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After That Bombshell…

You ever have one of those moments where everything goes wrong at once?

Okay, so yes, in general, my entire life was one of those moments.

But really, can anyone have worse timing than I do? I mean, what a way to find that out, right?

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“Um… You can’t be.”

April elbowed him, hard, and he winced. Clayton rubbed his stomach and turned her around in his arms. He couldn’t really see it, but that could just be because she wasn’t really showing yet. He would almost rather that it wasn’t, given where they were right now. He shook his head. “I mean that in the sense that… You wouldn’t be here right now if you were and you knew. You wouldn’t have done all that training with me and let me go on this stupid mission. You wouldn’t have gone to the diner with me. There’s no way. You wouldn’t risk things like that.”

She sighed, her hand over her stomach, tears in her eyes. “I… I had thought I maybe was before, and I wanted to talk to you about it, but then you got kidnapped, and I almost lost you, and it wasn’t really time to bring up the subject. And then I got caught up in helping you recover and training you and… Well, I didn’t have any of the early symptoms anymore, so I was able to ignore it, and all of this was set in motion when I actually took the test, and then I couldn’t tell you because you couldn’t afford the distraction. I figured that I’d tell you after we had this whole thing settled. When it was over. I just wanted that… normal life we kept talking about, and if we were going to have kids, I wanted it to be then, when we were safe, when they’d caught this creep. That’s why I finally gave in and agreed to doing all this work for the stupid plan. And I… I was being overly optimistic, I guess. We were only supposed to let Kilbourne see you were alive at the diner. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“April, nothing ever goes according to plan with me.”

“I know! Why do you think I flipped out when we first got here? Because I should have known better. Because that damn electric shock could already have…” She flinched, the tears really coming down now, and Clay pulled her into his arms. Sure, there were worse ways to find out his wife was pregnant, but this had to be one of the top ten—at least in terms of how the timing really, really sucked. They were in the hands of a man that had experimented on Clayton and wanted to do the same to the baby after it was born.

“I can assure you, Mrs. Moore, I will not let anything happen to your offspring. It is far too valuable to me,” Kilbourne said, and April shuddered. Clayton gagged. No way was that man getting anywhere near his wife or their child.

Of course, how to stop him was a completely different story. Even with the training Clay now had, they were still outnumbered, Kilbourne had a gun, and April had to be protected.

Now would be a really nice time for the cavalry to show up.

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Author’s Note: Another cameo by my grandpa, and the rest of the boys get caught up to speed. 🙂

Catching up with the Boys

“So… What else have you come up with?”

“I already told you everything,” Carson said, and Mackenna had to nod. He’d given them more detail on some of the stuff he’d gotten back than he’d given her, and she didn’t think that there was any more to tell—she was sure he’d have told her if there was. “I have. It’s not a lot.”

“It’s still a whole lot more than you had when you were in high school. Back then, all you had was some image of Dad in the barn, dead.”

Carson nodded, reaching for his beer. “I know. Now I know that he was around before then, a couple of times at least. I don’t know what he was after. Part of it sounded like he was trying to find a way to come back to us, and I don’t know if he picked me because I was the youngest and he thought I’d be easier to convince or if he was afraid to face any of the ones that actually knew him or what.”

Larry shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I probably remember Dad best of any of us, but I was only five when he took off, so that’s not much. If you listened to Mom’s stories—and I stopped after a while because they were all the same and I couldn’t understand why a man that supposedly loved us so much could walk away like he did—”

“You know someone told me once he was disappointed that he didn’t get a girl?”

“That’s a stupid thing to say.” Mackenna shook her head. “Not only does it not matter if the kid’s a boy or a girl, if you want them, you get one and they’re healthy, that’s all that should matter. Besides, all of you seem to like women, so he’d have gotten three daughters eventually.”

“Or he’d just adopt random strangers like we did,” Carson said, smiling at her, and she nodded. Someone kicked him under the table, and she winced as she got caught in the crossfire.

“Who did that?”

“Did what?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll find out, and I’ll make them pay for it, I swear.”

Carson shook his head, laughing, and both of his brothers tried to look innocent and failed. Carrie gave a long-suffering sigh. She didn’t seem to enjoy the boys’ antics much, which made Mackenna wonder why she’d wanted to marry Nick. From what she’d seen, it was always like this around the boys, and when a person married someone, they took on their family, too, no matter how estranged they might be.

“Your grandfather was looking for you.”

Mackenna forced a smile as she looked back at Bob. “I’m sure. I might even be in a lot of trouble. I took off on a joyride, and I think I missed the meet-n-greet. We kind of had… other things to deal with. Are you all matched up and settled? Everything good with your tow drivers?”

Bob nodded. “We’re good.”

“This is Carson’s family. His brothers Larry and Nick and his sister-in-law Carrie. This is Bob. He’s a part of the car club Mac and I belong to, and he’s been on this run ever since it started. His father owned a Maxwell dealership, so we asked him about the car that Carson found.”

“Quite a find,” Bob said, shaking hands with Larry and Nick. “Good car.”

“Really? Seemed like a wreck.”

Mackenna reached over and hit Nick, who grimaced, rubbing his arm. Carrie shook her head. “You don’t have to act like one of the guys, you know.”

“This is how I always am. You could ask Bob if you don’t believe me.”

Bob shook his head, not wanting to get involved. He excused himself and went over to join his group—current and former tow drivers that he and Mary spent their time with when they were in town—and Mackenna thought maybe his daughter and one or more of the granddaughters might be with them, too. If she got a chance, she’d say hello.

“Do you need to go find Mac, then? I suppose you’d better put Shadow in for the night.”

Mackenna nodded. “I do need to do that, though if Mac’s not here, he’s probably taking care of that right now. Don’t want to do it too late or no one would be able to see her. I don’t think those kerosene lamps of hers have been used since she was new.”

“Is that why Nate said his parents were trying to win the battle to get him to go on the candlelight run the other night?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve always been a bit curious, but Mac and Grandma thought it was too dangerous. The lights are hard to see—other cars might miss them and they don’t give enough illumination for the antique drivers—so it can be somewhat risky if people aren’t being careful. I still think it would be fun to try sometime, just once in my life.”

“Well, if you get Phantom going, you can take her.”

“You mean we’ll take her.”

“Right.”

Author’s Note: So… I didn’t leave it well enough alone and let them have a nice, fun drive. That’s just not the way it works in a mystery, right?

A Ruined Afternoon Drive

“So, you tried driving one of these babies yet?” Larry asked, leaning over the seat. He’d called shotgun, which was a battle no one ever won with him, even though Carson wanted to think that Mackenna would have kicked him out of the front in a second if she wasn’t trying to be polite. He’d kind of figured on being up next to her when she was driving, unless Mac was there, but somehow he’d ended up supplanted and stuck in back with Nick and Carrie.

There was enough room for three, possibly for more, but the trouble with being with Nick and Carrie was that the world only existed for the two of them. The lovebirds were having a lark, and Carson swore they were pretending this was some sort of carriage ride the way they kept kissing.

He shook his head. “No. I don’t want to wreck an heirloom. Mackenna keeps insisting when she’s done fixing the one I found that I have to drive it, but I think it’s better if I don’t. I can just see myself wrecking it and undoing all the work she put into it, and she’d never forgive me for that.”

“That true?” Larry turned to Mackenna. “Could you forgive him if he did that, or would it all be over if he did?”

“Depends on what he did and why he did it. If he swerved to avoid an animal in the road and ended up in a ditch, then I wouldn’t be quite as mad because I’d have to consider the reason. If he was just being stupid and totaled it, then I might not be as forgiving.”

“Thing you should know about dear baby brother Carson is that he’s a terrible klutz. He’s going to wreck something. That’s what he does. Should have seen him when he was… Oh, I forget how old he was, but he had this toy car—you know, one of those neat old ones before the days of battery-powered cars for kids, the kind that had pedals and stuff—and he didn’t keep that thing more than a day before he managed to crash it into something on the farm. He was so upset about it he didn’t leave his room for about a week.”

“That is not true. I never had a little car like that. You’re just—Oh, hell.”

“Carson?” Nick sat up and leaned around Carrie, putting a hand on Carson’s arm. “Hey—you’re not going to puke, are you? You look kind of… off. What is it?”

The car stopped, and Carson opened the door, stumbling down to the ground, leaning over and trying not to lose his stomach. He put a hand on his side, wincing as he did.

“I think we should take you someplace cool. I’m not sure if you were overcome by the heat or not, but I’ve never seen carsickness come on so fast before,” Carrie said, and he jerked away when he realized she was close to him.

Mackenna caught him. “Easy. Take a minute and breathe. This is just another part of the puzzle, remember? You have it, so tell us what it is.”

“I don’t—I never had one of those cars, but if I was babbling about a car and unable to function for at least a week, I have a feeling that I know why,” he said, looking at her, and she nodded. “It explains this, too.”

He lifted his shirt and showed her the scar on his side. She winced, her fingers tracing the mark without thinking about it. “I don’t think that’s not from any kind of wreck in a toy car.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why I would have accepted that story—I knew it was wrong the minute that Larry said it—but I always assumed the scar was nothing, like I told you—I didn’t have any without an explanation.”

“I know.” She put a hand on his face. “All right, you know that something made you forget, and whatever that was, it was a combination of what you saw and what happened to you. You were hurt. That’s not much of a surprise, not when you consider what happened to your father.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the drive. Everyone was having fun, and it’s not like I got much of anything from it this time. It’s not like the model car or anything.”

She gave his cheek a pat. “It’s still something. You are putting it all back together. Soon enough, you’ll have your answers.”

“Wait, what? Are you telling us that Carson—he got more memories back?” Larry looked from Mackenna to Carson, shaking his head. “Why didn’t you tell us? If you found out more, then why would you—You didn’t trust us?”

Carson lowered his head. “At best, you have always acted like I was fragile and crazy. At worst, since I couldn’t remember when Dad died for sure—I’ve narrowed it down since then to when I was eight, shortly after school started that year, which fits in with the story you mentioned, but I didn’t… I also don’t know who had any other part in it. I haven’t gotten anything back from when Dad died specifically. I just got back a few things from before, and if I told you any of the things that we discussed about it, you’d just… It would only upset all of you.”

Nick frowned. “You mean, you think that Dad gave you that mark on your side?”

“Well, one of the best theories we have about what happened—the reason I couldn’t remember it—was that I did it,” Carson said, feeling Mackenna wrap her arms around him. He leaned into her, welcoming the slight smell of grease that he now associated with her and all she was. He needed her. “If he did… the reasons why… It’s not something I like thinking, and I’m still hoping we’re wrong, but why else would I have forgotten and Grandpa cover it up like that?”

Larry winced. “You’ve got a point. He would only have done that for someone in the family. He would definitely have done it for you.”

“Maybe now’s a good time to go over to that Legion of yours and have some drinks.”

Surprise!

And about now you’re wondering when the story turned into the April show.

Not that it did. It’s still my story, but April just happens to have a big part in it being as she’s my wife and all. She’s my Ninety-Nine, and she means a lot to me.

All of which Kilbourne knows. He knew that when he took her, too.

Really, if he wanted me to cooperate with him, she was the perfect tool for that. I’d do anything for her, and he knew that, too. So none of that really was any kind of surprise.

Well… One part of it was.

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“If you think you can make me do what you want by threatening April, then…” Clayton began, hating himself for the truth. “Then you’re absolutely right, but don’t hurt her. Just let her go, and I will let you do whatever you want. Looks like the suit and his team let us down again, so… I mean, maybe they’re hiding behind that whole ‘can’t do anything in this country’ bit, but I doubt that. It’s probably Larabee’s doing again. Much as I like the guy, he can’t build anything that works.”

“Clayton! You are not letting this guy take you, not even for my sake. I’m sure you think that’s heroic, but shut up. Now.”

Clay shook his head. If it was him they wanted, they could have him. He would probably survive whatever this was, so he’d stay and she could go. He pushed her back. “Let April go. You could even answer a few questions, and I’ll be very helpful in whatever experiment it is you’re planning on.”

Kilbourne laughed. “You’re amusing, Moore, but your wife isn’t going anywhere. You’ll cooperate, I’m sure, but I hardly need to bargain for that.”

“April, if he shoots me, just run. I should have a few healing shifts and be fine.”

“Clay, I swear, if you even think about—”

“He doesn’t know, does he, Mrs. Moore?”

Clay turned to April, hit by those same doubts from before. “What is he talking about, April? He’s just screwing with us, right?”

She nodded. “Yes. He’s—It doesn’t matter what he’s doing. We’re going to get out of this. We’re walking away right now.”

“Or not,” Clay said as some of the goons from the room he’d avoided showed up at the end of the hallway. They were really trapped now. “Damn it, April. Why couldn’t you just have gone when I said to? At least I can survive this. Probably.”

“And maybe not,” she said, getting close to him as the men circled them.

Kilbourne shook his head. “It is a bit impressive seeing what you can do for myself, Moore. You could do a lot better without that time limit, and I could help you with that.”

“But you won’t. You’re not going to give me a way out of here. You’re not going to make my lame ability better. Then I could actually use it, and that you can’t afford.”

“Ah, but what I learn from you can be used to perfect the next one.”

Clay stared at him. “What, you have some other kid in a vat? Or did you already create them? You’re going to use me to—No wonder you didn’t care if that sadist killed me. You just wanted to know what I could take so that you could modify your next one. Where is this poor bastard, then?”

“Ask your wife.”

Clay shook his head. He knew that Kilbourne was just playing games now. It would almost seem like stalling, but Clay and April should be the ones doing that, not Kilbourne. They should be trying to buy time for the suit and his people to rush in to the rescue. Clay had already given up on that again, though. Last time he’d been rescue because of April, and this time she was stuck with him.

“No,” she whispered. “He can’t know. He doesn’t.”

Clay wrapped his arms around her, not liking this. “What are you talking about? What can’t he know? Is this what you wouldn’t tell me earlier?”

“He can’t know,” she repeated, but Kilbourne gave her an evil smile that made her shudder.

“April?”

She closed her eyes with a wince. Her voice was almost too soft for Clay to hear. “Clayton… I’m pregnant.”

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Author’s Note: So when I saw the Carry On Tuesday prompt of “the show must go on,” I thought of pretenses and stoicism and masks. Each of the possible serials have them, since both the queen and Violet have their acts, their ways of concealing their thoughts and emotions. The story and the shows always go on, though.

Maybe they shouldn’t, but then again… where would I be if the stories didn’t go on?

The Show Must Go On

“I think I had better lie down again.”

Robert felt her draw away from him, struggling to compose herself as she did. She wiped at her eyes, and he grimaced as he saw her do it. He did not like seeing her hurting, and she would not want to acknowledge that he was seeing it. He did think she managed an admirable act—though not all of it was a pretense, some of it was just who she was—of pretending that she was not agonizing over everything. With everything that had happened to her after the imposter left, learning she was pregnant, facing the gossip and insinuations not only about how he left but also about her child, to learn that the man she’d married was not only the sort of blackguard who abandoned his family, he was also one who had married her under a false name. That left her as good as unmarried, bearing a child people would call a bastard, but she did not give in to the sort of behavior anyone would expect.

She wasn’t crying constantly. She hadn’t become bitter like her aunt. She didn’t blame anyone else for her condition, not even the man who had deceived her. Robert had nothing but admiration for her poise, her decorum and dignity. He could not find enough words to describe what and who she was, this strength that shone through her actions. She would not betray a weakness, not even when she had every reason to let herself feel them, perhaps even to wallow in them. That would have been permissible in her situation, her condition.

He did not understand how she managed it. She was a woman trapped in a most unpleasant position, and she bore it better than he did. He should not think being a man somehow made it easier for him—he did not think that war could ever be called easy—or that being a woman somehow made her less than him and therefore incapable of coping, but he knew what was expected of him and not of her. He had to be in control, always strong, never weak, and he could not allow his injuries or his memories to enfeeble him. That was not permitted.

He could hear his father’s voice in his head, and he almost yelled in response, but then she would think that he was a lunatic, as any man with shell-shock might be called if they had not already labeled him a coward.

She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, forgive me. I did not mean to start woolgathering. Here, let me walk you back into the house.”

“Mr. Winston—Robbie—I did not—I am not assuming anything about your promise.”

He blinked, and then he almost cursed again when he remembered what he’d said. That had sounded rather like something it wasn’t—like a proposal. He swallowed. “Mrs. Winston—”

“Violet,” she said, and then she blushed. “I—That is, after all that has passed today, it seems rather foolish to stand on formalities, even if my aunt will make assumptions that she shouldn’t.”

“Violet,” he repeated, not sure which name he liked less. Calling her Mrs. Winston was awkward since on paper she would appear to be his wife. Violet, though, that was a name that burned her into a person’s mind—her scent, her voice, and her face. He did not want that, could not. He was not supposed to admire her. She was not his. She was the victim of the man who stole his name, his identity. He had come here to help her, yes, but that was all. Helping her did not mean that he would do what her aunt suggested. “I… Yet again I did not pay enough attention to my words.”

“I told you before that I do not expect you to marry me, nor do I think that you meant them as any sort of proposal. I do appreciate—Oh.” She stopped, her hand on her back again. “Oh, that is…”

“What? Are you feeling unwell? Should I—”

“No, no, I am fine,” she said, and he frowned, and she reached for his hand. He continued to frown as she guided it over to her stomach. He almost pulled away, but then he felt the strangest sensation underneath his palm, and he could only stare down at his hand. “I’m told that’s quite normal. All babies kick. It doesn’t feel normal, and it does seem like I ought to be covered all over in dark bruises, but it never leaves a mark.”

He nodded. “It is very… odd. Not unpleasant, just different.”

“Yes, it is,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment. Then they popped open and she stepped back, breaking contact. “I don’t know why I did that. It was inappropriate enough the way we were sitting, but to put your hand on me that way… Oh, hell fire.”

She should not have been able to run, not in her state, and in truth, she did not manage to move with much of any grace, but she still fled from him, hiding behind the hedge. He let out a breath. He hadn’t thought of the impropriety of the moment, either, just the wonder of it. She’d shared something with him that he would never have thought he could have.

“Damn it.”

“Mr. Winston?”

He turned toward her. Her face was still red, but she held herself straight, her posture stiff but her whole being as composed as always.

“I… I will go in and lie down now. Please excuse me,” she said, about to walk away, and then she stopped. “I will attempt to answer your questions tomorrow, if that is acceptable.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

She gave him a very slight smile and walked away with as much dignity as a lady in her condition could manage. Either she was the strongest woman he’d ever met, or she should have been an actress. She put on one hell of a show.

Author’s Note: So I was thinking it’s not very fair of me to link to a story already in progress because this doesn’t stand alone and would make a lot more sense if a person has read the part (or all the parts) before it.

Still, I did have Carry On Tuesday‘s prompt in the back of my head as I wrote it, so… I’ll link anyway.

Here’s to another part of pick-a-serial, another moment with the queen. Almost ironic since the prompt was from a Queen song, “the show must go on.”

Incidentally, I think I’m wrong calling this fantasy. It doesn’t have magic, so… Um…

The Queen in Shock

Anokii entered the queen’s chamber, wondering at her absence when Malzhi had not come for her this morning. When the first sun rose, he had gone north, determined to end the disruption of the troops before the king returned, and the court had been quiet. The queen would have been able to go out among them again without fear of Malzhi using the herbs against her.

Then again, Anokii did not know that the queen was aware of Malzhi’s absence. Omamhi had not reacted well to Malzhi passing his authority to someone else while he was gone, of course, but otherwise, the court was calm.

“My lady, I came to tell you that Malzhi has gone north, and if you would like to—” Anokii stopped, staring at the floor. She was not alone in doing so. She did not think that the queen’s eyes left the man in front of her—or perhaps the blade jutting out from him—and she did not believe the other woman had heard anything since he’d fallen.

She knelt next to the other woman, checking what she could see for any signs of injury. The fabric of her dress had been shredded in places, stained with blood in others, but Anokii did not believe that it was hers. The former avians bled in rivers almost as blue as the sky, or so she’d heard, though she did not know if there was any truth to it. The people of this land bled red as the fires in the sky, and that red had pooled near his body and on parts of her clothing.

Anokii lifted the other woman’s hand, turning it over to see small marks where the blade had nicked her fingers, but they had already stopped bleeding, if they had bled at all. The queen stirred, looking up at her.

“Which one are you?”

“It is I, my lady. Your maid.”

“Oh.” The queen pulled her hand back. She tried to rise and stumbled, almost toppling into the vomit behind her. Anokii caught her, guiding her away from it. The dress was already ruined, but she did not want the other woman making a mess, either.

“Are you hurt?”

“In pride, in body, or in spirit?” The queen asked, blinking, and then she laughed, collapsing on the ground again. “In all, I suppose, though some worse than others.”

“My lady—”

“My ankle was twisted. I cannot keep my weight upon it. I do believe that is the worst of it, besides the bruises. He… It was sloppy. He had no skill and I…”

Anokii moved to take hold of the other woman’s ankle, pushing up her skirt as she did. Her eyes went to the queen. The other woman shook her head. “He didn’t. I’m not sure he would have tried, but everything is so… confused. I don’t understand how I… I killed him. I did. Shouldn’t have, but did.”

“He tried to kill you.”

The queen’s eyes met hers. “Is that an excuse for what I have done? Does it give me any sort of immunity?”

When the king heard of this, there would be no mercy. True, an attack on the queen should mean the man’s death, but it did not mean that the queen was allowed to end his life. Anokii could give her no such reassurance. Defending herself might mean that the queen would die anyway.

“This looks to be swollen,” Anokii said, touching the woman’s ankle and getting a curse from her. “I will get something to reduce the swelling and help with the pain. The bruises on your neck and face, they are all of the rest of it?”

“A poor trade for what he got,” the queen said, looking over at Omamhi. She crawled forward, ignoring her ankle. Yanking the blade from the man’s body, she wiped it on the tatters of her skirt. Anokii frowned, wondering if the other woman meant to keep it for some reason. Why would she want the knife that had almost killed her?

“Yes, my lady, it was, but you should be glad it was all he did.”

The queen shuddered, and Anokii felt some pity for her, this stranger who confused her and had even frightened her at times. The other woman was only seen a tool, and because she was a tool, she had been caught in the rivalry between Malzhi and Omamhi. She should not have survived it.

“Will you draw a bath for me?” The other woman seemed gripped by a sudden need to rip at her own dress, tearing more of it off. “I should like to be clean when I face Malzhi.”

Anokii put a hand over the queen’s, stopping her from doing anything more to the dress. She went around to the back, untying the laces. “He has gone north to deal with the troops.”

“No wonder Omamhi grew bold,” the queen said, her eyes going back to the body. She did not seem to notice that she had lifted the blade. “Who must I face, then?”

“We will remove the body.”

Anokii jerked, turning behind her in shock, not certain she believed what she was hearing from the man in the cloak. The queen did not, either. She started that insane laughter again, shaking her head. This could not be possible. Oh, it might be, Anokii supposed, but it should not be. Such foolishness. He must be a leader of the revolution, but to show himself here, now, of all times? He was as crazy as the queen was. Anokii moved to take the dagger from her before she did herself harm.

“Don’t,” the queen said, drawing back with the blade, her eyes dark but very lucid despite her behavior a moment before. “This is mine. What it has done—what I have done—I will accept the consequences of my actions.”

“There is no need for that as well as no salvation in it. You cannot tell them that you acted to save yourself. It will not matter. You will still die.”

The queen pointed her blade at the man. “I do not know that I do not want that at this point. I am besieged on all sides—first Malzhi now Omamhi, and let us not forget what fate awaits me when my husband returns. What point is there in prolonging this process?”

He forced her hand down, making no move to take the dagger from her. “We will take Omamhi’s body. It will not be found until there is no way for Malzhi to prove he was not a part of the man’s death. They were rivals for many seasons. If Omamhi is dead, people will believe that Malzhi was responsible, and that is what we want. Do not tell anyone he came here. He did not speak to you. He did not touch you. You never saw him this day.”

“You want to use me, too.”

“Yes. I will not deny it, but the way I intend to use you will save your life, at least for now.”

The queen sighed. “Very well. Take the body. You have my silence. I’d like a name, though.”

“A name?”

“Why should I trust someone who will not even give me a name?”

He laughed. “Ah, yes, very true. A wise question indeed. Of course, you would not realize that we were denied names long ago, another of the king’s minor oppressions, and most of us have forgotten how to use them. He would prefer us to be… invisible, hidden away under our cloaks without even a name to distinguish us from one another.”

“He is a fool. How is he to know which one of you is serving him? You could change places amongst those cloaks with ease. You’d always be eluding him and his guards and causing a great deal of trouble as you did.”

“Yes, we learned long ago to use his own choice against him, as I will now, in fact.”

“You will take Omamhi out in one of your cloaks,” the queen said, more lucid by the moment. She sat back as Anokii moved in to help the man dress Omamhi in a cloak. No one would think he was anyone important, nor would they care why he was being carried out of the castle.

“Since you asked…” The man stopped to pick up his burden, shifting Omamhi onto his back. The queen frowned, and he pointed to the maid. “Her name is Anokii, though you should not use it in anyone else’s company.”

“I was asking for your name, not hers.”

“You did not specify, and now if you will excuse me, this is rather a heavy load, and I have some distance to go before the second sun rises.”

“Bagquin,” the queen cursed, and Anokii almost laughed, for she had thought the same thing of the man just then.

“Come, my lady. We will get all of this cleaned up, starting with you. We all must continue on.”

The queen nodded. “Of course. Giwament doiseta conannike.”*

*Loosely translated: the show must go on.

Author’s Note: It’s always so awkward trying to salvage things after a bad conversation.

Invited, Not Expected

“We don’t have anything going until the meeting with the tow drivers,” Mackenna said, not sure how to talk to him at this point. She knew they’d discussed adopting each other, they’d even discussed marriage in a joking sort of way, but they’d never made a real promise about any kind of… forever, and even if they had, promises could be empty, with less meaning than the words used to make them. Her aunt had given her plenty of them over the years. It’s okay, Mac. We’ll be all right. Just a few more months at this place, and we’ll be out on our own in a real apartment. No more of the ones without walls, I promise. No, Mac, I fixed the lock, I swear, and I never gave out any keys. You must be imagining things again. You know how you get. None of that ever happened.

Mackenna wrapped the duster around her. She shouldn’t need it in this heat, but that voice, those memories, always gave her a chill. “The repairs on Shadow seem to have done the trick. I’m not going to be working on anything else today.”

Carson nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. “That’s good, right?”

She shrugged. “It is, and it isn’t.”

“How much do you think your grandfather hates me?”

She frowned. “I’m telling you—Mac doesn’t hate you. He’s a bit gruff with everyone, and I know he’s been that way with you, but that doesn’t mean that he hates you.”

“I don’t know. I think I keep making him mad, and that’s going to be kind of awkward. Or very awkward. Well, if I ask what I was thinking of asking, yeah, it’ll be very awkward. I’m sorry, it’s just… You’d mentioned it before, and I think I have to, since I don’t have the money to keep my apartment, and I have to break the lease… so… I was going to… um…”

“Is this about staying with us for longer?”

“Mac won’t like that, but… yeah. I know I didn’t—I’m not necessarily going to leave the instant you fix the car. I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. We’re friends now. Family, even, sort of, and I’m not in much of a position to leave, but I still think you… deserve the car, that’s all.”

She found herself smiling, her stomach feeling a little off, and she was about to blame that on the heat when she found herself up in the air. She shoved against the arms around her waist, trying to get down. “Here she is, our favorite lady mechanic.”

“Larry, you idiot, let go of her,” Carson said, shaking his head as he moved to separate his brother from her. She hadn’t even heard someone coming up behind her, and she should have. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down now that she was on the ground again.

“You look the part, too. Very authentic,” Nick said, smiling as he pushed another woman forward. “This is my wife, Carrie. Carrie, this is Mackenna. She’s ‘not’ Carson’s girlfriend.”

“Do not even start.” Carson rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you invited them. I blame you.”

Mackenna shrugged. “I thought they’d get a kick out of seeing the parade and taking turns riding in the Maxwell, too. I didn’t know they’d all come today, though. They missed the main part since that run’s already over, but they can join us for the dinner meet-n-greet later, and in the meantime… We should just take a drive.”

“I’m not sure they’d want that after being in the car for at least five hours.”

“This is different, and we won’t be able to go once the sun sets, so…” She shrugged, looking at each of the others in turn. “Well, if you want to go for a short drive in the antique, we need to go now. Otherwise… We tend to spend the afternoon in the Legion until the meeting with the tow drivers, and then we eat and end up at the Legion. We’re rather boring, all things considered.”

“Hardly,” Carrie said, giving Carson a pointed look. He shook his head, and Mackenna decided that she was not going to let this turn into another one of those conversations. They had better things to do with their time.

“All right. Which of you two very manly men is going to get the engine started? Remember, it is a crank, so there’s work involved.”

“Me,” Larry said, and Carson snorted. His brother pushed him, and he just kept on laughing. Mackenna smiled. Nick tried to beat him to the car, and Carrie just sighed.

“Boys.”

“Oh, come on. They’re fun. Otherwise you would never have married Nick,” Mackenna said, getting a smile from Carson. Carrie frowned. Mackenna moved over to the car. “Easy now. You have to push it in and hold it, then turn. If you turn it the wrong way or lose your grip, it’ll kick, and that can break your arm. Careful.”

“I think you better show them how it’s done,” Carson told her, and she grinned. She would enjoy putting his brothers in their place. Again. This afternoon would be a lot of fun.

Sometimes It Takes a While to Escape

So the room below me was full of big, armed men. If I was a real superhero, I could have jumped down there and taken them all out before they had a chance to react at all. If I had any kind of special gadgetry, I would have thrown in a smoke bomb or something like that, a concussion grenade maybe, and then I’d have the whole room down and life would be good.

Problem was, I had nothing to incapacitate anyone with. I was outnumbered and currently the size of a three year old. It was, I should probably mention, a very small ventilation shaft.

I was doomed, basically.

I considered crawling back to let April know what I’d found, but I figured that was just a waste of time and would only annoy her. It was up to me to come up with something at this point, and I wasn’t doing so well.

I moved away from the room, hunting for a new exit, one with less people to see me fall on my face when I landed.

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Clayton hated ventilation shafts. He really, really hated ventilation shafts. He wasn’t sure there was anything more evil than a ventilation shaft. No, wait, there was. It was called… spandex.

He shuddered.

He took another look at the room below him. No good. There were way too many people in there. He couldn’t do that. He didn’t have anything to throw down there and knock them out or cause a distraction. He wasn’t that good of a fighter, and he knew it. He couldn’t take on that many men, not now. He was not going to be able to use that exit. He had to find a different one.

He could go back to April, tell her about this, try and talk strategy, but that was a waste of time. He should be able to deal with this on his own. He just had to keep looking for a different way out. It was simple enough.

Other than the fact that there were not very many outlets for this ventilation shaft, and he was having a hard time finding any besides the one in the room where April was and the one full of goons. This wasn’t going to be easy. Then again, it was him. He knew it wouldn’t be. They had thought that Kilbourne or whoever stuck them in that room overlooked his abilities, but maybe they knew there was no way out of this shaft.

He couldn’t afford to assume that, though. April was counting on him, and he was going to come through for her for a change.

He continued on, relieved when he finally caught sight of another grill. He stopped and looked down. Yes. Perfect. A supply closet. He could work with this. He’d even be able to climb down the shelves because even as long as it had taken to find this, he knew it hadn’t been twenty minutes, so he couldn’t shift back yet.

He forced the grill off and started down the shelves, carefully making his way and hoping he wouldn’t end up falling. It was hard with his hands this size. He was going to end up falling on his face. Of course, thinking about it didn’t help. He found himself on the ground, rubbing a sore spot on his arm. He’d better not pass out for that one. At least he hadn’t fallen from the top shelf or the entrance to the shaft. That would have been a lot worse.

He smiled slightly and went to the door.

And let out a curse. He wasn’t tall enough to reach the damn handle. It figured.

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“What took you so long?”

“I do actually thank you when you bail me out of these things, right? You rescue me and I thank you profusely, don’t I? I make odes about how you’re the superhero and not me, how I don’t deserve you, and then I usually kiss you—”

April cut him off with a kiss. “Thank you. I’m sorry. It just seemed like forever before you opened the door.”

“Had to be at least twenty minutes, remember? Can’t believe I was too small to open the damn door,” Clayton grumbled. April gave him a look, and he pointed to the handle of the one he’d just opened. “Hello? I had to be a toddler to get through the ventilation shaft. I tried to open the door when I finally got down, but I couldn’t. Trying to fashion a makeshift stool just ended up with me falling on my butt repeatedly, so I gave up and waited to shift, okay?”

She sighed. “I really wish we could figure out a way around the twenty minute rule.”

“Ha. And have my power be useful? You’ve got to be kidding. That would be nice, and nice things—other than you—don’t happen to me,” Clayton muttered, grabbing her by the hand. “Come on. I did actually climb back into the shaft and work on some surveillance while I was waiting. I’ve got a pretty good idea of the layout, and I think the area we want is this way.”

April smiled. “My hero.”

“You’re just saying that to mess with me.”

She shrugged, letting him lead her through the building to the room he’d found that looked rather like a lab with a private office on the one side of it. He figured that was probably where Kilbourne’s office was, and that was where they wanted to be. The others should handle the men in here—if they showed up at all—and the answers they wanted would be in Kilbourne’s files. Plus, that room was unguarded, unlike the one full of goons Clay’d had to avoid earlier.

“What is this place?”

“I don’t know. The warehouse was convenient, I guess. This seems a lot more sophisticated. Like it might actually be where Kilbourne’s been working since he went rogue.”

April sighed. “I hate to bring this up, but that falls into the ‘too easy’ category, doesn’t it? I mean, if he is doing what we think he is, if he’s been working on some other projects since they forced him to stop whatever it was they were planning on doing to you, then why would he take us there? You might still be the key to his research, but me?”

“You are the brains of our operation,” Clayton reminded her as they reached the lab. “And you did save me before, so maybe they figured they had to take you out to get to me.”

“Or perhaps your wife is far more valuable than you think, Moore.”

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Author’s Note: Well, I sat down to do a Sunday Scribbling for this story, too, as part of the pick-a-serial, and it got kind of… long.

I suppose there are parts where it could be broken up, but I like it all together, so here it is. I won’t apologize for it. 😛

Yes, I’m trying to be funny since the prompt was the apology. And, of course, I go to title it and can’t escape from hearing Nirvana’s “All Apologies.” Oops?

All Apologies

“I am sorry,” Violet said as she tried to settle on the bench, disconcerted by having him arrange the cushions for her. He’d taken all the ones from the other chairs and attempted to prop up her back and her feet, and she did not know how to react to his fussing.

Would it have been like this for her if her “husband” had been true and was at her side now? Would he do such things for her and care for her through the trials of this pregnancy, or would he have ignored it all and joined the others in the opinion that she should not rise from bed at all?

“Sorry?”

“Yes. I have to apologize for the behavior of my aunt and even my mother. I told you—I am not your responsibility, the child is not yours, and the burden does not belong to you. I would not ask you to… You do not have to marry me, no matter what they said, and do not think that we are alone here so that we may… court. That may be what my mother is trying to arrange, but it is not what I expect.”

He gave her a smile, adjusting a pillow for her back. “I know. You were quite clear, and I think it is more incumbent upon me to apologize, not you.”

“Why?”

He sat down in the chair across from her, rubbing at his left arm. “It was extremely foolish of me to come here thinking that I could ‘fix’ everything, to assume that I could find the man who had stolen my name and right every wrong, and then not think that everyone would expect that fix in my marriage to you. I went on and on about the situation that you were in without once thinking of what everyone would assume the obvious solution to be. Then when it was discussed, I did not behave as a gentleman should—more like a startled jackrabbit with extremely poor manners. I must have insulted you with my refusal, and that was not my intent.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no, I am not offended. A part of me is quite relieved.”

“And the other part of you?”

“Is terrified and thinks I should marry you just to save myself,” she admitted, and her hand flew to her mouth. Horrified, she felt her cheeks burn with shame, not sure why she’d been so foolish as to give voice to all that. It was not proper, and she had not wanted to tell him it.

“I cannot blame you for thinking that, though I doubt I qualify as any kind of salvation.” He looked down at his arm, and she shook her head.

“I think that you are allowing your injury to poison your mind towards yourself. You are not crippled, not as badly as some, and even with your difficulties, you are not useless. Do not think of yourself that way.”

He looked up at her. “You are so strong. How did he ever betray you like this?”

She lowered her head. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I did not mean to make you feel ashamed. It was not meant as any kind of censure toward you. I find you quite admirable.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Not so long ago, they would have condemned me as a coward,” he said, his hand on his arm. “The things I saw, the things I did… They… I am far more useless than you think.”

She sat up, putting her feet on the ground. “Shell-shock. You have shell-shock?”

“If you want to call it that. I think cowardice fits it better. Even my dreams terrify me.”

“I do not think that we are meant to go to war, to see and do the things that you have done. Why should it be such a thing that you are expected to be courageous about? We are told not to kill, are we not? So then why should we push for war? Why should we say that the people we send to fight in such conflicts should feel nothing when they are forced to take a life? That is the most illogical thing I have ever heard. Fighting for one’s country does not mean that one immediately becomes able to accept the death all around them as… nothing. Even if the enemy is trying to kill you, a part of you must be aware that they are a person. The men dying around you are human whether they are comrades or the aggressors. How is not feeling something for those lives lost right?”

“I think I am starting to understand why he would have taken this ruse with you as far as he did.”

She blinked. “What?”

“The man you thought you married, the one who stole my name, I do believe I see what he must have seen in you.”

She flushed. “Why—No. You are not attracted to me, not as he must have been to push for marriage even with the sort of deception that he was employing, and when I think of what he did… No, you are not like him. It is… You do not treat me like a flower.”

“A flower?”

She nodded, gesturing to the garden. “It may surprise you because of my current condition, but this is my work. This is where he met me, and he used to say my name suited me because I was so close to the flowers, always planting and pruning… There were times when I thought he saw me as some kind of… sprite or something.”

“Then I was wrong. He did not see you at all. Your name suggests something delicate, but you are are stronger than that, no flower to be crushed by the elements or by him. Your words express a greater comprehension of the world and things that no one else has even tried to speak of with me than I would have thought, and that is more valuable than he could have known.”

“I do not think it wise for you to flatter me.”

Mr. Winston frowned. “Forgive me. I did not mean to flirt or seem insincere.”

That, she thought, was the dangerous part. He was altogether too sincere, and after her poor choices before, she was afraid of what that might mean for her. “It—I am sorry. You had questions about him, and we have not spoken of it at all. That is my fault, having taken the conversation in the wrong direction. Please, ask me what you will about him and I will attempt to answer.”

Mr. Winston rose. “I think that I should go. I came in uninvited, and I have overstayed my welcome. Please excuse me.”

She thought of asking him to stay, but after all that had happened since he arrived this morning, she did not think it wise. “I am sorry. I should not have assumed—you are not unwelcome, though has been quite awkward since my aunt voiced her opinion, and that will hang over us for some time, I think.”

He nodded. “Yes, I imagine that there will be no avoiding the knowledge that nearly everyone expects to marry. Perhaps we should continue our discussions through correspondence from now on.”

“You are leaving?”

“I do not know. It might be best.”

“For you. You can leave and be free of all entanglements and gossip, and you are not pregnant and abandoned, and if you never find the man who stole your name, your life will be little altered, but mine will never be what it was. I should have more sympathy for you after the things we spoke of, because of the war, but this—this is cowardice on your part, and I will not apologize for thinking that.”

He met her gaze, and she rather thought she understood some of the horrors of shell-shock in the darkness that he betrayed in the look. “You are very bold.”

“I have already fallen about as far as I can. My reputation is gone. I cannot get it back, so why should I stick to things that decorum demands? I shall be talked about whether I am good or I am bad, and though I made a poor choice, I thought I had done the right thing. I should be married now. That’s what I thought I was until your letter. Now I am not. I am pregnant, and it has been a difficult pregnancy by anyone’s standards. You say I am strong when all of these things terrify me, and I am not because I want to hate you for suggesting that you go and leave me alone again.”

He came over and sat down next to her. “No one has given you a chance to express your true feelings over any of this, have they? All the fear and anger… You have it all inside you still.”

She lowered her head. “I couldn’t cry when they expected me to weep—when he left—and I am not sure I want to cry now, but I never know what I feel anymore. Between the baby and this whole disaster, I have become completely lost.”

He drew her close to him, letting her rest against his shoulder, and despite the impropriety of the moment, she did not pull away from him. She couldn’t.

“I’m sorry. I do not envy you that at all. I felt that way all through the war, and even now that it is over… There seems to be no place for us veterans—none for cowards or cripples, not even in our own homes. Why would anyone steal my name when my life is not hardly worth living?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why he did this to either of us.”

Robbie—the inappropriate name fit the inappropriate situation—took her hand, covering it with his bad one. “I swear I will not make you feel alone again.”

Author’s Note: Yes, I am doing Sunday Scribblings for both possible serials again.

Though it’s a bit scary that a prompt of the apology gave me this.

The Queen’s Apology

She could not keep herself locked inside her chamber forever. She could not hide here, could not avoid Malzhi. She could not let herself act as a coward would. She was a queen. She was not an ordinary one, either. She had training and skills. She should not be afraid. She should be able to face any of her opponents—king or minister or anything of the sort. She was not going to be frightened or intimidated. She could not let that happen.

She just wished that she had someone, anyone, that she could trust. She hated being so alone. While she had always been prepared to put her life at risk, had always been ready to die if necessary, but she had not realized how hard that would be when she was left alone. She had not known how much she had depended upon the community that she’d been a part of, how much stronger she had been when she was with them.

Being alone was the worst part of being queen.

She heard her door open, and she turned back, half-prepared to beg her maid to stay, half-ready to yell and scream at her to go away and never return. She found herself frowning as she saw the minister that had entered. Tall, thin, he had not the same physical presence as Malzhi, but she knew him to be of the same sort as his rival. Cruel, both of them, as though spawned from the same pool of hatred as the king. She swallowed.

“I do not recall inviting you to enter,” she said, her instincts screaming at her to run. She did not need any sort of magic or sorcery to know the man’s intent. He was more obvious than Malzhi or the king, both of whom had made no secret of how little value her life had to either of them.

“Why would I wait for an invitation? I’m not like Malzhi. I have no interest in pretending to charm you,” Omamhi said, his lips setting in a tight line. “I have given the situation consideration, and I see only one course at this point. Malzhi intends to use you. I don’t know how. I don’t much care. The only thing that matters is that I will not allow him to have what he wants.”

“I think whether or not Malzhi gets what he wants is not for you to decide. If you would like the satisfaction of telling him I would never consent to his… suggestion, then you may have it and go,” she said, trying to appear calm, though she knew her words would not work. If Omamhi had come to her room, he would not turn back from his decision. If he had lacked courage enough to do this, he would have retreated before now.

Omamhi lunged for her, and she stepped to the side, almost avoiding him. He caught her hair and yanked her back with it, causing her to cry out when she would have wanted silence. She knew no one would come to her aid, not even her servants, and she needed quiet for what she must do.

He wrapped his fingers around her neck as the other hand held tight to her hair. “Malzhi doesn’t get to win.”

“Don’t be a fool,” she said, clawing at his hand. “I am still the king’s wife, and he will punish you for this. Is his wrath worth defeating Malzhi temporarily? Is war with my homeland worth it? You will break the treaty if you do this. Think. Stop now. Go.”

“I tire of your voice,” Omamhi said, and her vision wavered as he increased the pressure on her throat. Her hand fell from her useless attempts to pull it free, loosening the blade from her dress instead. She knew what she should do with it—lodge it inside his gut and end this fight now—but she had no interest in killing him.

She swiped the blade across his hand, causing him to cry out and let her go. She stumbled forward, knowing that she’d left plenty of her hair behind in his other hand. She forced herself to her feet, pointing the blade at him. “Get out.”

“You cut me.”

“Yes, and I will do so again.”

“No one does that. No one would dare.”

She thought Malzhi would have, were he here, and perhaps others as well, but Omamhi was lost. He would hear no reason at this point. He snarled, going for the knife, his hand twisting her wrist to make her let it go. She used his momentum against him, letting go and stepping back. He fell, and she jumped over him, rolling toward the dagger. He caught her foot, pulling her back with enough force to make her think she would not be walking for a while.

He hit her with the back of his hand, right across the face, and she could not see for a moment, dazed and unable to think. The hand closed on her throat again, and she almost laughed as she did what her trainers had always said was a sign of a weak fighter—one who had to resort to kicking a man in his most sensitive region.

She knew they would have been disappointed with every part of her performance. They had trained her better than this, and they would never have let her stop at cutting the man’s hand. He should already be dead. That was what she’d learned to do, after all, defend herself and others to the point of killing.

She heard her dress rip as she went for the blade, her fingers almost closing on it when he managed to get hold of more than her ruined skirt. He pushed her leg down, crushing it and her under him, and she was forced to contort herself in order to get the dagger, smiling in relief despite cutting her fingers on its edge. He went to take it from her, and they struggled for control, but he’d made a mistake. His position left him poised over the blade, and he no longer held her in place as he had before. She forced herself to the side, and he went forward.

The blade should have scraped him at the most, but he’d actually twisted it around enough to where he impaled himself on it when he fell. She stared at him, waiting for him to move again. She did not think it could have been that grievous a wound, not at that distance, but he did not stir.

“Omamhi?”

She leaned over him, hearing nothing, not even an intake of breath, and she shook her head. No. She knew she’d been trained, but that had been a sloppy fight that she should not have won. She looked at the man on the ground, at the blade inside him, and she turned away to vomit.

She did not know what to think, could not accept what she’d done. “I’m sorry.”