Chapter Ten: The Most Amazing Things

"What's with the mask?"

Five-year-old Pete giggled at the movie's running gag. His parents, on either side of him on the living room couch, were not so amused by The Lone Ranger's joke. (Vince was uncomfortably reminded of how people tended to mock his alter ego's name. It happened less frequently as the years had gone by, but it still happened from time to time.)

And it got worse. Vince thought that watching the movie would be fun, but some of the lines hit a little too close to home. The whole idea of a man having to pretend to be dead and to hide his face stirred up bad memories. His husband must have seen his eyes moisten because he reached an arm around their son to rest his hand on Vince's shoulder.

"Vince," Peter said, commanding the younger man to look at him, and Vince knew what Fleming was silently trying to communicate: I'm sorry for what I put you through.

Fleming knew he couldn't apologize enough. When he had framed Vince*, all those years ago, he hadn't considered what he was doing—well, he had thought about how it would benefit him, but he hadn't thought about the consequences the Faradays would face, hadn't given a damn about their suffering.

He had tried to picture it since then. Maybe he did have some idea of what they had gone through; he had, after all, lost his wife and his daughter had renounced him and disappeared. But then he would forget about what he had done. He would immerse himself in the present, with his family, together and happy and it was nigh on impossible to reconcile the present with what he had done to Vince. If he dwelled on it, he would be perpetually worried that Vince would divorce him and leave (or try to).

Maybe Vince did his best to forget the past, too. It would explain why he voluntarily stayed so long.

Vince took a deep breath, not taking his eyes from Peter's, and silently sent a message back. I'm alright now. I forgive you. I'm not going anywhere.

They turned their attention back to the movie and somehow managed to enjoy it. Then Vince frowned at the screen.

"Peter, doesn't that guy kind of look like you?"**

It was Chess that turned back to Vince, looking appalled at the suggestion that he resembled the bedraggled minor character.

"He bloody does not, Faraday; that isn't funny."

Vince's eyes widened. He had recognized the change and realized that this was the first time Chess had taken control around Pete. Dimly, he acknowledged he should feel frightened that the monster was showing himself around his child, but he didn't. He knew instinctually that Pete would be safe with him—and so would he.

Just as he was about to greet the man, the movie was interrupted by a commercial break. Vince's mouth dropped open as the preview for the upcoming movie, The Cape, began. He was riveted. He grinned as the ad came to an end and faced his husband, who was scowling.

"What's wrong?" Vince asked.

"Didn't you notice? There was a distinct lack of yours truly in the preview," Chess glared at the television set.

"I think that's because you weren't a character in the comics," Vince said gently.

"So what?"

Vince sighed, accepting that he wouldn't be able to explain this to the other man's satisfaction. As far as Chess was concerned, he was being slighted.

"Never mind, just…don't kill anyone for this, okay?"

"…What if I just—?"

"No."

"You didn't let me finish."

"Doesn't matter; the answer's still 'no.'"

~TC~

The 4th of July found them watching fireworks on T.V. They could have gone to see them in person—these fireworks were not being broadcast from New York or Boston or D.C., they were being set off by Palm City's shoreline, but it seemed more convenient to enjoy them in the privacy of their home, without getting swarmed by the crowds.

Well, Vince was enjoying them, anyway.

"Would you mind not encouraging our son to believe that the U.S. is vastly superior to England?" Peter asked.

"Guess Independence Day isn't your favorite holiday, huh?" Vince mused.

"No kidding," the Brit scoffed. "Why would I want to honor some deceased imbeciles who thought it would be prudent to throw away tea?"

"In all these years, I've never seen you drink tea…"

"Irrelevant," Peter shook his head. "And how would you like it if the British commemorated the day by celebrating the fact that we were no longer saddled with the Americans?"

"Okay, you know what I don't get?" Vince asked, turning away from the television to face his husband. "If you despise this holiday so much, why did you pay for the fireworks?"

"Because advertising doesn't get any better than ARK Corp. Fireworks," Peter grinned. "Am I right, son?" he asked, turning to the little one.

Pete Junior didn't answer, too busy being enthralled by the spectacle on screen—explosions in all the colors of the rainbow, glittering in the night sky. Here was proof that magic wasn't confined to those fairytales Elaine liked so much; magic was real.

Fireworks were awesome. He had only been half-listening to what his parents were saying, but something stood out.

"You paid for the fireworks, Papa?" Pete asked, his voice full of awe.

"I did," Peter replied, not bothering to distinguish that it was the corporation funding the event and that he didn't actually own 100% of the company. It didn't make much difference to him and it certainly wouldn't make any difference to the child.

"Great; now you're going to be the 'cool parent,'" Vince groaned.

~TC~

Jack Kirchner fought back a grimace.

He had arrived at Owl Island Penitentiary to visit with some of his clients. Naturally, this required going through security first.

But why, why did his wife's ex-husband have to be the one on duty? This never happened at the ARK Detention Facility.

"Hello, Vince."

"Jack," Vince nodded back.

"Aren't you usually patrolling the cells?" Jack asked. He mentally chastised himself for the remark. He did not need to antagonize the man.

"Most of the time, yes," Faraday replied, quite unruffled. "I'm filling in for someone today. It happens from time to time."

Alright, so Faraday seemed to be decent enough. But still, he was Dana's ex-husband! There was no way dealing with the man couldn't be awkward.

He didn't seem to resent Jack, though. And he had moved on in his life, as evidenced by him getting remarried and having another child. So ostensibly he wasn't pining after Dana, but could you ever be certain of that?

"Do you have anything in your pockets?" Vince asked, breaking Jack from his thoughts.

"Uh," Jack had removed everything that would set off the metal detector he was about to go through. And he had put into his locker anything he wouldn't expect to get past security (such as his bag and his wallet). But his pants pockets might not be 100% empty. He reached inside and came up with a handkerchief and, at Faraday's direction, laid it with his papers by the X-ray machine. (Who the hell cared if he had a handkerchief in his pocket? It wasn't like it was a vital part of some intricate plot to sneak one of his clients out of prison... He supposed he could amuse himself trying to come up with such a hypothetical plot if he got stuck waiting awhile for a visitor's room, again. Damn them for not allowing him to take any books or magazines to read while they kept him waiting.)

That accomplished, he was waved through the metal detector. Success; he hadn't set it off this time. There had once been some trial and error as he learned which articles of clothing, i.e. belts and, for some reason, one particular pair of shoes, were apt to set the damn thing off. He learned quickly to avoid wearing them on days he expected to make the trip out here.

Jack turned to pick up his things.

"Hold out your left hand," Faraday instructed him. He had almost forgotten about the hand stamp (in invisible ink only legible under U.V. light). Jack tensed, half-afraid that the guard would slam the stamp down with enough force to crush his hand… but he didn't.

Vince raised an eyebrow, wondering why Kirchner was acting so skittish.

"Okay, you can sign in now."

"Right," Jack nodded, heading towards the book and digging his clients' registration numbers out of his folder. Vince had said he worked this post from time to time, oh lord, did Dana run into him, too? Don't think about that now. "So, uh, you hear from Trip lately? How's college going for him?"

"Not too shabby. Although he could be doing better in math…"

~TC~

"Aren't you going to check that?" Gerry Blander asked his roommate. Trip's phone had chimed with a text alert.

"Where is it?" Trip asked.

The Palm City University dorm room was typical of those shared by two teenage males—a complete and utter mess, which was probably in violation of the health code. The phone was just peeking out from where it was sandwiched between a pile of textbooks and a half-empty pizza box on the dorm's table.

"Here," Gerry, who was closer, picked the phone up and started to hand it to his roomie, but what he saw on the screen made him freeze. "Trip," Gerry said slowly, "why would you get a text saying 'Orwell's in the hospital. Come now'?"

"Ugh," Trip groaned. Maybe if he could just ignore the text…They couldn't really expect him to drop everything and dash out just because Jamie had gone into labor, could they? He'd been hoping to see if Allison had any plans for the evening.

The phone chimed again. Both teens glanced at it.

Trip, you are NOT missing the birth of your niece/nephew. Get down here!

"I wouldn't be the uncle, I would be the step-uncle, if that's even a word," the sociology student mumbled. He glanced up at the IT major's stunned face.

The two former neighbors had been best friends since the night they'd shared a carton of ice cream during a blackout, back before high school, before their voices had dropped or their growth spurts had hit. They'd bonded back when their classmates had thought them everything from 'weird' to 'delusional' and had been through a lot since then. And Trip had hidden a secret of this magnitude from him?

"Your stepsister is Orwell?!"

"I don't know why we still call her that; she hasn't posted to that blog since what, before Pete was born? Look, it's not that big a deal," Trip shrugged. For all of her talents, Jamie had never really impressed him.

"'Not that big a deal,'" Gerry repeated, dumbfounded. Trip was on a first-name basis with possibly the greatest hacker of all time and he thought it wasn't a big deal. Well, at least Gerry could forgive him for neglecting to mention that "little" detail.

"Anyway," Trip went on, "apparently I have to go down to the hospital now, so…"

"I'll give you a ride," Gerry offered.

"Thanks, man," Trip said, following Gerry out of the dorm and towards the parking lot.

"No problem," Gerry replied. After he slid behind the wheel and they were both buckled up, he asked, "Did you ever confront your father about him being the Cape?"

Trip nearly gave himself whiplash as he turned to his friend.

"How did you…?"

"Dude, I was the one that set up that surveillance camera, remember?" Blander asked as he drove.

Gerry got his friend to the hospital in plenty of time for Trip to welcome his nephew, John Rollo Fleming, to the world.

*There was only so much blame he could place on Chess. Peter, after all, had come up with the plan to fake Chess' death (partly in the vain hope that Chess would magically disappear).

**No, he does not. People need to stop wasting Cape actors in cameos that are so small you can't even recognize them. As it is, if IronAmerica hadn't informed me about it after I'd seen the movie, I would still have no idea that James Frain was remotely involved.

Author's Note: Chapter title from Fun's "Some Nights."

Thanks to IronAmerica for reviewing (and, i.e., looking up Gerry's name for me)!

Hey, look, the fic is more than a year old.

That's chapter ten. Some time ago, I vowed that this fic would have thirteen chapters, one for each of the thirteen episodes we were originally promised. As you may have surmised, I am running out of ideas. So I am asking you to help me fulfill my goal. If you have any suggestions for the fic, please let me know.

And please drop by The Cape Meme on LJ. So far we've only had prompts from myself and one other brave individual and zero fills. I know we can do better than that.