He sat carefully down on the massive leather couch in front of the 80 inch TV that apparently had the latest Motorcross race on a loop, and with one ear he listened to his daughter mutter about the third curve again and again while blaming her missing coach, a missing uncle that she didn’t know now lay in the medical wing drugged out of his mind and apparently addicted to something, whether by choice, stupidity or some sort of attack remained unknown.  As he took several deep breaths to control the raging emotions, he felt Amelia’s touch upon his hand resting on the back of the couch.  A soft touch that helped him bring the war into tolerable battlefield lines.

From the way she looked at him and smiled, he could tell he wasn’t fooling her with anything.  The surprise of the state they had found Bryce in, the knowledge that Rachel knew not only that Bryce was Silver Spyder, but that she knew Bryce’s real name, the names of his family.  Too much information, and given what Rachel had said in the courtyard, too much about his, Brett’s, relationship….dynamics.  All of that calmed slightly with Amelia’s touch.  She may not know what exactly was wrong, but given their rather quick departure this morning, she knew it involved his baby brother, the idiot.

“Maybe ya could,” a deep breath, “offer Rachel a drink? I’ll give this,” nodding at their daughter, “a go.”

Smiling with understanding, she briefly clasped his hand, and then released it before standing, and walking towards the bar and the other woman, instantly acting like entertaining a random guest in the top secret base was….normal.

He watched the race again with her.  Far be it for him to suggest anything about the two victories she achieved or that you can’t win them all, even if she was in the top three of the ‘loser’ race.  He listened to the complaints, again, more whining really, about the fact that her coach was the problem.

As the race concluded before she started it again, “Hey kiddo, which video game ya want me ta kick yer ass at?”

Snorting laughter, “Yea, right, Dad……” then glancing at him, smirking, “How ’bout SuperCross 3?”

Half way through the first race, “Waves are supposed ta be good early Monday. Wanna go?”

“Bloody right I do, need some lessons Da?”

“Not from some ankle biter who can’t stay up for longer than ten seconds.”

“Temp?”

“Bodysuit.  Should be cold enough ta keep the kooks and shark biscuits away.”

“Deal.”

After two more races…..which he intentionally lost of course.  “Got a costume ready?”

“Not yet, Mum said later with Apex. Whatchya got goin’?”

“Henri sent a memo.  I didn’ read it.” A snort of laughter,  “But, yer Mum says its D&D classes. What abou’ ya?”

“Hmm…..was thinkin’ cat witcher.” The er was becoming more pronounced the longer she was in the US.  Kind of made him a bit sad.

“Cool.”

“Ya don’t know what that is, do ya?”

“Nope.”

“Another race?”

“Going ta put some effort into it this time?”

“Maybe.”

A couple minutes past with the usual game exclamations.

“So…..kiddo, what was wrong with the 3rd turn?”

Absently, focused on the game, Livy replied, “I chopped the throttle.”

“That yer uncle’s fault?”

“What?” a pause, caught up in the game. “No, course not, but…..”

“But what?”

“It’s…..I don’t…..”

“He’ll be back soon.  I promise.”

Sullen, but less so, “Fine.”

“Want some advice that I bet he’d give ya?”

“What?”

“How about…….don’t chop the throttle on the turn?”

A groaned, “Really?  That’s what ya got?”

“Nope, there’s this,” and he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her down and blocking her sight just long enough to win the race, ignoring her squawks of outrage, as well as her jabs to his legs.

“Funny, very funny ya cheeky, cheatin’ ol’ drongo,” when he let her up, and he ignored the hard elbow to his side.

“Fine, fine…..one last race. No shenanigans.”

They had just started a new track when over the mental link Henri started her report with an exclamation of “General English.”

The snap as the controller broke in half shot through the rec room.

A reckoning.   It was long past time for a reckoning.

 

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