THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION

Description: The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.

Notes: Well, what about that Season 10 finale, eh, folks?! I laughed to hear Amy go all Joisey on us, and I literally yelped aloud when Amy opened that door to see Sheldon. As I have had to say too many times before, I'm deeply sorry for the delay in updates; I can plead only the lack of time that comes with being a sole breadwinner dad when both your wife and son go through cycles of being aggravatingly sick (not seriously, just enough to put some extra caretaking load on). If it is any consolation, I think that next chapter may actually be the last of this particular story, but even while I am venturing into CHUCK fanfic as well, I do plan to return to this universe. Thanks again to everyone who's kept following me, even through the delays.

Disclaimer: The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.

- 20 -

HUNTINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, PASADENA, CA

SATURDAY, AUGUST 29, 2015, 9:41 A.M.

Someone who didn't know Beverly Hofstadter might have assumed from her bland expression that she was perfectly content to be where she was, either from natural nonchalance or satisfactory circumstance. But Leonard could tell from the chill she radiated—as perceptibly cold as if a walk-in freezer door had opened in front of him—that nothing could be further from the truth. Ohhh, this is going to be bad. His stomach knotted even tighter; for a second, he thought he might actually throw up. Only the sudden pain in his hand as Penny's grip tightened involuntarily upon it brought him back to himself.

"If you don't mind, Leonard, I'd like to get the emotional pleasantries out of the way first and move on to more important matters," said Beverly, coming over to stand by the bed. "The doctors have told me that you appear to be all right and I am very relieved that neither you nor Penny have taken any significant harm from the events of the past few days. I assume that remains true?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, it remains true." It was true that he appeared to be all right, Leonard added silently to himself. For all anybody really knew, he'd given himself a brain aneurysm with that gigantic TK burst and had only a few days to live—although with Bernadette the regenerative healer as a close friend, even that might not be so much of a problem as it sounded. But he'd long since learned not to go down rabbit holes like that when talking to his mother.

"Excellent. I'm very happy." Nothing in Beverly's tone changed at all; she might have been remarking that it had stopped raining. "Now, my next question is: Did you consider even for one second how the situation you've created was going to affect me and the rest of your family?" She pulled up the chair Penny had been sitting in and sat down, folding her hands primly on her knee. "For a self-proclaimed experimental physicist you seem to have remarkably little grasp of preparing for practical consequences."

Penny's mouth dropped open. Leonard wished he was able to share her outrage, but he was far past the point of reacting to his mother with anything but sighing, which he did. "Mother, I don't suppose you've ever heard of the term 'serendipity'? Gunpowder, penicillin, x-rays, anaesthesia, superglue, even nuclear fission—all discovered by accident. Still recognized as amazing achievements."

"Mm, yes," Beverly acknowledged, without sounding one whit less self-contained. "Which only goes to show that scientists are even more likely than most men to fall back on retroactively rationalized intent as a defense mechanism. You know, Penny," she added with an only barely visible smirk, as if sharing a joke, "in psychology circles we call that the PWH reflex."

Penny blinked. "PWH reflex?"

"Pee-Wee Herman," said Beverly, and in an uncannily accurate impression of Paul Reubens' nasal tones added, "'I meant to do that.'" Her smirk widened. Penny's brow furrowed; she glanced at Leonard as if unsure whether to laugh.

Leonard groaned. "Mother . . . ."

"Oh, Leonard, do please relax. If you're so confident of the value of your work, a little perspective-preserving jocularity shouldn't be of any concern. That was always his problem, you know," she said to Penny. "His inability to process constructive criticism produced a need for reassurance that was completely impossible to satisfy. You can see why I stopped bothering to try after a while."

"Stopped?" said Leonard. "You mean you actually started at some point?"

"Well, of course, dear." Beverly raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "Between your first and second birthdays. You were already perfectly verbal at that point and were more than capable of understanding the 'Satisfactory' ratings I gave you, however little-deserved."

Leonard stared at the air. Every time he dealt with his mother, he thought he'd finally managed to exhaust her capacity to flabbergast him. When would he learn? "You only ever told me I was 'satisfactory' when I wasn't even two years old? I don't have any conscious memory of that time period at all! How could you expect me to retain that?! Or find it to be adequate emotional reinforcement?!"

Beverly shrugged. "I mentioned it at least once in most of my books on the topic. I believe Penny can confirm that. It's hardly my fault if you didn't avail yourself of the research to supplement your fallible memory."

At the end of his rope, Leonard turned to Penny. "Come on, that can't possibly be true. Can it?" His jaw dropped as Penny bit her lip and looked awkward. "Oh, come on!"

"It . . . was in Chapter 2 of The Disappointing Child," Penny mumbled. "It's, uh . . . actually cited as the first major failure in your ego development." At his wounded look, she spread her hands defensively. "I'm sorry, Leonard, I wanted to get a good mark in the course!"

Leonard buried his face in his hands, took several deep breaths, then looked imploringly at Penny. "Can we go find Sammy and fight him again?" he begged his fiancée. "Because there's no way that could be less fun than this."

"Fleeing uncomfortable emotional truths by seeking to engage in violence," said Beverly in deep satisfaction. "Classic masculine sublimation, Leonard." She tilted her head. "Actually, surprisingly masculine for you, come to think of it. Maybe these experiences have done you some good."

Leonard was saved from having to reply by a completely unexpected, but shockingly welcome, bellow from just outside the door. "Beverly, what you know about healthy masculinity could be written on a postage stamp! With room left over! Get your hands off me, you thundering anthropophagi, I'm here to see my son!" Thrusting his way past the suited FBI agents trying to restrain him, Alfred Hofstadter burst into the room, galloped to Leonard's side and caught him in a crushing embrace. "Leonard, my God, my boy! Are you all right?!"

"Dad, I'm fine, I'm fine!" To his own shock Leonard found himself laughing, and had to admit some slight shame in how much he was enjoying his mother's disgruntled look. "What happened? Why didn't the two of you get here together? I mean, I assume you were notified around the same time . . . ."

Alfred separated to give his ex-wife a blazing glare, which she returned with icy disdain. "Because after having to put up with each other on the flight all the way here, somebody didn't bother to hold a cab for me at the airport so we could share!" He turned his back on Beverly, sat down on the bed and gripped Leonard's shoulders. "Seriously, Leonard, you've got to tell us what happened. The last I heard you and your friends were all still wanted for questioning by the federal government. Vultures," he added in a sotto voce growl.

"Oh, that. Right. Um—" Leonard sifted his memory, then slumped. "Honestly, Dad, I don't know. I thought we had a temporary truce, but I've been out of it all night . . . ."

"Actually," Penny interrupted, sounding pleased, "Howard, Bernadette, and Ms. Locke were working on exactly that problem last night, Leonard, before I came down to wait with you. With Senator Thorpe and his right-hand guy."

"Senator Thorpe. Senator Richard Thorpe?" said Alfred.

Beverly's eyes narrowed. "You're familiar with the gentleman, Alfred?"

"Not personally." Alfred waved one hand, frowning. "I've seen his name on letterhead from a couple of government commissions, that's all. Mostly when I was getting a research grant denied for out-of-country digs."

Leonard blinked. "Wait; this guy was in charge of giving out grants to anthropologists? And now he wants to try to head up a department handling superhumans? Doesn't exactly sound like an applicable skills transfer." He looked at Penny, who only shrugged, equally puzzled.

Beverly shook her head. "In my experience, Leonard, politicians are like most men; they worry more about getting the credit than they do about proving accomplishment." With an arch look, she added, "Even when it's for a self-admitted complete accident."

Leonard's jaw tightened, and he took another few deep breaths. He'd long since learned that losing his temper with his mother did no good—she either serenely ignored it or, worse, turned it into yet another excuse to be disappointed with him. "The important thing, Mother, is that we're not fugitives any more—uh, we aren't, are we?" he added with a quick sidelong glance at Penny. Her helpless shrug wasn't much of an answer, but he bulled ahead regardless. "So once the doctors clear me to check out, we can go home and get started on finding a few answers, without having to worry about getting arrested." He paused as another unwelcome thought occurred to him. "Although I suppose we might still have to worry about getting sued for the property damage. I don't know if JPL's insurance covers exploding particle accelerators."

"Hm. You should have gotten Sheldon involved earlier, dear," said Beverly. "I'm sure he would have remembered to check into that."

Leonard clenched his jaw harder and breathed even deeper. Unfortunately, his mother was probably right; that sounded like precisely the kind of insane detail Sheldon would have gone into, if he'd been at all interested in helping with the experiment. Which only made the remark all the more infuriating.

Penny's eyebrows went up, and she cleared her throat. "Um, Leonard, sweetie," she said quietly, "you might not believe this but that actually is a little uncomfortable. Even for me." She nodded down at their linked hands, where his knuckles were turning white.

"Oh! Oh my God, baby, I'm so sorry." Leonard let her go hastily, horrified at himself.

"Wait a minute. You hurt her?" Alfred looked amazed. "The stuff I've seen her shrug off on YouTube, and a handshake hurts? Although given who caused it," he added with a glare at Beverly, "maybe I'm not so surprised after all." He shook his head, ignoring Beverly's narrowed eyes, and took Leonard by the shoulders. "Son, I don't know anything about what happened to you and I don't know what you're going to need to do about it. But can I give you one piece of advice?"

"Um . . . yeah, sure, of course, Dad."

Alfred looked him straight in the eye. "Take. Time. Off." He let Leonard go and gestured out the window. "I know you want to get started figuring all this stuff out. But you gotta give yourself time to process what's happened—to figure out what hasn't changed. What you don't want to change. If you're tired and freaked out, you're not gonna make the best decisions. So go hole up for a few days in a good hotel with your gorgeous girlfriend here," he gave Penny a smile, and she blushed, "and remind yourself what really matters."

"Fiancée," Penny corrected, but she was smiling. "Not girlfriend. Fiancée. Remember?" She twiddled her fingers, showing off the ring. Leonard looked at her, and a gush of warmth went through his chest. God, his father was right, wasn't he? She really was gorgeous. The best thing that had ever happened to him. In fact . . . .

"Actually, Dad," he said, "I think I did just make one very good decision, even if I am still a little freaked out." He turned to Penny and covered her hand with his. "You didn't happen to see if there was a chaplain on duty today, did you?"

Penny frowned. "A chaplain? Why would—oh!" She clapped both her hands to her mouth, eyes wide. "Are you serious? Right here? Right now?"

"Well, not right this second," Leonard admitted. "I still want to get our friends down here, but at least my folks are already here, and we can do another ceremony once we can get your parents out here for it. But—yeah. Today. Soon as we can."

Penny grinned, her eyes liquid. Leonard smiled back at her and leaned in for a kiss, only to freeze as the most unpleasant sound he'd ever heard from his childhood echoed through the room once more: "Ehhhhmmm . . . ." The wordless sound conveyed exactly the same note of primly condescending disapproval it always had.

Leonard could actually feel the blood pounding in his ears. "What is it, Mother?"

"Beverly," said Alfred, the name alone a warning.

Beverly ignored him, as she usually did. As she always had, Leonard found himself thinking. A monstrously tight band of pain seemed to be cranking itself closed around his temples. "Far be it from me to thwart your progress towards emotional maturity, Leonard, but as your mother I feel obliged to point out the frequency with which impulse marriages like this wind up failing. I also can't help but note that there do still remain profound psychological incompatibilities between both yourself and, ahem, Penny here. Now I can't stop you from making your own decisions, however foolish, but—"

"Mother." Leonard made himself let go of Penny's hand so he could knot his fists in his bedsheets. His knuckles turned white again. "Is there anything I can say which will change your mind about anything I do? Anything at all?" The sheer effort of holding onto his temper left no energy for putting any tone into his voice; to himself he sounded more tired than anything else. But for some reason Penny's eyes widened, and she actually shifted away from him.

Beverly blinked and looked thoughtful. "Hm. Well, I could always ask Sheldon; if he thinks this is a good idea—"

And that was the last straw. Leonard's temper shattered like a glass window hit with a brick; his skin felt like it had caught on fire. "Mother, go away!" he roared, sweeping his hand across the air as if to shove something away from him.

With a scorching, actinic flash of light and a ripping crack like a miniature lightning bolt, Beverly vanished, leaving spots behind on Leonard's eyes and a smell like ozone in the air.

For half a second, there was nothing but ringing silence in the room as Leonard gaped at the empty chair where his mother had been sitting, too stunned even for horror. Alfred's jaw hung open. Then Penny screamed, even as the door slammed open again and suited FBI agents poured in with weapons levelled. "Nobody move!" yelled the man in the lead, eyes flicking back and forth. "Hands in the air! What happened?" He frowned. "Where's Dr. Hofstadter?"

Still blinking, Leonard and Alfred both raised one tentative hand. The agent rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. Okay, where's whatshername, um—" He gestured helplessly.

"Beverly," Penny squeaked out.

"Beverly! Right. Okay, ah—where's Dr. Beverly Hofstadter?!" The agent tried to make the second demand sound just as imperious as the first, but even he seemed to realize he hadn't quite succeeded. He flushed.

"I, ah . . . I don't know," Leonard managed. He could feel whole-body shakes setting in; his skin prickled, freezing and burning at once, and only the emptiness of his stomach kept him from throwing up. Oh God, oh God, what had he done?! For all his anguish over his mother and his unresolved anger with her, he'd never wanted to hurt her: she was too much a part of how he'd become who he was, too vital a keystone to all his memories. And he'd studied enough mythology to know that the worst punishments were always reserved for those who killed their family, even by accident or unintentionally: matricides, patricides, fratricides . . . .

He shook even harder now, only dimly aware that the FBI men had surrounded him, and that they were keeping their distance only because Penny was standing over him with clenched fists, while his father shouted imprecations he couldn't make out. Oh, God. He was a murderer now. He'd killed his own mother. Everything he'd gone through, trying to save and rebuild his life since he'd woken up able to see without his glasses—it was all wasted now. Worthless. One moment of lost temper and he had ruined his life, and Penny's, and probably all his friends' because there was no way the government would keep their word to them with this kind of crime staining his hands—

An odd sound filtered through the jabber of angry voices: an electronic burring, not loud but insistent. One by one everybody yelling fell silent, looking around in confusion, until finally Alfred struck his own forehead and fumbled his cell phone out of his jacket to answer it. "Yes?" he rasped. His eyebrows went up, he blinked a couple of times, and then—moving slowly, as if afraid he would drop something—held the phone out to Leonard. "Um—son? It's for you."

Maybe he was still dreaming, Leonard thought vaguely. Maybe nothing since he'd woken up had actually happened. Maybe it was all a dream, as he'd first wondered. That would be really nice, come to think of it. He took Alfred's phone and put it to his ear. "Hello?" he whispered.

"Leonard," said his mother's voice, almost but not quite perfectly composed—he could hear the faintest of tremors in it, which for Beverly Hofstadter was very nearly the equivalent of a full-blown fit of hysterics. "I appear somehow to have been instantaneously transported to a comic book store somewhere in downtown Pasadena, and from the fact that you're in several photos on the wall, I infer that it's an establishment with which you're familiar. Nobody else is here, and it appears to be closed. Would you be kind enough to provide an explanation for this state of affairs?"

Leonard only barely kept himself from bursting into hysterical laughter, or sobs, he wasn't sure which. "Mom," he gulped. Penny gasped in relief, dropped onto the mattress behind him and covered her face with both hands. Alfred sank back on the bed with an outrush of breath. "Well, I, ah, that's gonna take a few minutes to figure out, but in the meantime I'd be happy to send a cab to pick you up."

"Thank you, Leonard, but I think I really would appreciate some kind of answer. Did you do this?"

Leonard shook his head in disbelief. "Well, Mother, I could try to bring you back the same way and see if that works, you wanna try that?"

"NO!" A pause, then more sheepishly, "Ah, no, thank you, Leonard, but—no. No, I think a cab will suffice." Another beat. "But . . . it would be helpful if you could assure me this isn't going to happen again."

Reflexively, Leonard opened his mouth to say yes, of course, he would never do it again, not ever, not now that he knew his Mom disapproved . . . and then he stopped. Partly because, as a cold voice in his mind pointed out, he couldn't guarantee it. Whatever he'd tapped into last night to hold up that gigantic sword, he had clearly tapped into again to teleport Beverly a dozen miles across the city—but he still wasn't quite sure how, or what might trigger it again . . . although there was one common factor. And, as an even colder mental voice pointed out, if anybody found that factor both relevant and compelling, it would be his mother . . . .

"I don't think I can guarantee anything, Mom," he said, sounding surprisingly calm even to himself. "But I will point out that both times this happened, I was in an extremely overwrought mental state. Maybe it might be a good idea, in our next interactions, to consider my emotional reactions more carefully than you usually do?"

There was a long pause at the other end this time. "I . . . suppose that might not be entirely inappropriate," Beverly said finally, sounding as if she was having to push the words out one by one. "But of all the ways you could have learned to be more assertive, Leonard, I'm not certain threatening your mother is one I'd call healthy."

"And of all the ways you could have taught me to be more assertive, Mother, I'm quite certain that this is probably the best job you could have done," Leonard said. "So if you'll take a little advice? Quit while you're ahead." He cut off the call, handed the phone to Alfred and drew a deep, shuddering breath. It was weird. The aftershock of the power burst was still prickling his skin, his stomach was still in knots, there were still traces of that agonizing headache in his temples . . . but he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good.

No, wait. He could. It had been the day Penny had sat down beside him and said, simply, "Vegas isn't that far away." He turned to her, and found her smiling at him, her eyes wet. "Hey," he said, his voice rough. "You okay?"

She caught him in the fiercest embrace she would allow herself; he could feel her holding herself back, almost trembling. "I have never been so proud of you," she whispered in his ear. The room blurred. Not caring that his father and the FBI men were watching, Leonard returned the hug as tightly as he could.

"Me neither, son," said Alfred hoarsely. "Me neither." He let them hug a moment more, then added, "But you're still going to have to invite her to the wedding."

"Aw, crap!" Penny groaned.

11:55 A.M.

"Come on, come on, come on . . . yes!" Barry Kripke snatched his phone out of the plastic storage container and cradled it to his cheek, eyes closed, like a toddler getting a favourite teddy bear back. After a moment he flipped it over, punched in his code, scrolled through several app screens, then sighed in relief. "Okay—Jasmine, Tiffany, Wachel, Maxi, oh, gweat, theh'w all theuh. Phew."

Bernadette tilted her head and smiled affectionately. "Aw—are those family members?"

Kripke cleared his throat. "Well, they're . . . vewy special wadies to me, so, um . . . ."

"They're porn stars, aren't they?" asked Howard.

"Yeah," Kripke admitted, with only the slightest of sheepish looks. Bernadette's smile disappeared into a grimace. Kripke waved his phone at her defensively. "Hey, you wook at yoah budget aftah buying a bunch of special editions, and tell me you'h not wewieved to find out you haven't wasted yoah money."

"So I think we can conclude that exposure to this pulse doesn't immediately change your personality," said Leslie Winkle as she took the container and retrieved her own phone, her tone as dry as it always was. She glanced at Sheldon. "Unless your personality happens to be that of an arrogant gasbag dumbass. Then it makes it even worse."

Sheldon folded his arms. "Forgive me, Dr. Winkle, for thinking that gaining the ability to manipulate space and time might impress one with an even greater sense of one's responsibilities. What excuse do you have for continuing to be the same old meanie-weenie nastypants you've always been?"

Leslie looked thoughtful, then held up both her hands and snapped her fingers. Around her right hand, a halo of flame burst into existence, crackling and snapping as if an invisible torch had ignited; waves of searing heat shimmered up from it. Around her left materialized a shroud of freezing-cold blue-white energy, swirling and sparkling like a miniature tornado in a blizzard; a stream of condensed ice particles sifted down out of the air beneath it. With a tight-lipped grin, she opened her hands palm-up, and the twin energies billowed upwards in columns of ice and fire that sent tangible waves of heat and chill rolling around the hospital boardroom. Nearly everybody at the table thrust their chairs back in reflex, and half the suited agents lining the walls went for their weapons before Leslie closed her hands and the energies disappeared.

"Suck it, Katy Perry," she said, and cast a smug look at Sheldon. "Dumbass."

"Positive and negative thermal induction," said Leonard, impressed. Solely out of appreciation for the annoyed look on Sheldon's face, he added, "Cool. So I guess your superhero name can be 'Tsundere', Leslie."

Leslie scowled. "Okay, first of all, I am not putting on multicoloured tights for anything, and secondly, that word doesn't even make any sense. Is that supposed to be Japanese? I speak Japanese."

"You never got into anime fandom, Leslie," said Howard, taking his own phone and passing the box on to Bernadette. "It's a portmanteau word, from tsuntsun and deredere—'disgust' and 'lovey dovey'—so basically it's a term for a character who flips between extremes of brusqueness and niceness: you know, punch you in one scene then kiss you in the next, or in other words . . . ."

". . . 'runs hot and cold,' yeah, yeah, I get it." Leslie grimaced. "For the record, Leonard: No."

At the head of the table, Senator Thorpe rapped lightly on the wood with his knuckles. "People?" he said with deliberate patience. "Please?" He held up a sheaf of paper, then nodded to a suited aide, who began walking around the table handing copies out to everyone. "The contract that Ms. Locke and Dr. Rostenkowski-Wolowitz worked out last night should address most of the factors of concern. Dr. Kripke, Dr. Winkle, Mr. Bloom—" He nodded at Stuart, who was sitting at the other end of the table beside Raj and Lucy, looking bemused. "I expect you'll want a few minutes to review this before signing . . . ."

Stuart raised his hand diffidently. "Um—I don't appear to have actually got any, you know, actual powers," he said. "Does that make a diffierence? 'Cause, well, I'd still like to be part of this endeavour, if that's okay with everybody . . . ."

Leonard blinked at him, startled. "What? Really? Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I'd heard sometimes it takes a while for powers to show up," said Stuart, shrugging. "And, you know, I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself, 'cause usually that's . . . when I get asked to leave places, so . . . ." He shifted in his seat, studiously looking at nothing in particular.

Guilt gnawed at Leonard. He cleared his throat. "Well, you know, having somebody involved who isn't a meta might not be a bad idea," he suggested. "Somebody who can give an alternate perspective on things, somebody who knows all about the difficulties and responsibilities of handling power without having any of those burdens himself . . . ."

"Burdens," said Stuart. "Yeah. 'Cause, that's exactly how I'd thought of them . . . ."

"Shut up, I'm trying to help you here," Leonard muttered through clenched teeth.

"That's actually not a bad idea, Dr. Hofstadter," said Senator Thorpe. "In fact it's a sufficiently good idea that it already occurred to us. You do know that as part of the contract, your team is required to work on a daily basis with a government representative, correct?"

"What?!" Sheldon looked alarmed. "Bernadette, why didn't you tell me about this? You know I haven't had a chance to read the contract yet."

"I'm sorry," Bernadette grumbled. "I was a little distracted by Amy telling me about how you and she had sex last night."

"WHAT?!" The yell came simultaneously from Leonard, Penny, Howard, Stuart, Kripke, and Leslie, loud enough that the Secret Service agents all started and half of them drew their weapons. Thorpe physically jumped where he was standing, and even Director Belasco jerked a little in his seat. In her seat, Amy turned bright red and hunched down, but her mouth twitched as if she desperately wanted to smile.

Sheldon scowled. "I don't know why you're all so surprised. I'm perfectly capable of the functionality, and if I was going to participate in it with anybody, logic suggests it would be Amy."

"Well, yeah, of course, we know, but—but—" Penny gestured helplessly and ran out of words, her mouth working like a fish's. She shook her head, then grinned. "I honestly don't know if I wanna hug you both or pinch myself. Congratulations, Amy."

"You think that's a shock," said Lucy, "wait until he tells you about his dreams showing the end of the world." Then it was her turn to recoil into her chair as everybody but Raj, Amy and Sheldon stared at her. "Sorry. Uh, spoiler alert?" She smiled weakly.

Director Belasco cleared his throat. "I can't help but think we're getting a little off topic," he said. "Look, people, this is gonna be your corporation. You can decide who wants to join you, for whatever reason, it's not gonna affect your favoured-contractor status. It's not gonna get us to pay you more money either, though, so the more people who join the company the less each of you gets as a share. So your call, guys. Now can we get ink on paper, please?" He tapped the table impatiently.

"Though we will come back to this 'end of the world' business," Thorpe interjected.

"Just one question, Director," said Sheldon, his eyes narrowed. "You said we had to work with a government representative. Exactly who are we going to be working with? Not you, by any chance?"

"No, of course not," said Belasco. "I'm the Director for the agency, I'm not going to have time to do personal liaison duties. No, the paperwork for the transfer came through about an hour ago." He twisted to look over his shoulder and spoke to the agent standing by the door. "Gordon? You wanna send her in?"

Her? Leonard raised an eyebrow as the suited agent pushed the door open. A moment later, his eyebrows went up and his jaw dropped. Seated in a wheelchair, Angela Page rolled in, dressed in her working suit; her face was pale, and an IV rig carrying a blood bag trailed behind her, but her eyes were steady and bright. Staring at her, Raj gulped and shrank back as if recoiling from a furnace door that had suddenly sprung open to emit scorching heat.

Howard groaned and put his hand to his brow. "Oh, no," he muttered.

"Agent Page!" Leonard began to get up, extending his hand, but froze at the cold look in her eyes. Carefully, he sat back down. "Um, thank you for agreeing to help us make this work . . . ."

"Dr. Hofstadter, let me make one thing perfectly clear," said Page. "I'm not here to be your friend, or anybody's friend. I'm here to make sure the company you're forming complies with the law, and that you and your colleagues uphold the standards that metahumans are going to have to maintain in public. Given what happened to me two days ago—and the fact that I still can't recall those events, and had to figure out some of it through a medical exam—my sympathy for metahumans in general is at an extreme low." She glared around the table at all of them. "So since my good reports to Director Belasco will be critical to your continued independence, not to say freedom in general, I strongly suggest to all of you that you stop trying to ingratiate yourself with me and just concentrate on being the so-called 'heroes' we're giving you the chance to be. Am I clear?"

Leonard swallowed. "Uh, yes, yes. Crystal. So, uh . . . I take it you don't want to come to the wedding, afterwards." He gestured between himself and Penny.

Page blinked and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What? No, of course I do. As your company's government liaison I have to confirm changes to your legal marital status." She suddenly grinned; the expression would have made her look beautiful if it hadn't been so at odds with her cold-eyed deadpan of only a moment ago. "Besides, I love weddings."

"Oh . . . kay," said Leonard, for lack of anything else coming to mind. He glanced down at the copy of the incorporation contract and flipped quickly through it, then went back to the first page. "We don't have a formal name for the incorporated group?"

"Breanna said it was quicker and more secure just to have a number," said Bernadette.

"Plus, most of the good team names are already copyrighted," Howard said. "The Avengers, the X-Men, the Justice League, the Squadron Supreme, Suicide Squad—and we can't call ourselves the Fantastic Four when there are at least eleven of us including Stuart . . . ."

"We could call ourselves the Excellent Eleven," Raj suggested. "Oooh—or the Winning Craps Roll!"

"Well, as I've observed before, the X in 'X-Men' stood for Professor Charles Xavier, their leader," said Sheldon. "As I'm clearly going to be one of our leaders, if not the leader, I still think that 'C-Men' would be a great name for our team."

"Okay, first, no, it would not," said Leonard immediately. "And second, who said you were going to be any kind of leader? The whole point of this is that we'll all be working together, and—" Page cleared her throat loudly with a significant look. Leonard cut himself off, took a breath, and resumed more calmly. "Look, most of us are scientists. Why don't we call ourselves after a scientific theory? 'E=MC2', or something like that?"

Sheldon tilted his head, looking thoughtful. "'The Heliocentrists' has a certain ring to it," he admitted.

Raj shook his head. "No, no, trust me, I've graded enough astronomy undergraduate papers to know the press will never spell that right. I say we call ourselves The Quantum Mechanics."

Howard grimaced. "Sounds more like a rock band than a superhero team. Besides, everybody and their grandmother is calling stuff 'quantum' these days."

"Hey, I got an idea," said Kripke. "Given all the action we'h gonna get offuhd by hot gwoupies once we go pubwic, why don't we pick a name that weawwy bwings that home? Call us 'The Big Bang Theowy'." He folded his arms and grinned.

The rest of the group exchanged glances, then said in one simultaneous voice, "No."

U.S. BANK TOWER, 633 WEST FIFTH STREET, LOS ANGELES, CA

12:01 P.M.

"No," said everybody at once. Emily felt an odd twinge in her heart, half laughter, half sorrow. She had never liked Raj's friends as much as he'd wanted her to, and was still infuriated with Raj himself—she carefully kept herself from thinking about what the persistence of that anger might indicate—but she did miss, at times, the way they could pull off mind-meld gags like this. It was ironic, really, considering that she was the one doing an actual mind-meld at the moment.

Through Angela Page's eyes and ears, everything had an odd remoteness to it, a feeling like she was watching everything with a quarter-second delay that she couldn't quite catch in action; every voice seemed to have the faintest subliminal echo, and to be muted just slightly from what ought to be its normal volume. Hal had told Emily that she would be able to take complete remote possession of someone's mind, eventually, and even leave preprogrammed courses of action to be implemented later upon trigger command, but those needed more time and skill to prepare than she'd had for Page. "You could try to take over by brute force now," he'd said, "but she would fight that, and it would be obvious to everyone around her. What you've done already is more than enough to let you look in and listen, any time you want, without betraying yourself. And I often find that's more useful anyways."

She was already convinced that he was right. He'd been right, too, that daylight didn't have to be a problem so long as they were carefully sheltered; the apartment she sat in now, halfway up the Bank Tower building, was like any luxury suite, the one exception being rubber-sealed steel shutters so no trace of sunlight could spill in. A certain leaden fatigue was still present, and currently amplified by psychic feedback from Page's own weakened condition, but a few minutes of focused concentration during and after sunrise had shown her that she didn't have to pass out. "We don't generally deal with people who've figured out what we are any more," he'd admitted. "But on the rare occasions we do, being able to exert influence exactly when they don't expect us to has been a lifesaver, more than once."

Hal sat across from her now, perched on the edge of a mahogany coffee table, elbows on his knees and fingers tented together at his mouth. Emily was aware of him, somehow, even with her eyes closed to more clearly see what Page was seeing. "They're still arguing over names," she reported, her voice sounding vague and distant to her own ears, as if she was sleepwalking. "Page is losing her patience again. Should I nudge her into saying something?"

"No," said Hal immediately. "This is the first chance we've had to get an agent close to Thorpe and Belasco in years. I don't want to risk betraying it by making her act more out of character than she already is. Too many times, even the subtlest programming leaves marks that can be spotted." He scowled. "I've already wasted Sergeant Abrams to no good end. By the time his unit's psychiatric counsellors get through with him he'll be suspended for months, if not altogether fired."

"Oh." Emily held up her hand. "It looks like they're finally signing the papers. Maybe they are just going with the corporation number after all." Everybody had been given a pen and was flipping through sheet after sheet in the contract, initialing or scribbling as appropriate. "Let me see if I can get Page to look more closely at the corporation number—I . . . ."

She trailed off. Raj had glanced at Page earlier as if sensing something strange, but she thought she'd scared him off with that blast of hostile anger, a reaction that had been almost entirely Page's own. What she hadn't expected was the narrow-eyed look that—who was this guy again? He ran the comic book store: Stuart, right—that Stuart was giving Page now. Had he noticed something suspicious? No, he couldn't have; he'd never met Page, and he'd said himself he didn't have any powers yet—

—hello whoever you are— came the thought, like a needle of ice piercing Emily's brain, so fine and sharp it didn't even hurt. She gasped. Stuart's mouth twitched, and his eyes stayed steady on hers/Page's, betraying absolutely no surprise. —if you're worried i'll tell somebody, don't—i have some secrets of my own, and i don't mind keeping yours if you'll keep mine—

Tentatively, she formed a reply in the back of Page's mind, making it sound like half-remembered lines from a Shakespeare play Page had seen once. When then shall we meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

—later— came the reply. —i can tell you already know my name—i can feel it—when you're ready, you can find me—but no surprises—i'll know you're coming—

Emily's mouth firmed. She chose lyrics now, remembering Harry Belafonte's rich voice, so Page would still think this was just an earworm if she noticed. Do you know who I am? Do I know who you are? See we one another clearly, do we know who we are? She was aware that Hal was staring intently at her, obviously aware something was up but not knowing what.

—we will— was all the reply she got. In words. In the next second, Stuart's eyes abruptly widened in an intense glare, and an impact like a hard punch to her face knocked her backwards and sent her reeling. She opened her eyes, gasping in shock, her link to Page completely lost.

Hal sat up in alarm. "Emily?" he asked. "Are you all right?" Concern roughened his voice and thickened his accent; my native Welsh, he'd said, but she was too stunned to care at the moment.

"That was . . . unexpected," she finally stammered.

"Was it your ex?" Hal put his hand on hers. "I warned you he might be more sensitive to you specifically. Those kinds of talents are affected by personal connections."

"No." Emily shook her head. "No. It was . . . somebody else. A friend of theirs. Or at least, they think he's a friend, he may be . . . much less of one than they realize. Which doesn't mean he'll be our friend. But—" She met Hal's eyes. "But it might be another opportunity. Maybe one I could pursue for you. So I can prove my value to the group."

Hal took her other hand and put it in his, so he was holding both of her hands. "You're already valuable to us, Emily, just by being who you are." He paused a moment, then nodded slowly. "But the world has changed around us, even more than we're used to it doing. Finding our own answers never hurts. Now. I'll bet you're hungry, aren't you?"

"Hungry? No, I—" But apparently her system had only been waiting for her to think about it, because the moment she said No her stomach growled loudly. Hal laughed, and she cringed a little. He got up, went to the intercom by the door, punched a code, muttered quiet words into it, then turned back to her. "You've picked things up amazingly quickly, for a stranger to our situation," he said. "But this is still something that needs monitoring, until we know we can trust you. So I'll just stick around, shall I?"

You can stick around forever if you like, Emily thought, though she kept that impulse firmly under wraps. What her body wanted and what her head thought was a good idea weren't agreeing at the moment. She only nodded. Within minutes, the door had buzzed, and Hal opened the door to let the visitor in: a tall young man, brown-haired and green-eyed, his smile dim and unfocused as if he wasn't really sure where he was or why he was here. Hal rubbed his hands. "Perfect! They sent him pre-conditioned for us. Oh, I do love the room service here."

Emily tuned out the blather. She must have expended more energy than she'd thought; her hunger had spiraled all the way up from mild twinge to fiercely aching cramp within thirty seconds. She stood, hurried to the young man, and bent to put her mouth against his neck, using her tongue to find the beat of his artery. It still helped if she didn't think about this part of it too much—

Liquid fire flooded her mouth in a gush, torrented down her throat, and exploded in her stomach into a supernova of bliss and relief. Emily let herself vanish into the thick boiling heat of utter, gluttonous satisfaction. Everything in her mind disappeared.