chapter twenty-one

I wake up bright and early the next morning. Max and I have a three hour trip to make, so it's best to leave early just in case.

Rowan watches with an easy smile as I get dressed, his head propped up by an elbow. I feel lighter than I have in quite possibly years. I never thought finalizing a Bond would have such a big effect on my life, but I can't ignore the facts. The stress over finding my counterpart is gone. The anguish over the situation the pair of us were in has been resolved. We've finally moved out of the gray area our relationship had existed in for so long. Everything with Rowan is working out better than I ever thought it could.

I can't forget the situation with my mother, however. It seems that if anything ever goes well in my life, something else has to go horribly wrong. Right now is no exception.

Rowan accompanies me in the elevator ride down to the parking garage. I take the hand hanging at his side, tugging him down to my height so I can pull him into a long kiss. He lets go of my hand, sliding it down my arm until it comes to rest at my waist. He yanks me in closer. I forget exactly where we are for a moment, which is something that only Rowan has ever been able to cause me to do. We had less time than I thought we did, apparently, because the elevator dings and suddenly the doors are sliding open.

There's some surprised noises, so whoever's down here with us now knows exactly what kind of relationship Rowan and I have. We break apart and step away from each other, daring a glance outside of the elevator to see who it is.

Oh boy. The whole team, literally all of them. Great.

"Okay, I'll bite," Flint says. "Are you guys messing around or what?"

My hand jumps up to grab at the pendant hanging from the strand around my neck automatically. The movement answers the question for me. There's no need to lie about our relationship anymore, though, so I'm way less terrified than I would have been if a situation like this happened earlier on. Rowan and I are Bonded now, too, which is essentially a step below marriage. I don't have nearly as many doubts as I used to.

"Oh wow, okay," Flint says, laughing lightly. "It's way more than that, apparently, jeez." His words break the silence, the entire team bursting into conversation. I look sideways at Rowan and he stares back with a helpless expression that probably mirrors my own.

"I knew it all along," Max shouts, wagging a smug finger in Flint's face.

"I was the one who suggested it to you!" Flint retorts.

"Alright, yeah, yeah, big deal, whatever," I say, breaking into the back and forth. "Can we get this show on the road already?"

"Aw, he's embarrassed," JD coos. "How adorable."

"Shut up," I grumble, but there's no heat behind my words.

"I feel like everyone kinda knew on some level," Nick pipes up. "I was getting serious boyfriend vibes when Lake almost, you know, died in Rowan's arms. Literally." Rowan startles a bit beside me, his hand settling at the small of my back.

"Boyfriend vibes?" Cecelia repeats. "They barely even looked at each when Rowan first got to the tower."

"Okay, alright, can we stop discussing my relationship now? Washington D.C.? The entire League's at risk? Remember?" I say, trying to get past all of this without dying of embarrassment.

Everyone's gaze swings back to Rowan and I. Max clears his throat and grabs a duffel bag that's resting on the floor. It's holding our uniforms and a gun for each of us because traveling in our gear unarmed would be stupidly reckless.

"Lake's right. Congratulations to you two, obviously, but we really should get going. Traffic and all that," Max says, jerking his head in the direction of the actual parking area.

Max's words start a mad scramble to exchange some quick goodbyes. Rowan takes my arm and pulls me off to the side in the commotion, tugging me into his chest.

"You be careful, you hear me?" he murmurs into my hair. "This job isn't worth your life."

My heart clenches in my chest. I can only imagine what being reminded of my recent near death experience has done to him. I'd love to be able to say that he has nothing to worry about, but I'd only be lying.

"I know. I'll be careful," I reply. "I love you."

"Love you more," he teases, leaning back enough to press a firm kiss to my temple. The tension breaks and I have to stop myself from letting out a breath of relief. I hate when he's upset.

"Impossible," I argue playfully, stepping out of his hold and shoving my hands into my pockets. I never know what to do with my hands at times like these.

I move forward to stand at Max's side. If I don't leave now, I might not at all.

Flint intercepts me, holding up a hand for a high five. I give him one, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"He's a good catch," Flint says in explanation, and the entire group erupts into laughter. My cheeks are burning as I follow Max to the car D.C. sent to pick us up.

/-/-/

I fall asleep about twenty minutes into the drive, jolting awake a good few hours later when we go over a bump and my head knocks against the glass of the window.

"We're just about there," Max says once he notices that I'm awake. "They've set up police escorts. Even without the entirety of the teams, two agents times nearly thirty teams is a serious risk. It's gonna be like if the president came to NYC times a billion."

"Great. Sounds like a party." Max snorts.

"We should put our suits on," he suggests, and I nod in agreement. Our uniforms are essentially mandatory at such large and serious gatherings like this emergency assembly. There's an assembly on the last Saturday in July every year that's similar to the one happening now, but it's far less grave and way more cheerful. There's always a parade that the League gets all kinds of clubs and scout troops involved in. It's really cute and I always wanted to go as a kid. Now I'm basically living that life. Oh, how the tables turn and flip.

Pulling on a uniform made of such thick and rigid material is almost impossible in the backseat of a car, but Max and I do our best. Gluing a mask accurately and securely to my face is also an incredible feat in a moving vehicle, but Max helps me out as best as he can. We finish getting ourselves in order just as we're pulling up to the assembly hall.

The assembly hall is a lot like the capitol building with a domed roof made of white marble. It's truly a sight to behold. What's even more awe-inspiring is the sight of dozens of costumed League agents walking together up the white stone steps to the entrance. Security is incredibly tight at the entrance to the building, but that's to be expected during a situation like the one we're in. I take a moment to look past the glum mood and relish in a childhood dream: being up close and personal to a sight so amazing like a League assembly. It's a scene straight out of a comic book.

The moment of awe dissipates quickly when Max makes a move towards the stairs. I follow closely behind, the pair of us moving with swift purpose all the way into the building. The magic disappears completely once we're through security, and it makes me lose my nerve a little bit. All these people are gathered to discuss how they're going to deal with the threat my mother and her gang of terrorists are posing. The entire League might not know that I'm her son, but a few of them are bound to know at the very least. Who knows who Director Scofield has told the whole story to.

I shove the thoughts aside. I may be the youngest member of the League, but I can't act like it.

Max leads the way into the actual hall. It's round like the inside of the Senate Chamber of the capitol building. The League assembly hall was built specifically to mirror that very building, so it's to be expected. The layout works the best with such a large volume of agents in one place.

The room is divided up nicely. There are desk-like tables with two seats per team. Each table has a paper with the team codename printed on it. Nebula is in the second row towards the middle and we quickly take our seats. My knees jitter up and down as we wait, a nervous tic that I've been struggling to eliminate from my behavior while in uniform. I guess I've already lost that battle for today.

Other teams quickly file in and take their seats, as well. A lot of agents spend a good chunk of time catching up with one another during those happy assemblies held in July, but nobody seems to be in the mood for such conversations today. It makes sense. People are dead.

I thankfully don't receive as many passing glances as I expected to receive. I knew I was bound to draw attention considering how young I look, even in a mask, but I guess everyone is too preoccupied to pay me any mind. I'm not complaining.

The room eventually fills up with all the remaining teams. There's a low murmur for a while until Director Scofield comes out, a silent stillness falling over the entire hall.

"I seriously wish we were gathering on more positive terms, but that's the way this job goes," he begins, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"We've done a very good job of keeping terrorism like this down in the past few years, but the threat level has unfortunately gotten to the point where taking action is not only necessary, it's mandatory. The inclusion of ex-Agent Blackwell in the terrorist activity has added to the concern.

I have been in contact with President Eller and he agrees that her capture is a top priority. Her removal from the organizations she's involved in will take the wind right out of their sails, at least long enough to get our ducks more in a row.

It's suspected she's still in the New York area, but she could be quite literally anywhere as I'm sure the briefing file you all received has made clear."

He pauses, eyes making a long sweep of the large hall. The air is suffocatingly silent.

"The few remaining Blackwells have been questioned and cleared," Scofield continues on. That's interesting. Christin only had two siblings: Ashton, who is very much dead, and Joseph, who I know very little about. He lives here in New York, but was estranged from their family years ago for reasons I don't know. Is he a League agent, too?

"Towers are not to be left unattended. One agent, minimum, needs to be there at all times. The Armadillo Protocol is to be initiated with your AI systems, no exceptions," the man goes on. Sometimes I forget our tower even has an AI all together. A lot of teams use it to make their lives easier, but Max made the decision not to when he was appointed captain. He prefers to run things pretty old school, and nobody really has any complaints.

Director Scofield moves on to explaining how the PR department is dealing with everything, emphasizing that any decision made involving the matter of terrorism is to be reported to headquarters ASAP. I zone out enough for my legs to stop bouncing.

A vaguely familiar whooshing sound jolts me out of my haze. Christin pops into existence behind Scofield all the way at the front of the hall. Her arm rears back and suddenly there's a hole in the front of the director's chest. His blue uniform blooms red with a dangerous amount of blood. Oh fuck.

The entire hall quickly descends into absolute chaos. Multiple captains start shouting orders before remembering that they don't have their entire teams with them.

A lot of things happen very quickly. People associated with Christin appear, as well, but from more obvious points of entry. They didn't teleport with her. They start fighting with anyone within their reach, slicing and shooting with no regard for human life. They all appear to be normal civilians, as well, but that's what I thought about Rowan for the longest time, so I'm not going to assume anything. The agents who are managing to take them down are putting them in power inhibiting handcuffs just to be on the safe side.

I jump up out of my seat. The wooden chair clatters to the floor as Max stands up beside me. We look around wildly. There's so much happening at once that it's difficult to choose what to deal with first.

Director Scofield has collapsed to the ground. He's already being swarmed by multiple agents, so whatever chance he has at survival is already being taken care of.

I'm shoved around and suddenly Max has disappeared completely from my sight. Great. I look around quickly, still trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do in this situation.

My decision is basically made for me when someone grabs me by the shoulder from behind, yanking me backwards hard enough that I slam into the wooden floor of the fancy assembly hall. I stare up at the ceiling, bleary-eyed, until a face comes into view. Christin. Of course she'd target me.

"Hi, Lukas, baby," she coos sarcastically. "I hear you still go by Lake. How adorable." She punctuates the word "adorable" with a direct kick to my nose. I feel the bones crack under her shoe and the warm, wet rush of blood immediately begin to gush down my face. A deafening roar of pain is screaming in my ears as my vision swims a bit. I struggle to hold myself together because this is just about the last situation where I'd want to check out for any period of time.

"Wouldn't want anything around to tie me to you," I say, a manic kind of laughter bubbling out of my mouth. She leans down to get closer to me and I smile back up with a mouthful of metallic red. She gets so close that I believe my actions are entirely justified when I spit and splatter the side of her face with blood.

An animalistic growl explodes from her mouth before her and a bunch of her buddies converge on me. There's kicks and punches. My ribs crack and there's definitely going to be internal bleeding but all I can do is curl up enough to cover my skull and send out uncoordinated blasts of water and ice. There's shouts when they land and gunfire is still raining down around us so Christin's "army" has clearly grown quite a bit since they last struck in Central Park.

"God, you've always been such a—" I start, pausing as I struggle to breathe, "such a fucking bitch." I finally gather my bearings enough to grab one of those anti-League assholes by the throat. My hand tightens and I squeeze, holding him in place with a forceful strength I've never exerted before. I'm not Tony. I don't have super strength. It must be the adrenaline.

I catch another flash of Christin's face before there's a sudden snap. A harsh flare of pain radiates down my arm. Fuck.

The crowd of assailants trickles back down to just my mom. I suppose they have better things to be doing. It's enough of a break for me to stumble my way to my knees. I shoot streams of ice strong enough to freeze her but they all miss completely. My coordination is completely shot just like my vision. I'm just about to find my footing when a literal kick to my face has me flying backwards to the floor once again.

"I see the necklace is gone," she says knowingly. "Does he know how fucked up you are?" she hisses, advancing on me just as I'm finding my way back to my knees. She grabs hold of my chin and jerks it around a bit. Blood and saliva is spilling from my mouth.

"Does he know how used up you are?" she continues. The words knock the air out of my lungs. She knew all about Ashton. When the stuff with him first started I figured that nobody knew but when she caught her brother with his hand down my pants and she didn't do anything, I realized I was wrong. She knew all along and did nothing about it.

"You're a fucking bitch," I seethe, spewing blood and spit into her face as spitefully as I can muster.

Someone's calling my name and I quickly recognize it as Max in the distance. I stumble to my feet, swaying side to side like a leaf in the wind, before pushing her back with weak hands.

"I know Ashton dirtied you up as a kid, but a man as a counterpart? You poisoned the bloodline, Lukas," she sneers directly into my face. "A gay son is no son of my mine."

I go for her throat this time. Maybe I can choke her out. The streams of ice I shoot are much more accurate at this range. Arms have closed around my front, though, and they're dragging me, backwards, away from her. Max.

"I'm gonna fucking kill her," I snarl. "I'm gonna fucking do it. She'll barely be a fucking blip on the League's radar. Let me, Max!" I shout. She disappears out of view and teleports to the complete opposite side of the hall. I wouldn't be able to get to her even if Max were to let me go.

I'm seething. There are hundreds of other agents around who are witnessing my rage and I should really shut up because I'm definitely establishing personal ties to Christin. I also undoubtedly have multiple broken bones that should really be looked at.

"Come on, kid, come on," Max says, his urging voice slowly makes its way into my head. "You definitely need a hospital, kid, come on."

"Yeah, yeah, okay, let's go," I agree half-heartedly, allowing him to lead me away.

There's no official dismissal of the assembly like there normally is. Max drags me through the large arching entrance of the assembly building and down the marble stairs. It's already dark outside. I guess Director Scofield spoke for much longer than I even realized.

"Is Scofield okay?" I slur out around blood and spit as I limp along beside Max. There's a hospital only a block or so away so we can definitely walk there. He's supporting basically all of my weight, my arm curled tightly around his shoulder, as we go.

"I don't know," he replies, adjusting his hold on me, "there were a ton of people on him, though, so he should be alright. Let's worry about you for now, huh? This is second time in a month that I'm seriously concerned you're going to bleed out on me. That's more than most adults on our team, kid."

"Hey," I mumble, rolling my eyes, "I'm an adult."

The older man huffs out a tired laugh.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Barely."

The ER is already flooded with uniformed League agents and the waiting room is swamped with waiting teammates. Max hands me off to a triage nurse who takes one look at me and immediately whisks me away.

"See ya soon," I call drearily to Max. They'll let him back once those in charge decide I'm not at an immediate risk of dropping dead.

I've said it once and I will continue to say it every time I find myself in a hospital: I hate them. The atmosphere. The smell. The mere idea that someone is probably dying right now. The whole place is ominously gloomy and nauseating.

My injuries form an unfortunate laundry list. Internal bleeding. Transverse radial and ulnar fracture on the one arm. Cracked ribs (again). Some pretty deep cuts that required stitches. Another concussion. Serious bruising. A broken pinky and ring finger on my left hand and the index finger on my right. I try to look on the bright side. It could have been worse. They could have left a bullet fragment inside of me and caused the need for corrective surgery and multiple blood transfusions. That's always a possibility, apparently.

They let Max back to see me once I'm all casted and splinted up. Active League agents have treatment priority, especially when the director issues a change in the threat level to national security. They numb me the hell up, set the bones, and stitch up where the bone broke through the skin of my left arm in a disgustingly gory fashion. They wrap it in that cottony stuff and put a blue cast over it. The fingers just get splints but I can still barely unlock my cell phone. It's going to be another rough couple of weeks.

"They're holding you overnight because of the concussion, so get comfortable. They'll discharge you as early as they can tomorrow morning to make room. Montgomery from the team B got shot three times. They're rushing him into surgery," Max tells me as he's helping me sit up as gently as he can. "Scofield made it. Barely. He's on life support for now, but that man's healing factor is off the charts, so he should be just fine."

"That's good," I say, breathing harshly through my nose as my ribs grind together. Not literally, of course, but that's what it feels like.

Max curls up in one of those uncomfortable bedside chairs and we settle in to tough it out for the night. A nurse wakes me up every few hours as expected to ensure that I still know my name and haven't slipped into a coma. She's pretty nice and even brings me a chocolate pudding cup sometime in the latest hours of the night. At least there are always nurses around to help make hospital stays a bit more bearable. The night nurse after the shift change is a total bitch, though, but I guess it's just the luck of the draw with things like this.

As it always is when I have a concussion, any sleep I get doesn't really count as sleep. The exhaustion escalates each time I'm woken up once again. It's a long night.