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The River's Just a River (IC)


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Erin and Trevor were having lunch together the Monday after moving their relationship to the next level when Erin's cell phone (which she was luckily carrying) rang. It was Mark on the other end, Mark who neither Trevor nor Erin had seen that morning. "Oh hi Erin," said Mark, his voice sounding oddly warbly, and a little thick. "Um, how are things going? Is everything okay over there?" On his end of things, Mark was sitting in his room, staring at the wall and one of the many, many, many pictures of Young Freedom there. "Things aren't very good here. Could you guys come over?"

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Erin rarely carried her phone with her, but these days, with job applications in the works, she just happened to have it on her. Her face went from registering surprise at the call to concern at its substance as her eyes met Trevor's across the table. Something was definitely wrong with Mark. "Of course we can come over," Erin told him, blithely ignoring her English Lit class. "Does this need to be an official call?" she asked, wondering if she'd need to go home for her uniform.

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"No, you don't really need to come in-costume or anything." Mark hadn't slept much the last couple of days; he wasn't quite sleep-deprived as such, but he was certainly a little punchy. He wobbled a little as he sat, and hugged the pillow on his lap a little tighter. "It's just a problem I have, kind of a personal problem...hey, is Trevor there with you? You should bring him too. We can all have a little party here. Or something."

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Trevor's expression turned subtly concerned as soon as he read the same feeling on Erin's face. The young man was rising from his seat as soon as the half of the conversation he could hear suggested that there was somewhere they needed to be with haste. He withdrew the keys to the Night Cycle from his pocket, displaying them to Erin as they hurried toward the garage. She'd be able to fill him in on the detail on the way to wherever they were headed; the weather was still chilly, but the bike had the edge in speed over the pickup.

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Erin shook her head at Trevor, pointing upwards with one finger, then miming a leaping arc with her hand. "Yes, he's with me, we'll be right over. You're at your house, right? Sit tight, and we'll be just a couple of minutes." She closed her phone and put it back in her pocket. "If I just jump us there it'll be faster, especially during the lunch rush," she told Trevor, heading for the little-used stairs to the cafeteria roof. "Something's wrong with Mark. Not... I dunno. Not life or death wrong, but it sounded like he's been crying. Something has to be really wrong for him to sound that way."

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The keys disappeared back into Trevor's pocket as he jogged after Erin, his tone chagrined as he admitted, "Keep forgetting that's an option." Normally he was good about keeping track of his teammates' abilities and potential applications, but some part of his subconscious continued to rebel against the notion of non-wheeled transport. Vague personal preference, however, was of little weight compared to his friend's distress. The idea of the usually chipped and enthusiastic Mark being reduced to tears was galling for the dark haired young man, an affront to the natural order of things that simply would not stand. Hurrying up the stairs to the rooftop, he got a firm grim around Erin's waist and nodded his readiness.

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Erin put one arm around Trevor to hold him securely as she took off, leaping into the sky as effortlessly as a bird taking wing. She didn't have wings, of course, so as soon as she reached the top of her jump, they immediately began arcing downward again, but it was still a good way to cover a lot of ground fast. A couple of roof-to-roof hops had them dropping down right into Mark's front yard, which looked shabby and uncared-for with a winter's worth of debris scattered around, in contrast to the immaculately groomed bare lawns on each side of it. Erin hurried to the house and knocked on the front door. "Mark, are you there? It's Erin and Trevor."

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All was quiet and still for while, and it looked for a moment like no one was home in the Lucas house. After a noticeably long pause, Mark opened the door. Their usually ebuillent friend looked blotchy and tired, and it didn't look like he'd been taking very good care of himself the last couple of days. There was no sign of movement elsewhere in the house, indeed, many of the lights weren't even on. "Hey, you guys," said Mark, a little shakily. "Come on in." He took a few steps back from the door, gesturing for them to enter. "How are you? Are things good?" He crossed over and sat down on the couch in the living room, looking up at them.

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Trevor had ample time to look about the unkempt yard as they waited for Mark, a small frown touching his face. Martha Lucas was hardly one to let things fall into such disarray; the lean young man hoped she hadn't had a relapse after her therapy had reportedly been going so well. Their friend's appearance raised far more red flags as they entered, Trevor taking off his sunglasses and placing them in his pocket. "Look terrible," he told Mark bluntly, his brow lowered over his onyx and sanguine eyes. "What happened?"

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"Well, um, it was like this. My dad came back, and...and he took my mom." Mark shifted under Trevor's regard, feeling a stab of irrational guilt at incriminating his father, and an equally irrational guilt at worrying his friends. "Normally, um, I'd just have not said anything, since she wanted to go for a while and everything, but the thing was, he said why they had to go for a while." He fought the urge to wring his hands, and instead settled for pacing, "He said that the Terminus is going to come. And soon. And that our family wouldn't survive if we stayed here."

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Erin blinked, looking around at his dark house. "Wait, they both just left you here?" she asked, her voice perhaps just a bit sharper than she'd intended. "On purpose?" She deliberately modulated her tone, trying not to make things worse. "I'm glad you told us," she told Mark. "We're your friends, you should be able to tell us when bad things happen. Did he say exactly when the Terminus is coming, or what the plan is? He must know something, or at least suspect." Or, she thought privately, he was selfish enough to make up a story because he wanted his wife with him in exile. Bastard. Who would deliberately leave their own child behind to face the Terminus?

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Trevor's expression went completely flat at Mark's explanation, stoically unreadable. He'd had little regard for Rick Lucas to begin with but this was unequivocally despicable. Abandoning not only his son, as if that weren't enough, but his entire world in a crisis... Realization dawned as he read Mark's expression and followed the logic through. "...you wouldn't go with them," he noted softly, making it more a statement than a question. Even Rick wouldn't have left his son behind all on his own given the choice, nor would Mark shy away from his duty as a hero. For all their differences in personality, there were few people Trevor knew more steadfast and courageous than his blond teammate.

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"...they both tried to get me to go," said Mark, sounding stricken. "They said this wasn't a place for our family anymore." He looked away, guilt thick in his voice. "I said this was crazy, that I wasn't going to just leave without knowing more. My dad said he didn't expect anything less of me, that I was acting how he'd raised me. My mom said she'd see me again soon, and they both, they both just left." He scrubbed his eyes, fighting back even more tears. "Going to some world I've never even heard of, so I couldn't even tell you how to find them. And I don't know how long they'll be gone, my mom talked like she was coming back, I think, but my dad...I don't know." He sobbed quietly. "I mean, we had a Grue scare a few years ago so the house is all paid for and everything, and the cars, but...but I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

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Erin stepped forward and awkwardly, hesitatingly, gave Mark a hug and patted his back. "Don't worry," she told him, "they'll come back." She didn't know whether that was true, but she certainly couldn't say otherwise in this moment. "You should come back to the school with us. The house will be okay here, and the headmaster will want to hear anything you know about the Terminus. You're not alone here." She reached out and snagged a box of tissues in a crocheted cozy off the side table, offering them to Mark so he could compose himself.

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On Mark's other side, Trevor clapped a hand firmly on his friend's shoulder, giving the other young man a brief nod on encouragement. He didn't have any particularly inspiring words or even helpful advice despite his familiarity with parental absence, but his quiet, seemingly immutable presence had a certain comfort to it. He grunted vaguely in agreement with Erin's suggestion; they'd already lost days, evidently, and the sooner preparations could begin the better. Moreover, sitting around the empty house wasn't doing Mark any good. Being around the more informal family of his fellow students was probably the best place for him just then.

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Mark muttered gratefully, wiping his eyes and face with the tissue Erin had grabbed for him. At her words, he bit his lip. "But what if they..." His eyes widened, and he reached out to squeeze Trevor's hand on his shoulder. "No. No, that's stupid. If they come back, they can find me. If my dad is as powerful as he acts, he can just come find me wherever I am. I'd, uh, I'd better go back. I need to get my emergency suitcase..." He turned and all but bolted up the stairs, and for a second in the eerie house, the teens were reminded of another visit to the Lucas house, when Rick Lucas' unfolding power had combined with the looming threat of the Terminus to make another terrible moment for the family.

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Erin shook her head, waiting until Mark was out of earshot before she spoke. "That bastard, he's pissed because he got kicked off Prime, so he just sneaks away to leave us all for the Terminus? That's no hero I've ever heard of. And what was Mark's mom thinking, anyway? To abandon your kid on purpose..." She shook her head sharply. "I'm going to go make sure there's no perishables in the fridge and stuff." She stalked away, needing the motion as a channel for impotent anger.

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Trevor felt as though he should say something placating, offer some calming rationale, but again found himself coming up empty, a seed of anger seething in the cool field of his composure. There certainly wasn't any part of what Erin had said that he disagreed with. While she saw to the kitchen, the young man walked purposefully to the trophy room Mark had once shown them, taking stock of any souvenirs that would be dangerous to leave unsupervised. As he looked over the glass cases and pedestals, commemorating decades of adventures, he felt another flash of anger. To turn one's back of all of that... The forces of the Terminus had killed Rick's friends, strictly speaking killed his son, and now that his true power had been awakened, he simply ran to hide? Was the coming threat so great that fear so overwhelmed all other considerations?

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Upstairs in his room, Mark went through the motions of emergency planning that he'd been taught since he was a small child. He had his emergency suitcase under his bed, the one with a few changes of clothes in it and ID, as well as genetic ID markers and spiritual fetish objects in the event of a Grue invasion or a magical artifact. He lived his life at school without worrying about these things, but this was a real emergency, not one he could just pretend was another school issue like universes collapsing together or evil interdimensional duplicates or...no, this was his family going away. He cracked open the bag, saw the clothes from years earlier that might not even fit, the canned food that was probably a little old, and sighed, quietly. Of course it was. He hadn't bothered repacking this in years. Why would he? He was a superhero. What could happen? With his rather dusty bag under one arm, realizing that this emergency measure wasn't actually going to help anything, Mark turned and started back downstairs.

Erin found that there were no perishables in the refrigerator, what had happened had taken place slowly enough for all the perishable food to be taken with or dumped out: there was even a fresh bottle of milk on top of the trash. As for Trevor, he found that several things were actually missing from his previous visit to the room. He couldn't sort out all of it; some things he remembered as Young Freedom trophies that Mark's dad had insisted on displaying alongside his own, and some older stuff that had belonged to Rick's father. Including (and the familiar face was why he recognized it) a personal picture of the late-stage Liberty League of the 1950s, just before the less-determined heroes had left his grandfather to fight his war alone.

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Erin efficiently went through the house, turning off lights, unplugging appliances, and making sure the whole place was locked up in case nobody was going to be back for awhile. She turned on the answering machine and checked the pilot lights on the stove, then started a drip in the kitchen and bathroom faucets before going to find Mark. "I think things are ready to close up here. Do you have important papers you want to take with you?" She looked at the small bag. "You can come back for anything else you need."

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Suppressing a sudden feeling of unease as he returned from the trophy room, Trevor finished making a few arrangements on his smart phone before replacing it in his pocket. "Groundskeeping company will be by in the morning," he told Mark as his friend came down the stairs, "take care of the lawn." The unkepmt grass about the house would draw unwanted attention if it got any longer; there was no point in advertising that the residence was unoccupied.

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"Okay, thank you," said Mark, giving his friend a grateful look. "That'll be good, I've been meaning to get to the lawn, but the rake and mowers and stuff are in the garage..." He ran his hand through his short sandy hair, looking for a way to keep himself calm. To Erin, he said the same, adding, "No, no, my mom's been working out of her studio at Castle, so all her artwork is there, and my dad's papers, we...we sent those to the League after he left the first time. Everything here can stay. I guess it's good we didn't get that dog after all." Mark looked around the house, taking several deep breaths. "It'll...it'll be okay. Things will work out."

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"I wasn't thinking so much his memoirs or your mom's art as insurance paperwork, your bank account information, the deed for the house?" Erin suggested patiently. "Do you know if they have a fireproof file here, or if they have a safe deposit box? You'll want to know where all that stuff is, just in case. You have to take care of things now, but we'll help you however we can. We'll get Alex to do it," she suggested with sudden inspiration. "She's great at all that stuff, she'll know what to do."

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"Oh, uh, yeah, there's stuff like that up in my parents' room..." Mark led them to the safe in his parents' room, which turned out to be a conventional wall safe in what looked like a conventional 'older people's' bedroom. There were a few of Rick's novels on the shelves, Martha's paintings on the walls, but with the older furniture and wallpaper, this could have been anyone's room. Well, till you opened the safe and found the Lor blaster pistol across the top. Mark took that and cracked it open with remarkable efficacy, checking the safety and putting it, divided, on the floor with the power cell removed. "Here's, uh, all those papers."

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Trevor quietly retrieved the pieces of the alien pistol from the ground, keeping them separate but making sure none were left behind. Mark's disassembly of the weapon had the dull motions of an automatic response, and the taller young man doubted his friend had entirely thought through whether leaving it behind was a good idea. Standing back up, he briefly scanned the room before turning around to face the others. "Is that everything?" he asked Mark is a calm, steady voice.

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