Chapter 7: Old Friends at the Hospital
AN: This chapter marks the first real connection between the "Marissa" universe and "Fire & Ice". See if you can figure out who the first conversation is between!
Big-time thanks go to the following people:
Nutty & Gryph for their help with the first part and for their insights on some of the characters.
My mom for her help with street terminology.
"Are you certain that you know what you're doing?"
"Don't I always…?"
There was a long pause before the harsh, pompous voice continued, "This isn't exactly a mission."
"No, this isn't an assignment, but it is something I need to do."
"Why? You don't owe FLAG anything…or him."
"Thanks to them, I've got you."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?"
"Your choice."
Another long silence, but he could feel the scrutinizing persistence. He wasn't going to ease up this time.
"All right! I am well aware that there are issues…but…"
"But what?"
"We've encountered these people before…you know what their agenda is and what they're capable of."
Normally, he wouldn't be bothering with this, except that an old friend had contacted him…someone who never called in favors. Until now. The fact that they were involved helped, too.
"I know as much about them as you do. I fail to see the point in this line of questioning."
"Bottom line. Who would you prefer to have first say in the fate of Devon Miles, them or you?"
A deep grumble was his only answer.
"There you go. That's why we're here. Save a few lives, get the job done. Got it?"
"Fine…as long as we get this over with as soon as possible. He's mine, not theirs."
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After reading Kitt's e-mail, Marissa went back to where she had sat and ate the breakfast that Bonnie and RC had snuck in.
"So far so good," the female technician said quietly, "I don't doubt that this mission's going to get bumpy…I only wish I could cross the border and help out with Kitt."
"Nonsense," Devon replied between bites, "Going alone right now is the worst thing we could do. That…group will be looking for the semi."
"That's what makes this so bad," she groaned, "Sorry Devon, I just…feel so helpless. Isn't there something I can do?"
Jack looked at her and replied, "There's plenty here you can help with…like keeping a good eye on those two. I'll be helping with the guard duty."
"Yeah, Marissa said you had called in some bodyguards. Who exactly?"
Before Jack could answer, there was a familiar, cold-edged female voice that answered, "Who do you think?"
At that, everyone looked up.
The first person to walk in was a five-foot-nine woman with close-cropped blonde hair, cold blue eyes…and a frame that seemed seductive, while holding strength within it. She was wearing a white blouse and black pants…as well as a very familiar black jacket.
Marissa's eyes went wide as she watched, while Devon looked puzzled.
Oh my gosh! Angel!
The next one to come in was Chuck. Even in the space of a few months, he hadn't changed. He was still a muscle-bound man with spiky, brown hair and brown eyes. He still had a scar going down the left side of his face, nasty temper at times…and a very tact-less manner.
After Chuck, another familiar face came in: Chris Sato. This time, as he came in, he wasn't wearing everyday clothing…instead, he wore a white shirt with a black dragon across the front, dark jeans, a black, shiny, jacket and black boots. In short, typical Black Dragon attire that everyone arriving was wearing, with the exception of Angel.
Devon's face, after a moment of shock, became unreadable.
The fourth one to come in Marissa had seen before, in March, but never personally met. This one was a red-haired woman, certainly a bodybuilder, her hair as closely cropped as Angel's. Her eyes were the color of jades…even though they seemed as hard as Angel's were cold.
"This is Flame," the leader announced, seeing her puzzled expression, "The others are at the base, on standby." She then turned to the man that was in the hospital bed, a little, familiar smile on her face.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
"We haven't really been introduced," she replied, "But we were all there in March, during the storm on the True Liberty Movement."
The Englishman looked a little haunted for a moment as he nodded. As he spoke, the look vanished, replaced by inquisitiveness, "I take it that you're the bodyguards that Jack called in."
"That's right."
"Normally, I wouldn't even hear of the idea…but considering the circumstances, perhaps a little assistance is in order."
The woman smiled, then said, "Don't worry, we won't be trashing the place or anything like that. Just whoever tries to get to you and your people."
He nodded, then Bonnie asked, "How about we introduce ourselves?"
The woman nodded, then said, "Name's Angel. Since March, I've been leading the Black Dragons. Chuck's my second," she gestured to the spiky-haired, muscle-bound man.
"Yo," he grunted.
"Of course, you know Chris the Night Gunner."
"Yes, I was wondering why he was in a gang uniform," Devon replied, tone a bit disapproving.
"That's another story, sir," Chris quickly said.
"The other one's Flame, like I said. Not even in the Dragons a week and that storm in March was her first. She got her first scars and won her name in that." Angel took a seat and said, "I still think that if we had a choice as to who we lost Jack to, it'd be you guys."
Bonnie looked puzzled, then glanced at the young man.
Marissa explained, "Jack led the Black Dragons until the incident."
The technician nodded, then said, "Time for this side. I'm Bonnie Barstow, K—a technician for the Foundation."
"Oh yeah, how is Kitt? Is he here?" Angel asked.
Bonnie looked shocked as Jack replied, "Nah, he's with Michael, Tio Rodrigo and my cousin in Mexico, going after the medicine."
"H-how does she—"
"Kitt was with me and the other children when we made the alliance with the Black Dragons," Marissa explained.
RC grinned and said, "This is gonna be one helluva gig, that's for sure."
Devon immediately said sharply, "Reginald, watch your language!"
"Sorry, boss."
Angel turned back to him and said, "So you're the leader of the FLAG gang."
"In a matter of speaking, though not precisely in those words," was the reply, "My name is Devon…Devon Miles. Marissa is my daughter."
She nodded, eyes seeming to calculate, then said, "I only saw you once, when Jack decided to leave the Dragons. You were still in the coma. This is gonna be interesting."
"Yes, quite."
Angel then turned to the remaining person and said with a chuckle that was, on her, eerie, "I remember you from the storm, too, RC3…or should I say 'Street Avenger'?"
"Hey, how'd ya know that?"
"Your reputation precedes you. When you were checking out the local gangs, we were checking out you." She then turned to Jack and added, "I called in someone else as well…but no telling as to if he'll actually show or not."
"Who?"
"Just an old friend from before I got in with the Dragons." She then looked at her charges and ordered, "Staff from FLAG, Foundation's Youth or doctors only. Anyone else, run 'em."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Flame, scope out the area," she continued.
"You got it," the red-haired woman smiled.
"Chris, Chuck, take point. Jack and I are enforcers."
"Yes, ma'am," the two men replied.
"Go plastic. You have 5 to be in position."
At that, Chuck, Chris and Flame immediately left the hospital room.
Devon raised an eyebrow and asked, "'Go plastic'?"
Jack explained, "She means to change into everyday clothes. Normally a job like this is done in normal Black Dragon attire, but that order's out of consideration for the hospital and FLAG staff."
Angel nodded, then said, "I'm going to go plastic myself. Be right back."
After she left for the bathroom, Devon looked directly at Jack with a scrutinizing look.
"Now you see why I didn't tell you at first who I called in."
"Young man, I'm indebted to you and the Dragons for March, but don't you think that calling in…a biker gang—your old biker gang—is a bit much?"
He laughed and said, "That's what Marissa asked me when she woke up. I know my old boys, they can be very discreet."
"I certainly hope so."
"I didn't see you object as loudly as usual," he replied.
"You hardly gave me a choice!"
"Jack, that's enough," Marissa told the young man, her stance and tone from when she led the rescue operation returning to her features, "It's done and they're here as the bodyguards, and that is that!"
He winced and quickly said, "Yes, Marissa."
After the two males calmed down, Jack then asked, "Devon…mind if I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"I've only been living with Tio Rodrigo and Laura for a few months, but there's something that I've noticed, and I want to know about it."
"And what is that?"
Jack looked at Marissa for a moment, then said, "Hey, Riss…can I talk to your dad in private?"
She looked between the two of them, then nodded before getting up and going to the nurse's station.
Jack waited and then said, flat out, "You've got something against my cousin, and I want to know why."
"Why didn't you want Rissie in here before asking?"
"Because she's good friends with Laura, and I got the feeling you really disapprove of that."
"Rather astute on both points," Devon admitted, "Laura is a rather bad influence on Marissa."
"That's not all there is to it, is there?" Jack's brown eyes pierced into Devon's as he asked that.
The Englishman sighed and said, "You'd best take a seat, then. It's not all that pleasant. Eleven years ago…"
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At the very first little town that the little group came to, Michael went right to a small store that sold clothes, hats and little mustaches…thankfully, not the kind that Garthe Knight would ever wear. His second year with FLAG had given him a chance to impersonate the man that he had taken his face from…and found that even the thought of mimicking a man that was so obsessed with the operative's death was so repulsive that he never wanted to do it again.
Rodrigo had a mustache (which had to be shaved) and his hair had to be cut, although going to a barber would be, at the least, a problem.
Thankfully, Michael had the foresight, before leaving for the border, to get some shaving equipment, as well as an extra pair of scissors. That would take care of some of the gardener's disguise. The rest, Michael would buy, along with some local clothes for Laura.
What upset the young girl, though, was the fact that the hair she had let grow to waist-length since she escaped from Mexico would have to be cut.
"I don't believe this…! Why do I have to cut my hair?"
"Part of the disguise," Michael had explained, "How do you know that MAGE hasn't seen you since you came to America and posted pictures? Besides, you can always let it grow again after we save Devon."
She had sighed, grumbled, then agreed to doing it after Michael got back with the clothing.
While he was inside, she turned to her father and asked, "Strange…you seem to remember a lot about this side of the border, but I don't remember a thing."
"That happens to you when a child's been away from somewhere for years. If I never come back here after this, I'll probably forget, too."
She nodded, then asked, "I wonder...after Devon recovers from this, I know he will…do we tell him the full truth about himself?"
"No!" Rodrigo replied vehemently, "He is to not be told, not by us! If I could help it, he'd live out his life, never knowing what his ancestry is. Marissita…she certainly was supposed to know, and she handles the truth muy bien."
"Riss!"
Rodrigo frowned and asked, "You call her 'Riss'?"
"Sí, padre," she answered, "She doesn't mind."
He looked at his daughter, seeing something was definitely off.
"You don't call her Marissita anymore…just now you called me padre, not papá …Laurita, what's gotten into you?"
"Por favor, don't call me Laurita. Laura or even Laurine, but not Laurita!"
"That doesn't answer my question, Laura. What's gotten into you?"
She peered right at him and replied, "I'm an adult now."
The older man blinked as he said, "You're what?"
"That's what I said, I'm an adult now."
He blurted out, "You're fifteen years old. You're an adult? Since when?"
She replied, trembling, "Since the day before Riss's birthday. I wasn't sure at first, but…it's true."
He thought the words over, as well as her reactions that day.
"You can't hear the music anymore, can you?"
"No. That's how I know."
Rodrigo nodded, thinking back. That had been his reaction, at exactly her age, when he could no longer hear the sunrise music. To Mystics, it meant the end of childhood. Extremely few in the past 5,000 years, and absolutely none in the modern age that he knew of, ever heard it past age 15.
He quietly gave her a hug, knowing, also from his own experience, that the revelation and loss of ability that came with it, always hurt.
Indeed, Laura sniffled for a couple of minutes, then pulled herself together.
"Adults shouldn't be crying easily over stuff like this when there's worse in the world," she muttered.
"Aye," he agreed, then asked, "Laura, there's something I need to know. Do you hear any extra voices in you, other than the whispers?"
The young woman said, "You're asking if I'm the chosen host. No, I'm not."
"What're you talking about?" they heard from outside.
She looked and saw Michael at the door, carrying a few bags, filled with stuff.
Rodrigo looked uncomfortably to the man, then said, with a sigh, "I'll explain it shortly, Michael. Are those for us?"
"Yeah. Listen, go though the back door and into the bathrooms with this stuff. Do what you gotta do in there. Don't rush it, but don't take too long. Devon is depending on that antidote."
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A few minutes later, Michael was just finishing the last touches of his disguise when he heard the door open. He stiffened a little at the interruption, until he heard a familiar voice say, "Just me, señor."
The operative relaxed and asked, "How's Laura?"
"She shooed me out, saying she would tend to her own disguise…including her hair. Considering some things from a bit ago, I let her." Rodrigo mumbled, "She is a grown woman."
Michael raised an eyebrow and asked, "Come again? Rodrigo, she's fifteen, and last I looked, legal age in California's 18."
"That's part of what we need to talk about, Michael."
"I'm listening."
There was a sigh before he started lathering up his face while saying, "Sí, California law is age 18, but…as you know, Mystic children can hear the sunrise music. After a certain age, usually the active abilities become dormant, while the untapped ones stay latent. The only unchanged thing is what Devon calls, 'whisper in the heart', or 'whispers'. When he or she is no longer able to hear the music, it signals the end of childhood, and that Mystic is seen as an adult."
Michael nodded, "Makes sense. What's the typical age when that happens?"
"Within 6 months of their fifteenth birthday," was the simple reply. There was a pause before he added, "Something worries me, though, about Devon."
"What about him?"
"After what happened in March, I managed to get him to talk about his past, when he was a muchacho."
"I don't think you're talking about the normal childhood stuff."
"No. Basically, I wanted to know how old he was when he lost that ability." The Mexican frowned as he continued, starting to shave, "He replied that he was nine. Verona wouldn't be born for another year."
Michael's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Nine? According to what you said just now, that's 6 years too early."
Rodrigo nodded, "That's what worries me. It's completely unheard of." He paused before he added grimly, "When we get back to my old greenhouse, I've got some questions for them, and I want answers."
"Yeah…no kidding…" The operative blinked before he said, "That reminds me, what the heck were you and Laura talking about, 'chosen host'?"
Rodrigo hissed and visibly winced, nicking himself on the cheek in the process. He had been hoping Michael would forget that question.
"Normally, broaching that subject with anyone outside of Line Maris is very taboo," he said, "Line Knight, though, is the only exception. Even so, I don't like talking about it with an outsider. No offense, Michael."
"None taken," he replied, "Now what is it?"
There was still a long pause before the Mexican explained, "One of the traditions of Line Maris is, as you know, inside the last name of Mariz. Another is this: the soul of the Line Ancestor still exists, even today. Once every generation, an adult woman is chosen, by the soul itself, to reside in. It's dormant, but still inhabits the body. The soul moves on when either the host dies or a full generation passes, whichever comes first."
"Okay, so why did you think Laura could have been the host this time around?"
"Nobody knows who the host is until it's already happened. The signs are similar to whispers, but there is a definite personality and self-awareness present."
Michael nodded and started to ask more about it when they heard in the doorway, "How do I look, señores?"
The men turned…and their eyes widened in surprise.
Laura's hair, only moments before, had been down to waist. Now, though…the edges of her hair stopped just past her ears.
She was wearing the local style of dress, instead of her blouse and blue jeans.
"Whoa…you look…different," Michael stated.
"What he said," Rodrigo added.
Laura chuckled and twirled in place. As soon as she was facing the men again, she said, "I just might keep my hair this way, then."
"Go wait in Kitt, then, and we'll be out soon," the Mexican man told her.
"Sí, padre."