And then there were five For Amethyst Part 13 On the eighth, David woke Mark personally, watching in amusement as the sleepy boy fumbled about. Breakfast and a shower were both achieved with minimal disasters, and Isabelle had carefully laid out Mark's suit, socks, tie, and dress shoes. By the time David finished dressing himself, he faced one confused, bleary-eyed boy trying to figure out the working man's noose. "Here, like this." David steered him to a mirror and showed him how using his own tie. He noted with no small amount of pride Mark's intense concentration as the boy tried to copy his actions, and then straightened the lopsided knot once Mark was done. He'd had Mark pack a change of clothes, and had packed one for himself as well. Grabbing the bag, he led down to underground parking. Part of just being a man going out with his foster son was driving himself, so they took David's under-used car and headed out toward Intergalactic Security's private airport. It was David's one nod to convenience for the day, to use one of the private planes. As they arrived at the airfield, David saw that Mark's neatly-combed hair was already springing toward freedom as it dried. Somehow it seemed appropriate. Mark had been quiet throughout the drive, but now started showing signs of life. At any other time he'd be bouncing in his seat. Given the somber occasion, he remained subdued, but still stared at the planes in awe as they parked and carried their bag toward the terminal. "Which one's ours?" Mark stared out the huge windows as David checked them in. "They'll tell us in a moment." The smartly-dressed attendant behind the counter flashed David a smile as she handed back their identification. "Your plane's waiting in hangar three, Sir. Have a good flight." David nodded and led Mark out toward the hangar. He'd counted three security scanners already, and noticed another two by the time they reached the plane. He make a mental note to find out if there really were only five. If that was the case, they needed some less obvious avenues that savvy criminals and troublemakers wouldn't spot. Then he realized he was working on a day that he wasn't supposed to be working. David turned his attention back to Mark as they entered the hangar. Now the boy really did bounce as they spotted the sleek private jet, eyes wide with delight. "Think I could see the cockpit?" Mark didn't even turn as he spoke, gaze still locked on the plane. "Perhaps. I'll ask." A stewardess emerged, walking down to the bottom of the plane's boarding stairs. She laughed as the excited seven-year-old practically danced up to her. Mark barely noticed the attractive woman as he walked along the plane, eagerly drinking in the sight of its aerodynamic lines. "Someone's going to grow up to be a pilot," she said with a warm smile. "Just like my dad!" The stewardess turned her smile on David, who suddenly felt twelve kinds of awkward. Fortunately, Mark didn't seem to notice her implication, too busy bounding up the steps and into the plane. The boy had made it plainly clear on more than one occasion that he had only one dad, and that dad was still alive, somewhere. At first he tried to pass the stewardess without comment. Then he remembered his promise. "It would really make his day if there's a chance for him to see the cockpit." "That can be arranged," she said with a wink. "Once we're on autopilot, Hank can spare a few moments to give him the nickel tour." "Excellent, thank you." David climbed the stairs, wondering if it was gauche to work Mark up with fun on his way to visit a cemetery. He hadn't seen this much exuberance from the boy for a long time, though, and was loathe to put the breaks on it. Getting Mark to sit still long enough to buckle into his seat was required, however. As the stewardess gave them the safety lecture, and Mark eagerly read the pamphlet about the jet, David pulled out his tablet. By the time Mark was finished reading, David had called up more information about the plane. The boy beamed when David handed him the device. David was pretty sure that most seven-year-olds weren't this enthusiastic about reading technical specifications, but there was a reason behind Jason's teasing that Mark's head was always in the clouds. Soon, they were in the air and leveling off. Not long after, the stewardess approached and leaned down toward Mark. In a conspiratorial manner, she loudly whispered, "I heard that Hank, our pilot, wouldn't mind a bit of help up front." Mark practically dropped the tablet. When the boy turned to stare at him with those heartbreakingly wide blue eyes, David smiled. "That's a generous offer. Be sure not to touch anything without asking, okay?" With a solemn nod, Mark undid his seatbelt and followed the stewardess to the front of the plane. David almost stayed behind to do some work, but found himself following them, instead. Watching the boy's unadulterated joy as the pilot patiently explained the controls, answered questions, and even let him sit in the pilot's seat -- as long as he didn't touch anything -- filled David with an unexpected warmth. He'd forgotten this feeling. For the first time, David realized what he was giving up by being so busy. Hastings' words came rushing back. It was true, if he placed Mark in the project, they'd spend more time together. But it wouldn't be this kind of time, spent just for the pleasure of listening to a boy pepper a pilot with questions that seemed far too advanced for his age. Yet again, David wondered about the reasons for his hesitation. Was he being selfish? Did he want to keep Mark as the closest he'd ever have to a son, rather than sharing him with the entire Federation? He had to admit that the thought of sending the boy into combat filled him with a cold dread. Not that he was happy to send any of the children into danger, but he certainly felt a closer attachment to Mark than to any of the others. So many complex decisions. Before he knew it, they were returning to their seats. Mark was practically walking on the clouds as he went on about how cool this was, and how one day, he was going to fly a plane just like this one. Then they were landing, and the stewardess -- Moira, he really must remember her name to thank her later for her helpfulness -- came by for one more pass. "Hank thought you should have some wings." She handed a shiny metal pin to Mark. Mark beamed, pinning it onto his shirt, and David smiled at her in thanks. So far mission Special Day was a success. # Before heading to the cemetery, David drove them to the same flower shop they usually went to before paying a visit. As was his policy, he let Mark choose the flowers, and as always the boy chose something bright and cheerful. Afterwards, they moved on to their destination, and David wasn't at all surprised when Mark walked silently from the car to where his mother -- and supposedly his father -- was buried. He let the boy lead the way, impressed that Mark remembered, and then stood back to watch as Mark pulled a single flower from the bouquet and laid it in front of Charles' headstone. "One day you'll come back, daddy, I know it." David winced and moved further away to give Mark some privacy. The boy sat in front of the gravestone, idly toying with the flowers as he told his mother whatever came to mind. While David watched, he found himself needing to talk to her as well. Dignity suggested that talking out loud was all right for a seven-year-old, but not for a grown man, so he kept the discussion silent. It wasn't like she could really hear them. You should have left me a damn manual, Maddie, was the first thing that came out of his head. What the hell were you thinking, you and Charles both? He's seven and has already been in therapy, for heaven's sake. He could almost hear her laughing at him. It didn't help. You'd be proud of him, though. He's smart and he's driven. Unfortunately, he's driving in exactly the direction you didn't want for him, and I'm at a loss on how best to convince him to change course. I might not even be able to. And part of me doesn't want to, he had to admit. He'd be a perfect balance against Jason. He wants so badly to be on the team, Maddie, and we need him. David wished he was exaggerating. They really did need him. With only two children so far, and another perhaps years away -- if they could fix the bioengineering issues -- the stink of desperation was impossible to ignore. What would you say if you saw him now? What would you want me to do? But he wasn't being fair. Madeline wasn't here, she was dead. In life she'd chosen Charles, and he'd respected that, not about to destroy his friendship with either of them. Especially when he was far too driven to spare her the time she deserved. In death, though, she'd left Mark's care and future in his hands, freeing Charles to do what had to be done. His. David swallowed, realizing he had to stop blaming her for his chronic indecision. He'd always prided himself of being a man of logic and not sentiment. Now, though ... You left me a precious piece of yourself, Maddie. Is it wrong to want to protect him? Even against himself? Yet, what good was it doing, to slavishly adhere to a plea made in the heat of emotional upheaval? In those rare times he spoke to Charles, his friend asked if Mark was in the program yet, very much the proud father expecting great things of a son he barely knew. You had insisted Charles leave on schedule. You wanted Mark to have a future. Without the right team, though, he might not have one at all. Without him on the team ... David made himself stop. He was just thinking in circles, now. As he watched Mark continue to talk to his mother, David felt his inner landscape shift, taking one more step toward a decision he might forever regret. He'd give it another few months. If