Another Way Prologue Pt 4 (Patreon)

[A/N: the last bit of this has been revised with the assistance of a friend who is both a mother and a writer]

March, 2001

The intercom on Renick's desk buzzed. With a quick, nervous gesture – why am I nervous? I've been waiting for this day for more than eight months – he pressed the button. “Renick.”

“Sir, we just received word. She's five minutes out.”

“Thank you. Inform me when she arrives.”

“Yes, sir.”

He swallowed, but his throat remained dry as dust. Intellectually, he knew that he was at least adequate to the task of running the Brockton Bay branch of the PRT, but in his heart of hearts, he still considered himself an accountant, a subordinate. The loss of Director Jameson had landed him in the hot seat, and he'd been running like hell ever since, just to stay in the same place.

I never wanted the job. John would have done better. It was the constant refrain that had gone through his head, as he worked hard to keep his part of the PRT from falling prey to a never-ending series of escalating crises. In truth, had he allowed himself to admit it, he hadn't done that badly, but his perfectionist outlook only let him focus on the failures, rather than the victories, as small as they were.

And now they finally had his replacement here, they were bringing in the new Director. He'd ensured that his request to be relieved of the top position was renewed on a monthly basis; so long as there was nobody else, he'd do the job, but he didn't want it. Finally, someone had listened. Finally, he could go back to being the Deputy Director. Finally, his assistant could step back into her proper role, instead of filling in as his Deputy.

Finally.

Getting up from the desk, he crossed the room to where the ten-gallon hat hung on the hook beside the door. It had been hanging there when he first took over from John, and he had never had the heart to take it away. So long as it was there, John wasn't gone, not really. Once in a while, when pressed hard for answers, he had taken it down, put it on and tried to ask himself what John would have done. He wasn't at all sure that this had had any real effect on his thinking, but the solutions hadn't ended in total disaster, so he had kept doing it, knowing all the time that it was just a little silly.

He took it down now, and placed it on his head. It was a little large for him; John had been a big man, with a correspondingly large hat size. He didn't mind; it served to remind him how large the shoes were that he'd had to fill.

“Well, John,” he murmured. “She's here at last. I can finally step down. Thanks for all your help.”

His phone rang; hastily, he put the hat back on the hook and ducked back around the desk.

It was an update on the Empire Eighty-Eight crisis, following Allfather's death. Paul had a certain amount of sympathy toward Kaiser; the rumour was that Allfather had actually been Kaiser's real father, and losing a parent was always a blow. But the Empire Eighty-Eight, under Allfather, had killed Renick's boss and mentor, so he wasn't totally broken up by the event. In any case, he did wish that Kaiser would express his grief in a somewhat less public fashion; so far, two minor gangs had been obliterated for the crime of attempting to move into Empire territory.

At that very moment, several of Galvanate's men were currently in a running battle with Empire Eighty-Eight capes, which had so far caused moderate property damage. The officer on site had been following Renick's directive of observing and containing the conflict, and keeping civilians out of the way. Houses could be rebuilt; people, not so much. Criticism had been levelled at him for not being more proactive, but he could not find it in himself to send men into harm's way for what he saw as no real benefit. There was that new 'containment foam' stuff, but he'd never had a chance to see it in action himself, and he was dubious about trusting his men's safety to something he didn't know about personally.

“Thank you, captain,” he told the officer. “Keep me apprised of any new developments.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hanging up the phone, he was just about to reach for the intercom when it buzzed.

“Renick.”

“Her vehicle just pulled in, sir.”

“Good. Bring her right up.”

“Will do, sir.”

It was almost time. Getting up, he paced across the office and back again, looking around in sudden agitation. There was no artwork, no ornamentation. He had not made any changes to the office. The coffee machine settings had been changed to his own preference – the thick, bitter brew that John had preferred tended to upset his stomach – but that was about it.

Quickly, he checked his hair; sometimes putting on the hat disturbed it. This time, it was fine. He took up a position in the middle of the carpet, facing the door, then changed his mind. I don't want her first impression of me to be someone who abandons his post. He'd read her dossier, of course; she was a soldier, who had gone through Ellisburg. It had made for grim reading. The military mind was a mystery to him, but he was fairly certain that this would not sit well with her.

Stepping back around his desk – not his for much longer, he reminded himself – he pulled out the chair, preparing to sit down. And then came the knock on the door. Straightening up again, he called out. “Enter!”

The office door opened, and Emily Piggot stepped inside.

<><>

Renick's first impression of her was that of a woman in pain. She was fit and strong, as far as he could tell, despite the toll that a serious injury and a stay in the hospital had taken on her. Her dark hair was still cut short; it had not had the opportunity to grow out since she had been wounded. Carefully, she moved forward, leaning heavily on a pair of walking canes; he could tell from the lines on her face how much moving hurt her, but he also had the very strong impression that she would die rather than give up the slightest bit of independence that she could manage.

“Ms Piggot,” he greeted her, moving around the desk and approaching her so that she didn't have to move too far to meet him. “It's a pleasure and an honour to meet you at last. Allow me to welcome you to Brockton Bay, and your office.”

Awkwardly, he paused, his hand out to shake hers, as he realised that both of her hands were occupied. But she shifted both canes to her left hand, and leaned on them as she held out her right.

“Director Renick,” she replied, her voice a little sharp. Her grip was strong, almost crushing his hand before she let him go. “I've heard much about you.”

She didn't elaborate on exactly what she'd heard, but he didn't pay much attention to the pleasantry. From what he understood, she had been in combat ops, and this was her first desk posting. As an officer, she would have had a certain amount of paperwork to deal with, but as Director, that amount would become exponentially larger.

“I won't be Director after today,” he pointed out. “I have the papers ready to sign on your desk. I'll be giving you all the assistance I can, to help you ease into the job, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed, but the glance she shot him was curious rather than hostile. “You seem remarkably eager for someone who's being demoted.”

“I, uh, never wanted the job, ma'am,” he explained. “I was stuck with it after Director Jameson was killed in gang violence. I'll give you all the help I can, but I don't want that job.”

“Hm.” Her eyes creased, and she gave him an appraising stare. “I'm not totally sure that I want it yet either, but we shall see.” Moving around the desk, she sat down carefully, then leaned the canes against the filing cabinet behind her. He stood toward the side of the desk and cleared his throat; she looked enquiringly toward him.

“The, uh, top left drawer has ongoing situations in a folder. Also, daily passwords, the combination to the wall safe, and so on. I presume that you will be changing those as soon as you see the need. We have a locksmith that we call on.” Aware that he was starting to wander, he reined himself in. “There's also a list of duty officers, a roster of all the men, and a plan of the building.”

“Thank you, Mr Renick.” Her voice was dry, but she opened the drawer anyway and lifted out the folder. Then she opened each of the other drawers in succession. “Well, you keep a neat desk at least. I approve.”

“Uh, thank you, ma'am.”

He had left a pen next to the papers on the desk for her; picking it up, she began reading through the documents, signing each one at the bottom. Leaning over the desk, he used his own pen to countersign where necessary; with each scribbled signature, a little more of the weight lifted from his shoulders.

There was almost complete silence in the office, aside from the sound of pen on paper. He was aware of a simmering anger in her, hard and sharp, pushing her every action. She was used to being strong, capable, able to take action herself; being relegated to a desk job had to be rankling at her.

The phone rang. She glanced at him; he glanced at her. She was Director now, legally, but she had literally only just now sat down at the desk. He still knew far more about what was going on in the city. Who answers it?

“Put it on speaker,” she ordered.

Reaching out, he did so; she watched every move that he did.

“Renick,” he stated out loud.

“Ah, yes, sir, this is Captain Landon. You told me to apprise you of any developments.”

“Yes, Captain, I recall. What's happening?” At the same time, he flicked open the situation folder and tapped the notes that he had made on the Empire/Galvanate cape battle. She took them up and began skimming them immediately.

“They're approaching the Fulton Street shopping mall, sir. We're having trouble getting everyone out in time.”

Renick tried to think, to work out how to deal with this. “Uh, can you use vehicles to barricade the street, slow them -”

Piggot spoke up, overriding him. “Never mind that. Captain Landon. This is Director Emily Piggot. I've just taken over from Deputy Director Renick.”

“Uh, can I have confirmation of that from Director, uh Deputy Director Renick, please?”

“I'm confirming it, Captain Landon.” Renick's voice was firm. “Authenticating Delta Bravo Delta.”

“Uh, thank you, sir. Ma'am, your orders?”

“One question.” There was the snap of command in Piggot's voice. “Do you have containment foam?”

“Uh, yes, ma'am, but we don't have much training in deploying it.”

“That's fine. I'll talk you through it. Now, here's what you're going to do … “

As Renick stood there, she rattled off orders. She didn't know, couldn't know, exactly what was going on there, but she had plans, strategies which she had obviously put to use before now. She was sharp, she was tactically aware, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

He felt that he should maybe have been more hurt at the sound of relief in Landon's voice as Emily Piggot took charge of the situation; he had been out of his depth, but the PRT troopers had understood this and made allowances. With her, Landon's responses were crisper, more in tune with her way of thinking.

This is what they needed from me. I didn't know how to do it.

As it went on, he went over to the coffee machine and fetched a cup for himself, and one for her. It was about all he was good for in this situation. She took the cup absently and sipped at it as she continued to manage the situation. Finally, however, she exchanged a last few words with Landon, and ended the call.

"Does this sort of thing happen every day?"

"Well, not every day," he admitted. "But it's not uncommon for something like it to happen once or twice a week. Although it's been a lot quieter since the Teeth were pushed out of town, and Marquis left. Allfather's death affected the Empire quite a bit, but they're rallying around Kaiser now. Galvanate's been trying to capitalise on this, but I think he left his run a little late.”"

"Mm. Good analysis." She glanced through the rest of the folder, then closed it, lacing her fingers over the top of it. "I've already been briefed-in on the Brockton Bay situation and how you've been handling it, and I've got just one question."

He swallowed, suddenly nervous. Here it comes. "Uh, yes?"

Her steel-grey eyes were suddenly intense. "Mr Renick, are you a cape sympathiser?"

<><>

This was not the question that he had been expecting. "Uh, beg pardon, ma'am?"

"It's not a difficult question." He heard an edge in her voice that had not been there before. "Do you favour capes over normals? Do you think they're better than us, that the rules don't apply to them?"

"No, of course not," he protested. "The law applies to everyone equally."

"Your actions don't seem to bear that out." Her voice was grim. "There are many instances where pressing a little harder would probably have resulted in the capture of a cape, but you never pushed that hard. Why?"

"Ma'am, I'm not an aggressive man. I'm not a soldier. Or even a police officer. I don't know how to think like one. I'm a bureaucrat. An accountant. What I'm good at is numbers. And I don't see the benefit in getting our men hurt or killed for the potential capture of a cape who'll be out again all too soon anyway."

"What I'm hearing is excuses, Renick. Defeatism. Have you just been standing back and letting them run rough-shod over the city?"

"No, ma'am." Now he was on more sturdy ground. "I've been concentrating our efforts on minimising loss of life. Making sure that civilians aren't in the line of fire, and doing my best to keep the troops out of it as well."

"And sending a clear message to the capes in the city. All they have to do is not threaten citizens, and the PRT won't bother them."

He flinched at the scathing tone of her voice. "I know it's not an ideal solution, ma'am. I knew it then. But ..." He trailed off, not sure what to say next.

For a moment, it seemed as though Piggot was going to continue castigating him; instead, she frowned. "But what?"

"But ..." He searched for words. "What you did? Just now? I don't know how to do that. I don't know what to authorise, what to hold back on. I know the city, the gangs. I know how everything fits together. What I don't know is what to do about it. So I was just trying to ... keep people safe."

To his surprise, she nodded. "Holding action. You were fighting a holding action. Until the cavalry came over the hill."

"I ... if you say so, ma'am."

"And all you want to do is be the Deputy Director."

"Yes, ma'am. I can do that."

Another nod. "Well, Mr Renick, you can relax now." Something that may have been the ghost of a smile. "The cavalry's arrived. The capes of Brockton Bay are about to learn that there's a line, and if they step over it, I will come down on them like a ton of bricks.”

“They, uh, they might not be too happy about that, ma'am.”

“Well, I'm not too happy about how it is right now. And I care more about my happiness than theirs, so they're just going to have to suck it up.” She gave him a dry look. “Relax. You're out of the firing line now.”

"Thank you, ma'am. Will there be anything else?"

"No, Mr Renick. You can go. But don't stray too far from your phone. I'll probably have questions."

"Of course, ma'am."

He was almost to the door when her voice snapped out. "Renick."

Stopping, he turned. "Yes, ma'am?"

She pointed. "Don't forget your hat."

Involuntarily, he glanced at the ten-gallon hanging on the wall. "Oh, uh, that's not my hat."

"Well, whose is it then?" Impatience coloured her tone.

"It belonged to Director Jameson. He bought it as a sort of joke when we were transferred here. When he died, I left it there. Sort of an inspiration. 'What would John do?'"

She snorted. "Well, you can take it with you." Unspoken were the words I don't need it.

"Yes, ma'am." Lifting the hat from its hook, he tucked it under his arm. "Ma'am?"

Lifting her gaze from the paperwork on the desk, she looked at him. "Yes, Mr Renick?"

"It's good to have you here."

The ghost of a smile crossed her lips once more. "Well, it looks like I got here just in time. Dismissed."

Taking that as his cue to leave, he closed the door carefully behind himself.

<><>

Two Weeks Later

“So, are the Wards behaving?”

Renick looked up at Piggot's question, using the excuse of a mouthful of sandwich to consider his answer. Ever since she had succeeded him in his post, she had indeed had 'a few questions' for him at least once a day since then. However, she never needed telling anything twice, and she demonstrated a talent for the job that he envied. They had fallen into the habit of lunching at the same table in the cafeteria, where problems or ideas could be aired between them. It wasn't quite the camaraderie that he'd had with John, but they were definitely working well together.

The Wards had originally been intended to be housed on the oil rig platform that had been moved into the Bay, torn almost to its component parts, then rebuilt from scratch. However, this was turning out to be less than ideal for more than one reason, so they had been relocated into the sub-basement of the PRT building. Director Piggot had put Renick in charge of them, and he had accepted the responsibility with good grace. The youngsters had rather taken to him, which had improved his morale somewhat.

“Well,” he answered after chewing and swallowing, “they've been a bit of a handful since Armsmaster graduated, but they're adjusting. Miss Militia drops in to talk to them every now and again; she tells me that she remembers all too well what it was like to be young and have strange powers for the first time. Mind you, Mouse Protector also drops in, which raises morale but doesn't do much for their behaviour.”

“You like them, don't you?”

He raised an eyebrow at her tone, but he was getting to know her moods; she was displeased at something, but that something wasn't him.

“Yes, ma'am, I like them. They're good kids. I think some of them are destined for greatness.” He paused. “May I ask … ?”

“Yes?” Her tone was prickly, uninviting, but she didn't forbid him to ask.

“Why don't you like capes? I mean, I know that some of the villains are pretty bad, but there are some worthwhile heroes out there as well.”

Her lips thinned. “Deputy Director Renick.”

The shift from informality caught him by surprise, but he rolled with it. “Ma'am?”

“What I'm about to tell you goes no farther than this table.”

“Of course, ma'am.”

“You've read my dossier.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

“I have, yes, ma'am.”

“You know where I got my injuries.” She did not mention the name of the town.

“Yes, ma'am.” Nor did he. She's going to tell me that Nilbog's a cape and that's why she hates them.

“There were capes assigned to us as support.” Her voice was low, deadly. “Heroes. They cut and ran. Left us to die.”

Taken aback, he blinked. “Christ.”

“Precisely. As far as I'm concerned, capes are overgrown children who have been given access to automatic weapons that we can't take away from them. I will manage them. I will allocate funds for their base, their training and their costumes. I will even say nice things about them on TV. But I will never, ever, trust them with my life. Or anything else important.”

“Even the heroes?”

“Especially the heroes.” Venom still dripped from her voice. “I already know not to trust the villains.”

“I … I see.” And he did see; he saw the reason for the anger within her, the attitudes. The revelation explained much. “Uh, what was it like?” Ellisburg.

Very slightly, she shook her head. “The answer to that question is above your pay grade.” Her tone lightened for a moment. “One day, when medical science figures how to replace my kidneys, you and I will get very drunk together, and I'll tell you everything. But until that day, no.”

He tilted his head. “Talking about your kidneys; surely you could get a Tinker to build you replacements. Even Armsmaster; he's still young, but he's built some very impressive things already. He's good at compressing a lot of utility into a small space.”

“No.” Jaw set, she shook her head again, this time more vigorously. “I told you, I don't trust capes. And Tinkers generally have to maintain their products. Which means that he'd have to open me up again on a regular occasion to keep my kidneys in working order. I'll stick with haemodialysis, thank you.”

“And even if there was a healer who could do it -”

“There's at least two that I know of,” she interrupted him. “Eidolon and Scion. But I wouldn't trust either of them as far as I could throw them. Even if I could get Scion to listen to me.”

“Hm. Okay.” He stirred his coffee. “I can't blame you, not really. Not after that.”

“Which reminds me,” she noted. “I need you to tell me what really happened with the Brockton Bay Brigade and Marquis.”

He paused. “You've found the file.”

She nodded. “I found the file.”

After another moment of hesitation, he spoke. “Can we take this to your office?”

“Certainly.” She rose to her feet; he had already noted that she was only using one cane now. Pretty soon she'll be walking without them. I wish I had her drive.

Of course, what she'd gone through to get that drive, he wouldn't wish on anyone.

<><>

Back in her office, she opened the wall safe – Renick could tell just from the movements that she'd had the combination changed, although he didn't try to tell what it was – and dropped a folder on the desk. “Imagine my surprise when I found that you had a complete dossier on the Brockton Bay Brigade, including secret identities. Plus a note that you were observing them, had them on warning for irresponsible actions.”

“That's true,” he confirmed. “I let them know that their activities will be scrutinised.”

“But why?” she asked. “All I found in the folder about why they were under scrutiny was a note saying to ask you.”

“Give me a moment,” he advised her, and went back to his own office. There, he opened his own wall safe and extracted a somewhat thicker file. Closing the safe, he conveyed the file back to Piggot, who was now seated in her chair. “This is why,” he told her, dropping it on her desk.

“Why was this in your safe, and not in mine?” she asked, opening the folder.

“Because I knew you would be too busy dealing with the villains, and didn't need to worry about this at the moment. But when you wanted to know, I could get it for you. Thus, the note.”

“Hm.” She began to read; Renick grabbed a chair and sat. He observed her expression, the growing anger, as she perused the file. Finally, she closed the file and slapped her hand down on it. “What the hell is this, Renick?”

“That's the story of what happened, as closely as we could determine,” Paul explained. “Forensics techs went through the house with a fine tooth comb and discovered the evidence of a child being on site both before and after the fact, and reconstructed the earlier events. Which begs the question.”

“What, why would they start a fight with a child present?”

“I'm presuming that the child wasn't in the room when the fight began. No, the question is even more basic. Why didn't they tell me she was there at all? Any sort of description or even an approximate age would've given our people in Boston a huge head start in locating Marquis before he managed to go to ground.” He shook his head. “She's mentioned in the letter, but from the way they never touched on the topic, I assumed at the time that she'd been offsite during the battle.” A grimace settled on his face. “I'm good with numbers, not people.”

“Hm. I see your point. Okay, so let's run through it. Marquis is on site, and the Brigade enters.” Piggot flipped through pages. “They attack, he defends. Blood on the floor is a match for Flashbang and Lightstar. Neither wound is mortal, however. All members of the Brigade are alive and well today.”

“Then at some point,” Paul went on, “at his request, they move outside. Their reason for this was vague at the time, and now I think I know why.”

“The girl came into the picture,” Emily stated.

“Precisely.” Paul nodded. “However, instead of backing off altogether, they choose to continue the fight outside. He trounces them anyway. They retreat in confusion.”

“Finally, they return, three days later.” Piggot picked up the narrative, skimming pages. “Marquis has packed up his household and left for Boston, leaving a taunting note for Brandish. He also leaves behind a closed-circuit camera system and an advanced silent alarm system, directing alerts toward the police station. They start looking around the house, the police arrive and arrest them.”

Renick nodded. “As soon as I got word, I claimed jurisdiction on behalf of the PRT.”

“Well, good," the Director decided. “What puzzles me is, why are they still walking free? Quite apart from the second situation, where they broke into the house of a person they knew to be a supervillain.” She eyed Renick. “You've already assured me that you share no partiality toward capes, and I believe you. So … why?”

Renick leaned back in his chair and sighed gustily. “Because I spoke to them, and put them on notice, before the forensic techs told me that the girl had been in the house during the battle. And that all of the evidence pointed toward them being aware of her presence, at least on the second go-around,” he confessed. “I'd told them that they were free and clear so long as they kept their noses clean, and I didn't want to go back on that.” He paused. “In any case, I'm strongly inclined to believe that they didn't know that she was there before the fight started. The first fight, anyway.”

“It was their responsibility to find out,” noted Piggot. “That's endangering a minor. Adding to the charges of withholding evidence, breaking and entering, and so on. Those other ones don't mean much in the grand scheme of things, especially when it comes to supervillains; on the other hand, putting a child in danger is a really big thing.”

“Worse,” Renick reminded her. “They came back. As far as they were aware, the child would still be there. Also, they didn't tell me about her at any time. And they didn't inform the authorities about the fact of the fight or of the child in the three days between the first incident and the second.” He rubbed his forehead. “Had I known what they knew, I would've gone a lot more harshly on them. Especially since they tried to conceal from me the fact that she'd been there at all, and whatever they did to endanger her during the first fight.”

“Do they know that you know?” Piggot's voice was firm.

“No, ma'am. I haven't spoken to them since their interview in this office. They haven't tried going to Boston yet.”

“Good.” Her smile was sharp-edged. “I think I want to talk to them.”

<><>

A Few Days Later

When the six members of the Brockton Bay Brigade filed into Director Piggot's office, they found the new Director sitting behind her desk. Standing alongside it, hands clasped behind his back, was Paul Renick. Also in the room were four PRT soldiers.

"Good afternoon," the Director greeted them. She did not rise. "Don't bother sitting down. This won't take long."

“What's that supposed to mean?” asked Brandish.

“Exactly what I meant it to,” Piggot replied flatly. “Manpower, Flashbang, Lightstar, I'm glad to see that you've recovered from your wounds.”

Lady Photon stepped forward from the group. “Director Piggot, you phoned me at home to request that we attend this meeting. From this, I presume that Deputy Director Renick has shared certain information with you.”

“You could presume that, yes,” Piggot agreed. “As you know, I'm new on the scene. I asked you to come here to answer me a few questions about that particular series of events. Fill in the blanks, as it were.”

“Is this supposed to be an interrogation?” asked Brandish sharply.

“No, it's a friendly conversation,” Piggot told her. “It can become an interrogation if you want. Right now, I have questions to ask of you. I would like you to answer them, please.”

“And if we exercised our rights and walked out of here?” Brandish's tone was aggressive. Flashbang placed his hand on her shoulder; she relaxed her stance slightly.

“Then you would be allowed to leave,” Piggot told her. “Of course, then you wouldn't know what I wanted to ask questions about. And you would lose any trust that we have in you.”

“For god's sake, shut up,” muttered Manpower. Aloud, he continued. “What are these questions?”

“Thank you.” Picking up a sheet of paper from her desk, Piggot looked over it at Lady Photon. “How much investigation did you do before invading the house presumed to belong to Marquis?”

Brandish went to step forward, but Lady Photon nudged her back. “We, uh, got information on Marquis' identity. Checked out photos; it was the same man, as far as we could tell. Used that to find his house, went in, and it was him.”

“I see.” Piggot's eyes flicked to the paper for an instant, then she asked the next question. “So you didn't know that there was a child in the house?”

Renick saw the reaction spread through the group at the word 'child'. The level of tension in the room rose just a little.

Lady Photon cleared her throat. “No. We did not know.”

Piggot's voice was relentless. “If you had known, would you have gone in?”

Lady Photon's eyes flicked from side to side as she saw the trap. Brandish stepped forward, this time unopposed. “This is an interrogation. If you're going to ask leading questions, at least have the decency to read us our rights.”

The Director's eyes flicked to Brandish. “It's not a difficult question. If you had known that Marquis had a child, would you have entered the house and started a fight?”

She clenched her fists, but answered. “We would have secured her before any fight started, so that she wouldn't get hurt. But -”

“So, you would have kidnapped a supervillain's daughter and held her against her will,” mused Director Piggot. “Interesting. Of course, as you didn't, I can't hold that against you. However, I presume that was your intent when you came back to the house.” Her gaze flicked to Lady Photon. “The broken window in the girl's bedroom, with the glass on the inside. Laser holes in the wallpaper opposite. That was you? You were the one designated to 'secure' her?” She paused. “This isn't an interrogation. You won't be arrested for answering.”

Lady Photon hesitated, then nodded sharply. Her lips pressed tightly together, she refused to speak.

“So now we come to the more interesting questions,” Piggot went on. “Specifically, why you failed to inform my predecessor, Deputy Director Renick, that the girl was there at the time. Now, why is that?”

Silence greeted the question. She searched out one member of the Brockton Bay Brigade after another, and each of them looked aside, apart from Brandish, who stared back defiantly.

“You do realise,” Piggot stated quietly, “that by withholding that information, you were making it much harder for the PRT in Boston to locate and apprehend Marquis. If they were looking for a man alone, then a man with a young girl would've escaped notice altogether. A complete description would be very useful, and may go a little way toward redeeming you for your actions.”

“She's six, but looks younger,” Brandish admitted. “She has Marquis' hair, long and brown and a little frizzy. Her name … “ She paused, for what reason Renick could not understand. “Her name is Amelia.”

“Very well,” stated Director Piggot, her pen busy. She looked up at the group, and although she was at a lower level than them, it was her personality that dominated the room. “You do realise how badly you've screwed up here. Endangering a minor, seeking to kidnap said minor, concealing vital information from law enforcement agencies. And, of course, getting caught.”

She shook her head. “By rights, I should be bringing charges against the lot of you. Normally, I would not hesitate to do so. But my predecessor gave you a second chance, albeit without full knowledge of what you had done; going back on that would send the wrong message. I could force you to dissolve the Brockton Bay Brigade, require you to serve a year in the Protectorate, on different teams across the country, so that you learn about following the law all the time, not just when it suited you.”

Silence reigned in the office as she laid the pen down; the tiny clack was audible to all.

“But I won't do any of that,” she decided at last. “You're superheroes; not that this cuts much ice with me, but you at least try to do the right thing. Most of the time, anyway, as the Deputy Director assures me. Furthermore, you have young children, and I would not punish them for your crimes. So this is what's going to happen.”

She stood then, pressing her hands against the desk for support. “You will attend a PRT therapy session at least once a week, each of you. The more often the better, given what's at stake.”

She drew a breath to go on, but Brandish interrupted her. “What could possibly be at stake?” She put her hands on her hips. “I'm sorry, but state-mandated therapy just doesn't sit right with me.”

Piggot raised her eyebrows. “Would you prefer to lose the right to train your children, once they trigger?”

Silence fell on the room for just a few seconds; Brandish's face grew red. She opened her mouth to reply, but Manpower interposed his huge hand, covering most of her face in the process and pulling her back against his broad chest. She struggled for a moment, but his strength was the greater. Leaning down next to her ear, he stated flatly, “Button it, Carol. We've got two kids to your one. Sarah and I have twice as much to lose, here.”

Brandish's eyes darted around the room, alighting on Flashbang, who grimaced but did not step forward to assist her. A very slight shrug indicated that he was in agreement with Manpower. Drawing in air through her nostrils, she glared at Piggot one more time, but then subsided.

Lady Photon glanced at her, then turned back to the Director. “Very well,” she began carefully, “what do you mean by losing the the right to train our children?”

Piggot lowered herself carefully into her chair. "Mr Renick, if you please?"

Renick cleared his throat and stepped forward. “It's clear from recent events that some or all of you have issues. Issues that get in the way of your being responsible superheroes; issues that need to be dealt with.” He glanced at Brandish, still held immobile by Manpower; she glowered back. “Some more serious than others.” Clasping his hands behind his back to conceal the tremble in his fingers, he went on. “Those issues need to be dealt with before your children trigger.”

Fleur spoke up. “And if we fail to deal with our issues in time?” The others looked at her, and she shrugged. “Hey, Lightstar and I might end up having kids of our own.”

Renick tried for a reasonable tone. “If your issues aren't dealt with, we cannot in all conscience accept any level of training that you might give them to be adequate to the task of readying them to be superheroes in their own right. In short, before they're allowed to go out and be heroes, we will require them to be trained to a more responsible standard than you yourselves are currently demonstrating."

"So what does this mean? For us and the kids?" That was Manpower.

"It means that, should you fail to meet that certain standard via independent assessment, your children will be required to train with the Wards under my direction, and pass said training, before they're legally allowed to use their powers in public.” He tilted his head. “So, as you can see, it's in your best interests to give the therapy a fair chance.” Unclasping his hands, he held them out, turning them palm upward. “This way, everybody wins.”

“But if we do get our heads on straight,” Lady Photon replied cautiously, “it's all good?”

Renick stepped back, and glanced at Piggot; she nodded briefly. “We'll have no reason to interfere. Do your jobs, and we won't have to.” She leaned forward. “Just remember; you are still on notice.I do not want this happening again. Is that perfectly understood?”

Manpower, at Piggot's nod, ungagged Brandish; the woman did not look in the slightest bit thrilled, but she nodded reluctantly, as did the rest of them.

“Good." Her tone was dismissive. "Now get out of my sight.”

Brandish led the way to the door; Lady Photon hung back. Piggot eyed her. “Was there something else?”

“We will get a fair chance with this therapy?” pressed the superhero.

“So long as you don't screw up in some other way, yes.” Piggot met her eyes. “You're superheroes. Act like it.”

Lady Photon nodded. “We'll do better.” Turning, she left the room. The door closed behind her.

Renick waited a long moment, then exhaled. “Hmm,” he commented quietly. “I think that went well.”

Piggot's expression hadn't changed. “It's a start.” 

Part 1