Grace stared at the tablet in her hands, trying to ignore the quiet, steady sound of the angel's breathing. At first, she'd tried a set of earplugs, but the lack of sound nauseated her. She'd focused on the ventilation for a while, but after a time its repetitive nature pushed it into the background. Now she simply sat quietly reading the publicly available information on her temporary roommates.

Widget, the gadget maker, the super scientist. She wore a small mask and a wig styled different to her real hair, but Grace recognized her immediately as Doctor Merilyn. Jack Hammer didn't even bother with a mask, and his online profile gave his real name, Jack Maliss. He looked far younger in his photograph than in person, though. She suspected he'd been airbrushed to hide some of his age.

Flex could only be the young woman Widget had briefly introduced as Jesse. In her bio picture, she'd stretched herself out and altered her face to look like a character in an anime, but her smile remained eerily similar. Much like Jack, Axeman also revealed his real name, Steve Chambers. Kronos, she hadn't met; his entry said something about the power to control time. Charles Morgan, the man she'd been introduced to as the team's leader, had tinkering abilities, but where Widget's were typically handheld and had to do with medicine, Mr. Morgan's were large scale, dealing with architecture. It explained how he'd built such an impressive headquarters so quickly.

Finally, the angel in the room, officially listed as Midnight. Her picture, beautiful as it was, didn't do her justice. The picture didn't breathe, didn't move, didn't sing out to Grace every second of every minute she stayed in the room.

She stood; every moment careful to avoid waking Midnight. Every time the angel stirred, Grace lost her steely grip on her self-control. She didn't need to start that again. After turning the light down, she left the room, her tablet now set to display the output of the camera pointed at Midnight's headboard. Before she'd taken two steps toward the kitchen, the tablet bleeped at her. A glance down showed a simple 'incoming call' alert with a 'connect' button. She tapped it, and a young man's face appeared on the screen.

"Hi! Miss Chung? There's a call coming in, I thought it would be better if you take it."

Grace frowned. "Pardon. Who are you?"

"Oh. I'm Troy. I'm kinda Charlie's assistant. I help out Angela a bit too, I guess. Tonight, I'm manning the phones while Widget's all tied up down in Philly. I'm sort of the odd job guy, come to think of it." He ran down, his brows furrowing as his eyes unfocused. She took the opportunity to get her next question in.

"I think I understand. I understood no one knew I was here. Why would someone be calling for me?"

"Oh, they're not calling for you specifically. They just called, and I figured..." His brows drew down again, and he reached up and rubbed at his right temple.

"That I might wake Midnight and let her speak with the caller?"

"Oh, no. Doc was pretty clear on that, I shouldn't wake anybody in the infirmary unless it's an emergency."

"Then how did you know you could call me?"

"Computer listed your tablet as active. I figured it wouldn't be unless you were awake."

"Did you perhaps think Doctor Merilyn would be here, by mistake?"

"Oh. Nah, I know she's gone, and I can tell the tablet's still local. I hope she's okay. She's not answering her phone."

"Is that why you contacted me? Because you couldn't reach her phone?"

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Now Troy frowned harder than Grace. "Nope. Just tried it now. I cannot for the life of me think why I pinged you. I don't want to hang up, either."

Grace blushed, a common occurrence when forced to confront her own fame. "If you would like an autograph, I wouldn't mind."

"No. That's not it, though I think Steve wants one. No, I just thought you ought to take the call."

"Were you given any instructions to hand calls over to me?" Grace grew more puzzled by the second as the nice young man frowned at her, clearly wanting her to take the call, but equally clearly uncertain why.

"No. This is so weird. Do you mind talking to him?"

"To who?"

"The guy on the line. His name's Walker, says he's a blue blood, says he's trying to get in touch with whatever government agency is in charge of you."

Grace paused, thinking about her own horror at the fading image of the incinerated treadmill. "I do not have a government agency in charge of me, but... I suppose if he's worried, I can talk to him."

"Okay, I'll put him through."

A moment later, Troy's image disappeared, quickly replaced by the image of Midnight resting in bed. Troy spoke once more, "Mister Walker? I've got Grace Chung on the line for you."

A firm baritone replied, "I don't see a Grace Chung listed on the website. Are you sure I have the right number?"

"I'm sorry, sir. The rest of the team is unavailable at the moment. I could have Mister Morgan call you back tomorrow?"

A sigh sounded through the line. "No. I'll speak with her."

Grace decided to cut in before Troy upset the man further. "Hello, Mister Walker. This is Grace Chung. I'm... I suppose I'm a probationary member of the team."

"Probationary? How so?"

"I'm not sure this is what I want to do with these... gifts. I'm not sure I even want them. I'm staying with the Blue Bloods until I learn how to control them. Maybe until Doc... until Widget or Mister Morgan figures out a way to fix me, so I don't have them."

"Fix you? Why..." Walker trailed off.

"I am not combative by nature. I am not a pacifist, I will defend myself, but I just can't see myself as some kind of defender. I'm a musician."

"Oh." Walker tried to hide his disappointment, but Grace had too much experience and too fine an ear to miss it.

"You have these gifts as well, I take it?"

"Oh, yes. Unfortunately, it appears someone within the government thinks they make me too dangerous to be allowed out of a box. I've been unlawfully imprisoned. Really, if I could speak with someone in the JAG's office, I'd be willing to go through channels, but I haven't been allowed out of the room I'm in. I haven't even seen more than half a dozen people, really."

Grace thought about her own youth. The cells, the prisons in all but name. She sympathized with the man on the other end of the line, but she had no idea what to do for him.

Movement on the screen caught her eye. The angel stirred, stretched, and started to sit up. The sheet fell away, and Grace wrenched her eyes from the tablet in her hands. "Mister Walker, I believe one of our more senior people will be available shortly. If you could just hang on a bit?"

***

Jane could almost taste the sounds as fate moved through the world. Thunder rolled with every footstep, shaking bits of plaster from the walls and ceiling. Lightning flickered, teasing at death's echoing steps, and death blinked, peered about, and stared directly at Jane.

She'd tried until she collapsed to open her eyes, to end the silence, but without success. Her eyes remained stubbornly shut, the world silent and still save for the endless tolling of the death striding toward her. That one sound shook the world, so loud she could hear it through her closed eyes, so loud she couldn't not hear it, even with her eyes squeezed shut.

She could squeeze her eyes shut. She ought to be able to open them. The scent of tears rolling down her face brought even more tears in their wake, the sight of them so hot her eyes squeezed shut of their own accord once more.

Jane tried to push herself upright, to bring her hands to her face. She knew she had hands; she'd smelled them when last fate shoved her from her perch.

Her shoulders slumped. She'd tried as hard as she could, but fate walked toward her, death clutched in his hand. The lightning, guilty once and guilty twice and guilty thrice, had sent fate to kill her once more.

Once more. Memories, images from the time before, teased at the edges of her mind. The acrid goo in her mouth, the lead hammering into her skull, the knives piercing her until they'd had their fill. Knife had stabbed her, and yet she lived. Gun had shot her, and yet she lived. Poison had corrupted her, and yet she lived. Sky had fallen on her, and yet she lived. Fierce desire kindled deep in her core; desire detached from the guilty world of those not dead. Her eyes remained closed, her body remained still, but her tears stopped flowing.

Fate strode toward her, shaking the earth with the weight of her next death in his hand.

Once more, and the silence would end.