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Chapter Text

Nervous murmuring from the gnomes preceded Luthor's arrival. Dubbilex sent out soothing thoughts through the psychic web between them to quiet their humming unease. He remained physically at work, casting his mind towards the upper world to investigate.

There, through the eyes of a gnome crouched on Desmond's desk (poor little brother), Dubbilex first saw the man called Jim Harper. He was tall, broad, yet moved with a carefulness at odds with his size. Harper looked at everything as if slightly lost as he trailed after Luthor into the office. Wariness drifted off the man in waves, but he came forward anyway.

Dubbilex did not much care for Luthor, but the bald man was an improvement over Desmond, at any rate. Luthor spoke to Jim Harper in charming tones (though he called him "James"), an odd significance suffusing his words, weighting certain ones so they fell strangely. Dubbilex drew back, startled, when he saw those innocuous words refract about inside Jim Harper's mind, twisting and switching subconscious thoughts as if hitting triggers. There was something…wrong in Jim Harper's mind, something Luthor turned and molded with each carefully dropped phrase. Harper did not even know. That made him dangerous.

Before Dubbilex could trace exactly what had changed within Jim Harper's mind, the gnome feeding information skittered a step back as a flustered attendant burst through the door. "Doctor Desmond, we need you down on Sub-level six."

"I told you I was not to be disturbed!" Desmond's eyes darted between the gnome on the table and Luthor. He did not even look at his assistant.

"But, sir…the specimen's neural evolution just changed paths, and if this trajectory isn't dealt with now it might negatively impact-!"

That did not bode well. Leaving most of his attention on the office, Dubbilex reached out to the gnomes on the sub-level near the project. They reported no danger, only that the Match seemed to be displaying unusual aggression levels. It discomfited Dubbilex. He had always known his elder brother to be different, special in some way more than any other genomorph, but more recently Dubbilex had felt there was something wrong, something off in the Match's mind that no allowed difference could account for.

"There's no need to be angry." Luthor's voice was smooth, yet it cut through Desmond's snarl effortlessly, fixing everyone's attention on the man in his impeccable suit. "This project is of great importance to me, Dr. Desmond, and so I see no reason to risk its success. We can delay our meeting for the moment, can't we, Mr. Harper?"

Jim Harper stirred, glancing uneasily from one man to the other. "Of course." Desmond's outburst disconcerted him, and Dubbilex could hear suspicion begin a subtle hiss in Jim Harper's thoughts, as he watched the significant looks passing between Luthor and Desmond. It seemed Jim Harper was not a fool.

Luthor smiled a bright, nonthreatening smile with all his teeth, the kind that set Dubbilex's whiskers on edge. "It's settled then. Dr. Desmond, I think I will accompany you to check in on the project's development."

Desmond nearly dropped his files; he caught himself, but Dubbilex felt the twitch in his ligaments. "Mr. Luthor, that is hardly necessary. We can't leave…!" His phenomenally failed attempt at subtlety indicated the third occupant of the room, who had already heard a dangerous amount. Harper noticed the gesture, tensing as if to step back.

Dubbilex frowned. Desmond was a fool. Now they would have to keep Harper.

Luthor stood contented in his small smirk. "Don't fret, Doctor. Our new associate will give us no trouble, I have no doubt. He's a good man." He gave Harper a passing glance, his thoughts clinking like gears and coins, decidedly assessive, as of property. Like the looks he gave Dubbilex, his insides a web of a thousand sharp gold points.

Dubbilex paused. Harper wasn't trying to leave. Even his wariness moved with strange slowness, taking far longer than it should have to develop into recognition of danger.

Desmond grumbled and tapped his teeth. He wanted to talk to Luthor about proper contingencies to control the newcomer, plans tinged with frustration, tense and hateful in his mind. Luthor remained formidably serene, and pleased. Stepping towards the door, he forced Desmond to give ground to maintain the illusion of agreement. Luthor reveled in Desmond's anger in the cold, distant fashion of a g-elf hunting a target.

Pausing at the door, Luthor spoke to gnome still perched on the table. "Wipe what he heard of Project Match from his mind, and hold him until we return."

Ah. So he never intended to leave Jim Harper to his own devices. The gnome obeyed, latching onto Harper's mind before the man's eyes could widen at the shock. His body bent subtly, held rigid and still with the characteristic sharpness of those incapable of thought.

Dubbilex would extend his mind down to the sublevels soon, nestled in a different gnome's mind to listen to Desmond and Luthor discuss Match's approaching completion and final release from his pod. An event that thrummed with excitement, in the making longer than Dubbilex had existed. And yet sorrow stayed him a moment, a tiny core in the gnome as it closed its stranglehold on Jim Harper's mind. Gnomes rarely reacted in complex emotions on their own, and never without reason. Dubbilex had never felt a gnome wish not to act on another's mind.

Curiosity, then, had him reach out to Jim Harper directly. Nothing beyond.

The man was startlingly clear. Sections of his consciousness had a sort of transparency, as if Dubbilex could look straight down to his core. Undeceiving, forceful motivation to trigger firm action. Dubbilex believed that to be named "honesty" in human speech. And yet, too, Harper's mind held constant, strange pain, gaps in his memory and even his mind that spoke of prior encounters with psychics or at least of mental trauma. These dark scars fractured the clearness of his identity, their jagged pieces obscuring corners of his mind. Probing there, if done clumsily, could cause damage. Dubbilex drew back from them. Not worth exerting the effort now. He did not feel sufficiently threatened to warrant cruelty.

Jim Harper, even unable to think or move, felt of briskness and a sort of hushed warmth. A soldier. Yet a kind one. An oxymoron Dubbilex had never before encountered, especially not with so marked and battered a subconscious.

He had also never been forced into psychic stasis before. Dubbilex could tell that much. Jim Harper was no telepath, had no extrasensory powers at all, no ability to free himself, or even understand the attack, but even so he resisted the gnome's hold. He feebly struggled as it scattered his thoughts, folded his memory back on itself and fused it there, like a scar, so he could not see it clearly.

And yet, most strangely, though on some level he must have felt the futility of his actions, though Dubbilex could practically taste the sharp, dark tang of fear, of powerlessness, Jim Harper kept resisting. Under severe psychic stress, most humans caved. Staggered. Yet Jim Harper held, unable to stop the gnome, but unwilling to bow to it, even as his subconscious creaked and groaned. And this was the source of the pain clouding the room in a reddish haze.

No wonder the gnome countenanced sorrow. They had not been programmed with moral compasses, yet all the genomes had since develop decency. They were not cruel without reason. And this was a form of torture only psychics could fully appreciate.

Down below, the gnomes reported Luthor's arrival to inspect the specimen, Desmond in tow. Luthor did not appear pleased. Dubbilex had moments to revert his attention down below; he could hear the footsteps on the tiled lab floor.

Yet, he did not like that his gnome-brother was sorry. That would not do.

He reached out again into Jim Harper, trying blunt his intrusion to something soft, soothing. Like he would lull the g-trolls to sleep after a day's work, calming their nerves. If the man continued to uselessly fight a psychic he could not defy, he would only bring himself suffering, possibly even permanent damage.

Hush. Don't struggle. Harper could not process thoughts now, and so Dubbilex commanded through sensation. He inserted the influence as gently, as kindly as he could, slid beneath Harper's weakly raised walls. Let go.

For a moment Harper stood rigid, cornered, Dubbilex's insertion isolated and dimly rejected by his consciousness. As if at some fundamental level of identity, far below thoughts, he sensed it did not belong to him.

But if the gnomes could control him, it was even easier for Dubbilex, whose mental capacities far exceeded theirs in complexity. Still exuding soothing emotions, he bent Harper's will, already held in a chokehold by the gnome, in line with his own.

Harper could not sink to his knees, even as Dubbilex bowed him. Desperate, short sparks of fear dragged behind him.

Dubbilex did not let it unnerve him. This was the only way. Otherwise he would struggle ceaselessly, and further harm his mind. Scars cluttered Harper's insides already, wounds Dubbilex lacked the skill to unwind. Dubbilex knew how Desmond would establish his authority, and the consequences if Harper continued to resist. Dubbilex would not watch it. He pressed harder.

Submit.

He never stood a chance. Jim Harper broke with a faint, red flash of pain. The wound Dubbilex gouged open knit into a slim scar, free of suffering and outside memory. It would not disturb him.

Dubbilex left Harper silent and still under the gnome's control, pressing reassurance and patience into the man's mind. Fearless, painless, Harper accepted the sensation as if it were his own. It was better this way.

Chapter Text

Jim Harper hadn't dusted off Guardian in a while. He'd laid down the shield, near four months ago. Tried to put it away, maybe. He still wasn't sure. When he started thinking about what he wanted, what Jim Harper meant without the helmet ringing in his ears and the smell of a streetfight in his mouth, he found pretty contradictory and confused answers. Showed how much he knew.

Jim knew he hadn't ever been a great hero, but he'd made a lousy civvie, sticking his nose and his fists where they weren't wanted. He couldn't ignore the grating of the streets, the whispers and yelps that bounced around them. But he felt wrong out in them, too. Stuck somewhere in between.

So the trick was finding another 'between.' He'd be lying if he claimed the life hadn't hooked him somewhere between learning to fight and hiding the shield under that box. Should have seen it coming, really. Someone, he couldn't recall who, had told him so; you didn't just leave the hero biz unless you rode in a bodybag. He'd stopped trying to escape.

But something had disconnected, a while back, something he didn't understand. An aimlessness, wandering the streets at three in the morning, looking for a fight that wasn't coming, someone to save when everyone was asleep, like he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. It unnerved him, kept him up all night and tired all day. He knew enough to get out after that.

It only left him with a hollow. Inactive duty wasn't enough. So Cadmus should be a good fit. Hopefully. Still working, still on duty. It felt good to think about lifting the shield again, its heft on his arm, edge against his wrist.

But nothing changed the immovable fact that Jim did not want to get up. Not even everyday morning not-want-to-get-up. No, this flung him all the way back to college days, eight in the morning on exam-Mondays. Jim growled through his teeth, pressing his palm against his forehead. What the heck did he eat last night?

The spectacular red-pain-fireworks lodged behind his eyes weren't helping, either. He'd hoped sleep would dissipate the migraine. Nothing he could remember should have triggered a stress-ache yesterday. Job interviews were hardly frightening after people fired guns at your eyeballs as your most accessible weakpoint.

As he blinked at the painful black lines between the ceiling tiles, Jim realized he didn't remember why he'd slept over at Cadmus. This place was not his apartment in so many ways.

He'd wasn't attached to the place. A lot like the hero gig, really. Restlessness drove him on. He couldn't settle. Lying on starchy blue sheets that weren't his, looking up at a strange ceiling, Jim was really starting to hate that.

The bedside clock read 4:54 AM in angular digital typeface. Which meant he ought to get up if he wanted breakfast before work. Jim assumed, as they had places for him to sleep, they would also feed him. Plenty of time to interrogate his own decisions later.

His insides felt greyish and coiled too tight. He wasn't hungry yet, but he would eat anyway. He'd be much more prepared to integrate himself into this establishment if he could convince that headache to stop drilling at his eye sockets.

Rubbing his eyes, Jim rolled out of bed, unbalanced slightly when the floor was at a different distance than he'd expected, and wandered about the strange room. It took extra time to find the closet with his boots in it, standing at attention side by side. If there was any less subtle reminder of what he should do, he didn't know it.

The bathroom had a painfully white shower, which was useful, with blue soap that smelled like manufactured seashore. A kitchen jutted off the living room; he padded through it looking for his cellphone. It was a pretty nice place, actually, all things considered. Just foreign. Uninhabited. He'd have to go pick up Lan and Twirly if he was going to be spending nights here. Maybe just one of them, if he switched back and forth. Sunlight flooded one window-sill that practically begged for a plant, and even had a partial shade section that Twirly would probably like. The poor plant didn't really agree with his current location.

Jim felt a little better after a shower and a suit. The straps on his armor creaked like always, and shield was heavy and familiar on his wrist. He'd missed the sensation. Carrying his helmet under his arm, he wandered towards the entryway of the apartment. The door seemed to be a sliding panel, which was sort of strange. A small screen hung on the wall next to it, by a small table. A computer? As Jim drew closer to it, the interface whirred to life.

"Unit assigned to: James Harper, alias Guardian. Clearance level B-4. Would you like to access the mainframe?"

Jim blinked at the screen in consternation. "Yes, please."

"Please verify access, Mr. Harper." Five shapes of lines and dots materialized on the screen. It took Jim a moment to recognize his fingerprints. So that was why they'd done the inking procedure yesterday. And here he'd thought they were running criminal checks. Jim pulled off his glove and lined up his fingers. The marks were actually spaced out to fit his hand, too. Weird.

The screen whirred to life on contact, chirping quickly as bars of light scanned over his skin. A cheery set of tones announced a proper match as the interface changed.

"Mainframe access granted. Welcome, Operative Guardian. You have two new briefing statements and one video log."

Straight to work, then. Jim put on his helmet, latched it under his chin, and checked his briefings first. One summarized Cadmus' schematics, including a blueprint that would ideally keep him from getting hopelessly lost. The building extended far further underground than he'd have guessed coming in. Go figure.

Thankfully, he found a cafeteria clearly labeled on the map, and further reading in the "standard employee" debriefing explained that this area was open 24/7 to feed him. With a show of his Cadmus ID-card, he would be provided for. Jim filed that away and tried to finish the other information quickly.

The second briefing, he found with some surprise, contained two letters. One from a Dr. Desmond, Director of the Cadmus program, and, as the man reminded him, Jim's superior officer. His letter curtly laid out Guardian's duties as director of security and documented the particularities of his contract. Jim scanned through just to be sure; expected pay, sick days (he was unsurprised by how few, and had little expectation of using them), injury insurance. It all checked out. The medical facilities somewhat surprised him, odd that they would not open their practice to private payers, but he was imagined at some point that would be explained to him as well. Perhaps some question of contamination prevented contact with outside patients. The tests done here were too expensive to mess up lightly. At the least, if he was injured on the job (God forbid), he would be well cared for.

At the bottom of Desmond's letter, however, was another short note.

Dear Mr. Harper.

I am pleased you decided to accept the post, and hope to see you again in the future.

Knowing our mutual friend Desmond as I do, I felt compelled to mention, as he in all likelihood will conveniently fail to recall. This databank carries a copy of the contract, for your convenience. Section 12B paragraph 6 outlines emergency authorities reserved for you. Should any personnel endanger the products or reputation of this institution, it is your responsibility to safeguard Cadmus. Do not take Desmond personally. He is a bitter and distrustful man, and has not had the good fortune to meet as many reasonable, decent people as you and I.

I bring this to your attention because I have utmost faith in your honesty and trustworthiness. I know you will not abuse your rank through this information.

Best of luck,

L. Luthor

Jim read that letter twice. He was pretty sure the second section had not been attached when Desmond sent his. How strange. Someone, whether really Luthor (he doubted it, it was too easy to fake signatures these days) or otherwise, had an interest in undermining Desmond's authority.

Not that Jim particularly minded. Most security corps had a provision for institutional safety, so it was useful to know by name. He was inclined to believe that Desmond would fail to mention it. Jim didn't like letting first impressions shadow an entire job, but he wasn't too tractable when treated rudely. The rest of Cadmus seemed reasonably bearable, and hopefully would prove halfway decent, but Dr. Desmond was sure to be a thorn in his side.

Still, he'd accepted this job, and he would perform to those expectations. Desmond was surely useful for some scientific mumbo-jumbo, and heaven knew Jim couldn't handle that stuff.

The video sped through different types of genetically modified…creatures, identifying characteristics, abilities and general jobs of each variet. The images had the air-brushed feel of a promotional poster, hiding important information, especially about those lightning-fast, sharp-toothed ones who glared at the camera with beady eyes. They certainly didn't look like pest-control packs. Jim watched the video twice and both times those things sent a chill up his neck.

Yeah. Not friendly. Or at least not harmless. He shouldn't judge; he'd met people in the hero community about that friendly-looking who'd still dragged him out of tough spots. But still.

But plenty of time to judge later. As chief of safety, Jim's job meant making sure he knew what those things could do, and when they'd be provoked into doing them. He was the Guardian of this place now. Those things too.

Information binge left him hungry. Making sure he had his card-key in his belt-pocket (a lockout would hardly do on day one), Jim ventured into the hallway to test his sense of direction against the map.

Cadmus' ceiling lights ran in endless lines, like subway-tracks, and he followed them down the hall. If being a soldier taught you one thing, it was taking directions well. He did not backtrack once, despite the decidedly unhelpful architecture where every hallway presented a cookie-cutter replica of the one before.

By 5:30 he located the mess hall, which probably wasn't called that around here. An impressive crowded milled about inside for the early hour. Jim assumed the night shift employees were grabbing a bite before heading to sleep. He knew the feeling. They sat in small scattered groups, staring zombie-eyed at the walls and each other. Jim smiled, nodded, and left them alone. He'd talk when they were coherent.

The fare was reasonable, and at least the eggs weren't soggy. His headache improved, as he'd hoped, though it didn't quite disappear. A dense mass of pressure pulsed behind his left eye, as if to keep track of his heartbeat. Perfect. At least he wasn't seeing any bright spots.

He finished and discarded his cutlery. Desmond's briefing said report at 6:00 sharp. As the man's unpleasantness likely survived a good nights rest, Guardian was in no mood to make this meeting more uncomfortable than it had to be. Best be on time. No one could complain about punctuality.

"If you must stand there distracting me from my work, we may as well start early."

Dr. Desmond seemed capable of complaining about anything. The scientist ushered him in without looking up from his line of petri dishes.

Jim marshaled his self-discipline. "Guardian reporting for duty, Doctor."

Desmond finally glanced at him. "Yes, yes, come here." Jim carefully maneuvered past tall glass tubes filled with greenish liquid and gnarled, strange shapes. On the desk he saw two such creatures, minus the vaguely sinister suspensory fluid. The dimness, the constant hum of the tanks and cooling units made his head pound.

He needed to focus. So his head hurt. He had work to do. "Genomorphs," he said, because his head ached and he had to say something. He'd never seen one in person before.

The look Desmond gave him dripped disdain. "You actually checked your messages, I see. I did not expect you to remember them."

Jim was too fascinated by the little things to mind the scientist's sharp-edged words. These little ones were gnomes if he remembered correctly. Barely bigger than a cat, joints folded at unnatural angles, with pupil-less red eyes. Scales roughened their skin, and they blinked up at him, tilting their heads back and forth.

In unison. Creepy.

The door hissed, and combat instincts brought him forward, between it and Desmond.

The creature who looked back at Jim was not human. The video showed a glimpse of this genomorph, but Jim couldn't recall its name.

The genomorph turned its attention to Desmond. The scientist, predictably, scowled. "I told you 6:40, Dubbilex. You should know better than to interrupt."

'Dubbelix' blinked serenely. To Jim's astonishment, when Desmond finished the genomorph spoke in a dry, deep voice. "I thought you would find it of use to know specimen 255B-14 has reached 22 parts per million, and is expected to reach transformation phase in one hour."

Desmond made an incoherent sound of frustrated surprise, and rounded on his computer. The frenetic clacking stabbed at Jim's head until he winced. Six pairs of red eyes fixed on him with what he hoped was just curiosity. The spoken one's eyes, particularly, seemed to glow dimly for a moment there.

They were fellow workers here, Jim supposed, and so he tried not to resent the examination, taking the chance to more closely observe this strange…person. He (it sounded male, though what did Jim know) had blue skin, the same tiny scales freckled across his face as the little ones on the counter, but this creature had larger and sharper-looking horns.

"Very well, then, we will have to make this brief." Desmond whisked from computer to desk, lab coat flapping like harried wings. The little things on the desk stepped away from him.

"Guardian, this is Dubbilex, a telekinetic G-goblin capable of speech. He is the most intellectually developed genomorph you will work with. You may give him directives to communicate to the less intelligent." Jim barely had time to nod a greeting to Dubbilex before Desmond whisked back to the desk. The harshness of his steps twisted the ache behind Jim's eyes. Great. Even when he was quiet he was loud.

Desmond kept jabbing the words at him. "More important, these are G-gnomes, used for telepathic communication anywhere in Cadmus. You are assigned 16258." He gestured at the gnome to the left, which looked at Jim with those red, red eyes. Tiny reddish Jims reflected back. "Keep it with you at all times, Guardian. Do you understand?"

Jim pushed aside the headache. "Yes, Doc. I keep the same one?" He looked at the little guy again, and the gnome blinked back.

Desmond sighed explosively, which poked another needle behind Jim's eyes. "Yes, yes. At all times!" He repeated it acerbically and slowly, as if to a small child. With a rough shove, he sent the little thing stumbling towards Jim. "Take it, and that," he pointed at Dubbelix, "and get out. I have important matters to attend to."

If Jim didn't like Desmond before, seeing him shove that little thing justified the opinion. Who could treat so small a creature so callously? The hurt in his head spiked unpleasantly, but he hurried to stabilize the gnome before it fell.

The gnome lowered wiry arms over his wrist. Rough bony plates covered its knees, so hard and taut with its weight Jim could feel them through his thick gloves. Its gnarled fingers gripped the back of his glove with strength that surprised him.

The gnome looked up with red eyes, and closed its fingers, shifting the fabric between scaly palm and scaly thumb. Like holding hands with an infant. An eerie glow wreathed its horns. Jim would have recoiled in surprise if a sudden sureness of calm and safety hadn't flooded through him.

The pounding pain in his head evaporated.

The breath went out of him, "Oh," and Jim stared at the little thing. It blinked back, and held more firmly to his hand, its mandibles shifting rhythmically. When he heard the little grating sound, he realized it was purring.

Jim smiled. "Alright, then I'm calling him Jake."

Desmond's garbled exploding sound was faintly entertaining. "What!?"

Jake accepted Jim's boost up onto his shoulder. The thicker material dulled the pressure of the little guy's sharp toes. Jake poked and prodded curiously before settling by Jim's neck. Once he stopped moving, Guardian followed previous orders and ignored Desmond's spluttering. "Coming, Dubbilex?"

They'd only met moments ago, but Jim thought consternation met him on Dubbilex's scaly face. That offered him a distinct sense of accomplishment. The g-goblin blinked at him, before turning from Desmond's exclamations, and following Jim out of the lab.

Jim made sure Jake was steady, and received a blunt-horned headbutt in appreciation. "Come on, little guy. Let's see if we can find my office."

Chapter Text

Dubbilex spent the next days on the lower levels again, moving equipment for the new cloning project. On top of the mostly monotonous physical labor, he had his hands full psychically. The newest litter of gnomes unfurled into the psychic grid on the second day. Dubbilex's remaining attention went to orienting those brothers to their location and duties, connecting them to the others with filaments of welcome and reassurance.

In the gaps between organizing these young creatures, Dubbelix barely had a brief thought for Jim Harper. The gnome would report any unusual activity in the man's jagged mind. The little brother had eagerly set to exploring those strange, gnarled pieces in Jim Harper's mind soon after connecting, and under orders from Dubbilex would monitor them for any sign of dangerous behavior.

Only late in on the third day, wearied and content with the voices of the gnomes, Dubbilex realized he had not actually checked in with Guardian's gnome in several hours.

Little brother, I-

Jake.

Dubbelix balked in consternation. The gnome had never in its life cut him off. Gnomes by design received input, not gave it, interfacing with each other to more efficiently organize. This one was barely eight weeks old, too young to have picked up any habits from Dubbilex.

He tried again. Brother, I wished to know-

Again, overruled by a pert, firm thought. Jake.

Dubbilex' patience had always been thin. Brother. Cease this-

And yet it resisted his attempt to whisk aside the response. The gnome dug its fingers into Jim Harper's shoulder, Dubbelix could feel it, the curl of claw and tendon. Jake.

Gnomes did not often communicate in full words, projecting more often in feelings or knowledge. The gnome repeated Jim Harper's voice in its mind, pushing the sound into Dubbelix's.

Jake. I'm calling him Jake.

A weight of meaning and happiness echoed in that word. Dubbelix stopped as the gnome pushed. No, not a word. A name. He frowned. Where had the gnome received the concept of a name? Dubbelix had it, but had never felt so strongly as this gnome did now.

Doubtless this strangeness was Jim Harper's influence. Dubbilex's frown darkened as he expressed this concept to the gnome. If only a day could change its understandings of the world, then the disjunctions in Harper's mind might carry even more danger than they thought. Were they contagious? Did they put surrounding psychics at risk?

The gnome (who excised that word from Dubbilex's thought and inserted Jake) responded calmly, but still from a small core of firm distaste. Repeating Jake in Jim Harper's voice, like a litany, it drew Dubbelix into its thoughtstream and showed him snippets of the last days.

It ("Jake"!) hadn't acquired this new concept of meaning, of name, only from Jim Harper's mind. Dubbelix was surprised, disconcerted, to find Jim Harper talking to his companion ("Jake"!) almost constantly as the man learned the halls through Cadmus.

"I'm Jim, by the way. Don't know if you understand English." Jim Harper measured the gnome with a look. "You're listening, though." He shrugged, unperturbed. "James Harper, named after my grandfather, but I'm only really called James on taxes. Jake was my dad's dog when he was a kid, so you've got some pretty big shoes to fill."

And on and on. As 162-(Jake.) radiated confusion, Jim felt it without knowing, laughed and reached up to pet its horns. His fingers seemed incapable of running out of warmth. "Don't worry, you'll make a good Jake. I can tell already." The gnome could feel his sincerity, easy, clear, and guileless.

Warmth and muzzy excitement, projected secondhand, bloomed confusedly in Dubbelix's chest, and he understood there could be no forgetting it, no undoing what Jim Harper had done. 16…Jake had never been praised by a human until now, never been treated individually or spoken to or scratched on the ears.

Dubbilex conceded. Jake.

The glow of happiness he received in return almost made it a nonissue that the gnome had edited his thoughts and interrupted him multiple times.

Almost.

I asked something of you, if you recall.

Jake reported on Guardian (for that was what even in thought Jim Harper called himself while on duty), on his behavior and his thoughts. Dubbelix again received unexpected information. A few unnatural tremors aside, Guardian's thoughts and subconscious had remained stable and at ease. Aside from a degree of caution Dubbelix had learned to expect among humans unable to probe the motives of others, Guardian's behavior remained rather friendly with personnel and genomorphs alike.

A few times only something shifted in him, those strange dark spaces buried in his subconscious briefly active. But this time neither Jake nor Dubbelix could discern exactly what, if anything, these bouts changed. Guardian seemed growing calmer as the day went on, but Dubbelix could explain that. A human generally acquainted himself with a new environment within a week. Each abnormality lasted fractions of a second at most. Dubbelix concluded finally that these were, at least in this instance, merely tics of Jim Harper's mind. Subconscious injury rarely left the damaged part of a mind entirely still.

That did not, however, as he firmly reminded Jake, mark those obscured patches as innocuous. Lex Luthor, with no telepathy at all, seemed to know triggers for Jim Harper's subconscious reactions. That was dangerous. If Guardian proved unstable, if another Jim Harper lurked buried beneath this strangely personable one, it would be Jake's task to manage him, keep him under control, and most importantly warn Dubbelix so they could take proper measures. Dubbelix felt his spine prickle as he tried to press the true breadth of the threat onto Jake.

Anyone Luthor could turn at a word could not be relied on in thought or act. That man's mind was a hall of mirrors, always turning you in on yourself.

Jake well understood the need to safeguard the genomorph cause as a whole, and acknowledged Dubbelix's directive to monitor Guardian closely.

Still, as he pulled away Dubbelix clearly sensed the gnome's attachment to the man, a firm, thick tether, remarkably strong for so brief an interaction. Gnomes, especially those assigned to humans, adapted fundamentally to their partner's thought patterns; Dubbelix had seen it happen. But that form of closeness required years to develop. Jake's must be something else.

Dubbilex was not thrilled that he may have to keep an eye on Jake, too, for signs of abnormality due to Jim Harper's influence. Could nothing be simple? It was looking more and more like he would have to investigate this subject himself as well as on Jake's information.

Chapter Text

Cadmus was…not what he expected. But that was all right.

For the most part, Guardian found security at Cadmus somewhat like security everywhere else in the world; a balancing game of budget, morale, and someone else's paranoia. Higher tech cameras here, perhaps, different id codes, six page protocols depending on guest arrivals. But only so many ways could distinguish an establishment like this one in terms of internal security.

First week on duty proved relatively pleasant. He avoided Desmond for the most part, pleased to learn they worked in entirely different departments. That man had no idea how security worked, and spent their only meeting howling about some amorphous malignant force hell bent on his project files. Guardian felt grateful previous periods of his life had ground patience into his bones. Otherwise he may have dropped aloud some of the thoughts that would likely jeopardize his job if spoken.

His security department, by contrast, were both receptive and respectful, evidently glad to have a director who knew his work. On night two Guardian overhauled the awfully monitoring schedule until no one served more than one night shift in a week. He picked Friday as his. Almost the day after, security officers said hello to him in the mess with genuine smiles. Not too bad.

The scientists demonstrated their patented reticent, but, then, he probably accidentally dropped hints of how antsy lab coats always made him. Still, some of them shook hands, slim, quick gestures. So maybe they'd prove fine, too. Or not. So long as he kept them and their work secure, that was all fine.

Sometime between Monday and Wednesday, someone brought his plants over. Guardian wasn't sure who so he couldn't say thanks. Twirly perked up smartly after about a day on the windowsill, gathering the morning sun like syrup in her leaves.

Jake and his relatives definitely were the strangest part. After day one, tired but feeling somewhat oriented with the world, Guardian returned from mess to his assigned quarters. He was pleased he found his own way back. "Here we are. This isn't where I live, exactly, but it's where I'll be staying the night sometimes."

The door hissed shut, sounding asthmatic. Guardian crossed to the table, took off his helmet, and about then a very obvious fact caught up with him. Jim looked at Jake on his shoulder. "Wait, I'm supposed to keep you with me. So you'll live in here, too, when I do?"

Jack tilted his head, bumping Jim's hair with his chin-horns.

"Guess that's a yes. What do you eat?"

The next half hour revealed his stocked fridge (Cadmus seemed nothing if not efficient), and established that his new friend liked fresh spinach, and would devour anything made out of tofu as if it were chocolate. Watching the gnome take miniscule bites, holding the gummy white strips in sharp teeth, Jim made note to ask what Jake was supposed to eat tomorrow. Were these things all vegetarian, or did Jake just like some sort of meat Jim didn't have handy?

That left all the other complications of a…pet? Jake seemed too smart for the word, but Jim was too tired at the time to think of another. It took a bit to coax Jake onto the bed of pillows on the couch, and the bewilderment clear even on that gnomy face made Jim wonder where these guys slept usually. But, all and all, it turned out all right. Jim got him settled and after he explained a few times, Jake propped himself against the back of the couch. Soon, based on the steady humming sound, he seemed asleep, so Jim could turn in, too. Jake waited on the couch bright an early the next day, and didn't seem tired. Workable system.

Guardian's shoulder ached a little by the day three, but Jake moved to the other side before he asked, and he'd get used to it. He'd acclimated to the shield, after all, and it weighed more than this little guy.

Thanks to Jake, the gnomes ceased to weird him out when he saw them on other people's shoulders,. The others…well, he was working on it.

"Greetings, Guardian."

Embarrassingly, he still jumped. He'd won fights with far scarier things than Dubbelix. But, still, something about the way the goblin slid in and out of shadows got him. "Hello, Dubbilex. I didn't see you."

Dubbelix inclined his head, a gesture all the more evident as his horn-tips cut through the air. "You were at work. It is understandable." A group of labcoats and meandered down the hall from C Lab Section, crowding Dubbilex and Guardian out of their way. Once the noise passed, Dubbilex stepped quickly back. "I hope I had not interrupted."

"Give me one minute, and it won't be an interruption." Guardian backed up to the opposite wall, scrutinizing the ceiling. One camera at the corner, but two feet up the hall. Which meant, given the location of the other one here…ah, surveillance breach there. Verified report. He keyed the location on his palm-computer for the tech folks upstairs. Someone else could do this, but Guardian always felt better when he checked the first few notifications himself. That way responsibility sat on his head, not someone he didn't know well enough to trust. Most of these folks had, understandably, never snuck past a security system.

One of these days he'd figure out why heroing involved so much of that. Either bad guys had too much tech access, or good guys had to find easier ways to get information.

"Dubbilex, how far down do these sublevels go?"

"Sixty floors," the genomorph replied, watching him with those red eyes. "All but the top three, however, are monitored by genomorphs."

Right. Someone had mentioned that today. It still surprised him, regardless. Automatically reaching up to scratch Jake's ear, Guardian turned to the goblin. "All right. I'm done here. Did you need me? Sorry if I kept you waiting."

"I am tasked with acquainting you to the security forces on the lower levels."

"The genomorphs?"

"Yes." Dubbelix paused, and Jake shifted. Guardian felt vaguely like genomorphs had their own quiet language when silence stretched too long around them. It made him feel out of the loop, forced him again to practice patience.

When Dubbilex frowned, he did so more with his ears than anything. "I suggest caution. They are meant to prevent intrusion, and may react dramatically to strangers."

Probably the closest to concern he was ever going to get. Guardian nodded. "Thanks. I'll be careful. Where are we going?"

"Sublevel thirty five. Follow me, please."

The elevator ride was fortunately quiet. Opportunities to speak with Dubbelix without someone else had proved scarce. "You are a telekinetic, right?"

Dubbelix paused again, and scrutiny practically tingled across Jim's face. "Yes. I have basic mental control of movement. I can levitate animate and inanimate objects, and manipulate multiple objects in the air at once."

"That's pretty impressive." Guardian had never worked much with telekinetics. Street fights rarely attracted that caliber.

"It simply requires extensive genetic engineering. You could achieve the same with proper resources."

"Yeah…thanks, but I think I'm good. Count me out of that one."

"Your singularity precludes counting, I fear."

Guardian only realized three seconds later that this scale-faced creature had just joked. He could definitely see a few wrinkles, like laugh lines, around the genomorph's eyes.

Guardian smiled. This day just got way better. "I'll work on that. Clone myself or something."

"You may wish to take care who overhears such things here," Dubbelix said as the elevator released them onto the dim lower levels.

A good point, if one that made his skin crawl a bit. Guardian followed Dubbelix, not keen on losing his way down here. He'd descended below floor twenty a few times yesterday, but quickly retreated back up. The walls below thirty five looked unnervingly flesh-like, covered with dark pods whose purpose he'd rather not know. Rusted wires and technological islands reared out at odd angles, snaking along the floors and walls. The hushed claustrophobia of the underground pushed down around them, levels of the building overhead creating a pressure he felt deep in his ears.

"This is where the g-elves remain when off duty. You will have to come back to meet the current patrol."

The door was ten feet high of metal, polished and thick. Guardian raised an eyebrow. Pretty thick for a holding pen. He remembered the g-elves on the video log. Those were the ones who looked like they wanted to eat someone.

Dubbilex slowly entered the key code and stood aside as the door groaned. The hiss of hydraulics drew it back. "Welcome."

Right. Definitely felt like a welcome. Still, best not to let the elves think this meant an early patrol. Guardian figured they stayed in here until the night shift started, and day and night were arbitrary names from timetables this far below ground.

They entered a dim chamber lit blue ceiling lights. What must have been thirty sets of red eyes swiveled towards them from the corners and crevices of the room, so sharp and glowing that every past experience set his adrenaline rushing.

Dubbelix spoke, but Guardian did not hear him. The elves held him with predator eyes, waiting, judging, following him. The few closest to him unlocked their jaws, he could see the flashes of their pointed tongues. Clearly identified him as the stranger. He could almost watch them stalk him.

"Jake, go to Dubbelix."

Jake squeaked in surprise as Guardian boosted him onto his hand. Dubbelix broke off his statement, but Guardian's had no attention to spare him anymore.

Jake's sound changed the elves. Those closest lurched a step towards Guardian, lithe, menacing, flashing sharp teeth amid little hissing sounds in their throats. They flickered out of the shadows, and Guardian caught sight of a few between him and the door. Surrounded. Wonderful. He guessed they would not hurt Dubbilex, because he did not have the option to think about defending the goblin against so many. He'd seen their stats. These things were long as he was a tall and muscled like fighting dogs, with sharp, sharp claws and pronged jaws capable of crushing bone. They could as easily hurt a gnome as put a foot down, he'd bet.

Guardian startled as Dubbilex strode forward, horns up, hand out. "Do not-"

Split second changes defined battle. Dubbilex's words distracted them, so Guardian used it, scooping Jake down to the computer-terminal. Surprised, Jake shrieked, the most distressed sound Guardian had ever heard him make.

Ears flattened, twenty shapes rushed him, and suddenly a mass of claws latched onto Guardian's back, kicking fiercely. Three more followed, mouths gaping, bounding like cats.

The first blow knocked him forward just enough, Jake stumbled onto the counter, freeing Guardian's hand to throw off one would-be-mauler. Claws shrieked on his armor, so all he could hear was the scratching.

Two. One high, one low. He took the high one on his shoulder, brushed off the low one with his shield. It bounced and flipped, goring the tiles as it recovered.

More.

Jake shrieked, whirring with distress, and Guardian snatched the elf jumping from behind, it's tail flailing bare inches from Jake. "Hey!" Stinging pain on his shield arm made him shake the creatures hanging off his body. "Stop."

"Do not harm him!" Dubblix appeared between him and the rest. Guardian had never heard him so commanding. The elf in his grip tensed, then slowly uncurled its claws from Guardian's arm and stomach. The grip – teeth? – on his shield arm slackened, but held, still pricking painfully. He ignored them for now.

"Jake?"

"He is unharmed, Guardian." Guardian didn't look quite far enough to see Dubbilex's head, but he saw his hands, scaled and relaxed. Dubbilex touched the back of the elf Guardian held, droning a strange hum. Guardian realized suddenly both elves in contact with him were shivering.

They were scared. He frightened them.

Then, logic finally resumed speed. Jake's sounds of distress. Their sudden attack. They'd thought he hurt Jake. Oh.

As the others in the room tentatively moved closer, Guardian lowered the elf in his hand to the ground, and let it go.

Jake crouched on the keyboard, rocking back and forth with small, sharp chirps. Eyes wide and red, unharmed.

Guardian looked down at the elf who still held his arm in its teeth. It had moved very fast, shoved its nose under his shield at the wrist, its teeth buried through glove to skin. Man those teeth were sharp. The grey-skinned creature regarded Guardian with wide red eyes, ears flattened to its neck. Its grip had loosened now, but it still hurt. Guardian pitched his voice quiet. Like a scared dog, Harper. It could have crushed your wrist if it'd really wanted to. "Sorry about that. Can you let go? It stings."

The elf blinked at him, once. Then, thankfully, it released his arm, skittering away to hide behind Dubbilex's coat.

"Guardian, you are bleeding."

If the first adrenaline spike hadn't leveled off by now, he'd have thought that sounded like concern. Dubbelix was right, of course. Four matched tears ringed Jim's sleeve, showing gouged teeth-marks underneath. Each nick trickled a nice, dramatic mess of red.

"I'll get it patched in medbay. It doesn't hurt." It did, actually, stung more than a surface injury should. He wondered if their teeth generated anything unpleasant. Still, he'd intended to check out medbay, anyway. Now he'd actually have a reason.

Dubbilex gave him a long look. "You are not angry."

Not a question, but, then, he'd never heard the g-goblin ask a question. Guardian slowly knelt among the elves milling nervously about. From this new height, they were taller than him if they stood, but most of them dropped to all fours to follow him down. Their sides shivered, like fish.

He recognized the one who'd bit him by the blood speckles on its chin. Unlike its fellows, it stood still within arm's reach, watching every move he made.

"No harm no foul. He was just doing his job." Adrenaline finally out of him, Guardian forced his back to relax. "Dubbilex, you talk to them, don't you? Would you tell them I won't hurt them? I think I gave them a fright."

"Yes." Dubbilex did not at first, did not even look at the elves, watching Guardian. Some time passed before he turned away. "One moment."

Guardian was content to stay still and watch. Dubbelix laid his hands on the elves' heads as they gathered around him, boosting up on each other's backs like a tangled, quivering web of muscle. Their heads angled as if listening to Dubbilex's deep humming sound. The tone thrummed, like a cicada. Definitely not English.

A little hand bumped Guardian's helmet. With his uninjured hand he helped Jake down onto his shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't realize you were trying to help." Jake fussed over his shoulder armor, muttering nonsense sounds with hard edges. Without looking Guardian knew the little guy glared at the bleeding injuries on his arm. "I'm fine, Jake."

The g-elves stirred around Dubbelix, turning one by one to look at Guardian again. He waited. Moving too fast hadn't been a good idea last time.

The one with the blood-splat on its chin came first. He'd have to call him Achilles or something. The elf approached on all fours, ears back, sniffing at Guardian. Guardian smiled. "Let's try this again. Hi. I'm Jim."

Emboldened, another came. Then another, and another. They seemed to travel like a pack, when one deemed him harmless, the others followed. Guardian quickly found himself crowded by sniffing noses, bright red eyes, and strangely gnarled hands that stole curious pokes at his shield. The bravest let him scratch behind their ears, and opened their mouths with a throaty purring sound.

These guys weren't as bad as he'd thought. Just curious, and a bit jumpy.

After most of the troop seemed acclimated, Dubbelix shooed them off. Guardian straightened up. "I'll have to come back to meet the other half, you said."

Dubbilex nodded, all business again. "Ten now patrol. The second introduction will not be so explosive, as the majority have accepted you."

"Right. Send me their schedules. They do have schedules, don't they? I like to know how many are running around at a time."

"Yes, director."

He'd eventually get used to that title. Patting an elf head that butted under his hand, Guardian checked his ripped sleeve. Definitely beyond easy repair. He'd have to order some more backups, if day three already used his first one. "I'll come by tomorrow, then. I need to go back to sublevel 8."

Dubbilex frowned. "I will guide you back after directing you to the medlab."

Guardian resisted the urge to roll his eyes, uncertain if the genomorph would understand the gesture. He would meet a stubborn genetically engineered telekinetic, now, wouldn't he? "It should be fine. I'll stop by my quarters in a bit. I'm trained to deal with little things like this."

The g-goblin straightened his coat. "Indeed. I'm sure you are equipped for the anti-coagulant in the hunters' saliva. However, I would rather avoid unidentified blood samples in the hallways. I must insist you go to medlab."

There wasn't much Guardian could say to that. Given he'd seen Dubbilex direct G-trolls heavier than elephants, he did not think the g-goblin would be intimidated by attempted resistance.

"Fine, I give." He held up his hands, only to stem a wince as the stinging intensified. On second thought, medlab seemed a good idea. "Lead the way, then."

He meant it part in fun and part in gratitude, but both seemed to go over the genomorph's head. Jake, clinging possessively to his shoulder, seemed to agree with Dubbilex's assessment, though, only uncurling as they moved towards the door.

The elves looked sorry to see them go, and Guardian wondered if they sat in there alone all day except feeding and patrols. He'd have to see if he could accompany some patrols, or introduce his security officers to them. With fewer bites. It might do those elves good to have some variation. He patted Achilles' head before shutting the door.

Wait, he wasn't sure if he'd call him Achilles…ah, well.

Dubbelix set a brisk pace to Level 2 of the surface building. A left turn from the elevator and a long hallway brought them to a series of pristine white doors. Beyond that, Dubbelix bypassed a waiting room in favor of a door marked with a red cross.

On the other side, a mellow version of an emergency room recieved them. Only two other patients sat on green-covered mattresses, which Guardian hoped was good news. No one batted an eye at the genemorphs, and he saw several gnomes perched on one of the treatment tables.

Dubbelix crossed to an open treatment suite, and pulled the partition curtain into place. Not really necessary; the other patients hadn't had theirs, but Guardain didn't argue. A nurse emerged from a side door, almost completely obscured by white scrubs. Guardian was spared explanation by Dubbelix's swift, succinct summation of the event.

He weathered enough first aid know what came next. Sit down, strip back the sleeve, stay still for cleaning, which would hurt on and off until tomorrow or the day after. The nurse had some antidote to the venom, easing the stinging.

To his consternation, Dubbelix remained standing there. Guardian could not fathom why. Dubbelix regarded his shield with interest.

"It's for defense, usually. Can fire energy blasts, though. A friend of mine made it for me a few years ago."

"Yet you did not use it earlier." Dubbelix blinked at him. As he'd learned genomorphs did when confused. Had they all learned that from Dubbelix, Guardian wondered, or was it natural body language?

"No. I didn't want to hurt them. I didn't think you would take me into real risk. They were aggressive, that's all. It didn't make sense to be too rough." Guardian pressed his teeth together as the nurse moved to one of the deeper gouges. "This thing packs a punch. It was built to withstand fistfights with armored opponents."

Dubbelix considered this for a moment, nodded. "Pragmatic. Did you encounter many such enemies?"

"Not too often. But plenty of other things." Stinging. Oh, no matter how technologically and medically advanced, antiseptic still hurt like glass shards. He talked to stay level. Keep chatting. Dubbelix wasn't curious, probably didn't care, but he was as useful an outlet as any. "Giant lizards, once. And this guy who tried to brain me with a tuba. That was interesting."

"Your vocabulary poses some logical challenges, Guardian. I fail to see any interest in such an event."

There again. He hadn't made that one up, and he would bet money the dry crackling he heard this time was thin genomorph chuckling.

It brought a smile to his face. "Call me Jim."

The nurse moved, then, and he could see Dubbilex. The genomorph searched him with thin red eyes, a look Guardian could not read.

"Jim." Dubbelix wrinkled his face, as if trying it out. He pulled his brows together as if the name tasted strange. "Very well. I have no second name to offer."

"We were introduced, but we didn't do it right." Guardian offered his right hand. "Shake?"

He could tell he startled Dubbelix, because the genemorph's whiskers curled backwards at the tips. He also belatedly realized he hadn't ever noticed if the goblin had thumbs, if he could shake hands.

Turned out Dubbelix did, and could. He reached out with his thin, strangely gnarled hand, and offered a surprisingly strong handshake. Not too shabby for a genetically engineered telekinetic. Guardian didn't even have to explain what to do. He smiled. "Nice to meet you, Dubbilex."

"And you."

He lifted his arm so the nurse could finish the dressing. That was going to rub under his shield. Oh well.

"You must miss it." Guardian glanced from the nurse to his companion. Dubbelix still made no move to leave. "The life of a hero."

He stilled, waiting as the medical tape went down. He'd left of his own volition. It had been the only option he could come up with. So, really, most of the answer was no. "Only parts." Reflexively he scratched Jake's chin-horns. "You get the itch and it never goes away, no matter what you do. I own that. It's true. I named myself Guardian for a reason. There isn't much like saving people, or keeping a place safe."

Jake purred, and Jim smiled. "But there are plenty of things I don't miss." Like people shooting at his eyes. That would never become nostalgic. "What I'm doing here looks like it'll be just about right. I wouldn't have left if I wasn't ready." That at least was true. And he had expectations to meet now, a lot of people and genomorphs depending on him. He'd only been here days, not long enough to know what would drag the sweep and thrill of street-scuffle back into him like an ache. But that was all part of the job.

Speaking of the job, and people he'd be working with. "My turn to ask." Dubbelix startled a bit at this concept of trading questions, but Jim didn't give him time to defer. "Is there a reason you're still waiting? You always have at least six things to do, don't you?"

Dubbelix nodding vaguely. "Ordinarily I would depart earlier. However, I feel partially responsible this time; had I arranged the meeting with more care, the elves would have understood it and this visit could have been postponed to more favorable circumstances."

Oh… Not what he'd been expecting. "Thanks." There wasn't much else to say, at least that he could think of.

"It is of little import. I acted for their peace of mind. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my duties, director." Dubbelix nodded to him, to the nurse, and walked away, leaving Guardian blinking after him.

So…clearly that hadn't been for his benefit. The genomorph evidently missed his teasing about concern for his welfare. He hoped he hadn't offended Dubbilex. Still, that the elves regretted their confrontation earlier was reassuring. If that were true he was sure they'd get on fine.

The nurse finally released his arm, with admonitions of greater care next time, and Guardian was free to pick up Jake and head back to work. The gnome shuffled on his shoulder more emphatically than usual before settling. Guardian scoffed. "That was for your protection, you know. You shouldn't sulk. It's not like you're the sturdiest little thing."

The gnome huffed, and short, blunt horns bumped Guardian's helmet. He took the hint and stopped teasing the creature who currently had easy access to his neck and ears. Back to work it was, then.

Chapter Text

The months following Jim Harper's introduction to Cadmus proved momentous. Three hundred new genomorphs began work. Project Match drew closer to target completion every day. And yet, Dubbilex felt little of the expected joy in their brother's progress. The g-gnomes responsible for Match's education, older than Dubbelix himself, reported that the strange, twisted degeneration of the clone's psyche had existed nearly from his creation, and now penetrated deeper and deeper as time passed. Something deeply, fundamentally wrong, something Dubbilex did not know how to combat. The gnomes were not meant to control Match, merely to build his mind, shape it. Yet the cracks kept appearing, the form shifting, concepts warping.

Dubbilex tried. He had been born late, but there may still be time to make Match the hero they needed so. To that purpose he questioned Jim Harper, mining memories of "hero." Jim gave him a wealth, foreign, bright flashes of "savior" and "protect" and "right." Dubbelix passed these treasures to the gnomes shepherding Match, who slid them into the clone's psyche. The joy of protecting the innocent, the pride and power of right action that Jim Harper felt in the very depths of his identity. If Match could learn these things, even so late, then he could still have a chance.

All for naught. The corruption was buried too tightly and too deep to allow the ideals imposed on top of it. These, too, twisted in Match's mind, darkened and fractured into strange, jagged, unrecognizable shapes. Reforged by rage and hate.

They needed to act now. Dubbelix could not believe his elder brothers mutterings that Match could not be salvaged. He was their hero, he had to be, no other had the potential. Dubbilex's own telepathic powers were better to reforge minds than the gnome's. One more try. The gnomes drew back their psychic influence to give him space. He tried again.

Savior-Family-Genomorph-Hero-Savior-Protector-Legacy-Free-Hero- Spoken in sensation, in gut instinct, in every way he could think to bend Project Match's mind to the information.

Only to have Match rigidly coil against his intrusion, then lash out in dark, jagged madness. Hatred-destruction-jealousy-pain-endless-silence-hatred-No-hero-jealousy-hatred-pain-No-No!-NO!

Dubbelix reeled back with a hissing scream, mind stinging from the sharp, splintered brush of insanity. He only realized he'd physically stumbled when a huge troll hand splayed across his chest, and the distressed murmuring of a thousand thought-voices chorused through his mind.

I am…I am well, brothers. I am well.

The troll did not let go, and none of them turned their attention. Low, quiet questions flooded every fiber of his being as he trembled. The gnomes sensed the distress in his thoughts, and the other genomorphs through them, and he had to draw back so as not to fright them. Match was…Match was wrong, broken, too developed, he could not change him now.

Failure. They had no hero.

He did not let them hear that. He did not let them see.

He is not well. But we may…we may be able to calm him. Bend his mind to peace. I must think. I must think…

He soothed them, slowly pulled aside their fear and replaced it with calm. Soon, thankfully, the psychic lanes of Cadmus ran clear and undisturbed.

Save, Dubbilex realized, one voice he'd lost in the chorus of dismay.

Worry-fear-help?-worry.

Dubbelix blinked. Centered himself against fatigue, pushed back from the troll's hand so that it could return to work. Then he mentally reached out to reassure that last questioning voice. Jake had, since partnering with Jim, developed a more acute sense of concern for those around him, most certainly through connection to the man's mind. Jake?

Jake acknowledged the name with a little flutter of gladness, as he did every time. But not long. He quickly launched into a rushed stream of feelings and images. Still recovering from the brush of Match's mind, Dubbelix had to slow him down.

This is about Guar-Jim?

He had been remiss, let Jim Harper slip off his radar as Match's degeneration became readily evident. Dubbelix tensed, expecting a report of suspicious behavior, another threat to be dealt with, another blow to their cause.

If they were to have a hero, he needed Jim Harper's mind. It was the best resource he'd ever had.

Yes. Jake's urgency twisted and knotted in Dubbilex's mind, and he allowed it to take him. Jake thrust a memory into his mind's eye. Late night. Seated on a bed of pillows and strange plush material (dog-bed, Jake inserted, in Jim Harper's voice), watching his assignment sleep.

Jim Harper twitched mid-dream, brow furrowed as sparks ran through his mind. Nightmares and empty-memories he did not recall, the scars in his mind roiling in his sleep like waves in water.

Dubbelix's frustration blurred the image. He had neither time nor energy for sympathy to psychically damaged humans. Jim Harper would remember none of it come morning, and Dubbelix had no skill in mending or lessening such scars of self. This was neither his problem, nor Jake's, he reminded sharply. It was a waste of time to report.

No! Jake's insistence made him pause, push aside his fatigue, pay attention.

Mid-nightmare, Jim Harper's mind flared with painful suddenness, like a firecracker. Dubbelix could see the man physically flinch, even in his sleep pressing a fist against his temple, teeth grit. In the memory, Jake startled out of his "dog-bed" and scampered forward, rushing to stem the rush of jarring pain. Dubbelix watched as Jim's mind slowly stilled under Jake's grip.

Jake withdrew the memory, and pressed a core of fear and sorrow and worry at Dubbelix.

Dubbelix scowled and shoved it aside. I do not have time for this. His pain is distasteful, yes, but of little import to us. You may ease it as you wish, do not report it to me.

Jake protested, but Dubbelix turned the thoughts back at him. He was damaged upon arrival. He showed Jim's first encounter with a gnome, accentuating the tics and scars already marring the man's mind. Fractured. Patched. Shadowed. Did Jake not understand the implications? He would have to be clearer. Nothing will change that. This pain is inherent to his damaged psyche. A cycle he will always suffer under stress. I can do no more than you do now, and- Without revealing Match's potential failure, he pressed the choking urgency down onto the gnome, drowning Jake's protests until they ceased in a shudder of fear.

Jake stilled at the sensation of how greatly Dubbelix needed to work. Dubbelix could feel him clinging to Jim Harper's shoulder more tightly than before.

A moment, regaining his bearing, catching his breath, and he regretted his harshness. He had come here to soothe. He will be alright. He has you to ease him. So long as you keep him safe, he will never know he suffers.

Jake halfheartedly agreed, and curled closer around Jim's mind as Dubbilex drifted away.

The next day, the most momentous of all, the new project hit full gear, and for the first time a genomorph heard a name: Project Kr. Dubbelix combed the edges of Desmond's mind for any discarded information, but came up empty handed. He was unwilling to risk tipping the scientist off with deeper probing. The huge metal door blocking access to "Project Kr" could not be psychically bypassed without risking the infant consciousness beyond it, if one existed. Dubbilex was consigned to frustrated patience, soaking up anything the gnome-grid could tell him, waiting for access to their new brother. If this project was what he thought it was…

Next, mentions of DNA splicing from scientists, from whose minds the gnomes gleaned flashes of combination and progress, the humans aglow with accomplishment and excitement. They had built something, something new. Something momentous.

Finally, after two weeks, the scientists deemed the new specimen (it was a specimen, now, as well as a project. A new brother) ready for initial mental education. Now Dubbelix waited with baited breath as the three selected gnomes approached the great metal door that had never yet been opened to genomorphs. He had to make a concerted effort not to radiate anticipation and apprehension onto the psychic network.

The information they'd gleaned thus far all pointed to a single conclusion, but he hesitated to raise his hopes. The disappointment with Match still stung in him like a wound, a blow to the genomorph cause he did not want to see repeated.

Now, waiting, he held certain snippets of knowledge close. Clone. Not just clone, though. Dubbilex locked the words deep inside him where the others would not hear, but they were there, warm and unfurling like the wings of a g-sprite. Superclone. Hero-clone.

Jake signaled sharply. Guardian, head of security, had been summoned to project Kr as well, for briefing on its inclusion and exclusion from his duties. To save anyone else the trouble, he carried the gnomes. They crouched comfortably in his big hands, transmitting everything they saw or sensed. Along with Jake, this gave Dubbilex four-part vision if he desired it.

Dubbelix found a corner where he would not be disturbed, and dedicated all attention to gnomes's transmission, seeing through each's eyes in turn.

Desmond stood by the huge KR door, fogging the room with excitement and harried frustration. He'd have preferred to be away immediately, and resented the necessity of Guardian's intrusion. Guardian wasn't blind to this, but tolerated the scientist with distant derision.

"I have them, Doc." Guardian tapped one heel with the other, a tiny, reflexive "at-attention" he offered even to the man he disliked.

"Took your time, too. Come, we don't have all day. Much work remains." Desmond gestured sharply, bony fingers half-fisted, and entered an access code on the door-control. With a heavy groan the metal parted, grinding across the floor.

The gnomes psychically swept the room, careful not to disturb infant minds, and found a single being inside. Directly opposite the door stood a raised pod, its steel interior brightly lit from above. A metal fixture stood prominently within, its surface slightly inclined towards them, empty. All attention immediately riveted to a smaller container by the control panel, a tube on wheels enclosing a small bundle of wrinkled pink skin.

Dubbelix's attention snapped to the infant's face with such insistency that every gnome in the room refocused there, on that newborn, empty mind. He'd met such before, in many genomorphs, but this one had black hair and human's shape. The only other humanoid project was Match himself, and this infant bore resemblance. Only time would tell how close it came, Dubbilex reminded himself. Calm. Wait. Patience.

Desmond's pride flooded the room, and one of the gnomes skimmed the name from his thoughts. Superboy. Dubbilex took it, gave it to the others. Cadmus echoed with the new name as gnomes throughout the complex caught glimmers of Dubbelix's excitement.

He could sense more in Desmond, tantalizing images of the Superman dancing in the scientist's mind, of clones and prestige. Of promotion and tools and a twisted iteration of 'hero' as Dubbelix found within Jim.

"It's…a baby." Guardian's voice broke the silence with a sort of awe, a gut-level reflex even from his damaged psyche. With the genomorphs safely deposited on the control console, he moved unerringly towards the tube with the child (in Guardian's mind, the Superboy was not Project Kr, but a child). Without thinking, he reached to touch through the glass suspending the tiny body, halfway expecting to feel a heartbeat through the tube's walls.

Wary of overburdening so young a creature, Dubbelix shifted to Guardian's mind to draw closer without actual contact. Since first altering the man's mind, access was easy as breathing. Dubbilex could slip down through thoughts to motivation in an instant. Today, he found a very simple desire there inside Jim. All Jim wanted, in that moment, was to take the baby (Jim called it a baby, rather than the scientifically accurate term infant) in his arms and wrap it in a blanket.

"Project Kr is indeed in infancy, Guardian. You are most observant. Do not touch the specimen, I don't want it compromised." Desmond's acerbic words pricked at Guardian, dragging his hand back from the glass, though he would rather have stayed.

Every genomorph in the room could sense, loud and clear, the first flicker of revulsion in Guardian, even if the man kept it to himself.

Desmond checked several boxes on his charts, said nonsense words to attending scientists, and scrutinized his selected genomorphs. At length, he deemed them passable and picked them up. At the hit of a button the central pod swung back its glass doors, baring its bowels, and the humans maneuvered around the metal stretcher to seal the gnomes in their glass globes. Desmond connected the atmosphere and nourishment tubes himself, determined to leave nothing to anyone else's questionable skills.

Dubbelix checked if the three gnomes were settled, and received affirmatives. Shifting on their feet, they prepared to integrate with their newest brother as Dubbilex cautioned them of the care they must take. He recalled Match to them, showed what he understood, the risk, the shuddering pain of madness. Brave little things, they accepted their mission with composed severity.

Guardian had only ever seen power-generating genomorphs confined before, and stood uneasily by the infant's pod he was forbidden to touch. Without thought, his hand brushed Jake's cheek as the identical gnomes were sealed into their glass cages (he called them cages).

All was prepared for their new brother. Dubbelix forced himself to draw away from the three gnomes in their glass bubbles, so they could integrate with the infant without interference. A few days yet of waiting remained before he could directly access the infant (why did Jim call it a child?), and a few weeks more before the Superboy's mind developed far enough to exist beyond the gnome's information inputs. Patience. Calm.

But calm was more difficult than patience. The scientists had given the Superboy similar treatment to Match. This sent anticipation and great apprehension buzzing through Dubbilex, and for the life of him he could stifle neither. Did the Superboy, bear the same potential? And, if he did, did he bear the same weakness?

If the Superboy proved flawed as Match, then Dubbelix did not know what he could do. But he had been too young to know Match's beginning. This opportunity was different. If Dubbilex could discover the break that corrupted Match's mind, and mend it in the Superboy before it happened, alter his education, then perhaps this brother could be the hero they so desperately needed.

Disconnecting from the three left him with Jake, and with Guardian, for Jim's susceptibility to Dubbelix made him almost as accessible as a gnome.

Guardian obeyed orders. He did not touch the container surrounding the child (infant, Jim, it was an infant, and would not be for long). But he stood protectively by it all the same, unwilling to move away. The germ of understanding that great, bright pod's purpose grew slowly in his mind, and Dubbelix did not think he'd ever felt such revulsion in Jim Harper before.

Guardian had to step back as Desmond crossed to his project's container. Oozing triumph, Desmond entered the access code and reached in for the infant. The Superboy, at this moment nothing more than a newborn ball of nerves, did not stir from deep cerebral hibernation, knew nothing, and flopped senseless in Desmond's grip.

Dubbelix had never sensed Guardian so impelled to defy an order. The man physically winced as the Superboy's head slumped forward. "What will happen to him?"

Desmond was not listening to. He laid the small body on the tray, sliding the bottom edge up to it catch the infant in the center and bolting the bar there. The tilt of the tray leaned Superboy's head back, and Desmond arranged his short limbs to each side, exposing the infant's white-covered chest to the bright lights.

Guardian stood tense, brows drawn together, as if he were in pain. "Doc, is he all right?"

"Certainly. Do you think I would put effort into a deceased project?" Desmond scoffed. "I suppose you may attempt to understand; this weapon's requires a great deal of sunlight for its physiology, which, as you may not have noticed, is relatively scarce down here. This chamber provides it with adequate energy. If ever it malfunctions you must inform me immediately."

This answer did not placate Guardian. He shifted his feet, wrestling with the desire to take the child from Desmond's hands, support the infant's head, certain not doing so could badly harm so little a creature. Each "it" on Desmond's tongue dug into him like a sharp dart. "Why is he asleep?"

In Jim's mind, Dubbelix beheld a brief flash of memory – or knowledge, he wasn't sure – that newborn babes should to scream, or else they were stillborn. Dead. The goblin regarded this information with confusion. No newborn genomorph screamed. None made a sound until properly programmed. Was that the difference between an infant and a child?

He'd have to make Jim see the Superboy was not a child. The Superboy was a genomorph, and if they were very lucky, he would be a hero (even Dubbelix was not immune to the power of the word "Super"). But Jim would only bring himself difficulties viewing the Superboy as a child.

"The weapon is not asleep, Guardian. Sleeping infants wake. Then scream and cry and everything else unpleasant." Desmond's triumph made him chatty, speaking in a sing-songy manner even Dubbilex knew was insulting, fit for a much younger audience than Guardian. "It would not be productive to program an active mind. These," the scientist gestured to the gnomes above the metal table, "psychically educate the weapon. All knowledge it requires prior to activation siphons through them." He checked the infant's position once more, deemed it exposed the largest surface possible, and stepped out of the pod.

Something Dubbelix had never seen before formed in Jim Harper's mind, and the man slowly clenched his fists. "Doc, you can't do that. No kid should have to grow up in there."

Desmond's astonishment at hearing those words could hardly overreach Dubbilex's. No provocation had ever moved Guardian to flat out reject Desmond's actions.

Guardian stood still, and the clarity of his purpose, the pure and undiluted need to protect this child (in his mind he called the Superboy a child), was such as Dubbelix had never experienced. It was like the dim memories of "protect," "save," only brighter, burning, a comet compared to dim candles.

His own flash of concern for the man was about as surprising as everything else, but Desmond would not allow-

"You overstep your bounds, Guardian. This project extends far beyond your understanding, but this does not: your opinions have no bearing on what I can and cannot do." Desmond commanded the genomorphs with a cold, precise thought. "The weapon stays."

Jake's correction was swift, jarring, dragging Jim's thoughts and feelings back on themselves. Such swift turnabout must bruise, but the sharpness of it made Dubbelix flinch, even though Jake was careful to block it away from him. Jim froze, winced as the weight of emotion and clarity and purpose suddenly curled back, psychic whiplash leaving him bare and shuddering and unable to breathe, with nothing in him but enforced understanding.

Dazed, he let it take his voice. "It is necessary."

Desmond smiled. "Correct. Close the pod."

Jake started, a little cry of dismay echoing in Dubbelix's mind. Dubbelix felt rather disgustedly impressed. Bending Guardian entirely could be sufficient, but Desmond wanted more. Guardian would not recall his disobedience, Jake made certain of that. Even so, forcing him against his own motivations could crack the psyche from trauma in a mind still capable of resistance. The only reason Guardian would pass unscathed was the hold Dubbilex had already established on him. Desmond was nothing if not effective in cruelty.

Guardian balked more from pain than defiance, still reeling, but Jake stabbed the obedient act into him, fearing Desmond forcing anything else on him. Guardian shuddered and accepted the impulse implicitly, as Dubbelix had programmed him to. The lever fell, sealing the Superboy inside his solar pod.

Guardian's mind was no longer a comfortable place to be. Dubbelix withdrew, awaiting some sign from the three gnomes inside. Desmond did the same at the instrument panels on the control terminal.

After a baited moment, green indicator lights lit up Desmond's screen, and sleepily, as if from far away, one of the gnomes told Dubbelix they were connected, and initiating the first phase of instruction. The blankness, the receptiveness, in the Superboy's young mind, the voracious hunger for knowledge that met the gnomes warmed Dubbelix's heart.

He had faith in this one. The Superboy was not like Match, would not fail like Match. He would see to it.

They would have their hero.

Chapter Text

It took him by surprise. He hadn't suffered a full-on migraine since the second day at Cadmus. Jim knew he had Jake to thank for that, because some mornings when his head twinged the gnome clambered onto his shoulder and pressed cold, knobby hands into his neck until the pain faded.

But not this time. Jake hummed under his breath, which was the only thing that carried Jim out of SL52. He managed up to 35 before the dizziness hit and flashing white spots obscured the far wall of the elevator. He was almost sure the elevator's upward pressure was going to black him out. Hitting the closest button and clinging to the side as it lurched to a stop, he stumbled off, found an out-of-the way wall, and slumped, pressing knuckles against his forehead.

Ow. Owwwww. Breathe, breathe. It would pass, it always passed. He just had to stay awake, stay focused, not fall over. Falling over on duty wasn't acceptable.

Jake's distressed buzzing jabbed into his head, making him flinch, and he remembered that he was still carrying the little guy. Jim reached up, intercepting the tiny hand reaching for his chin.

"Not…now, Jake." He didn't have to, instant telepathy and all that, but he grit out the words anyway, to make sure he could. A g-troll sitting on his eyes shouldn't stop him from speaking.

He actually felt the brush against his mind this time, he'd been getting better about that. It felt like fire, the white spots flaring over everything. "Ahh, ahh, stop! Jake, stop. I don't…I don't think you can do anything…about this one."

Jake withdrew with a squeak. That he hadn't done anything already indicated he couldn't. Jim was sort of glad, wincing as the sudden pain leveled off. Clearly his head had enough problems right now without extra help.

It felt bigger, deeper than any ache he remembered. His temples and eye sockets pounded. Little by little he sagged, head falling into his hands, letting the wall take most of his weight.

Stabbing pain at the base of his neck, the tiles he looked down at started weaving tiny circles, and he wondered if he'd be able to straighten up at all. Jim did not attempt it. What's wrong with me?

Something amid all the hurt kept bringing him back to that baby. What had Desmond called him? (Desmond called him an it, but he wasn't one). The…Kr…

Superboy? Superboy.

Just a baby. A tiny little baby, looked barely born. With black baby-fuzz on his head and tiny little fingers and knees, curled up on a metal tray in a glass cage.

"Jake, why did I…?"

Stabbing pain behind his eyes again, until he flinched.

Jake whimpered and Jim felt small fingers brush his cheek, grounding him. He knew why. It was necessary. No other option. Superboy had to grow up in there. Something about being here, being a clone, he couldn't grow up right without the pod. But at the same time, it didn't make any sense. He shouldn't have to…there should be another way.

There had to be, but there wasn't.

A lot of things weren't making sense these days. Maybe that's where the headaches came from, the little ones Jake wiped away. He was pretty sure he hadn't had so many before coming here. He couldn't quite seem to remember. Memory tended to blur when his migraines took hold.

Jim didn't know how long he stayed there in the corner, waiting for his heartbeat to stop hammering in his skull. It didn't ease much, but the next time he looked a g-elf stood in front of him, tail snaking back and forth.

Jim forced himself to straighten. "Hey, Achilles." His offered hand was rewarded with a scaly brow ridge, reassuringly solid. "Are you on patrol?"

The elf sidled a little, ears pulled back as he stepped closer.

"Right. So yes, but you're not supposed to be down this hall. You shouldn't run off without telling people. They'll worry. Did Jake call you over here?" He wouldn't put it past the gnome.

Jake scoffed, and Achilles coughed in his throat. Which, in Jim's book, was a definite yes. The elf hesitated before settling down on his haunches. He was six feet long, as big as a full grown man, but crouched down he was about level with Jim leaning on the wall.

"If you're curious about the new…the new clone, ask Dubbelix. Or Jake. I'm not…" He wasn't entirely sure whether pain or something else cut him off for a moment there. "I'm not really sure anything myself."

Didn't make sense. Desmond said genomorphs didn't feel curiosity. Didn't ask questions, because they couldn't talk. Just like so many other things he said they didn't do, like care and protect. He was either blind or willfully ignorant, because every time Achilles put his clawed hand on Jim's arm, he asked something.

Achilles reached out with uncharacteristic slowness, and laid his fingers over Jim's wrist. He knew where he'd bitten him months ago.

Jim managed a wan smile. "I'm all right. Just taking a rest is all. A little dizzy."

Jake chirped in exasperation, and Jim rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't sell me out like that, Jake." Later he'd try to explain the idea of morale, and lying to those you lead to help them. But that was for a time when his skull wasn't trying to kill him.

The elf gave a high pitched hissing sound, his equivalent of laughter, and Jake seemed to perk up a bit at Jim's teasing. The pounding pressure in his head did ease a bit with the other's closeness, so Achilles' hiss didn't hurt too much. Probably about as good as he could expect. He could manage a whole thought, at least. He couldn't very will sit here all day waiting on it to fade.

Right on time, he heard the shuffling of many g-elf feet, and a pair of boots.

"Uh, Guardian? Jim?"

And that would be Danes, one of the security officers who'd volunteered to help him integrate the elf-patrols. Guardian braced himself and stood. His headache flared up again. Jake shifted uncomfortably in response, but Guardian ignored him. He didn't want his subordinates seeing him on the floor chatting with a g-elf because his head hurt too much to move.

The world weaved unhelpfully, but he'd learned to working through pain blocks while on hero duty. This should be much easier. "Danes, I'll take this patrol. Have the evening off."

He must have looked like a g-troll ran him over, because for a moment Danes contemplated refusing, Guardian didn't have to be a telepath to see it. But Guardian gave him a 'I'm still in charge' look, and the man subsided. "Yes, sir. Do you need anything?"

Guardian retained the presence of mind to smile. Didn't want these guys worrying. He'd probably just worked too late the past few nights. "I'll be fine. Just need a walk to clear my head."

Danes nodded, still uncertain, but Guardian left him with nothing else to say. "Good night, sir."

"Good night."

He was steady on his feet, he was pleased to discover. Not one hundred percent; Achilles could probably knock him flat in seconds. Luckily, though, Danes wasn't psychic. Guardian hadn't realized how important that was until he started spending all of his time around an overly concerned telepathic gnome.

Jake huffed, and Guardian smirked. You know you are. You're worse than my mother.

A bit of confusion at that, because he'd never managed to communicate to Jake anything like mother or father. Genomorphs only had some concept of "brother." He'd overheard Dubbelix call other genomorphs that on occasion. But geneology, differences in relation like uncle or cousin confounded them. Everything Jim remembered or tried to explain just seemed to confuse the gnome.

His head hurt too much to try right now. Ow. There was too much to explain there.

It still hurt. Still ached and crushed him. But he was standing now, holding it up, and that was enough. He took his hand away from the wall and didn't fall. At his signal, Achilles and the others started down the hall, though they occasionally gave him wary glances.

I'm fine.

You couldn't lie to a psychic. White lies were transparent, whether "I'm not hungry yet," or "I don't mind." Jake knew he wasn't fine, but didn't protest as they set off. At least this way he had something to do other than stumble back to his quarters, sprawl on the bed blinded by icepacks, and try not to think about little babies in pods and closing doors because you had to. This way was much, much better.

Chapter Text

After a point sleeping it off was Jim's only option. He had a rough night, tossing and turning, trying to push the pillow down over his head hard enough to drown out the pounding. But reliable exhaustion soon took over, and come morning he was right as rain. Thank God for quick turnaround.

Chapter Text

It was a foolish oversight on his part. Dubbilex checked daily with Desmond's gnome to ensure he knew the scientist's prospective actions. When new broods started or task schedules were reorganized, Desmond was usually the earliest to know. His bull-headed unwillingness to alter plans saw that whatever he conceptualized, he would badger into reality.

But Dubbelix had not wanted to wait that morning when Kr's gnomes sent him the news, had no thoughts for transfers or Desmond or anyone. Kr was ready for further psychic contact, his mind stable on steady foundations. Dubbilex could finally meet him, face to face and mind to mind, to weave the psychic link that would sustain their brotherhood for all Kr's life. Soon, slowly but surely growing closer, he could begin shaping Kr into the hero all genomorphs so badly needed.

Few things short of full power loss (impossible with the sprites working) could have kept him from Kr's side that day. Looking back, of course, he could see he'd been hasty, sentimental, not nearly as methodical as he should have. It would have avoided some discomfort.

But, nonetheless, nothing could replace the sensation of so new a mind uncurling to meet his offered thought, reaching out to clumsily link with Dubbelix. So eager, pieces flying this way and that, no structure, all strength. Dubbilex took Kr's strands and nudged them into order.

First connections had always felt somehow important to Dubbilex. They were a foundation of everything that was to come, a first cemented sensation of trust and togetherness that Kr would not consciously remember, but formed the pathways in his mind that would allow Dubbelix to reach him in times of need. It was the base of everything.

It was beautiful.

He'd been so closely tangled up in the little one, searching Kr's deep identity for the cracks that had caused Match's degeneration, that he nearly missed the chorused warning from Jake and Desmond's gnome as the Blockbuster transfer drew near. It took two tries, plus the added volume of the cargo troll, to startle Dubbilex to reality.

But a first connection could only be swiftly broken without risking the young mind that clumsily built it. Dubbilex would hazard no injury to Kr. Aware the trouble he'd face if caught, Dubbelix freed enough of his consciousness stumble out of the chamber, telekinetically sealing it behind him. With any luck, he'd been swift enough-

Desmond's thundering anger sunk all hopes of that, lancing out like a weapon into Dubbilex's mind, and sending little tremors of alarm from the gnomes. Still half-tethered to Kr, Dubbelix stumbled to the wall, struggling to put up the proper shields without jostling his younger brother's mind. Detached thoughts hovered in the edges as he tried to shove the rush of aggression and suspicion aside. Desmond was always volatile when his own projects were involved. The brunt of his anger was enough to dizzy an inexperienced gnome. Hurt an infant mind.

He would not let Kr catch any backlash.

The scientist's displeasure barely processed in words, just the fundamental sentiment that roiled and jabbed. The dark, spiteful core of threat was not so common, however, and forced Dubbilex to pay attention. Desmond did not often act on that urge, but when he did it was unpleasant.

He was almost finished with Kr. Once they were separate, Desmond could do as he pleased.

Then, to further complicate things, Jim Harper interjected, his normal stubborn goodwill tainted with something else. Dubbelix was recovered enough now to properly hear words.

"Doc, don't yell at him."

Yet Dubbilex startled when the first thing he heard was Jim Harper, an honest man, offer a mere extension of truth, rather than truth itself. "This was my fault." Dubbilex raised his eyes to the man with cold suspicion clenching in his chest.

Jim did not lie. Should not lie. Good men did not lie. Though Dubbilex could loudly sense Harper's goodwill, a surprising protectiveness driving his actions, and discern nothing deeper or sinister in them, Harper was blatantly lying.

Remembering with a jolt the effect his abrupt wariness could have on his infant brother, Dubbilex dismissed all else to fully detach and stabilize their mental link. Desmond's inarticulate demands of explanation passed through him without registry. Guardian was still half-lying, and that set every scale on Dubbilex's back on edge.

He was not quite finished when a hand (Jim's) pressed urgently but carefully on him. A split second's unease and Dubbilex caved in Kr's favor, and so walked without protest wherever Guardian steered him. Physical contact made the man's tumult of emotion difficult to ignore, a whirl of agitation, worry, and, for the first time Dubbelix had felt, frustration directed at him. As soon as he safely ended contact with Kr, Dubbelix pushed Jim's hand aside to quiet the ruckus.

He muttered something curt without thought, contacting Kr's gnomes to ensure his less than serene departure had caused no harm to their brother.

Relief at their reassurances was cut short by a very cross looking Guardian, whose patience clearly reached its end as he stepped into Dubbilex's space. "Dubbilex, what were you doing?"

Dubbilex had not been accustomed to feel the hum of exasperation from Jim Harper. But having gathered himself fully, he was equal to answer it. Guardian's enquiries were unwelcome and unwarranted, and Jim's dishonesty, which Dubbelix had thought beyond the man's capabilities, made every distrust reasonable.

"You did not authorize me."

If Harper's apparent honesty and clarity of identity concealed this deceit, what said his scars did not cover other, deeper secrets from Dubbilex's sight?

Kr was none of Harper's business, and judging by Jake's reports, the man had not desire to the contrary. The project had somehow conflated in Guardian's mind with both unease and pain. Which was fine with Dubbilex. And made Harper's stubbornness in demanding explanation remarkable. And frustrating.

Guardian stepped in his way, for the first time making an act of physical threat, and Dubbilex very nearly countered him telekinetically by reflex. He checked himself, aware that only worsen the situation. Guardian felt this breach of security required and justified his involvement. That, and an incomprehensible whisper of injured expectation nudged at Dubbilex from behind Guardian's frustration, as if Jim's actions deserved some recognition Dubbilex had failed to offer.

Dubbilex scowled. This had gone far enough. He had no intention of revealing his purpose here, but Jim Harper would hardly drop the matter. He was not that kind of man. This left Dubbilex one recourse.

Locking eyes with Guardian, Dubbelix reached out telepathically. Even when Jim Harper was angry at him (he had to admit, Jim clearly was), the man's mind lay open. Though the link was weaker and had been forged through trauma not instinct, Jim Harper was tethered to Dubbelix as was Kr. More so, perhaps, for Jim's mind could only shape as Dubbilex willed it. It would be the work of a moment to overwrite his demands and send him away. Desmond should not be kept waiting.

Yet before Dubbilex could force his will onto Jim Harper, he slammed into a psychic wall. Recoiling in shock, Dubbilex flashed utter amazement at the resistance's origin. Jake!?

The gnome met Dubbelix wrapped in a halo of anger. While Jim simply flickered with exasperation, Jake blazed. Dubbelix attempted to correct Jim again, but Jake blocked him with a silent shriek of outrage, and Dubbelix was forced to retreat, feeling the sting echo through him.

Shock felt hollow and cold in his chest. No gnome was supposed to impede him, let alone shield another mind. That defied everything he had ever taught this ungrateful genomorph. Anger surged in Dubbilex, sharpening his thoughts to daggers.

But Jake reached faster, and stalled Dubbelix's retaliation with a flurry of memory. Jim's memory, in fact, of the past few minutes. Though initially Dubbelix tried to tear aside justifications from either man or gnome, it was not as he expected. That first moment Dubbelix had been too tangled with Kr to hear, that instant before Jim lied, Jake pressed onto him Jim's flash of worry and concern as he watched Desmond whirl on Dubbelix. The urge to safeguard and protect for which the Jim Harper had named himself Guardian once upon a time.

Dubbelix hesitated. The lie was…not entirely a lie, he saw. It had been only a lie in terms of Dubbelix's involvement. And there it had been meant…as a shield. A tool, just as the one Jim wore on his forearm. Deployed…intentionally, to redirect Desmond's attention from Dubbilex…onto Jim.

But…but that made no sense. Why had Guardian intercepted Desmond's anger of his behalf?

Jake's anger faded to urgency and worry and fear, Dubbilex realized. The gnome repeated Jim's memory plaintively, as if desperate to make Dubbelix understand.

He did not, fully. But…perhaps enough. Because the same sensation, the desire to help, to protect, raced through Guardian's psyche now, strengthened by the pressures of time and the fires of frustration. It even seemed the frustration tied into the cycle, seeming to stem from unfulfilled desire to aid.

Did Jim really simply mean to help? By lying? When his body language spoke of anger and intimidation? It made no sense. Dubbilex could not reconcile the thoughts he heard with the behavior in front of him.

Before he could fully decide, Jim Harper changed the choice. Realizing that Dubbelix felt threatened, Guardian retreated, arms at his sides. With more wounded concern in him now than anger, Jim looked at Dubbelix with a pained expression. "I'm trying to help here. Is it so hard to throw me a line?"

Jim's earnestness and clarity of purpose swayed Dubbilex yet again, in spite of all suspicion. Guardian's frustration had fizzled now, and alongside his goodwill only a slight scruple remained, a mix of integrity and loyalty to job and to responsibility. That prevented him from simply ignoring Dubbelix's breach of conduct.

He wanted to help. Truly, genuinely wanted to help. The realization calmed Dubbelix, at least in terms of Jim's stubbornness. Jake had opposed him, and this was a worry indeed. But, even so, he saw why the gnome had objected to his impatience. Why wipe the mind of a man who seemed obstinately determined to be useful? That was cruel. That was behavior worthy of Desmond.

Sometime later, Dubbilex would give Jake a stern explanation about priorities, and the stakes associated with protecting a human like that, regardless of reason. But that could wait.

"I do need to go back to the elevator soon, you know."

Jim asked for justification. Earnestly, expecting a good reason, a mark of respect for Dubbelix. In reward for this Dubbilex told him the truth, as far as a human could understand.

"I was meeting my young brother."

In hindsight, even that approximation too closely referenced the genome mind-network, but Jim's honest shock was too unexpected and gratifying for Dubbilex to regret at the time.

"You…hadn't met him before?"

Jim's conviction that this meeting should have been arranged earlier made no sense. Dubbelix could only wonder what customs Jim had lived with before in terms of the start of new projects.

The man's irritation evaporated, as he evidently deemed this reason justified. Only one core of that emotion between frustration and hurt remained. Jim shook his head a little. "Then why didn't you just ask?"

Dubbelix blinked. Asking entrance had never occurred to him, as he'd never thought Jim willing to authorize unnecessary access. Guardian was efficient and good nature in equal measure, to be sure, but Dubbelix had figured those qualities rendered such thoughts improbable. He reminded Jim of Desmond's orders half in an attempt to return Jim to the attitude he'd expected. After all, Dubbelix could doubtless be usefully employed elsewhere in the time he'd wasted to see his brother.

But he apparently was having an off day, because with barely a moment of derision for Desmond, Jim came to a decision that Dubbilex would never have accurately predicted. "I'll be coming down later. So I'll let you in."

Dubbelix stared at him. "You have sought to avoid the project." Jake had reported as much. Dubbelix could hardly blame him; after all, though Jim did not exactly recall Desmond's cruelty, the echo of discomfort must still linger. Even now, he could sense a flickering of unease in Jim Harper's memory at the prospect of Kr. According to Jake, Jim had suffered one of his headaches after installing Kr. Actually, Jake had claimed it was much worse than usual, though when Dubbelix sent Achilles to investigate, the hunter reported Jim conscious and in control of himself, so Dubbelix considered the gnome's report embellished.

Regardless, that Jim would voluntarily submit to that discomfort again, for the sake of a genomorph, no less, and one who had just frustrated him, left Dubbelix confused, and a bit concerned. He had never observed masochistic tendencies in the man before, and worried for his stability if he suddenly developed them now. Dubbilex offered avenues to to rescind the offer, reminding Jim of the unease he could sense.

But the man only smiled and shrugged it off, leaving with an amused and lingering sense of trust, rather than ill will. Even as he walked off, Dubbelix could sense how the thought concept of granting Dubbilex access to his brother, which would doubtless cause Jim discomfort and some unease, made the man…glad.

Smiles were meant, Dubbilex reflected uncertainly, to disguise discomfort. But that made none of Jim's behavior more understandable.

He was forced to admit, not for the first time, that even agreeable humans confused him.

Awaiting Jake's signal (he had no intention of attracting further attention), Dubbelix had ample time to think, and much to think on. Jake's actions still disturbed him, and he had to decide how to react. The gnome's argument had been justified, in this case, but nothing justified blocking his psychic motion. Jake had to know the danger Guardian posed, even now, if his behavior could not be vouched for. There was not up debate here.

Still, Jim's actions seemed aimed at balancing his post and integrity, and his genuine desire to deflect Desmond and be useful to Dubbelix. This was useful, reassuring, if confusing. Dubbilex would have to grant the man some benefit of the doubt in the future, so as not to hastily cut off acts likely intended in goodwill.

Harper's offer, though meant in aid, was not required. Dubbilex had completed the link, and did not need to be near Kr to know his thoughts and dreams, and to orchestrate the superclone's education. Jim was naturally misled in his understanding of Dubbelix's needs. Still, it had been an…unexpected gesture, and a good-natured one. The more Dubbilex dwelt on it, the more he found it agreeable to see Kr's face again, to spend a few moments sharing physical space with his brother. He rarely had that luxury with his kin when they were so young.

Dubbilex had never felt such sentimentality before, and it puzzled him, a strange an foreign thought that somehow felt natural and easy in his mind. Until he realized where he may have received it. Goodness, if he himself picked up sentimentality from Jim Harper, how easily influenced Jake must be, in near constant contact with the man!

Dubbilex spent the afternoon expecting Jim to change his mind or lose the time for his offer. A psychic signal from Jake, though, ended all suspicions. The gnome requested so softly, so worriedly, that even as angry as Dubbilex was, he could not entirely ignore him.

He would have to keep a closer eye on how contagious Jim Harper's sentimentality really was.

Months of proximity had left Jim's thoughts as obvious to Dubbelix as ambient temperature. The quiet unease permeating sublevel 52 was no exception. Dubbilex followed the hazy trail and found the man rooted at Kr's door by dread, and calm resignation. As with many humans, expectation of suffering sometimes seemed worse than pain itself for Jim, and Dubbelix almost felt sorry he indirectly caused confrontation with this imaginary threat.

It would be easier just to avoid it all together. "If you prefer, I will enter on your behalf."

Jim laughed and ignored his own uncertainties. "That would be childish of me." Dubbelix had never met a man who so readily disregarded himself for no reason.

Then, an impression from Jim's thoughts offered a new conclusion. In some part, perhaps, and no small one, Jim's willingness seemed for Kr's sake. Somehow, his coming here somehow meant to him some benefit to the child (he still insisted on calling Kr a child).

Interesting. Certainly misled, but interesting.

The room held no dread for Dubbelix, and he hung back as they entered, curious. Jake had said Kr's status often passed through Jim Harper's thoughts, disconcerting the man more than it should. Jim was sympathetic to genomorphs, of course. That tendency had always marked him, but he had never shown the propensity to fret over their fates. He was kind, defended Jake from Desmond's distaste for genomorphs, but nothing had disturbed him as this did. Why Kr?

Jim's fixated on the pod in the center, though his task only concerned the computer system in front of it. Dubbelix was unprepared for the reaction. He had never felt Jim so astounded, so deeply disturbed, as now. "Dubbelix, he's-!"

Incoherent, too. Jim's thoughts jumbled, barely more discernible than his words. Beyond that deep, dark revulsion that Dubbilex could not understand, Dubbilex sensed Jim was most unnerved by Kr's swift development. When Jim ordered his thoughts, he tried to say as much, only half managing. And called Superboy "a kid."

That accelerated development, and that "kid" and those "two weeks" all wove into a subtle, noxious flicker of horror running along the base of Jim's mind. Dubbelix had never noticed it before, yet thought it had existed almost as long as he'd known Jim. Suspicion, quiet and ignored, suddenly woke.

Because of a "kid."

Jim looked hard at the Superboy, his distaste coiling so loud, and so uncomfortable, that Dubbelix wondered at Jim's being here at all. The dread ached dully in the dark, cobwebbed corners of Jim's psyche, like a heartbeat. In Jim's mind, a strange connection threaded between him and Kr. The connection was not psychic, Jim's creation alone, with no power behind it. Yet it existed. A sense of…of…affection? Concern? Jim's mind whirled, comparing his own memories of youth (they were jumbled, too swift and confused for Dubbelix to catch), with those he imagined for Kr. And that comparison frightened Jim. Wounded something inside him, a pain that came from no harm he suffered, but perceived harm done to Kr. Empathy? Sympathy?

Why did he react so strongly, so disgustedly, to the child's condition? What claim did Kr have on Jim Harper that no other genomorph seemed to hold, not even Jake.

Not for the first time, Dubbelix wondered what exactly Jim had expected from a cloning facility. Normal development terms were too inefficient. Dubbilex never considered Jim Harper naïve, to be childishly (he called the Superboy a child, who was not, and now he had Dubbelix doing it, curse him) unnerved by matters of business.

Dubbilex attempted to explain, but his words failed to soothe Jim. Jim's conception of "right," of "normal," which Dubbelix had never really encountered, left little room for Dubbilex to explain this was normal. The solar suit was the only project-specific technology in use, the rest was standard procedure. So he tried something else, pushing the promise of 'brotherhood' onto Jim. Jim was human. That should be easy to understand. The genomorphs would let no harm come to their brothers.

Jim trusted the genomorphs without choice. Dubbelix had made him trust them months ago. He could sense Jim bend around the reassurance, letting it hush discomfort in the recesses of his mind.

And yet, there, Jim stopped short. And Dubbilex stared. The resistance could not be voluntary. Jim was incapable. Something deeper refused to fade, the hiss of unease too strong, for all Dubbelix's explanations. The surface of a deeper revulsion, and horror, and…and fear? Dubbilex could not trace down that deep. But that…thing held Jim still. Psychically conditioned to accept Dubbelix's words, to bow to his opinions, Jim considered what he said, assented to it, and then recoiled in horror from the thought.

In that moment of fracture, staring at the Superboy there on his pedestal, Jim's unease crystallized into the same conviction that seized him two weeks ago, that had set him against Desmond. Jim knew, as unshakably as he knew his own name, that this was wrong.

The visceral rejection disturbed Dubbilex, but not as much as the sudden, vicious ache it drove through the man's psyche. Dubbelix had noticed a dull pain in Jim's mind when they'd entered the room, but thought little of it when Jake did not react. Jim had not complained, unaware of the ache until he touched the Superboy's containment pod. A little twinge there, doubtless from the echo Desmond's order two weeks before. Even so, it had been dim, barely there, hardly cause for concern.

But now, Jim pressed his head against the glass, and Dubbelix could hear the jagged pressure grating behind his eyes. It's sudden appearance was unnerving. This conviction, the idea of the Superboy, of horror and protectiveness and "child", seared inside Jim, tethered like a trigger-wire to some shadowed wound deeper than Dubbelix could see. Reopening it. Aggravating it, until Jim's psyche crackled.

Dubbelix was glad, then that Jim was not psychic, could not link with Kr. Dubbilex shuddered to think what such nearby suffering could do to so young a mind if Kr were able to feel it. Dubilex himself was moved to pity, to worry. Jim's pain was so sudden this time, and so clearly tangled up in the man's genuine care for Kr, however misguided and confused. There was no reason for Jim to feel this. It was senseless. Jake should have stopped this already.

Dubbilex reached for the jagged part of Jim's mind, but froze when a spark of pain was drawn by his touch. Jim's mind accepted Dubbelix's influence, that this was right, necessary, yet the concept of wrong remained, twisted, resilient. Some part of Jim clung to it, even as it tore pieces of him apart.

The two ideas crossed, clashed, cut. They could not exist at once, not without collateral damage. Minds like Jim's were not made to carry such inherent contradictions. The grating pain worsened at Dubbelix's prodding.

Concern drove Dubbilex to touch Jim, to more easily access his mind. That concept had to be excised, like shrapnel, before it did worse than aggravate old scars.

Jake reached with him, all Dubbelix's urgency reverberating in the gnome. Jim's pain cut more sharply at the gnome, so closely connected with the man. Dubbilex could not believe Jake had not already acted.

Jake hissed in hurt and fear and said he couldn't stop this, he'd tried. The gnome's desperation made Dubbilex stop, listen.

Jake was worried. Jake believed (belief, such a dangerous word, one he learned from Jim), Jake believed suppressing "wrong," making Jim unaware of it, would do harm. Because he had suppressed it before, wiped away, but it was back, and this time stronger, deeper, blacker. It recurred. It was somehow fundamental, it was somehow Jim.

The wound was worse, or at least aggravated. There was no arguing that. Scars were not supposed to hurt.

Dubbelix caught the thick, sparking web, "wrong" and "child" and Superboy cracking through Jim's psyche, pressed against it. Tremors radiated from it, deeper than he could follow. As Jim bent to Dubbilex's will, the backlash flared and burned, "wrong" refusing to break, until Jim physically flinched.

No-wrong-child-pain-no…shouldn't have to …no.

Dubbelix rounded on Jake. Would he rather Jim suffer this? To have their brother's presence torture him?

Jake shrank with misery, but he did not want Jim to hurt. Dubbelix did not want Jim to hurt. Together, then.

Dubbelix compromised. He did not make it "right," he simply made it temporary. Made the "wrong" less. Jim's affection for the Superboy, though Dubbelix had yet to quite understand it, had deep influence, and so Dubbilex could use it. He pressed into Jim his conviction absolute certainty that Kr would not remain forever in that pod. Dubbilex would see to it. If Jim could but wait (he could because Dubbelix could make him do anything), he would see it too.

The Superboy would be fine.

And, so long as he believed that (so easy to shape, belief, yet so fragile), Jim would also be fine.

A moment, two, and the stalemate gave. Jim breathed. As the ache died away, he readily accepted Jake and Dubbelix's offerings of calm and peace, exhausted, but seeming little worse for wear. Jim opened his eyes, finally, and Dubbelix pulled back from physical contact just in time.

Jim looked at Kr with a small stir of pity, that same sense of concern and something else, something warm and "guardian" and dimly painful that Dubbelix did not understand. Duller, softer than the pain Jim had just weathered, much more a natural part of his mind, and more welcome. Somehow related to "child," a blurred glimpse of a small, redheaded human.

Jim smiled because of that warm, soft pain when he promised to come down and see Kr. The chance of another migraine did not seem important, not in front of a "child" (not a child. Still not a child).

As Jim retreated to his work, Dubbilex watched his brother quietly, and took pleasure in the welcome that Kr offered when he reached out. No pain here. No cracks or triggers, no darkness. He must protect this. So young they could hardly interact, but Kr held tightly enough for Dubbilex to feel the developing sureness of his mind.

Dubbelix looked at his little brother, and felt warmth. Always, it had been his, but he could not help but wonder if he learned to name it from Jim.

Jim was exhausted but he still waited as long as he felt he could manage. Dubbelix sensed the delay was for his sake. That was some part of "hero," after all, as he understood it.

Jim Harper should stop doing minding others' sakes when he seemed harmed doing so. Dubbelix could not ignore the core of loyalty that Jake that to the man for it, and that was most disturbing.

Yet the unease was a dim thing, and Dubbelix would not think on it now. Jim could never take advantage of Jake's trust. Looking at his brother, who Jim Harper wished to protect, Dubbelix wished there were no Luthor. No dark scars, no deep, hidden webs, no Desmond. Because he could believe now that Jim Harper was a good man. A trustworthy man. Without Cadmus, he would have wished…

But there was too much at stake, too many brothers to "protect" to allow attachment even to a good man. Too much to risk.

"Dubbelix?"

Time to go. Dubbilex bid Kr's gnomes good night and turned to go. It had been a privilege to see them, and he was glad. Grateful, even.

Rubbing his head, Jim paused to make sure the door locked. "I'll authorize you to go in there whenever you need to."

Even Dubbelix could be taken by surprise. The offer, which he sensed was genuine, was so thoroughly unexpected he did not immediately respond. 'Need' Jim said, not want. As if it should happen. And therefore Jim would make it so.

He recognized his own gratitude, but he wasn't certain he liked the feeling. There were no words he knew to offer in response, either. So he settled for a truth. "That is kind of you."

Jim gave him a worn, not-thinking, not-feeling smile that meant he'd heard but not agreed. Dubbelix felt it best to let him go, so he could recover his strength.

He'd prefer to be away from Jim Harper for a little while.

Chapter Text

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Six months ago, Dubbelix would not have thought it possible. The very suspicion made a mockery of everything he understood. Yet, more and more, he was beginning to think, to wonder, to believe, and he could not shake it.

Jake was up to something. Something he was hiding from Dubbelix.

Psychics should not be able to keep secrets. Dubbelix had linked to Jake upon the gnome's activation, their minds firmly entwined for the entirety of Jake's life. And yet Jake had somehow concealed this, locked in a box deep in the gnome's mind that Dubbelix could only barely sense, could not enter. Buried so cleverly that for an unknown time Dubbilex had not even noticed it.

A core, dense and simple. Dangerous and linked to firm, purposeful action. To Jim.

The first night Dubbelix recognized Jake's impenetrable box, his agitation kept the trolls by his pod awake with fretful spikes of psychic energy. He managed, after an hour, to control himself, bottling the turmoil within his own mind where it could not touch others.

G-gnomes did not act. They obeyed, listened, worked in tandem for the genomorph cause. Anything less than synchronization would doom every one of them. They would be deemed faulty, disobedient, willful, and condemned to death or worse. The psychic linkages that bound them together, unbreakable, incorruptible, shared this truth among all genomorphs from the moment they opened their eyes. Jake knew what he risked. And yet he chose to anyway.

Dubbelix had no doubt this was Jim's fault. No other source could have taught Jake willfulness, or deceit. Telepaths knew better than to deceive each other. Anything could be dragged forth, if an opponent possessed sufficient willingness to harm a mind. Secrets were merely asking for harsh treatment. Only from a human could Jake learn the necessity for such deep, disturbing concealment.

And yet, Dubbelix also knew that, much as Jim had damaged the genomorph cause in this way, he had not done so intentionally. Jim was unaware of so much he did, the ramifications of his thoughts and actions. Even Dubbelix himself had noticed slight alterations in himself that came from the man, and Jim could not know of it.

Removing Jake from Jim was out of the question. That would require Desmond's intervention, and Dubbelix would sacrifice many brothers before he let that man learn of his telepathy. Not to mention the difficulties: Jake had been linked to Jim's mind for so long he had far deeper access than even Dubbelix, an advantage they needed over the man that would take precious time to rebuild in a new gnome.

No, Jake must stay. And he likely knew that. Dubbelix grit his teeth.

He must discover the gnome's intentions. Jake's increased protein intake implied increased psychic input, a fair amount of it, yet there had been no reports of unusual activity in the genomorph grid. Thus, Jake was not interacting with another genomorph. The gnome's attention must lie elsewhere.

Dubbelix forced himself calm, letting the humming of his brothers' minds soothe him. He would uncover the root of Jake's plans. Then he would force the gnome to see the terrible error in his actions, the risk to his entire family he took in choosing to hiding his thoughts.

In the morning, Dubbilex ran his usual psychic check-ins with the genemorphs assigned to the important faculty; reports of actions, thoughts, worries, and any psychic corrections. Dubbelix was well practiced in suppressing unease from his brothers' perception; he could scarcely recall a day with nothing to concern him. None of them sensed his heightened tension.

Jake did not sense any difference in treatment. Dubbelix would not confront him until he had the upper hand, knew the details. For now, too much else hung over them for him to ignore the gnome's input.

Another seizure of sorts had rocked Jim's mind last night, Jake reported. Short; Jake had curtailed it as he could, but the pain had been disturbingly deep nonetheless. Even Dubbelix had to agree that these aches were increasing in frequency. Jake had dragged Jim to see Superboy before lunch today, as their compromise between Jim's mind and reality anchored on the boy's presence. As long as Jim reminded himself of Superboy's progress, he could endure Cadmus, and everything in it that was "wrong."

Dubbelix could sympathize, but little else. He hurried Jake through the rest. Nothing else, really. Jim still fretted about the lab on SL 51. Not consciously, and not logically, just that nagging itch that wouldn't leave the man alone. Poor Jim. Slight delusions plagued most humans, and Jim was particularly excusable, given the mess his mind was in to start with. Still, Dubbelix wished he would let it go. Jim did not remember, of course, but a grumpy Desmond had ordered him several months ago to avoid that floor entirely. The sooner Dubbelix and Jake could send the idea out of his head, the better.

Dubbilex directed Jake to report any changes, and turned his attention to more important things, like analyzing the data he'd picked up from Jim during contact. He was beginning to understand some of Jim's insistence on direct communication sometimes being preferable to three-part psychic relays. It was so difficult glimpse Jim through Jake without Jake knowing. But this was the key to deciphering Jake's actions.

Dubbelix was no fool. If no other genomorph sensed unusual psychic activity from their brother, this all had to center around Jim. He was the only person in the complex Jake had access to without regular interaction with another genomorph.

And yet…nothing. For a long time now Jim's mind had been Dubbelix's domain as much as Jake's. The gnome was perhaps closer, but, then, he had not broken the barriers Dubbelix had. Jim's tangles were well known to him, and try as he might, he could not find anything new.

The answer must be deeper down, if it were here at all. Dibbilex would have to weigh the threat before delving there, not wanting to harm Jim if he could avoid it.

One of the gnomes on the upper floors signaled, announcing another report arrived from Luthor. Immediately, Dubbelix reoriented his attention, dismissing men and gnomes and all their frustrations. Cadmus' director did not often send directions.

In the flurry of activity and exchanged thoughts, searching for some staffmember whose mind would reveal the report's contents, Dubbelix did not have time to tend the quieter hum that came from the lower floors. He told the gnome in question to hold for a brief time, and moved to the next staff member on receiving an affirmative.

Chapter Text

"Sir, we have something from Floor 2."

Jim held up a hand and finished logging personnel assignments, watching them broadcast on the large lcd screen on the wall. "Beta squad, sublevel four, five minutes. The rest of you, schedules are up. We're on the clock today, people." Amid the chorus of "yes sir" he crossed to the control terminal. "What?"

"Another equipment transfer. Ten floors." Tanner flicked a window down to touchscreen to Jim. He turned it right-side up, scanning parameters. Five units, two trolls required, escort of four, scheduled for…

09:10. Twenty minutes from now.

Had Jim had a little less practice, his quiet hiss would have evolved into the curse it wanted to be. The next time the VIPs decided half the upper levels should be reorganized, they should tell everyone in advance. Security officers weren't infinite, especially when some shifts reportedly couldn't use genomorphs because they apparently lacked the "organizational capacity" of humans.

Jim pressed his knuckles into his helmet. "Theta squad, any of you already prepped I need on Ground level 2. That goes for you, too Epsilon; I need four men. I'll give you a break before 10.00."

After the expected grumbling, directed-but-not-directed at him, Jim got his four, and that was all he had time to worry about. He'd buy them coffee later. "Danes, can you take Delta?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, you're on in thirty." Danes gave him a quick salute before heading out to clear the central halls. They'd already been at this since 5 AM, and there was a long day to go yet.

Jim had enough men, barely, for this. Projects couldn't cross paths and there were limited elevators, but he was used to that by now. It just took fanatic time management. Jim did not want to even see the poor people who'd had to schedule the actual moves, when just managing his troops took enough headaches. Still, they had it under control at the moment. As long as there weren't too many more surprise assignments, they might be able to make lunch break while still breathing.

Jake hummed, a short, curt sound and something in Jim's stomach clenched. No, there wasn't time for-

Tanner turned sharply to her screen. "What–? Sir, something from — the tech office?"

Jim waved her aside, brow furrowed as he scanned the report. Sent to him because of clearance issues, power failure in a lower lab starting one minute ago. The far half of SL51 had just dropped completely off the grid.

Wait. Sublevel 51. Oh no.

He'd half-keyed his passcode for the rest of the report when an incoming transmission interrupted him. Jim drew back in surprise as Desmond himself appeared in video-miniature on his screen. "Doc? You getting this, too?"

"I am heading down now. Continue your duties, Guardian. I will see to the malfunction."

Jake shifted, and Jim didn't blame him. "You're going down now…?"

Desmond scowled as if to show how threatening his teeth were. "Yes, Guardian. Now get back to work! I expect my equipment to move on time today." The link went dead.

He should have followed orders and keyed out of the report. But Jake murmured and Jim nodded, "Yeah, buddy, me, too." Desmond had a shipment moving in fifteen minutes, and he'd demonstrated before he'd rather die than let anyone handle his projects unmonitored.

Tanner watched from where she'd pretended not to hear the exchange. "Beta's in position and requesting authorization, sir."

"Give it to them." Jim closed down the report, and strapped on his shield.

"Are you going with Theta?"

"No. Keep us on schedule. This shouldn't take long."

"Yes, sir."

The sea of people on the upper floors bustled and swept, but they parted for Jim. He made sure to take one of the small elevators so as not to hold up cargo transfers. Still, 50 odd floors, even in an express elevator, was a long way to overanalyze.

He was definitely in for a tongue-lashing when he found Desmond, but that was almost reassuring in the face of the other confusion. Up until a few minutes ago, Jim would've bet money that nothing, hell or high water, could pry Desmond away from his project at a time like this. Foreboding seemed to mount with the rising pressure of Cadmus overhead.

Worse, Jake rocked back and forth, agitated, and Jim did not know why. The gnome trilled softly as the elevator doors finally opened.

Sublevel 51 was dark. The emergency lights glowed in fitful red along the walls, the fluorescents grey and lifeless. Jim moved carefully into the maze of corridors, navigating half by memory, half by avoiding hallways functioning lights. He'd never seen a power outage in Cadmus, not in almost two years working here. It was eerie.

He heard the painful snapping sound before he reached the next corner. Combat instincts kicked in, crouching him by the wall to look before he moved.

The door to Lab M206I was torn clear of its hinges, wires bared and spitting jagged white sparks. The flashes lashed Desmond's lab coat painfully white, as the scientist bent over the mangled control panel,working furiously. Beyond the gaping hole in the doorway, Jim could make out glinting, shattered glass, a sea of red points ready to slash anyone who entered. The door was bent out of shape, hand marks gouged in its edges at the back. Whatever did this had been inside the lab.

Jake gave a sudden, soft cry, and Jim understood what had unnerved him since they'd left the elevator. It was silent. And, to Jake's mind, there wasn't just physical silence, but mental silence. The genomorphs who should have been here (and Jake knew they should be right here, right here) did not answer.

That, more than anything, sent dread burying into Jim's spine as he rushed forward. "Desmond…"

Another spark lit Desmond's glasses, making his face vacant and wild, cast in stark white and dark shadows. "What are you doing here, Guardian!?"

"We're leaving." Jim resisted the urge to turn around, search the shadows. He knew he couldn't see in them; better get out faster. Something lay on the ground in the lab, beyond that sea of glass, something small and grey and far too still, and he did not want to see it, to think about it. "Doc, it's not safe. Come on."

Desmond's jaw clenched, veins standing out of his neck, perspiration flashing on his face, and Jim realized with a jolt that the other man knew. Perhaps knew better than Jim. Desmond bared his teeth and jabbed desperately at the sputtering screen on the control panel. Hacking? Rewiring? How could anything be working after this destruction? The panel spat static and Desmond swore and hit another set of buttons. "If I don't get this system back up, Guardian, none of us will be safe!"

Jim began to demand what had been in there, when Jake screeched and dragged his attention to lights above their heads. Red lights. Red eyes.

"Doc!" Lasers. Jim dragged Desmond aside from lasers. Heat, the scent of burnt fabric flooding his nose as the cuff of his glove and the tails of Desmond's coat fizzed and blackened. Jim shoved Desmond behind him. "Run!"

The scientist, for once, didn't argue. Jim lunged to cover him, parrying two red beams off his shield. The far wall hissed and smoked as the attack carved twin furrows up to the ceiling. Heat crackled the air and bit at Jim's arm. Damn. His shield could only deflect so many of those.

Jake's humming filled his ears as Jim made out a figure hovering near the ceiling, silhouetted by the red lights. Flying. Its eyes glowed two searing points, as if the lasers had emitted from them—whoa!

Jim dodged and swore, barely shielding Jake in time. That shot had targeted the gnome, and Jake's terrified shriek deafened him as the beams made the shield hiss and glow. Twisting, Jim yanked switch on his palm and fired an energy blast back.

The flying thing darted aside, far too nimble in midair. Jim took the seconds to drop Jake and shove him after Desmond with a quick, Run. Fights were easier without carrying a civilian.

That was all the time he had. The thing was moving again, swooping closer. Jim made sure to land in its way. "Stop!"

His curt movement made the attacker hesitate, wary of the strike Jim threatened but hadn't quite thrown yet. "Steady, I don't want a fight." Seriously, anyone who'd just come from a Cadmus lab had a right to be a little off. And, really, no one liked Desmond. If he didn't have to fight this thing… "I know you're confused. Can you understand me?"

The attacker hovered above his head, still silhouetted by the lights, so Jim could only see glowing irises and heavy muscle-shapes. Heat in the air, the residue of lasers, sizzled on his skin, a threat if he ever felt one. He could practically feel the figure analyzing him.

Then it slowly descended, drawing closer to him, and into the light. Jim started. That face was too old, but this boy bore an S-shield on his chest, and for all the world looked like– "Superboy?"

Whatever he was supposed to say, it wasn't that. The boy's face contorted in a guttural roar, and when he lunged, he lunged fast. Jim barely blocked the first swipe on his shield, and the impact reverberated all up his arm, through his shoulder. What the heck was that kid's skin made of!?

Two years was just enough; he'd forgotten how much he hated fighting flyers. Without touching the ground, the boy pivoted and lashed out. Off balance, Jim ducked, splinters of the wall cut cracking off his helmet, shattered from a brand new crater.

He didn't have time to feel the pit of his stomach drop, dodging another strike. Superstrength. This kid had superstrength. He'd felt the entire wall shake.

Block, dodge, punch, one more – too slow! Fingers like steel rods caught Jim's arm, yanked. A flash of pain, and his feet lost the ground. Oh hell–! He raised his shield.

Jim's energy blast slammed point blank into the boy's face. Jim did not see it hit, though, the hand on his arm hurling him aside like a child's toy. One instant of midair dread – oh, shit! The next thing Jim knew something slamming into his back, with a dull, awful crack, and a muffled cry. The ground lurched upwards, and he found it with his hands, held on as the world shuddered back into place.

The boy shouted incomprehensible words and rubbed his eyes furiously, barely phased by the direct blast, but thankfully distracted.

Jim turned, but stopped as his shoulder screamed. Oh…that cracking sound, had been inside him. That'd curtail his left arm. No time for the rest. Desmond lay crumpled next to him. Out cold. Oh. Probably because of Jim's helmet.

The boy's eyes were blue now with black sclera, and fixed on Jim as he drifted into the air. Dammit.

Jake, get over here. Jim grabbed Desmond and fired up his comlink. "Tanner, set off the alarms on 51 now!"

No questions, thank god. He chose his lieutenant right. Blaring alarms shattered the air, drowning the corridor with piercing noise and slashes of white and red light. Green spots seared across Jim's eyes, but there was no time, he hauled Desmond onto his back.

The attacker crumpled in the air, hands pressed over his ears. Gamble won; he seemed to have sharp hearing. Jim lurched up, trying not to let Desmond's head loll dangerously, while firing another energy blast at the wall to topple several large chunks down on the distracted enemy.

A small, tight grip closed on Jim's other arm, and distinct points of pain wrenched his shoulder. Oh…oh, if that bone wasn't bruised or worse, Dubbelix would win a beauty pageant.

Jake hesitated, not wanting to hurt him, and Jim growled, standing with the gnome hanging painfully from his forearm. Desmond was deadweight, feet knocking against Jim's back as he ran. No time! That thing wouldn't be down for long.

The elevator was mercifully prompt, and only when its doors sealed behind him did Jim pause and listen to the frenzied buzzing in his ear.

"Sir? Sir, are you all right?"

He hadn't noticed how choppy his breathing was, or how his shoulder ached under Jake's weight. Dammit. "Tanner, evacuate everyone under level 40. Lock down everything beneath my current position. We've got a lab breach on 51." He took a moment to check Desmond. Breathing, at least, pulse steady, but nonresponsive. Hairline cracks riddled his glasses, lucky he hadn't sent a glass shard into his eye. "I need backup, and a medevac for Dr. Desmond."

She wanted to ask about him, but didn't. "Right away, sir."

Jim stiffened as a tremor ran through the elevator. "I will meet the g-patrol; it should be on level 46 about now. But if you read seismic activity on the higher levels, lock. them. down. Understand? Containing this thing has top priority."

"I'm ordering the squad to your location now, and sending backup from up here. But with evacuations, it may take some time to reach you–"

"I'll manage. Evacuations are priority. Guardian out."

Jake shifted uneasily, chittering, but froze when the movement stabbed needles of pain through Jim's shoulder. He ignored all of it, switched the com channel. "Dubbelix. Tell me what was in Lab M206I."

Chapter Text

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As soon as other gnomes took over imprisoning Match, Dubbelix broke into a run. Jake, do not sleep!

Gnomes had difficulty understanding localized pain. So much of their minds were tied in psychic links that when they took physical harm, they sometimes shut down at the stimuli. But Jake could understand it, knew what had happened. He held onto Dubbilex, staying conscious. He'd felt pain like this in Jim's memories before. He knew, in these last horrible minutes, the difference between a complex broken bone and a clean one, the shoulder-bone-teeth still biting deep into Jim's back and the blade-edge pain through his leg. He knew he could not stand.

Hazily, Jake answered Dubbelix with only one word. …Jim. Jake could hear Jim trying to call, choking, but could not answer. He knew, tangled up as they were, opening a psychic path would hurt Jim more than help, let him feel more than he could bear.

But Jim did not know that, half-drunk on the pain of his ribs, and unable to hear Jake breathe over the rushing in his ears. He would panic soon, and Jake could not ignore that, could not help feeling it. He swallowed. Jim...

I will tend to Jim. Psychics did not lie to each other. Jake knew that Dubbelix did not know what he could do, only that he would try.

Achilles suddenly surged up at Dubbilex's heels with the remainder of his patrol, which set Dubbilex's mind tumbling back into contingencies, because they needed them now. Scientists darted about higher up, their lab coats still white in his mind. Cadmus had protocols, they would follow them. Dubbelix did not know the meaning of the sharp ache in Jake's leg, but he knew what it meant when a genomorph could not walk. Deactivation.

Jake acknowledged that calmly. He was unafraid, or would be if Jim was safe. He started the careful folding of mind that all gnomes learned for when they died, pulling back link by link so the cessation would not hurt the network.

But then Jim called again, desperate, pleading, and Jake stopped, filled with sudden, sharp grief. Because Jim was calling his name, his name, and did not want him to die, did not want him to be hurt, did not want to be unable to protect him.

Because Jim had failed before and it had hurt. Like it hurt now, daggers and broken things and I couldn't get to him! And more than anything, Jake did not want Jim hurt.

Dubbilex heard the upstairs g-gnomes' signal that the security cameras were looped. That gave them mere minutes to move.

No. You are not finished yet, Jake. Dubbelix finally arrived physically on the scene with the patrol, g-elves fanning out in shivering formations. Achilles snarled at Match, though he knew that the weapon could not move. But Dubbelix stood still, looking at Jake. It was not his brother's choice to make, it was his.

Jake paused, confused. Dubbelix answered with a mass of need and knowledge, and things he still must learn. Those walls. He had used Jake's, but he must learn to make them. However Jake had learned, Dubbelix needed him to teach him. To build new things in his mind, cities or weapons or security forces. For the cause.

Jake blinked. Dubbelix overrode his next objection. Psychics did not lie to each other. Jake had already embedded the knowledge of his walls in Dubbelix's head, lodged in that tight bundle of memory and discovery for him to unwind later. He did not need Jake for that. But for now, he would not explain any further.

Jake had still done something, put something in his own little box with those walls, and if he died now, Dubbelix would never know what it was.

They shared a short, brief understanding of what Jake's survival cost, though, and Jake flinched. Jim.

You'll still reach him. He just will no longer know.

An empty consolation, but Dubbelix had no time to offer more. The cameras would only cut out for a little longer. He gestured curtly to Achilles, putting obligations and directives into the elf's mind. The g-elf scooped Jake up as gently as he could, but could not avoid jostling his broken leg. The gnome hissed, a sharp whistle between his teeth.

Jim twitched.

Dubbelix rushed to catch Jim's consciousness before he fell, leaving one last thought to Jake. Don't let go of him yet. He's too weak. You'll have to do that later.

Like Jake wanted to let go in the first place. They'd have that argument, but not when it felt like Jim was trickling through Dubbelix's fingers like blood. Adrenaline spike was failing now, and the ebb hit the man too hard. Not good, too far, too fast. Jim…

As Achilles took Jake to safety, far from the scientists who would decommission him, Dubbilex stood still, far enough away that no arriving scientist would suspect him. Psychically, he approached Jim's flagging consciousness as one would to a timid creature. Jim. Can you hear me?

Jim was still and trembling, mind almost empty. The last attempt dragged from him by Jake's voice left him teetering on the edge, utterly exhausted, barely breathing past the mess of bones splintered where his lungs should go. The pain was a blue, consuming thing, and he knew it had him, knew he could not get up again. But Jim was nothing if not stubborn.

Dubbelix delved down until he found his mind. Jim.

J…Jake. Jim tried to move again.

Dubbelix would have hissed if he hadn't worried about observers. The cameras were likely on by now. He sank his influence into Jim, trying to calm him before he killed himself. Be still.

Jake! That dauntless mass of protect and fear and sorrow in Jim masked everything. Dubbelix could not let him keep it. It had kept Jim conscious this long, but it was also grinding his broken ribs together, tearing his insides.

Dubbelix leaned in one more time. It will be all right. Let go.

Nn…n. No.

In the midst of an entire building's shock, hearing the hum of his gnome-brothers as they held Match's psychic prison, Dubbelix froze. Because Jim accepted his influence implicitly, without question. He couldn't even breathe, let alone protect his mind. But the impulse to accept, to obey, hit something in the depths of his mind and stopped. A barrier.

Jim did not let go. Letting go was wrong. Contradicted what he was. What he needed to be. Guard. Protect. Save. Hero. Jake. And his subconscious struggled.

Dubbelix's eyes flew open. Impossible! Jim couldn't struggle. Dubbelix had done that to him himself, years ago.

Alerts flickered from incoming gnomes, and Dubbelix lurched back, hurrying to feign nonchalance as a mess of g-elves, security officers, and medical personnel streamed onto the scene. Danes, armored for a fight, held his men back, anticipating another attack. "Dubbilex? Dubbilex, are you all right?"

Dubbelix stepped forward to meet him. "The weapon is subdued. The threat has passed."

Danes didn't look convinced, but he gestured a team of scientists forward. They swiftly produced a tank and gas mask, which they fastened over Match's face. After scanning their minds for plots of poison, Dubbilex had the gnomes inhale the sedative into Match's lungs.

Danes only briefly watched the weapon slump, attention instead riveted on a lab-coated man marked with white and blue symbols who crouched by Jim, speaking in hushed, soothing tones. Jim shook his head, fists clenching as he tried to move. The corners of his mouth winked red.

Dubbelix reached out to try to calm him a second time, but before he could the doctor put a firm hand on the back of Jim's neck, and leaned close. "Guardian. Your watch is over. Enough."

Empty words, gibberish to Dubbelix's ears. But he felt them catch inside Jim's mind and forcibly turn. The g-goblin started in alarm as Jim lurched into unconsciousness, every thought snuffed out of his mind like a gasp. Still. Empty. More than calm, more than peace, just blankness; a chalkboard erased. Jim lay on the ground, perfectly still, and breathed. He did not register the pain as the doctor poked and prodding his chest, making fractured ribs creak and bend in directions that made Dubbelix shudder. Even when the bone-shoulder-knives in his back shifted, Jim did not stir, breathing thickly, heavily, but without fighting.

In. Out. As if it did not choke him to do so.

But blood still dribbled from his mouth in a slow, slick trail, especially when the doctor pressed fingers against his shoulder. If Jim had been awake, he must have screamed. It turned Dubbilex's stomach the way the joint crackled when moved, the dull sound of torn and battered flesh. It was almost eerier, to feel Jim's lungs wet with blood, and know he did not feel it himself.

But the doctor's mind held no uneasiness. Humans did not treat each other as they did genomorphs. And he clearly knew how to put Jim in a state beyond pain, queer as that state seemed. That had to sate Dubbilex for now. He would investigate deeper later on. Now…he found himself teetering under a sudden wave of exhaustion. Trapping Match had taken more energy than he would have guessed.

Danes looked at Dubbelix as he spoke on his comlink. "We have it under control. No. No, he's alive. Pretty bad. I don't know. They're working on him now. I think we lost some 'morphs."

Ah. The tally of casualties. Of course. Without Jim, the security forces looked to Dubbilex for a report. Strange how that had happened. Dubbelix inclined his head. When Danes gave him an opening, he spoke. "Two trolls, the three gnomes from the lab below, and Guardian's. I will file their serial numbers."

Danes' face pulled with sorrow that Dubbilex did not understand. "Is Achilles ok?" Dubbilex must have looked at him with astonishment, because the g-elf himself came forward to answer the question, catching Dane's foot and sitting worriedly watching Jim. Dane's visibly relaxed. "Thank God," he muttered. "Yeah. Got that, Tanner? I'll report back later. Yeah."

That was…that was beyond odd. Dubbilex did not have time for the genuine relief at Achilles' safety, and the equally genuine sorrow this man seemed to feel at the dead genomorphs he had never even met.

He did not have time for this. Let Achilles deal with harried security officers. Mention of his "death" brought Jake back to Dubbilex's mind. The gnome was in sharp pain now (were they trying to splint his leg? Dubbelix did not ask), but he gave a sharp, concentrated question.

Dubbelix sighed. Jim lives. He will not feel pain now. They have stopped him. Disconnect from him now.

Jake's burns pulsed. Dubbelix felt the bleeding off pain of him, of Jim, of the dying troll through the wall. It was deafening, and it was miserable.

Don't want to…

A pitiful, quiet sound. Almost Jim's voice. Only Jim never spoke like that. Jake shuddered, rocking slowly back and forth to cope with sorrow, as he'd learned from his partner. A little piece of him, carefully stripped of the sensation of broken bones, brushed against Dubbelix, filled with worry and love and sorrow and fear.

Because whatever Jake was doing, he hadn't finished. And whatever it was, it had to do with Jim.

Dubbelix did not ask why Jake would not tell him. There was no time. You must do it now. For his sake. And, quieter, on a level far below thought and speech and any words he knew, he pressed a softer, firmer promise.

I will look after Jim.

Jake's mind was clear, even given the pain he was in. Focused. Dubbelix knew where he had learned that. The gnome grieved silently, without inflicting it on Dubbelix or any other gnome. He did not argue again. With deliberate care, he began to peel back the tethers that linked his mind to Jim's.

As Dubbelix had hoped, Jim did not wake, and did not know.

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