A/N: The song inspiration for this story is Lady Day by Frank Sinatra. While the song is technically about a woman, I think it fits very well here. I was also inspired by the ending scene of the 1961 adaptation of West Side Story. While the circumstances of the scene are very different from this story, I found Maria's chaotic vacillation between fury and despair to be very affecting, and it influenced Bob's reactions here. This is without a doubt the darkest thing I have ever written, but I was very passionate about the concept, and I hope that comes across in my writing. As always, thank you for reading!

her day was born

in shades of blue

her song was sad

the words were true

her morning came

too fast, too soon

and died before the afternoon.

poor lady day could use some love

some sunshine

lady day has too much rain

poor lady day could use some spring,

some breezes

lady day has too much pain

it's such a lonely face

such a cloudy sky

so many shadows in her eyes

so many empty dreams

so many bitter times

just a handful

of broken rhymes

-Frank Sinatra, Lady Day

Imagine a thousand hot knives being plunged into your body. Now multiply that pain 10,000 times over.

That's what Bob is feeling right now. He didn't know it was possible to be in so much pain-but this is not a physical pain. It is a pain coming deep from his heart and soul, dragging him into a despair more consuming than he ever thought possible. His family-his wife, his babies, his everything- is gone now. Dead. That word alone is like a knife to his heart, reminding him that this a mistake he will never, ever be able to rectify. No prayer, no fervent hope is strong enough to bring them back. Their faces flash before him, over and over, a cruel memory of what is now forever lost.

Helen. Kind amber eyes staring up at him, framed by porcelain skin and a loving smile. She streches her arms around his waist in that inimitable way of hers and he pulls her into an embrace, wrapping one arm around her waist and resting his other hand atop her auburn hair. He knows every trace of her body, every curve, and it is a comfort to him. Everything about her is a comfort to him; her kiss, her caress, her soothing way of listening to him whenever he's down, the little favors she does for him just because.

The vision of her fades away, and the guilt he feels is absolutely crushing; why had he never listened to her? She'd always been right. She was enough. Their family was enough. But because he was selfish and stupid, he continued to listen to police scanners and take up shady offers and fight those damn Omnidroids, until it turned out nothing was what he thought it was and he was in the worst kind of trouble. And what she had she done when she found out, somehow, some way, that he was in trouble? She'd come to rescue him. Because even in the anger and confusion she'd no doubt been feeling, she still loved him. All she'd ever done was love him, and in the end it killed her. She was the love of his life, and now she was gone forever, and it was all due to his own callousness. He'll never hold her again; and if that was the case, then he'll never hold anyone again. Because Helen is dead, and his heart is dead with her.

Violet. His little girl. His angel. He'll never forget the first time he held her; she'd seemed preternaturally tiny, a miniscule creature in his hulking arms. The first thing he'd felt was worry; he knew he'd have to protect their little creation at all costs. But then she opened her big, violet eyes, curious and luminous, and reached out a chubby little hand to touch his arm, and his heart felt like it was about to burst with love. From that day on, she was his pet; if she wanted a teddy bear, she got a teddy bear. If she wanted candy before dinner, she got candy before dinner. Helen had chided him for spoiling her, but it filled him with joy to see her smile.

When she was a little girl, she'd make her way to their room, and he'd awake to see her standing at the foot of the bed, staring up at him with frightened eyes and telling him in a tremulous voice that she'd had a nightmare. Without saying a word, he'd scoop her up into the bed and stroke her hair, whispering that he was there to protect her and there was nothing to be afraid of until she nodded off in his arms, assured that he would keep her safe from any monster her mind could conjure up. If that didn't work, he'd take her to the kitchen and fish out those chocolate-chip cookies she loved from the cupboard, and they'd sit and eat them on the couch until fatigue overtook her and she fell back asleep. Helen had always loved to find them dozing on the couch the next morning; she'd said it was one of the most heartwarming things she'd ever seen. There was no doubt that Vi was his pride and joy.

And yet, he'd failed her. Failed her by not being there for her as she grew older; failed her by being reckless and thereby forcing her to move yet again, even though he knew she was shy and with every move becoming shyer still. God, why was he so stupid? And now he'd failed her in the most ultimate way possible; because of his carelessness, she was gone. Her life was over before it even started. She'd never graduate high school or even middle school for that matter, never go onto to college even though she was smart as a whip, never get married and have kids of her own. Those beautiful eyes were forever shut, and he was forever broken because of it.

Dash. His first son and his mini-me. He'd always delighted in the fact that another person could be so similar to him; Helen had joked that she gave birth to Bob 2.0. when the nurses brought her a blonde-haired, blue-eyed little boy. They seemed to posess the same spirit: Energetic, curious, thrill-seeking and somewhat reckless, but ultimately kind and helpful. It was only fitting that his middle name was Robert. Dash was such a joy to be around, zipping about and telling story after story, his ever-active mind going in all directions. Bob had loved to play football with him, loved to see the grin on his face when he shot back up the hill, football in hand. They were two peas in a pod, and Bob was never happier then when he spent time with Dash.

His heart twists as he remembers that he failed him in much the same way he failed Violet; by waiting so long to truly engage with him, by uprooting him so many times in just ten years. His heart twists even more as he thinks about that. Ten short years was all Dash had before his bright light was extinguished. And it was all his fault. He hates to think of the fear his boy must've felt as the plane tumbled through the sky. Had he clung to his siblings in his last moments? The tears begin to fall again as he imagines it, Dash huddled against Violet, both of them wrapping their arms around Jack-Jack in a feeble attempt to protect him. His tears turn into violent sobs as he recalls their mother's screaming, begging them to call off the missiles. She'd worked down to the last second to save her children, but it had all been for nothing.

Jack-Jack. The newest addition to their family. A sweet, adorable little munchkin that Bob loved more than anything. He was the happiest baby he'd ever seen. He rarely fussed or cried, instead smiling and giggling at nearly everything he encountered. Over the past two months, with the extra time on his hands, Bob finally understood why Helen took such joy in caring for him; he was a little ball of joy and potential. He'd kept thinking about how he couldn't wait to see what he became. He feels even more shattered as he realizes he'll never get to see him grow up; he died before he could ever really know life. He'll never truly know how much they all loved him. Jack-Jack was innocence personified, but because of him he met a cruel and violent death. And that, Bob thinks, his body practically convulsing with sobs, is more than he can even begin to bear.

The night seems endless as vision after vision of their suffering fills his head, a horrific waking nightmare of fear and agony. And as he hangs there, limp in his restraints, a spark of anger is ignited. For even though he will never be free of his guilt, he knows he is not the only one responsible. He sees him, laughing and joking as if it were comedy, delighting in destroying his world and taking away everything he holds dear. Syndrome. That monster, that maggot, that disgusting excuse for a human being. For what he has done, he deserves a death a thousand times worse then what he put Bob's family through. And even though it goes against everything he believes in, he wants to make him suffer. He wants to put him through the most excruciating pain imaginable; it will never make up for what Bob has lost, but at least through him his family will get some sort of vengeance.

And it's not just Syndrome, he thinks, his spark of anger turning into the most intense fury he has ever felt; everyone in this torture chamber deserves to die. They were all responsible for murdering not only his family, but countless other supers. They are all responsible for a genocide. And now, he thinks, they will face a brutal comeuppance for their actions.

Their is nothing left for Bob to live for now; to him, this is an unavoidable truth. The only thing he craves more than revenge is death. Maybe then, his hopes will be realized and he'll somehow be reunited with his family. And even if he isn't, at least he won't have to spend another miserable day without them. For the first time in his life, he wishes he wasn't so invulnerable. A mere gunshot won't be anywhere near enough to kill him. But he knows there must be something here that can take him out; some sort of poison to drink or blade sharp enough to slit his throat.

And so it is decided. His final plan. He'll take out every godforsaken guard he can before getting to Syndrome, and once he puts him through an agonizing demise, he'll leave this awful world in whatever way possible. For a moment, he reconsiders as he thinks that this isn't what Helen would've wanted, but his determination returns as he realizes that he'll never know what she would've wanted because these people have forever silenced her.

Suddenly, Bob hears the click-clacking of heels down the hallway, and a petite, platinum blonde woman enters the room. Mirage. Last night he had spared her, for he couldn't bring himself to kill an innocent person. But, he realizes, every inch of his body burning with rage, she is far from innocent. In fact, she's really no better than Syndrome. She lured him here in the first place; she made him think he was doing good. She had a hand in the deaths of so many of his friends. And finally, she'd comitted the cardinal sin of letting his family die. She sat there and did nothing as Helen screamed in terror and Bob begged for their lives. She is just as deserving of death as everyone else here.

And it is with this realization, as Bob is finally freed from his restraints, that he decides Mirage will be his first victim. Maybe it would be more fitting for Mr. Incredible, benevolent hero extraordinaire, to show her mercy; but no one had ever thought to show his family any mercy. So if they have to suffer for their actions, so be it.

just too much to say

just too much to know

too little time to say hello

and then the evening comes

and now she doesn't cry

and it's too late to say

goodbye

-Frank Sinatra, Lady Day

How many can I kill, Chino? How many? And still have one bullet left for me!

-West Side Story