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Jonny had no idea what he was looking at.
He had just entered the kitchen to find Race Bannon, special agent from Intelligence One and Jonny’s assigned tutor, companion, and all-around watchdog....donning an apron and mixing something in a bowl. Now, Jonny has seen Race use the kitchen to make homemade bombs and other explosives before, but the kitchen counter was noticeably lacking in explosive chemicals and powders. But what it did contain were the ingredients for a much sweeter concoction: butter, eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, baking powder, all-purpose flour....
Race was baking cookies.
Roger T. “Race” Bannon, special agent, was baking cookies and wearing an apron. A pink apron. A very familiar pink apron of which Jonny had not seen in a few years....a pink apron that had belonged to Jonny’s mother.
And he was humming. A tune Jonny had also not heard in years.
Jonny stands there frozen. His first thought was “Dr. Zin has somehow mind controlled Race!” but that couldn’t be right. If Zin was controlling Race, then Race would be kidnapping Jonny or stealing secrets, not.. baking cookies.... unless the cookies were poisoned? But even so, how could that explain the apron or the song?
Jonny takes a few quiet steps forward to examine all the ingredient. Nope. No poison present. Then he warily glances up at Race.
The man looks surprized to see Jonny, as if a specially trained operative could be so easily snuck up on. But he doesn't stop mixing his bowl.
“Oh hey, pumpkin!”
Pumpkin? Not “sport” or “slugger” or “pal” but... Pumpkin. A term of endearment only Jonny’s mother had used for him.
Race smiles warmly. Too warmly. “Did you have a good day at school?”
School? Jonny was homeschooled now. He hadn’t attended a public school since.... Mom.
“Race..” he nervously glances around the room. “What's going on?”
The man in the apron, still stirring his bowl, tilts his head slightly as if confused. “What do you mean? I bake cookies every Friday afternoon.”
Jonny feels like all the air was suddenly punched out of him.
He feels like he stepped back in time, to when his mother was alive and baking cookies every weekend, calling him pumpkin and asking about school. And if he got all good marks that week, she would drive him to the drug store for a comic book and a candy.
But this wasn’t his mother. This was her kitchen and her apron and her cookie recipe...but this wasn’t her. And this wasn’t Race. This was some.. illusion? Dr. Zin had created this hallucination? A mixed-up clone? A creepy robot with Race’s face?
Jonny stares a little too long, the imposter seems worried. He finally sets the bowl aside.
“Jonny?”
Race’s voice is the softest Jonny has ever heard it, and he wants to cry.
He runs over to Race and grabs him by his big arms, shaking him, “Race! You gotta snap outta this! I don't know what's wrong with you, but you gotta wake up! This isn't right! This isn't you!”
...Snap out of it...
...Wake up...
Then Jonny does wake up, to the slight breeze of a palmetto fan waving in front of him. And the glare of the hot Florida sun.
That’s right....
They were down at the beach and it was time to come in and get washed up for dinner.
But he and Hadji had decided to climb up a palm tree to “hide” from Race. Palms trees aren’t exactly ideal hiding spots, and Bandit was at the tree’s base barking up at them, but Race played along, pretending the two boys were nowhere to be seen.
They climbed to the very top to give them at least some coverage, but they had overestimated the strength of the palm’s fans. One snapped and Jonny came crashing down.
He briefly wonders if that same fan was the one Hadji was currently waving in his face.
“You alright, son? You gave us a scare.”
Son.... Race had just called him son.
Jonny abruptly sits up, “You’re not my mother!” he yells at the now confused man.
Race blinks at him, now concerned Jonny did hit his head a little too hard. “Um.. No. I’m not.”
Jonny blinks at Race. Normal Race. Not domestic cookie baker Race, but domestic terror fighter Race. Domestic, and abroad.
Then Jonny looks around. The beach is empty save a few palm trees; and Bandit, who is trying to jump in Jonny’s lap; Hadji, still waving that palmetto fan; and Race, who Jonny notices has him half cradled in his arms.
He shoves Race from him and stumbles forward.
“Whoa, easy there, champ!”
“I’m fine! I..” Jonny huddles forward, not wanting to look at him. “I’m sorry, Race. " He shakes the dream from his head. “It was horrible....” he mumbles. “You.. I...”
Race waits a moment to allow Jonny to collect himself, then holds up a finger. “Jonny, how many fingers am I holding up?”
Jonny forces his head up and looks. “One.”
“Good. Now, keep your head still and follow my finger with your eyes.” He says as he starts to slowly move his index finger left and right in front of the boy’s face.
Jonny sighs but obeys, knowing Race must be checking him for a concussion or something. But it wasn’t Jonny’s head that was hurting, it was his heart. He used to have nightmares about his mother all the time. But he’s eleven now. He’s too big to cry about it now. Right?
“I’m fine. I promise.”
Race stops his little finger test, satisfied Jonny’s not in immediate danger.
“I just had a really weird dream. That’s all.” He says, trying to laugh it off. Then a shadow passes over him and he looks up to see his dad.
Dr. Benton, concerned since they were late for dinner, came to see what was taking them so long.
“It’s alright, Doctor. Jonny took a spill, but I think he’s just fine.” Race says, patting Jonny on the back a few times before standing, then offering that hand to help the boy up. He slowly accepts it and gets on his feet.
Walking back to the compound, Jonny felt a little awkward walking between Race and his dad.
Hadji had abandoned that palmetto fan and was now carrying Bandit instead. He asks Jonny about his “really weird” dream.
Now calm and a little embarrassed, he tells them. He tells them he walked into the kitchen and Race was wearing a pink apron and baking cookies. Weird, right? And he feels stupid for getting emotional over something so silly!
“A pink apron, hm?” Benton muses as he looks at Race.
Race just smirks a little and rolls his eyes.
“Not just any pink apron....it was Mom’s.”
Oh. - The jovial atmosphere now dead.
Jonny hasn’t had a bad dream about his mother in a while.. though he still misses her, of course. He probably always will.... Benton puts a hand on Jonny’s shoulder, understanding the boy’s turmoil, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “ I miss her, too.” he admits.
Jonny leans into his dad a moment.
“You know….” Benton began, “dreaming is the brain’s way of dumping excess data, consolidating important information, and even keeping us alert to danger. And they can reveal our deepest needs, fears, and desires.”
“Maybe, but....” deepest needs, fears, and desires? “Why the heck did my subconscious mind think of that?”
Race nervously chuckles as he exchanges glances with Jonny’s dad.