A Nice Day For a Funeral

[Tom Harriman]

"Hello?"

It was raining; the bad kind of rain, that Britain seemed to have a monopoly on. Not refreshing; not torrential; not a light shower; not a storm; it was that oily, pervasive kind of rain that you couldn't really feel, and yet it somehow snuck it's way right down to your bones as it soaked it's way through everything, draping a blanket of dull and murky grey across everything in sight. It seemed apt, Tom supposed; with the bleak sadness that had afflicted everyone else present, why shouldn't the weather be miserable too?

"Is that Thomas Harriman?"

"Who is this?"

"My name is Nathan Godfrey. I work for the Security Service."

"MI-5? What's a spook doing calling me at 3 in the morning?"

"Sorry to have woken you, Mr Harriman, but I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Tom was the last to leave the chapel. It wasn't the quaint, picturesque sort of place that you saw on television: it was small, and dated, decorated with cheap wood and cheap chairs. This was the kind of place where real people's funerals took place; not at hilltop cemeteries with sunset backdrops, but in cramped crematoriums where grieving relatives were shuffled through group after group to the sound of electric organ music, singing hymns they'd never heard of to tunes they didn't know.

He followed the precession of friends and family - many of whom he didn't know; not that he cared to - into a strange, cloister-style garden littered with plaques and engravings professing the loving memories of whoever had relatives wealthy enough to buy them. The mourners quickly clustered into groups of those who knew each other; Tom caught a few snatches of superficial lies about it being a lovely service, our of remorse over how tragic the whole situation was.

Evidently, it was so lovely and tragic that none of them noticed the young woman alone in the corner. Tom's heart sank at the sight of her standing there; he wove through the pockets of conversation, but by the time he reached her, and tried to summon some comfort to offer, he couldn't think of a single word to say.

[Kat Harriman]

Her eyes didn't rise as he approached, but he knew he was standing there. She just kept looking, off into space, trying her hardest to think about absolutely nothing. Her mind was empty; her soul felt the same, only worse. She felt as if the maw in her chest was going to make her collapse in on herself; and with every fibre of her being, she wished that she would: anything to be anywhere, except here.

"I can't cry," she said, eventually. Her voice was thin and weak, unlike how her brother had ever heard her. She intensified her stare at nothing, forcing herself not to blink, willing tears into her eyes, but they never came. Her shoulders sagged, and finally she turned her sorrowed gaze on her brother. "I know I should, and I keep trying. But I can't."

It took a second longer before her arms were flung around his middle, clinging tightly to the brother that she hadn't seen in years. He didn't write; he barely called; and it took a funeral to get him home. But that didn't matter now; at least he was here.

"I miss him, Tom," she said, her voice barely working anymore.

[Tom Harriman]

"I miss him too," Tom said gently. He returned her embrace, not clinging as tightly as her, but enough for her to know that he was here, and wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon.

Again, he searched his mind for something to say. This was his baby sister; and he was her big brother; there should have been something that he could say to make her feel better. No matter what lines he practiced in his mind though, nothing worked. Deep down he knew why.

Our brother is dead. Our father is missing. You can't just make that 'better'.

He offered a gentle squeeze to her shoulders; the only thing he could think to do. "It was a lovely service," he said, the words sounding even more pathetic aloud than they had in his head.

[Kat Harriman]

"No it wasn't," Kat grunted. She closed her eyes, trying to bury herself inside her brother's jacket. "It was a stupid service, and Jace would have been bored out of his skull. He hates hymns, and everyone knows that our family can't sing."

A long, painful silence followed. "Hated," she corrected, her voice cracking as she forced the word out.

The silence fell again, and she clung on to her brother so tightly, absolutely determined not to let him go. Not again; and not another one. "We're just going through the motions - doing a bunch of things because they're traditions. Because we're ticking boxes. Jace wouldn't have wanted this."

[Tom Harriman]

"Of course not," Tom countered. "Since when did Jason ever let anyone else do his box ticking for him?"

The sound that escaped from his sister wasn't exactly a laugh, but it was close; as close as she could manage right now, at any rate. "That's the funny thing about funerals. They aren't for the person who died: they're for everyone else. What matters is that people get a when and a where to say goodbye."

Katrina didn't say anything, but he felt her hands grip onto his shirt. Tom brushed a hand gently over her hair, and planted a kiss atop her head. "Even if we don't want to."

He would have let the moment last; he would have stayed there, holding on to his sister for as long as she needed to. For years, he'd told himself that his self-imposed American exile was about keeping his family safe: protecting them from any backlash should anyone find out about his mutation. The last thing he wanted was his exposure to unearth their own genetic abilities; he didn't want them to face the same scrutiny and judgement that he had experienced.

Running away clearly hadn't been the incredible strategic ploy he'd first thought. A vast ocean had kept him away from his family when they had needed him. For a fleeting moment, he wondered how events might have unfolded if he'd been there: would his family have been any safer with the added protection he could provide?

That thought was never allowed to finish: Tom's attention was caught by the arrival of one of the numerous guests he didn't recognise, intruding on their sibling moment. He fixed him with an intense look. "Now isn't a good time."

[Nathan Godfrey]

"Funerals generally aren't," the man replied, his thick northern accent - though not quite as northern as the Scottish undertones in Tom's own voice - lending a curiously light-hearted edge to his words. "All the same, it's very important that I speak to you, Mr Harriman."

He extended a hand. Tom stared at it as if the man had just pulled a gun. "I'm Nathan Godfrey," he continued, as if that somehow explained everything. "I'm an old collegue of your father's; we spoke on the phone a few days ago."

[Kat Harriman]

Tom moved to free a hand and return the offered handshake, but Kat didn't let him. She extracted herself from her brother's arms, and advanced with a glare towards the new arrival.

"And what kind of collegue would that be?" she countered, her tone heavy with accusation. "Dad knew a lot more about what was going on with Jace than he let on. Does that mean you do too?"

A calming hand shot out from Tom, and he tried to interrupt; he shrugged him off, not willing to let him tame her temper. "Dad wasn't in the Air Force, Tom. Or at least, he didn't do the job that he said he did. He was a spy, or a ghost, or whatever it is they call them, or something like that. All of those people at the hospital - all of those guards and agents - they didn't treat him like they were protecting him, or just answering his questions because the victim was his son. They acted like he was in charge somehow. Like they were following his orders."

She rounded on Nathan. "So tell us, Mr Godfrey: what was it that you and our father used to do together?"

[Nathan Godfrey]

"We hunted mutants together."

Whatever answer the two of them were expecting him to say, it clearly wasn't that. That gave him an advantage: a few moments of their dumbstruck silence to gather himself, and his thoughts. He had intended to break the news more gently than this; to the brother first, so he could soften the blow for his sister. But it seemed that a bull-headed personality was as hereditary as their mutation: something else they had inherited from their father.

He took a breath, and ran a smoothing hand down the front of his suit. "Most of the details are classified, but what I can tell you is that during the seventies and eighties, your father and I worked for a branch of the British government that served to protect the nation's interests from what the world now knows as mutants. Terrorism wasn't such a buzzword back then, and our biggest concerns were mutants from the Soviet Union: but we had our fair share of home-brew problems to deal with as well. Unlike our modern American cousins - organizations like the Mutant Crimes Unit in LA, or Vanguard - we managed to keep things out of the public eye."

His hands reached behind him, clasping loosely behind his back. "The police report claims that a man broke through our security perimeter, and electrocuted your brother with a defribrillator. In reality, your brother was killed by a mutant named Hurucan: someone our organization encountered in the past, and who has a particular vendetta against your father. He didn't walk past our security: he teleported in, and murdered your brother with his bare, electricity-wielding hands."

[Tom Harriman]

The stunned silence lasted only so long before it was broken, by the sudden sound of Tom's fist flying out to smack squarely across Nathan's jaw. Were it not for the fortunate placement of a wall to steady himself, Nathan would have gone tumbling to the ground, attracting a fair amount more attention than the blow already had. As it was, several of the mourners had already begun to pay a little too much attention to the trio in the corner.

Tom didn't care. Nathan's secrets could go to hell, as far as he was concerned. "Let me get this straight." The only thing that stopped his voice from being a yell was the fact that his sudden anger was so intense, it had turned into a seething, volcanic rage behind his clenched teeth. "You guys pissed off this Hurricane psychopath with lightning powers. You screwed up trying to catch him, and he gets away. And now, twenty years later, we just had to set fire to a box with my brother in, because some demon from your past decided to come back along and turn him into collateral damage?"

Something dark formed in Tom's voice: something that unsettled even his sister. "You need to be somewhere else right now, before I give in to the urge to demonstrate that he isn't the only mutant who can kill with his bare hands."

[Nathan Godfrey]

Nathan's previously unwavering gaze fell for a moment. What had sounded like casual confidence faded completely from his tone, his voice turning soft and quiet. "I have a lot to feel guilty for, Mr Harriman; and a lot for which I have to attone. Your anger towards me is very much deserved, I'm sure, but there is a time and a place: here and now is not it."

His eyes renewed their gaze on Tom. "Your brother's death was not simply a case of getting caught in the crossfire. Hurucan may be a mentally disturbed man, but he is governed by rules, and his own warped version of logic. Everything must have an order, and a pattern: and this time, you are the pattern. Family means everything to Hurucan, and to your father: he will not stop until he has dismantled you, systematically."

Nathan's voice became more hushed with every passing word, but his tone became more insistant; more intense. "You are both in grave danger, but we can protect you. I can protect you." His tone slumped again. "I made a promise to your father, and I intend to keep it."

[Kat Harriman]

"Protect us?"

All this talk of psychopaths and patterns sounded very Criminal Minds, but Kat wasn't buying it. This man talked a good game, but actions spoke louder than words and right now, all his wishful sentiments were drowned out by the blaring siren of what had already happened. Godfrey and his people had their chance. They were in the middle of having their chance when an electric assassin had appeared in their midsts without them being able to raise a hand to stop him. Perhaps they were unprepared. Perhaps they were unaware of what they were dealing with. Perhaps next time would be different. But perhaps only stretched so far.

She didn't scowl at Nathan the way her brother had. Her voice wasn't as hostile. Her eyes and her words conveyed something completely different: sadness, and pain.

"The way you protected Jason?"

[Nathan Godfrey]

Those words, and those eyes, stung at Nathan's very soul. Though he had never properly met young Katrina in person, he could see in her everything that Walter had ever described. He could see the sweet, innocent, optimistic young girl, the very mention of whom turned the grizzled old Walt into someone warm and caring. He watched as that sweet girl was torn to pieces behind her eyes. One more thing to feel guilty for.

His eyes glanced over his shoulder, checking the crowds of relatives who were pretending not to listen, assessing who was in earshot. It was risky. It was breaking protocol. But it wasn't a secret he could bear to keep any longer.

"Your brother died, Katrina: but he is very much alive."

The cryptic sentence hung in the air for an eternal moment; he watched as the sibling's minds tried to wrestle with it. His eyes fell to Tom. "It shouldn't come as a surprise to you of all people," he pointed out. "In New York, a woman visited you in hospital, and pulled you back from the brink of death; healed the worst of your wounds from that little jewelry heist mishap." There was a glimmer of something in Nathan's eye; a clue that he knew far more about Tom than he was letting on. "Is it really such a stretch to believe that she could pull someone back from beyond the brink?"

[Kat Harriman]

Most of what Nathan said was beyond cryptic, and Katrina's mind had no hope of deciphering it. She understood enough to interpret the relevant parts. Somehow, someone had brought her brother back to life. The connotations of it were creepy, but she didn't dwell on that. Only one thing mattered. "Jace is alive."

Her mind raced, too many hours spent watching American television filling in the blanks. Some ellaborate plan had evidently transpired. It took faking one's death to a whole new extreme. Obviously the death had needed to be real, in order to fool this Hurucan psycho into moving on: into leaving Jace for dead. But dad's old spy friends had leapt into action, plucked Jace's corpse from the morgue, brought him back to life, and smuggled him off to some secret base somewhere. It had been a deception from the beginning. Had they known ever since the first attempt on Jace's life? Had dad known?

Her eyes widened, hopeful. "Is our father with him?"

[Nathan Godfrey]

There she was again: the innocent girl, looking at him one more time. He couldn't watch her shatter in those eyes again; his own gaze fell away. "No," he said, sadly. "As long as there was a breath in him, your father wouldn't rest until he'd found a way to keep you safe. Hurucan knows that: there's no way he'd keep him alive."

His eyes turned to Tom. "He killed your brother relatively quickly; that was to demonstrate to your father that we - the agency - couldn't protect you. He'll have taken Walter; revealed his plan; and then, as soon as your father vowed to find a way stop Hurucan, he'll have killed him."

Nathan's mouth drew into a grim line. "It's the ultimate torture for a man like your father. Hurucan didn't just take away your father's family. He took away his hope."

[Tom Harriman]

"You aren't really selling yourself there," Tom grunted. "Our father knew your organization and it's capabilities far better than we do; if he had doubts that you could protect us, it doesn't exactly fill me with confidence."

He fell silent for a moment, brow furrowing into a frown as his mind struggled to process everything he'd been told. It seemed like quite the season for revelations: every few weeks brought a new secret to be unearthed. This one was bigger than most, mind you. It all seemed too much; and part of him was enticed by the idea of hiding beneath the protection of Her Majesty's Security Service. It had been a long time since he'd been a soldier, and yet that notion of having the British government's assured protection came as much more of a reassurance than he'd expected.

But logic, and perhaps pride as well, cemented his mind. "This man has spent twenty years plotting his revenge, and you couldn't find him. If he has the abilities you've described, it's not hard to see why. He clearly has the patience and the powers to beseige us under your protection for as long as he wants. I have no desire to spend the rest of my life hiding, afraid to set foot outside. That's no kind of life at all."

He straightened. "No more running. I'm going back to LA. If he wants me, he can come and get me, on my turf."

[Nathan Godfrey]

Nathan's jaw clenched. "I can't stop you," he admitted. "But trust me, Tom: going back there is very unwise. In Britain, there's a chance that my associates and I can protect you. We've faced this man before; and while yes, we've never managed to capture him, that doesn't mean we're completely defenseless. Building a bear trap and building a house that's bear-proof are two entirely different things."

"If you go back to Los Angeles, you'll be exposed. We won't be able to help you, or protect you." He grimaced. "Do you have any idea how to fight someone who can teleport and manipulate electricity?"

[Tom Harriman]

Tom bristled at the implication that he needed protection. It was arrogance for certain this time, but that didn't matter. Rule one when dealing with Paratroopers was simple: they never need your help; they merely allow you to tag along so you can feel a little better about yourself.

Of course, Nathan was only being over-protective on behalf of Tom's father; he supposed he could forgive that little oversight. He wouldn't let that sway his decision, however.

His arms folded across his chest. "I have several ideas, actually," he countered, allowing a little of his over-confidence to shine through.

[Nathan Godfrey]

Nathan cracked a smile at that; he couldn't help it.

"You are your father's son," he said with a sigh, shaking his head slowly. He didn't like it. Worse, his superiors wouldn't like it. It was one thing to protect the Harriman kids out of loyalty to their father; it was another to do so under orders from on high. There was no way that his superiors would be happy if he let Tom travel abroad again, out of their jurisdiction and reach. The Hurucan situation was a black mark on their track record; they wanted the collar, and didn't wand the Americans stealing it from under them by sheer fluke.

But seeing that glimmer in Tom had restored something in him. It was like standing with a young Walter, back in the days when they'd thought they were capable of anything. They'd learned quickly to ammend that overconfidence, but their egos had been enough to help them luck their way through those first few years. Maybe Tom still had enough kharma on his side to pull off the same kind of feat.

"Several?" Nathan echoed, a musing hand scrubbing across his jaw. "In that case, I suppose a lab at Treadstone Industries really is the best place for you."

[Kat Harriman]

Kat mirrored her brother's stance almost perfectly, but instead of confidence her features bore all the hallmarks of a woman about to give a stern dressing down.

"Could you please stop mentioning all these names and technical phrases?" she protested. "Some of us don't have access to comprehensive intelligence files on what their brother has been getting up to for the last seven years. Some of us don't know about jewellery heists, or near-death experiences, or people moving from one side of a continent to the other, because some people clearly don't know how to pick up the phone, write emails, or log on to Facebook."

She let out a seething breath from between her clenched teeth. "When you moved away, I thought it was like losing a brother. I just got to find out what that would really feel like, and you know what? I don't ever want to feel that again. So you are not running off to Los Angeles on your own, to dance around in the line of fire until this Hurucan shows up to kill you."

"I'm going with you." She squared her jaw against Tom, daring him to protest. "No is not an option."

[Tom Harriman]

Nathan looked like he was planning on interjecting, but Tom cut him off with a look. He turned back to his sister, probing deep into her eyes, searching for a glimmer of doubt in her conviction. There was none, which both impressed and frightened him. This was a side of his little sister he had never seen - something far more mature than she had ever been when he left. You've grown up, he mused as he regarded her. And I missed it all.

"Okay." He had to fight to keep the mix of pride and remorse from his face and voice.

He turned his gaze on Nathan. "She comes with me. After all -" He hesitated, wondering just how extensive the man's file on his exploits was. Clearly they knew of his antics in New York; and no doubt they were aware of his alter ego in Los Angeles as well. His employment was a matter of public record; but what about the extra-vocational activities that were part and parcel of his work at Treadstone. A hint of enigma coloured his voice. "- you aren't the only one with powerful friends."

[Nathan Godfrey]

It was a gentle reminder - or a test, perhaps - but it worked. The grip of Nathan's reluctance and concern eased just a little. He still didn't like it: he still wasn't comfortable with both Harriman's travelling so far out of reach, but Tom hadn't been far off in his guesses that even in their custody there was no guarentee that they could keep them safe. Maybe Tom's friends at Treadstone would be enough; and at least in LA they'd be together, one way or another: knowing the agency, they'd probably try to increase their chances of thwarting Hurucan by spreading the siblings across different sites. At at time like this, no family should be divided any more than was necessary.

Nathan sighed, and bowed his head slightly in surrender. "You're both as stupid as your father," he muttered. "Lets just hope you're as lucky as he used to be, too."

He glanced behind him, surveying the crowd for the grieving widow. His orders were to take her to her parents to collect her daughter, and then take them both to the safe house where Jason was in hiding. She caught his gaze with an expectant look; he answered her unasked question with a nod.

"Be safe, both of you," he said, turning back to the siblings. He fixed Tom directly with a knowing look. "And give my regards to Surge."

[Tom Harriman]

Nathan disappeared without another word, leaving Tom to squirm internally a little at having been out-done on the know-it-all stakes. That was the problem with spooks in his experience - not only did they have the irritating mystery surrounding everything they did; their access to classified files gave them an unfair advantage when it came to omniscience.

"Lets get out of here," he said quietly, putting his arm around his sister's shoulder. "I can't stand funerals at the best of times: I'm certainly not going to hang around at Jason's when he isn't even dead."

He scanned the crowd again, a few people still paying more attention to them than he was comfortable with. "Come on," he said a little louder, for the benefit of the eavesdroppers. "Lets get you home."

[Kat Harriman]

Kat let Tom lead her away from the relatives, trying as hard as she could to keep up the illusion that she was still mourning for her brother. It wasn't hard as it turned out: the relief was enough to dislodge a few of the tears than she hadn't managed to muster earlier, and the fear of knowing that out there somewhere was a seemingly unstoppable man intent on killing her for reasons she wasn't allowed to know was enough to keep her trembling.

But somehow, she knew it would be alright. She knew full-well that it was immature of her to think that: but there was something about being with Tom that made her feel safe. She'd still been in single figures when he'd left home, and as the years had gone by, she'd seen him less and less. In her mind though, everything about him became magnified: he'd become her hero - a fearsome soldier who fought for his country oversees; an eminent scientist making breakthroughs in distant lands.

It was only now that she realised how poorly she knew her brother: how she'd created this idolised version of what he was in her mind, without having any understanding of who he was. Questions flooded her mind; too many to ask, or at least not at once. As they approached the car however - it was hers, but Tom had insisted on driving, for various macho reasons - there was only one question that it seemed right to ask.

"So Tom," she called, climbing into the passenger seat, smiling a little as his American-polluted mind almost made him head for the wrong side of the car. "I was wondering."

"Yeah?" Tom muttered back, paying more attention to working out where the ignition was on her 'silly little car', as he'd called it.

Though she kept her face perfectly neutral, Kat couldn't help the hint of mischief that crept into her mind as she asked -

"You got a girlfriend yet?"