Disclaimer: I don’t own the Incredibles, and I can admit that now…

A/N: Finally done!! Yeah!!!! Really Guille van Cartier deserves to cyber-punch me, because I told her I’d be posting in a couple minutes, then my boyfriend showed up and I had to leave, lol. We went to go see Blades of Glory and Meet the Robinsons. Both of them were superb. Another score for both Will Ferrel and Pixar. Its amazing to see how far Pixar has come since The Incredibles. They really have progressed.

Anyways, I’m glad to finally have this chappie up. First, hope the formatting is alright. I had some computer troubles this time around, so hope everything appears fine, lol. Also, this chapter is a little confusing. It starts out in the present, and then skips backwards, where almost the entire fic will take place. So, yeah, if you don’t get it message me and I’ll talk ya through it, lol. I have a lot of ideas for this fic. It’s going to be very different from NLtV, in that it will be more plot heavy, hopefully more realistic, and more angst. I believe I have grown as a write both since and through NLtV, and hope I reflect that in my work.

I am still working on the next chapter of my SynletAU and my ANGST-Synlet-fic-to-come, but with the school play practices running late and calculus kicking my butt, I am hard pressed to find the time, lol. OH, also, I got accepted to my number one college choice on Thursday, so YEAH, I hear they have a great creative writing program, which is going to be my minor, so YIPPEE!!!!!

Timeline: Syndrome’s trial took one year. Then his house arrest was for four months. I’m guessing that Syndrome was eight when he attempted to become Incrediboy. So during the movie I’m saying that he was twenty-two. I’m also considering that the movie took place during spring. (They did go to a track meet) So Violet had just finished her eighth grade year and was going to be a freshman. Now three years later she is into the second semester of her junior year of high school, and she is seventeen, while Syndrome is twenty-five. I’m guessing its late August-early-September-ish. There you go, the longest background info you will ever get!!

Chapter 2

I’m seventeen.

I’m too young, but here it is, my little life flashing before my eyes.

I can see it all. My reigned in youth flashes quickly. Now, only two dividing marks stand out: the Nomanisan incident and my personal incident. Both with him.

I’m seventeen.

It happened suddenly, and I like it less than sixteen, and doubly so than fifteen.

Why?

Because everyday, every hour, every minute, every second - I long ago stopped wearing watches, the movements, tick, tick, tick, too painful. The distance hurt - I am farther away than before.

My memory defies me. His face fades, but the feelings are just as strong as two years ago. I gave up trying to forget. That was useless, I learned. I still fall into the back of my mind and try to fit back into my fifteen year old body. The fit is snug, but his warm hands and his smell, cologne and smoke, are worth it. So much has happened, that I try to stop, but can’t help pulling into that former self of mine.

I’m so different and yet, the same. Perhaps, if he saw me, he would think me shallow. For it is true; I chose Brittany.

It had been easy at first Right after the incident, I had needed Britt. I had needed her brashness and speed and unpredictability. I'd needed it much more than food - I remember losing weight. More than liquid - I remember that time I passed out, at the skating rink.

The cheerleader was patient. I guess she knew that best friends were rarely made over night, though, really, this friendship had been something of that sort. She had waited months to start her transformation process.

Britt had begun by teaching me what it meant to have a socialite friendship, versus Kari, which had been one built due to us both being mutual outcasts. I remember Brittany borrowing a belt of mine for over a week. With Kari, borrowing had been strictly for necessity and special occasions. Then said item had been returned promptly the next day or, if a clothing item, after the next laundry day. After a couple days of dropping hints, Brit gave me an incredulous look. "Vi," She'd said. "Borrowing, that's what friends do."

So it went on, with us, borrowing for weeks at a time, spending weekends and after schools together. It seemed too easy, and of course, it was.

I remember the morning Brittany dropped the bomb. We were in her car - she had started taking me to school shortly after second semester sophomore year - and she was rattling off the all the gossip she had heard since last night. She had a way of knowing just about everything that went on within the high school. I was hardly listening, and apparently she noticed.

"Violet!"

I had shaken my head, suddenly awake. "What?"

"Did you hear?" she had asked, all sly.

"I guess not."

"Well, I bet you won't guess who Niki went to see last night."

"Um, her boyfriend?"

She sighed exasperatedly, “No, where’s the fun in that? I ran into her and Travis Hoy at the party last night, in a very compromising situation.”

“Travis? I thought he was dating Vivian?”

“Exactly.”

I blinked a few times, trying to digest this new development. The thing was, Vivian was a good friend of Kari’s and friend-by-association to me. We had never been close, but she had always been cordial. She had always invited me to outings, not wanting to leave me out. We were in the same social group because of Kari, but I had yet to figure out how Britt figured into all of this. “Are you sure it was Travis?”

“Would I be telling you if I wasn’t sure? Well, actually, I probably would, but seriously, its true. I showed up at the party, went to put on some lipstick, and there they were playing dentist, right in the bathroom.”

My brow crinkled in deliberation - we weren’t friends, but I still ought to tell her right? - and, apparently, Britt noticed. “Vi, you won’t tell, will you?”

“Brittany, friggin, then why did you tell me?”

“Because I thought you would want to know!”

“I do, but I don’t, of my gosh, Britt!”

“Vi,” Brittany pleaded, as she pulled into the parking lot. “Please, promise me you won’t tell.”

I shook my head, remembering the last time I’d been asked to make a promise - Never see him again. In the past months, I’d grown an aversion to making binding promises. “No, I can’t promise you that.” I got out before Brittany could say another thing.

I walked around that day very aware of all the opportunities - and oh, how many there were - I had to go up to Kari or Vivian, but I didn’t. At the end of the day I met Britt back at her car.

“Why didn’t you tell?”

I kept my recently acquired poker face in check. “How do you know I didn’t?”

“I know everything that does on in our school, and Vivian still thinks her life is peachy keen. So, why?”

I threw my bag into her backseat and hopped into the passenger. “I don’t know.”

She shrugged. “Good enough for me.”

After that, things droned on. Shopping trips with Brittany filled my closet with more trendy outfits, and after one particular sleep over, I found an assortment of makeup in my top drawer. So, I thought, a hint. Things began to look up for me. Looking back, I can see that after the incident I had a not-quite bought with depression, but Britt saved me. For that I am thankful.

I was still myself, but after that, I felt stronger. I felt that I could overcome many things, if I could over come him. That of course, was still a work-in-progress, but that was better than a work-not-in-progress.

I became less uptight. I was still quiet, but now confident. I guess I am trying to say that I grew up.

My appearance gave me a way to show the world how I felt: better. I was beginning to even get looks from some of the boys, even a double take from Tony, once. Yes, I wasn’t interested, in Tony or any other boy, but it was still nice. Then, things took a turn.

It was during lunch. Everyone was laughing and joking, when Vivian came up, mascara streaming down her face. She tapped on Niki’s shoulder. “Travis says that you and him never did anything, but I have heard things.”

Conversation stopped, as Niki stood up. At her super model height of 5’8’’, she towered over the honor roll student. “What are you going to do if things did happen?”

I was shocked, but after hanging around with Brittany, I had learned that the “cool kids” were not to be trifled with. Vivian, seemed to realize this, for she nodded and turned. Everyone at the table sighed, crisis averted, but then, she whipped around and pushed.

Niki fell to the floor, her mini skirt flying. This incited a cheer from the male members of the audience. In a moment she was up and headed for Vivian, but Tony intervened, holding the gorgeous girl back. Also, Travis had appeared, holding back his distraught girlfriend.

As teachers finally noticed the situation and escorted both girls to the principle’s office, I found myself suddenly in front of Kari. She said nothing, but she didn’t need to. I could read it in her eyes: You knew.

After moments that felt like years, Kari left and I made no move to follow. Because I had made my choice. I had thrown in my lot with Brittany and, like my prideful father, I refused to go back on my choice, though it might not have been the best or right one.

I used to feel bad, but pushed those feelings back, into the past. I had seen first hand the destructive effects of living in the past, both in my father and in him. So now I walk forward, in life, trying to step beyond the past and into the future, and at night, I may dream of regret, though not concerning Kari, but concerning two weeks out of my life, with him.

I finally realize: it all leads back to him.

Sad, how, at the end, it all makes sense.

I get it now. We screwed up, the three of us, and all it took was three, three unhealthy obsessions. The balance that supers, my parents, my brother, even me, had worked so hard to create is shaken. The balance was fragile, and all it took was three.

The want for the untouchable: He wanted everything he couldn’t have. He always did, and I hated him for it. I still hate him for it. It’s sad, I would think everyone who begins forever would want to leave while on good terms with everyone, but not me. Though, my hatred it deserved, and part of the ruin and fallout that shall follow belongs on his shoulders.

The want for the unattainable: He wanted everything that was denied him. In his youth he wanted different DNA. If only God worked that way, but no. Then he wanted fame and freedom and revenge, and then I too was added to his list. When he finally grew up, was ready to receive what he had always worked so hard for, his own sick, guilty conscious wouldn’t let him take it. No, it said, you don’t deserve this. I ran to him, because of my father, and after a while he drove me away too. He drove me to this. So, yes, part of the blame is also his.

The want for the undesirable: I wanted everything that wasn’t right. As a child I wanted boring normalcy. Then I wanted him, and truth be told, he was never a “pretty” thing. Then villainy taunted my mind, though not for long, and now, all I want is to be away. That too wasn’t pretty, and suddenly even less so. Blood is rarely described as pretty. This is my fault, but not entirely, though mostly…

Questions are still coming, pictures still flashing. My vision blurs as the decent is too fast…

Where does is all begin? When I tear down everything, all my presuppositions, what do I have left? When everything is stripped away, who am I at the core?

My father, at the center is a hero. As much as he would like to be - or, perhaps, wouldn’t - a husband, father, or friend first, he is a super, through and through. Even he isn’t super enough to fix this one.

My mother, before all else, is a mother, but now I can see that she used to have a different order of self-affiliation. At one time she was a woman, borderline feminist, then a super. Soon, wife cut in, quickly followed by mom. Now, she is going back into the working field, but yet, mother still trumps all. Wish I knew what would come next.

Rick Dicker, that somewhat permanent fixture around the house, is, at the core, a suit. He is a man looking at the world through the eyes of his job. He is always viewing the world in terms of black and white. At the center, he is a man of unwavering; he is a man of definite right and wrong. He draws a line in the sand and waits to see who will cross it. Too bad I blew that line away.

Him.

That one is significantly harder. He is so much harder to decipher, to break down. He, I suppose, is a question mark, where he once was a goal. He is now a twig blowing in the winder, never sure, never sure. I tried to hold on, but he pulled away.

And me? I don’t know.

I don’t know, but if I had to decide, I suppose, that beneath my skin, I’m not a woman first or a teenager, or even a super, but somehow that all ties into who I really am. I suppose, at the core, I am invisible.

Though it matters little now…

Oh…

I can seen land, dear God, I’m sorry I dragged all these people into this… I’m sorry Snug, your beautiful plane…I’m sorry Rick, I lied… I’m sorry Brittany, these are your shoes, and blood doesn’t come off… I’m sorry Tony, she cheats on you and I should have said something a long time ago… I’m sorry Jack-Jack, I would have liked to see you grow up… I’m sorry Dash, I love you and should have told you instead of call you names… I’m sorry Daddy, it’s wrong to hate you… I’m sorry Mommy, I never deserved flying lessons… I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to add to your already burdened shoulders…

oOo

Seven months earlier…

“How do you feel now?”

“Nothing.”

Buddy sighed, “Come on!”

“Seriously Buddy, nothing. There is not a single cell in my body that feels attracted to you,” she paused, her breathing forced. “Now get off me, and get me off your desk!”

The CEO ran a hand through his bright hair and stood. He reached out and picked the woman up with ease, but after her feet were safely on the floor he refused to let go. “Babe, why won’t you go out with me? I mean,” he smirked. “I am quite a catch, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Two words: deranged fangirls.”

Buddy removed his hands. Yes, he supposed, his fans could be described as such. He stomped over to the window, sulking. Angela waited for his response, knowing one was coming. “I just don’t get it! You broke up with your boyfriend, what six months ago? Don’t you think it’s time to, I don’t know, move on?”

She stood, fuming, from where she had been picking up displaced papers, from the desk escapade. “Don’t you even pull the ‘move on’ card, or I will be forced to throw that one right back at you.”

Buddy gave her a look. “Uncalled for. Really, must you bring up that whole messy episode so often?”

She turned smug. “The fact that you knew exactly what I am referring to proves my point. Move on, but please, for my sake, do it by yourself. I refuse to be another of your rebound girls. Which by the way, you passed your ‘rebound girl’ quota a long time ago.”

Buddy practically hopped. “See! See how well you know me!”

“Yeah, I do know you. You are like a brother to me.”

He cringed. “Ok, enough of that thought-“

“But since we are on the subject, what have you stalkers turned up recently, concerning not so little Violet Parr?”

“I do not keep tabs on her,” he shook his head. “You make me sound like some dirty old man.”

“You are a dirty old man.” She straightened the rest of his desk, but cleared a small place. She hopped up, gracefully. “So, your calendar shows that your lawyer asked you to meet him for lunch. What does he want?”

Buddy shook his head, brushing off the question. “Something about tax season and making sure I’m not evading my taxes again or anything else incriminating.”

“How thrilling.”

Buddy walked up and placed both hands on either side of her. “You sure you don’t want to give us a try? I’d be a great boyfriend, better than you think.”

She smiled. “I know you would, but we both know it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“Really?”

She gave him a look, having already answered this question twenty other times, twenty other ways. “Yes, now you are going to be late.” She straightened his collar, but stopped half way.

Her hand reeled. She slapped him, hard. “Get your hand off me leg!”

oOo

Doctor Randall Swane sat, uncomfortably straight in the country club lawn chair. He had never been to a country club, and the jumpy man didn’t seem to be much enjoying the event now. He found himself there due to an invitation to play golf with his only friend from college that he still kept in touch with, Ricky Dicker.

The doctor couldn't help chuckling at his own nickname from back in the day, Swaying Randy, a play on his last name and reference to his first party and run in with alcohol. He had been a small town boy, a good country boy as his aunt loved to say. He had felt the culture shock all too drastically when thrown into a state college.

He remembered the night that his nickname had been coined not nearly clear enough. He had never before tasted alcohol, excepting Catholic communion. The last thing he remembered from the night of the party was his friends pulling him into some sort of drinking game.

Randy wasn't very good at the game, and, consequently, remembered precise little from the rest of the night, mostly sounds and noise, slow noise.

The next morning, he recalled, he awoke to pain and bright light. The light seemed righteous, similar to his ideas of Heaven, but surely Heaven wouldn't make his head throb so badly, would it? Why, in God's name, no - no pun intended, especially if this was Heaven - had St. Peter let him after last night's shenanigans...

Last night...

The door opened, he heard, as well as a voice. "You're wise to keep your eyes shut. The light'll getcha every time. I'll get the blinds."

Randall waited, eyes pressed tight, until he heard the cheap blinds creak against one another, shutting. When he saw darkness behind his eyelids, he finally blinked open an eye and saw a long nosed man in front of him. "You don't drink a lot."

"What makes you say that?" Randy answered. He tried to sit up, but his head forced him back down.

"That," The man said, pointing to Randall. "I hardly remember my first party too, so I can spot a green fella from a mile out. It ain't so bad if you stay in the single digits."

Randy groaned. "I made a fool out of myself, didn't I?"

"I'd go as far as to say you did."

"They say fools travel in packs. You got a name, fool?"

"I'm not the one asleep well past noon, now am I?" He chuckled. "Name's Rick Dicker. No need to tell me yours. They were chanting ‘Swaying Randy’ on our way out."

Randall finally managed to sit up. "My nickname still ain't as bad as yours, I'll bet."

Randy managed to mumble out, causing the other man to chuckle...

From then on they'd been drinking buddies, and after college, tailgating buddies. Now too old for any of that, golf buddies, apparently -

"Hello, Randy!"

The skittish doctor jumped to his feet, but seeing Ricky, hurried to him and shook his hand fiercely. "How long have you been here, Swane?"

"Not too long. What kept you?"

"Well, I had thought I was bringing another friend of mine, but he cancelled when I was a couple minutes from his house."

Randall shook his head. "Ain't that always the way."

"Ain't it. Well let’s hit the green as my wife says." Randall knew Rick's wife well, she was a pretty, intelligent woman. The only sadness the couple had ever known was not being able to have children of their own. Randall and his own wife had been kind enough to make them the godparents of their three children. "She's the one who got me started on this sport. You any good?"

"I would say not a bit, but I've never played, so I don't even know that." They laughed, and Rick led the way to a golf cart. "Then this'll be interesting."

The hours dragged, and Randall didn't lose heart, but did manage to lose al his golf balls. At that point, the men decided it was time to call it quits. Rick drove them back towards the club house, breaching the subject that had been on his mind all day. "So, Randy, how's business treating you? I hear your practice is doing well, as of late."

"Yes sir, it’s good. Long hours, and Patricia is just about to kill me for canceling almost every time she schedules a nice dinner, but I love what I do."

Rick nodded. "The new building, still standing?"

The doctor laughed. "Yes, it sure is. Added a couple new rooms a few weeks ago."

"Well, business must be good, if you can afford that." The two men never talked of money. It was too risky for Rick, but now, he had no choice.

Randall chuckled nervously, "I got some pretty uppity patrons." It was a sensitive subject for the doc, as well, but Rick didn’t know that. Almost a year ago he had turned in his resignation to Dr. Swane, his conscious getting the better of him and seeing that a man no longer running illegal operations had little use for an in house physician. It could have been a soft, easy job, but that hadn't been why Randall had become a doctor.

A few days later, the boss, soon to be former, burst in to his office and tossed a pamphlet on his desk. "Call the number," the flaming haired man said. He grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, scribbling seven numbers. "It's all set up."

The doctor was confused, as usual, at the man's erratic behavior. "What?"

"If I have to explain it then you are too stupid to deserve it." The CEO stalked out, mumbling something to himself, as he was so prone to do these days.

The doctor on the other hand put on his newly required pair of reading glasses. It was the reality section of the newspaper. The doctor dialed the numbed and waited. Almost immediately a female voice picked up. "Hello, Doctor Swane, family physician's office. How may we help you?"

Randall hung up, shocked. So, Buddy Pine had purchased him his own practice. He had his own practice, his dream. Later, when he had moved into his practice, still his dream, it did not diminish simply due to its fulfillment. Yes, it was hard word with late nights and rude patrons, but he loved it.

Of course, as was with all things, it came with a slight catch. His practice had come with a preset list of patients, provided by Buddy Pine himself. Many were fine, Pine, of course, and Angela, as well as a number of the guards that Randall remembered, but the list also included a number of ex- and not so ex- villains and convicts. This obviously made the skittish doctor all the more jumpy, despite how cordial the men had become after decades of incarceration.

Unfortunately, NSA had taken note of the odd coincidence that so many persons on their watch list all visited Dr. Swane. Suspicions were born. Rick hated to bring these concerns up to his friend, but better him than someone else, and if need be, his word was good enough to squelch any lingering suspicions.

For himself, Rick supposed his word was too good, his past too pristine. Perhaps a dose of good 'ol mistake would do him right, but now certainly wasn’t the time to start inciting doubt upon his own personage. After all, tweaking with this particular case would only be his second offense in over thirty years, but since that first time, the temptation had been almost unending and unbearable...

Rick pulled the cart to a stop in front of the club. They sat in silence, in thought, fears and regrets and pasts holding the middle seat between them. Doc spoke up first. "Really, Rick, I can't say it was fun, but I did have a good time." He looked at his watch, forcedly. "Oh, the wife'll be looking for me." The man groaned getting out, more signs that the two friends weren't as young as they once were. They were less agile, but still, Rick couldn't help at marvel at how much their friendship, as well as they themselves, had changed little from youth.

"Hey, Randy."

"Yeah?"

"Glad to hear about your practice."

The doctor nodded - was that sweat on his brow? - and answered. "Thank you, Ricky, call me sometime."

oOo

Randall wasn't the only late husband.

Bob Parr let himself in the back door, late. It was almost eleven. He smoothed his disheveled hair and clothes for the umpteenth time. He crept into the bedroom as quietly as was humanly, or super-ly, possible. The living legend took off his clothes, going so far as to change into new everything, including his undergarments, and hiding the old apparel at the bottom of the hamper beneath all of the other dirty clothes. He hoped that would be enough to mute the smell. He put on one more layer of deodorant, and considered cologne, but decided that would be overkill.

Four months and he still couldn't keep his nerves in check.

He crawled into bed, holding his breath, until he thought he had successfully kept from waking Helen-

"How was golf?"

The groggy voice made him jump. "Good... Rick won."

"Did you eat?" She mumbled, through a yawn.

"Um, yes."

She rolled into him and kissing him on the cheek. "Good."