Chapter Eight
-=-

The hand was gone.

Anya missed it the moment she woke and her own was acutely bare as she returned to school the next week. Demetrius couldn't be with her twenty-four seven. He couldn't lead her by the hand all the time.

Though she wanted him to.

She didn't see him much Sunday after the park and her sense of support and comfort disappeared with him. It was like her oxygen tank had been torn away and she didn't know if she'd ever get it back. It was somehow worse than before, and on Monday, he was gone before she saw him.

Bereft of his particular hand, she prepared to disembark the bus wondering if she should have stayed home when she paused on the last step of the bus at the scene before her.

Damian was here again.

He bickered with Becky, both unaware she'd arrived, while Ewen and Emile stoutly supported their boss. They tossed insults back and forth, throwing random jabs that had no real basis, and as Anya took the last step onto pavement, it stopped immediately.

Becky and Damian's heads whipped her way, side-looked at each other, frowned, and looked away.

"Hmph!" They said.

The knots wound tightly in Anya's stomach.

It doesn't matter.

No matter how many times it repeated, Demetrius' words still didn't sit right as she contemplated her friend and Sy-on boy.

Anya turned and walked past them.

"Anya! Becky said more cheerily than usual as she flounced over to her and took her hand. Her countenance didn't match the nettle of worry that had only grown since Anya last saw her. She was noticing.

Of course she was.

And she had spoken with Damian.

Of course she had.

Anya let Becky lead the way. She all but ignored Damian and his friends who had taken their boss' change in attitude towards Anya in stride. It wasn't so strange that they might get along now, it wasn't unheard of. Just a little strange. They had accepted a little too easily that Damian didn't hate Anya anymore and she wished they hadn't. Maybe it would have affected Damian's decisions. In class, Anya and Becky found their seats, the boys, finding theirs, and at least they sat a distance aways from each other.

The class passed uneventfully. The lesson was as boring as ever and Damian was as nosy and annoying. He focused mostly on the lecture and the rest of his attention was partially directed at her.

She didn't want to hear his thoughts anymore. Or Becky's. It was a constant reminder that they worried about her. Thought about her. The knots only pulled tighter.

Becky was being especially neurotic and when she could, she always had Anya's hand. Partly in hopes it would comfort Anya, but also herself. Anya felt less distant to Becky this way, and she took every opportunity she could to ease Anya's anxiety. And to ease her own. Becky didn't know what was wrong, but she couldn't just leave her friend be.

Anya wished she would.

The class made it to the music room before the bell rang and the music teacher had them sit in the rows of semi-circles. Anya didn't like this class. Not because she wasn't good at it, but because it put her to sleep. They hadn't even touched an instrument yet, she didn't think this qualified as a music class. The seating was never the same and Anya was pulled to a spot between Becky and Damian.

Of course she was.

They were acting like she was going to disappear if they didn't keep tabs on her and she had never wanted more distance between them.

"Hello class." The teacher said and took up a long, wooden pointing stick. She tapped it against the black chalkboard delicately drawn with full and half notes. Fourth and eighth rests were inserted randomly among them that Anya was still learning to differentiate. The teacher reiterated her instructions from last week. With her stick tapping along to the notes, the children counted with her out loud and their hands clapped to the beat.

This class was boring and Anya didn't bother participating. She didn't care if the teacher caught and called her out on it.

It went from one rhythm to the next and Becky seemed to take great interest in what Anya did or did not do. There was no real point to it, it was purely automatic. It wasn't just music class either. History, english, and science, she paid extra attention to Anya and it was driving her crazy. She had never hated someone's undivided attention so much. Anya was supposed to be distancing herself and Becky was making it very difficult.

At the end of science class, the bell rang and the girls packed up their bags. Anya would have left straightaway if Becky didn't hang onto her hand and make them wait as Damian and his friends descended from the top.

"Hey. . ." Damian said flatly to Becky in strained civility and she sniffed imperiously.

"Hello." She matched his tone.

'Oh brother.' Anya thought, exasperated.

"Hey, Forger." Damian said as if in passing and his gaze briefly landed on her as he headed for the door. Ewen and Emile's greetings were much more relaxed. As if they had decided to sit back and watch whatever would unfold, unfold. They were still fiercely and blindly loyal to Damian, but they liked the seats they had in the back, shouting their support and watching from the side-lines. At times, it was almost as if they were on the outside watching in.

"Hey." They said as they all melded into one group and this is what Anya had wanted to avoid. It was getting to be too much. It was one thing when it was just Becky and Anya could keep reasonable distance from her. This was too much. She couldn't deal with all this, she couldn't deal with the arm Becky had hooked around her own as they strolled out of the classroom and knots knitted all over Anya's muscles.

Becky was making things very difficult.

They headed to the cafeteria and knots upon a knots upon knots kneaded through Anya's stomach. They only got worse the farther they went, the longer she walked with them and she wanted to run away. She was repulsed by her own presence here. With them. It was too much. It was felt so wrong.

And as the group narrowed into a line for the cafeteria counter, she took advantage of the other's distraction and conversation, letting herself fall to the back.

She slipped away and didn't go back.

—-

There it was.

Demetrius was surprised his father waited this long to send the next warning. He must be feeling patient. He must think Demetrius was just being a rebellious teenager, easily disciplined and easily reformed.

Somehow, it always surprised Demetrius when his father displayed his lack of knowledge about his sons. For all his plans, ideals, and the meticulous way he did and carried everything out, he had certainly let his sons fall to the wayside in that regard. He took them for granted. That they'd be there when he needed them, that they'd do as he wanted.

And until Damian had been kidnapped, that had been the case.

The other students seemed concerned when their homeroom teacher announced Carter was in the hospital. Some genuine, others more surface level.

Carter wasn't dying, but he almost had. Something had made him terribly sick, some rare illness or other. This was Donovan's doing. He caused this sickness and Carter's last breath was ensured unless Demetrius went home, at which point his father would fly in specialists to cure Carter.

The teacher encouraged the students to send a card or flowers to lift Carter's spirits and brighten his hospital room.

Pointless gestures.

With both his usual seat mates gone, Demetrius had his desk to himself and leaned back comfortably. He would have to find someone else to toy with. His "friends" were gone, and Demetrius ignored the pitying looks from his classmates at the supposed sadness he must be feeling.

At school, Demetrius might be what one would call "popular". For his grades, his intelligence, and his looks. He was fairly well-known and people he didn't know would greet him in the halls, girls he had never seen would flirt with him, and guys he'd never talked to, looked up to him.

Usually, Demetrius found this amusing and it gave him abundant opportunities to play with them. But right now, it was simply annoying how, instead of their usual chatter, they gave condolences, or told him "Carter's going to be okay."

Carter was going to be okay? What were they? Idiots? Outside of the hospital, they'd never see him again unless it was in a casket.

He avoided talking to them, tired of their tiny brains he usually had fun manipulating.

After school, the Forgers came to pick him up with Anya in the backseat. She was looking rather depressed and leaned against the opposite door, fiddling with her uniform.

Demetrius got in.

"How was school? Anything interesting?" Mrs. Forger said from the passenger's seat.

"Not really." Demetrius said and turned his attention to Anya. At the zoo a couple days ago he had (and still did) regretted getting himself involved with her and her problems. It wouldn't be so annoying if she hadn't been so attached to him, and while it rankled him, he had done it for a reason.

She was another Esper and his good sense raked at his brain, reminding him of that.

He hated good sense.

"We were thinking we'd eat out today for an early dinner, what do you think Demetrius?" Mr. Forger suggested, but it was more of a heads-up than a question.

"Sure." Demetrius said.

He could eat.

—-

Despite Donovan who they had to deal with, and the concerning disposition Anya had taken lately, Yor could appreciate that they still found time to be a family and spend an evening together at a restaurant. It couldn't have been too long, but since the second kidnapping, worrying over Anya, and the dead ends that left nothing to go after Donovan, it felt like it had been a while since they'd eaten out. It wasn't a particularly important thing to Yor, but it was nice to do once in a while.

"Here you are. My name is Jacklyn and I'll be serving you this evening. I'll be back in a couple minutes to take your orders." The waitress deposited the foursome at a square table and handed them menus before checking on another group.

Yor sat opposite from Anya with Loid on her right and Demetrius on the left. Anya stared blankly at the menu in front of her. "Are you hungry, Anya?" She asked and her daughter gave a concerning, indifferent shrug. She didn't look up at Yor who lamented the lack of proper attention that Anya needed. Yor talked and spent time with her as much as she could, but it wasn't enough with how much Yor and Loid had on their plates. Albeit, it was difficult to pinpoint how to help Anya when she was so closed off about everything.

After minimal waiting the waitress returned and took their order's, promising drinks in a couple minutes.

The best course of action Yor had at the moment was to be attentive and supportive, but as things stood now, Anya didn't even seem to want that. It was Yor's fallback whenever she didn't know how else to proceed and her once guaranteed strategy was failing like a parachute ripped through with a gigantic hole. Loid didn't know what to do either, try as he might to understand her, and the worry and guilt that nothing was working only grew as most of their attention was pulled towards Donovan. In fact, the more attention they diverted to Anya, the more distressed she seemed to be.

Yor smiled pleasantly as the waitress returned and handed her a jasmine tea. Jacklyn distributed the other drinks and Demetrius beheld his root beer float like he wasn't sure what he'd just ordered.

Anya didn't touch her chocolate milk. She was rather listless. More vacant than usual.

Yor stirred her tea absent-mindedly, wholly unsure how to engage her. Anya didn't respond to much these days. It felt like Yor's relationship with her daughter was thinning like a worn out blanket and she had no idea how to repair it. Yor was no seamstress. How long could this go on for? Yor was worried this would continue for a quite a while if Anya remained passive.

She gave the tea another light stir before taking a thoughtful sip.

"Wait." Loid suddenly stiffened the same moment Yor startled, pulling her cup away from her mouth. It was subtle, but it tasted funny. She knew this taste.

In her peripheral vision, she saw a hand go for the root beer float and immediately she leapt. "No!" Yor shot a hand out, covering the top of Demetrius' cup, forcing it back down to the table before he could drink it, and Loid yanked Anya's glass away from her though she hadn't touched it. With a hand still on the root beer float, Yor whipped a look at Loid who met it knowingly.

Soft murmuring spread amongst tables nearby and Loid and Yor straightened, smiling away any awkwardness. "Found hairs in our drinks." He said and they sat down.

Demetrius sighed disappointed at his root beer.

"We should leave." Yor suggested

"No. I've got a better idea. Wait here." Loid said, standing up, and left the restaurant with no other explanation.

Yor looked between the kids. "Don't drink those." She said.

—-

"James? What are you doing back? You just got off, didn't you?" Gwen, one of the chefs, gave him a quizzical look when he popped into the kitchen.

"Yeah, I lost something. Taking a quick look before I leave."

"Ah, okay." She went back to seasoning the soup she attended.

"Um. . .you okay there?" Another cook, Harkin, looked up from his frying pan as James systematically went through the metallic cupboards near the floor and opened several jars of tea leaves, choice coffee beans, and sniffed the milk that smelled just as it should.

"Yep. Doesn't seem to be in any of these." Twilight responded as he memorized every face he saw as he had done since he'd arrived through the employee's entrance.

Nothing seemed amiss. There was no smell. There were no extra employees, going by the shift schedule on the wall, no shifts swapped, no missing workers either. James had checked out, so there was a high probability that whoever poisoned their drinks was in here.

There was only so much Twilight could do without drawing attention and he carefully watched the cooks for a minute or two before they felt his gaze, and he made of show of looking under tables and repeatedly patting his pockets down distractedly.

What a bother. Twilight couldn't exactly ask any of the chefs or waiting staff if they poisoned their drinks, and he had no idea who was involved.

Firstly, he wanted to know who. Then why. It made him jumpy just theorizing that someone discovered his secret identity, Yor's, or Anya's and he couldn't believe it to be true. He was so careful. Yor was so careful. Anya was paranoically careful. As far as Twilight knew, Donovan had no clue that they had rescued Anya and Damian from the lab, either. So what other reason was there to target them? Demetrius. Could Donovan have done this because of him? His and Yor's drinks were poisoned, but maybe Demetrius' wasn't. Twilight wouldn't be surprised if Donovan was keeping tabs on his son. Were the Forgers in Desmond's way somehow? Twilight would have to discreetly take a sample of the kid's drinks before they left and test them later.

And if it wasn't Donovan, then who was it? Who else had the motive to harm the Forgers? Twilight disliked the idea even more that it could be anyone else. Someone he wasn't aware of.

"Oh hey, Gwen, who was in here earlier again?" Twilight said like he'd forgotten. "Someone asked me to mention something to someone before they left, but I can't for the life of me remember who or why."

"The owner, Lucy? She left just a minute ago."

"Ah! Yes! Now I remember, thanks." Twilight fibbed and walked quickly out as if hoping to catch her.

Suddenly, Twilight had a lot more work to do.

—

Twilight looked at the information he'd stolen about Lucy from the restaurant again as the Forgers arrived home. He dropped the papers on the coffee table when the phone rang and set two vials next to it much more carefully. "Forger residence." He answered the ring and he'd never been so happy to hear the voice at the other end.

"Hey, it's Franky." The informant greeted, pre-maturely soaring Twilight's hopes for something useful. Franky, under the impression that Twilight had found indication of Donovan's war plans from spying, had been hard-pressed to find much of anything and it had seriously slowed the Forger's efforts.

This new information had also sent WISE hectic, trying to put more agents on this, but there just wasn't enough. Twilight suspected he wouldn't get any help until something really major happened. That was fine with him.

"Anything?" Twilight prompted Franky.

"Really? Not even a hello? Do you know how hard I work for—"

"Franky." Twilight said.

Franky sighed in irritated resignation. "Fine, fine. But it's not a lot. Desmond is a tricky guy to get dirt on. He doesn't let much of anything slip through the cracks.

Except Demetrius, Twilight thought. "What do you have?"

"Apparently, Desmond disappears for a day every few months. No one knows why and he drives himself, so wherever he's going, he doesn't want anyone else to know."

"Ok?"

"His last trip was just about three months ago, which means he'll be leaving again soon. Keep an eye on him and you can follow him to wherever he's going."

"Great. Thanks Franky. I'll get on it."

"One other thing. Demetrius hasn't been home in a while either and I have reports he's staying with you? What's going on?"

"Oh. That." Twilight had seen this coming. "We met at Eden Academy one time when he came to speak with Damian and we got to talking. He had a fight with his father and left, being a rebellious teenager and all that."

Demetrius snorted as he made his way to the dining table, pulling out his homework.

"Anyway I offered for him to stay with us. And." Twilight lowered his voice as if careful that no one would overhear. "He might have something on Donovan."

". . .Alright. If he does, let met know."

"Of course."

"I'll see what else I can dig up." Franky said before ending the call and Twilight hung up. This was going to require most, if not all, of his time until Desmond made a move. Twilight couldn't waste a second.

"Demetrius. Do you know about—"

"Nope." He said, leaning his chin on a hand as he flipped through his text book.

"Yor, I'm heading out." Twilight fished the keys from his jacket that hung on the rack. "Can't explain everything now, but I've got a lead. Watch the kids, would you?" Twilight slung the jacket back on that he'd just taken off.

"Already? We just got home."

"I'll be back later." Twilight doubted Donovan would leave in the middle of the night, but twilight would spy as long as he could. He hoped this wouldn't take too long. He couldn't leave Yor to take care of everything here, herself. She had work too. "It's about Donovan. He. . .goes somewhere." Twilight ruffled Anya's hair on the way out and left.

He hoped this was productive.

—-

The phone rang again.

Yor picked it up. "Hello?" She answered. "Demetrius, it's for you." The phone held out to him disrupted Demetrius' studies and he stood, pushing the chair back. He welcomed the break to stretch his legs.

"Hello?"

"Demetrius?" Damian said. His voice alluded to no particular emotion that Demetrius instantly searched for.

"What's up?"

"Hey. . ." He greeted uneasily and Demetrius felt an uncomfortable conversation coming. For Damian at least. "Um. . .I need some advice. . ."

"Ok?" Demetrius said.

". . ." Damian was silent for a long moment.

"Damian?"

"Yeah. . .um. . .it's about Forger."

Dang it. ". . .okay. . .?" Demetrius said warily, scanning the apartment for her, but she was in her room.

"Um. . ." Damian hesitated again. "I don't know what to do."

"I'mma need some context." This was the problem with communicating over the phone. Reading Damian's mind would be so much easier. And faster.

"Mmm. . .something's wrong with her."

"Yeah?" Demetrius said. It was pretty obvious.

"She's being really weird and won't talk to anyone. I don't know what to do."

She wouldn't talk to Damian, is what Demetrius got from that. ". . .I see. . ." He answered. He didn't like where this was going.

"Do. . . do you know what's going on?" Damian asked.

"Yeah."

"You do?" He sounded surprised, though Demetrius had heard him guess it already.

"Yeah."

"Well. . .then can you tell me so I can fix it?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Not for me to say."

"Then tell me how to fix it."

"You can't."

"What do you mean I can't!?"

"You just can't. It's complicated."

"But—"

"Why does it bother you so much?"

More silence and Demetrius couldn't understand how Damian could be so caught up with this if he didn't know the answer.

"Were. . .friends. . ." Damian finally said and Demetrius sighed.

". . .right. . ." He answered and the phone lowered from his face as a hand rubbed at his eyes. He might not have accepted the phone call if he knew this would happen. He groaned, hating the solution that came to the fore-front of his mind. He just kept making mistake after mistake lately. He raised the phone again.

"Look. . .I'll. . ." He sighed, his nose twitching as his hand slowly clawed at the height of his throat, agitated. He was already regretting this. "I'll do what I can. . ."

"What?"

"If it means so much to you. . .I'll see what I can do." Demetrius braced a hand on the edge of the little table as if he had just shot himself. What was he doing?

". . .I thought you said it couldn't be fixed."

"I said you couldn't fix it."

". . .

. . .

You can help her?" Damian said quietly. Anxiously hopeful. Demetrius pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did Damian have to go and be friends with this girl?

". . .Maybe. . ." He said. What a pain. This was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do.

". . .Thanks. . ." Damian said, but it was laced with dejection.

Dang it. Again. "Look. . ." Demetrius was no good at this. "Don't be. . ." He searched for the right word. ". . .sad. . ." Was that what Damian was feeling? Why couldn't they have done this in person? "There's just stuff you couldn't possibly understand or deal with."

". . . . ."

Ok. Demetrius knew he'd worded that one wrong.

"I mean. . .it's. . ." 'A lab' thing wasn't exactly right. It was an 'esper' thing. "It's complicated."

". . .yeah. . ." Damian didn't sound very reassured.

"It's. . .look. . ." Demetrius sighed again and decided to just say it. "There are just some things that only another lab kid can understand. It's not that you can't help at all, but it's extremely. . .sensitive."

"Sensitive."

"Yeah. . ."

On the other end, Damian seemed to mull over this and it was another full two minutes before he spoke again. "So. . .what can I do then?" He asked and Demetrius' relief turned to hesitation.

Demetrius had said Damian could help, hadn't he? "Um. . ." What had Demetrius meant by that? He was only trying to make him feel better. "Just. . ." Cheering people up was hard. "Do. . .what friends do. . .?" Demetrius suggested. He wasn't even sure what that meant. He'd heard thoughts along those lines before in Damian's own head. Demetrius didn't know, but Damian should.

". . .right. . ."

Demetrius couldn't tell if that helped or not."Yeah. . . listen. . ." Demetrius needed out of this conversation. "I've got to go. I have an assignment due tomorrow." He said.

"Oh. . .ok. . . see you this weekend?"

"Yeah."

Damian hung up.

Demetrius hung up and ran a hand over his face.

Being an older brother was hard.

—

Yuri applied pressure to his forehead to stop the leaking as he strolled down the side-walk. He wasn't too worried, it happened often enough and his locker door still didn't have any dents. It was a long day at work of papers, desk sitting, and he leaned back, shoulders widening, as his hands pressed into the small of his back. It was all worth it though. For Yor. He might have visited her tonight if it wasn't so late.

He yawned, longing to go to bed, and reapplied pressure to his head.

It was a dark night. The day had started clear and grew cloudy as it progressed. There were no stars to light the sky, Yuri, only seeing by the periodic bursts of streetlight as he walked in and out of swaths of darkness. Yuri had walked many nights like these; dark nights, starry nights, summer evenings on it's way to night, and so often it was a walk of quiet solitude. He enjoyed these walks in the fresh, night air. He liked the sounds of the breeze and the rustling of the occasional tree that somehow felt much more impounded with meaning. Much more pronounced. He listened to it now and it was interrupted by the sound of an engine on wheels. The headlights affronted his eyes. It was one of the few cars he had seen tonight. The roads weren't so busy at night and even less so on a weekday. It passed by and bright spots impeded Yuri's vision. It soon faded, but the car did not.

Behind Yuri, the rumble didn't trail off down the road and instead slowed to a stop. Yuri turned around to see the car making a u-turn.

And race towards him.

With a high-pitched squeal of rubber on asphalt, the vehicle was laid on with gas and propelled towards Yuri with dangerous speed. Heart pounding, a surge of adrenaline had him diving out of the way as it came at him, veering sharply to avoid ramming into any buildings. Yuri rolled, popping back up like a weasel, and his gun was in his hand. The vehicle had skidded to twist back around at him.

Bang! Bang!

Shots fired into a now broken windshield and the driver ducked, though the car's straight path wavered. The vehicle came at him again. Yuri faced it, steeling his nerves, standing still as long as he dared. It came terrifyingly close before Yuri dodged of the way and the car screeched viciously to a halt this time, prepared for the miss.

Bang!

But not prepared for the gun.

Bweeeeeeeh! The driver was dead, shot through the skull, and their head landed on the car horn. Yuri panted from his position, propped up on one knee, and let his gun drop to his side. He stood. He made his way to the person, opening the door, and pulled their head off the horn just to make it stop.

It was a woman. She had tried to kill him. Why? Who was she? She was of medium build, brown haired, and had a round face. He didn't recognize her. Nothing on her clothes gave her away. No ID, no receipts, no car registration in the glove compartment. The license plate had been torn off. The car must have been stolen.

Yuri's head drooped when he realized he couldn't go home yet and was already searching for a coin in his jacket. He'd have to use a public phone. He couldn't very well leave this mess here while he returned to the SSS.

Yuri yawned as he strolled to the phone booth across the street.

So much for going to bed.