Visions of a Winter Scene

Chapter 3: The One

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters there within.

(And just as a quick warning…this is PG-13 with good reason because of this chapter. (alcohol, abuse, death…)) Enjoy!

They walked together side by side, and hand in hand; fingers laced elegantly together in a great expanse of white. Overcoats of the finest make adorned the figures. The man wore a black coat, while the woman wore a new, white fur coat. Even through the warmth of the coat, the woman shivered pleasantly.

"Brrr! I forgot how cold it could be in the snow." Mirage remarked as she pressed closer to her companion. He smoothed back his fiery red hair and laughed.

"I've quite forgotten that myself. Good thing I have someone to share heat with!"

Mirage hummed her agreement. They paused over a ridge to see some of the guards deep in the throws of a snowball fight. Great forts had been built, though they were melting fast. The shelters were still enough to protect an unwary head from an onslaught of snow. One guard caught another off-guard and slammed him with a snowball. He laughed heartily at his prank, only to get a face full of snow from another guard that had appeared beside him.

Mirage chuckled at the game and looked up to see if Syndrome enjoyed the impromptu entertainment as well. Her smile fell away when she discovered a sorrowful expression on his face.

"Buddy…?" she ventured softly, but he only shook his head and smiled; drawing her closer to link arms with her at the elbow and hold her hand in his free hand. She did not protest when he led her away from the fun and games in the melting snow.

They walked on in silence for a time before Mirage, feeling so in her element, prompted him gently.

"Do you remember how we met?"

Buddy smiled, "How could I not?"


It had only been Buddy's third time to a bar, but he deemed that he rather liked this joint in particular, (though this was the only bar he had visited)—it made me feel older somehow. He did not much like alcohol because it reminded him of a past he longed to forget, but he would dabble in it once or twice every other week or so, and at very light rates.

He seated himself at one of the stools by the bar a few chairs away from anyone else and he ordered a drink from the bartender. Buddy was still partial to hot chocolate on a cold February day, but he would rather not have been laughed out of the bar. Having his order pending, Buddy took a look at his surroundings to find he was seated a good three seats from a slim, smartly dressed, stunning platinum blonde. He could not see her face, but she must have been gorgeous because a crowd of men surrounded her like a pack of slobbering dogs. He noticed that at least five drinks were set on the bar table beside her and she had not touched any of them. The blonde said something and the crowd of men laughed along with her. Buddy rolled his eyes at the mindless throng, but found he could not stray his eyes away from the slender legs, or fine, glossy hair of the lady.

Suddenly things started to become rough.

"C'mon dame, I've got myself a nice little place we could stay the night."

"I got a hotel room not far from here."

"It is rather chilly outside; why not walk home in the warm arms of a man, eh?"

The lady politely turned down the offers and the rejection obviously ruffled some feathers as the verbal disagreement resulted in a physical harassment. One man snatched at her wrist as another gripped her shoulder and a third grabbed her arm.

Acting quickly, Buddy pulled out a little machine from a coat pocket, fiddled with it for a moment, and rolled it down the length of the table. It came to a skidding stop just before the crowd, directly between the drinks that were so obviously intended for the lady. The men stopped their rough play to take a look at the circular object that shook and trembled. Little mechanical legs slipped out from opened portholes and it scurried forward on its legs. Another item slid forward from a cavity and what suspiciously looked like a cattle prod sparked to life. The machine jumped for the closest man and assaulted him with an audible zap and the smell of burned skin soon filled the air.

"What the devil?" one man cried in outburst, as he was pinched by the robot and he shied away.

"What sort of toy is this?" another man asked as he was shocked.

"Forget this!"

"Who needs a broad who's so much trouble, anyway?"

"I'm outta here."

The blonde huffed angrily at them as they retreated and straightened her clothing and smoothed back her hair. She looked back to reprimand her rescuer, ready to claim she had had everything under control, but when she saw him she paused in her barrage.

Buddy's breath caught in his throat.

The woman was breathtakingly beautiful. Her emerald eyes glanced over him in cautious curiosity and he did likewise with her, albeit a little less reservedly. They seemed to just gaze at one another for eternity before Buddy's machine gave a little beep of reminder to its master that it had completed its task.

Startled from the reverie, Buddy moved forward from his seat to take a vacant seat to the far side of the lady. He passed behind her for a moment and felt a burst of familiarity; a look into future events to come. This felt right.

He slid into the seat on her left. She smiled warmly at him, those striking emerald eyes watching his every move in interest.

"Interesting device," she spoke languidly, her voice lacy and low, it melted into him and filled him with a burning desire. It was no wonder now why men turned into clumsy apes around beautiful women.

When he did not respond to her, she lifted a teasing eyebrow, and coupled with that lingering smile, she was simply irresistible.

"Oh, oh yes." He stuttered numbly. "I…I built it myself."

She nodded slowly as she glanced over the device in his hands.

"Impressive. Had your invention been on the shelves, I may have purchased one. Now where would someone like you have come up with such an ingenious little apparatus?" she asked sweetly and Buddy replied with a short shake of his head to clear his thoughts into a steady train, and tapped his forehead.

"It's all up here. I'm an inventor by trade. I started since I was very young and they just seem to continue to improve down the line. This little one here," he tossed the ball into the air and caught it again; the lady did not stray her eyes from his, "I invented especially for ruffians who are a bother to a lady."

Her smile widened.

"Fascinating." She murmured, though more to herself than to him. They stared at one another for another moment, but Buddy lost his nerve and looked at last to the bartender who was conveniently wiping down the bar before them and looking suspiciously like he had eavesdropped their entire conversation.

"Could I offer you a drink?" Buddy asked, his voice faltering as though the reality of his situation was catching up with him. He was talking to a beautiful woman who had not yet brushed him off, in a bar, after having chased away a round of devious, underhanded men. They were probably just waiting to ambush him once he left the bar.

The blonde looked to the five drinks set before her and wrinkled her nose ever so slightly.

"I'm afraid that I would prefer not to leave entirely intoxicated, although you may help yourself to one of my drinks." She motioned to them casually; the intonation of her voice suggesting that she intended to have none of it.

"No thanks, I don't really drink." Buddy bit his tongue right after he said it; he knew he had made a big mistake when her eyebrows rose.

"Really?" she turned to face him fully, her body poised delicately over the bar table. Buddy noted it numbly and swallowed hard. "Then what brings an inventor of your caliber to peruse the bar?"

"I-I might ask the same of you, what business would a lady have in a bar?"

The woman smiled at him mysteriously, turning her eyes from him to gaze wistfully elsewhere.

"A delusion of the truth," she spoke softly, fondling the neck of one of her many drinks. She explained no further, and Buddy did not press her.

"Well, if you didn't have any plans…" he shifted in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck; had the room suddenly become very warm? "Maybe you and I could talk over dinner?" He smiled at her hesitantly with imploring baby blue eyes. Her striking emerald eyes studied him for a moment, but she finally smiled and agreed and they decided a place and time to meet that same night.


Over a decidedly expensive dinner at a high class restaurant, they spent many hours together and Buddy discovered that the woman had a grand aptitude for management and negotiations. He let her into his confidence. He needed assistance on Nomanisan and she may just be the perfect aid he had been searching for. She exceeded all of the criteria that he had placed, and more, he thought, looking over that slim body once more.

Buddy was set to ask her to join him in his affairs, but something held him back. Caught up in all of his plans, he had plumb forgotten to ask her name.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe I quite caught your name?"

"You didn't because I never gave it to you…" she replied flippantly and sipped at her wine. Buddy was not fazed.

"What might I call you by then, miss?"

She smiled over the mouth of her wineglass.

"Mirage."

What she had said earlier at the pub returned to him like a punch in the stomach. He spluttered on his drink and her eyes turned up into his though she did not remove her wine glass from her lips.

A delusion of the truth.

What was she playing at?

"Something the matter?" she asked casually, gently placing the glass down and folding her hands into her lap.

"No, no. Of course not." He coughed and dabbed at a bit of liquid that had dribbled out of his mouth from his outburst. Apparently thinking that she had been scoffed at, her brows titled into a frown and her body was positioned in such a way that screamed distaste. The current situation had just taken a dangerous turn for the worst. He would have to ask her now then, or never.

"Let me ask you something, Mirage." He stared her in the eyes and leaned forward over the table. "What do you think of Supers?"

She gazed at him as though wondering if this were some sort of trick question, though even for all of her subtlety, she could not stop a delicate slant of her eyebrows that could be mistaken as nothing but abhorrence.

"I don't care much for them." She said dismissively. Buddy could have jumped up form his seat and kissed her.

He laughed happily. "Then do I have an ideal opportunity for you, Ms. Mirage…"


They chuckled together at the memory.

"That seemed so long ago," Mirage commented with wistfully.

"Yes, but happy times as well." Syndrome wrapped an arm about her waist, pressing her body to his and kissing her fully on the lips. When they parted, Mirage smiled up at him.

"What was that for?"

"For being here with me, now."

He could not describe to her exactly how happy she made him feel. He felt fulfilled, complete, contented; he felt more at ease with her now than he had felt when he was a lonely boy, for all of his life.

She had healed him in many ways, though she knew nothing of how she had mended him.

They stood together in silence for a moment, enjoying one another's company, watching snow trickle down into building waterfalls down the mountainside.

"Tell me again about this one that began it all."

Buddy glanced at her unsurely and cleared his throat, releasing her from his hold and moving away. Suddenly aware, Mirage moved to follow him and placed a tender hand on his arm.

"It is a story that I like to keep buried."

Mirage gazed up at him sadly. "What has caused you such discomfort in your past that you wish not even to speak of it?"

"My past was not a happy time…"

She gently held onto his arm, whispering softly.

"Tell me."

He looked to her in uncertainty, wondering if he dared to escape that soft hold, or those tender emerald eyes. He sighed, realizing there would be no escaping this, and began his story.

"It all began with one Super."


His father was yelling at his mother again, and he knew well enough to stay well away from the confrontations—but what did it matter—much of the tribulations were over him.

His latest reason for being at fault was being sent home by escort of the police for becoming an intended hostage and disrupting a Super at work. Still dressed in his Incrediboy outfit and surrounded by his many idolized items, Buddy uncomfortably swung his legs on the edge of his bed as he listened to the verbal battle downstairs.

"What is your problem that you can't even watch the boy for a few measly hours?" This was his father.

"I am caught up with enough work to do as it is." His mother shot back. "I can't keep tags on what goes on every minute in this house!"

"He's still an immature little prick! He goes around in that spandex suit and expects not to be ridiculed at school."

"He's only bullied because of his genius with inventions, even the teachers are impressed by his toys."

Buddy bit his tongue. His inventions were not just toys, they were works of art; labors of love. Could his parents not see that?

"That's all they are—toys! The boy is twelve—he needs to grow up! Otherwise he'll end up a street bum or get himself killed like he almost did today!"

"I've tried to reason with him, but you know how he loves that Super."

"Condemn all of the supers to hell! Just last week, one of those freaks destroyed the wall to our main building and its set us back a month's worth in finances!"

"Shh, Buddy will hear you."

"Let him hear! That boy needs to come to grips with reality, it's a cold, cruel world out there and he'd better shape up or get lost; even if I have to beat it into him."

"You won't lay a hand on him! If Buddy is suffering relapses, it is surely due to your poor method of fathering him."

"Silence, woman!"

There was a cry from Buddy's mother. His father must have struck her again.

Then all in the house was silent. Buddy's heart was racing and it was difficult for him to swallow. He was nothing but a nuisance to his family.

He slowly, remorsefully, took the blue mask from his eyes and gazed down at it sadly.

He had only wanted to help; he had only wanted to please someone, to have someone happy with him; to give him some sort of meaning for existing. And where his family denied him of this luxury, he thought his favorite Super hero would have appreciated him for his brilliance. But no, everyone thought him only as an annoyance.

In a fit of anger, Buddy hurled the mask from himself and it connected with the door with a dissatisfying thud. He kicked off from his bed and moved to stand before his most acclaimed portrait of Mr. Incredible in his shrine. Buddy glared at the image; once again hearing the Super's words to him that day.

"Go home Buddy, I work alone."

Choking on his rage, he ripped the mantle piece from its resting place and it clattered to the floor with a smashing sound. His anger still not appeased, he broke the glass of the frame and took the image from the glass, cutting his fingers in the process. This only incensed the boy more. He tore the image to pieces, the blood from his fingers staining the pieces that fell. Once the image was destroyed Buddy continued to ransack the rest of the merchandise that represented his once favorite Super. Anything and everything that affiliated the Super was ripped to shreds and rent askew; toys flew through the window, shattering the glass, dressers and desk fell to the ground, books scattering helplessly about, and papers flying.

Finally the anger was purged at last and he now stood in the center of his destroyed room, heaving and spilling tears of anger and remorse, though he barely felt them course down his cheeks. Sorrowful of his actions in a sense that he was to be in grave trouble once his parents discovered the mess, he hastily rubbed the tears from his face.

As if answering his thoughts, his father stormed into the room after hearing the awful din from downstairs. With a thunderous clap, the door was flung open and his father looked about the room with wide eyes.

"What is God's name…" he began as he saw the destroyed room. His shocked eyes were swiftly filled with anger. "YOU!" he bellowed and in two strides, crossed the room and backhanded Buddy. The child fell to the ground, nursing his stinging cheek in one hand. "You're as bad as those Supers!"

His mother was at the doorway in a flash, her hands over her mouth and eyes wide. She rushed forward, but as she passed her husband, he snatched her arm and brutally hurled her back out the door, slamming it and locking it shut behind her.

"No! Herb, you leave him alone! Don't you touch him!"

Buddy's mother cried, pounding on Buddy's door, but it was to no avail. Buddy looked up at his father in wide-eyed fear; he slid back, but could not get much purchase as he slipped on books and papers and sharp glass.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson boy," his father growled in a low voice full of detesting resonance. As he moved forward, Buddy cowered back, mumbling apologies and holding up his arms in defense, but it would do him little good in comparison to his father's strength.

The pummeling came hard and fast, each blow more worse than the first. His lip split and bled, other wounds opening on his body, and bruises rising from the assault.

Beyond the door, his mother cried for her husband to stop—a cry of pure torture and anguish as only a mother could voice when she cannot reach her child who is in dire need of her aid.

When all was done and Buddy lay broken and bleeding on the floor, fading in and out of consciousness, amidst the mess scattered around him, did his father finally leave. He ripped the door open and his wife fought to get past him to her only son, but he savagely twisted her arm behind her back and propelled her forward, away from the destroyed room—her cries echoing down the hall; reverberating forever in Buddy's semiconscious mind.

Later that night, Buddy picked up his room as best he could, not having suffered anything too serious from the abuse, though his limbs were sore and screamed in protest at his every move. He morosely made his way downstairs to apologize and seek some form of forgiveness, some form of worth that his family still accepted him, but he halted sharply on the stairs as he caught sight of his mother through a window to the kitchen. She was holding a phone to her and speaking quickly and quietly.

Suddenly Buddy's father appeared and he asked in a sickeningly sweet tone, bordering on a slur. He was obviously drunk.

"What are you doing, sweetheart?"

He snatched the phone from her hands and ripped the cord from the jack. The action nearly sent him falling, but he righted himself and made his way over to his wife. "Calling for the police, dear? Is there a problem you have with me?" he backed her against the far wall, so Buddy still had a full view of what was going on. The boy was too panicked to know what to do as he watched the terrible events unfold.

"What you have committed tonight was heinous and I am going to do what I should have done ages ago—I am reporting you to the authorities!"

Buddy's breath caught in his throat and his heart hammered in his chest so loudly he was afraid his father might hear, as that same father rung his hands around his mother's neck.

"You'll do no such thing, sweetheart."

He crushed her windpipe and even though she clawed at his hand, he only gripped harder. Buddy wanted at once to attack his father; to tear him to shreds, but the consequences proved to be just as perilous. He had but a moment to decide and steeling himself for what may come, Buddy rushed down the stairs to aid his mother in the fight. As his feet slammed down on the carpeted floor at the base of the stairs, he turned sharply right to the doorway of the kitchen, something heavy connected with the floor.

He was too late.

His mother lay unmoving on the ground.

His drunken father swayed on his feet and staggered forward, cradling his head as though he had had an axe driven through his skull. Buddy stared at the unmoving body of his mother on the ground, tears burning in his eyes.

"Dammit, May…" he groaned, obviously not clearly having wanted to go quite that far with his wife, he staggered and slipped, turning to see that Buddy stood in the doorway. His face screwed up in sheer hate.

"YOU!" he bellowed and struggled to his feet. "I'll kill you boy! I'll kill you!"

Buddy turned and fled, heart thundering in his chest as his feet slapped against pavement outside and he tore from his shambled home. He didn't care where he went, he knew by instinct he had to escape. Behind him he thought he could hear his father's pursuit and this only caused him to run faster. Bushes and branches like ripping claws caught at him and tore into his flesh, but he did not care, he was running a mile a minute; He was escaping hell.

He leaped out into a roadway, directly into the blinding lights of a car. The wheels screamed and the lights grew brighter. He was going to die. He covered his eyes and felt the vehicle crash into his body. He was dead, he knew it, he was dead!

No, wait…he was still breathing, though he could not move. Someone stood over him and his panic returned to him double fold. His father had caught up with him!

Buddy scrambled to get away, but hands held him back.

"Buddy, Buddy, my God, are you all right? What's wrong my boy?"

He looked up wild-eyed to find his aunt June looking him over with worried eyes. It must have been her that had been driving the car. She gasped suddenly.

"Was it Herb? Did he do this to you? I told my sister he was a felon…But here let's get you to my house, come, quickly!"

She half-carried him into her car and strapped him in, he was still breathing quick breathes and did not speak, though he glanced about him in every which way as though his father would jump out at him and strangle him in the darkness. Of course this did not happen and his aunt took rather good care of him that night. She nursed him back to his strength but the horror of the past events kept Buddy in a sad, isolated world of silence.

His aunt was a sweet lady, but she really had no time for children, she worked all day and pulled a second job for part of the night. Buddy made himself helpful with most of the housework and the rest of the time he was mostly by himself; creating new inventions out of money he earned himself from simple inventions he would sell. He was a mute for a full year after the incident and did not speak to his aunt of the crisis until he was a Freshmen in High School, when he finally discovered that his father had committed suicide that same night when he had strangled his mother. His aunt played the role that his mother was unable to participate in because of his overbearing father. He came to adore his aunt and promised that no harm should come of her, since he had failed to save his mother.

He did not make many friends and was often by himself, always thinking, always devising new plans to his old schematics. One particular invention landed him a scholarship for college which he gratefully accepted. He lovingly thanked his aunt for all of her hospitality which she merely shooed away. It was the least she could do for him and for her sister. She kissed his cheek and wished him the best of luck at the university.

Buddy made himself at home there, finally taking tentative steps out of the shell he had imposed on himself to hit a bar for a drink or two…

Buddy finished with an uplifting sigh, still shuddering at the cold memories. He turned then to see Mirage with tears streaming down her face.

"Buddy. I…I had no idea…" she stammered, embarrassedly brushing tears from her face lest they froze on her cheeks.

He shook his head and chuckled softly.

"Hey, it's all over with now; it was all in the past. I'm much better now that you are here with me. Had I known it would have put you in such distress, I would not have told you. They say a burden shared is a burdened halved, but I prefer to carry my own burden for that very reason…"

"No, I asked it of you, so I will also shoulder this burden."

Buddy brushed his knuckles against the blonde's cheek tenderly, drying her face of its tears. She gazed up at him sorrowfully, lips trembling as she quaked in his arms. She pressed herself to him then, burying her face into his chest, and holding to him tightly as though he might fall apart in her arms at any moment. Syndrome embraced the woman back, quite at a loss for words. He smiled to himself softly.

I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. I don't want her to pity me; I only want her to continue as my partner and my companion in this project. My past is my past; there is nothing to change that. But...since she is here in this proximity…

Buddy gently pushed her from his embrace, tilting her chin up and tenderly placed a kiss on her lips. The faint ghost of a smile played across her lips at this action when he drew away, and Buddy linked arms with her once more. She pressed to him for reassurance and warmth, even as the mountainside shuddered its weight of snow into an avalanche that settled to melt at last in the valley below them.

"Come on, let's go home."


A/N: OMIGAWD! That only took me eons to do! I'm sure you all are quite sick of my excuses, but I will say, once again: writer's block and time conflict! (Gah, I despise them both with a vengeance).

I'm sure you all are quite sick of my apologies as well—but please forgive me for how late this chapter is (did I set a date on it?), but I would like to point out how long it was! I had a LOT to say…

Wow, Buddy had a harsh childhood, eh? I suppose I did get somewhat carried away with that whole schpeel of Buddy's mother and father…I didn't mean to be quite that cruel, but in the movie he really did seem to be a scarred child in an adult body. The idea hit me that he might be afraid to grow up and be like his father, so I worked it into my story (writer's block area #12…LOL!)

As far as a fourth chapter goes, I had a vague idea, but lost track of it when I suddenly became obsessed over Kim Possible…(I love the sarcastic, biting-tongue of Shego! She cracks me up!) I must have sparked a good four idea's worth for that series a few weeks ago, and so the Incredibles will be taking a backseat for awhile; err, at least until I can get my thoughts in order again.

So consider this story finished until then!

I hope everyone enjoyed it and if I can come back to this one, you all will read it again!

Please review!

Blackfire 18