The screams never left her.
It had been five years since she'd last heard them. Five years since the begging, the cries of please, please, don't do it! Don't take them from me! PLEASE! had rung audibly in her ears.
But they were always with her.
With a sigh, Bilba put down the piping bag she'd been holding and leaned her elbows on the low table. She dropped her head in her hands and dug her fingertips into her temples, grimacing as pressure throbbed just behind the skin.
"Are you alright, Bilba?"
Bilba opened her eyes to shoot a weak smile at Bombur. He sat a table away, in the process of doing an elaborate lattice in blue icing on a birthday cake.
"Just a headache," she said through gritted teeth, "I'll be fine."
The redhead grinned at her, making him look jolly and without a care in the world, as usual. "Why don't you take a break? You've probably strained your eyes."
Bilba nodded, forcing a short smile onto her face. "Thank you."
She pushed up from the table and carefully picked the cake up; taking care to not accidentally damage the decorations she'd spent the last hour applying by hand. She transferred it to the walk in fridge and headed out of the kitchen, weaving easily among the tables and various people working on cakes, cookies and other pastries.
She came out behind the counter that ran along one wall of the story. Bifur was a few feet away, working on paperwork of some kind another. Bofur stood at the register, utterly oblivious to the fact that young woman buying a cupcake was trying to awkwardly flirt with him.
Bilba went and got a cup of coffee, black, and headed out into the main dining area. The bakery was small with only a few tables but it was in a high traffic area and sported windows on two sides that offered an excellent view outside. At the moment the only customers were the young woman and a man behind her. She headed to a small table in the far back corner, between the two windows and sat with her back to the wall. She stared through the glass, putting on as solid an air of 'don't bother me' as she could.
Outside the sun beat down on a lazy afternoon. Bilba watched people stroll by, trying to imagine who they were and what they did with their lives. A young woman in a business suit strode briskly by, deep in conversation on her cell phone. She grasped a briefcase in one hand and Bilba pictured her on her way to a courthouse, preparing to present her closing argument in a case she'd worked months on.
A young couple meandered by and she imagined them on their break, so in love they'd darted from their respective jobs to be with each other.
The voices inside her head began to fade to a low murmur. For a second she let herself pretend she was like them. A normal woman in an ordinary job with common worries, simple joys and general pleasures. The only nightmares a result of watching a horror movie she shouldn't have just before bed.
A presence loomed over her and she went rigid, her eyes snapping away from the window, mentally cursing herself for letting her guard down.
A man loomed over her, elderly with a long gray beard and hair. He wore a smart, charcoal business suit and carried a cane.
Bilba relaxed minutely, annoyance gnawing at the gall of the man invading her job, the only normal thing she had in her life. "Gandalf. Why are you here?"
He sat down without invitation across from her. The table was small and Bilba immediately felt crowded against the wall, an action that forced her hackles further up, her muscles tensing. Deep inside a small flame flickered, beckoning her.
"What do you want?" she growled. "I haven't done anything."
"I know you haven't," the old man said, "that isn't why I've come."
She barely relaxed. She wasn't fool enough to think he didn't watch her constantly, waiting for the slightest slip up. She tried to look past him but he'd managed to sit in such a way that her view was blocked.
Not to mention he'd blocked any view of her off from the rest of the shop.
"Have you been watching the news?"
Her eyes tracked back to his. "Of course not. It tends to irritate me."
She had people who watched the news for her, not that she was about to tell him that.
"Then I imagine you haven't heard the latest about Ash."
It was as though the oxygen had been sucked from her lungs, blood replaced with ice in her veins.
Ash. She remembered the last time she'd seen him before everything went so terribly wrong. Or before it had all gone right. It was a matter of perspective she supposed. He'd been strong and sure; happier than he was now, of that she was certain.
She shook her head slightly, throwing the past off.
"I doubt he'd appreciate hearing you call him by that name."
Gandalf shrugged. "It's as much his name as the one he wears now, no matter how he tries to deny it." He lowered his voice, leaning toward her slightly. "He was kidnapped, two weeks ago."
Bilba was proud of herself. She didn't react physically even as a stab of pure terror, liberally laced with liquid rage, raced through her. She set her arms on the table, clasping her hands together as though only casually interested. "Who were they trying to kidnap?" she asked, keeping her own voice low to match his. "The billionaire playboy or the superhero?"
He smirked. "The former."
Bilba grimaced. "No wonder he's still gone." Ash—no, Oakenshield as he called himself now, couldn't use his abilities to escape without giving himself away.
"The group responsible calls itself Gollum," the older man continued, "they're a loosely organized collection of mutants and mercenaries and they're demanding over fifty million dollars for Thorin's return."
Bilba snorted. Fifty million was a cheap asking price for the heir to the Durin Dynasty but that didn't mean it wouldn't stick in the family's craw to have to cave to the demands. It also didn't guarantee the group who'd taken him had any plans to actually return him. "So what?," she said flatly, "Have his precious Company deal with it."
She tried to keep the derision out of her voice as she mentioned the name of Oakenshield's little ragtag group of heroes, she really did. Going by the amused look on Gandalf's face, however, she failed miserably.
Gandalf sighed. "There are only four active members in the Company, not counting Oakenshield. They do not have the manpower to take on a group of this size."
Bilba blinked in surprise even as she felt her insides twist with guilt. The Company had been much larger at one point, before she'd met them. "Four? He hasn't rebuilt?"
"He has tried." Gandalf shook his head, looking tired. "But there are many who refuse to join so long as he's the leader."
Another thing that she could be blamed for, Bilba thought. Would there ever be an end to the fault that could be laid at her feet? She studied her hands, currently clenched together so hard she could feel the bones creaking.
The screaming in her head grew louder again. If she went to help Ash she'd no doubt add to their cacophony.
"Isn't there enough blood on my hands?" she whispered, almost forgetting Gandalf was even there.
She looked up to see him studying her, his eyes sorrowful but determined. "I would not ask this of you if I did not believe it absolutely necessary." He stretched a hand out and placed it over hers, his grip firm. "Tell me, Bilba Baggins, is there anything you would not do for Ash?"
It felt like someone had put a filter over the world. The light dimmed and a wall came down, separating her from the rest of the world and the people in it.
She had been fooling herself to think she'd ever be left alone.
"You know the answer to that," she stated, her eyes narrowed, "or you wouldn't have come."
Gandalf simply smiled.
It scared her how easy it was to slip back into being Phoenix.
After Gandalf had given her the information on the when and where Bilba had returned to work. Bifur and Bofur had both been concerned about her but she'd waved them off with some vague excuse or another, she honestly wasn't exactly sure what she said.
She'd returned quietly to the back and finished her cake. After that she'd made several batches of brownies, a few dozen cupcakes and more cannoli than she cared to count.
When five o'clock rolled around she carefully cleaned up and bade her friends good-bye.
Bofur grabbed her arm as she walked past him. He was stacking chairs on tables while Bifur wiped the counters down.
"You alright? You've seemed down ever since that old guy showed up."
"I'm fine," Bilba insisted, her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears.
Bofur frowned, his eyes confused. "It was weird," he said slowly, "I wanted to go over there as soon as he sat down, make sure he knew you weren't alone you know? But it was like something kept stopping me."
No doubt, Bilba thought sourly. She patted him on the arm. "Don't worry about it. I can handle myself."
He grinned. "So you keep saying." He let go of her and stepped back. "Everyone needs help sometimes, Bilba. Just know we're all here for you when you realize you need it too."
Bilba rolled her eyes and forced a smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
She nodded a good-bye to Bifur who grunted in reply and then she walked out into the falling twilight. Bofur meant well, as did his brother and cousin, but the last thing she ever planned to do was involve them in anything having to do with Gandalf, Ash or her past.
Her small apartment was only a few blocks away on the top floor of a nondescript apartment building. She took the elevator and let herself into the small unit, setting her purse and keys on the small table near the door and shrugging her jacket off as she walked further in.
The living room was the largest area, plush dark colored carpet and furniture styled more toward comfort than style. Normally, upon getting home, Bilba would shower, make dinner and curl up with a book until it was time to go to bed.
Now she strode into her bedroom, opened the door to the closet and pulled a box down from the top shelf. She carried it out and set it on the bed, gingerly, handling it as though it were a live snake.
She removed the lid and, using only two fingers, pulled the costume, combat boots and belt out. Logically she knew the outfit was clean and bore no smell but it didn't stop her mind from insisting the thing stank of dried blood, that the material under her fingers felt crusted and befouled.
Her gorge rose and Bilba slapped a hand over her mouth, dropping to her knees beside the bed. Screams rose in her mind once more and she moved her hands to over her ears, letting out a strangled whimper.
Ash, she insisted to herself. Ash needed her, whether he knew it or not. She had to go help him.
She took a deep breath and clenched her teeth until her jaw ached. Then she reached up, grabbed the bedspread and dragged herself to her feet.
She changed into the outfit slowly and found herself slipping the persona on with every piece. Black, form fitting jumpsuit, snugger than the last time she'd worn it. Her back straightened instinctively as she pulled the zipper closed.
Next the knee high boots, her fingers slowly remembering the order of laces and buckles as she tightened and adjusted their fit. She pulled the gloves on after that, her mind calming. She packed away Bilba Baggins into a small, quiet corner, a place where she couldn't interfere.
Finally she drew the rest of the material up. It was custom designed and fitted, molding to the base of her skull, over her ears, forehead and eyes. It left her hair free and her mouth and nose uncovered. The pieces over the eyes were outfitted with thermal and night vision, giving her an advantage regardless of the space she found herself in.
She didn't look in the mirror. No one would recognize her as Bilba, not even herself.
Even Ash didn't know what Bilba looked like, he'd only ever known Phoenix.
Smaug had explained it was because he wanted her to be a symbol. He wanted people to fear what she represented.
She'd thought he was protecting her. Now she realized he hadn't wanted to share power; and had wanted to ensure she was easily replaceable.
She took a deep breath and reached deep inside her mind, stirring areas she hadn't gone near in years.
She found what she wanted and selected what she needed, flight and invisibility.
A moment later the world grayed out, corners blurring and going fuzzy. She strode to the window and pushed it open, leaping onto the ledge. Butterflies frolicked inside her and she tightened her grip on the edges of the frame.
She took a deep breath, shutting her eyes for a brief second, and then stepped off the edge, dropping a foot before her flight kicked in and she soared up and away from her home. As she did she mentally dropped off Bilba Baggins, leaving her behind in that apartment where she could read her book and go to bed at a regular time and pretend she was normal and not covered in layers of blood that would never wash off.
Ash didn't need Bilba Baggins.
He needed Phoenix.
It was dark by the time she arrived at the location Gandalf had told her, an old, dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of town. She caught the slight brush against her mind and followed it down. A large park lay along one side of the building and she landed easily within the treeline, a few feet from where Gandalf stood.
She released both powers she'd used to get there, prepared to select new ones for the battle it would take to get inside.
"Phoenix," Gandalf greeted, "glad you could join us."
"Us?" Her 'Phoenix' voice startled her; she'd forgotten how it sounded, deep and reverberating, designed to appear otherworldly and haunting.
Before Gandalf could respond a voice came from behind her, angry and filled with bitterness.
"Her? That's who you got to help us? Are you insane?"
A second voice rang out, tinged with fear. "Why is she even here? I thought she was dead! Everyone said she was dead!"
Memories floated to the surface, triggered by that second voice. A young man chained to the wall, screaming as she stole his powers from him. She swallowed, struggling to fight down the rising well of guilt and shame that rose within her.
Phoenix did not show emotion.
Hoping she was well enough under control, she turned in as casual a manner as she could, taking in figures standing behind her. The one who'd triggered her memories was at the front. He wore a brown and green costume and mask, outfitted with various objects she couldn't identify. A long bow and a quiver of arrows was strapped to his back. She'd expected him to give up after what she'd done to him. Instead he'd stayed with the Company, using natural talents in place of the mutant ones she'd stolen.
She had been, and was, impressed, not that she imagined he'd appreciate hearing that from her. She wanted to apologize to him, beg for his forgiveness, but she feared he wouldn't much appreciate that either.
The blond one next to him was a brother if she recalled, the thought bolstered by the look of pure hatred he was currently directing at her.
There were two blobs of heat further back in the trees but she couldn't tell their identities, a downside of her thermal vision. Most likely the rest of the pitifully small Company. The holdouts were probably the members of the same core group that had stolen Ash from her all those years ago. She'd been angry at them then but felt nothing now.
She dismissed them, putting her Phoenix persona back in place. It was easier when she was Phoenix. She didn't have to think or worry or feel, just follow orders, get the job done. She turned back to Gandalf. He was in the process of saying something or other to them but she cut him off. "Where is he?"
"In the basement," Gandalf intoned, turning his attention to her. "It's possible he's injured."
Phoenix cocked her head slightly. "He shouldn't be."
"They're torturing him," the same voice, the blond one she thought, spat behind her. "Something you should be familiar with."
The blood in her veins turned molten. When Bilba spoke it was as though death itself had been given voice. "Why?"
"I would imagine," Gandalf said, not reacting to her tone, "they stumbled across one of his abilities and have been…experimenting with it."
Was that so, she thought idly.
"They'll regret it."
She called up the powers she wanted. Fire streamed out from the top of her head, winding around waist length, thick strands of hair, following the curls and waves until it was a river of fire surrounding her.
Gandalf frowned, his face thrown in stark relief by the flickering flames. "I don't think that level is necessary-" He started but she cut him off.
"You wanted Phoenix," she intoned calmly, "so Phoenix you shall have."
With that she moved past him, idly putting her hands out to the side. Flame wrapped around them, light tendrils licking up her arms, darting about her waist and swirling around her legs as though a pet happy to see her.
"Wait!" a new voice called behind her. "What are you doing? You can't just waltz in! We need a plan!"
She didn't bother to respond. Let Gandalf explain. They didn't need a plan.
She was the plan.
She left the shelter of the trees and moved across the open area before the front doors of the warehouse. Footsteps heralded the first guards coming to meet her, weapons raised or moving their bodies to call forth their powers.
They were insects to her. She'd deployed her telekinesis with a flick of her fingers, sending their bodies flying to impact with trees or the building with sickening cracks and thuds. Then she was past and the warehouse was before her.
She held her arms out in front of her, palms pressed together, and then jerked them apart. The doors of the warehouse ripped off, metal screeching as it wrenched free. She flung them somewhere behind her and strode in, eyes fixed on the people already running forward to meet her.
They were child's play.
She was an Omega level mutant, there were few who could stand against her and none of them were present.
Well, none of them were present inside the warehouse anyway.
Her telekinesis rolled out ahead of her like a wave and, a moment later, she moved on leaving the injured, broken bodies of those who sought to attack her behind.
The elevator loomed ahead of her and she ripped the doors off to reveal an empty tube beyond. She swore internally before releasing her hold on her telekinesis and calling on her flight once more. She leapt into the tube and soared down.
Without warning gunfire erupted from one of the open doors she shot past. She turned her flames off, grasping for her telekinesis and desperately trying to shield. Mentally she cursed her own stupidity. Five years without a fight or using her powers had clearly left her addled if she were prone to making so idiotic a mistake.
Pain ripped through her side and she bit back a gasp. Her shield formed finally, the remainder of the bullets striking it harmlessly and, a few seconds later, she landed hard on the bottom floor.
Angry, she blasted the doors off and, in doing so, managed to take out a number of the armed men waiting just outside.
The guns they held were only aimed at her a split second before they turned on their own accord, back on their owners.
The report of multiple guns going off was loud in the hallway and she flinched minutely.
She made it a few steps out and sagged against the wall, hand pressed against her side. Exhaustion dragged at her, not only was she out of shape but she'd been switching her powers to often. Each transition drained her as much as using the power did, a fact few people knew.
It wasn't that Phoenix was all powerful so much as Smaug had designed her to look that way. She had the weaknesses to each individual power of course but she could transition so fast that it didn't matter, no one could bring enough to a fight to gain an advantage over every power she had.
The most effective way to fight her was to make her constantly have to switch her powers back and forth, a fact Ash knew well.
She stared down the hall at the single door, padlocked and chained from the outside.
Ash knew her weakness.
He also thought she was dead.
If she went in there and revealed reports of her death were exaggerated he could publish a brochure on how to defeat her.
It would be an effective way to declare open season on her.
Her side was on fire, the pain making her physically ill. A look down showed blood already squeezing though her fingers. She cauterized it with her fire, gritting her teeth to bite back a scream. It was only a stopgap, she had no idea if there was internal damage or not.
She looked toward the door again and then pushed up from the wall. She released her flight and called up a rarely used power, one she only barely remembered she even had. As soon as it activated the pain in her side receded and vanished, the hole closing. Her exhaustion faded, strength flowing back into her muscles.
It wasn't healing. What the power did, in effect, was turn back time on her body until it was at optimum health. She could fight as long as she wanted in this state but, as soon as she released it, the original injury, and any sustained after, would come back instantly. It was fully possible to receive a fatal injury while using the power and not know it until you released it and dropped dead.
She approached the door and broke it open with a thought. Then she stepped inside, and immediately stopped dead in her tracks.
The room was huge, running the entire length of the warehouse. It was empty, the space only broken by support columns every so often. Most of it was shrouded in darkness but for a few dim lights strung here and there from the ceiling.
In the dead center of the room several large spotlights stood sentinel, shining bright, white hot light onto a table that had been tilted almost completely upright.
Ash lay on that table, thick straps wrapped around his ankles, wrists, chest and waist.
He'd been stripped to the waist and his body was covered with slowly healing cuts, bruises and gashes. His hair hung lank and matted over his shoulders and his beard was patchy, showing reddened areas where it appeared to have been ripped out. His body glistened with sweat and she could see he'd worn the skin right off his wrists where he'd fought to free himself from the straps holding him down.
He was also gagged meaning there was most likely a trap in here someone didn't want her warned about.
Ash…Oakenshield…Thorin Durin….whatever the hell name he went by these days stared at her, his expression unreadable. She couldn't tell if he was surprised to see her alive, angry or just flat out did not care.
She stepped in, swallowing as she sought to find the threat she knew had to be lurking in the shadows.
Pain exploded through her side and she couldn't stop a cry of pain. Her entire body sagged and she looked in horror to see the wound to her side was back.
The moment of confusion cost her.
A heavy body slammed into her from the side, knocking her flat on her back and sending her sliding several feet.
Grimacing as waves of pain flowed over her, she rolled onto her side and started to push up, her entire body stiffening in reaction to the pain.
"Bless us, Precious," a thin, whiny voice sounded, "we didn't have to do anything at all. Already hurt it was, yes."
A thin, gangly looked man approached her across the floor, bald and with a crazed look in his eyes.
Bilba threw a hand out, planning to burn him to a pile of ash on the spot, but nothing happened. She looked at her hand in horror, trying desperately to call her power to the front. She could feel it but it was out of her reach, refusing to obey her.
"No, no, Precious," the strange man said, "no powers they be using. We stops them we do. We stops them all."
"I'm not your Precious," she muttered. She pushed to her feet only to have her left leg buckle under her. She looked down and was stunned to see a knife sticking out of her thigh.
The little weasel had stabbed her?
He was still approaching, holding himself casually. Clearly he felt she was utterly helpless.
He was wrong.
The second he was in range she spun, lifting on her good leg and swinging the injured one in a wide arc. The roundhouse connected solidly with his head, knocking him flat to the ground.
Not waiting to see what effect it had, if any, she bolted to the table where Ash lay strapped down. The straps were padlocked shut, naturally, but the weasel had been kind enough to give her a knife.
She took a brief second to verify she still had no access to her power before she took the knife and started sawing through the strap around his wrist. She didn't look at him, focused on the task. Several times the knife nicked his skin and she glowered to see it wasn't healing as it should, probably because of the bastard behind her.
The thick strap began to fray, fibers parting beneath the knife. She couldn't fault the worm for his knife sharpening skills.
A hand fisted in her hair from behind and she suddenly found herself flying through the air. She hit the ground hard, the wind briefly knocked out of her and suddenly the weasel was on top of her, one of his legs squeezing against her bullet wound.
Pain ripped through her nerves and she screamed, her back arching and her head going back. She lashed out with her arms but he knocked them aside easily, wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing.
She gagged, instinctively trying to pull his hands off her.
Without her powers, however, she was little more than Bilba Baggins playing dress up.
Bilba Baggins, who was barely 5"3', was probably a few pounds heavier than she should be due to her love of all things sweet and who most definitely was not strong enough to break the grip of a full grown man currently strangling her to death.
Darkness started to eat in at the corners of her vision and her lungs burned with the need for oxygen. She was vaguely aware of horrid noises and realized they were coming from her as she fought to breathe. Her struggling began to lessen; the pain in her side dulled.
The weasel jerked violently and was suddenly thrown off her, his hands tearing off her throat.
Bilba immediately rolled onto her side and curled into a fetal position, sucking in great draughts of air. She tried to reach for her powers but they were still gone, the weasel must still be in range.
Something caught her attention and she looked to see Ash standing near her, gaze fixed into the darkness where the weasel had gone. His hands were at his side and she saw his claws were out, protruding from the knuckles on both hands. They were covered in Mithril, as was his entire skeleton, and could cut through anything.
They also wouldn't be affected by whatever power the weasel possessed.
"Stay here," he ordered shortly and proceeded to walk into the shadows after the crazy guy.
Bilba rolled her eyes but really had no choice.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway and she tensed, prepared to see more guards rush in. Instead she saw the Company, led by Gandalf and she mentally cursed them for taking so bloody long.
They rushed into the warehouse, presumably to look for their suicidal leader, but Gandalf headed over and knelt down beside her.
A scream echoed in the large room and, just like that, her powers were back.
Not that she had the strength to use them anymore.
"Give me your phone," she demanded. When Gandalf didn't immediately obey she snarled in annoyance and grabbed his suit jacket, dragging him close enough to fish in the pockets herself. She found the device quickly and collapsed onto her back again.
Gandalf started to say something only to cut off as she made a rude gesture at him.
She dialed and held the phone to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Can you come get me?" Her voice broke on the last part, exhaustion and pain making her emotional and she increased the intensity of her mental cursing.
She knew Gandalf could hear it.
"Bilba? Where are you?"
She relayed the information and hung up, passing the phone back to Gandalf. She sighed and draped an arm over her eyes. She could feel blood soaking through her uniform and unconsciousness tugging at the corners of her mind.
She was going to bleed out and die on the stupid floor of the warehouse, all thanks to a little weasel of a man she should have been able to beat with her eyes closed.
If she lived through this she was starting up her training again, it was pathetic.
A soft popping noise sounded and someone knelt next to her. She opened her eyes and smiled up at the man. "Nori."
"What the hell," the man groused. "Since when is Phoenix back?"
He grabbed her and gently pulled her up until he could get his arms around her and pick her up. She sagged in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. He hadn't bothered with his costume but had come in jeans and a t-shirt.
His favorite t-shirt no less.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I'm going to bleed all over you."
He growled at her, his gaze fixed on Gandalf. "Is this your doing? Did you put her up to this?"
Gandalf didn't get a chance to answer as a deep baritone spoke from the shadows.
"Nori. So you're alive too."
Nori groaned, rolling his eyes toward heaven. "I should have known." He turned as Thorin strode from the darkness. With the weasel gone his healing powers had been restored and he looked to be nearly back to normal.
Bastard.
Thorin's eyes locked on her. "What happened?"
"Rookie mistake," Bilba whispered. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to die, should save you the trouble of killing me."
Nori adjusted her in his arms, causing her to bite back a cry of pain. "No one's dying," he snapped.
Bilba made a non-committal sound. Gravity seemed really strong; did one of Thorin's cohorts have a power like that? She allowed her head to fall back, studying a light hanging from the ceiling overhead.
Nori was talking, his voice a distant murmur. "—saved your ass-hospital-may be irrationally loyal to you but I'm not." His voice sharpened. "Try to find her and I swear I will kill you myself."
She thought she heard Thorin respond but wasn't sure. Instead she felt a rushing feeling that she recognized as Nori's teleportation power in use.
Nori had her.
Ash was safe.
Gandalf was a jerk.
All was right with the world.
It seemed like a perfect time to pass out.
So she did.