For disclaimer, see one of the previous chapters.
Hope It Gives You Hell
Peter stared at the costume. She couldn't possibly expect him to wear The Cape's mask. Oh, that's right. She did expect him to, because Jamie believed that he was The Cape. Well, too bad. No way. Wasn't going to happen. The mask he wore for public appearances was bad enough. That was as close to playing the hero as he ever wanted to get. He didn't even know how to use the cape. He'd just tell Jamie- well he wasn't sure what he'd tell her. He'd think of something. Lying had become second nature to him.
He turned to find his daughter glued to the computer. He supposed that, now that he knew she was Orwell, the sight should frighten him, but it didn't. It felt natural. She looked so at ease, so within her element, so completely unbothered by the fact that he was standing a few paces away. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her like this. Suddenly, she gasped.
"Vince, you're going to want to see this," she said as she enlarged a screen. He drew closer.
"According to this, Fleming-"
"You mean, your father," he corrected her.
"Right, 'dear old dad,'" she said sarcastically, "just announced he's going to hold a press conference."
Peter, we didn't have any press conferences scheduled for today. What the hell was Faraday up to?
"A conference on what?" he asked aloud.
"He's expected to announce that Chess is still alive. That makes no sense! Why would he do that? Unless…"
"Unless?"
"Unless he's got another scapegoat ready for the slaughter. Although, he'd have to admit that you were innocent. It doesn't add up. Why aren't you in costume?" she asked, as if just noticing his attire.
"Well-"
"Hurry up! I'd bet money that Scales is going to attack him during the press conference."
And he was supposed to protect the man that was planning to blow his secret on live television. Maybe Scales would be doing him a favor…
How are you going to get back into your body if it's out of commission, Peter? As if he had the foggiest idea of how to get back into it, anyway. Still… he looked at Jamie's face. She obviously cared for Faraday and wouldn't want him hurt. She was counting on him to do the right thing. Peter was tired of letting her down.
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Vince straightened Fleming's tie as he waited for them to go on the air. After a shower, some vitamin C, and some Gatorade, he was feeling almost-human again. Then he'd come across Chess' mask and had a flashback to the day its replica had been stapled to his head. That son of a bitch with the media in his pocket had ruined his name. Now, somehow he was stuck in the bastard's body.
Maybe he should look at this as an opportunity. Turnabout was fair play. If he was Fleming, that meant that he owned the media now. He could arrange a press conference any time he wanted. He had looked down at the mask. He could tell the world that Chess was still alive and he wasn't Vince Faraday.
DRDRDRDRDRDRDRDR
Scales went through a quick last minute check-list. Semi-automatic? Check. Ammunition? Check. Explosives, just in case of emergency? Check.
Fleming was going to regret double-crossing him. He loaded the magazine and then closed the action. No one puts Dominic Raoul in a cage and gets away with it. He straightened up as he pushed his childhood memories to the back of his mind. No one.
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"Hello?" Dana Faraday answered her cell phone.
"Dana, turn on the news," Travis instructed.
"Why?"
"Peter Fleming is about to hold a press conference. Word is that whatever he's going to say is going to exculpate Vince."
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Vince stepped up to the podium and faced the sea of reporters.
"I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here today. Some of you may have heard that I'm here to give an innocent man back his reputation and allow his family to move on in peace.
Ladies and gentleman, I stand here to tell you that Chess is-"
"GET DOWN!"
Vince ducked as a bullet soared over his head. He peeked around the podium to see what was going on.
"You're a dead man, Fleming!"
Scales had shot at him. When did he get out of prison? The fugitive wasn't wearing an orange jumpsuit, but rather one of his customary suits. Scales cocked the pistol and started to aim again when he was attacked from behind. Vince's eyes widened as he spied the imposter that was wearing his cape.
"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Fleming sneered as he wrestled the gun away from Raoul. Gripping the smuggler's right arm straight out, he aimed a kick at Scales' elbow. He smiled as it connected. That taken care of, he faced Faraday.
"Well? Don't you think you ought to have 'your' men apprehend him?"
Vince blinked. He glanced away from the gun in Fleming's hand and noticed that Scales was heading for the exit, clutching his injured arm. He turned to the ARK agents that had accompanied him to the conference.
"Uh, after him!" Vince directed. Then he looked back to Fleming, who was still holding Scales' pistol. Somehow, Vince doubted that Fleming had put the safety on.
"You and I are going to have a little talk," Peter hissed. He might not know how to use the cape, but he sure as hell knew how to use a gun.
"I'm not sure that that's a good idea. You know, you're making a scene," Vince said. Fleming didn't answer him. Instead, he pulled out what Vince recognized to be a couple of smoke bombs.
They were out of the building before the smoke cleared.
PFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPF
Vince eyed the gun warily.
"Oh, for heaven's sake! Surely you have to know that I'd be loath to shoot my own body," Fleming told him. That made sense to Vince. He was similarly loath to beat the crap out of the billionaire as long as he was occupying Vince's body.
"But you're not putting the gun down because…?"
"Let's say I like to keep my options open."
"Okay, you have to stop wearing my mask," and my face, Vince mentally added.
"I do prefer my own," Peter conceded. He held up his Chess mask, which he'd swiped from the podium before dragging Faraday out of there.
"Trade you?" Vince cracked a half-smile. Fleming rolled his eyes, but tossed Vince his mask.
"Hey, I want my cape back, too!"
"And I want my contacts, but we can discuss that later. I can't believe you were about to rat me out," Peter grumbled. He did pull the cape off. He couldn't stand wearing it anymore than Faraday could stand watching him in it.
"Because you wouldn't have done the same thing?" Vince asked.
"No, I wouldn't have. You are in my body. If you had confessed to being Chess, you would've been the one arrested."
"I had planned for that. I was going to turn myself in, peacefully. There wouldn't have been any running for my life this time-"
"Right. Incidentally, if I hadn't been there, you would have been killed."
"Fine. I saved your life, you saved my life. Now we're even," on that score, anyway, Vince thought.
"So you're not going to thank me?"
"You didn't thank me when I saved you. Anyway, I'm sure you only showed up to make sure that I kept my mouth shut."
"That was a bonus, but as a matter of fact, Orwell sent me."
"Orwell?" Vince froze. Damn it! Not only was his secret identity blown, but now Fleming had also seen Orwell's face. Could this day get any worse?
"If you hurt her," Vince began.
"Don't worry, I won't. I give you my word, Faraday."
"Your word isn't worth anything to me, Fleming. Does she know?"
"Does she know about this little escapade involving an 'out-of-body experience'? No, she's quite oblivious as to the fact that I am you, as evidenced by the fact that she didn't try to kill me." Alright, he exaggerated. If she was so concerned with keeping her father alive, he was fairly certain she wouldn't have tried to kill him.
"So you're pretending to be me. How did we get in this mess?"
"I have no idea. Truth be told, last night is a little hazy for me."
"I'll bet," Vince snorted, "after all, I woke up to your hang-over. I didn't peg you for an alcoholic, Fleming."
"I'm not. I usually don't drink that much. Something must have set me off. I was at a fundraiser-"
"Raising money for your victims, I know. Isn't that a little tacky, not to mention hypocritical?"
"It's part of maintaining the act," Peter replied. It was not-could not- be an effort at assuaging his conscience. He was fairly certain he no longer had a conscience to appease. Chess had seen to that.
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Dana stared at the television set in horror. She knew that if Scales hadn't interrupted the press conference, Fleming would have told the world that her husband was innocent. He would have revealed that the real Chess was still out there.
Instead, he'd been shot at by a deranged fugitive and then whisked away from the scene by her hero. She watched as the stations replayed the footage over and over again, but barely listened as the commentary became more and more irrelevant.
She turned the television off just as some moron asked whether anyone else had noticed that Fleming's British accent had suddenly disappeared.
Author's Note: Actually had no idea what would cure a hang-over, so I looked it up.
Anyway, you know the drill. Please weigh in. Problems with any of the characters? Worried about Vince's mental health?
Thank you for reviewing, IronAmerica and Orwell!
