chapter twenty-three

Rowan and I drop Bella off at daycare before we head over to Joseph's house. I got his address off of the League database after asking our AI, who the team has affectionately named Dennis for no particular reason, to pull up his file. He has a pretty sweet loft over in Brooklyn. There was no other family listed for him other than the Blackwells, so his file has left me questioning what he's been doing with his life.

"Do you think he's married?" Rowan asks when we're sitting on the train.

"I don't know," I reply with a shrug. "Maybe. I'm more curious about why he was written off from the family in the first place."

I have last minute doubts when we actually reach the door to his loft, but I force myself to swallow them and ring the doorbell. There's some scuffling around and the sound of stomping feet before the door opens and the man from the picture in the file answers.

The picture is old. The file does say that he's a retired agent, so I'm not really surprised. He has the same striking light blue eyes that I do, but with brown hair instead of blond. His face is scruffy and set into an expression so drawn it's like there's a tiredness that lives in his bones.

"Yeah?" he says, eyebrows raised in question. "What do you want?"

"Oh, I, uh," I stammer. "You're Joseph, right? Christin Blackwell's brother?"

His eyebrows draw together, expression opening up for only a moment before it slams shut a second later. The blank, guarded expression is a lot like looking in a mirror.

"Yeah, why?" he replies, crossing his arms and leaning heavily against the frame of the door, "you find out and come to heckle me for being related to that psycho on the news?"

"No, uh," I say, stumbling over my words once again. I look to Rowan for help. My ever helpful boyfriend just shrugs in response, so I roll my eyes and force myself to concentrate. "I'm...her son. So you're, like, my uncle, I guess."

The man's blue eyes jump wide in surprise.

"Her what?" he repeats. "Christin never had any kids. She wasn't even married."

"I...she was. I was actually under the impression that she was dead for the last five years up until a couple of days ago."

"I'm sure it was a heart-warming reunion," he says sarcastically. "She tell you all about her ungodly brother? Is that why you're here?" his tone has taken on a serious degree of aggression, and I immediately shake my head.

"No, she beat the shit out of me at the assembly in D.C.," I reply, holding up my left arm to show him the bright blue cast, "so, yeah, no love lost when she died. I'm here to figure out how we can take her off the streets."

Joseph's demeanor shifts completely, his body relaxing as he steps away from the door frame.

"Jesus christ, come inside," he says, looking out into the hallway before stepping aside to let us in.

Rowan and I walk past him into the loft. He shuts the door behind us to shield from potentially prying ears. I'm sure Joseph has heard all about what's going with the League lately, even as a retired agent. There's no such thing as too careful right now.

"I...didn't realize, sorry," he says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wasn't exactly any love lost when they kicked me out, either."

"Yeah, uh, what happened there, anyway?"

He looks around the loft as if he's checking for something before gesturing to the couch in the living room area. The open floor plan of this apartment is like a miniature version of the suites in the tower.

"I'll tell you as much as I can remember, okay?" he offers once all three of us are settled down. "Oh, and I go by Jay mostly. Unless I'm with my—" he cuts himself off abruptly. The place he decided to stop is quite telling. He's hiding something.

"I'm Lake," I reply. "Christin picked Lukas, but, you know, no love lost. Oh, and this is Rowan, my boyfriend." The man's eyes widen a bit at the word "boyfriend." There it is. He's gay. That's the big secret.

"Oh, uh, okay," he says, nodding in understanding. "Well, uh. I was kicked out and disowned when I was a teenager. I knew I was gay, and that's not an acceptable Blackwell trait as I'm sure you're aware. Sure, Christin was straight as an arrow, but I always thought Ash swayed back and forth a bit."

The mention of his other brother makes me jerk a bit against the couch. Rowan's hand lands on my knee at the same time.

"Yeah, he definitely swings," I confirm for him. "Unfortunately."

"Are you saying...he...?" Joseph stammers. "You?"

"Yeah, when I was a kid. Christin would always fuck off to god knows where and leave my brother and I with him. He's dead, anyway, so it doesn't matter anymore."

"Christ, I always figured there was something wrong with that kid," he says, a disgusted look crossing his face. "With that siren song thing he could do, too. I was afraid something like that would happen."

"Well, it happened," I say bluntly. "Listen, can you tell me anything about Christin's powers? Something that could help us?" I continue, quickly changing subjects.

He sighs and looks down, pressing his fingertips together as he thinks.

"Dad trained all three of us together when we were kids. All of us presented pretty early. We kind of had to, anyway, since he only gave his kids until five before he started throwing them into life-threatening situations to try and trigger a presentation. Anyway, I had fun knocking people out as I wished, but dad didn't view my power as anything valuable. Ash did the siren song thing, and dad liked that more, but Christin was firstborn and she could teleport to any place in the world, so she was dad's favorite."

"Anywhere? Are there any limitations on that?" I say, leaning forward towards where he's sitting across the coffee table from Rowan and I.

"Well, if she's exhausted, she can't go too far. If she's low on energy and shooting for Australia, she may end up somewhere in the middle of the ocean instead. Besides that, no."

"How about physically? Is there anything that could stop her from popping away completely?"

He thinks hard about it until his eyes light up.

"Actually, yes. It was the one thing dad always harped on her about. His perfect daughter with the best powers couldn't travel with another person along with her. If anyone grabbed her, even placed a finger on her, she couldn't go anywhere," he replies, smiling fondly in remembrance. "That day was the only day he ever hit her. It was always me and sometimes Ash most times."

"So domestic violence is just, what, a Blackwell family tradition, or something?" I snarl, but I'm not angry at Joseph. He's just as much a victim of our toxic bloodline as I am.

"I guess so," he says, smiling bitterly.

"Well, I think that's our answer," I say, looking over at Rowan. "Tackle her ass and bash her face into the floor. She won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

"Hey, now," Rowan says, placing a hand on my shoulder in a jokingly soothing way, "let's not be so violent."

"She broke my nose with a marble floor," I argue. "It's only fair if I return the favor," I add, smiling sweetly. The bones in my nose have already fused due to my advanced healing, but the purple bruising is definitely still there.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, kid, but lots of people have tried to grab her to stop her. She's always been able to shake them off or dodge them," Joseph says, interrupting the mounting celebration Rowan and I are having.

"Well," I begin, smirking as I glance over at Rowan and hold a palm up in the air. I conjure up the cold that's always humming beneath my skin, shoving it through my veins and concentrating on sending it to my palm. Snow begins to float up into the air, brought into existence from the center of my hand. I do so long enough for my hand to fill with enough snow to blow into Rowan's face. "I don't think losing my grip will be a problem."

A mischievous smile spreads across Joseph's face.

"An ice bender," he remarks. "The ultimate fuck-you to a teleporter with her restriction."

"Yup," I agree.

The conversation devolves into some mild small talk about life. Joseph's a writer, apparently, and has so far had some mild success.

"Well, I'm sure you guys have some very important things you have to get back to, huh?" Joseph says as the chatter starts to wind down.

"Yeah, I guess," Rowan agrees, shrugging his shoulders and rolling them back.

"I don't know if you'd want to have me over again," I say quietly, suddenly uncomfortable. "I have an older brother, Derek, too, but aside from him, you're our only family."

The man actually looks a little choked up at the offer. I guess he hasn't had any contact with what he calls family in a very long time. He's not completely alone judging by the wedding band on his ring finger, but having people from your blood family around that don't hate you is always a comforting feeling.

"Yeah, that would actually be really good," he agrees. "You'd bring your brother, too?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll be excited."

"And you guys are...counterparts, right?" he continues, looking from me to Rowan and back.

"Yeah, he's a fire bender and...well, it's a super long story I'll save for our future dinner party. But yes."

"That's so nice," he says, a wide smile spreading across his face. "I was depressed as hell until I met mine. Oliver. He won't be back til later, but I'll make sure he's around the next time you come by."

We all share some pleasantries before Joseph sees us to the front door. He looks a little lighter than he did when I first knocked on his door. Hopefully I've taken some of the weight off of his shoulders.

/-/-/

Max, Flint, and I are watching the latest episode of a teen drama we've managed to get ourselves sucked into when the elevator dings down the hall and somebody unfamiliar steps off. Flint pauses the TV show as Max gets to his feet to approach the unknown man intruding on our common floor.

"How did you get in here?" Max says, the aggressive edge in his voice that I expected clearly audible.

"I was sent by IA from D.C. headquarters," he replies, looking at Max as though he just spit on his shoes. "Lee Redwood. You've probably heard of me."

Max glances back to Flint and I. We both shrug, just as clueless as him. This small exchange is enough to make the short man angry. He crosses his arms, and the way the fabric of the suit settles makes him look a bit like a kid wearing his father's clothes. He's definitely not what I imagined a representative from Internal Affairs would be like. What would Internal Affairs even be doing here, anyway? They already looked into the situation with Rowan and all of us were cleared.

"I'm afraid I haven't," Max says slowly, turning back to the blond man.

"Well," the guy says, sounding flustered and appearing quite taken aback. "I'm a liaison sent by the head of IA. I'm here to speak to Lukas Blackwell."

My body recoils slightly at the sound of my real name. I never really thought about what would happen if people were to find out that Christin is my mother. The Blackwells are an original bloodline. Charles Blackwell was one of the five people on the first ever League "team." Once Richard, my mother's father, went rogue and she followed suit, the Blackwells fell out of favor within the League's regard quite quickly. Being associated to the Blackwell name is no longer a point of pride. I wouldn't even want to be part of the bloodline normally, but the fact that it's just one more thing that will forever connect me to my parents makes it even worse.

"It's Lake, actually," I say sharply. "And I'm not a Blackwell, I'm a Ford. What do you need me for?" I know that correcting him is basically pointless. Bloodline names stick with League agents forever, even if they remarry and take their partner's name. I still don't even know what this stupid little man is here for and yet he's already managed to ruin my day.

"I'd prefer to discuss this in private," he says, speaking to Max instead of me. "You have some interrogation rooms, I'm sure?"

"Of course, but I think it would be better if you discuss whatever it is you're here for in a conference room, actually," Max says smoothly.

Lee actually turns in my direction for the first time since he's gotten here, looking me up and down. His lip curls in blatant distaste before he turns back to Max.

"I suppose that would be alright."

The three of us take the elevator down to the conference floor in complete silence. My legs won't stop jittering with anxiety once I sit down in one of the office chairs inside of conference room three. Lee refused to allow Max to sit in on the "discussion" him and I are having, so it's just me and this man who is essentially the human embodiment of an albino weasel.

He sets a manila folder onto the table and flips to a blank page, pen at the ready.

"This is about your involvement with your mother," Lee deadpans.

"Okay?" I reply.

"You are aware that involvement with her current terrorist activity calls for immediate dismissal from the League and transfer to the Vault, right?" he continues. The Vault? Is this guy on crack? The Vault is where they send enhanced people who commit atrocious crimes since they can't go to normal civilian prisons. Nobody ever comes back from the Vault.

"I know that," I say, brow furrowing in confusing. "I have nothing to do with her or anybody she's involved with. I had no idea she was even alive."

His white eyebrows raise incredulously.

"You thought she was dead?"

"Yes. She was in a car accident with my father when I was in high school. She died. My brother and I lived off of the insurance money. She's been dead for five years."

"Well, clearly she hasn't. How can you prove that this happened?"

"The obituary? There's a death certificate for Christin Ford and my father, as well. They both had a life insurance policy that we were able to benefit from," I list, looking at this guy like he's grown another head. Is he seriously implying that I knew about any of this? It's not like I was out there faking my parents' deaths in high school.

"Right. Well. That's very convenient," he says, moving on swiftly so I can't even comment. "You knew that she was agent, right?"

"No. She told my brother and I that she worked an office job. She was gone from nine to five every day. Our dad was a lawyer."

"You never found this suspicious?"

"Derek and I preferred them out of the house as much as possible."

"Why's that?"

"You know what? We're not about to play therapy right now, Agent Redwood," I say. I don't even attempt to keep the venom out of my voice. "They both beat the shit out of us. They had the most toxic marriage that I've ever seen. It almost ruined any chance I'd have at my own. I didn't question when she wasn't home because when she was, she'd be throwing plates or pushing us down the stairs."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Hm," he hums, clearly not impressed. "Listen, you've just gotta see this from my perspective, Agent Blackwell—"

"Ford," I say, interrupting him. "It's Agent Ford."

"Right. Well. From IA's perspective, Agent Ford," he starts again, nearly spitting the last name out of his mouth. "All of this seems just a bit too suspect."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that it's just a little bit convenient that you decided to join the League right around the time Christin made her grand comeback. It's also quite interesting that you were assigned to the exact team with the captain who took out your mother's father."

"Well, I don't know if you know this or not, but it's kind of hard to pay for college with no help from your dead parents, so I needed a job. The League was basically a guarantee for me. As for the team placement, I was a probationary member of the team before my exam. Max requested me specifically."

"Is his recommendation on file?"

"Of course."

"Hm," he hums again, scribbling down some more notes onto the paper in the file. "What's your relationship with Rowan Rivera?"

"That's none of your damn business," I hiss. Rowan has nothing to with my shitty family life. Nothing at all. He's just bringing Rowan into this to piss me off.

"I'm afraid it is," he says smoothly, allowing a smug smirk to make its way onto his face. "You currently pose a threat to national security, so those connected to you potentially do, as well."

"Rowan Rivera has nothing to do with Christin Blackwell," I say firmly. My hands begin to shake where I've stashed them under the table.

"I am going to be very clear with you right now, Agent Ford. As of right now, Internal Affairs has very good reason to believe that you are working with your mother. Any information to prove that you're not will only help your case."

His words are like a slap in the face. My hands fly up to grip the edge of the table, my brain's attempt to stop me from jumping straight across it and strangling this man to death.

"My case? Listen here, you fucking weasel, I spent the first seventeen years of my life getting my ass kicked by that woman. Everything bad that's ever happened to me is directly tied to her and my father. She and her new friends kicked my insides purple during the assembly in D.C. so, no, I don't think there really is any reason for IA to be shoving their noses up my ass right now. If I could have it my way, she'd have stayed dead." My grip tightens gradually until I can barely feel my fingers against the table. I don't notice a problem until his eyes flick down to the wooden table and I realize that ice is beginning to seep through the grains. A resounding cracking noise disrupts the tense silence.

The room has dropped at least twenty degrees. The man starts to shiver just as I'm letting go of the table. I clasp my hands together tightly in my lap. The door to the conference room opens just as flurries of snow begin to drift down from the ceiling.

"This interview or whatever the hell you've chosen to call it is over," Max says loudly. "It's clear that Lake has no involvement in any of this. I was there in D.C. with him, too. You should be interviewing me if this is a serious security threat, as well, so it's clear that you're all just trying to nail him to wall because of his ancestry."

"Now, let's not be so harsh—" Lee begins, but Max cuts him off.

"I'd hate to have to call Agent Moon up to escort you off the premises, but if you insist..." he says, trailing off with a raise of a single eyebrow.

Lee leaves with a huff, disappearing through the conference room door and heading directly to the elevator. He glares at me on his way past with an expression that is obviously him trying to portray that he'll be back.

The room slowly goes back to its normal temperature once my heart stops racing and there isn't so much violence racing through my veins. I've never lost control of my powers in front of someone like this before. Control is typically something people seriously struggle with after they initially present with powers, especially kids. I was really young when I presented, which is apparently yet another Blackwell family "tradition," but I didn't have much of a grace period when it comes to learning. My mom made it clear that my powers weren't for me by beating me within a few inches of my life every time she caught me using them, accident or not. I had control within a year whether I wanted it or not.

My past is catching up with me in a way I never thought it would. I've forced control into my life in every area I could manage because of the serious lack I grew up with as a kid. I was just another League agent less than a week ago. No, not even. I was the youngest agent to ever become an agent, and the League loved me for it. Now anyone who is in the know about my true lineage hates me.

"Are you okay?" Max asks, stepping closer to me. I haven't even gotten up from the conference table yet. The cracked conference table.

I look at him and am unsure of exactly how to answer. I guess we're back to me not being able to figure out how emotions work.

"I'm gonna go for a run," I say. It's better than telling him that I really just want to sleep for the rest of my life.

He doesn't try to stop me. I grab my running shoes from my suite and then head right up to the gym. I'm still getting occasional headaches from my concussion, but there's nothing wrong with my legs. There's something very weird about pumping my arms with a cast on one of them, but I run until I can't even feel my arms, anyway.

"Lake," a voice says from the edge of the track. Rowan is there, standing with a mixture of concern and surprise on his face. I slow down but keep going, rounding the track and going right past him.

He's standing in my path when I get close to him this time, catching me before I can dodge him and keep going. The feeling returns to all of my limbs as Rowan is practically holding me upright.

"You're okay," he murmurs. "Let's go back to your room, huh?"

"Yeah, okay," I agree, nodding against his chest. We take the elevator up to my suite. I lean against him the entire time and he thankfully doesn't seem to mind me clinging onto him like a pathetic octopus.

I sit down on the edge of my bed, still completely dressed, and it's as if all of my energy is suddenly gone. Rowan seems to notice this, going for the button of my jeans with a tilt of the head, asking for permission. God, I love him so much it's kind of crazy. I nod, deciding to hand over the controls to him for a little while. He's the person who holds most of my trust right now, so I might as well act like it.

He pulls off my jeans and deposits them on the floor, doing the same for himself as I curl up under the blanket draped across my bed. We lay there together for a long while and do nothing. He plays with my hair and tells me all about the first friend Bella just made at school. I fall asleep after he's moved on to some crazy long joke JD told him today.