Slowing Down

Posted on Fri Mar 3rd, 2023 @ 22:39 by Cameron Johnston & Reagan D'Angelo

Chapter: Prologue: Dawn of Avalon
Location: Down by the loch
Timeline: Evening of Friday, 25th September
6920 words - 13.8 OF Standard Post Measure

Generally speaking, swimming in the loch wasn't overly encouraged. There were a few access points along the shoreline where the shape of it curved in such a way to create little inlets and sheltered coves, and excursions around the edge to those spots did provide some access to fossicking and paddling in the warmer months. Some of the trails around the shore were great for nature walks, with several elevated views over the body of water to at least include it in bird watching expeditions and there was a well-worn track from the school grounds to the closest waterhole, a naturally isolated body of water roughly the size of several swimming pools that was protected by the way the land almost met at the heads. With supervision, the expanse of water had some role to play in the curriculum and recreational pursuits of the students, but generally speaking, it was considered out of bounds without a teacher. Normal safety considerations aside, there was something underneath it that would have wrecked merry havoc on anyone in the water should it try to emerge.

Because it was not somewhere students were allowed to wander, and because the security around preventing them from trying it anyway was pretty tight, Cameron had very quickly determined that it was a good place to go if he didn't want to be found. There was solitude at times in his workshop, especially late at night, but anyone who wanted to find him knew to check there first. Decently extroverted, it was very rare for the mutant to intentionally seek isolation but sometimes it was unavoidable. Sometimes being around other people was challenging. Sometimes, his world didn't move the way theirs did.

He had held it together in the initial aftermath, doing what was necessary to bring Nessie back home with her precious cargo and carry out the post-flight checks and refuelling that might be imperative if the threat they'd just neutralised was only the beginning. He'd put in an appearance amongst the kids, if only to show them that he had come back, and had done his best to check in with his teammates whilst promising that he would make himself available to sit with Oliver as soon as he felt he could physically manage it. He had stopped himself from consuming ten times the amount of the evening meal as everyone else, but emptied the entire stash he'd squirreled away in his workshop fridge as a result afterwards. He had pushed himself to the limits of his composure and had exhausted the last of his control. Sneaking away hadn't been a problem. Figuring out what to do with himself now that he had time to address the repercussions of the day was.

One thing Cameron had realised very early on, when they'd first started training together and figuring out how their powers could interconnect, was that Bridge's electrical discharge was nothing like what he was able to generate in any other portable device. Through her, he had been able to extend not only his top speed but the duration at which he could operate up there, the kinetic kick-start having more or less triple the longevity of his other solutions. A decent zap from her could last up to three hours without requiring any replenishment and, though he couldn't fault her in the least, her output under the stress of an actual emergency has been well in excess, it had turned out, of her usual capacity. And then there had been the taser. And then he'd asked her for more. He'd panicked. Hadn't wanted to risk failure to perform. Had overdosed considerably on ignition fuel.

Nothing he was doing was using it up.

Circuits of the loch had barely touched the surface. He'd considered leaving the grounds but that had seemed risky under the circumstances, and he wasn't even all that sure that the routes wouldn't have been impeded by current investigation efforts. He'd near frozen himself attempting to swim instead and that had been partially more successful if only because it brought relief to the abuse his skin was suffering. Part of his mutation allowed his epidermal structure to absorb a far higher amount of friction than an average human but his clothing was inadequate, didn't move with him properly, and eventually started to wear away at him. Swimming had become the compromise to losing his authority to teach as a result of streaking through the school grounds in his birthday suit. Another lap around the shoreline had been enough to dry him off and now he sat, elbows rested on his knees with his hands looped across the back of his stooped head, to try and address the racing thoughts that presented an entirely different challenge. He was useless like this and they were in the middle of an emergency. Something had to start working soon.

After some of their more intense training sessions, it wasn't uncommon for Reagan to expect Cameron to not quite be himself at slower speeds. She'd charge him up, he'd ask for more, or she'd ask they try pushing the limit, or both would work in cahoots to enter a feedback loop that saw them both regretting things later. But that always wore off quickly, over a day or two at most. Like a hangover in reverse for Cameron, like a 24-48 hour cold for Reagan with a spiking fever. But the attack on the station saw both of them push things past training limits, adrenaline and hasty thinking leading to... now. It was never as bad for her as it was for him, not at its peak. But like cooling a nuclear reactor, it took time for Bridge to ween off that connection to whatever hot, electrically-charged space she was accessing whenever she did her thing. The blankets and the water in the plane had been a decent half-measure, but she'd excused herself from whatever post brief Phoebe had held in exchange for a long, cold bath. Much like its opposite, the process went in cycles. Fill the tub, add some ice, climb in, wait for it to heat up to where the surface was curling with a layer of steam, and then drain some of it off and add fresh, cold water. If she turned off the lights, she could even see a faint glow on her skin, an aura that buzzed and hummed with potential. It frightened her.

But, eventually, she'd made it back into public. Shorts, sleeveless shirts, as little as she could get away with. And lots of water. Hope had checked her leg and advised her to give the ankle a rest, and she'd taken that as a sign to relax. At least for one night. But after trying to clear her head, checking on Oliver, briefly telling Phoebe and Claire and anyone else who asked that she was fine, she'd asked a question of her own; Where was Cameron? She above all the others knew exactly what he was going through in those moments. Or rather, she knew what less did to him, and this was definitely the most she'd ever really given him. She checked the garage first, and then called herself an idiot when he wasn't there. When she knew he wouldn't be there if all of her anxieties about his condition held any water.

By the time she thought to wander down to the little area of the loch that they sometimes used recreationally, there wasn't even a hint of sun left on the horizon. She'd been on her feet for most of the day at that point, whether over the morning's events or after her long, cold isolation. And so, when she finally spotted the human figure there, crouched and curled up, her heart skipping a beat, Reagan completely forgot to conceal the limp in her swollen ankle on her approach. She didn't yell though, try to... baby? mother? him. There was concern in her tone when she finally did speak, but it was all close and at a normal volume. "There you are. Been looking all over." All this time and that was all she could say? Not a word since he'd deposited her in a molten heap in the jet and that was all she could muster? Her arms folded across her stomach, and she found herself wandering sideways in further approaching, taking the excuse of being near the water to get her bare feet nice and cool. She had to say more, even if it sounded forced, couldn't leave it hanging like that. Like an owner talking to a lost dog. He deserved more. "Cameron... How bad is it? I'm sorry I gave you so much. Let me help? Somehow."

She found herself swaying then, falling onto her backside unceremoniously in the softer, sandy soil of the shore next to him, stretching her legs out before her. If nothing else, the sigh of relief that escaped her when her ankle finally had all of her weight lifted off of it spoke to how good that little act probably felt.

It went without saying that retreat had nothing to do with not wanting other people's company, at least in as much that Cameron wasn't really the type to slip into the shadows to sulk and nurse his wounds. There was an element of wanting to spare people from unnecessary worry, knowing that everyone was dealing with their own post-combat symptoms on top of the political power keg that had just blasted their sense of security to smithereens. In that sense, self-sacrifice was completely in keeping with his personality and was likely not going to be something anyone ever bred out of him, but it wasn't the only reason for detaching himself from the team's efforts to make sense of what had happened. The effort, the strain, of having to intentionally yank his concentration back into line with the normal pace of things around him had eventually reached a point of critical failure. When he was like this, he wasn't properly present; a jittery, twitchy space cadet watching the world around him move in slow motion whilst he attempted to snatch at a train of thought and ride on its coat-tails. It was disconcerting for people. It made them overreact. At one point, when he was much younger, it had resulted in a hurried trip to the A&E under the mistaken belief that he was partially catatonic under seizure. Cameron hated the idea of scaring people, didn't want to be like this in front of the kids. Didn't really want to be like it in front of anyone.

Bridge kind of got a free pass.

Because they'd both realised, eventually, after hiding their come-down symptoms as best they could, that everyone needed someone who understood the difference between normal and dangerous. Learning about each other's thresholds had allowed them to advocate and since Cam did his best not to live hypocritically, he had parlayed his intense desire to shield her from prying intervention by offering a similar trust and both had reaped the resulting benefits. 'Just leave him' had become a simple gift in much the same way as 'She's got this' had. Standing sentry at each other's proverbial door had become a natural progression of their teamwork but it did come with some ongoing responsibilities, simple courtesies. He couldn't expect her to mediate if he wasn't open with her about his condition when he was in the midst of figuring out himself if he was going to come out of it without intervention.

The first challenge was perceiving her, however, or at least marrying his awareness of her arrival with a timely ability to respond. In the jumble that was becoming an increasingly large tumbleweed inside his mind, Cam had registered her voice, had picked up the sound of her footfall, had even heard the muted thump of her backside hitting the turf, but like a shot from a catapult, there was an enormous amount of skid involved in slowing himself down enough to respond. Adjusting his stance only revealed the physicality he'd been masking, and even as his gaze slowly unfocused to permit a gradual return of the man trapped inside his own speeding bullet train, sitting up brought with it the uncontrolled jerking and spasming along his arms that resembled a little too harshly the tremors often associated with extreme withdrawal of any addictive substance.

"Hey." A vague crumpling of his features followed the unremarkable response with something that proved you had to dig down pretty deep before you found anything other than pure compassion in Cameron's nature. "You okay?"

Reagan had to be cautious here, she decided. His response times, his appearance, his words so carefully chosen and forced out; it all spoke to his condition and made her heart sink with renewed worry. Of course, she knew (hoped), he'd be alright with time to burn it all off. But how long had she screwed him up for? Thrown him into this state that, really, no person should ever have to endure? It wasn't like some cartoon where time stopped around him and he got to move freely, plucking bullets or nudging aside raindrops. She made herself respond then, fearing the pause was an age to him. A hand raised to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, her lips parted, and she chose to spoke but keep it succinct. Rambling when everything was moving so slow to him might only serve to make the discrepancy more apparent.

"I'm good. Hot, but good. You?" She chose not to fidget then, to find a comfortable position and stick with it so that he had less jitteriness out of her to deal with. Her legs remained out, one hand coiled at her stomach, the other laying face up and open in the sand next to her, between them. An invitation of sorts, though she was not quite sure how hot she might still be to the touch, nor would she blame him for being wary of that level of contact after what started this whole mess to begin with. Nonetheless, it was there.

In the time it took him to process the response, Cameron had become overly fascinated by his own arms, in a weary sort of way that resembled a simple dawning realisation. He was better than he'd been, his efforts to burn off some of the worst of it were slowly reaping some delayed benefits but he recognised the spasms as one of the more severe symptoms that he generally didn't suffer from anymore. His face fluttered several times before a more intentional squint brought out his best attempt at self-depreciating humour and Cam wrenched his focus back to bear on his best friend's face as he replied, "Check out Twitchy McJerkson over here." Having done the circuit several times, his thoughts put some effort behind slowing down as he caught her question on the way back around and huffed with tired laughter. "Sorting it out." As with most subtle details, he hadn't noticed her hand yet, was taking a moment to orient himself at all to the pocket of space-time he was occupying. A slow lowering of each leg to stretch out and the ginger adjustment of his shoulders as he sat up took all the concentration he had. "Got burns where no nurse is gonna rub lotion though."

Slowly, carefully, Reagan's open hand raised as he spoke. Her eyes shifted to his arm, assessing just how... jittery he was. Was she so hot that she might be painful to the touch? She doubted it, but there was only one way to find out. Her hand turned and slowly slid into his, palm to palm, fingers coiling between fingers to squeeze. He felt... normal, warm. That was either a good thing, based on her own state, or they just both tended to run hot. The latter wouldn't have surprised her. "Wish I could go in reverse, ya know? Sap some of that for you. Heh." She was almost timid, maybe still just processing everything that had happened, going through the cold bath and the shock on her system. But she hoped she wasn't being extra sluggish for him, by his accounting. She dared a smile at that last statement though, grey-blue eyes finally raising to meet his and have some actual focus. "Depends on the nurse, and if you bought her a drink first."

A slight delay resulted in a weary chuckle. As much as she was moving as if afraid of becoming an intrusion, Cameron felt the slow trickle of regulation start as a spreading warmth up his spasming arm. Where their hands connected, synergy rallied, a compatibility embedded in their nervous systems that didn't have the desired effect she longed for but at least brought the fluctuations within his own body into some sort of streamlined cycle. Her elevated temperature wasn't extreme enough to cause discomfort and, even if it had, Cameron would have tolerated it in favour of the sensation of modulation that throbbed as a slow decrease in his heart rate. He exhaled slowly, realised that the effort of reducing his internal acceleration was no longer as difficult as it had been before his attempts to wear himself out, and gradually felt his tremors subside to little more than the occasional faint twitch. He squeezed her hand in thanks, hoping she understood how much she'd been a part of that effort. He'd noticed it before but never mentioned it, never had such an extreme situation to serve as adequate proof. A quandary for the science buffs, and for another time.

"I'll sleep well tonight." Whilst still technically a quip, it emerged as a far quieter observation than his normal bluster. A large, calloused thumb ran across hers several times, docile eyes staring out at the loch for such a long time that it would have seemed as if she'd lost him again. Somewhere, under all that water, the secrecy of everything they were trying to build lay compromised. Even in his current state, Cameron understood what today's exposure had cost his friend.

Suddenly, he let go of her hand and, arm around her shoulders, pulled her into his side.

"No more leaving you behind." There were so many things to talk about but the most pressing seemed to be the tiny details that pertained to just them. Cameron fought the urge to hurl them all into conversation at once, despite the fact that his mind churned through the compilation of a list at record speeds. Just this thing first. Then all the rest. "Gonna need some industrial strength Velcro just to hold you in place. No saving the world without me."

"Despite it all... I think we both will." She confessed softly head already falling in against his shoulder as if in anticipation of the arm around her. If her hand didn't burn, didn't accidentally juice him up all over again, make things worse, then she wanted to be closer. And there it was, a hitch in her breath as her form jerked against him. She had to remind herself he was not sick or injured, he was fighting being too fast, in every sense of the word. That gave him a degree of strength she couldn't anticipate either, but once it was all said and done, she laughed herself a bit, curling into him. As long as he didn't ask her to run or mess with her ankle, she was more than happy to get some normal levels of affection she'd come to expect from him. "Did what we had to do, you know that, Dash. Wasn't just me that saved Oliver. It was you, getting the others. We saved him, and all the others too. For now."

Her eyes peered out over the water for a time, considering, before she just buried her eyes in against his arm and let out an exasperated sigh. "You think Velcro would work? Or maybe we get you one of those baby backpacks to hoist me in." Her words were somewhat hidden against his skin, his sleeve, but she made a compromise in turning her head enough back in the forward to at least have her words open to the air. "I'm glad you're safe, twinkle toes."

And then there was dexterity enough, coordination enough, to unravel his arm, press a flat palm to the side of her head and give her a gentle push. "Don't you start."

It didn't last though, the charade of rejection. Even as she leaned with the playful shove, he was already pulling her back from it, face burrowed into her hair just a moment to squeeze a dollop of composure into the space behind closed eyes. Leaving was never something Cameron wanted to get used to, though there had long been speculation now held up by experience that his skillset made him prime candidate for any kind of desperate messenger service. A trajectory away from the problem, however, the visual replay of that train carriage dangling precariously and the understanding that, alone, he wouldn't have been able to prevent far worse harm coming to the pair trapped inside, was confronting. He was the pilot. He was the fastest out of them. Cameron understood the logic behind being the one moving in the opposite direction to the point of need but it was still a punch to the gut.

Aware that his grip was probably a little tighter than was comfortable, Cameron relaxed and lifted his chin instead so that his gaze could dart between the emergence of stars, one by one, overhead. The slow rub of his hand against her arm was as much for his benefit as hers and, in increments, the mutant slowed further still. It gave him an opportunity to address the moment with a little more clarity. "You're hot." She wasn't the only one that could dredge up old jokes for new situations. "Been a few hours now, and it's not exactly peak summer." He knew why he was having trouble regulating but her elongated recovery time was more of a concern, at least to him. "You feeling okay?"

She couldn't help but laugh with his playfulness. It always threw her off briefly, no matter how much it happened. Growing up, it had just been her and Rhiannon, twins (though Reagan liked to brag she was 4 minutes older and thus the more grown up one). Coupled with the present sister being the one more into sports and competitive, physical activities, any rough housing or the like was hers to inflict without fear of repercussions outside the usual taddling of a sibling to a parent. Cameron changed that whole dynamic and managed to throw the 30 year old for a loop just about every time. She'd learned to endure it, to accept it for the affection that it was and embrace it. And so she didn't seem to mind when he pulled her in, squeezed her maybe a little too tightly. She relished in it and reburied her features against him until he decided he'd let up.

Her head lifted with his, though her eyes did not, instead returning to the water as she pressed a free palm across one cheek and then the other to whisk away moisture that dared tumble from her eyes. She wasn't surprised by tears, per say, given all that needed to be processed from the day, but she wasn't the type to welcome them either. Her family had been old school, conservative in emotions and feelings, if not values, and thus tears were either a weakness or "just what women did", and so bred resentment in Reagan for the casual sexism of those she'd trusted most growing up. "I know." A short answer, a quip she wasn't sure she had the heart to commit to when he spoke about her temperature. But that was just more necessary deflection. "If you give the light time to fade, might even get to see me glow in the dark." Instead of giving him an answer there, she chose to drift off there with her words. Was she feeling okay? What a loaded question, and one she was entirely unprepared to answer. At least not without spilling her guts. And that sounded exhausting, so she didn't.

"Ah, but will you be as red as my butt-cheeks, that's the real question."

He knew his place in all of this. As monumental as the events of the day had been, as far-reaching as their implications were destined to become, wallowing wasn't an option. None of them could have anticipated such a bold strike against a vulnerable target, tending more towards trying to prepare themselves for the inevitability of direct conflict. They went to sleep tonight, if any of them managed a wink, in a world where benefit of the doubt could no longer be a guiding principle. For someone as optimistic as Cameron, that wound cut the deepest, and yet, purveyor of the bright side he must remain. No matter how wretched hope became, someone had to keep it alive. Becoming the butt of his own joke was the least contribution he could make.

Another little chuckle escaped her, more energetic than the first, and in that moment, right there, all of her efforts searching him out and ignoring her ankle and the doctor's advice just to wander the grounds to find him were made worth it. He was worth it. Who else could get her to climb back on her feet and confront everything from the day? Sure, Claire could help her analyze, or at least distract her when Reagan deflected and tried to play caretaker herself with her friends and colleagues, but Cameron knew her too well. If she tried that with him, he'd call her out on it. "Your butt is a wonder, especially in the right jeans, but that's a different kind of hot. Unless you've been sticking it in microwaves again..."

Never one to be held down long though, much like him, Reagan extricated herself from whatever hold he had, or at least gave it a shot, stumbling to her feet and approaching the water's edge to slide her feet into the lazy surf. No glowing, no steam rising off her skin, so that was an improvement. Her eyes moved up from that assessment, head tilting from straight down to one side as she looked for him. "Maybe this was all a fluke, a one-off. Some evil genius somewhere making big robots with daddy's money to target the mutant kid who pushed him down on the playground that one time..." Her tone suggested she was joking, at least, or flat didn't believe her own words, a half-hearted lie. She shrugged all the same, looking to see what he said or did in reaction.

A half-hearted huff of laughter said all it really needed to in regards to Cameron's thoughts on that. "If only that were likely." In many ways, all this anti-mutant propaganda was a couple of insane guys feeding on the general public's uncertainty and fear. Unfortunately, they had the ear of some very rich and influential people who made money out of conflict and though Phoebe would have been far better at explaining the historical precedents of warmongering and who made profit from terrifying the masses with half-truths and twisted fairytales, Cameron got the gist. Public safety was a fantastic charade. It was a shame the average person on the street didn't stop to ask themselves how much the people in power really cared about them if they were prepared to send massive robots into public places. Collateral damage only seemed unavoidable when it wasn't you.

With effort, Cameron hauled himself to his feet and wandered down to join her at the water's edge. Wading out to mid-shin without bothering to reroll his trousers, having already rid himself of his shoes, the mutant tossed a rock he'd been holding in his hand across the surface of the water and watched as it skipped away like a bullet shot from a gun. "Whoever it is, they're a coward." Strong words from a man who never had a bad word to say about anyone. Now, Cameron's jaw clenched in his effort to contain his own ire. "Sending giant automatons after kids. Not only could they not show up themselves, they picked a soft target. And still lost," he added, with a dip of his head to concede their victory.

An expected response, not surprising given even she didn't believe her own BS. Her eyes returned forward, to the water itself as she relished in the cool water on her legs. She swore she could feel the heat leeching off her cells, flowing down to attempt to establish equilibrium with the cooling in her feet. Not near as pronounced as her ice bath, but it was just as relaxing for her. "I left my company, founded to provide security services and peace of mind to those who could afford it, and I'm right back in that mindset. We didn't take contracts with extremists or controversial figures, especially those in power. We helped schools just like this one update their security systems, we trained security at hospitals and mental wards to de-escalate and subdue patients with as little physicality as was necessary... Hells, I've even been helping Claire find children with my resources there, get them safe... And now... Right back in the game."

She turned her eyes to look up at him then, only briefly taking note of the stone disappearing out over the water. "Really kicked their butts, huh?" A brief little smirk before her features disappeared with her burrowing into his side again. One arm wrapped around the back, letting her tuck herself under his arm. "Couldn't have done it without you, twinkle toes."

An exaggerated scoff of disbelief continued Cameron's efforts to reclaim some equilibrium. "They don't feel so sparkly at the moment, I'll have you know." For a brief moment, the arm around her shoulders became a grapple that threatened to pull her sideways into the water, but Cameron anchored them both and laughed quietly at the flailing kerfuffle. It didn't stick though. That was something that would take a while, much though he was determined it not be lost for good. The fun, the frippery, the sense of security. When people experience Cameron stuck in extreme autopilot, it was tempting to assume that the mutant wasn't capable of noticing anything. What was quite often the case was that he noticed everything, and then processed it at such a speed that actually being able to weave his observations into normal conversation could take a while. He'd been slowly plucking out the pieces that pertained to Reagan since she'd arrived and now, with her reference to her past calling and its interconnection with their current predicament, he landed squarely into what was probably the one thing very few people would have thought to prioritise.

Leaning down, he rested his chin on her head again.

"Tried to scour the news reports so far. I don't think they got any kind of footage of us in action, though we might never know how they managed to make sure an entire train station was devoid of bystanders." A soothing hand rubbed at her arm. "Claire will insist on handling the circus on her own but I'll try to sort myself out so she doesn't have to. It'll be okay to keep a low profile," he reassured, reducing his volume as if even the reeds couldn't be trusted to keep certain secrets. "We might have to get you a fancy headpiece. Donald Duck maybe? No, wait, one of the Chipmunks. What's his name, Albert?"

"Not a burden you have to handle on your own, promise. Just ask Kristen, I can be a proper pain in the ass when trying to be cautious and overbearing. Even Claire's legendary poise will have trouble denying help once I rally the whole team to make sure we help her." She just sort of let him handle her, let herself feel safe against his side while she decided if he felt warm to her or not. Surely, with his mind as it was, he was running hot like her? She was tempted to get a thermometer and do some rudimentary tests, satisfy her inner biologist. But now that she was here and they were talking, no matter the subject, the prospect of leaving lost its appeal faster and faster by the moment. His commentary got him a playful jab in the side from up close, a smile hidden from sight by the extreme angle in height difference between them like this. "Alvin, you goof. I was thinking something fancier like one of those big wig superhero types in the States."

And then her tone shifted, jovial to flat, maybe even lower. "Wonder how they're responding to all of this... if they even are. I bet not a one of them is a mutant." She said it with a level of cynicism that surprised even her, eyes downcast briefly while she fought that wave of heat in herself that wasn't caused by her abilities.

"Which is probably infuriating for them because I bet they're getting lumped in with us anyway," Cameron pointed out gently. It wasn't a time to be drawing any more division lines if they could help it, they'd just corral themselves into a corner that way. Of more concern to him right now was how she must be feeling with the entire world's media focused in on them like a laser beam. He'd already fielded phone calls from his family, but they knew enough about his job and his location to have a very clear idea of how involved he was with the recent situation. His best friend's decision to live a double life for the benefit of her loved ones was something Cam understood even if he didn't agree with it always. "Makes you wonder how long it'll take for our faces to get plastered all over the tabloids though, right?" It wasn't a subtle way of bringing up the possibility of exposure but, agreement or not, he was committed to helping her with her secrecy.

Her head hung when he spoke, a child caught in her simple, inflammatory statements. She should have known better, but those particular emotions building up from the attack had yet to truly express themselves. Behind the anxiety and the fear, the uncertainty, the general tragic sadness, even the elation that they'd won so handily with no casualties... there was an angry monster looking for someone to blame and tear into. He was right, of course he was right, and this sort of reactionary behavior was exactly what her company had always frowned upon in its ethos. A client got attacked? You didn't get angry and lash out, you battened down, screwed your head on straight, and did your job; Keep them alive and protect civilians. Full stop. The blame game wasn't yours to play in and if there were serious repercussions like injury or death? You learned from it. Reagan had never once fired an employee for acting competently and to the best of their ability in the field, even when they fell short. Now here she was, falling prey to the sort of things her old subordinates had. So this was the other side of the coin. "I'm not going to be able to hide much longer, am I? Play two people at once... does that make me a triplet? Heh."

She separated herself from him then to kneel and find more good rocks for skipping, picking a few up to run her finger over. "They'll all know, ask me why I didn't just say something, and I'll do my usual. I'll turn it into a choice, pick the school, the team, the students over them and that'll be that. Got room for an adopted sister in that Brady Bunch of yours, Dash?"

For a moment, Cameron didn't respond. He had dealt with his need for secrecy at a very early age, had bundled the truth inside him in the hope that things would just work out. In the end, he'd been caught out because there really wasn't a very easy way for a young boy to curb the desire to do things faster and he tended to look back on the painful and confusing experience of being discovered by his family as a blessing in disguise. Hindsight afforded him that, however, because he knew now that the initial shock hadn't lasted long enough to ostracize him and that, almost immediately, it had been made very clear to him that he was still a son, brother, grandson, nephew, and he was loved. There was zero doubt in his mind that, should it actually become necessary, his family would welcome Reagan with open arms. His parents were already a great support in his efforts to reach out and assist the half-siblings he'd only realised existed in the past few years. But as fantastic as his support network was, it couldn't replace a person's actual family, not in Cameron's rose-tinted world.

He scooped a handful of water up and let it trickle down onto her head. At the very least, he could be whatever annoying brother-figure she required.

"Or, maybe after the confusion and hurt feelings are dealt with, you get left with a bunch of people who love you and who just want what's best for you. Secrets are hard," he pointed out gently. "It's quite the atom bomb to drop into the middle of their lives, so maybe just...make sure you've figured out why you're here and not there. It will at least help show what you've been trying to achieve with their ignorance." He scooped up another handful of water but, this time, allowed it to drizzle way through his fingers. "I don't have it all worked out perfectly myself. Once this news gets out, there'll be an hour conversation with my grandmother about stopping all this superhero nonsense. She'd love you," Cam added, reaching out to rub a supporting hand against his friend's arm. "As do quite a lot of people. Not everything has to be black and white."

The water on her head, though a light, cool trickle, got her to react as if it was more, jumping from her slight kneel with a surprised little shout. She looked at him, squinted, lips tugging into a smile despite everything else. "Yeah... maybe." She wanted to inject more there, but that felt like it came with more emotions bubbling up, more careless words that she'd regret as soon as she heard them spoken aloud. So instead, she took a deep breath and produced a pair of smooth, similar-sized stones, handing one over to him. After that, she took the time to stand more perpendicular to the shore, cast her eyes out over the water and wind up. Like a major league pitcher, she imagined it all.

"Bases loaded, two outs, bottom of the ninth. D'Angelo eyes the game deciding play..." She flings the rock with all the practice and poise she can manage, just a hint of competitiveness in there to drive her to do better, and sends the stone skipping across the surface. Three, four times before it plunks below the waves. "Ooo... Ball? Not my best." She stepped back then, arms crossing as she turned her gaze back to him, soaking in his words and just... considering them all alongside a proper response. "Sure I'd love her too. My sister, my mother... they'd probably love you too. Dad's all business, so less likely, but you can't win 'em all, hm?" A hand extended then, offering the water before them to her best friend beside her. "Strike 'em out, Cam."

And this was where it always returned. When life handed them lemons, they found a way to squirt them in each other's eyes. They were both a long way from full recovery, and considering the events that had forced them into overload in the first place, there might never be a time where their lives reverted to what they had come to depend upon as 'normal', but Cameron had faith. Genuine optimism had always been somewhat of a secondary superpower.

Hefting the stone several times, he then pulled back and threw it as far as he could. Whilst technically cheating, or at going against the nature of the competition, it wasn't the first time he'd curbed his own competitiveness to avoid capitalising on his clear advantage. Shielding his eyes unnecessarily from the encroaching moonlight, Cam squinted and cocked his head to the side until the inevitable 'plonk' of the stone finally landing failed to produce any subsequent sounds of skipped impact. He looked thoughtful for a moment, a typical charade of puzzlement at his own orchestrated failure, and then glanced sideways with familiar mischief to rally the one remaining strength he felt sure his best friend would always muster.

"Rematch."