Hi I'm Kal. that's not my full name, but that's enough for here. 27, female. Just drifting down the meandering path of life and see what adventures it brings me. Relaxation is my aim, helping is my game. Currently so gay for Katie McGrath. Here lies many random reblogs of stuff and some of my own posts on things I came across on the internet. Oh yea, major multi-shipping zone. Be warned.
Also From Microsoft’s own FAQ: "Note that Recall does not perform content moderation. It will not hide information such as passwords or financial account numbers. 🤡
Because this has mostly been talked about with Windows 11, heads-up that this installed itself on every Windows 10 computer in our house with this week's update.
(On Another Night) We Were Lovers in the Moonlight
Part Four: 1970
Lillian feels the walls closing in around her, and before she can allow herself to get trapped, she sets a plan to make it out with Eliza. (Lilliza NASA AU)
This is the best description I’ve heard for this method, I always thought it was bullshit because I never heard a description that actually explained how to do this other than “tap your head 20 times”.
I have anxiety-induced hissing, which sounds/feels different from sound-induced tinnitus (which I have also experience). Sound-based tinnitus actually sounds like you’re “hearing” something in your ears, whilst the hissing I have feels like it’s “inside my head”, if that makes sense. But this technique still helps!!
I can’t believe it. It turned the volume down on my cicadas (what a perfect way to describe it—cicada season is when everyone gets a taste of tinnitus) for about two minutes.
“So what can we expect from tomorrow’s gala?” the newscaster asked.
Lena smiled, stopping herself from shifting nervously in the bright lights above her, glancing instead to the news studio’s camera as she spoke. “The gala is a black-tie fundraiser event for the Lena Luthor Foundation’s first project - an outreach program aimed at teaching STEM concepts to inner city children.”
“Fascinating,” the newscaster said, “And how will this education program work?”
“The children will be taught basic computer science concepts, and also have access to learn to code robots to compete in an obstacle course competition,” Lena said, eyes shifting back to the newscaster as she spoke, attempting to look as conversational and relaxed as possible. God, it’s been a while since I’ve done this, she thought to herself. “By giving the children real-world instruction, we hope they will be excited to see what one can really do with engineering and science.”
“And will your new girlfriend be attending the gala?”
As much as Lena had no problem staying composed, she could never quite master keeping the blush out of her cheeks. Not when it came to Kara. “She will be attending as well,” Lena confirmed, “Kara is a strong believer in a science education, having grown up with a strong tradition of scientific exploration on Krypton.”
“I imagine she’s an exception to the black tie rules,” the newscaster said.
“Of course,” Lena grinned, “We think the city is ready to know the real Supergirl.”
“Do you think your brother would be proud?”
The smile stuck to Lena’s face - no one but her closest friends would know that anything was amiss from her expression. But the question was certainly charged. While Earth Prime Lex had been known as a philanthropist, his quest for power had come out during the trial - somehow lauded by the public - only for him to attack the world and disappear into the phantom zone, leaving a confused public behind.
I guess I’ll never really escape him, Lena thought tiredly. In Stryker’s or dead or stuck in the phantom zone - none of it mattered. It seemed that Lex would always linger over her. “My brother’s legacy is complex,” Lena said, somewhat frustrated that she couldn’t be more direct on Earth Prime about who her brother really was. “I hope to honor the Luthor name, whatever that would’ve meant to him.”
“Well, some very lucky children are about to have a fantastic summer,” the newscaster said back. “Thank you for joining us today, Lena.”
“It was a pleasure,” Lena said.
---
Lying in the cool darkness of her bedroom - the setting sun hardly penetrating the windows anymore - Lena dozed quietly, relieved that the day was done.
Light footsteps padded down the hallway, causing a warm feeling in Lena’s chest. Kara’s home, she thought, and she was greeted only moments later by the kryptonian slipping into bed beside her, hugging around her back. “There’s Belly Burger in the kitchen,” Kara murmured, nuzzling softly into Lena’s hair.
“Thank you,” Lena said back, “I needed that.”
“Rough day?”
“Not particularly. Just… him.”
Lena could feel Kara’s head on the pillow behind her, the kryptonian holding her quietly, giving Lena the space to think. “I think it’s more exhausting here,” Lena said eventually, “Lex, on this Earth.”
“Because they think he was a hero?”
“They don’t understand how someone who could work so closely with you,” Lena said, slowly rolling over on the bed to look at Kara directly, “Could turn around and try to kill you. At least on Earth 38, his first response to Superman was to build a kryptonite suit. People knew where things stood. I didn’t have to dance around.”
Kara hugged Lena more tightly. “I’m sorry, Lena,” she said.
Lena sighed, planting a small kiss on Kara’s lips. “I’ll be fine. I just wish I could get away from it sometimes.”
Kara’s brow furrowed thoughtfully, as she reached up to caress Lena’s face. Lena could almost see the thoughts dance behind her eyes, before she smiled softly. “What is it?” Lena asked.
“I…” Kara trailed off for a moment. “I was wondering, if you would like to visit Argo soon? Maybe after the gala? They’ve barely heard of Lex up there.”
Lena’s eyes shifted between Kara’s, small relief flowing through her body. “That sounds perfect.”
---
“Why do you think your brother started hating aliens?”
“Ms. Danv- er, Supergirl- what does Cat Grant think of ethics in journalism?”
“Your brother was a great man - what do you think caused him to snap?”
Lena sighed in relief as the dancing began, happy to have an excuse to lead Kara to the dance floor instead of continuing conversation with the various donors and reporters roaming about. At least the flashing cameras were less intrusive.
Kara, for her part, seemed almost curious at the extra attention. “This’ll take some getting used to,” she murmured playfully, lightly twirling Lena in her arms and setting off another flurry of photo flashes.
“They’ll calm down eventually,” Lena said, “There are only so many Super and a Luthor headlines that people will read.”
“Ready for our trip tomorrow?” Kara asked.
“More than ready.”
---
Alura hugged her warmly when they arrived. “It’s nice to get away,” Lena said, following Alura and Kara from J’onn’s ship to the El home.
She was somewhat disbelieving that she was really sitting in a kryptonian kitchen, on the remnants of an alien planet. With Zor-El off on an overnight deployment to oversee routine maintenance to Argo’s shield, the three of them spent Lena’s first night on Argo sipping on hot chocolate that Kara had brought from Earth.
Lena found Alura was easy to open up to. “It’s just tiring, being in Lex’s shadow,” Lena said. “For once I wish I could be seen on my own terms.”
Lena thought she noticed Alura glance to Kara, but the thought didn’t linger as Alura looked back to Lena again. “Kara and Kal have told me of the feud,” she said sympathetically.
“It’ll be nice getting away from his name for a while,” Lena confessed. “I can just be Lena, instead of Lex’s little sister.”
“We’ll be going to the markets tomorrow,” Kara said, glancing from Lena to Alura. “I want to show Lena the town square.”
“I’m sure she’ll like it,” Alura said, exchanging what Lena was certain was a look with Kara. What’s that about?, she wondered, but Alura quickly moved on. “Is it strange not being a super here?” Alura asked Kara.
Kara smiled. “I’m home again.”
Lena took in Kara’s expression, the ease in her body. They talked about it from time to time - what it meant for Kara to have powers she constantly needed to control. Though she didn’t need to balance two identities anymore, there would always be the physical fatigue of controlling her powers on Earth.
Lena smiled. At least they’d have Argo as a refuge - where Lena wasn’t defined as Lex’s little sister, and Kara wasn’t defined by being a super.
---
Kara seemed oddly nervous that morning as they dressed. Lena was excited - to understand a little more of Kara’s home, to see a new culture - but she couldn’t quite understand her girlfriend’s nerves. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it,” Lena said curiously. “You don’t need to worry.”
Kara smiled back, reaching out to take Lena’s hand as they exited her parents’ home. The markets took place twice a week, in the large central park that now served as Argo’s main gathering place. But it seemed Kara wasn’t going directly to the center of the large field, instead detouring to the east. “Where are we going?” Lena asked.
“I want to show you Argo’s heroes first.”
Lena tilted her head curiously, following the kryptonian. The expanse around the city was laid out in a series of ringed parks, and they rotated clockwise along the various paths, Kara pointing out different statues that honored the important historical figures of Krypton.
As they passed a playground, heading beyond the fourth ring of trees, Lena found herself looking at another statue ahead, with another bright and cheery view of the city’s skyscrapers in the background.
But what caught Lena’s eye this time as they approached the statue wasn’t the beautiful sights, but instead the familiar face staring back at her - proud and noble, holding glowing purple stone. What is this?, Lena thought.
They approached the statue - a small smile crossing Kara’s lips - and Lena’s eyes darted around it, eventually reading the plaque spelling her own name, with a string of kryptonian beneath. Lena could feel the blush crawling up her cheeks at her own confusion, her heart racing in disbelief. “Me?” Lena said softly. “They think I’m a hero?”
“You gave Argo the harun-el,” Kara said. “Every year, the Luthor Festival celebrates the day my mother returned with the recipe.”
The Luthor festival is about me, Lena thought, placing a hand at the base of the statue, realizing that tears were starting to threaten her vision. But she didn’t care. This… this is about me. What I did.
Kara smiled, squeezing Lena’s other hand, seeming to read her thoughts. “You saved all of them, Lena,” Kara said, as Lena’s heart raced, “To my people, the Luthor name is defined by you.”
Lena smiled widely, tears still threatening to spill as she turned into a waiting Kara’s arms, who squeezed her tightly. Lena’s arms wrapped around Kara in return, as she let out a choked laugh, placing her head on Kara’s shoulder as she melted into her. “Thank you for showing me this,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
---------------------------------
This headcanon was first mentioned in Echoes of the Forest, but I felt I wanted to write a ficlet for it. Please also check out this beautiful art I commissioned from @heeeygracie!
Pride Month is upon us again and so it is time to repost my little guy, Hue! I’m wishing everyone a safe, supportive, positive, and enlightening Pride, whether you’re all the way “out” or not!
since tumblr is going to start scraping blogs to train ai be sure to glaze and nightshade your art!! Not only will both of these programs protect your art from being copied but nightshade also poisons any ai that tries to steal it
here is some more info on these tools and where you can download them:
ACTUALLY! A breeder in Germany started to breed healthier pugs called “retro mops” and currebtly ppl are trying to get AKC and UKC to recongnize them as the new standard.
The absurd breed standards are a recent thing, developed in the past 100-150 years. The healthier breeds are much closer to their 19th century ancestors.
A pair of French bulldogs painted by Carl Reichert (1836-1918)
A Bering & Wells Gift Exchange comic story for @lady-adventuress. Happy Palentines Day, friend! There are typos and drawos, even after my very extensive, not-at-all rushed, proof-reading, so, many advance apologies. Thank you for the ideas, I tried to stay in line with mistaken identity/long lost theme. Hope it is enjoyable!
Myka was seventeen when Emily Lake, her best friend, disappeared. Whisked away into the night by Mrs. Frederic, crying and inconsolable, cursing her father’s name. It was unreal, all of it, from first kiss to final goodbye. But whatever disbelief Myka had held onto, wide awake in her bed most of that night, shattered entirely on her walk to school the next morning.
She remembers hearing the sirens as she’d finally drifted into sleep but there were always sirens. Sirens were never unusual.
She should have known. She should have known.
Emily Lake’s house was burned to the ground. A smoldering pile of charred rubble, surrounded by crime scene tape, police vehicles, and a white Coroner's Office van.
She could only get so close but she could see all she needed to see.
She doesn't remember losing consciousness, though she supposes no one does when they come to. She remembers the spinning. She remembers the falling.
And she remembers waking up in the back of an ambulance with Mrs. Frederic by her side.
//
Myka sees Mrs. Frederic a lot over the years. Not by choice or chance. Not by want for that woman to be in her life. Just by the mere fact that she loves a ghost. A girl that's supposed to be dead.
Burned up in a house fire.
Buried in the ground.
They'd pulled two bodies from the rubble of Emily Lake's house, too badly burned for an open casket. Too unknown and unrelated to anyone of means to have a proper burial.
Myka went to Emily's memorial at the high school. She listened as others spoke about a girl they knew nothing about. And while she grew angry at their forced tears and fabricated associations to a dead girl they never knew, she, herself, had absolutely nothing to say about it.
Her best friend, Emily Lake, had died in a fire.
Some girl she loves, called Helena, arose from her ashes.
//
Myka sees Mrs. Frederic once when she's nineteen. This time she hasn't passed out. She's at a cafe on her college campus, listening to music through a set of headphones, and drawing in her sketchbook.
Mrs. Frederic sets a flyer down on the table in front of Myka and takes a seat in the chair across from her.
She doesn't wait for Myka to remove her headphones or even acknowledge her presence.
"This is not cute," the older woman tells her while gesturing down at the paper. "This is too close."
Myka eyes the flyer. It isn't hers per se but she'd been hired by someone on campus to draw it for an upcoming event. It's a very simple drawing of two women holding hands, but one of those women looks a lot like herself and the other looks a lot like someone she used to know.
"You don't like my art?" Myka sighs, turning her attention back to her sketchbook.
"She's dead," Mrs. Frederic recites, not at all for the first time.
Myka puffs out a soft laugh, glances up at Mrs. Frederic, and says, "And yet here you are. Again."
"It isn't safe yet, Myka."
Myka drops her pencil. "When will it be?"
Mrs. Frederic looks away from Myka, over her shoulder, out of a window. She says, without ever turning back, "I told you to forget her. She told you to forget her. You know the consequences of not doing that. You've seen what they're capable of."
"I don't know anything. I certainly don't know the consequences or who they are."
"And believe me when I tell you that you do not want to."
"Is it witness protection?"
"Do I look like I work for the Marshal's office, Ms. Bering? Do our interactions scream Federal Government to you?"
Myka eyes Mrs. Frederic up and down but says nothing at all. In response, she receives a huff of annoyance from the older woman across from her.
"The amount of time I have spent running interference between you and that girl is both baffling and exhausting."
That makes Myka smile. Just a little.
"Finish school, Ms. Bering. Keep your head down. Stop this," Mrs. Frederic taps the paper on the table, "and forget her." She stands and turns then adds, just over her shoulder, "I won't be repeating myself."
Myka sits back in her chair, smiles softly up at the other woman, and says, "Let's do this again sometime, hm?"
Mrs. Frederic rolls her eyes up and sighs. Then turns and walks away.
//
When Myka graduates college at twenty-two, she catches a glimpse of Mrs. Frederic in the hallway of the auditorium where her commencement ceremony is to take place. She is mentally and emotionally preparing herself to fend off all of that woman's criticisms, about what she should and shouldn't be drawing, about how she should and should not be living her life, about who she should and should not be remembering.
But Mrs. Frederic never approaches her. She disappears into the crowd.
Myka has always just assumed that she is being watched, that Mrs. Frederic is watching her. But Mrs. Frederic has never, before now, allowed herself to be seen in return.
//
Myka starts dating a boy named Sam when she is twenty-five years old. Sam doesn't remind her of Helena and it's the thing she likes most about him. It's easy. He's nice. They have fun together.
Myka doesn't see Mrs. Frederic the entire two years they are dating. And somehow, somewhere inside of her, she's a little sad about that.
//
Sam is killed in an accident when Myka is twenty-eight.
They had been broken up for a year at that point but they were still close. Still really good friends with a shared love of art and creating, still collaborating to make what dreams they may have into reality.
A lot of Myka's art shifts back into dark places and in those dark places comes reminders of dark histories. Of grief and sadness. Of love and loss. Of all the pain suffered and endured and, mostly, overcome when the perfect person comes along and holds your hand through it all.
For years, that had been Emily.
Helena.
They'd suffered and endured. They'd held hands through it all. Comforted each other, whenever the other needed it most. Together, they'd imagine themselves on fantastic journeys. The innumerable marks on their skin, souvenirs from their mishaps and adventures.
Myka hasn't cried in so long but she cries the night Sam dies. She cries hard and long, for hours and hours. And when she's all cried out over Sam, she starts crying all over again for Emily Lake.
For the girl named Helena whose last name she doesn't even know. She cries until she falls asleep, then wakes up and does it all over again the next day. She does this for a whole week until the day of Sam's funeral and she doesn't know who she cries for more, Sam, Helena, or herself.
It's been nearly four years since their last encounter but Myka isn't surprised when Mrs. Frederic appears. After the casket is lowered and the crowd dispersed, she steps to Myka's side and stands there just beside her for several moments in silence.
And when Mrs. Frederic has decided she's had enough of the quiet, she says, "You did try. I'll give you that."
Myka doesn't know why but this comment, a simple and useless recognition from the woman who gives almost nothing at all, makes her full belly laugh, crying tears of laughter until she can cry no more.
//
Myka is almost thirty when she almost dies of a heart attack. And then, immediately after that, almost dies by large-toe bludgeoning.
"I'm glad to see you attempting to move on with your life."
"Oh, fuck!" Myka drops a mixing bowl of cooke dough and the very thin, suddenly sharp lip of that bowl lands square on her big toe. When she turns to Mrs. Frederic, in her kitchen somehow, she swears that woman is smiling.
Even if just barely.
"That's a new trick." Myka growls, calming her racing heart.
"New to whom? You seem to be an expert in the field of accidental self-inflicted wounds."
"I mean you. In my kitchen. Inside of my apartment." Myka sighs. "How did you get in here?"
"Certainly not by working at the Marshal's office." Mrs. Frederic quirks a singular brow in Myka's direction.
"Certainly not." Myka mimics, lowering herself to the ground, to clean the cookie dough from tile floor. "What have I done now?"
"I've seen the draft of your very telling graphic memoir. I thought we were clear on the lines that should not be crossed."
Myka stops cleaning. "Speaking of lines that should not be crossed, I won't bother asking how you've seen something that exists solely on my computer." She stands and crosses her arms and tells Mrs. Frederic, "It doesn't mean anything to anyone except me. Nobody else would know it's her and it's not like it's going to bring her back."
"Myka."
Myka laughs softly, "Wow. First name basis? I have definitely crossed a line."
"The problem is, that is exactly what could happen. It could bring her back. Give her no choice but to return."
"She has a choice now? Because that's not what it looked like when you dragged her away."
"I did not drag her. I simply urged her to move forward, faster. You saw, with your own eyes, what the result would have been had she lingered with you. Two homes might have burned that night and your family--"
"I have a lot of respect for you, Mrs. Frederic, despite your constant intrusions. But please, do not talk about my family."
"Fair enough," Mrs. Frederic concedes after a sigh.
"You know, I thought I'd have more hope over time. That she was alive. That she'd one day come back. That I could go to her. Or that holding on to her the way I do would eventually mean something. Anything.
"But after all this time, I find myself more often grieving Emily's death. Because it's the only thing that's real in my mind, it's the only thing that happened.
"Helena is just... she's an old memory that I struggle to keep alive. Ten minutes in one night in the entirety of my life. And I don't even know if anything about those ten minutes is real. If it even means anything. If it's worth holding on to."
Mrs. Frederic watches Myka in thoughtful silence.
"I do know that I never want to forget the way she makes me feel. They way she always made me feel. As Emily, before Helena. She taught me so much. She helped me open up. She opened up to me.
"If I can't talk about her, in a book about my life, there is no book.
"She was my best friend and I loved her. I do what I love because of her and having known her and loved her, for the little time that I was able to, still impacts my life today. Every single day."
"If I can't talk about her, in a book about my life, there is no book."
Myka gestures to Mrs. Frederic and smiles.
"You, Mrs. Frederic, are living proof of that." She pauses to laugh and adds, "Or the most prolific stalker the world has ever seen."
The older woman remains quiet, pensive. And for a second, one tiny fraction of a second, Myka thinks she's going to show some kind of emotion. Sympathy. Sadness. Contentedness. Amusement? At this point, Myka would even take her usual dose of exhaustion. But Mrs. Frederic's face remains a facade of unconvinced underwhelm and boredom.
Her words, however, belie genuine emotion.
"I have a story for you."
Myka arches a brow. "How suspicious."
"Two little girls grew up together, lived similar lives with similar fathers, who mistreated them in very similar ways. In a single night, they had the nerve to fall in love, right in front of my eyes. A youthful, foolish love that should have ended a decade ago. And yet, here I stand, an intermediary between two foolish girls who refuse to let each other go. Even as they risk their very ends.
"One of those girls is the daughter of a dangerous man who once had the power to demand ungodly things be done to the families of even more dangerous people.
"And the other girl, Ms. Bering, is you."
Myka breathes in slowly. Breathes out one long steady breath.
"I have... so much work to do. And yet, for some reason, I spend, have spent, most of my time intervening in various shenanigans between the two of you."
"Me, living my life like a normal human being, not constantly under threat by some faceless boogie man, is not shenanigans."
Mrs. Frederic ignores Myka's interjection and goes on.
"Intercepting every little whim of the heart you two decide to try and throw out into the world, in order to find each other without blatantly finding each other, when you both know, very well, that is the last thing you should be doing."
"She's... she's trying to find me?"
"Not the point," Mrs. Frederic cuts in. "The point is that she should not be. She knows that. Nor should you be and you know that. Because they could leverage you to get to her to get to her father. They have tried and they will continue to try. And I will continue exhausting myself to keep you two safe because that is what I am, unfortunately, obligated to do.
"No matter how hard you make the task. No matter how many times you want to laugh in the face of it, believe me when I say that he is not worth either of you dying."
Myka remains quiet. She stills. When Mrs. Frederic says no more, Myka takes in another steadying breath and says, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you actually care about me."
"I care to keep you alive. And her. Until such a time that I no longer have to care about keeping either of you anything for the foreseeable future."
"I do appreciate what you supposedly do, Mrs. Frederic, but in all of our time together, I have never, at any point, felt unsafe or watched by anyone but you."
"And you are welcome for that."
That, to Myka, is the most unnerving thing she has ever heard Mrs. Frederic say to her. In all of their time.
"So what, her dad was some sort of mob boss's hit man?"
"That's a close enough analogy."
"Why didn't you just tell me all of that from the beginning?"
"You were a child. You're no longer a child. I've seen what you've survived. Even if I myself don't find it amusing, I do understand why you laugh when threatened. Now, do you understand the gravity of this ongoing situation?"
Myka nods, "I do."
"I don't believe you."
Myka rolls her eyes. "I understand that I'm supposed to stop doing what I love to do most, drawing and telling stories about my own life, because you want this to end, sooner rather than later."
"No," Mrs. Frederic corrects, "because your life could end, sooner rather than later. You would not have a life to draw or tell stories about."
Myka breathes in deep.
"I am not asking you to give up your passion, Myka, I'm simply reminding you to be mindful, as your passion influences art that grows in popularity, about how much personal information you impress upon it.
"Or one day you'll turn around and it won't be me standing behind you."
//
Myka is thirty-two years old when Mrs. Frederic appears in a bookstore for one of Myka's book signings and, for whatever reason, that woman chooses to stand in line. Myka catches sight of her when she's at least eight people back, and after three more signings, she motions for Mrs. Frederic to come forward.
To Myka's surprise, the woman does.
Nothing about the way she looks has changed, except that she seems a little less baffled, a little less exhausted. Her visits had slowed, once more, as Myka's preoccupation with Helena's absence continued to wane over time.
"I could have waited," the woman tells Myka.
"The looming anticipation of your next threat was too much for me to handle." Myka smiles. "How is our girl?"
The older woman sighs heavily. All of that exhaustion and bafflement returning to her expression. But Myka is surprised, more than that, when Mrs. Frederic answers her genuinely.
"Insistent. Stubborn."
Myka smiles at the thought of Emily/Helena interacting with Mrs. Frederic in these little ways she occasionally interacts with Mrs. Frederic. A thing she used to think about often but doesn't think about so much anymore.
"Thank you," Myka says softly, lowering her head to face the table below and wiping away a stray tear. When she looks back up to Mrs. Frederic, she adds, "I appreciate knowing she hasn't changed one bit."
Mrs. Frederic reaches into her purse and pulls out a copy of Myka's book. She sets it on the table in front of Myka, who smiles wide.
"You bought my book."
"A birthday gift," Mrs. Frederic says, "for our very insistent friend."
//
Myka is thirty-four when Mrs. Frederic unexpectedly sits beside her on a park bench then holds an envelope out in front of her. And for the first time, in a long time, Myka isn't startled. She almost expects that other woman's arrival.
She says to the older woman, without ever looking at her, "I don't know what they're paying you but I'm sure it's not enough."
Myka doesn't immediately take that envelope but she can see that her name is on the front. She can see that the handwriting is Emily's. Recognizable in comparison to all of the old notes she has stashed away from high school.
Still, she straightens in her seat and asks, "We're on writing terms now?"
"Proof of life."
"Seventeen years ago, you told me she died." Myka cautiously takes the envelope. "You told me to forget about her."
"And nearly two decades later, look where that has gotten us."
"You've suggested on several occasions that I'd be murdered."
"I resisted the urge myself on many of those occasions."
"A joke?"
Mrs. Frederic arches a brow. The playfulness of that expression, Myka finds, is unnerving at best.
"You said they are dangerous people."
"They were."
"They were?"
"We're on the cusp of a resolution."
"A resolution? With very dangerous people? More dangerous than the man who committed heinous crimes against them?"
Mrs. Frederic nods and simply says, "Even dangerous people grow old."
"Then I guess I feel comforted that you haven't aged a day since we met."
Myka can see Mrs. Frederic suppressing a smile.
"You know, in all these years that I've come to know you, Mrs. Frederic, you don't strike me as the type to negotiate with, much less protect, a man who has done ungodly things to anyone. Dangerous people included."
"You refer to her father as a man, which is something I haven't done in over three decades." A pause follows a thoughtful sigh as Mrs. Frederic turns away from Myka and says. "Still, I find even calling him the monster that he is to be too generous."
Myka gives a subtle, understanding nod.
"The thing you may or may not have come to understand, without the proper context, is that some very terrible people are more valuable to when they are alive, worthless when they are dead, when the survival of many more good people depends on what they know. My employers find value in his living, so he remains alive and, by default, protected."
"And Helena? Where does she come into all of this talk of value and worth?"
"She is her father's collateral damage." Mrs. Frederic turns to Myka. "From the moment she was born, he has been using her existence to further his malintent. Without her, he would already be dead."
Myka can feel her blood rising.
"He had money. He had custody. He had power. He doesn't have any of those things now and I promise you, Myka Bering, that he is not worth the energy you will burn being angry at him."
Myka doesn't quite let the anger go. But she breathes a little steadier now.
//
Weeks later, Myka finds a Post-It note on her refrigerator door that she didn't place there and doesn't recall seeing the night before.
It reads: Answer the call. - F
Within the hour, Myka's cell phone rings. No name or number appears on the screen. And when she answers, it's with a tease. She says, "It only took you twenty years to realize you could threaten me over the phone instead of constantly sneaking up on me in public?"
"I told Irene," a soft, distantly familiar voice starts, "you'd tire of her appearing act sooner than most."
The voice hits her hard. Harder than the combined weight of every moment in her past that she has felt sorrow or grief or loneliness beyond measure. She has to steady her hands to not drop the phone. She has to steady her breathing to not fall to the floor.
"Helena?"
Soft breathing turns to soft laughter which turns to soft crying, on both ends of that line.
"Is that really you?"
"It really is."
Myka sits before she falls, carefully lowering herself to the kitchen floor. Clutching that phone in her hands. Her back to the cabinet doors. Her legs folded up before her.
