DesertedMirage Says: Hey guys. Thank you for the reviews. I'm always grateful. :)

ohgodofwriting (Yes, I'm finally posting hehe)

Silverquickstar (Wow, good observation!)

dispatcher652 (I'll just say that things will get deep;)

Ferlinda (Nick will be back, no worries)

Dragon77 (Thanks for the boost!)

FoxlilRaven (Good question! Hopefully this will answer it)

SiaAhn Sacham (Thank you and welcome! Hope you enjoy!)

mochalocha85 (Welcome to the story - thanks so much! I'm glad you liked GA)

When GA: The Return is complete or almost complete, I will share with you a playlist I pieced together for it. But if you've heard the song "Hotel California" by the Eagles and are familiar with the lyrics and mysterious/bitter/sweet sound, that is what I was listening to when I wrote this chapter and the one to come. That song pretty much sums up the Guardian Angel Agency. Sort of like a foggy parallel universe. A "hotel" from which you can't really escape...

Dad and I were always close. I remember when I could say that I had a father who helped me with my homework, taught me his quirky cooking secrets, and almost never failed to follow through. We could talk about nearly anything, we had "date" nights where we would go out to a movie or dinner, and he taught me all of the tomboyish things a father teaches his children.

According to my parents, I had gotten very sick as a toddler, and almost lost my life. Although I pulled through with flying colors, Mom said that Dad never truly learned to let go. I guess that's why his sudden departure came as such a shock to me. I marked that year, just two days shy of my fourteenth birthday, as the turning point of my life.

My parents got along well, and our family was strong, cohesive. But money began to dwindle when Dad got laid off. He was a genius, and not just academically. No, my father had ideas, plans, dreams. He had a knack for controlling things, massive operations, and needed only to have the right people in his path, the right resources at his fingertips. He could have changed the world. He wanted to start a business of his own, because he had been used by all of his employers. They always hired him for his knowledge and skill, only to send him packing when he began to move up the corporate ladder. All of them were jealous of his abilities, and maybe even afraid of what he could become. I guess the last time they released him, it finally destroyed his patience.

A call from Washington, D.C., one of his old college buddies had a job offer. Dad left to investigate, but he never returned. A week later, Mom sat down Alicia and I to tell us that they were getting a divorce. Her only explanation for the stunning news was a "disagreement." He hadn't left a number to reach him, an address - nothing. It was as though he had never existed.

I began to keep to myself after that, not knowing how to handle it except by punishing myself and those around me. At first, I refused to let anyone in, but Dana and Terry wouldn't allow me to be completely alone. And when Terry's dad was murdered, I learned to reach out to others by helping him through his grief.

But my wound never fully healed.

I stared into the glass of water in my trembling hands. I wiped at the remaining tears under my eyes.

Dad handed me another tissue from where he sat across from me in the opposite chair.

"Thanks," I said softly.

Dad was leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, hands clasped.

Neither of us had really spoken. I was sitting with the water he provided, trying to get over my shock and allow everything to settle. I knew that I had questions, and that I had rehearsed this moment thousands of times in my mind over the years. But somehow, I suddenly didn't have a clue as to what to say, where to begin.

I swallowed, still gazing at the water.

"How are you feeling, Max?" Dad asked, watching me with concern.

I could barely look at him, though. It felt so strange. He had once been my constant, then suddenly a shadow, and now he was…back.

I set down my glass on the end table to my left, then dragged a shaking hand through my hair.

"I'm…I'm…okay. I…" I tried to formulate my thoughts. "Um, I just…I don't know what to say right now."

Dad nodded slowly, staring at the floor. "I understand, Max."

I began to feel frustrated, wondering why I couldn't handle this the way I should have been - the way I had promised myself I would if ever I was granted the chance. Yet now that it was here, I was failing miserably.

"Dad, I just…" I swallowed, the title was so unfamiliar on my tongue. "Something's happened to me. I don't know where we are. I don't know when I'll be able to ask all of my questions. I don't even remember what happened before all of this. I'm scared and I don't really trust anything I see anymore…not the pain, not the bits and pieces I remember, not you sitting here with me--" my confused ramble was ended by another round of tears.

I cried silently into my hands, overcome with fear.

"Max…" I heard Dad speaking after a moment, "I had to get you out of Gotham. If you don't remember something, it's because of the trauma from the accident. There's nothing to be afraid of. You're safe here."

I frowned once I had gotten a hold of myself, my face still in my hands. Memories of a burning building resurfaced, but it was moving away, and I was in the air. Someone was carrying me, away from the scene. A black costume…similar to the Batsuit, but with a blue emblem…

I rested my hands in my lap. "I can't really remember… I know that I was Bat--" I stopped myself from revealing my alias, out of habit. But Dad was nodding knowingly.

"You were Batgirl, Max, and it was putting you in danger," he explained carefully.

I searched his eyes. "How did you know?"

Dad's gaze slid away, out the window overlooking the lake. "I orchestrated it - your kidnapping, the messages, everything that brought you here."

"Messages?" I asked more to the air than to my father, rubbing my forehead as I struggled to catch the memory.

The note, the warning. My bathroom mirror; that was where it had all begun! They didn't want me to help Batman…my dad didn't want me to become Batgirl.

And with that single piece of the puzzle in place, I suddenly recalled it all. It overcame me, rushing back to my remembrance like an electric shock. I had left off with the battle on the warehouse rooftop in Old Gotham. The girl in the faux Batsuit, the way she knew our identities, the bullet.

I touched the bandage on my lower back.

"You were behind it all…" I whispered.

Dad's eyes were on the floor. He was silent.

"You were gone for so long…and now you show up, out of nowhere…like this?"

"Max, there's an explanation for it all. There's a reason why I didn't come back. I didn't know what I was getting myself into when I left. But it was all with you, your sister and your mother in mind."

I stared bitterly at my hands, unable to speak. My disappointment was paramount, stifling what should have been rage.

Dad sighed, then continued. "Everything was going well, until I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I eventually got mixed up in the underworld. I couldn't return, I was and still am a walking target, Max. To have returned home would have put you all in danger. So I went on the lam, trying to escape. I changed my name, changed my address. But they caught up with me. They made me a bargain. Either join the criminal underworld, or be killed and have my family killed," a heavy pause ensued. "I knew too much to be allowed to run free, Max. And…honestly, it was what I had been looking for all along…the chance to do something big.

"The Guardian Angel Agency is just another part of the underworld. We're undercover, unknown to the CIA or any other security agencies. We have work-for-hire agents. We call them 'guardian angels' because they protect clients on missions. We make our money by looking out for clients and ensuring that their activities progress smoothly."

I couldn't look at him.

Clients. He couldn't even call them what they were: criminals. My father was the ringleader of a criminal agency.

I felt numb, yet damaged. It was all beginning to fall into place. I wasn't stupid. My memory was back, and it didn't take long for me to reason it all out. It was as though I was on a train racing toward a cliff. The fall was about to take place, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

"What does this mean for me?" I questioned darkly, knowing this wasn't my only question, nor was it the most important. But I was still too terrified to ask what I really wanted to know.

Dad pulled his hand over his face, exhaling another sigh.

"You'll be here from now on," he supplied, "to keep you safe. I couldn't let you be Batgirl, Max. You were playing with fire, you were our enemy. And I refused to let my burden cost you your life."

I was silent for a long time, my mouth going dry from anxiety. The room was spinning, although I hadn't even asked it yet. Could I really even take hearing the answer? Couldn't I just live in some sort of twisted reverie, instead? Anything but being told that he was gone…that my love had been murdered. After all, if their intent was once to kill me, then certainly Batman…

"Terry," I whispered, feeling my body begin to shake as the flaming building reappeared in my mind. "Is he…?"

I couldn't finish the dreaded question.

Dad didn't answer me for a long time. He looked me in the eye. What he said next quaked my very existence.

"He's dead, Max."

If I had thought that the first days at the Guardian Angel headquarters were a fog, then the weeks following the news of Terry's alleged death were a living hell. I had nearly blacked out when I learned the truth, and proceeded to struggle through dozens of emotions. I was back in the hospital ward, suffering from a severe mental breakdown. When my rage died away, I slipped into a lethargy so dark that I can't recall its fullness. I woke up one morning with ties binding my wrists; I had tried to kill myself, and was on suicide watch. I was given tranquilizers, sleeping pills, anything to safely hasten me through the shadowy days of grief. A couple of months later, and I was meeting with psychiatrists and grief counselors, although I never fully recovered. They were probably brainwashing me anyway, since they were under my father's control at the agency. I couldn't always notice the mind control, due to my lack of regard for my surroundings.

I soon had to meet with my father again, to have more questions answered and details explained. Even with all of the time that had passed, I didn't want to learn anything new. Every news flash was like a stab into my already bleeding heart.

I sat before the desk in his office. I stared into space, waiting for him to return so that I could be briefed on what lay ahead for me. It had been four months since my arrival, now. My feelings shifted everyday, but I was no longer a danger to myself or others.

Dad finally walked in, dressed in a business suit, as opposed to the casual attire he wore at our first meeting.

"We don't have to sit at the desk, Max. It's a little formal, don't you think?" he asked, trying to sound warm.

I stood slowly, then walked over to the chairs near the window, where we had sat and talked before. I rubbed my arms as Dad poured two glasses of water at the bar, still seeing the marks where I had been injected with meds.

Dad handed me my glass, then took his seat. He chewed his lip. "Well, I wanted to explain everything…what you'll be doing here…as well as to answer your questions."

I sat still, eyes down, expression blank. I hadn't spoken more than a sentence in weeks. There was no one to talk to, nothing to say.

I shifted in my chair, frowning in confusion.

What I'll be doing? What more do they want from me?

"I'm here now," I spoke coldly, my own voice sounding unfamiliar in my ears. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You're smart, Max. You're talented, bright, and you succeeded in becoming Batgirl," he smiled slightly. "Not everyone can boast that," he sighed. "We need you to be an agent with us, a guardian angel."

I kept my eyes down. "Do you kill people?"

Dad's smile vanished as the conversation became all business. "When necessary or when we're paid to do so, yes," he answered frankly. "But you won't work that way. You'll be an overseer angel, a guardian angel, not a shadow angel."

Shadow angel, guardian angel - what was the difference? To me, they were all wrong. How had I gone from being Batgirl to a criminal?

"Why do I have to work as an angel at all? I mean, I'm here, aren't I?" I pressed, finding my voice again. "I'm not a threat anymore."

Dad's expression darkened. "Max, unless you work for us, there will always be a hit on your life. If you work, it will prove your loyalty. It will put it into action," he shifted his jaw. "Our clients and overseers don't want any possible traitors in our midst."

"What will stop me?" I shot quickly, looking up at him. "What makes you think I wouldn't try to disassemble this whole thing? You yourself said I'm smart, and I'm quite capable of shutting this down…" my tone fell. "I'm just like you. Anything you build, I can deconstruct. And I don't care anymore whether I live or die."

Dad clamped his hands together, then gathered a deep breath. "A serum, Max. It will keep you loyal enough to not rebel, over time. We've already been giving you small doses to curb your anger."

I swallowed, clenching my fists. And yet, I was sad…for my father, the one who used to be so moral and honest, now a criminal.

"Have they brainwashed you?"

I watched him struggle with answering me, never meeting my eyes. In silence, he stood up to put away our glasses, leaving my question in the air.

The next weeks involved moving into my own suite in the mansion, familiarizing myself with the grounds, meeting the other agents, and gradually getting back into training. Though I hadn't seen him yet, I had learned that Nick, alias "Axis," was the top guardian angel, third in command to my father. The news didn't come as much of a surprise, and I was learning that nothing could shock me in my warped life anymore.

Zeke was second in command, a man who seemed to radiate corruption. The only thing that kept me from despising my father, other than the serum, was Zeke. I saw in him a desire for control stronger than my father's. I didn't have to ask to deduce that he might have been the one who dragged my father into the business in the first place, and perhaps the one pulling the strings in the background.

I remember when I had first spotted Luna. At first, I had thought that she was Dana, with different makeup and brown hair, instead of black. That explained the look-alike who stabbed me behind Terra. Luna was the chief shadow angel, leader of the assassins. I had burned with angry when I first met her, knowing she was the one they had hired to kill Terry, the one who set off the bombs that took him away. It required all of my energy to restrain myself from attacking her, and it didn't help that she was the most evil, dangerous person I had ever met. The hatred was mutual, and we steered clear of each other, under orders from the leaders.

While everyone else my age was graduating from high school and preparing for college, I was being reprogrammed in a parallel universe. I was in the training phase, learning the ropes of the underground industry. Everything was moving in a fast-paced sort of slow motion. I was getting higher doses of the serum, and it was beginning to take affect. I didn't find myself wanting to leave the headquarters as much as I used to. It wasn't that I agreed with them, but I found no reason for leaving, nothing to run away to. I barely had anything to live for, other than knowing that Terry would have wanted me to.

I hurried out of the office, wanting nothing more than to be alone in my suite. My father and I had an argument, and I was tired of being used like a pawn, constantly briefed on things I cared nothing about, trained to use my knowledge and abilities for the underworld. There was always a meeting to attend, and rarely a moment to breathe and process.

I had been at the island headquarters for half a year now, and though the serum was manifesting itself more each month, I still felt angry over what had happened to Terry.

"India, wait!" I heard my father calling behind me as I swiftly strode down the hallway. When I turned off into the resident wing, I paused, seeing a group of agents walking up to my door. My study group. (Yes, my father even had me completing my education with college-equivalent studies amongst the younger agents.)

I quickly began to backtrack, not knowing where I was going but needing to get away. My eyes scanned the long, empty hallway. My father's office was up ahead, and he would probably be somewhere nearby.

Hearing footsteps in the distance and my name called once more, I hastily chose the door nearest me and disappeared inside. I closed it behind me, leaning my forehead against the cool, wooden surface. Standing in the dimness, I tried to clear my thoughts, to steady my breathing. Releasing the doorknob, I turned to survey my surroundings.

I was alone in a comfy office, with a familiar scent in the air. I couldn't place its origin in my tainted memories, though. Like my dad's, the study held a stretching window with a view of the lake. The sun was nearing the horizon, and the room was filled with a beautiful, calming glow.

Pulling my fingers through my recently dyed, dark hair, I walked to the cozy-looking sofa before the window. I sat with a weary sigh, staring at the lake. Gotham Lake. I remembered Terry and I riding along the shore to his forest sanctuary. I remembered our promise to meet there if we should get separated. Feeling my eyes filling with tears, I lay down into the smooth leather cushions.

As I drifted off to sleep, I clung to his memory.