Well, it's a new chapter. Trip gets grounded, and Liz does something stupid (off-screen.)
Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.
- o – o -
Chapter four: Let's Start a Riot
In all likelihood, announcing that the Cape had been sighted had not been the best decision she'd made since time traveling. Elizabeth ranked it somewhere between swearing around her da and blubbering into his coat that first night. (In all honesty, though, she didn't mind that last occurrence as much as she might have. Whatever else happened, Scales was still her father.)
Still, the decision didn't really bother her. Trip needed to know that his father was making a fool of himself. (Those tights were still ridiculous, even ten years after she'd first seen them.) It had just been bad luck that Dana Faraday, her erstwhile ally's mum, had walked in when she had.
Trip still hadn't forgiven her for terminating the connection so quickly.
Elizabeth sighed and studied herself in the mirror. Her nose still looked too large for her face, which was a pity. At least now she knew she'd grow into it—eventually. The eight-year-old sighed, burying her face in her hands. This was a rehash of a night she never wanted to remember, and yet…
She muttered a curse under her breath as Kazzie walked in. As much as she liked the man—and she still needed to thank him for convincing her dad that public school was a good thing—she really hated when he interrupted her musings. Most of the time…
"Hey kiddo," Kazzie said. He sat on the edge of her bed, smiling at her. Liz smiled back, unconsciously adjusting the new too-large watch on her wrist again. "Nervous about meeting your old man's business associates?"
Liz nodded, and then did her best not to roll her eyes as Kazzie ruffled her hair a few seconds later.
"Don't worry, Lizzie Lizard," he said, using her childhood nickname, "you'll be fine. Just don't bite anyone."
Liz made a rude gesture to Kazzie's retreating back. A few minutes later, she was out of her room, shrugging on a dark blue jacket. She never could remember what had possessed her father to host what amounted to a cock contest in his private residence (the public residence being a flat in his main warehouse), but it still annoyed her to no end.
"This is just going to end well," Liz muttered under her breath as she walked down the curving staircase to the main floor. If she was lucky, she'd make it to the kitchen before any of her father's men or associates saw her. (And, if she were doubly lucky, her da would be making something sweet and she'd get to lick the bowl out.)
- o – o -
Trip felt a cold ball of dread settle into his stomach when his mother mentioned that Marty Voyt was coming over after dinner. He'd never really liked the man much, but… Well, knowing what he did now, it was hard to keep from telling his mother that Marty Voyt was a rat fink.
All right, there was another part to that: He still remembered having to break CJ's legs a few (relative) months ago. The idiot was the spitting image of his father, and had the same mentality. It was not a good combination. He'd been doing CJ a favor by keeping him from killing Fleming, really. (Getting socked in the jaw had been…well, mostly worth it. Still hurt like a bitch though.)
The nine-year-old retreated to his bedroom, praying that some semblance of sanity could be found there. He stopped in the doorway, wondering when Snake Eyes had become the sane person. Good god was time travel annoying. Snake Eyes was sane? Really?
He fired up his computer and waited for the familiar bubble-popping sound of Skype. After a few minutes, the service was up and running. Liz wasn't there. Trip groaned and beat his forehead against the keyboard, producing an amusing set of error messages. This. Wasn't. Happening. Today.
Holding his forehead with one hand, Trip clicked on Liz's icon. There was a good chance she was just idle, and… Ah hell. She was busy getting in cahoots with the criminal factions in the city. Why hadn't she… Oh. Yeah. Son of hero does not get to learn about criminal get-togethers until after the fact.
Trip sighed and headed out of his room after he heard the front door close. Marty and Susan must have arrived… He paused in the doorway, feeling distinctly uncomfortable about the whole thing. The first time around, he'd spent the rest of the evening sobbing into his pillow and fighting off nightmares. Marty's words had cut deeper than the man probably knew; what really irked Trip was that the man was lying through his teeth… And knew it.
There was one very simple reason that his father couldn't have been Chess: He had been on the other side of the planet when Chess had committed one of his murders. During the others, he'd been on family vacations or in highly visible places where too many witnesses could have seen him. Anyone who could read a calendar would have known this. A pity none of them could; maybe there was something in the city's water supply…
The nine-year-old grinned at the thought. Well, he'd have to start buying bottled water then. He shrugged. No great loss…
"There were no bank accounts!" Trip burst out, breaking out of his musings. He heard the conversation in the living room grind to a halt. The nine-year-old looked up at his mother when she came out of the living room, an odd look on her face.
"Trip?" Dana said, a question in her tone. "Is there something wrong, sweetie?" She sniffed a little, and Trip resisted the urge to run into the other room to beat Marty. (It wouldn't do any good; he was only nine, and his physical strength wasn't anything to mention. Liz, on the other hand…)
Trip sighed and mentally said a quick prayer. He was going to need all the help he could get for this little encounter. Mostly to get out of being grounded…
The nine-year-old looked at his mother and shrugged, before walking into the living room. "Hi Aunt Susan," he said politely. He scowled at Marty, who looked like he'd just seen a ghost. "Despite the fact that mom still trusts him, Marty is a lying rat fink who'd sell his own mother out for the right price."
He heard his mother gasp behind him and frowned a little. The former vigilante had the feeling he was going to get it later. "And if anyone wasn't too stupid to read a calendar and do some simple mathematics—and had a basic grasp of common sense," he added, shooting a dark look at Marty's wife as he added the last bit, "They would realize that my dad couldn't be Chess. And they'd also know that dad would have put the alleged money into accounts that my mother had access to. He's a smart guy, he'd figure out a way to explain odd funds to mom."
Trip glowered at Marty, wondering how badly this was going to damage the relationship between the Faradays and the Voyts. He decided he honestly didn't care.
"After all, how was he supposed to be in two places at once? Henry Jarrod, 2001—murdered by Chess. My dad—almost five thousand miles away, working on something completely unrelated. But you knew that, Marty. I hope getting screwed by Fleming hasn't damaged your brain too much."
That was what got him grounded for the next six months. As Trip strolled back to his room, he couldn't help but feel the entire evening had just become worth it. And then he saw the message from Liz.
If I never hear anything about Molinari's sexual proclivities ever again, Trip thought, it will be too soon.
- o – o -
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