Bob watches his daughter from behind a heavy glass window. She sitting on the bed, shaking like a leaf, tearing the morning's newspaper into thin, even strips. The doctors say that she's experiencing withdrawls and that he won't be able to go into the same room with her for at least another week until they're sure she's completely off whatever drugs she's on.
She's had violent outbursts, attacking people like the doctors, the fellow Supers, people she doesn't recognise. It's very different from the shy girl who hid from strangers, but for some reason it makes sense to him that she'd act like this. He wants to take her home, but even the sight of Jack-Jack, who's ten, unnerves her and sets her into hysterics.
However, today, Rick Dicker says that she needs to identify the only other passenger in the fatal plane crash. Dicker arrives with Helen and they watch her through the glass. Dicker has a nasty mark on cheek where Violet bit him, but they all understand she's not herself right now.
"We want her to identify the body. Tell us who he was," the grey haired man says quietly.
"He's not on your files?" Bob inquires.
Dicker shakes his head. "Nope. Complete mystery man."
"I thought his head was missing?" Helen confims.
"It is."
"Aren't you afraid that it'll disturb her further?" Bob askes.
Dicker stays silent.
Bob taps on the glass with his knuckles and his only daughter looks up at him, startled. She hurries off the bed, abandoning the newspaper. Her enthusiastic smile makes his heart soar and she frantically waves at him through the glass.
"Send the doctors in please," Dicker orders.
The doctors tentatively enter her room and she begins to snarl and scream as they try to take her out and Bob hurries to the doorway where she'll see him.
"Daddy!" she cheers and breaks free of the doctors.
He holds out his arms and sweeps her up into a tight hug.
"Mr. Dicker needs your help. Do you think you can help Mr. Dicker?" he askes setting her down on her feet.
"Yes."
He smiles and touches her cheek, which she leans into. "Okay. We're going to leave this nice room. Would you like to hold my hand while we walk?"
"Yes, please!" she replies in a sing-song voice.
His large hand envelopes her tiny one and he hopes that she feels the warmth and love he has for her.
"Mom!" she exclaims and Helen's elastic arms surround her.
"How's my little girl?" she askes patiently.
"I'm fine. How are you?"
Helen's eyes begin to water again. "I'm glad to see you."
"Shall we go?" Dicker asks.
They're standing in the coroner's office and Bob's trying to figure out the best way to explain the situtation to his daughter. His wife decides to speak instead.
"Violet, honey? The nice man wants you to identify the man underneith this sheet," Helen says pointing the metal gurney with a white sheet draped over the top.
"We shouldn't wake him up," Violet says with a shrug.
"Honey, this man is dead. You won't wake him up."
Violet looks around the room for a moment before giving her answer. "Okay."
"Ready?" the coroner asks.
"Yes," Violet replies.
The large white sheet is lifted off the body, a palid blue grey that only the dead have. There is no head, just a bloody torn stump. A gruesome, gruesome visage.
Violet draws back, looking startled with the unexpected find. But she slowly approaches the body and looks over it.
"He loved me. He loved me. He was the only one," she says sadly.
Before they realize it, she crawls onto the metal bed and curls atop of the corpse, silent tears running down her cheeks.
"Oh, you were the only Lotus I'll ever need," she whispers as they try to pry her loose.
They manage to get her off the body and Bob keeps her back tightly, trying to comfort her. His large arms hold strength few people have ever had, can keep anything safe and yet as Violet is sheltered in his hold, he secretly wonders if even he has the powers to shelter her from whatever evils she's experenced. Bob wonders if sometimes even a father can't protect his daughter.
Violet's sitting in the plush seat of jet, her hand craddling the champagne flute. He's trying to show her the proper way to drink from the special glass and she's blushing because she can't believe how tender He's acting towards her.
"No, love. Like this," He says once more, moulding and fitting her fingers under the stem and bowl.
He gives an exhausperated sigh and then a forgiving smile.
"We'll try again later, yes?"
"Yes," she agrees and swats at the imaginary goldfish that float around her head.
He says that the Lotus causes her to see them and she agrees because He's so smart.
"Let me take you back to the bed," He says and lifts her off the chair.
She wraps her legs around His waist, her slender arms around His neck, kissing Him deeply. He carries her back to separate bedroom in the jet and His hands are up under her shirt, cupping her breasts. The light from the windows illuminates the room and she imagines that this is what heaven is like: bright and golden and down comforters, and Him.
"Mmm, sweetheart, I can't get enough of you."
"I love you," she whispers and He kisses her lips.
"I love you, too, darling."
She starts to pull off her shirt when the bright red warning lights fill the room and the panic alarm sounds loudly. He climbs off of her and runs to the cockpit. She follows quickly behind Him. The jet is beginning to nosedive, tearing through the cloud layer and He's trying to pull it back up.
"What's wrong?" she asks, her hand touching His shoulder.
"I don't know! The plane won't respond!"
"What do we do?"
"I don't know! I don't know!"
The hellish blue of the ocean is coming closer and he turns to her.
"Do something!" he screams.
"I'm trying!" she cries looking down at her hands.
The purple orbs aren't materializing and the goldfish are filling the room.
She looks up at Him, trying to appologise.
"I love you, Syndrome."
"I love you, too, swee—"