Thanks to: 2whitie, P.S. Sword, Jolinnn, Spencer blue, Steinbock and Shadow914 - cheers guys for keeping me going!

WARNINGS: MOTHERSHIP COMING IN TO DOCK.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

REUNION

Description: Coming back together again as a whole

Fowl Manor, Dublin

"What do you mean he's gone?!"

Xandr gave a sigh that was somewhere between irritated and exasperated. He had summoned her to his room once he had taken the call. She was the first person who needed to know, after all. He would tell the Fowls later, if he deemed they needed to hear the news.

"Exactly as I said."

"The last time you spoke to them he was only just out of surgery! I wasn't even expected we'd be allowed to visit - how the hell can he be gone?!"

"I don't know," Alexander shrugged. "He came back from surgery a couple of hours ago and now he's… not in his room."

"He only came off life support a few days ago!" she ranted on. "How the hell have they lost him?!"

"I think it's much more likely to be a case of him going walkabout than they've misplaced him as such," Xandr said placatingly. "And what's more, he's not the only escapee."

"Oh so they're in a habit of mislaying patients, are they? Wonderful. Is there a discount on the 'Missing' posters that you're so delighted about?"

"No…" Butler said slowly. "But it does suggest there's something more to this 'disappearance' than you might first think."

"When we find him why not just bring him back here and we'll care for him ourselves. At least then we might get away with chaining him to a bed. Honest to God…" Theresa ran her hands through her hair. "Who's the other guy, then?"

"Bates."

"Who?" - the name rang a bell vaguely.

"The Simmons guard from the theatre," Xandr explained. "To be perfectly honest I didn't think it was looking very good for him when I found him, but I was too busy looking for our boys to bother much more about him. The Simmons family visited him at Christmas. Seemed a nice enough lad. Stayed behind after I got shot, anyway. Myles seemed to like him."

"And what makes you think that?"

"He tied up one of the hitmen and put him under threat of death to keep the guy alive," Alexandr said. "Used our medical kit on him too. Would have been much easier to kill all the hostiles and give Bates the coupe de grâce, if he was so inclined."

"And I take it you did?"

"Well no – obviously I carried Bates out."

"I meant the other guy."

"I was saving my bullets."

"But did you kill him?" Theresa asked, wise to the fact that there were over hundred different ways the bodyguard could have killed the man with one hand, let alone a weapon.

"No," Xandr admitted. "I need him for questioning. I know where to find him if I need him again."

Theresa sighed, leaving the subject there. She was as keen as anyone to find out why the Fowls had been targeted that fateful evening, but she knew 'questioning' was just a milder term for what The Butler had in mind.

"Great. So Myles has recruited an accomplice and broken out of the hospital two hours after major surgery. Now what? Where would he go?"

"Well to begin, we can't be sure he's actually left the hospital. He may be laying low somewhere in the building."

"Unlikely. He hates the place."

"Granted, but he's not an idiot. He wouldn't start out from a place of safety without provisions or outside help."

"He has help – how badly can this Bates guy be injured if Myles is dragging him along too?"

"And as for where he would go," Xandr continued, regardless. In reality, it would more likely be Bates dragging Myles out, with the severity of his injuries. "Well in all honesty, my best bet would be, well... home."

There was a timely buzzing sound alerting the pair of them to one of the manor's side gates being opened from the outside. Xandr had all the alarm systems wired to both his and his sons' rooms so that they were first to know of any breach of the perimeter, regardless of the origin.

"You couldn't fecking write this, could you?" Theresa exclaimed. "I swear, if the idiot has trekked all this way in the snow, I'm going to kill him myself before the hypothermia does…"

She blasted from his room with such speed that even the Butler's long strides were stretched to keep up.

"Tradesman's entrance," he called to her as she reached the bottom of the stairs and she changed tack, spinning left instead of right and marching towards the staff kitchen, muttering under her breath as she went. Nobody knocked at the kitchen door but the security light flicking on alerted her to a presence and she began undoing the multiple bolts and locks.

"Myles Butler, if you've been this fecking stupid I swear…" she mumbled, threateningly.

But when the door swung inwards, it wasn't Myles on the doorstep.

In fact, it wasn't anybody she had ever met before.

Suddenly thinking how stupid she had been not to wait for Pa to get to the door first, she faltered.

"Ah," said the woman, in clipped, English tones. "Efficient service. What a pleasant surprise."

"Excuse me? Who are you?" Theresa said, valiantly attempting to block the door.

The woman barely gave her a glance as she folded Theresa's blocking arm with one thumb and stepped swiftly past her. The Irishwoman made as though to stop her again but Xandr halted her instantly.

"Easy, Theresa. It's alright," he said, evenly. And then to the woman who had marched into Fowl Manor as though she had claim to the place; "Hello, darling."

For a moment everything was still. Theresa looked from one to the other, suddenly realising what the greeting meant. The usually impenetrably stoic face of the eldest Butler of the manor was adorned with an almost soppy expression of fondness and for the barest flicker of a second, the stranger looked the same. Then the moment passed.

"Get the kettle on, Sasha," she said, barely offering him a second glance. "These two moping Mildreds need something hot down their throats."

"Yes dear," he sighed, hopping to it immediately. Some things never changed.

Theresa missed the exchange beyond the words 'these two', for she had already rushed back to the door. There, making their way painstakingly across the snow, to some degree holding eachother up like a pair of drunkards returning home on New Year's morn, were the two bodyguards.

They were both as pale as the grey light of dawn, the larger looking in slightly better fettle than the smaller, though both shivering just as much as the other as they limped the last few steps to safety.

Theresa folded her arms; every bit the chastising mother-figure, and when he finally looked up, that was what Myles saw.

"Hi 'Resa," he said, meekly.

"Hello idiot," she retorted.

But her resolve was not as honed as the Butler matriarch's and she cracked, swooping forward to help the pair inside. Bates, being the unsteadier of the two, helped himself to the kitchen table and sank down into a wooden chair in utter exhaustion. Mrs Butler had pushed them hard over the last few K. She had driven most of the way there, but stopped just under three miles from their destination, insisting that they leave the car in a pub carpark and walk from there. She had, of course, had the foresight to pack them some outdoor clothes, complete with a set of boots a piece, but how she had known Bates would be coming along, neither could guess. Will had put the query to his new friend who had merely shrugged, wincing as bent double to tie his laces – 'she always does', had been the only reply.

Theresa closed the door with a thud, cutting out the draft from the outside world and instantly raising the ambient temperature of the room by a few degrees. Myles leaned on the wall heavily, taking long, slow breaths and trying not to repeat his earlier performance of collapsing into a pool of vomit. He was repaired, certainly. The mysterious creature in the elevator had healed all life-threatening ailments; the organs which would otherwise have needed replacing, were now fully functional. The bones which had been fractured, had now fused. The paths the bullets had taken through his body had been all sealed up, but for the external edges. He was better than he ever could have been had he been left to heal naturally. He would be able to work again. But by no means was he one hundred percent yet. Most external injuries had been left to evidence his trauma. Some of the lesser wounds were left partially healed. And to boot, his mind – unable to process such a magical recovery – was bombarding him with phantom, psychological pain signals warning him to avoid further damage to injuries which now barely existed. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of home and for the first time since the first shot had been fired in the theatre all that time ago, feeling a comfortable grade of safe.

"I swear if I didn't think I would knock you on your arse for once in your damn life I would slap you," Theresa growled at him. "What on Earth were you thinking even getting out of bed in your condition? You could have killed yourself! You still could have killed yourself!"

He cringed, pup-like and shot her an apologetic grin, keeping his eyes half-shut to avoid the full force of her glare.

"I promised Dom," he panted.

"You promised him you'd come home! You didn't put a time limit on it!"

He shrugged a little, unable to put any more effort into verbalising his defence.

"I've a good mind to ring the hospital and get them to send an ambulance to pick you both back up," she warned. "And don't think I wouldn't get your father to restrain you until they did."

Myles shook his head slowly.

"He wouldn't get past Mum," he said a little breathlessly, grinning at the floor.

The statement confirmed what she already thought to be true, but she was still in disbelief.

"So that really is your mother?" she whispered, gesturing at the woman who was appraising the other giant in the room.

"Vy stali tolshche," she drawled, pinching his side mercilessly.

"No ty takoy krasivyy kak den' kogda ya v posledniy raz smotrel na tebya," he quipped back, catching her hand in his colossal fist and raising it gently to his lips.

"Zatknut'sya, dolt," she scoffed, snatching it back and punching him solidly in the arm.

"You hear anyone else talking to Pa like that?" their youngest son chuckled.

"Why, what did she say?" asked Theresa, who's grasp of the Russian language was not nearly good enough to catch the lowered voices.

"She said he's gotten fatter," Myles translated with a grunt of amusement.

Theresa's eyes widened incredulously. Alexandr Butler was by no means overweight. Oversized, definitely, but he was incredibly fit and toned for a man approaching pension-drawing age. Not that Butlers commonly retired, of course. Or at least not if it wasn't forcibly.

"And what did he say to her?"

"Oh he just told her she's still just as beautiful as when he last saw her," the younger bodyguard shrugged. "He's a schmooze – total softy."

"Yes," Theresa mused. "Seems to be a running theme in the family, if I'm honest."

"Bad trait, Mother would say. They should beat it out of us as children," he said, groaning slightly as his legs finally began to give up the ghost on standing. "Can I sit down now? Please?"

"I suppose," she said, with mock begrudgement and pulled him up a chair to hobble towards.

He sat down cautiously, gratefully accepting the mug of hot tea his father placed in front of him as he did so.

"Your mother tells me it's just taken you nearly an hour to get from 'The Hound'," he said, naming the pub they had left the car in.

Myles took a careful gulp of his drink, aware of his father's penchant for making brews whose temperature rivalled that of the sun. Bates was not so lucky and coughed suddenly, spitting the tea mostly back into the mug. He apologised, but only Theresa took any notice; smiling at him reassuringly and offering him a tea-towel.

"What do you expect?" Myles muttered. "I was half-dead until this morning."

"Half-dead?" Xandr snorted. "A few flesh wounds, is all."

"I refuse to be ridiculed by a man who got himself shot in the head and landed us all in this mess," the youngest Butler at the table retorted hotly.

"Ah but I was shot just the once," Xandr smirked, enjoying himself.

"Irrelevant," Myles grouched. "You were out of action and I… I thought you were dead."

Xandr barked a laugh at him and Bates, bravely, Theresa thought, chipped in.

"With all respect, sir," he said. "I thought you were dead too."

"Don't 'sir' me, Bates," Xandr told him, seriously. "I told you. Call me Butler. I will not be 'sir'd' by a man who is no doubt a large part of the reason my charge's son and my grandson are still alive."

Bates looked relieved. "They got out safely then? The children, I mean."

"Yes they did," Alexandr nodded. "And of course I've you to thank for hauling this durak's arse over a few stiles, I dare to think."

Myles scowled into his mug, but wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of taking the bait.

"Oh I don't think that was quite the case, s… Butler," Bates said with an apologetic glance at his friend.

"Yes, yes, all very touching," Maud Butler cut in. "But what's the plan from here on in. I got them home, what are you going to do about the charges. We can hardly explain away such a miraculous recovery."

"What miraculous recovery?" Bates said, though his words seemed slightly slurred to Myles and Theresa and he suddenly slumped forward.

Myles caught him by the elbow, steering him away from his hot drink and letting his head lower to the table without banging off it.

"Jesus, Ma," he said, indignantly. "You could have at least warned me – he could have burned himself…"

"Is he oka...?"

A gentle thud alerted him that Theresa had just done the same as Bates.

"Ah great," he muttered, his hands feeling strangely light as he rearranged her head onto her arms in a more comfortable position. "How long have I got?"

"How much is left of your brew?" his father asked.

"Maybe a third," he said, pushing it away before he too almost collapsed into it.

"About five seconds then, I suspect," Maud said nonchalantly.

"No... fair… Ma…" he mumbled, laying his head on the table before it lolled there anyway.

"Ah cute. It's like watching him be ten years old again throwing a tantrum because you confiscated his throwing knife for stabbing his brother."

He stabbed me first, is what he wanted to protest, but Myles didn't even have the energy to make a hand gesture at his father for that comment, which was probably just as well.

"Cute?" his mother mocked, her voice zooming in and out of focus. "You really are sap, Xandi..."

So, we have a Maud Butler! Also known as Ma, Mum, Mother Butler, Poison Granny - the latter because she likes to create various potions to... do various shit to people she either likes or dislikes.

Hope you like her - and 'Xandi' together, of course.

If I don't post tomorrow, HAPPY NEW YEAR to all of you. I hope 2019 is a good'un!

Wolfy
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