Taking Care of Business

[Heidrich Alderman]

The door closed behind him with a click.

He could still feel her on him; still feel her hands in his hair; still feel her breath on his skin; still feel her, inside his head. She had been young, inexperienced; all passion and enthusiasm, without any real skill or technique. It was a shame, really: he'd had such wonderful experiences with the staff of that airline in the past.

Idly, he smoothed out a wrinkle in the front of his sweater. It was an outfit born of experience; too many times had he caught himself with his shirt ruffled or his tie askew. Granted, it didn't quite capture the same sense of dedication to business that a stylish three-piece might have; but he was European, and the Americans were all to eager to disregard the quirky dress sense of a foreigner.

His eyes swept the airport concourse, wondering if any of his fellow travellers had made any of those same old mistakes. He doubted it, somehow; air hostesses were so hard to come by these days, and few had as much experience seducing their kind as he.

He should feel guilty, he supposed. Most people would frown upon the way he snared such young things, took from them what he needed, and then casually tossed them away. Perhaps when he was younger, he too would have had the same opinion of himself. But things were different, now. It was something that was essential for the life he had created for himself.

And besides, today of all days, he needed to ensure that he was feeling his best.

He walked casually, blending into the crowd of travellers as they processed through the terminal at JFK International. He watched the businessmen dart about, frantically talking on their phones, queueing impatiently at overpriced bistros, walking as fast as they could without seeming to run in order to shave those few precious seconds off the journey to the taxi stand. Tourists meanwhile ambled about with much less haste; he found himself casually scrutinising each one, but none took his fancy. Perhaps later, if the desire gripped him again.

Patience was a virtue that he had in abundance. He watched with mild amusement as the other travellers displayed their total lack of it, pushing and shoving against each other to be as close to the curb as they could. He glanced casually at his watch. He still had plenty of time; the diversion in the closet hadn't cost him too much.

Finally, a cab made itself available to him; he slid inside effortlessly, plucking his cell phone from a pocket with one hand, another passing a card with his address details forward to the driver.

"Hallo, mein Schatz," he said into the phone with a smile, as the call finally connected, careful to ensure that the expression translated into his words. "Ja, I just arrived."

He glanced casually out of the window as the taxi pulled away. "Are we still on for lunch?"

*

Twenty minutes later, a member of the cleaning staff stumbled into the closet that Heidrich had abandoned. A scream was ripped from her lungs as the light fluttered on, the crumpled and pallid from of a twenty-something air hostess lying at her feet with the life completely drained from her eyes.

[Chartis]

They met in the rain.

She could still feel it against her skin; a soft, gentle mist that lapped over the high brace of cheekbones and clung to the rounded swell of lips, sweetly clean and cool. The sky had been stained in shades of charcoal that made Clarity think of the doves that gathered in Red Square, the way they had scattered when she raced across the cobbled ground toward them, like tiny breathing hurricanes in the heart of Moscow.

It had been cold there. Not the same kind of cold as home, but a biting chill that dug beneath skin and leeched into the porous marrow of bones so that all other thoughts were eclipsed and the idea of ever being warm again seemed like just a dream. The shadowed pallor on the faces of the city's residents was fitting. If she'd had to live there, she was sure that she would have worn a necklace of tears, too.

Their return to Geneva had been a welcome one, even if it meant being forced into a dress with far too many petticoats for comfort. Another function, another old estate filled with dignitaries and foreign representatives, another occasion where she smiled politely and kept quiet and watched as Papa shook hundreds of hands, his tuxedo pinching at the waist where a few more inches had taken residence.

Only this time, when she escaped out to the lawn to admire the twinkling lights strung in the trees, she wasn't alone. Childlike wonder gave way to subdued reticence in the face of unexpected company; adults didn't normally venture out into the elements, not when there was a party and champagne to be had.

Clarity remembered his tallness. She remembered the impossibly clean lines his figure imposed against the dawning evening. She remembered his smile, filled with too many teeth for comfort.

And she remembered, too, his words as he crouched down and held out a hand.

"You've grown."

* * *

Strictly speaking, the black tie event hadn't been the very first time that they had met. It was merely the first that she could remember and thus had always been pinned in mind as a beginning, of sorts. Their relationship had blossomed in spite of the frequent distance that their lives imposed, a thread of correspondence keeping them tied together where other friendships and acquaintances faded away.

Heidrich Alderman, after all, bore a very auspicious distinction: he had known her mother.

Clarity smiled fondly at the memory as the swirling array of colourless shapes around her stilled with a faintly disorienting snap and settled into the lines of a modest bathroom stall. The lighting was warm, subtle, and she welcomed the pleasant ambiance that it offered; all too often, transitions between 'ports were violently jarring. Even for someone as practiced as Chartis, the experience never quite lost it's punch.

Once assured that her blouse and skirt were undisturbed, Clarity neatly exited the stall. She paused in front of the mirror and frowned at her reflection, brushing back a few wisps of ash-blonde hair that had come unpinned in the journey. Appearance wasn't something that she worried about consistently anymore, the days of being a diplomat's daughter long since over and replaced by the rabid unpredictability of being a parent herself, but one of the surest ways to dispel the suspicion that lingered around the impossibility of suddenly apparition was to look as though you belonged. People believed what was presented to them, so long as it was done without apology.

Satisfied that no one would question her presence, the teleporter checked her hemline one more time and then neatly strode from the ladies room.

If they'd synchronized their watches, they couldn't have timed their arrival any better.

Clarity waved as she approached from behind the maitre d's stand, catching Heidrich's gaze just as the front door closed on the bright afternoon. A delighted grin had taken over her delicate features and as she went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, a tripping laugh escaped her.


"If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were getting younger with every passing year," Clarity greeted. She clucked and shook her head. "What's your secret and where can I get some of it?"

[Heidrich Alderman]

"The secret," he said, offered his most charming and disarming smile, "Is to find a young lady who insists upon telling such flattering lies."

He paused for a beat, his eyes sweeping over her with the kind of scrutiny that only a close friend could get away with without any suspicion of an ulterior motive. His eyes softened, the smile slipping ever so slightly; a hint of gentleness and quiet crept into his voice before he spoke again. "You grow more like your mother every time I see you."

He let silence fall. It was the kind of statement that begged to be spoken, and yet brought with it such bittersweet sadness. And it was true; while Clarity posessed an ellegant beauty that was all her own, within it were set Elicia's impossibly captivating eyes, and that smile which brought more warmth to the hearts of those who witnessed it than a thousand suns.

Heidrich had regarded Elicia as one of his closest friends - of a kind too close to ever contemplate being anything more - and he lamented her absense from life more deeply than his own blood family; love and loyalty, mixed with his selfish desire to keep at least some remnant of her in his life, had led him to forge this relationship with her only child.

He forced his smile to return; after so many discussions between them - about her - had been stained with tears and sorrow, he would not allow them to linger on any emotion but joy when her memory came to mind.

"I swear you're taller," he added, injecting a little of the crooning false-flattery that one would expect a surrogate uncle to direct towards his surrogate niece. He chuckled. "Or perhaps I'm just shrinking in my old age."

[Chartis]

For a brief moment, Clarity was distracted by the fact that her casual remark seemed utterly composed of truth that only solidified upon further inspection. Up close, Heidrich's skin glowed with healthy vigour and was free of the creases and storylines that a man of his age and enthusiasm naturally acquired. Even the pigmentation was unweathered, as if it had been shielded from the elements like a valuable card kept safe within a soft protective sleeve. His deep-set eyes, shades of a shifting sea that so easily dissected the world around him, were clear and bright; the years had made them no less keen. Clarity seemed to recall that at a similar age, her own father had been waging a quiet war against cataract.

In fact, he was so utterly preserved that it defied the laws of genetics. Certainly, they accounted for a portion of his unchanged exterior, as did his lengthy stays in Europe, but still... to be so completely pristine, almost unnaturally so...

Clarity's budding curiosity jerked to a sharp stop, dissipating at the mention of her mother. A pleased, tentative smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she pressed a hand against her own cheek, suddenly self-conscious. They shared a similar ache when it came to the memory of Elicia Cleine, a longing that expressed itself in the passing on and collecting of memories. That mutual frenzy of possession was one of the facets that she treasured most about her relationship with Heidrich; it tempered everything between them with a warm, nostalgic glow.


"While it would please me - and my feet - greatly to confirm the former," Clarity replied, linking her arm in his, "the tragic reality is that the latter probably hits closer to the mark. Don't worry, though, darling: heels aren't so bad once you get used to them."


A beat passed before the woman scrunched up her face and sighed. "No, sorry, still can't lie to you. They're terrible. You'd best resign yourself to a life of aching insteps now, Uncle Heidrich. But don't worry, I'll still respect you even when I can't look up to you anymore."

[Heidrich Alderman]

Hedrich felt a brief tug of guilt. The word respect wrapped around his chest.

His actions, though they might have seemed that way to others, were not monsterous. He was not a ruthless sociopath who killed for some sense of pleasure or because he was compelled by a physical need to do so. He was a mutant - Homo superior - and it was his evolutionary imperative to do so. Just as Homo sapiens had brushed lesser cousins aside in the interests of species progress, so too did he. He even tempered his imperatives - he drew what he needed from a plethora of sources, feeding like a buffet rather than a gourmet meal. The women whom he selected sacrificed a few days or weeks perhaps, the odd grey or wrinkle here and there; and he was allowed to remain at his prime, an everlasting custodian to help usher in humanity's next great era.

Had anyone confronted him about his actions, he would have explained just that to them. He felt no shame; he felt no remorse, not even for the few he was forced to drain completely. They were all sacrifices for a greater cause. He did not care about approval, or understanding, or forgiveness.

Except from her.

He did not delude himself. Clarity Cleine was not the kind of woman who would condone his actions; otherwise he would not have kept his ability secret from her. He did not regret his actions; but he would regret losing her respect if she ever found out.

"I'm afraid you are preaching to the choir," he offered casually, trying to keep his thoughts from marring his words. "Though I will need a considerable amount of alcohol before I recount that particular story."

[Chartis]

"Lucky for me, they make a fantastic martini here," Clarity winked and patted his arm. She was unfazed by the inferred revelation. This was the same man, after all, who had long ago amazed her by pulling coins from her ears. The ability to deliver the unexpected was a skill synonymous with Heidrich's existence.

Besides, it would have been a shame if he'd never gotten tarted up. Calves like those practically begged for a good showing off.

Clarity politely offered her name to the smiling Maitre d' at his station, nodded confirmation at the reservations for two inquiry that followed, and allowed Heidrich to exert his old world notions of chivalry when he guided her through the dining room with one hand at the small of her back and the other gently cupping her elbow - though not without an impish fluttering of her eyelids in a show of dramatic flattery.

By some stroke of fortune they managed to snag a corner table. The cozy arrangement was private enough to lend an extra bough of freedom to conversation, without being so removed that they risked being forgotten entirely.

"You know," Clarity remarked as she sat down, unfolding the thick cloth napkin (a delicious shade of linen that hinted at heavy cream in dark coffee) and spreading it across her lap with the ease of someone familiar with such places, "you're the second apparition from the past to show up this week. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was divine arrangement instead of happy coincidence."

[Heidrich Alderman]

"Oh, really?"

Heidrich's voice was thick with innuendo and implication, the same knowing smile spreading across his features that had been there so many years before when he'd learned that Clarity had started liking boys. Back then, being smiled at by a member of the opposite gender was enough to get her flushed and excited; now that she was older, he was willing to wager that there was a little more involved than merely that.

"If seeing him is on a par with seeing me," he teased, "Then he really must be something quite special."

He fixed her with mischevious eyes. "Just who is this person, and what exactly have the two of you been getting up to?"

[Chartis]

Even her garnered maturity couldn't quite mask the pale look of horror that threatened to spill across Clarity's face. This was an area. One of those areas. The chances of returning unscathed were slim to do-you-remember-that-little-chat-before-your-first-date bad.

Arching a dignified brow, Clarity slanted a pointed look his direction and then waved a dismissive hand. The gesture was intended to sweep away any hint of shenanigans but it only managed to incriminate her further, just as embarrassed giggles and blushing cheeks once had. The predatory glee that illuminated Heidrich's steady gaze wrenched a hopeless chuff of breath from her lungs.

"Yes, Tom is certainly special," she finally conceded with a roll of her eyes. "Certifiably so, one might say. He's a friend, Heidrich. We were talking about business. And no, not that kind of business, get your mind out of the gutter."

[Heidrich Alderman]

It didn't matter that she was innocent of anything untoward. It didn't matter that every single word she said was probably true - from a certain point of view. What mattered is that the merest accusation had been enough to get her agitated; and Heidrich had known her long enough to know agitated when he saw it, no matter how hard she tried to cover it.

"Business?" Heidrich echoed, fighting hard to keep a smile off his face but utterly failing, tugs of it flashing intermittantly at the corners of his mouth. "And what business would that be?"

He held up a hand, turning his eyes to the ceiling as he tapped a solitary finger against the air. "Let me guess. He's a handsome, well-spoken man, your age of there abouts -"

The smile threatened his lips a little more. "- works for a fashion magazine, and said he could make your childhood dreams of being a model come true. All you needed to do was pose for some pictures... a few intimate photographs -"

[Chartis]

Gott in Himmel, he was relentless. And smug. Smugly relentless, that was Heidrich when he was after a reveal. Once he caught the scent of something interesting he didn't let go, not until he'd sunk his teeth in and ripped it to infinitesimal shreds.

Clarity listened patiently as he ventured his hypothesis with far too much confidence than any one man had a right to wield. A pleasant little smile slowly stretched across her face. Only those who knew the teleporter well would have been able to read the subtle signs of danger lurking behind the expression. There was a certain glimmer hiding at the inside corners of her eyes, one that promised hell and retribution.

"So far off the mark that it isn't even funny," Clarity informed him loftily once he'd finished. She laced her hands primly on the tabletop. "Late sixties; balding; hideously disfigured. Russian."

A waiter appeared to fill the glasses on the table and for a moment, conversation stilled. Once he floated away, Clarity further stretched the quiet by lifting the chilled water to her mouth and taking a generous sip.

And then:

"It was a film, incidentally, not photographs. I look much better in motion. Although you're right," Clarity nodded and hummed dreamily, "he did make all my dreams come true."

[Heidrich Alderman]

Heidrich's eyebrows climbed. It had not been hyperbole: Clarity really did become more like her mother every time he saw her. The smouldering defiance as she threw back her own fabrication, not prepared to simply back down and be embarassed like many others would: it was a testament to the traces of Elicia that lurked in her genes.

He considered escallating further, but he knew that would only drag him into a battle that would end in the conversational equivalent of nuclear war, both parties obliterated beneath the fallout of embarassment. No: one did not win an argument with Clarity Cleine through force of arms; one did not defeat her with a relentless assault.

He reached for the jug of water; he faltered for the slightest moment as an ice cube collided with the lemon wedge floating within, stirring up a painful memory that had been pushed deep into the depths of his mind. He raised it, carefully pouring himself a drink and taking a slow, cautious sip before he spoke again.

One defeats Clarity Cleine with a precision strike.

"And what does John think about this little photo shoot of yours?" he asked, his attention more on the glass than on her.

[Chartis]

Heidrich couldn't have leveled her more cleanly even had he produced the dead body of her father and spat upon him. It was like snuffing out a candle, the flickering heat instantly hissing and retreating into a grey-blue ghost of what once was.

Clarity canted her head to once side, eying him with... was it curiosity? A form of it, perhaps, like the urge to pull apart the angry flaps of a papercut, even though it stung.

He knew better than most exactly how convoluted the ties that anchored her to John Rhee were, the history between them. Not the express details, of course, she'd kept those private - a small, selfish act - but it had been his lounge that she'd sat in, young and faintly trembling from shock at the discovery that she was pregnant. That he'd been willing to use them as a means to secure a victory, however, had been something she'd not expected.

But then, she was a big girl. She could take it.

Clarity cleared her throat and lifted the menu, opening it's gilded cover and studying it's contents.

"Trying to determine what John thinks about anything is decidedly difficult," she remarked, turning a thick, glossy page. "Mm. I think I might have the bass."

[Heidrich Alderman]

A small swell of pride filled Heidrich's chest, at how calmly she had deflected.

Quite frankly, it had taken a considerable amount of willpower on his part not to add John Rhee to the ranks of people whose lives had been saccrificed to feed his ability. Were it not for the strict rules that he enforced on the use of his abilities - always objective, never out of emotion - he would have eagerly drained the life out of the man who had caused Clarity such anguish and pain. She made excuses for him, but in Heidrich's mind it was completely unforgivable.

All it would take was a handshake.

Heidrich wrestled his anger downwards, carefully folding it like oragami so that it would tuck away in the first dark corner he could find. In it's wake it left guilt; resilient as Clarity had become, that was no excuse for preying on her greatest weakness.

He contemplated an apology; but that would make things worse. The damage had already been done.

Instead, after several moments of intent and indecisive staring at the menu, he risked a glance back in Clarity's direction. "How is Ridley?" he asked, hoping a change to a more pleasant subject might salvage their conversation.

[Chartis]

Being a mother brought with it a magic that bent towards immortality. There was an eternal joy wrapped up in the position, an assurance that no matter what hand life dealt out, it would never be bad enough to overshadow the profound beauty of having a child. From the moment Clarity had first felt those whisper-thin stirrings within her belly, she had been a lost cause. The universe might tear to pieces and still, the thought of her son would lead her laughing into death.

"He's well," she replied, before surrendering the stoic act and letting loose the grin that lurked behind her sheltered expression. "He's brilliant, actually. Growing bigger every day and already more tenacious than I ever was, if you can believe that. Absolutely horrified that he hasn't manifested a mutation yet, of course; the other day he nearly jumped off the roof because he was convinced that some heretofore undiscovered ability to manipulate gravity or wind currents would be awakened by the trauma of plummeting toward the ground. It's a good thing that he's outnumbered by adults who are nearly as clever as he is, otherwise he might have succeeded."

Clarity laughed and propped her chin on her hand, thoughts lazily tumbling around the mental shape of her son that she carried everywhere. The fact that Ridley was growing at all, the fact that he existed, was enough to fill her with quiet amazement.

Brightening, she raised her eyebrows at Heidrich. "Will you have time to see him?"

[Heidrich Alderman]

It was easy to forget how normal lives worked, sometimes.

He supposed that by the standards of most people, the life that Clarity and her son lived was far from normal. But it should have been. Mutation was the future; if that were true, then the childhood of young mutants like Ridley must be a reflection on the world that was to come. It would be a world where everyone posessed an amazing gift; where children who had only had their bodies and minds to explore now had a wealth of new potential.

The knowledge that a gift was in your genes was inspiration to aspire. Who would have time for conflict and politics, when the whole world basked in it's collective power? Creed, colour, religion, race; none of that would matter. When that future came to pass, it would be shaped by those who had lived under the stigma of prejudice; once none but the gifted mutants remained, they would not allow their society to cultivate such things.

The fledgeling stages of that future was what Ridley enjoyed, and Clarity bore witness to. But Heidrich's role was not to experience that. His power was to endure; his task to guide that future into fruition, and protect those who would bring it to pass. He never stopped; rarely took the time to remind himself of just what it was he worked to tirelessly towards. Perhaps, for once, he should.

His lips curled into a smile. "Just you try and stop me."

[Chartis]

"Grand. He'll be thrilled," Clarity clapped her hands together, relief creasing the corners of her eyes. She hadn't wanted to make any premature promises to her son. There was never any guarantee when it came to Heidrich's time. He was a tireless veteran of the carpe diem school of thought, a principle which had served him well if his hectic work schedule were anything to go by, and while he did his best to make himself available when he was in town, things had a way of conspiring against them.

Which again brought to mind the curious fact that he was here, in the first place.

"I seem to recall that you weren't going to be doing business in America anymore; their brand of posturing was too uncivilized for your tastes," she studied his face carefully. Business wasn't the only reason that he would be in New York, granted, but it was the most likely. After all, if a social visit had been what he was after, Heidrich would simply have saved his air miles and avoided the tedium of modern air travel by asking her to nip over.

Unless...

"And you're incredibly curious about the company that I've been keeping, even for you..." Clarity narrowed her eyes. "Heidrich: Haben Sie ein Liebhaber?"

[Heidrich Alderman]

Even if Heidrich had tried to stop it, the laugh would still have managed to escape.

Chuckling breaths rolled past his lips. "Nein, nein," he insisted, shaking his head. "Ich bin zu alt."

He let out a sigh, a smile firmly affixed to his face. No matter how grave or maudlin his life left him feeling, a few moments with Clarity was all it took to restore his faith in life. She might have had the powers of a teleporter, but she most definately had the heart of a healer.

"I have had to... revisit my policy on American business dealings," he admitted carefully. It was less that he was reluctant to explain the truth in detail; more that he didn't want to disrupt the happy mood of their conversation again. "There's a research and development firm that is rumoured to be launching an important new venture over the next few weeks. Given the nature of it, it would be irresponsible of me not to make my services available, should they want them."

"But please," he winced. "No more work questions. I'd much rather discuss something I actually care about."

[Chartis]

Clarity was sure that there were many, many R&D firms with pending deals in this city alone, any number of them conceivably of interest to her surrogate uncle. That he had just described the exact scenario presented to her by Tom Harriman earlier in the week was a little eery for mere coincidence, but perhaps therein lay the answer: the news was still so recent that it lingered at the forefront of her mind, insinuating itself into spare comments. It was that old principle of owner's vision; the moment you bought a new car, you suddenly started to see it everywhere.

Besides, it couldn't possibly be Treadstone that he was talking about. What responsibility could Heidrich possibly have to a project geared toward the study and advancement of mutant ability? Personal sympathies and attachments aside, the man was hardly eligible to count himself under obligation to such an endeavor.

"That sounds uncannily familiar," she settled upon vaguely, before acquiescing to his suggestion that they find a more palatable topic of conversation.

Clarity pursed her lips. "Something you care about, hm? Well, apparently you're too busy tottering into antiquity to get involved in any sordid affairs, so that's out of the running. What a pity, too. I was hoping you'd let me set you up. My screening process is much more evolved than last time, I promise."

Which was to say, there actually was one.

[Heidrich Alderman]

"No."

His answer was firm, absolute, and unflinching. There were few things that Heidrich would refuse outright - fewer than their had been; sometimes being long-lived could become incredibly boring - but this was absolutely, catagorically one of those things.

It wasn't that Clarity was bad at what she did. On the contrary, she was practically a prodigy in the art of drawing any woman from sixteen to sixty staggering towards him like a zombie moth to a flame. Every trick, every fouble, every social nuance she could employ was set to work, guilting, confusing, and otherwise manipulating women into range of Heidrich's charms.

Unfortunately, it was every woman. Not just the pretty ones; not just the interesting ones; every social misfit, dire conversationalist, and frankly disturbed woman within range - no, especially those - found themselves snared in some kind of strange pheremone net, and often could not be made to leave no matter what efforts he took.

The truth was, he really was too old for this: too old for the chase, the courting, and the kind of relationship that was craved by women who were still young enough to retain their looks. Worse, he always knew that there was no future in it; if ever anyone snared his heart, he was destined to watch them wither and die while he remained eternally the same.

Such was his curse, and at most times he accepted it without regret; but he could not bear to see the disappointment in Clarity's eyes as she realised that her efforts had not succeeded.

He searched his mind for something - anything - to steer the conversation away. But there was only one something that he truly cared about.

"Save the matchmaking until I've got a few more drinks in me," he emplored. "Besides, I'd much rather talk about you."

[Chartis]

To hear that tone directed at her was a rare occurrence indeed. Clarity could count on one hand the number of times that Heidrich had changed from ally to opposition, nearly all of them a direct response to some perceived threat against her safety. The shift in his congenial, devil-may-care charm was always startling to behold, mostly because it happened in an instant and she had never quite managed to perfect the art of predicting it's appearance.

His reaction was valid, mind. Even she had to admit that. A man could only be expected to endure so much meddling, well-intentioned or no, and after nearly thirty years, Clarity's brand of persistence must have felt like persecution.

It was just that she could never entirely quash the notion that Heidrich would make such a lovely match for the right person, if only he tried.

Clarity sighed, a long-suffering trail of breath that circled forlornly around the table.

"Apparently you're no fun without defeating a platoon of highballs first," she clucked. "Anyway, you already know all there is to know about my life. We'll not get far with that for conversation."

[Heidrich Alderman]

At least you get to have a life. You have no idea how much I miss that sometimes.

It was strange how being around her made him question his resolve, and his allegiance to The Cause. He wished with every fibre that he could be the uncle that she wished he was; that he could be the kind of father figure that she needed and deserved; that he could be a part of her family, could show up for Christmases and birthdays. His family had been lost to him so many decades ago, but it was only when he was with her that he regretted it's absence.

And that made what he had to tell her next that much more difficult.

"You're right," he admitted reluctantly. "I do know all their is to know about your life. More than you realise, in fact. More than you know."

His heart sank, and he could bear to look at her. "There's something I need to tell you, Clarity."

His mouth went suddenly dry.

"It's about your father."

[Chartis]

"My father?" Clarity frowned delicately, mildly taken aback. Now here was a detour she'd never have thought would present itself.

It was long-established fact that Heidrich had been friends with her parents for years before she came along. Clarity could recall albums of faded pictures with spidery writing underneath, dates and annotations to pin the impossibly young faces of her mother and father to a specific moment in time, and in several of them the man before her appeared, smiling and posed with the ease of someone who comfortably belonged with the company he kept.

But in spite of the evidence, Clarity had always gotten the impression that Elicia had been the binding factor. There wasn't anything concrete, just a sort of polite distance that hung in the air between her father and Heidrich, as if in the wake of her mother's death, they'd been left with a hollow space that could neither be bridged nor abandoned. She'd often thought that the two men would have simply let time distill their contact in it's natural way, if it hadn't been for her.

Strange, then, that suddenly his memory would be resurrected. In the years since his death, they'd only ever really talked about Aldo Cleine in passing, and even that was usually tied to some fragment of her mother.

A gnawing unease sprouted in the pit of her stomach. Clarity beat it back relentlessly.

"What about him?"

[Heidrich Alderman]

Heidrich remembered promises.

A lot of people in this day and age made false promises. They made empty promises. They made promises that they knew they could never keep. Heidrich was a different man, from a different time; when he gave his word, it was iron clad. He would sooner die than break an oath - and given how much difficulty he had with actually dying, that was something he took rather seriously.

And yet here he was, about to break one of the biggest and most heartfelt promises he'd ever made.

Please, Heidrich. She can never know.

His gut twisted.

I'm sorry, Elicia.

With a breath, he began. "Aldo Cleine was a great man," he explained. "And a good friend. Your mother loved him dearly - frankly, she barely ever shut up about the guy. He did a lot to support her, and to take care of you, and so he will always have my eternal respect. But -"

He trailed off. "I don't know how else to say this, Clarity." His eyes were full of sadness and regret. "He wasn't your father."

[Chartis]

There were moments in life where everything went incredibly still, a hitch in time that stretched out with unceasing quiet in precise unison with an internal scream of disbelief that mounted with steady tension. It was a survival tactic, the body's way of absorbing a broad, blunt shock with what fragmented grace it could salvage.

Clarity sat still while a man with a white coat and cold, wrinkled hands the colour of aged paper said, "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do: she's a mutant."

Or maybe it was a defense mechanism, a biological resistance to mental revelations that were too cumbersome to tailor into something that fit. Children were often said to be resilient, but it was simply because they knew how to run on without the anchor of garments to hold them down.

Clarity sat while a man with kind eyes and familiar shoulders said, "It's John. He's missing."

Because sometimes that was what one had to do, wasn't it? Toss off the restrictive drag of words? Words were dangerous, dangerous things. They had more power than any other weapon. They could tear down worlds. They could build an entire universe.

Clarity sat while a man with skin the colour of pitch and an off-kilter pin on his lapel said, "Miss, you're going to have a baby."

And sometimes... sometimes, they simply weren't true.

Clarity sat while a man she'd known her entire life said, your father is not yours.

She blinked. A soft, uncertain angle tilted her lips up - not a smile, not even close - and left them frozen there. Carefully, she brought her left wrist to her right hand, a bracelet of fingers wrapping around the fragile bone in an inherited gesture of protection; her father as a boy had once broken the same limb, badly, and the habit of shielding it had never left him.

Clarity shook her head. Somewhere off to the left, life resumed enough for a voice to order a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

"I'm sorry," she said, enunciating very, very clearly, "What?"

[Heidrich Alderman]

Secrets. Heidrich's entire life was built out of secrets.

The problem when you constructed with secrets was that they weren't often discrete blocks. Secrets interwove, and built on each other. It was a tapestry of lies, deception, and withheld information: tug out one thread, and you risked unwravelling the entire thing.

And so, Heidrich was careful as he answered, carefully pulling out the truth and hoping desperately that it wouldn't bring it all crashing down.

"Your mother was a mutant," he explained slowly; it was still difficult to look at her. "But your father was not. Your mother was always curious about that part of her life, and wanted to meet others like herself; but it was something that your father could never be part of."

A hint of a whisful smile crept onto his lips as he remembered. "She'd have been proud of you, you know. Proud of what you do to help those like you."

The expression quickly faded however, dropping into a frown as he continued to speak. "There were mutants all across the world back then, but there wasn't much in the way of handy schools or clubs for mutants. It was very much an underground thing, something you didn't talk about in public; and when your mother stumbled across another like herself, it was always a cause for celebration."

"Your father, your real father... he was a mutant." A hand scrubbed at his jaw. "Your mother met him at a function in England; he was a military officer, a Colonel I think. A strange man, one of those prim and proper types, with the neatly trimmed moustache."

He frowned, his expression one mixed with conflict. "I'd love to tell you that it was some whirlwind romance; that she'd finally found a kindred spirit, or something like that. But I'm not sure it's true. He was -"

His voice stopped. "- he was there. I'm not sure there was any more to it than that."

He reached out, placing a hand atop hers. There was nothing fake about the sadness in his eyes; he didn't want to do this, but he knew deep down that he had to. It was for the best; the only way to protect her, in the long run.

"I'm sorry, Clarity. I know this is hard, and I promised your mother that I wouldn't tell you. It's just that -" He grimaced. "After Aldo died, I started to look. I didn't want you to have lost everything; didn't want you to be missing the kind of support that parents could offer, especially with Ridley. So, I started looking."

His eyes fell away again. "I found him."

[Chartis]

Clarity felt herself teetering on the verge of hysterical laughter. This didn't happen to people. Not in real life.. This was the sort of revelation that played out on daytime television, the type of plot twist that made illness seem benign in comparison to the melodramatic misery of soap operas. It was too... sordid for reality.

A ribbon of disbelieving anger coiled around her lungs, tightening against the memory of a woman that she had never known. How could you, Clarity thought, how could you do that to him? To me?

"Why are you telling me this?" Clarity's face tensed, the line of her jaw wound to a cracking strain. "In case it's slipped past you, Heidrich, I am an adult. My father... Papa has been dead for over ten years, and I've been managing without 'the support that parents could offer' for a good deal longer. You know that, you know that better than anyone, so why would I want to meet this stranger ... why..."

A bitterly fond laugh hid the crack in her voice, but only just. There was a brightness to Clarity's eyes, the barely-contained precursor to tears. Her mind kept drifting back to her father, her kind, loyal father who could be brought to achingly stony silence at the barest remembrance of his wife and she had his hands, Clarity had his hands, everyone said so -

The napkin in her lap twisted into a rope between her fists. "Why are you telling me now?"

[Heidrich Alderman]

"He was a hard man to find."

It was a lie. It wasn't even a good lie. It wasn't even an answer.

He tried again, searching for that glimmer of truth that was contained in all the best lies. He could have done this so many different ways; so many gentler ways. But this was the way she needed to be told. This was the way she had to feel. Her anger, painful as it was to watch, was a necessary evil. The world was changing, and a storm was coming: she'd need that anger if she was going to weather it.

"He is an old man, Clarity. An old, tired man. He dedicated his life to his country, and in return all he was left with was a bitter loneliness in which to live out his final days."

He fixed her with a look of reproach: one she hadn't found herself on the recieving end for nearly two decades now. It was the look that reminded her that the man seated opposite wasn't just a friend; wasn't always a man that would treat her like an equal. It was a reminder that he was - blood be damned - her uncle, and that as always he wanted what was best for her; and knew what was best despite her stubborn and short-sighted protests.

"I could not have told you. I could have let you live out your life never knowing the truth. But if you'd found out? If you'd discovered that I knew, and never told you? I could never live in a world where you hated me."

His expression turned sorrowful; his eyes fell away.

"I have told you everything I can about your mother. I've given you all the memories that I am able to give. But out there in this world, there is one more place where memories of her linger: I didn't want to deprive you of the chance to find out what those memories are."

[Chartis]

A thousand stinging remarks gathered at the tip of Clarity's tongue, ready to pounce and lodge themselves viciously beneath Heidrich's skin. She wanted to snarl that her father had been an old, tired man at the end, that no one had granted him any leniency because of it; that this fling had as little care for her mother as she for him, because he'd obviously never tried to find out what had happened to Elicia Cleine and put himself at risk of discovering that the consequences of their infidelity extended beyond one night - or if he had, he certainly hadn't been decent enough to step up; that his disinterest forfeited any right of being searched for; that Heidrich had no right to look at her like that, not now, not after he'd so purposefully lied to her and kept a dirty promise to a woman long dead.

But she said nothing. She swallowed back each and every virulent injury, the taste of them like crumbled glass in her windpipe, like kerosene over open cuts.

What use were they now, here? Slicing off a beggar's hand did nothing to stop poverty.

Clarity pressed knuckles to her mouth. She half-expected to find blood there, for all the cutting tightness in her throat.

"I couldn't hate you," she said. Her eyes were closed but everything else about her - the high carriage of her shoulders, the angle of her head, the pitch of her voice - was slanted towards Heidrich. "Though maybe I should."

When her eyes opened, they were ringed with a hidden plea. "Did Papa know? If you lie, Heidrich, if you lie again out of kindness..."

[Heidrich Alderman]

Yes, you should.

Clarity only knew a small fragment of what he had done, and she already thought it. Heidrich knew that if he told her much more, her adamant insistance that she couldn't hate him would rapidly dissolve. She would never understand what he did; she would never accept the sacrifices he made on her behalf - on behalf of all mutants - unless they were made in secret.

And yet for all his practice with lies of omission, he found himself unable to tell anymore to her; not to her face; not with that anger in her eyes.

His voice was so quiet that it could barely be heard; forcing it to a whisper was Heidrich's last ditch effort to stop Clarity from hearing this truth.

"Of course Aldo knew. He was the one who stopped your real father from ever being part of your life."

[Chartis]

If he'd slapped her, Clarity would have felt less injured. A high bend of breath rucked against the back of her throat, escaping in a trembling hah of sound. The tired ache in her shoulders had less to do with the latter half of Heidrich's confession; in some absent, convoluted way, she understood her father's desire to keep this other man from knowing her. The instinct to protect one's child was a strong, selfish thing that knew no bounds. How could she fault him for doing exactly what she might have in the same situation?

But the fact that he'd known. Oh, the fact that he'd known and she didn't, that he'd had to bear that pain by himself without anyone to throw their allegiance into his court...

Clarity couldn't bear it.

At some point in their conversation, their server had set down a basket of rolls. The warm, yeasty smell of fresh bread caught her attention and Clarity stared at the rounded tops, golden with heat, and felt her stomach turn. Eating now seemed indecent.

Briefly she entertained the notion of simply 'porting away right then and there; but that would be rude, and indiscreet besides.

Clarity looked at Heidrich, ashen-faced. "He never breathed a word. He must... he must have forgiven her, though, he must have. Her death broke him, everyone who knew him before said so. I," she faltered and drew a tight breath, "I need to go. Please, let's go. There are too many people here."

[Heidrich Alderman]

Heidrich rose from his seat, but his heart didn't come with him: it continued on course, plummeting down towards the Earth's core. For a moment he considered finding some way to lure it back; making some gesture to alleviate Clarity's pain, and at the same time assuaging a little of the guilt.

He didn't. He was better off without his heart. All it did was cloud things.

He held out his hand towards her, and for an instant it was twenty-five years ago, the man that her father referred to as Uncle towering over her, an arm stretching down from on high to offer the hand that always seemed to make things better. If only it's childhood magic was still working; but alas, the best it could offer now was a little assistance as she rose to her feet.

Her hand loosely gripping his, he gazed at her with sad, troubled eyes.

"I'm sorry."

So inadequete; and yet, they were the only words that it made sense to say.

[Chartis]

"It's not your fault," Clarity replied hollowly. "You can't help being the messenger. They put you in that position, you didn't volunteer."

But it was a sentiment that she didn't entirely believe. Perhaps it was unfair, but Clarity couldn't dim the stifling feeling of having been buried beneath the accumulated weight of a conspiracy. All of her life the people she had trusted most - people whom she hadn't thought it was necessary to grant trust to because they simply possessed it by virtue of their importance to her - had lied. The nature of the lie didn't sting as much as the fact that it existed, though both hurt.

She allowed Heidrich to help her up and resisted the urge to lean against him. That much was... it was too much, right now.

Her much smaller hand gave his a weak squeeze.

"I'm mad at you," she declared, as easily as she had when she'd been smaller and Heidrich's sins had been no more than refusing to attend a tea party. "It will pass and it's not completely deserved, but there it is. You'll have to live with that, if I have to live with this. Seems a fair trade."

[Heidrich Alderman]

"I have a lot of things to live with."

The words rang clear and true; he tried to offer her a smile, but the expression felt weak and empty on his face. He had no right to smile at her; no right to offer reassurance. This was his doing: he'd set the bear trap, and was now trying to apologise to the poor creature that had become snared in it.

"One more won't kill me."

He was still having trouble meeting her gaze; and her words didn't help. He knew what he'd see if he looked into her eyes; and in all honesty, he wasn't sure that he could bear to see it.

"But if that's your way of trying to usher me away, tell me to go -"

The squeeze he offered her hand was far firmer than the one she had mustered.

"It won't work. I'm not leaving. I haven't always been able to be there for you; but I am hear for you now."

[Chartis]

Don't be so forlorn, she wanted to chide. You're not an axe murderer, what you carry is no greater than anyone else.

But she didn't, only pressed on toward the door. There were a lot of things going unsaid today, it seemed - except, of course, for things she wished had been left to silence.

Outside it was glorious, one of those pristine New York afternoons where chance seemed to bubble up from between the pavement cracks and the air ceased to be sweltering and the breeze smelled fantastically of grass and sun and throaty exhaust fumes. Life bustled on by, unperturbed.

How very many people there were out there, and not a single one aware that outside of a restaurant in Manhattan, a woman's life was peeling at the edges.

Except for one.

Clarity turned and tucked against Heidrich's chest with a practiced ease, the swiftness of having done so before making the transition easy. Her arms wrapped around his slim waist (he was too skinny) and no sooner had she surrendered to the luxury of giving over did her vision blur, eyes swarmed by tears. She hid them in the expensive linen of Heidrich's shirt, though she knew it would have been a simple matter of reaching into his jacket to find a pocket square; he was a big supporter of nostalgic fashion charm.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to think or feel or say about all this, and I'm still angry with you," Clarity said, voice muffled slightly, "but it's possible that I might be having a momentary breakdown and I-I need a friend right now. Please just be my friend for a minute. Please."

[Heidrich Alderman]

If his chest were a cannon, he would have shot his heart upon it.

Melville's words made sudden sense; while he had no white whale to chase, the sum of all his rage and hate, guilt and sadness, all conspired to leave a smoking crater where his innards had been. He felt an emptiness: not a void where feeling was absent, but rather one where they had burned so hot that his very soul had turned into nothing more than smouldering embers.

And then her tears came and extinguished them; and the soul that he scarcely deserved to have was gone.

His arms wrapped gently around her, and his voice took on a tone from practiced memory; but there was no genuine comfort left in him to give. Fortunately, his body was so practiced at lying that it did so with grim ease.

"In all the years you've known me," his voice said. "When have I ever been anything less?"

[Chartis]

There at last was a truth that she could hold onto without risk of injury. Clarity focused on that single thought as if it were a lifeline, tethering her to a solid, stable ground. Any deviation from it, even for a second, would send her tumbling into a yawning mire of insatiable despair, a churning cavern filled with question after question, accusation after accusation.

Heidrich had always been her friend. Even when it was a difficult task, he only ever tried to do what was right.

Clarity had to believe in his intentions, in him. She had to believe that Heidrich was only doing what he thought best and she did believe because when she pulled back and looked up - there, at the edge of his expression and in the private, hidden corners of his face, she could see what telling her had cost him. Clarity reached up to gently brush her knuckles along his jaw and thought, this hurts you, too, doesn't it?


"Let's walk a while," Clarity said, releasing one arm so that she could tuck in at his side in companionable ease. It felt like too much work to offer up a false, diplomatic smile and so she didn't bother, only thumbed at the loose tears in her eyes and summoned for Heidrich what small, genuine thing remained within her: a quiet, devastating expression of relief.