Love and War

---- Introduction ----

Call me Aris. Even better, write me aris@sandwich.net.

This is the sequel to All's Fair. If you haven't read that story, trust me,
this one will only shock and confuse you. Not that it won't do that anyway,
but reading All's Fair will hopefully take away most of that pain and leave
you with a numb tingling sensation like you've just bathed in Scope.

... where the sneck did *that* imagery come from? Okay, right. The main
purpose of this story was to go further into other issues in my own little
twisted Gargoyles universe, explaining a few things and tying up some loose
threads along the way. It was a lot of fun to write, and I hope it's at
least that fun to read. I've broken from the convention I used in the last
story of writing everything from Matt's POV. There was a lot I wanted to
explore, and Matt wasn't always the best person for that. I have, however,
attempted to keep things as neat as possible, given the circumstances.

Anything else would probably be lost in the static, so...

---- Disclaimer / Acknowledgments ----

Gargoyles and all related characters property of Disney/Buena Vista, lock,
stock, and Gargoyle.

Hiss! Boo! Bad quote!

Marcus, Jacob, Vanessa, and anyone else you don't recognize is probably mine.

Thanks go to:

Rob and Phenyx, who helped me enormously with finding names for semi-minor
characters. I can fake American, Japanese, Chinese, and probably Indian,
but African is a no-go.

All of my good friends on IRC who encouraged me to finish this. That
includes Rob and Phen, who have been most helpful; Katster, whose writing
and leadership skills I praise and admire; Shadur, who was just as shocked
as last time; KillJoy, who was not quite as shocked but just as interested;
JR, who has since stopped feigning shock and just agrees that I'm twisted;
WS2, who is now making me write X-Files fanfic; and Patrick, without whose
support I would not have made it to where I am today. Thanks, y'all!

I'd also like to thank Jewel Faulkner, who pre-read the prequel to this.
She also knows if she doesn't finish the last bit of her OOBERSERIES, I'm
going to hunt her down and make her wish she was one of her characters. And
if you don't think that's bad, you don't know what you're dealing with. O:)

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Inhaling broken glass can cause damage to the
throat and lungs.

---- Hajime ----

Elisa stared at the small bottle in her hand. It was made of the dark brown
plastic that was supposed to emulate glass, with a white label that covered
most of one side. The bottle itself was a flattened cylinder, and small
enough that she could slip it into her sleeve, was she so inclined. At the
moment, the black and red Xanatos label was making her want to throw it
back at the man who had handed it to her.

"Are you sure this is safe?" she asked instead.

"Of course," David Xanatos, billionaire many times over, smiled at her from
across his desk. "I've already tested them out. Of course, the early forms
of the drug had to be taken intravenously..."

"That's all right," Elisa said with a slight shiver. "I don't need to know."

Xanatos frowned slightly, then tried to lean forward sympathetically. It
came across as pity more than anything, and Elisa found herself bristling.
"I know you suffered greatly when Sevarius kidnapped you. If you'd just let
the doctors examine you-"

"Shut up," Elisa snarled, suddenly wanting to fling the little bottle as
far away from her as possible. What did he know? How could he possibly
suggest, after... after...

She wouldn't think about it. She couldn't, or all the careful walls she'd
built up in the last seventeen years would come crashing down.

Was Jacob really sixteen, now? Time had flown by so fast... she glanced
down at the bottle in her fist, slowly unclenched her fingers from the
plastic. The clean, white label only had two words on it: 'anti-agapic.'

"Why give this to me?" she said after a time.

Xanatos seemed to recover some of his panache. "Because you deserve it," he
said smoothly. "I can't make you live forever, but I can at least give you
a longer lease on life."

"Does Matt know about this?"

He gave her a smirk. Elisa rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Stupid question."
Come to think of it, her partner did have more of a spring in his step lately.

They were growing older. The next generation of gargoyles was already near
to the gargoyle equivalent of puberty - less than a decade away, if what
Goliath told her about gargoyle growth was still holding true. And
Goliath... he'd outlive her by almost a hundred years, unless the small
harmless bottle was truly the key to a limited immortality.

"How long..." she trailed off, not willing to ask.

"I can't guarantee two hundred years, but I can vouch for at least one
hundred and fifty." Xanatos gave her a grin again, and she fought back the
urge to punch out some of those perfect pearly teeth.

Instead, she pushed herself to her feet. "I'm going to talk with Goliath."

Xanatos nodded. "Good night, Elisa."

She couldn't find it in her heart to say thank you. She nodded, stiffly,
and turned to leave. The first pill was dissolving under her tongue before
she was out the door.

--

Mark Bluestone backwinged to a short landing on the parapet of Castle
Wyvern. It was late spring, and the stone was warm under his feet from the
residue of the sun.

"Hey, Mark," Terrence said, looking up from a frisbee game with Aurora.
"Nice to see you again. Your dad said you were in the area."

Mark nodded. "Yeah, just got back yesterday. I decided to swing by and
annoy Alex - you know how it is."

Terrence chuckled and Aurora smiled, a sight that reminded Mark *why* his
half-brother had made the choice he had. A little wistful, and reminding
himself that incest is wrong, even if only for genetic reasons, Mark
followed them into the castle proper. "Jake back in training?" he asked
Aurora.

"Yes," she said, "they don't get a break for another three weeks. Are you
going to stay until then?"

Mark nodded. "Generally we hang around New York for a month before heading
off to save the world again."

"Where's Demona at, then?" Terrence asked, turning to face him with not a
little trepidation in his eyes.

Mark shrugged. "Out and about. She doesn't exactly feel comfortable around
here, even with the warm reception last year." He flashed them a grin to
let them know he forgave them, and they smiled back. It was good to have
friends in New York.

"Say!" he said, as a thought struck him. "Is Rent back?"

Aurora nodded hesitantly. "Since last summer, I think."

"I've been wanting to catch it since I missed it in London six years ago.
Want to catch a show?"

"Mark!" Alex came pelting down the hallway, halfway into a tuxedo and
holding his cummerbund in one hand. "Mark, thank God! You have to save me!"

Mark looked Alex up and down. "From your tailor?"

"No!" Alex blurted angrily, before realizing Mark was goading him. "Look.
There's this party tonight. Halfway across town. High society friends of
dad's, and I *have* to go."

"Good for you," Mark said. "Sounds fun. I was going to catch Rent with-"

"*Please*, Mark! If you don't come with me, I'm not going to have any
intelligent conversation the entire night! My brain will crust over and
leak out my ears!"

"I'm sure it can't be that bad," Mark said soothingly.

"Believe me," Alex said, the strain showing in his voice. "Please, please,
please, please... I'll do anything. Money, power, anything you want..."

"Eeesh!" Mark batted away Alex's hands. "I hate to see a man beg. All
right, I'll go. What do I wear, though?"

Twenty minutes later, he wished he hadn't asked. Or agreed. His wings were
covered by the tuxedo's jacket, though his tail had been freed through some
inventiveness on the part of the tailor. The outfit was still the least
comfortable thing he'd ever worn, as he was used to homemade garments
donated to his wardrobe by people he'd helped.

"I still think this is a bad idea," he said as they headed into the
helicopter. "I mean, I'm a half gargoyle and all..."

"Hey, we're living in the 2020s," Alex said. "It's not like the thought's
anathema anymore. I hear there are even some thoughts of allowing mixed
marriages in Vermont."

"Wasn't that 'civil unions?'" Mark asked ironically.

Alex shrugged. "Hey, it's a lot better than nothing at all."

The helicopter door slid smoothly shut, and the rotors started to spin
silently. Mark suddenly felt like he was enveloped in dark cotton, here in
this little room...

Oh, Goddess, he thought, clenching his fists in the pockets of his jacket.
Not this. Not now. Not while he couldn't even feel his wings...

Mark listened to Alex chatter on about unimportant topics while he fought
down the unease. When he was under control again, he gave his friend a wan
smile.

"Sorry," he said. "I must be airsick or something."

Alex chuckled. "Well, we're almost there." He sighed. "Out of the frying
pan..."

The door slid open and they jumped onto a tarmac not too unlike the one
back at the castle. They were met by two security guards, who only
hesitated an instant at seeing Mark. "Mr. Xanatos," one of them said,
"Welcome to the Dreifus building. This way, please."

Alex nodded and followed him, Mark trailing behind. Mark turned and
appraised the trailing security guard, a young woman whose hands were
oh-so-carefully clenched into fists behind her back. Mark shook his head,
took a breath and said, "I won't eat you."

She actually jumped. "Pardon?"

"I'm here only because Alex asked me to come. I was actually going to see
Rent with a few of my friends. Have you seen it?"

She worked her mouth for a few moments. "Ahh... no."

He shrugged. "I was in London about six years ago and missed it. But I got
to see Les Miserables, and that was incredible. And I managed to see the
new Andrew Lloyd Webber last year... hell of a piece for the man to die on.
Cancer sucks. Do you get out to musicals much?"

"Uh... no." The woman's voice was hesitant, but a little stronger. "I'm
more of a movie freak."

"Nothing freaky about that. Did you see the Antonio Banderas redux of A
Wizard of Earthsea?"

"With that Russian kid... Havin, right?"

Mark nodded. "He trashed the novel, but the ending scene was worth it."

"Banderas won Best Director, didn't he?"

Mark checked his watch. They'd reached the elevator, and already she'd
forgotten he was only half human and had blue skin. He congratulated
himself and mused happily that he might just get through the evening, after
all.

The elevator disgorged them into a grandly ornamented foyer done in Frank
Lloyd Wright and gold bullion, with a dash of dollar bills on the side.
Mark winced inwardly at the garish display of Large Amounts of Cash and
thanked Hera that the Xanatoses had kept their decor to something ...
reasonable.

"Alex! Glad you could make it." A man in a sleek blue suit glided over to
them and showed off a face full of perfect teeth. Blonde, not natural, and
a dignified nose that wasn't, either.

"Always here for you, Rick, you know that." Alex gave the man a grin worthy
of his father and turned to Mark. "This is a good friend of mine, Mark
Bluestone."

"Cha...armed," Rick said, holding out his hand. The grin seemed frozen on
his face as Mark gripped his hand firmly. This could be fun, Mark thought,
then chided himself. "I'm Richard Dreifus. The second."

"Pleased, Mr. Dreifus."

"Oh..." He started something that might have been, 'call me Rick,' and
turned to Alex instead. "Benny is here."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Betty? Here?"

Mark scratched his ear as Rick nodded. "Crashing, as always. How he figured
out this was going on is beyond me..."

"Well," Alex said, his grin spreading, "This might just get interesting. I
think you'll like Betty, Mark... or at least find her amusing."

They started for the party sounds down the hall. Mark leaned over and
whispered in Alex's ear, "Teeve, right? Or hermaphrodite?"

"The former," Alex agreed, "and she's very good at it. Don't call her
'Benny' unless you want a temper tantrum."

"Don't worry. Anything that annoys the person who designed this room is
okay by me."

The doors opened to present a room done in the same maximist garish style.
Women in gownless evening straps mingled with men in suits. Mark grabbed a
glass of champagne and resigned himself to being introduced around.

Finally they made their way around to 'Betty,' who was standing in a corner
by herself, looking smug. Mark could immediately see why the rest of the
women were avoiding him/her.... he did female better than they did.

"Alex!" she said, grinning, "You came."

"I would have made it here earlier if I'd known you were going to be
scandalizing everyone."

"Well, you have a scandal of your own, I see." She reached out a perfectly
manicured fingertip and ran it along Mark's collar. He grinned at her and
she drew her hand back. "Sharp teeth. You bite?"

"If you ask," he said, "though I'm not partial to raw meat."

"Not even sushi?"

He laughed. "Anything wrapped in nori doesn't count."

"I think," she said, "that I saw some of those... California Maki, right?
at the bar. Since Alex seems to have deserted us..."

Mark looked around and saw Alex in a closed circle of three men, trading
quiet words and the occasional gesture. Recognizing a few Illuminati
signals, he turned back to Betty and grinned. "Shall we? And excellent on
your pronunciation, by the way."

"Thank you." She took his arm, to a few raised eyebrows, and they meandered
over to the bar.

Well, he thought, only thing better than making a scandal is making one
twice as large...

The bar was a long affair set up against one wall, a few tables covered in
white and gold and boasting a large amount of expensive food. Mark picked
up a sushi roll, left Betty arguing with a waiter, and took another glance
around the room.

A short blonde in a blue sequined tube top and not much else shimmied up to
him. "Hi," she said breathily, "My name's Carol. Maybe you've heard my
album, 'Christmas.'"

"Christmas Carol," he said, only slightly panicked at this point, "cute."

"So. I heard you came with Alex. Why'd he bring you?"

Mark paused for a moment. There were so many answers to that question that
he didn't know where to start. "He thought I'd be interesting
conversation," he said at last, opting for diplomacy.

"Oh, really? Why? Are you famous?"

"No, but I'm well-traveled," he answered, starting to smile.

"Oh, wow! Where have you been?"

"About everywhere," he said, "though most recently I got back from the
Kashmir region..."

"Wait, cashmere," she said, "isn't that the sweater stuff?"

The smile fell off his face and splashed into his glass. After knocking
back the suddenly sweet champagne, he said, "Yeah, the sweater stuff.
Excuse me, I need a refill," and went to find Alex.

When he found him, he leaned into his ear and whispered, "help me."

Alex turned to him with a querying glance. "What's wrong?"

"I'm being attacked by an alien organism. That, or I'm remembering why I
hate Americans so much. Can anything human be that stupid?"

Alex had learned patience in medical school. "Who?"

"Some bimbo named Carol."

"Carol Ganiss?"

"I don't know. 'Christmas' Carol. Singer, I guess."

"Yeah. She's the trophy wife of the man who holds the reins of most of the
oil in America."

"Ah. That would be more impressive if sixty percent of the country wasn't
running on fuel cells."

"Still, you have to admit, that's power."

"No, I don't. Especially if the only trophy wife he can afford is... that."

"Don't be so hard on her. She can sing."

"Then why is her voice so breathy? Or is she trying to be Marilyn Monroe?"

Alex sighed. "We've been here for half an hour... we're obligated to stay
another hour, at least."

"Ah. Lovely." Mark traded his empty champagne glass for a new one. "I think
I'll go find that security guard. At least she was company."

--

Goliath stared down at the book in his hands, the words on the page a blur
that hadn't sharpened to legibility for the last hour. He had been spending
more time in the library over the past few years, and less and less of that
time had been spent reading. It was easier to sit, and stare, and think.

And remember.

He remembered the night they had found Elisa after a month of searching.
Bloody, scarred, he had carried her from the burning warehouse in his arms.
Wrapped only in Matt Bluestone's trenchcoat, she had curled up against his
chest, shaking.

She had never cried. She had never once cried for that lost month, or
revealed what had happened to her. She had never been able to have a
medical examination, either, without first being subjected to sedation. As
a policewoman, she still responded fine - and maybe a hair quicker on the
trigger.

But as a woman... Goliath sighed and closed the book again. As a woman,
Elisa worried him. When she had worried about conceiving a child, he had to
go himself to Xanatos' scientists and doctors and volunteer for a battery
of tests. And when they had learned the news, that a child would be
impossible for her to carry, and they offered her the alternatives...

"I am not," she said, "going to be impregnated by some... machine."

He still remembered the way she'd said it, as if something had gone dead
inside at the very suggestion. It hadn't been until she'd fallen into his
arms in the hall that he had realized how much it hurt her.

And then there was Matt Bluestone.

Goliath looked down as a sharp creak from the book brought him back to
reality. Carefully unbending the cover, he set the book on a shelf and went
back to thinking. He remembered liking the man, once. But twenty years
could change a lot of things. Twenty years could make a man want to be the
father of his child, and not just a 'donor'. Twenty years...

Twenty years could turn a monster into a lover again. Twenty years, and it
was *Matt* who brought Demona back. Matt, and a child, a child that should
not be able to exist, a flippant half-gargoyle that reminded anyone who saw
him of his father.

The kind of child that he was unable to give Elisa.

Goliath pushed himself to his feet and turned toward the door. Elisa would
be home soon. He would talk with her tonight, if he could. And maybe, just
maybe, he could beat back the feeling that he had been losing her for two
decades.

--

Elisa stepped into the lobby of Xanatos Enterprises and came to a halt.
Then, taking a deep breath, she started forward again. Her ex-partner was
standing at the elevator, watching the glowing display and tapping a toe on
the ground to some strange mental beat. With almost excruciating slowness
she crossed the crowded lobby to stand beside him.

Matt shot her a rueful grin. "Sometimes I think the whole Grand Conspiracy
is a crock. I mean, if you can't even get an elevator..."

She smiled, shaking her head as the doors slid open with a ping. "Finally!"
Matt said, stepping inside. He held the door open for her as she followed,
then slid his keycard into the slot. As the doors closed, the panel with
the buttons slid open. She reached the castle button before he did, and for
an instant their hands hovered dangerously close.

He caught her eyes queryingly, and she shook her head again, pulling back
to the other side of the box. He shrugged and settled back to wait.

Elisa stifled a shudder. Being in close proximity to her former partner -
the man that she couldn't think of in any way but as the father of her
child - made her uneasy for more than one reason. He'd kept to his word.
He'd left her alone, hadn't pressed her for anything, and had generally
kept his own company; but she'd wondered if he'd ever felt a longing to
come over one day and-

Oh, of course not. There had been Demona, hadn't there? Elisa clenched her
fists and watched the floors stream by too slowly. And was she ... jealous?
Of Demona? And because of Goliath?

Or Matt?

There was a button on the panel that wasn't on ordinary elevators. Elisa
found her gaze drawn to it - a little black button, marked "Cancel." Not
"Emergency stop," just "cancel." She looked up to the readout - 20 floors
to go - over at Matt, who was watching the readout - back to the button -
up again, only 15 floors - back at the button -

She stepped forward and pushed it, and the car jolted to a halt. Matt was
staring at her. "Elisa, what-"

She threw herself at him. He stumbled back against the wall, surprised, as
she grabbed his head and kissed him. When she let go, he caught his breath
and stared at her incredulously. "Christ, Elisa, are you possessed or
something?"

It would have been laughable, but she was too busy tearing at the buttons
on his shirt. When he tried to stop her, she kissed him again, feeling his
arms reflexively wrap around her. The next time she stopped for breath, she
pulled him down to the floor and managed to get his belt off.

He finally stopped fighting and reached down to pull off her jeans. Moaning
slightly, she grabbed the back of his head and pulled his mouth onto hers
again. His hands slid under her shirt, then back down to cradle her hips.

There was nothing about love, or caring, or gentleness. Just passion, and a
sort of crazed yearning for something the same, something human, something
that didn't move or shift in a way that was unexpected. Something that
didn't involve being careful of claws or wings, or of tight spaces and
fragile skin. Something that was naturally right...

Finally they rolled apart, not looking at each other. Elisa pulled herself
up on one hip and reached for her purse. Digging through it, she found a
pack of tissues - taking a few for herself, she handed the pack over to
Matt. He nodded thanks and cleaned himself off as she dug through again and
found a package of breath mints. Taking one for herself, she tossed the
roll over without speaking.

Elisa took her time standing, tossing the used kleenex in a handy
incinerator chute. She resettled her clothes, then brushed her hair back
from her face. Matt was fumbling with his own clothes beside her - she paid
him little attention.

When they were both decent, she reached over and pushed the cancel button
again. The elevator came back to life, and the overhead display started
ticking the floors again. Elisa ground the mint to powder between her
teeth, wondering where her life had gone.

--

Generally, reviewing the day's security camera logs was a boring if
necessary part of Owen's life. This particular night, however, boring was
pushed aside for a brief span of time.

Owen watched the tape with a single eyebrow raised through the entire
scene. When the action ceased, he sat for a few moments more, then very
carefully used his employer's state of the art software to edit the records.

After all, what they didn't know wouldn't come back to haunt them.

--

"... and then there was the freshwater mermaid we found."

Betty blinked a few times and took another drink. "Freshwater mermaid."

"Yep." Mark smirked and snuck a covert glance at his audience. At least
half of them thought he was bullshitting, and that was the way he wanted to
keep it. "An *Egyptian* mermaid, no less. She'd fallen for this saltwater
merman she met online. So she swam all the way down the Nile to meet him at
Malta. Of course, she never realized that her body couldn't handle the salt
in the Mediterranean."

"So what happened?" asked Mr. Ganiss in a tone of voice that said, "I don't
believe him, but I might as well humor another guest."

Mark rolled his eyes theatrically. "What else? We had to go save the day.
Mom could speak fluent Italian, but I was rusty as hell, so I could barely
follow. She explained to the guy what had happened, and we had to swim back
to the Nile's outlet." He shuddered. "Swim, I kid thee not. My body was
aching for days. Anyway, they meet up at the estuary, take one look at each
other, and start cursing each other out."

"Why?" That was Richard Dreifus, who had finally gotten drunk enough to ask
Mark to call him Rick.

"It seems," Mark drawled, "that they were also having another internet
romance, on a different board, under different names. Only, under those
names they sent pictures."

"Wait a minute," Carol cut in. "They were mad at each other 'cause they
were cheating on each other with each other?"

Mark nodded. "Yep."

"Oh my God," Carol said, grinning hugely. "That's the best I've ever heard.
Like, that's amazing."

Inwardly sighing, Mark took another sip of champagne. New York highblood
lapped up tales of scandal and romance. At least, these did. And as long as
he could keep his neck above the water, he might be able to avoid the
sharks until he and Alex could leave.

Speaking of which, he made a scene of checking his watch. "Oh, my God,
Alex, it's almost eleven."

Alex checked his own watch. "Well, it is at that. Rick, thanks for the
invitation, but we really must run."

"Sure, sure," Rick said, nodding a few times and walking them over to the
door, where Mark was already waiting. "Come again, please, anytime. Alex,
Mark..."

Mark shook his hand, grinning wide enough to show the sharp points of his
teeth. "Thank you for the hospitality."

Rick nodded, gulped. "Yeah. Whenever. I need... to get back to the other
guests. You understand."

"Of *course*," Mark said. "Lovely party. Thank you."

Alex clapped him on the shoulder and steered him back toward the helipad.
"Laying it on a little thick, were you?" he said.

"Of course," Mark replied. "And Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time you need someone to bail you out of one of these things, ask Jake."

Alex laughed. "I couldn't do that to him."

"Sure you could. You did it to me." They'd reached the helicopter by then,
and Mark hesitated before climbing in. "Uhh..."

Alex turned back. "Hmm?"

Mark paused, looked into the belly of the 'copter, then said, "I think I'll
just fly back."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "We're pretty far away..."

Mark shrugged. "I flew across the Bering Strait once. Fifty miles without a
break. I think I can handle downtown New York."

Alex rolled his eyes. "I forgot who I was talking to for a moment. Do you
still *do* those crazy things? Iron Man trips or whatever?"

"Not really." He flashed a grin. "Into the saving the world bit recently.
What with the little flare-ups all over... Didn't tell you, but we're
thinking of heading for Africa when we're done vacationing."

Alex grimaced. "You and your bleeding-heart causes. Tell me more when we
get back; we're making the security guys nervous."

Mark turned and grinned at them, then slipped out of the jacket. "It's been
a bundle of laughs," he sang quietly, "And thanks for the use of the
trinkets..." Alex took the jacket and shook his head, and watched as Mark
ambled over to the edge of the roof and dived off. Then he stepped into the
helicopter and stared at the lights as they fell off the world.

--

Matt sank back in his chair, rested his elbows on the counter, and resisted
the strong urge to tear his hair out.

"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered.

Life in general had just thrown him a complete and utter curve ball. He'd
been asked - not ordered, mind you, but asked, which showed how far he'd
come up in the Fifth Circle's estimation recently - to deliver some
documents to David Xanatos. Nothing earth-shaking, but something they
needed a courier for. So he'd gone, played it off as a visit, and ended up
fucking his ex-partner in the elevator.

Damn. It. All.

So there he was, using all his scanty diplomatic training to make it seem
like nothing was wrong, *honestly* nothing was wrong, the whole damn
universe was just coming apart at the seams and why had she done it and
what the hell was Demona going to do when she found out?

What the hell was *Goliath* going to do when he found out?

There was a bottle of whiskey buried behind boxes of cereal and cans of
soup. He fished it out and poured himself a drink, then capped the bottle
and stared at the pale yellow liquid. It wasn't his fault; he could tell
himself that a thousand times and it wouldn't sink in, but it wasn't his
fault. Elisa had jumped him and-

And he had gone along with it, and he was *still* feeling guilty, because
he had been wanting her all this time and never touching her. And that
Godawful pent-up frustration and the something that made her jump into his
arms had suddenly snapped.

And he was back, twenty years ago, staring at a bottle of cheap liquor and
wondering what he was going to do with his life, only this time things had
been knocked out of place, instead of settling into concrete reality.

And he suddenly thought that twenty years back, Elisa deciding she wanted
nothing to do with him was a smarter decision than he'd thought.

He picked the glass up and was about to throw the whole shot back when the
door buzzed. Frowning, he set the glass down and walked over.

It was Jake. Confused now, Matt pulled the door most of the way open.
"Jake? What are you doing back here... three weeks early?"

Jake shook his head, seeming to curl in on himself without moving. "I got
kicked out," he said quietly. "Can I come in?"

Matt stood there for a few seconds, stunned, then opened the door wider and
stepped back. "Sure, yeah, come in. Where's your stuff?"

Jake shuffled past him and paid no attention when he shut and locked the
door. "Locker. At the airport. Nothing I need, anyway..."

Matt frowned, crossed to the counter, and picked up the whiskey glass.
"Here. You need this more than I do. What happened?"

Jake knocked back half the glass, grimaced, then said, "Conduct unbecoming
and all that. Got into a fight with this asshole..." he coughed and
finished the glass. "Asshole Quarryman fanatic, Tim Hilton. Preaching his
views to the whole damn bunk, and when I told him to stand down he said it
was a free country. That's when I slugged him."

Matt laughed, shook his head, and refilled Jake's glass. "Can't say I
wouldn't've done the same," he said.

Jake looked down into the glass, then up at Matt. "What did you do that had
you breaking out this stuff?"

"I fucked your mother," Matt said bitterly. "Now drink up."

Jake obediently took a swig, then changed his mind halfway and sputtered
until most of the liquor was back in the glass. "You WHAT?"

Matt shook his head. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Jake was staring at him. "You're joking, I mean, this is a joke, right?"

Matt sighed. "No goddamn joke. She jumped me in the elevator."

Jake swallowed the rest of the drink roughly. "Why? I mean, mom's..."

"I don't know. I don't know why she did it, I don't know why I let her, and
I don't know why I let me."

"But..." Jake trailed off. "I mean, I thought she was... happy."

"No." Matt stood and started pacing. "She hasn't been happy. Not for a long
time. Trauma, trying to get over it... deciding to completely screw up her
life..."

"You're saying you never wanted to sleep with her."

Matt shook his head. "No. I'm saying in hindsight it was one of the
stupider things I've ever done."

Jake stared down into his empty glass. "Matt... do you wish, I mean... are
you..."

"Hey." Matt sat down and reached to grab ahold of Jake's wrist. When he
caught his son's eyes he went on, "I'm proud of you. You've managed a hell
of a lot better with your life than I did with mine."

"But I..."

"Getting kicked out of FBI training is no big thing. Hell, if you want back
in you could probably just ask Alex to lean on them." Matt shrugged. "I'm
not mad at you."

"Just at mom," Jake said bitterly.

Matt sighed heavily. "Not angry," he said after a while. "More... confused.
And maybe disappointed." He caught Jake's eyes again. "You didn't know
her... before, she was vibrant. She was powerful. She had this fire in her
eyes... after Sevarius got through with her, something died. We've all been
waiting too long for it to come back."

Jake broke the contact, his arms shaking slightly under Matt's fingers.
"You thought... maybe I..."

"When she talked about wanting children... well, it was a goal. It was
something she wanted. I think the only reason Goliath let her was he wanted
her back."

"Yeah." Jake suddenly pulled back and got to his feet. "I should talk to
Aurora. ... and mom."

"Sure. Phone's yours." He paused. "And Jake..."

"Yeah?" Hesitation, and a slight worry shining in his eyes. Elisa's eyes,
really.

"Don't tell anyone. You know..." Matt sighed. "If we can keep this damn
mess quiet, maybe everything will just blow over."

Jake snorted. "You know, of course," he said as he dialed, "That there's
nothing so permanent as a temporary emergency."

"Yeah," Matt said. "That's what worries me."

--

"Kicked out?"

Jake had to wince, and tried not to. His father wouldn't wince. His father
would calmly relate the facts, with a calm gaze and clear voice. He tried
not to think what his father was thinking as he was pinned to the floor by
his gaze.

Elisa put a hand on Goliath's arm. "It's not that bad."

"I suppose." Goliath studied Jake from under heavy brows. "What happened?"

Jake winced again. "I... there was this Quarryman. We got in a fight."

"Quarryman?" Goliath was on his feet, eyes blazing. Jake shrank back, but
Goliath had turned his gaze on Alexander Xanatos. "Have they not been
eliminated?"

Alex shrugged. "Neo-Quarrymen, anyway, are still around. I mean, like
Neo-Nazis. It's a state of mind, not an organization."

Goliath sighed. "And what is to be done?"

Jake took a breath. "I... I want to think about things. I'm not even sure I
want to go back."

"Jake..." his mother said, worry creasing her brow.

"No, really, mom. If... if guys like Tim Hilton are going to be there, I
don't know if putting myself in the spotlight is a good idea. I mean, Maza
isn't exactly a common last name."

Goliath stared down at his son through narrowed eyes. "We must face up to
our enemies."

Wrong answer. Jake curled in on himself again and took a deep breath.
"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'll think about it. I mean, going back. I just needed
a break, you know?"

"You've always got a room here," Alex said, taking Jake's arm and steering
him toward the hallway. "Look, why don't we talk this over later. You get
your stuff settled in, okay?"

"Right. Thanks, Alex."

Alex nodded. "Sure. You need some sleep, man. You're bushed."

They left the room and the incriminating gaze of his father behind. Jake
unwound and sighed. "Thanks, Alex."

"You already said that." Alex turned to look at him. "Is there something
else wrong?"

"Just a couple things. I'll get over it."

"Okay. Here." Alex gestured to an empty guest room, and the lights
flickered on to illuminate the suite. "Bed, shower, everything. See you
tomorrow."

"Right. Goodnight." Jake looked around, shut the door, then collapsed
face-up on the bed. What the hell had just gone wrong with the universe?

Tap. Rat-a-tatt.

Jake swiveled until he could see his window, and frowned at what he saw
outside it. "The hell? Mark?"

The half-gargoyle mimed turning a door handle. Jake smiled despite himself
and climbed over to open the window. "Why are you wearing most of a tux?"
he asked.

Mark shrugged. "Party Alex dragged me to. Why are you here?"

"I..." Everything hit him at once, and he couldn't talk for a moment.
Fumbling blindly for the bed, he sank down onto it as his half-brother took
a perch on a nearby chair. "Everything went to hell," he said.

Mark gave him a sympathetic look. "Want to talk about it?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean... I don't know what I mean." He sighed. "I got
kicked out of the Academy."

"Ouch," Mark said.

"Don't patronize me. I know how you feel about the government. The US
government especially."

Mark shrugged. "Yeah, but *you* wanted to get in. Like anything. And it
sucks that you got tossed out. What happened?"

"I punched a guy out for making stupid speciesist remarks about Gargoyles."

"Did he get sent to the hospital?"

Jake shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't last long enough to find out."

"Pity." Mark gave him another look. "How'd they all take it?"

"Matt was cool about it. So was mom." Jake winced. "Dad..."

Mark waited. Jake sighed then went on. "Dad was disappointed. As well he
might be. I mean, I failed. This was what I really wanted to do..."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You made one stupid mistake, which in my
humble opinion wasn't a mistake at all. You're bright, at least according
to dad, and I'm sure he wasn't exaggerating too much when he was bragging
to mom." Jake blushed and turned over. "So what the hell? You can pick
yourself up and keep going."

"You sound a lot like him, you know?"

"Hmm?"

"Matt."

Mark blinked a few times, then shrugged. "I guess. I never really thought
about it."

"Let me ask you something." Jake pushed himself so he was sitting up again
faced his half-brother square on. "What about your mother? What does she do
for fun and recreation when you're out touring the globe?"

Mark stared at him. "What?"

"I mean, does she cheat on Matt?"

"Gee, what a question. She doesn't talk much, but hey... what brought this
on?"

"Nothing."

"Hey, you don't start inquiring about someone not in the room's sex life if
you're just curious." Mark paused for a moment. "Well, okay, some people
would. But *you* wouldn't. What's up?"

Jake shook his head. "Something Matt said. He said he and mom..."

Mark leaned forward slightly. "Yes?"

"I... gaah. I shouldn't be spreading this around."

"Bad news? Is it exceedingly bad, or just very bad?"

"He and mom had sex in Xanatos' elevator earlier tonight. You call that
very or exceedingly?"

Mark's jaw snapped shut after a few seconds. "Uhh," he said. "Well. The
answer to your earlier question is 'yes', and the answer to that one is
also 'yes.' When'd you hear this?"

"Right before I came here. It's one of the reasons I'm so out of it."

"Well, yeah. I would be, too." Mark shook his head a few times as if to
clear it. "Woah. I mean... who started it?"

"Mom did."

"Even weirder. Isn't she approximately sane now?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Hey, hey," Mark raised his hands in surrender. "My mother was a bleeding
psychotic for a millennium. I *know* how it feels."

"Yeah, right." Jake sighed, but it came out as a snarl. "You didn't just
have your world turned upside-down twice."

Mark shrugged. "Yeah, you're right." He paused. "Look, you sleep on it,
okay? I'm gonna go talk with dad."

"Yeah. Get out of my room." Mark gave him another wry smile, then headed
over toward the window. When he was gone, Jake lay back on the bed and
sighed. "What the hell is wrong with my life?"

--

"'Morning, Jake!"

Jake blinked his eyes open to see sunlight beyond the window, and someone
who was entirely too cheery standing in front of it. Sitting up, his eyes
focused somewhat better, leaving his brain in the dust. "Mark?"

"And what a lovely morning it is! Come on, Alex and I are kidnapping you."

Jake's comprehension of reality vanished, to be replaced by a sensation not
unlike getting hit on the head with a brick. "What?"

"Well, only if you want to, of course. Mom's staying in New York for a
while, but we thought we'd head out to the Congo. Sound like a plan?"

"You want... wait." Jake struggled to his feet and put a hand to his
forehead. "You're talking about going to Africa."

"Exactly." Mark grinned, showing too many teeth. "Wanna come?"

"I... Aurora..."

"We talked with her last night after you crashed. Thinks it'd be good for
you." Mark laughed, setting off alarm bells in Jake's mind. "Come on, me
hearty! We'll grow hair on your chest! Arr! Up and at 'em, Alex has the
chopper ready."

"You're going to fly a *helicopter* across the *Atlantic*?"

"Well, yeah." Mark pointed a thumb at the window, where the wssk-thump of
helicopter blades was making itself heard. "It's the new model, you know.
Seats twelve with legroom, quieter rotors, and fuel enough to get twice
around the planet. So? You game?"

Jake sighed, then took a step toward the window. "Uh... do my parents know
about this?"

"Nobody does except me, you, Alex, and Aurora. So I guess the rest'll
figure it out later." He grinned. "All right! Oh, the year was seventeen
seventy-eight..."

Jake climbed out the window and into the helicopter to the tune of Mark's
singing. As the bird pulled away from the castle, a sudden feeling of
elation came over him. "So, what are we doing there, anyway?" he asked
Alex, climbing into the copilot's seat and settling the headset around his
ears.

Alex grinned. "Well, I dunno about *you* two, but I'm gonna be helping out
with medical supplies. I guess Mark's gonna help any way he can. You can
pitch in, find something else to do, learn French, or just relax. It's
pretty country."

Jake looked down at the disappearing New York cityline. "Yeah. Hey, this
might be a good idea."

"We thought you'd say that," Mark said, coming into the cockpit. "That's
why we loaded all your stuff on board before getting you." He took a deep
breath and continued singing, "Shed no tears! Tho' I'm a broken man on a
Halifax pier, the last of Barrett's Privateers!"

"Dammit, Mark, can't you find something *cheery* to sing?" Alex complained.

"This *is* cheery, man! You're just not drunk enough."

"Whatever, Mark."

--

"They did WHAT?" Demona yelled into the phone.

Matt watched her twine cerulean blue fingers around the phone cord so hard
he worried she'd snap it. Finally she growled, said, "I'll tell him," and
got enough self control back to *not* slam the phone into the cradle.

"What happened?" Matt asked, reining in his worry with both hands.

Demona looked at the phone, over to him, then burst out laughing. "Oh," she
said when she got her breath back, "Mark, Alex, and Jake 'borrowed' one of
Xanatos' helicopters and took off to Africa with it."

Matt stared for a moment, then started chuckling. "Your side of the
family," he said.

"Indeed," she agreed, then tackled him back onto the bed.

--

"GOD DAMN THEM ALL!" the three sang, or rather, shouted, as the helicopter
coasted to a stop by the river. "I was told we'd cruise the seas for
American gold, we'd fire no guns..."

Alex powered down the helicopter and opened the door. Mark stepped out and
took a breath of crisp evening air. "Bonjour," he said to the nearest
person, a tall and dark man in faded jeans and little else, "Is Jean
Kalaghi here? I'm Mark Bluestone. I called ahead."

"I'm Matai," the man said, extending a hand. "Jean Kalaghi is dead."

Mark stared for a moment, his hand grasping Matai's in reflex. "What? What
happened? We just talked..."

"Eight hours ago," Matai replied. "I know. A lot can happen in eight hours
when blood boils."

"What do you mean?"

"War. It's been building for a long time - the peoples of this area don't
get along as well as our government pretends." He smiled bitterly. "I
suppose that's the reason Jean was so happy to have you come. We will need
better medical supplies, and if nothing else, the helicopter might get a
few people to safety."

"What's he saying?" Jake asked, and Mark had to switch his thinking over to
English. "Guerre - that's war, isn't it? Mark, are we in a war zone?"

"Yes," Mark said, his voice staying calm while the world went around in
circles. "He said war."

"The people had finally begun to rebuild," Matai was saying sadly. "But the
trade with your Western nations angered a good number of the people. The
last election was widely unpopular, and six hours ago in the capitol there
was a coup. I don't think I need to go into more details."

"Sure you do," Mark said, switching back to French. "Who are you
supporting? What happened?"

Matai laughed. "Supporting? No one. We here want to stay out of the mess
and lay low. But supporters of General Hadar have taken the village just
upstream of here." He paused meaningfully. "Jean went to talk with them. He
never returned. From what little we heard, they charged in and executed
anyone who didn't join them."

Mark would have replied, but as he opened his mouth, he caught the
unmistakable sound of rifle fire from up the river on the road. "Damn," he
whispered in English, then, "How many people? In the village, here, how many?"

"Two hundred."

"Double damn. Noncombatants?"

"At least half of those."

The rifles fired again, and another sound throbbed through the silence -
the charging of a sonar cannon. Mark felt his blood run cold, then snapped,
"Get them on the helicopter."

"What?" Alex said, and Mark realized he'd said it in English.

"The noncombatants. On the helicopter. Now, dammit, move!"

Without saying anything else, he ran forward into the village. People had
come out of their houses and he started shouting orders in fragmented
French and German, herding the people toward the helicopter. The first
thirty were on when the sonar cannon hit.

The only warning was a shrieking noise that climbed in pitch, then sharply
dropped. Then three of the houses behind them were no more. Mark turned
around and swallowed bile at the streaks of blood on the ground. Then he
turned to Alex and grabbed the stunned mage by the shoulder. "Pilot. You
need to pilot. Get these people out of here."

"Where..." Alex said, dazed.

Mark frowned, calculating rapidly. "For now, across the river. Into the
next country, Zaire/Congo 2 or whatever they're calling themselves now." He
rattled off coordinates, and Alex nodded blankly. Mark pushed him toward
the helicopter, then grabbed Jake. "You have to copilot."

Jake shook his head, his eyes slowly refocusing. "But you..."

"I have to stay here. Go. Now."

"I don't know how-"

"Listen to the computer. You have to do this, Jake." He paused. "You have
to tell dad what happened if I don't make it back."

That was enough to get him Jake's undivided attention. "Mark... you're not..."

"Dammit, this isn't the time! Get on the damn bird before I throw you!"

Jake stared at him, took a couple steps toward the helicopter, then stopped
and reached out his hand. Mark grabbed his wrist solemnly, then pointed at
the cockpit of the helicopter. "Now!"

Jake stepped onto the helicopter, and the door closed with a thud of
finality underscored by a few more rifle blasts. Mark looked down at the
pile of medical supplies and blankets by his feet, and picked up the only
two weapons they'd taken.

Of course, the rifles had been supplied by Xanatos the elder. Good, solid,
high-quality energy rifles. Nothing next to that sonic cannon, of course,
but the attackers couldn't use that for another ten minutes while it
recharged. If they were operating at maximum efficiency, which he doubted.

The aggressors were probably headed down-river toward Brazzaville.
Considering what Matai had said, that made sense. Mark singled out the tall
black man in the crowd of other tall black men, and handed him the other
rifle.

Matai looked down at it. "This won't do much good against the cannon."

"I know. But it's something, at least." He looked around the crowd and did
a quick count. "You said two hundred... there can't be a hundred and
seventy people here."

Matai looked around, then cursed under his breath. "There are three
families living at the north end of the village. They must be cut off."

Mark looked back at the road. There was a dusty cloud in view, and he could
make out moonlight glinting off the sonic cannon on a truck.

"Get into the forest," he said. "Anyone with a weapon, don't use it until
they fire. I'm going to see what I can do about the people back there."

Taking a deep breath, he watched the villagers follow his suggestions, with
coaxing by Matai. Then, before he could scare himself any more, he headed
across the clearing.

--

Matt was alone in his apartment again, the radio in the corner giving him
just enough background noise to think with. He hadn't told Demona anything,
and he was pretty sure she didn't know about what had happened in that
elevator. He would probably be bleeding profusely from many large wounds if
she had known.

"Soap opera with a twist," he muttered, pulling the whiskey out of the
cabinet. He looked at the bottle and winced, then set it down on the
counter by a glass.

Then again, Demona might not kill him. It was an honest mistake, right?
Something he wasn't even really responsible for. Sure. Maybe she'd reformed
enough that jealousy wasn't something she'd succumb to. Right.

There was a knock on the door.

He looked at the bottle in his hand, slightly guilty, then slid it along
the counter to hide it behind a paper towel rack. Then he automatically
picked up his gun and used it to cover the door as he opened it.

He nearly dropped the gun when he saw who was standing in the hallway.
"Elisa..."

"Matt, we need to talk," she said quietly.

"We need to..." He took a couple deep breaths, trying to force the note of
incredulity out of his voice. "Come on in."

"I'm sorry," she said when he'd closed the door and put away the gun. "But
I needed to come over."

"Yeah," he said bitterly. "With you it's always some need or other. You
*need* to see a doctor, Elisa."

"Matt, please, listen to me. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He sighed and met her eyes, her deep, frightened eyes. "What happened to
you, partner?" he asked silently. "Why'd you let him beat you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said abruptly. "I wanted to come see
you. God, Matt, you don't know how much-"

"Hold it right there." She stopped, startled at the venom in his voice, as
he went to the counter and pulled out the bottle he'd stashed away. He
poured the glass a quarter full, then set the bottle down again. "Look," he
said, softer, "I don't know what you're trying to do. But we need to decide
something."

"Matt..."

"We need to decide," he said, overriding her, "if we're having an affair or
not. Because I'm tired of being your one night stand. I got sick of it
twenty years ago and I'm sick of it now."

She stared at him for a couple seconds, then said, "I'm pregnant."

He managed not to drop the glass. He was very proud of himself for not
dropping the glass as he set it on the counter and kept his fingers wrapped
around it. "Really?"

She nodded. "Really."

Matt took a deep breath, then raised the glass to his lips and downed the
entire shot. "The *hell*," he shouted.

Elisa was shaking. "I'm sorry, Matt... I..."

He started laughing. It was that or start crying, and given the situation
he didn't want to break down. "God, Elisa," he whispered when the room was
quiet again. He looked up, and she was staring at him like he was mad. He
smiled, softly. "I loved you, do you know that?"

"I..."

"This isn't my problem. Do you hear me, dammit? You can't expect to come in
here and mess up my life again!"

He was on the verge of shouting again. Forcibly he got a grip on himself,
looking away and trying to ignore the ragged breaths coming from the other
side of the room. "Just... do whatever you think," he finally said.

The door opened, then closed. He listened to the echo of her footsteps in
his skull and slumped against the wall, the empty glass in his hand.

--

Toby Shreck, reporter for the British Broadcasting Corporation, watched as
the cargo helicopter sailed by overhead, listing in a way that indicated
just how overloaded it was. He shook his head and stumbled forward as one
of the men shoved the muzzle of his rifle in the small of Toby's back.
"Yes, all right," he said, stepping out into the village's clearing. He'd
given up arguing with the men soon after he and his cameraman had been
captured. It wasn't worth it, anymore.

He hadn't been here to do a report on the election, anyway. He'd been here
to do a report on AIDS, and how the epidemic was being treated in the areas
that were still isolated from civilization. When the village had been run
over, the ringleaders had fortunately recognized Flynn's camera for what it
was and merely taken them into custody, instead of massacring them outright.

More than could be said of the natives, of course. Flynn had done his best
to get everything on camera, but the leader of this band of rebels knew
enough about cameras to realize when the recording light was on. Right now
the cameraman was doing his best to hang onto the camera itself, in the
faint hope that he'd get a chance to broadcast more footage.

Thank God for BBC satellites, anyway. Toby craned his neck and scanned the
stars, hoping to catch the one floating dot of light that marked the BBC's
geosynchronous Africa satellite, but he was no astronomer and couldn't tell
one blot of light from another. It was enough to know it was there, anyway,
the silent reassurance that their footage had made it back to London.

"All right, Limeys," said the leader, a man named Mosi Akkerman. His words
were heavily accented with that curious not-French not-German that was the
trade language in the area. "You wait here. Don't touch the camera."

Flynn nodded tightly, leaving the camera hanging on its strap off his
shoulder. He was a fair-haired and slightly built art-student-type with
wireframe glasses and pale skin. Their forced convoy down-river hadn't been
good to him, leaving a slight sunburn across his face and a hollow look in
his eyes. Akkerman watched him for a long moment, then gestured to two of
his men. They cursed loudly, but took up relaxed flanking positions around
the reporters.

After another wave from the leader the rebels dispersed, trooping through
the town. Some of them stopped to kick at the ruins of the houses they'd
hit with the cannon, laughing like children who had knocked down a sand
castle. Toby clenched his hands into fists as he watched one of them spit
in a smear of blood that was all that remained of a human being.

Something caught his attention across the clearing. Toby frowned, then
leaned over to Flynn. "Did you see-"

"Shut up, Yankee," one of their guards said.

"I *beg* your pardon," Toby said hotly. "I'm not anything *close* to an
American."

They laughed at him. Toby flushed and turned back to watching the men trash
the clearing. After a few minutes, Flynn leaned over and murmured, "What
did you see?"

Toby looked around at the guards, but they were lazing back and watching
their friends. "Someone moving on the other side of the clearing. In the
trees."

"One of the villagers?"

"Maybe. I couldn't tell."

A couple more minutes passed. In the distance, someone started screaming.
Toby winced. "Deplorable, isn't it?"

Flynn nodded. A faint thrumming sound started on the edges of their
hearing, and Toby looked up to spot the helicopter appearing again over the
trees. "Damn," Toby said. "If they don't have any weapons, they won't find
a place to land."

"Shaddup," one of their guards snapped. Toby obediently closed his mouth as
the closer guard walked back to the truck and the huge cannon mounted on
the flatbed. "Friends of yours?" he asked as he checked the power readout.
"Maybe friends no longer. Another minute, the big boy get powered up again."

Toby involuntarily glanced at the wreckage of the nearest buildings and a
cold feeling settled into his stomach. In the meantime, the main group of
rebels reappeared, herding a ragged group of villagers between them.
Akkerman brandished a brand new energy rifle that Toby knew he hadn't found
in the wreckage. The helicopter hovered at treetop level just outside the
clearing, quiet enough to give Toby shivers. Helicopters shouldn't be
quiet. They should have loud enough rotors to cover the ominous silence
that was pervading the air.

Akkerman was holding the gun up and poking one of the villagers in the
chest with the muzzle. Toby cocked his head and attempted to make out words
in the pidgin. "Nice gun. Where'd you get?"

The villager held his silence. Several of the rioters drew pistols and
waved them about, grinning. The villager chosen to speak glanced at them
nervously, then at the helicopter.

The helicopter's pilot seemed to make a decision. Arrowing downwards, it
hovered just above the ground, slightly north of the rebels and their
captives. At the same time, a group of villagers erupted out of the north
side of the clearing at a dead run for the chopper. Several of the rebels
fired, but the bullets pinged harmlessly off the helicopter and sped off
into the trees or chiseled themselves into the ground.

Akkerman cried out, then barked orders at his man by the sonic cannon. "No
charge!" the man yelled back.

Growling, Akkerman spat a word that needed no translation, then sprinted
around the helicopter with his new rifle in his hands. Toby scanned the
frightened villagers, trying to pick out faces.

Something- there! He nudged Flynn. "See! Look!" It was someone who could be
taken for European, except for the pair of wings on his back. This winged
man saw the rifle, winced, then hung back to gesture the slower villagers
forward.

He was reaching back for a little girl when the rebel leader fired.

Toby winced as the lance of energy left the gun. Akkerman obviously hadn't
been expecting an energy weapon, and stared at the gun in surprise, but the
instant had passed. Toby held his breath in sympathy as the ... gargoyle?
dropped to his knees beside the dead girl. The other villagers charged by
him, too frantic to notice one death in the midst of so much terror.

The gargoyle noticed. Toby's heart went out to him as he reached down to
brush a lock of hair out of the girl's face. The shot had caught her clean
through the chest, and the acrid stench of burned flesh was thick enough to
smell from across the clearing.

Then the gargoyle looked up and saw Akkerman, holding the rifle.

Toby had been in the field for years, reporting on anything he could get
his hands on in order to get a bonus. The last time he'd actually been
terrified while on assignment was after the cliff he was standing on broke
away, and he'd been one handhold away from experiencing beautiful Victoria
Falls a little too close for his liking.

Staring down a whitewater version of death's gullet was nothing compared to
staring at this one angry gargoyle.

The gargoyle stood, slowly, eyes glowing with white fire like twin stars.
Akkerman blinked and stepped back a pace, then raised his rifle and fired
again. The gargoyle reached out with a hand, and... something happened. The
beam ricocheted off, slamming into and through the rebel manning the
cannon. His death cry sounded choked and hollow in the sudden silence.

Akkerman stared at his gunner, then back at the rest of his men. Throwing
aside the gun, he grabbed a knife from his belt, howled an inarticulate cry
that held more fear than fury, and charged.

He didn't stand a chance. He somehow managed to clip the gargoyle across
the knuckles, but was unprepared for the swift punch to the head he
received, before getting kicked in the gut and then thrown to the ground.

The gargoyle swore, then hauled Akkerman to his feet. "What, pig?" he
yelled, in English. "Don't like the taste of death?" He backhanded the
rebel across the face, then elbowed him in the back of the head, knocking
him to all fours. "What cause, hah? What cause for all this? What cause for
a *child's* death? What cause do *I* need for a *dog's* death?"

Akkerman looked up with glazed eyes as the gargoyle grabbed his knife and
lifted it contemptuously. "Sickness," the gargoyle growled. "You're a
wound. A festering sore, damn you." He laughed. "The gene pool's already
polluted with the likes of me. So how about the likes of you, *rat?* An
egg-stealing *rat* who chews down his own sinking ship!"

Akkerman whimpered, then fell to the ground and curled around himself. Toby
watched as the gargoyle sighed, dropping the knife, the angry light
suddenly gone from his eyes. He looked up at the other rebels, who stared
back at him in anger and not a little fear.

And then there was fire...

Toby couldn't figure out how it happened, but there was fire *everywhere*,
covering the ground, and covering the crazy gargoyle and Akkerman. A living
flame that licked and curled around everyone, but Toby felt no pain, even
though the heat was oppressive. The gargoyle raised hands that were
dripping flames like white-hot drops of blood and pointed at the nearest
men, who were already dropping their guns. "Go!" he yelled. "Go! Now! Va te
faire foutre! Dammit, now!"

They were gone by the time he'd roared the last syllable, running down the
road and leaving their trucks and weapons behind. The fire vanished,
leaving the clearing as it was, and leaving the people standing there
unharmed. Leaving with Akkerman, if he hadn't run with the others. And
leaving only a man - a man with wings, but one who looked to Toby's eyes to
be at the end of his wits. "Now," he whispered again, then leaned on the
helicopter's fuselage, drained of energy.

Toby stepped forward, but Flynn put a hand on his shoulder. "Not now," he
whispered in Toby's ear. "I've been recording for the last ten minutes."

Toby thought for a moment, then grinned. File him away for a virus
documentary that had been done twenty times over? The BBC would pay for
this footage. Through the nose.

--

Elisa shut the door of her apartment and stood still in the doorway for a
few minutes, trembling softly in the half-light from the city shining into
the windows.

The red light on her answering machine caught her eye. Hesitantly, she
crossed the room, and with a shaking hand reached out and pressed the
recall key.

"Hey, mom," Jake's weary voice came over the speaker. "Sorry for running
off like that. I didn't even realize until tonight that it's Mother's Day.
Don't worry... we went through some bad stuff over here, but I was never in
danger. Anyway... happy Mother's Day, and I'll buy you some flowers when
I'm back in the states."

The message clicked off, and Elisa stared at the machine. Jake. No, not
Jake. Dammit, not now...

Mother's Day. The words hung hollowly in the air. Involuntarily, she
wrapped her arms around her stomach, then winced as she remembered what she
was carrying in her womb. God, what had she *done?*

A sob left her throat, half formed in her mouth, and choked off in the
still air. Somewhere outside, an ambulance siren howled, and she flinched
away from the window.

Suddenly, she couldn't stand the glare of neon and the vast pinkness that
spanned the sky behind the glassy metal teeth of New York City. Almost
frantically she closed the blinds, then stood with her back against the
fabric and the cold glass, staring at her darkened apartment.

"Lights," she said, then "Lights!" again because the system couldn't
recognize her voice.

She'd have to do something, she realized in the sudden brightness. She'd
have to do *something.*

But for one of the first times in her life, she didn't know what to do.

--

Feet crunched through the grass nearby. Mark didn't notice. The girl lay
next to him, not even granted the dignity of dying with a peaceful look on
her face. Her mouth was twisted in fear, a horrid look that no face that
young should have to carry.

"Mark?"

Mark looked up to see his brother staring down at him. He gave Jake a wry
half-smile and looked down again. "Dammit. She didn't deserve this."

"We got the other villagers back. They're calling you a hero."

"I don't deserve it."

"Because one girl died?" Jake knelt down next to him. "Jesus, you saved the
entire village from getting slaughtered."

"Did not. And don't call me Jesus."

Jake stared at him, then burst into hysterical laughter. "My... God..." he
said, shaking.

"I'm not that, either. I'm just some guy who lost his temper."

Shaking his head, Jake got to his feet. "You're kidding me. You did good.
Come on and join the party."

"No, thanks. It's getting close to dawn."

"You sure? We even got that reporter to mellow out. He's willing to strike
a deal with Alex over possession of that footage they shot of you."

Mark shrugged. "Whatever he thinks is best."

"Right." Jake shifted his weight uncomfortably, then walked back to the
campfire by the helicopter. Mark watched him go, then looked down at the
broken body of the girl again.

There was no reason; that was what was bothering him. It was the
senselessness of everything that burned him up inside. The nagging feeling
that maybe half of his heritage was screwed up and polluted.

"Which half?" he could hear his mother saying. "Matt was the best thing
that ever happened to me. You wouldn't even believe some of the things I've
done."

He sighed. "Dammit, mom, why did you have to give me a sense of
responsibility?"

Because I didn't have one.

"Sure, mom, sure."

He pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his wings around himself so
he could think. Jake was right - he had to admit that. He'd managed to
drive off the rest of the rioters, who were probably running home instead
of marching onto Brazzaville. Okay, conceded.

But this innocent girl was still dead. And then he'd-

No. Taking a deep breath, Mark leaned his head back until he could see the
stars. Gentle Goddess, no. He didn't want to think about what came next.

Anger can be useful, he could hear his mother telling him. Indignation and
fury can give you strength. But never-

He'd just-

Never let it-

Goddess, he'd just let it-

It consume you-

And he'd killed-

Consume you, because-

The man hadn't been dead when the firestorm hit, and he'd let it-

Because you can do things-

Had killed a man, no matter what that man had done there was justice-

Things that you'll regret-

Needed to be justice and dying in flames was no justice-

You'll regret just like I regretted Wyvern-

No justice at all, why should he have to-

Wyvern, and the only way you can fix it-

Fix other people's problems, anyway-

Fix it is to make sure it never-

Never wanted this kind of life, wanted to be normal-

Never, ever happens again.

Shuddering, Mark pulled into himself and stared into the dead child's eyes.

--

Flynn took another sip from his flask and grinned. "... so that's my
story," he said, before handing the flask back to Alex. "So how are you
enjoying the party?"

Alex grinned back at the cameraman and took a draw from the flask. "Well,
they're certainly showing their gratitude."

"Mmm, yeah. But how are *you* enjoying it?"

A long pause ensued, which was broken by the insistent beeping of Alex's
cellphone. He rolled his eyes. "I hate being rich," he complained, fishing
the unit out of his pocket. "They expect to be able to reach you
anywhere... hello?"

"Alex? It's your mother."

Alex blinked a couple times in disbelief, then folded the phone to his
chest and groaned silently. Flynn raised an eyebrow at him. "I forgot
Mother's Day," Alex said in explanation.

Flynn snorted, then started chuckling as Alex raised the phone to his ear
with a visible wince. "Hi, mom. Happy Mother's Day. I was going to pick you
some flowers down here, but they've got laws against deforestation."

"All right, all right, Alex. I just wanted to know you were all right. You
did run off fairly quickly, and we couldn't get through until now."

"I know, mom. I'm all right."

"You're hedging, Alex."

"Nnnnng. Okay, there was a little ruckus, but it's all cleared up and we're
not hurt. Okay? You can tell Demona that Mark's fine so that she doesn't
come here and start busting heads."

"Ah-hmm. And Jake?"

"Oh, jeez, mom. He's fine, Mark's fine, I'm fine, you're fine, we're all
fine here. Okay?"

He could hear muffled laughter from the other end. "All right, son of mine.
When can we expect you home?"

"Uhh..." he looked up to meet Flynn's eyes. "That's the thing, mom."

"What are you saying, Alexander?" Fox's voice was suddenly very sharp.

"Uh... I think I'm in love."

She sighed. "Oh, is that all? Well, bring her back, and-"

"His name's Flynn."

Flynn grinned, and Alex grinned back as he heard a strangled choking noise
come over the normally crystal clear connection. "Alex..."

"Yes, mom?"

"You and I are going to have a long talk when you get home. A long, long
talk."

"Yes, mom." He closed the cellphone, flipped the power off, and stood up.
"You wanted to see the inside of my helicopter?"

"Yeah," Flynn said, still smiling.

--

Demona had an apartment set up in New York, penthouse, huge skylight, wide
balcony, and plenty of privacy. She didn't have a phone, because she didn't
need one. She wasn't technically running Nightstone anymore, but simply
owned most of it. She'd given half to Macbeth a few years ago, and he was
having the time of his life actively avoiding making business decisions.

She idly chuckled at the thought, watching herself in the mirror. She'd
changed back into her comfortable leathers since she was alone, and the
imagery of her and Macbeth getting into a fight at a board meeting was too
amusing to drop. Still chuckling, she was about to head to the balcony to
glide to Matt's place when her doorbell rang.

Startled, she glanced at the door. There was a touchscreen that would show
her who was requesting permission in the lobby, but for the life of her she
couldn't imagine who was calling. She simply didn't know that many people.
Xanatos, maybe, or Macbeth. Frowning, she walked to the door and activated
the one-way view on the screen.

Her jaw dropped as the picture cleared. After a couple moments staring at
the image in stupefied amazement, she buzzed the door.

Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Demona opened it and
looked quizzically at the detective... former detective, standing outside.
"I have to say, of all the visitors I was *not* expecting this time of
night, you top the list," she said.

Elisa Maza smiled slightly and stepped inside. "I wasn't sure how I'd be
received."

Demona shook her head. "I don't hate you anymore."

Elisa laughed, and it was such a harsh sound Demona looked up at her in
shock. "You might feel differently... oh, God. What am I doing?"

"I don't know." Something about this was making Demona's hackles rise.
"Detective... I haven't seen you for... Why are you here?"

"I was going to tell you something," Elisa said, shaking her head. "I don't
know why... I don't know if this is a good idea."

"You've got me bursting with curiosity, now," Demona said in a deadpan
voice. "What's going on?"

Elisa took a deep breath, then stood very calmly and looked Demona in the
eye. "Matt and I had an affair."

"Twenty-"

"Two nights ago."

Demona's fingers curled into claws. "What?"

Elisa stared at her, and her face was completely blank. "You're going to
kill me, aren't you?"

"I- no, I-" Demona stuttered, then turned and raked her claws through a
convenient throw pillow. Must not kill Elisa Maza, she told herself, Must
not kill Elisa Maza because it'd look bad and get a really nasty bloodstain
on the carpet. "Why?" she cried when she'd reduced the pillow to a pile of
cloth and stuffing. "Why are you even *telling* me?"

"Because I'm pregnant, and I don't know what to *do!*" Elisa cried. Demona
turned around, startled at the amount of emotion packed into that one
statement. She'd heard people go hysterical before, of course... but not
Elisa Maza.

This whole night was seriously destroying her vision of happy New York
reality.

"How are you *sure?*" she asked first, because it was the first thing she
could come up with. And, "Do you want something to drink?" because it was
the second.

"Water, please," Elisa said. "I... medical technology's gotten incredible,
hasn't it? We're living longer, knowing more..." she sighed. "I got myself
a home medkit because I couldn't stand going in to a doctor's for a
checkup. Xanatos footed the bill without my knowing, and I got a scanner
capable of telling... anything. That. You know."

"Ahh." Demona pulled out a couple glasses, filled them with water, and set
them on a table. Elisa sat down and wrapped her arms around herself,
staring at the glass and not making any motions to drink. Demona fidgeted,
not used to playing hostess. "Why?" she finally said, helplessly.

Elisa shook her head. "I don't know," she whispered.

"Why don't- I mean... what happened?"

"I..." Elisa laughed again, harshly. "We were in the elevator together. I
guess I just snapped. I don't know why."

Demona waited. Elisa shook herself, then said in a small voice, "Matt was
the only person I could control."

Demona looked up sharply, but the detective had gone quiet again.
"Control?" she finally said, incredulous.

Elisa shook her head a couple times. "I... he found me when Sevarius was
done with me. Got me out of that cell. But he didn't see... know..."

Demona realized with a start that Elisa was *crying*. She stared in shock,
more and more unsure of what to do. This was Elisa Maza, for crying out
loud. Not some prissy woman from uptown who'd never seen blood. This was a
detective who was more than a match for Demona even in gargoyle form.
Hesitantly, she reached out to put a hand on Elisa's shoulder, then gave up
and moved close enough to wrap her wings around the human.

"What happened?" she said softly when the crying had stopped.

Elisa took a deep breath, then sat up and wiped her eyes. "I was
kidnapped," she said, "By Sevarius. I don't know what he wanted, but he...
he..." She took a deep breath and calmed down again. "He raped me. With
his... machines."

Demona made an abortive gesture to offer support, but Elisa was staring
down at her hands, withdrawn. "I don't even remember all that he did to
me... but I had nightmares for weeks afterward. There were holes
everywhere. Goliath managed to bring me back to ... myself, but I still
couldn't deal with anything. Chavez took me off work for a few months, and
when I got back she took one look at me and put me on a desk for a year."

"Must have been hell," Demona said.

Elisa laughed. "I didn't know what I needed. I wanted... I wanted to be
back in control, but there I was, in a job I couldn't deal with, a mate I
couldn't make happy, a partner who I could barely speak to... I needed
something to control." She shook her head. "Exactly the wrong reason to
become a parent."

Demona winced, but Elisa didn't notice. "So I went to Matt. And... I could
ask him to do anything. And he'd do it." She took a deep breath. "I needed
that. I ... I guess I really needed that."

"Did you ever tell Goliath... all right, stupid question." Demona shook her
head to get an image of Goliath attached to the wall of the castle dungeon
with fuzzy handcuffs out of her head. Then she laughed. "You're right...
Matt is a sub."

Elisa stared at her, then cracked up. Her laughter was catching, and after
a few moments they were both half out of their seats and gasping for air
between bursts of laughter. After a few minutes of this, they both managed
to calm down enough to breathe. "I never thought of it that way," Elisa
said after she'd taken a long drink of water. "My God, you're right."

"Mmm. You'd been forced into submission... you need to take control."
Demona smiled at her. "Go ahead and talk to Goliath. I have a feeling he'll
be willing to try anything... for you."

Elisa was still chuckling. "You're right. I just need... control. That's
all." She laughed again. "I should take Fox up on those offers of sparring
classes. I could use them after being on a desk... God. Why not?" She
glanced at Demona. "You're not going to kill Matt, are you?"

Demona shook her head. "No. I couldn't do that. I'll shake him up a little,
though, just to keep him on his toes."

"Good," Elisa said, standing. Then, sounding surprised at herself, she
said, "I'm sorry."

Demona smiled up at her sadly. "Forgiven. Now go back to the castle and
talk with Goliath."

"Goli- Oh, my God." Elisa crossed her arms over her stomach, eyes widening.
"What am I going to do?"

Demona frowned slightly in thought. "Well... you could..."

"I can't keep it. I can't. I don't care how good those anti-agapics are, I
am not having another child this late in my life." She shuddered. "And I'm
not... I can't..."

"We'll think of something," Demona said, suddenly wondering when she'd
committed herself. "I promise."

Elisa took a deep breath, then nodded. "One thing at a time, I guess. Right?"

"Right. Now get out of here."

Elisa threw her a faint smile and left. Demona stared at the glass of water
on the table in front of her. "When did I become such a... goody
two-shoes?" she muttered, then finished the water off in one swallow. The
glass made a satisfying smash when it hit the wall.

--

Whirr-thump. Whirr-thump.

Alex glanced over to the copilot's seat where Mark was slumped, feet up on
the controls, arms crossed over his chest and eyes fixed firmly on the
blurry mass of Europe on the horizon. "Do you want to get some sleep?" he
asked.

"No, thanks," Mark said, before lapsing into silence again.

Alex chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment before saying, "You've
been awake for over-"

"Thirty-six hours, twenty-four minutes, and thirteen seconds at the tone.
Beep." Mark gave him a long glare, then settled back into his former posture.

Alex sighed. "Mark, what's wrong?"

Mark was quiet for a moment, then said, "If you want someone to talk to, I
can get Flynn up here."

"For God's sake, Mark-"

"For the Goddess'."

The young billionaire reined in his temper. "Is it so bad that you won't
even talk to anyone?"

Mark snorted. "I'm the fountain of affection / I'm the instrument of joy /
To keep the good times rolling / I'm the boy, I'm the boy," he sang
sarcastically. "Does it ever occur to you I might want some time to myself?"

"There's a sensory deprivation box in the back if you want to lock yourself
in."

"Gah!" Mark suddenly started, pulling his feet off the instrument panel and
jarring the control stick. Alex hit the cutoff in time, and the rotors
never changed pitch. "Don't *do* that, Alex. I'm not kidding."

"Well, it got you awake," Alex replied grimly. "Something's bothering you,
Mark."

"Oh, is it *that* obvious?" Mark spat sarcastically.

"What *happened* back there?"

Mark shook his head stubbornly. "I killed him."

"Who?"

"The man with the rifle. You know. *Him.*"

Alex nodded. "Flynn told me about him. Mosi Akkerman. He was the leader;
gave the orders to rape, loot, and pillage every village from there to
Brazzaville if they didn't back General Hadar. He-"

"Save it. He's still dead."

"But Mark... sometimes you have to kill."

"I don't believe this." Mark glared at his friend from across the suddenly
tiny cockpit. "You went through med school, Alex. You took the Hippocratic
Oath. Life is sacred! And you're telling me that sometimes it's necessary
to *kill* someone?"

"Too much life can be a bad thing," Alex said softly. "It's called cancer."

"Cancer-! Alex, we're not talking about disease. We're talking about a
human life."

"A human life that was going to cause the end of a whole bunch of other
human lives. Who already had. Get some perspective!"

"And where do you draw the line?" Mark snapped, but he sounded tired. "One
human life? Five? 'If there are ten virtuous men in Sodom, I shall not burn
the town'? Get enough perspective, and you end up a mass murderer."

"Then what cause *do* you need for a dog's death?" Alex said. "Rabies?
Bubonic plague?"

"Mercy," Mark said shortly, and went back to staring out the window.

--

Three days later.

The steady thrum of the rotors lightened into a whine, then faded into
silence as the helicopter settled home again, the landing skids clattering
and then resting steady on the stone of Castle Wyvern. Jake looked out the
window and frowned slightly at the lack of a turnout. Then again, it was
morning here, and it was pretty much a miracle that anyone was out to meet
them at all. Then again, David Xanatos was wont to inspect anything that
landed on his property, even if it belonged to him. Especially if it
belonged to him.

"Welcome back," the elder Xanatos said as they piled out of the chopper.
Owen stood slightly to the left and behind the billionaire- or was it
trillionaire this week? "Saw your TV spot, Mark. Nice work."

Mark winced, but offered a muttered thanks. David looked over the other
debarkees and with a noncommittal gaze singled one of the Four out. "You
must be Flynn Skye, then."

Flynn nodded, hesitantly. Jake didn't envy him. Having both David Xanatos
and Owen Burnett's gazes centered on the same spot was generally a sign
that something was about to get vaporized in the near future.

David broke off his study to indicate Mark, Jake, and Alex with one circle
of a directoral finger. "You three, do me a favor and head to the dojo to
make sure your respective mothers don't kill each other. You can stop on
the way to get something to eat if you're dying of hunger, of course. Mr.
Skye, would you mind meeting with me for a few minutes?"

"Uh... not at all," Flynn said.

"Don't tear him to pieces, dad," Alex said as they entered the castle.

"Would I do something like that? Oh, and Alex, Charles Ganiss is throwing a
little party tonight. I told him I was indisposed," and here David's grin
widened to sharklike proportions, "but if you were back in time you'd be
delighted to attend."

"Oh, God," Alex said.

Mark blinked. "You mean... that oil guy? Husband of that 'Christmas' ditz?"

"Mmm-hmm," David agreed, "And she specifically asked Alex to bring that
charming gargoyle who accompanied him to Dreifus' party. It'd be a shame to
disappoint them."

"Oh, Goddess," Mark moaned.

"Enough chatter. Away with you; the ever-present energy of youth is
starting to wear on my nerves." David made shooing motions with one hand
while pointing directions to Flynn with the other.

Mark turned to Alex. "There is no way-"

"If I have to go, you're coming along, and that's that," Alex replied grimly.

"Damn!" Mark shook his head. "All right. But I'm not doing it on an empty
stomach. Let's get food, then see what David was talking about."

They got to the castle kitchen only to discover food waiting for them; Mark
cleared away most of it in a couple minutes, leaving them free to pursue
other goals. The dojo, or rather, one of the renovated torture chambers,
was only a couple flights of stairs away, so they meandered in that direction.

They were frozen in shock as soon as they got to the doorway.

Fox was sprawled on the ground at the edge of the mats, a towel slung
around her neck. She was watching Elisa and Demona, who were circling each
other warily. After a couple seconds Elisa tossed back her hair, said,
"Screw it," and attacked.

Demona laughed, managing to ward off most of the blows, then managed a
Judo-esque move that brought both of them to the mat. Elisa twisted,
managed after a quick struggle to land on top, and pinned Demona quite
readily by sitting on her.

"Yeild," Demona gasped after a moment. "You've got an advantage, damn you,
I've been turned into a pacifist."

Elisa snorted and stood up. "And I'm rusty. And lucky."

"... Mom?" Jake said, feeling as if everything was going around in circles
again. It was one thing to know your mother was a cop, it was quite another
to see her kicking the ass of a millennia-old immortal gargoyle.

The three women looked over. "You're back!" Demona exclaimed. "Good to see
you all healthy."

"Mother, what are you doing?" Mark said, trying to contain a smirk.

"Getting some feeling back into my limbs, presently," she replied. "Gah. I
thought I had an edge."

"You do," Elisa said, rubbing an arm. "You heal."

A look of concern passed over the gargoyle's features. "Did I injure you?"

"Don't worry about it. We're sparring, for chrissake, I hardly expect to
escape unscathed."

"If you're sure," Demona said.

"All right, you two, my turn," Fox said, getting to her feet. The other
women groaned.

"You're the *only* one of us who's still in shape, Fox," Elisa said,
staying right where she was on the floor. "It's depressing."

"Pfft." Fox glanced back at the doorway and grinned. "Well? One of you
fellas up to wrasslin' with an old harridan such as myself?"

Mark winced and shook his head. "Sorry. I've had about as much wrasslin' as
I can take. And," he yawned eloquently, "I haven't had enough sleep to give
you a fair go. Alex, there was a spare room somewhere..."

"Yeah, of course. Take the green room... and I'd better go save Flynn from
dad."

Fox raised her eyebrows. "Oh, is that where he is? Give me a moment and
I'll back you up, Alex. I want to meet this boy, and if David's torn him to
shreds already it won't be nearly as much fun."

The three left with such speed that Jake was somewhat startled when he
realized he was alone in the room with Demona and his mother. Then Elisa
and Demona traded a significant glance, and Demona turned to follow Mark,
leaving the two of them alone.

She stood, and crossed the room to stand next to him, and it was only then
that Jake realized that he was *taller* than she was. He'd always known,
sort of, that his mother wasn't tall, but somehow... somehow, she'd always
seemed larger. And when she'd been sparring, for an instant it seemed she
was gigantic, a glowing archangel of force who could sweep aside all of
life's problems with a single blow.

He shook his head and rubbed his temples. Talk about an Oedipal complex...
he needed sleep.

Elisa reached out a hand and rested it on his arm. "I was so worried, when
we heard..." she said quietly.

"I'm all right, mom. Don't worry."

She smiled. "I know. Thanks for calling."

"Mom, what..." he gestured helplessly to the empty room. "What are you doing?"

She shrugs. "I really ignored any unarmed combat training I had over the
last two decades... thought it'd be fun to try and get some of it back."

"But... sparring? With Demona?"

"Well, you heard what she said. She's been a dedicated pacifist for at
least that long." She snorted. "Though I don't believe all of that... and I
think she was pulling her punches."

"But... why?"

"Oh." She looked down at her feet, then back up to meet his eyes. "Well...
because it's something I can do. Something I used to be really good at. I
don't think it ever came up, but I could kick Demona's ass regularly before
you were born."

Jake shook his head. "But why now?"

"Because it's there!" She shrugged expressively. "Because it makes me
happy. I don't know. Demona suggested it, actually, and I agree with her
reasoning. Especially because it seems to be working."

He must have looked uncomfortable at the mention of Demona's name, because
she reached out and took hold of his arm again. "Jake. Don't worry. I'm
trying to get a hold on my life, all right?"

"All right," he said, forcing a smile. "Whatever you think's best, right?"

"Right," she said, sounding relieved. "I'm going back to my apartment to
get some rest... you might want to do something similar."

"I'll ask Alex for a place to crash," Jake said, disengaging himself. "See
you later, mom."

"Good-bye, Jake. I love you."

He paused, touched, and smiled. "Love you too, mom. Bye."

--

"By all the Gods in the Teutonic pantheon, Alex, I hate suits."

Alex shook his head as he allowed Owen to brush off imaginary specs of dust
from his shoulders. "It's not *that* bad, Mark."

"Oh, yeah?" Mark jerked a thumb at his bejacketed back. "You don't have
wings. The mere fact of *that* piece of anatomy existing means I have to do
some pretty fancy maneuvering to get this to lie straight. Or at least how
your sadistic butler *thinks* it should lie." He paused. "No offense, Owen."

"None taken."

"Well, at least you look good in that thing," Flynn said, fidgeting with
his collar. "God. I don't think I've ever worn anything this fancy in my
life before."

"You look great, Flynn," Alex assured him. "And don't worry. They'll all be
too busy looking at Mark."

"Oh, gee, thanks," Mark said. "What, am I shark bait now?"

"Pretty much," Alex said, grinning.

Mark rolled his eyes. "All right, all right, let's get the claustrophobia
over with, okay?"

"Right." Alex took one last look at his suit in the mirror, then turned to
the door. "Let's go."

This time they opted to go by ground-effect car instead of by 'copter,
which meant an indeterminable wait in an elevator while Mark attempted to
figure out why they needed a button marked 'cancel', anyway. Probably
similar to the reason they had a 'door close' button, he figured as they
headed into the garage.

All too soon, they were at a glorious building that was lit up with the
headlights of too many expensive cars in a small space. They disembarked
warily, but managed to throw on the right amount of regal haughtiness
before getting accosted by the doorman.

"Invitation, please?" the man said, looking down his nose with an affected
upper-class sneer. Mark shook his head and quietly reflected that Owen did
it better.

"Oh, Georges, it's all right, I know them," said a familiar female voice.
Carol pushed her way through the incoming guests to stand before them in an
instinctive pose, breathless. "Come on in. You'll have to forgive Georges,
he's Charlie's man, and he doesn't know any of my friends yet."

"If you ask, it shall be done," Mark said, hoping to get the requisite
number of compliments taken care of. Instead, she grinned wider, showing
off the designer whites, and reached out a hand. The fabric of her dress
creaked at the maneuver, so Mark took the proffered hand to save her the
embarrassment of having the remainder of her skin exposed to the general
public.

"So who's this?" she asked as they drifted into the front hall, noticing
Flynn for the first time. Flynn, for his credit, stopped trying to hide
behind Alex and waited patiently to be introduced.

"This is Flynn Skye, a friend of mine," Alex said easily. "He works for the
BBC."

"Oh, how exciting," Carol said breathily, leaning forward with affected
excitement and nearly falling out of the top half of her dress. "What do
you do?"

"I'm a cameraman, actually," Flynn said.

"Oh... Oh! You must be the one," she said, a smile beginning to grow on her
face, "That shot that video of Mark out in the middle of nowhere. Am I right?"

"Yes, actually."

"Oh, how *wonderful!* Mark looked so heroic in that," Carol said, again
turning to present her silicone-enhanced frontside for Mark's approval.

He repressed the temptation to let his eyes roam and smiled wanly.
"Probably more due to his camerawork than my efforts," he demurred.

"Nonsense. You'll have to tell us *all* about it."

Mark winced, and he could see Alex start to look worried. "Oh, no. It's not
really a good story, and certainly not appropriate for a party."

"This is *my* party," Carol stated with a petulant toss of her bleached
hair, "And I'll say what is and what isn't appropriate. The rest of New
York can hang itself."

So saying, she turned and disappeared into the swirling mass of guests.
Mark blinked after her, then exchanged a slightly panicked gaze with Alex
and Flynn. "I... look, Mark," Alex said.

"Don't worry, Alex," Mark said, hearing his voice come out rather more
strained than he'd have liked it, "if it gets too awful, I'll jump out the
window."

"Don't say things like that, Mark..."

"Well. We'd better head up to where the real party is."

The foyer led into a huge elevator that felt more like a sitting room than
anything else. After a somewhat pleasant wait they were released into a
many-many-many stories high ballroom completely lined with windows as large
as any aquarium could boast. The overhead lights refracted through crystal
frames to spangle tiny stars over the guests, and the windows were set with
glass of such excellent quality that the starlight effect extended through
them to a view of the endless lights of New York.

Mark swallowed, shifted nervously in his suit, then started up the
velvet-covered staircase to the main floor, the one with a 360 degree view
of the rest of the world. The other guests eyed him curiously as they
drifted over to pay their respects to Alex, then turned to him
appreciatively as they heard his name.

"Mark Bluestone, hmm?" one tall, thin man said as he lit a cigarette.
"You'd be the one on the TV slot then, wouldn't you?"

"Most unfortunately," Mark said, fighting down the urge to throw the man
through one of the oh-so-expensive windows.

"Unfortunately? Man, you looked great on there. Act of justice and all
that. People eat it up. You know, I have contacts in Hollywood that are
looking for a guy with your style. And you being a Gargoyle works fine.
Novelty. Get paid millions straight off."

"I'm not interested," Mark finally managed to say.

The man sniffed. "Well, the offer's still open, if you ever drag yourself
off your high horse," he said, then turned to accost someone else. Mark
took the time to pinch the bridge of his nose and pick up another glass of
champagne.

"So, you're the one the United Nations wanted to give a medal to?" Mark
opened his eyes to see another man in a sharp blue suit, someone he vaguely
remembered meeting at Dreifus' party. Black hair, close-set brown eyes, a
sylphlike redhead hanging off his arm in a dazzling white cocktail dress...
he remembered the redhead at the other party, too, on someone else's arm.
Kanton, that was the man's name. Hydrogen refining.

"Well, their representative in London wanted, anyway," he replied as he
made the connection. "I declined the nomination."

"More's the pity," Kanton said with a grin. The toy on his arm took a deep
breath and looked at Mark with soulful green eyes. Mark idly wondered why
he hadn't met any forward, businesslike *women* at these parties yet.
Except for Carol. And she didn't really count.

He shrugged, anyway, and kept his eyes off the girl's dress. "I honestly
don't think I'm worth the fuss."

"You must be joking." Kanton raised his eyebrows in honest surprise. "You
did more for those peasants in one day than the entire squad of UN
peacekeepers did in their entire stay."

"They're people, not..." Mark trailed off as he realized what Kanton had
just said. "I thought... I was under the impression that the peacekeepers
were still there."

Kanton frowned and shook his head slightly. "No... they pulled out. And
thank goodness, too, I say. What with the situation in the capital down
there."

Mark felt his muscles relax into what he called pre-flight-or-flight zen,
and tried to keep his blinking, at least, up to a reasonable pace. "Oh?
What situation? I haven't been listening to the news."

Kanton laughed. "I was sure you'd heard," he said. A small crowd of bored
guests had drifted around to create a human shield between Mark and the
windows. "That General person seized control in the capitol, and all hell
broke loose. Riots up and down the countryside. A couple of Americans got
killed, too." He took a drag on his cigarette and shook his head as he blew
out the smoke. "It's a fine mess they're in, and it was all we could do to
get our boys home safe."

Mark gave up on trying to control his blinking and settled for not making
his voice come out in a roar. "And what about the people?"

Kanton stared. "People?"

"The Congoese?"

"Oh. Them." Kanton laughed. "Well, they're killing each other, aren't they?"

"I heard that General Hadar's soldiers all had to pledge to kill anyone
with skin lighter than charcoal," someone said from the encircling crowd,
which was growing bigger. Must be a boring party, Mark thought fleetingly
as he gave the faces a quick scan. He saw Alex and Flynn, both of them
watching him and looking worried.

"Well, they're hardly *all* like that if they're killing each *other*, now
are they?" he said as a few more people drifted over. "And isn't it the
responsibility of the countries on the Security Council to prevent a
bloodbath?"

"At the expense of our own soldiers? Please. Congo isn't even a democracy!"

"No, it isn't," Mark said through clenched teeth. "Up until a few days ago
it was a very efficiently run dictatorship. Now it's anarchy. A coup tends
to do that."

Kanton shrugged. "Well, they'll have to deal with their own problems now,
like a big country. At least none of our soldiers will get hurt."

"I don't believe I'm hearing this," Mark said. "Look, I know nobody here is
scared by names like Adolph Hitler, but don't you remember Rwanda? Tibet?
Brazil? Egypt? How many Never Agains are we going to have?"

"Hey, we had soldiers in all of those places, and nothing was settled,"
someone else said. "How would keeping them there do anything?"

"You had soldiers that *pulled out* the moment your government smelled
trouble!" Mark snapped, barely keeping himself from yelling.

"Hey, calm down, man," the man with the friends in Hollywood said. "You're
a bit worked up over this. It's just a little third-world squabble halfway
around the planet. We're here for the party."

"People are *dying,* Mark enunciated slowly, "right *now*, in some of the
most awful ways that I can imagine and I'm pretty sure you *can't.* And
you're... worried... about the *party?*"

At this point the little redheaded toy straightened up and rested a languid
gaze on him. "Well, why not?" she said in a soft, little-girl voice. "It's
not like they're American citizens."

Mark stared at her for a good six seconds before he snapped. Turning, he
broke out of the circle with such unexpected energy that several of the
people he pushed aside didn't manage to catch themselves and tumbled to the
floor with gasps of shock. Making his way to one of the buffet tables, he
grabbed a folding chair that had been stashed underneath for the hired help
to discreetly rest on.

"Mark!" Alex cried, forcing his way over to him. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," Mark said tightly, then wound up and hurled the chair like a
frisbee.

It smashed straight into the center of the huge aquarium-style window with
all the force of a gargoyle's anger behind it, the glass going from crystal
clear to an opaque webwork of fault lines in an instant, and spraying
outward to the street in the next. The cries of shock from the guests were
drowned out by the sudden encroachment of the City pouring in from the
giant rent in the room. Mark pulled off his jacket in the chaos, threw it
at Alex, then turned to the rift he'd created and jumped.

--

There were several sitting rooms on the direct route from the castle
courtyard to the main hall. Jake made his way to one of them with a cup of
coffee in hand as soon as he woke up, after first ascertaining that Mark,
Alex, and Flynn had already left for the party. "And as long as nothing
disastrous occurs, they shouldn't be back for another hour," he muttered as
he set the cup down.

"Jake?" a familiar voice said from the next hallway. He looked up,
surprised and gratified to see Aurora step into the room. "You're home!"

"Aurora! Sunset already?" He stood and crossed the room, then gave into
temptation to wrap his arms around her and kiss her deeply. "God, I love
you. You don't know how much I've missed you," he said when their lips parted.

She smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I was so worried when we
heard... I'm so glad you're home."

"Have you been talking to mom?" he said, chuckling. "That's almost verbatim
what she said."

"Well, you know us worried females," she said. "All alike."

"Come on, sit down," he said, pulling her back to the couch. She laughed
and curled up next to him, letting her wings fold over them both. "How've
you been keeping yourself?"

"Well enough. Terrence decided yesterday that he wants to go into clothing
design, which about drove the entire castle nuts." She giggled. "He thinks
he's got a couple designs which can look good on a web-winged gargoyle...
and he wants to design a couple dresses for me."

Jake closed his eyes and tried to imagine Terrence - the little web-winged
kid who'd always been able to kick his ass at football - at a Singer with a
needle in his hand, and just couldn't do it. "I... didn't know he was into
that sort of thing," he said weakly.

Aurora giggled again. "Oh, come on. I think it's great. Now that Lex's
calmed down from the shock he's trying to build him an automated
fabric-cutting machine."

"That's great." He smiled bravely back at her. "It's nice to know
everyone's doing so well."

She must have caught the trace of bitterness in his voice, because she
stopped laughing and reached out a hand to cradle his cheek. "What about
you, love? I know this was supposed to be a break for you, and then this..."

"I'm fine, Aurora. Yeah, sure, the holiday was cut short, but..." he
shrugged. "Mark had the situation well in hand, anyway."

She bit her lip and looked down. "Mark... worries me," she said.

"Why?"

A shrug. "It's... I mean, he was raised by Demona, after all. And he's been
wandering with her for all his life. Clanless."

Jake nodded thoughtfully, then sighed. "I feel like I should be defending
him. I mean, he's my brother."

"Only on your father's side."

He chuckled at that. "Yeah. True. I mean... Matt trusts him. Alex trusts
him. So I feel like I should trust him, too."

Aurora curled up on his chest. "I felt worried when I saw that TV clip...
I've never seen anyone move so fast before. In real life."

Jake sighed. "I... I dunno. He was torn up about it afterwards. Everyone
was calling him a hero and he kept angsting about killing the-"

"He killed him?"

He stared down at her, then laughed bitterly. "Right. They edited the end
of the tape because the magic didn't show... yeah."

Aurora was quiet for a long moment. "I know that it was... he was
protecting them," she said. "And I know that Goliath... and father, even,
and the rest, that they killed when they fought off the Vikings. But it
seems so far away."

"It's just that the guy's so perfect," Jake said, barely listening. "He's
humble, he's a good fighter, he's charming, he's handsome-"

"You're handsome yourself, love. Don't worry about shortcomings in that
department."

"But he's... I don't know, modest about it. And that just makes the girls
leap on him more. You know he slept with the mother of that kid before we
left?"

Aurora looked up at him, shocked. Jake nodded. "Yeah. And you won't hear
him mention *that*, either, because he's too good to brag about any kind of
prowess."

"You're not lacking in that department, either," she rejoined, poking him
in the ribs.

He smirked and batted her finger away, then sighed. "It's just... I mean,
even now, look where he is. He's out there with Alex, getting the best of
the best of New York society to eat out of his hand!"

"- believe the TERNIMITY of those overfed plastic-injected
silicone-upgraded mind-controlled jetsetting blinded overpatriotic moronic
insensitive motherfucking HYPOCRITES!" The last word was a full-bodied
Gargoyle roar as Mark tore through the room, his hands clenched into fists
and tail lashing in anger. Jake and Aurora could only stare after him,
mouths open in shock, as he stalked down the other hallway.

"Sir," echoed Owen's always-implacable voice from farther down the hallway,
"Might I remind you-"

"Owen, the UN's in session tonight, isn't it?"

"Yes it is, sir, but the-"

"Blow it out your ears, Owen. I'll reload it before I bring it back." Mark
reappeared, hauling an AK-74 into a carrying position by its strap.

"Mark!" Jake said, stunned. "What-"

"See you later," Mark called as he blatantly ignored them, heading up the
steps to the courtyard. Jake and Aurora traded a glance, then scrambled
after him.

"Mark, what are you-" Jake yelled, just in time to catch him leaping off
the parapet and flying toward East Manhattan. "... doing?"

Someone cleared their throat behind him. He whirled to see Demona leaning
on the doorway and studying him through narrowed eyes. "My eyesight may be
going since I hit the big 'k,'" she said, "but I thought I just saw my son
leaving in a blind rage and carrying an automatic weapon. Am I missing
something?"

Jake shook his head numbly. "Don't ask me. He was supposed to be at some
party."

"Yes? Yes, sir," they heard Owen say from the stairway. "No, sir, he just
left. I believe to the United Nations building. No, he didn't look happy. I
feel I should warn you, sir, that he was carrying a weapon. The AK-74 you
keep for target practice. Yes, it was loaded." There was a long pause.
"With all due respect, sir, would *you* have tried to stop him?"

Finally Owen stepped into the light and nodded at Demona. "That was
Alexander. He informs me that Mark has broken a window with a value of six
million dollars, and is concerned that he may add more to that total before
the night is over. Do you have any recommendations for a course of action?"

"Six... million..." Jake whimpered. "For a window?"

"I believe it was Charles Ganiss' starlight ballroom," Owen said. "And no
doubt that figure is padded."

"Where was Mark heading?" Demona said, cutting them off.

"From the brief conversation I had with him, I believe the UN's General
Session chamber," Owen replied.

Demona sighed. "All right. I'll cover the window. Rather, I'll find a
replacement for it, and if they don't like it, tough. Right now I'm going
to make sure my son doesn't injure anyone important." She turned to the
parapet, paused, and turned back to Jake. "Tell your mother I had to cancel
the sparring match today, unless she wants a go when we get back."

"Sure," Jake said, still feeling a little buzzed from shock. "Sure thing.
What kind of windows cost 6 million dollars?"

Owen looked over his glasses at him. "The expensive kind. If you'll excuse
me, sir."

"Sure thing, O-" He'd already vanished. Typical. Jake turned back to Aurora
and sighed. "Now I *am* worried about Mark," he said.

"Me, too," she whispered.

--

Mark backwinged to a landing on the ground just outside the United Nations
building, standing, for the first time, on Soil Declared The Property Of
The World. Wait, no, Antarctica was the first time. And now that section of
Antarctica that he remembered was a sovereign satellite of the United
States... one of the shortsighted governments on the so-called Security
Council.

Right. He clicked the safety off the Kalashnikov rifle and set the switch
to 'burst', then hesitated. "Naah," he finally said, flipping the selector
all the way to 'automatic', "Too annoying."

He felt his rage still burning through his veins like slow fire. Reaching
into himself, he took ahold of the emotion, pulling, feeling the heat pulse
along his skin until it was - he was - fire itself, energy itself, power
*defined*-

And he reappeared in the hallway just outside the doors to the General
Session Chamber. A security guard blinked and him and pulled himself to
shocked readiness. "Hey! You can't-"

Mark kicked the doors down. The guard stared in shock and bewilderment as
Mark passed him, AK-74 in hand. "Take... be... I... uh..."

The clamor inside the hall stopped short as the doors burst open. Mark
strode in, smiled briefly for the cameras, then pointed the rifle at the
ceiling and hauled down on the trigger.

The gun kicked in his hands, and more importantly the racket covered the 
surprised shrieking that came from the members of the assembly. Mark
strolled down the walkway and let the clip run out, bullets chewing into
the ceiling and plaster raining down behind him. The clip ran out before
he'd made it all the way to the speaking platform, so he replaced it with a
fluid motion and sent another thirty bullets into the roof.

When the second clip was empty, he slid in a new one, chambered the first 
round, and flipped the selector switch back to single shot. The mechanical
clicks were clear and loud in the still air. When that was taken care of,
he looked up, rested the gun against the podium, and nodded at the members
of the assembly. "Now that I have your attention..."

"Security! Freeze!"

Mark rolled his eyes, then made a shooing gesture with his hands. The 
doors slammed shut again and stayed that way, held in place by a fine sense
of the dramatic. After another short pause he cleared his throat and looked
around the assembly. "I assume there will be no other interruptions. I had
a short speech planned, but on the way I thought over this whole damned
situation and decided I was angrier than I thought. So there's going to be
a long speech instead of a short one.

"That sound you just heard was that of death, gentlemen. It's a sound that's 
been heard around this planet for centuries. And it's a sound," he paused
meaningfully, letting some of the assembly members who'd dived for cover
get back into their seats. "It's a sound that this assembly was pledged to
prevent.

"I'm not here to go on a killing spree. I'm here to try and drill some sense 
into your overfed, overpaid, shortsighted, politicking skulls."

--

To say that Matt was agitated when he finally reached the designated TV
room of Castle Wyvern was like saying Hitler had a thing for being right.
"What..." he said when he reached the room, then stopped and gestured
futilely at the screen where CNN was showing the slightly-time-delayed
broadcast of Mark's ranting at the entire UN. "What..." he said again when
nobody answered the first time.

"Shh," Winter said from where she was curled up on the floor next to the
couch. The rest of the clan, who had all managed to squeeze in, ignored
her. "I want to listen."

Brooklyn cocked his head at his daughter. "Since when do you know German?"

Matt squinted at the TV screen, which had a running translation scrolling
across the bottom. "Is that what he's yelling in?"

"Sounds like it," Aurora said from the other couch. She looked over to meet
Matt's gaze. "You missed them by about twenty minutes. Demona went off
after him."

"Heaven forfend," Matt moaned, covering his eyes with a hand. "Nobody's
dead yet, I hope?"

"No, but Charles Ganiss is out a six million dollar window," David Xanatos
said with a smirk on his face that made Matt want to punch him. Then the
words registered.

"Six..."

"Yep."

"Why does nobody ever tell me these things?"

The assembled humans and gargoyles in the room chuckled, then snapped their
collective attention back to the TV as Mark roared something else at the
assembly. Matt frowned at the screen as the subtitles hesitated, then
resumed. "That's not German any more."

"He trades languages every couple minutes. Guess he doesn't want anyone to
feel left out," Jake said, sounding a little dizzied.

"Hunh." Matt shook his head. "What set him off like-"

"What the hell is that crazy sonofa-" Alex careened into the room and
pulled up short when he saw Matt. "Er, gargoyle, er... what is he *doing?!*"

"Shhh!" Winter said, more forcefully this time.

Alex stared at the TV, then buried his head in his hands. "God. First I
have to explain to Chuck Ganiss and his bimbo *why* Mark went ballistic at
their party, then I call Owen and find out Mark's grabbed my AK-74 and
headed off to the UN. And now, he's... he's..."

"Lecturing them?" Matt said, as if he had a clue what was going on.

The younger Xanatos made a moaning sound in the back of his throat. "Flynn,
my world is falling apart," he said.

Flynn, meanwhile, was standing in the doorway and nervously polishing his
glasses on his jacket. "I take it this isn't... normal, then?"

"Oh, it happens more often than you'd think," Brooklyn drawled.

"SHH!" Winter snapped. "I don't care if I don't understand Indonesian or
whatever he's babbling in. I want to listen!"

Brooklyn glanced at his mate and shrugged. "I guess the rebellious streak
is mine."

"Mmm, but the tendency to fall for the bad boys is mine," Summer said,
smiling. Winter glowered but kept her gaze fixed on the screen.

Mark seemed to be winding down. "There was a point in history," he snapped,
back in English for the first time in fifteen minutes, "When a body of
nations joined together to pledge peace for all time. Their only
accomplishment, gentlemen, was to act like blind and incontinent sheepdogs
while World War Two broke out under their noses! A war that completely
eradicated entire nations. A war that eradicated entire *cultures*. A war
that ended with the complete and utter nu-cle-ar an-ni-hil-a-tion," he
enunciated as to deaf children, "of two entire cities!"

He paused and took a deep breath. "Gentlemen, today there are twenty three
countries with declared nuclear weapons capabilities. TWENTY THREE. That is
*quite* enough to reduce this entire planet back to a radioactive
dustball." Another pause, this time for a withering glare. "The League of
Nations could be considered responsible for the deaths of sixty-five
million people. Between Vietnam, Korea, the Balkans, Iraq, Rwanda, Tibet,
Brazil, and that fiasco in Egypt," the assorted winces of assembly members
carried to the cameras, "You're at twenty million and climbing. Keep up the
great work, *gentlemen*, and you might one day displace the Catholic Church
as the body of government that destroyed the most human life on the planet."

Matt licked suddenly dry lips and stared at the TV. "I... uh... er."

"The... Catholic Church?" Jake said.

"Shh," Winter repeated, but it didn't have as much heart as before. Matt
didn't blame her.

Mark seemed to have finished, because he sighed, shook his head, and slung
the AK-74 behind him on its strap. As he walked out over the broken pieces
of ceiling, the chamber was completely silent.

The doors opened, and the cameras faded to white. "What's that?" Aurora asked.

Flynn cleared his throat. "Same thing happened to the data from Africa," he
said, half-apologetically. "It's the reason the clip was edited so heavily.
Anytime something... impossible happened, the recording went white."

"So magic doesn't show on film," Lexington mused.

Now that the show was over, Matt took the time to look around the room
again. Yes, the clan was all here... except for Goliath and Elisa,
conspicuous by absence. "Well," he said, then "Well," again. It seemed to
cover it.

Jake sent him a look. "You're getting in the habit of repeating yourself."

"I am not repeating myself I am not repeating myself ha," Matt said, not
bothering to smile. "God. Twenty million?"

"I think he pulled that number out of the air," Jake said. "There's no way..."

"Considering the UN's been in existence for close to eighty years, and they
*have* been ignoring problems for about that long," Alex said tiredly,
"that figure's not too far off. He was probably even rounding down a little."

"I don't believe it," Jake said, shaking his head, but he sounded doubtful
of his words.

The CNN anchor was babbling about UN dignitaries, shock, and damage to the
hall. Lexington hit the mute button, stood, and stretched. "I don't know
about any of you," he said, "But I could use something to get the taste out
of my mouth."

"Amen," Alex said, still sounding half in shock. "Drinks are on me."

"No, drinks are on Mark," Terrence said.

"Give the guy a break," Alex said. "He's already paying for that window."

"No Demona's paying for that window, and she's independently wealthy," Jake
corrected him as he stood. "I think Mark can cover a couple bottles of
painkiller."

--

Mark managed to leave the UN building without an escort, but he was feeling
incredibly wiped out by the time he made it back into New York proper. So
wiped out, in fact, that he didn't notice Demona trailing him until they
were halfway home.

He slowed down and tipped his wings a few degrees, inviting her into his
airspace. She took the invitation and gracefully maneuvered so she was
gliding close enough that their wingtips overlapped.

Concentrating on maintaining the delicate balance, Mark barely noticed when
his mother skillfully maneuvered him into a flight path toward her
apartment. He sent her a glance when he realized it. "Something you don't
want to say at the castle?"

"Something like that," she replied. Now that she was sure he'd follow, she
pulled away to give both of them some more maneuvering room. "I need to ask
you a favor."

He frowned. "What do you mean, 'ask?' Of course I'll-"

"You won't like it."

Mark stared at her, but she wouldn't say anything more. Mentally shrugging
it off, he followed her back to the apartment.

"Say, do you have any spare clips for an AK-74 lying around?" he asked when
they landed. "I promised Owen I'd reload this before bringing it back."

"Check under the sink," Demona replied as she opened the door. "Want
anything to drink?"

"Yes, please. Lecturing a roomful of grown two-year-olds is thirsty work."
Mark opened the cabinet and pulled out a plastic box labeled 'cleaning
supplies.' "Was there any Bacardi lying around here? I like to drink
*pleasant* stuff."

"Picking up some taste buds, finally?" Demona snorted. "Well, yes, I do.
Don't tell me you want to pollute it with whatever else I have in the
cabinet, now."

"Experimenting, mother, experimenting." He opened the box and pulled out a
couple rifle clips, slipping them into his pocket. Then he shut the box and
put it away, turning to take a look at the open liquor cabinet with feigned
interest. Nothing terribly exciting jumped out at him, so he shrugged and
filled his glass from the proffered bottle.

"So..." he took a swallow, "what's the favor?"

Demona frowned slightly, then gestured with her own glass. "Finish that,
first."

Mark looked down into his glass, then very deliberately tilted his head
back and swallowed the entire contents. After managing to not cough up his
esophagus, he raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

She was looking at him with a slightly amused expression. "I'm getting this
odd feeling that you already know what I'm going to tell you, but I'll do
it anyway," she said. "A few nights ago Elisa Maza came over here. She told
me she and Matt had indulged in... hmm. A sexual rendezvous in an elevator
is probably the best way to put it."

Mark winced, but nodded. "Yeah. Jake told me the night before we left." He
sent her a glance. "I'm proud of you. I think dad was expecting to be in
pieces on the floor the day you found out."

"Don't say I know nothing of forgiveness, impudent whelp," she snapped,
then sighed. "Yes. I was angry. But the issue's a little bigger than that."
She raised her eyebrow ridges and refilled his glass. "Elisa managed to get
pregnant again."

"Oh, Lord," Mark muttered, then shot a glare at her. "Wait a minute. I
think I know how the rest of this conversation goes." He paused, then took
another swallow of alcohol. "You'll tell me how if anyone finds out about
this, Elisa's life will be ruined. You'll say that even though the clan
hasn't exactly welcomed you back with open arms, you still feel like you
owe them something. And you'll say that it would make things a lot simpler
if I'd just get rid of this little... complication."

Demona nodded. "And you'll say..."

Mark clenched his hand around the glass, watching the liquid shake with the
tension in his arm. After a few moments, the glass shattered from the
force, shards embedding themselves into his skin as he clenched his fingers
into a fist. "I..." he said, voice raw. "I just..."

Demona calmly took his wrist and led him over to the sink, then turned on
the tap and washed the glass particles out of his palm. "You can refuse if
you want," she said. "But there isn't another male mage within twenty
miles. By the time I manage to convince someone, the secret may already get
out."

"There isn't- what about Alex?"

She gave him a level stare. "Alex is gay," she said plainly. "He can't do
that kind of magic."

He snorted. "Gay men can't invoke the Horned God for death spells, right. I
know that. I *know* that!" His fingers twitched, curled again in anger.
"But... Why..."

Demona sighed, suddenly sounding as old as... as she really was, he
supposed. "Because there are no easy answers," she said. "And because I was
a fool to come back to New York looking for some."

The water ran over the blood from his hand, making it spiral down the sink
into blackness.

--

Morning again at the castle. Mark backwinged to a landing in the courtyard,
hearing his mother land slightly behind him. Elisa was waiting for them,
resting her weight on the frame of the main entrance with her arms crossed
over her chest. "What's the verdict?" she asked when they'd landed.

Mark opened his mouth, closed it again, then sighed. Without answering her,
he studied the way she was leaning, the steady look in her eyes, and the
determination in the set of her mouth. This wasn't the Elisa Maza he'd seen
hovering around the castle like a ghost - this was the Elisa Maza of his
mother's stories. The protector, the warrior. He wasn't sure he knew what
the change meant.

Except... it meant that she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"All right," he finally said. "I'll do it."

Even though it meant killing an unborn... half-brother. Even though it
meant compromising his principles, again. Even though it meant helping
Elisa Maza... and he was never sure what to think about Elisa Maza.

Elisa nodded, suddenly hesitant. "Where do you... I mean, what kind of...
work area do you need?"

Mark grimaced. "Somewhere private, I'd guess. And somewhere you're
comfortable." I could do this in my sleep, he could have added. Sad, but
true. There wasn't much of a jump from the general-use contraception spell
he normally employed to an abortion; the cells got bigger, that's all...

She was nodding. "All right. Goliath and I have a room here for when I'm
visiting... it's got a bed."

"I'd wager," Demona said, deadpan. The humor drew uneasy smiles from Elisa
and Mark. It would have been funny an hour ago, maybe. Two. Three days ago.
A year ago, when he hadn't known what it was like to kill.

"Right," he said, when nobody moved. Elisa nodded again, then turned to
lead the way. She didn't seem altogether comfortable leaving her back
exposed to them. Or was that his imagination? He didn't know. He could
understand her being afraid of him. He was there to... abort, right.
Perform an abortion. Nice, easy words. Enough flowery language could turn
'genocide' into 'ethnic cleansing' into 'military activity' into 'police
action.'

He was becoming a diplomat, was he? Or maybe what was termed, in diplomatic
language, a 'problem solver'? He was certainly doing enough to solve
problems, these days. Deflect a gunshot, solve a little problem. Remove a
rebel agitator, solve a little problem.

Kill a defenseless mass of cells that would never get the chance to become
a child... solve a little problem.

The end justifies the means, he'd heard, from Jake and then from Alex. From
his mother, too, though she'd done her best to teach him better.

He nearly tripped on the stairs as he settled into his blue funk. The
motion brought him back to reality, but only for a moment. The problem, he
reflected as he climbed, was that it was too easy to say every end
justified the means. He didn't want to be like that. He just wanted all the
killing to stop.

And what about the peacekeepers in the Congo? his mind said, refusing to
let his heart accept such an easy answer. You shouted at the UN to do
something. You want they should fight to reestablish the old regime? It's
long dead by now, but with enough incentive General Hadar's forces might
back down...

No, he replied, I just-

Oh, so they should back Hadar?

That wasn't what I-

It's never that simple, Mark. Never.

"I know," he whispered. He didn't realize he'd said it aloud until his
mother gave him a sympathetic look. He grimaced and looked back down at the
floor.

Elisa stopped at a door and pushed it open, leading them into a comfortably
but not ostentatiously furnished suite. Mark looked around, not really
seeing the walls. What he saw was simple confirmation - he'd made this
choice. He'd made it before. He just hoped he'd never have to make it again.

--

"'And anybody who says that drinking doesn't solve anything,'" Mark quoted
a couple hours later as he raided the castle liquor supply, "'Isn't
drinking enough.'"

Alex staggered into the room and glared at him. "You only say that because
you don't have a hangover," he said. Then he looked at the combination Mark
was creating in his glass and blanched. "Mark... that's nasty."

"You're assuming I want to feel my tongue," Mark said reasonably. He capped
the last of the bottles he'd been emptying, picked up the glass, and
swallowed a good measure of the slightly off-color liquid. It tasted like a
wrecked mishmash of good alcohol, which was about how he felt at the moment.

Alex shook his head. "What do you have to feel bad about?"

"Forgive me if I don't answer that question," Mark said, picking up one of
the bottles and making his way to the nearest chair. Alex took one across
from him as he arranged the bottle and glass on the coffee table. He picked
up the glass and stared into it thoughtfully.

"You know what, Alex?" he said after a moment. "I can do anything I want."

"Nice to hear you optimistic again," Alex said, rubbing his temples.

Mark laughed. It sounded harsh, even to his ears. "Hardly." He paused, both
to finish the glass and to give Alex time to think. "I mean... Goddess.
Look... even after this blowout, I could go up to any government in the
world and get a job in their undercover services within a week."

Alex looked up, eyes widening slightly in recognition, then in shock.
"Mark..."

"Or hey, I could even talk with the Society. They need more people like...
Vanessa? Or should I say... Agent VR-83?"

Alex's face hardened. "I'm going to deny that I ever heard that name."

Mark nodded sagely. "Then I guess you're also going to deny that the only
reason she slept with my dad was to asses the threat he posed from
consorting with my mom. And deny that if she'd figured wrong, she'd have
killed him. Right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mark, and you don't, either."

"Well enough. Everyone has a use for me. If I keep my mouth shut and my
head down, I can make a fortune. Just by solving problems."

Alex sighed. "Mark, please..."

"Oh, right. I should just enjoy my newfound infamy and relax. After all,
nothing can hurt me, right?" He reached for the bottle he'd brought over
and refilled his glass. "I have nothing to worry about. Hakuna matada, all
that."

There was a long pause. When he looked over, Alex was slouched in his
chair, a half-smile on his face. "You know, Mark," he said in a
deliberately light tone, "For someone who hates American culture, you're
sure fluent in it."

Mark laughed. "Don't you know? American culture is like the clap. It
festers exactly where it's not wanted."

Alex blinked. "But we've had a cure for the clap for... at least a century."

"Yeah? Find me a cure for American culture and I'll be impressed." Mark
lifted the glass to his lips, paused, and said, "And use it on those
upper-class bourgeoisie gits from that party. I swear, they're as big an
argument for Socialism as anything Upton Sinclair wrote."

"Mark, you need a vacation."

Mark laughed, nearly spilling the contents of his glass onto the carpet. "A
vacation? Alex, do you remember what happened the last time we took a
vacation?"

"That wasn't your fault, Mark!"

"No," Mark said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees,
"Nothing is ever my fault. There are too many of my friends ready to
absolve me of guilt." He looked up and smiled. "Don't talk reason to me
today, Alex. I'm in mourning for the human race."

Alex sighed and stood, turning for the door. Halfway there he stopped and
turned back, making a strange motion with his hands. "Catch," he said.

Mark held out a hand. A rose - rich, red, perfect - dropped into his hand.
"What's this?"

"A rose," Alex said, "For Ecclesiastes." At Mark's puzzled expression, he
smiled. "Zelazny. Look it up." Then he left.

Mark stared at the rose for a couple moments, then tossed it on the table
and raised his glass again. He was about to swallow the contents when a
familiar voice said, "What are you doing?"

He grimaced. "Hi, dad. I'm trying to get drunk, just so I can prove that
gargoyles can get hangovers."

"Now that," Matt said as he took the chair Alex had so recently vacated,
"is a damn stupid idea." He looked angry, but more at himself than at Mark.
"And I am a damned fool. Is Elisa around?"

"Of course," Mark said, waving the glass vaguely at the back of the castle.
"What do you think I'm doing here? Fixed your little problem."

Matt stiffened in surprise, then relaxed, his breath hissing audibly in
relief. "God. I..."

"Save it." Mark tilted his head back, letting a swallow of dubiously
distributed alcohol into his throat. "Please."

Matt clicked his teeth together and glared at Mark. Finally he reached out
and pulled the glass from Mark's unresisting fingers.

The room had a wide fireplace at the other end. A cheery blaze was lit,
sending flickers of light over the liquor cabinet, counter, sets of
furniture, and ceiling. It was a visible reminder of the wealth of the
Xanatoses, that they could afford to burn *wood*. Matt ignored all that,
strode to a spot about twelve paces from the fireplace, and raised his
glass in a toast. "To alcoholism," he said, then hurled the glass with all
his strength at the flames.

After the crash-tinkle of glass and whoosh of alcohol-fed flame had died
down, he turned back to Mark with a haunted look in his eyes. "I'm going
home," he said. "Call me if you need anything."

Mark stayed there for twenty minutes more, staring at the flames. He would
have left, then, but realized he really had no place to go. There was a
couch by the fire, and he'd slept in much worse places.

The nightmares didn't trouble him. Much.

--

Matt went home, took the bottles of whiskey he'd stashed in the counter,
and poured them down the sink, swearing tomorrow was a new day and by God
he'd change for real this time...

Elisa reached a hand out to caress Goliath's still-warm stone figure,
swearing that tonight was another night and she'd be able to start over for
real this time...

Jake stared out at the horizon next to Aurora's statue and reflected that
Alex would happily put in a good word or six at Quantico, and hell,
tomorrow was a new day and he could start again and finish it for real this
time...

Alex smiled absently as he slipped into bed beside Flynn, reflecting that
while life could throw you unexpected changes, it was more fun to ride them
out than to resist, and maybe this new relationship would work for real
this time...

Demona stared at her figure in the mirror and reflected that it might be
nice to stay in New York for a while, since debts had been paid for now, it
was a new year, and she could make amends with the clan for real this time...

Mark stroked the handlebars of the Xanatos-Mk.5 motorcycle, and shook his
head again at Alex's generosity as he raised the helmet to snap it on. He
needed to get out of this stifling city as soon as possible. Shifting his
arms in his jacket, he mounted the bike and started the overly quiet
engine. There was a lot of territory out there, he reflected, and hey,
tomorrow was a new day, and he could change something for the better...

... for real. This time.

---- Owatta ----

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