RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block The Hero Revolution Christmas Special #1

Drax flew high over the island, toward the team's Headquarters. "So, the chair seems to make it through the transfer all right, huh?"

Yeah, I can take quite a bit here with me. It certainly made packing to move down here easy, didn't it?

"It's hard to believe it's almost been a year, huh?"

You got that right, buddy. It's weird though. It seems like it's only been a short time in someways. In others, it seems like areally long time.

"You're talking about Jessica, right?"

If you keep that up, I'm going to start thinking you can read my mind. It seemed like things were starting to go better, even with the long distance thing. But lately, it seems like she's avoiding talking to me. She won't respond to my messages. I don't get it.

"What? Are you asking ME for love advice?"

Well, you DID score with the only female dragon on the planet.

Drax smiled and nodded. "I did didn't I?"

Drax could hear Drake's laughter in his head as he started his descent toward the main entrance of the headquarters. Would you look at that? Someone else got a new car, an Escalade by looks of it. Some people have all the luck...

The person next to it looks familiar...

Land, Drax! Now!

Drake wasted no time changing places with Drax once he landed and the woman next to the SUV came running over and sat on his lap. "Merry Christmas Mr. Marshall."

Drake was smiling broadly "Same to you, Miss Blackburn." They kissed then, It was all very touching. "Nice car."

"I like to think so. It's only missing one thing."

"What's that?"

"The driver's seat. You're sitting in it right now."

"You got that for me? Wow, and all I got you are some tube socks."

"Tube socks?" Jessica tried to look stern and serious and ALMOST succeeded.

"100% cotton tube socks!"

"I guess I can forgive you. Come on, let's go for a ride. We need to talk" Drake's hoverchair docked itself into the SUV and Jessica got into the passenger seat and they drove off.

When they returned some time later, Drake looked rather pale.

Brianna was in the kitchen, making a sandwich. Everyone was use to her odd eating habits by now. She would be in the kitchen every two hours, eating something light. This went on into the late hours of the night and the early hours in the morning. She couldn't eat a large amount of food at one time, but her metabolism demanded more calories a day than a quarterback needed in a week. It was seven o'clock in the evening, which meant a peanut butter and grape jam sandwich. At nine o' clock, it was going to be ham and cheese.

The main door up front was opening and closing a lot -- meaning most of the Vanguardians were slowly making their way back to the HeadQuarters. Bianna sat on the countertop and munched on her sandwich.

"Beakwinged comrade!" said Blackwulf, grabbing Brianna and playing with her hair. "You miss out on all games. Comrade Luchadore still won you gift, eh!" As if on cue, Brianna was handed one of the uglist teddy bears she had ever seen. In light of the holidays, however, she smiled.

"Thanks boys. I suppose everyone gets to open one gift on Christmas eve. There are two wrapped gifts underneath the trees with your names--" she never got to finish the sentence. Blackwulf and Luchadore were gone.

The HQ was slowly getting louder as everyone came in. The festival had lightened everyone's spirits. It seemed strange to Brianna -- they must not have found out about the Strikeforce yet. Leslie spotted Brianna and motioned for her to come over. "Come on, someone's gotten a hold of Grimm's eggnog recipie."

"But I just ate --"

"Oh come on, its Christmas. Anyway, with Phil not here, I might as well stick with you." Brianna opened her mouth to object some more, but Leslie began talking again. "Look, its not like you're going to be flying anytime soon. So why worry about food weighing you down?"

"Fine," said Brianna. She took a sip. "It's kind of bitter..."

"Yeah well the rum they found was --"

"Rum?" said Brianna. She put down the cup, looking guilty.

Leslie just laughed. "I can't believe this. There goes the drunken Irish stereotype."

"You've got quite the disappearin' act, mate," Grissom Montag quipped.

"Did I miss something?" Phil asked as he exited the motor pool.

"Only the parade," the mercenary chuckled.

Phil shrugged. "He showed up on the island again."

Grissom's eyes widened. "Rob Kamphausen?"

Phil shook his head. "No..." He paused. "Who the hell is Rob Kamphausen?"

Grissom thought a moment. "Good question."

"Fisher is here," Phil finished.

Grissom frowned and materialized one of his revolvers in his left hand.

Phil shook his head. "No, Griss, not necessary." He unzipped his leather jacket and pocketed his car keys. "Something distinctly different is going down. Things are changing."

"You spoke to 'im?" Grissom's tone was cautious.

Phil nodded. "It seems he's got an angle on this whole Strikeforce mess too. Apparently, UN sanction doesn't necessarily guarantee that you'll earn the trust of the US government."

"So what's that 'ave to do with you?"

Phil scratched his head as if in thought. "Fisher wants our help. He's been unsuccessful in garnering the meta-manpower he's wanted for whatever purposes. MAW has plenty of expertise and has developed several impressive new... solutions to metahuman-related incidents, but Fisher knows that's not going to be enough. If the US government is going to establish control over metahuman affairs - for whatever reason - Fisher knows he's got to remove every intervening variable."

"Including us," the Brit said snidely.

Phil held up a hand. "In this case, he's got his eye on Strikeforce."

The two started heading up the steps out of the sublevel.

"Did he bother to tell you why?" Montag asked.

"I don't know what Fisher's precise motives are here. I don't know what he plans on doing about Strikeforce... or us for that matter. But I do know one thing. MAW - and the US government - have one thing in common with us: Strikeforce is a major nuisance to them, and a major threat to us."

Grissom nodded. "The enemy of my enemy is my ally."

"Right." Phil frowned. "I don't like this either. But the leadership should at least talk with Fisher, find out what he wants, and work with him if at all possible. I'm not in charge here, so I need to let Grimm or Danny know about this."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "If you're not in charge, why did Fisher talk to you and not to one of them?"

"They'd have no reason to believe him," the telepath replied as they reached the ground floor. "There's a history there that none of them would know."

"Only because you 'aven't told 'em."

Phil looked down. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to that."

"I know, mate," Grissom replied. "But I think it's time."

Phil didn't answer.

"You buried Gabriela on that hilltop," Grissom said, "and you did it alone. Never told the others the whole story, never let anyone in on what it was that led to what 'appened. But the funeral never ended for you. You're still carrying the weight of everything inside you. And you're ignoring the one thing that'll take it all away."

Phil turned. "What do you mean?"

"Simple," the mercenary explained. "Ever since what 'appened on the island a while back, with Fisher and Gabriela, and even before then, you've been keeping the truth to yourself. I found out because I've got resources. But I know that until you tell the others everything about New York, about Gabriela, about Fisher... you'll never be free of it all."

Phil thought a moment. "You really think so?"

"Don't you think they deserve to know the truth?"

"The truth that I'm a reckless, vindictive, and thoughtless sonofabitch who can't accomplish anything without hurting the people I care about?"

The Brit laid a hand on Phil's shoulder. "Since when was that the truth?" He looked down. "Would you rather wait until they find out themselves? Because no matter how well you 'ide it, Phil, sooner or later, they'll know. The truth always comes out in the end. It's up to you whether that truth frees you or damns you."

Phil nodded. "I know what I need to do."

25th December, early morning, a little bar next to the beach, Puerta Mibela.

"A cappuccino for me, and milk and chocolate for my son, sir. And apple pie, too". A tall man, white beard, bald on the top and the forehead, but with a long ponytail of white hairs, sits at a small table near the window facing the sea, after having put a two year and a half kid on the opposite seat. The kid face is serious, as he looks away, never coming in eye contact with his own father.

Aside for the barman and the two costumers, the bar is empty. The whole city seems empty, after the parade and the festival that went on for most of the night.

The man opens his newspaper, a copy of the Thunder Gazette. On the first page a small space is taken by a piece about the mysterious death of a Catholic Priest the evening before. The rest is all about the accusation of Merlin to Vanguard, and the request of handling of the Vanguardians to the International Court of Den Hague.

The barman, while putting the breakfast on the table, smirks at the newspaper, and hisses: "Those metahumans! They will be the ruin of our island! Maddox talked well, last evening!"

The man with the ponytail raises one eyebrow, quizzically.

The barman continues: "Oh, surely the Vanguardians helped a lot, last year, with the hurricane. But then they began to bring in all those lunatics... the one that took down the hospital... and that giant lizard, too! And now the USA will move war to our island, like they did to Grenada!"

The man smiles, and says: "Oh, I don't think the USA and the UN are really on the best of terms... I wouldn't fear an invasion of army forces, right now..."

The barman raises his shoulders: "Maybe. But that would be the least. Now that we are a nation that houses meta-terrorist, for the world at large, the tourist will stop to come here, even if no actions will be held toward us. And tourism is our only sources of income."

The bald man nods. "I see. well, probably metas will come here in masses. Maybe they will compensate for the loss..."

"Metas, you say? And how many rich metas are on the world. To me, it result that they are all poor, persecuted people, hiding for the government of their respective countries. What their will be their use here?"

The bald man doesn't respond. her finished to sip the cappuccino, and to eat the part of the pie that the kid left. Then stand up, takes the kid on his arms, and pay.

Then, on the outside terrace, the man looks at the sky, and then jumps over the fence, falling toward the sea.

The barman runs out, screaming.

Just in time to see the bald man, long black feathers sprouted out of the arms, gliding just inches above the water surface, and then, with an ample curve, pointing to sky, disappearing toward the direction of the Vanguard building.

"Hey!" shouted Jake in a tone unlike his usual good humor. The big bearded man did not respond. "You -- the one with the sword -- I don't know how you got that thing in here, but we don't allow weapons in here. House rules."

Mason Templar grunted and bent down to grip the hilt of his sword.

"Don't even try it, pal," Jake said. Chewy the bouncer was behind him in an instant, grinding his tusks in a menacing way and looking imposingly large as usual.

Templar cleared his voice. "I was merely removing my sword, sir innkeeper. I trust you will allow to do to as much before your goon has a go at me? I'd prefer not to muss your floor with his blood."

Chewy growled menacingly and frowned with his huge brow at the man.

Templar met his gaze with one just as menacing and rose from his seat. The regular patrons of the bar all stepped back and clutched their drinks to themselves. It looked like a showdown was imminent.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Templar finally laughed. "Good! Very good! You do take things very seriously here, I see. Very well, then. I grant you my sword for the nonce."

Templar unbuckled his scabbard and held it before him. The bouncer moved forward to grab it, when Templar said, "Hold! A moment, my good... er... 'man'..." He pulled the sword from the scabbard a mere one inch out for a moment, then pushed it back in. "It appears, sir innkeeper, that your henchman here is not as menacing as he appears as Caliburn neglected to glow green -- it seems to have believed me in absolutely no true danger here."

Mason Templar laughed heartily and finally handed his sword to the gruff Chewy and sat back down at his table, where he nursed his drink. It was untouched. All he wanted was the use of a quiet table with which to think, and to wait out the time until Vanguard had a mission. Holidays were a time for friends and allies, and Mason Templar was but a stranger to the Vanguardians despite his own recent addition to the team.

"This is a great Christmas morning," Phil said staring at the TV screen.

"What's going on?" Adem asked as he walked into the room. He was now wearing a fancy suit with green pants and jacket, blue shirt, and a red tie. It was, after all, still Christmas.

"Everybody's on edge," Leslie replied. She and Phil were sitting on the couch, surfing through the news channels. "That Merlin guy has shook up a hornet's nest in international politics. There are some UN delegates claiming that he overstepped his role when he demanded La Perdita to had us over. They think it's setting a bad prescedent for one of the Police Units to broadcast ultimatums without Council approval."

"Not to mention that not all of the countries represented back the anti-meta undertones in his speeches," Phil added.

Adem inquired, "Has this team not made any allies in the past who might help us?"

"The Mandelovian delegate gave a rousing speech in our defense," the telekinetic responded half-heartedly.

"And then there's this," Leslie said as she turned the channel to CNN. A somewhat blurred image of miles of ice and snow covered with bodies, both living and dead, as well as strange machines was on the screen. "The Meta-Human Network has been showcasing leaked files and footage from the RAF and US Navy. The mainstream networks couldn't ignore it any longer, so they picked it up."

"I wonder where that leak came from?" chuckled Phil.

"This is all rather confusing," Adem said.

"Isn't it?"

The alien presented the two with their presents. "I think that I'd much rather continue with this Christmas celebration."

Leslie opened her present. Amidst the packaging paper sat a hand stitched doll. "What's this?"

"Something I got from the next village. According to native folklore, the owner is supposed to bind this object with a person they care about. As long as that person possesses the doll, the person bound to it will always be kept safe. Not that I believe in it personally, but I find the significance to be important. I hope I haven't picked a gift outside of the accepted etiquette."

She looked at the doll. "No. It's a fine present."

Phil looked puzzelingly in his box. "And what's the native folklore around my present?" He scooped up a handful of seeds from the box.

"Not folklore, just tradition," Adem answered. "Once a man has settled and discovered his home, he's supposed to plant these seeds. The plants that grow are supposed to symbolize his connection with that place. I'm sure that there is a lot more metaphor and symbolism in there somewhere." He picked up a few more packages off the ground to deliver them to the rest of his teammates. "But I don't really have time to delve into that right now. Happy Christmas." The alien walked out of the room.

Brianna yawned and woke up. It was the 25th of December, and for the first time since she was a little girl, there was a real Christmas to celebrate. Grabbing a slightly modified bathrobe (to allow her wings to move) she ran out of her room to give away the last few gifts. To get to the main floor faster, Brianna bipassed the stairs, and opted to dive down the opening created by the stairs.

Which did not go well for Grissom, as the tip of her left wing hit him smartly in the face. "Gaw..." he began, before he recognized who it was. "Ah, Bri, loved the new wireless mouse."

Brianna grinned and waved. Her wings and back were scraping the ceiling as she continued her Christmas flight around the HQ. Drake was fixing breakfast. The wind from Brianna's wings knocked the jar of jam. "Watch it, Bri! Oh! Drax says thanks for the meat!"

Drake watched Brianna skim through the kitchen. You better put a label on those sirloins before Blackwulf gets to them, said Drax to Drake.

Leslie and Phil were in another room, opening gifts. Phil gave a thumbs-up, holding a collector's edition of Alice and Wonderland. Leslie, looking amused, was opening her copy of A Christmas Story. The gift was accepted humorlously.

Then there was Adem. He was in an adjoining room, alone. Brianna landed on a table beside him. "I've got you a gift," she said. She handed him a small wrapped box.

Adem's looked puzzled. "But I didn't get you anything. As I understand from traditional Christmas behavior--"

Brianna shrugged. "It doesn't matter. This is your first Christmas on this planet, and it's my first Christmas as a free girl." Adem opened the small box. "Back home, my father use to light a candle on Christmas eve. It welcomed the Holy Family into our house." The Irish angel smiled. "So...welcome to our family."

Adem looked at his new gift and smiled. "Some family, isn't it?"

"Well," said Brianna. "With Drax and Grissom and Grimm in it, it's not a normal family...but I've learned that family isn't whose DNA you share or who grew up in the same house."

Brianna smiled and walked towards another room. Her wings were tired. Adem looked at his new gift. The candle was made of ivory and gold wax, and stood about five inches. He smiled.

{Wait a moment,} said Jym. {Where's MY gift?}.

***

Brianna had dropped Tayden's gift off the night before. So she wasn't surprised when he approached her. "Thanks for the chocolates. Not too many people know I'm a sucker for mints and white chocolate-covered pretzels."

"I'm fond of mints myself." Brianna turned away for a moment. "Tayden..."

"Sorry about yesterday evening. I treated you like a child -- you're a member of Vanguard, that makes you an adult."

Brianna was surprised by the apology. "Well yes...and no...and...I don't know, Tayden. I feel like I'm in some sort of funny limbo. Part of me knows I'm an adult and I should do adult things -- like fighting for Vanguard. And it's important to me. I'm eighteen, and a grown woman. But part of me..."

Tayden finished her sentence. "...Never got a chance to grow up."

Brianna looked at the ex-angle strangely. "Leslie was right..." She raised her voice. "I mean, I got to thinking. You use to be an angel -- I'm sure you're a creative thinker. A huge part of my life was taken away from me. I never got to have sleepovers or wake up on Christmas morning or be part of a school play. I know they must seem meaningless to you."

Tayden handed Brianna her gift. Puzzled, she opened the old box underneath the wrappings. "I can't believe it."

It was her old doll. It was faded, and old, but it was same familar toy of her youth.

Tayden gave her a kiss on the check. "Maybe the trick is to balance youthful innocence with older knowledge. Happy Christmas, Brianna."

Drake grinned at everyone "OK, everybody. You already got your cheese and you open the other ones all at once, since they're all very similar."

Everyone present opened identical boxes and found a Green Bay Packers jersey, each personalized with their own name and different numbers, and Brianna's was number 00 with holes cut in each of the zeroes for her wings. "There ya go! Packers are going all the way again!"

Grimm would have rolled his eyes if he had any "Sure they are, Drake. Sure they are."

Brianna was carefully folding her jersey and puitting it back in its box "Thank you for the shirt, Drake. I'm not sure if it goes with any of my new clothes though."

"Don't worry, a Packers jersey goes with anything!"

"Your girlfriend didn't deem to stay long, if you don't mind me saying."

"Yeah, uh she didn't have much time to be out of town. She just wanted to exchange presnets and...er...tell me something."

"Really? Tell you what?"

Drake looked around and noticed, much to his embarrassment, that the others in the room were taking an interest in the conversation. "She wanted to let me know that she's, uhm, sorta...pregnant."

"She is? And the baby's..."

"Mine, yeah."

"So, what are you going to..."

"I don't know. I'd want to marry her if things weren't...well...I mean I may not even be alive by the time the baby's born. What kind of future is that?" Drake realized that he'd started yelling toward the end. "Look, I'm sorry. This is Christmas and you already have enough problems without my personal issues getting in the way. I'll see all of you at dinner." With that, Drake left the room.

Brianna followed after him. "Drake, wait."

"Go, enjoy yourself. I have some thinking to do."

"I just want to make sure you know, there's hope."

"Hope for what?"

"The doctor is still working on a cure for you, there could be a way we can discover. You don't have to die."

"I know. Don't worry about me. My ability to give up has never been one of my strengths. Now get back in there, I think you still have a few presents waiting for you."

"And the snakes?" asks Hery Quantos, looking at the two years old kid playing with Axel.

"Walker did operated him before giving him back to me. It seems impossible to me, but I guess he grown liking the kid. Or, he had his secret motivations. In any case his serpent DNA keeps him rejecting me, and my serpent-eagle genetic splicing" responds Edulcore, pensive.

"You mean he doesn't love you?"

"Well, in this weeks he has become more tied to me... I guess it's the first time he feel what a real father is... he had always changed nurses... never becoming really accustomed to a single person caring for him... But still, he can't sustain a close vicinity... contact... with me. And he never talks."

"And the powers?"

"No manifestations of powers whatsoever. I never saw him levitate like in that picture you showed me in Mandelovia, Henry".

"Strange... maybe Walker has found a way to put the metagene back to dormancy..." wonders Quantos.

"I don't know... well, I will bring eddie back for the analysis later, Doc. Now it's time I meet the guys. I suppose I will have to ask Chance for re-admission, first..."

"You don't know, Ed?"

"What?"

"Things have changed a lot... with the war... you see, Kris... has died in Mandelovia."

Ed's eyes widens. "What? Henry, I am very sorry... he was like a son for you..."

"And you best friend, here, Ed... I know..."

"How did he die?"

"As an hero.. saving the team... and maybe the whole Mandelovia."

"I wouldn't have though anything less" says Euro, a sad smile on his face. "The others? All well?"

"More or less. Mick and Shirley have married... but Mick is in a mental hospital, now..."

"What?"

"It seems Mxy was just a creation of his mind... of his extra powerful metagene. He snapped in Antarctic... but Velo and Shirley convinced him to seek help. Also, Velo and Tobias have left the team, Danny's has returned, Phil has brought his girlfriend, Griss has stepped back on supporting staff for personal matters and we have three new member, an ex boxer, a sort of pirate and one that claims to be an alien".

"Brianna?"

Quantos smiles. "Brianna is fine and more confident about herself and her powers day by day".

Ed takes the son on his back. "Good" says smiling, and leaves the lab, looking for his old and new comrades.

Danny stood in the kitchen, watching his Christmas dinner of stir fried vegetables simmer to perfection.

"We've got a bloody great Christmas turkey, you know," Grissom said, entering the kitchen and going to the fridge for a drink. "Should be done any moment now, then we call the guys down for dinner."

"I'm a vegetarian," Danny replied.

"Oh yeah. You eat like a girl..." Grissom said, grinning.

"I just feel too... close to animal parts. You know? It'd be like you eating a human hand," Danny explained. Grissom nodded.

"So how was Melbourne?" Grissom asked, after a slight pause.

"Cold. Wet. Then warm. Then wet again. Then somewhere in the middle. Melbourne weather is like that," Danny answered.

"And what've you been up to these last couple of months, then?"

"I had... business to take care of. Back in Melbourne. I hate to sound cryptic, but trust me, it was important. And it was where I needed to be at the time. I'm sorry to have left you guys at a tough time, I really am, but..."

Grissom held up his hands and nodded in a gesture of understanding to stop Danny talking. "I get it. Sometimes we've all got places we have to be."

"You'll all hear about it. Soon enough," Danny said. Grissom nodded again, then turned to leave the room.

"So are you comin' to dinner then?" The Brit asked.

Danny followed him into the dining room and sat down nervously at the table, waving to his teammates as he did so. Most of the roster of Vanguard International was gathered there, and the rest were expected soon.

"Guys... before we eat," Danny began nervously. "I have something to say before we eat."

"What, like grace?" Drake asked.

"More of a question," Danny said, then continued. "I know I let you guys down, ducking out like that when we had a crisis to face. There was something I had to do, but still, I know my timing was shit. So I may be way out of line in asking you guys this, but..."

He trailed off. There was silence.

"What?" Brianna asked.

Danny started talking, a newfound conviction in his voice. "I love you guys. I really do. I love this team. Without it I would have had no reason to keep on living when I came back to this time, nothing tying me to this world. I feel an immense amount of loyalty and duty when it comes to you guys, and the work we do. I guess I'm saying... if you'll still have me... I want my team back. I want your trust back. I want to lead you again."

Danny dropped his head and contemplated his dinner, waiting for someone to speak. For a little while, nobody did.

Vasaria, Germany
Room 42 of a quaint little hotel on Christmas morning

As the early morning sun begins to crest over the horizon, painting the sky shades of red, purple, and orange, two voices speak in mildly hushed tones.

"Jeebus, you take all the fun out of everything. You with all your seriousness and your coolness. You're so seriously cool, Mister Sear E. Ous; Mister Coolster
McCoolypants." Alex began, pulling her pillow from behind her head and playfully whacking Grimm with it.

"Okay, I get it, now ease up, it's Christmas." He took the pillow from her and stacked it on top of his own, grinning and sticking his tongue out at her.

"Mmmm, have I told you lately that, for a big, burly guy with a skull for a head, you're kinda cute when you're being all serious-like?" she curled up next to him, laying her head on his chest, the normalcy of the act just slightly offset by her companion's unusualness.

As they began drifting back to sleep she suddenly opened her eyes again, as if realizing something. "Hey," she said again. "I thought you weren't gonna sleep in that mask that doctor, what's his name, Quanto? made for you."

"Quantos. And I didn't. I took it off, remember? You wanted to see if I could reform one of my own. I did, and we kept drinking until you passed out. Now go back to sleep." He lay there, unmoving, except to wrap an arm around her waist.

"But I thought you said they only lasted a few hours before they melted off." she continued on.

"They do. What's your-" His eyelids popped open. He reached up a hand and touched his cheek. His cheek, not the plastic alloy Quantos' genius had come up with. They shot up and ran to the bathroom where they looked into the mirror, jaws slack.

"What time did we do that last night?" he said, eyes on his face.

"About six-thirty or seven." she answered, stroking one of his cheeks.

"What time is it now?" he asked.

"Umm, quarter to seven. Sun's coming up." She looked out at the clock on the nightstand then at the light beginning to come through the areas where the curtains didn't quite close off.

"Fuck me. . .twelve hours." he looked at her then. She smiled and kissed him.

"It's a Christmas miracle." she said. "We can go eat breakfast."

On a hilltop in Haven, a lonely red haired woman named Rowena spoke softly in the early morning sunlight. "Merry Christmas, Grimm."

Coming Clean

Phil stood up slowly. "Danny," he replied, "you probably know what I think already. Back when I first joined this team, you believed in me without questioning me, despite my various failings. I don't see why you don't deserve the same."

The others nodded in consent. Danny smiled slightly.

"But," Phil went on, "as much as I hate taking us off topic, there are a few things I have to say. Things I should have told all of you back when I joined this team. Things * that I've been involved with... things I've done."

"Why do you feel the need to bring this up now, in the middle of other proceedings?" Drake challenged.

Grissom and Leslie said nothing. They knew what Phil was about to tell the others.

"Because," Phil said, "it's been tearing me up inside. MY past has come back to haunt me again and again, and I don't have anyone who can share the burden. I won't be rid of these things until I tell you the truth. Even though I'm not sure you'll all still want me after I do."

He sighed. "Ironic, isn't it? I'm someone who's been looking for the truth about who I am and where I come from, and all I really want now is to be rid of the past."

"If that's what it takes, Phil," Danny said, "then tell us."

He told them.

Ozzy's first conscious thought on Christmas morning was:

Why is this hairy wall stuck to my face?

With the groan of an eighty-year-old, Baxter slowly pushed himself up off the floor of his bedroom, peeling his drool-encrusted lips from sticking pieces of carpet. Holding the back of his throbbing head, he simply sat there for the next forty-five minutes, trying to piece together the fragmented, drunken memory of the night before.

He remembered the bar. And Huerta. And, something about the parade. He remembered vomiting near the Ferris Wheel. He...he remembered talking to....to someone right afterwards......a man? A friend? Someone he knew?

Ozzy ran his hand along his face, his fingers stopping on his lips. He rubbed his lips softly for a moment, a fragment of memory churning inside him.

A...woman? A woman. Who....why did he remember....?

A woman. He had made out with some woman....god-knows who......and....and....

Mistletoe? There was mistletoe involved....he knew that....

"...god..." he moaned, holding his aching head, finally giving up any attempt at coherency.

An hour later, he was showered, shaved, and, still, quite hung-over.

What to do today....what to do...., he thought.

He looked around his suite, staring at the golden morning light breaking out across his eight-story-view.

Might as well get to know my surroundings, I guess... he thought. ...starting with this team....

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

Phil Smith

"How about now?" Ozzy said, sipping his coffee.

Phil sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Blue, again...." he said, flipping the sizzling eggs with a practiced ease.

Ozzy giggled a bit. He squinted his eyes tight.

"Okay....what color am I thinking ooofff--NOW!"

"Ozzy, you're still thinking the color 'blue'..." Phil replied in an even tone. "I'm a telepath, not a television psychic, okay?"

Ozzy pouted a bit.

"...lucky guess..." he mumbled.

Phil shook his head lightly, flipping the eggs again.

"97833672." he stated evenly.

"What?" Baxter asked, his expression changing.

"Your old bank account. That's the number, right?"

"I...uhh...yeah, I think--"

"Zelda Alistaire." Smith continued. "You lost your virginity to her when you were seventeen..."

"FIFTEEN!" Ozzy suddenly retorted.

"Seventeen, Ozzy. You only tell people fifteen in a remaining juvenile attempt at promoting yourself as an expert lover...."

"I--"

"You and this Zelda...you two hooked up because the kids in your school made fun of both your names...." Phil stated casually. "...the two social rejects finding solace in each other's arms.......until she got her braces off, and started dating Chet Taylor, the quarterback of your football team...."

"You--"

"...that's when you started working out....when you started taking an interest in boxing....all the pummelings the bullies had given you over the years had led you to believe that this was your destiny......trying to prove to Zelda that you were the better man...."

"No--"

"....of course, that didn't happen, did it?" Phil said, a small smile coming over his face. "The day you laid into Taylor....you broke his nose in two places....cracked three of his ribs........he spent a weekend in the hospital.....absent from a crucial game.....it cost your high school the tournament bowl, didn't it?"

"I--"

"And Zelda? Oh, damn, man. Zelda never spoke to you again, did she?" he asked. "You didn't realize until it was too late.....she was never after the strongest....or the best.....she just wanted a man who could be himself....someone who didn't pretend to be something more than he was...."

Ozzy's stopped trying to speak.

"...and, in the end, all you had done was horrify her with your brutality....and cause pain to a boy who had never once done you any harm.........charming..."

Baxter just stood there in silence, the crackling of the eggs the only sound. Phil peered at him from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, I'm sorry?" he began with a flat tone. "Were you sincerely interested in seeing the extent of my telepathic abilities? Or, did you want me to continue performing simple parlor tricks for your personal amusement?"

"I...I...uhh...no...that's....ummm..........right...."

And with that, Ozzy strolled out of the kitchen.

Phil just shook his head, beginning to pan-up the eggs....

"Nice guy....." he mumbled to himself. ".....but, totally clueless...."

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

Drake Marshall

"Hey, Professor X, how's it hanging?"

Drake looked up from his book with a wry smile, a faint hum emanating from his hover chair as it turned slightly to face the doorway.

"Funny." he said.

"Ahhh...I'm just messing with you, man....no offense..." Ozzy shrugged, leaning against the door frame of the library. "Why are you secluding yourself back here? Everyone is hanging in the front den..."

Drake pulled his reading spectacles off, holding up the book.

"The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe..." he stated. "...my favorite book. Haven't read it in years."

"Gift?"

"Yeah...from Tayden..." he nodded. "...how he knew it was my favorite, I have no idea..."

"...probably got fucking Smith to scan you..." Ozzy grumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing...listen..." Ozzy said, changing the subject. "...I've been meaning to ask you....since we're going to be working together, and all...."

Ozzy's voice trailed off a bit.

"...yes...?" Drake goaded.

"Well...." Ozzy shuffled his feet. "....I was talking to 'Skully' the other day....and he said that.......well, see, I used to keep up with this...this...vigilante that the papers were talking about.....and...."

Drake chuckled a bit.

"Yes. It's me." he nodded.

Ozzy paused, an excited grin adorning his lips.

"...I thought so..." he replied with a muted awe. "...man, some of the stuff I read about you....holy shit..."

Drake shrugged.

"Ahh...about twenty-percent of it was complete urban legend, you know..." he explained. "Reporters may want to get the biggest scoop, but, editors want to sell copies."

"Dude, I don't care!" Baxter exclaimed. "The Sling-Blade...Crimson Fog....Herr Brickhausen and The 13th Reich.....Master Maneater.....you single-handedly took them ALL down!"

"Sling-Blade was just a pedophile with a knife..." Drake began, counting off on his fingers. "...Crimson Fog, nothing more than a two-time pusher that gained notority by spreading lies about a stockpile of Anthrax....which he never had...."

"But, still..."

"Brickhausen, and his group of neo-Nazi morons, crumbled when I explained to him that there had only theoretically been three Reichs, and that by skipping so many Reichs, he was basically invalidating everything his movement stood for..."

"That doesn't make any sense." Ozzy frowned.

"Sure. But, that didn't stop him from believing me." Marshall said. "He surrended immediately."

"And, Master Maneater?"

"I can't possibly explain." Drake sighed, rolling his eyes. "There's nothing like capturing a transexual-cannibal with an inferiority-complex to really boost your peronal confidence and morale...."

Both men chuckled.

"So, there..." Drake smiled. "...does that take the stars out of your eyes now?"

Baxter thought for a moment.

"Yeah....I guess so...." he shrugged.

"Good." Drake nodded, replacing his glasses.

He turned back to his book, settling back into the pages.

A shadow slowly crept over him. Rolling his eyes up, he saw Baxter standing before him, holding out pen-and-paper....

"Can I have your autograph?"

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

Adem Different

"...an interesting detail, however, is their compulsion to alter the physcial shapes of certain food-substances. Take the items known as 'Fish Sticks', for example..."

{I had rather not}

Adem frowned, cutting his eyes down at his sleeve.

"...pause..." he mumbled, an electronic chirp sounding. "Jym, you know I hate it when you interrupt my musing."

{My apologies. I thought you were talking to me.}

Different sighed deeply, shuffling back into the leather recliner that bore his lengthy frame.

"As you have the last THREE times you've interrupted me?" he asked with a hint of irritation. "I have told you....when I say 'Record', it means that I wish to add findings to my database, and that I do not want to be interrupted. Okay?"

{Why not simply ceregraph your findings into a neural filament, and then download it into a holo-vidfile? Why this insistence with verbal linguistics?}

Adem cocked a single eyebrow, scanning the den before him.

"Well, for one, I find that it helps to...exercise...the Perditian's---"

{Humans.}

"---humans preferred method of communication...." he contiued unabated.

{...okay...and...}

"...and, second, I have no idea what any of that techno-jargon means..." he shrugged. "'Ceregraph'? 'Neural Filament'? Are you just making this stuff up as you go along?"

{Yeah, I know...it's all gibberish. You're not the only one that's been boning up on his studies of this culture, you know. I've been scanning the different forms of entertainment these humans have created. Have you ever heard of 'Sci-Fi'?}

"Sci-what?"

{Sci-Fi. It's the derivative name of 'science fiction'....a very entertaining form of human imagination. It deals with fictional accounts of interstellar travel, as well as temporal travel and 'alien' life forms.}

"Sounds positively dull to me..." Different replied, grimacing.

{Ah, not so. Would you believe that certain factions of humans once believed that, not only was their planet flat.....}

"Flat?? Are you serious?" Different asked, raising his sleeve near his mouth with interest.

{....BUT, they also believed that their planet's sole orbiting moon was made of......get this.....cheese.}

Adem's mouth opened, silent. His eyes squinted. His body shook a bit.

It looked as if he were about to have a seizure.

It would, in fact, take the Vanguardians a long time before they realized that this was his species way of laughing.

{Can you believe that?!}

"Actually, yes..." Adem nodded, his 'laugh', fading. "...this is another prime example of how humans manipulate their food."

{Like 'Fish Sticks'?}

"Exactly!" Adem replied. "This animal they call 'fish'.....they take many varied forms, shapes, and sizes. And, yet, this species insists on changing them into a 'stick' form, for consumption. I find that very interesting....."

"What's interesting?"

Adem turned to his left, Baxter strolling into the den.

"Fish Sticks." Adem replied.

Ozzy paused, crinkling his brow.

"Uh. Okay." he finally shrugged.

Baxter walked past him, heading for the mini-bar at the far end of the room, where some of the others were gathered.

"Ozzy?" Adem said.

Baxter stopped, turning back to look at him.

Different stood fully up, walking over to the man. Then, in a very odd display, simply hugged him.

"I, too, feel as if I were your brother." he said.

Ozzy stared at him with wide-eyes.

".............what...............?"

"Last night.....near the great wheel of Ferris...." Adem explained. "....you expressed emotions to me. I have thought on this display, and I have come to the conclusion that you were correct. We are much alike. And, thus, we could have had the same mothers."

Ozzy still stared at him with wide-eyes.

Unfortunately, fragments of drunken memory were beginning to filter through.

Adem turned away, his chest and abdomen heaving a bit. After about a moment of this, he turned back with a guilty expression.

"Sorry. I don't seem to have ingested enough food to be able to seal the occassion with regurgitation." he explained casually. "Have I ruined the bonding moment?"

Ozzy contiued to stare at him with wide eyes.

And, after a moment or two, his face softened.

"...you're fucking with me again, aren't you?" he finally sighed.

Adem cracked a smile.

"You were...if I remember my terminology correctly....hammered last night...." he said, his voice losing quite a bit of its innocent tone. "....I wish I could have captured it on screen..."

Ozzy just shook his head, a broad smile crawling across his face.

"...okay...okay....I get the point..." he said. "...stop treating you like the idiot alien without a clue, right?"

Adem smiled broadly.

"Thank you." he bowed slightly.

"Come on....I'll buy you a drink..." Ozzy said, motioning towards the mini-bar.

Adem frowned, beginning to follow him.

"...we have to pay?" he asked.

"Stop it."

"No, seriously..."

"Fuck you."

"Really....we have to pay?"

"Aren't we done with this shit yet?"

{...sure...fine...forget about me....I mean, it's not like you weren't just talking to me...}

"Oh, shut up..."

"You shut up!"

"No, not you Ozzy..."

{...I mean, I'm easy to forget......I'm only a twelve-quadrillion-count nanite symbiotic life-form......}

"Jym...."

"My name is Ozzy...."

{Adem....}

"What?!"

"O-z-z-y...my name is--"

"I know what your name is!"

{Then why did you call him Jym?}

Tayden, who had been sitting across the den, talking with John Bates the entire time, thought it very interesting to watch Adem Different suddenly begin banging his head against the wooden mini-bar.

"....hmmm...." Tayden mumbled. "...must be some form of advanced alien communication....."

"Oooh! I recognize that language!" Bates suddenly said. "Dr. Huerta speaks that way to Luchie and me all the time...."

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

Nuriko

Behind the ground-floor living quarters, a small, ornate garden sits. Guarded on three sides by tall, bamboo walls, the fertile tropical soil is littered with exotic plants from all over the world. Due to the climate, however, it takes long, hard hours of tending and toiling to help some of these plants to survive.

Hours that Nuriko gives freely, each day.

Her hair pulled back in a single ponytail, the long mane wrapped her neck like a thick, silky scarf. Beads of sweat and concentration plague her smooth face, as her eyes scan the dirt before her.

"Not growing pot out here, are you?"

Her eyes cut clowly to the open back doorway of her living quarters, Ozzy standing there with a smile.

Nuriko turned back to her work, her expression hardening a bit.

"Generally, it is customary to knock before entering someone's personal abode..." her dry, humorless voice carried with precision across the small garden.

"Well, why don't you start practicing what you preach!" Ozzy replied firmly, walking slowly along the garden.

Nuriko said nothing, continuing her work.

"Yeah, I've got your number, sweetheart..." he said, as if in reply to a silent question. "...you're all about respect, and honor, and all that crap! But, that didn't stop you from 'entering' MY 'personal abode' without invitation, did it?"

She toiled the damp soil before her, seemingly oblivious to the man's words.

"Well, who the hell are you to judge me, eh?!" he stated, walking around the perimeter of the bamboo walls. "On the plane...you went through my files....rummaging through my 'official' past...suddenly the damn expert on what made me fucking tick!"

Neither her expression, or her mannerisms, changed in the slightest.

"Well, I'll have you know that there's alot more to me than what some damn pencil-pusher jots down on paper!" he jutted a finger at her bowed head, coming to a stop across from her. "Did you know that I used to spend a weekend a month, teaching boxing at the 'Y'? Huh? Did you know that?"

She said nothing.

"I also used to donate twenty-percent of any money I made to charity!" he added. "Twenty-percent! That's more than God makes, you know!"

A light breeze ruffled the soft plants, the only response to Baxter's tirade.

"And how about this: To help out my buddy Clay Whitmore, I took a dive in the third, during my very first title match back in '88!" he stated with a loud tone. "Shocking, eh?!"

She simply sighed, still tending to the tiny plant.

His face suddenly grew very angry.

"Hey!!" he yelled, beginning to stride directly towards her. "Are you listening to--"

He suddenly stopped in place, noticing that he could no longer move his left leg.

It was a moment before he realized that, while the positions of her back and head had not changed, both of Nuriko's hands were clamped tightly against the paralyzed appendage.

Her eyes slowly rose to meet his confused expression, with her right hand tightly gripping the ball of his ankle, and two fingers from her left holding two unique pressure points on each side of his kneecap.

"Mr. Baxter...." she began, her voice coming very still, and very succinct. "....you only volunteered your training expertise due to an obsession you had with one 'Maura Ann Brahms'....the manager of said youth center, and, later, wife #2, correct?"

Ozzy opened his mouth to reply, nothing coming out.

"Also, your monetary charity would be commendable, if not for the enormous tax write-off that you took advantage of, because of it...." she continued.

Ozzy tried to reply, but, just couldn't.

"And, you belittle my research if you do not believe that it is common knowledge that you and the late Mr. Whitmore were working together, having placed the proper bets through third-party channels." she added. "I believe you two spent the next week in the Bahamas, indulging the extent of your winnings on wine and women, am I right?"

Ozzy stared at her, wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

"...wow....where the hell did you get these files....?" he finally muttered in disbelief.

"My statements during your trip to the island were obvious truths." she said. "But, you misread my intent. I have no interest in acting as your moral judge. I merely point out that which you need to hear. That which has defined your life. These instances of proposed-altruism all happened before your meta-evolution....before you became unbreakable."

He stared at her, his leg still locked in it's raised stance.

"My analysis is accurate, and correct." she said. "For thirteen years now, you have wandered through life...strolling wherever your legs might take you, with no direction....no purpose...."

She lowered her eyes staring under his raised boot. He, too, began looking down, trying to find the interest of her gaze.

"...never paying attention to the path you tred..."

And, below his raised foot, he spotted a small, blue Rosea Tigress, one of the rarest strains of rose on the planet.

"...or the beauty you might find, therein..."

He took a deep breath, holding it, as she released her grip. The exhale came slow, as he carefully retracted his foot.

He simply stood there, scratching the back of his head with an awkward silence. She stared at him a bit longer, before turning back to her task.

He sighed deeply, looking around the garden, admiring all the hard work she had put into it.

"So...." he began casually. "...uh....want to get a drink later?"

"Good-bye, Mr. Baxter." she replied, never looking up.

He opened his mouth to say something, stopping.

He opened it again, pausing just the same.

And, after a moment, he finally turned, walking very carefully out of the garden....

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

Brianna

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Baxter!"

Brianna's wide smile illuminated her pure, sparkling stare as Ozzy took the cup of eggnog.

"Uhh...thanks..." he replied, sniffing the drink a bit. "And, call me 'Ozzy', would you?"

"Oh...okay, Ozzy..." she replied, still smiling.

The two sat in the main den of the first-floor, the Christmas tree sparkling with blinking lights. Christmas Carols drifted softly in the background, as others came and went, mingling with a festive cheer.

Baxter stared at her.

"What?" he asked, peering carefully at her.

She looked behind her, perplexed, and back again.

"What?" she replied with sincerity.

"Why do you keep smiling like that?" he asked, almost feeling nervous.

Brianna thought on this for a moment.

"Because....I'm happy?" she guessed.

Ozzy just stared at her with an almost unbelievable expression.

"You know, I have to say, this whole innocent act of yours really turns me on...." he stated, sipping the eggnog.

Bri frowned a bit.

"I'm not sure I understand..." she said.

"Oh, stop it!" he replied with a smile. "Now you're just teasing me!"

"I am?" she asked, still-perplexed. "I'm sorry."

Ozzy chuckled a bit, sipping his drink again.

"Wow...I didn't know they made broads like you anymore..." he sighed with amusement.

"Broads?" she asked, not quite understanding the term.

"Yeah...you know...chicks....legs...." he said.

She just stared at him, still a bit baffled at the improper slang.

He stared back, finally nodding with a sigh.

"I...uh...I guess those really aren't good terms to use, huh?" he admitted. "Sorry. I don't know why I do that."

"Do what?" she asked, her expression not changing.

"Ah, you know....try to be so cavalier..." he shrugged.

She thought quietly for a moment, chalking up the confusion to her continuing naivete; finding herself a bit embarrassed because of it.

"I...will have to look up some these words you are using..." she finally admitted.

"Nah...don't worry about it..." he shook his head. "...I was just being an asshole..."

"I...I think you are a nice man." she finally stated.

Ozzy smiled.

"Well, you're the only fucking one, Bri..."

"Ozzy?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you curse so much?"

Baxter stopped, thinking about this.

"You know....I have no idea..." he finally shrugged.

She looked back and forth across the room, eventually leaning in towards his ear.

"One time...." she whispered. "....I said the 'D-word'..."

He grinned broadly.

"Oh...did you, now?" he chuckled with amusement.

"Yes..." she hung her head, seemingly punishing herself for the admission. "...I said one-hundred Hail Mary's for it.....although, I still feel guilty about it..."

"Heh....that's Catholicism for you..."

She frowned again.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Ozzy just smiled, shaking his head.

"Nothing, sweetheart....nothing..." he replied, holding his mug of eggnog up. "Merry Christmas, Brianna."

She broke into that famously wide smile of hers, holding her mug up as well.

"Merry Christmas, Ozzy."

"Dinner!" Grissom announced through the intercom....

"Phil..." Danny said, leaning forward on his elbows, his hands creating an inverse V under his chin. "...that's a whole lot of shit that's happened to you."

There was a pause as everyone absorbed the story Phil had just told them. He'd left out no detail, however unpleasant.

Danny laughed.

"What?" Phil asked, startled by the sound.

"Nothing... it's just that these silent pauses happen so often in my posts, they've stopped being dramatic and started being cliche..." Danny said. Phil just looked at him, confused.

"Nevermind..." Danny said, shutting up. He ran his gaze across the rest of the table, making eye contact with everyone. He lingered slightly longer on Brianna, and made a small wave.

His attention snapped back to Phil.

"You know, mate... if there's one thing this team is about, if there's one thing we represent here," Danny began. "It's second chances. Not a lot of us here can say we haven't done some stupid shit in the past. But look where we are now. Superheroes!"

Danny laughed again, then regained his seriousness.

"...how does everyone else feel?" He asked, with all sincerity.

Grissom Montag took his usual seat at Jake's Meta Bar & Grill and ordered a pint of Guiness.

"Is that all, Griss?" Jake asked, unsmiling.

"That's all for now, mate," Grissom said, holding up his Guiness. "Cheers!"

Jake grunted.

"Somethin' wrong, Jake?"

Jake glared at him for a moment, then nodded to the right of Grissom over to a large man sitting alone by a table. "One o' yours?" he said sarcastically.

"Ah. The new man on campus, I s'pose. I'd 'eard the company'd taken on another new recruit." Grissom chuckled. It seems they were taking in anyone and everyone who merely showed up lately, as per usual.

"Well, I don't like the guy."

Grissom's eyebrows rose in feigned shock. "You, Jake? Since when don't you like a payin' customer?" He winked at Jake.

"I don't mind an ordinary payin' customer, but I don't like that guy OR his money. He can keep it as far as I'm concerned."

"What's wrong, then?"

Jake sighed. "First off, the guy walks in here with a sword. Bar's rules prohibit weapons of any kind. You know that. He knows that, too. There's a huge sign by the door. But he comes in with that... that 'Calibur' thing anyway."

"Excalibur?"

"Naw, naw, it was something like that, but not quite?"

"Hmmm... Caliburn, then?" Montag knew Caliburn had been the original name of the sword of King Arthur from Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain written in the 12th century.

Jake nodded vigorously. "Right, right, that was it."

"Interesting..." Grissom said, taking a long glance at Mason Templar and seeing him in a completely new light now.

"Anyways, your guy orders a drink. ONE drink. And then he don't drink it. Just sits there, nursing it, gazing into it sometimes and then staring off into the distance at other times. I mean, why the hell does someone come in here and order a drink that they're not gonna drink?"

"Per'aps he just wanted a place to think?" Grissom suggested.

"Well, he can go down to the beach to think," Jake said. "I want him outta here. I've put up with him for too long today. And either you get him out of here, or I'll get Chewy t'do so."

Grissom Montag grinned at Jake and took a long swig of beer, then set it down on the counter. "I'll go talk to 'im, Jake. Don't worry y'rself."

Jake grunted and went back to cleaning mugs.

Grissom walked over to Mason Templar's table and approached him from behind.

"Having a 'merry Christmas,' Mr. Montag?" Templar spoke in his usual baritone, somewhat softer than usual, without turning around to see his visitor.

"D'you have eyes in the back o' your head, mate?" Grissom Montag said, chuckling. He placed his hand on the chair opposite Templar and said, "Mind?"

"Not at all."

The Brit sat down and was just about to speak, when Templar spoke abruptly once more: "Montag... Montag... you know, I once knew a man named Montag. Many years ago now."

"Really?" Grissom replied, caught somewhat off-guard.

"Aye," Templar replied, looking up from his glass of untouched alcohol and meeting Grissom Montag's eyes with a steely gaze. "He was a pirate."

Silence. And then Mason Templar began to guffaw with laughter. Grissom wasn't sure what to make of this. "What's so funny, mate?"

"He was an old-fashioned pirate who sailed the high seas and looted the Queen's ships at every given opportunity. Aye, he was a good man. The world needs more men like him."

"Well now you've got my curiosity piqued," Grissom Montag said, unsure whether Templar was pulling his leg or not. "Go on, mate, when did you know him?"

Mason Templar sighed and looked back down at his glass. "Too long ago, I'm afraid. He's dead now, anyway. Dead like all the others."

"Ah."

"Now begone, Mr. Montag," Templar growled. "Although I'm sure we have much in common and much to discuss, it must be done at some future time. Today is a day to remember dead friends, and I must be alone."

"Oh..." Grissom said, unsure of what to say next. He looked up and saw Jake glaring at him. "Well..." he began.

"You can inform the innkeeper that I'll be leaving his 'fine establishment' momentarily, as soon as I have my sword returned."

Grissom Montag nodded and rose. "I'll go tell 'im. Uh... well, I hope you have y'rself a merry Christmas Day, at any rate, Templar."

"I hope so, too."

"I feel great, Danny!"

Everybody turned, to see Edulcore Cicciotto entering the room, carrying Eddie piggyback.

"Great to see you back here to lead, man. And, Phil, no need to worry. I have been through a lot worse, and the people here have not turned their back, they saved me. Dire times are looming above the horizon. Merlin is telling lies to the world to create fear and hate among the humankind, to step as the saviour of the planet. This island will be our fortress, but the walls of that fortress are our hearts. There isn't place for distrust among us. And now, where's the turkey? I fled all the way here from Thunder City with Eddie, this night, and we are very hungry!"

Friends and Loved Ones

"Look, Baxter," Phil said calmly. "Nothing personal."

"Right," the invincible man muttered from the chair to the right of his.

Phil shook his head. "How would you feel if people kept doing this?" He took his fork and jabbed Ozzy lightly in the arm. "Does that hurt?" he asked in an innocent tone.

"Stop," Ozzy snapped.

Phil kept going. "Does that hurt? Does that hurt? Did it break the skin? No? Not even like this? Wow, you must really be indestructible!"

Ozzy glared at him. "I get the point."

"Do you?" Phil raised an eyebrow. "Look, I'm generally a nice guy, okay? You just need to learn a bit more common sense before you go prying into people's lives like that."

"Relax," Priest said from across the table. "When Phil first got here, Dirk would give it to him almost nonstop."

The veteran members paused briefly as they remembered one of their own who was no longer with them... which quickly brought to memory all the others that had departed in one way or another.

"Damn," Danny muttered. "All this change in one short year. Just this time last year, we would've been sitting down here with Chance and Dirk and Mick and TC and..." His voice trailed off.

"Things change," Phil said almost to himself. "Life happens. You lose people you love." He glanced over at Leslie, sitting to his left. "But it makes you appreciate those you still have that much more."

"We've still got us," Danny agreed. "Everyone sitting around this table. Things are getting even harder for us. We've got to stick together if we're going to survive." He looked at Ozzy and Phil. "That's why we can't have all this infighting all the time. We've got to learn to have patience with each other. None of us know when someone else might be taken from us."

Leslie took Phil's hand under the table and squeezed it. He looked over and she smiled.

"Well, this is a lovely scene!" Mason Templar boomed mockingly as he strode into the room. "Have you any meat and drink for a hungry man? Or can't you spare a moment while waxing sentimental?"

Danny sighed.

"Patience," Phil reminded him with a smile.

As Mason is about to sit at the table, his eyes goest to the far side of the long table, where the Raptor is sitting, next to Eddie, Quantos and Axel.

His eyes widened, and then frowned. "The famous Edulcore Cicciotto. The bearer of Ladnikia, right?"

"Mr. Templar, right? Mason Templar. A name that says all. If I suppose that is a fake name, I guess I wouldn't be accused of sinning, wouldn't I?" spits Euro

"Names come and go, Mr. Cicciotto. Like you know well, Mr. Sardella".

"Should I be impressed? It's on all the newspaper of the morning, after the speech Merlin gave yesterday evening."

"Touchè" says Mason, lending his hand toward Euro, who stand up and shakes it vigorously. "Call me Ed" the Italian says.

"So, where's the famous sword, Ed? Across the centuries some have claimed Ladnika is the twin of my own sword, Caliburnus!" And saying that, Templar unsheathe the sword slightly out of the scabbard, showing just the hilt and a few inches of the blade.

Euro's expression suddenly froze, his eyes gazing beyond the sword, across time and space.

I see the sword in my hand, as my hammer fall over the tempered steel, shaping up the blade, in that obscure cave at the heart of the mountain, back when she had no other name than "sword", in the land of the Calibeans... I see the sword firm in my hand, raised above my head, when I gave the order to cross the Rubicone, then when she was called Ensis Caliburnus, the Calibic sword... I see the sword wrapped in a dirty cloth, next to me, as my men, the only few centurios still faithful to the last emperor of Rome, brings me to safety toward Hibernia, running away from Odoacre... I see the sword, in the sheath hanging from my belt, back when she was called Caliburnus by the Romans, Caledwfulch by the Welsh and Excalibur by the Britons, and I was riding toward Camelot, with Myrrdin at my side...

Euro's eyes widens. "Myrrdin?!" he whispers.

"Pardon?" says Mason, puzzled at the strange behavior of the man.

"Nothing, sorry... a sort of deja vue. It was months I had not one of that. What were you asking me?"

"I was asking about Ladnikia, your sword..."

"It wasn't his sword, Templar" says Tayden, coming into the conversation. "Nobody could own Ladnikia. It's the sword that take possession of people. Ladnikia has been taken care of, like it should have been done millennia ago."

Mason smiles. "It's a good thing to know. I have seen what happened to previous bearer of the sword, a rather horrorific end. And today, there are dozens of peoples in the world that are actively seeking for that sword, for the power that it granted to the bearer. It's good thing for the world that it has been destroyed... Well, enough with magical swords. There is a turkey to destroy! Bwahahahahah!!!!"

I wonder if this is cannibalism? Brianna thought as she looked at her plate. Grissom had given Brianna a wing of the turkey. "Phil...I'll trade you the turkey for some ham."

Everyone continued eating and talking. Leslie handed Brianna something to drink. "So..how's your first Christmas going, Bri? Got any cool gifts?"

"Oh the gifts don't matter to me, really." Brianna thought of the doll sitting on her bed. She grinned and passed some green beans to the other side of the table. "I mean, I love what you got me, but I'm just glad I'm not alone this holiday. I couldn't imagine it being better. Between the gifts and the eating and the flying, I'm knackered."

"You're what?" asked Leslie.

Grissom was spooning mashed potatoes in his mouth. He paused for a moment. "She means 'tired'." He resumed eating his meal.

Leslie laughed. "That's so cute. Hey, is it true 'pants' really means 'underwear' over there?"

Brianna nodded. "Now you see why I was weirded out when we went shopping. I thought you were taking me to get knickers." Several of the guys at the table began choking on thier food.

"There should be a football game on," Grissom said as he sat down on the coach, a stomach full of Christmas goodies.

"Greenbay is playing," Drake Marshall's chair hovered up and paused next to the couch.

Grissom laughed, "Sorry, mate! England vs. Germany. Been waiting for this game all week."

Drake put a giant, foam, cheese-shaped hat on his head. "I don't think you understand the power of cheese."

"I feel kind of weird," Adem said with a confused expression.

"It's probably the tryptophan from the turkey," Ozzy said, suppressing a yawn. "It makes people sleepy."

"No. If I was sleepy, I would have said tired," Adem clarified. "I don't feel tired. I feel...... weird." The alien rubbed his orange eyes. "Is it getting warm in here?" His vision began to blur slightly. Colors began to run together. His palms became clammy. "My senses are getting all muttled." Adem's legs buckled a little bit but did not totally give up on him.

"Are you alright?"

"I think I've exceeded well beyond weird," Different answered, scrambling for a seat. "It's like I'm standing in the middle of a Quadro-projectional-virtualizer that has gone totally chaotic."

"Um.... ok. Why don't you have your little robots fix you up or something?"

"It'll take them a while before they can determine what's happening to react. Besides, I've given the nanites the day off."

"Given them the day off?"

"Well, they went a few hundred thousand years without a holiday. I had to give them some time off before they went on strike." Adem tried to stay upright as his balance began to lose him. He saw the confused expression on Ozzy's face a moment before it began to melt away like a smeared painting. "They have a rather strong union."

"What's wrong?" Banshee asked, walking up.

"Don't worry," Ozzy said, spreading out his arms in an unnecessary move to keep people from crowding. "I've been through similar situations before. All we have to do is try and talk him through this. And keep anything that might freak him out away. Like puppets."

"He's freaked out by puppets?" Grissom asked, running over from the couch.

"I don't know," Ozzy answered. "I just had this really bad experience once, and I don't want to take chances." The strange looks that were being forced his way. "It was a really, really messed up night, and the puppet had this ..... horrible.... clown-like face..... with these beady eyes..... and wicked smile....... Just get me some water."

"Hey, anyone notice it's real quiet in here all of a sudden?" Kit Piper said frowning as he finished nibbling the last few scraps of meat from a turkey leg. The dinner was pretty much finished, but Kit was still a bit hungry.

"Yeah..." Drake Marshall said, looking around, "...Mason Templar is gone again."

"Ah, that explains it."

***

"So is Doc gonna adopt you?" Denyce asked Axel over at the kids' table in the other room.

"Yeah."

"Really?" Denyce exclaimed. "When?"

Axel grinned sheepishly and looked at her. "I don't know."

Denyce just looked puzzled while her little sister Latisha smiled shyly and continued to remain mute as she had for almost a year now.

Axel laughed and tried to explain: "I mean... I do know, but I don't... y'know?"

"No," Denyce said, and they both laughed. "So should I start calling you 'Axel Quantos,' then?"

Axel looked down. "Uh... no. That's a name I'll never have."

"Well, you can't go without a last name forever, you know," Denyce said. "What about school and all that? Everyone uses last names for things."

"Yeah, I know, but... well, I've kinda already got a last name," Axel said, his voice remaining quiet. He cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered conspiratorially in Denyce's ear: "It's Magus."

"Maggot?" Denyce exclaimed loudly.

"NO! Not Maggot -- Magus!" said Axel in a voice louder than he had planned to use. "Axel Magus."

"Cool... but what does it mean?"

"Um... well, it's a word sort of like 'magic' and means about the same thing," Axel began explaining slowly. "Anyway, it's not legal... not so far, at least. It's just that the Old Man was telling me that I'm destined to be called 'Axel Magus' and that names have power and all that, and anyway that's gonna be my name now. I don't know what my mom's last name was, and the Perditian government frowned on any of us PSI-Unit orphans using last names even if we knew 'em, so I just got used to having a last name. But 'Magus' is kinda nice. It... I think it fits me."

"If you say so, Doll Boy," Denyce laughed.

"Da Ba!" The two-year-old Eddie said suddenly as if he'd been listening in and hanging on every word.

Denyce was thrilled. "Yeah, that's right, Eddie! He's Doll Boy!" Eddie smiled a small child's smile and promptly started looking elsewhere. "So what were you saying about an old man?" Denyce asked him. "You don't mean Doc Quantos, do you?"

Axel looked troubled. "Denyce, you gotta swear to me that you won't tell anyone about this -- not even your dad."

"O-okay. What is it?"

"It was on my birthday two days ago. My old PSI-Unit trainer Marc showed up again after missing after the hurricane, and he showed up again outside of the Complex after my birthday party was over. I met him out there because he said he wanted to introduce me to his master -- Marc explained that he's sort of the Old Man's butler or whatever -- and I snuck out when some of the guests were leaving."

Denyce looked amused. "You sneak, you!"

"You promised not to tell!"

"Sheesh, don't worry about that. Mum's the--" began Denyce before she realized what she was saying. "Sorry," she said to Axel and Latisha.

"Anyway, around him I had a lot of my own TK powers back again, and I could fly alongside him over to a cave near the old Indian village--"

"Native American."

"Whatever. Well, Marc left, and I went in and met the Old Man. He told me a lot of things about me that I didn't know, and he warned me about a bunch of stuff, too. And one of the things he told me was that my name is Axel Magus. Or I guess he just gave me that name. It seems weird, but it wasn't. He was old and wise, kind of like a grandfather would be, I guess. I never had one."

"I dunno about this, Axel," Denyce said in a worried voice. "You don't know who this old man is or anything."

"But I do!" protested Axel. "And anyway, Marc trusts him with his life, and I trust Marc. I kind of think of it like this: Marc and Tanya were kind of like my grade-school teachers, only they taught us all about telepathy and telekinesis and such alongside the regular schoolwork all kids have to do. The Old Man is so much more. He's like a high school teacher, or... or a college professor or something. He's really wise, and he's really... old. Anyway, you can't tell anyone, 'cause you made a promise."

"I know, I know, but I don't like it," Denyce continued. "What if--?"

"HO HO HO!" a booming laugh could be heard as a large figure entered the room. "Do my ears hear two strapping young whelps whispering secrets to one another?"

"Mas--" Axel began, stopping himself as he saw Mason Templar dressed in a Santa Claus suit again. "Uh... Santa! What are you doing here?"

"It's CHRISTMAS, boy!" boomed 'Santa Templar.' "And what is Christmas Day for a group of children without a personal visit by old Saint Nick himself? And I've brought gifts directly from the depths of the Arctic Circle for the whole lot of you!"

Eddie's eyes were opened completely wide. It was obvious he had never seen any Santa Claus or Father Christmas type ever before, or at least he was too young to remember if Walker had ever had anyone dress up as Santa Claus for his benefit a year ago.

"Ah-ha!" Santa laughed as he knelt down to face the toddler. "And who do we have here?"

Denyce was beaming as she spoke up: "That's Eddie Chish... Shich... Sicks..."

"Cicciotto," Axel finished with a grin.

"Oh-ho... you're Edulcore Cicciotto's young one, are you?" Santa said. "Well, let me dig deeply into my bag and see if I happen to have anything for y-- OH ho-ho! What do we have here? A very rare object for a very rare young lad!"

Mason Templar pulled from his red sack an antique trumpet which, despite its apparent age, was in good shape. Eddie's eyes were as wide as saucers as he looked at the trumpet. Templar spoke in an uncharacteristically low tone to the toddler, "Now, Eddie, this is a gift that comes to you all the way from a town in old Germany called Hamelin. Legend has it that it was once used by a man to charm all the rats which infested the town during the days of the Plague to follow him out. Furthermore," he said in a whisper, "it was also used to charm all the children of the town to follow him. I think, Eddie, that one day you may lead many children and men alike, and I give you this trumpet to begin your journey."

'Santa' laughed and said, "It is but a fairy tale, of course, so do not expect to control all your friends with it... at least not yet, lad! HA-ha-ha-haha-ha!" He turned to the two girls next.

"And we have here a couple of stunningly beautiful 'Pipers' who have every chance of charming all the boys they meet with or without Hamelin's trump!" he said with his usual loud brogue.

Denyce giggled and said, "This is my sister Latisha, and I'm Denyce."

"Aha, yes! Mr. Piper's progeny! Excellent, excellent... And what does Santa have for you, now? Ah... here we are." Templar pulled out a small box and handed it to Denyce.

"What is it?" the girl said as she began opening the box. "Shoes? Red shoes?"

"These are not mere shoes, child, they're dancing shoes!" Templar said winking. "Make sure to save them, and wear them only for a very special occasion."

"Okay, thanks," she replied, smiling politely.

"And I have something for the youngest Piper girl as well!" Templar said, pulling another box out of the red sack. Latisha took the box, too shy to make eye-contact, and smiled gratefully as she opened the box and found a piece of uncarved crystal. "Legend has it, young Latisha, that a maiden may see her one true love in this crystal when she comes of age," he said, winking at her as he caught her eye for a moment.

Denyce spoke up after looking at her sister, "She'd say thank-you, too, if she was talking right now."

"Very good, very good," Templar muttered. "And finally, for our fine, young, heroic prodigy, Axel, I have another very special gift..."

And the story of Axel's gift will be told in another place, another time...

Sometime later, in the cryogenic chamber near Quantos' lab.

"It's empty. I didn't notice in the past weeks, but the records shows that Eddie's body disappeared after the battle in Antarctica. See here the date, Euro" says Doctor Quantos to the Italian ex-champion. With them is Danny trying to catch up with many of the events he missed during his leave of absence.

"Yes, I see. it's the same day I arrived in Antarctica to revive Naecken" explains Euro.

"Revive Naecken?" wonders Danny.

"Yes. Don't you remember when we went to Mandelovia with the Circus? And that future version of myself gave me that disc, with a prophecy about red and green? I used the disc to resurrect Nae. A green, female body formed out of his dead, red one."

"You mean there is a Naecken out there? Do you think he could create new troubles?"

Euro shakes his head. "No. He is somewhere out of the planet".

"And he resurrected Eddie, right?" says Danny, even more perplexed.

"You have seen him with your eyes" responds Edulcore.

"That doesn't mean he was really revived" says Quantos.

"What? You declared him dead, and now Eddie is playing with the daughters of Kit, and your Axel!" says Euro, appalled.

"For the medic science, if he is alive it does simply means that I was wrong thinking him dead. I am not negating an important role to Naecken... he... or she... has teleported the kid down there, healed his wounds, brought him out of the deep coma he surely was in... but that are the things a metahuman... a few metahumans, at last... can do."

"You sound like Velo, Doc. Now will you start negating I am from the future, too?" says Danny, with an half smile.

"No, no, Danny. I have proofs that it's possible to travel trough time... but angels and demons are not my cup of tea."

"There is an angel among our ranks, Henry!" says Euro, smirking.

"Or one that just think of being one, Ed. Mick's lesson should teach a lot to everyone."

The three men leave the room, going their separate ways. Danny has the distinct feeling that the words of faith of Quantos into his provenience could be just for convenience. And the old grudge toward the man which years before ordered his capture resurfaced again, after being soothed for many months. Danny coerced himself to put that sentiment back to sleep, as this was the moment to be strong and united.

Acquaintances

Mason Templar sat perched atop a bar stool in the lounge, sliding an oddly luminous whetstone across Caliburn's blade. He didn't turn as someone entered the room behind him. "May I be of assistance?"

His visitor set a plate of lightly-buttered biscuits and cubes of cheese on the bar in front of him, followed closely by a pint of brown lager. "Didn't know if you'd had enough at dinner, since you came in close to the end."

Templar nodded briefly. "Many thanks for your concern... provided it comes free of any tiresome questions or hidden motives."

The other man shook his head. "None of those. Just trying to help a guy out - and maybe make some conversation. Provided you're not otherwise occupied."

Templar set the blade and the stone down on the bar and turned. "Mayhaps I can spare a moment or two for a cordial fellow such as yourself." He took a sip of his drink. "What brings you here, Mister Smith?"

Phil shrugged. "Figured I'd bring you something to snack on, and thought you might need the company..."

Mason chuckled, a hearty, jovial laugh that brought faint creases to the corners of his eyes. "Experience, my friend, has taught me to be wary of those who can perceive the thoughts of others. Forgive me if I am indeed in error, but I sense a certain curiosity about you. Perhaps it attends your unique talents. Perhaps not."

The telepath grinned sheepishly. "You're not the first to complain."

"Well," the swordsman reasoned, "any man with time enough to fetch a little refreshment for little more than a stranger ought to have time enough to converse with old Mason." He nodded. "So, then. What is it you wish to say?"

"That was a good thing you did for the kids," Phil said. "It really meant a lot to them."

"I was pleasantly surprised," Templar stated in reply," to find another fellow willing to show a little compassion to children."

Phil smiled faintly. "You heard about that?"

Templar shrugged. "I have my ways." He took another drink. "I feel that anyone ought to give what he can to those less fortunate. However, you need not make redemption your motive for so doing."

Phil raised an eyebrow quizzically. "What do you mean?"

Mason looked at him, his expression a mixture of amusement and sympathy. "A man - any man - is far more than the product of his past, Mister Smith. You live with a burden you ought not bear." He popped a cube of cheddar into his mouth.

Phil looked down. "I told everyone about it, about... what happened. I thought it would..."

"You thought it would free you from the weight of the past," Templar finished for him.

"That's right," Phil admitted.

"But it didn't?"

"Not the way I thought it would," Phil conceded.

Templar smiled. "You are as free as you choose to be," he stated. "You live in fear of what you once did, hiding yourself from it by thinking it to be what you once were. You feel the urge to redeem yourself somehow by doing things you feel will set things right."

Phil's eyes narrowed. "How do you know all this?"

Mason polished off a biscuit. "When you've been everywhere I've been, young man, you come to understand these things." He washed it down with a swig of lager. "But I fear you are mistaken in your judgment."

"How so?" Phil asked uneasily.

"The things you do," Templar explained, "when you show compassion toward others, those things gain you nothing in the way of redemption."

Phil tensed.

Templar held up a hand. "Showing that compassion means you are a redeemed man. Your deeds are not the deeds of a madman or a murderer, but of someone who has been given another chance, another opportunity to do good. Not to do good simply to repay past debts or to prove the goodness of your character, but simply to what is right simply because it is that which is right to do."

Phil couldn't think of anything to say.

"And once you begin to see that for yourself," Templar concluded, "then, Mister Smith, then you will be free of this burden."

Phil nodded slowly. "Maybe I'll understand someday soon."

"Regardless of what others may say, Mister Smith, you're a good man," Templar assured him. "Even in so short an acquaintance, I can see that. Others can see that." He finished the last of his cheese. "But for as much as you can see within the minds of others," he lamented, "you still can't see that in yourself."

Phil just nodded.

"You're lost," Templar observed. "Not hopelessly so, but merely lost. You remind me of someone I fought once."

Phil looked at him curiously. "Who might that be?"

Mason thought a moment. "He was a good man. He fought on the wrong side, but many good men often do." He grinned. "He was the only man who ever fought me to a draw. Lost inside, as though he didn't know who he was." He shook his head. "That man isn't you, but there is an amazing resemblance."

"You sure I'm not him?" Phil said slyly.

Templar shook his head, "Quite, lad. First of all, I doubt you have the skill with a blade he showed. Second, he was a Russian man, and I believe it is fairly obvious you are not. And most of all, that fight was long enough ago that I would be amazed if he were still alive today."

The swordsman sheathed Caliburn with one hand and picked up his empty plate and mug with the other. "Pleasure speaking with you, Mister Smith," Templar said as he left.

Phil stood and turned as Ozzy Baxter walked through the room. "Ozzy?"

The boxer stopped and turned, his expression impatient. "Yeah?"

"Listen," Phil said. "About earlier..."

Ozzy raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Phil smiled. "No hard feelings, man. Seriously."

Ozzy shrugged. "Whatever."

He grinned.

"Are we cool?" Phil asked, offering a hand.

"Yeah," Ozzy said as he shook Phil's hand, "we're cool."

"Ow!" he flinched and stepped back.

Phil brandished the fork as Ozzy rubbed his forearm gingerly. "Gotcha," he smirked.

"Bastard," Baxter murmured as Phil tried unsuccessfully to hold in his laughter.

"Let's go catch the rest of the game," Phil suggested. "I wanna see Marshall's face when he loses that two hundred bucks to Danny."

"That'll be more fun than that Tom Baker bloopers reel in Kit's office," Ozzy replied.

"Gotta love that Tom Baker," Phil said to no one in particular.

The week passed, and each of the Vanguardians did a hell of a lot of nothing. There was nothing to divert their attention from the Christmas holiday, and even the anti-meta faction on the island had been laying low, especially since a new Vanguard International "fan base" had begun to grow to offset the minority on the island who hated metas.

The fact was that La Perdita was crawling with metas, and everyone knew it in a "wink wink, nudge nudge" kind of way. Jake's Meta Bar was the most visual representation of this fact, of course, but there were many "teetotaling" metas on the island who had never been to Jake's but lived and worked at various ordinary jobs on La Perdita. Most metas had very minor powers, such as the ability to speedread or project their voice elsewhere, et cetera, and thus were hardly a threat to anyone. It was true that there were a tiny minority whose powers were fairly substantial and even dangerous, but they were few in number both in La Perdita and in the world at large among the metahuman population of Earth.

To celebrate the metahuman population of La Perdita (and specifically the island's unofficial protectors known as Vanguard International), a New Year's Eve Party was to be held at and around an old building in the village of Del Mar known affectionately as the "Fish Factory" (since that was what it originally was), and anyone who wanted to come was invited. It was planned as a New Year's party that would rival the other traditional large New Year's Eve parties that were held on the island each year in Puerta Mibela's larger public marketplace and private clubs.

Kit Piper found himself busier than ever as he organized the party with Vanguard Fan Club president Angela Sapperton, an attractive, thirtysomething small business entrepreneur and single mother with one young child.

And the rest of the team was completing the setting up of all the party paraphernalia in the Fish Factory, as the party would begin in only a few hours. It was hoped that this would be a New Year's Eve party to remember...

The afternoon was shiny and hot like any afternoon on the tropical belt, and for Edulcore it was a shame. A shame that it was not cold and full of snow, being the last day of the year, and not grey and windy being himself standing in the middle of the cemetery of Puerta Mibela.

And looking at the tombstone of a friend under a deep blue sky, with the sun rays burning over your skin is just not right.

Especially when your friend was younger than you, smarter and always right. A true hero, one than never failed and never let himself to indulge into his weakness.

"Like I did", though bitter Edulcore. "You died as an hero, to save your friend and the world. I schemed to subdue it" whispered the Italian.

Tears began to run down Euro's cheeks. "It should have been me, not you". But then, his eyes where caught by Eddie's playful run across the tombstones. He shook his head. "No, I can't even say that."

The Raptor kneeled, and began wiping away from the marble the sand brought from the sea by the constant breeze. "Maybe that time you asked me help to find a way back to your Universe, and I asked you to wait for me to rescue Eddie, before leaving... maybe if I should have not stopped you, now you will be alive... who knows?"

Euro stood up. "I hope to be at last half as good as you have been, friend. Farewell, Chance".

The Italian walked away, followed by his son.

The colors of the day warmed up, as the sun began to set.

As Ed and Eddie arrived back at the complex, they were greeted at the door by Danny, Grissom, and Charley.

"Hey, Ed, where've you been?" Danny asked his teammate. "We're getting ready to head down to the Fish Factory for the party."

"Danny, would you fly with me for a moment?" Ed asked somberly.

"Uh, sure. . ." Hearn responded, a little confused.

"Charley, would you watch Eddie for a moment?" Edulcore asked, his eyes pleading with the woman.

"Sure, no problem." She took the youngster by hand and led him to the kitchen.

"I'll uh, I'll help her." Grissom followed Charley and Eddie, sensing the need for privacy of the man known as the Raptor.

Edulcore spread his arms and sent a mental impulse for his wings to sprout. Danny did the same, only with a vocal command to Hal, his second brain.

The two Vanguardians took flight.

"So what's going on? You've been down to Chance's marker, haven't you?" Danny asked, struggling to keep up as the former Eurostar unconsciously flew slightly faster.

"I should've been here. I should've helped him when I had the ch-opportunity." Ciccioto answered, his voice slightly cracking.

"I was. . .selfish." he glanced across the sky as the sun began to set.

"You had things to do, Ed. You had your son to think of. I've feel the same way about Chance. You know that. But sometimes other things take priority. You can't always be there when you want to be." Hearn soared closer to his longtime teammate.

"There's something else, isn't there?" he asked.

"Nowhereman, also, is dead. There was a building. In Chicago. It exploded. They matched his records." The Raptor answered.

"Nowhereman. . ." Danny said to himself. The Englishman had not been a part of their group for some time, but they both remembered the early days of the Revolutionaries and how far they'd come since then.

"How many of our friends do we have to lose, Danny? Even when they are not with us, it seems there is no escape. Naecken, Pete, Nowhereman, Chance, so many gone. . ."

"And so many still here, don't forget. I'm still trying to get used to these new guys. Friends will always come and go, Ed. The important thing is that you enjoy them while they're here. Make the most of things while you have time. You still have your son, you know. . ."

A slow smile crept across Edulcore's face. "I know. Thank you, Danny."

"You're welcome. Now let's get back so we can go party. I wanna get pissed!" They turned, arcing back towards the complex, the last rays of the sun shining on them.

"Hello, Drake. You wanted to see me?" Danny almost indicated a chair as Drake hovered into the room but he realized how pointless that would be before he did.

"Yeah, thanks, Danny. It's hard to believe it's almost been a year, huh?"

"Time's a funny thing. Believe me, I know."

"I guess you would. Look, there's no easy way to say this so I'm just going to do it. I've been thining it over the last week and I've decided I'm moving back to Wisconsin effective after the next mission. I figure I owe you that at least. I'm sorry, it's just with Jessica being pregnant and with it looking like I...well..."

"No other explaination is needed, Drake. I understand and I appreciate you lettingme know in advance."

"Thanks. Do you think we can wait to tell the others? Until after the party i mean."

"Sure Drake. Speaking of which, we'd better get going. I suppose you've breought some Miller beer."

"Miller? No way. That stuff's awful. I brought LaBatt Blue. I may be from Wisconsin, but I have some taste...

Arbitrary Days

"Well," Leslie tried to explain, "it's a day we celebrate because... well... we want to celebrate the past year and look forward to the next one."

"I do not understand," Adem replied, "the particular significance of December the thirty-first. If you desire to celebrate a new year, can't you start counting on any day? At any given point in time, this planet is in the exact same position in its orbit as it occupied 365.24 days earlier. It seems to me that December 31 is a purely arbitrary day."

"Like Valentine's Day?" Phil Smith chimed in as he entered the room. He cast a mischievous glance in Leslie's direction.

The alien nodded. "Yes. This Valentine's Day is another purely arbitrary day in the year. To me, it holds no significance I can perceive."

"Does that mean I don't have to buy Leslie a present now?" Phil asked.

Leslie glared at him. "Screw you."

"Maybe after Dick Clark," Phil suggested.

"But Adem," the telepath continued, "don't you have a mate? Or did you at some point?"

"What does that have to do with it?" Adem asked, dodging the question.

Phil shrugged. "I suppose the significance of Valentine's Day - and New Year's - depends entirely upon its significance in the minds of those who celebrate it. Valentine's Day means something to people who have someone they love, and because I have someone I love-" he glanced over at Leslie "-I choose to celebrate and enjoy that day, because it's established by tradition as a day to celebrate love and give gifts that express that love. Similar rules apply here. Sure, tonight's a night where the calendar just happens to turn over by our reckoning, but it's what that stands for that makes it special. New Year's is a time when we can look back on everything that happened over the last year. We can analyze it, laugh at it, be saddened by it, get angry over it... it's entirely up to us. And it's entirely up to you what meaning you find in tonight. Maybe you'll be able to celebrate more than one New Year's with us." The telepath smiled.

Adem looked puzzled. "I do not see the reason for your optimism. I am on this planet by accident and am looking for a way to return to my home planet."

"Well," Leslie replied, "we're starting to like having you around. And we're just being a bit selfish in saying we'd like you to stick around for a long time."

The alien nodded. "I see."

A football came whizzing through the air. Adem heard the sound, spun around, and ducked out of the way. Phil simply took a step backward, reached up, and snagged it.

"Nice." Ozzy Baxter came running up.

"Are you and the other boys playing football inside again?" Leslie asked as she crossed her arms.

"Me and Danny are playing keep-away," the indestructible boxer replied.

"Keep away from who?"

"From whom," Phil corrected her. He turned the football over just in time to notice the Green Bay Packers logo on one side. "Damn."

Drake Marshall's voice carried from down the hall. "I'm gonna kill you sonsabitches! It's not bad enough I lost the bet and had to do a photo shoot with Drag Racer? Now you wanna steal my football too?"

Phil flipped the ball back to Ozzy. "I think I'd better go," he said nervously as he vanished from the others' sight.

Leslie grabbed Adem's arm and pulled him out of the way as Drake came thundering by in his chair, pursuing the now frantically fleeing Ozzy. "You better run!!!" the crimefighter cackled maniacally.

Leslie called after them. "Be good!" she yelled. "Don't make a mess before we leave for the party! And Drake, don't you dare let that dragon out in here!"

Adem looked at her, puzzled. "Are you... the matriarch figure here?"

"Working on it," the bounty hunter replied.

KIDS

"Uat is tees? Nite manoves?" asks Eddie to the young girl next to him, Jalissia, the oldest daughter of Kit Piper, observing the crowd of people, some of them very odd looking, gathering in the ample spaces of the Fish Factory.

"Night manouvrers? No, Eddie, this is a party!"

"Partee? Whas partee?"

"A party... a party is people enjoying each other company. And food, music, dances... having fun, you know?"

The two years and a half old kid shakes his head. "Back home, uncle Charlee never had fun. Only training. Be prepared, he olwees said Eddee".

"Never had fun? But what kind of uncle was your uncle Charley?"

"Caeend... good!" says Eddie



GUYS

The ample terrace overlooking the bay is lit by the moon, big and silver, and up on the zenith, like a big lamp suspended there right for the purpose of the party. Many people, humans and metahumans, males and females, are on the terraces, talking, drinking, dancing. Some of them can't even be ascribed to that category.

One is the giant turtle-like creature break-dancing on the tiled floor, surrounded by a crowd of cheering people, clapping their hands. Another is a young, human like being with long blond hairs, frowning at the turtle form a distance.

Bahagrupta and Tayden.

A demon and an angel.

"Why that face, Tayden? You seem the only one not to like the Lord of the flies and of the rotten lands. He's quite the attraction of the evening" says smiling Ozzie, offering a lager to the blond young man.

He refuses raising his open hand, without saying a word.

Ozzie raises an eybrows, quizzically, looking at Euro, that sits on the balaustrade closing the terrace, next to Tayden.

"Demons and angels don't bode well together, Baxter" explains the Italian.

Ozzie's eyes widens up. "You mean that... thing... is not another of those freaks from Jake's?"

"So he claims, Baxter" respond laconically Euro.

"What? What do you means by that? He is a demon and you know it, Ed. You call him uncle!" shouts, very uncharacteristically Tayden.

"Ahh, I don't know, Tayden. He claims of having being the "pet demon" of my mom, which was a... witch, let's call her this way. And I believe it, I mean, I believe he stayed at the order of my mom many years ago. But about his demonitude... if I can say so... I don't know. I see just one man with a very distorted and mutated figure, nothing more ugly or bizarre than Jake's catfish like body... and minor powers a lot less uncanny than Mick's one, by the way. So, if you ask me to be sincere, regardless of what you can think, yes, I believe he is a meta. I don't believe in demons, sorry. Not in the biblical sense. Sorry, Tayden." Euro shrugs.

"I can't believe YOU, of all the people, are saying that! And what about me? If I exist, why demons shouldn't?"

"Mhhh... Tayden, I even more sorry, but I don't think angels exist. Not in the sense you claims. I think you, too, are just a meta. I am sure you really believe of being one, but I am sure you are just a metahuman. Maybe you are near immortality, and had invisible powers that allowed you to see the life of other peoples, and now you have lost them, keeping your simple "emphatic" power... I think you should sympathize with Baaghrupta, he is more like you than what you would admit..." says Euro, opening his arms.

Tayden simply walked away.

"Oh oh, the catholic pissed the angel off!" remarks Grissom Montag, coming closer, after having watched the scene from afar. "So the Italian boy all church and restaurant have turned atheistic, eh? What happened, mate?"

"I am not atheistic, Griss. I believe in God and in the words of Christ. Just, how can we meet and fight with or alongside gods of ancient, lost religions, and believe OUR pantheon is not a creation of mind? I don't know if Tayden is just a man that believes of being an angel, or is an alien or inhabitant of a different dimension, or the creation of the beliefs of Christian people; what I can't stand is that a self proclaimed servant of God... a god that said "love your enemy".. is hostile toward a good fella like Baaghrupta. Just that."

"Just that? Really?"

"Well, I had access to the papers of the Annunaki... I found out how and when Nannar Sin made allegiance with a Sumerian patriarch and ordered him to leave Harran... I guess you understand what I am referring to."

"Perfectly. Quite interesting, too..."

Ozzie wonders what the two are talking about and left.

"And that doesn't make you at last a little more skeptic?" ask Montag.

"In all honesty, no. Looking at the see and the sky, feeling the breeze on my skin... it's enough proof, for me, that God exist."


GALS

Grissom Montag's eyes catch the brief glimpse of a well known woman across the many heads of the crowd.

"Guess who has come back!" he says. "Sorry Ed, we'll have to return on the matter later. I have a friend to welcome." The British walked away from Euro, toward the main hall.

A tall, oriental looking woman with short black hairs is his target.

"Nadia! I have been to the hospital in Trieste, but you where gone. What happened?" says Grissom, teleporting himself right in front of the woman.

"Griss!" exclaims Nadia, jumping back, startled by the apparition. "I have met... friends. But I have come to say goodbye."

The woman wears a long silk dress, practically transparent, that allows a complete vision of her body tattoo, the Sumerian god EN-LIL. whose eyes, tattooed over the woman's nipples, are looking very malevolently at the British archaeologist. Or so they seem.

"You seem fascinated by my tattoo, Griss. Would you take a look closer? My room should still be empty" Nadia smiles mischievously.

Grissom's mouth left corner bends up, as he offers the lady his arms, making way for the stairs.

In that moment, on the terrace, a green glow forms out of nowhere and then fades out, revealing a tall woman in a strange metal suit, a cross between an high tech gear and a ancient greek armor. As being liquid, the armor melts, becoming a navel ring on the flat belly of the woman.

"Jackie!" shouts Drake across the terrace, recognizing the ex Vanguard member to whom he was paired on his first mission exactly an year before. His hoverchair buzzes its way toward the woman. "Jakie! Where did you disappear to?"

Jackie Monroe, Ameristar, turns toward the young man. "Drake! What happened to you, too?" and then she bites her lower lips, for the gaffe.

"Oh, condition worsened. Nothing I was not prepared to. But, tell me about you. After the mission in Africa, you did disappear. Miss Xyang said it was all ok, but we never get to know what happened to you" explains the young man.

"Eh, it's a long story. Basically I fought a conspiracy between Hoods, Futurists, Saros, our friend Euro and the Task Force of Jack Merlin. And we... me and my allies... did a good job. How's Ed, now?"

"He has returned five days ago, seems fine and has his kid with him. And the sword's gone, luckily. He seems a complete different person, now."

"Glad to hear that...."

"But you? What do you mean by conspiracy? And Merlin, what role did he have in that?"

"Ah, Drake, it's a complicate matter. That's why I kept vanguard out of that. There was Euro involved, and it was all spy-game and double crossing... Merlin was one of the bad guy, but we used him to fulfill our goals... surely he gained credit, too, and the Strikeforce is a follow up of that role he had..."

"And that's why you left, Jackie?"

"No, not exactly. You see, Merlin raped my... friend... Crasher, you remember her, right? The second rape she suffered in few months... she snapped out... and her father... and my master... asked me to bring her... away."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that, Jackie. How she is, now?"

"Drake, it's too early to say that. She tried suicide three times. I hope she will recover... she is so young... too young to die..."

The man doesn't say anything, and just put his right hand over her shoulders.

Jackie raises her head, a sad smile appearing on her mouth, when her eyes catch the well know figure of a well endowed woman going up the stairs, arm in arm with Grissom Montag.

A woman she did not see for many months, now. More than a year.

"BITCH!" shouts Jackie, as the Gaia stone encased in her navel ring command the transformation of the living metal back into the armor.

Leaving Drake behind, Ameristar catapult herself toward the main hall and the stairs, firing bullets from her gauntlets at the adress of Nadia.

"BASTARD TRAITOR! How you dare to come here, you fucking piece of shit? Or maybe this is right your place, stinking rotten fish!" A flowing torrent of imprecations vomits outside the fuchsia gloss lips of Jackie Monroe.

Nadia jumps with grace over the stairs, avoiding the bullets. At the end of her last jump, she lands near a waiter, and quickly she takes his tray and throws it, like a freesbee, precisely over the jet pack of the Gaia armor, causing the fall of Ameristar before she has the time of teleporting away.

Every one of the people present is staring at the scene, unable to take side. Although no one ever saw the two ex-Vanguardians together, no one would have though they were not on their best terms, or even they knew each others. Especially their teammates are frozen, puzzled and fascinated by that fight so similar to a complex and graceful dance.

Quick as a panther, Nadia is over Ameristar, but the last gives a tremendous blow to one of Nadia's knee, making her fall to the ground. Ameristar stand up, and is about to kick the face of the Asian woman, when a giant hand stop her leg just one inch from Nadia's nose.

It's an horned giant, with a long curly beard and eyes like fire. The tattoo of Nadia's gone. The three meters tall demon take the armor with his both hands, and tore it apart like a tin can. The metal liquify back into the navel ring, and Nadia is fast to rip it out of Jackie's belly, and to throw it away, across the room.

As the tall woman cries for the pain, Nadia shouts "EN-LIL, back home!" The tall demon disappears back, returning to the form of tattoo over the body of the woman.

Nadia stand in the middle of the room, wiping away wheat and blood from her own face with her right arm. Then, she waves her index finger, to and from her face, looking at Ameristar. "Come on, sister, show me what you can do without your stone..."

Jackie put her closed right hand on the floor, and pushed over it to stand up, looking at Nadia with fiery eyes behind her long, blonde hairs. "Witch, I will teach you how we threat traitors!"

Jackie pulls herself up, and jumps in air, landing with her feet right over Nadia's chest. The oriental woman rolls down, and away, but is back on her feet in an instant, waiting Jackie in a karate stand.

"I don't understand why you call me traitor. I just left Myrrdin when I though I couldn't agree with his moves. I wouldn't have sell any secret to anybody, if I knew any secret. A thing I don't, by the way. You know how many things Myrrdin let spill out."

The two girls are now one in front of the other, exchanging blows that are warden off with great skill.

"You mettled with Euro's condition!" shouts Jackie.

"You didn't do anything to save him!" responds Nadia.

"You just wanted his sword!" yells Jackie, finally able to send a fist to Nadia's jaw.

The woman falls on the floor, but suddenly jumps on her feet, kicking Jackie right in the belly. "I could have spared him a lot of pain and many lives taken, if you would have helped me to take the sword!"

Jackie wipes away blood from her mouth. "You made league with Saros! You fucked with Merlin, bitch!"

"It was just in the line of works, witch. Like you never opened your ass to gather informations!"

"You bastard fat pig! You could have freed EN-LIL over Earth, with your lust for power!"

"You disillusioned amateur! Ready to leave this planet to Chaos for the pussy of that kid!"

"NOW STOP! I HAD ENOUGH!" At the top of the stairs, her katana in the right hand, dressed in a black silk kimono with a red winged dragon painted over, Nuriko has appeared.

"If I knew it was going to be this kind of a party, I would have brought the lotion," Ozzy said as his gaze never left the women as they continued their brawl in the fish factory.

"Is this some ritual in conjunction with this celebration?" Adem asked as the women tumbled past them.

"No. But I do know guys who'll pay twenty-five cents a minute to watch this." Baxter watched as a waiter, trying to keep out of the way, slipped and fell to the floor. The tray full of deviled eggs landed on his face. "This is one hell of a party. To bad it has to stink in this place."

"Good," Adem said in relief. "Then it's not just me. I was afraid to say anything after that barbeque incident."

"I still don't understand how someone can't like the smell of grill roasted corn."

"I thought we were done with this."

"We are. We are. I'm just thinking out loud." Ozzy took a sip of his champagne. "So, what's it with you and these suits all of a sudden?"

"I got the idea from those recordings you gave me. The people associated in a line of work similar to mine back home are always represented by wearing suits. I believe they were called detectives." Adem diverted his attention away from the fight, having no interest in it.

Ozzy was still mesmerized by the battle rolling around the room in front of them. "Recordings? Oh, you mean those movies and TV shows? Glad to help. By the way, what did you think of The X-Files?"

"It explains a lot."

"Really? Like what?"

"Why no other intelligent life form in this galaxy has attempted to make contact with your race."

"I think I liked you better when I didn't realize you had a sense of humor."

Troublesome Findings

Phil paled. "And you're sure about this?"

"The scanning equipment doesn't lie," Henry Quantos replied.

"Damn," the telepath muttered.

"It would explain a lot," Quantos went on, "such as why you had an adverse reaction to the EMP while no one else did, how you're able without a metagene to control the astronomical energies tapped into by your telekinetic manifestations... and quite possibly why your memory functions - or malfunctions - the way it does."

"But still," Phil protested, "the implications are staggering, not just for me, but for everything. Whole chapters of history would be in error if that were the case."

"History," Quantos replied, "is written by the people who have either seen it for themselves or heard it from someone who did. Something of this nature would be so black, so secretive, that nobody could have recorded it and revealed it to the world at large. The implications are serious, I know."

"It would be enough to make me question how far behind the Mandelovians we really were back then," Phil said ominously.

"What does it all mean?" Leslie asked impatiently.

"Anomalies one and two," Quantos explained, "proved to be more than just foreign objects." He clicked a mouse button, and the screen in the examination-room theater projected several curious multi-band scans. "Upon closer investigation with the neutrino-matrix imaging system, these objects proved to be unexplainably sophisticated bioelectronic devices."

"Cybernetic devices," Phil elaborated.

"What I'm looking at," Quantos continued, "are two amazingly sophisticated microprocessors that somehow interface with the synaptic patterns of Phil's lateral neocortex. What their operating principle is I can't begin to guess at; they may employ optical or even quantum circuitry analogs."

"If you can't tell how they work," Leslie asked, "how do you know what they do?

"Getting there," Quantos went on. "Now, all the theories about the mechanics of telepathy that don't involve the metagene have to do with the redundant structures paradox."

"I don't know what that is," Phil said, mildly intrigued.

"RSP," Leslie said. "You know that the cerebrum has two halves, or hemispheres, that each have nearly identical structures."

"Each performs a specific function," Phil acknowledged, "like Broca's area controls speech, for example."

"Right," the bounty hunter answered. "Now, in almost every human being, only one of the counterpart structures in each hemisphere is used, generally corresponding to language dominance or degrees of ambidexterity."

Quantos nodded. "Most people are right-handed because the left hemisphere of their motor cortex assumes a primary role. That's just an example. Anyway, the non-dominant counterpart is almost always inactive, except in a small handful of people whose dominant structures are damaged somehow. When that happens, these non-dominant structures somehow adopt the synaptic patterns the healthy dominants possessed and take over the impaired function or functions. The brain, in essence, repairs itself by resorting to these 'spare parts'."

"The paradox is," Leslie said, "that these seemingly redundant structures, when altered or removed, have an extremely adverse effect on the brain as a whole, even though the non-dominants might not be used much at all. You can't live without these 'redundant' structures - that's the paradox. The really weird part is that in a small minority of people, both counterparts seem to function equally. This isn't uncommon in and of itself - when neither visual-language-recognition center assumes a dominant role and both try to process written language simultaneously, dyslexia results. But what's extremely rare is an instance in which multiple counterparts in both hemispheres are equally active and nominally functional. Every documented, authentic telepath or telekinetic - even those whose powers are metagenic - has at least two such pairs of functioning counterparts. How that results in the actual manipulation of matter, energy, or information, we don't yet know. But an exception to the redundant structures paradox is generally a red-flag indicator of a psionically active individual."

"Interesting," Phil said. "But what does that have to do with the cybernetics?"

"It appears," Quantos explained, "that one of these devices is intended to process concurrent signals from active counterparts and moderate the electrochemical reactions across the corpus callosum - the network of neural fibers that connects the two hemispheres. If that's the case, then Anomaly A may very well be a cybernetic device intended to control your psionic manifestations."

"And the second device?" Leslie asked.

"The second device," Quantos replied, "was connected to several midbrain structures but primarily to the hippocampus - the limbic-system structure that encodes and stores memory from sensory input. It seems to be capable of encoding vast amounts of information into memory upon receiving it from an outside source through some sort of transceiver."

"Like Johnny Mnemonic," Leslie observed abruptly.

"Hated it," Phil replied. "And you think this controls my memory... how?"

Quantos frowned. "It's rather disturbing," he replied. "This device appears to me like it was designed to control the content of your long-term memory - such fundamental things as your childhood and your identity. It can't erase existing memories - very few ways have been found to do that artificially - but it can impose information from an outside source upon existing memory, interfering with recall and perhaps making it possible for an outsider to program information, skills, memories... even an entirely new identity in place of the subject's own memories."

Leslie shuddered. Phil set his jaw. "So that's it?" he asked.

Quantos nodded. "Although neither device appears to be currently functional, it's apparent that they had a great deal to do with your actions and memories the entire time they were present. Which brings me to the truly troublesome findings."

"What are they?" Leslie asked. "And how does it conflict with known history?" she asked Phil.

"First of all," Quantos said, "these devices have been in Phil's brain essentially from the time they were made. They've been in there a while, enough that layers of cerebral tissues have grown around them - thanks to Phil's regenerative powers."

"How long?" Leslie asked, her face paling.

Quantos looked down. "1953."

"You're telling me," Leslie said, her eyes widening, "that someone built cybernetic implants to control psionics and memory, using computer sciences we're still exploring... in 1953???" She began trembling. "How is that possible? Who could've done it?"

Quantos didn't turn. He simply pressed a few buttons and zoomed in on the scan until several odd markings came into view on the larger device. As the image came into focus, Phil drew in a breath, and Leslie put a hand over her mouth.

A five-pointed star. Within it was inscribed a hammer and sickle.

Below it, a single Greek character.

Sigma.

Adem Different stepped out of the party as Ozzy's attention was more and more fixed on the fighting females with their clothing becoming more ruffled and torn. His nostrils welcomed a fresh breeze that pushed away the horid smell of fish for just a few moments.

"You needed some fresh air to, eh?" a young woman's voice said in an Irish accent. Adem nodded as he turned to face Brianna. "I want to thank you for the necklace. I just haven't had time this past week."

"The natives say it will grant you strength and luck." Adem stepped further away from the factory and towards the beach. "Superstitious, I know; but it's supposed to be the thought that counts, right?"

"That's exactly right."

The two stopped at the shore. Adem gazed out over the vast sea with the moon's image waving unsteadily in the waves. Brianna examined the stars in the sky. "Do you miss it? Your home."

"Yes, of course," the alien answered. "It's what I've known my whole life. I left so much there, including my sister. But it's all gone by now. Hundreds of thousands of years gone, even by your calendar. Lamenting about it will only make matters worse. It's better if I just move on ahead. How about you? What about your home?"

"I wouldn't call where I've been the last few years a home, really," she answered. "Everything is pretty complicated." A mixture of sadness and anger entered her voice.

"Sorry if I asked the wrong question. It's just the only way for me to understand you."

"No, no. It's fine. I understand that you have ask questions. I know you want to understand our culture."

"Yes," Adem said. "That too."

Kit Piper sidled up to Mason Templar, who wore a bemused expression on his face as he watched the "catfight."

"We're not always like this, y'know," Kit said.

Templar did not react at first, but he finally granted a modicum of attention to the overweight African-American salesman and said, "Eh? What was that?"

"I was just sayin' that we're not always like this. The fighting and drunkenness and partying, y'know? That's not what Vanguard International is about. I don't want you as the newest member to get the wrong impression of our little organization or anything, y'know? It's just that, when the guys and girls in the team have a bit of downtime after a major episode like the Mandelovia case or the metahuman battle in Antarctica, they really go all out. It's like they're letting off steam and such. But it's not the way they act all the time, especially during a mission. Well, maybe sometimes they're not exactly the most professional team in the world," Kit Piper paused as he thought about the problems he had recently trying to convince the President of La Perdita not to extradite Grimm to the International War Crimes Tribunal in the Hague made famous by the ongoing fiasco of the Slobodan Milosevic inquiry and shook his head, "but... well, most times they get the job done in the end. Or at least they do their best."

Kit Piper finished speaking and looked at Mason Templar, who still wore an amused expression on his face and said nothing for a few moments, prompting Kit to think, Man, this guy must think we're a bunch of jerk-offs or something.

Finally Templar smiled and said to Kit, "I can assure you, Mr. Piper, that I had your organisation fully investigated before I first employed your services, and certainly before I took up my current status of employment within this company. And while I hold my own reservations about the team's actual effectiveness, I am confident that Vanguard International holds a much greater potential for effective change for the better in the world than any other organisation I could have joined. I do hope we get down to business soon, though. While I am not particularly averse to drunken spectacles such as this one, having participated in several in my time, I would like to see exactly how Vanguard operates with its current lineup of members.

"And truth be told, Mr. Piper, I am not a patient man. I joined Vanguard International because this organisation held out the promise of constant adventure an old battleaxe such as myself constantly craves. However, I have begun to wonder whether I was not better off working as a full-time freelance agent for museums from around the world than being a member of Vanguard International. Tell me, Mr. Piper -- are there any such adventurous missions on the horizon for Vanguard, or shall I take my leave of this team for the nonce?"

Kit Piper looked somewhat chagrined and scratched his balding head nervously. "Uh... well, we're workin' on it, Mason. Don't worry about that. I have a feeling we'll be back in action come the new year. Yessir, I think 2004 is the year of Vanguard International."

"Indeed? I do hope you're right, Mr. Piper. This infantile behaviour is excruciatingly uninteresting in large quantities."

"Right..."

Post deleted by The Time Trust

Nadia's frantic breath panted against the granite wall, even as the pinprick of steel bit lightly against the back of her sweaty neck. She stood sprawled, her body flat against the cool stone, only her heaving lungs still moving.

Jackie was in a similiar position, except she was back-flat against the ground. She, too, merely panted from exhaustion, sweaty locks of gold matted with perspiration against her forehead. However, the pinprick of pain holding her in place, rested exactly one centimeter below her esophagus.

"....now that I have your attention...." the cold, precise voice of Victoria Xiang stated to the two women. The encircling crowd of onlookers turned to see Vanguard's President coming down the stairs.

Nuriko stood frozen in an ancient defensive stance, silently. Her right arm stretched completely out, the noble warrior held the tip-edge of one of her kantana swords against the soft, vulnerable base of Nadia's spinal cord. Her left arm stretched below her, the sharp edge of her other sword holding Jackie flat against the ground. She stood motionless herself, her eyes swinging back and forth, watching her two prisoners.

Victoria came to a stop in front of them, eyeing the situation with a stone expression. After a moment, her head nodded ever-so-slightly, Nuriko immediately withdrawing the weapons, and stepping away.

Jackie scrambled to her feet, even as Nadia turned around, rubbing the back of her neck. The two women stood there in silence, their expressions of anger obvious.

"You will cease and desist with this spectacle immediately...." Miss Xiang hissed with a fiery calmness. "....you are both employees of Vanguard, International, and I will not tolerate this level of unprofessionalism from my employees...do I make myself clear...?"

After a moment, both women begrudgingly nodded, not making eye-contact with each other.

Victoria turned towards the crowd with a smile.

"What would a party be without a bit of free entertainment, eh?" she announced, everyone beginning to laugh.

The music cued back up, and the room came alive again with conversation and activity.

Miss X approached the stairs, passing an observing Nuriko.

"...watch them..." she murmured to her confidante, heading upstairs to her office.

Nuriko merely nodded once. She watched as Nadia continued on her way with Grissom Montag, giving Jackie a last glare. Jackie merely flipped her off.

Meanwhile, the party continued in full swing....

"Dude, let's blow this place..." the young teenager said, leaning against the buffet table.

His friend shrugged, both men setting their beer down.

"Yeah...okay...." the auburn teen replied. "....looks like the good part's over with anyway..."

They began making their way through the crowd, headed for the front door.

"...I'm telling you man, when they came rolling into the room like that...swear to god I thought it was some kind of theater-thing..." the first one said, half-staggering a bit from the light intoxication.

The other one, not quite as drunk...but twice as bored...simply shrugged again.

"...I mean...do women do that kind of shit? You know? Do they? I always thought it was some kind of myth that they had pillow fights in their panties, and everything.....oh, wait....they weren't wearing panties were they? Still....in my mind they were...."

The bored teen suddenly came to a stop, even as the other one kept walking, babbling on and on. He bent over, noticing something on the floor...

"...hell, let's be honest....in my mind they were fucking butt-naked...{hic}..."

And even as he continued to talk, he didn't notice his friend stand back up again, holding a tiny object up closer to his eyes.

"...cool..." he said, eyeing the lone naval-ring.

"Come on! I've gotta piss'..." his friend waved from the front door.

"What the hell do you need me for then...?!" the teenager said, pocketing the naval-ring, as the two men left the party.

Jackie shrugged, swearing at the address of Nadia, and then walked steadily toward the terrace.

"Euro!" she said, at the sight of the Italian meta.

"Jackie!" he responded, seeing the woman arriving. The two walked toward a secluded part of the terrace, far from the crowd and the music.

"Quite a show you gave" began Euro, but the woman silenced him jokingly putting her index finger on his mouth.

"Drake said to me that you recovered from the... possession. Is that true, Ed?"

"Well, Jackie, so it seems. And, in any case, Ladnikia has been broken by Grimm, and the demon exorcised back inside Nadia, as you have seen. But I have met... friends... that warned me that I have a lust for power that is innate, and not a result of the sword. And maybe that's true. I sorely miss the phasing power. The bullets, the punches... I don't know how would react to agreession if I had not the eagle instinct to drive me... Bah, I am tired and telling too words. Tell me about you, rather."

"Ah, there is not much... after what went on in New York, I left the planet with Crasher... she was beaten very badly by Marlin and Saros..."

"I know" whispered Edulcore, as a single tear ran down his face. "But you... are bleeding!"

The hands of Jackie went to her belly. "Oh, it's nothing... wait. My navel ring!" The woman eyes turned toward the room, full of people dancing. "Shit. It's nearly midnight, I have to go back home! Please, look for my navel ring, Euro. It should be under some furniture... when you'll find it, gave it to Myrrdin."

"But I don't know how to call on him!"

"It will be him to find you. Now I have really to go. Bye Euro.

"Bye, Cinderella!"

In a green glow, Jackie Monroe, Ameristar, left Vanguard for good.

Christmas and News Years passed with out as much of a whisper of danger. Neither petty crimes nor murder filled the news.

For most, it was a time of happiness and joy.

For most.

The Hospital.

For the last few weeks, the young man named Samuel Dawson has laid in a coma, dead to the world around him. His appearance was just as mysterious as his disappearance; having vanished into thin air months ago and randomly appearing comatose on the 14th floor of the Apartment Complex just a few short weeks ago.

Anna, his nurse, sits by his bed side.

“Sam,” her voice spoke his name with the sincerity of a best friend, “Don’t think that I forgot to get you a Christmas present. I’m sorry that it is late, but I have been busy to say the least.”

Anna kissed Sam on the cheek and exited. A moment later, Michelle Campbell entered, with a mix of sadness and joy, pleasure and pain. Michelle looked over Sam, for the first time seeing the scars that laid on half his face and down his chest. She gently felt them, gliding her hand down his face and stopping over his heart. Sitting next to the bed, Michelle couldn’t stop herself and hugged Sam with all of her soul. Slowly, she pulled away.

“I’m not even going to ask why you left. I don’t care, I’m just glad you are back.” Holding back tears, Michelle tried to tell Sam the words she couldn’t last year, “I was waiting for you. Finally, you were back and I wanted to tell you so badly how I felt, but I couldn’t. I was afraid. Then when I finally got the guts to, you had moved on, you… Were hiding something from me, afraid? Of what I’d think?” Michelle brushed back her hair, her tears began flowing, “I love you. Now and always… Now wake up, please. Let’s make things right. My life isn’t complete without my best friend, without you.”

Michelle gently kissed Sam on the lips. His expression turned peaceful, a happiness almost never seen in the young man.

“Always remember that I love you.”

With those last words, Michelle got up begin walking out of the room. Stopping herself, she took one last long look at Sam. Michelle smiled and left.

A long moment passed. A monitor next to Sam began lowly beeping. The beeping began getting louder and louder, until-

-Sam’s eyes snapped open and he shot up into a sitting position, “AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH~”

He breathed heavily and attempted to straighten his thoughts.

He whispered to himself, “…I need the MBL…”