Many thanks to Assembler, themanwhowas, frustratedFreeboota, skyrunner, and BeaconHill for betareading.

Many thanks to MugaSofer for fact checking.

Interlude 8a: Francis

"Fuck," Krouse swore, pushing his chair back, staring at the computer screen.

DEFEAT. The word stared back at him, red and insulting.

"Hey, it's not like you have time to practice," said Luke dryly from across the room.

"Still," growled Krouse. "I used to be good at this shit." He gave his teammate a baleful glare. Luke wasn't even looking at him; his nose was in a book. "Since when do you read in your spare time, anyway? You were on the team too."

Luke cracked a grin. "Since I found out that no practice makes for terrible play. Sucking isn't fun."

"Fuck," Krouse said again, looking back at the screen. He slammed his hand down on the mouse and tapped the button to close the window with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

"Frustrated?" Luke asked, still without looking up from his book.

"No shit," said Krouse, running a hand through his hair. That hand then came down to his face and rubbed at his chin. I need to shave, he thought, feeling the stubble.

He wouldn't, though. Not for at least a couple of days more. There never seemed to be a point to grooming regularly anymore.

"Hey, relax," Luke advised. "What's to worry about? It's nice to have a day off."

"I'd rather be doing something," Krouse replied. "You know, trying to be useful? I realize this is foreign to you."

Luke snorted. "Nice. Real mature."

Krouse rolled his eyes and didn't reply. For a moment he just drummed his fingers rapidly on his thigh.

What were the combos, again? Q-Q-W, Q-W-E, Q-E-W…

Fuck. Earth Bet didn't even have all the same games, and those it did have he couldn't play anymore.

"I feel like a fucking cripple," he exploded suddenly. "It's like I can't use my fingers anymore. They just don't fucking work."

"Try your legs," came Jess' voice from the next room over. "Then we'll talk."

Luke chuckled. "She's got you there, dude."

Krouse bared his teeth for a moment before looking down at his hands. He flexed his fingers, stretching out his palms, before curling them again, relaxing. This pulsing motion he repeated a few times. It was a stretch he'd learned from a piano teacher as a kid, and one that had served him well in the past.

The good old days. Fucking hell.

"Hey, Krouse!" Jess' voice came again.

"I'm ignoring you!" Krouse called back.

"Either get over here or turn on the news over there, then!"

Krouse sighed and stood up. "I swear, Jess, if this is about that case 53 in Boston again—"

"Oh, fuck you, and no, this is important. Come, now!"

Oh. Shit. Krouse jogged over into the next room. Jess was in her wheelchair, watching the television. Krouse followed her gaze.

"Is that a hole in that building?" he asked.

She looked over at him and it struck him just how good she was at that what are you, a moron? expression. She didn't say a word, just looked back at the TV.

"The Fallen, a villain group which worships the Endbringers, are reported to have attacked the PRT press conference being held at the Stansfield Pavilion," the anchor was saying. "Witnesses report a man in a costume resembling the Simurgh. Beyond that, we know little at this time. The PRT has yet to release a statement. More details will—"

Krouse's phone rang. He reached into his pocket to pull it out and strode out of the room, closing the door behind him. "Trickster here."

"Trickster. I have a job I need you to do."

Krouse raised an eyebrow at Coil's phrasing. "Me? Not the Travelers, then."

"No. You, specifically."

Krouse smirked. "All right. Lay it on me, boss; what do you need?"

Krouse took a deep pull of his cigarette, enjoying the warmth of the smoke in his lungs as he gazed up at the evening sky. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, dipping so that the tips of the mountains were just starting to cover it, and the long rays of light were painting the clouds in rich oranges and pinks. His long shadow stretched along the roof beside him, the top hat making for quite the imposing silhouette.

He shifted the little cancer stick to one side of his mouth and then exhaled through the other. The smoke poured out, surrounding his head for a moment in a foggy halo.

His radio spoke up. "Trickster, are you in position?" Coil's voice was tense, even through the faint static.

"Yeah," he replied, tapping his earpiece. "She's due by any minute now." He glanced down at the nearly-empty street below. "No sign of her yet."

"You're watching?"

"Of course I'm watching. It's the job, isn't it?"

"Good," said Coil. "Carry on, and be careful. Annatar is dangerous."

Krouse snorted. "She's a kid."

"A kid with an extremely dangerous power. You, of all people, should know about that."

Krouse grimaced. Message received, time to stop prodding the villain with the best chance at helping Noelle. "Yeah, I know. I'll be careful."

"Good. Let me know when the operation is complete."

Krouse didn't bother to reply, just sat down cross-legged on the edge of the roof, looking down at the street. He took another pull of his cigarette.

I've been up here for almost an hour, he thought. Can the bitch just show up already?

There had been a firefight a few blocks away. He'd called it in, but Coil had told him not to worry about it. He wasn't paid to worry, so fair enough. But it had set him a bit on edge, and the long wait hadn't helped any.

But it was finally paying off. There she was, rounding a corner. Annatar's silver armor caught the light of the afternoon sun in dazzling ways, setting beams of light reflecting in all directions.

"Target in sight," he murmured into his radio.

"Good. You know what to do."

Krouse followed her. He kept to the rooftops, when possible, taking his time and swapping himself with whatever was available, using air to make up the difference if necessary. There was no rush.

He followed Annatar down a few blocks, and then at last things got interesting. The PRT was there in force, carefully dissolving containment foam from one civilian after another and clapping them into handcuffs. The cacophony of officers Mirandizing and explaining the situation to the civilians made it hard to hear his target, but he still caught when her name was spoken.

"Annatar!" It was Clockblocker, another of the Wards. He jogged over to her, from where he'd been overseeing the restraining of the civilians. Krouse shrank into the roof, carefully maintaining as much cover as he could. "Dragon… any progress?"

Annatar nodded, and Krouse had to strain to catch her words. "…Valefor's… Endbringer…. blueprints now. …Need my… here?"

"Yes." That was Armsmaster, walking over to the two Wards. His loud voice was clear and audible. "The faster we can clear these civilians of master effects, the better. How quickly do you think you can process them?"

"Shouldn't… long," Annatar said. "Let's… work." And, at long last, she reached behind her and pulled out that rectangular box which was hooked at the small of her back.

Krouse pulled out the small, heavy stone he'd been carrying in his pocket. He took a moment to glance around the street. A few more heroes were down there, but—as Coil had promised—none of them could fly.

Annatar leaned down and whispered something into the box's latch. It swung wide, and inside, a small star of red and gold glimmered.

Krouse didn't hesitate. A flex of his power, and the stone and that shining thing in the box had been linked. In a moment, the Ring was in his hand, and the stone was in Annatar's.

For a moment he stared down at the golden band in his palm. The Ring was bright and fiery, and slightly warm to the touch, even through his gloves.

Krouse had bought jewelry before, for Noelle, but it wasn't something he did often. He couldn't really afford to spend that much, even on Noelle. But it had happened, and when it had, he'd shopped around to find the best pieces he could afford.

The Ring of Fire trumped them all. It was exquisite.

Then Annatar was shouting in wordless horror and rage, and the moment was broken. Now to escape. Good thing they don't have any fliers.

He turned and ran along the building as fast as he dared, looking over at that rooftop where he'd first been stationed, and at the heavy knapsack he'd left there. A moment later, and he was several blocks away, and the knapsack was in his place. Another run across that roof was followed by another swap into an empty closet in an office building with one small window. Then down to the last knapsack, barely visible from this angle, inside the third-floor window of an abandoned apartment.

The room was bare of decoration or furniture, save for the duffel bag he'd placed there a little more than an hour ago. He pulled jeans and a t-shirt out of the bag and changed quickly, carefully moving the Ring from the pocket of his costume into his jeans. He glanced periodically out the window to check for pursuers, but no one seemed to have found him.

Once his costume was safely stowed, he slung the duffel over his shoulder and looked down into the street below. There was a car parked on the side of the road, just across the street from his window-red, sleek, and sporty. He could just see into the driver's side window, where a man in an outfit almost exactly like the one he was wearing now was idly drumming on the steering wheel, waiting. Other than that one vehicle, the road was completely empty.

Coil, you magnificent son of a bitch.

Krouse swapped with the man, and was suddenly behind the wheel of the getaway car. He allowed himself a sigh of relief as he patted his pants pocket. The Ring of Fire was still there.

He tapped his earpiece again. "Job's done. Making my getaway now."

"Well done." Coil sounded audibly relieved. "Make for the rendezvous."

Krouse did so. He was well and truly entrenched among other cars by the time he started seeing police or PRT vehicles on the road with him. When they didn't flag him down, he knew he had escaped.

On his way to the rendezvous, he found himself pulling the Ring out of his pocket and running it through the fingers of one hand while the other worked the wheel. Coil had been clear: do not put the Ring on. But Krouse couldn't deny he was tempted.

Don't be an idiot, he told himself fiercely. This shit's tinkertech! You don't know what it could do.

But the Ring was bright and warm, and the temptation lingered in his brain like an errant gnat.

Coil was waiting at his desk when Krouse walked into the office. "Welcome back," he said, his voice perfectly clear despite the fabric of his costume covering his face. "You have it."

Krouse nodded, his mask once more secure over his face. "Yeah."

There was a pause.

"Well?" Coil asked impatiently. "Where is it?"

"Oh, right."

Slowly, reluctantly, Krouse pulled his hand out of his pocket. The Red Ring glittered in his palm like the embers of a dying fire. Its crimson light brought forth images of the setting sun, shining through a thin layer of clouds, diminished at the close of the day, but undimmed.

Krouse had to struggle to force himself to take those last two steps to Coil's desk. Actually reaching down and placing the Ring upon the desk was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. The Ring was heavy in his hand-heavier than gold, more like lead. He was Atlas, carrying the weight of the world in his hand. It felt wrong to put it down. It was like letting Noelle down, or like giving up on the dream of going home. In the end, actually taking that final step, and pulling his fingers away from it, was almost a spasm, almost involuntary, as though he was pulling his hand away from an open flame. As he stepped away again, he found that he was shivering.

Coil reached out and plucked the Ring from the desk. He held it up for examination. Krouse hugged himself, rubbing his forearms through the cloth of his costume for warmth. "Bit chilly down here," Krouse said.

"Is it?" Coil asked absently, and Krouse knew his eyes were fixed on the Ring. "I think it's rather warm, actually."

As he turned the Ring around and around in his fingers, Krouse stopped rubbing his arms and had to grip tightly, his hands clawing into his arms like talons, to keep himself from lunging for the beautiful thing. "You, uh," he cleared his throat. "You going to put that on?"

"Yes, of course," Coil said slowly. "Just… admiring it. It really is a marvelous piece of craftsmanship, isn't it?"

Krouse swallowed and licked his dry lips. "Yeah."

Slowly, Coil brought his hands together, and his right gingerly slipped the Ring onto his left. A warm breeze suddenly seemed to pulse through the room, blowing Krouse's exposed hair back where it wasn't pinned under his hat. Once it passed, he was shivering even more in the sudden frigidity it had left behind.

Coil stared down at the Ring upon his finger. "Well," he said, and there was an odd note to his voice. Krouse felt he recognized it. Had he heard a similar tone somewhere before? "So that's what it feels like."

"Yeah, uh," Krouse swallowed. "I uh, wondered. You think I could—"

"You could what?" Coil barked, suddenly furious, his head snapping up, his hidden eyes staring straight into Krouse's. His shadow seemed to fill the room like a specter, and the man himself seemed to grow in stature until Krouse was little more than a mouse before a giant. "You could try it on? You want to take it now, is that it? You think that because you were the one who took it—under my orders, and with help only I could give—that you deserve it now, is that it?"

Krouse found that he was backing away. "No, no, sorry. It was—sorry. Just a thought. Never mind. It's yours, boss."

"Yes." And suddenly, the moment was gone, as though it had never been, and Krouse was just Krouse, and Coil was just Coil, looking down at the Ring on his finger. Gently, his right index finger began to run along it as it sat upon his left, as one might stroke a beloved pet. "Yes, it's mine. My protector, my shield. Mine." He glanced up again. "Thank you for your service, Trickster. I'll let you know when I need you again."

"Right." Krouse turned to leave. Then he hesitated. Wasn't there something else?

He glanced back. "What about Noelle?"

"Hm?" Coil wasn't looking at him. He was staring down at the Ring on his finger again.

"Any progress on her?"

"Oh. Yes. I have a couple of leads I'm currently following up on. I'll let you know as soon as any of my agents make progress."

Krouse nodded. "Panacea's with the Wards now, right? Do you think we could—"

Coil looked up, and his shadow seemed to flicker, as if it wanted to grow again, and was only just holding itself in check. "I will tell you," he said, slowly and clearly, "as soon as any of my agents make progress."

"Right." Krouse licked his lips.

"You may go. Thank you."

"Right. Sorry." He left without another word, but the cold didn't abate.