So, new chapter! Gerry makes an appearance.

Beta'ed by the lovely WtchCool.

- o – o -

Chapter eleven: Friend in Me

It had taken surprisingly little effort to convince Scales that she wasn't a threat, Dana decided. Three days ago, she'd never considered the possibility that she'd ever meet the smuggler, much less have coffee with him. Of course, she also hadn't counted on her son making friends with the smuggler's daughter.

The public defender sighed and rested her forehead against the cabinet over the sink as she heard the laughter coming in from the living room. Somehow, against all odds, Trip had made friends—with a girl. (It was, she had to admit, a wonderful change from his previous "all girls have cooties and must be avoided" stance…) As it was, though…

Her train of thought derailed as a press conference direct from the steps of ARK Towers came on. Peter Fleming, looking smugly confident as usual, was making a major announcement. Dana glared darkly at the TV as the new chief of police was announced: Marty Voyt, that little traitor. She sometimes wondered if she should have taken the Jackals up on their offer to have Marty stalked and/or beaten up once or twice a year, just to keep him humble. This was definitely one of those times.

Dana leaned against the countertop, glaring at Marty as he made what was obviously a prepared speech. She couldn't help but feel that if Vince were still alive (or not in hiding, as she felt was the actual case), it would have been him up there, gritting his teeth as he smiled and promised to protect Palm City on behalf of ARK Corporation. At this moment, she couldn't decide who she hated more: Marty Voyt, or Peter fucking Fleming.

"Mom?"

Dana looked up from her angry musings on Marty, to see Trip standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He was wearing his baseball uniform, and Liz was wearing his cap and holding the bat. "Yes Trip?" she asked, wondering what had brought on this change of heart. A week ago, he'd said he hated baseball and didn't want to play anymore. Now…

"Can I go to baseball practice?" he asked, smiling. Liz grinned up at her too, the corners of her eyes crinkling. (She really did look like her father when she did that; it was…kind of spooky.) "And can Liz come too?" Trip sounded so plaintive that Dana had to smile.

"Liz, does your dad mind?" she asked, shooting a look at the future smuggler.

Liz shook her head. "S'long as I bring Noodle, I should be fine," she said. "And…as long as I tell 'im I'm getting notes for why cricket is the superior sport," the girl added with a slight grin. "It's a Brit thing, ma'am."

Dana nodded and decided not to question it. She also decided not to question just why Noodle was waiting outside the apartment building on his motorcycle. It just wasn't worth the headache to question a little girl who was quite clearly… Well, crazy was one way to put it. She had no doubt inherited the ability to unnerve people from her father, which wasn't a comforting thought.

The public defender resolved to keep her questions and suspicions to herself for the rest of the day. Marty was in for a good ass-kicking later…

- o – o -

Trip and Liz slouched back into the apartment four hours later, accompanied by Noodle and Dana Faraday. Noodle didn't look happy, and Dana looked like she was trying to figure out if laughing or crying was an appropriate response. Not only was Trip an excellent southpaw, but he'd apparently picked up some sort of cricket-based trick from Liz during school. The coach was practically weeping when Dana said she'd think about letting her son join—although he did look appropriately relieved when she told him Liz probably wasn't going to join. (The little league wouldn't be able to handle the insurance premiums, for one thing.)

Liz was in some sort of mood, though. Trip couldn't, for the life of him, remember what was so important that would leave her in such a bad mood. Whatever it was, though, it had ruined any chance she'd ever have of playing sports. That might have been her plan, though… Somehow, though, Trip didn't think that was the case—if it had been, she'd be fine again and cracking jokes in a thick accent that no one but her father would be able to understand.

The ten-year-old sighed and gave a mental shrug. She'd snap out of it eventually—she always did. And besides, there were more important things to deal with tonight; specifically, getting Gerry Blander back into the fold. He'd been a great friend in the original timeline, even if he spent his life in the clouds. At least Gerry was cheerful…

Trip tapped Liz on the shoulder as soon as they were out of the adults' earshot. "Give. What's wrong?" he asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. It had been a casually menacing gesture that had served him well as a vigilante, but on a child, the look was rather ridiculous. Judging by the look on Liz's face, she was thinking the same thing.

"Ain't none of your business," she growled, brushing past him into his room. Trip sighed and rubbed his temples. There was another Liz-induced migraine coming on, he could tell… Maybe he'd forgotten her birthday or something.

An hour later, as the sun began to set, Trip was sitting at his computer, trying to remember how he'd configured the webcam last time. He wanted to be sure that Gerry came up and informed him of the right setup. It would be years after the fact, in the original timeline, that Gerry confessed that he'd needed to feel like something in his life was under control. Technology was his forte and not much else—it was the only thing keeping his life from going completely down the pipes, Trip had learned.

He had no desire to screw the meeting up this time.

Trip looked over at his bed, where Liz was reading one of his comics. She hadn't turned a page in over twenty minutes, though, and was staring at the ceiling while trying to pretend she was interested in the adventures of the Cape and whoever his current nemesis was. The ten-year-old sighed and rubbed his temples again, abandoning the project he was working on.

"Seriously, Liz, what's wrong with you?" he asked, glaring at his friend. Liz looked like she was about to reply when his mother came in. Trip bit back his annoyed growl and smiled at his mom.

"Trip, I'm going to Marty and Susan's party," Dana said. "Mrs. Morris is next door, and Noodle is still…around." Judging by her expression, the public defender didn't think too highly of Noodle's ability to look after anything, much less a child. Neither Trip nor Liz felt like contradicting that opinion, because it was kind of true. "Behave yourselves, and I should be back in two to three hours."

Trip raised an eyebrow. Last time around, his mother hadn't put a specific time limit on her trip to Marty's home. Maybe she was trying to make sure she got back before something blew up or was set on fire. Good plan, that one…

"Hey mom," Trip spoke up as his mother was about to leave. She turned back to look at him. "I know Marty's being a bit of a loser, but… Go easy on him?" He gave her a half-hearted smile, which his mother returned.

"Alright sweetie," Dana said softly. She kissed the top of his head, ruffled his hair a little, and left. Liz and Trip waited for the door to close before turning to look at each other.

"And you're defending Marty…why?" Liz asked.

"CJ tried to kill me a few months ago," Trip replied. "Before we traveled," he clarified, seeing Liz's expression. "He blamed the Cape for his father's death. While I do want Marty to grow a conscience, I don't want it to be at his family's expense."

"Alright," Liz conceded. She could understand loyalty like that. Loyalty was the root of her father's organization. His underlings and workers were loyal to him because he could guarantee them their jobs and livelihoods, and because he wanted loyalty in return. The respect came with the territory as an added bonus—there was a reason the docks had become something of a No-man's land following his death. No one wanted to pretend that they could fill the shoes the smuggler had left behind. (Liz had brought an entirely new pair with her when she assumed his duties at the age of thirteen; there was speculation that they'd have been sparkly pink high heels with black soles if they'd ever taken corporeal form. Scales' shoes would have been black work boots with a solid steel toe for dealing massive injuries.)

Trip decided not to question his good fortune that Liz didn't press the issue any further. He really didn't want to try to explain the nuances of why he was so indebted to the Voyts. It would have been…uncomfortable.

The two children jumped when Gerry appeared at the window. It wasn't that hard to understand why—he was very good at coming in at unexpected moments. Gerry was creepier than Orwell in that area and he didn't even have to try.

"Gerry, if you want to find a werewolf, Piccadilly Circus is a good place to start," Liz said, breaking in on the boy's monologue. With that, she cemented her place as one of Gerry's favorite people.

"If you're trying to record," Gerry continued, turning to Trip, "you're doing it all wrong. This needs to go here," the nine-year-old said, "and that needs to be turned off." Trip sat back and watched Gerry work, a look of awe on his face. It truly was amazing to watch.

"And that should do it," Gerry finished with a smile.

"He's amazing, isn't he?" Liz said with a smile, ruffling Gerry's hair. "Can I keep him?"

"Down," Trip ordered, shooting a look at Gerry. He shrugged, as if to say girls; what can you say? Gerry smiled and nodded. Trip returned his attention to Liz. "So, what were you saying about why you're such a grumpy bear today?"

Liz's face fell again. She chewed on her lower lip for almost a minute before sighing. "It's just…a shooting, happened today. A while ago. Me best friend died." Trip's eyes widened slightly, and he suddenly remembered what the problem was.

When Liz was eleven, her father had been beaten to death by Owl Island guards who'd been bought by ARK. Portman had fired the men responsible, and had personally ensured the prosecution had all the evidence they needed. Mysteriously, however, all three men had committed suicide. No evidence existed to suggest foul play, but Trip was pretty sure that Liz or her allies in the organized crime sector had been directly involved and that the suicides had actually been murders.

"Hugs always make me feel better," Gerry piped up. "Do you want one?" Without even waiting for confirmation, he hugged the future smuggler. Trip winced, waiting for the inevitable attack on Gerry. He looked up when, after two minutes, he hadn't heard any yelps of pain that would indicate an attack. Liz had a look of surprise on her face. Gerry let her go a few minutes later with a smile.

"Thanks, Gerry," Liz said thickly, before looking away. Gerry sat next to Trip and talked about computers for the next half hour while Liz pulled her usual composure back together.

The power outage was just par for the course during their lives. At least some things were normal, he decided with a smile.

Except the ice cream raid. But he could live without the upset stomach this time.

Friends were always nice to have.

- o – o -

What'd you think? Good? Bad? Disappointed that Trip is grown up enough to not raid the freezer for ice cream? Drop a line and let me know!