Angela :Beginnings

Drake's eyes were still the same striking blue of his youth but, age had crept into the corners and settled into the molds of time. Fine lines of laughter, worry, and anger fanned out, betraying his years. Whether he wished to admit it or not, he felt them piling on top of one another. Joints creaked, old scars ached, and bones popped more than he was used to.

The past had been an adventure, filled with horrors and wonders, close calls and landslide victories, love and hate, life and death...

Death. He mulled the word over in his well oiled mind. Dissected it, bisected it, savored its bitter taste and let the hollowness that never truly fades consume a small piece of his being. Perhaps it had continued to leech further into him than he'd care to ever admit, but now was the moment that he brought himself to face it, to question it, to wonder...

Beyond his reflection in the glass was the sole occupant of a holding room. It was agonizingly sterile and white. It hurt to stare for too long. But stare he did, until he committed every ebony curl to memory, every dark lash, the gentle curve of her beak, the threaded scars on her arms, five fingers on each hand, every detail down to her perfectly formed webbed feet.

An I.V. was the only keeper of time.

Within his heart, a war was raging. It was impossible not to know who she was, who she belonged to. The sketchier points led to what had she become during her fifteen years in that forsaken place? And what was she doing here? Now? And in the condition they had found her?

A more painful, maybe even pitiful question remained, Why had this one lived? Why had she been spared when someone far more deserving, far more loved, far more and so desperately wanted, had been lain to rest before knowing her first breath? Why was this spawn of horror spared?

"Ahem."

Drake tore his gaze away from the containment unit and forced his tired eyes to focus on the assistant in front of him. She shifted nervously and seemed unsure how to start.

He gave a half a smile with half the usual warmth. "I find it's easier to just spit it out."

"You were right," she let out in a gush, handing him the lab results so quickly it was as if they somehow burned. "Her DNA is a perfect match. There's no way to deny it."

He merely looked at the paper without really processing anything that was on it. And that was fine because as the assistant had stated, he'd already known. The DNA test was simply procedure.

He found his voice again, "Will she regain consciousness?"

"I-I don't know, sir. The injuries she sustained were...traumatic. We can't have any idea what her mental state is or was. Physically, she's stabilized and at this point, waking up is entirely up to her."

He pondered on this for a moment before saying, "Thank you." The assistant didn't leave.

"Sir, if I may?" He nodded. "Go home to your wife, get some rest. As blunt as this may sound, its not everyday that your alter-ego from another universe spits their kid into your lap. Considering your-" She noticed his flinch and corrected herself, "Considering the circumstances, sir, I think it would be best to spend sometime away from SHUSH. At least until you've decided on what you think should be done."

His nod was numb, but it was all that she knew she could expect. "M.E.G.A.N?"

She stopped on her way towards the door and turned. "Sir?"

His grin was wry, "What would you do?"

She blinked and looked at the young woman laying prone behind the glass. Drake joined her. "Gather more data. I believe with this situation, you are too close. It's too personal. One can jump to conclusions based upon false assumption, no matter how accurate it may appear at a given time. Yes, we are more than aware of her biological origins and that alone gives us a reason to exercise caution, but is that proof enough to condemn her? If that is the case, I should be disassembled at the earliest convenience."

The logical thought process of a government official embraced the advice as sound, but the wounded heart of a grieving father demanded vengeance from someone, anyone. M.E.G.A.N was right. He was too close, to tangled in this to be objective. If he was going to approach this situation, he'd have to do it as he always did, from every angle.

"What should I tell Morgana?"

His assistant A.I. stared at him as though he'd grown another head, "Sir, you and I both know that omitting the truth is the same as lying in Morgana's book. Tell her the truth. I don't want to have to train your replacement."