Chapter Text
Truman rolled over in his bed in the shared lodge they had meals in. Thankfully it took only a few days to get a spare room ready. The past month had gone by quickly, between training, relaxing, and reading Mindswarm, he had honestly let the days pass him by. It was mostly fun, but there was still the nagging feeling. He had declined further chats with Lucy, but she was right. Hydrokinesis was hard work to even get a handle on. His life back home was nowhere near boring, but the changes made to his life were not the best either. He had wanted this, but something he needed was still nagging at him, pulling a heart string and buzzing in the back of his brain like Compton’s and Cassie’s bees. A couple of knocks came from the door, and Truman bolted upright, grabbing his bathrobe and opened the door. His uncle was there, holding a granola bar and an orange.
“Hi, so good news, bad news.” He said, offering the food. “Training’s canceled for today, but come down to the heptadome, there’s something else we’d like to try today. We’ll be ready in twenty minutes, so take your time. Oh, and good morning.”
“Good morning,” Truman said, slowly taking the food. “Do I get a hint as to what this new training is?”
“It’ll be easier to explain with everyone there, I think. But, it’s a further journey into your mind. That’s the best way to sum it up. I got to help get things ready. See you soon!” He said, walking down the hallway.
Truman closed the door slowly and sighed, sliding his back against the door as he sat down. Thumb punctured the orange peel, sticky citrusy juice splashed up as he tore into the fruit. He wasn’t sure how prepared he’d be. Sure, yes, he’d been training for a month, some abilities he had mastered and some he barely had a grasp on, and with his brain acting the way it had been for the past month, since the phone call, he wasn’t sure how this was going to end up. But he had a feeling if he wasn’t out there in twenty, Bob or someone else would get him to come out.
Truman ate his breakfast, cleaned himself up, and made his way to the heptadome. He was probably a few minutes late, but there were more important things on his mind. As he walked in, everyone was set up in a circle, chatting.
“Hi,” Truman said, walking in, “so….” He asked, making a circle motion in the air with his pointer finger, eyes all on him. It was a rather tight circle, with a cushion in the center. “Where do I sit? Center stage?”
“Yes, come!” Otto said, ecstatic for the process to begin, no doubt. He was holding something that looked like a little door.
“Are we building dollhouses?” Truman asked, stepping between Compton and Cassie, and settling down into the circle. “I’m not sure how that will help with training, but okay.”
Ford chuckled, “not exactly. One of our recent inventions we’ve made that we don’t share with the outside world is this,” he said, taking the door from Otto. “It’s a psyportal. It’s a way for a psychic to go into the mind of another, and help out, if desired.”
“So I get to go into someone else’s mind?” Truman asked, settling into the cushion. “Is that why everyone’s here?”
“No, but yes.” Ford responded, floating the psyportal over to Truman, “we’re here for reassurance in case something goes wrong, but we’re confident this will be a-okay. Partly by the request of your mom. And, as for the mind, it’s yours. Place it on your forehead and just open the door when you’re ready.”
Truman held the door in his hand, looked up at Ford, then to everyone else, and stopped on Bob. “Guess it’s us two for the first round?”
“Sure is. If I need to tag out, I’ll let you know.” Bob nodded, giving him a thumbs up.
“Well, here goes nothing.” Truman said, putting the door on his forehead, and opened the door. The world around him melted, a technicolor slurry reformatted itself, from the colors of the heptadome into some amorphous shape. It was an eyesore to say the least, and he closed his eyes, counted to twenty and opened them. He was in a completely different room, white marble floors with hard paneled walls. It looked eerily similar to the hotel he got lost in when he was eight. He had snuck out of his room and wanted to go to the vending machines and lost his way for an hour and his parents were extremely upset with him for his midnight folly for a drink.
“Bob?” He called out, looking around the room, the bedroom, and the living room area were all empty. He shook his head and opened the door to the hallway, and almost lost his balance. The hallway had a curve to it, like it was some weird funhouse with good carpeting rather than something from his memories. Truman put his hand on the wall to stable himself and pressed onwards. “Bob?” He called out, but nothing called back. He was absolutely alone. Or was he? He stopped in his tracks and focused hard, drawing the outline he had drawn what felt like a few hundred times, and popped into existence his detective archetype.
“Alright, so you got yourself lost? In your own mind no less? Figures.” The archetype scolded him, taking a drag from the unlit cigarette. He managed to get out of the awkward deerstalker and back into an equally awkward fedora. “Come on, he’s this way.” The archetype took the lead and walked casually through the hall, as if it didn’t spiral ever so gently. Through doors and staircases and more hallways that twisted and turned, but Truman was glad he had an Ariadne of sorts to help him through it all. They had wound up about a hundred feet from an elevator with a neon exit sign over the top, but the archetype stopped, putting a hand up.
“Hello?” Truman and the archetype exchanged glances and silently pointed at each other. “Truman? Anyone?” The two double backed a few doors in the hallway they were in, and heard a long sigh from beyond the door. The two nodded after looking at each other and opened the door.
“Bob?” Truman asked, looking in, and saw another hallway, this one looked like a more accurate replica of his high school. His uncle looked bewildered as he stared beyond another classroom.
“Truman! What are you doing in that locker?” Bob asked, turning around, and shutting the door.
The archetype and him looked around the doorway they were using, and found themselves popping out of a locker, alright. “You ask that as if this place makes sense. C’mon, this guy says
“‘Dis guy? Jeez, I make sure I don’t get lost in a labyrinth of memories and I get bupkis.” The archetype huffed and backed out of the locker.
“He’s got a bit of an attitude on him,” Truman said, leaning in a bit further, offering a hand. “But he does know what he’s doing, I hope. There’s an elevator at the end of this hallway that says ‘exit’ on it, so we might be out of here. C’mon!”
Bob came through the locker and the three of them continued down the rather long hallway, and soon arrived at the elevator. The archetype stood there, tapping its foot and looking at its nonexistent watch. Truman rolled his eyes and tapped the button. There weren’t any up or down keys, but Truman and his archetype had gone up and down staircases. Even with it being an extension of his mind, the architecture of the building baffled him.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Standing in the elevator was a dancing, colorful piece of paper with a hook on it. Truman looked at it while the three of them piled in and the archetype hit the button for the lobby. “What is this?”
“It’s a tag, it goes to a piece of emotional baggage. Pick it up, we might run into the bag that matches it.” Bob suggested. “You should take it, in case I get dementistrated or have to leave and have someone else tag in.”
Truman picked it up and the elevator dinged. The doors opened to a gorgeous valley, lush with green grass, flowers as far as the eye could see, at least until the tree line swallowed up any further view. The three walked out and Truman could see that they were surrounded by hills and mountains. He turned around and saw the building they had come out of was a rather ornate building to match the fancy art deco interior. It looked like something out of ancient greece. Truman turned back around, building to his back and saw that while Bob was still in awe of the surroundings, the archetype was along the trail, down the slope of the hill and into the treeline. “I hope my archetype is leading us the right way.” Truman said, passing Bob and pointing at the paper cut out.
“Well, do you trust yourself?” Bob asked, keeping up with his nephew.
“Ha, of course!” Truman responded. There was a twinge in his chest, the buzz in the back of his head was still there, and he had no idea what was going on anymore, but he would be damned if he let anyone, especially his uncle catch him slipping up.
The vegetation beyond the treeline was dense, ferns and bushes and moss which contrasted how the gulch’s forest was barren on the floor, trees spaced out from each other. Truman tripped over another log, and made contact with the soft forest floor. He looked up and his archetype was still booking it, deeper into the forest. “Are you sure this is the right way?” He asked, calling after the archetype. Bob offered a hand and pulled himself back up, brushing off the dirt.
“Kid, if you got a brighter idea, I’d love to hear it.” The archetype stopped and turned around, crossing his arms. “Are you done crying about it?”
“When did I get a bug up my ass like this,” Truman muttered. He caught up with his paper doppelganger and sighed. “Sorry, I think I’m just tired, but I’m not crying?” He asked, confused, but after waiting a bit in the quiet, no one moving, saying nothing, there was a sound that was eerily close to Truman crying.
“That’s our lead.” Bob said, gesturing in the direction they were going towards.
“I’m an ace detective, kid, trust and believe.” The archetype said, clicking his tongue and pointing finger guns at Truman. “Let’s get to it.” He said, turning around, making his way further.
The forest was thick, but it became thicker as they approached their destination, the crying growing louder. The tree line, however, was crowded with plants, ferns, and bushes so densely packed there was no easy way about it. Truman looked to Bob, who nodded, and they psychically moved the plants out of the way.
A field stood in front of them, similar to the one atop the hill the building was on just half an hour ago. The grass was up to their shins, flowers of all colors speckled the waves of emerald, but of course, the beautiful sight was punctuated by sobbing. In the middle of the field was a noticeable bag, large enough to see from the edge of the field and to flatten the plants around it.
“We should go quickly.” Bob said, stepping into the field, “I don’t like this.”
Truman followed after, the archetype catching up behind. “What do you mean? This place is amazing! Sure the maze was a pain, but the scenery is nice when we aren’t wandering through it half-way lost.”
“Ey! We weren’t lost!” Detective Truman butted in, pointing to the center of the field. “I helped find yer bag.”
“I’m saying the mind has defenses.” Bob explained as they continued towards the center, the wind blew and rustled the leaves on the trees. “And, if the mind finds anything trespassing in places, it can go into overdrive to kick them out. Us included. Also, don’t be surprised if something pops up in your brain when you join the bag and tag together. It gives you a glimpse of what needs to be worked on.”
They stopped in front of the rather large suitcase, its crying subdued to whimpering as Truman pulled out the tag. As soon as he placed the tag on the bag, the two items fused into one, and the bag poofed into thin air. Truman’s blood ran cold, the buzz in his brain was back but louder than ever, and it felt like the air was kicked out of his lungs. His vision tunneled and he fell to his knees. A muffled sound came through the ringing, and something made contact with his face to his right.
His face went to the left, and he snapped his neck back to his right, and saw some dork with glasses and a stamp. “What…” He asked, before picking the creature up telekinetically, trying to get a better look at it as it squirmed like a bug.
“These are censors. Get up. You’ve got your month of practice in, Truman. We’re surrounded by grass.” Bob said, facing away from him, using the grass to create a flail of sorts with one of the censors, slamming it into a few more, bowling them over and puffing them into smoke. Bob raised a shaking hand, and a rather large venus fly trap popped out of the ground, and snagged and gulped down a censor, face first.
Truman blanched and turned around, solidifying his link with the plants around him, easily turning the censors closing in on him into swiss cheese by forcing the blades of grass to sharpen and puncture his adversaries. Glowing green globs plopped out of them, and he looked on in disgust. There were more censors coming in, and he had no time to ask Bob as to what the gross slime balls were. They didn’t attack, so he didn’t complain. He stepped around the slime and then towards the oncoming censors and was able to puncture them like balloons, popping them into the same hot air and gross residue as the ones before them. He looked over and saw his archetype running towards him. A rather large looking version of the enemies they were fighting was closing in.
The archetype made it a few yards to Truman, tripping over his own feet. “Time to amscray, kid!” Detective Truman said before getting crumpled and turning to smoke by the larger censor, who bashed him in with a kiss from his brass knuckles.
Truman took several paces back, falling over. He turned to Bob who was a ways off, being surrounded by more of the censors. His efforts to slow them down were futile by how surrounded he was, no doubt. Bob split his focus between the censors and created a shield, able to move the grass over their legs, but had to stop as the several censors started to swing at him. Bob was in trouble. Truman looked to his front, and saw two more smaller censors join the larger one that was encroaching onto Truman. He tried to sharpen the blades of grass, but it only worked on the smaller ones, the larger one stood resolute, unaffected.
Truman looked and saw one of the trees that stood at the edge of the tree, and then back to the censor, who was winding up a large punch. He was frozen in fear and couldn’t dodge. He closed his eyes tightly, and hoped to whatever cosmic power out there that he wished he wasn’t where he was, that he was in that tree. His whole body ached from a great pressure, and he was sure he got punched halfway across the field, but the twist in his stomach and the fact the world was spinning around him without wind rushing past him told him otherwise. He opened his eyes, and the spinning stopped, he was in the tree he got a glimpse of, atop some branches. Truman had finally teleported. “Well, at least Ford would be proud.” He said, laughing, knowing if he stopped he’d start sobbing. His eyes started to water and he watched as the censor that was about to kill him went to join his brothers, attaching his uncle.
He sat in the branches, and his eyes stung. The censors were wailing down on his uncle’s shield, and it was only a matter of time. He was so focused on keeping it up, to make sure he wasn’t slaughtered, but Truman just sat there. Generations of careful breeding, and all his uncle, his mom, his grandmother, his whole family line got was disappointment. Perfection, avoidance, and deception could hide it no longer, no matter how hard he worked and overcompensated, no matter how much he tried to run away, he just hobbled in a large circle, committing the same old sin as his mom, his uncle, and his grandmother as well. Focusing on the wants rather than the needs of himself as a human being. Alcohol and overwork and avoidance served only the self, while those surrounding were left to pick up the pieces. Sure, he wanted to run away and he succeeded, he wanted to be himself, but what even was that? He was just some tall child, so sure of himself, but in reality he knew nothing. He had an idea of what he wanted, and he went to great lengths to get it. The question still lingered and was now glaring at him in the face, hands on the throat of a loved one: what did he need? He could follow a slew of hints and presumptions to an end, find an estranged uncle, in hopes he could run away into some fantasy land.
This was not his childhood fantasy books, there was no big bad villain. His uncle caused hysteria and some physical and a lot more property damage, his mother threw herself into her job and lied to her husband to create a stable life. If anything, what his mother shielded him from, the truth of the family was the big bad. He was embodying the evil his family was fighting to stop, he disobeyed his mother and fell into the same trappings his family had over and over again. He was paying for his crimes by watching his uncle probably be slaughtered right in front of his eyes, unable to reach his smelling salts or call for help. This was Truman’s story and he needed a new author. He wanted to leave this story, this life, and be born again. A new life. Maybe in the next one he wouldn’t cause so much pain. But that was another selfish fantasy. He was here and his negligence was threatening his uncle’s life. He was too weak to win against the situation he had created. He couldn’t break this familial cycle, he couldn’t. Maybe his mom was right, perhaps giving this up would be for the best.
Tears flowed from his eyes, sobs came out of him. His mind went a mile a second, trying to run through every possibility of any note of what he had learned, like he was scrambling to cram for an exam, reviewing hastily written notes. As fast as his mind was going, he couldn’t keep up, the buzzing in his mind was a cacophony now, he was an awful child, and he should have listened to his mom. She was right. This life, being a psychic, only caused pain, and he should have given it up.
“Truman, I’m sorry!” Bob shouted from the bubble, “you’re stronger than this! This is your mind! I can hold out a while, but try and keep it together, wherever you are!” He groaned under the pressure of the heavy censors further assault.
Truman wiped his nose on his arm, and took a ragged breath. “No, Bob. I’m sorry, This is all my fault, I can’t break through this. I’m not strong enough. I’ve let you down!”
“You haven’t run away yet. If you give up, I’d be disappointed. Find a way!” A shattering noise came from the field.
“Bob!” Truman shouted, arm reaching to the end of the branches he was resting on, and his hand clenched into a fist. “I can’t win this alone, but mom is with me. You’re with me, uncle Bob. We are all together, against the world. Against our legacy.” Truman muttered, eyes still wet but voice stabilizing as anger replaced fear and pain. “We can stop this. Together.” His vision tinged teal, and he focused his energy towards the grass below. The skin on the censors can’t be punctured easily, but at least he could slow them down. Emerald vines entwined from the blades of the field and climbed up the bodies of the creatures and hindered them from moving. It was a hard act to follow through, but the rage fueled him, and there was more than enough gas to burn. Truman stepped out of the tree, off the branches and was able to stand on thin air, mind following the simple path ahead of him: defend Bob and write a better story. Stray thoughts couldn’t hinder his flow. The bouquet of his family may be a mixture of blessings and curses, but it was something to rearrange into something good, something worth adoring and showing off, worth sharing with others with care. Changes may need to be made, but the base of the arrangement wouldn’t be gone. Especially with his mom and uncle working with him. The censors were now frozen, barely able to struggle with how tight the grass held them now.
“T-Truman?” Bob asked, there was a pained groan to his voice.
Truman floated further into the field and down to the ground. He focused more, causing flowers of every shade and hue to grow on the censors he held captive. He finally touched the ground, and got a solid stance, clasping his hands together, as if grabbing something from the earth. “Bob, get out of there. You’re hurt, but they’ll just chase after us if we start running. I can handle them. I got this. Get to safety.” He started to move his hands up, and he felt a weight pulling against the movement, as if he had a handle on the flowers. The way plants move, and grow, takes a lot of energy, and accelerating that energy builds up a lot of power. He may not be able to burn them away, else threaten his and Bob’s life for sure. None of the other techniques he had learned so far had any use, psi-blasts were too weak, even if he could bounce them off the censors to each other, and his electrokinesis was not nearly strong enough. But, he was building up a stockpile of energy between him and the plants around him. Between the torrent of energy in his mind still, he could do hopefully enough damage to do something. His mind briefly flashed to the psychoisolation chamber, remembering something Bob said, that overwhelming the senses can cause some negative effects. If he could route that to the censors, he could surely get them out of this situation.
A fire set ablaze in his mind, and he continued the pull, hands up to his torso now, tougher to move up further, but he could hear the mob of heavy censors disagree with what was happening. Failing to flail against the hold he had on them. “Bob, I don’t think I can hold this much longer!” He called, closing his eyes, starting to give him a headache, exchanging the levitation focus towards pyrokinesis and the phytokinesis, but trying to balance his fiery thoughts towards something more explosive rather than incendiary. He tried to focus that energy specifically towards the flowers he had blooming on the censors.
“You’re good!” Bob called from behind Truman. “I’m helping maintain the grass from back here so the censors stay still and away from us. Do your thing!”
Truman finished the pull, ripping the mental flowers from the ground, and a large explosion knocked Truman off the low stance he had. The blowback from the multiple flowers exploding was enough to knock him back, and he didn’t hit the ground as gracefully as he wanted to, “Ow.” He winced, picking himself slowly from the surprisingly cushy ground. His head still hurt, but the buzzing had stopped. He opened his eyes, the teal tint gone from the world. Bob’s hand was in view, offering help.
“Listen,” Bob grunted as he stood his nephew up. “I should have checked in better after that phone call. I know our family can be a bit hard headed, myself included.”
“No,” Truman said, rubbing his head. “It’s my fault for not being upfront about what was going on. I just…I thought if I could find you and start learning how to control my powers, that I could do a lot of stuff on my own. But I was wrong, and me taking on that burden on my own caused a lot of damage.”
“Hey, no shame in that.” Bob put his hand on his shoulder. “While I’ve made a lot of effort in making sure I seem like a halfway functioning person, it wasn’t without sometimes repeated offers from every single one of my friends. Healing is never done in isolation, and anything that’s avoided and repressed, well, it doesn’t go away.”
The two hugged tightly, the now silent field empty except for them. The wind blew, a quiet whisper, a loving kiss and a blessing from nature herself. Truman pulled away soon after. “I’m kind of bad with touchy feely stuff. Besides, do you think that everyone outside is freaking out about what happened?”
“Well, they’re probably a bit worried.” Bob said, taking out his smelling salts. “But I think with how you handled it, they’ll react just fine. Besides, with a good meal and a restful day, you’ll be good as new. If your mom asks about this, I’ll walk her through what happened. She’s been warming up to helping teach you when you’re back, at least, based on our chats.” He uncapped the foul smelling powder and smiled. “When I’m out, waking yourself up is easy. Just switch focus back to where you started, the heptadome. See you soon!” A deep breath, a face of disgust, and Bob was gone.
Truman sat down in the field, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He let himself lay down on the soft ground and his nose filled with smells of flowers. The softness of the grass and moss of the field was replaced with the cushion he was resting on, the scent of fresh flowers blurred back to nothing.
“Oh, he’s waking up now.” Ford said. “Took a bit longer than expected, thought we would need to give him some salts.”
“He did just fine. He’s resourceful and smart.” Bob commented.
Truman opened his eyes, and he was back where he started. He sighed as he took the door off his forehead. “I…” He wasn’t sure what to say. He was wiped mentally, but also emotionally. His body ached like he got slammed against a wall. Truman struggled to stand up, legs wobbling as if he was a newborn giraffe. He was about to open his mouth when his stomach rumbled loudly. His ears heated up and he was certain he was going scarlet with everyone staring at him.
Lucy chuckled, “I think it’s time for a late breakfast.”
“It’s closer to lunch by now, isn’t it?” Cassie inquired.
“Brunch for sure,” Helmut said, triumphantly.
“Food is on the schedule after this. Big lunch, but first,” Otto interjected, grabbing a box that was placed next to him and Ford. It was about the size of a deck of cards. “We all have been working on this in between lessons, so it’s not museum worthy.”
“It’s made with love, something they can’t put a frame on.” Compton added.
By now, everyone was standing up, and Otto gestured Truman over towards him as he unlatched the small box. Inside was a small circle with seven different colors on it, radiating from the center. Every slice of color was done with varying levels of smoothness to the fabric. In the center was a brain.
“It’s a merit badge?” He asked, looking down at the badge, picking it up and holding it up.
“It’s not summer camp without one, is it?” Ford says, winking.
“I guess not,” Truman answered, chuckling. His smile was as wide as it had ever gotten at all that summer. He felt like he was conducting a symphony. He wasn’t sure if magic existed or not, but he felt like he was in the exact center of it. Earlier that summer, he had wanted an offering to calm and clear and solve his mind and the questions posed to him and asked again by Lucy, even after the long hydrokinesis lessons. He had an idea of what he needed, an idea of what he wanted as well. The suggestion to go with the flow was part of the answer, yes, but the second part was to stand up and dig one’s heels in and put in the work, join in the process of forging a new future for not only himself and his family, but also for other psychics. After all, who was he to be so lucky to get this training? Perhaps in the future he could help make this work for other people, to help them shake off the ills they’ve caused, the sins they circled, and to help put them on a better path.
Arms wrapped around him, first Bob, then Helmut, Lucy, Compton and Cassie and Otto and Ford. Truman wasn’t the biggest fan of hugs, but given the past month, the morning he had, and the fact his head wasn’t buzzing any more, he’d take it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, he wanted to remember this moment for a while. This was a home away from home for sure.
Fingers weaved in hair, the three strands of auburn hair tied into one. Her dad slid on the hair tie and made sure to tie it tightly. Lili took a second look in the mirror, eyeing her father’s handiwork. Her face lit up. “It’s perfect, Dad.” She said, smile fading, “but that story…I don’t understand entirely. I mean, I get that you met him and everything, but why that story, Dad? Out of everything you could have said about great-uncle Bob? Nothing about his time as a psychonaut, or the battle with Maligula? And what happened in the car ride back? With great-uncle Bob and Grandma?” She looked up to her dad. She had almost lost him just a couple of weeks ago. Sure, she had heard some of the later stories of Bob before, but she never heard how his dad and great-uncle met. It made some sense, but there were still pieces missing to the puzzle.
Truman chuckled and put his hand on her shoulder.. “Why do we, as humans, tell stories at all, Lili? I needed to remind myself of something, and pass it onto you. Us Zanottos….” Truman sighed, this was a lot of weight to bring on a ten-year-old, but then again, Lili was not an average ten-year-old girl, now was she? No Zanotto was average. “The lives we are put into are not always ideal, but we make it better. Tend to the garden of our surroundings and add something and kinder new to it, make it our own. We do our blooming in the most adverse places and ways. You’re only ten and you’ve done so already.” He paused, letting the sentence sink into himself.
He was seven years older than what Lili was now when he put his toes in the water of what the world had in store. She was waist deep at this point. “Just know that you may feel a heavy weight, but, this is a reminder that Bob and I and everyone else are here for you if you need to talk. Okay? You have no expectations from me other than to be yourself. It’s my job to make sure you’re happy and healthy, and that you grow into the wonderful person you choose to be.”
“Okay, Dad.” Lili sighed, “the past few weeks were hard, and I just don’t want to lose you again. I mean, I appreciate you not babying me as much, but…” she trailed off. She blinked hard and had to wipe her eyes. She was a tough kid, but she was still just that, a little person, still getting an understanding of the world, who she was, and who and what she wanted to be. Growing up was already hard, adding the misadventures she’d been on in the past couple of weeks was
“Hey, want to see something?” Truman went over to the bookshelf and smiled softly, taking the small card deck sized box over to his daughter. “I know you said that Whispering Rock was baby stuff, but the camp was inspired by that summer. Well, most of my work with the psychonauts was inspired by that summer, in a way. But this,” he said, unlatching the box. “This was the first merit badge.” He opened it up and showed Lili the badge forged by her great-uncles and their friends. Love and psychic energy together in one. “It’s yours, if you want it. You’ve more than earned it.”
“Dad,” Lili laughed and shook her head, but looked up at him and smiled. “This means a lot. Thank you.” She held the box in her hand and closed it, wrapping her arms around her father.
He gave his daughter a warm hug, and pulled away with a weak smile. “I promise to do better going forward. I failed to protect you twice, first from Morceau, then from Gristol. The future is uncertain. Just know we're right here, and now. No evil guys, no master plots to take over the world.” Since Truman was re-brained, he promised himself he was going to be more vigilant. Sure, Lili could protect herself, but she was still a kid. A new balance had to be made, but they’d work on it together. There was a knock on the door. “Oh, I forgot, speaking of Bob, I invited him and your great-uncle Helmut over as well. Hope you don’t mind. Just family dinner, nothing major.” He offered his hand to his daughter. “C’mon, I hear Helmut got his body back. He gives the best hugs. ”