Dinner was a subdued affair; consumed more from need than want. They talked listlessly, going over tidbits of information gleamed from colleagues and Stark's briefing.
There were over a hundred voice messages on the Stronghold's 'Hero' line. Steve erased them without listening to them. He knew people meant well, but he didn't have the patience to listen to their trite, sympathetic condolences.
After eating dinner, Warren cleaned up the kitchen (after four years at the Paper Lantern, if was practically second nature). Josie said something about taking a bath. Steve needed to phone his father. The Stronghold house was off limits to all Will's friends when his grandfather was visiting. Warren had never met the legendary superhero, but Layla detested him. That was enough for him.
"Warren." It was practically the first Mrs. Williams had spoken all evening. Warren wondered if she had deliberately waited until the Strongholds left the room. "Do you think this is fault?"
It didn't take a mad genius to guess what was on her mind. "It's a waste of time and energy to claim responsibility of what is beyond your control. I know that from experience. Time and energy are finite, what is finite is divine."
"Layla once said that you don't talk much, but when you do you have an uncanny knack for finding the right words."
Warren shrugged. "Chalk it up to my peripatetic childhood."
"Will's a bit like that too."
She almost laughed at Warren's doubtful expression. "He was always a chatterbox, and regularly suffers from foot-in-mouth disease, but when it's important he can really surprise you. Right now, that's all that's keeping me sane." She pushed back her chair. "Can you let Steve and Josie know I'm going home? I've got to feed Ivy and Lillie Rose and water the plants. I can't let Layla's plant die."
"I'll walk with you." Warren hadn't liked the close-to-hysterical pitch of her voice at her last sentence.
"I can't ask that."
"You're not asking," he said firmly. "I've got nowhere else I have to be. I would like to make a couple of phone calls from your house. Then I could crash on the couch."
She seemed relieved. "The doctor at Command gave me some knock out pills, but I'm scared to take them. If a call came . . . ," her voice trailed off.
"Just let me tell Mr. Stronghold we're leaving." Warren got up and headed toward the study. He found Will's father sitting in the dark. Warren cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm gonna run Mrs. William's home. She's got the pets to feed."
Steve nodded absently.
"I'll probably stay the night. I think she could use the company."
Steve stirred. "That's very considerate of you. She really shouldn't be on her own. She's welcome to stay here, if she wants."
Warren nodded. "I'll let her know."
"Warren," the pyro turned around. "It occurs to me that this is the most we have ever said to each other – excluding sporting events."
"I don't talk much."
"I know you're uncomfortable around me. I'll admit, sometimes seeing you brings back unpleasant memories. You've been a rock during all this. Will was right about you. I'm sorry I'm only telling you this now."
Warren didn't know what to say. The Commander didn't seem to need an answer. After Warren left, Steve roused himself to search of his wife. He found her in a little room down the hallway from their bedroom. Over the years it had become a repository for old furniture and boxes.
He navigated the floor to reach her. "You should come to bed."
She was sitting in a cushioned rocking chair. Rocking slowly.
"I was so stupid. All that fuss about Will sleeping with Layla."
"Josie," Steve knelt down by her. "We both need to get some sleep."
"I called Evan Michaels."
Evan Michaels, a.k.a WindSurfer. He was her first serious boyfriend. "So."
"You know his hero support is engaged to somebody in espionage. Evan always liked to gossip. The rumormill puts the Scarlet Witch in the country."
"Josie, there is no hard evidence that she's involved."
She continued rocking. "He doesn't stand a chance against her."
"Will," Steve choked back a sob, "is strong."
"He has no defense against her." Her fingers buried themselves in the faded arm cushion. It was a teddy bear print material. The tears she had held back for the last days flowed like the breaking of a dam.
He held her.
The closing notes of the Star Wars theme came from a portable DVD player. Huddled under blankets to keep warm, Will and Layla had just finished watching the Star Wars presequels.
So far, being drugged and locked up by unknown person (s) wasn't too bad, Will thought. It was icy cold in the room, but between the sweats and blankets and each other, they were warm enough. Peterson had bought the DVD with lunch. Again nothing fancy, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, fruit, cookies, and soda.
So long as one ignored the stomach clenching fear and the fact that their parents were going through seven kinds of hell, everything was just peachy.
During the movies, Will and Layla amused themselves by doing improv Mystery Science Fiction Theatre 3000. They both agreed the mere existence of Jar Jar proved Lucas had sold his soul to the devil.
"The only way to accept the second trilogy is to root for Palpatine. I mean, have you ever seen such a bunch of stuff shirts as the Jedi. They make Supreme Command look like long haired hippies,"
"Hey," Layla objected. "What's wrong with being a long haired hippie?"
Will reached out and tugged at the ponytail Layla had made with some of the lace off her nightgown. "Nothing, if you want to be a peace loving vegetarian with a fondness for hybrid cars and farcical plans to change the world."
She narrowed her eyes; "you don't even know what farcical means."
"Do too."
"Do not."
"Do too."
"How long are we going to play this?"
"Until you admit I'm not as stupid as a bunch of rocks."
"I would never say that," she said primly.
"Good."
"Rocks are inanimate objects. A better analogy would be that pinkish slime Medulla made us scrap off the autoclave. It moved and gurgled -- sorta. Kind of like you first thing in the morning."
Will's eyes opened wide. "You just compared me to protoplasm."
"Actually I compared you to pink protoplasm."
He lunged forward.
"Will," Layla shrieked as she was pushed back on the mattress.
He twisted her arms above her head. "You need to be punished for that." He dropped little kisses down her neck, moving downward toward her top's deep neckline.
The movie's credits finally came to an end. The clang of the chain anchoring Will reverberated around the room.
"Will," she said softly.
"I know." He let go of her wrists and slowly pulled away from her.
Layla pushed herself up. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you tried something."
Will grinned sheepishly.
"That was what surprised me when we started dating?"
His brow creased. "What?"
"My fantasies were pretty much limited to hand holding and a little light petting. Then you try to french kiss at forty thousand feet."
"You didn't complain at the time."
"I was too busy hanging on for dear life," she retorted.
"And in front of your house?"
She colored a bit.
What sounded like a door opening was heard from down the hall. They both looked at the door. It was early for dinner. Will half rose to his feet, then changed his mind. He clasped his arms around his knees, waiting. Layla could see his muscle's bulging.
They heard footsteps coming toward them. Will jumped to his feet. Layla climbing up just after. He reached for her hand.
"Layla, I love . . . ," the door opened.
Peterson was first. Layla thought he looked worried. Another man followed, and last a woman. She moved with the grace of a predatory cat. She was exquisite. Raven hair flowed to nearly her waist. Black eyes and crimson lips shown against her pale, perfect skin. A long red gown fit like a glove.
"So this," her melodic voice was like a choir of angels. "Is the famous William Stronghold?"
Her voice echoed in his head.
Layla felt Will's grip grow slack. Alarmed, she squeezed his hand tightly.
The woman approached Layla. The teenager held her ground. For all her beauty, her face wasn't pleasant to look upon. "What lovely hair you have, my dear. Is it natural?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Does your boyfriend play with it?"
Against her volition a word came to her lips. "Yes."
One long, red tipped finger reached out and pulled the tattered lace constraining her hair. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders.
There was not a peep out of Will.
"Tell me William," she spoke conversationally. "Do you admire the color or the length?"
"Both," he replied promptly.
"But which more?"
Layla watched with horrified fascination as her boyfriend answered. "Length."
She twirled her finger cruelly around one of Layla's curls. Layla bit her lip.
"Did you know long hair is a sexual trigger for him, Layla?"
Mutely she shook her head.
She grabbed Layla's chin. "No one refuses to answer me." She starred into the young girl's terrified eyes. "You'll be punished for that."
"William," like a puppet on a string, Will stepped to her. Layla whimpered. The stranger whispered in his ear, then stepped back.
Will grasped Layla by her arms. His mouth descended on her. She tried to close her lips but he bit down painfully. Her cry was buried as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He pushed her roughly against the wall. One hand effortlessly held her in place, the other moved under her pajama top.
She managed to break the kiss. "Will, stop it." She pushed futilely against him. His knee pressed between her legs.
"That is enough for now, William."
Will released her. Layla sagged against the wall. It took all her willpower to stay upright. She could taste blood on her lip.
Will was blinking rapidly as if the room's light bothered him.
"I have an important appointment with Dr. Maximus. I will see you children later."
Regally she swept out of the room, the men following her. The door was locked behind them.
Layla was breathing heavily.
"Layla," Will asked, confused. "What happened to your lip?"
