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Chapter Four: Atom

Helena would like to say that today's lunch had answered some questions for her, and it had. However, quite a few popped up in response.

The first question asked and answered was one of her own will. Did she still find Nathaniel Adams, better known to the world as Captain Atom, as attractive as she once had? Did her knees still weaken when he laid on the Southern accent? Did she still feel the urge to pet that stiff bristle he called hair?

Helena liked to imagine herself as a one-man woman. Capable of putting all others out of her head, and in truth, she was. Still, staring at Nate over the table, watching as he without hesitating ordered her favorite food from her favorite restaurant, and she remembered why for those six months she'd adored him. Sure, in the end, she'd left him. Her love of Vic had overshadowed her affection for Nate. She'd made a conscious choice, again, and didn't regret this one.

Watching as Nate studied her over the table, and she did find herself regretting hurting him. At one point of their relationship, she'd convinced herself that Nate could make her happy. Instead, he'd made her content. Not a bad thing, but with true happiness so close, how could she settle for complacency instead?

"You look good, Helena," Nate said as he ducked his head and fiddled with the silverware.

She smiled. "I'm aware."

He smiled back. "You hate compliments."

"They're so often hiding the real reason behind them."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Then why so defensive?"

"You have a habit of attacking without warning. Reminds me why Bat-...Bruce calls you dangerous."

Helena leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm dangerous to Bruce only because he believes I am. You know what they say; it can't hurt if you don't believe in it."

Nate smiled and leaned back as the waiter brought their drinks and salads. He waited until he was gone before speaking again. "Your uncle has drawn the attention of the United States military intelligence in his direction. It's not a good move."

Helena grinned evilly as she bit viciously into a plum tomato. "When is it a good move to fuck with the military?"

Nate grinned back. "Never."

"Okay. So. What do you want me to do about it? You know I'm not involved in mob-affairs."

Nate leaned forward. "We want you to be."

Helena set down her fork. "Excuse me?"

"My superiors were all for sending in a cleaning squad, taking out the offending parties in one quick, secret move. I convinced them that I could end the problem amicably, no blood loss."

"Given who we're talking about, blood loss on either side should be expected in any situation. You know, the mafia and the military are a lot alike. Shoot first, shoot some more, and if anyone's left alive, ask a question."

Nate stared at her resolutely, refusing to rise to the bait. Finally, Helena sighed. "What has my dear uncle done exactly?"

Nate scooted closer, the quiet tone of his voice clearly stating that he didn't want this overheard. "A month ago, a ship in the Atlantic went missing for three days. When it surfaced again, the entire shipment was gone and the crew dead."

Helena leaned forward too. "So?"

"The shipment was that of new Government Issue meta-guns."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Meta-guns?"

"They're new. So new, that only a handful of companies and people know about them. For months now, specific government facilities have been working on a weapon that can be used against meta-humans, just in case a situation with an Enemy should break out with no Heroes around." Helena knew instinctively what he was talking about. Guns specially designed to take out the super-powered in case other super-powered people weren't around to handle it.

She also read between the lines. "Also for use in case said Heroes should become an Enemy of the government, and need to be taken down."

"The situation does occur."

"You sound like you're reciting the Cadmus Manifesto. Shall I start calling Amanda?"

Nate glared at her. "The weapons are very dangerous." He moved on. "Two weeks ago we received a tip that the Five Families of Gotham were in on the deal, and specifically the Panessas were brokering it."

"I still don't see what I can do."

"Talk to your uncle. Tell him to back out of the deal. Hand over the weapons anonymously back to the military."

"And if he doesn't listen to me?" Helena asked, watching as his eyes went a little colder.

"Then it will be a slaughter. The military will go in and take out anyone with knowledge of the weapons. This cannot be made public. Too many human's rights organizations would have a fit."

"Just how powerful are these weapons?" Helena asked, suddenly envisioning a huge spotlight-sized gun taking down Superman and sending him plummeting into the ground.

"They're like handhelds, but they used electrical charges designed to shut down the part of the brain that Metas use with their abilities."

"Sounds shady to me," Helena replied matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, well, think of your friends. What would happen to them if suddenly all the criminals in Gotham had weapons capable of taking them down with one shot?"

She leaned back and allowed the waiter to take her uneaten salad and replace it with cannolli. She'd lost her appetite, which truly angered her given how much she loved the cannolli here. Helena picked up her purse and stood to leave. Nathaniel stood too.

"What have you decided?" He asked, holding her arm to keep her from walking out.

She pulled away, glaring at him in anger. "I think I shouldn't have come here, because now I'm being forced to do something I don't want to do."

Nate nodded slowly, releasing her arm and taking his seat again. "Thank you, Helena."

"Don't thank me. My way probably won't be any less bloody than your superiors'. You know I love a good death scene," she replied snidely, turning and leaving him sitting there.

Deep down, a little girl cringed inside a dark room, remembering all the bad things and memories her family represented to her. Death, destruction, corruption, and greed. The four deadly sins of Mob-dom.

Her Lamborghini stood bright and shiny at the curb, waiting for her to slide in and screech off in a fit of high-speed petulance. Instead, she stood there and breathed deep. Vic often told her that her temper would be her downfall one day.

Finally, she slid her phone out of her purse and dialed her godfather's number. There was no answer, not surprising, but she noted to herself that she must call and inform her Uncle Tomaso that it was time for her annual visitation.

Once a year with the scum of the Earth was about all she could ever stomach.