A/N: Erg, I can�t remember the name of the person who gave me the title, but many virtual ice-cream sundaes and chocolate chip cookies in that direction. Oh, and if you haven�t noticed, we�ve been switching POV�s, or else y�all wouldn�t get the most outta the story. You�ll be able to figure out who�s talkin� when without much problem, though. ~( 8>
Chapter 7: I�m Not Weird, I�m Gifted by: DragonMouse ~( 8>
The pilot had asked all passengers to put their seatbacks and tray tables in their full upright positions about five minutes ago, and boy oh boy, was I in full upright position. Clutching the arms of the seat too. It wasn�t going _anywhere_. Did I mention I have a fear of flying? Could have never guessed. Somehow though, the plane touched down without incident and I was able to disembark on pretty solid legs. The whole flight, I�d been asking myself why I was flying on my vacation. Life and death or a job, a well-paying one, are the only reasons I go _near_ airplanes.
Once back on solid ground, I remembered why. Crys wanted to visit, said she misses me. Jeez, this kid is manipulative. So I flew to Santa Fe for a week to hang with the kid, make Donna jealous, and all around bug Edward, the best killer I know. A wondrous combination. It�s pretty neat that Crys is homeschooled, thereby giving us an entire week to hang, even though by her letters, Edward has already done everything cool that I could have. Including adopting her. Her name is officially Crystal Forrester now, which took about a week to sink in. Not only did Edward _want_ to adopt her, someone gave him permission to do so. Kind of screwed up.
When I got to the terminal, I began scanning the crowd for the �father-daughter� pair, one 12-year-old grinning, antsy girl with a brown ponytail and one blonde haired man with blue assassin�s eyes. But on first glance, I didn�t see them. On the second glance, I still couldn�t spot them and began to think they weren�t even here as I started on the third pass and did the proverbial double-take. There they were, just standing there, almost right in front of me, wearing almost matching clothes.
Both wore a black hat; Edward�s a cowboy hat, Crys�s a baseball cap, a black tee-shirt, black jeans; both well-worn, Crys�s cuffed at least twice, black shoes; hiking boots and Converse All-Stars respectively, and black duster coats. Even their expressions were the same, solemn, bordering on bored, and watchful. I felt almost physically jolted by the change that being in Edward�s care had brought out in the child. When my eyes finally lighted upon them in recognition, the girl barely nudged her guardian, to which he gave a barely perceptible nod and she grinned, her face suddenly warm, welcoming. It was as if, in the middle of a frozen winter, someone had granted a day of 90-degree weather, melting the most frozen of areas. I hoped that it was just that she�d been practicing, because it took me countless kills to get a look that dispassionate. If Edward were taking her on hunts, I�d probably have to kill him.
�Anita, you made it,� the girl said, beaming, jolting me from my thoughts. �Eddy told me you don�t like to fly. Sorry. But I�m sooo happy you�re here! We�re gonna have sooo much fun. Donna doesn�t let me an� Peter have _any_ fun. She�s a twit.�
I had to laugh even as Edward gave her a sharp look. As we wandered to where I�d retrieve my luggage, I asked, �You two get into a lot of trouble together?�
�Naw, not really,� Crys replied, blushing a tad. �Not since when we got grounded for a month each. I wouldn�t�ve been, but Donna made Eddy ground me. All �causa we didn�t want trouble for fighting. That sucked. Eddy says me and Peter make a great team. One time, we actually tagged him in paintball. He walked a close-in point and I figured out where Eddy was.�
We�d reached the turnstile, and I even allowed Edward to carry one of my bags. I _am_ on vacation, after all. When I asked Crys how she�d found him, he _is_ an assassin (AKA: very sneaky man), she cringed, then bowed her head humbly. Nervously, she took off her cap and ran a fidgety finger over the white logo emblazoned on the front: Star Wars Episode I. Suddenly, she sighed, and it was the heaviest I�d heard issue from someone so young. I noted briefly that her hair was much shorter, all one length from the top down to the back, very short on the sides and frosted blonde on the top. I guess Edward isn�t that strict a parent.
�Well, um, I guess I can tell. Peter was the only one who knew, �cause we didn�t know how everyone would take it. If I want to, like, know where Eddy is, I close my eyes and listen _real_ hard, then kinda say in my head, �Where�s the really good blonde man?� if we�re paintballing, where he�d stand out as good, ya� know? Sometimes it takes a second, but every time, I get this picture of him, normally from above, but a coupla times from below. Once, Eddy stepped on my view, which was some scary- um- crap. �Causa that, we figured I�m getting clues form animals. The dumber ones, common birds and bugs mainly, I can use for senses, like the sight thing, or sounds. But the bigger ones, or even domestic ones, those are weird. I was bored once, and I carried on a conversation, a freakin� _discussion_, with Rio in my mind about toys and Eddy an� Pete, all sortsa stuff. I don�t listen to my new rat anymore, because she thinks too fast, hurts my head. I�m actually kind of scared to talk with a were anymore. Now that I�ve got these power-thingies, I don�t know if I�ll hear their thoughts when their in human form or only when they�re fuzzy, or what.�
I didn�t bother to conceal my shock and could only stare at her in open-mouthed amazement. A glance in Edward�s direction revealed a blank look on his face, then, as we exited the airport, he looked over at me and said, �Anita, what is-?� He paused and seemed to grasp for what he wanted to say. �What the hell is she talking about?� Hmmm, a flustered Death is not something I�m used to. In fact, I didn�t think it could happen.
Crys looked at me as if to say, �Go ahead, tell everyone what I am, because I�d sure like to know.� If I was back home, I could contact any number of psychics and aura-readers to answer this question, but as it was, I was at a complete loss. What do you tell someone who just revealed their inner workings to you and wanted answers? Or to the parent who might actually loath what the child has become? It�s a good thing I didn�t become a psychiatrist�
�Can we talk about this later?� I asked. Edward shrugged, keeping his normal blank aloofness wrapped around himself like a little kid with his blankie.
Crys grinned at me. �Sure, let�s get home. Did you know that Eddy has a Hummer? It�s sooo cool. I�ve got a set of keys to it, in case he�s too hurt to get out of town, I can drive. Isn�t that great? Pete�s in school, so he won�t be coming by until the weekend, but we�ll have fun any way��
And so she yammered on for the entire ride to Edward�s place, catching me up on the details her letters hadn�t contained. For some reason, it didn�t annoy me as much as I would have thought, her omission of letters and ignoring of grammatical rules making it all the cuter for some reason. From how much she talked about him, I gathered that she either has a massive crush on Peter or idolizes him like a big brother. Maybe a bit of both. When we pulled up the driveway, I noted that the clinical neatness of the yard, at least, was marred. A silver and blue bike was laid over on its side just out of the driveway, as if discarded in the hurry to get to the call of dinner. A soccer ball sat on the bottom step, waiting for a child to come out and kick it around with a father. I wondered briefly if either were the case, but dismissed it just as quickly. That�d be _too_ weird.
Inside was just as marked by a child�s presence. Coming through the door, I tripped over a pair of roller blades, which were promptly scooped up by a sheepish Crys and hauled away. Rio came to have his head scratched and lick my hands almost immediately. With such warm receptions, I�m inclined to think _everyone_ isn�t out to kill me. The only new additions to the living room were one of those nice flat screen TVs and an open history book looking lost on the otherwise bare coffee table. The dining room was unmarked, but the kitchen hadn�t weathered the storm that is a permanent kid. A tray on the counter held lumpy, home made chocolate chip cookies under cling wrap. A box of Oreo O�s sat out, but those might�ve been Edward�s, you never know. Pictures decorated the fridge. Several were pencil sketches, one of Becca, another of Peter and Edward as Ted trying to look dangerous in poses reminiscent of Charlie�s Angels, yet another of Edward sleeping. Next to each was the photo that it was drawn from. For several minutes, I stared at them, trying to find mistakes or something. When I didn�t, I looked up to find Edward staring down at me. �Crys did these, didn�t she?� I asked, pretty sure of the answer. He nodded silently, almost grimly.
�Is there anything that little punk _can�t_ do?� I asked incredulously.
He went to say something, then paused to actually think about it. �She can�t roller blade. Peter�s trying to teach her, but it isn�t working. She can�t catch a football, has a hard time with Spanish and her cooking is _awful_. If I supervise, it�s actually edible, but if not, you can�t turn her loose with a recipe. Out of a box isn�t bad, but from scratch . . . Other then that, she is amazingly perfect.� He said this all very blandly, so I couldn�t tell if he was happy with her perfection or annoyed. I wasn�t sure if he knew himself.
~( 8>