Story the second

[maderr]

Because Cookie loves me and is letting me post this ^__________^

For those that liked the utterly st00pid hero!verse (what little of it was present) in Dixie's story, this is the one that sets the verse up, and relates how Byron and Leland met. And now I have to think about what to do with Farris. Cookie, what exactly did you have in mind for him?

Be My Hero

"Shut up," Minder said quietly.

The criminals, oddly enough, shut up.

"That's more like it." He stood over them, arms crossed across his slender chest, watching as they fidgeted and wrestled to get free. "Hold still or I'll make you."

The three men stopped moving, except to cringe as sirens filled the still night air.

"That's my cue to depart," Minder said, his voice ever quiet, flat, unremarkable…but still authoritative. "Have a good night in lockup." With a thought, he tightened the ropes with which he'd bound the three robbers. Another thought woke the woman they'd accosted when they broke into her home.

He didn't bother to wake the dogs they'd tranquilized. It was nice not to hear them barking their fool heads off for once. Fat lot of good all that training had done the vicious rottweilers. But old lady Delmond was safe, that's what mattered.

In complete silence he made his way back home, weaving and winding in a random pattern that made the ten-minute walk home an hour-long journey.

The house was dark when he arrived, as it had been when he left. There was no need for light; he knew the location of every last object in the house and yard. His heavy boots scraped against the concrete sidewalk as he approached his front door. By day it was a faded forest green but at night it was as black as everything else.

Except for the small white envelope taped to it.

The Minder frowned, instantly alert. His mind rippled as he activated his telekinesis, preparing for an attack he had not expected.

Seriously. Since when had anyone actually given two shits about him?

Cautiously he pulled it off the door, scotch tape resisting for only a moment. Pulling the tape off, he examined the envelope. Plain, white, but of good stock. Really good stock; it felt more like fabric than paper. It was small, only a few inches wide - the size of the thank you cards you could get for a couple of bucks in the general stores. Shrugging, he flipped it open and pulled out the card.

It too was plain, except for the image of a heart broken into three pieces. It looked black in the moonlight, but Minder knew very well the heart was dark red.

Everyone knew that symbol.

He flipped the card open and read.


Mr. Devereux,

Or would you prefer I simply call you Minder? I require your services. As we are both awake with nothing to occupy our time, I see no reason you cannot come and discuss things with me immediately.

Unless, of course, you would like your identity known to the world on the morning news.

You have my address. I will expect you in no more than an hour's time.

Regards,
Valentine


Minder cursed.

*~*~*~*

"I'm here to see Mr. Valentine."

The butler bowed and motioned him inside. "Yes, he's been expecting you Mr. Devereux. Right this way, he is waiting in the grand library." Turning neatly on his heel, the butler walked with precise steps down the massive hallways and up a lavish, twisting staircase until at last they reached a set of large, double doors carved from oak. Pushing the rightmost door open, he stepped inside.

"Mr. Devereux to see you, sir."

"Thank you, Wainscot. Some brandy?"

"Of course, sir." Wainscot bowed and departed.

Valentine rose lazily from his desk, moving around it and approaching his guest with equally slow, lazy steps. "You really are the most unremarkable man, Leland Devereux." He gave Leland a slow perusal.

All black. Black hair pulled neatly back in a short braid, high collared black shirt, black jeans, black boots. Black facemask. From head to foot Minder was in black. And while such an outfit should have looked threatening, it did not. Instead, Minder simply looked unremarkable.

"Isn't the mask a bit absurd by this point?"

Leland shrugged and removed it, revealing blue eyes and a thin, handsome face – if it held some emotion he would be positively stunning. But he was expressionless, his eyes blank. It would be daunting, if Byron weren't used to such a careful lack of emotion. "What do you want? You can't honestly think you'll gain anything with such a silly threat."

"Then why did you come?" Valentine asked with a smirk. The sneering expression did not suit his face, which was aristocratic and pretty. Large, soft curls lay loose and lazy around his head, their dark mahogany color deep red in the firelight. But his green eyes were hard, adding an edge that was echoed in the smirk.

Another shrug. "As you said, I had nothing else to do." His voice and face remained blank, as if he were incapable of any emotion.

Valentine gave a short, low laugh. The door opened and he fell silent as Wainscot approached with two glasses of brandy. "Thank you, Wainscot. That will be all. Have a good night." The butler vanished. Valentine motioned to the brandy on his desk. "Would you like a drink?"

"Just get to your point, Valentine."

Valentine laughed again and sat down in an armchair by the fire. He motioned for Leland to sit and took a sip of brandy before speaking. "Please, call me Byron. No need to stand on formality as we're going to be comrades."

Leland remained silent, watching him.

Byron took another sip of brandy, examining Leland over the rim of it. "It's taken me six years to get to this point. You've no idea how excited I am to see you sitting here."

"Good for you," Leland said flatly.

"When I first determined what I would need to fulfill my goal, I went over list after list of superheroes and their data. Everything I could find, I obtained and learned. But with each possibility, problems cropped up that could not be overcome. Too many difficulties, traits that weren't quite right, powers that just weren't strong enough. I looked everywhere for a superhero who could do what I needed him to do."

"Surely there are others who make better blackmail material than I."

Byron wondered what made that level tone change. For his own mother, it had only ever been fear for her husband and children. "Oh, of course. It would shock you, some of the secrets I've learned. But ultimately I realized they were all too high profile. Too adored by the public and their allies. No matter what I did, they would have others to stand by them."

"Then I finally looked you up." Bryon took a swallow of brandy, enjoying the slow burn as he contemplated the quiet, stoic man before him. "Minder. A telekinetic of respectable ability about whom nothing else is known. No comrades, no allies, nothing. For some reason you only stick to small crimes, petty criminals and fresh lawbreakers. Not once have you ever gone after bigger game." He finished off his brandy and licked his lips. "Most other superheroes have taken to calling you the Babysitter, because you watch the "kiddies" causing trouble in the streets while they go after the "real" criminals."

Leland merely shrugged again. "Small problems left unattended will eventually become big problems."

"Most would say that's why we have the cops. What else are they good for? Men like you are meant for the bigger problems. I have been watching you for some time, and I noticed rather quickly that you are barely even tapping into your powers to take down the criminals you go after. You put forth almost no effort."

Leland remained silent and Bryon continued. "It took me a long time - three years actually - to figure out why you keep yourself so isolated, so alone, so low on the heroic ladder." He paused, and then a smile shaped his dark lips. "I learned your identity and started making notes. And learned not only are you alone in the world of heroes, you're alone in your day-to-day life. No friends, no real passing acquaintances. People smile when they see you, but forget you when you're gone. You are more of a shadow as Leland than you are as Minder."

"So what?"

"So…it made me curious. In you, I was finding everything I needed for my plan. And I do mean everything. Someone solitary who would not be immediately missed, someone the Grand Order would not immediately recognize…all I lacked was something with which to blackmail you."

"I have no one."

"Yes," Byron agreed. "You have no one. It struck me that perhaps you were too alone for it to be entirely natural. So I dug deeper, looked harder. By sheer chance I stumbled across an old article, and a girl that at first I thought was you."

He tried not to smile, seeing the way Leland's eyes widened almost imperceptibly - if he had not been watching the man so carefully, he would have missed the change in his expression. "Your name is Emory Waterstone. When you were sixteen, you killed your father and fled. My best surmise is that you became Leland a year or two later."

"A year and a half."

“Your sister is quite lovely by the way. Especially when she smiles. She seemed sad when I asked about the cute young man in an old photograph. It does seem rather cruel that you never speak to her." Byron stood and walked to his desk, picking up a manila folder and bringing it back to drop in Leland's lap. "You both take after your mother."

Leland looked stiffly through the photos, expression never changing. But Byron thought he saw his hand shake, ever so slightly, as he looked at the sister he had not seen for almost a decade. "What do you want?" he said at last, blue eyes cold and dull as he looked at Byron.

"The irony in all this is that we both are concerned for our sisters."

"Your sister is dead," Leland said. "Or did you forget that you were barely found not guilty of her murder?"

"Oh, I didn't forget." There was something dark in Byron's voice, an underlying menace. "The ones who set me up will be paying for it very shortly." He looked into the fire, and then turned back to Leland. "My sister isn't dead. She's a prisoner."

"A prisoner." Leland repeated, making it a statement and not a question.

"Yes. She was kidnapped eight years ago, and I've spent the rest of that time first formulating a plan and then finding someone to execute it - you."

"What plan?"

It was Byron's turn to sigh, looking into the fire. "You are going to kill my sister."

Leland blinked, the closest he'd gotten yet to showing emotion. "My impression was that you wanted her alive."

"I do. More than anything I would like to see her happy and healthy and whole. But she is no longer capable of being any of those, not with all that they've done to her."

Leland remained silent, waiting.

Byron looked almost idly at his hands. "My father had extraordinary strength. My mother was telepathic. When I was born, they were initially disappointed that I was completely ordinary - but later they said it was probably for the best. Then my sister was born, beautiful from the moment she took her first screaming breath. I was only eight but I thought her the most wonderful thing ever."

"For a very long time, it seemed as if she too did not possess any gifts. But as she grew older, and could express herself, we began to realize that nothing took her by surprise. She always knew what would happen next, what was coming." He looked at Leland, blue eyes dark. "My sister was precognitive, and quite powerful."

Leland regarded him in silence, and Byron some how could tell the man was thinking hard, considering his words. "Who took her?" he said at last.

"The DeVine Corporation, for something called Project Nostradomus. Not a very creative group, but they are apparently quite good at what they do. And what they're currently doing is turning my sister into a crystal ball."

"How do you know this?"

"One, money goes a long long away. If you didn't notice, I have too much of it. Two, I can hear my sister's pain. It is a connection that is all that remains of the bonds my mother wove between us. For whatever reason, it did not die with her." Bryon paused for a breath, eyes closed as he remembered his parents. "My sister is gone, I can tell that much. They broke her, made her all but a machine. She is in agony. I want you to kill her." He held up a hand as Leland started to speak. "I would do it myself if I could. But for various and sundry reasons, it is not possible. You have all that is required, in your telekinesis, to get into those labs and put an end to her suffering."

Leland shook his head. "There is no way my simple telekinesis could break into something as complicated as a DeVine complex."

"Simple telekinesis, no. But your powers are far more impressive than you let on."

"What makes you think that?" asked Leland.

Byron stood and crossed the small space between them. "Stand up?" he asked politely.

Leland shrugged and stood.

Bryon ran his hands up Leland's arms, across his shoulders and down his chest, then back up to run along his neck and over his face. Leland never moved, his breathing never changed. It was as though he could not feel a thing. "You can't feel me at all, can you? I doubt those few people who touch you ever notice they're not actually touching you; the wall is so well done. Do you ever take it down?" Byron watched in fascination as his hand glided back down Leland's arm. Only by watching carefully, and knowing what to watch for, could you tell that his hand was not actually touching Leland - there was a breath of space between his hand and Leland's sweater. A difference so slight none ever noticed it.

"Very rarely,” Leland said.

"So you spend every waking moment never touching anything?" Byron looked up into Leland's blank face. "You work so hard at isolation. Why?"

"That is none of your business."

Byron nodded and stepped away. "Of course. My apologies."

"Is that the only reason you think I'm stronger than I let on?"

"Well there is the fact that you literally destroyed your father's mind. It's the only reason no one ever thought you killed him - just ran away because you thought you'd killed him. Only your sister knows you did it, and she does not condemn you. Did you know that?"

Leland did not reply.

"It was most impressive, if a trifle macabre. Normally only telepaths can do such damage to a brain."

"Telepaths can destroy the brain from the inside, so to speak. I did it from the outside."

Byron nodded. "Well, it is what you will have to do to kill my sister. Because I do not want them to be capable of…harvesting her mind."

"And if I refuse? I have no desire to become a villain."

Byron smirked. "I also doubt you have any desire to see your sister harmed."

Leland's face remained blank. "To save my sister I must kill yours."

"Exactly."

"How very droll."

Byron mimicked Leland's shrug. "If a method works…"

"When do you require this murder committed?"

"Hopefully within a month or so. You will first have to learn the compound in which she's kept, as well as what you will be up against. It is a fool who goes in unprepared." Byron motioned to the pictures of Leland's sister. "Of course, if you succeed I will see to it that she never wants for anything in life ever again."

"How very gracious of you." Leland stood. "If that is all, I would like to go home."

Byron rose and motioned for him to follow as he headed for the study door. "That will not be necessary. I would prefer you stay on the premises, both to study and so I can better ensure you won't try something. Your room was prepared earlier today. If you do not like it, I'll have another prepared."

Leland eye shifted in a way that Byron suspected he had just barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes. "How very accommodating."

"I try not to shirk my duties as a host." Byron winked and led the way down a long, carpeted hallway lit only by a few intermittent lamps. He made two turns before finally stopping at the end of a smaller hallway and opening the oak door with a flourish.

The room was warm, in both temperature and atmosphere. Dark reds and golds were used to decorate it, accented with other warm shades that seemed to echo the fire in the hearth.

"Adequate?"

"Yes," Leland said.

"There are clothes in the wardrobe. I took the liberty of purchasing all you will need for the duration of your stay here. If there is anything more you require I will have Wainscot fetch it in the morning. Byron gave him a short bow. "If there is nothing further, I will bid you goodnight."

Leland didn't reply, merely waited until his 'host' had departed before wandering over to the window and looking out over a front lawn large enough to be a football field.

How had he wound up in this bizarre situation? He'd been hunting the usual reprobates and now he was being blackmailed into killing someone's sister?

And not just anyone; he was going to kill Byron Valentine's already dead sister.

He let his head fall to thump again the glass, made cold by the fall air outside. How had the man figured out who he was? He hadn't heard his real name in almost ten years, had worked hard to ensure it was never learned by another. All the years he'd spent alone, wasted. Endured for nothing.

Because starting tomorrow he had to prepare to walk straight into the arms of the enemy he'd been trying to avoid since before he'd killed his father. If only he could stop caring about Lena…but his big sister had loved him when his parents had loathed him. It hurt, even now, to think of her. To know he couldn't go back.

Not that it really mattered now. He'd spent more than a decade avoiding DeVine, and now he was going straight to them. Hopefully they wouldn't know who he was until too late.

Leland scrubbed at his face, feeling overwhelmed with weariness.

Byron had said something about clothes in the wardrobe - the man had gone shopping for him? - and so he wandered over to it. The furniture was an impressive set, done in dark gold oak and polished to a shine. Leaves had been carved into the wardrobe and bed around the edges, and the handles of the wardrobe were leaves as well. Pulling the doors open, Leland could only shake his head at the contents.

The clothes probably cost more than his entire house. He fumbled around for something to sleep in, shaking his head again as he came up with only silk.

Absurd.

But he wasn't sleeping in his jeans and sweater, so dark blue silk it was. Carrying the pajama pants with him, he headed for the door in the back of the room that, sure enough, led to a bathroom.

He turned on the shower, waiting until the room began to fill with steam to step inside. As the water hit him, he dropped his shield, quietly relishing the feel of the hot water against his skin. Slowly he unbraided his hair, shaking the heavy mass out to tumble just past his shoulders, heavier still as it absorbed water.

Forcefully he shut his mind down and focused only on soap and water so hot it nearly scalded, remaining in the shower until the water began to cool and he felt he was finally exhausted enough to go to sleep.

But some hours later, he was still tossing and turning, mind a mass of fatigue, worry, dread and confusion.

*~*~*~*

"Are you certain you slept well enough?" Byron asked with what sounded like genuine concern, except that Leland wasn't that gullible. "Was the room not to your liking?"

Leland just shrugged. "I'm fine. Where did you get all these blueprints and schematics?"

"I told you - money will buy just about anything." Byron smiled, and there was much bitterness in it. He continued. "It actually took a while to obtain these, because these blueprints are quite different from the ones publicly available. It's only because DeVine has so many people in its proverbial pockets that no one notices they use a lot more power than the facility should need. The underground labs," he pointed to a stack of a dozen or so sheets of blueprints. "Require as much power as a small city. How they divert that much power is something I want to look into, but right now it's not terribly relevant. What's really interesting is--"

He was interrupted by a knock on the study door, and moved to the balcony railing as Wainscot stepped into the study. The grand library was two stories, the second floor little more than a wide balcony and bookshelves, but at the center was a large worktable currently buried under building plans and schematics. "What is it, Wainscot?"

"Mr. Wachs insists on seeing you, sir. I told him you were not to be disturbed…"

Byron rolled his eyes. "They'll never learn, will they? Send him in, Wainscot. I will send him packing."

"Yes, sir."

Byron turned back to Leland, his smile cold. "Do you know Farris Wachs?"

Leland gave one of his shrugs. "He is the mayor's son."

"Yes, and he recently assumed his father's mantle."

"What?" Leland asked, face blank but tone confused.

Byron cold smile widened. "His father recently retired as the Prince. Though they both are still part of the Grand Order of Defenders, Jeffery is retired. His son is now the Prince."

"I see. How do you know this?"

"My parents and Jeffrey were close enough they knew each other's identities. He remains in contact, though I am ever trying to sever all connections with him and the Grand Order."

Leland began to ask another question, but the opening of the door prevented him. The man that entered behind Wachs could have stepped out of a fashion magazine. From his salon-blonde hair to the cashmere sweater and tight designer jeans, the diamond in his ear and the gold watch on his wrist, he was every inch the handsome model. Looking at him, it was hard to believe he fought deadly criminals in the name of justice.

To a degree, his flashy, spoiled appearance served just that purpose.

"Wachs. On whom or what should I blame your visit?"

Farris Wachs frowned, immediately annoyed. He glowered as Byron sauntered down the spiral staircase. "You've been ignoring our letters."

"Yes. Because I have no interest in their contents. I've been through this with each and every one of you." Byron stopped a few feet from Farris, eyes like green glass. "The Valentines have no interest in continuing the old relations."

"Your parents always gave us their full support."

Byron's eyes narrowed. "Yes, and what did you do when my parents died? Nothing. What did you do when my sister was killed and I stood accused of her murder? Nothing." His voice was frigid. "There are times, Wachs, when it is hard to tell the heroes from the criminals."

"I am no criminal!" Farris snapped. "You are the one whose actions are highly questionable these days. We are extending our hand in good faith. The fact that you continue to sneer at us does not work in your favor."

"You were not there when I needed you," Byron replied. "Every last hero shook his head sadly and said it was such a pity. No one ever asked me if I did it. No one spoke to me until it was safe to approach me. Now get out and tell the rest of them that I would sooner kill myself than ever resume our acquaintance."

Farris stood his ground, hazel eyes flashing in rage. "You speak as though we are the murderers."

"I am certainly no murderer. Given your line of work, you should know that what the court says goes."

"The courts can be wrong."

"Of course." Byron said with a sneer. "But of course no one could be wrong in my favor."

"We are offering you our friendship and protection."

Byron's expression turned cold. "You want my money. It must be difficult to manage without the generous donations my parents lavished upon you."

"We don't need your money."

Byron gave a cold laugh. "Sure you don't. Now if you don't mind, I've a guest you've forced me to neglect and I would like to get back to him."

"A guest?" Farris asked.

"You may go," Byron said. He looked toward the door as it opened. "Here is Wainscot to show you out. Have a good day."

"We're not finished talking, Valentine."

"I am." Byron said as he turned to walk back up the stairs.

Farris watched him with narrowed eyes, following Byron as he climbed the stairs and crossed back to the table Farris could just barely see.

And the man who was standing at the railing, watching them. The man wasn't familiar to him; he'd remember someone that striking. He was slender, almost too skinny. It wouldn't hurt him to put on a few pounds. Definitely one of Byron's fancier friends; even from a distance Farris could see the wealth in his gray slacks and dark blue sweater. But it was the sheer blankness of the man's expression that really drew the eye. He looked as though he were made from marble, handsome but cold. Nothing showed, not a single thought.

It was eerie. "Who's your friend?"

"None of your business." Byron moved to stand next to the stranger, sneering down at Farris.

They made a pretty picture, and Farris squashed a surge of jealousy. It was unlikely the man was anything more than a friend; Byron had made his disinterest in anything romantic perfectly - painfully - clear.

Farris still resented the man beside him on the balcony. "I'll come back later," he said, turning on his heel.

"Don't bother," Byron called after him. "I won't allow you on the premises."

Silence fell as the door closed behind him. Byron gave a soft sigh and turned back to the table. "Where were we?"

"Ex-boyfriend?"

"What?" Byron looked up, startled. "Hell no. He was interested in me, once. But I was never interested in him, my loathing for his precious Order aside."

Leland's expression was as blank as ever, but Byron was beginning to recognize the changes in his eyes. Leland was regarding him pensively. "I don't think you should put his interest in past tense."

"Still carries a torch, eh?" Byron shrugged. "He knows how I feel about it, and that's the end of the matter. I've no time for romance, especially with a greedy fool like him." He paused. "Why the interest?"

A shrug. "It is habitual to notice things, especially those of a threatening nature."

"You think he's a threat to me?" Byron scoffed. "Hardly."

"It was more me he didn't like."

"Oh." Byron blinked. "Maybe he's jealous. I don't really care, and it doesn't matter anyway because as of today he is banned from my house and grounds. He and the rest of the infernal Order."

Leland just shrugged again and resumed his place at the table, looking down at the blueprints for the main floor. "Your parents were close to the Grand Order of Defenders?"

"They were," Byron said, shifting blueprint sheets and matching them with notes he'd made for each one. "This is where you should enter, I think. I've studied all the options and it seems the best, over all."

"Fewer real guards, yeah. Electronic stuff is easier to manipulate. So why did you fall out with the Order?"

Byron looked up from the blueprints, regarding him in silence as he debated with himself. "Most of it was probably obvious from the conversation. My parents were killed in action, though of course the Order managed to cover that up. But the situation was sketchy; it looked an awful lot like my parents were up to something bad." Byron's face grew bitter, "They weren't, of course. But the Order never let my family forget that a couple of generations ago my family tended more toward villainy." He motioned to their surroundings, "Certainly money like mine is seldom made through legitimate means. But my grandparents reformed, and my parents were raised to be upright citizens. As were my sister and I. As long as they were alive my family did not commit a single crime." A fleeting grin. "Of course, I will not say that I am such a saint now."

"I didn't think you were."

"I suppose not," Byron said, and for a moment Leland swore he looked guilty. He dismissed it.

Byron sat down, still idly examining the papers before him. "There are other reasons I do not associate with the Order."

"DeVine."

"How did you know that?" Byron looked at him, surprised. "Their ties to DeVine are not public knowledge."

Leland only shrugged. "You do not have all my secrets."

"So I am beginning to realize. I do hope I've not hired the enemy, after all."

"No," Leland looked at him, eyes oddly intent. "DeVine is no friend of mine."

Byron nodded. "Very well, then. Let us return to the matter at hand. Dwelling on the past depresses me and I sincerely doubt it cheers you any."

Leland nodded and began to barrage him with questions about the compound.

*~*~*~*

Farris threw his leather coat on a chair, not bothering to pick it up when it slid from the chair to the floor. Striding across his office, an offshoot of his bedroom, he tore open a drawer of the desk and lifted up the secret panel, revealing a small space underneath. Pressing a code into the keypad there, he dropped heavily into the leather chair and turned around as an impressive array of computer equipment revealed itself.

His fingers flew as he typed, calling up information to which only the Order had access to, via their most generous sponsor - the DeVine Corporation.

He spoke aloud, activating the voice control. "Computer, Search. Citizen Photos, Local. Main Screen." To his right, on the wall, was a large flat-screen TV. It turned on at his command, and was rapidly filled with images of people from the neck up. "Men, mid-twenties to early thirties. Black hair. Thin." Pictures vanished, immediately replaced by others. "Blue eyes." Bit by bit the pictures whittled down, until at last he found a familiar face among the ones remaining. "Who is this?" he touched the image of the man he'd seen in Byron's study.

"Leland Devereux," his computer said in its cool, efficient female voice. "Student at Evington College; Philosophy major. Single, no family. Lives at 127 Wisteria Drive."

"Wisteria? That's the sorry end of town. What's Byron the Wealthy doing associating with a low class dweeb attending a sorry ass school like Evington?"

The computer was silent.

"Computer. What does he do for a living?"

"Unemployed. Lives off the insurance left by his parents' deaths."

"That doesn’t explain why he's so chummy with Byron. Computer. Any ties to the Valentine family?"

"None recorded."

"What other information do we have? Criminal records? School records?"

The computer did not immediately reply. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Farris frowned. "Not even medical records?"

"Physical taken before applying to Evington College."

"Bring it up."

A copy of his physical flashed up on the screen. Farris grinned suddenly, reading the doctor's name. "Send an email to Dr. Bence. I'd like to have a word with him about an old patient. Tell him it's DeVine business and he's to bring all information he has pertaining to Leland Devereux."

"Yes."



"Ah, Dr. Bence. So good of you to come on such short notice."

"Anything for the DeVine, of course." Bence shook his hand, smoothed his graying hair and licked his lips. "What did you need to know about Devereux? Truth be told, I'd forgotten all about him until I went through his file."

Farris leaned back in his chair, eyes hooded as he regarded the middle-aged doctor. "He has become a thorn in my side. I want to nip the problem in the bud, so to speak. But there is not much information available about him."

"No, he's very quiet. I remembered that much almost immediately. He's like a shadow - you barely know he 's there."

"Yes, my impression was similar." Farris spoke smoothly, amicably. "What else can you tell me about him?"

"He doesn't lead a very active life. It's like he doesn't really live at all."

"What do you mean?" Farris sat up, intrigued by the bizarre statement.

The doctor licked his lips again. "Well, do you have any scars? Small ones? Big ones? Marks left from bug bits and such?"

"…Yes." Farris had quite a few scars, thankfully out of sight beneath his clothes. Superhero work aside, what boy didn't grow up with scars?

"Exactly. When I examined him…there was not a single mark anywhere on his body. Nothing. Not even so much as a paper cut."

"Like a statue…" Farris breathed softly.

"Exactly so." Bence nodded. "His body was literally flawless, save for the fact that he was a trifle too thin."

"Anything else?"

"Only that he did not like to be touched. He begrudgingly allowed me to use my instruments, but he jerked every time I tried to touch him. And there was something strange about his skin…but I could not tell you what. Only that it felt different, somehow."

"Interesting. There is nothing more?"

Bence shrugged. "He seemed lonely. It is not something many would pick up on, but I know the feeling all too well myself. I tried chatting about family, friends…he mentioned no one. No one at all. Very solitary. I'm afraid that is all I can tell you."

Farris nodded and stood. "You've been most helpful, Doctor. Thank you for your time. DeVine appreciates it."

"I am always happy to be of service," Bence said, and a great deal of tension seemed to leak from his body as he exited.

Farris sat back down, spinning in his chair to stare out the window. "Perhaps I can kill two birds with one stone," he murmured softly to himself.

*~*~*~*

Bryon woke with a gasp, clutching his chest and shuddering as if cold.

He wasn't the cold one; there was nothing he could do for the one who was. Half-stumbling from his enormous bed, Byron made his way to the bathroom. He turned on the hot water at his black marble sink, splashing warm water on his face and then switching to cold, rinsing away the remains of tears and soothing his sore eyes. Grabbing a dark red hand towel, he scrubbed his face dry and threw the towel on the countertop.

A drink, that's what he needed. Something with a slow burn that would dull the agonizing pain in his head, mute the silent screams. Walking to the small bar at the opposite end of his room, he poured himself a whiskey.

Drink in hand, Byron stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the southern end of his property. Leaning on the stone railing, he gave his backyard a long sigh.

He gazed out over the lawn without seeing it, mind only for the sad, broken face that had woken him.

Once she'd been beautiful, the spitting image of their fair mother. Always she smiled and laughed, until the visions got to be too much and she simply shut down. But he'd been there to soothe her, dry her tears and bring back his bright, happy sister.

No more, though. These days he couldn't make himself smile, never mind the shattered remains of what had once been his little sister. "Becca…"

Movement caught the corner of his eye, breaking his thoughts, and Byron looked down to see Leland casually strolling along the patio two stories down. "Can't sleep?" he called out. "Or trying to escape?"

He almost laughed as Leland looked up, clearly not amused though his face was as blank as ever. "Keep me company? I detest being alone with my thoughts at this hour."

Though he'd known Leland couldn't simply walk up to the balcony - his room was the only access - it still caught his breath to watch as Leland simply lifted himself up, alighting on the railing and then hopping neatly down to the balcony proper. Not once since he'd…moved in…had Leland used his powers. It was probably too ingrained to avoid using them when not in costume. "Amazing," he said softly. "I've never seen someone who could do that with such ease."

Leland did not reply and the silence stretched on between them. "My mother was a lot like you," Byron said at last. "Always quiet, generally expressionless. She rarely smiled or frowned outside of the house, or when people outside the family were around. People liked to say she was cold, and could not understand what my father saw in her. They never realized it was pure habit that kept her face so blank; a habit so ingrained she could not undo it."

"When I was little, I always wondered why my mother never smiled at me. It took me years to understand that her smile was always in her eyes. It was not until my father grew terribly ill that I saw why she behaved as she did. She was so upset she accidentally dropped her walls and in a matter of minutes the entirety of the house was crying with her, so deeply had she mistakenly spread her fear and agony to every mind in the house and on the grounds. After that, she was more careful than ever to keep her emotions controlled."

Leland was silent.

"I would imagine," Byron continued undaunted. "That it must be as difficult for a telekinetic - especially of your caliber - as it was for my mother. One fit of anger from her could turn an entire room into an angry mob. I'd imagine you would simply destroy the room. I do not want to think of what could occur if you bared your unhappiness…"

When Leland still did not speak, Byron gave a soft sigh and tossed back the rest of his whiskey. "Your mother worked for DeVine."

"You just can not resist searching out secretes, can you?"

Byron could actually hear a hint of anger in Leland's voice, and squashed the small, secret thrill he felt at drawing out some emotion. "I wanted to say I am sorry." He looked at the other man, eyes dark with weariness. "I am not very good at this whole blackmail thing. If Rebecca were here, she would flay me alive for even attempting it. Upon learning your secrets, I assumed you were hiding from the police, for killing your father. It did not occur to me to look deeper, though it should have. I did not realize you were so badly wanted by DeVine."

"It was why they killed my mother," Leland said, startling Byron. "She was scared of me, but she loved me enough to not want DeVine to get me. So they got rid of her, leaving my father free to sign me over to DeVine. Everything neat, legal, no fuss. My sister found out first, and told me. I got into a fight with my father…" Leland shrugged.

"Will they realize who you are, when you attack?"

"Most likely," Leland replied. "Unless things have drastically changed from when my father told me everything they'd told him, my full abilities make me one of only three telekinetics of such caliber and the other two are twice my age."

Byron whistled, impressed. "I had no idea you were so rare as that."

Leland shrugged. "It has not done me much good."

"I suppose not. But you put it to some use, as Minder. Tell me why you take that risk, if you do not mind being asked."

"Lena," Leland said simply. "My sister loved superheroes growing up, kept every article, made scrapbooks, memorized what few stats were available to the public. But as we got older…she couldn't understand why none of them came to rescue us."

"Rescue you?"

Leland tilted his head back to look at the stars. "My father was abusive. I gained control of my powers quickly, and could use my barrier to shield us from the worst of the damage. But there were times he caught Lena when I was not around.”

Byron did not press it when Leland fell silent, more than capable of filling in the blanks himself. "Then she no doubt appreciates the good that someone as minor and unimportant as Minder does."

"Yes," Leland said.

"It's a pity I didn't meet you under happier circumstances."

Leland looked at him, and Byron could tell he was confused. He gave a ghost of a smile. "You've only been here a little over three weeks, but having you around feels much like the days when I had my family. I'm so used to living with people who have powers, I can't deal with 'normal' people like myself. And I never liked an empty house." He hesitated, and then shrugged. "And I think that had I met you under friendlier circumstances, Farris would not be wholly unfounded in his jealousy. Goodnight, Leland." Bryon escaped back inside before his mouth could get him into further trouble. He felt like beating his head against the nearest wall, and probably would have if he thought it would do any good.

He contemplated pouring another whiskey, but sleep was difficult enough to get as it was. Setting his glass down on the first flat surface he passed, Byron crawled back into bed and stared up at the ceiling for a long time.

It was a bit more than a crush, if he forced himself to be honest. He really wished he'd met Leland somewhere else. Wished he could take back the night almost four weeks ago when he'd made even friendship an impossibility. Less than a month…but it was true that he felt better. Even Wainscot had commented how much more he'd seemed like his old self.

Amazing how much difference it made to live with a man who could pass for a statue if he so desired But it was wrenchingly familiar, so much like nights with his mother, or with his sister when her visions were at their worst. So quiet those two, and even his father was given toward long, thoughtful silences. It felt so normal to have Leland around. And that made him angry. Angry because it made him want to tell Leland never mind, to ask him for the chance to start over…it was on the tip of his tongue, and he hated himself for even thinking of it. For even considering giving up, leaving his sister to suffer. Just for the chance at his own happiness.

He wasn't the one who'd died. He wasn't the one trapped and broken in a laboratory somewhere. He wasn't the one being blackmailed.

No…he was the one who, in the end, could do nothing but attend funerals. He couldn't do anything but buy secrets and use them for blackmail. If there was anyone less deserving of happiness…well, he would get to them soon enough.




Leland wandered back to his room, lost in thought.

Of all the things he'd expected Byron to say, when he'd called him up to the balcony, it wasn't…what he'd said.

The man was blackmailing him. He was threatening Lena. Leland should be contemplating killing him, betraying him.

Yet ever since he'd really started talking to his blackmailer, he'd found it harder and harder to regard him as such. Byron seemed as acquainted with the grimmer side of life as he - and Byron was able express how much it upset him.

How Leland envied that. The first and last time he'd shown strong emotion - a fight with his father - he'd wound up breaking every piece of glass and porcelain in the living and dining rooms. His sister had wound up with a chunk of vase in her shoulder blade.

He'd learned his lesson after that. Of course, after killing his father he'd almost lost it again. He'd stopped crying after he realized things around him were starting to crack, fracture.

Leland's thoughts broke off as he approached his room, something making the back of his neck tingle. Activating his telekinesis, he sent out a sensory wave to 'feel' the bedroom.

There were things inside that didn't belong. Leland would bet good money that those things were people. He hesitated, thoughts and ideas racing through his head. At last he seemed to reach some decision. Closing his eyes, he pictured Byron's study as he'd last seen it, recalling the table and all that was on it. A piece of paper, a pencil Byron had left there after scratching several notes onto the copied blueprints scattered pell-mell across the work area.

It was harder, doing things from memory, but he'd done it before. A few long minutes later, he opened his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm his mind, ready it for whatever met him when he stepped into his bedroom. Hopefully, Byron would see his note.

Leland reached out to flick on the lights as he entered, gaze immediately zeroing in on the bed and the man who sat on the edge of it. "I knew you were going to be trouble."

"Only because you're in my way, handsome." Farris stood up, smiling almost pleasantly as he approached Leland. "Are you going to come quietly or will my men need to use force?"

Leland shook his head. "What's the point of all this?"

"What's the point of any kidnapping?" Farris asked. "Money, my friend. But also - I don't like you."

"You don't even know me."

Farris smirked. "That's what you think." His expression grew cold. "And I dislike anyone who stands between me and what's mine."

"Byron isn't yours." Leland said levelly, fighting a desire to send the man straight back, crashing through the floor length windows and down to the courtyard below. But if he played his trump card now, he wouldn't be able to play it later. "And kidnapping me isn't going to improve your chances."

"Oh, I think he'll be cooperative when it's clear that your livelihood is at risk. You should have seen…well, never mind. You're the first guest he's had here in a long time. That must mean something."

"Yes," Leland couldn't help but goad. "That I'm closer to him than you."

He'd forgotten how much it hurt to be hit. But the pain had been worth it, to see the anger and jealousy on the idiot's face, because he thought Leland had some claim on Byron. Leland wondered at that, before his world went black.

*~*~*~*

Byron's hands shook as he examined the two notes on his desk. One was written in a hand all too familiar to him - he'd hoped not to hear from the man for another month or so.


My dear Byron,

You know what I want.

The family is throwing a little charity fete on Friday. Come as my guest and we'll discuss things.

Yours truly,
F


The other he didn't recognize, but he knew who had written it anyway.

Don't worry

Byron wished it was that simple. Had Farris taken him for his own selfish reasons? Or had he unintentionally led DeVine right to the telekinetic they no doubt still wanted? He sat down hard in the desk chair, leaning his head back and willing his heart out of his throat.

How had he screwed up so bad?

And why had Leland let himself be taken? There was no way he’d actually been overpowered.

Byron leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. He was supposed to be in control of everything. It was his idea, his plan. Farris was never meant to have a role in any of it. How had everything gone so wrong?

How was he going to get Leland back?

Don't worry

It almost made Byron laugh, because he shouldn't be worried. He'd blackmailed the man into killing someone. His caring should extend exclusively to the accomplishment of that goal. Yet despite the ache ever present in his head, a constant reminder of his sister, the majority of his attention was on a man he'd only known for a handful of weeks.

Byron took a deep breath and raised his head just as the door opened. Wainscot waited patiently. "Send a note to Farris Wachs. Tell him thank you for the invitation, but I am previously engaged and will not be able to attend his charity function."

"Yes, sir."

Byron thought he detected a trace of satisfaction in Wainscot's voice. He smiled ever so faintly at him. "See that Mr. Devereux's room is maintained, as he will be returning at some point."

"Of course, sir. Shall I send a late breakfast up?"

"Just tea, please."

"As you wish, sir." Wainscot left to carry out his instructions.

*~*~*~*

Leland woke with a low groan, feeling like something was ripping his head apart. If Farris was dumb enough to cross his path later, he was going to give the man a thrashing he wouldn't soon forget.

Picking himself up off the cold, tile floor of what he rapidly saw was a cell of some sort - how quaint - he 'felt' his way around the space beyond his cage.

About half a dozen people near to hand, and an intersection that could lead to more cells or into the labs that were his main goal.

Only one way to find out, but best to bide his time. Acting rashly would get him caught - and this time in a way that his powers wouldn't get him out of it.

He sat for hours, morosely picking at the rather nasty food a guard brought to him. Footsteps brought his head up, and he stared blankly at the angry man on the opposite side of the bars. "Let me guess. Things aren't going as you'd hoped. I told you kidnapping was the wrong way to start a relationship."

"You're awfully smarmy for a man who's been kidnapped."

Leland stood and brushed himself off. "Nothing better to do." He almost smirked, seeing the increasing frustration on Farris' face. "I don't suppose you'll tell me when I'll be returned to my home?" A brief pause. "Back to Byron?"

"You!" Farris' face filled with rage. "The most you'll ever see are the laboratories. It's not often we get such healthy normals to work with."

"Ah," Leland said, not even feigning confusion. "Are those labs close to where Rebecca is being kept?"

Pure shock filled Farris' face.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"How do you know about her?"

Leland gave a minute shrug.

"Tell me!"

"After you take a nap," Leland said, voice frigid but still so very level. Loosing his mind, he took grim satisfaction in watching each of the four men - Farris and three guards - drop one by one to the floor like so many sacks of potatoes. Mere seconds later he was free, shattering cameras as he escaped the prison block of the underground complex that reminded him of more than a few bad movies.

The alarms sounded, but in two minutes he'd disabled them. The extensive studying Byron had insisted on was paying off.

He rounded the corner and was greeted by gunfire. He felt the impact of them, but having expected such a thing, his barriers had been reinforced. The guards dropped in the next second, and as Leland continued on his way, he noticed they were firing rubber pellets.

Greedy bastards. They'd be better off trying to kill him - though they'd have to try harder than guns if they wanted to succeed.

He broke into the first room he came across, knocking out all but one of the room's five occupants. With a crook of his finger and a nudge at his mind, he brought the man to him. The man was young, short and half-swallowed by his enormous lab coat. "Tell me where the precog is kept, or you'll end up like your friends."

The young man began to tremble, immediately assuming the worst about his comrades. "Who are you?"

"Tell me where to find her."

Shaking like a man dressed for the beach who'd somehow wound up in the snow, he held up a hand and pointed past Leland's shoulder. "In the east wing, room f-f-five-fffifty. But you can't get in."

"Yes, I can." Leland lowered the unconscious scientist to the floor and turned to head the way he'd indicated.

The sound of voices warned him of new attackers, and as they rounded the corner he sent all five of them crashing back into the wall. The few who tried to stand he quickly sent back down.

His head was starting to ache, but it would not become a problem for a while longer. He had time to find her…though getting out would be another matter entirely. But that bridge would be dealt with in its own time.

At the moment he was more concerned with his own nonchalance. He was supposed to be a hero…why was it so easy for him to wreak havoc? Only the emergency lights still worked, the rest having failed when he tampered with the systems to disrupt security. Why didn't it bother him to hurt people? Every last person he'd knocked out with his telekinesis would be in pain for hours, possibly days, after they woke up. Never mind the man he'd misled into believing his friends were dead.

Except…he'd told Byron not to worry.

He'd known plenty of horrible people, most of them before he'd turned twenty. Byron didn't fit with those people, didn't fit at all. Though initially he'd felt threatened by the blackmail, it only took conversing with the man over the next couple of days to realize he wasn't evil.

Byron was miserable.

Weren't heroes supposed to save people from misery? He'd told Byron not to worry, and he'd meant it.

A sharp pain shot through his head as he approached a door with the number 550 written on it in plain blue type. Leland stifled a cry, ignoring the pain and forcing the locks to work. He stumbled inside, fell to his knees.

"What was that?" He remained on the floor until he felt more steady, the pain in his head regressing to the dull throb that said he was playing too fast and loose with his powers, a pain he had expected. Slowly he stood, taking in the empty room around him. Had the scientist lied to him? But no, there was another door. This was clearly an antechamber of sorts.

He could hear men on the other side of the door, faintly. They wouldn't be getting through anytime soon, he'd fried the locks as soon as the door closed behind him. But when they did get through, they had something that his telekinesis would not like.

Well, they were outside. He was inside. Leland pressed on, opening the next door with only a bit more difficulty than he had all the rest - they clearly didn't want any but a precious few entering.

Inside, he could see why. It was enough that he could not keep the dismay from his face.

Wires and metal, computer screens and the sorts of monitors you only saw in a hospital, no doubt measuring just about everything that had to do with the poor…girl bound to the horrible machine. She was wearing a white nightgown, clearly a feeble attempt at some semblance of normalcy. All manner of wires and IV drips were attached to her, another machine seemed to drawing blood. Blips and beeps and whirs filled the room, mixing with what Leland realized were the softest of whimpers. The chamber smelled stale, of metal and bitter chemicals.

He barely realized he was moving, mind and hands working together to rip away the machinery, only just managing to take care where it was necessary.

When the cruel devices were gone at last, all that remained was a young woman and the metal chair in which she sat. Her eyes were vacant, wet with tears. Leland lifted her from the chair, taking it for himself and holding the too-thin figure against his chest. "Rebecca…"

Silence filled the chamber, save for his soft panting and the weak gasps of the girl. Byron had not been exaggerating, when he'd said nothing was left of his sister.

It made Leland hate DeVine all over again, as well as every person who knowingly let them get away with such things. Especially the likes of Farris. Leland wished now he'd done more than knock the man unconscious. To know about this and still think he deserved Byron…

"You…"

Leland jumped as Rebecca spoke. Her voice was weak, rough with disuse. "You…finally…came…"

"What?"

He could not believe she smiled. "I saw you…" Rebecca began moving, and Leland realized she was trying to sit up. He helped situate her in his lap, hating how bony and thin she felt when he wrapped his arms around her waist for support. "I've been waiting. Byron…"

"Your brother is okay. He sent me."

"I know." Rebecca smiled, sad and resigned. "He…I missed him the most." She lay her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as if tired. "I saw you with him."

"With me? You mean when we met?"

"No…I mean later…after this. Several months from now. "You'll make him happy. He should be happy. You should be too."

"Rebecca…"

"Byron always called me Becca."

Leland nodded. "Becca."

"Kill me," Becca pleaded. "Then run - you must go up, through the ceiling. Get past the river. Your sister, take her away. Across the ocean, she'll be happy there. Then…" she sat up, green eyes intense as they stared into Leland's somber blue ones. "You'll miss him, and go back. Go through his window."

Leland shook his head. "You make no sense."

"I make no sense in the present," Rebecca said. "I only see the future. Now kill me."

"But-but you seem fine." Leland shook his head, and tried to pull away before he remembered he was all that kept Rebecca from falling over.

Rebecca shook her head. "Temporary. I was waiting for you. I don't want to go back to them. Byron knew what he was doing when he told you to kill me."

Leland looked at her unhappily. "You shouldn't have to die."

"You don't know how hard it's been for me to live."

To that, Leland could make no argument. "It was a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances."

"You would have made a fun big brother, Lee. Give me a kiss and tell me goodnight, and let it finally end."

Leland nodded, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek softly, tasting tears and chemicals. "Good night, little sister. Have pleasant dreams." He let his thoughts go before he could think and hesitate, feeling her mind shatter they way he'd once felt his father's. Her frail body when limp in his arms, and Leland could not bring himself to leave her there.

A pounding on the metal door brought his attention around to his own situation and he recalled the instructions he'd been given only moments before. Up, she'd said.

Then up he would go.

"I do not want to think of what could occur if you bared your unhappiness…"

*~*~*~*

How was it possible, Byron wondered, that he could feel like shit and still look like his normal, spoiled, pampered self? It seemed wrong to look like life was grand when really he just wished it was over.

His head was empty, silent at last now that all of his family really was dead. Six months, it had been. Six long months. He'd thought the nightmares would end, with his sister finally at peace, somewhere with his parents in what he hoped was a better life.

They were just getting worse. It should have been better, easier, to have the pain gone from his head. But that pain had also been a voice, and now he had no one left to listen or talk to.

No one at all.

Byron finished with his tie, eyeing his appearance critically. Gray slacks, matching vest, green shirt, darker tie. It was almost a pity he had nowhere to go, and only a date with paperwork and perhaps the brandy he'd taken to keeping in his desk drawer.

He really should give it up; he rarely left the house anymore. There was no one but Wainscot to see him and Wainscot had seen him at his worst and was not impressed by his best.

Six months.

Don't worry he'd said. For some stupid, foolish, naïve reason he'd thought that meant the bastard was coming back.

Served him right, really. Stifling a sigh - it seemed to be the only sound he made anymore - Byron headed for the door but instead veered left and collapsed in front of the chair before an empty fireplace, staring morosely at his mirror-shine black shoes.

Perhaps he should sell the manor, get a smaller house. But that would just make the emptiness much more apparent. At least this way it was possible someone was just lost in another wing.

Forget it. Forget it forget it forget it. There was no point to it, none at all. Eyes burning, Byron stood and began to remove the clothes he'd so meticulously put on just minutes before. No one was around, no one was ever going to be around, and the one person he'd hoped to impress was never going to show up to be impressed.

To hell with him, then. No doubt he was enjoying a happy reunion with his sister somewhere. Byron had lost track sometime after they'd reached England. He hoped Leland - Emory - whatever his name was - was happy.

Don't worry

He wasn't worrying. He was just miserable.

A cool breeze washed over him, making Byron shiver.

The last time he'd seen Leland had been on his balcony. He turned to look at it, out at the lawn he could no longer bear to see by moonlight.

Something was blocking his view.

A person.

Byron's breath caught, eyes wide with disbelief. "What--what are you doing here?"

Leland's face was as blank as ever, but as he stepped further into the room Byron saw that his eyes held more than he remembered. "I missed you."

Of all the things he thought Leland might say if he ever saw the man again, Byron had never once believed he'd actually say what Byron wanted most to hear. A hundred more questions flitted through his mind, right behind the thousand apologies he'd rehearsed until his head ached. Issues that needed to be resolved tangled with curiosity and dread over the night Leland had been kidnapped, until Byron could not figure out what to say first. "I missed you too."

That worked.

Leland moved further into the room as Byron stepped closer to the balcony and they met halfway, arms tangling as they reached out to feel that the other was real.

The shock of actually feeling Leland brought Byron up short, and he ran his hand with wonder up Leland's arms and chest, feeling the texture and heat of his skin, the fabric of his t-shirt. "You dropped your barriers."

"No," Leland said. "You did."

"I…" Byron shook his head. He'd meant to say 'I don't deserve you' or 'I don't have any right to this' but Leland's blue eyes were soft, his lips titled ever so slightly up in a whisper of a smile and the warmth of his skin was irresistible. So instead of speaking, he did what he thought was probably the dumbest thing he could do.

Except that Leland was kissing him back, and he tasted of coffee and cream, as warm and earthy as he smelled. Byron let his hands roam, latching onto Leland's shoulder, wrapping around his neck to pull the man as close as possible and kiss him thoroughly enough that neither of them would ever come to their senses.

"Shouldn't we be talking?" he said at last.

Leland's whisper smile grew, and Byron could not look away. "Talking gets you in trouble, Byron. Let's leave that for tomorrow."

There was no good way to argue that, and so Byron leaned up for another kiss.