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Christmas was eleven days away. Everywhere Athena went, Los Angeles was lit up and alive with the spirit of the holidays. The marquee at the Los Angeles Ballet Theatre glowed with advertisements for performances of The Nutcracker, while horse-drawn carriages bearing carolers clicked and clacked their way down South Broadway. The outdoor ice rink was packed with skaters, and those with their own automobiles had their pick of a glut of Christmas tree lanes to enjoy, each one lined by seventy-foot conifers draped with dazzling lights.
And the Cosmos Space Center, Athena knew, was once the most festive place of them all.
Once was. Not so much these days. Athena was unsurprised to see it—the lack of decorations on the cold blank face of the large white dome. Then she was surprised that she was unsurprised. What with the upcoming HAT-2 Launch, you'd think they would have at least thrown together a Santaland or something, with hot chocolate and a small army of elves to take kids' photographs with Mr. Saint Nick himself (just make the elves little green men and put Santa in an astronaut suit and you were good to go). Just something to squeeze a few more dollars out of the captive audience to the biggest rocket launch in nearly a decade—Athena still read the LA Times every morning, even when she lived in Europe, and that particular outfit wasn't shy about drawing attention to the latest federal budget cuts.
But then, she would have bet money that the last six Christmases had come and gone just like this.
The boarding lounge was a madhouse. Even though the launch was scheduled for the next day, enough interest had been kicked up that families were mobbing the place, either in search of robots for their tykes to play with or a glimpse of the giant rocket that would soon be blasting off at an orbital velocity of 25,000 miles per hour, generating temperatures hot enough to vaporize steel (she could have recited those facts in her sleep). Glossy eight-by-ten reproductions of the poster for the film The HAT-1 Miracle, signed by the movie's cast and even Sol Starbuck himself, were being snapped up by the dozens.
Many of the visitors turned away in disappointment, however, when they were greeted by a large "CLOSED FOR REPAIRS" sign on the entrance to the biggest attraction, the Space Museum. "Google said they were open from nine to seven! What a crock!" one father complained, herding a gaggle of screaming children past Athena on her way through the lounge. The outraged emotion slammed into Athena's head like a wrecking ball, and for a moment she thought to make use of the headphones sitting at the bottom of her handbag, but then she decided it wasn't time for that. Not yet. She didn't know what she had to prove—nor who she was proving it to—but now that she was here, something absolutely compelled her to refuse to fall back on her old, childish ways.
Even when it seemed like her feet were barely able to walk to the Space Museum's entrance, hop over the stanchion, and silently pad through the automated doors.
The museum wasn't completely dark. A small bank of lights illuminated a nearby glass display, sitting next to the enormous reproduction rocket, which stretched towards the ceiling in commemoration of the human spirit (or maybe just good old American exceptionalism). There were various items GYAXA had deemed worthy of exhibit: dark purple chunks of asteroid, complex charts of constellations, pictures taken by super telescopes of galaxies and stellar dust clouds, and an old photograph of the Cosmos team.
Athena went to the photograph first. She recognized all the players. There was old Mr. Yuri—Commander Cosmos he always liked to be called—and little Ponco, and Sol, and Aura, and a boy she vaguely remembered who always came to visit Sol—and Metis Cykes.
And here, too, was Metis's coat, next to the photograph, spread out eaglelike on full, proud display. It was one of the reasons she'd come here.
For a moment she couldn't do anything else but look at it. The trim was so smart, the fabric so neatly pressed. It didn't seem like something her mother would wear. Metis loved kimonos, elegant, flowing numbers that drew out the faintest suggestion of a feminine shape. Athena knew her mother better by the swish and sway of those robes, gliding over the laboratory floors like silk curtains, than she did anything else.
But it wasn't the kimonos that had occupied her dreams these last several years. Dreams—or nightmares. The kimonos didn't spark the flicker of a strange, malignant memory, one whose corners she couldn't seem to grasp hold of, even when she forced herself to muster the courage to try.
Standing there, watching the display, she drew a shuddering breath as the coat shrank before her eyes; reality was suddenly narrowing to a pinprick. Athena planted both feet hard on the floor and shook herself until the world stabilized and straightened out once more.
She hadn't been home in seven years. Why wasn't it any easier to come back?
After all, soon—very soon—she'd have to come back here for real, wouldn't she? To case the joint, the way the Boss did. But even putting a cheeky face on it didn't keep her vision from going watery around the edges, at the thought of actually investigating the place where her mother had—
No, Athena. Focus. Focus. Breathe, girl!
The breathing was hard going, but breathe she did. The coat was still there. She brought a hand to the glass as if she could reach through it to touch one of the last remaining mementos of her mother.
Of course it wasn't going to be easy. She was crazy if she thought that. She was scared enough just coming here to the museum—constantly looking over her shoulder, even though it was Friday and Aura would have already been long gone, if memory served, and who knew if she wanted anything to do with the launch in the first place. She was probably out at the sake bar right now, or dancing. Or dancing on the sake bar. (Did Aura even dance anymore?)
All Athena wanted from tonight was to reminisce. To remember the good times. Because there had been good times here, and precious memories made.
She remembered a young girl with a spirit as irrepressible as her cough. Juniper with her deep green hair, which she let Athena twist into twin braids that fell down the length of her back and nearly swept the chrome floors as they jitterbugged together in the lab, listening to old mix tapes they found in Aura's desk, which Ponco obligingly played for them a hundred times an hour. Athena used to call her June of Green Gables; Juniper returned the compliment by calling her The Little Mermaid. Junie knit sweaters for Ponco to wear, and Athena painted watercolors of Junie's favorite flowers, which Junie's grandma had framed and put in her foyer. The summers were filled with treks to the woods, bug bites, blistering sunburns; and the winters were spent cozying indoors, the two of them snug as bugs while nursing cocoas and saltines smeared with peanut butter.
Athena smiled. Those were the good times, all right.
But for every yang, there was a yin. And in those early days there was no Junie, no Ponco. There was only her mother, and Aura, and a hundred doctors, and a hundred more tutors.
But there had also been Simon.
She'd been drawn to Simon from the very moment they met, like he was some prince that had marched out of the pages of her fairy tale picture books. He actually did look a little like the prince in her favorite movie, Cinderella—if Prince Charming had been born in Japan, raised in Great Britain, and now lived and worked in Los Angeles as a prosecuting lawyer-slash-samurai.
It shamed her, to know that she remembered Simon better than her own mother. And it crushed her—to know, deep down in her heart, that she hadn't really returned to LA for Metis. That saving Simon mattered more to her than finding out who had killed her in the first place.
Metis, like Aura, was a woman of science. Science meant that you took your daughter and made her take tests that never seemed to end, and wear countless devices that left her feeling dizzy and weak, until a thing happened that you liked, a thing called a scientific breakthrough. It meant your daughter lived for the moments you smiled and wrote on your clipboard, or explained the progress of your research in big words she didn't understand, because that meant the test was finally over and she could run to Simon, who would get her ice cream and then ride twenty minutes with her on the Metro until they reached the Supermarine Aquarium, where she could practice her dolphin whistles.
One memory blazed in her hazy recollections like the light shed by a collapsing star.
I'm going to make them understand me someday, she told Simon. Her lips were set in a pout that she hated, because it made her look far younger than her eight years, but it always made Simon chuckle to see it, so she didn't try very hard to put it away.
Simon drew his gaze away from the dolphins. Sure enough, he saw the pout and laughed. Who?
Who else? Athena pointed at the pool. The dolphins.
And what makes you think that they don't?
Because, she said sullenly. No one ever understands me. She could feel her throat tighten already as she said it—felt that thready sensation in her brain that always signaled that her speech was about to become halting and strange. I understand them, she managed to get out. But I can't get them to—I can't make them understand—me.
Simon said nothing for a moment, watching her with unbearable patience. He was slow to speak when it was like this, in case there was another thought inside her that was late coming out. He never rushed to fill the pauses.
Finally he said, What do they say to you?
Athena pouted. Who? she said, just to be difficult.
Simon laughed. The dolphins.
Athena mulled it over. They don't really... say anything, she said. Not to me. They're just, uh—they just... talk. But they're not—saying anything. To anyone. They just feel things, and it—they express it. It comes out of them, she finished, gesticulating hugely, the way she did when throwing her hands around came easier than words.
Very good, Simon said. It should have felt patronizing, the way it did when the tutors said that, but coming from Simon it felt special. What sorts of things do dolphins feel? he said, and it almost sounded as if he did wonder.
A bottlenose crested the surface just then, razored teeth parted in a permanent smile. It giggled once and a wave of feeling washed over her like warm water lapping at her toes. Athena reached out to slide her hands over its skin just before it nipped back into the water. The sensation of the slippery gray surface beneath her palms soothed.
Dolphins aren't as complex as humans. Wait—no. (Wrong word. Find it, find it.) She corrected herself, shaking her head. They aren't as comp—complicated. But they aren't any less smart. People are always feeling a hundred thousand things at once. When they're happy, they're also sad. When they're miserable, they're also afraid. I can't... stand it. Suddenly she wanted to cry. When dolphins are happy, they're just happy. They don't let other things get in the way. They get a fish and all they feel is happy, happy, happy.
Would that we were all like that, Simon remarked. Then he peered down at her, head tilted. Athena. You really believe that no one understands you? What about me?
Athena conceded to him with a shake of her head. No, you understand me, she admitted. But not kids at school. Not my teachers. Not... mommy.
Your mother loves you deeply, Simon said gravely.
And to her surprise, Athena said back, No she doesn't. She never comes see me. And when she does, it's only to do her—her science things on me. She doesn't really want me around.
This time Simon was silent for even longer. Thena-hime, he said at last, have you ever heard of cognitive empathy?
Athena frowned. It sounded like a scientific thing, so already she didn't like it. I don't know big words like that.
It was the topic under discussion between your mother and I last night. When Athena didn't reply, he said, Cognitive empathy means you are able to recognize the emotions of other people. Even if you don't feel what they are feeling, you can understand what they are feeling, and why. It should never be confused with a lack of empathy, though. Do you understand?
I think so. But why are you telling me?
Your mother is not like you, Simon said. You see people's emotions the way you see clouds in the sky, or the color of these dolphins. But emotions tend to hide from your mother. She wants so much to help you with her science, but doesn't always see when it upsets you. The last thing she wants is to make you unhappy. That's why she came to me. She lamented the limits of her cognitive empathy. In fact, she takes great pride and admiration in your abilities.
I don't understand how any of her science things even help, Athena murmured.
Of course they help, Simon said. He pointed at the headphones that Athena had peeled off as soon as they got to the pool. Those headphones? You're only able to come here because Cykes-sama made those for you. When we tried coming here, last year, when the crowds were smaller, you cried. We had to take you home. You felt everything they felt, and it was too much. Your little usagi there? He gestured to the rabbit handbag at her side. Your mother sewed that for you. She made it with materials that she learned from her research would be pleasing to you rather than distressing. And she knows how much you love rabbits. Even your headphones were fashioned to make you look like a rabbit.
I guess they do make me look like one, Athena said. She felt a small smile coming on.
And when you were very small, much smaller than you are now, long before I met you... Simon knelt from his great height to meet her at eye level, pointed at her face. Your mother made sure you would be able to talk. She researched endlessly to find therapies for your unique condition. Your sensitivity to sound, I fear, made it nearly impossible for you to acquire language. For how could you ever hear the words people said to you, when all you could hear was their hearts? He touched his finger to her nose and it wiggled. Only look at you now. You articulate better than most lawyers.
Athena laughed. Mommy did all that?
She did. Simon smiled.
Another moment passed, and then Simon said to her, Come. He rose to his feet and took her hand in his. Let's go see if Jincho and Pengi are out of their pen. We'll say hello and then we'll go home.
Those are not their names, Athena demurred as they walked through the water bridge. Their names are Gogo and Pogo.
Less imaginative names I could barely conceive.
All you did was name them Japanese words for penguin! If you had a pet bird I bet you'd name it, um—uh—Tori or something.
And what if I did name it Tori or something?
That's not funny, Simon, Athena said, but he was already laughing.
They reached the penguin habitat. Pogo and Gogo were out and about, waddling back and forth on the jagged outcrops that served as their living space, behind which a hidden pool for them to swim in had been dug into the rock. Athena rapped softly on the glass, but today they ignored her bids for attention. Instead she and Simon watched as they sweetly preened one another with their beaks. Simon said the two of them were probably brother and sister; Athena insisted they had met as chicks from different nests and were in love. They never asked a staff member to confirm who was right.
They were on their way back to the station when Athena suddenly said: You really love mommy, don't you? You're always calling her Cykes-sama and milady and stuff.
Yes, Simon said simply. Because she is my lady. I would lay down my life for her.
Well, you don't have to do that. I mean, go around dying for people. She paused. I wouldn't want you to die for me.
Simon's hand found the top of her head and rested there. But I would.
For the length of one minute—a small eternity in an eight-year-old girl's world—Athena pondered that. The thought was too huge to comprehend. It made her heart feel big and tight, like when she ate birthday cake too fast. She clung to Simon's dark robes—but not to protect him, as she once did, from the stares of those too hopeless to appreciate the quiet dignity of an authentic jinbaori coat.
(No one on the Metro stared like that at him anymore. Come to think of it, no one stared at her anymore, either.)
If that happens, I'll fix you, she said to him fiercely. Her grip tightened. I'll put a bandaid on you and I'll save you. You won't die.
Simon smiled indulgently. Then I won't die.
The Metro came. They left, and Athena dreamed the day would never come she would have to bring Simon Blackquill back from the dead.
.
.
Only three years later Simon vanished from her life, seemingly forever. Doomed to die.
.
.
Oh, what a dreadfully fearsome lass we have here.
And here they were again, in another courtroom—seven years removed. She hadn't seen him in seven years. Athena didn't know what she expected Simon Blackquill to say to her, after that impossible span of time, but it hadn't been... that.
But also. Like. Really.
What had she been expecting him to do when he addressed her. Cry tears of joy? Fall to his knees in stunned silence? Maybe say Athena-hime, it's so good to see you! I only didn't answer a single letter in seven years, and I keep threatening to shishkebab everyone in this room with my invisible katana, and my only friend is an angry hawk I named Taka—and by the way Simon, REAL ORIGINAL—but thank the High Plain of Heaven, you're here to rescue me!
Okay, so. Not exactly the stuff of Lifetime movies. Not that she'd been expecting that, at that point. Any hope of a heartfelt reunion had sort of been blown to smithereens as soon as she had entered Courtroom No. 4 with Apollo for the first time and the prosecutor—the prisoner—was escorted in by the detective and two bailiffs, chains in tow.
"Um," she heard Apollo say next to her, confounded. "Who's that with his back to us over there?"
"That's him," Athena said, and she didn't even realize she was speaking her own thoughts aloud. "I'm sure of it. Prosecutor Blackquill."
Then Simon turned around.
For a moment she actually wondered if she was looking at the same man from her childhood. The clothes were right, and the height, too; but that was all. She didn't recognize the shaggy ponytail, or the troughs beneath his eyes, grooves so dark and deep they seemed to almost be tattooed into his cheekbones. His eyes, once so filled with curiosity and warmth, now looked as black and pitiless as a shark's.
This was the reality that stood before her: a man carved from shadow, a creature who looked every inch the murderer the papers had made him out to be. For the first time Athena grasped how profoundly seven years in darkness could change a man. Simon...
Widget was glowing. She didn't want to know with what color. She quickly palmed the device, hiding it from view within the fan of her fingers.
She thought she might receive some sort of acknowledgement from him. Maybe a nod. A smile. A secret samurai hand gesture would not be unwelcome. Something. But she was left disappointed. He just got on to the business of starting the trial—all with the same cold, unchanging expression he'd walked in with. Athena scanned him for clues that he felt anything more than that, but his heart was as opaque to her as a brick wall—even when, as the trial unfolded, he began sharing his opinions on the fearsome lass: what he thought of her clothes, her competence, her naivety. Somehow, even though he was being mean, saying all these things to her the old Simon never would have, it felt weirdly impersonal. She couldn't even read him when he spoke because all she could really detect in his voice was blatant disdain for Apollo. It's like I don't exist to him. Does he know who I am?
A terrible thought crept into her mind. Did he... forget all about me?
The trial went on, and Simon continued to pay her no heed—except to the extent that he really seemed to enjoy shredding her and Apollo's arguments for the defense into tissue paper. (Holy moly, was he ever good at that. Thank God the Boss had refined Apollo's legal chops or they wouldn't have lasted one hour in court, let alone two days.)
And then, when Apollo was bent over his papers, frantically trying to find some bit of evidence he'd lost in the shuffle of his files—which was, admittedly, sort of her fault, the partner who wasn't the lead counsel was supposed to keep the evidence organized—it happened.
Prosecutor Blackquill's eyes met hers.
The mask slipped. And she knew.
He'd only been pretending not to know her. He knew exactly who she was. He hadn't forgotten at all.
And he wasn't just angry.
He was pissed.
Turn away, cried the unspoken words of his heart. turnbackgoawaygohomeNOW.
Simon had never, ever been angry with her before. The foreign emotion was a bee sting to her psyche—frightening, wounding. Athena took a tiny step back, stunned. For an instant, Widget flashed yellow.
Please, she thought, speaking to no one, I thought I was prepared for anything, but not this. Please—don't let him hate me...
Her heart pounded, unbearably loud in her ears, as she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself with slow breaths. It wasn't working! She was sweating. Did Apollo notice? Were the eyes of the entire courtroom upon her right now—watching her fall apart at her very first trial?
Then, in the tumult, another sound reached her ears, gliding nearly imperceptibly through smooth, soothing waters.
Thena-hime... Her head flew up. Simon was whispering from across the courtroom. His lips barely moved but she'd have picked out his voice if they were in Grand Central Station. Any danger that the frown on his face might have represented was long gone, because Simon was... conflicted.
Are you harmed? His chains rattled softly as he folded his arms over his midsection. One hand clutched his elbow as if he was anxious.
He was anxious. He was angry at her, and he was happy to see her, and he was... scared. For what reason, she didn't know. Athena held his gaze, trying to commit the sight of him to memory—of his arms crossed over his waist, like he was holding himself back from leaping over the bar to come to her. This was what would keep her going.
For just a second—one precious moment—this wasn't a courtroom, and they were no longer Prosecutor Blackquill and Defense Attorney Cykes. She was just Thena-hime, and he was her Simon. Even across the distance that separated them, even across all the years, he could make her feel like she was eight again, and that he would always love her.
No, she finally told him with a shake of her head. Widget softened to an azure light. I'm not hurt. I'm okay.
And it was true. She was steady again. Breathing. She could feel her ribs expand as she took in controlled sips of air, the way they taught her the year after Metis died. The set of her shoulders unwound from their tight perch.
Simon didn't say good, or I'm sorry—that was too much to hope for, she guessed—but his eyes caught on Widget, drawn by the sudden glow. He peered intently at the necklace. Then his hand raised to his face. A completely new expression was on it now.
He was... amused?
At Widget?
Athena's mouth dropped open.
He thinks Widget's a toy! He thinks I'm a baby who wears toys to court! He's... he's laughing at me!
Sure enough, Simon was chuckling soundlessly behind his hand.
He was judging Widget? Her Widget? How dare he?
That did it. It was on! It was on like Donkey Kong!
Apollo didn't notice the resolve that flooded his junior partner's face when, after this miniature battle of wills, he finally glanced back up from his mess of documents, a photograph in hand that would help clear Mayor Tenma. Athena zipped her lips—what Apollo didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Clearing Tenma and helping Jinxie were her top priorities, but her heart burned with a new fire.
Simon's eyes glowed like the embers in her heart as he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be glaring at them. But the damage was done—Athena crossed her arms and smiled at him, her face lit up in joyful defiance.
Nope. You're not intimidating me anymore, Prosecutor Blackquill!
Meanwhile, Apollo was raising an objection to the testimony—Athena could only be grateful that the guy was completely oblivious when he wasn't doing his Perceiving thing. Widget was going nuts, blinking out every color of the rainbow, like a string of malfunctioning Christmas lights. If Athena had to describe how she felt she would not even know the words. She felt like a child again, unable to speak, lost in the confusion of colors that were no longer simple primaries but a graded, polychromatic mess.
If only people could be more like dolphins.
You're still there, Simon, she thought. You're not gone... not completely. And then: You're not getting away from me! Not this time! You're coming home whether you like it or not.
Simon caught the words as clearly as if she'd shouted them. He tilted slightly forward on the hated prosecutor's bar, wearing his fiercest gaze. The smile he gave her chilled her to the bone and warmed her all the way through.
Just try it, child.
.
.
Blood on her hands.
No bandages.
No time.
Simon looking down at her, face white as a sheet.
She opened her mouth to explain
Something's wrong with Mom something's wrong with Mom something's wrong with Mom
.
.
The sight of the museum ceiling filled Athena's eyes when she opened them.
So tired... How long had she been here? Had she really just been spacing out this whole time? She checked Widget. It was only...
12:15pm.
Of the next day.
And she was lying on the floor.
What the.... I fell asleep? Right there? Who even does that!?
Right. Athena Cykes did. Because apparently she was the only person she knew who could pass out from reminiscing about the past. That sounded just about on brand.
And she'd been dreaming. About what, she didn't remember. But she knew it had to be something terrible. She could feel the retreat of the last vestiges of horror from her consciousness.
There was a copper taste in her mouth. Her body felt like it was made of toothpicks. She was suddenly aware that she felt awful. She dragged herself to her feet and left without a backwards glance at the coat; she was certain that coat would set her off again, send her reeling into the velvet void of her own mind.
Her vision seemed smeared as she re-emerged from the darkness of the museum into the boarding lounge. There was no one around; but if there was, she didn't think she would have been able to tell. Her thoughts swam sluggishly in her skull. I missed the launch, she thought.
She drifted like a ghost until she was suddenly standing in the middle of the busy LA streets. A car's headlights passed over her and it honked. She nearly cried out as she stepped away. She stumbled over to where she had parked her Lime scooter—she only recognized it by the bright green color—and cast one last, weary glance back at the dome that had been her childhood home. One coherent thought surfaced as she boarded the scooter.
I'll be back, she promised. I'll get to the bottom of everything. And when it's all over, I'll come back with Simon. And we'll make it Christmas here again.
Just like it used to be.