Maybe I'm just happy.
She woke, once, for a while. It was dark. She could see through slitted eyes that she was in a small, comfortable room. There were curtains drawn across a window, and blue-ish light shone underneath the curtains. It was night, and it was quiet and cool.
Her forehead felt hot, and her body felt leaden. There was a faint, persistent stinging sensation in the back of her hand, where an IV butterfly was. It was covered by a light blue silk scarf she had never seen before. She tried to touch it with her other hand, but her entire body felt weighed down. Leadlike. Violet made a soft, whispered sound of protest, moving her head slightly on the pillow. She was too weak to do much more. She let her eyes close again.
Every muscle in her body was sore, stiff, and heavy. Her shoulder was achy and throbbing, and her ribs sent out a very faint message of protest. She felt alone and scared.
Violet drifted away again.
Time had no meaning in this strange, neutral room Violet was in. None at all. She would wake for a minute but she was too tired to evaluate her surroundings. Normally, it was night. It could have been minutes, hours, days in between each time she awoke. The sensation of timelessness confused her, made her feel like she was in a dangerous, gunmetal grey place, and she would try to get up so that she could run away. But she was too heavy.
She was warm, comfortable and dry. There were sheets beneath her back, and a light cover over her. The air was pleasantly cool. So then she would think no more of it, and would sleep again.
Once, there was a loud noise followed by an angry bout of whispering. Violet slumped into consciousness just long enough to breathe a note of protest, before slumbering again. Sometimes she felt someone held her hand. Sometimes she heard whispered voices, far away, like the wind whispering of ghosts. She paid them little heed. She felt tired and drained and utterly used up.
Violet was confused and alone, and she did not like it. Sometimes she had nightmares, ones where she would want to scream but she had no more energy left. She never remembered their content, but she was haunted by a feeling of being hunted, of being chased, and of being helpless. She had tried to save someone, she recalled distantly, but she hadn't been able to do it. Her failure echoed through her dreams.
Sometimes she heard someone murmuring something to her, a low, pleasant voice. The words made no sense, but the way they gripped her hand firmly and stroked her hair back from her face made her feel a little bit better. She didn't dream as much when she knew there was someone nearby.
Violet woke, and blinked her eyes a couple of times. She knew that this time she was fully awake.
She lay peacefully for a moment, just looking through drowsy eyes at the room she was in.
The walls were a soft, pleasant yellow colour, and the sheets she were lying in were cream-coloured. The faded orange curtains were drawn, but the first tinges of yellow-orange light were creeping up underneath them. There was a table beside the bed she was lying on, and a white clock said 05:52.
Her body may have been aching but her mind was rested and clear. She felt as if her brain had had the chance to process all of the information loaded upon her these last couple of weeks.
She'd come to realise the ideals behind Syndrome's boyhood obsession with her father. In Syndrome, she recognised a lot of her father's qualities: focused on the job at hand, fast when he needed to be, maybe a little emotionally insecure. She also saw the blue eyes, the strong face, the hard-earned muscle. Mr. Incredible had left his mark - Syndrome was a caricature of her father's darker side, whether he recognised it or not.
But there were other questions she'd been working on, too.
Why did he kiss me? Why did he not pull the trigger when he had the chance?
She was pretty sure she knew.
Syndrome felt something for her. It was most probably not love: Violet had no reason to believe in love at first sight, after their previous encounters. But it was undoubtedly some kind of bond.
And although the chances were slim that it was love that Syndrome felt for her (impossible, most likely; they'd both been at each other's throats too often to be forgotten in a hurry), she got the impression that maybe, with time, he could have learned.
This was not the problem in Violet's head. She could live with that knowledge. What she was having trouble with was her own side of the argument.
Could I learn to love him?
If love is wanting to be with someone because they understand you, because they're closer to you emotionally than perhaps you realise... then yes. I think I've already begun to learn.
She didn't hate him, she knew that. Even though on numerous occasions he had tried to kill or kidnap someone directly related to her. Syndrome was intelligent, a leader, and since his ego had been knocked down a peg or twenty he was calmer, more eloquent, and less blatantly aggressive in his body language. Five years ago he was still a kid at heart. Now, after he he'd been forced to struggle uphill on the greasy slope of his reputation, he knew his own worth and how not to take things for granted. He was more adult, although she found it a little hard to accept.
He'd attacked, kidnapped, shot at, tortured, electrocuted, drugged and taunted her. And yet she found she was angrier with him for causing this emotional turmoil. He'd hurt her. Gone out of his way to make life uncomfortable for her, and now she was angry with him for leaving her alone.
Well, she wouldn't have to wait long. "I'm only going to hunt you down anyway," he'd said, and she knew he could do it. All she had to do was wait for him. And when he found her, whether he killed her or not, she had a few questions to ask him. She was too tired to fight him any more, and she was too tired to run.
She decided to sleep a little more.
When she woke again, it was to find Snug snoring gently in a chair beside her with his cap pulled down over his face. She tried to jerk upright, but her body was too stiff and too sore.
"Snug?" she croaked. Her throat was dry and sandy.
Snug snapped awake. He blearily regarded his surroundings for a second before focusing on Violet.
"Full marks for observation." She felt like she was trying to gargle sand. "Water?"
Snug lifted a glass from her bedside table and presented it to her, eyes serious and almost angry.
"What happened to you? Why were you on the island? Who did this?"
Violet drank half of the glass, and immediately her throat felt better – less constricted. She didn't answer any of Snug's questions.
"Where am I?"
"Hospital. St. Vincent. Jesus, Violet, you have scared the livin' daylights out of me and Red."
Red. Something clicked in her brain.
"How is she? Where is she? Is she okay?"
Snug held up both hands. "She's sat outside, worrying her head off. Now lie down again. You ain't doing yourself any good, tryin' to sit up like that."
Violet lay back with a whispered groan. She was in a hospital gown. Her shoulder and ribcage were thickly bandaged, and there was a plastic tag around her wrist.
"Now, Violet. I want you to tell me what happened to you."
"I was on the island. Day I was due to go there was an earthquake. Made a bit of the building collapse. Used a shield to protect me 'n Red. Got caught by - by a supervillain."
Violet felt exhausted. Even this small speech had left her drained. Snug appeared to sense this, because he sat back with a sigh. "Okay. I won't press you anymore."
Violet nodded. Her eyelids felt heavy again.
"What happened t'me?"
"Brought you straight here after the missile fiasco. You had a fractured rib held together by a bolt, a bullet in your shoulder and very mild concussion. You also had the residue of some sort of drug floatin' around in your blood, although you were rid of most of it."
"Can I see Red?"
"Yeah." Snug stood up from his chair and walked across the room. He turned the door handle. "Red -"
Snug found himself flattened to the wall as a blonde figure rushed in and embraced Violet in a bone-crushing hug.
"Violet? Violet, can you talk to me?"
"'Course I can," said Violet, muffled by the force of Red's hug. Red straightened up and held her at arm's length, and Violet got a chance to survey her.
She looked tired and worried. She wore a t-shirt and jeans, with her yellow-blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. She smiled, and pulled her in for another hug. Violet took advantage of the situation.
"He's unmarried and single," she whispered. She felt Red stiffen for a second, then laugh into her shoulder. "And he owns a whole airport of planes," she added.
"A whole airport? Not trying to make up for something, is he?" Red murmured back.
"Why don't you find out?"
Red stepped back, laughter and tears glistening in her eyes. "You don't change, do you?"
Violet managed a smile. "Of course not."
"Violet - can you give me a number to contact your parents by?" asked Snug suddenly. Violet threw him a glance, wondering what to say.
Of course it was important that her parents knew about this - they needed to know Syndrome was alive and demonstrably kicking. But she wasn't sure. If she gave Snug a number, or address, there was a chance Syndrome could get hold of it.
That, and Syndrome had left his mark, not just in the way of scars. Constant torture and questioning - where is your father? Where is Mr. Incredible? – had left her with an automated response to instantly clam up.
"I don't think they should know," she said in a low voice. Snug gave her a puzzled look. "I'm twenty. I can handle this, even though I needed you guys to pull me out of the fire, so to speak. I'm not a baby any more."
Snug and Red exchanged exasperated glances, although Violet was sure she detected a note of resignation. "Violet -" they started together in unison.
"Don't," Violet cut across tiredly. "I'm an adult. This was my chance to prove it, and I blew it." Not quite. She'd held up under torture, right? She'd fought her way from a guard-infested island, right? "I don't need them as much as they'd like to think. Please. Let me cope with this one. I know I can."
Red sighed, and placed a hand on her forehead. Violet appreciated the gesture - a cross between affectionate and medical.
"Temperature's gone down. Rest up."
"You sound just like Snug," she said with a smile, then closed her eyes. She drifted into a dark world.
Violet spent the next two days in a world of stiff yet mobile pain. She could walk, although her legs gave her hell for it. She preferred to stay in bed and stare out through the window, to the sight of azure sky and drifting clouds.
She could watch the sky for stretches of time, she'd discovered. The clouds were always different, always changing. It made her feel that, despite the last fortnight, everything was right with the world.
By the end of the second day, she was feeling quite perky most of the stiffness and soreness had died down, and she didn't feel the need to nap every fifteen minutes. As soon as she had been able to, she had changed from the depressing hospital gown into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. They made her feel less like an invalid, and more like herself. Somehow, Red had managed to salvage her rucksack from Syndrome's island, and for that she was eternally grateful.
By the time she went to bed that evening, she felt she was well on the road to recovery. She was still tired, but it was not that bone-deep leaden feeling she had felt barely forty-eight hours ago. Red and Snug visited frequently, usually together, and Violet always had to suppress a grin when they got uncomfortable in each other's presence.
Everything was swell. Everything was fine. But the nightmares wouldn't leave her.
Sometimes, she'd lie awake for hours at a stretch, unable to sleep from fear that the thing that was chasing her would finally catch up. Sometimes, she would wake up from dreams of being hunted. She knew the common interpretation of these kinds of dreams was that she was running from a situation she couldn't face - and that it might not be far from the truth.
So when she woke that night, she was surprised to find it wasn't because of a dream. Someone had just shut the door to her room.
She froze, breathing minimal, whilst she tried to work out whether they'd come in, or gone out. She was just relaxing when she heard a brief movement of cloth.
Must be Snug or Red, she thought uncertainly. She decided to think no more about it, and snuggled down again.
At Violet's request, Snug had left the curtains open, so Violet watched the stars. She knew a few of the major constellation - canis major, the plough, Orion, Aries and others. Some of them weren't visible from this latitude, but she amused herself by making her own constellations. Tonight's letter was 'p'. The pineapple... the pickup truck... the oddly-shaped pig...
She felt herself slowly drifting towards sleep. But then - a flash of a dream that awaited her - and she jolted upright in bed, instantly awake, and with a few grumbled complaints from her achy joints.
Violet rubbed the back of her hand, where the itch from the IV needle (taken out yesterday) had not properly faded. Sighing, she propped up her pillow at the head of the bed and sat up properly, rubbing her hands across her face.
She had discovered the insomniac's world: terrible, drawn-out hours; excruciating boredom; and the terrible feeling that, whilst everyone else was happily dozing away, you were all on your own in the world.
So, the first chance she'd got, she had sent Snug down to one of the tourist shops on the island with a twenty-dollar note and strict orders for him to bring back the thickest book he could find. Evidently taking Violet at her word and using a ruler as his judge, he'd come back with 'Crime and Punishment' by Dostoevsky (although how he'd gotten hold of a Russian classic on a tourist destination was beyond her.) There weren't many laughs in it, but it kept her occupied throughout her sleepless nights. And so now she felt around for the lamp on the bedside table and flipped the switch on, bathing the room in sudden yellow light.
She turned, and had one hand placed on her book when she remembered her visitor.
Her eyes shot up, to find a complete stranger sat in a chair on the other side of the table, and watching her discovery with something akin to amusement.
At least, for a moment, she thought he was a stranger. Then her eyes noted the chopped, fiery orange hair, the pale blue eyes, and the silver scar that ran like a river down his left temple.
Her heartbeat sped and she felt the first unpleasant tingling sensations of adrenaline. Oh, God. Not again.
Violet's vocal chords were on strike, but she bullied them into action. "Maybe."
He chuckled. Violet found herself staring in sheer incredulity. Syndrome looked exactly the same, apart from a few essential differences: he was without his mask and wrist controls. He could pass for a civilian. Just. And it was interesting, the way his mask had made him seem a little younger by hiding the few fine lines around his eyes.
"How did you find me?" Her voice was dangerously quiet.
"Hacked into the medical computer network for the Caribbean, checked all recent hospital admissions on nearby islands, and your passport popped right up."
"So, is this a purely considerate visit, or are you planning something? Again?"
Suddenly, Syndrome's mirth was gone, to be replaced with an air of seriousness.
"A twenty-year-old girl escaped from my island, almost completely unaided, under her own power. A twenty-year-old. I've come to tell you that you've persuaded me to pack up the business. I'm too old for this." His finger was tracing the part of the scar on his neck; his eyes were thoughtful.
Violet sat forward a little, frowning very slightly in disbelief. "Pardon?"
"I'm too old for this stuff. I'm packing it in and packing it up. I still have a lot of money left over in Swiss bank accounts, from selling my inventions, so I'm just gonna buy me a new identity and go live someplace. I have all the money I'll ever need."
Violet found this an extremely bizarre mental image. "And get an office job?" she hazarded, half-joking. How could a person go from dictator of a small island to office joe, all in a couple of weeks? She still couldn't quite believe Syndrome was in her room, much less be telling her all this. She was in shock. Again.
Syndrome appeared to sense this. He shrugged, and looked out of the window. "I don't know. Maybe. I guess I just came to say goodbye, and thanks for showing me where to draw the line before I got my butt kicked by someone who went out of their way to find me."
"So..." Violet hardly dared hope. "You're not gonna bother pursuing my dad?"
She saw his knuckles go white - then he relaxed his hand again. "No. I told you - I'm too old for it. A twenty-year-old beat me. I think I'm past my prime in that department."
"Define 'too old'."
"I'm nearing thirty."
Violet stared at him for a moment, debating whether or not to believe him about her father.
It can wait 'til later. I have some questions I would like answers to...
"Why did you kiss me?" asked Violet abruptly. Syndrome turned to look at her, anger growing in his eyes. Violet had decided that, in light of the recent revelations, they might as well get everything else out in the open. Her heart had started to beat faster again.
Syndrome looked away, fury smouldering inside his eyes. "I don't know," he said gruffly.
Violet knew it to be the truth, because it certainly explained lot of things. His anger, for example, was not directed at her: it was directed at himself. He was annoyed because he couldn't figure out why, either. Violet got the feeling she wasn't the only one running from something.
Violet's heart was doing triple-time.
"Do you want to kiss me again?"
Syndrome glanced at her quickly, and then looked away again. A muscle bunched in his jaw for a moment, and his knuckles whitened slightly. "No," he responded through clenched teeth.
Ah, thought Violet. Her heart had calmed somewhat, now she knew he lying (literally) through his teeth. She settled back against her pillow again, never taking her eyes from a distinctly uncomfortable-looking Syndrome.
Suddenly, he stood up, and strode toward the door.
"Not any more."
She saw him stop short, a foot from the door.
"Please," she added softly.
She could only imagine the expression on his face. Violet drew the covers on her bed back, and slipped out onto her feet. She was worried for a moment that they wouldn't hold her, but no; she was fine.
"Why should you want me to stay?" he asked, without turning around. Violet took a few tentative steps forwards, until she was about two feet behind him.
"The same reason why you came to see me."
He turned, startled; he obviously hadn't heard her coming up behind him. She stared up at him, a little defiantly, arms folded over her chest.
"You have absolutely no reason why you should be doing this," he growled. And his growl sent a little tingle running along the length of her spine, almost making her shiver. She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, it was to find Syndrome glaring down at her, his own arms folded over his chest.
He thinks I'm playing games with him.
Violet returned his glare, surprisingly effectively for someone a noticeable few inches shorter than the other. He's a different person now. It's okay. I don't have to feel like I'm betraying my family. I don't have to feel like I'm betraying myself.
And she didn't.
"I have every reason in the world," she growled in return. Taking a few steps forward, she placed one delicate hand on the curve of his neck, and kissed him.
It was everything she could have wished for. His confusion and apprehension melted away almost immediately as he returned her favour, his arms winding about her waist, pulling her closer to him, her own arms about his neck. And for that moment in time, both their fears were absolved; for that single crystal chime in space both of them were truly satisfied, and they knew that things were as they were meant to be. And nothing else mattered.
"You know, I never thought I'd be back here again," said Violet in a low voice.
She stood on the sandy beaches of Syndrome's island, scanning that familiar, flat-topped horizon.
Syndrome shrugged, and for a moment their hands touched. Both paused for a second, unused to this contact. It had been a strange, brief transition from the victim/master relationship to a relationship of an entirely different sort.
"Why did you put so much trust in me?" he asked at last. "I had given you no reason for you to."
Violet turned her head to look at him. He stood, staring out to the horizon. She took a look around her, before answering.
The island floated on the sea, lush and calm in the tropical sun. The white harbour building was just in sight, a little further around the curve of the island. Behind her the forest rustled with life, and shone a deep, healthy, tropical green.
"I know," she said at last. "I just needed you to do the job which you had come to do."
"And I did."
Violet unconsciously rubbed her right collarbone. "Most definitely."
She looked out to the harbour building. It had been about six days since her escape from this island, and already she was back on it, albeit in an entirely different manner than that she had expected.
She had told Snug and Red that she had wanted to continue her trip, finish the islands. They said that the supervillain might still be out to get her. She said he was dead. It was true, in a way.
So there were tears and gruff hugs, promises to stay in touch. Violet intended to honour those promises - it would be easy to keep in contact with Snug, but harder for Red - the port on the island was shutting down, after all. So she had given Red her parents' home address, with strict instructions to send the details of her new posting there. And that was that. They went their separate ways.
And now she stood on sand she had sworn to herself she would never see again, and wondered what they were going to do next.
She glanced to her left to see Syndrome with a very thoughtful expression on his face. She raised an eyebrow.
He shot her a quick glance. "Will you be going home?"
Violet shrugged, a little depressed at the idea. The vague horror that preceded the thought of a mundane life returned. She didn't want to be like her parents: spending her life helping others, with a steady job to hide behind and few visions for the future. She wanted to go where the wind blew; she wanted to be pointed in the direction of the ocean currents, and swept along to God-knew-where. Violet wanted to see the world, before the world decided it didn't want to see her. She wanted life; not suburbia.
She made a non-committal noise. Syndrome was still watching her.
"Want to travel instead?"
Violet's head shot around, a fierce joy rising up iside her.
"We have money, and we have all the time in the world. And I imagine you're not the type to get tied down to one place. Am I right?"
She said nothing: her broad smile spoke volumes for her. And she felt Syndrome's hand creep around hers, hold tight. She squeezed back.
"I'm not gonna get used to calling you 'Buddy', you know," she said conversationally. Syndrome frowned a little.
"'Syndrome' is a name you built for yourself; I was wrong when I asked you why. I think that 'Buddy' is a different person to who you are now."
"I'm not ashamed of who I was. I did what I did and I don't take it back."
The quiet anger in his voice startled her. "I wasn't rebuking you for it," she said calmly, staring out to sea. "And I wasn't saying you should be ashamed. Syndrome built an empire: Buddy was, when my dad last knew him, a child. But Mr. Incredible was the one who made the mistake, not you, and he'll admit it. I don't know if he'd forgive you by trying to take it out on his family, but my dad will admit to his mistakes. That was one of them, and he kne- knows it."
Syndrome said nothing, and Violet continued. "I know you don't want his forgiveness, and I know that you're still angry with him. But what more do you need? I figure you're old enough to let it go... maybe mid-twenties wasn't mature enough, but maybe 'nearly thirty' is."
"Wise words for one so young."
"Well, whether he likes it or not, Mr. Incredible going to have to put up with it, because you, Syndrome," she said teasingly, grinning up at him, "have managed to seduce his eldest. It's tough."
Syndrome smiled back at her, the first genuine smile she had ever seen him wear. He didn't look away, and she saw something in his eyes that made her heart swell: he's well on the way to learning, I think. As am I.
"D'you think this all would have happened, without the Virus?" said Violet.
Syndrome stared at her for a long while. She waited: she knew, after having chance to observe his behaviour close-hand, that he was lining up his thoughts in his head.
"No," he said at last, somewhat flatly. "I've never had anyone tell me they didn't want me to die."
"Except Mirage, perhaps?" prodded Violet, a little smilingly. Syndrome gave a short laugh. "Five or six years can change people. Bear in mind she reversed that decision pretty quickly."
"I know," she whispered.
She gently rested her other hand on the hard, muscular expanse of his forearm. He was down to a t-shirt in the heated weather of his island, exposing more of his collected scars: "...when you are surrounded by flying pieces of razor-sharp metal it is bound to leave a mark somewhere."
And it had. It had. His forearms were slashed with a few silver streaks, reminisces of that incident, five years long gone quite frankly, he'd got off lightly on his face, compared to what Violet thought might be on his back. Idly, she traced one of the silver streaks with her thumb, and felt a very slight shiver run through him. Given time, she'd just have to find out, wouldn't she?
He started to pull away from her slightly, just enough to move his arm from her grasp. She got the impression that he was ashamed of the scars.
"They're beautiful," she murmured. "They're you. Don't ever run from that."
He looked at her, an odd light shining in his eyes. "Why is it you know more about how I work than I do?" he asked, with a small smile. Then, somewhat abruptly, he kissed her, and Violet was happy to go with the flow for a while. Then she pulled away from him for a second.
"I know where we should start our trip," she said. He raised an eyebrow in his now-trademark sardonic gesture.
"What about Mexico?"
"The locals say the Pacific has no memory. So let's start our trip there. I'm not saying that I should forget your past, and vice versa, but we can start from a clean slate."
"I like it."
They kissed again. Violet decided that she liked the look of a thoroughly-kissed Syndrome/Buddy. And whatever happened in their relationship, they would progress a step at a time. She was happy; oh God, she was happy.
Under gently waving palm trees, in the warm air of the Caribbean, they headed back to harbour.
Blood of the Wolf: Wow! You don't like my story by any chance, do you? ; )
auri mynonys: Thanks! I'm flatly flattered. Flatly. No, really.
The Incredibles is a good movie, but I'm also one of those people who love watching the 'The Making of (fill-in-name-of-movie-here)', so I got the DVD. It's quite good.
Glad Syndrome's made it to your closet. I think the only problem with Syndrome as a villain is he isn't dark enough, which I've tried to rectify in my fic. My favourite villains are the dark and dangerous type... sort of like Snape from Harry Potter. Snape's perfect, though: he's both a good AND a bad guy.
Thanks for sticking with me through this fic!
j752572: Is this ending okay? ; ) Thanks for your reviews!
Xalias: Wow! It appears you like my fic. Cheers!
I have a nasty suspicion that you assumed my last chaper was.. well, the last. Maybe I should have said that in the author notes...
Anyway: Wow. Seriously; I'm flattered and amazed you think that much of my fic. Unfortunately, nasty copyright laws means I can do pretty much bugger-all with it but post it on the net and pray for reviews.
If this was to be recreated in a CGA sense, Violet and Syndrome would have to redesigned. Vi's taller and stronger, and I've always f-ing hated Syndrome's chin. Although Crispy Gypsy has done some smashing fanart on deviatart which gets the characters down pat.
The Lonely Shepherd: Does this chapter answer your question? ; )
I wanted to compare Vi now and in the movie... and the best way to do that was to prove how much she's grown. The plane thing just seemed like a good idea.
If I was in Vi's position, I think I'd be dead. Ah, well. ; )
The Star Swordsman: The story ends today. Sob. Ah, well.
PitBullLady: I hope the ending was plausible...
Thanks for reviewing! You were my first reviewer, and one of my more intelligent reviewers.
Nny11: And so it ends... sniffle. Also: yeah, woot woot woot woot woot for Snug! Thanks for reviewing my fic, and sticking with me!
saturngurl123: Here we are... at the end... and no more confrontations. Ah, well. Hope you enjoyed the story!
Surly: Here's all that fun romance you wanted! How did it turn out?
I don't know about Snug being on the island... I just chose to promote it as a weird coincidence, but I suppose it's plausible that Red called him in. Somehow. Or whatever.
I looove Snape! He's got bite, and he's intelligent, which is a must if a villain is to make it onto my 'greatest character ever' list. Alan Rickman was also shooting 'Love Actually' during the second Harry Potter film, and so he had to put on weight for it. It doesn't look good on him... if he loses it for the next film, he'll be perfect. That voice... it's chocolate for the ears.
I have a mother who used to help deliver babies. She also used to be a surgical assistant, so she can deal with blood and gore and general mank. I tend to scream and run for the hills when I see any, and I hate needles. What happened? I should have a genetic tolerance for manky movies!
Thanks for bearing with me through this fic, you Surly thing you. This is the eeeend... ah, well. Hope you liked it!
Steel Cobra: Thanks! I hope you liked the ending.
Nina: E-mailed it to you. Don't delete it this time!
ladyphantom23: Here ya go.