It bothered Barnaby's conscience a bit. This was Yuri Petrov, after all. The man who had never failed to support him in his researches, even though he sometimes could offer only moral support. The man who had lost his job for political reasons and had let Kotetsu drag him along with the group as a sort of consolation prize, when he'd looked as if he'd much rather go home and lick his wounds in solitude.

The man who'd saved Kotetsu and Kaede, in the process revealing a NEXT power that he'd clearly prefer to keep to himself, and who had practically collapsed with guilt after—in what had to have been a moment of extreme stress—he'd raised a hand to Kaede.

He'd smiled a lot, later that evening, when they were leaning on railings or letting the breeze blow fountain mist onto them. And that was, Barnaby realized, what had made him really begin to wonder about Yuri Petrov. Not those later, milder smiles: he'd looked thoughtful and contented and maybe a bit wistful, and if Barnaby had never seen him before that evening, he'd have thought nothing of it. However, Barnaby had seen a good bit of him, between court appearances and asking for assistance and simply passing him in the hall from time to time. Judge Petrov had smiled, then. But it was always a cat-that-got-the-canary smile, not merely knowing but crafty. Seeing him at liberty and with an unprecedented simplicity of expression had, ironically, aroused Barnaby's suspicions.

"Fire just like Lunatic's." Those had been Kaede's words, and Yuri had found the description disturbing. Who wouldn't? Probably anyone who had incendiary-type NEXT powers felt a little uneasy at the possibility of being connected with Lunatic. It was hard to think that Yuri Petrov's face underlay that fish-like mask with its staring eyes. It was easier to think that someone with a power similar to Lunatic's could provide a lead, if only an implicit one: a hint at some weakness that could be exploited, the beginning of a trail that would lead to his lair and his capture.

Barnaby wanted to know more about Lunatic, and the nearest he could come was learning more about Yuri Petrov.

But he had another reason for wanting to learn more about Yuri, and that was what Yuri had said about his relationship with Albert Maverick. Maverick had had some sort of hold on him and some use for him, some reason for leapfrogging his advancement beyond what was commensurate with his years. Perhaps Yuri knew what Maverick had planned; perhaps he only suspected. Barnaby told himself he wanted more insight into the process that had led to his own advancement, to his status as a Hero and, in essence, as Maverick's protégé. But the truth of the matter was, he'd found a fellow survivor, someone else Maverick had exploited. When he had considered himself his own man, he had been content to spend his life alone—well, until Kotetsu had fended off Lunatic and punched his way into Barnaby's heart. But his attachment to Kotetsu hadn't had that underlying sick feeling of need that came with knowing he had been used. His love for his parents, his longing to avenge them, his desire simply to learn the truth about the past: to Maverick it had all been a tool, a wrench for dialing up public sympathy, a chamois to polish the reputation of Hero TV.

Maybe Yuri wouldn't sympathize. Barnaby had trusted Maverick, literally like a parent, and the shock of that betrayal still left him feeling lost and naked. Yuri apparently had never trusted Maverick; perhaps he'd laugh at Barnaby's naiveté, or smile that crafty smile and ask why on earth a man with fingers in as many pies as Maverick would have fostered a child, unless it was to grind him into pie filling.

And yet this was the same Yuri who had trusted Kaede with what was unquestionably a dangerous NEXT power; had patiently coached her in using it under what had to have been terrifying conditions for both of them; had cheered her with a flower when her father let her down and tactfully made sure she didn't release his power in the wake of that encounter. There was a lot of decent in Yuri, at least where a certain ten-year-old was concerned.

Barnaby found himself wondering if Lunatic liked flowers, then had a surreal fantasy of Yuri Petrov presenting Lunatic with a huge bouquet of white roses, which Lunatic incinerated along with the ex-judge. No, that really was absurd. Lunatic's sense of justice might be devoid of both sense and justice, but as a rule he targeted only murderers. Smirking on the job probably didn't fall under the aegis of sin.

One of the bad things about having voluntarily spent his life alone was that Barnaby had very little concept of how to approach someone socially. If Kotetsu wanted to get closer to somebody, he'd just do it. Kotetsu was amazing—if annoying—that way, and if Barnaby had wanted to get together with Yuri and Kotetsu, he had no doubt that Kotetsu would have been able to handle it, even if it involved grabbing Yuri by the sleeve and physically dragging him somewhere. But Kotetsu was back in Oriental Town having a better life, and in any case, Barnaby didn't particularly want him along. Kotetsu wasn't one of Maverick's tools, or subjects, or whatever one wanted to call the experience that made common ground between him and Yuri Petrov.

Maybe that was enough after all. He remembered the bitterness, the envy in Yuri's voice that cut through the background hubbub at Pizza Out: "I needed to know more than he cared to safeguard with positive reinforcement alone." Yuri had been forced to keep that to himself, evidently for a long time—at the very least through law school and his career at the Justice Bureau. Maybe he wanted to tell as much as Barnaby wanted to hear.

"Who was that, dear?"

"Barnaby Brooks Jr.," Yuri said, staring somewhat blankly at his phone.

"The new Hero! Goodness, isn't your father ever around to take his calls?"

"It was for me, Mama. He was asking me ... to tea."

"That's very kind of him. I'm sure you'll have a good time."

That's one of us. The invitation had left Yuri feeling as nonplussed as Barnaby had sounded. The poor fellow obviously wasn't comfortable extending social invitations, which was to be expected, given that literally more than half of his existence had been monopolized by pursuit of a red herring manufactured by Albert Maverick. From the moment that sag-jowled string-puller had implanted him among the Heroes like a new memory, Yuri had detested the man he thought of as Maverick's little blond pet, and the more he learned about him, the more reasons he had for doing so. In addition to being an attaché—no, a favorite—of Albert Maverick, Barnaby Brooks Jr. was a conceited, pretentious, pushy know-it-all. He'd quickly earned not only Yuri's scorn but that of his colleagues-all but his partner, Wild Tiger, who was himself known to be a bit of a flake.

Yuri's hard feelings hadn't softened until Barnaby's life story became ratings fodder. At that point the whole affair had begun to smell fishier than a shark's gullet. It hadn't exactly taken the edge off Yuri's envy-it was only human to prefer being manipulated with a velvet glove rather than an iron fist-but it had terminated his occasional fantasies about making an incense stick of Brooks's trim figure. Maverick was burning his little blond cat's-paw at both ends as it was.

Afternoon tea. Yuri was trying to imagine visiting Barnaby Brooks Jr.'s digs as an actual, invited guest rather than an accident that Wild Tiger dragged in. He tried picturing them sitting on the window seat or the split-level floor and failed, mostly because he couldn't stop thinking about young Brooks's reason for inviting him: he wanted to talk about Albert Maverick.

Of all damned things. Of all damnable people. Maverick was a sickness that had infected Yuri's life, a parasite that had plopped itself into the void his father left. Much as Yuri would have liked to fool himself into thinking he was scarred, the truth was that he was galled. Maverick had been one galling bastard, a man of unmitigated gall, and now it seemed even a fiery death wasn't enough to get Yuri free of him, because Barnaby Brooks Jr. wanted to discuss the man.

Yuri hadn't snapped his phone shut in disgust. Even while he was thinking that Brooks was an idiot who didn't have the sense to leave ashes to ashes, he'd listened. Brooks was barely more than an acquaintance, part of the milieu that had unceremoniously kicked him to the curb once his tormentor-cum-protector was out of the way. He was a reminder of the massive farce that was Hero TV, a sorry institution that Yuri was not at all sorry to leave behind. He was an annoying know-it-all who didn't let people finish their sentences, a tow-headed pretty boy who, for all his pretty talk about being a hero of justice, had spent most of his life honing himself for a motive no better than revenge. Just thinking about him gave Yuri a headache. Why did I agree to this, again?

The answer—as Yuri had to admit—was mostly that, whatever there was to hold against the man, he really wasn't to blame for the morass of immorality that Yuri had been immersed in for all those years. Besides, Barnaby had asked about Yuri's preferences in tea. It was a mere creature comfort, and it shouldn't have made a hair of difference given the context, but there had been something oddly satisfying about telling him, "You can't go wrong with Earl Grey."

"Yuri? Could you move this chair a little further forward to cover this stain I can't get out of the carpet?"

Yuri thought about how the stain had gotten there—it involved broken glass and his scalp, maybe a year and a half ago—pocketed his phone, and pushed up a fallen sleeve.

Author's note

Astute readers may notice some divergences from canon. Tiger & Bunny: The Beginning indicates that Yuri joined the Justice Bureau around the time of Barnaby's first day as a Hero. Barnaby's main room actually doesn't have space to accommodate a couch, never mind a coffee table, near the window seat because of the sunken floor. (In the unlikely event I finish the series of stories I have in my head, the couch will be gone by the time Barnaby resumes his job as Hero.)