came when I was towelling my barbed-wire hair free of water in front of the mirror, checking for any remaining bits of containment gunge. There were none; I raised my voice. “Who is it?”

“Your sister, dummy. I come bearing clothes.”

“Come on in,” I invited her, after re-checking that the robe was fastened. The door opened, and she entered.

“Well, you're looking a bit cleaner,” she observed. “That stuff's a pain to get off, isn't it?”

“It is,” I agreed. “Thanks for the clothes.”

“Not a problem, sis.” She put them on the bench. “Uh … “

I paused in my towelling. “What?”

“You are still my sister, right? I mean, even okay, I get it that your dad's a big-name supervillain. That shouldn't change anything between us, right? So we're still sisters?”

I sighed, and let the towel fall to drape around my neck. Holding up my right hand, I stuck my little finger out. “Still sisters.”

Beaming, Vicky hooked her finger around mine. “Sister pinky hug!”

“Sister pinky hug.” I didn't feel the same pleasure she did at the simple act, but then, I felt somewhat differently about her than she did about me. Still, I was profoundly grateful that she was sticking by me in this matter.

“So yeah, Aunt Sarah's here, and they're waiting in the conference room, and Dean wants to talk to you when you're all dressed and modest,” she told me in a rush.

“How does Aunt Sarah look?” My aunt had always been nicer to me than Carol. According to Fred, Marquis had stated that if she had been able, she and Uncle Neil would have taken me in instead of Mark and Carol. But I couldn't rely on her being on my side in this matter.

“Oh, like Aunt Sarah.” Vicky shrugged. “Doing what she always does. Calming Mom down and waiting till she gets the facts before acting.”

“That's good, I guess.” Aunt Sarah was kind, and level-headed, and sweet – the Photon Mom nickname was not by accident – but she was anything but a pushover in battle. And I did not want her up against me in the upcoming negotiation. Because a negotiation it would be.

“I'll just let you get dressed now. Don't forget, Dean wants to chat.”

“What about?”

“How do I know?” She shrugged. “For a boy, he's really good at holding out on me.”

“That's why you keep going back to him,” I suggested. “Because you can't just pigeonhole him and forget him.”

“Maybe.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “I can't wait till we get you a steady boyfriend. I will so tease you about him.”

“Get out of here,” I told her firmly, snapping the towel in her direction. “Shoo. I want to get dressed.”

Laughing, she went.

<><>​

Dressed once more, I emerged from the bathroom to find Dean waiting for me, still in his armour, but with his helmet under his arm. His blond hair was mussed, and sticking out at all directions. I could see why Vicky was attracted to him; his features were strong and regular, and passably handsome. I could recognise the attraction for others, but it didn't really work for me. Especially given how I felt about him.

“You wanted to talk?” I asked.

He nodded, then turned to Vicky, who was loitering a short distance away. “Uh, can we have some privacy for this?”

She turned puppy-dog eyes on me. “Ames, you mind if I hear this?”

I pretended to consider it. “Vicky, I don't know what he wants to say -” That was a lie. I actually had quite a good idea. “ - but if Dean wants you to know, he'll let you know. Otherwise … sorry.”

“Meanie.” She pouted and moved away, out of earshot.

“Dean? You figured it out?” My voice was low. I was pretty sure what he was going to talk about. Through his power, he knew what I was feeling, and he must have made a guess at my thoughts, because he nodded.

“Yeah,” he agreed, keeping his voice just as low. “I've kind of known for a while. And I know how you feel about me, too.”

I shied away from him. “God, I -”

“It's all right,” he assured me. “It's all right.”

I bit my lip. “No. No, it's not. I shouldn't hate my sister's boyfriend.”

“You'd be surprised how many do.” His tone was light.

“But not for the reason that I do.” Mine was bitter.

He nodded. “I guess.”

“I didn't ask for this,” I protested. “It just … happened.”

“She doesn't feel the same way.” It was a statement of fact.

“I'd already gathered as much. I'm her sister.” Nothing more. I couldn't quite keep that trace of bitterness out of my voice.

A slight frown creased his brow. “What you said earlier about you having a right to be selfish -”

My eyes opened wide as I divined his meaning. “No. Oh god no. I'd never try to take Vicky off of you. I mean, I love her, but … “

“ … but she's not interested in you that way,” he finished. “So you're just going to what, suffer in silence?”

“It's not like I haven't had plenty of practice,” I replied bitterly. “Dean. Please do not tell her.”

He tilted his head. “I don't like keeping her in the dark like this.”

“I don't have a choice.” My voice was low. “Right now, she's supporting me because sisters. If I let her know that I've actually got feelings for her, then that opens a whole other can of worms. Worst case, she stops supporting me, starts worrying about my motivations, right alongside Carol.” I began kneading my forehead with forefinger and thumb. “I can't afford for that to happen.”

“Yeah, got it.” Slowly, he nodded. “Okay, I'll keep your secret for the moment. But just so you know, this sort of thing isn't healthy to keep bottled up.”

“You think?” I snorted a laugh.

“I'm serious,” he told me earnestly. “Listen, there are therapists who come around regularly, check on us, make sure we're all sane and competent to do our jobs. Maybe we could talk Piggot into getting you into a session with one of them.”

“One thing at a time,” I told him. “Right now, this is between you and me.” I met his eyes. “Please don't tell Vicky. Or anyone else.”

“I won't,” he assured me. "But if you ever want to talk ..."

“Thanks.” I patted him on the armoured shoulder. “And sorry about the no-healing thing. But he's my dad, you know?”

“Well, speaking as someone who's got a little bit of a pain in the ribs, I'm not so hot on the no healing,” he replied dryly. “But speaking as someone who would go bat-shit insane on anyone trying to take my dad away from me and mom, I can kind of accept your position. Intellectually, of course.”

“Thanks.” I smiled at him. “That means a lot.” Glancing around to make sure no-one was looking, I put my hand on his cheek and exerted my power. “Fractured rib, got it.”

He blinked as I pulled my hand away. “You healed me?”

“No, I didn't.”

“But I -”

“Dean. I didn't heal you. You just weren't hurt as bad as you thought. Got it?”

He looked at me for a long moment. “Uh, yeah. Got it. Thanks.”

“So long as we understand each other.” I really hoped that he wouldn't tell anyone else; it would weaken my position massively if he did. But he had shown sympathy to my cause. A moment of weakness. Don't do it again.

“So what's your position on my dad being a notorious supervillain?” I asked as we moved off to catch up with Vicky.

“Still working on that one,” he admitted. “He did a lot of bad stuff.”

“A lot of supervillains do a lot of bad stuff,” I countered.

“His bad stuff got him Birdcaged,” he retorted.

“And what if I could guarantee he wouldn't just go back to his life of crime once he got out?”

“How would you do that?”

I shrugged. “He took an attack that would have killed me. I think he'd at least listen if I asked him not to.”

“Hm.” He fitted his helmet back on. “I think I'd have to meet the guy to know for sure.”

He had a point. “Me too, I guess. But I still think I could make it work.”

“That's if you get that far.”

“There is that.”

<><>​

Director Piggot sat up at the end of the table, very much in charge. At the far end of the table, a massive flatscreen monitor covered most of the wall. If you watched the Superbowl on this, you'd be able to count the individual streamers on the cheerleaders' pompoms. Carol and Mark and Aunt Sarah sat down along one side of the table; Armsmaster sat on the other side.

I could see chairs waiting for me and Vicky alongside Aunt Sarah, but I went to the other side, where Dean was sitting down next to Armsmaster. Grabbing a chair from the wall, I sat next to Dean with a bit of spacing between. Vicky blinked, but after a moment's hesitation, she got her own chair and sat between me and Dean.

Dean could probably read, much better than I could, the flickers of surprise around the room as I upset the perceived status quo; however, I didn't miss the changes of expression on the faces of the Director, Carol and Aunt Sarah.

Your dad always said, if you want someone to listen closely, first you gotta get their attention, Fred had told me in one of our conversations. He had chuckled dryly. He was real good at that.

Well, I certainly had their attention. All I had to do now was make it work.

Aunt Sarah leaned across the table toward me. “Amy,” she began. “What's going on?”

I raised my chin slightly. “What have you been told?”

“That you know who your father is, and that you're petitioning to get him released, by withholding your healing.”

I bet it was put to you a lot more strongly than that. “That's it in a nutshell, yeah.”

She frowned. “Have you thought through all of the consequences here, Amy? Marquis is a supervillain. He went to the Birdcage for a reason.”

“He went to the Birdcage because you broke the unwritten rules twice, Aunt Sarah,” I told her flatly.

“Twice?” she asked. “We attacked him in his home -”

“ - and Carol nearly killed me before he got in the way. Attacking family members. Remember that part of it?”

“She didn't know, couldn't know, that you were there.”

“Would that matter if he'd been a second too slow, and she'd skewered me?” I raised an eyebrow. “How bad would the Brockton Bay Brigade have looked with the murder of a six year old on their record?” I leaned forward, looking at Carol. “How would you have felt – Mom – if you had to go home and look Vicky in the eyes with the knowledge that you had killed a girl just her age by accident?”

Mark grimaced; Aunt Sarah looked taken aback. Carol looked furious. “He was a dangerous man!” she snapped.

“I'm really, really, not going to accept that it's okay to kill innocents, even by accident, just so that one 'dangerous man' can go to prison,” I told her softly. “But then, I guess that's the difference between you and me.”

Carol's chair fell over backward as she jumped to her feet. I could see the energy gathering around her hands.

“Mom!” shouted Vicky.

“Carol!” shouted Mark and Sarah, both at once.

“Enough!” bellowed Director Piggot in a voice that shook the table. “Brandish, stand down immediately!”

Carol paused, the energy blade half-formed. “Did you hear what she said?” she demanded.

“Yes, and I can see what you're doing,” Piggot informed her tartly. “Are you truly proposing to attack your foster daughter for making a comment?”

“Mark, take Carol out of here,” Sarah ordered. “Now.”

Without demur, Mark rose and took Carol by the elbow. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let's go get a cup of coffee or something. Take a breath, get our heads on straight.”

“But -” protested Carol. “She – it's her -”

“Carol,” ordered Aunt Sarah, in a voice that no-one would ever associate with 'Photon Mom'. “Go. Now.”

Slowly, Carol let the energy dissipate; Mark steered her along the table and out through the door. It shut behind them. Piggot turned an unfavourable eye upon me. With Aunt Sarah already looking steadily in my direction, I felt like a bug pinned to a board. With two large pins.

“I trust that there will be no further outbursts of that nature,” Piggot growled.

“I'm good,” I assured her.

“That has yet to be determined,” she murmured, then raised her voice. “Chief Director Costa-Brown. You've been listening?”

We turned our heads as the screen lit up; on it, facing us, was Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, head of the Parahuman Response Teams. Possibly the most adept political infighter in the world, given that she'd steered the PRT through countless crises since its inception nearly twenty years ago. It was through her that I would have to go in order to get my father out of the Birdcage. I wasn't looking forward to trying.

“Yes, I have,” the Chief Director replied. Her voice was strong, commanding, confident. She had to be at least forty by now, but even looking closely, I could barely see the signs of ageing. Either her makeup artist was a miracle worker, or she was one of those lucky people who looked the same at forty as at twenty. “I've also gone over the recording of what transpired in your office. It made for interesting listening.”

The words conveyed her meaning well enough; the pitch and of them carried another meaning altogether; I caught the Director's wince from the corner of my eye. Not that I could really tell what it was; I wasn't good at reading deep meanings. It hadn't surprised me that she had been recording; in a position such as hers, conversations like that would be recorded as a matter of course.

“As you know, once she left my office, I instituted Master/Stranger protocols,” Piggot stated. “I brought in her family, as well as Armsmaster and Gallant. All of them concurred that she is who she says she is, that she's not Mastered, and that she seems to be in her right mind.”

“That's good to hear,” Costa-Brown replied. “It means we can get right down to brass tacks. Panacea.”

I jumped slightly at being addressed. “Ma'am?”

“I understand that you want your father, Marquis, released from the Birdcage. As incentive to do so, you are withholding all use of your healing abilities until this is done. Am I correct?”

“I … yes,” I agreed. “I mean, I know he's a powerful supervillain, but I think I can ask him to not be, you know, a criminal any more.”

“And what makes you think that he would listen to you?” Her expression had not changed; she was as attentive as before.

“I … he saved my life. Took a hit that would have killed me, could have killed him. This lost him the fight. If he's willing to do that for me … “

“I see.” She pursed her lips. “You do realise that years have passed. He may not be the same man as he was.”

“He's still my dad.” I spread my hands out before me.

“Hm. Well. Supposing, hypothetically, we release him. You ask him to stop being a criminal. He agrees, but in time, you find that he has not, in fact, done so. We arrest him again. Do you go on another strike to make us release him once more?”

“It would really depend,” I confessed.

“In what way? A criminal act is a criminal act.”

“Well, suppose he's walking down the street and he gets attacked by a mugger with a knife,” I posited. “He defends himself by using his powers. Is that seen as a criminal act? Is he going to get arrested and Birdcaged again just for that?”

“It would probably need to be a more blatant act than that,” agreed the Chief Director.

“What I'm worried about,” I told her, “is if I agree to some vague term, then someone pushes the definition on that term to its very limit just so they have an excuse to arrest him again. So no, I wouldn't go on strike again if he was arrested for doing what I saw as a blatant criminal act … but if I thought he was being railroaded, hell yes I would.”

“That could be … problematic,” the Chief Director admitted. “Ask any career criminal in jail, he'll tell you that he was railroaded, that his trial was a sham.”

“Perhaps not,” Aunt Sarah spoke up, surprising me. “With all due respect, ma'am, you never met him. I did. The Brigade engaged him several times."

"I fought him once," Armsmaster volunteered. "While I was in the Wards."

I hadn't known that; I turned my head to look at the armoured hero. "How did it go?"

"He took me down so fast it was almost insulting. Then he told me to come back once I was out of short pants." Armsmaster's voice was almost, but not quite, emotionless; I could see the tic in his jaw.

"He could have killed you?" I asked.

"Easily," he replied flatly. "And he did kill other heroes."

A silence fell over the table. Sarah looked at me as though to say, Are you sure you want to let this man out of the Birdcage?

"So who were the other major villains in the city at the time?" I knew the answer; I wanted to hear it from him.

“That isn't relevant -” began Director Piggot.

“No, I want to hear this,” the Chief Director interceded. “Armsmaster, please answer the question.”

Armsmaster nodded. "The Empire Eighty-Eight, under Allfather," he reported. "Galvanate. Butcher and the Teeth."

"This was, of course, a different Butcher, different Teeth, than the ones that are out there today." It wasn't a question.

"All different, yes," Aunt Sarah confirmed. "But just as bad as they are today."

"Okay,” I noted. “And if you'd encountered any of the other ones instead of Marquis? How would you have rated your survival chances, if they'd gotten the better of you?”

Armsmaster glanced down the table; I turned my head back just in time to see the Chief Director's nod.

“Minimal,” he gritted, his jaw tight.

“So we've established that while Marquis murdered people – including heroes – he was by no means alone in that, at the time,” the Chief Director noted. “And there were times and places where he could have killed people, but didn't. Is that about right?”

Aunt Sarah nodded. “He was a vicious criminal, and merciless to his enemies, but he set his rules, he played by them, and he never, ever broke them. And when he gave his word, he kept it.”

“So you're saying that Marquis would not lie to his daughter, or break his word to her?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“And of the ten years that have passed since his arrest?”

“I don't know,” Sarah admitted. “He might have become more vicious. He may have discarded his rules. He may be dead.”

“So, if he was hypothetically released, what do you think the chances are that he would reoffend, given the chance?”

“I can't make a call on that,” Aunt Sarah told her at once. “As you said, he's been in there for ten years.”

“Hazard a guess for me.”

She bit her lip. “If he's still the same man as he was … if he gave Amy his solemn word that he would not take up criminal activity … well, given that the PRT now know his face and name, and that they and Amy would be watching him like hawks, and that his old organisation would be well and truly scattered to the winds … “

Or dead, I supplied silently.

“ … I actually think there's a good chance that he'd stay on the straight and narrow. Barring unforseen circumstances, of course.”

The Chief Director's mouth moved in what might have even been a smile. “Barring those, yes.”

“Chief Director,” Piggot objected. “Please tell me that you're not seriously considering this!”

“Emily, my job requires that I consider everything. That I give thought to everything. Even the unthinkable.” She turned her face, and I had the eerie impression that she was looking back at me. “Panacea, do you believe that I have given this matter a fair hearing?”

“I -” I was tongue-tied for a moment. This woman had presence. If she had said, “Follow me,” I would have followed her. To the ends of the earth, if necessary. “I, yes, you have.” I paused. “What, uh, what -”

“ - have I decided? Nothing, yet. This is far too important a matter to decide all at once.”

That gave me hope – and a hint. “So you can -”

“Get people out of the Birdcage? Yes, we can. This is a closely guarded secret, and you are all sworn to silence on the matter.” Her expression turned stern, and she looked at each of us in turn. “Do you agree to keep this secret?”

“Uh, yes.” About two seconds after the words had left my mouth, I realised that I'd just been outmanoeuvred. Ah crap. Now I'm legally bound to never mention the possibility.

Even as I realised this, each of the others around the table offered their agreement to keeping the secret. Director Piggot, I noted, didn't bother; she obviously knew already.

“Good. Now that's out of the way. Ms Lavere, one of the reasons we can't just pull him out is that there are several inmates – Strangers and the like – who would be able to hitch a ride, and we don't want them loose in the world again. Another is that we need to have his mental state thoroughly assessed. A third reason is that the Birdcage is a deterrent wholly and solely because people think that not only is it escape-proof, but it's also impossible to get people out again. Your example of the President's child is well made; it is possible to get people out, but there are only two ways to do it. One is for the appropriate authority to order Dragon to open it up and let the person out.”

I felt stunned, overwhelmed. She was telling me things that I'd had no idea of. “Uh, what's the other way?”

Her mouth creased in a brief smile. “Classified.”

“Oh. Well. Uh. What happens now?”

“What happens now is that I go into high-level talks with people to determine whether or not it is in our best interests to have Marquis on the outside again, and what the consequences – and our responses to said consequences – would be, either way.”

“Oh,” I repeated. I thought of saying, well, don't take too long, because there's going to be no healing going on while you're in your 'high level talks', but I was pretty sure she knew exactly what was on my mind. Plus, it would have felt more than a little rude to throw that in her face, after the courteous – more than courteous – hearing that she had granted me.

“In the meantime,” she went on, “I would like to make you an offer. Purchase a week of your healing time, so to speak.”

“Oh, uh, I said I didn't want money,” I protested, then stopped myself. She knows this. Idiot.

“You did,” she agreed. “What would you say to a conversation with Marquis?”

I stopped. Everything stopped. My blood pounded in my ears. “ … what?”

“I can set you up a conversation with Marquis,” she told me simply. “You would have video on your end, but he would only have audio on his. But you can still talk to him. See if he's the type of man you really want to have as a father.”

Vicky was nudging my shoulder. I could barely hear her hissed voice. “Yes! Yes! Say yes!”

I swallowed hard then spoke, trying hard to disguise the eagerness in my voice. “I, uh, when could this be done?”

Her expression never changed, but I knew that she knew when the hook was set. “How does tomorrow evening sound?”

She was leading me by the nose; I tried to regain the initiative. “You realise that I won't just settle for conversations forever.”

“That's why this is for a week only,” she reminded me. “At the end of the week, we can talk again. Do you agree to these conditions?”

“Uh, didn't I already?” I was sure I had.

“Not yet.” Her cool gaze bored into mine.

“Okay, uh, sure. One week of healing duties as normal, in return for a real-time video conversation with my father. Is that right?”

“Precisely.” She nodded once. “The link should be ready at seven PM tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh, good. I'll be here.”

“You mean, we'll be here!” That was Vicky. “I'm not missing out on this.”

“You do realise, the conversation will only be for Marquis and Amelia.”

“Quiet as a mouse, that'll be me.”

“I see. Well, I am a busy woman, and I have things to organise, so I'll leave you to it.”

The link cut abruptly, leaving me staring at a blank screen and blinking.

Wow. What just happened?

I think I just got thoroughly schooled in what negotiation looks like.

My daze was broken when Director Piggot cleared her throat. “Panacea.”

I looked around. “Yes, ma'am?”

“I understand that you have agreed to go back to normal healing duties for the next week.”

“Yes, I have.” I stood. “Dean, could you take me down to the rest of the Wards?”

“I'll come along too,” Armsmaster decided. “Last I saw, they were brainstorming about the Undersiders and their new bug cape.”

“I might be able to help there,” I told him. “I got pretty close to her.”

“Good,” he told me approvingly.

As he led the way from the room, my mind wandered.

What will you be like, Dad? Will you still be the man who took a shot for me?

Will I still want to know you?

Only time would tell.


End of Part Three

Part Four