Frances was nervous. When she was nervous, she'd smoke a cigarette and hate herself for being so weak. In an isolated hallway a few hundred feet away from the lab where she'd seen that murky gestation tank, sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, she took a deep drag off a Parliament Ultra-light and exhaled. The smoke hung heavy in the air before her, and her stomach grumbled. It was dimly lit at this end of the corridor, and although she knew she ran the risk of setting off smoke alarms, she felt perfectly sequestered off from turmoil and angst. Who gives a rat's ass if the alarm goes off, she thought, they need me. She took another drag off the cigarette and tapped it out on the floor, snuffing the embers into a blackened circle.
"Those things'll kill you," said a familiar voice from down the hall, clearly making its way in her direction. She looked over apathetically and saw an acquaintance of hers, another of the many marionettes in the puppet-show that was knowing the Titans. He was lanky but handsome, his black hair parted neatly to one side. Frances determined this was the first time she'd ever seen him out of uniform, and she suddenly became embarrassed that it was he who'd nailed her smoking. As he got closer, she stood, and he spoke again. "Got one for me?"
"Tavis," whispered Frances, "it's so good to see you! How have you been?" The two hugged, and it was the first time all day that she felt steady.
As they withdrew, Frances pulled the cigarette pack from her hip pocket and offered one to Tavis. Clumsily, she remembered, "I think I just used my last match."
Tavis smiled crookedly and replied, "Like that matters?" He touched his index fingertip to the end of the cigarette and a tiny discharge of lightning sparked it lit. That was his metahuman power, after all, being able to release bolts of electricity and harness lightning. He and his twin brother, Gan, were born conjoined, and during a mystical procedure were granted the innate elemental ability to control thunder and lightning, hence their creatively lacking monikers. They also shared a psychic link, enabling them to communicate telepathically with one another. Ordinarily the two were inseparable, Gan following Tavis as if they were still attached at the hip. That Tavis was here alone vexed Fran.
"Gan's fine," Tavis said quietly, as if he'd read her mind. "He's in the cafeteria indulging in today's lumpy special."
Fran smiled and folded her arms. She suddenly came back to the place she'd been before this pleasant interlude with Tavis Williams. What if what they were saying were true, that Joey Wilson's essence was trapped inside hers, feeding off her mind and strength this whole time? There's no way she'd ever be able to shake the feeling of violation, not this time. But what if it weren't true? Then her mental instability might very well be her own. She shivered.
Tavis exhaled a smoke ring overhead and gently patted Fran's shoulder. "Everything is going to work itself out, Frances, I promise," he said confidently. "You want me to stay with you until it's time?"
Frances Kane nodded. Tavis Williams flicked his half-finished cigarette to the ground and stamped it out. He reached an empathetic arm over Fran's shoulder and the two headed back to the med-lab.