The trip to the hardware store had been fun and somewhat informative, but I was really looking forward to actually being a Ward tonight. I just had to muster up the strength to talk to dad. I had absorbed all the tools we had bought individually and then, upon realizing that I had a thin plastic case that had been masquerading as a toolbox that I wasn't sure what to do with, I decided to bag that too. I could recall each thing I had in my inventory without any difficulty, so I was pretty sure it was a part of my power to be able to form a sort of mental list of what I had in there. That was a good thing, because without that ability, it would be getting a bit cluttered. The last thing I needed was to absorb something large and then forget what I had absorbed, effectively lowering my capacity until I could remember.

Not that my capacity was really much reduced. In fact, although I knew from a rather painful experience that I couldn't bag a car (which hadn't surprised me at the time), I was pretty sure that it wasn't a limitation of my capacity, just one of my...absorption? Sure, lets go with absorption. I had tried bagging my giant stuffed rabbit the night before. It was probably at least as large as I was (I was taller, it was a fair amount more wide), but not nearly as heavy, and it wasn't too much of a problem. I was beginning to suspect that the limit of what I could bag was based on its mass more than its volume. I could probably bag car-shaped styrofoam all day, but actual cars were a different story altogether.

As I left the elevator, I turned to watch its doors close on uncle Jason as it took him the remaining two flights to his home. I trudged the hallway to my father's and my apartment. I just had to remember the prize. I would be in the Wards in a few hours, as long as I could have a simple talk with dad. I stood out side our door, hesitating to open it. It wasn't that I didn't want him knowing, per se, it was simply that I didn't think he would take it very well. I didn't want him worrying about me. He had only just recovered from my escapade on Tuesday; I didn't want to give him another reason to succumb to the darkness.

I heard a door unlocking from the inside down the hallway, and quickly snatched my key out of my pocket. I certainly didn't want a neighbor wondering why I was standing out in the hallway staring at our door. Turning the key in the lock, I pushed into the apartment.

Inside, the living room and kitchen were dark with the only muted light coming in between the shades from the window. That was a bad sign. Hopefully he wasn't in a bad mood already. "Dad?" I said tentatively. If he were all the way back in his room he almost certainly wouldn't have heard me.

"Honey, you're back!" he called from just around the wall to the kitchen. His voice sounded like he was forcing as much cheer into it as he could muster. Okay, another bad sign. At least the fact that he was around and talking meant that he wasn't in terrible shape. Wheeling himself from the kitchen, he came to give me a hug. I saw that his eyes were swollen and red, but I returned the hug gratefully.

"Hey dad." I said, "How was your day?"

"Oh, you know." He said, forcing a smile to his face. "I was trying to find something that I could make for dinner, but I couldn't find anything. I'm sorry honey. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to make dinner for you. Wanted to make you something you'd enjoy and I'm just so...useless."

I started to respond, not really sure what exactly I was going to say, "Dad..."

He began to weep, fat tears sliding down his face. "I'm sorry. I know you don't deserve this. I'm sorry."

"Hey, how about we make dinner together?" I said, the idea just coming to me. It was a way to spend some time monitoring how he was feeling while maybe cheering him up. Also, at some point we needed to make some dinner. When he nodded his acknowledgement, I made my way into the kitchen. I said, "You're not useless, dad. Just because you need me to reach the top shelf doesn't make you useless." The joke didn't really get a chuckle.

Looking through the pantry and the fridge, I quickly realized what part of the problem was. We really needed to do some grocery shopping. The only meat left in the house was a half-eaten box of fish-sticks in the freezer, and all our fresh vegetables had either been eaten or had already wilted. Fortunately, we had an array of canned beans to choose from instead for protein, and a few cans of various veggies, and so I put a pan onto the oven's spiral burner and surveyed my options. "Hey dad," I began, putting some false cheer into my voice. If I could pretend that all was well, then sometimes if he could bring himself to forget about the problems and our pretending would become reality. "Wanna' get me some beans and some rice? And can you open the can of beans, please?"

He was slow to wheel himself into the kitchen, but he complied with my requests, working silently. As he did that, I filled a pot with hot water and set it on another burner to boil. The idea for the concoction I was preparing to make cementing in my mind (hopefully it was any good), I continued "Oh, and you could open some peas and some corn, too." By then I heard the whirring and grinding noises of our can-opener, and shortly he had handed me a can of beans, which I then unceremoniously dumped into the waiting saucepan.

"Oh, now you tell me about the peas and corn. You could have told me while I was already rooting through the pantry, but no! You wait until I'm done over there just to cause your poor ol' dad more pain and hardship." Snark? Snark was a good sign. Surprised, I glanced toward him and he allowed a small smile to touch his lips. There he was. He made his way back to the pantry, grumbling playfully all the way, and rooted around for more cans.

As we made dinner, we discussed trivial things and just passed the time in conversation, enjoying one another's company. I could still see the pain or sorrow or whatever it was lurking underneath, but today he was able to suppress it enough to let me have my dad. When the rice was done, I dished up heaping servings for both of us, and we made our way to the table to eat.

Sitting down, I took a solitary bite before mustering the courage to say what was on my mind. "So dad..." I began, but as he looked up from his plate I immediately aborted. "Uh, how do you like dinner?"

He raised his eyebrows, obviously not fully convinced. Fortunately, he was willing to play along. "Well. It's pretty good I guess." He hedged, unwilling to commit to a single answer.

Snorting, I nodded "Yeah, I think it needs cheese, too." And it really did. I bounced out of my chair to the refrigerator and retrieved a half-empty bag of shredded marble cheddar. Once I added the cheese, it was pretty edible. Certainly not the best thing I had ever made, but edible.

After the cheese, another minute passed in silence as we ate. Ugh, why did I have to ask permission? Okay, I just needed to say it. Rip it off like a band-aid. Okay, I was going to do it. I took a deep breath...and exhaled. After closing my eyes for a moment, I was just getting ready to open my mouth when I was interrupted.

"Whachya' thinkin' 'bout, honey?" Dad asked. "There's obviously something on your mind."

Well crap. Now I had to say it. This was the time. "Well, dad. There's something that I've been wanting to tell you, but I could never find the right time. So I want to tell you now, but I don't want you to get worried or anything about it." I said, staring at my half-eaten food. I almost brought up uncle Jason being Myrddin. Almost. But then I realized that it was his secret to tell, not mine. So great, now I didn't even get to reassure dad that I would have somebody looking out for me. Looking up, I could see the tension building behind his eyes. I had to tell him now. Not telling him would just get him more worked up before I did.

"Dad, I'm a cape. I have powers." I finally expelled. I watched him, and he was just sitting there. Looking at me. Finally raising my hand, I made a screwdriver appear resting on my palm.

Dad began to quiver and the tears came back full force, streaming down his eyes. "No. No, no no no no. Honey, no. Please." He begged. "It can't be. You can't have powers. Don't, please."

What? I was dumbstruck. This was an even more severe and sudden reaction than I was expecting. He continued his babbling "Please no. She...you...she can't have powers. Don't do this! Please don't do this! You can't do this to me!" His voice was escalating sharply, so that by the end of all of this he was almost yelling.

I grabbed his shoulders. If he was yelling like this the neighbors could hear. If they complained to the right people and he didn't settle down, the PRT could come for Simurgh quarantine measures. "Shh! Dad, you gotta' be quiet!" I said, holding onto his shoulders and forcing him to look at me. When he continued, I spoke a bit louder, trying to snap him out of it. "Dad!"

Finally he quieted, although the occasional whimper still escaped as he rocked himself back and fourth in his wheelchair. "Okay dad," I said, "What's wrong with me having powers?"

Still rocking, his head rose until he could meet my eyes. "Don't use them. You can't use your powers, honey. You can't! You know what She does."

A dawning horror began to tighten my gut and make my heart suddenly thud in my chest. "She? Dad. Why would She have anything to do with me? I wasn't in London, remember?" I asked, already fearing the answer.

With a quivering breath, he began to explain. "When they made us do our counseling we told them at first. They were going to take you away from us and we realized we had already told them too much and there was nothing we could do! But then, all four of our counselors died when the temporary holding building went up in flames, and their notes went with them! They never told anyone, and so we had a second chance! Your mother and I, we couldn't let them take you away from us. So we made up a few things so that we could keep you."

No. I wasn't even sure what was happening, but I knew I didn't want to hear. Almost, I fled. Maybe to uncle Jason, maybe to my room. Whatever it was I didn't want to hear it. Instead, somehow an insubordinate minority seemed to take control of my mouth and ask "Dad, what do you mean? What did you make up to keep me?"

"Honey. We just love you so much, and we knew you would never do anything bad. The S...that...that flying bitch screams and makes you see things. Visions. The experts say that's how she controls people. Those visions. We didn't want them to take you away, so we couldn't tell them, don't you see? You're mother and I had to lie to them! We couldn't tell them that the only visions she made either of us see were visions of you."