The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 108: The Best Medicine

Abby took in the tense scene for all of two seconds before stepping forward and bringing her hands together in a thunderous clap!

"Alright!" she bellowed, all fire and authority. "Nothing to see here! Get back to your exercises!"

She stomped forward like it was her right to give orders and something in her expression made people obey. Civilians and former gangsters alike flinched away and returned to whatever they'd been doing before Cornelius had arrived. Abby didn't bother to see if she was obeyed, moving directly towards the shameless, crippled officer. Dan trailed after her, shaking his head at the entire situation.

"Lady Summers!" Cornelius greeted boisterously. "You are looking resplendent this morning! Daniel is certainly a lucky— Gah!"

Abby grabbed the smug prick by his ear and dragged him forcibly away from the counter. Cornelius stumbled and staggered on his new feet; his crutches skittered against the tile as he fought for balance, but Abby did not let up for a moment. He cried out in protest as he was lead to a private room.

"Stop! Help! She's attacking a cripple! Arrest her!" Cornelius, limbs flailing like a gangly calf, gestured wildly to his nephew. "10-78! Officer in need of assistance! Help!"

Connor turned away, shielding his face and pretending not to know the man. Cornelius' eyes bugged out as Abby pulled him off the floor and into a secluded suite. The door slammed shut in his face, and there was blessed silence.

"So, that happened," Dan commented.

Connor's face was buried in his hands.

"Was he trying to make a scene?" Dan questioned.

Connor groaned lowly. "I don't even want to guess."

"Right." Dan's eyes roamed the now vacant lobby. He turned to the desk, and the confused clerk who was only just now looking over Cornelius's paperwork. "Is that real?"

"I don't even want to guess," Connor repeated.

The clerk glanced up at the question. "Seems to be."

"Well, Abby'll take care of it," Dan remarked with a shrug. He glanced at Connor. "You gonna be here long?"

"I'm his babysitter," Connor replied with a scowl. "The man can't even drive at the moment."

"Huh." Dan gestured out of the lobby, towards a small, unoccupied room. "Wanna go somewhere a little less public?"

Connor shrugged, but followed Dan's lead. There were a few chairs scattered about the room, and some gym equipment. They found seats, and Dan turned to face Connor.

"Cornelius looked alright. I didn't even notice the prosthetics, really."

Connor clicked his tongue and turned away. "The ones replacing his fingers blend in well, but he'll be wearing long pants for the foreseeable future if he doesn't want to stand out. His thighs are poles."

Dan shrugged. "No shame in that. Besides, Cornelius likes to stand out."

"I think he liked his legs more," Connor commented bitterly.

"Abby'll sort him out," Dan reassured the younger man. "He'll be good as new."

Connor said nothing.

Dan eyed his friend with concern. The young officer's arms were crossed, the fingers of his right hand drumming restlessly against his left elbow. His gaze was fixed on the room Abby had dragged Cornelius into. Every inch of Connor spoke of restrained frustration. His posture, his movements, even his expressions reminded Dan of a coiled spring, stuffed into a drawer and unable to move.

In other circumstances, he'd just ask for a spar. The two men had always gotten along better after beating the crap out of each other. That wasn't really an option here. No space, for starters. They couldn't just brawl in the middle of a rehab clinic, after all; Abby would skin them both alive. Thus Dan was left with the sub-optimal choice for communication between men: actually talking about their problems.

"You still planning that memorial?" Dan asked.

Connor's face deepened into a scowl. It was all the answer Dan needed. His younger friend was obviously concerned about his uncle, but Cornelius seemed to be taking his injuries well enough. There was no way Conner's frustration was solely because of Cornelius. He'd had over a month to come to terms with that reality, as did his uncle. Hell, Connor hadn't even been this irritable the very day Cornelius had been hospitalized.

And it was irritability that Dan was seeing. It was frustration and annoyance, and not just at his uncle's antics. Whatever was bothering Connor was something recent, something less devastating than his uncle's injuries, yet still personal. Only one thing came to Dan's mind.

"So what happened?" Dan asked.

Connor's jaw worked soundlessly up and down, side to side.

"Father vetoed it before I could even get off the ground," he finally ground out. "Said it was a terrible idea that would invite retribution from 'unsavory elements'." Connor made air quotes as he spat the last two words.

"Do you think he's right?" Dan asked.

Connor crossed his arms again and leaned hard against his seat.

"How should I know? I'm just an inexperienced boy." His voice was bitter and mocking.

"He said that?" Dan asked, arching an eyebrow. From what he'd gathered, Connor's dad was distant, but supportive.

"Not in so many words," Connor admitted. "Still, his position in Congress is limiting my own career. The political situation is... delicate at the moment. I can't do anything that might be perceived as making a statement. Apparently, I'm a liability."

"You'll be working with Gregoir soon," Dan pointed out. "Why not run your idea past him? His reputation is mint in the city. Your dad can't possibly complain about that."

"What? And give up all the credit?" Connor voice was light, but his face was considering. "You think he'd go for it?"

Dan shrugged. "It's Gregoir. At the very least he won't shut you down off-hand. He'll give you a fair shake."

"I do wonder what he has planned," Connor admitted. "I've recently realized just how disconnected we are from the general public. I don't like that people are afraid of me. I didn't like it before the UT Massacre, and I don't like it now."

"You've got a lot of power," Dan pointed out. "Literally and metaphorically. And look at what happened. People were right to be afraid." Even now, the events seemed surreal to Dan. Soldiers didn't attack their own citizens. Not in the United States. That was something that happened in other countries; dark places lead by tyrants, with a population immunized to oppression through sheer exposure. Not here.

Dan put the lion's share of the blame on Echo. He didn't doubt for a moment that the man had riled up the crowd in some manner invisible to the naked eye. He didn't doubt that the location had been deliberate, that the man had been hiding on a college campus for exactly such an eventuality. He didn't doubt that Echo had spent those students lives like ammunition to advance the goals of the People. Echo was to blame.

But Echo hadn't gunned down those students. Soldiers did that, and while Dan couldn't blame them for protecting their own, he could certainly blame them for allowing the situation to happen at all. Anastasia had admitted to him, point-blank and without reservation, that the operation had been rushed on purpose. If they succeeded in bringing Echo in, excellent. If not, they now had an ironclad excuse to legally execute him on sight. He'd committed a crime, incited a riot, and now Champion was fair game in the eyes of the law. They'd succeeded, at least in that respect. All it had cost was a couple hundred lives.

Dan could never be on board with that sort of grim calculus.

"We weren't involved," Connor insisted. It was the same old argument he'd had with Freya.

"You could've been," Dan repeated the Valkyrie's arguments. "You were just an order away. That's what frightens people, I think."

"We would never have fired on our own citizens," Connor said with a scowl. "Gangsters are one thing, but those were students. Angry, hysterical students, but civilians nonetheless. If the order came in, the APD would not have obeyed."

"That," Dan said, pointing a finger a Connor, "is exactly what citizens need you to prove before they start trusting the police again."

The door opened, and the lobby clerk poked her head in.

"Hi," she greeted nervously. "I'm sorry to disturb you but... this room isn't really for visitors. So, if you wouldn't mind moving? Please?"

Dan blinked at the woman, then sheepishly got to his feet. "Ah, my bad."

Connor rose alongside him, rolling his eyes. "Well done, Newman. Just make yourself at home wherever you like."

"Shut up," Dan sniped ineffectually back as they left the room. "I thought it was free."

"Yes, well this time you'll follow my lead," Connor said, smoothing out his shirt. "Now let's track down your girlfriend and my wayward uncle."

They bickered good-naturedly as they wandered to the private room where Abby had secured Cornelius. Dan knocked twice, then entered. They found Cornelius sitting on a short bench, one prosthetic leg stretched out across Abby's lap. She glanced up, gave Dan a quick smile, then returned to business. Cornelius waved cheerfully.

"Ankle," she ordered, and Cornelius' attention returned to her. His eyes narrowed with great focus. Slowly, the lump of metal that served as his foot moved up and down in Abby's lap.

"Good."

Dan took in Cornelius' new limbs for the first time. They weren't all that much different from prosthetics in his old dimension. They began just past the knee, which had been capped by a long, metallic sleeve that extended up to Cornelius' mid-thigh. The end of the sleeve opened up into a small socket, where a metal pole was locked into place to serve as a shin. It was a simple thing, unadorned and practical. At the end of it was the foot, little more than a scalene triangle attached to a ball-joint.

"Thought you'd get something with more bling," Dan commented.

Cornelius laughed, patting his thigh where the sleeve met skin. "This is the only part that matters, Danny-boy! It's the nerve center! The control room! Everything else is fully customizable. I can swap out for prettier limbs once I've got my coordination down with the basic model."

"Like one of those modular action figures," Dan noted with a grin.

Cornelius laughed again, genuine and without a trace of bitterness. "The most badass you've ever seen!"