"This is it. The end. Ground Zero. Would you like to say a few words
to mark the occasion?"

"Aumm-mm-mmm-mmmm, mmm-aumm."

"What was that?"

"I can't think of anything."

I hereby apologize to anyone whom I might be offending by heartlessly
ripping quotes from some excellent movies and using them for my own
personal gain. I'm not really sorry, but that'll get the lawyers off
my back.

This is it! _Laid to Rest_, where I lay the whole series to rest. The
last installment. The end. Finale. Endgame. Hunter's Moon. Sleeping in
Light. Except that I don't have imagination, so I'll stick with what
works.

Gargoyles and all related characters are property of Disney/Buena
Vista and no infringement or disparagement is intended by their use.
This is not to be taken as important enough to have a lawsuit over.

So, folks... it all ends here. Sit back and enjoy the show.

-- Begin --

Krysia shaded her eyes and watched the cherry red motorcycle pull into
the shade in front of Sunnydale's only machine shop. It wasn't really
cherry red, she decided after a moment. It would just look that way,
after someone wiped the dust off. It was a long dusty ride to
Sunnydale, especially with no real reason that someone would ride *to*
Sunnydale.

She surveyed the rider of the 'cycle with her accumulated thirteen-
year-old wisdom and decided he needed a spare part for something.
There didn't sound like there was anything wrong with the machine, or
at least there hadn't when he was riding in, and she'd been working
with Jason long enough to know most of the obvious sounds. Jason was
all right, for an adult. He'd actually come *from* somewhere, not just
grown up in this middle-of-nowhere town that seemed to have swept up
on the flood plain like so much flotsam on Ol' Man River.

The rider reached up a hand covered in a weathered black motorcycle
glove and pulled off his helmet, and Krysia had to gasp in surprise.
Nobody had hair that red, not really. Dylan had made his hair orange a
few months ago by dipping it in bleach, but even he hadn't managed
quite that shade of... well, red. But that wasn't the weirdest thing
about the guy. From what she could see from her hideout across the
street, his face was blue. Not drowning-swimmer-blue, but sky blue,
real honest-to-God pigment color blue.

Krysia knew where Jason would be; sizing up the stranger from behind
the truck he was working on. Jason was talkative, but he never let
talking get in the way of his work. Krysia crossed the street, staying
in the shadows behind the stranger, trying to get a better look.
Leather jacket that looked more gray than brown, blue jeans, non-
designer sneakers. He didn't look too old, maybe twenty-something. He
nodded at Jason and leaned against his bike, in no hurry, then turned
to look across the street at the diner.

It was at that instant, when she saw his face in profile, that Krysia
*knew.* It was like someone'd punched her in the gut, it was that hard
to breathe. She absentmindedly pushed a few extra strands of hair
behind her ears, then winced. God, yes, it was obvious.

She took a deep breath, wondering if she should talk to him. She was
sure that this was going to be the single most important moment in her
entire life, and she sincerely did not want to screw it up.

He was still standing there, just *there*, less than two feet away. He
was good-looking; she should have expected that, from her mom's
stories. But she didn't know that he'd *still* be breathtakingly
handsome. It just wasn't right, somehow.

Krysia finally made up her mind and stepped into the light.

He saw her right away; she thought that maybe he'd seen her while she
was hiding, but he was too considerate to mention it. "Hello," he
said, and his accent fit in perfectly with the town, like he'd been
practicing.

"Hey," Krysia said. She licked her lips, wondering why they were so
dry. "Are... are you Mark Bluestone?"

He actually winced at the question, letting his eyes run along the
edge of the road. "Yeah," he said. "I happen to be. Goddess, two news
clips and nobody leaves you alone."

Krysia shook her head. This wasn't going right at all. "I mean...
you're the one who came around here thirteen years ago and helped with
the... the..." she trailed off, surprised at the sudden light that
came into his eyes. He looked past her, then really *looked* at the
buildings around him, as if seeing them for the first time.

"Ho, yeah!" Mark grinned, looking back at her. "So this *is*
Sunnydale. Lady bright, it's been a long time. Thirteen years? Must
have been..." He laughed, shaking his head. His teeth were very white.
"God almighty. I was fifteen when that flood hit. I can't believe it."

Fifteen. *Krysia* could hardly believe it. "You... didn't come back
here for some reason?"

He shrugged. "Some reason, no reason... I'm just running." He looked
askance at her. "Should I be..."

"It's just..." She hesitated, then said, "I'm Krysia McDouglas. You...
you knew my mother."

He looked at her, again, the same way he'd *looked* at the buildings
again. It seemed like forever before he said anything else, but Krysia
was sure it wasn't more than half a minute, because she'd heard that
you can only hold your breath for thirty seconds before you start
seeing spots. "More than that, I think," he said softly.

"And you..." she let out the breath, took another one. "You're... my
father?"

Mark took a deep breath, nodded, then laughed again and ran his hands
through his hair. "Well. I guess Jake can say 'I told you so' now." At
her confusion, he smiled, kindly. "Never mind. Where's your mother?"

--

  The Author would like to take this time to mention 
  that this could very well be a story about a 
  father-daughter voyage of discovery, where the 
  daughter learns that it's not so much who your 
  parents are, but what you do with their DNA, and the 
  father learns that it's all right to leave the past 
  behind. The Author would then like to remind you 
  that you thought the last story was about a 
  wedding.

--

"She's probably washing up from the lunch crowd. You just missed
it..." Krysia cut herself off when Mark turned to look at her, and he
smiled to try and reassure her. Not that he was feeling all that
reassured himself. If there was any situation he wasn't prepared to be
in, this was probably it.

And why not? another portion of his mind demanded. You'd be a great
parent.

Yes, he reminded that part of himself, but I've hardly been parenting,
have I?

Having successfully shut up the last of his neuroses, he opened the
door to the diner and stepped inside. "Lunch hours are over," a
woman's voice rang out from the kitchen. "But if you need something, I
can get you cold cuts."

"It's me, mom," Krysia said. Her eyes darted up to Mark, then back to
the kitchen. "I... found... someone."

He had to grin. It was funny, even if it was the biggest shock of his
life. "A stranger in a strange land, she means. Annie?"

The clatter of dishes under water suddenly cut off. After a few more
seconds, the water shut off, then Annie stepped into the light.

Mark couldn't say that she looked just like he remembered. When he'd
known her before, she'd been a scared 16-year-old who had just seen
her house, her brother, and everything she owned get swallowed up by a
force of nature. He hadn't been able to save her brother, but he'd
known how to console her, and help rebuild...

She was wearing a plain gray dress, down past her knees, underneath a
stained apron. Her hair was the same, long, thick, and auburn. Her
eyes were still blue. But she'd matured, and the smile she gave him
now was that of surprise, gratitude...

"Mark," she said. Her voice had barely changed. "It's been a long
time."

"That it has," he said, still wary. "Thirteen years and a hundred and
sixty-five centimeters or so, from what I can see."

She looked from him, to Krysia, and back again. "I see you found
Krysia."

"She found me, rather." The words were torn from him, suddenly. "Gods,
Annie, if I'd *known*..."

She stepped forward and put her hands on his shoulders. "You would
have stayed. I know. Don't you think I know that, Mark?"

"But..." It hurt, that's what it was. It hurt knowing he'd been
responsible for Annie having to raise her daughter--their daughter?--
alone. It hurt, and even the gentle look in her eyes wasn't about to
stop it from hurting.

"Dammit, Mark..." Annie suddenly laughed. "All right, I've been
imagining this meeting for thirteen years, and now I can't remember
anything I planned. Kiss me, dammit, then sit down and let me get you
lunch."

He smiled, wanly, then kissed her. Her lips were warm, and she pressed
against him in a blatant invitation. He let his arms wrap around her,
and sighed into her hair when she broke the kiss and lay her head on
his shoulder.

After a peaceful eternity she pulled back, pushed him into a chair at
the counter. "Krish, make up a BLT, okay?"

The radio behind the counter was tuned to a retro station, halfway
through Manfred Mann's "Waiting for the Rain." Annie took the seat
next to him, seeing through him with her big blue eyes.

"I started to wonder if you'd ever come back," she said.

"Honestly, it wasn't planned. I've just been... well, drifting."

"It shows." A sliver of her earlier smile lit up her face. "And you're
worrying again that you hurt me somehow. Stop that."

He shook his head. "But I..."

"You almost singlehandedly rebuilt this place. Don't give me that
look, we could never have accomplished it without you."

"And mother."

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly. Mark, your mother wasn't concerned
with making sure that a girl wasn't so wrapped up in the loss of her
brother to look to the future. You were. I couldn't have done all
this," she swept her arm back to indicate the diner, "Without you."

"But I just *left.*"

"You were on your mother's timetable, if I remember."

"That's still no--"

"Mark," Annie said firmly, and pressed her hand into his. "I don't
blame you."

"I should have... dammit, Annie, I could have sent you *something*."

She rolled her eyes. "Look. You once explained to me that you didn't
spend your money on building projects for poor African nations because
it was counterproductive. If you built things for people, they didn't
build them for themselves. Right?"

"But..."

"So how is it different if I was carrying your child?"

Mark closed his eyes, forced his breathing to calm down, and finally
admitted to himself that she had a point. "Dammit. You shouldn't fight
male instinct with logic."

There was a plate being pushed at his elbow. He picked up the
contents, took a bite, and was pleasantly surprised. "Mmm. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Krysia, behind the counter. Green eyes, auburn hair,
pointed ears. She was... beautiful, and a complication in his life
that he didn't know how to deal with.

That covered a lot of complications, recently.

"So how have you been keeping yourself?" Annie asked, then grinned.
"Besides remodeling the ceiling of the UN building."

"Oh, Goddess." He shook his head. "That was years ago. I was young and
impetuous."

"And you're now old and sober?"

"Ha." Mark took another bite of sandwich. "I'm bitter and
disillusioned, that's what. Which stinks, because it's much less fun."

Annie just smiled sadly, and lay a hand on his arm.

--

"So what made you leave home?"

Mark shifted slightly, taking the pressure off his wings so that he
could lie back more comfortably. He sighed, wishing there was some way
he could pretend to go to sleep and ignore any and all impertinent
questions.

"It's a long story," he said.

"So what?" Annie said succinctly, poking him in the chest. "Most of
your stories are. You need to tell this one, Mark. Tell me."

He lay back, sighed, let his eyes trace the darkened ceiling. "I'm
what used to be called, euphemistically, a 'love child,'" he said
after a moment. "Technically, that's not true. My parents didn't love
each other. They were both in love with other people. My dad with his
partner in the force, and my mother with her ex."

"Did it bother you?" Annie asked.

Mark closed his eyes. "Not... not really. I mean, I always wanted to
be normal. But I'd known I wasn't since I was six, when I found out
mom was immortal."

He could hear Annie's breathing change. "She never mentioned that."

"No, she wouldn't have, would she?" He sighed. "She was waiting until
I was older to tell me, but when I was six we were in Transylvania...
some little village that she'd visited a few hundred years ago and
wanted to make amends to. She wasn't exactly nice back then." He
paused, tried to get his pulse back under control. "They burned her at
the stake."

"Oh, God, Mark."

He laughed, bitterly. "I was *six years old.* It took her a week to
get me out of hysterics. Talk about childhood trauma." There was a
long pause. "But I was telling you about why I left."

"Anything you need to talk about, Mark." Annie slid her hands up his
chest, wrapped her arms around him. He reached up and ran his fingers
through her hair.

"Yeah. Well, my dad's partner, Elisa, and my mom's ex, Goliath... they
were together. Married. And... they found out that they couldn't have
children together. So Elisa asked my dad for help. And that's why I
have a half brother." He had to laugh again. "I didn't realize it
until a few years ago, but that destroyed him. He could deal with her
not wanting him. But he couldn't deal with her needing him at the same
time...

"So he starts talking with my mother, for one reason or another. And
they fall into bed. But they weren't attached or anything. Except for
me. And that's why they got married, I think, five years ago. And then
everything went straight to hell."

Annie looked down at him. "Because your parents got married?"

He shook his head. "No, because Elisa died."

"... I don't understand."

Mark sighed. "She was... she was holding us all together, at least at
the end. She was okay with my parents getting married, which meant
Goliath was okay with it. She was getting better. She was *happy*, for
the first time in over twenty years... and then she was dead."

Annie's hand was on his forehead. He realized he was sweating, and
tried to calm down. "It wasn't even... I mean, if it had *meant*
something, we could have coped with it. As it was, it was a stupid
hit-and-run accident with some guy doped up on dancer. He was dead a
month later for vehicular manslaughter, but it wasn't... it
couldn't... and everything fell apart."

Annie was going to say something, and he cut her off. "Dad went back
to drinking. Mom... mom went and comforted Goliath. He needed... her.
Someone. Something. He was suicidal. Worse than dad was... she had to
make a choice, and she loved Goliath. God." He was shaking. He could
feel himself shaking. "I don't know if I really understand. But it
drove everything to pieces. The clan never really trusted her, even
after how much she'd changed. Goliath abdicated as clan leader, and
Brooklyn took over. I don't know how much of this you're following."

"Enough," she whispered. "It must have been..."

"Oh, Gods, it was *awful*. Nobody trusted her, nobody trusted *me*,
everyone was worried about Goliath, about Dad, people were still
grieving... Jake packed up and headed for DC, and Aurora went with
him, which was another shock people couldn't deal with... good gentle
Isis. It was in ruins. I couldn't take it. I just..." he shook his
head. "I had to leave. I had to."

She just held him for a long moment, and he let himself sink into her
embrace, letting the old pain wash over and through him. I will not
fear, fear is the mind killer, fear is the little death that brings
total oblivion...

"How long?" Annie asked.

"Hmm?"

"How long has it been since you left?"

Mark closed his eyes and counted. "Five years, about."

"And you haven't talked with your family in all that time?"

"No." He sighed. "I don't know how I'd be received. And..." he trailed
off.

"You're afraid." There was nothing accusing in her tone, but still he
winced.

"Yeah. I think I am."

Annie's head was resting on his chest again, and he could feel as well
as hear her speak. "I think you should at least call them. I'm sure
there's at least one person who desperately wants to see you again."

"You're right." He lay there, breathing quietly, not wanting to think
about his family. But again, there it was. "Gods. I don't want to do
this."

"That's why you should. It builds character."

Mark grinned, even knowing she couldn't see in the darkness. "That's
the last thing I need, more character." He closed his eyes for a
moment, then opened them again. "I wonder how they'll take Krysia."

"Well," Annie said. "She's a good girl."

"Yes, she is."

--

It was early evening, and Jake had just got home, eyeing the dwindling
summer light through the windows. It was good to be able to pick his
hours, when he wasn't on assignment somewhere. He was able to get
enough sleep in the morning to lead a fairly normal life, all things
considered. And especially in summer, the twins were asleep for most
of that time. That was a definite blessing. He had a few co-workers
with children, and none of them had full days of uninterrupted bliss.

Not that he didn't love Lapis and Lazuli with all his heart. But they
could be... two handfuls. And they were just as adorable asleep.

Jake threw his coat off and checked the kitchen for cooking supplies.
Aurora had picked up culinary skills from her father, but her
concentration was taken up with the twins more often than not, so the
cooking duties fell to him. He didn't mind. He'd had a chance to
sharpen his abilities, and was able to make something a bit more tasty
than 'bachelor's surprise.'

He'd set out the makings for basic lasagna when the doorbell rang. He
punched the monitor, then stared, surprised.

A moment later, he was hauling the door open. "Uncle Talon! What are
you doing in Virginia?"

"Checking up on you, kid, what else?" The mutate grinned and stepped
inside. "Besides, I brought your belated birthday present."

"You didn't..." Jake trailed off when he saw what Talon was holding.
After a moment of silence, he regained his senses and shut the door.

After re-engaging the lock and taking a moment to fiddle with the
little blinking lights, he was able to regain his composure and turn
around. Then he pointed at the red jacket that Talon was holding.
"Didn't..."

Talon was biting his lip and looking down at his hands. "It'd been
packed away. I figured you'd want it." He held up the jacket, careful
not to catch the worn leather on his claws.

Hesitantly, Jake reached out and took the jacket from his uncle.
"Thanks," he said roughly.

Trying to shake off the mood, he turned and hung the jacket up on the
coat rack behind the door. "So. How'd you get up here without being
noticed?"

"Jedi mind tricks. How long until sunset?"

Jake reflexively glanced at the window and measured the shadows. "Just
an hour or so. We're having lasagna, want to stay?"

"That'd be great, thanks." Talon followed Jake into the kitchen/dining
area and took a chair, looking over the counter at Jake's
preparations. "How's work going for you?" he asked as Jake went back
to smearing noodles with pasta sauce.

"Great," Jake replied, setting down the bottle of sauce. Was it cheese
next, or ricotta? He decided it didn't matter and picked up the
mozerella. "Lise and I just wrapped up a case, so I have a few days to
recuperate before heading into the breach again. And I managed to
sweet-talk my way into some nice standing area for the dedication of
the Renewal of Personal Liberties monument next week. Should be fun."

"Cool." Talon suddenly grinned. "I can hear Buchanan revolving in his
grave."

Jake's reply was an all-over twitch. "Please. We're all happy
political moderates in this house, mmkay? How are things back home?"

Talon grimaced. "Same as always. Malibu and Delilah still haven't had
any luck. Goliath and Demona..." he trailed off.

"Same as always," Jake muttered, reaching for the ricotta.

Talon's next comment was cut off by the phone. Jake sighed, licked
excess ricotta off his fingers, and reached for the audio. "Jake
Maza."

"Hi, Jake."

The voice was so familiar and so unexpected that Jake nearly fell over
in shock. He slapped the visual and stared, unwilling to believe what
his eyes and ears were telling him. "Mark?"

"Yeah. Long time no see."

"You're telling me--dammit, Mark, where have you been?" Jake could
feel his anger growing, overwhelming his shock. "You've been missing
for five years! Nobody knew where you were... where were you?"

Mark shrugged. "Here and there, like always. How are things back home?
"

"Dammit, Mark--"

His half-brother smiled bitterly. "I'll take that as a 'same as
always.' How's Aurora?"

"God, Mark, *where are you*?"

"Little place called Sunnydale on the banks of the mighty Mississippi.
Anything else?"

Jake took a deep breath. "No. Nothing else."

"So how are you? It has been five years, after all."

"I'm fine," Jake said. "Aurora's fine. We're all fine... here..." he
glanced at Talon, who grinned. "God. Five years. Mark, you're an
uncle."

"Really?" Mark grinned broadly into the phone screen. "That's
wonderful! Congratulations, man!" He hesitated, and the grin started
to fade. "So are you."

"..." Jake said, then, "What?"

"Krysia, c'mere and get into the camera field." There was a pause,
then a young girl stepped into view.

Jake stared. She couldn't be more than fourteen; a girl with shoulder-
length auburn hair and blue eyes, pale skin and pointed ears. "Um...
hi," she said.

"Hi," Jake said, then, "Maaaark..."

"Sure thing. Krys, could you..." The girl nodded and stepped back out
of the field, leaving Jake staring at his much-too-cheerful half-
brother. "Let me guess. 'I told you so.'"

"Mark," Jake said quietly, "How old is she?"

"Thirteen," Mark said.

"Mark... Mark, you're twenty eight years old."

"Mmmhmm."

"That means... dammit, Talon," Jake said, turning from the phone,
"Give me some help here."

"Talon's there?" Mark asked, then brightened as the mutate stepped
into view. "Hey, fuzzy!"

"Hey, spastic," Talon said. "What's this I hear about a daughter?"

Mark nodded. "Krysia. She's a great kid."

"And how big are the chunks her mother tore out of your hide?"

Mark laughed. "That's what I was worried about, and she's actually
happy to see me, if that tells you anything. So how *are* things back
home?"

Talon was about to answer when Jake cut in. "Why don't you come back
and find out?"

Mark bit his lip and looked askance for a moment, then looked up to
meet Jake's eyes. "I might do that," he said, strangely subdued. "I
might very well do that. Well. I have a few things to do over here,
and I don't want to take too much of your time. Talk to you later."

"Mark--" Jake sighed as the screen went blank. "Dammit. Why does he
always..."

"Well, it's nice to know the kid's still around," Talon said, clapping
Jake on the shoulder. "Don't worry about him. He'll come through all
right."

"It's not him I'm worried about." Jake shook his head. "Ah, what am I
saying. He'll call again when he's good and ready. I need to get
dinner in the oven before Aurora wakes up."

--

"What's this?" Mark said, turning from stowing the last of his
supplies on his bike.

Krysia stood before him, arms crossed and chin tilted up to accent her
stubborn glare. "I'm going with you."

Mark looked around the deserted street. "Does your mother know about
this?"

"Yes." Krysia hitched her backpack higher on her back. "And she said
she wouldn't stop me."

Mark looked her... his daughter over. She was wearing a dust-colored
windbreaker over a t-shirt, heavy blue jeans and grey sneakers. "She
said she wouldn't stop you, huh? What's in the backpack?"

She tilted her head to the side and thought. "Another pair of jeans,
shirts, underwear, socks, an ebook, and some music. My sleeping bag's
in the house."

"Uh-hunh. Do you have a motorcycle helmet?"

She looked worried for a moment. "No..."

Mark sighed and looked back at the house. "Well, I guess we'll need to
get you one, then."

Krysia's eyes widened, and a tremulous smile started to form on her
face. "You mean... I can come with you?"

"Of course," Mark said. "As soon as I confirm all this with your
mother."

That's how, thirty minutes later, Mark found himself heading east with
a thirteen-year-old girl barnacally attached to his back. They rode
for hours as the sun sank behind the distant horizon, twilight clouds
scattering themselves over the pale August sky.

They pulled into a campsite a little after dusk. Mark got a fire
started as Krysia unrolled her sleeping bag. She stared at him
quizzically as he unrolled a thin pad on the other side of the fire.
"Don't you have a sleeping bag?"

He looked up, grinned. "No. I usually don't sleep like this when I'm
on a road trip, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Well... how much do you know about gargoyles?"

Krysia shrugged. "Protect people, sleep during the day?"

"Pretty much." Mark stretched, then turned to rummage in his bags for
food supplies. "I'm only half-gargoyle, so I can be diurnal when I
want to be. Still, when I'm traveling alone, I generally turn to stone
during the day. Of course, that'd be a pretty boring trip for you."

"Mmm," Krysia said. Mark smiled and pulled out a couple Xanacorp MREs.
He pulled the tabs and passed one over to his daughter.

"So tell me about your life," he said when the food had warmed to
eating temperature. He pulled the foil off the top and blew on the
contents. Chicken pot pie; delicious.

She shrugged. "It's been... life." 

"Are you happy?"

She looked up and blinked at him, startled. "Huh?"

"With life." He smiled sardonically. "I ask because Annie seemed so
self-assured back there... settled. I didn't know..." he shook his
head. "Gods, I didn't know."

"I... I guess I'm happy." She chewed her lip. "I mean... everyone
remembers the flood and what you did. So all the adults are nice, but
their kids... And going to school in Arama... I hate the kids there.
Most of them." She grinned suddenly. "Man, you must have had it worse,
though, right? Growing up?"

Mark stared for a second before answering. "Well... I never had to
deal with school, for one thing."

Krysia raised her eyebrows. "Home-schooled? I wanted to try that,
once, but mom said she didn't know enough and I'd probably hate it."

"Not really home-schooled. Everywhere-schooled is more like it. We
were never in one place long enough for me to get a formal education,
so I picked up things along the way."

"Like what?"

"Oh... languages. I'm pretty good at that. And hunting and fishing,
reading in a number of languages though my handwriting is terrible in
all of them... a little bit of mental math, sleight-of-hand, magic,
those sorts of things."

"Sounds more useful than algebra."

"I really wouldn't know."

Mark went back to eating and Krysia followed suit. He'd finished half
of the MRE before Krysia put her fork down, looked up and asked,
"What's your dad like?"

He blinked at her a couple times. "Huh?"

"Never mind." She looked down at her food, then back up at him.
"Actually... I mean, I want to know."

Mark toyed with his fork and tried to think of a good way to answer.
"He's... he's a good man," he finally said. "I always looked forward
to seeing him."

"How so?"

Shut up and eat your chicken. "Well, I always looked up to him. He
used to be a detective in the NYPD. He's retired now, but when he was
working, well, he always tried to do right by everyone."

"And he lives in New York?"

"Yeah, unless he's moved since."

"Can we go visit?"

"No."

There was a long pause. Krysia's disappointment was palpable. He
finally looked up, with effort, and tried a smile. "I mean, the plan
was to drop in on my half-brother in DC. After that... we'll see, you
know?"

"But why..."

He shrugged. "It's... a long story."

"That's not an answer."

Mark shook his head and sighed. "There's a lot of history between me
and a lot of people who live in New York. Some of them are friends,
some family, some extended family... and some of them don't like the
company I keep. And I haven't been back for five years."

Krysia was looking at him askance. "So..."

He thought about what he'd just said, then laughed. "You're right.
Stupid excuses. Look, let's drop in on Jake first, then we'll discuss
heading north. Okay?"

She looked down at her half-eaten food, then looked up with a slight
smile. "Sure."

They finished dinner in companionable silence. Mark wrapped his jacket
up in a ball and lay down, using it as a pillow. He stared up at the
stars for a long time.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think your family will like me?"

He smiled, closing his eyes. "They'll love you, Krys," he said.
"Honest."

--

The phone was ringing, somewhere.

Matt Bluestone blinked his eyes open and tried to determine where he
was. The floor, he decided after a few seconds of contemplation. Fully
dressed, too. He raised his head and looked around. He was at eye
level to the legs of the couch, and to the base of the wall. Above
him, the TV panel was flashing a muted tribute to the glories of Quik-
Scrub toilet bowl cleaner.

There was an empty bottle of whiskey next to his leg. The phone was
still ringing.

After an eternity, he managed to bring his hand up to his pounding
head. He started to remember the night before. He'd been watching
TV... some courtroom drama, or an MGM musical, or an MGM musical set
in a courtroom, or the MST3k episode I Accused My Parents. It was
fuzzy. What he did remember was one of the commercials. One of those
rehashes of the time-honored, traditional, "It's 11:34 at night. Do
you know where your children are?"

The phone was still ringing.

Matt pushed himself to his feet, located a phone outlet. "Voice," he
told the machine. "Hello?"

"Matt? It's Jake."

Matt put his hands on his temples and debated returning to the floor.
"Yes? Something up?"

"I... no..." Even through his hangover, Matt could tell that Jake was
disturbed by something. "Look... have you heard from Mark recently?"

Matt stopped breathing. "How recently?"

"He just called me yesterday."

Yesterday. Yesterday-yesterday-yesterday--"What happened? Is he all
right? Is he--" Matt stopped himself before he could ask, is he coming
home?

"I don't know. He sounded all right. He's in the boonies of
Mississippi or something... he might be coming east. I don't know."
Jake was getting more and more upset. "He... he's got a *daughter* out
there."

"A daughter." Matt tried to breathe. "A daughter. How old?"

"Thirteen."

ThirTEEN?

"Yeah, that was my reaction, too," Jake said, giving Matt time to
realize that he'd said something out loud. "I don't know what all that
situation is, but... he said he might be coming out here. That's all I
know. I wanted to know if he'd called you..."

Matt took a couple deep breaths, called his brain together. "No. He
hasn't called."

Embarrassed silence on the other end. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." Matt shook his head. "Thanks for telling me. I'll
get back to you, Jake... my love to Aurora and the twins."

"Yeah... dad. Goodbye." Jake hung up sharply, leaving Matt to stare at
the phone in silence.

Dad?

God, he'd almost given up on hearing that.

Shaking his head again, Matt turned and stumbled toward the shower.

--

"Thar she blows. The nation's capital."

Krysia shaded her eyes and looked around. "Everything's so... short."

Mark chuckled. They'd spent the day before in Annapolis, where time
and population density had turned the seaside into a skyscraper farm.
By comparison, DC was squat. "Building codes. Everything within a
certain kilometrage has to be lower than Capitol Hill."

"So where's this new monument going to be?"

"Damned if I know. So, do you want to go sightseeing, or should we
terminally embarrass my brother by showing up on his doorstep?"

Krysia blushed. "Ummm... we still have daylight. Let's see some stuff,
first."

"Fine by me." Mark started the bike again, the motor running with a
barely perceptible hum. Krysia resettled her weight forward, taking a
better hold on his jacket.

After another hour or so of taking in downtown DC, they headed south
to where Jake's apartment complex resided, in a relatively new urban
sprawl zone. Mark parked the cycle outside, then touched the call
button for Jake's apartment.

The screen flickered to life, revealing Jake, who did a rather
spectacular double take. "Mark?"

"Hi, Jake. Sorry to give you absolutely no warning at all that I'm in
the area... but we were passing through and I figured we'd drop by.
Mind?"

"I... *Yes* I... sure, come on up--WE?" 

"Krysia's with me."

Jake comprehended that for a couple seconds. "Your daughter."

"Yeah. She wanted to come. So, y'know, I figured, travel never does
any harm."

"The way *you* travel?"

"Jake..."

"I'll buzz you in."

The screen winked out. Krysia stared up at her father. "The way you
travel? What's that mean?"

Mark grimaced. "Well, it's either a reference to the fact that I don't
have a passport... or a trip we took together about six years ago.
Don't worry too much about it."

Above the door, a small green light blinked on. Mark pushed the door
open. Krysia followed him. "What do you mean, you don't have a
passport?"

Mark shrugged. "I never got one. I wouldn't know what country to get
it under, anyway."

"But weren't you born in New York?"

"Yeah, but I never had a birth certificate processed. Passport
probably wouldn't do me much good anyway. I travel in a lot of places
where the borders are... vague." He punched the 'up' button on the
elevator, stepped through the doors when they opened with a hiss a
moment later. Krysia followed in silence.

Jake was waiting for them in the hallway, a forced smile on his face.
It slipped as soon as he caught sight of Krysia, but at least he was
trying. "Hi again, Mark. Just past sunset. You have timing."

"I do my best. Jake, my daughter Krysia. Krysia, this is Jake."

"Hi," Krysia said.

"Well, come on in," Jake said. "We were just going to order Chinese
for dinner if you're staying."

"Sounds great, if you'll have us."

"Aurora will be happy to see you," Jake said blandly, stepping back
through the door. Mark smiled and followed him, Krysia staying close
behind.

"Well, I hope we won't be too much of a bother," Mark said as they
shucked out of their jackets. "No flaming buildings or trucks in the
area, so... Aurie!"

"Mark!" His niece pushed her way around Jake and swept him into a hug.
"It's been ages! How have you been?"

"Decent," Mark said, disengaging himself. "Aurora, I'd like you to
meet my daughter, Krysia. Krys, this is Aurora, who's my niece on my
mom's side."

"Hi, Krysia," Aurora said, stooping to offer her a hug as well. The
girl accepted, hesitantly.

"Hi. Nice to meet you," Krysia offered.

"Mark, you have to see the twins," Aurora said, grabbing him by the
shoulder. He followed her into the next room, noticing the pale blue
walls, the white trim, and the general neatness of the whole
apartment. It didn't feel quite lived in. Knicknacks were set neatly
in place behind glass. A stereo was pushed into a corner, its cord
tucked neatly away. Mark had the feeling there would be dust on it,
except that the house wouldn't stand for dust.

The second door on the right led to the children's bedroom. Here was
different. Aurora had exerted her influence over the room. Gauzy
drapes, high enough above the floor that they weren't a temptation. A
playpen in the corner, chewed-on stuffed toys covering the floor. Two
tiny blue heads swiveled around to stare as Aurora and Mark entered.

"A-ma!" one of the twins cried. The other looked up from where she was
sucking on her fingers and waved. Aurora smiled and picked the
talkative one up, then turned and handed her to Mark.

"This is Lazuli," she said, then picked up the other twin. "And this
is Lapis."

"Long?"

"What?"

"Old joke." Mark smiled at Lazuli, who was staring at him with wide-
eyed interest. He looked back at the doorway, but couldn't see Krysia.
Shrugging mentally, he turned back to Aurora. "They're beautiful."

She smiled, radiant. "I know."

He looked back down at Lazuli. "Ach, ye merry babe," he said, then
hummed the first few bars of a lullaby. Laz gurgled, and he grinned.

"You'd make a wonderful father."

The song caught in Mark's throat. He set Lazuli down before he could
transmit his mood to her. "I wish I had a real chance."

"Oh, Mark..." Aurora put Lapis by her sister, then stepped closer to
his side. "I'm sure she's a wonderful girl."

"But I had nothing to..." He paused, put a hand on Aurora's shoulder.
"Aurie... are you all right?"

She twitched, pulled away from him. "I'm fine, Mark. Why do you ask?"

Mark looked back at the hallway, then gently closed the door with his
tail. "Aurie, you're not well." She didn't respond. "Do you have any
friends down here?"

"I... well, some of the PIT people in the area, and..."

"No."

"No."

"Freya's tears, Aurie..."

"No, Mark," she said, spinning around and grabbing him by the jacket.
Her voice was low and tight, and there were tears in her eyes. "Don't.
Don't get into this. It's my problem, I'll solve it. I'm happy here,
with him, we have a family, and I can't ask him to drop his life and
move back to New York just because I'm lonely."

They stayed like that, frozen in space, until one of the twins began
to cry. Aurora pulled back and blushed. Mark sighed. "All right,
Aurora. It's your business."

"Thank you," she said, picking up the crying girl and rocking her.

"C'mon," Mark said, giving her a kiss on the forehead. He smiled,
though it hurt. "Let's get dinner."

--

Early morning. Jake could tell it was past dawn only because Aurora's
statue was still and grey in the corner. He lay still and tried to
figure out what had woken him.

Footsteps... soft footsteps in the hall. Jake pushed himself to his
feet in the dim light and followed them. By the time he was at the
door, he remembered Mark. He relaxed, only slightly.

Mark was at his phone. Jake could see him from the hallway, staring at
the screen with his shoulders slumped. Finally, Mark reached out and
tapped the pad, activating it. "Voice-only," he said, then, "212-338-
555-8147."

Jake felt his fingers curl on their own accord, adrenaline pouring
into his veins. He shouldn't be listening. He should go back to bed
and try to sleep, block his ears out.

Ring...

He didn't need to hear Mark talking with his father.

Ring...

This was private!

Click. "This is Matt Bluestone's personal voice mail. If you got this
number honestly, leave a message. If you had to lie, cheat, steal, or
join a telemarketing firm to get this number, please leave your name
and home address so I can add you to my list." *beep*

"Hi, dad. It's Mark." Mark took a deep breath, another. Jake
hesitated, listening. "I... Jake said... I'm sorry I didn't call you
earlier. Jake called you, right, so you've already heard... Krysia's
with me. We're at Jake's place right now, just for the night. I think
we might be heading home tomorrow. Day after. Something.

"I love you, dad. And... I'm sorry."

Mark hit the 'off' button on the phone. He stayed there for a few
seconds, hand on the phone, wings wrapped tight around his shoulders.
Jake stepped forward, almost an involuntary motion. Mark snapped his
head around, pinned him with a stare.

"I couldn't fall asleep," Jake said. "I'm sorry I..."

"No, it's all right," Mark said. He shook himself, tried a smile that
barely passed for false. "Your house."

"Are you all right?"

"Do you want an honest answer to that?" They locked eyes, and for just
an instant Jake saw just how much the masquerade was costing. "No, I'm
not all right. My family's in a cataclysm, my personal life is
nonexistent, and I just ran into a town I hadn't seen in thirteen
years and learned that I'd inherited a teenager."

Mark laughed and started pacing. "And I guess this means I need to
reevaluate my definition of dutiful son to mean I never should have
left home in the first place, when I don't know if I can even force
myself to go back now." He collapsed beside the phone, staring down
into the blank screen as though it would flash him life's little cue
cards.

Jake let the silence stretch on as long as he could bear. "So why did
you leave?"

"Because I couldn't stand it!" Mark exploded off the counter, swung
himself back into pacing. "I couldn't stand watching everyone fall
into themselves. I couldn't stand Goliath and mom together. I couldn't
stand watching Brooklyn stare off into space in Goliath's direction
and then glare at me whenever he caught me looking. And I couldn't
stand watching life the universe and everything force my father into
drinking himself into a coma!"

"Fuck, Mark, some of that's his fault! He's not a goddamned saint!"

"I never said that! But he didn't deserve to have Elisa die on him
without anyone to hold on to!"

"So why did you leave?"

Silence, broken only by harsh breathing. Mark's eyes snapped with fire
that died after a couple seconds. He reached up, smoothed his hair
back, made a fist. Jake watched every small motion, wondering if he
would live to regret saying anything.

Mark laughed sharply, relaxed his hands, and turned away. "You left,
too."

Jake felt his breath catch in his throat. "I had work. I had to be--"

"Come on, Jake, your *mother* had just died. Nobody expected--"

"Don't say another *fucking* word about her."

Mark turned back with a startled expression on his face. Jake stared,
feeling the white-hot flash of anger fade, leaving him numb and
shaking. Mark stepped forward, hesitantly raised a hand, then dropped.
it. "Get some sleep, Jake."

"Yeah." Jake nodded, turned away. "Yeah. Sleep..."

--

Bright August sunlight spilled down between the clouds to warm the
edges of trees, ripple on glassy water, and paint blinding sparkles on
the brass section of the military band by the podium. Smiling crowds
and American flags were arrayed in semi-circles around the main
attraction, a hill that had been covered in statuary, flags, and VIPs
of all different stripes.

"They have a legion of policy makers down there," Mark observed,
leaning back against a tree on the outer edge of the crowd. He took
his binoculars off and offered them to Krysia. "But the statuary's
pretty. Take a look?"

Krysia took the binoculars without comment, squinted down at the
scene. The surrounding countryside formed a shallow depression with
the man-made hill more or less at the center. Mark, Krysia, Jake, and
Jake's partner Lise Glass only rated SRO admission, but they had a
good view over the heads of the assembled citizenry.

"Thanks for the invite, Jake," Mark said as Krysia scrutinized the
monument.

Jake shrugged. "Least I could do. No matter how many strange looks
we're getting."

"C'mon, enjoy it. Notoriety is fun."

"You *would* say that."

"So, Mark," Lise said, "What have you been doing for the last few
years? The UN's ceiling is still intact, and we haven't had any more
trucks go up in smoke."

"I've been leading popular revolts in small African nations," Mark
said dryly. He smirked, checked her reaction. She was smiling.
"Actually, that's not too far from the truth, except I've been
offering political assistance of the more subtle kind."

"Anything to do with that Sudanese minister who drove his truck into a
river?"

"What is it with you linking me with truck disasters? No, nothing to
do with that."

"So it *was* an accident?"

"I never said that. But I had nothing to do with it." He looked down,
rested a hand on Krysia's shoulder. "I'm not so much into getting rid
of politicians, even odious ones."

"Just trucks."

"Yes, just the bloody... Krys, you done with the binoculars?"

"Yeah... dad, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Mark shrugged, handed the binoculars to Jake. "Sure." They made their
way to the other side of the tree, and he knelt down in the shade.
"What's on your mind?"

Krysia looked down and studied the toes of her Generic Brand Sneakers
for a few seconds before looking up to meet his eyes. "What were you
and Jake arguing about the night we got here?"

"Morning," Mark said, then, "What?"

"I heard shouting."

He sighed. "Jake and I go way back. We have some issues that still
need to get cleared up."

"Is that why you didn't want to go back to New York right away?"

"Yeah." Mark caught her expression, smiled, and put a hand on her
shoulder. "Do me a favor, Krys? Don't become a cynic before your
time."

That drew a wan smile from her. "Too late, I think."

"Ach! We'll have to fix that." He grinned. "You know what? I don't
think it's such a big deal after all. You want to see New York? Fine.
We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning, all right?"

Krysia's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Really, kid. I mean it. We'll meet the folks, see the sights, shop
the shops, top to bottom. For as long as you can stand it. Stay in the
castle, ride the subways... whatever you want."

Krysia was fairly glowing by the time he'd finished. He held out his
arms, and she catapulted herself into his embrace, and he held her
tight, suddenly afraid for her, afraid to let her out of his arms.

He did, though, letting her lead him back around the tree to where
Jake and Lise were passing the binoculars back and forth and making
sardonic comments about security and the army.

"Problem solved?" Jake asked, handing the binoculars back to Krysia.

Mark nodded. "Explosions averted, for now."

"No trucks in the area, then?" Lise asked.

"Oh, give over the bloody trucks, will you?"

Krysia took a quick look through the binoculars, then put them down
and frowned up at her father. "Dad, why do you have a British accent
when talking to Lise?"

Mark opened his mouth to answer, then stopped, confused. "I what?"

Jake turned to stare at him. "You mean you didn't notice?"

"Notice what?"

"You always pick up Lise's accent." Jake shook his head. "You did it
when you first met her, too. You don't have one in New York, though."

Lise laughed. "You mean he has a New York accent when he talks to
you."

Mark grinned weakly and looked away. "I guess I just try to fit in..."
he trailed off, frowning, as something in the crowd caught his
attention.

"No wonder you sounded like a local when you came to Sunnydale,
dad..."

Mark scanned the crowd, trying to figure out what was bothering him.
"I suppose it's because English isn't my first language. When I'm
talking to Lise, I'm speaking English; otherwise I'm speaking
American."

"I told you. You colonials need to brush up on the mother tongue."

There. Single man in a bulky coat, with a cooler held stiffly at his
left side. There was something wrong with his posture, with the way
his right hand moved...

"Nice. You were born here, you know."

"Yes, but I was at least educated in a civilized country."

The man's eyes were fixed on the empty podium, and when his arm moved,
Mark could see the duct-tape covered mass clutched in his right
hand...

"Civilized? I've watched Prime Minister's Questions on C-Span. I'd
hardly call that civilized."

Magic is always easier with a specific question. Mark closed his eyes
for a moment and cast for the answer, and it hit him like a high-
velocity round to the stomach. *Dammit, even a pony nuke in here could
take out... could take out...*

"Hey, Mark, are you--"

A step forward. Two.

"Dad?"

He froze, took a breath around the sudden catch in his throat. Then he
spun around, grabbed Krysia's shoulders, and pushed her into Jake's
startled grasp. Then he turned back and started pushing through the
crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,
Daniel Jones."

Applause, a few murderous looks as Mark pushed through the crowd. The
man with the nuke fingered the trigger, eyes focused on the President.

"I would like to welcome our honored guests from the European Union,
the Russian Federation..."

Mark pushed forward, closing the distance to the bomber. Fifteen
meters, ten...

"... the Pan-African Union, welcome. For me, my fellow Americans, and
for the world, the liberties that this nation was founded upon are
proud symbols of a working democracy..."

Five meters. Surging temper from the crowd. The man looked up, saw the
angry gargoyle bearing down on him. They locked eyes.

"... we have strived to uphold these liberties through strife and
warfare, through panic and destruction..."

He *wasn't going to make it*.

"... said "The price of freedom is eternal vigilance", and I believe
that this monument will be a monument not only to the freedoms taken
away and restored, but to this vigilance..."

The man raised the trigger.

Mark took two running steps and leapt forward, pushing aside the final
few people in his way.

"... and our belief that right will triumph..."

The world went white, then black.

--

The column of fire appearing in the middle of the mall stopped the
speeches, the fanfare, and the ceremony, replacing it with a horrified
silence and the stunned immovability of a crowd appalled and stunned
by what it saw. As a result, the only people moving toward the
appearance were Jake, Krysia, Lise, and the CBS crew on the scene.

Jake skidded to a stop on the damp grass and held up a hand to block
the searing light. He tried to blink the afterimage out of his vision,
and ended up staring at the charred circle of grass surrounding the
blinding pillar.

"What in God's name?" he gasped out.

"Sir, we have to ask you a few questions."

Jake turned, still blinking, and made out the fuzzy image of a secret
service man, in uniform, standing before him. "What?" he said.

"We have to ask you a few questions. What do you know of this
incident?"

"I... I don't."

"Did you know any of the people involved?"

Jake shook his head to clear it. "I... Just Mark. He..."

Images, flashes, words. 'I have to stay here. Go. Now. You have to do
this, Jake. You have to tell dad what happened if I don't make it
back.' Mark rushing across a battlefield, reaching back to hurry on a
child.

Mark shoving Krysia into his arms, a haunted look in his eyes, then
pushing through the crowd with a determined stride. Shock, hurt,
anger, and a column of fire.

"My God. That was a nuke."

He didn't realize he'd said it aloud until the secret service man
cleared his throat. "Sir, we're going to have to take you in for
questioning."

That snapped him out of his daze quickly enough. "Now you listen here,
" he said, calm, cool, collected. Like a cap over a flaming oil well.
"That was my brother who just threw himself on top of a nuclear
weapon, and then did God knows what so that we're all not radioactive
waste littering a glass crater. And you'll give me a damn minute alone
with his daughter."

The agent stepped back, startled, and Jake felt the fire leach out of
his veins, turning to battery acid. He really remembered Krysia then,
turned around to try and spot her.

She was on her knees a few yards back, staring straight into the fire
wall, silent tears trickling down her face. Jake stumbled over to her,
knelt by her side. "Don't look," he said. "You'll go blind."

"I want to."

"Looking won't help."

"I want to go blind." She blinked, rapidly, and tears spilled over her
lashes to trickle down her face in two thin streams. "It's not fair."

"It never is. God knows, it never is."

"What does God have to do with *this*?!"

Jake sighed. Krysia continued squinting into the brilliance, then
suddenly turned away and threw an arm over her eyes, whimpering. Jake
reached out, hesitated, then reached out and took her by the
shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. She sobbed into his chest and
he closed his eyes, waiting for the tears to come.

But they didn't.

--

Matt turned off the phone and stared off into nothing.

Dead. Dead. Dead. It echoed in his skull like a heartbeat. Thud. Dead.
Gone.

He raised shaking hands and held his head. He should... he should...

Dear God, he hadn't even been able to say goodbye.

Thud. Dead. Gone. He turned from the phone, stared at the flashing
wallscreen. He stumbled to it, rested his head against the flashing
images. The fluorescent pattern of images and adverts seared his
retinas, white streaks that faded to black as he stared at the idle
noise playing across his vision. Thud. Dead. Gone.

It hadn't even hurt this much when Elisa died.

The colors and lights blurred, stretched out in fish-eyed twists of
illusion. He blinked, twice, before realizing that he was crying.

With an inarticulate cry, he staggered away from the screen, then
reached out to lay his hand against the riot of light and motion. His
fingers curled against his will to form a fist, and he slammed at the
screen with frail strength, battering the plas, feeling the shocks run
down his arm. Whirling around, half-blinded by tears, he grabbed a
delicate, expensive chair and slammed it over and over again into the
wallscreen, screaming in fury when neither chair nor screen refused to
give.

Finally, his grip slipped and the chair tumbled to the carpet. He
threw himself away from the screen and stumbled to the windows.
Demona's suite, the penthouse suite, huge windows, open balcony. He
wrenched aside the glass and emerged into the rainy night.

The height was dizzying. He could look down upon endless vertigo, tiny
white lights moving back and forth in regimented order. Sirens,
screeching tires, a cacophony of noises in the darkness. His
heartbeat, battering again on his ribs. Thud. Dead. Gone.

Matt Bluestone closed his eyes, spread his arms, and fell.

* ... Oh, God... *

With a lurch, he was hauled bodily away from the loving embrace of
gravity by arms like bands of iron around his chest. Halfheartedly, he
struggled against his rescuer, his eyes shut tight against the wind
and the possibility that he'd fall--or that he wouldn't.

"Don't, Matt."

It wasn't Demona, or Brooklyn, as he half expected. It was Goliath.

*That* snapped him awake. He looked down at the dizzying streets
below, then craned his neck back to look up at the gargoyle. Yes, it
was Goliath. What...

"We heard, a short time ago," Goliath said. "I... worried about you."
The gargoyle sighed, a deep rumble harmonizing with the whistling
wind.

After a long pause, during which Matt blearily realized that they were
turning toward the castle, Goliath spoke again. "We have much in
common, you and I. I am sorry that it took... this... for me to
realize it."

Matt found his voice. "You should have let me fall."

Goliath took a long time to answer. "The girl is coming here."

"What?"

"Mark's daughter. She is coming here, with Jacob and Aurora."

Matt shook his head. Mark's daughter. He had almost forgotten...

"We will not speak of your actions," Goliath said. Matt jerked his
head up to see they were almost in range of the castle. Goliath
circled closer, then backwinged to a stop in the upper courtyard.

Matt righted himself clumsily, looked up, and saw Demona. She was back
to her old loincloth and halter, staring at him with wary pain in her
eyes.

"I..." he said, then stopped, because he couldn't think of anything to
say.

"Matt, I'm so sorry," she said, voice breaking. Then she was in his
arms, and sobbing, and he held her close and closed his eyes again and
let the tears come.

--

Darksodarksodarksodarksodarksodarksodarksodark

He was screaming, but he couldn't hear his voice. Throat raw, ears
blocked, couldn'thear couldn't feel couldn't touch couldn't breathe
can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe--

No, calm, dark, cramped, *can* breathe, can breathe, how do you think
you're shouting if you can't breathe, calm down calm down calm down
dammit!

Calm down. Focus. Something. Something, focus on something, try
something, something, anything!

Nonsense. Say nonsense. Just... over and over. Mantra. Think of
something. I'm trapped in a dark box and--no, no, no, no, no!

I... can eat glass. It won't hurt me. Yeah. No pain. I can eat glass.
It won't hurt me. I can eat glass and it won't hurt me. I cannnng...
it hurts, it hurts...

Concentrate! Focus! I can eat... it *won't* hurt me. S urrainn dhomh
gloinne ithe; cha ghoirtich i mi. S urrainn dhomh gloinne ithe; cha
ghoirtich i mi. Je peux manger du verre, cela ne me fait pas mal.
Vitrum edere possum; mihi non nocet. Dúnamai húalon esthíein; toûde
oudamws huperalgew'. Ich kann Glas essen, das tut mir nicht weh. I
can...

Concentrate, concentrate...

Ani yachol le'echol zchuchit, ze lo ko'ev li. Ana momken aakol el-
ezaz, we dah ma beyewgaaneash. Wo ke yi chi bo li, wo bu huei sho
shang. Puedo comer vidrio, no me duele. Ich chan Glaas ässe, das tuet
mir nöd weeh. Waah eh-dung jaah buh-lay; bei gahwah deiah-shong.
Kanadi sapatulum, orukedum varathu. Dw i'n gallu bwyta gwydr, dwy e
ddim yn gwneud dolur i mi. Ikh ken esn gloz un es tut mir nisht vey.
Ya mogu yest' steklo, eto mnye nye vredit. Posso comer vidro, não me
magoa. Pòdi manjar de veire, me nafrariá pas. Pot minca sticla. Nu ma
doare. I... I...

Keep thinking, keep thinking, not about how black and cramped and
cant' breathe can't breathe can't--can! Can! Think! Think! Please... I
can... I can... Moge jesc szklo, nic mi to nie szkodzi. Posso mangiare
il vetro, non mi fa male. Jeg kan spise glas. Det gjør meg ikke vondt.
Garasu o taberete, kizutsukemasen. Boro' na fa'o spasme'na gialia'
chori's na pa'tho ti'pota. Jeg kan spise glas, det gør ikke ondt på
mig. Muzu jíst sklo; to mi neskodí. Ngo Hor Yi Sak Bor Laai, Kui Sern
Ng Do Ngo Gar. I kaun Gloos essen, es tuat ma ned weh. Nakdar nakoul
ezjaj ou ma youjaach. Ek kan glas eet, dit kan my nie seermaak nie. Ma
võin klaasi süüa, see ei tee mulle midagi. Motum awe bodambo. Onye me
hwee. Pystyn sy&oumlmään lasia. Se ei koske yhtään. mai^n gilaas khaa
saktii hu^n. Mai^n ne chot diiyaa. Meg tudom enni az üveget, nem árt
nekem. Èg get borðað gler, það meiðir mig ekki. Aku isa mangan beling
tanpa lara. Garasu kuute mo kizutsukehen ya. Lain ninru chixcuabal li
lem. Inc'a' niquinixrahobtesi...

no, I can't. I can't glass eat I am hurting already oh GOD if I could
just feel something even pain I'd eat the glass if I could only feel
something something something something something I can eat glass and
it won't hurt me I can eat glass and...

Uih kereb kuman gelas, na'am inih belu'an na'an. Yurilul mogulsu
eetnoonday ah poo gee dough ahn a'yo. Ass varu eest styklu, tus mun
nakaitee. Ech ka Glas iessen an et deet mer net wii. Jac mosham staklo
da yadam. Ne ke me boli. Saya boleh memakan kaca dan tidak menyakiti
saya. ml foti yeh ba darega, ` ml ki nggweh. Mipela inap kaikai gilas
na em i no inap killim mi liklik. Man meetoonam sheesheh bowkhoram;
dard nehmeekohneh. J'peux bouffer d'la vitre, ça m'fa pas mal. Pot
minca sticla. Nu ma doare. Mwen sa manjé glas, i pa ka fé mwen mal.
Puotsu mangiari u vitru, nun mi fa mali. Mogu da jedem staklo. To me
ne boli. Æ ka æe glass uhen at det gø mæ naue. Ninaweza kula glasi,
haiwezi kuumiza mimi. Jag kan äta glas, det gör inte ont. Nakakakain
ako ng salamin; hindi naman ako masasaktan. Kanadi sapatulum, orukedum
varathu. Taa pom gin grajok, mai jeb bpuad. Cam yiyebilirim, bana
birsey yapmaz. Metumi awe tumpan. 3ny3 me hwee. Tôi có thê' an thúy
tinh, không hai gì. Ndingayita ibotile. Ayisokuze indenze nto.

S urrainn dhomh gloinne ithe; cha ghoirtich i mi.

S urrainn dhomh gloinne ithe; cha ghoirtich i mi.

S urrainn dhomh gloinne ith--not working, not working... aie, I can't
breathe, can't breathe, can't see, can't breathe, can't think...

why is it so dark...

--

The first sensation was of being face down on a metal floor.

Warm water was pouring onto his back. He hacked, tried to push himself
up. His arms felt like half-cooked noodle; rubbery, but ready to break
at any second. He slumped back onto the floor and tried to open his
eyes.

It took a few seconds for him to recognize the featureless gray as
wall. The spray of water moved up and down his back, blasted him in
the face for a moment. He hacked, moved his tongue around in his
mouth. He tasted blood, spat some out onto the floor.

"We tried to fit a guard over your teeth, but you kept choking."

He rolled over and stared up into the face. Brown skin, surrounded by
a halo of soft light, over a neutral suit of warm taupe. She smiled
down at him in sorrow and apology. "Are you doing better now, Mark?"

"The fuck..." he managed to mumble, lacking any greater power of
expression. "Lise?"

Agent Lise Glass nodded in response, then signaled at someone outside
the frame of his vision. The man with the sprayer left, soft footsteps
trailing out the door. She held something fuzzy and white out. It took
him a few seconds to focus on it and realize it was a towel.

"Unh?" he said. It was slightly louder, this time.

"If you want it. You'll probably start getting cold in a second."

"Gargoyles... don't get cold," he said, reaching out weakly. The soft
cotton squished gently under his fingers. He pulled the towel to him,
suddenly afraid of letting go the sensation, the texture.

"I know, Mark. But we still don't know a lot about you. I think you'll
feel better warm, anyway. And you can't meet the Five in wet clothes."

Mark struggled into a sitting position and began halfheartedly
applying the towel to his face, his arms. It took him a while to
realize what she'd said. "The Five?"

Unhurriedly, Lise held up a ring with a familiar sigil engraved on the
surface. Mark stared, towel clutched in his fingers like a security
blanket. Then he shook his head. "No. No..."

Lise slipped the ring back in her pocket. "I'm sorry, Mark."

"Dammit... dammit, my *father*--"

"Isn't high enough in rank to decide these things. And if he was, he
would have agreed. The Five rarely move without good reason."

"Then why--"

"I can't answer your questions, Mark, so don't ask."

Mark closed his eyes, retreating to the safety of darkness while he
tried to regain his breath. Then, gritting his teeth, he pushed
himself to stand on trembling legs.

Lise waited for him to finish drying, then procured clothing from
somewhere. The rough cloth was harsh against his skin, but he welcomed
the pain after so long of not feeling anything.

So long...

"How long was I..."

Lise didn't answer. He slipped his feet into the shoes she gave him,
then followed like a supplicant through the doorway.

The room was dimly lit, but not dark. At the other end was a table, a
horseshoe of deep mahogany lit at equal intervals with five pools of
golden light. Like Gods incarnate on high-backed thrones of leather
and gold sat the Five, the reigning council of the Illuminati Society,
the nominal controllers of the world.

Mark stepped forward into the light, opposite the apex of the table,
and placed his hands on the table to keep from shaking. Then he looked
up into the face of the one man at the table he recognized.

"Why?" he asked.

David Xanatos sighed and leaned back in his chair. His age had been
held in check at fifty, more or less, his once-black hair gone to
silvery sable and more than a few lines creasing his face. But his
eyes were still sharp, and alive, and dangerous. "It was deemed
necessary," he finally said.

"I don't care what it was deemed. Why?"

"Because nothing impresses the human race like a martyr." Xanatos
shook his head. "We knew that you were sensitive enough to find our
man in that crowd. We also knew that you would react honorably to any
attack made on a large number of heads of state. You're not fond of
the current United States President, of course, but you realize the
damage that a destruction of the current balance of power could
cause."

"So you set me up to be killed?"

Xanatos nodded. "Immolated, more or less. Martyred."

"It's been just ten days and already there are Gargoyle-rights bills
being passed in the Senate," one of the other figures at the table
said. "They're even dusting off the ERA and adding lines. And where
the United States goes, at least in this, other countries will
follow."

Mark took a deep breath and tried to keep from digging his fingers
into the expensive mahogany. "And you felt this was worth... putting
me in a box for ten days?"

"Yes."

"Worth incinerating me in front of my brother and my *daughter*?"

Xanatos nodded.

"You... you utter fucks," Mark said, running out of words. "You... My
God, you wouldn't do to another human being what you did to me."

Xanatos cocked his head to the side. "If we did it to another human
being, there wouldn't have been a point."

Mark concentrated on breathing; deep, shuddering breaths. "I should
kill you. You spineless, shadowy, tyrranical assholes. I should
kill..." a wave of dizziness swept over him and he clutched at the
table.

"You can't, Mark. Even if you really wanted to, which is debatable."
Xanatos reached over and put his hand on top of Mark's. His flesh was
warm, almost painfully so, against Mark's freezing skin. "You've been
keeping up a shield strong enough to keep radiation sealed in for more
than a week. You don't have anything left."

Mark closed his eyes and nodded, panting for air. Xanatos' fingers
squeezed his. "We have to do something with you, Mark. We can't have
you wandering around."

"What..."

"The bad thing about being a martyr is you have to die. You have to be
dead, Mark, as much as anyone knows. Nobody outside this project knows
that you're alive, and we're going to keep it that way."

Mark forced himself to meet Xanatos' eyes. "You're not going to kill
me."

"No." Xanatos sat back, relaxed into the embrace of the leather chair,
tenting his fingers in front of his chin. "No, you're much too
valuable to kill. But we can't have you up and about for at least...
sixty years, I think. Probably longer. We can take you out of cold
store if there's something we need you for."

A chill made its way down Mark's spine and wrapped around his stomach.
"Cold store... you wouldn't."

"I would indeed."

Mark stared, and in Xanatos' eyes he saw the man who would take a
castle apart and move it to another continent to get his own wing of
magical bodyguards... who would pay a series of deranged scientists
when the first plan didn't pan out... who would attempt to trap a
trickster God to gain ultimate power... who would stand up to the lord
of Faerie to keep what was his...

His head spun, and his knees gave out.

"Lise?" Xanatos called. An arm around his waist, steadying him. "You
need to rest, Mark. You're burned out. Go to sleep, we'll start the
operation in a few days when you're feeling better.

"And... I shouldn't say this, but... I'm sorry."

The blackness came back and pulled him away, but his eyes were already
closed.

--

"I was under the impression that nobody was allowed down here."

Alexander shook his head and pulled a slip of plastic out of his
pocket. "Nobody that the Five don't allow, and being as I am..." he
trailed off and pressed his thumb to the scanner.

Matt Bluestone sighed and rested his weight on his walking stick. Alex
was less inscrutable than his father had been, but not by much.

The vaultlike door slid open with only a soft sussurus of sound to
mark its passage. Alex extracted his key and led the way into the icy
steel and halogen catacombs beyond. Chrome sarcophaguses lined their
passage, attached to huge banks of monitoring equipment like titanium
cocoons in some electronic beehive. It reminded him suddenly of a
palette-swapped version of the scene from The Matrix, and he was hard-
pressed to hold back a chuckle. Alex turned and stared at him, brows
knitting.

Matt waved his stick at the banks of equipment. "What is this?"

"Cold storage."

Matt nodded in comprehension. "So this is where Elvis and Erheart and
Disney and all the others are stashed? JFK and the like?"

Alex shook his head and started walking again. "No, they're in a
different wing. Down here are... important people."

Matt laughed. "I don't know how they'd feel, knowing they've been
regulated to 'unimportant.'"

"Those are just a few century-dead celebrities and media icons. These
are people who are important."

Matt sighed and kept walking. Alex was on edge about something, that
was sure. Of course, it was the first time Matt had seen him since his
father's death and his ascension to the Fifth Circle.

He looked up to see Alex stopped beside one of the machines. Matt
stepped up beside him, watching Alex's hands as they pressed out a
series of commands on the front panel. Then the top of the machine
slid back, and he stopped breathing.

Gently, reverently, he placed a hand on the cool glass and took a
shuddering breath. "Alex..."

Alex was shifting uncomfortably on his feet, appallingly nervous for
one of the most powerful men on the planet. "I wanted to tell you. I
didn't find out myself until a few years ago... Matt, I'm so sorry."

Matt closed his eyes, feeling the burning of tears start behind them.
"God. God! How many years..."

Alex didn't answer. Matt opened his eyes again and stared down at
Mark's still face, imprisoned below the glass like an ice sculpture in
blue and red. Then he dropped his hand from the glass and turned his
back, ignoring Alex's quick movements in replacing the shield. The tip
of his cane clicked on the silvery floor like a metal heartbeat as he
walked away.

-- END --

A couple thoughts on finishing this:

This is my favorite series that I've written. I turned one of my least
favorite bits of throwaway writing into a series about... well,
family, and pain, and angst, and pain, and family. Something like
that.

I'll probably write a little 'director's commentary' to go along with
this, because I love hearing people talk about what they think about
when they do their work and automatically assume that other people do,
too. So my thoughts on meb*.txt(that's All's Fair, Love and War, Best
Laid Plans and Laid to Rest for those of you who like titles) will
probably show up in a text file one of these days. I'll point out all
the STRs, stuff like that. Whee, it's DVD Extras Fun Time.

I am not going to write any more Mark stuff. Ever. Ever. Ever. I
swear. I did this so that it would be *more tragic* than just killing
him off, not to save him up so I could do a B5 crossover or something.
I mean it.

Acks for everyone:

Zibb, kat, Ship, phen, Jewel, mom, dad... I LOVE YOU ALL!

Everyone else on the chan I hang out with: Love you guys, too, but you
don't have to get bowled over by capital letters.

All the folks who take the time to send me fanmail: You guys rock.
Thank you thank you thank you.

Mark's ranting is from the I Can Eat Glass Project at
http://hcs.harvard.edu/~igp/glass.html - better than trying to fake it
using babelfish, fake it using other people's hard work. And you
thought I meant something deep and meaningful with that phrase. ;)

Now to editing. I love the world.

- Aris "TGD" Merquoni