The Universe's Mixer

Enigma winced as her leg almost hit a shard of broken glass, resting back against Marcus who was there in an instant, before lifting the leg and flipping backwards, over the man, landing lightly on her feet. She checked her leg, giving a sigh. “I’ve been out of practice,” she muttered, before moving past the three men she had brought with her, slamming her cane down on a jewelry case.

She stared down at the shiny gemstones, gloved hand hesitating for a moment before she grabbed the long strands of diamonds, stuffing them into the bag at her hip. She had made a promise to her father, and she intended to fulfill it....even as it hurt the part of her that was trying desperately to do the right thing for Bruce...for Tony..for everyone who had given her a chance.

Her father had always come first in her life.

As she moved around the small shop, she didn’t see the faint blinking red light, the silent alarm that she had missed the first go round, and was now calling for help.

( Capturing An Enigma )

It was finished. Erik leaned back and let his hands drop to the desk. The last sheet of staff paper was gently drying. He watched the sheen of wet ink slide into slow matte perfection. The hazy swelling of the last few stanzas still resonated in his mind. A deep satisfaction curled inside him. It was finished.

Days had melted into weeks. The music hadn't cared. It came without pause, a voracious phoenix at turns devouring him in its flames and re-birthing him to die again in its embrace. His body protested the lack of sleep, the lack of sustenance, the lack of any amount of extended rest -- but it was all of it worth it. The composer stood at last from his desk and wearily tugged on the black gloves that shielded him from the rest of the world. His touch had taken on warmth these days, thanks in no small part to the surgery Hannibal performed to save his life. But the gloves were as much a part of him as the suits, the night, the music. To encounter the world without them was unthinkable. Besides, the ink stains on his hands would not come clean for a week at least. He could not endure presenting himself in any fashion that was not neat or tidy.

After having set himself to rights again, Erik began the long climb upward from his house by the lake in the deep cellars of the Opera House. When he finally surfaced, he was surprised to find that he'd arrived just for sunset. What was his wife doing now? After publishing their wedding notice, somewhat late, he'd kissed her soundly and fared her well -- with the promise of his return once the opera was complete. His intention was to go to her now, but not just yet.

Presents came first.

His car and driver were with Christine, as he'd desired it to be. Erik stepped out into the street just outside the Opera and began to walk down the street where he thought there to be a good array of gift shops. What did one buy for one's wife upon returning from a long absence? He paused before a flower shop and considered.

Bruce got an alert on his own watch that Enigma was in trouble. What that girl had gotten herself into this time Bruce wasn't exactly sure. He had programmed her watch to alert him when things happened to make her heart beat irregularly, such as trouble or the fact that she might be dying. With her, that didn't seem too invasive considering all the trouble she seemed to get into. It was the least he could do, as well, in efforts to protect her.

The time it went off was about the time the gun fight started, which caused Bruce to set down his tools and check the watch for the beep. It was coming from the warehouse. Bruce hated that place. It held a lot of memories from the past, but he had been in too many altercations there for it to hold any more fondness.

Bruce got up and took the stairs, heading down to the garage where the cars were kept. Usually he didn't like to drive, or be in vehicles at all, but he chose a convertible. It was faster and Enigma might be in danger. He couldn't take any chances.

He started the car with a set of keys from the box they were in, and drove out of the garage and onto the street. It didn't take long for Bruce to reach the warehouse and he stopped the car in front, getting out in a hurry. He could see small splatters of blood on the concrete and sidewalk. This was already beginning to not look good.

( Riddle's End )

Warning: Violence and blood

Enigma sighed as she looked up at the warehouse before her, nervously tugging on one of her long pigtails before she took a breath, pushing into the place that she had first found a home in The City, the place Bruce and she had started her life in.

The place that could end up her tomb.

“Daddy?” she called, as she entered, running a finger over the table that had once housed Bruce’s work. All traces of the scientist has been eradicated by her father, but the memories remained and she gave a soft smile, before looking around for the man she was looking for, hoping that she wasn’t walking into a trap. “Da-addy!”

--

Edward was very disappointed in his daughter. For a number of reasons he claimed valid in his own twisted mind, finally settled on by the union of Enigma and Bruce. That had been the last straw. Edward understood that Enigma, his daughter, had a right to be happy and make her own way but ultimately her decisions affected his own. And he wasn't about to put up with anyone standing in his way. Including his own blood.

Edward had agreed to meet with Enigma at the warehouse and by Jonathan's insistence he brought along a couple of goons to protect him. Not that he needed them. Well, maybe he did but he hated to believe that.

In Edward's mind, Enigma could never truly be part of both of the worlds she lived in. She had made her choice and sealed her own fate. Edward had stopped loving her the moment she made her vows and said those two words. She no longer held the place in his heart, as tiny as it was, and it crushed him. She had picked the good side and he felt abandoned by her. True they had their differences but Bruce would always be the wall that separated them for the duration of their lives. He wasn't going to tolerate Enigma's games. She might believe that she could be evil in secret, but having a Hero for a husband snuffed that idea out even before it flickered and was allowed to become a flame.

No no. It wouldn't work. Not in the long run. And Edward was exhausted by the idea of being strung along by his daughter. If Bruce was her choice it would be the last one she ever made. He was finished.

Edward's whole life was a trap. Everything. All of it and it always had been. So she was walking into a trap. More than likely the last one she would ever set foot into.

"Over here, baby." He called softly, slipping out of the shadows. He paused and looked at her, fingers of one hand curled around his cane as he watched her from beneath the brim of his green bowler hat. He was cool, collected and calculating. If anyone could feel the danger in the room he hoped it would be her and that she would regret her choices.

( A Riddle Wrapped in an Enigma )

Sam had been doing a lot of research on the symbol on that key, but without much luck yet. He didn't want to take a break-in fact, he really wanted to keep going until he found something because it felt important and it felt good to have something to focus on. No, he didn't want to stop looking, but he realized that he couldn't put off the apologies that needed to be made any longer.

The syrup leftover from that gift basket from Fred and the accompanying card that Dean had tried to hide were still in the kitchen. A hot surge of guilt lanced through him every time he spotted those reminders. He felt as though the guilt was deserved, but he also knew that he needed to do more than beat himself up. He needed to at least try to mend fences.

Sam stared at the phone in his hand. Fred's number was in there, of course. He looked at it, then set the phone down and paced the room for a few minutes. He came back to the phone, paced again, and repeated this two or three times. Finally, he snapped up the phone and hit send before he could talk himself out of it.

The warrior woman woke with a start then groaned, resting back in her bed. She rolled to her side to look at the spot that was more times than not filled with a Cowboy God. It wasn't that she begrudged him his time, but the fright, whatever it was that she'd woken from, had made her wish for someone there beside her. Him. She didn't call for him. Instead, Zoe stretched, shoved that desire down, and got out of bed. Jesse was there for her as much he could be; he also had other responsibilities after all.

The Amazon prepared for the day, as she usually did. Or had planned on doing so, only to find that she was out of milk. She had other food stuffs that would make a fine breakfast, but she had developed a desire to have a small bowl of cereal. She nudged that silly frustration away and went on with her day.

Zoe got to work, dealt with the usual day including a strange outburst in a copy room that involved toner, anatomy, and a coworker's plan to "knock a moron's fool head off for being so wasteful." When it came time for lunch, she headed down to the cafeteria in the building only to find that the one menu item she'd wanted was no longer available - even if she though she'd gotten down just the start of lunch. After lunch, she worked in the Batflat, grappling with a grappling hook that refused to shoot as she wanted. She wasn't a sure shot like Jayne, but she wasn't bad. No matter how much she did to the equipment, it simply would not hit target. Sometimes it wouldn't even deploy.

With the work day done, with what little bit of work she actually felt she accomplished, she headed to her favorite place for a snack or a meal. Favorite in that she visited it almost daily. It seemed to always been right across the way from the Tower, and it served just the right thing, a comfort food. When she got there, something was certainly not as it should be.

"What do you mean they lost their license?" The tall woman glared at the poor policeman who was unlucky enough to get caught up in the small altercation over the last bao the stand would sale. "It's the gorram City. They don't care about licensees here."

The policeman stared. He was only trying to do his job...honest.

"If you so much as move closer to that bun, I will end you." They were ridiculous words, Zoe knew that, but the day had been full of frustrations and that strange nagging of small denials. On different days, they could and would be inconsequential, but a day full of them? Even the strongest and sturdiest Browncoat found herself wanting to shoot some little old lady for a bit of steamed bread.

They had gals. They had jobs. They had money and lives. It seemed that they were set.

Charlie wondered if they were. If they were truly set.

Rather than keep wondering, the City detective left a message for his housemate join him for some dinner. They hadn't talked much lately, and he wanted to revisit how life was going, where it was going. He wanted to know that Ted was doing well.

Unfortunately, as it was bound to happen, the plans were ruined by a crime. It wasn't a difficult one; Jennifer and Charlie had discovered the truth, solving the case in record time. The butler actually did do it. The case kept Charlie away from one of his longest best friends, and Charlie wished all the other cases that came across the desk he shared with Jennifer were solved as easily and cleanly.

The detective stood in the kitchen and stared into the refrigerator. What did he want for breakfast? Should he see if Ted was around to have the conversation over breakfast instead? Was that milk fresh? What did 42 really mean?

Dean couldn't believe the crap they were dealing with, and he couldn't believe just how good it felt to be digging through said crap with his little brother, soul and all. It wasn't something he'd done in a while, or at least something he'd felt good about or right about. There had always been something missing. That look or that feeling had been gone, and now it was back.

They'd had to clean up a small ghost problem at one spot. Had to explain away a situation in another. They'd even pulled out the FBI badges, that actually said "CBI" but who was paying that much attention. They hadn't used every trick in the book, but quite a few to get where they thought the bastard was hiding.

The docks. The boys had been to the docks, or dock like area, and on at least one occasion had seen Sam possessed. That wasn't the case now. Nor were they dealing with vampires - though that had been more of a mill. Either way, Dean couldn't exactly hide the smile or the grimace when he thought of his brother; he was torn. He was glad Sam was back to normal or as normal as the Sasquatch got, but he wasn't glad that Sam was caught here. That he'd have to deal with the guilt. They'd have to have a talk about a particular death soon, but right now...right now they'd hunt demon and do what they were raised to do.

"This is it." The older Winchester motioned to a warehouse. "Why's it always warehouses?"

Sam had spent long enough hating himself. Oh, he still hadn't forgiven him self for the things that he'd done without a soul, but wallowing wasn't the way to handle it. He woke up one morning and realized that he needed to be doing something. He needed to get out there and try to make amends.

That meant getting back to hunting, and getting to a point where Dean didn't feel like he had to babysit all the time.

The first thing Sam did was head out to the corner store to buy a newspaper. It was strange leaving the house for the first time in days, possibly even weeks. The sunlight was harsh after sitting in the half-darkness of his apartment for so long, but it also gave him a small sense of hope. Maybe he could start over. Maybe he could make up for the things he'd done.

Sam returned home before the usual time when Dean would come over in the morning. He didn't look at the paper right away. Instead, he took out the waffle maker and waffle mix and started to make breakfast. It was partially a thank you to Dean for being there, and partially a way to show his older brother that he was on the way to okay.

Once the waffles had been cooked, Sam settled in with the paper and started to look for any stories that might point to something that they could hunt.

Since he'd briefly met Logan Echolls, or rather... since he'd seen him at Eric's wedding, Lestat had kept quiet track of the boy.

He felt he had to.

Some of Lestat's blood ran in Eric's veins, now. And Eric had created this boy. He could not help but feel a little twinge of responsibility, wanted or not.

To his surprise and amusement, Logan and Veronica Mars, his favorite investigator, were an item. Even before Lestat found that out, he'd kept track of Veronica, too. He truly enjoyed her. He wished he could tell her that he was the one who'd given her the career-making tip off.

One day he would. When it was beneficial.

He'd tracked Logan tonight, stayed hidden, seen him take Veronica out on the fire escape, seen him use the Cloud Gift to take her on a joyride. Logan didn't know how lucky he was to be able to do such a thing; most fledgelings of Lestat's kind could not fly. Lestat himself only could because of Akasha.

Seeing Logan and Veronica entwined and flying reminded him of Akasha. Lestat lowered his eyes and set his jaw, reminding himself for the umpteenth time that Akasha was gone, that it was better that way.

He waited for Logan to leave, which he knew the boy would. His immortality was too new yet; he would likely not trust himself to stay the night with Veronica.

When Logan left the building, Lestat was waiting, standing across the street, bathed in the light of a streetlight. His hands were in his pockets to show he meant no threat.

Okay. How did Shepherd Book do this thing again?

Wash was sitting in front of a dismantled engine in Serenity. He was feeling much too proud to call on Tony or Oswin. He knew he could do this but his calm and patience was being tested and frustration was building to dangerous levels. He'd already thrown two wrenches in anger and the third was looking at him nervously.

He was no Kaylee and how she kept so smiley was beyond him.

So now? He was praying. Because that was the last thing a sane man did before going insane.

So, his hands covered in grease and fingers in bandages, he put them together under his chin.

"Dear God," he said in complete desperation and sincerity. "Hi. I know we haven't talked much. But I got a friend who's pretty close and since he's not a part of this world nor any world anymore I figure he could put a good word in for me. I'm more of a Buddhist by practice, but I'm always up to trying out new things. So.

"God, could you pretty please make my engine work? Or maybe give me a better engine and make it work? Or maybe use your godly mojo to lift this pile of go sé off the ground at least high enough to make me feel like I'm not going moonbrained on this pile of earth I've landed myself in?

"Also, God, while I'm at it. There's this little girl living with me mostly now. She's not here today, but she is the majority of the time and I just want to not screw up with her too much cause I'm thinking I might.

"And, one more thing. I'm not a greedy man but could you maybe not have Tony kill me? I'd appreciate that. But if you can only do one thing right now making Serenity fly would be shiny. I promise I won't curse and I'll eat all my veggies and I'll read that book that's about you cause I hear it's pretty good.

"Love...Wash.

"Uh! P.S.! I've got this sore spot in my back that...y'know what? Don't worry about it. Engine! Thanks!"

Wash sighed miserably and rubbed his black streaked head with a dirty rag. Oh the futility of it all!

Wash had the cargo door open in preparation for Maxine’s arrival from school. Even after he had insisted he wait at the bus stop in front of the park for her Maxine had insisted she walk back to the ship herself. And though he fully trusted a five year old girl with the simple task of walking less than a block through the park and trees to a well hidden space ship, he decided to set proximity alert to small blonde child anyway.

Well, roughly speaking. Though apparently raccoon also classified as small blond child.

He was under the pilot’s display working on fixing some electrical shorts with his tongue sticking out neatly at the corner of his mouth when the alarm went off again. He sat up quickly, narrowly missing smacking his head on the side of the console, and listened for tiny feet up the ramp.

“Maxine? That you? Come on up! Or...or should I meet you?” he asked himself this quietly. “Wait, or...something! I’ll meet you!”

( continued )

The past few days had been filled with quite a lot of hubbub. Fred's memories were back and she'd been able to identify her attacker. Jack hadn't had much time to talk to his ex-girlfriend about the attack or how she was feeling now as they'd had a superhero camping out to make sure that Fred was safe. And then it was all over and supposed Sam, the man who'd attacked her, had been 'fixed.' Jack wasn't too sure that he bought that nonsense about him being without a soul or that he trusted the hunter, but he supposed he didn't have a choice for now.

He did recognize that there were stranger things in this City than he'd ever imagined possible, but he didn't just want to assume that Fred was safe now. Even if Dinah seemed to believe that she was.

He still had to go to work every day and he still came home later than he was comfortable with. He'd also back off on the security detail at Dinah's urging, though he didn't back off entirely. He still didn't feel as though the brainy female who was his temporary roommate were safe and he wanted to make sure that she was protected.

On this particular day, he stopped to pick up tacos on the way home. He was familiar with her favorite foods and he thought that she'd been through enough already-the least he could do was pick up some comfort food. He let himself in to the apartment and looked around for any sign that she was home.

He supposed that at some point she would want to look for a place of her own, but he wasn't planning to push her out the door.

"Fred?" he called as he closed the door behind himself and set his keys on the table in the hallway.

Wash wouldn’t have thought he’d gotten so much enjoyment from eating a dill pickle, but the movie theatre sold them and so, it wrapped in a wax paper swaddle, he walked out of “Pretty Woman” with one last bite of the surprisingly scrumptious pickled cucumber. He popped it in his mouth and balled up the trash shoving it into the side of a bronze colored trash bin.

Hm, that was weird. Where was the door? And this was a weird looking trash bin. He explored the domed top and mechanical looking implements. He chewed one last time on his pickle as he poked the whisk looking armature curiously.
( continued )

Sam knew that he couldn't wallow in self-loathing forever. As much as he thought he deserved it, the people around him deserved better. He needed to find a way to make things right. Dean left mid-day for the first time since Sam had gotten his soul back. Sam took that as a good thing-his brother needed to do more than just hang around here. Dean deserved better than that.

The younger Winchester realized, with some surprise, that he was hungry. He hadn't really been thinking about food much over the last few days, though his brother had kept him fed. Well it was now lunchtime and his stomach was growling.

He frowned at the odd gift basket of... waffle mixes and syrups? Who sent that sort of thing? And why would they send it?

He wondered if it was something Dinah had sent to make sure that Dean wasn't going hungry over here. He didn't think on it much further and didn't touch the gift basket that he was sure wasn't his. Instead, he started looking through the fridge for something easy to make. Eggs seemed like they could work. Of course, eggs meant needing a spatula and Sam wasn't even sure he owned one. He started looking through the drawers of the apartment that had belonged to a different Sam before him-a better Sam, from what he knew. At least one that hadn't gone around trying to kill people. It was the second drawer that he tried where he found the card that had been stashed in there.

So I heard you got your soul back...

He stared at the words and then at the signature accompanying the words. For a second, he wondered if there was some other Fred that would be sending a card. Because why would that Fred want anything to do with him at all?

Sam closed his eyes and set the card down, trying not to think about the flashbacks that had haunted him both while he slept and was awake. He remembered Fred. He remembered that she'd been nice to him upon his arrival in the City, though at the time she hadn't realized that he was a different Sam, hadn't realized that he was empty inside.

Worst of all, he remembered hurting her. He remembered chasing her down, shooting her. Burning her building and leaving her for dead. Hot tears stung at his eyes and he was a little glad that Dean wasn't around to see that, that he didn't have to answer the questions that might accompany those. He stuffed the card back in the drawer and went back to his place on the couch. He was no longer hungry. Instead, he just sat and buried his face in his hands.

(Note: Due to the fact the Nigma Family cannot have a scene without being drama llamas, this opening is gigantic...enjoy!)

“People usually knock, Daddy,” Enigma said, watching her father’s entrance in her dressing table mirror before standing, her robe falling down onto the bench as she did. Where most people would feel uncomfortable being around a parent in their under clothes, the idea never bothered Enigma, having long lost any sense of shame beofre she met Edward again, and certainly lost it after sharing the back of a van as their living space for a month before they found a decent warehouse to crash in.

She pulled the comb from her hair, her long, brown curls cascading down her back as she looked at him fully. “Come to help me into my dress, or am I still waiting for Di and Elena?”

( The Wedding of the Century )

Dean made sure Sam was comfortable. He also made sure that the weird basket from Fred had been set to the side, almost hidden. It was a basket full of waffle related items: batters, preserves, whipped cream, syrups, even little pitchers and dishes. No waffle iron, but when he was putting things away, the older Winchester found the waffle irons; he didn’t think too hard about that one, just chalked it up to the City. He really hoped whatever version of his brother that had lived here before the current one...he hoped that Sam hadn’t shared a weird waffle fetish with the brainy loon.

The basket had come with a card, and wanting to see if it was safe or not, Dean had read it. So, I heard you got your soul back... Dean stopped right there and shoved the card in a drawer with cooking utensils, not thinking Sam would go looking through those drawers anytime soon.

“Okay, Sammy, I’m heading out for a bit. Call if you need anything.” He didn’t go kiss the guy on the top of his head, nor did he pat him on the shoulder. He just gave Sam a wave and headed out. He had a plan.

( ---- )

There was finally a lull in the seemingly nonstop action over the last few months. The Sherwood Florist had stayed open, but Dinah hadn’t had much time to actually work full days at the shop. She was glad that she had a rare day where she could drop by work and spend the day doing something that almost resembled normal. She was worried about how Dean and Sam were both coping in the aftermath of Sam getting his soul back, but she believed that the best thing she could do right now was give the two space.

Thus, time to work. The shop was buzzing with early orders for Mother’s day and the usual business. It seemed like everyone wanted flowers this week, which was good for business. There was something so cathartic about creating floral arrangements that would be used to express love, affection, or simply to beautify someone’s home or special event. This wasn’t just her cover story, but a job that she loved and Dinah was happy to throw herself back into it for now.

Once she’d done some of her arrangements, she thumbed through the appointment book and spotted a familiar name. She winced as she remembered the wedding invitation that she hadn’t yet RSVPed to. She really needed to talk to Enigma, though she still wasn’t sure how to react to the fact that the tip she’d followed from the younger woman had led to a less than pleasant confrontation with The Riddler. She didn’t know what Enigma’s part was in that and if she’d purposely sent Dinah into a trap or if it had just been coincidence, and Dinah had yet had the chance to figure out how to react to that and how to get the truth.

She supposed that this appointment would be as good of a time as any.

( The request )

The crone stood on a hill in the park, wondering at the sun. It was there now. Her head lifted, eyes closed, and she basked. The cabin had stayed with the castle; the crone was beginning to think that the damn place was becoming aware. Eric was not going to be pleased.

The energies felt right. She'd been careful in how she touched the City's power. She knew the City's local deity could tell when she had, and she wasn't ready for that particular fight. She had a feeling she would never be ready for that, yet she was curious to see what might come of it. But, she touched the power anyway. Something had gone wrong.

It wasn't that the sun had gone down and stayed that way for days. No, it was the lack of alteration in everything else. As if the City had simply been unaware. She had let the possible malady, for that was what it felt like, take its course. She would not move to aid the City without its request, but...

"You are acting strangely." Her voice was soft, but she knew that the City would listen. It always had before, even when they were having a bit of a spat. "You should seek help. Not the God; his way is too easy. You wish to understand. Find the ones who will help you. Seek them out, and do it quickly. I've more important things to do than worry on your well being."

Her eyes opened slowly, and she looked around. Now, what mischief was there to be had?

Maxine was now staying with Wash. Jo had mixed feelings about this. There was the blind relief because she wasn't anywhere near ready to be responsible for a five year old, but there was also an unexpected sadness. She missed the kid. Maxine would be back for weekends sometimes, but there was that. All the same, Jo found herself without plans for the night. No work, no kid, no Ted. She'd been curious about one of the other bars in town that seemed to cater to... unusual clientele. She'd heard things about Caritas and figured that now was as good a time as any to check out the club.

She wasn't dressed up-it was standard jeans and a black tank top. She wasn't here to meet and greet or attract attention. Just the opposite, in fact. She wanted to just blend in with the rest of the club. She was curious about the proprietor who supposedly could see bits and pieces of the future for people who sang karaoke. She'd also heard even stranger things about some of the denizens of the club. Potentially demons.

It seemed like the City had everything. Vampire bars, possibly demon bars. All of these creatures in one small, confined area. It was a wonder that anyone survived.