The Incredibles

All's Fair in Love and Glory

Chapter Eight: Mistakes

Dash found himself thinking that coming to school had been a mistake.

He sat dejectedly at his desk while the teacher read her newspaper and the other students worked quietly on their little projects. Some of the other boys were fooling around with the glue sticks in the back of the classroom, but for the most part, the room was silent, and the teacher remained immersed in her reading material. Dash respected her for this – being the worst disciplinarian in the history of elementary school teachers. She was a heck of a lot better than Mr. Bernie Kropp. She didn't even look up as he casually slid his pencil over to the edge of his desk and let it fall.

"Oops," he said loudly.

He looked over at Carissa, seated next to him and still working studiously on her project. And definitely not looking down to pick up his pencil for him.

Sighing, he realized his ploy to get her attention had been just another failure. Ever since Carissa had crawled under the clothing rack with him that day at the department store, she'd had his full attention. And he had none of hers.

Now he found himself in between many feelings – anger, sadness, loss of self-worth… just because of a girl.

Reluctantly, he leaned down to retrieve the pencil. Then he dropped it again, so he wouldn't be the only thing in the room who felt like they were on the floor.

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Bob had gotten home, and nobody was there.

He dashed to Helen's familiar bulletin board – the place where she always posted notes and reminders for him – to find it empty. Worried, he checked their closet, and found, to his dismay, a large suitcase was gone.

Helen had left him.

A thousand thoughts swarmed through his mind – Did she think he had been with Mirage? Why did she just leave now? Is she going to stay away? Is she going to raise our baby alone? Is this separation… for good?

He sat down and put his head in his hands and began to cry. All his energy had seemingly drained away. He just needed one more chance…

Then, he looked up, suddenly enlightened. He knew where Helen was. And he was going to go get her.

Grabbing his gifts, he hopped into the – remaining – car and began to drive towards the Truax house.

Helen didn't see her old mother much, but in times of crisis he knew that's where his wife would go. The Truax women had never been that close, and ever since Helen and Bob had been married the yearly visits had been few and far between – even when the kids came. Bob's mother in law did not particularly care for children, and she did not care at all for her son in law. So, with a heavy heart and shaking hands, he journeyed to enemy territory.

When he came to the right address – only a half hour away – Bob leapt out and threw open the door to the house.

"Helen! I'm so sorry about what happened. I don't deserve—"

"What are you doing here?" Mother Truax interrupted, fixing a steely glare upon him.

He ignored her and went for his wife, sitting in the next chair. He scooped her up in his strong arms and held tight even while she struggled, so he could kiss her and apologize. Still, as he leaned down, Helen wrenched away.

"Don't touch me, Bob. I'm tired of your fits of passion," Helen scolded.

Confused, he let his wife slump back into the couch.

"This isn't a fit, honey. I came to apologize. I'll change, I swear…"

"Like you did last time?" Helen asked quietly. She looked away.

"Helen," Bob pleaded, taking her hands, "please forgive me. I just… I just wanted to be able to support my family. I-I can't find anything else."

Helen did not reply, and he could fee her mother's eyes on his back.

"I need you," he whispered. "I love you, and I love this baby—"

"What?" Helen burst out. "What gave you the idea that I was pregnant?! I'm forty! I'm old!"

"No," Bob said quickly, trying to redeem himself. "You're not, honey. I saw a lady on a magazine cover who had quadruplets, and she was—"

"That was the National Enquirer, Bob. But thanks for trying," she murmured. "You do have a good eye for noticing that I was acting differently, but I am definitely not pregnant." She looked down.

"What is it?" he said, softly.

"She's going through the change, you idiot," Mother Truax spat, her words smacking him like the back of a pan. All the breath left his lungs. So, that explained everything, then.

"Oh, Helen. I'm sorry. I wouldn't know—." He picked her up again, and this time, she let him.
"Of course you wouldn't," Helen said, into his shoulder. "You're a man. She looped her arms around his neck, a sheepish smile on her face. "I didn't expect you to come, and I really didn't expect you to apologize like this. But honey, I don't know. There's a pattern that's developing…"

"But, it always ends, right?"

Helen let go and slid out of his arms. "I'm not sure, Bob," she said quietly, turning around and crossing her arms. "But the kids are probably at home wondering—"

"Kids? Nobody was home when I—"

"What? They weren't there?"

"C'mon. Let's go," he urged, grabbing her arm and taking her to the car. He punched it and they peeled out.

Mother Truax looked at Helen's abandoned suitcase in disdain.

"Someday, I'll…"

And then she fell asleep.

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The schools' bells rang, and Dash and Violet ran to meet up between the two.

"We'd better get home before Jack-Jack destroys the house," Vi suggested. "So, how was your day?"

"Awful. Yours?"

"Same."

As the two zoomed home, both were silent.

"Got a key?" Dash asked, as he slowed to a stop.

"Yep."

They entered the house, relieved to find it in one piece. Jack-Jack was sitting on the floor, asleep. Violet knelt down to wake him, and their parents burst through the door.

"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," Dash said innocently. "You guys are home early."

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Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Piiiiing…

Mirage blinked, wondering where the sound was coming from. The room was dark, and she realized a cloth was covering her eyes. As she reached to take it off, pain flamed through her body, and she cringed.

"Oh good. You're awake," a deep voice said.

"Wh…what?"

Mirage licked her dried lips. Her whole body felt tender and detached. It hurt to talk.

"Sh-shh. Don't hurt yourself," the voice said. "My name is Dr. Bocci."

"No," she croaked. "I—"

A fit of coughing racked her body, and she was overcome by a tortuous ache.

"I warned you," the man said. It was rather unnerving to Mirage that the tone of his voice did not change, no matter what he said. She lay still and hoped that the pain would subside. She was blind, mute, paralyzed… and, as Dr. Bocci continued to talk, she wished that she might as well be deaf.

"The witnesses say that a bomb detonated in your building, throwing you against a wall and causing part of the wing you were in to collapse." He paused. "You are very, very llucky to be alive. Now, as you can see here… Oh, wait. You can't see. Do you want me to take that cloth off?" He paused again. "Oh. Right. You can't respond to that – you can't speak. Now that just won't do." He kept going, and Mirage decided to ignore him. "I'll be back later," he said finally.

"Wait," Mirage managed. "Why?"

She heard the man sigh.

"I already told you this. You have severe burns on your hands and feet, and some minor ones on your face. Which is why the cloth's there. You inhaled a lot of smoke… which explains your throat. You are also covered in bruises and scrapes from the explosion – that's the soreness. But don't worry, you should be completely healed in a few days with our aggressive regimen."

"No," Mirage whispered weakly. "My—"

"You'll be fine," the man said, starting to sound annoyed at her inability to complete a sentence. "I'll be back to check on you later."

"—baby," Mirage coughed. She rolled her eyes. What was this? Some kind of hostage center? Who had bombed her, and why was she being treated so badly?

Remembering the laugh, Mirage tensed. Beneath the towel, her eyes flashed. She sat up, crying out in pain. The cloth fell away from her face and she saw her reflection in the mirror her. Her face was swollen and the skin was peeling in places. Very slowly, she turned her head to gaze at the strange room. Then she took a breath, steadied herself, and stood. Her feet protested, but she began to walk – slowly – out into the hall. She padded to a table and lifted the glass of water there to her lips. The water soothed her parched throat.

Now in what appeared to be some sort of lobby, she looked around. The architecture and décor looked vaguely familiar.

And then she saw him.