The Universe's Mixer

Far different from the slithering, gleeful voices that usually jerked her out of bed, this one was familiar and wonderfully odd and very dear. The City. Its voice still sounded like Thomas Townsend's, to her. It woke her tonight before her memories of Doctor Crane and Edward Nigma started in on her.

Often, the City spoke with her. Sometimes they simply talked about people and why they behaved they way they did. Sometimes she talked with him because she felt alone. And she thought, maybe, sometimes he did the same. But the things it said tonight were not the typical normal conversations they had with each other, and none of it was easy to hear. She was up immediately, threw herself in and out of the shower, and dressed just as quickly. A glance at the clock showed that it was 3 a.m. and she knew it would be terribly, dreadfully rude... but some things were bigger than manners.

Beauty set the watch Bruce gave her onto her wrist as she waited at the gates of the City Commons for the cab she'd called. Normally, she would have been terrified to be standing on the street alone at 3:25 a.m. on a weeknight. Her anxiety over the City far out-shadowed the anxiety that normally would have seized her. Doctor Crane and Edward Nigma seemed tiny, compared to what she knew now.

15 minutes later, Beauty knocked on the door that used to belong to the mayor himself, before the City sent him home again. "Fred!" she called softly. "It's Beauty! I know it's late, but please..."

Erik entered the manor as silently as he could manage through the kitchen door. He had no fear of waking his wife, even if she had turned in early. Rather, he was deeply concerned that she might be waiting for him by the main door and throw herself at him the moment she laid eyes on him.

Typically, he didn't avoid his wife's attentions, but tonight he wanted the ability to speak before she could unwittingly damage him even more. His plan, it seemed had worked. As he moved soundlessly through the manor, he listened for her. Of course, she'd be concerned. He'd asked his assistant to call her tonight, once it was clear that the Opera House was too damaged to allow the evening practice to go on. Mike had reported that she was very worried but agreed to stay home until he got there -- and only after Mike told her that Erik was unharmed.

That had been a lie. It wasn't Mike's lie, however; it was Erik's.

Erik started up the stairs toward their shared bedroom suite before finally allowing himself to make enough sound to draw her attention. He deliberately took the steps loudly, though the jarring hurt his side more than he'd want to admit. When he was halfway up the stairs, he stopped and began to ease his shoulders out of his suit jacket.

It had taken Tony a while to notice that Annie was gone. He was too busy on the revisions of the suit he'd built for Wash, and trying to once again set up a system to chart the City's movements and power source.

It was only when he'd finally surfaced for a real meal, a shower, and a chance in clothes when he realized that he was missing something else. In searching the Tower for Annie he'd found the downtrodden arms in her lab, and when Jarvis confirmed that she'd been gone for a while Tony had set the AI on finding her.

First came the police reports, and then a hospital location. Tony tried her cell phone as he suited up, flying over as fast as he could, not wanting to wait in the traffic or risk anything catching up to him. The armor dropped him at the front of the hospital and then went to the roof on standby, and a moment later Tony was inside, not bothering with reception. Jarvis had hacked the system easily, and Tony was too riled to deal with any receptionist telling him he wasn't kin and couldn't visit.

He didn't knock, either, simply opening the door and walking in, spotting Annie immediately and freezing slightly. He was not used to seeing friends or loved ones in hospital beds. He steeled himself internally, then walked over, for the first time slowing his pace, moving to her side and slowly taking her hand. "What happened?" he asked, voice quiet with rage. Rage at whoever had put here, and an equal amount of rage at himself for not being there, or noticing that it had happened.