Chapter XIII

Medusa

Concentrate.

Focus. You can do this.

Violet sat in the basement of her home, cross-legged and eyes closed. She had never devoted special time to honing her powers when she was growing up-partly because she was not an official hero, but mostly because it came easily to her. Her powers were just a part of her, as natural as her hair and blood. But they could be more. And it was a damn shame Syndrome had been the one to bring out that potential.

So in keeping with her vow to never be caught on the backfoot again, Violet had devoted almost every afternoon to practice. After all, they were heading towards a dangerous fight-a den of thieves in white tie. She needed to be on her A-game.

Besides, these moments were like rest-and she desperately needed that. Her nightmares were frequent and had evolved again. No longer did she dream of Nomanisan-her memories of the island were almost fond now in comparison.

She wasn't on the operating table anymore either. She heard Syndrome's screams in her dreams, and now he was the one strapped to Fell's table, bleeding out. But Violet was the one pushing the gurney through the never-ending halls of the secret lab. And she desperately wanted to move, to clap her hands over her ears, to stop and heal him or just shut him up-but her body simply kept its sedate pace, pushing him towards his gruesome end, casually, seemingly indifferent to his pleas.

She contemplated writing herself a script but knew that it was a slippery slope. She wasn't about to become dependent on some godforsaken narcotic like her cellmate. Besides, she had less reason than him. So instead, after work, she would shower and slip into the basement, with its secret entrance and waterfall; a soothing ambiance to her practice.

Sitting on her hands, Violet created shield after shield. Spheres and walls and molding the force field to different objects. She still couldn't make multiple at once, but she was practicing how much she could handle with just the one.

Lifting things with her shield was difficult. She could create a forcefield in the air, and begin piling things on top like a shelf, but the more that was placed, the more strain she felt; as if holding the shield aloft taxed her whole body rather than just her brain. It was easier to grab the air around it, like she had around her and Syndrome, (and so many years before, Dash). She could almost hover things in the middle as if her bubble disrupted gravity within its own field. Violet nearly wished she was in a lab again, with a mad scientist to explain to her how that could possibly be, rather than her just 'feeling' it. But every time she thought of that horribly white place without doors or windows, she seemed to leave her own body for a while. It wasn't a good sensation, and she avoided it at all costs.

So she started working that sixth sense. She tried lifting the Incredibile once-and had sported an eye throbbing migraine because of it. Violet would need to work up strength, like a muscle. If her shields could act like another, stronger arm she could use them as much as a weapon as a defense-like cracking the window in the OR.

She also devoted much time to attempting to make her shields invisible without touching them, tampering with the idea of making them thin like the walls of a soap bubble. Light, malleable but containing enough tension to keep the structure. However when she tried, often it would fizzle out and leave her with a bloody nose for her effort. Her force fields were hard and impenetrable, like diamonds; refracting light and cutting glass.

For today, while she waited for Dash to return home with one of the cars, she wanted to give another try at using her fields like a filter. She had gathered various items from the house and was currently cradling them in a humming violet shield before her. Eyes closed, she focused inward on that hidden sense that was not quite touch and felt the contours of her subjects. The cool metal of the cookie tin that currently housed her mother's sewing things, the softness of Jack Jack's outgrown teddy bear, the weight of Dash's science book, and the familiar shape of the TV clicker.

Just the tin. She isolated the metal and felt the vibrations of the thimbles rolling about inside, felt her shield thin, like stretching gum on the tongue. Violet envisioned it, just a little hole, edges hugging the shape of the metal box. Just the metal. Just the metal-

The shrill ringing of the phone made her jump. Immediately her shield buzzed out of existence. The metal tin fell with a clatter, and Dash's book slammed on top of the clicker. Above her head, she heard the TV go on over the sound of spools and needles rolling about on the floor. Quickly kicking the sewing supplies into a small pile, she shouted "I got it, Jack-Jack, don't pick it up I got it" before running to the basement door where the phone hung. "Dash? Are you ever coming home? I want to get to Edna's before dinner, you know."

"Well, hello to you too, Princess."

Her heart stopped at the metal-laced sound of Syndrome's voice. She opened the door and double-checked that JackJack was nowhere nearby. Not that it was a guarantee-after all, he could be in another dimension. "What are you doing, calling here? Where's Mirage?"

The former businesswoman and Violet had communicated a few times, only to touch base and reassure the supers they were not going anywhere without them. Usually Violet only heard Syndrome in the background, and usually, MacConnell's voice followed in what seemed like a never-ending, always evolving argument.

"Unwind your panties, it's a secure line. We're not at the house anymore."

"What do you mean-you better not be starting off without us!"

"As much as I'd love to leave you in the dust, unfortunately, I have a feeling Nat would rat me out before I even gave it a second thought. Again."

"I thought you were over that."

"I never said that exactly-why would I ever give up that good of a guilt trip on her?"

"Did you have a reason for risking calling the house, or did you just want to brag about how bad of a friend you are?"

"It's the last contact we'll be making before going off the grid completely. You have a week and a half to get it together." He gave her an address, somewhere just outside of Elk City, Oklahoma. "We need to touch base in Japan early enough to prepare before the ball actually happens. If you're not there, I am leaving you behind so please, do me a favor and take your time."

"A week is plenty of time." She hoped. Edna was fast as lightning, but if they needed to take clothes off of one of her fashion lines from last year, Violet would do it.

"Fantastic." She almost smiled at the utter contempt he was able to lace into the one word. "Do me a favor."

"I'm already not arresting you, and I saved your life. You want another favor?"

"I'll take all I can get. Get the schematics of your old suit from Mode."

"The one I wore on the island?"

"Yeah, or the one now that disappears like you do. I want to know how it works. Maybe I can duplicate it without your powers."

"You want me to give you tech? Somehow that doesn't seem like a good idea." Her father, already not thrilled with working with their nemesis (mutinous was a better word for it), might actually burst something if he knew Violet was handing over technical manuals to the villain.

"Now you're being coy? Listen I've let you in on all my plans-"

"Unwillingly."

"-I'm still letting you know, aren't I? Besides, you've had your hands inside me, we're practically married, princess." A beat. "Speaking of hands 'n all I can get-"

"Pig. I'm hanging up now."

"Wouldn't it be safer for all of your family if they had your powers too?"

"I'll think about it." Before Syndrome could weasel more, MacConnell shouted in the background Stop flirtin' and help us! "You better go." Then she added, "be safe."

The dial tone stung more than she thought it would.

Violet always felt the need to dress up when visiting Edna, though she wasn't sure why. The woman had seen her as a squalling baby in diapers before the Parr's had been moved in the first of many relocations across the country. Edna was like a distant aunt to them, though she lacked the usual familial warmth of Lucius and Honey (and did favor Jack-Jack, even after a few of his powers had dropped off with age. He was always at her house in the summer and always developing new challenges for her in terms of fashion and functionality: all his school clothes had her signature glasses logo on the tag.)

Edna was never one to engage in the heroics of hero work despite being so embroiled in the craft. She was their suit maker, but also a high-powered fashion designer. She was full of such contradictions; always had an invitation to Christmas, but was never in the country for it. She rubbed shoulders with people far more illustrious than even the longest-titled FBI agent in the system, but still insisted on calling Helen at least once a month just to catch up. Edna probably had an invitation to the Tanaka festival somewhere in her pile of mail that tilted dangerously on the little gold side table in the front hall even as she commanded all of her staff to go home for the night and give them some privacy, go, go on!

Still, if she was begging for a favor Violet wanted to look her best. After waving Dash off at the door, she slid her black blazer from her shoulders and surveyed herself in the reflection of the glass that covered one of Edna's many displayed artifacts. The black-on-black sleeveless sweater and pants made her look long and sleek, and her chunky heels clicked on the polished floor. I'm not a lumber yard, she thought to herself almost petulantly as she tugged the hem of her top (and maybe pulled back her shoulders a little). Then she considered the source of that comment and shrugged it off.

"Come in, darling, don't linger back in the hall! Come, come!"

Violet jumped a little and hurried into the main...room. It really couldn't be called a den, with its vaulted ceiling and glass walls. Especially not with her heroic gold idol continuously spilling water into the fountain by the artfully arranged couches. Carefully picking her way down the stairs, Violet knelt so that Edna could kiss the air over both of her cheeks before waving her to sit on one of the couches.

The woman herself never seemed to age, though Violet did notice the slightest trace of wrinkle around her mouth and eyes. The woman probably berated and chastised any crack worse than that for its audacity before it fled her flesh in fear. The only signal she gave that time had passed was the streak of white in her hair, one lone tail in the curtain of midnight.

"Actually Edna, I was wondering if you'd show me some of your new suit designs before we talked." Her fashion lab was probably safer than the most secret bunker the government had. Built when hero work was illegal, Violet had heard her parents talk about it like a safe haven. Edna kept all her designs there, heroic or not, to keep from the spying eyes of fellow cutthroat designers who were not above implanting servants and assistants into their rivals' homes to steal patterns and sketches.

Edna smirked, sizing Violet up. "Of course you do. You're official now, are you not? Then follow me, we shall have our coffee in the den. Or would you prefer something stronger?"

"Em...well, champagne if you have it."

"Always a bottle in the fridge, dear. Always."

The lab was dark when they entered, the uplighting soft and gaining strength slowly, so as not to hurt the eyes. When the door slid shut and sealed them in with an air-tight lock, Violet felt her whole body go stiff. It was quite involuntary, and despite how her mind chanted over and over again that she was safe, Violet still had the need to reach out and trace the outline of the door with her fingertips, just to assure herself it still remained.

There was nothing white here, all cool calming tones of grey and silver, with the electric blue light her laser cutter emitted and bolts of fabric breaking up the monotone with jeweled voices. Violet fingered a silky iridescent bolt that shifted between teal and sapphire while Edna ducked under the cutting table, opening a small fridge and pulling out a bottle of champagne.

With a push of a button, a small flap opened on the cutting table and two glasses rose up. Edna uncorked the bottle and poured, handing a glass to Violet who remembered last minute that it was held by the stem. She made to drink before the fashion designer cleared her throat, holding up her own glass. "Oh-sorry." Violet gently tapped her drink against Edna's and gave her a silent toast. Violet wished she could enjoy the grown-up feeling it gave her, to be sharing a drink with a woman she admired for the first time.

"I have been working on Robert Herring's suit, I think you will like what I've done with it!"

Whatever bubbly the champagne gave Violet's stomach suddenly died. She slid onto one of the stools as Edna began to clear the countertop of her pencils, pads, and french curve. "I'm sure anything you do will look grand, E. I didn't know Robbie had commissioned you."

"He did not, but he is your father's apprentice, and I am glad to do it. I have made your suit and Speedo's, I should make this one too, and lock in my place." Edna's grin would have looked better on a shark than her wide face. "The Incredibles are my supers to outfit and I will not have them seen with anyone wearing anything less than my designs."

She placed the templates before Violet, as well as patches of cloth she had collected for the color story. Violet wet her lips. "Blue and black?"

"Yes, a call back to your father's original colors. I thought it would be fitting to give a nod to the history of what brought us here as we induct a new god to the pantheon."

What brought them here. Violet peered at the template, sketches of Robbie, strong and tall, much more confident in this sketch than he ever was in real life, with various letters on his chest, blending into the outfit in an artful design. He hadn't chosen his name yet, and Edna was preparing for anything.

What brought them here was another young boy, also dressed like Mr. Incredible, a would-be apprentice who never had a suit by Edna Mode. The history they would never outlive, like blood soaked deep into the earth, the repercussions of that day snaked fingers into the future, attracting monsters of so many different kinds. Violet managed a weak, "looks great."

"Have you come for a suit yourself? Have you ripped another one?" The last time Violet had entered this room was for measurements-when a mugger's knife had cut through Incredigirl's sleeve. The suit had been too small and too tight and the tension had weakened the material. At the time Violet felt like it was a right of passage. But that was before Su Nami, before she was faced with the consequences of her own actions, no matter how noble.

"No! No, Shadow's suit is aces. But I do need to ask a favor, and I need to talk to you E."

Edna tilted her champagne in her glass. Violet could see the first cracks in her cheerful demeanor. Violet felt the same insight gifted to her by the lab suddenly turned around on her as Edna stared through the super girl rather than at her. "I am all ears, darling."

"Deputy Inspector General Surratt-"

"Who?"

"Dicker's replacement-the new head of the NSA. She wants me to start making a list of nongovernment personnel that can be contracted by the department to help with heroic activities. Like a backlog of private volunteers. People to be used on hand without having to go through federal channels. Your name came up in the conversation."

Edna opened her mouth, probably to protest that she was an artist, a craftsman, and a smith of the gods as she usually did. Violet expected, banked, on her protests to keep her name off the list. Instead, Edna took a sip of champagne and swiveled her stool seat back and forth. "...And what will my reply say, dear?"

And the weight of all of her lies fell on Violet's shoulders, the crushing grind of keeping face before crowds of people, co-workers, and friends pulled on her shoulders and spine, making her want to bow her head. But her hair was pulled back and there would be no curtain to hide behind. It was a risk, calculated, but still. She was putting Edna in danger with knowledge, yet Violet knew this small woman could handle herself.

So, through the pain, Violet informed her, "You will in no way associate yourself with the NSA. Or let an agent on your property," with a steady eye. And in an instant, the pain of carrying her falsehood for so many months blossomed into relief, like pushing past her mental barriers and regaining a bit of her power.

Edna placed her glass on the cutting table with a clink. "Ah."

Violet handed her back Robbie's sketch. "You won't make Robbie his suit yet."

"Of course not. Not yet finished." Edna tilted her head. "We are still unsure of him, yes? He has not declared himself."

"No, he has not. Things are...difficult right now. When I returned, a lot of things were up in the air. We're still juggling."

"I see." Lifting a few stacks of designs and a tray of gems ready to be matched to fabric, Edna pulled out her long cigarette holder and fitted it with a new smoke. Dipping it into the incinerator to light, she took a long drag and sunk deeper into her chair. "What favor do you need from me, Violet?"

"I need suits. Not super suits, but real ones. And gowns."

"How soon?"

"Less than a week."

Edna's brows shot into her bangs. Lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she thought for a long time. "Hmmm. What type of gowns, darling? I cannot have you shivering so close to the Iron Curtain when you attend Galbaki's show in West Germany."

"Not Germany, E. You know I'd never go to Galbaki's show, anyway."

Finally, Edna cracked a real smile. A small fleeting thing for the girl who was, for all intents and purposes, her niece. Violet drained her glass. Edna was almost too clever for her own good. "Of course. Well, then you must be involved with something very grand not only to gain the attention but the invitation of Akito Tanaka. What have you been doing, Violet?"

Tears stung her eyes. But instead of the icy fear that lanced through her when anyone on the outside hit too close to her plans and covert operations, Violet felt a bone-deep desire to spill it all out. To tip over like a pandoric jar and pour out every hurt and fear she kept locked inside. However, her terror wouldn't pull more tears from her now. She had done her crying, but it had been on her own terms; she hadn't broken yet. Violet still had to stay strong. The end was in sight-all she had to do was reach for it.

Still, this was a friend. This lab was safe. So Violet swallowed and admitted, "It hasn't been grand, Edna. Not one bit of it. Not heroic either, and I'm very sorry, but it isn't godlike at all." Her hands closed on the edge of the table. Powers they had, but divinity was certainly lacking. She loathed the comparison with all of her being.

They were human, fallible, gullible, hurting humans, stumbling about in the dark just as Syndrome had accused, trying to hold their own close; trying only their best, and finding out that it still wasn't good enough.

"It's been like a nightmare and I can't wake up from, but I have to. Because if I fail, everything will be destroyed. Everything my parents fought for-that I fight for will fall apart. So I have to go on. I have to fight, even if it's my own people, even if it destroys me. Even if I create a version of myself that's monstrous. And I need your help."

And of all the things Edna could have done to such a declaration, to Violet saying without the words that the NSA, their protector, was now the enemy, the woman simply chuckled. Tapping the ash off her cigarette, she bypassed all of Violet's speech and asked, "Do you know who Medusa is, darling?"

It felt like a slap in the face. Violet knew the name from her history classes. "A monster."

"In some tales, yes. But in others, she was quite different. It depends on whose words you trust." Edna sat straight in her chair, pointing at Violet with the holder. The burning embers were close enough that Violet could almost hear the smolder. "At first, she was an acolyte. A priestess. Worshipper of the just and right. Do you know what happened to her?"

"I don't remember."

"She was attacked in her very own home, her temple. She had everything stolen from her; place, power, safety, even her own body. Athena turned her into the creature we know today for such crimes committed within her domain."

Violet's face flushed red. She didn't know if she was insulted or angry, but she knew exactly the point of this tangent. "And she was cursed because of that? Because of something she couldn't stop? Why, because she was weak?"

Enda took a long drag on her cigarette. "That is certainly the historic version; perhaps the accurate intention of the goddess, who was concerned more about the preservation of her own divinity than the responsibility that power gave her. To destroy one who needed her help the most, turned them into a creature no one could recognize as that poor, faithful girl.

"But, with a minimal amount of effort, you could see it another way. To take what Athena meant as damnation and turn it into freedom. Perhaps Medusa was blessed against her mistress' wishes. She was given the tools to fight."

"A fight that made her-"

"-into something men could no longer harm. Into a creature of vengeance, a reflection of the greed and hate that had harmed her and used to destroy all that sought to kill her. Medusa was given what she needed to never let herself be taken or used again. It is only monstrous to those who do not understand, who have not suffered the same. But you understand don't you?" Edna took up a stone from her tray, a pink innocent-looking ruby. "You understand how survival can look so similar to villainy, how hurt and hatred shine the same color."

Holding up the gem to the hanging overhead light, she turned it, so that the faceted edges took on a red hue, casting bloody light over Violet's face. In the sparkle of the stone, Violet saw Su Nami's son, red-faced from weeping for Mama. She saw the ruddy rage that had painted Syndrome's face when he swore that there was no place on him that Mr. Incredible could hurt anymore, the crimson of her own blood spurting from severed tubes.

"Dicker said something like that to me, once. Do I radiate something, Enda? That everyone thinks I will betray them?" Violet swallowed. I think I could kill, Dash. "Do you think I have it in me to turn?"

Edna clutched the ruby and sighed. "Let us be plain, darling. Can I speak to you, Violet? Like a grown woman?"

Violet laughed, but it was devoid of any real humor. "You don't know how much I want plain, Edna. Speak plain and be plain."

"You have never been that." Edna waved a hand as if the notion was an annoying gnat. "Oh, you have been truthful, which is why, no doubt, this has taken such a toll on you. Secrets and espionage are not for those who have a morality of iron. But you have never been plain-even hiding behind your hair, you were special. The first super baby, with the most unique powers anyone has ever seen-did you think you could really hide despite your abilities? But it was more than that."

"My empathy," Violet supplied. "Iron rusts, Edna. Dicker saw it too. Thought I could flip-"

"Coins flip. Two-sided, two-dimensional things that are either one or the other, nothing in between! Most people are coins. Villains and heroes, criminals and law. They do not see beyond that. They cling to their like and never leave the safety of their side. But you are different. You always have been.

"Do you think I am blind? That I did not see it in you? You were the only one able to adapt to the secrecy. And even when it was lifted, you pulled away from the pack, when all thought you should simply cling to your mask in your moment of doubt, to Incredigirl and Shadow, you deviated!

"Of all the things to do as an invisible girl you went to medical school. You did not find your heroism on the battlefield so you quested for it. You held the line to what you knew to be right, despite your mother and father, brothers and yes-" Edna huffed and tossed her hair, as if it was some great inconvenience to admit, "even me-though I must admit I only wanted to continue sewing for you because your measurements are a blessing to a fashion designer, darling."

"My parents are devoted to justice! I'm devoted to that too, Edna. You make it sound like picking a side-that side-is wrong! Like I've given that up! I'm not against that-"

"And neither am I." Edna tucked her free hand under her arm, rolling her cigarette holder between her fingers. "Yet here we are, set apart. We both have a creed higher than man-made laws-we do not react. We, what did you say? We create. After all-had I not broken those man-made laws to create for your father and your family, he would be dead on that island."

There's only one thing that trumps your loyalty, princess. Violet swallowed. "I hate being different. I always have. I just want to be normal."

"I don't believe that." Edna tilted her head, glasses flashing in the light. "You could have told the NSA everything, you could have told no one anything. You could have hidden away, and been right to do so. To take care of yourself and heal, and hide. You could have had a normal life then. But you didn't. You fought. You will always fight-you only desire the freedom to do so. And I am usually right about these things, darling. It keeps me in business."

Violet made to protest-to say that it was impossible, that she had to do this, that it was against her will, but she'd rather keep her family safe than crawling away to hide, cowering forever. But realized she'd only proven Edna's point.

Had she ever truly wanted normality? To chisel her world down to something manageable, away from choices too big and too much for one person to decide? Or had she wanted control-had she wanted to create a Violet that did not feel pulled and petted and put away into a suit she no longer fit?

For so long she thought that Shadow, the hero, was confident and just. That it was a place to put her bravado and live a fantasy where she was sure and unshakable in contrast to hesitant, quiet Violet Parr.

But perhaps it was Shadow who was weak. Shadow that cowered in the face of choices that could rock the world, unable to live up to the Incredible legacy. Shadow relied on the simplicity of good and evil, heroes and villains. The hero was a crutch, and a poor one at that. Indeed, when she had leaned against it, tried to channel that masked heroine in the cell, she had failed her, utterly and completely, unable to carry the weight of reality with her flimsy morals and weak thinking; felled by a single villain's mocking laughter. And when she returned to it afterward, it felt heavy, stifling, like she couldn't breathe; like choking on tears on courtroom steps.

It had been Violet who had survived Fell. It had been Violet who tried to wheedle her freedom from Syndrome, Violet whom the monster had trusted enough to upend plans eight years in the making. Violet who had infiltrated the very place that betrayed her, and worked under the traitor's nose, alive and hunting. Violet, who had danced with the devil in a kitchen's harsh light and took her family to the man they hated most in the world only to make them comply.

Violet had done the impossible, made choices that before had seemed insurmountable. Once again she found the mask useless and went her own way. She followed what was right, despite the pull of loyalty and history.

Violet held the line.

Looking up at Edna, she considered the woman who lived her life outside the neat confines of good and evil. Edna had no husband, no children as most women her age did. She was not a hero, nor did she loudly declare her loyalty to all hero-kind, simply her admiration. Enda gave her allegiance to no one, but was one of the most generous people Violet could think of; a pillar in the super community. She spoke the truth even when it cut-but better to hurt honestly than to be comfortably deceived. And above all else, she was utterly and totally loyal to herself, and what she knew to be right.

Here was a better template to create from, Violet thought much better than the carvings on her wall upstairs or the faces on the newspapers. Whatever version of herself she fashioned out of this whole mess, Violet hoped it looked more like Edna than the pitch and purple super-suit Violet kept in her closet. After all, what had she said that had been incorrect? Violet would be dead, or worse, without Mode's help, no matter how indirect.

Maybe the revelation showed on her face, for Edna pulled one of the cloth pieces off Robbie's template and handed it to Violet. "Now, darling, we have work to do."

Violet dabbed at her eyes, catching the tears that had yet to fall, and delicately blew her nose. "What do you need from me?"

Enda did indeed give Violet some of the gowns and suits from her last show, but for the superhero herself, Mode refused to do anything but design it afresh. Violet stood and was poked, prodded, measured, and examined from all angles before she was allowed to sit with another glass of champagne and flip through pictures of Edna's previous designs. She had been right-Edna always had an open invitation to the Tanaka Festival, but like Syndrome, had never gone.

"Technically is it a masquerade," The woman informed as she furiously began sketching and brainstorming for Violet's attire.

Violet thanked her lucky stars "Really? Is it some sort of cultural tradition?"

"Feh!" Mode ripped off her current sketch and tossed it aside, starting again. "Stuck up rich creatures bold enough to attend, but not bold enough to indulge in vices openly."

"It just keeps getting better." Violet peered closely at one gown, and gently placed a spare piece of fabric to mark the page. She wasn't a fashion expert but she knew that silver would look rather nice on Mirage.

"How many are in your team?"

"Seven. Me, Mom and Dad, Dash, and three others. Two men, one woman. I...I don't have their measurements though. I think I can guestimate their size. The woman is about mine, but a little shorter. But the men, I guess they're about the same build-"

"Do not worry about them, then." Edna finished her drawing with a flourish and set the pad aside. Violet leaned over to look and couldn't help but grin at the midnight black chiffon work of art Edna had created. "I know Ultra's measurements."

That grin quickly disappeared. Her heart began to pound so loud she wondered if Edna could hear it. "Wh-what?"

Going to the wall just beside the shelves that held her many bolts, Edna pressed her hand to the touchpad. A drawer slid out and she began rummaging through the files there. "I know Ultra's measurements. I doubt he has changed much."

"I don't know a-"

"Plain, darling! Do not stop now."

Violet swallowed, remembering how sure Robbie had been about Ultra being more than what they thought. "How do you know? How did-if you could figure it out then-"

"No one else will put it together, I assure you. I have long suspected he was more than what he seemed. I, too, am a part of the class he seems to favor targeting so I made sure to gather all the information I could on him. Yet he never really came after me. He was very specific, in his targets and methods if you knew how to look at his patterns." She glanced over her shoulder with that wicked grin of hers. "And you know I love patterns. Above all else, it seemed his goal was secrecy. It began to sound familiar.

"Besides, I have special knowledge of you and your family. No one else can read the clues as I do. Your family was attacked by Ultra, but your father did not go on the warpath to defeat him after hurting his wife and children? In fact, his apprentice is set to hunt him, yet between both a young fresh mind and Mr. Incredible he cannot be found?" Edna pulled out a file, her smile growing smugger by the second. "And you?"

"Me…?" What did she do to give it away?

"Darling, were you not paying attention? We've discussed your determination already! You would not rest if given the case of a man you truly wished to find! Yet somehow Syndrome illudes you?" Coming back to the cutting table, Edna tossed a black manila folder on the counter, right on top of the catalog Violet had been perusing. "I don't believe that."

With a sensation of falling, Violet opened the folder, already knowing what she would see. There, clipped to the first page was a photo of Syndrome-but young. Not quite the youth she had seen in that strip of photos, but not yet the man on the island.

Violet took the picture from the clip and observed the face. It looked like a glamor shot of an actor-he was certainly smirking like one-leaning artfully against a wall, hands in his pockets. It was no longer a shock to see the pale visage and red hair, she was used to it by now.

The shock came with realizing just how much Fell had destroyed. Her memory of him was hazy at best and distorted by age. But here in her hand, Syndrome bore the fitness of youth and health, face round and smiling. Having seen the beautiful destruction he was now-the physique a mockery of perfection, the face that held no ounce of softness or good humor-and comparing it to what was, Violet felt the destruction land in her heart again. There's no crying in surgery, c'mon. Her thumb brushed over the picture. His eyes matched here.

Looking down into the file proper, the first thing she noticed was a large red stamp of DENIED across the papers. Under the damning ink, she read a photocopy of a letter and commission form for Edna dated some four years before Nomanisan The applicant was asking for a functioning super suit for a 'collection of unique items' Mr. Bartholomew A. Pine had started. Or so he claimed. What a load. Thank goodness Edna had seen through his bluster.

But if he had that suit, he would have been better for it. He would have been able to survive that crash. And probably gone on to seek revenge and become just another face Violet would have seen across Metroville's battlefield. But Fell would have never gotten his hands on him. Or me. Violet couldn't prefer the reality of it...but neither could she bring herself to desire the alternative. Why? It would have been better that way. We would have never been in that cell together...

Violet looked up into Edna's smiling face and relented. "He's thinner now. Fitter. He was made to be."

"I have done more with less, do not worry. His suit will be marvelous! It has been a while since I have used a darker color scheme!"

"It's a white tie thing, Enda."

She flapped a hand at Violet, impatient with her grasp of the uptake. "My dear, his super-suit."

"You-wait." Violet held up her hands. "You want to make him a super-suit? It says right here that you denied it to him the first time, and you don't design for villains Edna."

"Well, I thought he was your ally, darling." She had such a way of making the endearment sound so scornful. "Why else would you be taking him with you?"

"I…" Violet sighed. You're going to have to tattoo evil across my forehead. Even now, Violet could still trip over her coin-like thinking, despite all they had done together, she and Syndrome. At least it would be easier to get the schematics off of Edna now if she was so willing to help in that way. "You're right. He needs a suit. Last time he tried something, I was up to my elbows in his guts, trying to put him back together."

"And we must avoid that! Blood is impossible to wash out of silk, which is what your bodice must be." As if she hadn't just ripped out all of Violet's careful alluding from under her, she returned to her sketch pad, this time working on Ultra. She took the file back first, however, and dropped it in the incinerator.

Violet was still holding his picture. She leaned over to drop it too but hesitated. But that smile never changed, did it? The self-assured, smug, smirking thing he called a grin. All the turbines and monsters and torture in the world couldn't erase that from his face. Violet almost admired it.

He had a confidence she lacked at times; after all, her plan to leave the cell had been discovered a week in. He had kept his under wraps until the damn place blew up, and lied to the face of his captor with a surety she hoped to emulate.

He was a jerk, a right asshole, and a villain. But Violet had to admit, just a little bit, there was something to be admired in the way he boldly went forward, as if rules, barriers, even reality, didn't apply to him. Not captivity, not death, not even his idol saying 'no'. Syndrome…Bartholomew had simply moved on. Kept pushing, kept fighting. He took every arrow from his back and used it to cut a new path forward.

"Violet."

"Hmm?"

Edna was looking at her over the top of her sketch pad. "Do you know how Medusa was killed? No, I think not. She was beheaded by a man for no noble purpose. But as a stepping stone for his own selfish desires. Don't lose your head, dear, over a pair of lovely blue eyes."

Violet lost her breath, resembling more of a gaping fish than a girl. "I didn't-I'm not-that's a laugh, ha! It's just-it's weird that's all! This picture is weird, it's not how I remember him. I-I mean I remember him as a kid and he kinda looked like that-but he's not like that anymore-I mean-that's not what I meant. The last time I saw him his chest was open! That's so not-he's-I-we-I'm his doctor, that's unethical!" Violet lapsed into silence after that rather pathetic end.

Edna rolled her eyes and went back to her sketching. "Then drop it in the incinerator. Best not to leave evidence."

When Violet did, she didn't feel as vindicated as she thought she would and stared at the place where the little flame had come up to consume the portrait of innocence past. She only looked away when she felt her companion's eyes on her again, hurrying to flip through the catalog, not really seeing the pictures anymore.

It was going to be a long night.

Once more, Violet felt a little insulted with how easily everyone believed she needed to leave work for her own safety. She tried to feel grateful instead that her secretive introverted nature over hiding from the leak had translated so falsely. Surratt had granted their leave, especially at the last moment, with graciousness. It helped that Violet had given her a rather thick file of resources that her parents had used over the years before they left.

Jack-Jack had been less enthused, however. He had thrown an almighty tantrum that would have made his babish demon spats look tame. Now he could articulate his displeasure, even as his pupils slit and irises turned red. He had locked himself in his room and almost refused to come out for Robbie's party. They had tried to explain how it was an 'adult' trip, and that Aunt Edna needed him for a little while, and wouldn't it be fun to be showered with her attention?

He finally relented but refused to speak to anyone at the festivities, electing to sit by the large office windows of the skyscraper and look out over the dark city while his father made a rather pointed speech about upholding honesty and truth as he congratulated Robbie on his graduation. The young super, now named Defender, had taken it very seriously and shook Mr. Incredible's hand with tears in his eyes.

Violet hugged him hard wishing there was truth in the gesture and was glad that soon, soon all of this would be over. Just for this night, she would push away her thoughts of a traitor and enjoy the company of others-though Echo made it hard.

Between promising to get Ultra's head on a platter as a graduation gift and his shameless flirting with Violet, the hours seemed endless. She would have clung to Robbie had he not been swarmed by a gaggle of women already (maybe she should go to him anyway as he looked about as red as his mentor's suit.) But Echo at least kept her glass full and kept other young men away from trying their hand at flirting with Mr. Incredible's only daughter.

"So where are you going?"

"Just away. I really don't want to talk about it," Violet said pointedly.

"Okay, sure, babe! No problem, I just want to help. I've got family all over the damn place, I could cut you a deal on a hotel or something like that?"

"Everything's set."

"How are you going? I could have the Incredibile tuned up before you leave. I mean Rob has made use of my Uncle's lot, you should too. Actually, he seems to be making use of my uncle's everything." The dark-haired super nodded to the man of the hour. Robbie had extradited himself from the small crowd and headed straight across the room, ignoring all the back pats and congratulations. Ah, that must be the very helpful Mary, Echo's cousin. They shared the same hair and smile-which was dazzling as Robbie helped her with her coat. They immediately made cozy in some quiet corner despite him being the center of everyone's attention.

"She sure works fast," Violet observed.

"Oh yeah, the Elliots don't waste much time in getting what they want-go boldly in the direction of your dreams and all that." Accompanying that comment came a bold arm around her back, hand uncomfortably warm against the shoulder of her party dress. Violet only felt a little twinge of guilt when her vodka cranberry 'accidentally' slipped from her fingers onto his pants later in the night.

The very next morning before the sun even rose, the Parrs dropped Jack-Jack off at Edna's. The woman handed Violet an unmarked bag of clothes at the door and wished her luck.

"Why does she need luck," Jack-Jack snapped. "They're just going to drive out to the country for peace and quiet."

Violet sighed, and dropped the bag, kneeling before her brother before Edna could chastise him. "Jack, listen to me." When the boy refused to look at her, Violet held his face and turned him towards her. The pupils were slit again, and she knew she was handling a time bomb. "I promise that when I come back I will tell you everything."

"...What are you not telling me?" His pupils rounded again, and now fear replaced anger. "Vi-"

She put her thumb over his lips. "I can't tell you, honey. I wish I could, but-"

"-I can help. I might not be as old as Dash or Robbie but I can!'

"You are." Violet shook his head slightly. "By staying with Edna, and staying quiet, you are helping me. If I worry about you, I won't be able to do what I need to do." Jack-Jack tried to hang his head, pressing his face more firmly into her palms. "Your safety is more important than anything. Look at me." She waited until he obeyed and smiled. "You already helped me. When I was in that bad place? With that bad man who took me-"

"Syndrome," Jack-Jack murmured. "The one who tried to take me too."

Violet's eyes flickered to Edna, who raised her brows in return. She hoped her face didn't turn too red. "Yes-but when the bad doctor tried to hurt me, I thought about you. And when I thought about you, and how much I wanted to see you again I was able to get out. You helped me then. And you're helping me now, by staying put. I know it's not glamorous and it doesn't seem heroic. But it's the truth."

Jack-Jack swallowed hard and flung his arms around her. "Come back soon Violet."

"I promise."

"And you'll tell me everything."

"I swear." She pulled back and held up a hand, turning it invisible. "Pretty Powerful Parr Pinky Promise." Jack-Jack laughed and tried to find her little finger with his. Finally accomplishing it, they swore, and he finally let Violet leave without much fuss.

"Have fun, darling," Edna farewelled with a knowing smile.

Finally in the car, seated in the back with Dash, Violet dug into the bag. Seven outfits were vacuum sealed, and two were wrapped in paper. One had a sticker with Medusa written on it. Violet took it out and peeled back the white tissue carefully. She knew by its weight it was a super-suit-but not for Ultra. For her.

I wonder if I'm the first hero to have three super-suits…? It was all black, a darker midnight than Shadow's uniform, and felt like holding oil in her hands with its silky texture. Peering close at the material she saw the mesh was made up of little 'v's. The chest had a 'V' on it as well, starting from the shoulders to meet at the waist in a shade of aubergine so deep, Violet had to hold it to the window to distinguish it in the gathering sunlight.

In the folds of her suit was a letter, written on thick expensive paper, with Edna's slanting copperplate on the front that read only Violet. Breaking the wax seal, she read:

My Dear Violet,

It was hubris that made Athena curse Medusa. It was hubris that was the downfall of so many gods that ought to have been protectors and guides. Hubris caused the curse of a priestess, damned an innocent girl for her beauty, and hubris that set the fires of war ablaze with one golden apple. It made the wise foolish, the incredible fallible, the acolytes monsters.

It was that same hubris that sent your family into hiding, that set your partner on his path, that trapped you and tortured you. The arrogance of those who believed choices of life and death, of men's souls, were not only theirs to make but theirs by right without the earning. Pride created assurance of victory, that nothing would ever change, prisoners never escape, that gold would always gleam and ages continue without end.

But you have fed on ashes your entire life, from the end of your parent's glory to the result of your own burning desire for justice, and made a meal of it to fill a stomach starving for something more. Do not fear the taste, my dear. Embrace it.

That bitterness you will taste on your tongue again and again, like recognizing poison. It will come back to you when you need it most when that fatal hamartia tempts your odyssey too close to the edge.

But do not fear pride, darling. For why should you hide all you have accomplished? Accomplishment has set you apart Violet, for you will do all that others merely boast of. And you have an apothecary's touch; use it with your hubris. It is a tricky substance, like the venom of a snake used to create its cure. You know in what ways it will allow you to survive and in what ways it can kill, and your taste for destruction will guide you on which is necessary.

Balance, wise Violet, and change. Such things the gods of old did not know, not thousands of years ago, not decades ago. You have been born to your place in the pantheon, this is true. But it does not make you any less worthy, or your plinth any less earned. Do not fear a little tarnish on your metal-after all, what weapon that has proved its worth remained clean its entire life?

Good luck. Fight. Win.

Edna.

P.s. And do be more careful with Hephaestus, darling. Those who crossed him did not fare well.

Violet wet her lips, trying to rid the taste of cheap whiskey as she folded the letter back up, pressing the creamy paper to her lips. She watched the buildings fly past, dawn light peeking through as the sun clawed its way into the sky. Wise, Edna had called her, comparing her endlessly with heroes and gods. But even in her praise, she had awareness. For all the great things they could achieve, they could also create great destruction. Of buildings, of families, or people. That was what she feared above all.

Balance. Like her instinct to heal and the poison of trauma that ran through her. It was a precarious thing, and she was going to need it on this alliance's knife edge. Another press of the paper to her lips and she tucked it into her jacket's pocket, keeping it close.

Peering back into the bag, Violet considered the second suit. There on the paper was another sticker that bore the name Hephaestus. The name tickled her brain, something she should know. A god no doubt, in following with Edna's theme. Violet had always been a bookish child but had never hit a mythology obsession as Kari had. The super was more of a science girl who had watched Forbidden Planet with her father more time than was probably healthy

"Hey Dash, do you have your books up here?" Despite going off to save the fate of the National Super Agency, Helen had insisted Dash bring his homework along. He yawned-still not happy about being pulled from his warm bed before dawn-and gestured to his feet. She took his AP History textbook from his backpack and flipped through it. Finding the chapter she was looking for, she read:

Hephaestus was the god of fire, divine inventor, and patron of smiths. Cast from the Greek pantheon for his disfigured body being less than perfect, he is one of the only gods to be reinduced due to the cleverness of his inventions which included Hermes' winged sandals and Athena's shield, the Aegis. His marriage with Aphrodite (goddess of beauty) was fraught with her infidelities, where the god found his revenge in trapping her and her lover for the gods' amusements and her humiliation.

The picture accompanying the small blurb, tucked between other explanations of the various Greek deities, was that of the lame god working at his forge and one of his creations: the divine shield that bore the likeness of Medusa's head. "Enda," Violet growled. What happened to not being swayed?

It was ridiculous. The barely stable...camaraderie between Violet and the would-have-been-super had been born of necessity and fear. A connection that was a cane to help them limp through this disaster of secrets and mad doctors. Nothing more. He spoke only to her because she had proven trustworthy, and she admired him only for qualities she wished to develop. One could admire parts without wanting the whole.

Though it was hard to deny Edna's poetic license when they finally arrived at the address they had been given. The Incredibile in its incognito mode rolled off the main road down the dirt path towards a building that was too shabby to be called a house exactly. More like a shack. In the gathering light, as Violet stepped out of the car, she saw Syndrome bent over a vaguely familiar bike, working on the engine. The dawn sun set his ruddy hair aflame, matching the lit end of the cigarette hanging from his mouth. The small gold pendant he had worn before the surgery swung like a pendulum from his throat.

Hephaestus at work.

Seeing her approach, he straightened, taking the rag off his shoulder and wiping his hands. One last drag on the smoke before it was tossed and crushed under his heel. "I told you to take your time."

"I like being early. Sorry I didn't give you enough time to sneak off."

"I'm used to you mucking up my plans by now." He kicked his toolbox closed and picked it up. "Well, you're all here to help: help load up your car."

Violet huffed and reached for his package in Edna's bag. Leaning inside the car, she caught Dash's face as he peered out the window. He looked white as a sheet, and his eyes were glued to the door where Syndrome had disappeared. She wanted to ask if he was okay but knew he would bluff his way out of it. For her, the novelty had worn off behind a glass wall. It was hard to still be awed by the face that had once terrorized them when her fingers had been shoving aside his organs.

But for Dash, he was coming face to face with the villain for the first time since childhood-so much younger than Violet, and even far less equipped to handle it all. Her nightmares had been of the island before Fell usurped that throne. She had never thought to ask if Dash suffered the same, for if he did, he did so silently.

"Why don't you stretch your legs out here? I can help with whatever they need."

"Huh? Oh-no I'll help-"

"They're just gonna fight," she said, nodding to their parents who were already looking like they were preparing a lecture as they followed the former villain. "It's fine, really. How much could they be bringing anyway?"

Entering the little house, Violet was a little shocked at how efficient the setup was. There were no decorations or anything to signal that the trio had settled into the place for any length of time, but across the kitchen wall, they had a map of Japan proper as well as the blueprints for what Violet assumed was the building housing the festival.

Beside the maps, there were sketches of men and women pinned to the wall, with names written in the corners and red string connecting them into little groups. Right in the middle was a face Violet recognized.

Somehow, in a drawing, Fell appeared more sinister than cartoonish. But it still sent Violet stalk still, the memories dancing before her eyes and White Rabbit playing faintly in her eardrum, not allowing her freedom until it was finished, and she reminded herself that she was alive, out and safe. She didn't need to ask who had drawn all of these-but the answer was clear, as under Fell's photo was not written a name but the word 'FUCKER'. That, and the fact that a steak knife, not a pin, held his drawing to the wall.

"All of this from your Ultra hits," Violet finally spoke, testing out her voice just to make sure it wasn't wavering.

"And more," Liam said proudly. "The virus leaves a back door into every database-we've been getting live feeds for months. It was my idea."

"And who made it," came the call, annoyed, from the other room.

In the middle of the kitchen, on the rickety metal table sat two duffle bags, open and ready to be packed, as well as a money counter, into which Mirage was dumping heavy stacks of cash. Behind her, MacConnell leaned against the sink's counter, finishing his breakfast of cold cereal. He greeted the Parrs with a warmth that did not fit their short acquaintance. From some room beyond the kitchen, Syndrome mimicked his friend snidely.

"That's a lot of dough," Bob pointed out, picking up a stack that was colored differently from the bundles of hundreds.

"Legally gotten, I assure you," Mirage stated calmly, wrapping a bundle and moving on to the next. The loud fluttering of the machine nearly drowned out her next words, "I like to be prepared. Fell drained any Syndicate accounts that weren't frozen when he got his hands on Buddy, so this is all we have. That is yen I've already converted. I don't want to risk being seen on camera just to get some funding if we need it."

"Speaking of, how exactly are we getting there," Helen inquired.

Syndrome returned with a leather jacket slung over his arm. He was carrying what looked like a new helmet, sleeker and without a crack. In his other hand, he carried a double-barreled shotgun. He continued his habit of speaking only to Violet. "Ship. I have a man that still owes me a favor."

"Even though I'd rather lick my own boot than ask Quinn for a favor," MacConnell muttered moodily around his food. He drained the last of the milk from his cereal bowl before dumping it into the sink. "Or swim through the Pacific on my own."

"Cargo ship to be specific. We'll be traveling down 66 to Santa Monica where I'll charm Quinn into giving us a ride and keeping Mac as far away as possible." At the dark mutterings of the Scotsman, Syndrome rolled his eyes at Violet. "They don't get on," he explained in a stage whisper.

"He's a cunt-excuse me Mrs. Parr-and he flirts with my wife!"

"As he can so eloquently tell you himself." Syndrome tossed his hamlet onto the table and checked that the barrels of the shotgun were empty before packing it away. "It's her job to flirt-and she wasn't your wife last time."

"Well, she's mine now. Have your girl flirt with him this time."

It took seeing her father puff up with anger to realize what MacConnell was insinuating. Syndrome smirked at Mr. Incredibles scowl but lightly continued, "I don't have a girl, I have a very limited capacity for bullshit and a last nerve which you are riding bareback. Help pack the money."

Mirage handed the last of it to her husband, kissing his cheek with a soft smile. That seemed to mollify him, and he began stuffing the cash into the duffles. Violet saw a few of the metal balls that contained the gas form of the antidote and Mac's AR-18 as well as several boxes of ammunition already packed.

"I've marked out our route," Mirage was saying to her parents, handing Bob a folded street map of the western United States. "We don't want to travel in a pack, it'll be too obvious. Buddy will be on his bike, and I'll be with MacConnell. Three targets are harder to keep track of. I've marked the gas stations we can meet at, but we'll have to avoid all contact unless absolutely necessary."

"We're lucky that this is the time most bikers take this route," Syndrome muttered, swinging one of the duffles over his shoulder. "There'll be plenty of traffic to mask our way since we're such a large team."

"I didn't bring a helmet," Violet realized, ignoring his almost pouting words.

"So?" Syndrome snorted. "You'll be safe with Mommy and Daddy in their car."

"And leave you open? The whole point of us coming along is to give you an edge and protection. If we're splitting up along the route, you'll need me with you. Mirage can take my place."

Syndrome stepped up to Violet, and she hated how she had to tilt her head back to look at him. "You just want to make sure we don't get left in the dust."

"That too."

"She has a point," Helen agreed. "Actually each of you should have someone with you."

"Well I'm not taking that little toe-headed brat on my bike," Syndrome snorted. "He can ride bitch with Mac." At Helen's glare, the villain shrugged and edged around her. "It's real a term, look it up."

"What did you see in that cretin," Bob asked Mirage, helping her take down the map and evidence from the kitchen wall.

Mac nodded to the wall they were dismantling, his eyes narrowed in the first show of unpleasantness towards the super. "That cretin did all of that. Found every connection, and did it while under the surveillance of the very man he was sabotaging. He may be a jackass-but he's a smart jackass."

"You'd think intelligence would come with manners," Helen sighed, devastating Mac of one of the bags and carrying it out.

Violet's temples were already pounding. When Syndrome returned for the other bag, she held out the package to him. "Here."

"What's this?" He took it and peered at the sticker. "And why is it addressed to a fictional cripple?"

"It's from Edna. For you. You might wanna change before we start off. It'll be better for the road than what you're wearing."

Raising a brow, he shrugged a shoulder simply took it up the stairs with him. Violet's father gave her a confused look, and she shook her head. After an uncomfortably long silence, she admitted, "Edna went a little overboard, that's all."

Mr. Incredible scowled. "Don't tell me-"

Helen caught on. "Did Enda make him-?"

Violet rubbed the inner corners of her eyes. "Yes."

"Is she insane?!"

"Violet, honey, did you-"

"I just didn't want to be doing emergency medical surgery on the side of the road," Violet snapped. "It is in all our best interest that everyone come out of this alive."

MacConnell was watching the conversation like a tennis match. "I...think I'm lost. What did you just give him, lass?"

Mirage gasped, and everyone turned when they heard Syndrome's steps on the creaky stairs. He came into the room slowly, looking down at himself with something like confused awe. The suit fit him perfectly, clinging and flattering as only Mode suits could. The color of onyx so deep it seemed to swallow the light, the suit bore stripes down the sides of the arms and legs that were such dark violet indigo it nearly melted into the black.

Violet swallowed and her eyes dragged down from his broad shoulders to the slender curve of his waist quite without her permission. But the longer she looked, the less pleasurable it became as realization settled in. The stripes were the same color purple as the 'V' on her new suit.

Edna had made a set.

One for the goddess turned vengeance, and the other for the crippled smith; for the young man flung from the pantheon of supers because he lacked perfection-he lacked oh so precious powers-and now only inducted into the fold due to his own cleverness. An imperfect god...but a smart one.

"Is that a super-suit," Mac cried, coming over to his friend to admire. "Is it really from Edna Mode?"

Syndrome didn't answer but turned his helmet on the table to look at himself in the visor. He tightened the gloves, looking at his hands as if they didn't quite belong.

"I don't know how you're not geeking out right now, mate!"

"I-I'm geeking," he stuttered weakly. He glanced at Violet. "I'm…"

She approached and lifted her fingers to the collar of his suit. Edna's hidden zippers were hard to lock if you were unfamiliar with her style. Using her thumbnail, she clicked the puller into place before tucking the collar inwards and down, making a comfortable cushion where the jaw met the neck. Just like her own suit, the mesh's pattern seemed to be made of little letters-'u's instead of 'v's. The palms of his gloves also bore the letter in that same nearly black plum. As she smoothed the mesh down, she felt his adam's apple bob against her knuckles. He still radiated that fever-like heat, and Violet suddenly realized how cool the kitchen was in comparison.

Once again, when she looked up she found Syndrome's gaze already locked on her. Now, however, the mismatched eyes were filled with confusion and something like…hurt. It must be disconcerting, Violet mused, finally getting something you wanted for so long. His entire life had been altered by the dream of earthly ambrosia-of being a superhero. Everything he had created was a vicious shadow, a pantomime of the life Violet struggled with. And now here he stood, no longer anonymous in the shadows, but bestowed with a symbol of heroes, of modern gods.

She lowered her eyes from that complicated, almost pleading, stare. This close Violet saw that there was also the faintest dusting of freckles across his cheeks. For all the times they had been close, she'd never noticed that. As her eyes flickered down, she saw that the scar over his one brow and eye was long enough to brush his upper lip too.

"Seems you've got what you wanted after all," Mr. Incredible murmured.

That broke the spell. Syndrome's hands fisted, and his face which had moments ago bore almost childlike wonder and apprehension, hardened, making the scar look ugly and raw. Violet stepped back before a fight could break out in full. She hadn't realized what it might cause-having Syndrome wearing a suit made by the exclusive designer of the Incredibles-the family he had wanted to join so badly. She couldn't begin to fathom the sensation of wearing the bones of a dream long dead.

"How does it fit," Violet asked before he could come up with something witty and scathing.

Syndrome looked like he was debating whether to answer. He looked down again and tightened the gloves again. "Well. Odd but...it fits. 'U'?"

"For Ultra. Don't panic, she figured it out on her own but she won't talk."

"Great, she knows everything. That's perfect, very covert," he huffed. "Still...it fits uncomfortably well for someone who's never met me before."

"She used the measurements from your last request."

"She still had that?"

"Yup." Violet smirked. She'd been saving this one up. "Bartholomew."

Syndrome sneered as her parents echoed the name in surprise. "It's a family name, okay? I didn't pick it." He rubbed his nose and seemed to shake off any uncertainty or awe at what had just been given. "Well, tell her thanks. And," he adjusted the belt, "I'm flattered."

Violet glanced down, confused only for a moment. "Pig!" She took the helmet off the table and threw it into his chest where he barely caught it. "Let's go."

"Well I am," he continued to needle, following her out. He snatched up his jacket, sliding it over his arms. "Listen, princess, I didn't sew the inseam!"

"This is going to be a long trip," Helen murmured, leading her own husband out, seeing how he glared after the villain who so easily mocked his firstborn.

"What a happy party we'll be," Mac snickered. But his wife was still standing by the stairs, looking at the door. "Love? Are we leaving?"

Mirage was watching them, Buddy and Violet, through the open kitchen door. He was handing her the old cracked Ultra helmet and giving her the rundown of how to ride second on a crotch rocket. Of course, he was being as condescending as humanly possible, and Violet's purple gaze was narrowed in anger. To everyone, it looked like a normal fight-an insufferable villain mocking a hero who was unfortunate enough to need his help.

But Natalya saw it differently. She saw how Buddy completely ignored everything around him, focusing his attention and, yes, his arrogance, on the girl. He was even ignoring how Mr. Incredible was fighting not to knock him on his ass, which Buddy would have enjoyed...if he had noticed.

Oh no, she thought. Oh no, Buddy. Why do you only choose dreams that will hurt you? She placed a hand on her stomach. There wasn't jealousy here-she had shut the book on her and Buddy the moment he had chosen to mock his captive rather than plead for her life. It was a break of trust and expectations that could be forgiven, and even fixed, but would never again bear the weight of romantic love.

But she had watched him all her life chase a dream that bore no resemblance to her, and had loved him for it. She had loved how he was able to snatch power from thin air and smith it to his will as easily as he did metal and circuits. Before they had even graduated school his work had begun to amass acclaim, attention, money, and prestige. She admired the tenacity and the limitlessness of his ideas and ambition, and how he pushed those around him to think and dream like him. To consider the impossible a reality. He was inspiration and ambition and avarice and determination all wrapped up in the boyish gleam of blue eyes. It was hypnotic being around him.

But where Natalya had seen pride and control grow, something beneath it all had been rotting. All of their dreams and hopes were planted in soil long tilled by hatred, and they had grown fat on the fruit of the poisonous tree. It was only when he had brushed off her concern about the plane-had not even given a thought to the idea that he was wrong, that perhaps Mrs. Parr hadn't been lying and there were innocent children on that flight-did she realize the man who stood before her was no longer hers. Buddy had been totally claimed by Syndrome. And that villain had a sinister hold on her lover.

One that had broken him completely, body and spirit. The next time she would see Buddy, her Buddy free of the mask's grasp, he would be at her feet, bloody, weeping, and nearly dead from the fight, wearing a collar of a new master.

Now she watched him and saw through the arrogance and charm. He was staring at Violet with an intensity he saved for his blueprints, and his grin was easy and often (usually at the girl's expense). Even when she walked away to talk to her parents, and he focused on starting up the bike, his head canted in her direction. She had assumed his habit of speaking solely to the girl was merely to disrespect the man he hated for so long. But now, it seemed, it was only a byproduct of his attention being totally and utterly stolen by Mr. Incredible's daughter.

"Nat, baby?"

The silver-haired woman shook her head and smiled distractedly at her husband. But there was a sadness in the expression that he picked up on immediately. He was attuned to her every emotion-he always had been. Nothing blinded Liam when it came to those he loved, not insane goals, power, or revenge. Out of the three that made their little unit, he was the best of them. "Yes? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She looked at the couple outside again. "Nothing yet."