Chapter Text
Mary’s parents were perfectly pleasant individuals. At least to everyone who hadn’t almost gotten their daughter killed. Illyan had mostly managed to avoid them through timing his visits and being a quite sneaky man. Unfortunately, Luo’s parents had just come in and needed someone to get them to the man. And with Shilpa still in India, Alex still heads down in the tower and Viktor off making sure Shilpa didn’t get kidnapped and enslaved, that left Illyan.
He didn’t drive, but at this point, he was under such heavy protection he didn’t need to. Indeed, several guards had to get out in order to allow Luo’s parents to get into the ridiculously large, armored, black vehicle they were transporting him in.
Mary’s father glared at him as he got Luo’s parents into his room. Fortunately, the man was conscious, so he was able to flee. They hadn’t held him responsible (as far as he could tell) and had been perfectly polite, but though their English was better than his Mandarin, the language barrier had been significant and the MRD had not provided a translator. Illyan’s own experience had played him false there as he was used to language problems being easily solvable with an electronic translator. That had made the ride over somewhat awkward, though probably quite entertaining as they basically had to play charades to attempt to figure out what they were discussing.
Illyan was fairly sure he’d managed to convey that (1) Luo was doing well and (2) Luo did not owe anything for his treatment, but not at all sure he’d successfully conveyed that they should contact him if they had any trouble, or the fact that their lodgings had been taken care of. Fortunately, Luo should be able to pass along those messages.
But Mary’s father was standing outside the room, clearly waiting for the confrontation Illyan had been trying to avoid. The man’s name was John, and he had the big, bluff look of a former athlete going soft, but fighting it. He was a decade younger than Illyan, which meant he’d had Mary quite young, but his wife was the same age. Young love that had survived into late middle age, that was quite nice. Less nice was the expression on the man’s face.
The conversation that followed was as unpleasant as it was long, but was more about venting than any actual content. Illyan waited, blandly professional as the man raved about his daughter’s injuries and condition and Illyan’s failure to protect her. He declined to argue back, as that just would have prolonged the encounter and allowed the man to work himself into an even greater fury, maybe to the point of forcing actual violence.
It was hard to argue with a wall, but John managed for a surprisingly long time, before finally concluding on “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“Mr. Anderson, your daughter made her choices and took her risks in order to accomplish something I believed nearly impossible, killing Apocalypse. I supported her to the best of my ability,” John’s mouth opened, but a raised hand cut him off, “which, yes, was insufficient to prevent all harm. But she succeeded. We succeeded. And the monster who murdered her friends is dead. She made her choices and I honor that. If you need to yell at someone about it, then so be it.”
The man stepped forward, as did Illyan’s guards. They might not like him, but they weren’t about to allow him to be injured on their watch.
“I don’t like your fucking face.”
Illyan didn’t respond.
“I don’t like your fucking words either.”
Illyan still didn’t respond.
“But you’re fucking right. But that’s my baby girl lying in there. So, fuck you. And I’m fucking sorry. And fuck you.”
“Alas, you’re not my type.”
The man stared for a long moment, then the sheer incongruity of it broke him and he began to laugh, folding inward, then sinking to the floor. Illyan went with him as the laughter turned to tears. John shook off a comforting hand and fled. Illyan honestly didn’t know if he’d helped or hurt there.
Shilpa was waiting in his temporary offices as Illyan shed his guards. The new New York offices were more heavily defended and Illyan was practically running them. A team from headquarters had come in and helped set up the new offices, but between the casualties and other operations, there simply weren’t that many senior agents available. And the New York office was a terrible command.
Besides being basically the center of the ‘superhero’ world, it was also the focus of massive news organizations and businesses. Any action would get massive attention, maybe lawsuits and the potential for superhero involvement was very high.
It was a post which both attracted and destroyed ambitious agents. At least until the former commander, who’d focused entirely on keeping the office quiet and out of the news, had taken over. But with her dead and the old MRD offices having to be rebuilt entirely, there was little reason for anyone else to take over. Not when Illyan could and was doing the job.
He didn’t have the actual rank, but everyone did what he said. It was worse than it should have been, but also oddly familiar. He was glad of the distraction of Shilpa’s presence and pleased she was back in the country.
Her expression was stormy, however.
“Welcome back, Shilpa,” he said, walking over to his desk. The cane wasn’t exactly necessary, but it was advisable.
“They’re all mutants,” she said flatly.
Illyan paused for a moment, then assumed she’d disabled the security cameras, so there would be no recording of this conversation.
“Your siblings?”
“My entire family.”
Illyan felt his eyebrows rise, “Including your parents?”
“Yes.”
“Did they know?” Illyan asked.
“My parents did. At least about themselves. It’s why they turned me in. To keep the investigation away from themselves,” her voice was ice over lava, but she was pacing back and forth, energy pouring off her.
“Well, that was a deeply stupid plan,” Illyan noted blandly.
She glared over at him, pausing for a moment. Then her eyes narrowed and her shoulder’s slumped. “You’re right.” She slumped into the chair opposite him. “I was so focused on how fucking evil it was that it didn’t occur to me how stupid it was.”
“Are they stupid people?”
“No,” she admitted.
Illyan nodded slightly and waited for her to consider what that meant.
“Why would they do that?”
“A good question. Why would they do something so stupid?”
She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know. Do you?”
“I could guess, but that would be all it was.”
“The only people who really know are them. Well, unless I can dig up a telepath.” Illyan gave her a flat stare, which she felt despite her eyes being closed and she shrugged. “Kidding, kidding.”
Illyan waited.
“I tried to ask, but it just blew up into a massive argument.”
“The great benefit of writing is that you have time to figure out exactly what you want to say and say it,” Illyan noted.
“Texting is way too much pressure and not secure.”
Illyan stared at her blankly for a moment. “Writing a letter has a lot of advantages.”
It was her turn to stare at him blankly. “A letter?”
Illyan nodded. “The great thing about a letter is that any response takes time to draft and time to send, which creates space to calm down, consider and reconsider before sending it. You’d still need to address security, but there are ways to handle that.”
She paused, but shrugged. “Being slower is almost never good, but maybe here it is. We’ll talk.”
“And your family is safe?”
“Mostly. I leaned on the local office and dropped some bugs in their systems. I should know if they’re planning anything, but my family is under the protection of a couple of local groups. Apparently, the local mutants have a sort of…gang? Mutual protection society? Neighborhood watch? It’s not really clear. I think it’s more like a neighborhood watch, but I find the idea of my nice middle-class parents as gang members funny.”
“They’re aware of the risk?”
“Oh, yes. I put in an updated security system and a few other precautions and suggested they come here, or accept additional help, but it’s not like I could force them to accept MRD protection, or anything.”
Illyan’s kept his expression bland. “In fact, you could. At this juncture you are significantly more powerful, at least in a non-superpowered sense, than they are.”
She blinked at that, considering for a long moment. “You’re not telling me to do it though?’
“No. It would almost certainly be a mistake. But the first step to using power responsibly is knowing you have it. This is one of the advantages of a military or aristocratic hierarchy, power is, mostly, made visible and legible, which is often not the case in more bureaucratic, or informal power structures.”
She nodded seriously at that and pushed herself to her feet, not as defeated as when she’d sat down, or as manic as she’d started, but he wasn’t sure if he’d actually helped. “Thanks.”
She headed for the door, as he accepted her gratitude and hoped he deserved it.
When she got to the door, she paused for a moment. “Would you be willing to read a letter before I sent it?”
“Of course, Shilpa,” Illyan agreed.
She thanked him again and fled before he could accept her thanks this time.
Illyan despised eating food prepared specifically for him by people he did not know, under unguarded conditions. But there was no way around this. Luo’s mother had done the cooking, with some assistance from Mary’s mother. The discovery that the American woman spoke Mandarin was something of a surprise, but had simplified the communication issues. The entire team was here. Someone had pried Alex out of the lab, though he was still talking about all the progress the team had made to anyone who was interested. Or anyone who happened to be in earshot, regardless of their level of interest.
Viktor, who’d heard this all several times was merrily socializing with John, as they discussed local beers and how inferior the New York ones were to Russian or Coloradan beers. Mary herself was in a wheelchair, but had pulled herself away from her parents to sit with Luo and discuss how much they hated the hospital and their physical therapists.
Shilpa was standing in the corner, looking awkwardly at her phone. He’d been pleased that she’d handled the hospital’s complaints about this little get-together without his needing to be involved. But it still wasn’t entirely easy with the civilians present, as they weren’t terribly fond of mutants.
But she joined everyone at the table as the pair of mothers came in, having dragooned several hospital staff into assisting them in carrying the food from the car and began setting up the table. It was an impressive spread and Illyan was actually hungry. And the women hadn’t been entirely unguarded. Whatever the MRD felt about him and Shilpa, protecting the family of their own agents was something they were eager to do.
Mary’s mother said grace as they all awkwardly waited, then dug in. It wasn’t until after dinner that Illyan found himself being stalked by two women, about his own age.
Luo’s mother, Biyu, was a tiny woman, a little older than himself, but her life had worn on her even more than his on him. Her short hair was still dark, but her age showed in the lines of her face, the stiffness of her movement, and the depth of her gaze.
Mary’s mother, Katie, was taller than him, and a good decade younger. Also, she wore her age more lightly. Long blonde hair was braided tightly back, and she had the fit frame of someone who exercised consistently. There was just a hint of Mary’s brutal practicality in her, but none of the tactical training or experience.
He could have escaped, but instead allowed himself to be cornered by the pair of them.
“What can I do for you, ladies?” he asked, though they probably did not appreciate the social promotion.
“They want to go back to work, as soon as they can,” Katie said. She said something in Mandarin, and Biyu nodded and responded in the same language. Katie continued with a slight frown, “And we respect that decision. We’re proud to have raised such…”
“Heroes?” Illyan offered as she was clearly searching for the right word.
“But we’d like them not to end up as dead heroes.”
“As would I.”
There was another pause for translation.
“Luo is her only child. He isn’t married. He’s the only one who can carry on the family name. Mary’s got two younger brothers, but they’re talking about joining the MRD.”
“If you’re asking if Luo and Mary will be safe in future, they will be as safe as I can make them, while completing the mission we all swore to achieve,” Illyan said. That last part was a lie. None of them had sworn to achieve it. At least not as far as he knew. But Barrayaran idiom had slipped out.
Katie translated his words. “That’s not terribly comforting.”
“Would you prefer I lie to you?”
“I’d prefer they were safer than that.”
“They may well be. It will depend how well they recover and if they’re cleared for field duty again. However, as you may have noticed, being an office worker is not safe. Indeed, nothing is actually safe. Non-MRD people die every day.”
“Not at the same rate,” Katie snapped, translating the response for Biyu.
That was true.
“What are you asking me to do, ladies? Fire them? Reassign them somewhere safe and bring in someone else to be at risk?”
Biyu snapped something when that was translated. Katie balked, but Biyu insisted. “Reassign them somewhere else.”
“I won’t do that.”
Biyu spat at his shoes and walked over to her husband. Katie didn’t spit at him, but neither did she apologize, instead she followed her friend away, transparently glad that the other woman had said it, not her.
That was unpleasant. And wildly outside his experience. The parents he’d spoken to in the past had been proud of their children who served and though some had been upset about injuries or casualties, it wasn’t like that. There certainly were some people who pulled strings to get their children into, or out of, combat. Indeed, he was all too aware that Alys had ensured that Ivan was as far from combat as could be managed.
Such people did not end up in ImpSec, however, so he was not used to such problems. Well, all of life is a learning experience.