Specific Role
Friday, August 7, 10:00 A.M.
Mewtwo looked up away from the computer screen at Brenda's growl. He felt himself tense at the sound, and nearly winced. Had she bumped her arm against something? He couldn't think of what else could make her angry at this moment in time. They were filling out reports, what the cops called 'sixes and sevens', referencing previous incidents.
He felt her mental shields bristle. He pulled away before he could get cut on her mental spines, and looked where she was looking.
Lieutenant Davis stood in the doorway, and swept the room once visually. Mewtwo tilted his head, and glanced back at Brenda. Just why couldn't the two women get along? Or at least, why couldn't Brenda still the hostilities for an hour or so? He shook his head, and turned back to his reports.
Smith looked about four shades too light. More accurately, Smith's illusion was pale. Davis saw no other flaws in the image as she approached, but she could feel that Johnson's glare wasn't up to snuff. Something was wrong with Smith, and it was enough to make Brenda Johnson worry. It took less than a second for Davis to make her decision.
"Smith, do you have ten minutes for a consult?" Davis asked. "It's early enough that I shouldn't interrupt your other cases." He was psychic, and apparently powerful enough to blow up several cities. He could catch a projected thought. 'Your illusion looks like hell, I don't imagine that you're any better.'
Mewtwo looked up, eyes wide, and almost immediately looked over at Brenda. The Detective looked like she was going to blow a blood vessel, but she was also staring, quite pointedly, at her computer screen. She wasn't going to argue, point out that he was her partner and not available to consults?
Was the sky falling? Mewtwo nodded, and got up. "Ah, we can steal a conference room, I think," he said, still off balance. Consult on what?
Davis nodded politely to Johnson as they passed, but said nothing as drastic as good morning. "The conference rooms are private, of course? It's a sensitive matter." 'No case, you just look like you need time out of the illusion. Are your conference rooms that good?'
Mewtwo nodded, and closed his eyes. Two conversations at the same time, never mind that he was psychic, was just slightly disorienting. "Conference room A, I think. No one's gone in since they saw the photos of my- the Detective's and mine- case."
"You're on the case with the clones. There's a lot of interest, but none of my little birdies know a thing about science," Davis said.
"We have a few little birdies of our own, who do. And there's myself, of course." No need to bluntly state he was using his hacking skills to get some of the information. It was only background, about procedures and not people. What the Detective didn't know wouldn't hurt her, or the case.
The conference room was still strewn about with papers and pictures, several murder boards set up around the room. Pictures of the three dead clones, sketches from Dr. McClure's work, and empty coffee mugs competed the picture of chaos.
"Perfect," she said. "No one else is going to come in here. The room's shielded enough for sensitive conversations?"
"I don't bother with my illusion in here, if that's what you mean." Mewtwo turned to face Davis, frowning. "Are we here just because my illusion looked pale? Or do you really need to talk to a psychic about something?"
"All I need to do this morning is talk to Dallas, which is not a productive use of my life. You're much more interesting, and your illusion wasn't just four full shades off. It was crap quality."
He couldn't really help it, he snorted. "I will agree with you about Dallas. The entire precedent would agree with you about him. I think Dallas is the only thing you and Brenda agree upon." He ignored the comment about his illusion. It wasn't as if he could argue.
"Normally, I would think that you hadn't slept well, something. This time, I think Johnson's worried about you."
"The case involves cloning, I have an intimate understanding of the process. I'm trying not to dwell on it."
"This all came to a head overnight?"
"Not precisely." Past time to change the subject, he decided. "May I ask you a question? Why does the Detective hate you? Is it an Islander thing?"
Davis frowned at him, puzzled. "It could be. I'm not an Islander, Smith."
"You're not?" Mewtwo gave Davis a quick one over. Dark skin, black hair, dark eyes. "But you look like one."
She frowned, and sighed. "I'm a Hoenn native, Smith. That was a fascinating way to change the subject, but you could just tell me it's none of my business."
He shrugged. "I'm not used to saying that, and having it work. It's none of your business."
"Then that's all," Davis said. "Your partner didn't know how to start talking, and now she has an opening."
She had gotten along with Officer Vahan Smith, the researcher extraordinaire. Smith the psychic didn't seem to like her.
Mewtwo rolled his eyes and sank down into a chair. He needed more sleep. "I suppose you'll be very subtle and try to pull the details out without my noticing?" he asked, and looked skyward. "I have been having nightmares. The Detective woke me up out of one and I bit her. The taste of blood was a little too sweet. Is that enough?"
"Subtle isn't my style, Smith. I'm patient, but I don't trick people." Davis decided that the 'sweet taste of blood' was one of those rhetorical statements to be considered later. "If you don't want to tell me all about your kink, fine. I don't need to know a thing. I want to know, sure, but it's not my job to find out."
Mewtwo twitched his tail, thinking. "I don't like seeing dead children," he finally said. "They were experimented upon when they were alive. If they had not been classified as 'evidence', the bodies might have been taken for continued experimentation. I just... There is nothing I can do, with my power. And of course I feel guilty for trying to kill Brenda earlier this morning."
"You're a saint, then. I would've taken that step ages ago." Davis was not going to let this conversation turn fully macabre; she only wanted to make sure that Mewtwo was okay. "Johnson looked fine to me."
"I bit her arm. I was trying to strangle her before that..."
It took a minute for Mewtwo to notice that Davis wasn't doing, or saying, anything. He lifted his eyebrows, and coughed. "Nightmare. She woke me up. I wasn't exactly... Aware of what I was doing, you could say."
"Night terrors, right," she said. "You two together?"
Very pointedly, Mewtwo gestured at himself. "Pokemon," he said. He waved his hand at the wall, in the general direction of the Homicide bullpen. "Human. Besides, she barely tolerates me."
Davis rolled her eyes. "Like any other pokemon in the world would sit here in a conference room and talk about nightmares. Johnson has her own definition of like and dislike, Smith. You're her partner, I'm the bitch that keeps dragging her partner off for consults.
"Lieutenant... Never mind. Is there anything else?"
"You know what shrinks are for, right? They're to make problems small enough for you to deal with on your own," she said, standing slowly. It was too early for her muscles to adjust quickly. "I've said that you could just call me Davis. If the bastards in charge have their way, I'll have some unpronounceable title in the next few months. Some kind of inter-departmental liaison or other shit heavy on paperwork and low on use."
Mewtwo smirked. "By coincidence, I'm going to talk to a shrink this evening. I look forward to the fireworks if you are transferred here, though."
"Good. Two of my cops ended up with our station's shrink talking about your case. Three dead little girls, cops start getting down. You catch those bastards, right? Best therapy there is."
Mewtwo nodded, and headed for the door. "Actually, I find the best therapy is scaring them senseless. But catching them works well, too."
Friday, August 7, 10:00 A.M.
If something was six or seven weeks back, how the fucking hell was she supposed to remember what the fuck had happened? Her memory was good, but not that good. Once it'd past the three week mark, unless it was an on going case, the details were flat out gone. She wasn't sure if she could blame that six month nap she'd taken just before turning eleven or not, but it probably hadn't helped.
She jotted down a few more notes about a traffic stop she and Mewtwo had been involved in- though it'd been more of a 'suspect sees cops. Suspect panics and drives into a light post, injuring himself and the car' situation, if she remembered it right. She thought she did, since it was pretty unusual.
She looked up as one of the ever present gophers walked towards her desk. "Can I help you?" she asked, making sure to sound like the only help the kid would get would be off a cliff. No need to give her co-workers heart attacks or anything. They were already worried because she'd only had two cups of coffee since coming in, anything weirder and they'd try and take her to a hospital.
The kid tilted her head, and frowned. "Brenda Johnson?" she asked. Brenda nodded, and the kid smiled. "Oh, good. I'm Elaine Clark, I'm here about a complain Dr. Sullivan filed against you."
Brenda raised her eyebrows. Elaine had dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and skin the color of cream. If the girl had scars, Brenda would eat her badge. It was like looking at a doll made human. Vaguely creepy.
"A complaint?" she asked, thinking back. Dr. Sullivan, Dr. Sullivan, who was that? Oh, right, the crazy psychiatrist who said she had Borderline Personality Disorder. "I can't imagine why."
Elaine smirked, and shrugged. "Well, it's obviously nonsense, but I just need to talk with you for a few minutes. Anywhere we can go that's a little more private?"
Brenda glanced around the bullpen, and smirked. "Yeah, actually. Let me just check with Lieutenant Kimishima."
Elaine trailed after as Brenda got up and headed for the Lieutenant's office. She knocked once, a mere formality as Kimishima was one of those lucky souls who had a large office with windows. The day Kimishima drew the blinds on those windows was the day he retired, or so everyone said.
The Lieutenant arched an eyebrow, and waved them in. "Yes?" he asked.
The man was an Islander, even if he was a quarter-blood from the North-East islands and Brenda three-quarters from the far South. She could talk more or less frankly with him, even if he did look more like a Caucasian then someone from the Orient.
"Can I borrow your office for an interview?" she asked. "Someone got snarky about my attitude, and now someone else has to clean up the mess, and the men are gossips."
Kimishima laughed, and stood up. "Go right ahead," he said. "I'll just see what the coffee machine's turned out today."
Brenda closed the office door behind him, and gestured to one of the visitor's chairs for Elaine. "I don't think I should sit behind the desk," she said.
"Why not?"
"Don't have the rank, don't want it neither."
Elaine tilted her head, then shrugged. "If you say so. Now. Dr. Sullivan said you were rude, confrontational, and left the session before anything could be done."
"Sounds about right." Brenda sat down in her chair, and grinned. "I didn't like him. Dr. Boris is a nicer guy."
"Was, since he retired to someplace sunny and warm." Elaine smiled, and chuckled. "Any reason his last request was to not tell you where that was?"
"Might've been the rock I chucked at his head."
"Rock?"
"A decoration he kept on his desk. It dented the wall something awful." Brenda shrugged. "So, we've established that I tossed Sullivan's ego in his face and flaunted his authority. I don't like him. Next?"
"Know anything about why a review board's looking at him?"
Did Sheryl actually call some mysterious Psychiatric review board? Brenda would have laughed if the idea wasn't quite so weird. Did that sort of thing even exist? "Not a clue," she replied. "Though I did call my mother to complain. Sheryl Lance, ever hear of her?"
"Only a few dozen times a day. A few of the shrinks I've worked with quote the woman like she's God."
"That's my mom," Brenda said, feeling rather proud. "You'd have to ask her about this review board thing, though."
"Nah, I'll let the good doctor sink or swim on his own. Are you going to file a complaint? Even by his notes, I can see he put about five minutes thought into your case." Elaine wrinkled her nose. "I think he just decided he wasn't going to like you."
"Can't imagine why."
"Probably because you're one of the few people I've heard of who got detention nearly every day while in high school, yet managed to pull off some of the highest marks I've heard of." At Brenda's sharp look, Elaine elaborated. "I looked through your file for Dr. Sullivan's notes, saw copies of your report cards. Impressive."
"I'm good at memorization." So long as it involved paper, facts, and not having to retain any information longer then three weeks. Studying had been 'fun', and she'd always been good at taking notes. "Anything else?"
"Only that you still need to complete a psychiatric review, but it doesn't have to be with Dr. Sullivan. Unfortunately, Dr. Boris made sure you had a reputation among his colleges, and no one's eager to take you on."
"It's not like I ever tried to kill him."
"Good to know." Elaine stood up, and pulled a card out of her pocket. Brenda accepted it automatically, and nearly smirked. The card looked rather wrinkled, some of the smaller print nearly impossible to read.
"You have a P.H.D.?" she asked, squinting down at the card.
"I know it's pretty sudden, but is Sunday afternoon, around three, good for you? I have an opening then- and then I'm booked for the rest of the month."
"Ah, no, that's fine." Brenda stood up and shoved the card into her pocket. "Three, Sunday, where?"
"I work out of the Tower, actually. Profiler. Fifth floor, room 502. I'll see you then." Elaine- Dr. Clark- held out her hand. Brenda shook it, and escorted her out of the bullpen.
Then she wandered back to her desk, noticed Mewtwo was back, and sat down. She had paperwork to finish up, then they could go back to pounding the pavement and finding more clues. Probably a few more bodies would turn up as well.
Profiler, huh? Maybe Brenda would take the case to Dr. Clark. Couldn't hurt. Might not help, but it couldn't hurt.
Friday, August 7, 3:12 P.M.
"That's it, we're done here."
Mewtwo looked up, just in time to see Brenda dump the last of her coffee into her plant's soil. He winced a little, but didn't comment. What else was she to do with it? It was probably undrinkable even by her standards now, and the garbage bin was wire mesh, the coffee would leak out.
"Done?" he asked, turning off his computer. Early or not, he wasn't going to complain about leaving early.
"Well, yeah. We were in around what, six-thirty? Unless another body shows up or Hades finds something new on our current three, we won't get anything more. What's her name, Elizabeth Taylor, she's not returning my phone calls." Brenda scowled at the telephone as if it was responsible for that lack, then continued. "We've got an hour and a half of driving ahead of us, longer if the traffic's bad. I want to get there in time to have a nice dinner, conversation, whatever, and then get back before midnight."
"I do believe that's one of your longer speeches, Detective. Who are you trying to convince, me or you?"
She grimaced. "Me. This is probably the first time I've left work early in… Gods. Years."
Mewtwo chose not to mention the numerous times she'd left since he started working with her, only to realize that each time had involved work. Personal time was something else.
He trailed after her to the stairwell, sighing a little as they started down the steps. He cheated a little, floating, not even bothering with his illusion. It wasn't as if there were any cameras to worry about, and he would hear footsteps long before anyone could see him sans illusion. Brenda had to suffer on her own. She'd be limping after this.
"Have we only been working on this a week?" he asked, breaking the quiet.
"What now?"
"The case. It's only been a week?"
The Detective huffed, and paused a moment on the second story landing. "Well, yeah. Three dead girls, six dead bodies. That's a lot, for a week. Do you want the technical lecture, or can you just take my word for it?"
"You seem to enjoy lecturing."
"Only sometimes." Brenda tapped a finger against her thigh, and shrugged. "Well, we do have that hour and a half drive. Might as well talk shop as anything else."
"You could always talk about the hell hound."
"You don't like Rhonwen. Besides, she's out in the forest terrorizing small pokemon. I told her she was on her own for dinner yesterday." Brenda scowled when he teleported down to the next level, and limped down the stairs after him. "Anyways, I like talking about work."
"I can't imagine why."
"It is what I'm good at."
He had to grant her that point. And, well, considering he'd never even gone to Police College, he was doing an amazing job playing the police officer. He could just do better. That he wanted to do better was something he'd deal with on his own time.
"Lecture away, Detective."
She grinned. "Fun times. Okay, there are several types of killers. There's the crazed psycho who's either listening to the little voices in his head telling him yeah, it'd be a good idea to kill that fellow on the street corner. Or, other psycho, it's the 'if I can't have him, no one can' scenario. Either way, you're not likely to put the killer in jail, it's the padded cell and straight jacket."
"I can't imagine there would be too many of those types," Mewtwo said. He shoved open the door to the garage, without touching it. Brenda scowled and stomped through, muttering something about 'show offs' and knives. He pretended not to hear.
"They flock to celebrities, mostly. Anyways, other type of killer, that'd be the boyfriend or husband- or, hell, girlfriend or wife- who's either an abuser, or suspects their significant other of cheating, or… Well, you get the idea."
"Mate killing."
"You can put it that way. Anyways, then there's the muggers that'll kill, or rapists that kill, generally to keep their victims from talking. Then we have serial killers." Brenda paused long enough for them to get into the car and sort themselves out. Once they were settled in and heading out onto the road, she continued. "What we currently have is a serial killer, but a weird one. Most serial killers stalk their victims first- and they're generally adults. They'll have reasons for it. Uh, some famous killer, name escapes me at the moment, stalked, raped, and killed women who looked like his mother, who was a prostitute or abusive or something."
"What a charming fellow," Mewtwo muttered.
"Well, he's dead by a century now." Brenda signaled her turn, and merged into the highway traffic. "Anyways, what else…? Got any other questions?"
Mewtwo smirked. "Actually, since you're in such a talkative mood…"
Friday, August 7, 4:59 P.M.
Brenda parked behind one of the two cars, and grunted. "Alison's not here," she said. "So you can relax." She didn't wait for Mewtwo's reply, just got out of the car and headed for the Lance family door. It was painted a lurid shade of green, and it probably hadn't been touched up in a decade at least. She pounded on the door once, then shoved it open. Unlocked, as always.
"We're here!" she hollered, then turned to glare at her partner. "Well? Going to stand out there all day or what?" She nearly hauled her partner in, and headed straight for the living room.
Leon put down his newspaper, and smiled the two shuffled into the house. "Hey," he greeted, and pulled himself to his feet. "Sheryl's in the back. My turn to make supper, hope you like vegetarian lasagna."
"There in a tick," Sheryl yelled. "Make sure Leon doesn't let the lasagna burn, he claims that he's above setting the kitchen timer."
Mewtwo arched one eyebrow, resigned to a conversation with Leon. Brenda seemed to be edging towards the kitchen, and bolted just when he turned to look at her. Leon chuckled, and he frowned. "Yes?" he asked.
"Don't mind Brenda, she likes cooking. So, I hear you're on the dead kids' case. Any suspects yet, that sort of thing?"
Brenda glanced at the kitchen door, and slipped down the hallway. The lasagna was fine. Leon wasn't half bad as a cook, and she couldn't smell anything burning anyways. Sheryl would be in her office, working on something or other. A few quick words, and then Brenda would be ready for family dinner. Mewtwo wouldn't be ready for family anything for years.
She tapped on Sheryl's office door. "Hey, mom?" she asked, keeping her voice down. "Quick word?"
Sheryl finished typing in one last burst of keystrokes. "As many as you like, Bren," she said, half-distracted with her usual habits. That should do for the first draft of her paper. Sheryl was careful to safe the draft to her flash drive, check that the device lit green, and then tuck it into her pocket. It was only when she'd shut her laptop that she realized what Brenda had said.
Hopefully the sudden appearance of a "she called me mom" smile wouldn't scare her little girl off. "Is this something better discussed without menfolk around to gawk?"
"More like better Mewtwo's distracted," Brenda replied, entering the room and shutting the door. "Because it's about him. You know. He, ah, he's a clone. I don't know if he'll tell you and Leon, but if he does, could you... I mean, I know how Leon's going to react. And his reactions' good. Better then mine, I punched him in the mouth. Tried. Ah..." She stared, rather pleadingly, at Sheryl. "I don't think Mewtwo wants a shrink, you know? So, ah..."
"He's a clone?" Sheryl glanced towards the kitchen almost involuntarily. "You mean there's someone else like him?"
"I'm not sure," Brenda replied. "I don't think so. But, I think... not?"
"Genetic modification, clonal origins... I don't think I know any genetic counselors with the qualifications for this. There are a few psychologists who specialize in genetic matters, but he's exceptional. He's also not likely to trust a stranger with the details of his life." Sheryl frowned. "I can't be his therapist, as I'm already involved in his life, but I have enough training to be a listening ear." Her expression cleared as she thought it over. "It would be wonderful to have someone who wasn't neurotic schedule appointments with me."
"I'm not neurotic," Brenda muttered. "And I don't schedule appointments. Anyways, no, what I meant was... I mean, could you mother him? Because he never had anyone, I don't think."
"You don't need appointments, you're my daughter," Sheryl said. "Do you think he'd... He looked like he needed mothering the first time I saw him. I'll just have to ease him into it before he knows what I'm doing." It would be tricky, since he was an extremely good psychic, but Sheryl was fairly confident. She had managed with Brenda, after all.
"Yeah. So, that's just what I wanted to say. You don't mind?" Brenda picked at her pants, worrying at a loose thread. "That I'm basically asking you to adopt another kid?"
"Brenda." Sheryl laid her hand over her daughter's. "It's in my nature to mother people that need it, and you and your sister have had the sense to bring wonderful young men home with you to be mothered. Crack might need very little mothering, but he likes the little things that I fuss at him about." She stood, not as quickly as she once had. "Let's go make sure Leon hasn't found the dessert just yet, shall we? If he has the ambition to throw together the salad, he'll find it."
Brenda smirked, and followed after Sheryl. She'd have to have a similar talk with Leon, maybe. Then again, maybe not, Leon had a cop's instincts and Sheryl talked to him... Right. "He probably thinks I made the salad, I kind of headed in that direction."
Mewtwo shot a look that was positively desperate when the two women appeared. He had sat down, and rather uncomfortably talked about the case with Leon. And then, somehow, about building ships in bottles. While it was very impressive, it wasn't something he wanted knowledge of. "Hello, Sheryl."
"Hello, Mewtwo. I see that the kitchen hasn't burned down, but I don't know if that's due to your presence." Sheryl might let Leon live down a certain incident someday. Maybe. She grinned at her husband over Mewtwo's shoulder, expecting a protest. "The lasagna smells delicious, dear."
"Once," Leon complained. "Only the once, and you never let me forget it. And it wasn't the kitchen, it was a dishtowel." Leon took back his ship in a bottle before Mewtwo dropped it. "I think it's ready. Did you make a salad, Brenda?"
Brenda growled. "I thought you were taking care of the salad."
"I can take care of the salad," Sheryl interrupted. "Mewtwo, do you have any preferences for vegetables? Those two only seem to eat them under protest, so I don't bother giving them a vote."
"Radishes?" he asked, choosing a vegetable at random. "And beets?"
"Vegetables," Brenda muttered, and Leon grunted agreement.
Sheryl only smiled. "They're horrible. If the vegetables are in my refrigerator, I like them."
Mewtwo nodded, and managed to get swept up in a mass migration to the kitchen. The fact that Brenda was dragging him along by the arm probably helped. Somehow he ended up in charge of the drinks.
Brenda set the table, and helped herself to salad and lasagna. Rather quickly, in her opinion, everyone had food on their plates and was munching away. And for vegetarian, it wasn't half bad. "Okay, quick talk about work, then something else. Please." She didn't want to talk about dead kids at the dinner table, or Leon's latest drug bust, or psychology.
"You're a homicide detective and your job's still depressing, Mewtwo's the same, Leon's the same, I'm a psychiatrist and nine in ten clients are completely neurotic," Sheryl said. "Will that suffice?"
"Works for me," Brenda said, and grinned. "Done anything stupid recently, Leon?"
Dishes at the Lance household were... interesting, Mewtwo decided. Leon and Brenda did the washing, due to a decided lack of working dishwasher. He glanced at the broken machine, and decided he knew what had happened. Brenda as a teenager, with steel toed boots and a temper, had probably kicked it. "Are they supposed to be arguing like that?" he asked Sheryl, and gestured at the pair.
Sheryl tilted her head, listening to the sniping. Brenda was calling her father a wimp (again), and Leon was retaliating with an exhaustive list of all the (stupidly) brave things he had ever done. "You'll probably be done with them in about a minute. He'll mention his most famous cases, and she'll start pulling trump cards."
"Trump cards?" Mewtwo asked, and took a step towards the door. "Do I even want to know?"
"That depends. How comfortable are you with menstruation and its paraphernalia?"
"Leaving now," Mewtwo muttered, and started walking away. He ran when Brenda yelled something about tampons.
He ended up in the back of the house, staring at three closed doors. One, he suspected, had to be the office Sheryl used, but the other two, he couldn't guess.
Sheryl bit her tongue, but she suspected that he heard her comment anyway. Psychic, after all, but she wouldn't traumatize him overmuch if she thought that tampons were just pieces of cotton attached to a string. "They'll be done in about ten minutes. She'll progress to periods in general and Ali's birth, but then he'll fire back with Ali's conception, and they'll be done. They have this fight every once in a while, just to amuse themselves."
"They find that amusing?" Mewtwo asked, eyes wide. "Are they insane? Never mind, I know the answer to that."
Sheryl only raised a brow. "That leads nicely into my next question, actually. Brenda mentioned that you might want someone who will listen to any concerns you have about cases, origins... anything." She focused gently on Brenda asking her to talk to Mewtwo. "Nine in ten people I talk to are neurotic. If you'd like to be one of the few rational folk who talk through their issues..." She left the question open.
"I'm fine," he snapped. Mewtwo closed his eyes, and focused on his mental shielding. Of course Brenda would ask Sheryl... "I don't want to talk about it. I don't like dead children and I don't like cloning and I don't think I really need to go over the reasons why, do you?"
"I'm not a psychic, Mewtwo, I'm a psychologist," she said patiently. "If you change your mind, I'm easy to get in touch with. You can come to my office, stop by the house, we can go out to eat somewhere, but any idiot can tell this case would upset you. This idiot," she said, gesturing expansively towards herself, "has a doctorate in psychology."
He shook his head. "Thanks for the offer, but no." He arched his eyebrow at the sound of a short, frustrated scream coming from the kitchen. "Leon went over Alison's conception, I take it?" He edged to one side of the hallway, making room for Brenda.
"Can't blame me for trying," Sheryl said, not at all surprised. "Natural mothering instincts. Mothers are one thing, foster mothers are even worse."
Mewtwo frowned, ready to say something just as Brenda joined the small group. He glanced down, and fought against the urge to run away. That smile she was giving him was disturbing.
Brenda read Sheryl's expression with the ease of experience. "Hey, Mewtwo?" she asked, all the warning she gave the psychic. She reached up and hooked one hand around his first neck, using that to pull him down. "Go ahead, Sheryl."
Sheryl kissed him on the cheek, laughing. "Maybe next time you'll just hug me and save the spectacle," she teased. "You're quite tall, you know. You and Leon both."
Mewtwo made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and straightened up the moment Brenda let go of his neck. It wasn't that it'd hurt, but- his neck! She'd just- grabbed- hooked- his neck! "As you say," he said, and backed out of grabbing reach. "Dinner was nice. Detective, shall we?"
Brenda grinned, and gave Sheryl a hug. She'd already said goodbye to Leon. "I'll try to remember to call," she said. "Later."
"Don't make me break into your house again!"
End Notes
Quickly, before anyone reviews to point out that there are four dead clones… Technically, there are five. Four bodies, though, and four dead scientists. Unfortunately, the characters only know about three clones and three scientists. So, remember, we know more then the characters. Yay us.
Oh, and I have fanart! It's currently serving as my desktop image… http : (slash)(slash) big-sister (dot) deviantart (dot) com (slash) art (slash) Brenda-With-Coffee-of-Course-112040006
Yes. That's Brenda. Because I suck at doing proper description. (Seriously, if it were ME describing her… 'Dark skin. Black hair. Tall for a girl, skinny, cranky.')
Anyways, to end off this rather long author's note- yes, I know, more talking. I'm sorry there's nothing but talk! Next chapter though, Mewtwo's cranky and taking it out on the Shade dwellers, they finally find a clue and a suspect, and Four finds out where her sisters bodies are being kept. That can't end well.