“… live to Elaine Kristen in New York City’s Sentry Plaza … Elaine?”

hisss-garble-garble-static

“Elaine, we’re having a little trouble picking you up, can you hear me?”

crackle-hiss-warble “—scene around us is one of absolute chaos, as you can see, Brad; throngs of people in the streets despite emergency announcements demanding they vacate the area and return to their homes --”pop-whine-garble-hiss

“Elaine, we’re losing the signal again, what’s going on there?”

“—police helicopters and National Guard as well as a contingent of the city’s costumed heroes --”

hiss-static-hiss-hiss-snap-squelch

“While we try to get Elaine back with us, a quick recap for those of you just tuning in to this breaking story from New York. Preliminary reports indicate that Baron Zane, the infamous super-villain missing and presumed dead these past five years, has resurfaced out of nowhere and launched a massive attack against Sentry Spire. What’s that? We do? And going again live to Elaine Kristen, Elaine, are you there?”

shriek-warble-warble-snap “—some kind of enormous force field surrounding the Spire, Brad, apparently emanating from the ZaneDrone Control Ship hovering above the Plaza. All attempts to breach this force field have so far been unsuccessful. Activity and energy signatures flashing within suggest that some kind of furious battle is underway.”

“Elaine, what about the Seventh Sentry, any sign of him?”

“Presumably, Brad, he’s one side of that furious battle.”

“Thank you, Elaine, never would have guessed. They’re only longtime arch-foes, after all. ”

“Yes, Brad, it is a well-known fact that the Zane vendetta against the Sentries goes all the way back to the First Sentry, who stopped Tarchon Zane --”

“Great-great-grandfather of the current Baron, I believe.”

“—unleashing death-rays upon the city in 1914, and … hold on, Brad, something’s happening here …” squeal-pop-pop-hiss

“Elaine? Elaine! {bleep} it! Lost her again.”

hiss-hiss-garble-screech-hiss “—ground shaking – car alarms – windows – panic all around us here Brad – steam pipe beneath the – clouds of steam shooting – robots, ZaneDrone Armada robots – down from the control – laser blasts --” POP-hiss-warble-snap

“Uh, Elaine, you and your crew might want to move to a safer --”

“—down, Brad, the force field is down and the Spire, we can see Sentry Spire now, my god Brad it’s on fire, the entire structure is wreathed in flames, there’s columns of smoke, electrical spark-clouds and more of the robots, looks like their blasts are trying to take out the --”

(cacophony of voices all screaming and shouting, the stampede of running footsteps)

“—heroes rushing in to take out the ZaneDrones, it’s a demolition derby in there Brad it’s a war zone it’s carnage there are robot parts raining out of the sky --”

“Do you see the Baron or the Sentry anywhere, Elaine?”

“—huge hero slammed into a car ten yards from us, slammed through it, crater the size of a swimming pool, think it was Indestructi-Bull, god, I hope so, nobody else would have survived --”

“Elaine!”

screeeeech-pop-hiss-hiss “— looming black-cloaked figure atop the Spire right now, Brad, hard to see through all this but yes that would seem to be the Baron, Baron Zane and … yes! There’s the Sentry, Seventh Sentry, that familiar white-and-silver armor and shield unmistakable even at this distance --”

(more screams, shouts, cheers, exhortations)

(shrill-deep howl of rending metal)

“—going over, Brad, the Spire, the Spire is buckling, it’s going over --”

(thunderous crashing and thudding)

“—to fly free of the collapsing wreckage --” squeal-pop-pop “--like he’s trying to help the Baron, Brad, the Seventh Sentry is trying to help his arch-foe, trying to save him and oh you bastard!”

“What’s happening there, Elaine?”

“—ron Zane --”static “—ium crystal power source to the Sentry’s --”snap-snap-hiss “—falling now, both of them, heroes rushing in their direction but --” garble-warble-shriek

“Elaine? Elaine!”

“—down, Brad, both of them down, can’t tell if either of them are moving. It looked as if Baron Zane managed to get the Seventh Sentry under him, used him to break the fall, and with his armor de-powered … and the Baron is starting to get up but he’s surrounded, Brad, they’ve got him surrounded, he’s not going anywhere, the Arcturan Amazon has him in a headlock, The Pummeler is backing her up, and Lone Hawk is covering him at arrowpoint.”

“And the Sentry, Elaine?”

“Still doesn’t look like he’s moving, Brad, but I just saw Ms. Fortune and Rad Man headed that way. I’ll let you know as soon as we hear something.”

"Thank you, Elaine. That was Elaine Kristen, live in Sentry Plaza."

**

-- C.

---

*****
@Incineratrix and @Seema -- 2 accounts for the 3 of us
http://www.christine-morgan.com/ -- Christine's books
http://sabledrake.livejournal.com/ -- Personal journal
http://incineratrix.livejournal.com/ -- CoX journal
*****

“Sean …”

“How bad?”

“Not good,” he admitted, his heart heavy. Glanced at Ms. Fortune for help, since though he’d heard what the doctors were saying, he hadn’t wanted to let it sink in.

“Your back is broken in three places, Sean Ferguson,” she said, gliding to the other side of the bed. “Fractured right femur and right arm. Cracked pelvis. Four broken ribs. Whiplash and a chipped vertebra in your neck. The internal injuries were the least of it. You’ve just come out of eighteen straight hours of surgery.”

“But, on the bright side,” William said, stroking his hand, “you didn’t crack your thick skull. Only a goose egg the size of … well, a goose egg.”

“And,” Ms. Fortune continued, “by some miracle you managed not to sever or crush your spinal cord. There should be no paralysis. More surgeries may be required. You are sure to face a long and arduous recuperation with much physical therapy and more pain. But you should, gods be willing, walk again.”

The three of them fell for a moment into a deep, heavy silence.

“Never mind that,” Sean said at last. He tried for a grin. “What about my good looks?”

“Not so great at the moment,” William told him. “But I still love you, and in a few days I’m sure People will be back to haranguing you about the next ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ photo shoot.”

“Thank God for that.” His voice and eyes were beginning to go murky as the next round of whatever drugs they had him on started to kick in. “William …?”

“Right here, Sean.”

“Serious for a minute?”

“Sure.”

“If it … if this is it, if this is hang-up-the-cape time for me …”

“Sean, don’t --”

“Let me finish?”

William bit his lip and nodded.

“You know what has to happen,” Sean said.

“Sean, love … I can’t.”

“Someone has to.”

“I know, but --”

“I don’t have anyone else.”

“T.J. --”

As much as it could in the confines of the neck brace, Sean’s head rolled side to side. He made a visible effort to stay awake and force himself to speak clearly. “T.J.’s a good kid and a great gadgeteer. Just not cut out for this, Will, and you know it as well as I do.”

William could feel Ms. Fortune’s cool gaze on him. Imagined that he could sense Lone Hawk, listening from outside the door with his uncanny hearing. Both of them, and Sean, waiting for his answer.

“All right,” he said. “All right, Sean.”

The world seemed to exhale. William took a deep breath.

“But it won’t be necessary,” he added. “You’re going to get through this. We’re going to get you through this, I promise. You’ll be back to your old self in no time. I know it.”

“Do my best.” A reassuring smile wandered vaguely across Sean’s face and his eyes drifted half-closed. “Right now though …”

“Rest, yes,” William said. He leaned over and kissed his forehead. “You rest now. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Ms. Fortune escorted him from the room again, past Lone Hawk, past the doctors and nurses and interns and cops. Past the cordon of reporters and photographers being held at bay in the hospital lobby. Didn’t have to be a magical loremistress of her caliber to see that the last thing he wanted to do right now was address the press as the Seventh Sentry’s ‘close personal friend.’

“He will sleep for a long time,” she said. “You must rest, as well. There’s no need for you to wait here.”

“Yeah.” He leaned against a wall and rubbed his eyes, rubbed his temples. “But he’s right, he doesn’t really have anyone else. No family. Just me.”

“And friends.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean --”

“Do not apologize, William Montgomery. You do that too often.”

“Sorry,” he automatically said again, then chuckled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You should not be alone,” she said. “Is there anyone I can call for you, to be with you in this difficult time?”

“No,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Are you certain?” She opened a side door and they stepped out into a muggy New York night. “I know Sean has no family, but you must have some that would --”

Knowing that she wasn’t much of a one for touching, he pressed the back of her hand instead of presuming to try for a hug. “Sincerely, Therese, thank you. For both of us. And don’t worry about me. I’ll take care of it. I’ll call my baby sister.”

**

-- C.

---

*****
@Incineratrix and @Seema -- 2 accounts for the 3 of us
http://www.christine-morgan.com/ -- Christine's books
http://sabledrake.livejournal.com/ -- Personal journal
http://incineratrix.livejournal.com/ -- CoX journal
*****

Sunday, pre-dawn, New York


William Montgomery got out of the cab, paid the fare, tipped the cabbie, and let himself into the building.

Being observed, he knew. Being guarded. Therese and the others had taken care of that, organizing things between their various groups. The Metropolice, Earth Force, League America … the loose coalition of I-work-alone types like Black Ice, the Confessor, Rock Monster … a few duos and trios … some volunteers who’d already shown up from out of town to repay old favors or help out old friends or defend against the old foes who’d also shown up to settle old scores.

Protective detail, search-and-rescue, salvage operations at the ruins of Sentry Spire, crowd control, public relations. The vast machinery and underpinnings of the wonderful world of costumed vigilantism. A world he knew well, though from the periphery. Efforts such as this, he’d helped coordinate during other crises.

So, while it might seem that Ms. Fortune had simply dumped him into a cab and sent him on his way, William knew that was not the case at all. Wouldn’t be the case at all for a while now. Not until this was over, one way or another.

He supposed he should be comforted by the knowledge that the city’s heroes were looking out for him. Or he should be insulted, even offended by the idea that he needed nursemaids. Or he should be skeptical of the need … after all, he was no hero, he wasn’t one of them, he was a normal, a regular citizen. Or he should be honored that they considered him worth the trouble, that they thought of him as, if not quite one of their own, one who was important to one of their own.

All that, none of that. Thinking about it would only muddy the waters more. At the moment, he couldn’t think or feel much at all beyond the single overpowering ache of love, loss, dread, concern and worry for Sean.

He let himself into the condo, locked up, set the systems. Shuffled through the rooms that were so empty now, so hollow. It was his place; Sean hadn’t stayed over every night, had quarters of his own in the Spire. But this was still their home.

And with the Spire destroyed …

His internal clock was all out of whack. He knew the hour, but it didn’t feel like it was that late. Or that early, depending on perspective. He wasn’t tired. But he was exhausted. Almost twenty-four hours since he’d slept. Much of that time having passed while under Ms. Fortune’s spell of entrancement.

The only sure cue he could take from his body was that of hunger and thirst. Both of them had landed on him, raging, partway home. He had a dim recollection of someone bringing him a cup of coffee, and no idea whether he’d actually consumed it or not.

The condo was far too quiet and far too dark. He detoured from his course to the kitchen only long enough to punch up some random play and switch on a few lights.

Then, in what his mother would deem a horrifying lack of manners, he swigged most of a quart of orange juice right from the carton. Dropped the empty on the floor and gave it an indifferent kick aside. Found some containers of take-out, dumped them all together in a bowl, threw it in the microwave, and wolfed half a coffee cake before the timer dinged. By the handful. Out of the bakery box. Shedding crumbs.

The bowl of assorted mixed leftovers, he stirred with a fork, regarded for a moment, and started in. Scarfed it in great sloppy bites that would have given everyone on the Lakeland side of the family heart attacks.

When the initial pangs of dehydration and hunger were eased, he carried the depleted bowl into his office.

Messages. A lot of messages. Friends from work who knew the whole story of his relationship with Sean. Reporters wanting interviews as the ‘close personal friend.’ A few heroes. T.J.’s sister calling from Chicago. Laura and Pete’s son, calling from wherever his carrier was currently deployed. Grandma Marlene. A surprising message from someone he hadn’t spoken to in several years. Henry, the retired Fifth Sentry, demanding answers.

And Ammy.

Despite his bleak mood, William smiled when he heard her voice, breathless with its usual effervescence subdued by worry. Typical Ammy throughout … if there was anything she could do, any way she could help, anything at all, please just let her know.

**

-- C.

---

*****
@Incineratrix and @Seema -- 2 accounts for the 3 of us
http://www.christine-morgan.com/ -- Christine's books
http://sabledrake.livejournal.com/ -- Personal journal
http://incineratrix.livejournal.com/ -- CoX journal
*****

The night before…

Josh Masterson drove from his Talos Island apartment. The streets were empty and only a few thugs were out. He made a right turn into a tunnel under the War Walls, into Founders Falls.

His mother had called him thirty minutes before. She had been talking very urgently and had insisted that he pack and come over as soon as possible. He didn’t know why, but she said she would explain when he got there.

He parked in front of a blue two story house. Josh walked to the front door and rang the doorbell. The door was opened by a very tired Sarah.

“Josh?” she said with a yawn. “Mom woke you up too?”

“Yeah…. Did she tell you anything?” Josh said, walking past her into the hallway.

“No. Just to pack and she wanted that owl necklace back.”

His eyes widened. “Where is she now?”

“Up in her study. I’m gunna get back to packing…. You’ll tell me what’s going on, right?”

Josh nodded, then turned to hurry up the stairs. He walked down the hallway, pausing in front of the room that used to be his. It looked like it hadn’t changed in the four years he had been gone. He shook his head and walked down to the far door in the hallway. He opened the door, took a deep breathe, and walked in.

He had only been in this study once and it hadn’t changed much. On the walls were newspaper clippings from the 80s in New York. All the articles were about the New Guard, lone heroes, and the different Sentries. On one wall, there was only framed pictures of the New Guard. The one that stood out to Josh was not the Sixth Sentry, but the woman standing right next to him. She was wearing a blue and purple spandex suit, had brown poofy hair, and an owl necklace with glowing blue eyes around her neck.

“Ah, Joshua. It’s good to see you,” Jessica Masterson said, looking up from the blue and purple spandex costume in her hands.

“Mother, what is the problem?”

“We’re going to New York. “

“Why?”

“Because we need to help out.”

Josh sighed. “Do you know how hard this is going to be to explain to Sarah? And we? How and I supposed to help? It’s not like I’m a superhero or anything.”

“Explaining all this to Sarah will be extremly difficult. We’ll have to tell her all about what happened, how her father really died, about my past, and living in New York. And you can help. Just help at the hospital.”

“While you do what?”

She stood up. still holding the suit. “Help out the New Guard.”

“Fine,” Josh said, rolling his eyes. “Which car?”

“Your’s. It gets better gas mileage.”

“Okay. You finished packing? Well, besides that.” He nodded towards the suit.

“Yes,” she said, putting the suit in a suitcase that already had the owl necklace in it. She removed the necklace and put it on.

They both walked out of the study. Sarah was running back and forth between her bed room and the bathroom. She stopped when she noticed them.

“Mot-HER!” she said. “Where is there to go at midnight on a school night?”

“New York.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped. “New York? Really? Wait until I tell Luna. She’s always wanted to go.”

“You can’t tell anyone. It’s classified.”

“Huh?”

“Are you packed? Good. Let’s go before the drunk driver turns onto our street.”

They gathered all the suitcases and loaded them into Josh’s car. Then they drove off.

---

A proud Ammy+Aspy shipper!
Art: http://becca-zombie.deviantart.com/

(( takes place during "Playing House" ))


Saturday morning, early
Liberty Alliance base


A late-night patrol followed by a good workout, a hot shower, and then breakfast before –

The secure-channel heroband alert stopped Sean Ferguson mid-scramble. He tossed the spatula in the sink and had the presence of mind to move aside the pan of half-cooked eggs and turn off the burner so he didn’t set the place on fire, then rushed to the situation room to access the main console.

Since his injuries, and his relocation to recuperate on reserve status with the Liberty Alliance instead of the New Guard, he didn’t have the full clearance here in Paragon City that he’d enjoyed in New York. But there were ways around that, and Sean wasn’t above taking a few shortcuts when the situation demanded it.

Son of a …

Any tiredness he’d had after the long night evaporated. He slung his cape over his shoulders, tugged his mask and visor into place.

His phone rang. William. He’d heard too, or at least the abridged version that had already hit the news.

“Sean, the Pearce children --”

“I just found out.”

“That means Ammy --”

“I’m already on my way downtown.” Sean said, hefting his shield.

With palpable relief, William started to thank him, and Sean gently but firmly cut him off.

“Even if it wasn’t family, love.”

“I know,” William said. “I know.”

“Are you going to contact your parents? They’ll be climbing the walls.”

“Oh, I’m sure they are,” William said, his tone taking on a tinge of uncharacteristic bitterness. “For all the wrong goddamn reasons. But, yes. I’ll call them next.”

“I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve anything.”

“I’ll be here.”

They said quick goodbyes and love-yous, hung up, and Sean left the base. He activated the crystalline energy matrix that powered his suit, augmenting his strength to superhuman levels. The flight boosters sent him speeding skyward, arcing into the dense grey fog hanging heavy over Paragon City.

Minutes later, the Seventh Sentry had made his descent into Atlas Park. He overflew City Hall and landed on the steps of #1 PPD HQ. All around him was organized chaos: cops and Longbow, feds in suits, news vans, helicopters, other costumed heroes.

A combination of confidence, charm, reputation and acting like he had every right in the world to be here made it possible for Sean to get inside, upstairs, and to the task force command center that had been hastily put together to handle this latest crisis. He nodded to the impassive golden features of Luminary, tipped a salute to Blue Steel in the spirit of shield-brother camaraderie, and surveyed the scene.

Agents and officers, computers, maps with various possible routes from the Kirby Building plotted, crime scene photos – bodies and blood pools in a parking garage, a yellow smiley-face spraypainted onto a carpet. Someone interviewing a deliveryboy, right up in the poor bastard’s face, haranguing him for details. Someone else scribbling profiling info on a whiteboard.

There was nothing pertinent that Sean could add to aid the investigation at this stage, but then, that wasn’t why he was here. He sweet-talked his way past a policewoman guarding a door, went up an interior flight of stairs, sweet-talked his way past a cute young rookie guarding another door, and then stepped into the conference room.

Long windows overlooked the command center, not entirely soundproof but thick enough to keep the hectic activity down to a dull roar. At one end of the glossy executive table, two FBI agents, a detective and a police captain stood in a tight cluster with a tall blond man that Sean had no trouble recognizing as Michael Pearce. His jaw was set in a grim line, his eyes were cold, and despite the hour, his suit was so impeccable and severe he’d make the military look slovenly.

Gorgeous, if you were into fit, rugged, older men who also happened to be multi-billionaires. And really, who wasn’t?

Sean went to the other end of the table instead, approaching the petite, trim, auburn-haired woman who sat there ignoring a cup of coffee. Her hands looked folded, but as Sean got close he saw the white-knuckled tension in them.

“Mrs. Pearce?” he asked in a low murmur.

She looked up. Awareness flashed in her azure eyes. They had never formally met, but …

“I’m Sean Ferguson, the Seventh Sentry.” He sank into the chair beside her, and settled his gauntleted hand over hers. “A close personal friend of William Montgomery … Amelia’s brother?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course.”

“I want you to know that I’m here to help,” Sean said. “In any way I can.”

**

-- C.

---

*****
@Incineratrix and @Seema -- 2 accounts for the 3 of us
http://www.christine-morgan.com/ -- Christine's books
http://sabledrake.livejournal.com/ -- Personal journal
http://incineratrix.livejournal.com/ -- CoX journal
*****