Spending All Your Money On Me

[Tom Harriman]

A lab coat. That's what he was wearing. Tom was wearing a lab coat.

And it was for real, too. It wasn't some stupid "wear a lab coat to make sure everyone knows you're a science teacher" situation. And he wasn't just lounging around the appartment wearing it so that he felt cool... though admittedly, that was only because he'd done it yesterday and Alice had royally taken the piss about it.

No, he was wearing a lab coat because he was in a lab. He was in his lab. And he was doing science.

Granted, his lab wasn't quite as tricked out as he would have liked just yet. Dahlia had been remarkably generous with his research budget, but a lot of the equipment he'd requested had been ordered from various corners of the globe, and so was arriving in batches; the assortment of half-emptied boxes scattered around the otherwise tidy lab represented the most recent arrivals.

Tom was carefully calibrating his newest toy - an electron microscope. In all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure why he needed an electron microscope, but had decided that if he had one, he'd most definately get a lot of use out of it. Plus, what self-respecting awesome laboratory didn't have an electron microscope? It was one of the few technological science gizmos that regular people had actually heard of, and Tom wanted to be sure that the normals understood at least some of the bragging he did about how cool his job was.

"Emma," he called, eyes still focused on the contraption. "Could you pass me the -"

The tool he was about to request met the fingers of his outstretched hand before he'd even finished asking for it. A momentary flash of surprise and confusion crossed his mind, followed closely by an explanation. Psychic lab assistant. Duh.

"Thanks," he said, turning to her and flashing a smile. He knew that technically he didn't need to say it aloud, but he was determined not to let himself stop. It was one think to know someone was greatful; it was another entirely to actually hear him say it.

Emma smiled back. A second later, she added: "White no sugar, coming right up."

Tom stared blankly. "Huh?"

"The coffee," Emma explained. "The one you were thinking about making yourself. I'll go brew it for you now, so it'll be ready once you're done with the calibrations." Her tone turned slightly chiding. "It's not like you ever drink it while it's still warm anyway."

Tom threw her an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "And there was me thinking I could escape the nagging by coming to work," he joked.

Emma fell silent and thoughtful for a moment, glancing off into space. Her attention returned to the room, tone suddenly more professional. "Speaking of blondes telling you what to do - the boss is on her way."

A sigh escaped the scientist, and his shoulders sagged. "Doesn't she know how busy I am?"

The assistant shrugged. "She's probably here to check that you are busy; and that you're spending all her money on science, rather than that private ice hockey rink you keep daydreaming about."

Tom's eyes widened. "How do you -" His brows fell back into a scowl. "You really shouldn't be reading my thoughts all the time, you know."

Emma shrugged, and smiled. "I can't help it - you think too loud."

"I think too -" A grunt escaped him. "Just... go make my coffee, damn it," he grumbled, waving her away.

Her smile returned as she ambled away towards the exit. "Miss Ericsson never told me you'd make this job so fun."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

"...I have told
That this will never end (this will never end)
Things go on
But nothing will last,
Only the fool in me believes
There is sense in it.
In distant shores of grief
It's over now..."

Cerulean eyes were dark and half-lidded as she sat, ensconced in the warm comfort of her large leather chair. Slender legs crossed as one perfectly manicured finger reached over to turn the volume up. It was shaping up to be one of those days, she mused, letting her eyes fall closed.

The music's driving pace soothed her mind as she let her rage and frustration float away like the tide. The board members had been whining like spoiled children during the teleconference that had only just ended, leaving her with the strong desire to break each of their scrawny necks. It was her company and she would do with it as she saw fit. The sooner they accepted that simple fact, the less of their perks she would cut in retaliation.

Dahlia sighed as the song ended, leaving her office in a comfortable silence. The high-tech soundproofing and insulation had been worth every single, solitary cent. A chime from her computer monitor drew her out of her reverie, but a frown soon followed. Another long-winded declaration from the idiot in charge of the Boston office that could wait to be dealt with.

Instead, she rose from her seat and strode into the bathroom attached to her office. Fingers tucked a stray blonde curl back in place, adjusting a pin to ensure it stayed. She smoothed out her tangerine blouse and took a deep breath to keep the calm she'd only just grabbed onto.

Stiletto heels clicked along the floor as she left her office and glanced at the still-empty desk where she'd wanted to have her personal assistant sit. But with everything that had happened, she'd not had time to find one. That would have to be remedied, and soon.

Taking the scenic route, Dahlia made her way down to Tom's lab, greeting everyone she passed with a smile. She paused once, to sign yet another authorization that Emma held out to her. "He wants a what, now? You know, nevermind, I don't want to know. Just order it."

As polite as she could manage, she knocked and waited half a breath before entering the laboratory proper."Ahh...playing with your new toys, I see." Dahlia smiled and perched carefully on the nearby empty stool.

[Tom Harriman]

"One does not play with an Electron Microscope, Miss Ericsson," Tom countered, not looking away in case he accidentally twisted something the wrong way or snapped something off by not paying proper attention. "One -"

His voice trailed off, suddenly caught out by the fact that he hadn't actually worked out what he needed it for. By bouncing teeny-tiny electrons off objects instead of big clunky photons, it was possible for the computerised gizmos inside the electron microscope to compile together an incredibly detailed image of something incredibly small. It was how scientists - literally - could get their hands on images that showed the individual hairs on the legs of a fly, or that made the sharpest pinhead look like a jagged slab of metal.

Of course, he had absolutely no idea why he'd need to do either of those things. His youth spent as a Boy Scout had taught him to always be prepared however; and that logic made it seem infinately better to have an electron microscope and never use it, as opposed to not having an electron microscope and needing one desperately.

Deciding it probably wasn't wise to explain that to the woman holding the cheque book however, he decided to cover for himself with charm instead. Turning away from the contraption, he flashed her with his most winning smile.

"Sorry, Miss Ericsson - you really do deserve my full attention." He cocked his head to the side, casually curious. "What brings you down here? Not that it isn't always a pleasure to see you, of course."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

A simple thought left dangling in the air soon saw Emma coming through the doors of the laboratory with a cup of hot coffee. Dahlia smiled brightly and murmured thank you as she took a sip of the strong brew, graced only with a bit of cream. The girl soon retreated once more, leaving them to their...discussion.

Tilting her head, she eyed Tom carefully. "Did you forget about the secondary lab? You wanted to take a look at the facilities outside of the city to choose a space that would be more suitable for 'other' work." Dahlia said, lofting a brow.

"I have time now, if you're able. We can drive over to the facility and you can see if any of the spaces are to your liking. I do have a crew out there working on some other projects, so if you need anything altered it ought to be easy enough to do."

[Tom Harriman]

Though Tom vaguely recalled some earlier discussion of additional facilities, the way Dahlia phrased it made it seem like a much more tame concept than Tom's original phrasing. He specifically remembered using the phrase "so your pretty skyscraper won't catch on fire", and quite frankly he thought that summed up the situation quite nicely. Talk of secondary labs and suitable spaces didn't quite capture the notion of wanting a space for his volunteer subjects and he to let their powers loose in, without fearing a hefty repair bill if they got a little carried away.

And of course, he'd need plenty of space for the particle accelerator: he was fairly confident that they wouldn't be able to carry all the necessary components up six flights of stairs.

Even so, the notion of a spontaneous drive out into the hills of Los Angeles seemed a little strange as a concept. Not only did the lack of schedules and appointments jar completely with what television had taught him about big corporations like this, the thought of the two of them alone in a car together made him feel all kinds of uncomfortable. It definately wasn't the sort of thing that he'd blurt out if Alice asked him what he'd been up to at work today, that was for sure.

"Drive?" he answered eventually, slipping a slightly crestfallen note into his voice. "I must admit, I'm a little disappointed about the absense of helicopter in this plan."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

"Ahh."

The blonde smiled and sipped from the heavenly cup warming her still-cold fingers. She wasn't entirely certain if it was the prospect of being in a car with her or an actual desire to take a helicopter ride, but she was in a good enough mood to indulge him for now.

"As helicopters are indeed full of win, I shall seek to assuage your disappointment. May as well use the helipad I put on top of this building." Dahlia shifted on her perch and set the coffee down with a bit of reluctance. She'd been particularly chilled all morning, and made a mental note to bring in something warmer to wear for tomorrow. Slender fingers picked up the sleek Blackberry she'd earlier put on the counter.

"Francois? Wi. Mwen ap gen bezwen nan elikoptè a...soti isit a la El Toro. Ekselan. Mesye Harriman ak mwen pral leve yon ti tan." A smile curled her lips as she set the phone back down. "Ask and ye shall receive. Francois will have it ready shortly."

[Tom Harriman]

Francois, a man who needed to be conversed with in a foreign language. Now there was a pilot that really filled Tom with confidence. Miss Ericsson didn't seem even remotely phased though; and diamond skin or not, he somehow doubted that she was the kind of person to skimp on safety and grab the cheapest pilot around.

Besides, it wasn't like Tom hadn't ever jumped out of a plane before.

His arms folded casually across his chest, a silent glance of touché cast in his employer's direction. Tilting his head back slightly to address the woman outside the room, he cleared his throat.

"You've been reading my mind the whole time I was calibrating, right Emma?"

There was a slight pause before Emma appeared - slightly sheepish - and nodded. "It's not that easy to switch off. Especially when you spend so much time singing such catchy songs in your head."

Tom didn't flinch, though there was admittedly a pang of embarassment. He'd managed to train himself out of singing under his breath around the lab; apparently humming in his head hadn't bee nthe smartest alternative after all.

"Know what needs doing?" was all he said.

Emma nodded. "You just need to calibrate the electron gun so the reflection is lined up with the -"

Tom cut her off, handing over an entirely unnecessary and yet deeply symbolic screwdriver. "I expect to see pictures of something teeny-tiny by the time I get back," he instructed, before turning his attention back to Dahlia.

"Right, Miss Ericsson. Lets go find this 'Frank' guy."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

"This way, then." Dahlia said with a smile, taking her still-warm coffee cup with her. She sipped as they walked down the broad hallway, past a number of brightly lit offices, until they came to the elevators.

She freed one hand to press against the security panel, watching as a faint blue light coursed around it before turning green. "Ahh...good. They got the access fixed. Have Emma send a request to the techs to get your scan inputted."

Once inside, Dahlia repeated the process with her hand and chose the helipad symbol once the screen came up. The doors closed and the elevator began to rise, a faint chime signaling the passing floors. "The elevator is highly reinforced, and was built with mutant security in mind. It goes three place, the floor your lab is on, the floor where my office is, and the helipad. In case you need to get someone out of here quick, this would be the most expeditious route. Francois is always on stand-by if you need him, and while I hope you will come to trust him quickly, please know that I trust him with my dau...my life."

She winced inwardly, her outer expression still a smooth smile. That was one secret she wouldn't be sharing, and why it almost slipped out was beyond her. Maybe Emma was right, maybe she was overdoing it with the meetings, the frequent trips, and the intense work hours. It would likely do her some good to stay put for a few weeks.

[Tom Harriman]

Trust him with your dor-what?

Her slip set off alarm bells in Tom's mind - not 'Oh shit!' alarms, more of an 'Oh, aye?' alarm. There was a story there no doubt, but his first few weeks on the job hardly seemed like the best time to go prying into his new employers' personal affairs.

Next week, maybe, he mused, filing the thought away for later use.

Dahlia's run-down on the 'elevator' - that term still made Tom cringe a little internally - was much more interesting than Tom had ever expected the description of a lift to be. Okay, so it didn't go from side to side or anything, and the prospect of his boss having an express route straight to his front door was mildly alarming; but touch screens and palm scanners was almost James Bond enough to justify the entire job, even without all of the other cool toys.

"No hidden sub-basements containing secret military bases, or anything like that?" he asked casually, trying to prevent himself from seeming too easily entertained.

[Dahlia Ericsson]

"Actually, that's what El Toro is for." Dahlia smiled over her coffee cup, taking a long sip just as the elevator began to slow its ascent. "It's a declassified Marine Corps Air Station. Originally, we bought it with the intent of using it for a few airplanes so we didn't have to fly into LAX. After Katrina, we converted some of the buildings to secure storage for things that just weren't safe in New Orleans anymore. Now, we have all the space we could need for laboratories, testing facilities, and super secret sub-levels."

A distinct double chime sounded as the doors hissed softly and popped as they opened. "Pressurized. Helps keep the discomfort to a minimum when it moves so quickly up and down." Dahlia nodded as stepped out into to the small glass atrium the elevator was built into for protection against the elements. Outside, the brilliant LA sun was shining, prompting the blonde to wear the sunglasses that had been atop her hair, while leaving her coffee cup behind.

"Francois, this is Dr. Tom Harriman, the mutant scientist I was telling you about. Tom, this is Francois Toussaint...retired Special Forces chopper pilot, and also a mutant. Are we ready to go, kouzen?" With Francois' sly grin and nod of assent, it took only moments for them to be safely ensconced inside the sleek, almost military-grade black chopper.

[Tom Harriman]

El Toro.

Tom's mind started chewing over the words the second they'd tumbled from Dahlia's lips. The rest of her words flittered through his mind, but they were filed away for later consideration. There was something about those words that struck a chord with him, and he rummaged through his brain in search of the reason why. He found it, in the corner of his mind that looked after an endless array of movie quotes and cult trivia.

El Toro, huh? A tug of a smile crept onto his face. Hot damn.

His concentration returned to the conversation at hand, just in time to offer a curt nod at the kouzen - cousin? - he'd just been introduced to. The mention of special forces turned his assumptions on it's head; suddenly the unnervingly foreign-speaking pilot became a veteran soldier like him, and instantly earned a swathe of new respect.

He concentrated hard as Francois replied in a language that he couldn't place, trying to discern which breed of special forces he might have been. His efforts came up empty; but two words that he could understand did escape, tumbling from Francois with a grin in a remarkably New Orleans drawl. "All aboard."

Waiting dutifully for the lady to board first, Tom clambered into the Bell-222, feeling a mild pang of disappointment at the fact that it didn't quite look how eighties television told him it would.

He watched as Dahlia dutifully fastened a set of safety straps around herself. After so long in America - and so long driving his beloved Impala - Tom had fallen out of the habit of doing such things, and it seemed odd to see the otherwise casual Dahlia making such a swift and deliberate effort to preserve her safety.

Special Forces pilot, he suddenly realised. Yeah, he mused, fumbling for his own straps. Probably a good idea.

[Dahlia Ericsson]

Dahlia smiled as she buckled herself in, watching Tom's plainly evident delight play across his features. Her fingers double checked the safety straps before smoothing out her blouse and skirt beneath as she settled into her seat. It was more for appearances than anything else...after all, when you could fly, falling out of a helicopter was the least of your worries.

But fitting in and pretending to be normal was a habit she could never, and would never break. Treadstone depended on her true identity remaining a secret until such a time as it was safe for mutant-kind. It wasn't her livelihood alone that she had in the palm of her hands. There were thousands of people who depended on her to keep them working and to keep their families supported.

So she did what she had to do.

Francois soon had the chopper in the air, curving smoothly around the monstrosities around the Treadstone building. The movement broke her short reverie, leaving Dahlia to gaze out the window as the city flowed beneath them.

[Frank Toussaint]

The engine rumbled into life, and the great blades atop the helicopter began to spin: a gruff pulse of air sounding with each rotation, growing steadily faster and faster until it reached a consistant thrum. Strobed shadows danced across the windshield and the rooftop as it's rotary wing began to obscure the early afternoon sun. Frank felt the familiar tug of tension on the controls as the downward draft started to pull the helicopter away from the summit of Treadstone Tower. Then suddenly, the mountain of steel and concrete and glass fell away, and the high rise peppered plains of Los Angeles opened up beneath them.

It wasn't the most exhilerating way to fly over the city, but it'd do.

Nose tilted slightly forward as the rotary wing dragged the aircraft along, the Treadstone Industries chopper swooped out towards the southeast, weaving a course above the intermingled settlements of the LA metropolitan area, dodging the fly zones of airports and airfields as much as was possible. The route was circuitous, and the journey was probably longer than an automobile would have taken; but when your top speed was a match for a performance sports car, and you didn't have to worry so much about traffic jams and speed restrictions, the helicopter gave drop-tops and limos a decisive shove into second place in the best way to cross LA stakes.

The buildings became progressively shorter as their journey wore on. LA's skyscrapers were largely restricted to the Downtown area, with the rest of the city's buildings often not even making it to the teens. Soon, even multistory blocks gave way to the suburban houses of Orange County; and despite the fact that the homes of the ridiculously rich and famous in Bel Air and Long Beach lay in completely different directions, Frank still watched a surprising number of garden pools roll by beneath them.

Just east of Anaheim, the civilization disappeared almost completely from below: rugged terrain, parks, and reserves took the place of shops and houses, roads transforming from a comprehensive grid into intermittant, snaking paths through the hills.

All wired together with microphones and headsets to evade the worst of the engine noise, Frank didn't bother to turn as he addressed his passengers. "You a hockey fan, Doctor Harriman?"

He never got the chance to hear the answer.

Despite the cloudless, crisp blue sky, a bolt of lightning slammed into the helicopter. The engine spluttered and stalled, lights flickering all across the instrument displays. Frank fumbled with controls and starter switches with one hand, the muscles bunched in his other forearm as he fought to keep the craft stable. Planes like this were designed so that the rotors would turn and generate lift even as they fell; but without the help of the small rotor on the tail, there was nothing to stop the craft from being pulled into a spin.

Frank prepared himself to offer reassurance. Saying that people survived things like this all the time seemed strange given the rarity of their circumstances; but with an experienced pilot like Frank at the controls, he was confident this would be one of those times.

Then the second lightning blast hit, and killed their electronics completely. Frank reassessed his opinion, fast.

Tearing his own restraints off and tossing his headset aside, he abandoned the controls - leaving the helicopter free to do whatever the hell gravity and inertia wanted it to - and clambered into the back. Ignoring the blank and yet surprisingly fearless expression on the Doctor's face, he liberated Harriman from his own restraints and then, without a word of explanation, tore open the door and hurled him into mid air.

[Tom Harriman]

Tom wasn't sure if he'd made a noise. In a brief moment of clarity as he fell, he wondered just what was the appropriate noise to make when you'd just been hurled out of a crashing helicopter. But there was no time to dwell.

Years of practice and parachute experience kicking in, Tom moved himself through the air, facing groundwards and spreading his limbs to generate as much drag as he could. The ground was already alarmingly close - far closer than in any jump he'd ever made with the military - which was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it meant that he probably wouldn't make it all the way to terminal velocity by the time he hit the ground; on the other, it also meant that the fall wouldn't have time to rip all of the air out of his lungs and make him black out, so he'd probably be conscious at the time.

In desperation - with absolutely no idea whether it would work or not - he pushed out as hard as he could with his powers, hoping that by some miracle he'd be able to bounce off thin air, or push the Earth away from far further than he ever had before. It didn't work.

A sigh of acceptance escaped his lungs, and Tom began to wonder what his final thoughts should be.

And then something snagged his collar.

Instantly, Tom felt his body flip, his feet and legs falling quicker than the rest of him. He opened his eyes and stared at the ground; it was still racing towards him, but not nearly so fast. He risked a glance upwards, and saw Frank - what the hell? - straining in clear effort, as if somehow that would halt their fall. Weirdly, it somehow was.

Then he saw it: the burning cloud of fuel vapours and debris where their helicopter had been. In the back, with only enough window space to satisfy a few tourist glances, Tom didn't have a clue what had happened. He'd felt the impacts, but it hadn't been like the other times he'd been shot down: not enough instant destruction to have been a missile; and not enough of a metallic ring to have been from conventional gunfire. Drawing a complete blank, the only theory he could come up with was a particularly malicious flock of pigeons.

Then realisation dawned. Dahlia. Sure, he'd been closest to the door; but why the hell was the pilot using his undisclosed magical powers to help him, and not his own cousin?

A few thrusts of power as the ground came close enough slowed the duo a little more, turning a potentially craterous impact into an unceremonious man-heap instead. Tom grunted in pain, and fought to get the air back in his lungs; but he hadn't heard anything important snapping or breaking, and he took some solace in that.

He exctracted himself with a great deal of effort, flipping onto his back so that he could enjoy the sensation of not falling anymore.

"Why did you grab me?" he grunted out between pants, his head lolling towards the pilot.

[Frank Toussaint]

Having landed on top of Doctor Harriman, Frank had fared a little better from the fall; not to mention the fact that when your body mutated enough to give you the power of flight, it picked up a few bonus tricks along the way that helped evade some of the physiological complications that moving through air at high speeds could cause.

Rolling his shoulders, he clambered his way back to his feet. "Dahlia can handle herself just fine," he muttered, giving himself a quick once over to make sure all of the physical basics - he'd check the rest later - were still in once piece. "You're heavier than you look," he added.

The lack of understanding on Harriman's features brought a frown to Frank's face. His arms folded across his chest in disapproval. "Weren't you paying attention when Dahlia told you about her powers, Doc?"

Seemingly on cue, a moving statue of shimmering crystal floated in for a graceful landing beside them, it's diamond skin receeding to reveal Dahlia Ericsson beneath. Acting as if that particular brand of seemingly impossible was something he'd seen a hundred times before - which he probably had - Frank ignored it completely, turning a slightly saddened eye towards the dissipating fire cloud and it's tumbling rain of helicopter parts.

"So," he grunted. "Which one of you two pissed off the mutant with lightning powers?" He turned back to his companions, offering a modicome of explanation. "Because those bolts that hit us sure as hell weren't natural."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

Concern was writ in her crystal-blue gaze, the facets of her diamond skin lingering in her eyes as they always did. Fingers brushed across Francois' shoulders, seeming to straighten his shirt, though in her own wordless way she was simply reassuring herself that he was as well as he seemed. He bore it well, knowing it would do him no good to argue with her. At least, not in that moment.

"You alright, Tom?" she asked, crouching down beside him. He wasn't screaming in pain, which Dahlia took as a good sign. She glanced up at Francois, her gaze catching him over her slim shoulder.

"I don't think it was me...no one in Los Angeles knows what I am. He was either after Tom, or just out to make a statement."

[Tom Harriman]

Whatever the others were discussing, Tom wasn't listening.

His attention was focused elsewhere: off on a ridgeline in the distance, a few hundred yards away. There, two figures stood, simply watching. They were too far away to make out features, but Tom didn't need much to have a pretty good guess at who they were. While not clad in scrubs the way that Katrina had described him, the hairless skull and aura of menace - and the from-nowhere lightning that had crippled their aircraft - made him almost certainly the man who had killed his father.

The other was less easy to identify: his dark clothing obscured even his face. As a katana was drawn from behind his back however, Tom recalled what he'd been told about the attack on his brother, and the "unkillable ninja" that had the reports had described.

The first man reached out with a hand, placing it upon the second's shoulder. A moment later they were gone in a lightning flash; but Tom could just make out one item left behind.

"They're after me," he muttered, and set off for the ridgeline without another word. This was a message, no doubt: a warning that his return to Los Angeles had not allowed him to escape whatever fate the two had in mind. Tom couldn't imagine what his father might have done to offend this 'Hurucan' so completely that he had not only wanted revenge on Walter but on his entire bloodline; but clearly he was not a man to give up easily.

Tom clambered the last few meters up the ridge, dropping into a crouch in front of the souvenir that Hurucan and his companion had left: a sword.

His sword.

[Dahlia Ericsson]

Dahlia shot Frank a glance and sighed audibly as she rose to her feet. Her stilettos, she mused, were not made for clambering about the rocky terrain they'd been shot down over. Briefly lamenting the eight hundred dollars she'd spent on them, her cerulean gaze followed Tom as he finally stopped on a distant ridge.

Her skin rippled, and between one blink and the next became a solid, faceted diamond exterior. She levitated up from the ground and shot forward, making her way in a short amount of time to the ridge where Tom had stopped.

She landed carefully and let the diamond skin ripple away, setting her faceted eyes on Tom as he dropped into a crouch. Carefully placed steps took her closer, a brow shooting skyward at the sight of a sword left impaled into the ground.

"That looks like a message of some sort. Something you want to tell me about?" Dahlia asked quietly, eyes flicking briefly to Frank as he joined them.

[Tom Harriman]

"Not particularly," Tom grunted, straightening up.

After a moment's pause he shrugged off his now slightly scuffed and singed lab coat, and with a mix of reverence and delicate care, plucked the sword from where it had been impaled without laying a finger upon it. Bundled loosely but firmly inside his precious attire, he considered the safest way to carry it without injuring himself - and more importantly, without further damaging the lab coat.

He turned back to Dahlia and Frank, but the expression on their faces suggested that they didn't have any constructive input to offer at all.

He let out a sigh, a rhetorical question tumbling from his lips. "You're going to insist I tell you, so you know why your helicopter got trashed, aren't you?"

And so - reluctantly - he did. He told them about New York, about how before he'd been Orion he'd gone by a slightly less subtle name with a slightly more ostentatious get-up. He told them of how that stage in his life had come to an end - about the fire, the bullets, the intensive care, and the miraculous healing that he still didn't have an explanation for. He told them how the sword had been his, and how it was - as far as he knew - still in an evidence lock-up at the NYPD.

Then he told them what little he knew of his father's illusive past, policing Cold War mutants in secret for the British government. He told them what little he knew of Hurucan and his quest for revenge. He told them about the attack on his brother, and the disappearence - and presumed death - of his father. The only secret he kept private, known to no one outside of MI-5 bar himself and Katrina, was that his brother was out there somewhere with his family, a fake death the only protection against the man who could supposedly make himself be anywhere.

Tom let out a sigh as he finished. "That's as much as I know, anyway. Most of it is what this 'Nathan Godfrey' character told me."

[Dahlia Ericsson]

There was a measure of sadness in her gaze as he spoke, her faceted blue gaze flicking between Tom and the horizon beyond his broad shoulders. Dahlia blinked, stopping in her tracks almost as soon as she'd started moving.

"Nathan told you?" blue eyes were wide as they flew to Frank who shook his head at her, knowing the conclusions she was leaping to.

"I know Nathan. I met him the same time I met Surge originally, about...five years ago." Dahlia winced and wrapped her arms around herself tightly. "Treadstone was just beginning work with the British government and some of its agencies. Nathan and Surge were the ones I dealt with the most during the negotiations, and I got to know them a bit as a result."

Tilting her head back with a pained expression, she held Frank's gaze and continued. "Nathan is the one who introduced me to Athalie's father." Eyes glanced back to Tom as she explained.

"Athalie is my daughter. My only child..and the only leverage that would ever work against me where Treadstone is concerned. I sent her away two years ago after I received threats against her. She's with my brother Mathieu, and I have no idea where they are..." Dahlia's voice trailed off as she pulled the cell phone from its clip at her waist, fingers trembling every so slightly as she sent a simple text message. That message in turn would get filtered through dozens of channels before finally reaching Mathieu, wherever he was.

She took a deep breath and held it for a second before letting it out. "Right then. We need to get to El Toro. You still need to find your lab space, and then we need to figure out how to deal with this." Dahlia said, a bit more crisply than she'd intended to. In order to mask her faltering expression, she wrapped herself in her diamond skin and eyed them both.