The Chronicles of Cityopolis [Mr.MasterxAkumaTsuki]

It was almost like detective work again. He could even call it that, if he wanted; he was one of the Coalition liaisons with the CPD, so he had a badge and a detective’s license, when he carried them. And he was investigating a known felon and super-villain, basically going through all the steps he would normally do when tracking down a perpetrator. But despite that, he hesitated to classify what he was doing as “work” precisely. It would be work if he followed through with an arrest. He just… wasn’t sure that was going to happen.

Cyber-Dave came back with the goods, as he always did. If it was out there, he could dig it up. He didn’t even have to hack into anyplace; regular public and governmental databases (using Coalition authorization where necessary) were sufficient. Shortly, Baker knew Lab Mouse’s name, where she worked in her public persona, and selected bits of her background. He browsed around a bit, reviewing the public data on Maddox Industries, checking out the websites of her old colleges, things like that, until the Melpomene file came in, and he had something else to think about.

By the time he saw her stumbling out of her building, toast gripped in her teeth while she wrestled with her jacket and bag, he was feeling rested and educated. He watched from nearby rooftops as she ran to the subway and disappeared belowground. Then he looked back at her apartment building. If he was really doing an investigation, he ought to black-bag it, take a look around, maybe plant a bug or two. If he was professional, that’s what he’d do; sure, the evidence he’d gain wouldn’t be admissible in court, but it would be a tip-off to other proof. For the down-and-dirty segment of the capes crowd, that was sufficient. But it would feel… wrong. Definitely wrong. Especially if he didn’t actually arrest her. Like he should, like he absolutely should.

Maddox Industries occupied most of a medium-sized building downtown. It had a large lobby with chrome fixtures and many ferns, and several turnstiles with RFID smart-card authorizations, on both sides of a broad security desk that separated the elevator banks from the rest of the lobby. Baker smoothed his tie as he sat in one of the cushy leather guest sofas and pretended to read the paper (he’d already read it on the rooftop, so he wasn’t distracted, not even by the women’s underwear ads – the things they showed in public these days!). The revolving door near him shifted, and he glanced over to see his distraction walking in: a delivery guy with a large bouquet of a dozen white roses.

As the flowers made their way to the security desk, Baker got up and folded the paper under his arm. While security was signing the florist’s delivery slip, taking over responsibility for delivery of the roses, he did a quick bump-lift on a secretary woman coming out of the turnstiles, and while apologizing profusely, he pocketed her passcard for a few moments. As she walked toward the outer doors, he turned and waved the card over the turnstile sensor, waiting for the green light so he could follow the flowers to the elevator and pretend he had no interest in where they were going.

Maddox Industries was much like any other office; lots of cubicles, people bustling, doing paperwork, kibitzing in doorways and break-rooms. Even on the executive floor, there was a lot of that. He lifted a manilla folder from the desk of a male secretary whose head was turned and pretended to thumb through its contents while he walked a few dozen feet behind the security guard, watching with his peripheral vision, a knack he’d picked up possibly as much as a century ago. He actually saw her other flowers before he saw her: someone had sent her irises. Damn. If she didn’t like roses, that was one strike already. But he couldn’t get too close: the security guard was already saying “Ms. Lafere? Flowers for you,” and she was turning around to look at him in confusion. She looked better without the mask, but he kind of missed the body-hugging outfit, just a little bit.

Baker could see she was the personal secretary to Mr. Maddox himself; she took her orders directly from the Big Cheese in the building. Interesting. He saw what he needed to see with casual glances, then feigned reading something troubling in the file, and turned around to stride back the way he came. The secretary guy looked confused when Baker dropped the file back on his desk without even looking at him, and the elevator doors closed before the guy got over his consternation enough to even think about following. Down in the lobby, he dropped the passcard off at the security desk, saying he’d found it on the floor of the elevator, and then he stepped outside to go visit a nearby ATM before he returned to his observation post in the lobby. He’d need the cash if she took him up on his offer.

When he’d ordered the flowers on his way over, he’d paid with cash, and hadn’t given his name. On the card, in his neat, somewhat old-fashioned printing, he’d put “Elizabeth: Let me make it up to you by taking you to lunch. Anyplace you like. Meet me in the lobby at 12:30?” Of course, he’d left it unsigned. He’d also called in lunch reservations at six nearby swank restaurants as soon as they were answering their phones in the morning, just in case she wanted to go to one of those. He just hoped she’d show; it would be an unproductive day if he had to wait until she left at the end of the day to see her again.

She had been in the middle of a rather poorly written article concerning her nightly shopping at Holk’s Fine Jewels. She really wouldn’t mind the outright lies if they were at least better written. The journalist, who was probably some pimply punk fresh out of school, claimed she stole several cases worth of jewels. What made the whole thing even worse was Holk himself most likely pocketed them as an insurance scam. Eli saw the security guard coming towards her from the corner of her computer screen. Maybe he was lost again and couldn’t find one of the other girl’s desks…typical.

“Ms. Lafere? Flowers for you.” She cocked an eyebrow and turned to face him, closing down the article with a single click as she moved her chair. “Put them down next to the other vase.” She watched him carefully for a moment before recalling his name. “You know Mr. Simmons if any more bouquets come today why don’t you take one home?” She winked at him and smiled softly. “I’m scared of my desk becoming a mortuary.”

The guard laughed and left, thankfully without trying to start anyone conversation. She just wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. Any other day, yes, but today she felt as if she should still be running around with her mask and seriously kicking as much ass as she could. Looking over at the roses she inwardly winced, ‘Oh dear God, what has Damien done now?’

He never sent roses, tried, once. She had been mad enough at him that beating him with one had kept him away from any sharp flowers from then on in. Usually she could kept her temper in check, but there was the occasional person who just pressed all the right buttons.

Grabbing the card she flipped it open and read it slowly, the eyebrow once again cocking as confusion crossed her features. No one called her Elizabeth, save her father who she hated, and Maddox when he was having a senile moment. Her father hadn’t spoken to her in years, and the Doctor had never once sent her flowers…which just left her even more confused. ‘Let me make it up to you’. Make what up to her? Did she have a black out and forget she was dating someone…again? Damn it, she didn’t have time for a fucking brain scan this morning. Journalist, researcher, official, or business associate…she was getting a headache trying to figure just who was sending flowers.

It was with a defeated sigh, over an hour of searching her phone logs, emails, and schedule and not finding a single thing about meetings with strangers, boyfriends or anything else that she couldn’t remember that Eli found herself trudging from the elevator into the lobby. This was probably some sales man who had gotten her card and was trying to get in good with Maddox. It had happened before, but generally not without a call and not with unsigned flowers. She had barely gotten any work done this morning between hedging calls for the missing doctor and dealing with the silly little problems that came across her desk. She reached to her face with the intention of fixing her mask, before quickly remembering who she was and brushing an errant lock that had escaped her clip. Please let this day get better.

He'd seen her exiting the elevators, and stood up. Right on time! He ambled in the direction of the turnstiles, not heading directly at her, to check. Yes, it was true; she wasn't recognizing him. So much for a scientist's observation; she'd tied her thoughts of him so tightly to his working clothes, when he was in more normal clothing, he might as well be a different person to her. He even passed her as she scanned the lobby, looking for... whoever she was expecting. Oh, it was priceless. And disappointing, a bit.

Once he passed her, he wheeled around behind her. "Excuse me, miss," he said softly but clearly. "Do you know the Gator Queen? The Crocodile Empress, perhaps?"

There had actually been a Crocodile Empress, in Egypt, back at the turn of the last century, but now was not the time to ramble on about that. Besides, that was not a very nice story, when a person suddenly loses control over their wild carnivorous minions.

He stood still as she turned and smiled gently, holding out his arms in a kind of "how do you like the look" pose. His old suit was immaculate and still almost perfectly tailored for him; it had barely tightened around the midsection at all. He was clean and shaved and his hair was even behaving. He'd purchased a white miniature rose boutonnière that morning, and it was still reasonably fresh in his buttonhole. He let her take him in, waited until he saw recognition dawn in her eyes.

"We got off on the wrong foot last night. I was hoping I could have a chance at a second impression, over lunch. My treat, of course."

The lobby wasn’t quiet enough, or empty enough for her heels to make the little echoing clop, clop, clop they did leaving late at night, though she wished it was. Too many people to figure out who rose man was…or if it was a man at all. She walked past an attractive red head heading to the front desk, a portly old man rummaging in his briefcase for something, and yet not a single person she looked at called out or acknowledged her. She felt herself unconsciously bristle as one man passed her, and once more when he spoke out.

‘Gator Queen?’ Her brain went whirling, was that supposed to be some sort of pickup line…was it going to end with some stupid thing like ‘cause I’d totally let you death roll me.’ Although if that was a pickup line she’d at least have to give it props for originality…wait why was this asshole spinning around like a model. She didn’t care about his coa- oh fuck. The hobo had offed some guy and stole his suit and was now harassing her. She was dreaming, wait no dreams were pleasant, this was a nightmare. Maybe she was stuck in some little drug induced coma. Who would feed Ali if that happened?

Suddenly the dull throbbing in her ankle quickly reminded her just how awake she truly was, and with it the look on her face went sour, quickly replacing whatever shock was there.

“I swear. You’re like an untreated infection. Just keeps coming back and eating away, all puss filled and horrid. You know that right? I should scream for a guard right now, but let me guess…you’d like to go have lunch so you can decide to blackmail me? Who’d you steal the suit from, hobo?” She didn’t pause for him to answer, instead continuing on with expedience. “I’ll humor you to get you the hell out of my building, but know I am much better armed than last night.” A lie, but who was he to know what she currently had in her purse. For all he knew she had a bomb, a glock, and something else of equally intimidating nature.

His arms fell like his face and he blinked at her. "Steal this suit? You know, for a scientist type person, you have two major flaws. You don't observe well, and you stick to your initial conclusions no matter the evidence."

He stepped a little closer, entirely unafraid of whatever threatening thing she might think she had, and lowered his voice so they had some vague modicum of privacy there in the lobby. "What's more likely," he said softly but intently, "that I'm some random insane hobo who just happened to be up on a rooftop last night, survived a multi-story drop into an alley, got my foot blown up, which is quite healed up already, thank you very much, randomly had the skills to get us out of several different scrapes and also relieve you of a certain item which I later returned, and then somehow magically not only discovered who you are and where you work but also mugged a guy for a suit which happens to be almost perfectly tailored for me before using his money to send you flowers ? Or that I'm actually a low-profile cape with investigative resources whose power is so horribly hard on clothing that I don't bother to dress nice for work?"

He stepped back a bit, his face still serious, but he kept his voice just as soft. "You can use Occam's Razor and re-evaluate your conclusions, perhaps over something French off Chez Pierre's brunch menu, or you can cling to your inane preconceptions in the face of all evidence and force me to show you my badge and take you for a conversation with ol' Sergeant Offendorf at the Seventh Precinct, right around the corner, but if I had intended to do that in the first place, I wouldn't have sent the flowers."

He lowered his head and rubbed his eyes with a hand, letting his frustration show. "Okay, I should have known this was a bad idea. But I thought after last night's stress, you could use something nice to happen to you. You're not a bad person, despite your job, and I'm curious how the one gets mixed up with the other. But if you don't want to deal with it, fine, I'll leave you alone. Jesus, are you this difficult with everyone?"

“That’s because my conclusions concerning vigilantes are generally spot on. Now you can either shut your mouth or I will shut it for you.” The close proximity to her had raised her hackles so to speak. She wasn’t one for close contact to begin with, especially with people she found distasteful. “Now if we are leaving together let us do so, or I will be more than happy to go grab one of the guards and have you removed. Either way you will be leaving this place. If you want to speak with me try to be civil won’t you.” She turned and started towards the door. If nothing else someone she knew would be on smoke break, should this turn ugly. It wouldn’t do to brawl with someone at her office, but should it come to that witnesses weren’t amiss. “I am only difficult with morons, and people who I find distasteful. Which are you?” A small part of her brain cheered at the comment, but even as it did this it was processing what sort of evidence the cape had to link her to much of anything. Probably had nothing besides being a stalker…

“You know,” she started. “Didn’t know a receptionist was such a seedy job. My poor mother must loose sleep over it nightly.” She smirks. Smart ass beat frazzled any day, plus if it caused her headache from last night one, well then it was all worth it.

He followed her as she turned. He didn't think he'd been any more rude or uncivil than she'd been, with the constant barrage of abuse and disparagement, but she had a point about making a scene in the lobby. "I presume I'm distasteful. Though I'm starting to think I'm probably a moron after all, so perhaps it's both."

They went through the revolving doors to the outside, and he sighed. There were people about, but not too many, and none too close, so he felt he could talk. "All right, Ms. Lafere, I promised you lunch at the place of your choice. You have my assurance of my good behavior. That's presuming you care to keep associating with a distasteful moron. But if you want me to go, I'll understand." He heaved a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked a little like a slouching Bogart, there in the midday sun on the sidewalk.

"Look, my famous charm is just making you angrier, and you're about to turn around and head back inside in a minute anyway, so I'm just going to lay it out. We met under some of the worst possible circumstances, and you were having I'll bet one of the worst nights of your life. Sadly, for me, it was probably about average. And even in the middle of all that, you were still trying to suggest places for me to go, soup kitchens and such. Even though you hated me. Er, hate me. I don't know."

He shrugged and half-chuckled. "You're a good person, Ms. Lafere. That makes me curious, like I said before. I'm willing to put down the traditional rivalries, try to set the preconceptions aside -- at least for a lunch -- and find out more. I was hoping you'd be willing to take a break from whatever stress and hassle you've got going in your usual life and ... well, I suppose it would be trying out a different flavor of stress and hassle, so maybe I didn't think that through, entirely. But I figured you'd at least appreciate some good food."

"It's your call. I won't force anything; you say the word, and I'm gone. At least, non-professionally, that is." He let the ghost of a grin pass across his face, and then he just shut up. There wasn't anything else he could say, and he'd probably already said too much. As he'd said, it was up to her, now.

She scoffed at the mention of famous charm. Hobos weren’t charming, capes weren’t and certainly this man wasn’t either. She was only half listening as she moved away from the plume of smoke that hung heavy in the air near the building’s doors. “Person who’s name I don’t know or care to know, please stop mistaking logic for kindness. Suggesting you leave and go somewhere else was logic. If you left I wouldn’t have to be shooting up with painkillers today.” She stopped and glared somewhat at him. “I’ll play your little game of twenty questions if you swear that you’ll leave me alone afterwards. I can not afford to have you lurking around me if you care to keep your,” usually she’d use the term pretty little head here, but she didn’t feel him at all the ‘pretty’ type, “head on your shoulders. Are we at an understanding?”

“You know I never really understood the allure of over priced animal parts? Goose liver, cow tongue…I can go to some Vietnamese shop and it’ll be cheaper and probably be tastier.” She stops and looks over her shoulder at him. “Do you like Dim sum? I know this great little hole in the wall a few blocks over and you did say it was my pick.”

Dumplings from Mao’s did sound vastly more enjoyable than some snooty place where she was going to have to inevitably pick up the check. Plus if anything were to go awry she knew for a fact that Shao in the back could wield a mean cleaver when people disrespected his patrons or cooking. Typically for the latter, but she hoped that getting him the catering deal for a few banquets had softened his temper towards her even a little.

He sighed as she she laid out her limited acceptance. If she went to lunch with him, that's all he could ask; anything else would either be at her instigation or a professional encounter. "Outside of, um, "work," I will absolutely leave you be, much as you want me to. No unsolicited personal interaction. Agreed."

"If you're talking about Mao's, I completely concur!" There weren't many non-franchise restaurants within the city limits that Baker hadn't eaten at; there were times he'd paused in a fight or a chase to make special note of a new place he wanted to try. Hell, he'd stop off on patrol and sample a fresh menu when he wasn't even hungry. Which isn't to say he remembered each and every place he visited; just the ones that were worth remembering. And Mao's was on that list. "I stumbled across that place a few years ago." ...while tussling with Triad killers commanded by the Red Dragon, keeping them off the Darkling's back while he pulled some whammy that drained the Dragon's supernatural powers... "I get take-out from there whenever I can. Never did try their lunch menu."

He offered an elbow, but didn't expect her to take it. Still, he had to be true to his instincts, and whether she took his arm or not, he strode happily toward the little hole-in-the-wall.

The restaurant was dimly-lit, of course, but colorful, in that kitschy way that all the fun Chinese restaurants get, with red lanterns and various knickknacks. He didn't recognize any of the dining-room staff; the one lady who always seemed to be there to hand over his take-out either wasn't on shift or wasn't in the front of the house. He nodded in a friendly way to the hostess and quietly asked for a table for two, with a little privacy. His Cantonese inflection was clearly Western, and a little old-fashioned, but it also wasn't book-learned; he had the slight casualness of someone who'd picked it up living among the native speakers, and he was conversationally comfortable. The hostess froze a moment in surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said in English, and then repeated his seating request in Mandarin.

The hostess flicked a glance at the man's companion, a Western woman she didn't know (she was comparatively new), and decided to play it polite to the entire party. "I understood the first time, sir," she said in English, smiling and gesturing them in. There was still a choice of tables, as the rush was just about to begin; they had arrived at a good time. She mentioned the specials, and as she turned to head back to the front, commented. "Your server will be with you in a few moments, and the dim sum cart will be around shortly."

It didn’t take long to get to the restaurant; it took less time than normal in fact with her trying to hurry along somewhat ahead of her current problem. Eli didn’t let people escort her around unless it was at a function and that was merely out of courtesy.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lighting having come from outside, but in the span of those few seconds she found herself even more annoyed. She rolled her eyes at his speaking of another language. It wasn’t impressive. She could speak mandarin…somewhat. Ok not too much, since she understood it better than she spoke it, but the few phrases she did know were enough to get her by with her business relations. ‘Would you care for some more tea,’ ‘Dr. Maddox will be here shortly’ or ‘No I can not marry you (or your lazy son)’. She’d probably have to take a course in it eventually if the new company’s branch opened in Hong Kong as planned. Shrugging it off, she followed the woman who wasn’t Su, to their table. The walls looked like they’d been painted recently, a new girl had been hired…maybe Shao was doing well enough to protect her after all if it boiled down to it. She really should have grabbed her belt.

She could hear the high pitched whining as the cart approached, already trying to make her mind decide on not making a pig of herself and choosing only two things…for once. She could feel her purse vibrating, even as she tried to ignore it. Instead of the usual instrumental version of “Uprising”, by MUSE, she was greeted by some upbeat bubblegum pop sounding monstrosity. “One sec.” She quickly rushed away from the table pulling out her phone as she moved, flipping it open. Hand clasped over the receiver, “Why did you change my ringtone again?”

“I always tell you not to leave it lying out on your desk.” There was a slight pause for a moment, “ You sound angry, were the flowers not good enough?”

She gritted her teeth, God she hated Damien. “Absolutely hate them. You should be here instead. I need to go now.”

“Are you in a meeting?”
“No, I’m at lunch…”

“Oh, well tell Brit hello for me then. I haven’t seen much of her lately.”

“I’ll tell her when I get back to the office. I need to go now.”

She barely heard anything of the “Who the hell are you out with” as she hung up and turned off the phone. Her mind half convinced it made the sentence up. Sheepishly she made her way back to her seat, reflexively apologizing to her lunch partner, somewhat forgetting her ire at him at the moment. “Sorry about that. Business call.” She quickly gave her phone one last look before once more confining it in her handbag.

The cart stopped just short of the table, and she quickly grabbed up a tray of steamed dumplings and placing a special order of stir-fry green beans. She loved them, even if the majority of the order would go home to Algernon.

Order placed and hot tea complimentary hot tea in hand, her ire began returning, “So what is you want to know?”

They'd just taken their seat across the small table from each other when her cell phone went off and she hopped up to take the call. Baker sighed a little to himself; if she was going to ditch him at the restaurant, this would be a good time. Not ideal -- she'd miss out on the food. But convenient.

He gazed at the dim sum and bao on the cart, and realized he hadn't eaten since dinner the evening before. He was ravenous. It wasn't like he paid much attention to that sort of thing these days, as he'd gone hungry so many times over the years the pangs were inconsequential, but when there was savory food right in front of you, it made you aware. He considered restraint, but then again, the way things were shaping up, he wasn't likely going to see her again, not socially. Which would be a pity, he thought, obviously, but at the very least, it removed any lingering requirement for artifice. He already was just going to be himself, but now he didn't have a need to hide his flaws; they couldn't possibly be as bad as her hatred of him right now, anyway.

Part of him was saddened by that hatred, while another part was amused and, were they separate beings, would have said "what did you expect? That's why you signed on, after all." There was, however, a difference between a challenge and an impossibility. He wasn't entirely sure which this was, yet -- after all, she was having lunch with him -- but he knew he was skirting the line. Challenges were what made life worthwhile, but nobody liked to waste their time on an impossible task.

Even still, he felt no shame when the cart came to the table and he heaped his plate high with more than a tray's worth of dumplings and buns. When she ordered green beans, he added an order of lemon chicken. The server left and she asked what he wanted to know. He smiled and murmured, "Give me a moment; I haven't eaten since yesterday." He took a bite of his first dumpling and couldn't resist a small sighing grunt of satisfaction. It was heavenly. He chewed and swallowed. "Oh, my goodness, that's heavenly." He finished the dumpling and then gazed at her a moment while he sipped some tea.

"I think the question is, what don't I want to know. That's a shorter list." He grinned. "I'm not sure if I should start with the big questions, like how'd you get to this point in your life, how'd you get started in your, ahem, night job, all that, or whether I should find out the small things that make up a person's uniqueness, like your top five movies, top five songs, whether you prefer Elvis or the Beatles, et cetera."

He downed a small bun in one bite, contemplating. "I realize you don't care," he said when it was polite to talk again, "but I'd feel rude -- moreso than usual -- if I didn't tell you my name is Baker." He resisted the urge to reach his hand across for a handshake; she clearly barely wanted to be here, much less shake his hand. "And I suppose I should ask a big question, first."

"Using, you know, a metaphor, I'm taking you away from your day job to talk a little bit about your night job. Me, I only have the night job, so that's why we met there." He cocked an eyebrow and examined her expression. She had been playing innocent back at the office, despite reacting like she knew him, but here, in reasonable privacy, he figured she could at least acknowledge that they had secrets -- she a costumed criminal career, he his semi-legal crime-fighting activities. They could make reference to them without discussing the particulars outright, naming names, etc. He was looking at her to see if she'd give at all, even a little bit, here in the private setting. Whether or not she did, he continued.

"So, thing is, neither one of our night jobs is at all... conventional. And I'd like to know how you started. I mean, one doesn't just get hired off a resume for that sort of thing. I'm not judging your choices, I've certainly made some unusual life decisions myself," ... trying to flirt with a villain being only the most recent... "so I understand how it can be. I'm just curious, because you otherwise don't seem like the personality type to be working in that profession."

“For the record I prefer Elvis to the Beatles, they annoy me. The king had charisma and could sing…the Beatles well…who honestly wants to listen to a bunch of over paid stoners?” She popped a dumpling in her mouth with her chop sticks and somewhat ignored him for a moment before huffing. “Also for the record, I hate you calling it my ‘night job’. You make me sound like some hooker or call girl which, while better than a hobo, is not all too pleasant.” She grabbed another dumpling and put it in her mouth all the while wrinkling her nose.

It wasn’t the food that was unpleasant it was the conversation. If he already knew her name, her job, and other details then he probably knew more than he was already letting on. Did he know about Madd? Inwardly she brushed away the thought. If he did, well the cops would have swarmed the place earlier and she’d have shiny new bracelets…
“So because I seem moderately sane…I’m not cut out for my job?” She smirked, setting down her chopsticks. “I’ll take it that’s what you’re referring to when you say I’m not cut out and then I will ignore it completely. I take it you’ve been digging into my past all night judging from the fact your eyes seem to have darker bags under them then last night. It’s pretty much moot to bore you with silly details if that is in fact the case. You probably know I have good credit, not even a speeding ticket on my record and yet I participate in nefarious activities…throws you for a loop doesn’t it?” She grasped her tea cup in both hands and sipped at it, deciding that what the hell, blab, go for broke and if need be Madd or the GPs could dispose of this later. She could always claim being injected with amobarbital or something like it. Comments about being sloppy would arise, but would be quickly forgotten…

She lowered her cup and clenched it, “ I hate capes. I’d hate my mother too, if I didn’t love her, for dealing with them. Katherine Jacoby, the second Wilde Kat incarnation, devoted so much time to the city, helped it, cared for it and yet when she started hemorrhaging from her head and loosing memories who the hell was there to do much of anything? Not a single one of you people. I hate abilities, and I hate you attention whoring glory seekers…it’s a logical progression to do something about it.” Her brain screamed at her to leave out anything about Maddox, don’t link him at this point and she paused.

“I swear if you make even one cat and mouse joke I will make you wish you were dead.” She hated it and if she had, had the foresight she would picked a much better name than ‘Lab Mouse’. At one point in her childhood, Katharine has mentioned wanting to pass the cowl on to her daughter and while it sounds cool at age five, the reality of it wasn’t.

She hadn’t always been cynical…well as cynical. The hatred of capes had begun at age ten when her mother’s symptoms began to manifest, at first with nose bleeds and then progressively getting worse over the years. Moments of lucidity were becoming far and few between, and it was a deep seeded fear that Elizabeth would end up the same way. Madd had promised her he would fix it all and she’d do anything to help with that promise.

“Ever notice how no one does anything until something bad happens? Well I am that something bad…and people will have to do something. They’ll have to unglue their eyes from the televisions and electronics to take notice.” She once again paused. She was stealing her own boss’ rantings to justify her actions. She’d done it in the past…since it was true. The day he had knocked on their apartment door, the day he offered to pay for her schooling, the day he gave her a purpose, those gave her the same goals as him and she would just about anything in return for him.

“That’s not what you want to hear is it though? Wanted to hear I was salvageable and forced into it so you could play super hero?” She shook her head and sipped at her tea once more. She looked up from her cup at him, “Sorry, hobo, but I fully choose to do what I do. Any other questions you really want to hear answered?”

He was shocked when she spoke of Wilde Kat. "Oh, my God! Kat's your mom?" He'd known her, not well enough to know her secret identity, or that she had a family of any sort, but he'd been friendly with her at the occasional meet-up. "I'd heard she was having some problems, and then she just dropped out of sight. If I'd known her better..." He left it at that. What could he say that wouldn't seem like empty words? Nothing, that's what. So he let her continue from there.

***

He held up his hands defensively when she threatened him about making a joke. Truthfully, he might have, if her pain about her mother hadn't shown so clearly. But he was content to let that be, as well.

***

He listened to her justifications, eating, and nodded as she spoke of being the irritant under society's skin. "It's good that you have a choice, at least. And actually, I don't have an issue with trying to wake up the public, get them to sit up and change things. That's a noble cause, particularly in this country. Hell, despite the modern fools appropriating the name, the Boston Tea Party was about trying to get under the skin of King George and the East India Company, both. That turned out reasonably well, I tend to think."

"I'm just not sure you're doing it right. When you and Madd get going, it doesn't make people wake up, it makes them hunker down. They hide in basements, they turn to the police, to central authorities, to protect them. I don't like the public's reliance on the government or the supers better than you do, but they don't see that they have much choice. Nobody wants to stand up for themselves and get hit by a death ray. Look at what happened to Flight 3445." That was a well-known tragedy, possibly the largest connected to one of Madd's schemes, perpetrated about the time Eli would have been at college, in which more than 300 people died in flames when a stray shot from Madd's Phlogiston Ray turned the metal of a plane that was slow in leaving the super-combat fire zone into liquid heat.

"I don't suppose he brings that up much, because at the time he didn't seem to care much about the civilians. But I suppose that's better than Anatole 'Red Boss' Nikolayev." Nikolayev had been a Russian Mob kingpin, a product of one of the many old KGB projects to develop super powers for the Cold War, who had openly declared that he was going to take over Madd's operation, declaring the super-villain equivalent of a blood vendetta. "That one stuck in my mind because when the body was found a week later, the M.E. said he'd been tortured for four straight days, and died in agony. If he hadn't been super-humanly strong, he probably would have died the first day, when his vertebrae were individually cracked. And yeah, energy traces bore Madd's signature, as well."

His expression hadn't changed from the genial affableness he normally wore. "I got more; it's not like Madd's not infamous around here. Even a newbie knows his rep, so I'm sure you're familiar. But you're not him, and you don't strike me as the type to torture a man to death. And it seems like you'd have done more to try and help the families of the dead, the many, many dead Madd has left in his wake over the decades." Baker had, when he could; there was a foundation and everything that he contributed to, and he occasionally used his pull to clear the way for some deserving victims to sign up for benefits, but his resources, while large, weren't infinite.

"I wouldn't dream of telling you to stop what you're doing, as far as philosophy goes. I think it's valuable, even. Only thing I'd question is your methods, and who you work for. Because when Maddox goes down -- and he will go down, eventually -- I'm worried you'll get painted with the same brush. And I don't think it'll be fair."

Worse, he thought, Madd might try to take the city down with him, one way or another, and while Baker himself would probably be safe, thanks to the Universe seeming to smile on him, he felt sure the old mad scientist wouldn't hesitate to burn his sidekick along with everyone else. It's not like Lab Mouse was the first Igor-type Madd had ever had, in Baker's experience. Though that might be a sore point, he thought, so he didn't bring it up.

Finally, he sighed, and took a sip of his own tea. "But yes, question answered. But that does bring up a question: if you're wanting society to wake up, if you're supposed to be the burr under the saddle that creates change: to what end? What sort of change are you looking to create? I'm not sure I can tell from what I know of Madd's operations precisely what social goal he has in mind."

She raised the glass to her lips before stiffening visibly as the red flags were raised inside her skull. He had just used the name ‘Maddox’ not ‘Madd’…She gripped her cup, it nearly escaping her fingers. Her mind began to scream 'ignore it' 'ignore it' 'ignore it' over and over as she held on to her tea cup, thankful it was nearly empty or she'd have been splashed by the amber contents.

The thought that more people never figured out had often crossed her mind, but it was always chalked up to the fact that people as a whole tended to be stupid. They flocked together as sheep, they raged with their mob mentality, and couldn’t think for themselves. It had been oh so easy to rely on others, the lazy creatures.

She set the cup gently on the table, resting her elbows on the table while interlocking her fingers. She smiled and set he chin close to her hands, “To what ends you ask? To whatever ends necessary What change? Getting rid of capes and abilities. I really thought if you’d be able to figure that out given our conversation previously. While you are very pigheaded, Hobo, I didn’t think you were nearly that dense to not figure it out.” Her smile twisted into more of a threatening smirk, her eyes flashing above her hands. “Madd’s been at the game a long, long time. I highly doubt his downfall is anywhere in the immediate future. No need to worry about me getting painted with the same brush, I am more than capable of taking care of myself should a downfall ever happen.” It was true she had given the thought of such impossibility, more than a few moments given the fact that she had an apartment half a world away where the extradition laws where never given any thoughts. It was one of the few things she had done independent of Madd and while there was guilt in her actions there was also necessity.

She tried to regain her composure, the same one she maintained as Mouse, the urge to reach up and touch her mask ever present in her thoughts’ hating the feeling of being on the defensive without it. “I think it is starting to get late…is there anything else your little files on me didn’t tell you that you feel the need to know before you keep your end of the deal and leave me alone? Are you dying to know I dislike the color yellow? That I like orchids? That I am not a fan of cats? Hmm?”

As she commented about her goal to eliminate powers, he nodded. "I can understand why you'd feel that way, but you can bet a lot of the problems we have would be a lot worse without powers. We woudln't have those Johnnycabs, for example, or clean cosmic power for the nation, or a Mars colony. The Soviet Union might not have fallen in 2006. We might not have a cure for Dr. Greivous' Syndrome, or whatever they'd call it in this other world. Powers are what they are. And without them, who knows what kind of death people like your boss might visit upon the world's four billion." He took another sip of his drink, watching her reaction as she dropped back into her cold facade.

When she caustically demanded he ask any other questions, he shrugged. "Okay, so, are those your actual likes and dislikes? Okay, well..." He stopped and considered. "Top five movies, songs, TV shows, and books? Do you sing, or play an instrument? Do you like to dance, and I mean socially, not performance. Although, come to think of it, it'd be nice to know if you can do a tap show, on a whim. You know, when your ankle is better." He cleared his throat, and pressed on. "Do you have pets? And... is this your favorite kind of food? And is there any color you DO like, other than yellow?" He smiled a bit nervously, and gazed at her attentively.

His conversation with her had reaped other information, yes, and he knew how he was going to spend the rest of his day, but first... he was honestly curious about all of those things. Little things, details like those, that was what friendships, or relationships (they were not always the same things) were made of, and if this was going to be his only fleeting chance to try and get to know her outside of their professional interactions, he was going to try and make the most of it.

She cocked her left eyebrow at him questioningly. Was he serious…what kind of cape needed to know this sort of information? Closing her eyes she takes a deep breath to keep from flying off the handle at him once again. Something about this jackoff rubbed her the wrong way…even worse than her employer’s nephew. “Yes they are real…” She opened her eyes and looked back down at her fingers. “Movies and music depend on my mood. I don’t watch much TV besides the occasional newscast...although they are horridly biased on just about every topic they present.” This guy had to be some sort of creeper… “I do dance, it’s required when I attend functions for work. I was in gymnastics, so never did performance dance…I don’t tap.”

She paused for a moment wondering what Madd would have to say at all of this, if and when she told him, “I have a pet rat, Algernon. He is the love of my life and always will be. Chinese is not my favorite type of food.” She unknotted her fingers and reached down grabbing her purse. “White and shades of gray are my favorite colors believe it or not and on that note-“ She pushes back her chair dropping a ten and a twenty on the table. “I believe this conversation is over. I have a job to get back to. I’m sure your corner you panhandle on is surely missing you as well.” She turned on her heel and walked out not giving him the chance to argue with her further.

He watched her go, sighing. There at the end, she seemed almost like a human, honest and vulnerable. And then her pride and anger and sheer unreasoning hatred of him kicked in, and he had to watch her go. And now he couldn't pursue; he'd promised, after all. Ah, well, he mused. All that, and he hadn't even been able to crack her armor the tiniest bit. The most interesting person he'd met in a long time, and he'd utterly muffed it. He'd wanted a challenge, but the trouble with real challenges was, you sometimes failed. But he tried to put his disappointment behind him; he had additional priorities now that must take precedence.

He took his time, finishing up while he worked out what he needed to do with the rest of his day, and as he stood, he matched her contribution. Considering their lunches weren't all that expensive, the waitress just received a greater than 100% tip. He took the time to grin at her as he left and murmured in Cantonese "It was wonderful, thank you, our compliments to the chef." Just as he stepped out into the afternoon sun, he snapped open his phone and auto-dialed a number. He began speaking rapidly as he strode in his expensive suit toward the nearest cab-stand, a hotel not far away.

"Cyber-Dave, my friend, I have more research for you. Ought to only take you a few minutes. First, you're going to have to contact Crimson Cross's office at St. Augusta and tell them to tell her we've got a probable Legacy Diagnose and Reconstruct job that just came up, and she should call me. No, that's what I'm about to tell you. Second, you need to crack into the archives and double-check that Katherine Jacoby was Wilde Kat the second. No, she was the third, I'm talking before your time. I just want to confirm that data before we go further. Assuming that checks out, I'm going to need you to find her. She's somewhere in the city or suburbs, there's bound to be some records of payments to a home health care agency. If you have to, dip back into the Lafere records. Yes, that woman. No, you can't ask, because it's a non-starter, but this other data is what came of it."

"Once you locate her, you text me where she is. If I'm lucky, I'll be on the phone with Cross, negotiating for her and her team to meet me there. I expect that'll take a while." He listened a moment, then sighed. "Because we owe her, Dave. She was part of the group, and when she started having trouble, nobody noticed. She dropped away, and we figured she just retired, since she hadn't been killed, but this, this was worse. We try and do no harm, to help the helpless, but we let one of our own slip through the cracks; she fought the good fight, and we didn't honor her for it, we didn't take care of her when she needed it. It was our mistake that we never found out before, and now that we know, we have to make it right. We have to take care of our own, Dave. You should know that as much as any of us. All right, thanks. Later."

True to his skills, Dave got the confirmation and the address before the Crimson Cross called Baker back, so Baker could spend the entire long cab ride arguing with his colleague that no, while it was not a city-threatening crisis, it nevertheless warranted pulling her away from her busy schedule of appointments. Healing powers were very rare among supers, and those with great flexibility in their powers, like Cross, could essentially write their own paychecks at any hospital in the world. It took a lot to draw her away from her busy schedule of healing people; normally she worked 12 hour days, her healing energies requiring at least equal downtime to remain effective. Baker was insistent, however, and while he refused to bully her into coming out, he did wheedle, threaten, persuade, and bribe her to come out with her support team and make a diagnosis. He wasn't a heavy hitter when it came to powers, but he had pull when it came to personalities. Knowing the right people always paid off, and when he clicked his phone shut again, he at least knew he had done something right.

He rapped his knuckles perhaps too sharply against the doorframe when he got there, and when the nurse answered, he was still rubbing them absently. He smiled at her, as charmingly as he could. He wasn't classically handsome, but in his suit with the open collar and loose tie, he projected a kind of after-hours Frank Sinatra casual vibe. "Hi, I'm a friend of Kat's, and I just heard that she'd been ill. It has to have been at least 20 years since I saw her last, I had to come and pay my respects."

The nurse was a little flustered. "What? Who are you? 20 years, what were you, 10?"

"My name is Francis Baker, and I'm older than I look. Your patient is Katherine Jacoby, and I just had lunch with her daughter, Eli. Your employer, if I'm not mistaken. I was coming through the area, afterward, and I thought I'd come visit. I understand she's due for an experimental treatment today, I'm hoping it works out." He held his hands up, open, inoffensive. "Look, tell you what, go and check right now and see if Kat recognizes the name. I realize she may not, but honestly, I don't mean any harm, I just want to say hello."

The nurse looked uncertain, murmuring "Treatment?" in a confused voice, but nodded, and shut the door. Baker considered briefly going ahead and picking the lock, but he'd rather not break and enter and home-invasion quite yet. His patience was rewarded, though, when the nurse came back. "I don't know why, but she remembers you. She even described you. Her memory is pretty patchwork, but apparently you're in enough of what she's got left to warrant her wanting to see you." She stood aside to admit him. "She's resting in her bed right now. And don't try anything; I've got 911 on speed dial, here." She hefted her own cell phone.

"Of course! Everybody knew me in our old crew," he said softly as he entered. Secretly, he approved of her caution, but of course, he was more focused on his mission. The bedroom was easy to find, and he met her eyes as he entered the room. He recognized her right off, despite all the changes of age and illness. "Ah, Kat," he said, shaking his head as he knelt by her bedside and took one of her hands. "You should have told somebody, girl."

There was a growing high-pitched whine outside, turbofans approaching and setting down. The nurse, who had been standing watchfully in the doorway, moved to the window to look out. "What..."

"That," Baker said over his shoulder, "is the most famous Doctor in the city in her medical jump-jet. You can probably get an autograph if you want. Do us all a favor and let her in before you call your employer, would you?" He turned back to smile warmly at Kat. "She's got a patient to look at."

Eli made her way back to the building, ignoring the look from the security guard as huffed past. She never showed her irritation at the office, especially when people were watching. Sliding her key card in the slot she made her way up the elevator, and to her office, slamming her door a little louder than she intended. Flopping down at her desk buried her head in her hands. Fighting the urge to scream she bit down hard on her bottom lip, shaking slightly in aggravation. She cast her gaze on the roses in front of her, the anger growing. Without being touched the vase flew off the desk crashing loudly into the wall.

Grabbing her head she whimpered, her anger fading quickly as it felt like her brain was being ripped in half.

The door quickly flung open and a very pregnant, petite blond came rushing in. “Eli, I heard a crash, everything o-“ She trailed off glancing from the brunette behind the desk to the flowers on the floor. She shut the door quietly behind her and went over to the desk. “Did Damien piss you off again?”

Wincing at the sudden appearance of the higher pitched voice, Eli glanced at the person in front of her. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing my ass.” She noticed the second set of flowers still sitting on the desk, “Oooh he must have really pissed you off.”

“It’s not Damien. Is there anything you want?”

“I was worried about you cranky pants.” She stepped forward before gasping and grabbing a tissue from the box on the edge of the desk. Leaning forward she pressed it to ELI’S nose. “You’re bleeding again.”

She brushed the hand away gently taking the tissue herself and titling her head back. The pain slowly subsiding. “Sorry, Brit. Just have some hobo stalking me.”

“Oh shit! That’s terrible! Have you reported him or done a background check…what if he’s dangerous? We should call the police.”

Eli couldn’t help herself…she laughed. “Calm down before you stress out and ruin my carpet with your water breaking.” She tilted her head back down smiling. “As eager as I am to meet my god-son I really don’t want to meet him now. Relax, I’ll take care of it.” She pulled away the bloody tissue grabbing another to replace it. “I don’t think you can do background checks on hobos…”

“You can do them on everyone-“

“Brit, you’re adorable. Relax, sit I’ll see about having one of the interns grabbing us somethi-“ She paused her office phone ringing. “On sec.” Grabbing the phone, “This is Elizabeth speaking.”

“Eli I need you home now!”

“What’s wrong Lucy? Is mom hemorrhaging again, do I need to call the ambulance.”

“No, some strange man burst in here saying he’s a friend of your mother and that someone is coming to treat her. They won’t leave.”

Her heart stopped and she dropped he hand from her nose, blood slowly trickling down her face. “If you need to call the police…I’m on my way.”

She grabbed her purse slamming down the phone down hard. “Brit, call Greenberg and tell him I need him for personal services and to meet me at my mother’s address.”

“She titled her head slightly, “Are you in trouble?”

“No, but someone else is about to be…I’ll call you in a bit.” She quickly rushed past the little blond as she hurried off to once again battle capes.

“But Eli, your nose…” Britney sighed and waddled to the phone behind the desk.

***

Katharine smiled softly at Baker as he spoke, “I’ve only been sick a few days, no need to inform the world of it. It’s just a cold…It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever, but it was only last Tuesday wasn’t it?” She touched her temple lightly with her free hand trying to recall, “I’m sure it was.” She looked to her bedside table, seemingly ignoring the multitudes of prescription bottles, her pale green eyes looking at the clock. “My Eli, should be home from school soon. Can you believe she’ll be five soon? You should meet her Baker.” She smiles wide at him, a slight spark of life stirring in her eyes, “She’s already wanting to steal my Wilde Kat mantle. Maybe you should give her a few pointers since she doesn’t seem to believe her mom that it’s not as glamorous as it appears.” She let out a small laugh before putting her hands to her hair trying to smooth down the copper and gray fly away curls. “Sorry I’m not better put together at the moment. Usually you don’t see me without a mask…” There was sound of a phone being slammed down in the other room, after a few terse words where said into the receiver.

A few moments the phone rang back, only ringing once before the nurse answered it.

***

Eli burst through the door, having hastily wiped her face before entering, “All of you get the hell out of here now. I have medical power of attorney and you all are trespassing.”

"If I'd gotten to know you without the mask, Kat," Baker murmured, "I might have met her before. I bet she's a little spitfire. Going to grow up to break a lot of hearts and raise a lot of ruckus." He grinned. "Like her mom, I'm sure."

There was more of a bustle in the other rooms, and then he felt the presence of the Crimson Cross, her metagenic field preceeding her as it always did, evening out his hormonal balance, speeding up his healing process, just generally freshening his health, banishing his fatigue, and making him just feel better. This was a side effect of Cross just being Cross; this naturally radiated out of her body at all times. It was one of the things that Baker liked about her, the fact that just being around her made him feel like he'd slept a full ten hours. That, and she could really kill a karaoke rendition of "The Warrior." He squeezed Kat's hand and smiled, jerking his head back to indicate the woman he knew had just walked in. "Kat, I'd like you to meet the Crimson Cross. A new cape in town; she's got psionics, like you, but they're mostly biomorphism, healing, that sort of thing. I thought you two might have something in common. That, and the gang is getting free check-ups. You don't mind if she checks you over, do you?"

***

As Eli burst in, she saw Lucy, the nurse, standing to the side with the hobo, of all people, still in his suit and looking on pensively. She saw her mother lying peacefully on the bed, seemingly asleep, with a pair of white-coated people, a black woman and a sallow, gaunt man, on either side of her head, their eyes closed and odd coruscating energies shifting between them, over and around her mother's head. And on the edge of the bed, her hand hovering over Kat's chest, sat a woman even Eli had seen only in the papers a dozen times before.

Her work kept her from parties and dedications, even those in her honor, and she really didn't turn out for the usual costumed antics, being too busy actually trying to help cure people. If there were any supers Eli could possibly respect, Evelyn Cross would be on the list. But then, with her power-set, it's not like she was going to be stopping street criminals or anything. Her power was primarily healing, and even just being in her presence, Eli found her temper ebbing, as Cross's unconscious field naturally smoothed her jagged emotional edges by moderating her hormones and endocrine mix, adjusting her biochemistry toward something more relaxed and alert.

Cross looked up, her eyes weary behind small round glasses, her fiery solid-red hair (its unvarying color a side-effect of what had given her the powers she used, the specifics of which she never spoke of) pinned back in a severe bun. "If you're the medical power of attorney, you have a decision to make," she said in a clipped, quick voice, wasting no time.

"We are deep in the neurons of your mother's brain. I can confirm she's got a case of Cyton's Syndrome; it was only identified as a specific illness within the past five years, so it's unlikely anyone would have known what to do before recently. Cyton's acts as interference; the presence of psionic powers ends up confusing and blocking signals to other parts of the brain. Your mother was lucky it was her memory, as opposed to her motor skills or autonomic functions; her body could have suddenly forgotten how to breathe."

She moved on swiftly. "I cannot reverse the damage without cost. I have already stopped any further degeneration. We are ready to pull out, but I have to know how to leave your mother's brain. We have two options: one, I leave her power active. Her memory will not degrade further, but the memories that are already lost may stay lost. The brain might be able to form new connections there, she could regain her memories at any time, piecemeal or all at once, but I cannot give any percentage chance of success for that. The second option allows me to restore all connections to all of her memory centers, but at the sacrifice of her psionic abilities. Given the advanced nature of the syndrome, I cannot do both."

Cross looked Eli in the eye. "As medical power of attorney, I need you to make a decision. Would your mother want her power, or her memories?"

She stood watching the red head for a moment, her mind trying to process what it had heard, even as her she could feel her emotions trying to ebb. This wasn’t right. She was supposed to save her mother. It wasn’t Cytons…Maddox had said as much when they had run the tests of her own brain.

Katharine Jacoby had manifested her abilities right around puberty in her early teens, the offspring of the first Wilde Kat and Magnetron. A true super marvel she donned the cape before the age of twenty and stopped a fair number of crimes in her time. It wasn’t until she met Richard Lafere, a business man she had saved during some mad man’s giant robot ravaging the building his office was located in. She’d fallen hard for him and after a quick engagement she married the powerless man. Maddox had told Eli her father’s blood had diluted her own and caused her issues. Katharine was fine until Eli’s own abilities manifested at the age of five and it was barely noticeable at first. Her father had left a year or two afterwards, running off with his secretary.

Eli had shattered all the glass in the house they had been living in when she had woken to their screaming. She’d seen her father slap her mother, yelling for her to shut up. Photos had lain strewn across the floor, flowers in pools of water and all of it went unnoticed as a little girl reached out her hand and levitated the man of the floor and into the wall cracking the drywall. Her mother had yelled at her to stop as she made her way towards him unaware as the crunching glass beneath her feet. Katherine’s last noted time using her ability was that night counter acting her own daughter’s ability pulling away her soon to be ex-husband from her grasp telekinetically. She rushed to her daughter wrapping her arms around her as she let out another burst of power slamming the door shut behind the fleeing man and pushing his car as far away from the place as she could.

It was her soft touch that snapped the smaller girl to her senses and it was the sight she saw that caused her to cry. Her mother was stroking her hair smiling even though her own world had just fallen apart around her, blood pouring from her nose.

Eli snapped out of her musings and glared at the invading party, willing her emotions back to where SHE wanted them. “You’ve stopped degeneration you say, good. Leave my residence at once or I will be forced to call the authorities. This treatment can get you into trouble as it is, since this was not a medical emergency at this time and I was not consulted prior to you rendering your services. I thank you for the house call, but you are no longer needed here.” She turned away from the woman fixing her gaze on the worst of the offenders, “We had a deal Baker that you’d leave me alone. This is not ‘leaving me alone’; this is further supplanting yourself into my life where you are unwanted.” She felt her temper beginning to flair up more, the temptation to scream and yell rising, but unable to do so in front of her mother and Lucy. She wasn’t Mouse, she couldn’t scream. She had to maintain. She had to maintain…the picture frame on the wall nearest to where she stood cracked suddenly. “I will not repeat myself again.” A small trickle of blood becoming present once more at the tip of her nose. He was quickly becoming a thorn in her side, one she’d have to remove as soon as possible.

Baker's eyes flicked to the picture frame, and he opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Cross spoke up, her tone businesslike, cold, and professional. "I'm afraid it doesn't work like that. The neurons are being held in flux, now that the other damage is repaired; I'm going to have to settle them one way or the other. If you abdicate your choice, I'm going to have to use my own judgment. By the way, call the authorities if you like, but I should tell you, there's a Congressional resolution, which has been upheld by the Supreme Court, that the exercise of my particular powers is inherently a 'good Samaritan' act. So you can thank Roxco v. Cross, et al, for that." She turned back to the woman on the bed.

Baker snorted. "And Marcus Roxon turned out to be Judas the Doombringer, anyway, so there's that." He looked levelly at Eli, and continued in a softer voice with a paradoxically harder tone. "And not everything is about you, Ms. Lafere. Other people have loyalties to your mother, and other people care. If you'd stop acting so unbelievably selfish about this, perhaps you'd realize that."

The gaunt man and the black woman looked at each other after Baker finished, and Cross interrupted, sounding harried and tired. "Not to interrupt this lover's spat, or whatever the hell it is, Baker," she said that name with a special venom, "but I have to make a decision right now. Ms. Lafere, memory or powers? That's all I need to hear from you, or else I'll have to use my own judgment."