A/N: Soooo… XD Ya'll have no idea how long I've been waiting to post that chapter! And the reactions were perfect. Lots of 'wtf' and 'is it normal to drug one's significant other in the 70's?'

All completely normal reactions -I think ;)

Lots explanation in this chapter… So that'll hopefully sate your tempers! XD

anonymouscsifan: I know… I'm mean for leaving you like that… Hopefully this'll make up for some?

K.J. Bollinger: Thank you!

Jb: Here's some more!

Guest (1): Thank you so much! I'm so happy that you like it this much! I don't have any plans to abandon this story, and if you ever have any questions, I'll do my best to answer them ;)

Guest (2): Nope! ;) Not a nightmare, though I can say that Nora's is just beginning…

I'd like to thank everyone who read this story in the last week. There was an explosion in the amount of followers, almost two every day! It makes me so happy just to see it, every time there's a new notification in my inbox. Thank you all 33s

*No disrespect to former Defense Minister Laird; I don't mean to paint him in such a mean light, ,this is just how I would picture someone in his place during a situation like this.

Chapter 27/Chapter 29

July 25th, 1972. Washington DC, the Oval Office.

"Mr President? There's been an update on the case from earlier."

President Richard Nixon sighed, "Laird, I get that same phrase spoken to me at least five times a day."

US Defense Minister Melvin Laird let himself in the rest of the way to the President's office, quietly shutting the door behind him.

"Mr President," he said, sitting down across from the world leader of the United States of America. "I am referring to the murder-missing persons case involving the teenage girl from Maryland. The one with.. the… you know… 'Abilities.'"

Nixon sat back in his chair, thoughtfully stroking his chin. He had been wondering why Laird had come himself to discuss such a simple prison sentence such as this.

Of course, they both knew this decision was anything but simple.

"People like her cannot afford to be allowed on our streets," Laird stated plainly. "-And although we have not had a situation like this in quite a few years… this is yet another perfect example as to why things like this need to be contained."

President Nixon stood up suddenly and began to pace back and forth. He had heard all the stories. All the arguments. There were so many complexities.

"And by this 'thing'" he huffed. "You mean a child… a citizen of our country."

"Technically, Mr President, she is neither of those things."

Confused, Nixon turned to his subordinate.

"Just what do you mean by that?" He questioned.

Laird nodded, and placed a thin file on the desk between them, "The felon in question is sixteen years old -of legal age to be tried as an adult. And…" Laird continued, "Our sources confirmed that she is an 'illegal immigrant' of sorts."

"Of what country?" Nixon asked.

"France, Mr President."

That information could most definitely be problematic if it were released to the public, Nixon thought. "And this source," he inquired. "Is it the same on who revealed the… felon's location and identity."

"Yes, Mr President."

Nixon sat back down in his chair, eyes wrought with worry.

"Mr President, if I may suggest something," Laird held out his hands in a placid gesture. "There was a similar case almost a decade ago, related to the incident in Cuba-"

"Cuba was never confirmed!" Nixon interjected. "And God knows we've pushed that to the back of our memories."

"But late, former President Kennedy's assassination was most definitely confirmed."

Nixon raised a questioning eyebrow, "Just what are you suggesting, Laird?"

Laird closed his eyes, "Do you know what happened to the man responsible for Kennedy's murder?"

"I know that he was imprisoned," Nixon stated. He had an idea of where Laird was going with this, but he was not sure if he liked it or not.

"We stow it away," Laird began, standing up and placing his hands behind his back. "We lock it up and keep it hidden from the public eye. No one is ever hurt again, because no one knows. No one did know."

"But what of the source?" Nixon asked. What if they spilled it all to the press?

"Money talks," Laird stated simply. "Or in this case, keeps people quiet."

Nixon thoughtfully rubbed his chin. Though from his exterior he may have seemed calm and collected, he was 'freaking out', as the kids would say, on the inside.

Could he sacrifice the livelihood of one teenager… Or the possible future of his country?

He knew what his answer should be. What it would have to be.

He had been chosen to make these decisions. By the people. For the people.

Nixon did not know what would happen in the years to come; whether or not this one person would become a serious threat.

But there was the possibility. She could become a threat. There was past proof of that.

That was all he needed. All the evidence that was needed for her conviction.

Laird waited patiently for his answer. Soon, he got his.

"You can promise me she will never be heard from again?"

"With utmost certainty, Mr President."

"Then do what you see fit," Nixon commanded, taking a sip from his now-lukewarm coffee.

But what he did not realize at the time, was that is saying that, he had opened a whole new shop of horrors.

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...Location and time unknown...

The next few days were a blur for Nora.

A blur, that even years later, she would always have trouble distinguishing.

She had been drugged -she knew this much. Nora'd had a tube shoved up her nostril for those three, awful days. She assumed they had her on a constant airflow of numbing anesthesia and laughing gas -to keep her from thinking or moving too much.

She remembered that her hands were at first bound with duct tape. A very classy approach, she thought so herself.

When Nora woke up the first time, she was in the back of a cube van. She was surrounded by masked, armored men, and the moment she moved to sit up there were a dozen guns pointed at her.

The drugs Peter had slipped her still had not worn off, so she was extremely groggy.

Her hands and feet were bound, (with duct tape) so all she did was wriggle around on the ground pathetically for a few seconds.

She fell back into unconsciousness soon after.

The next time she awoke, Nora was sitting in a grey room.

She was interrogated there; a situation she had not been in for a very long time.

They asked her dozens of questions, none of which she answered due to the drugs. And even if she wasn't so high, Nora would not have wasted her time on these imbeciles.

Men and women. Even a couple of colour. Her interrogators changed on an hourly basis.

"Who are you?" They asked.

"Anne Green; Beverly Morrison; Diane Cleary; Susan Jacobs; did you go by all of these aliases?"

"Where were you born? Are you an illegal immigrant?"

One woman was especially persistent.

Nora read her as easily as a birthday card.

Relatively new to her area of work. Associated mainly with men all her life. Probably has older brothers. Always had to find her own way. Grew up the runt of the litter? Dog tags around her neck. Belonged to someone special. Who? Brother.. Lover… Father?

She stayed longer than most. Eager to… No. Desperate. Desperate to prove herself.

Nora tried to keep it together, but her psychoanalysis of the woman eventually dissolved into fragmented shambles.

She was shown three pictures. Flags, she thought.

One was yellow, black and red. With a symbol in the centre.

Did they think she was an East German spy?

The second was red with a gold emblem in its corner. Nora made an involuntary twitch -one the interrogator failed to pick up.

She was not a communist.

The third was distinguishably striped red and white, with a smattering of white stars in the upper right corner.

Nora blinked. Or was it the left corner? She was seeing double. They had taken away her glasses.

The man showing her the flags -he was attractive; dark hair, darker eyes. He asked for the flow of numbing drugs to be distilled.

So they could have a more 'active conversation' he said.

He was smarter than the others. More in tune to her situation. He had realized that she wouldn't be able to answer any of his questions even if she had wanted to.

As soon as the girl began to regain her train of thought, Jack thought he had made some progress.

He held up another picture -this one of the French flag.

He waited for her to respond.

But in time, her attention focused not on him, but on an unseen person in the corner of the room.

Her eyes widened, and she reeled back in her chair.

Covering her face with her hands, she muttered hurriedly to herself. Words that Jack could not distinguish.

Blissfully unaware of her hallucination of the blonde-haired, green-eyed boy; those watching the exchange took her reaction as confirmation of her nationality.

So she is French, Jack thought to himself.

This, of course, was true. But his conclusion on the matter frankly had nothing to do with the pictures she'd been shown.

"How old are you?"

"Do you bear any ill-will towards the United States of America?"

"To what reach do your abilities extend?"

They thought they were making progress. The drugs now only just kept her from activating a time-stop and busting the hell out of there.

"Do you know who this man is?"

She was shown a black-and-white photograph of a dark-haired man wearing a long coat and hat. She could barely distinguish his face…

"Is he familiar to you in any way?"

To be honest. He did seem a bit familiar.

Actually, Nora was sure she had seen him before.

She told them none of this.

Nora spoke not one word to any of them for the entire fourteen hours she was held there.

That was well past the legal limit. But they had long-since forgone anything resembling legality.

Not to mention the near-lethal concoction of anesthesias they had been forcing into her system for.

For most people, the mixture of drugs she was being fed would have permanently addled their brains long ago.

But then again, she had self-trained immunity in six different deadly poisons.

There was no lawyer. No 'Miranda Rights' in place for her.

Nora would not be given a fair trial -or any trial for that matter.

None of this followed the so-called 'code' that ran the US judicial system.

Every single one of her illegal-immigrant's rights were being violated.

Of course, those only really counted for humans.

And Nora was anything but human.

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August 6th, 1972.

"This isn't legal."

"I am aware of that."

"Then why are we letting this happen?"

The director of the Pentagon turned to face his chief of security, and long-time friend.

"We are letting this happen because these are our orders."

"And since when do our orders transcend the barriers of human morality?"

"This is not our first case like this." The director knew his friend got skittish in times like these.

"Yes, but this is the first involving a child!"

"How does that change things?" The director asked.

"How does that change things?!"

"-You know what she did." HIs friend always read the file, unlike the director himself. "You know what she is capable of. What could happen if she were to be let loose on the world."

"But she's been 'in the world' for the past seventeen years!"

Neither of them knew when the girl they were talking about was actually from.

"That's not the point," the director huffed.

"That's exactly the point!"

The director sighed, running a twitchy hand through his hair.

"We have our orders, Levine."

His friend for over fifteen years stood up abruptly and stared him directly in the eye.

"Then you can consider this the last time I ever take 'our orders.'"

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...Location and time unknown…

Nora blinked as the bright light suddenly flashed.

There was no dramatic pause in between like in the movies.

One picture facing forwards, one of her profile.

As they were still keeping her drugged -though on a smaller dosage- she was sitting in a chair for her mug shots. An assistant had to move her into place, and hold the card stating her name and age.

Nora assumed the interns would have a good chuckle over her picture.

Bloodshot eyes; hair all askew; plastic tubes stuck in her nostrils.

She looked a mess.

Though that was nothing compared to what she felt like on the inside.

Her heart was not broken. Physically, that was impossible.

Physically, it ached. A longing, betrayed, questioning ache.

Questioning... as to why?

Metaphorically, it felt as if her heart had been dug out of her chest with a spoon, then stamped into a pulp on a bed of nails.

She avoided dwelling on that for too long.

That feeling, combined with the drugs, was enough to make anyone sick for days.

She had, of course, thrown up. Three times -to be precise.

Now, Nora was in the back of a truck. They'd made her go to sleep, and then she'd woken up here.

It was a simple grey box, with a bench on either side. The entire chamber rattled with every bump in the road.

Nora sat in the back, keeping company with two guards.

Both were armed with a hand gun and a taser. They were armed to the minimum, due to the extra insurance.

That 'insurance' being the near-empty tank supplying Nora's inebriated state.

Yes. The metal cylinder was almost empty. And neither of the guards had bothered to check.

Nora, of course, had immediately noticed the change in flow.

It was a slow, but increasing ebb that had been going on for the duration of their four-hour drive thus far.

A few more minutes, and Nora might be able to walk -even run- on her own.

She waited. Quietly. Patiently. Keeping her face blank and jaw slack -as it had been fro the past few hours.

The two guards were having a rather animated conversation. Lots of hand-waving and such.

Nora didn't care to listen. None of that was important right now.

Right now, she was planning her escape.

First, she would knock over the cylinder so that it would roll to the other end of the truck's back compartment. The plastic tubing that connected her to it would be pulled out in the progress.

This would shock them into action. Even if they were less mentally able than she (though most people were) neither of them were slow enough to not realize that her being off the drugs was a very bad thing.

One -or preferably, both- would go after the rolling canister. The other would freak out, because she was no longer under the 'supreme influence' of the drugs.

He would fumble about and try to get everything back in place before Nora could realize what was going on.

But what neither of them knew was that she had long-since been evading the major side-effects of sleepy and dizziness.

Nora would catch them by surprise.

She would jump up and knock one back into the other with a hasty kick to the chest.

The first thing would be to get rid of the tasers. Nora was counting on the fact that they wouldn't use their guns on her.

That, and the element of surprise.

They assumed that she was docile and quiet. Not that she had been trained in over seven different kinds of long-dead fighting techniques.

Three minutes had passed. Brain function was nearly at full capacity. She had her plan down to the last possible outcome.

29.7% chance of failure.

17.3% chance of success.

The rest of the statistics represented things much less likely to happen. (All in the 0.1 to 3.2% range.)

Things like breaking her neck. Or crashing the truck.

All unlikely, but still probable.

Slowly, Nora inched her left foot towards the canister. When it was one inch away, she took a final, deep breath.

One last moment of clarity before the chaos began.

Then, making no extra noise, she silently pushed the gas container over with the cloth toe of her shoe.

It rolled down the metal aisle, clanging as it went. Instantaneously pulling the plastic tubes from her nose.

Both guards jumped up. One shouted at the other to grab the metal cylinder. He fumbled to do so.

Nora kept her face slack and emotionless until both of their back were turned.

With each unobstructed breath, her mind became clearer and clearer. But Nora did not let herself revel in the moment.

Now, it was time to act.

She leaped up, balling her hands up in front of her face.

Nora slowed time down as the two men became aware of her presence.

She lashed out, swinging her leg around to knock the first man back into the next. A sharp jab to the neck, then two more to the face insured the first's unconsciousness.

She was too weak right now. She could slow time down, but not yet stop it.

The other guard tried to take her down, but he was clumsy; in shock from what she had done.

Nora nimbly dodged to the left, evading his un-calculated blows. As he stumbled past her, she kicked in the back of his knees, following up with a roundhouse to the back of the head.

Once both were on the ground, Nora wasted no time in ridding them of their weapons.

In the driver's seat, Anton McCoy flinched involuntarily as he heard the commotion ensue in the compartment behind him.

There was a clang, hurried footsteps, multiple thumps, and a couple of shouts. Then, the unmistakeable crackle of a taser being charged up.

Quiet footfalls -steps like a cat's

The small metal window behind his head opened suddenly. Anton flinched again.

He did not look behind him. Wary. Confused. Afraid.

"Stop the van." Her voice was soft. Almost… calming.

He felt fingers brush the back of his neck. A sharp intake of breath from the girl.

We're headed to the Pentagon. That was all Anton had been told.

Nora threateningly sparked the taser once more.

"Stop the van, now. Or you will spend the rest of your life eating through a tube."

Anton whimpered and quickly pulled the van over to the side of the road. He put the emergency brake in and held his hands up. The way she said it. Something told him she wasn't lying.

"Thank you for your compliance," Nora stated calmly, holding out her hand for the keys.

Once the back door was opened, a silent alarm would be triggered. Nora knew this from Dower's (one of the guards) memories.

A heavily-armed vehicle was stationed on a continuous route just two miles behind them. Once she opened the door, they would know something was wrong.

So she opened the door, sliding it above her head with two trembling hands.

It would take at least another week -by her estimate- for the drugs' effects to completely wear off.

She would have to stick with running for now.

Nora wasn't too bad of a runner. It just took a lot of… effort.

She stepped down onto the dirt at the edge of the road.

The grey jumpsuit Nora'd been put in was hot and stifling in this summer weather.

She tugged at the collar a few times, airing out her torso.

She had two tasers and some spare change taken off of the two guard's bodies.

Nora turned to the tree line. I guess it's time to disappear again.

"Hey!"

Nora spun around to see Lieutenant Dower -in all his blonde-haired, blue-eyed glory- level his pistol at her.

Merde. Why had she not rid them of their guns? Nora wasn't thinking straight these days.

She tried to duck out of the way, but wasn't fast enough.

She heard the gun go off, and all sensible train of thought left her as Nora was blown back onto the pavement.

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It was dark. She could not see. Her hearing was muffled.

She was in pain; her body hurt all over.

Nora didn't know how long she had been unconscious.

Her eyes were closed, she realized. It hurt to even think about opening them.

But she needed to. Nora needed to see where she was. What was happening.

So she did. Blinking at first, until she was able to keep her eyes open for normal increments of time.

A room. White, and strangely shaped.

And a man. One Nora thought she recognized.