Question Titans #1/The Titans are here Ya'll!

She opening her eyes slowly. Her memory was hazy in places. There had been a great rush, a rush to be here, an urgent need that forced her to abandon all precaution… hadn’t there? She felt it no longer. However, she felt… odd, strange, out of place. Something was… incorrect. The ceiling above her was tiled in white, but the tiles were strange to her eyes. Not stone, not wood, but something else, she was certain. Very strange indeed. She attempted to lift her hand up, as though to brush it against the tile.

That was when she realized her hands were bound at her sides. She could not move them. She felt… weak. Stiff, strange, displaced, but also not weak. Fresh, yes, that was the sense of it. She blinked, and turned her head. She was in a small room. Strange devices beeped next to her, showing changing images, like magic. Lines that zigged and zagged. There was a white sheet covering her… but her chest was flat, and broad, and large. Oh, that’s right, she was a boy now. She remembered that now. So why did she still call herself a she? “Because I am… I am…” she could not recall her name, not yet. She would, in time. She had no fear of that.

Suddenly, a woman dressed in blues walked into view. She was not dressed in traditional garb, but some sort of… two piece blue outfit. She had a strange metal and rubber set of tubes hanging about her neck. There was a small plate on her chest, over her left breast. It read, in letters that were not proper, but which she could still distinguish, “RN. Jones.” The woman had dark skin, like one of those from the other side of the sea, and her hair reminded R… R… It was so close… she could almost taste her name, but it eluded her. Still, the woman’s hair, it looked like a brown bush. The woman stopped and looked at her intently, eyes widening in surprise. She was not tall, but petite, but she had proper meat on her bones. No twig, this one. And her voice, it was a good, healthy voice. A mother. Definitely a mother.

“DOCTOR! I need a DOCTOR! AND SECURITY! 1025 is awake!” she called, dashing out of sight. Rhea blinked. Rhea! That was her name! Rhea. Rhea blinked again, and smiled, pleased as her memories, though hazy, were returning. She could remember the words of the oracle now.

<“Your time is short, and your chances are few enough, but they exist. Hurry, and you may yet see yourself returned. There is one who may aid you, for they cannot aid themselves. Bargain with them, give them a final gift of peace, a request to relay from a mother to her son. It may be enough. If they accept the price, they will surrender to you what you require. A vessel. It is an ill-suited vessel, rife with inconveniences. Still, that will change, if you show patience. I can see little else, but there is… a chance for you, to find in this life a joy denied to you in the last.”>

People, including a very tall man with gray hair and a big bushy beard, burst into the room. They wore white coats, almost like a robe, over those same blue clothes. “MD. Paul Johnson,” read the plate on the lead man’s lapels. Immediately following him was Jones. That must be her name, but Rhea could not conclude what the RN stood for. Still, at least she could understand more now. This was not her ancient Greece. This was an age of man. The clothes, the room, all these were pieces of the puzzle of this new age.

The big man in charge, and the woman, Jones, who followed at his heel, stood off for a moment as two large men came bustling in and grasped her by the arms, pinning her down. She did not resist, for she did not know what was going on. However, she was certain she could be fine. Patience. She could be patient.

“Trevor, Trevor, can you hear me?” the man, the MD. Paul Johnson, asked as he held up a light and shined it into her eyes. She flinched from the bright light as it shone at her, but that cleared away in seconds. She shook her head to clear the spots. “Come on Trevor, it’s gonna be ok son. I need you to listen. Either speak or nod for yes, don’t shake your head unless it means no, got it?” She nodded. She had no yet tried to speak. The man was not speaking her tongue, but she understood him. There were… roots in his words she could hear, could feel. Strong roots.

“So you can hear me?” she nodded again. For a moment, a great smile of relief washed over the man’s wrinkled face and beard. “That’s wonderful!” he declared.

“Doc… are you sure that’s so wonderful?” one of the big men asked.

“Shut your mouth Frank, or I’ll shut it for ya,” Jones reprimanded the man sharply. “Hey there Trevor, glad to see you awake,” she said, but there was something more there. Rhea felt a connection with this woman, some thread…

This could be big trouble or big relief. He shouldn’t be conscious, he shouldn’t be even able to understand us! She heard, but Jones did not speak. Ah, these were the words of her mind. Different thoughts, traces of them, echoed in her head from the men holding her down.

Freak! Thought one, Frank, but the other had different words. Shut it Frank! Was all he seemed to be thinking.

“Jones, Frank, enough, both of you,” MD. Johnson stated. “Trevor, Do you recognize where you are?” the man asked. Rhea shook her head for no. “This is the University of Minnesota's Medical Hospital. Do you know why you are here?”

“I was hurt?” Rhea found herself asking. She had not intended to speak, but somehow, the words tumbled out. She was tired of silence. Most surprising, perhaps, she spoke their tongue instead of her own.

“That’s correct. Do you remember being hurt?” the man asked. Rhea shook her head. “I expected that. Trevor, my name is Doctor Paul Johnson, and I specialize in dealing with brain trauma in children and young adults. Your name is Trevor Del Rey. Do you recall that?” Rhea shook her head. It was good to learn her host’s name.

“Trevor Del Rey…” she repeated, tasting the name. She did not like it, but it would suffice for now.

The man nodded, and stepped back. He turned to Jones. “Stay with him, try to keep him calm. I’d hate to have to sedate him when he just woke up. I’ll contact his father. Hopefully the man will get here before the MCO does. If he doesn’t… I know you’ll keep them out. They do NOT have the authority to arrest anyone,” he added, looking directly at the two security guards. “Your chief knows that. Your chief knows I know that. Now I know you know that, capice?” he asked in a threatening voice. The man… Doctor? Doctor, It had a taste to it. Not Greek, but…

Doctor Paul Johnson looked sternly around the room, then nodded and marched out, the two big men following him. Only the small woman, and she was small, no more than five feet tall, remained. She turned and looked Rhea’s body up and down. “Well. This is taking an unexpected turn,” she said aloud, with a pleasant smile on her face.

Her inner thoughts finished the sentence she had not. We didn’t think he’d ever wake up. A month… it’s been a month. Jones walked out of the room and shouted something into the corridor. Then she turned and walked back into the room.

“Well honey, I must say, you look alright. I hope we can get you back to full working order. I… well, I’m not supposed to say more yet. Doc don’t like the nurses worrying patients and you are extra special to him. Still, I can keep you company. I can’t answer any personal questions, but if you can come up with any others you want to ask…” she trailed off. Rhea did not detect any particular dissonance between thought and spoken word.

She carefully tried to pull her hands free, but she couldn’t. “Sorry honey, but I can’t take those off yet. Doc hasn’t cleared you yet. I wish I could, but you’re gonna have to wait.”

“What does RN stand for?” Rhea asked.

Jones actually paused at that one for a few moments, blinking, then looked down at her plate with her name on it. “Oh!” she responded, her eyes lighting up in understanding. “I’m a registered Nurse.”

“What is a registered nurse?” Rhea asked, curious. If she could not have personal questions answered, and she could not be freed of restraints, she could at least learn something of the world. Sating her curiosity about that strange RN was a good place to start.

“I have a nursing license. It means I can help care for people who are sick or injured, make them better. I’m a doctor’s assistant, basically. I handle most of the day to day hands on stuff, while their heads are full of facts and figures and random bits of knowledge. There’s lots of overlap, but you have to study for years to know enough to be a doctor. Nursing is more hands on, in a way, you spend a lot more time with patients. Pays decently too,” Jones added with a smile. Another woman, a little taller, with much lighter colored skin like those of the western peoples beyond Greece, came in and set a chair of metal down for Jones. Jones thanks her and took it, setting it down beside the place, presumably a bed, where Rhea lay.

“What is a license?” Rhea asked. Jones’ smile broadened and she laughed. She had a good laugh, rich and full of life.

“Damn, you’re gonna have me answering questions all day. Still, I guess it could be worse. Alright, a license. It’s permission from people with authority to do something. So a nursing license means permission to be a nurse. The government, in this case.” Rhea nodded. That word she understood. She could grasp the language, but there was so much that was just… different. So much to learn about this modern era. She launched into more questions eagerly, smiling, and Jones answered them honestly.

This went on for a long time, more time than Rhea kept count, but not so long the sun had begun to set. There WAS sunlight in her room, windows she had not looked at before that opened out over a vast view of peaceful forest and rivers. It was quite beautiful. Beyond that was people, and buildings. A vast modern city to rival the greatest of ancient Greece spread out before her when she had looked out that window.

Their talk was interrupted when men in uniforms entered the room. The letters MCO spread across their uniforms. One of the men from earlier was yelling at them to get out. “MCO, we’re here for the perpetrator, to ensure-”

“The hell you ARE!” Jones yelled, getting right in the man’s face… or as close as she could. She was afraid, Rhea could feel it, but she was also furious. Rhea could tell that too. “Get the FUCK OUT OF THIS HOSPITAL!” Jones ordered, pointing, the other hand resting on her hip. “You Jackbooted thugs ain’t pulling this bullshit on my patient, no way, no how. Get out, NOW!” she ordered.

“Ma’am, you are impeding an MCO-”

“The HELL I AM! You have NOTHING! The cops are gonna be on their way, his father AND his father’s lawyer are on their way, Doctor Johnson is on his way, and I KNOW security’s already told you to leave, cause Martin here’s looking at you like he wants to rip your heads off,” she nodded to the man, apparently Martin, who had been trying to stop them. “Nobody in this hospital is buying it, asshole. Get. Out. Now.” she ordered. The MCO man actually took a step back. Rhea was tempted to reach out and push him, to try and convince him to give in, but she resisted. She could sense the air… it would be bad to try. If she failed, it would probably spur them to greater force. Jones had been kind to her. It would be wrong to endanger her. Patience was her key.

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY SON!” A new voice shouted with considerable volume. A very short man walked in, one of those cursed by the gods with the height of a child. A dwarf. He glared daggers as he shoved his way in past the men in MCO uniforms. “YOU WILL LEAVE!” he stated furious. “You have no warrant, no power to arrest anyone, let alone my son, you are unwelcome, and you are inciting yelling and bad tempers in a hospital LEAVE,” he stated, glaring up at them. “Leave or I swear on my mother’s grave I will personally find a way to butcher your careers if it bankrupts me,” he threatened.

“We’ll be back when you realize how stupid you’re being,” the MCO man growled, but he turned around, and gestured and his four followers filed out of the room, he going last. Once he did, a tall woman carrying a briefcase and a dressed in yet another strange style walked in, looking with distaste at the men. She sniffed when the last of them was gone.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Gloria,” the small man who had called her his son stated by way of apology to the primly dressed woman. She was not a lovely woman, but there was… yes, she too was a mother.

“Quite alright, Aaron, quite alright. I don’t like them either. But stop focusing on them. Aaron, he’s looking at you,” she stated, gesturing towards Rhea. Rhea watched the small man turn slowly, eyes shining with hope and love and a fierce but deeply buried sorrow, as he looked at her. The pain that cut through him was almost palpable enough to crack the air when he realized she did not recognize him, but he buried instantly.

“Trevor, Trevor, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, rushing over. Jones’ vacant seat was instantly commandeered as he used it to reach a height where he could see his son, see Rhea, better. “I’m sorry. I… but what am I saying? I… these traps,” he turned his distraught attention to what held down Rhea’s arms. “What the hell are these for?”

“Coma patients, especially ve… those who experience significant brain trauma,” Jones began, correcting herself. She’d used the term in her internal dialogue. Vegetable. Someone who had nothing in their brain. A blank slate. That was right… Rhea had taken a blank slate, an empty mind. “-wake up safely. Thrashing is common, they are liable to hurt themselves as much as anyone else,” Jones was explaining. She’d missed a bit of what Jones was saying, but she heard the gist.

“Well he’s not thrashing now! Take it off!” the man, her… father, ordered.

“I can’t do that sir, not without Doc Johnson giving the ok. This is his patient, and he was the one who ordered the restraints.”

“Well, I should have ordered them taken off sooner,” said Doc Johnson himself, striding into the room, “But I apologize Trevor, I was distracted. Come Jones, let’s give Trevor a little freedom. I know from experience those restraints start to chafe,” he said with an attempt at a good natured chuckle. He and Jones instantly walked over, and undid the restraints.

Slowly, all eyes in the room on her, Rhea sat up straight, feeling at her wrists once she did so. She was, as she had expected, hugged from the side by Trevor’s… her father. IF she was to take up Trevor’s unused life, then this man was her parent now. That, she understood, was part of the BARGAIN. Not a son, but… a child. His child. She could not violate it. It was part of her wyrd now.

“I…” she began to say in her strange new male voice, but the man, Aaron Del Rey, presumably, shushed her.

“No, Trevor, I’m sorry. I know, you do not know me, do you?” he asked, heartbroken, but soldiering ahead. This tiny man refused to be cowed.

She shook her head. “I do not, but… you, you are my father, aren’t you?” she asked, letting her natural nervousness well through. She let it well through too much, and it hit everyone in the room, making them jump back. She yanked back on it, dragging it in, and curled up into a ball as she pulled their nervousness with her.

“Woah… that was… Doc, I know we already knew he was a mutant, but that was…”

“Enlightening,” The doctor, a vision of confidence, stated. He had possessed the least nervousness of the people in the room. He was nodding his head, starting intently at his patient, examining and considering.

“Trevor, it will be ok, son,” Her father stated. He too had nothing remaining but confidence. “I’m not going to let anybody, not even your mother, hurt you.”

“Why would my mother hurt me?” Rhea exclaimed, feeling horror well up with the nervousness at those words. What mother would wish ill on her child? Who would… no, it was ok, it was ok… Aaron, her father, enveloped her in a hug and she felt love and courage flow from him. Suddenly Jones, who had been on her other side, joined the hug.

“Oh Honey…” Jones whispered. You poor thing. You didn’t ask for this, did you? You didn’t want this, but it’s yours. I know that feeling all too well. Well I’m not gonna let them hurt you more, she heard Jones’ thoughts. Just like poor Abigail. Didn’t want this, but… into Jones’ mind flashed, for a brief moment, an image of a little girl, no more than nine, with long red hair in a black dress with white buttons and accents. She had skulls tying her hair up, and small black shoes with pink ribbons. She was staring at a coffin, trying not to cry, as someone, Jones, looked down at her from above and clutched her tightly. Rhea broke down in tears, and the sadness flooded out of her, almost sweeping away the others in the room.

However, Jones and her father were islands in a storm. Somehow, they were not swept away by this. Jones had long conquered this sadness, and her father simply had too much furious joy at his son’s awakening to fall to it. She felt the sadness dry up.

“Thank you Jones… I’m sorry,” Rhea said. “I… did not mean to do that.”

“It’s alright, Trevor. You don’t know what you're capable of, any more than I do. We’ll get it figured out son,” her father stated. He firmly believed that too. Come hell or high water, come Tartarus itself, he would protect his son. He would not lose him twice. If only her own husband had been such a father as this…

Aaron Del Rey, President and CEO of Del Rey publishing, an imprint of Ballantine books under Random House, stepped out of his son’s hospital room. He was the only son and heir of Lester and Judy-Lynn del Rey, the founders. He loved books, stories, fiction and fantasy. He loved his son. He just… he shook his head. He did not have time to wallow in regret and delusions of self-aggrandizement. “Gloria, the restraining order is in place?” he asked his lawyer, who had followed him out. He needed a few moments to collect himself.

“Yes, Aaron,” she replied, sounding faintly amused. She was in too good a mood herself, though she rarely showed it, to sound cross with him for asking that question for the eighth time that day. “We’ve got everything taken care of. Your wife’s lawyers aren’t even fighting it. They know it would be a disaster if she came anywhere near him.” He nodded absently. “It’s going to be alright. Most amnesia patients lead happy lives after recovery, even if they don’t remember their past. For Trevor, that…”

She trailed off when she saw he wasn’t listening. Aaron was lost in his own thoughts, about his son and his failures. She wasn’t certain she should snap him out of it, this time. He needed to get past that, if he was going to look after his boy…

For Aaron, it was all about the party a month ago. He had always known his wife had some enemies. She was a witch, even if she was a minor one. Useful spells around the neighborhood, that sort of thing. Not obscenely wealthy but not poor, no super hero. But any witch earns enemies just for knowing magic.

It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a family picnic, a chance to mend some fences. Trevor was home from his boarding school for a while, he’d… gotten suspended for another fight. Involving a girl, again. Aaron had cleared his calendar, cancelling a meeting that was meant to help move more of their published works onto the Japan market, in order to have time for the picnic. He hadn’t told Trevor, just his wife, Agnes. They had a pair of security guards and Agnes’s personal assistant to keep watch on things, while he stood on a stool and cooked burgers with his son. Trevor was smiling, having a good time.

It was his fault, really, that Trevor was always in trouble. He never made enough time for him. He knew that. It should have been easy, but it wasn’t. So much to do to run a multi-million dollar publishing business and keep it successful so he could leave something behind for his son.

Agnes was setting out plates, humming to herself with a smile on her face. Just whistling. That was when the first fireball struck, blowing up their car and Agnes’ assistant Diane. Her head… her head landed on a plate on the table in front of his wife.

His bodyguards, there for emergencies like this, had always seemed more for show than anything. His wife could work a little magic, yes, but nothing serious. He was just the CEO of a book publishing company, and they didn’t deal in any kind of books that made enemies. Still, the men had him, his son, and his wife on the ground behind the tables, guns drawn and firing in a very short time frame.

He’d been terrified. He’d been afraid. His wife had cobbled together a barrier to defend them… but whoever was attacking at the time had brought henchmen. They fired from around the edge of the hastily thrown barrier, and only Trevor saw it. He tackled his mother out of the way and got shot… but he got right up, ran the henchman down, and beat him to the ground. He’d always been a strong, fit kid. Real sports star, good Football player, a linebacker! It made Aaron smile, watching the games.

The other henchmen saw their own get taken out, and started shooting his son. Only Trevor didn’t die. He kept running up to one after another of the henchmen and beating them to the ground.

They’d been saved from whoever was attacking by a local superhero. Splitwing was a rookie, but he was a very skilled rookie, it seemed, with experience fighting mages. He hit the fire user, a mage named “FyreFang” from behind and beat him to the ground. Then he started beating henchman. Trevor staggered back to them, covered in bullet holes that were already healing. His eyes had changed to a deep violet. His son was a mutant…

That was when there was one last gunshot, much too close. His wife had grabbed a gun from a fallen bodyguard, Mitchell. She… she’d shot their… his son in the head. Then she shot him again. A third time. Three shots before he’d realized what was happening and tackled her, wrestling her for the gun.

Splitwing had separated them both, staring in horror at Trevor lying on the ground, his head covered in his own blood, but the wounds were already closing. He’d pulled out a pair of handcuffs, having taken the gun from Agnes’ hands, and cuffed her, but she used a spell to slip them and grabbed the gun again.

“No child of mine! No child of mine!” she’d shrieked in terror, staring at Trevor as she prepared to shoot him. Splitwing had been forced to knock her out and more carefully bind her hands as police and firefighters arrived on scene. The rest… it passed in a blur. Aaron had ridden in the ambulance with his son.

“Brain death… he’s regenerated his brain,” the doctor, a minor surgeon whose name Aaron still could not recall, had told him. “He’s regenerated his brain, but you can’t use regen to fix this. His memories, basic functions… it’s a miracle his brain can even tell his heart to keep pumping,” the man had said.

But Aaron couldn’t give it up. His son… his son… he was trying to fix things, he had so many mistakes… but to have his son killed by his own mother… no, no, no, no, no! He wouldn’t accept it! He remembered punching at the hospital walls for what felt like an hour until that useless doctor had offered him a solution. “There’s… a specialist at the University of Minneapolis. Paul Johnson. He handles brain trauma cases in children, he might… be able to offer some hope.”

Calls were made. Answers were gotten. Paul Johnson strode into his son’s room at the hospital a day later and took charge of everything. “To put it simply, he’s not dead, but it’s… difficult dealing with regenerator’s as strong as your son. Their own power prevents us from using most of our usual techniques,” he explained as they wheeled Trevor into a new Gadget designed to scan the brain, a combination of MRI, CAT Scan, X-ray, and a few others, but supposedly with the most complete picture ever and almost never any risk. It was, supposedly, created in a joint project between some gadgeteer cabal and a DARPA supercomputer only known by its Codename, if it even existed, called Whisper.

Aaron didn’t actually care where it came from. He cared if it would help his son. He sold his private yacht (it wasn’t very large anyways and he’d only used it once) and most of his cars, and put most of his money that wasn’t tied into the house or the company (or the staff) into a trust fund for his son that was arranged to cover his medical expenses and schooling until he was 21. Everyone told him he was a fool to do it, Trevor was gone. Paul Johnson didn’t say anything. He also wasn’t asking for anywhere near what he could have charged, either. This wasn’t about money, to him. Aaron had looked him up. Paul Johnson lived alone in a small four bedroom apartment in Minneapolis, owned one good, but not expensive, car, and didn’t have much of a social life. He made a lot of money from various clients, and donated most of it to various research charities like the Susan G. Coleman Fund (which, having found a cure for breast cancer in 2014 with the help of Princess Jobe Wilkins, now providing funding and assistance to various other cancer research causes). Paul Johnson wasn’t interested in money. He was interested in solving the unsolvable, and he’d taken on more than one failure.

“This will give us a picture of whether there’s actually anything to work with. There’s at least one documented case of a complete brain regeneration reverting to the mind of an infant in an adult body. However, we have no idea if that’s what’s happening to Trevor. With this… maybe we will.” Aaron just nodded as the machine began. Paul Johnson watched impassively, examining the data as it came in. They were at it for hours, checking and rechecking. Aaron sat by his son’s bed through most of it, just… waiting. Hoping against the odds. Somewhere inside, he knew… When visiting hours ended, they still weren’t done. Aaron… wandered down and around, until he found the tiny hospital chapel. Wandering into the empty place, he hopped up into a seat in the front pew, and stared at the stained glass.

“God… we don’t get along. I was never a church goer. Never really wanted to believe, thought it… it was hogwash, a fool’s line to keep the sheep in place. Just another form of fiction, not even good fiction. I should know, I, like my father, have published some truly bad fiction and some truly incredible stuff. We control the entire Star Wars Expanded Universe Line… but you know that, if you’re really god. I guess, you already know it all, right? Well I don’t know if you listen, but… but I’m asking. You owe me nothing, and I’m not sure if I really believe all this… this hogwash. Yet… Please. I know I was a bad father, and I knew I raised a bad son. He’s a womanizer, and a bully, isn’t he? He wasn’t a good person, because I didn’t teach him how to be one. He… I… Please. I just… want a second chance, for my son. He died trying to save his family. He didn’t… deserve this, did he? Please, if you really are the merciful God your followers claim… please… just give him a chance.”

Three hours later, Paul Johnson found Aaron Del Rey asleep in the pew. He stared down at this small man, a desperate father. There was a weight of sadness in his eyes, but also a tiny smile tugging at the corners. He looked up at the stained glass, and then at the small tabernacle. “I don’t know what he asked… but I guess we’ll see if I’m your answer,” he said, bending down to shake Aaron Del Rey awake.

The small man hopped awake, looking up at the man standing above him. Aaron was very conscious of his dwarfism, but he never let it stop him. A trait inherited from his late mother, he had nevertheless risen to handle his father’s publishing company on his own merits, proving his way to the top. A six foot and six inch giant like Paul Johnson did not scare him, even when he hadn’t yet collected enough wits to recognize him. Once he did, he simply stood up on the pew, and stared Paul Johnson in the face. “Tell me.”

“He’s not brain dead, but the difference is… minimal. He IS in a coma, and there’s barely any activity there. I’ll do everything I can, every trick I know, to turn something into everything. If we’re not having success with proven stimuli, we’ll have to try something more extreme. However, that’s… long term.”

“What can you do right now?” Aaron Del Rey asked.

“Largely the same tactics parents use to stimulate the growth of a child in the womb. Complex soothing music, reading to them, talking to them, spending time around them. I’ll have somebody at his side most hours of the day. There are certain drugs I can try, FDA approved ones, that might stimulate his growth. I obviously can’t recommend anything illegal, so for now…”

“For now, you’re being careful,” Aaron Del Rey finished for him. “What IS there?”

“Signs of something. There’s brain activity, but it doesn’t match REM sleep patterns. It looks more like the mind of a developing infant. High level regenerators shrug off most drugs in hours or faster. They rapidly grow resistant to them as well. Your son is on the upper half of the regen scale. If he wasn’t, he would never have regrown his brain before he died, but we don’t dare test just HOW high it goes yet. Not until we’re more certain of any other powers he may develop. If we’re both very lucky… he may have psi powers. That could be the brain activity we’re reading. It… it could make stimulating him easier. Allow him to rebuild from the memories of people who knew him. If you had any staff who were close to him, encourage them to visit. I’ll make sure he’s approved for monitored visits from anyone you consider acceptable.”

“Would bringing in a Psi to actively rebuild his mind work?” Aaron asked seriously.

“Most psi don’t have that kind of power, and of the ones that do, there aren’t many I’d trust. That would be an option close to last resort…” Paul Johnson admitted. “They might fail and ruin any chance of a better psi succeeding, or they might screw up and what you got back wouldn’t be your son anymore anyways. It’s… very very risky for the Psi as well, trying to put an empty mind back together from fragments of their own and other people’s memories.”

“I understand,” Aaron replied somberly.

“Go upstairs and sit with your son, or go home and get some sleep and come back then… I’ll do everything I can. I’m arranging for some staff I trust to be brought in to work on your son with me, but it could be a few days. Still, I trust the staff here well enough. They take every case seriously, they won’t let anyone harm your son further.”

Aaron reached out his hand. “Thank you… just thank you.” He breathed in and held his back straight as Paul Johnson took and shook his hand.

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You… gave me hope,” Aaron said, as he hopped down from the pew. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Every day. From that day until this one, every day Aaron had come in. He knew the names of every nurse on the floor, and every single other doctor besides Paul who even MIGHT have contact with his son. He’d bring them dinner sometimes. He brought lunch, or breakfast. He spent at least an hour a day in that room, every single day. Jones Rivers had never liked rich men. They were spoiled, pretentious, and rude while pretending to be polite. They lied, constantly.

She didn’t think that of Aaron del Rey. She’d never ever seen a man that devoted to a lost child before, and she’d seen her fair share of lost children. In addition to being a nurse, she was a former foster mother. Most of the kids she got during the three years she was part of the service weren’t there because of dead parents. Nope. Just daddy and mommy didn’t love them, or couldn’t afford them, or were wrecks who couldn’t be trusted to raise a child. It was ugly. So ugly that after Rachel’s death, she quit. One little girl was all she could bear, and that only because she couldn’t let the system have Rachel’s girl… couldn’t let them take Abigail. Not after she lost her little prince, Darnel. No… she’d lost Darnel to bad nurses at the cheap hospital he’d been born in. That was why she became a nurse. It was why she became a foster mother. That was why she left the army behind.

Aaron del Rey cared. It was too late, but he cared. She didn’t waste her brain or her breath on his failures, only that he was there. Everyday, spoiling all the nurses. Everyday, reading to his son. He bought them a new coffee maker, and he brought them imported coffee, this really really rich stuff. Jones didn’t drink it, it was too good. If she had to face not being able to afford that stuff at home, only work, she’d go nuts. She brought her own cheap coffee.

She was drinking that very coffee now, still marveling as she sat and kept an eye on Trevor, who was looking at everything with incredible curiosity. Boy shouldn’t be awake. He was soundly in a coma, not even enough brain activity for dreams. Brain regenerated into something just shy of a blank slate. He wasn’t the first coma patient she’d ever seen, or the first vegetable. You don’t wake up from what he’d gone through. Even mutants didn’t. They certain don’t have the clarity that this boy was espousing… but obviously she was wrong or this was a mighty weird dream.

He was awake. That was just the way of it. He was awake and not three hours later the MCO was trying to walk out with him. She was lucky Abi was staying with her mother for the weekend. Grams had already been told Jones was gonna have to work late tonight. She wasn’t letting this boy out of her care tonight. No way. Wasn’t gonna risk letting that happen to Mr. del Rey’s kid. He’d earned that.

“What happens now?” Trevor asked her, looking straight at her with those violet eyes. No, not violet, Amethyst. Like beautiful amethyst gemstones, boring into her soul. She opened her mouth to speak when Trevor turned towards the door and edged away from it. A man walked into the room. Jones didn’t know his name. He never gave it. But every day since one week after the incident, he too had come in for an hour a day, near closing time. Mr. del Rey had cleared him with the Doc. That was all she knew. He too read to Trevor, and he often brought something for the nurses on duty. Her… he always brought her flowers. Black ones and white ones. Jones always gave them to Abigail. She couldn’t be sure, but she knew he was doing it because he expected her to give them to Abigail. She just wished she was sure why he did that. How he knew. He had to be a mutant of some kind.

The man stood just shy of six feet tall. He was muscular and handsome, but not quite in that “super insanely pretty” way most people had. He ad startling blue eyes though, like sapphires, and very tanned skin. In essence, he was beautiful, but not too beautiful, just how she liked ‘em. He had a bouquet of flowers, black and white lilies. Abigail would love them. He smiled an almost perfect smile. Almost. He was missing at least two teeth, and he hadn’t bothered to replace them. He had a book, a star wars novel from Del Rey publishing, in hand. “Ms. Jones!” he declared happily, but his face had a more somber cast.. “Trevor, it’s wonderful to meet you finally!” he added.

Jones glanced at Trevor. It was already apparent he could read emotions, or manipulate them somehow. It was about the only power they were sure of, outside of his regen. He was relaxing, so maybe he’d just been surprised. “Hey Big Guy,” Jones replied to the man. He wouldn’t give her a name to work with. His visitor’s badge just said “Visitor.”

“I do not know you…” Trevor said, worried. Jones stepped up and put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s all right Trev, this is a friend of your dad’s. He’s been visiting you a lot since you got here, comes by to read to you,” she explained to Trevor, who nodded in calm understanding, relaxing under her touch. Jones looked up curiously at the fellow as he slowly approached.

“Are these for me?” Trevor asked, looking at the flowers. So he remembered what gifts were, and connected flowers with gifts?

“No. They’re for Ms. Jones actually. I didn’t know you were awake, or I’d have brought you something. I was just coming in at my usual time. My name is Adrian Castelo,” he said, offering Trevor a hand. Trevor stared at it in confusion.

“Oh, uh…” Adrian, if that was his name finally, looked at Jones in momentary confusion.

“Trevor has amnesia. He doesn’t remember what a handshake is,” Jones explained. “Trevor, take his hand with your own,” she instructed Trevor, who reached out the wrong hand. “Ah, sorry, use your other hand Trevor.” Trevor put his left hand down and reached out his right, taking Adrian’s hand in his own. Adrien clasped and shook the hand holding his, which Trevor watched with intense curiosity.

“So this is a form of social greeting?” Trevor asked, looking at the clasped hands.

“Yeah, buddy, it is. That’s it exactly,” Adrian replied with a smile. Then he released the handshake and turned to Jones, holding out the flowers. “For the lovely Miss Jones.” She took them with a smile. He WAS a handsome man, afterall.

“Does he always bring you gifts?” Trevor asked, looking between them with a very interested expression.

Jones found herself smiling. “Yeah, yeah he does, though not just me…”

“But you are the only one who gets flowers, aren’t you?” Trevor asked her. Jones blinked, then nodded. Ok, so Trevor probably had a few powers besides empathy. Maybe he was a pdp…

Trevor was suddenly smiling, looking from Jones to Adrian and back with what could only be described as the face of mischief incarnate. Which did not belong on a large 15 year old linebacker… ex-linebacker. Boy was going to be trouble, Jones had a sense for these things. Just like Abigail. Capital T Trouble.

For her own part, Rhea had hit upon something interesting to her. There seemed a great deal of affection on the part of this Adrian for Ms. Jones, and Ms. Jones did not seem… adverse to the idea, merely incredibly busy. Busy helping Trevor. Rhea. If, perhaps, she could be released in a reasonable timeframe… to that end, she turned back to Adrian. “Mr. Adrian, Jones said you came to read to me… but I was not awake.” She needed to learn all she could, and showing that she was fully functional, and asking questions seemed the best method to both.

“Ah, yes. Dr. Johnson said that reading to you while you were out might help stimulate your brain. It… well I’m not actually sure if it worked or not,” he admitted, looking confused at Jones.

“We’re ah, not sure ourselves, yet. The Doc is working on it,” she explained. Adrian seemed to find that answer acceptable. He radiated a kind of quiet power that told her he was dangerous, but not necessarily to her. Jones had a bit of that too, nothing mystical… she just had the aura of a woman who knew how to take care of herself. Adrian, however, was a different order of magnitude.

“Are you a…” she started to ask, then realized she wasn’t sure of the words. “Ms. Jones called me a mutant… are you one too?” she asked.

He blinked, frozen in shock for what was as an eternal moment, before grinning and laughing loudly. “Well well, that’s a strange question to ask.” His laughter was feigned, but it was good. Had she not been able to sense his emotions, she would have been certain he was genuine. “Why would you ask that?” Jones radiated curiosity, amusement, and concern, though curiosity was strongest.

“You feel… powerful,” she stated. “I… I can’t find words to… explain?” she threw in a false question of uncertainty. She did not wish to reveal too many of her secrets, but she felt compelled to let this one slip.

“I… well damn, you’re something else kid,” Adrian said, then looked out the door, and back to Ms. Jones. “I don’t suppose I could ask you two to keep a secret? I was gonna tell Trevor anyways eventually, but I think I can trust you, Jones,” he said with a wary smile.

“I won’t snitch,” Jones replied, genuinely feeling affronted that he’d asked. That caused Rhea to chuckle.

“I will keep this… secret. I tell no one?” she asked, to clarify the word, though in truth, they were coming easier to her.

Adrian nodded. “I… I’m the new local hero, Splitwing. I was there the day… you got hurt,” he said, looking at Jones. They had been hiding something about how Trevor, her host body’s original soul, had been injured to the state of shreds she could barely recall meeting him in. It seemed obvious that same incident put his physical body in this hospital. “I… apologize for not saving you. I was so wrapped up fighting the supervillain, I didn’t stop to consider he had help or that… well, I’m just glad to see you make a recovery,” he explained honestly, sad, yet happy.

Rhea could do little else but nod, then look at Jones, who radiated surprise, shock, and caution. Her interest hadn’t changed, but there was a new blanket of caution over the top of it. Hero she understood, though perhaps the modern concept might differ. She did not grasp the word villain instantly, but it sounded as of someone in the wrong. Super… the word mean… of better quality? She frowned for a moment, mulling over the words.

“Trying to figure out what Superhero and Supervillain mean?” Jones asked her with a smile. Rhea blinked, then cautiously nodded. Jones had not once mocked or derided her for things she did not know. “Supervillains are evil people who break the law and do things like theft or murder. Superheroes, supposedly,” she winked at Adrian, or Splitwing, “exist to fight such people when the regular keepers of the law, the police, can’t handle them,” she explained. She had mentioned the police before, during their long talk. Apparently those of dark skin did not always have good relations to law keepers.

“I see. So you are a hero then, who upholds the law. That is good,” Rhea declared.

“Thank you,” Adrian replied, looking a little bewildered. Just then, her father returned.

“Ah, Mr. Castelo, it’s good you made it today!” he declared very happily. “As you can see, my son is awake!” He was utterly jubilant. In fact, he was very nearly skipping as he walked into the room and shook Adrian’s hand.

“It is wonderful news, a true surprise I am grateful for,” Adrian replied, shaking the hand carefully.

Her father turned to Jones. “Excuse me, Ms. Rivers, could you tell me which nurses will be on duty tonight with my son? Doctor Johnson does not intend to let him leave the hospital just yet,” he explained.

“Myself, Cassie, Wilma, and Kate,” Jones replied.

“But Ms. Jones, you’ve been here all day!” her father replied, surprised and worried.

“And I’ll be here tonight too,” Jones replied. “I ain’t letting anybody else take this first shift from me. My patient, my responsibility. I already got my mom watching Abigail, so I’ll be fine tonight. Trevor will be in our good hands,” she assured Aaron firmly.

“I don’t like it, you need rest!” her father replied. Rhea realized this was going to be a contest of wills as she had not seen in over a thousand years… though given her hazy memories, she could be forgetting something.

“Perhaps… a compromise,” Adrian interjected. “Security was muttering about the MCO when I came in. It didn’t occur to me why until now, they came for Trevor, I take it?” he asked the room, all of whom nodded.

“My lawyer, Ms. Gloria, is seeing to it they know to stay well clear,” her father said protectively.

Adrian nodded. “Jones, you don’t want to leave Trevor, but you really should get some rest. I’m sure you trust your fellow nurses. If it would ease your worries, I would gladly remain here tonight to keep watch, if the hospital allows it. That should also ease any worries you might have, Mr. del Rey,” Adrian volunteered.

Her father smiled at the idea, then looked at Jones. “Ms. Rivers… would you let him help you keep watch, and at least get a few hours rest in an empty room?” he asked her, politely. “I am extremely grateful for the care and attention you have shown my son, and I am happy beyond words that you intend to continue, but I must insist that you take some time for your own health and rest. Call it a father’s selfishness, I want you at your best to look after my son,” he offered.

Jones looked at all of them. “Please let him help, Ms. Jones? I don’t like the idea of you pushing yourself on my account,” Rhea offered, giving just the tiniest little nudge on Jones.

“Alright, fine. We’ll take it in shifts then,” she said with a glare at the smiling Adrian. “Now, I need to go put these in water,” she said, holding up the flowers, “so I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she was out of the room, her father came up to the bedside and climbed into the chair again. “So, flowers again, Adrian. I take it you finally told her something?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” he admitted.

“Just ask her to dinner already,” her father grumbled. “I still can’t believe you knew she’d actually like those black and white flowers,” he added, shaking his head. “Are you feeling alright, Trevor?” he asked.

Rhea nodded, and began conversing with her father while Adrian stood against a wall and watched into the leanest hours of the night, when the hospital expected visitors to leave. Adrian left the room as Rhea, in her new body, got to have her catheter removed, an experience she relished only for the immense feeling of relief at having it gone despite not knowing what it was. She then experienced using the restroom, having to endure being shown how at least once by Jones, who joked with her constantly. It made the experience… bearable. It was close, though. Then she was expected, of all things, to go back to sleep despite having been asleep for, apparently, a month. What truly surprised Rhea, however, was how easy it was once Jones’ soft voice began singing her a lullaby. She really was a good mother, Rhea thought to herself as she difted off.