By the time the meeting hit operational logistics, the Ensigns began to lose part of their audience -- the young and the restless wasn't just the name of a soap opera. As far as Tommy Champion was concerned once he knew where he was going and who he was expected to hit, that was all he needed to know. There was only one thing left that he felt he had to do before they went to war.

"So," Tommy said, teleporting behind Knockout and Maestro to get the proper cornering effect. "This is the Alex."

The young blonde jumped slightly, a startled look flashing across her blue eyes. Alex, on the other hand, turned his head quickly in the direction of the voice and saw Omega standing there, apparently pleased with his entrance. Alex had heard the Song of Transport just before he "arrived" but was still somewhat taken aback. The man's presence was nearly overwhelming. It seemed as though there were a Song of some kind playing in the background, but Alex wasn't certain what it was.

Sarah drew a deep breath. The air around Tom Champion always seemed charged somehow, but right now it felt positively electric. Her skin tingled, and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck bristling.

"Alexander St. John-Smythe. Sometimes referred to as 'Maestro,' Heaven help me," Alex added almost with a grimace.

"Tommy--"

"From the costume, I'd thought you were named Treble Clef, but I've been wrong about that sort of thing before." Omega smiled, his eyes dissecting the young hero.

"Not to worry. The whole code-name thing is somewhat embarrassing as it is. 'Alex' will do just fine," Alex replied with a slight smile.

Sarah looked from one young hero to the other. "Um, Alex--"

"Sarah didn't say you were so tall. And the accent's well, it's got that Masterpiece Theater vibe to it. That's way cool." There was something a little phony about his smile -- he was trying a little too hard to be pleasant, and the cracks in the mask were painful to look at.

Sarah crinkled her nose slightly. She knew that it would be uncomfortable for her when the two men met, but she found herself unprepared with how awkward the moment had actually turned out to be. Tommy had seemed very supportive when he first found out that there might be someone else in Sarah's life, but she knew that he wouldn't be able to resist stirring things up if given half a chance. Any look at the morning headlines in Los Angles verified that on a nearly daily basis.

Alex wasn't quite certain what was on the American's mind but he decided to try a change of subject.

"I was a little shocked that you weren't included on the team to take on Avatar. Not as shocked as I was when I heard that I was, mind you. It seems like it would be more prudent to have the heavy hitters take him on. I'm just a musician..."

"Nobody here is just anything, Alex," Tommy answered with a slightly forced laugh. "Maybe Zodiac's gone nuts and wants to bring you along to provide fight music. Or maybe he thinks your powers could produce certain songs that would remind Avatar who he really is and snap him back to normal. You can never tell in this business, it's whacked."

Sarah nodded, relieved at the quick change of subject.

"Music hath its charms to sooth the savage beast," Tommy added, getting an odd look on his face - part of him no longer saw Maestro as a rival, but as a mystery. "And in your case, kick some serious ass. The Elite's been after you big time, and it's not because Autocrat needs a court musician. You're a player. I hope you figure out why, and use it to our best advantage. The people out there need all the help we can give them."

Alex wondered about the expression on Omega's face, wondered what he saw.

"I hope I can figure it out as well," he replied quietly.

The memories Alex had of the brief time he was in the clutches of the Elite were still cloudy, and none of them pleasant. But some of those memories hinted at immense power buried deep within himself -- power he wasn't entirely certain he wanted.

"As for jonzing for a rematch with Avatar, well, I got an ego the size of Nebraska, but this whole thing is helluva lot bigger than my pissant state. Zodiac, Old Glory, they've fought fucking wars, alien invasions. Me, I was quarterback on a high school football team until I decided I liked being a wide receiver better. Who the fuck am I to say that my judgment is better than the professionals?" But again, it sounded like the Nebraskan was doing his best to convince himself of something he didn't truly believe.

"We could sure use your help, though, Tommy," Sarah finally managed a complete sentence. "I think we're in over our heads with this. At least you've got some experience fighting Avatar -- I don't really know what to expect. I mean -- most of us aren't even in his league..."

Tommy drew close to Sarah, head bowed boyishly. "Sarah, don't look to my example. You've got a helluva lot more firepower on your side than one Nebraska farmboy who was dumb enough to get into a wrestling match with a fucking god. I've seen you in action against Hack, so don't you dare start doubting what you can do, especially when someone lights a fire in those gorgeous blue eyes of yours."

Sarah flushed slightly, barely feeling Tommy's breath on her cheek as the man she'd just spent the night with shifted from one foot to the other, behind her. The young heroine swallowed hard and self-consciously brushed a few strands of hair from her face. She nodded silently, then said, "Yeah. We'll do okay."

It was rapidly becoming evident to Alex that the two had more history between them than just a few battles with some tough villains. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

On the one hand, he couldn't blame anyone for wanting to be close to Sarah, especially if they felt about her even a tenth of what he felt. On the other hand, Alex had a brief, but very intense desire to drop Tommy into a very deep hole and cover it up.

"Well. I don't know about you two, but I'm famished. Would you care to grab a bite to eat?"

Turning to look at Alex, Sarah couldn't completely hide the surprise on her face, though she did try. The three of them sitting down to share dinner?

Great, she thought. Just... great. How better to spend what might be her last hours than in agonizing discomfort? She said nothing as her eyes darted back to Tom Champion and his reaction.

"Dinner sounds great," Tommy said with a smile. He sensed the tension in the threesome - and he would enjoy being a bit of a bastard about it, at least for now. "Of course that brings up the question where to eat..." Mentally, Omega contacted some friends in Los Angeles to see if they could recommend a good London restaurant, communicating telepathically. "I hear something called Belgo Centraal is pretty cool."

"Yes, I've been there once or twice," replied Alex. "The menu isn't extensive but it is good -- and the beer isn't bad either. The serving staff has an eccentric twist -- " Noting the curious looks, Alex added with a slight smile, " -- you'll have to see it for yourself."

Even though it had been hours since she'd last eaten -- the council meeting had lasted a long time -- Sarah wasn't the least bit hungry... the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach had seen to that. Biting her lower lip slightly, she said, "Is it such a good idea to have a big meal right now, with everything that's happening?"

"Remember, 'food' almost rhymes with 'good,'" Tommy said with a smile. "It'll do us good to put some meat into our stomachs before a fight."

Jacob moved quickly through the main hall at the Palace at Westminster.  Casually flipping a long, tan coat over his shoulders and wings, Jacob continued towards the door.  He fixed a long-rimmed, brown hat over his head, adjusting it to throw a near complete shadow over his face.  Satisfied, he took a final glance behind himself at the corridors bustling with activity and final preparations and left.

Everything seemed to be happening so fast.  He needed some time for himself, space to think and clear his head.  Here he was, across the Atlantic participating in the assault on Autocrat's 'Fortress Ireland'.  Moreover, he was part of the team that was to strike at the heart of Autocrat's operation: Celestial Keep.  He had been given dossiers on the most likely metahumans he might be facing in any attack against Autocrat's forces.  It had been disconcerting reading to say the least.  Jacob wondered just how much staking vampires for the last few months had prepared him for what lay ahead.

Then there was the footage of the Emerald Isle itself.  The devastation, the horror that had been, and was being, inflicted on it's people; it was New Orleans on a magnitude that dwarfed real comprehension.  The numbers and facts that had been presented about Ireland's situation were sterile, but the faces (or what passed as faces) demanded a response.  Jacob stopped and shivered under his coat.  How many more faces would there be tonight pleading for help and clawing at his dreams?  He wondered if any of the other 'superheroes' assembled were constantly plagued by such nightmares?

A rapidly becoming familiar voice sounded out of the night, "Hey."

Jacob turned towards the small, slight figure moving towards him, a smile spreading across his face.  He watched the gentle, graceful sway of her hips for a moment as she slowly made her way to where he was standing.  "Hey," Jacob offered in response.  "So what brings you out here tonight?"

"I don't know exactly.  I think I just needed a little time alone, chance to think and sort things out."  Nereid replied, brushing lightly past Jacob to stand with her back turned a few feet away.  Her gaze journeyed up into the night sky, searching for the stars.

"I could leave if you want?" Jacob asked innocently, misinterpreting Nereid's comment.

"No, that's fine. I--" Nereid smiled and turned, her blues eyes flashing way up to scan Jacob's face.  Suddenly she found herself looking away from the grey eyes that met her.  "Unless you wanted to be alone?"

"No," Jacob responded, the word leaping out to meet her question.  "I appreciate the company."

A silence settled between them, not weighted or cumbersome, just silent.  Jacob looked around at his surroundings.  What during the evening hours might have been a busy street, was now deserted save for himself, Nereid, and the street lamps that hummed overhead.  Turning away from the street, he noticed another light shining forth brightly into the night.  Seeing the familiar, comforting symbol and reading the sign that accompanied it, Jacob smiled.  It seemed fitting that he had somehow arrived outside of a synagogue.  Walking over to the steps that led up to the doors he sat down.  The shining light from the Star of David mingled with his own.
 
 

Looking up Jacob noticed Nereid's arms wrapped around herself.  "Are you cold?" Jacob asked as he rose, beginning to remove his long, tan coat.

Nereid simply shook her head, her private communion with the stars interrupted.  Turning she grinned at the offered coat, and the very noticeable, white feathery wings that sprouted from Jacob's back, "I'm fine, thank you.  Besides, I think you might need it more than me.  Unless you were planning for a mass conversion to Judaism for those living around here."  She said, indicating the symbol behind Jacob.  "What about you?" she asked, moving to sit beside the angelic giant on the stairs. "I couldn't help noticing you shivering before."

"It's certainly not from the cold," Jacob replied, letting out a slight snort.  The ruse was up, someone had found out that he wasn't as brave and worthy as everyone else.  Nereid's silence and expression prompted him to continue.  "I don't know, I don't think I was cut-out for any of this 'hero' business.  I keep seeing their faces, not just the images from Ireland, but the people from New Orleans as well.  I keep struggling, searching: what could I have done differently?  How could I have done more?  Even when I think about Ireland, some part of me knows that I will do everything thing I can to help.  But then, when I close my eyes and fall asleep, they're there: the faces, the people.  They're asking me why I let them slip through my fingers, and I have no answer."

"I'd be scared if you did angel-man," Nereid quipped good-naturedely, releasing Jacob's own tension.

Jacob chuckled, "It's probably a little strange, or too serious or something.  I haven't exactly been doing this long."

"It's not as strange as you might think," Nereid answered seriously.  "I think most of the metahumans here have to deal with the same thing.  They just do it in their own ways."

"And how do you deal with it?" Jacob asked.

Nereid let out a little sigh, "I talk to people.  I talk to my friends and family, those who know me.  I cry, it's hard not to with everything I've seen with the Canadian Shield.  And sometimes, when I'm worried I can't take it anymore, I go back to Halifax, where I grew up.  It's nice to be with just regular people.  People who like you for who you are and not what you've done.  It doesn't make the fear go away, or the pain, but it does help to put things in perspective: we can't save everybody, but at least we save some.  That has to account for something."

Jacob breathed in deeply and exhaled. "'Whoso does a good deed shall have ten times as much; but he who does an evil deed, shall have only a like reward; and they shall not be wronged' - from the Quran."

A silence settled again between the two of them.  Jacob looked at his hand and watched the familiar glow shimmering across and through it.  He looked deeper and noticed the blue veins snaking their way over his palm and back towards his heart.  He stared at his heart, searching it and feeling the presence and pull of the other that resided within his mind and body.

"Perhaps this is my way, to remember the faces of those I could not help, to burn them into my mind," Jacob whispered, cutting through the growing silence.  "Most of all, to remember why I'm doing this.  I'm not doing this for fame, or fortune, or a sense of self.  I'm doing it for them.  They, those tormented faces of my nightmares, in the end are my jury."

Nereid shivered slightly and rose from the stairs.  Her voice was quiet and somber, "It's getting late, and we leave for the staging area in the morning.  We should go back."

"You go ahead," Jacob said, his mind searching himself, "I'll catch up.  I still need to do something."

Nereid looked at Jacob, their eyes locking.  She was lost for a moment in the steely greyness, the compassion, the warmth, the sincerity of Jacob's eyes.  But there was something else just on the periphery: an edge, a threat of madness and violence.  She broke away from his gaze and smiled hesitantly.  Turning, she quickly went back the way they came.

Jacob followed her with his eyes until she was out of earshot, then his gaze shifted inwards.  If he was to be of real use to his team in their attack on Celestial Keep, he had to be whole, he had to have access to the powers of light that dwelled within him.  He searched within himself until he found a spot of resistance.  Jacob whispered, "We need to talk..."

A half-mile from Picadilly Square, on the edge of Soho near Covent Garden, there was a bright red brick building with a loft. Omega, Knock-out and Maestro -- or Tommy, Sarah, and Alex, the costumes not being altogether synonymous with those who wore them -- descended via elevator to a large room with wooden benches, and men dressed in monks' robes serving food and drink.

"Damn that Michael." Omega snarled as a robed figure directed them to a table. "These assholes remind me a little too much of the Black Priest."

Examining her surroundings with some amount of interest, Sarah touched Tommy on the elbow. "That's who you and Dr. Wight went after that one night, right? He sounds like a pretty scary guy."

"Yeah, he's a real high grade piece of shit. I hope you two never come within a hundred miles of him or his Black Mess." Omega replied, sitting down and taking in the ambience. "I'm told they smother everything here in beer. That's a pretty high recommendation." Tommy's laugh was a little forced. "And maybe the Royal Elite will be stupid enough to try to use the local costumes as an excuse to ambush us."

Alex scowled slightly.

"Somehow, I think they'd consider it 'beneath' them to dress as anything other than one of the aristocracy." Even as he said it, Alex glanced about the room, half expecting to see one or more of the Elite come out of the back. "Frankly, I'm in no hurry to see them again."

"Sorry. I can't wait for the fight," Omega said, and from the look in his eyes, they believed him. "The Effete deserves payback so bad, I can't tell you how much I want to give it to them." He paused, while a monk stepped to their table, head cocked to take their drink orders. He turned back to Alex. "Hey Ragtime, you know any good English beers? Stouts, ales, y'know?"

Alex arched an eyebrow and said, "I know a fair number of them on a first name basis. Unfortunately, you won't find a lot of them here. They serve mainly Belgian beers from what I remember, but you shouldn't have any trouble finding something you like -- maybe a Chimay or a Bush?"

Alex ordered a Chimay Grande, a dark beer brewed by Trappist monks.

Sarah shrugged, saying, "I'm not much of a beer drinker." Looking at Alex across the table, she added, "You've been here before, Alex -- what do you suggest?"

"How about a lambic of some kind? They're a little on the lighter side, almost like champagne but with a lower alcohol content."

"Sounds good to me," Tommy said. "Not that the alcohol really affects me when my powers are active." He took a look at the monks. "So when do the Gregorian chants start?"

The robed waiter returned after a few minutes with their drinks. Alex took a sip from his glass and, a little uncomfortable in the silence, looked around the restaurant. At some point in the building's history, it had been a bank. The old vault was now serving as the beer cellar. Despite the events of the last few days, he was glad to be home. Home! he suddenly thought to himself.

"Oh bloody hell! I'll be right back!"

Sarah's eyes widened at the man's exclamation. "Alex? What's wrong?"

"With all that's happened, I've completely forgotten to let my mother know I'm still alive. I'm sorry -- I shouldn't be long." Alex headed toward the back of the restaurant in search of a phone.

Knock-out and Omega sat for a few moments before Sarah mustered the gumption to say what was on her mind. Leaning closer, she couldn't keep from smiling as she asked, "Okay, Mr. Champion -- just what are you up to, here?"

Tommy looked back to where Alex stood. The Brit was speaking into the phone -- or at least, he was trying to do so. He only seemed to be able to get half sentences out before being interrupted.

"Sounds like someone's having secret identity trouble. I always thought secrets suck," Omega said. "As for what I'm up to, I'm having dinner with a gorgeous woman and her very tall boyfriend in a really strange restaurant." He leaned over and whispered. "And if the Great Briton gets a little jealous, work it to your advantage. It's what us guys are all about -- territory."

"He's not my boyfriend!" Sarah whispered quickly. When the man across the table simply smiled, she sputtered, "I mean, we're just... it's more like... um... alright, maybe we are sort of dating. But that doesn't mean... well, anyway, I don't want to make him jealous. I don't 'work' stuff like that." Seeing Alex hang up the phone, the flustered young woman delivered a playful kick to one of Omega's impervious shins beneath the table. "Behave!" she said through gritted teeth.

Tommy started, with a "who, me?" grin on his face. He almost had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. But seeing Alex putting down the phone, he composed himself for the next round.

Alex returned to the table and sat down, his face slightly red.

"Sorry. I had to come up with some way to explain why my plane landed four days ago and I'm only just now calling."

"I guess you couldn't just tell her the truth, huh?" Sarah commented wryly, making a face as she sipped from her beer.

"I believe we Americans call that -- 'busted,'" Omega said, smiling slightly. "I hope you straightened it out."

"'Busted?' No, it's not like that, not quite anyway. If she knew what had actually happened... well... Explaining last night would have been difficult enough," he said blushing slightly. "But how do you explain... I just told her that I'd had a few things to take care of at the Ministry and they turned out to be more complicated than I'd thought. I don't think she believed me, but she let it go for now." From the way he said it, there was likely to be a more in-depth discussion when he got home.

"I didn't like lying," he said with a frown, "but the truth would likely have sent her into hysterics."

"Just tell her you've gone into the import/export business," Omega quipped. "It works for every crime boss in the movies.  Now, Alex, aside from being right bastards, what can you tell me about the Royal Elites?"

Alex's expression darkened significantly and, for a brief moment, Tommy thought that he was going to lose it. However, the moment passed and Alex regained his composure.

"They don't typically take no for an answer," started Alex. "Every one of the Elite that I've seen in Autocrat's presence, from the Yeomen on up the chain, fall all over themselves to do his bidding. That alone should suggest that he shouldn't be taken lightly."

"I dunno. Getting a team of brown-nosers and brainwashing them doesn't seem like that big a deal." Omega replied. "Now surviving twenty years without taking an Alaskan holiday, or brainwashing Avatar, or screwing over an entire country -- now, that's the sort of shit that gets my attention. Any weak links in the chain?"

"The Yeomen are probably the weakest of them, though they're dangerous if they're fighting together. If I'd had a boom box when I encountered them, they might not be a factor..." Alex trailed off for a moment, recalling how that meeting had turned out.

"So the louder the stronger you get?" Omega noted, eyebrows narrowing. "Have you considered hiring AC/DC?"

"What? No the volume doesn't ha--"

"I see," said the American, interrupting Alex's response. "So tell us about the rest of them,"

"Rook seems to prefer hand fighting -- his cybernetics seem to give him something of a boost in that area -- but he's also able to fire some kind of energy from that staff of his. Proctor strikes me as more of a peacock -- a dangerous one. Sarah could probably tell you more about him. She cleaned his clock the last time we met."

"Sarah?" Tommy turned to his American compatriot.

Sarah shrugged. "Both of those guys are pretty tough -- I don't particularly want to mess with them again. And I don't know that I cleaned Proctor's clock -- I hit him about as hard as I could and he came back for more. I'm just glad the Draughtsmen showed up when they did."

Alex continued. "I don't know much about Mastodon and Baroness. I only saw them in passing."

"Sarah's had some experience with them," Omega said. "And I'll admit that nothing would give me greater pleasure than beating the crap out of that quarter-ton loser." He turned and looked at Sarah. "Well maybe not nothing. What was the Baroness's whole trip like?"

Sarah reddened at Tommy's sly comment, and she had to clear her throat before she answered. "Those two were another matter. Mastodon is really strong. He banged me up pretty good, but I did manage to go toe to toe with him and hang in there. He's kind of a goon, not very smart. If I ever have to fight him again, I'll try to outsmart him instead of trying to out-muscle him." She paused before continuing. "The Baroness scares me, frankly. She like waved her hand and there was nothing I could do... it was like I was frozen in time. Mastodon was about to level me when Zodiac showed up just in time. I was very lucky."

"Brainchild and Harbinger," Alex said through gritted teeth. "Don't mess with them if they're together. Together they were strong enough to turn Avatar... and m--" Alex cut off the last word, as if doing so would take the truth out of it. "If I ever encounter either one of them alone..." The statement hung in the air, not so much a threat as a vow.

So he's had problems with the two psionics? Tommy was about to call him on it, but hesitated -- better than most, he understood the masculine drive and its reticence to confront uncomfortable memories directly. "Nothing's scarier than a high-grade psionic with a megalomaniac bent, except maybe for an insane two thousand year old chaos mage." Tommy finally said, and then he laughed.

Sarah swirled the beer she'd been nursing, watching foam collect against the sides of the glass. People with mind-control powers freaked her out. How was anyone supposed to guard against that kind of thing? The Baroness wasn't a mentalist, but her powers were similar in a way... there was nothing Sarah could do once she was in the villainess' grip -- she was completely helpless, and it was a terrible feeling. The bottom line was that if punching the crap out of someone wasn't an effective solution, the young heroine was at a bit of a loss. She looked up as Tommy went on.

"I don't know your Brainchild, but Harbinger's way too pretty. I had a long distance encounter with him around Killarney, and he made his way onto my shit list real quick. There was also some guy named Herzog -- not particularly first tier by the Elite standards, but still enough of a bastard that he teleported Red Lion's hand from his body. Clean cut, too. I suspect he's still cowering behind a force field on the West Coast. As for Harby, if you get a chance, muss up his hair for me, okay?"

"If the chance presents itself, I'll be doing a great deal more than that."

"Be careful, both of you," Sarah said seriously as a robed waiter approached. "Let's help liberate Ireland and everything, but let's get out of this alive, too."

"You've decided?" the waiter asked, seeing the three closed menus on the table.

Sarah grimaced. "Actually, I haven't even looked at the menu yet." Opening it up, she looked to her two friends. "Do you guys already know what you want? What's good? I don't know Belgian food at all..."

Alex relaxed slightly and quickly eyed the menu.

"Well, besides the beers, they're best known for their mussels. They also have a few beef, pork and salmon dishes. Anything sound appealing?"

Sarah pointed to an item on the menu that she didn't dare try to pronounce. "I guess I'll try the mussels..."

"I'll go for the Confit de Canard au Cassis," Tommy said, struggling slightly with the language. "The leg of duck in the blackberry beer sauce. And don't skimp on the beer. And we're on a clock here, so please don't take three hours, or the world might not get saved."

Alex grimaced, then turned to the waiter and ordered the Carbonnade Flamande, a beef dish that incorporated apples and brown ale in the sauce. The fact that he pronounced the name of the dish with a perfect accent didn't go unnoticed.

"Well, now that we've put in our orders, let's look at the situation from a broader perspective. We've got the Royals on one side, everyone else on the other, Ireland caught in the middle. Is there anything going on that we're overlooking, below the surface?"

"Seems to me like that is quite enough," said Alex. "Why go looking for more trouble when there's a triple helping on the table already?"

"Below the surface?" Sarah asked. "What do you mean -- it's pretty clear what's going on, isn't it? The Elite are behind all this... right?"

"How are the other villains, like the Black Priest, going to exploit the situation. Are there any mystery villains, alien overlords and so forth, manipulating things? You see, this problem is almost a little too clean for my tastes." Omega said, swallowing hard. "Not counting Ireland, of course, but when you deal with a meta operation, history shows there are usually a lot of players who don't initially show up on the fucking radar. I'd like to know everyone we're dealing with."

"Alien overlords?" Sarah smiled. "I don't know about any alien overlords plotting to take over the planet right now, but I bet you're right, Tommy. This is getting huge press, and I bet all half the villains back in the states are getting ready to pull jobs while we're all over here. It only makes sense..."

"I don't know," began Alex. "I'm sure there are a few who'll likely try to take advantage of the situation. But how would we know who they are in the first place? And even if we knew who they are, who could we spare to deal with them?

"Warders, for one," Tommy said. "There's plenty of people to spread around who aren't fit for an operation like this."

"It seems to me that we shouldn't waste time worrying about who might be stirring up trouble and just concentrate on the trouble at hand. If anyone else decides they can take advantage of the situation, I'm certain there will be a hell of a lot of people on hand to correct their thinking once the Elite are dealt with."

"I don't agree. It's not our job to just deal with the obvious threats, and leave the clever ones alone just because they don't show up on the radar. We have to be better than all of them. And that requires anticipation, keeping your eye out for signs people are working behind the scenes. And if we don't have the nose to know when people are pulling behind the scenes shit, we need to develop one. It's part of the job."

"Yes, I suppose it is... if the job is being 'God.' I don't think that anyone, or any group for that matter, can see everything that is going on or be everywhere they'd need to be in order to pull that off. And if there was, I'm not certain I'd feel any safer because of it..."

Twirling a strand of hair in her fingers, Sarah eyed her nearly-full beer glass and tried not to think about taking another drink of the awful stuff. "Can we talk about something else?" she said, finally. "All this sooooperhero stuff is getting overwhelming, especially considering what we're about to do."

Alex looked at Sarah and smiled.

"Should I assume that you don't care much for Belgo's beverage of choice?" he said, noting the almost full glass in front of Sarah. "I'm sure we can find something you'll like better."

Sarah shrugged. "I'm just not that much of a beer drinker. Especially with this kind of beer. It's kind of... weird. Not like American beer. Maybe I'll get some wine when Friar Tuck comes back."

"After we've finished, if you like, I could show you around London or maybe even take a short trip over to the estate. I'm sure mother would like to meet you..."

"The estate?" Tommy interjected, sensing a weakness. If Maestro turned out to be a spoiled, rich brat, it might discredit him a little in Sarah's eyes. "You grew up on an estate, eh? Big marble halls and a shitload of gardens?"

"Yes," replied Alex, the faintest hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Although there's a good deal more stone and wood paneling than marble. The gardens are one of mother's hobbies. Why do you ask?"

"It's just different from the way I grew up." Tommy shrugged. "I'm a little bit curious about what it was like. And it's not talking about the trade," he briefly glanced at Sarah. "Unless one of your mom's other hobbies involved wearing tights."

"Wearing tights is one of the last things my mother would ever do," said Alex, clearly not liking the direction of the conversation. "What are you trying to get at?"

"There's no need to be defensive. It's not like having a meta parent would be anything to be ashamed of." Tommy replied. "But getting away from the 'M' word, I was wondering what it was like growing up in that sort of world. Long pants, eighty pieces of silverware on each plate, fox-hunting, Jean Marsh in an apron, tea and crumpets: we get all the cliches, so what's the real scoop?"

"Ahhh," said Alex, a look of mock realization on his face. "I see what you mean: what's it like for the 'Silver Spoon' crowd?"

"Well," began Alex in his best lecturing voice, "Most of what you've heard is probably spot on. Until about age four, we just ride around on the backs of the servants. I mean, that's what they're for, right? Great practice for polo as well."

"As far as dining," he continued with no small degree of sarcasm, "we wouldn't dare even think of handling all of that silver ourselves, Dear Lord no! Each of us are fed until the age of fourteen, so as not disfigure our delicate hands with the effort of raising all of that rich food to our faces."

"But when we reach the age of sixteen," he said, abandoning all pretense of sincerity, "that's when we get our first sports car. We do, of course, have to get new ones every few weeks or so. The ash trays get full so quickly..."

Sarah looked at the young aristocrat, a little surprised at the way he was bristling.

"How does that compare to your upbringing?" said Alex dryly.

"Well, that's a hard question to answer," Tommy said in a perfect deadpan. "Not only are we a pack of brain dead Yanks, down on the farm we're too busy fucking sheep to notice how we're being raised."

The next kick Sarah stealthily directed at Tom Champion's shin was considerably harder than the one she'd delivered earlier, and much less effective -- less effective because it was accidentally intercepted under the table by one of Alex's long legs. The man jumped from the jarring impact, pain shooting through his lower leg.

"Mother of God!" exclaimed Alex, grabbing his left leg.

Sarah cried out when she realized what had happened, and when she quickly stood to see if her friend was okay, one of her breasts bumped her beer glass and promptly turned it over, spilling its contents all over the table and drizzling down onto the floor.

"Shit!" Sarah exclaimed, grabbing her napkin to try to contain the spill. In her haste, she managed to nearly knock over Tommy's drink as well, dip her hair into the puddle of beer, and attract the irritated attention of diners from several tables around. "Shit!" she repeated, louder.

Suddenly very embarrassed about the whole affair, the red-face young woman excused herself when a sour-faced waiter arrived to take over clean-up duty. "I'll be back in a minute," she muttered over her shoulder, moving off towards the restrooms.

Tommy confronted the angry expression on Alex's face with slight bemusement. "It'd be better if you went after her," he said after a few seconds.

Alex got up and, shooting Tommy a withering glance, limped after Sarah, wondering what he'd say when (or if) he caught up to her. Tommy sat back in his chair and cleaned up the mess with a thought. Maestro certainly had a touchy trigger, he thought, although that could just be pre-battle nerves at work. Maybe it would do them both some good to get it out of their system now.

Jacob could feel a swirling within himself, a small opening being formed and created.  As it opened, preparing to answer, Jacob could feel the burden of images wash over him.  The images were strange, otherworldly, but like a lighthouse against the storm, he held firm, controlling himself.

Why wouldst I speak to you?  A deep voice rumbled within Jacob's head.

Jacob cut himself off from the surge of visions flowing within his mind, focusing on what he needed to do.  "Because there is work to be done, work that I can't accomplish alone.  Ireland, it's bleeding, dying, all because of a madman who would be God.  People, innocents, their blood washing over the land, threatening to become a flood -- where is their voice, their hope?"

Then give this body to me and bloody retribution shall be enacted upon those deserving.  The voice rumbled, the thought of vengeance echoing the images that Jacob now saw within his mind.

"No," Jacob stated firmly, fighting against the insinuating influence.  "We will do this together but we must not fight within our self.  You have control over the light while I can sense things not spoken.  And we have allies, sent by God, who would join us in this endeavor.  I know our allies and they trust me, I doubt they would trust you.  The only way we can succeed, or barring that fight fully for God, is by joining together.  So I ask again, will you help me?"

We will be joint?  Together?  Not one over the other? the voice asked.

"Yes, two as one."  Jacob replied simply.

Jacob could feel the being retreat into itself and could feel the thoughtful posture it took.  Jacob sighed in relief as the being spoke to him again.  When thou hast need call; joined, we will fight the foe to the outcome ordained by God.

Sarah had almost reached the ladies room when Alex finally managed to get her attention. Turning and seeing him, the upset girl had to fight the urge to blast him for his part in the deteriorating conversation back at the table. When she noticed the way he favored one leg, however, a burning wave of guilt and mild nausea washed over her. Gathering the beer-soaked ends of her hair together in one of her hands, she sheepishly offered, "I'm sorry I kicked you. I didn't mean to."

Alex looked as if he wanted to say something clever but apparently decided against it.

"Please don't apologize. I probably had it coming," he said, "even if I wasn't the intended target."

"I honestly don't know what came over me. It's not like he actually said anything to warrant the way I responded," he admitted. "Just something about the way he said it... I don't know."

"Don't let it get to you -- he doesn't really mean anything by it. Tommy's just kind of a born and bred shit-disturber. I don't think he can help himself."

"Still, I've always been told that when you invite abuse, it's rude not to accept -- and I did invite him, didn't I?" replied Alex, slightly exasperated. Smiling, he added, "Do me a favor? Remind me never to be within reach if you should ever actually mean to kick me. I may never play the piano again..."

Sarah winced. "I hope you're kidding... I know that Tommy has super-tough shins, so I put a little oomph behind it. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be fine," said Alex, still smiling. "Come tomorrow morning, I won't even have a bruise to remember it by."

"Well, I'm still sorry. Sometimes I just don't know my own strength. I need to be more careful."

Glancing back at the table, Alex said, "It would appear that the meal is being served. I've always marveled at the timing of things in a restaurant."

Lifting her wet hair, Sarah motioned towards the restrooms with her head. "I still need to wash the beer out of my hair. You can go on back -- I'll be there in a minute. You boys try to be civil to one another."

"I'll do my best," said Alex, as if Sarah had asked him to make the sun stand still. He watched Sarah disappear into the restroom and headed back to the table.

"Sarah will be back momentarily," he said as he sat down. Alex noted that the table had been cleaned up and there was no evidence that a spill had ever occurred.

"I owe you something of an apology, I think," he said to Tommy. "The conversation bore a striking resemblance to some of the things that appeared in the tabloids when the press got wind that I was a metahuman. I thought I'd become a little more desensitized than that. Apparently, I was wrong."

"Tabloids?" Tommy's eyes narrowed. "You got upset at me because of what some stupid tabloid said? And here I thought you might have a serious reason, like you were worried about the operation, or you thought I was inferring you'd be soft on the Royals because of your social background.

"Oh, there's no denying that's the largest part of it," said Alex, adding with a sour expression "although I wouldn't consider the Elite even remotely associated to my background. I don't know what it's like in the States, but when your family name can be traced back hundreds of years, protecting that name becomes very important. It's especially infuriating when someone tries to damage it just to sell a few papers."

"Alex, like shit, tabloids happen. At the start of my career, they printed so many stupid rumors about me that I wanted to blackmail Congress into repealing the First Amendment, but I got used to them. Now the only time they piss me off is when they go after my folks. As for your apology, save it for someone who deserves it. Over my lifetime, I've worked up so much negative karma with my--" He instinctively thought of saying the word "fucking," but he managed to hold back on such vulgarism. "--mouth that I'm the last person who should be taking offense when someone else overreacts. Your leg gonna be okay?"

Alex grimaced. "Yes, I'll be back to running the 100 meters in 9.5 tomorrow. I'll just hobble around a bit 'til then."

"Good. Here comes Sarah..."

Sarah came back to the table, her hair slightly damp where she had tried to get the beer out of her hair. Despite a slight coloration in her cheeks, she managed to ignore some of the glances from the other patrons.

"I see the furniture is still intact," she said. "I hope this means you two have decided to play nice." Looking at the large dish on the table, she added, "Is this a family-style kind of thing or is this all for me?"

"One steaming pot of mussels, it's all set for you," Tommy told her. "And Sarah, I know you wish Alex well, but 'break a leg isn't meant to be literal, okay?" He looked at her with a small smile, which was not returned. "No harm was done and nobody's upset at you. Laughing at ourselves when we screw up doesn't just keep us sane, it keeps us human."

"I'll have to remember that," she said in a way that indicated it would be quite a while before she was ready to laugh about the incident.

Dinner proceeded apace -- despite the trepidations, despite the earlier evening's conflicts, they all shared the knowledge that this could be their last meal, and ate accordingly. Dinner conversation, however, was a subdued affair, for much the same reasons.

At dessert, Tommy Champion had his stein refilled and stopped the proceedings. "I think..." he began. "We need a toast. And even if we don't, I'm offering one anyway. To victory -- and to the redemption of those who have been corrupted because a few assholes don't know how to do anything but hate."

Despite the wording of the toast, neither Alex nor Sarah had a problem drinking to it...

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