Update: 11/2/13 – added more description regarding Professor Heiney's experiences as described by Roddy MacStew while in transit on the EMS vehicle.

A Special thanks to tie-dyed-trickster, my super spiffy Editor of AWESOMENESS for making this chapter happen!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Integration

Chapter 9

"Locking Up the Sun"

September 3, 2004

The dawn of Friday morning brought forth a slew of reports regarding an unfortunate accident involving renowned superhero, Freakazoid, and his close friend, APEX Corporate VP, Dexter Douglas. Informants stated that the "explosion" was caused by a faulty gas line, which had ignited and left Dexter's vacation home in shambles. The incident left Freakazoid critically wounded and Dexter inexplicably MIA, leading many to assume foul play, while others considered the possibility that Dexter had simply perished. Considering the intensity of the explosion, forensics seemed to support the latter theory, and the fact that Dexter's neighbors never saw him leave the premises vouched for that. However, regardless of the evidence or lack thereof, anything marginally salvageable was meticulously documented.

The public eye quickly turned to the one person who could explain what happened— Freakazoid himself. But given his condition, there was no way of knowing when or if he'd ever regain consciousness.

Furthermore, the majority of the public were unaware of Freakazoid's connection to Dexter Douglas, making the superhero's inexplicable reappearance seem highly suspect. Only a choice few individuals knew the truth to the matter, but they weren't talking— yet. Nevertheless, suspicious or not, the people whose lives Freakazoid had touched shared their heartfelt sympathy for both young men. As a spectacular show of support, people from all walks of life poured into the streets surrounding the hospital, anxiously waiting and praying for good news. The crowds grew so chaotic that local law enforcement was called in to direct the anxious throng to allow EMS vehicles to come and go unimpeded. After all, despite Freakazoid's unwavering popularly, life went on and medical aid was still very much in demand throughout the county. Unfortunately, the doctors working on him had stated that it was unlikely the young hero would survive the night, which made it a long and difficult wait for all to endure.

In a darkened and sparsely furnished room, Roddy MacStew sat hunched in a chair where he'd held vigil through the night, staring numbly at the wall opposite of the hospital bed. If not for the repetitive woosh and chirp of life preserving machinery, he'd swear the lad, covered in bandages and immobilized upon the bed in a web of traction cables, was already two steps through the door to the afterlife.

No. Roddy laid his face in his hands, struggling against a fresh wave of doubt and trepidation. He warily eyed the still and broken form. 'Bollocks…' He shook his head with a grunt of frustration, 'I will NOT think that way.' Freakazoid was not beyond saving— not yet. There was still hope, even if the doctors didn't think so. A grim smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the Scotsman imagined the lad leaping off the bed whole and unharmed as he'd done in the past, shouting how nifty-keen it was to be alive and how desperately he wanted a snow cone.

'Tch,' he thought snidely, 'What d'those doctors know anyway? …Ruddy goodins know nothin' about th'lad's powers, especially compared t'me…'

His shoulders sagged as the anger left as swiftly as it had arrived, his mind taking him back to the night before. 'No, that's not fair… how could they know?'

In spite of his ability to sense the future, Roddy had been wholly unprepared for what happened the previous night. When he and Professor Heiney climbed into the back of the EMS truck it became clear that Freakazoid's condition was far worse than either of them could have imagined, and, as the night progressed and the initial shock wore off, he gradually realized the severity of the situation. The Scotman's stoic façade began to crack, worsening as they neared the hospital, 'til there was nothing left to hold back the rising tide of grief and guilt. He hadn't realized that Freakazoid had such a grip on his heart until the moment the lad disappeared through the operating room doors.

Roddy barely remembered his legs giving out or the sensation of several hands on his shoulders and someone's arms reaching to embrace him— he wasn't sure whose, everything was such a blur and truthfully he couldn't have cared less who it was or how long they'd sat there in the middle of the floor with him bawling like a grade-schooler. Christ almighty, Roddy had never cried so hard in his life—not since his grandmother died. Even losing his own Mum couldn't compare to the raw agony of the thought of losing someone as precious as Freakazoid, who was more a son to him than anything. No. The lad hadn't died just yet, though he was damn well near it, which did nothing to lessen the difficult truth of the matter, but for the moment he was still alive. For the moment, there was still hope.

With a heavy sigh, Roddy propped his elbows on his knees and whispered to himself, "I could not have foreseen this." His fingers formed a steeple and he looked dismally through the space between his palms at the window as the first tawny shades of dawn shone through a gap in the heavy curtains. "How?" he wondered in a slightly louder voice. "How'd ye survive this?" He swallowed the bitter ache forming in his throat, quelling the urge to succumb to his tears once more. "Perhaps th'years of suppressin' m'feelings, pride be dammed, have taken their toll at last. Cannae tell if it's a fookin' miracle or a curse..." He lowered his hands and tightly gripped the padded arm rests, reminding himself that when it came to a person like Freakazoid, all doubts would eventually be quelled and all the hullabaloo would blow over and as the saying goes, 'all's well that ends well'.

"I could'nae live knowin' there was somethin' I coulda done..."

Once again, that moment replayed itself in his mind, the moment when he realized that almost nothing remained of the lad he knew and loved. A part of him yearned to turn away from that memory, screamed that this was not how Freakazoid should be remembered; he wouldn't have wanted that. Alas, Roddy's curiosity compelled him to observe the unwanted memory with stark, remorseless clarity—

The grotesqueness of Freakazoid's injuries left him irrevocably altered. From the blackened tip of what once resembled a nose to a gaping toothless mouth, down the swath of a taut, cracked torso; the heat had melted the trace polyester in his clothes and adhered to seeping fissured skin.

A shudder of revulsion wracked his frame. 'Sweet Mary…' Was there no end to the horror? Still, his gaze was inexorably drawn to observe the macabre display. His shoes, what remained of them— stinking mitts—where were his toes? –of molten rubber, plastic residue and f—

Roddy forced himself to look away just then, struggling to subdue—his stomach roiled, the only warning given before he heaved the vestiges of his lunch into a bag provided by one of the astute young paramedics.

Though Roddy had endured a fair share of loss in his lifetime, the night's tragedy struck deep into his soul and it was no secret that its effect was the same for Roland. When he had finished emptying his stomach, Roddy bowed his head in shame of his lack of control. Even though he refused to make eye contact, he felt the weight of Roland's concerned gaze and wished he had half as much strength as the Professor. The old man was a bloody pillar of strength and considering all that he'd seen and done in the span of his life- it was hardly surprising. Roland had endured the ravages of World War II and survived the Holocaust at the hands of the Nazis! How could one not feel inadequate in the shadow of an individual with experiences far worse than his own?

The Scotsman frowned, scolding himself for indulging in such silly insecurities and comparing himself to another when there was nothing to be at fault for. He finally raised his eyes to meet those of the Professor's and discovered a reflection of his own pain. It wrenched the heart to see a grown man cry, let alone one old enough to be Roddy's own father. He lowered his eyes once more and felt an aged hand rest upon his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

Despite himself, Roddy smiled wearily. Perhaps they weren't so different after all...

The Scotman's ears pricked at the sound of footsteps scuffing the linoleum and he glanced up to see Dr. Drakken standing at his side. "Roland went to get coffee," the doctor said, taking a seat beside him. "How are you holding up?" He arched his brow at the glance Roddy gave him and sighed. "Stupid question, I know, but I had to ask."

"As well as can be expected," muttered Roddy. "… D'ye have anything to offer on his prognosis?"

Dr. D stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes, "I'm…overwhelmed, to say the least. His condition far exceeds the range of my experience. If anyone can answer you in greater detail, Roland can."

"Well, e's not 'ere and I'm askin' ye! Yer a better Doctor than any of th'young wankers in lab coats trouncing around this god forsaken place. I know yer smart enough t'figure it out! S'just—" He trailed off and gave the Doctor a pleading look.

Drakken started to reply and jumped at the Scotman's abrupt shout—

"CRUD!" The Scotsman banged a fist on the armrest in frustration. "I hate feeling so bloody helpless!" He stopped, seemingly embarrassed by his outburst. "Forgive me… I- ah— It's been a long night, but I just need to feel reassured that—" He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Drakken shrugged and pinched his brow. "No… it's alright. We're all a little high strung— with good reason."

"I'll have t'ask ye t'explain in layman's terms," muttered Roddy. "Medical jargon can get a bit confusin', particularly when yer as tired as I am."

"No worries," said Dee, pausing to gather his thoughts. "Considering the intensity of Freakazoid's power, there should have been nothing left of him. His survival is testament to his resilience. If he continues to heal as remarkably as I've observed, then perhaps there's promise for a full recovery."

Roddy's face brightened.

"He may be scarred for life though— physically and psychologically," continued Dee.

Roddy's face immediately fell.

Drakken raised his hands in a calming gesture, "Now now, only time will tell how efficient his healing factor is… Testing for neurological response turned up positive, so the good news is his brain is functioning normally, albeit comatose. It's remarkable, really, the range of his abilities; particularly the strength of his remedial mutation. It's extraordinary. I know only a small handful of people, including myself, with such an ability, it's certainly something I'd like to study—" Drakken paused, realizing he'd begun to ramble as he often did. His lips quirked, coaxing a smile from the frazzled Scotsman. "There is hope," he said simply.

Somewhat relieved, Roddy nodded, "Thank'ye Doc."

"Of course."

In lieu of Freakazoid's recent debacle, the presence of several notorious figures, particularly that of Dr. Drakken, had not gone unnoticed. Despite the former villain's more recent years of good service, grudges against his past misdeeds were not so easily forgotten. In an act that was nothing short of miraculous, Drakken chose to ignore the hostile stares and exchange of harsh whispers behind his back. Regardless of the growing urge to rise in defense, what good was there to be had in foolish acts of violence? No, it wouldn't do to lose his temper and retaliate; such behavior would merely fuel the flames of an issue he simply wasn't in the mood to deal with. If people didn't have the ability to let bygones be bygones, then they didn't deserve an iota of his interest, though this was far easier thought than done.

There was a fleeting moment of reprieve from the flow of gossip when Drakken noticed the arrival of Audrey and Royce. To the general public, the odd couple were better known by their former aliases, Cobra Queen and Cave Guy, but to Drakken they were family— and God, the relief they gave by simply being there was a blessing. If there had been any doubts as to their connection before, then all was laid to rest that night, when their relations were officially made public.

In light of this, attentions regarding the arrival of family and friends soon turned to Roddy MacStew, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Freakazoid. Such pronounced features as the blue skin and lightening-streaked hair seemed to indicate that the Scotsman was perhaps his father or relative. The addition of Drakken and Royce's shared coloring led many to believe that they were all somehow related. Unfortunately, such assumptions could not be proven or disproven due to a lack of evidence. Answers for the media were short coming and after enduring a series of probing questions from numerous insistent reporters, Roddy's patience had worn out. With a dangerous crackle of sparks, he turned and flew into a verbal tirade that would have put any sailor to shame and sent people scattering like ants. Things might have escalated further if not for the Professor's restraining grip on his shoulder, sparing further casualties aside from a few digital cameras— not that most people cared— but it would do the Scotsman well to keep himself in check for courtesy's sake.

From then on, the early hours of the morning passed uninterrupted, which was no doubt encouraged with a behemoth like Royce standing guard at the door of Freakazoid's hospital room.

Speaking of which, with Freakazoid's vitals stabilized at last, Drakken and the others thought they could possibly relax, perhaps even catch a little shut eye, but fate, as it often seemed, had a sense of irony.

"Funny how such an important figure as Freakazoid," came a woman's voice, "—would be in the support of his former foes… Seems that it should be the other way around, don't you think?"

Drakken's perpetual frown deepened. 'Great, just what I need, Betty Director, Global Justice's Nick Fury wannabe…' Completely ignoring the woman, he peered over his shoulder with an indignant snarl, "Royce! I thought you said you weren't letting anyone in!"

Royce gave a non-committal shrug, ducking as he stepped through the door. "She was rather insistent. Besides, it's not like I can argue with a government official who has the potential to make all our lives a living hell—" His eyes narrowed, deepening the shadow of his hooded brows to demonstrate that he did not appreciate this intrusion any more than his cousin.

"Some watch dog you are!" Drakken spat, turning a lethal glare to the stern-looking woman with an eye patch and short cropped chestnut hair. "Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around all the time?" He leaned back against his chair, arms crossed rigidly, "I'm starting to think I have a good reason to be so paranoid!"

"Now is that any way to greet the person who went through hell and back to grant you amnesty, not to mention cleaning up all the hapless messes you've made without so much as a peep from the media? What I'd like to know is why it is that every time something bad happens, I find that you were somehow involved? If you haven't already guessed, it's my JOB to keep you and yours out of trouble. The least you could be is grateful. Even Shego has had the courtesy to give me that much consideration. What'syour excuse?"

Drakken sputtered, "Trouble-schmubble! It's not like it's my fault. The fact that things tend to go awry when I'm around is mere coincidence! It just—HAPPENS!" He slouched dejectedly, "And I have been considerate… sometimes. AND, I'll also have you know that my being here is a result of coincidence, nothing more!"

"Understatement of the year," Betty deadpanned.

"OH, SHUT IT!"

"Coincidence or not, you've gotten yourself mixed up in yet another disaster that I'm already well in the process of cleaning up…"

With lethal calm, Drakken rose from his chair and continued to glare at her, wondering why he hadn't thought to bring his photon cannon to demolecularize her, but that'd get him sent to prison. Better yet, he could just duct-tape her mouth, spin her into a cocoon of vines, and hang her from the ceiling to beat her into submission like a piñata. Yes, that would be just the thing…

Betty regarded him demurely, hands on her hips, "This is where you say thank you."

Squaring his jaw, Drakken ground out, "And WHAT, pray tell, should I be thankful for now?! Yes, I agree there's been collateral damage and it's your job to cover peoples' asses, but the facts are that a VERY important young man is loitering at death's door and these people, the ONLY REAL family he has, are beside themselves with grief!" His expression wavered, allowing Betty a glimpse beneath the Doctor's cantankerous façade but in the blink of an eye, he recovered as though his mask had never slipped. "SO, forgive me, Doctor Betty Director, if I don't fall to my knees and thank my lucky stars this very instant! I have considerably more IMPORTANT things to be worried about than stroking your overinflated ego!"

Betty had the temerity to look nonplussed as Drakken turned his back to her to recollect himself, fists clenched against his thighs. GOD, how he despised that meddlesome woman and her blasted organization! The beginnings of a headache had set in and he desperately wished with every fiber of his being that Shego was there as a buffer.

He reached up to massage his temples but halted with a startled huff as the proverbial winds were taken from Drakken's sails when Audrey slipped a hand around the crook of his arm, providing a small but placating measure of support. His heart warmed, tension melting somewhat to the subtle strength she offered, reminding him that, aside from her talent as a snake charmer, her abilities extended to people as well.

"I called Shego a while ago," Audrey whispered, "She should be here soon."

With a wordless dip of his head, Drakken nodded his thanks before feigning interest in his sneakers and the mottled linoleum beneath them. He certainly hoped Shego would arrive sooner rather than later.

"I may have only one eye but I'm not blind," was Betty's calm reply. Her expression softened, gaze scanning the room and for the first time since her arrival, turned to acknowledge the Scotmans with a curt nod, "Roddy."

The hunched profile of the Scotsman did not reply, nor did he bother to look at her. He had had all the excitement he could take and wasn't in the mood to humor anymore visitors, regardless of their status or familiarity.

"Besides," said Betty. "My original intent was not to drag any one of you away for interrogation or to harangue you, so you can relax—." Her gaze spanned the room, "—all of you."

Drakken might have looked askance at that statement, perhaps even said something sarcastic, but he was far too busy staring in to space and listening to whatever it was Audrey was speaking to him in hushed tones. It seemed his little diatribe was all the attention he was willing to give to Betty and that was just fine. She knew he was listening, spying on her from the corner of his eye, assuming she didn't know he was watching.

Quietly, Betty turned and shut the door to ensure that what she was about to say was kept strictly between herself and the occupants of the room. "I'd like to talk about what happened."

Roddy flinched into attention, and glanced sharply at Betty.

"We need to discuss what actions should be taken to preserve Freakazoid's identity and his privacy. In addition to that, I'd also like to arrange a more—appropriate, means of care." She paused, regarding each of them, first Roddy, then Drakken, and last of all Audrey and Royce. Good. She had their attention. Her gaze returned to Drakken, "I was not aware that you were an acquaintance of Freakazoid's. However, this reminds me of your association with the Professor, and, knowing that he has always thought of the boy as his grandson, I'm not at all surprised of how that brings you into the equation." She smiled, which made the doctor shift nervously, "But this certainly narrows down my choice in Freakazoid's future accommodations."

"W-wait," sputtered Drakken. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't play stupid, Doctor, it means just the way it sounds."

Drakken started to reply but was interrupted by a distinctive series of taps upon the door, which prompted Betty to reopen the door long enough to allow the Professor in. He shut his mouth, decinding for once to err to the side of caution and wait for Betty to fully explain herself.

"Ah, Ms. Director," the Professor greeted, "I had a feeling you'd come. How nice to see you again…" He held up one of the two cardboard caddies he'd brought, laden with the morning's second round of caffeinated brew, "Coffee?"

"No thank you," she declined.

"Suit yourself," said Roland as he circled the room to give each person a cup before taking the last for himself. He sipped, making a face, "Hardly ze best, but certainly not ze vorst, und it vill do in a pinch."

"Aye," Roddy softly affirmed.

"Betty, it's been a vhile," Said Roland, sounding jovial despite his obvious exhaustion. "You're looking vell."

"I could say the same to you, although not nearly as well, given the circumstances…" Ms. Director approached the hospital bed, focusing on the trill of technology that monitored the boy's vitals. "I'm sorry..."

Seeing where she was looking, Roland's smile melted as the lines of his face grew deeper with the strain in his voice. "As much as I'd like to say zat I vas prepared for zis, I vasn't—" He shook his head, bringing his cup to his lips to take a draught. He swallowed, shaking his head once more to dispel the urgent tug of fatigue. "neiz'eh of us vere…"

Whatever emotion there may have been in Betty's expression, were quickly expelled and suddenly she was all business as she turned to address her odd-looking audience. "I've secured the neighborhood perimeters, allowing my team to work on Dexter's residence uninterrupted, but in order to appropriately assess the situation; I need detailed information from all of you." There was a deafening silence that followed and Betty patiently crossed her arms, not once losing her authoritative stance, "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, otherwise, without a decent cover-up, not only is Freakazoid's true identity at stake, but the reputations of Dexter Douglas and those he is affiliated with are as well."

To be continued…