To See

Wednesday, August 14, 5:15 A.M.

Kitten-One knew bad things were happening. Her father was worried, snapping at his scientists. It worried the girl. When her father was angry, people went away and never came back. He had gotten angry with Three, and then Three had gone away and never come back. He had gotten angry with the other sisters, and Kitten-One knew she would never see them again.

She climbed up on the reading chair, sitting just under the window, and put her hands on the glass. Her room was on the high floor, the third floor. Her window looked out on the street, and she could see everything.

There was a flash of white down by the corner. Kitten-One craned her neck, trying to see it better. Another flash of white, closer this time, and she knew. Four. Little-big sister Four had come to get Kitten-One, to take her to the sisters.

Kitten-One curled her hands into fists, pressed them against the glass. If only she were strong like her sisters, or smart. Bigger, anyways.

Four was standing right under the window now, looking up and smiling. Kitten-One lifted one hand to wave back.

She could feel Four, like a hug from her sister. And directions. Four always knew what to do. Four and Three were the smartest of the sisters, even Seven and Eight thought so. But the sisters were gone, and Four was going to take Kitten-One to them.

Kitten-One slid the window open, biting her lip to keep quiet. It was hard. The window didn't want to move. When it was wide enough for her to get her shoulders through, she stopped pushing on it, and turned her attention to the screen.

Flimsy, she thought, pushing her hands against it. Was it Four thinking that about the screen? Or Kitten-One? Did it really matter?

Kitten-One turned to her bedside table, and picked up the lamp. It was heavy. Four's directions were clear though.

She dropped the lamp. It shattered, the ceramic turning into sharp pieces. Kitten-One picked up the biggest of the pieces, and carried it over to the chair. She used the piece to cut open the screen, and dropped the piece to the floor. She didn't need it now. She climbed up to perch on the window sill, and looked out.

Jump! Four urged, holding up her hands. I'll catch you!

Kitten-One laughed, and jumped.

Wednesday, August 14, 11:08 A.M.

"-and shove it up your ass sideways!"

Mewtwo didn't look up as Roberts and King dragged their madly howling suspect to an interview room. After a certain point, he theorized, a person could get used to anything. Even working among the more- colorful- characters that congregated in a police station.

Brenda was talking on the phone, while trying to write her reports one-handed. Mewtwo had the bulk of the paperwork, which was how he liked it. His 'voice' didn't carry over electronic equipment, after all.

The Detective nearly slammed the phone down, and turned in her seat to glare at Mewtwo. "Are all techs morons?" she asked.

"That depends entirely on your definition of moron," he replied, amused. "They do work with dangerous chemicals at times, and they do thwart you when you want speedy results, but 'morons' seems a bit strong…"

"Suicidal morons," Brenda said, completely ignoring him.

Mewtwo turned back to the paperwork with a sigh, more amused then frustrated. The phone rang on Brenda's desk, but it was a common enough sound. He was able to ignore it.

"Hades?" Brenda asked. Mewtwo looked up, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

"Okay, we'll be there." She put the phone down again, and frowned. "He just said there was something we needed to see about our case," she said.

"Then I suggest we go."

"Stop stating the obvious."

Wednesday, August 14, 11:30 A.M.

"I hate stairs," Brenda announced, shoving open the morgue door. "I really hate stairs. Why do we have them? Who- oh." She frowned at the body laid out on the table, and sighed. "Another one?" She glanced up at Ben. "Kind of young, isn't she?"

"Physically, yes," the coroner answered. "If my algorithms are correct, however, she was the first of the clones."

Brenda shook her head, and moved closer to the slab. Mewtwo hung back- well, she knew why. "First, huh?" She got a brooding look on her face, and scowled down at the dead girl. "Damn. What happened?"

"This is a preliminary examination, not official results," Ben warned, his eyes on the girl. "She jumped from a high place, and landed on her back. Moments later, her neck was snapped in the same manner as the others. The police on the scene found a window with a torn screen where the girl may have jumped, and no signs of forced entry to the home. All doors and windows remained locked."

"She's a clone," Brenda said, her voice flat. "Four got her."

Mewtwo edged closer, his eyes on the dead clone's face. "She's much younger looking then the others."

"Physically, I believe she would match a girl five years of age," Ben said. "Olivia and Nigel already coordinated full-body X-rays. This girl grew normally, I believe. All her bones are at the development stage I would project."

"Shit," Brenda muttered, and leaned close. Her fingers itched to smooth out the soft, blonde hair, so she stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets. "So her growth wasn't sped up, then?" She leaned back, and looked at Mewtwo. "What do you think?"

Mewtwo arched one eyebrow. "It would take scientists much longer then five years to figure out the secrets of cloning, but... yes, I think five years is long enough to find ways to keep their creations alive."

"I can't tell anything at all about the life spans of the other children." Looking at this girl, Ben could easily spread the title to all the clones. "With her age, I might be able to start guessing. She aged normally, and I haven't found significant modifications to musculature."

Brenda nodded. "So, they hadn't figured out the aging process yet," she summed up, and hissed. "Fucking bastards. Do you know the cops that found her?"

"Not personally, and they ran before I could get a good look at their badges. The names are on the paperwork, so I didn't bother chasing them down."

"Got a copy of the paperwork?" Why'd they run? Brenda couldn't understand her own co-workers, sometimes. "I think I'll have to take over the case. She's mine, now."

"They left that, at least. Rookie cops. Some idiot in dispatch sent out a pair of new officers for this case, so they had to bring in a five-year-old girl on their first visit to the morgue," Ben said, trying to keep his voice calm. He changed subjects. "If they'd been faster, they might have found your suspect. She was found in a driveway, where she had fallen."

"If it'll break them, then its better they leave now," Brenda replied, and took a deep breath. "Good thing they didn't catch her. I'd want fifty feet and a gun between me and Four. Want to borrow Rhonwen?"

Mewtwo stepped forward before Ben could reply, and gave the impression of clearing his throat. "Do you know why dispatch sent rookies out?" he asked. "Or were you concentrating on her? The First?"

"I don't know. I was transferred to Dallas when I called the station. I tried to explain that any case involving a clone should draw backup, and to suggest that rookie officers shouldn't have a dead juvenile as their first case. Anthropologically, it's one of the most upsetting things a person can see.

"He told me to go back to the dead bodies and stay out of his business."

Brenda's snarl was low and vicious. "I'll deal with him, and dispatch," she promised. "Sucks that it happened, but believe me. It won't happen again." She looked back down at the clone, and her expression softened. "Ben? How do you take control over bodies, when you know there's no one to claim them? They deserve a proper burial."

"There's a fund in the city coffers to supply burials and tombstones. You can't take custody of bodies unless you prove relation, technically, but that office is under funded. Anyone that chips in for the grave and headstone, and who treats the victim with respect, will be welcomed."

Brenda nodded, and shrugged one shoulder at Mewtwo. "Thanks. Smith, let's go. Have your report ready by end of day, would you, Hades? I'll send you an incident report for the dispatch thing."

"I'll send you prelim findings, but I need to wait on a few cultures and tests before I release an official report. That'll take at least a day and a half, with the way the D.A. is stalking my lab."

"Why is the D.A. stalking your lab?" Brenda asked, her eyes narrowed. "The clones?"

"High-profile case," Ben replied. "I think he smells glory, and doesn't want me to muck things up."

"Do you want me to talk to him? I could offer him some coffee, that'd get rid of him."

"Don't poison the D.A., Detective. It's not nice."

"Fuck nice."

"Don't poison him, just... disabuse him of the notion that this will make him famous. Play like you have no leads and I'm juggling scalpels instead of performing autopsies, I don't care. Just convince him this particular case is unpalatable. His assistant is overworked and a wonderful person. When all the glory flows downstream, the D.A. will finally leave."

Mewtwo smirked, Brenda chuckled, and she just stopped herself from patting Ben on top of the head. "Nice assistant, scare the crap out of the D.A. Got it. Any more words of wisdom before we go hunt down some poor rookies?"

Ben leveled his most annoyed glare at them, not that it would have any effect. Why should it, when they had each other? "I don't know who had the bright idea to stick you two together when you were rookies, but they do deserve poison in their coffee."

"We didn't work together until a few months ago," Brenda said. Mewtwo looked too disturbed to talk. "Though we did know each other in high school." Okay, now she was considering being disturbed.

"No we didn't!"

"Not in a 'talk to each other way'," Brenda explained. "I was the crazy girl who tried to kill you that one time, remember?" She smirked.

"One of those relationships?" Ben felt like he was missing something, but he had too much work to start figuring out Johnson and Smith. "Go fight like an old married couple somewhere else, I'm busy."

"We don't- Ben, one of these days, I'm going to get you back for that. Just see if I don't." Brenda wagged one finger, and sighed. "Come on, Smith. Let's go somewhere we'll be appreciated." And he still looked far too disturbed to actually think. "Come on, let's go."

Only when she grabbed his arm and pulled did he actually move.

Wednesday, August 14, 12:45 P.M.

Detective Brenda Johnson reminded herself that the two bruisers she was looking at were in actuality puppies. Poor, abused, confused puppies who'd had to take a five year old dead girl to the morgue. The fact that they both looked like professional linebackers had nothing to do with the knots in her stomach.

"Coffee?" she asked, sitting down at the conference room table.

Linebacker one shook his head, staring at his hands. Linebacker two cleared his throat and actually spoke. "No, thanks, ma'am."

"Your choice." Brenda didn't move to get a mug herself. She wanted to get this out with a minimum of stalling. "You two picked up the kid?" she asked, and flipped open her file folder. Ben's notes, her own, and their reports were neatly stacked inside.

"Yeah," Linebacker two said. She thought his name was Gary. Gary Murphy.

She kept her voice even and professional. "Considered talking to a therapist?"

"No," Linebacker one said. She knew his name was Scott Simpson. "Why?"

"Maybe because you saw something bad?" she suggested, and studied one of the crime scene photos. The girl looked even more frail sprawled out on the house's driveway. "There's no shame in needing to spill your guts to a professional."

"You don't," Simpson said, looking up only to flinch when Brenda turned to stare at him.

"Huh?"

Murphy's turn to talk, it seemed. "You don't talk to the shrink."

Brenda tilted her head, and wondered if smacking their heads together would get any result. "Yes, I do," she said. It wasn't actually a lie. She talked to Sheryl all the time, when she had the time.

"You've never talked to Earl," Murphy accused, pointing one meaty finger at her face. She arched one eyebrow.

"Of course not. Earl stares at my tits. I talk to a girl shrink."

Murphy flushed bright red, while Simpson went back to staring at the table. Brenda took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Fine. If they were going to be stubborn.

"Cops need to talk to people," she pointed out. "Anyone. Shrinks help you work through the shit you're going to deal with on this job. There'll be dead kids, and little old ladies knifed in the street for their wallets, and gang wars. If you don't think you can handle that, get out and do something easier on your minds.

"But if you think you can handle it, don't you damn well think you can handle it on your own. This is the twenty-second century, you're allowed to have emotions. And death is a burden too heavy for one person to carry."

She licked her lips and fell silent. That had been surprisingly eloquent. Her education was showing again. She'd have to do something spectacularily stupid, or play up her accent, or something soon. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.

Simpson and Murphy were staring at her. Brenda glared back, daring them to comment.

"If you think it's a good idea," Murphy said, sounding meek as a kitten.

"I do, yes."

"Do we have to talk to Earl?" Simpson asked, tracing patterns on the table. "He's weird."

Gods above and below, she was talking to a pair of grade school brats. "No, you don't. Here." She stood up and dug in her pockets, finding the crumpled and ragged business card Dr. Clark had given her. "You can always talk to this shrink. Dr. Clark's a good one."

Neither one moved to take the card, so she put it down on the table and gathered up her folder. She hesitated, just a bit, and turned to glare at them again. "If either of you tell anyone about my little speech there, I'll make you eat your own intestines."

End Notes

So, not only is this incredibly late, it's also short. You have my apologies. We are, however, edging on to the end of the story, and the conclusion of the Attack of the Clones. (Sorry, I had to.) So, yeah. Hopefully I won't lose the next chapter, and will actually WRITE it instead of vanishing again.