MV3: Discomfort

London Fish turned out to be a good choice for a meeting: a small, quirky seafood place with plenty of windows and a good view of its surroundings, it had been converted from an older house and still looked to have living quarters on the second floor. On a Tuesday night, it was only moderately full, and Amy's family was easy to spot: they'd taken a table towards the back, sitting together and looking over the menus. 

Andy turned towards them, noting that Chante, Sal, and Tab had been seated at a table nearby -- not that there was anything in this restaurant that wasn't nearby. Brickhouse She was watching from a van parked outside, and Andy hoped she was comfortable. 

He approached reluctantly, paused to look at the three humans, and then drew back a chair and settled into it.

Donald Black looked much as always had: dark-haired, pale-skinned, blue-eyed, and well-dressed. He was some sort of supervisor at Lockheed Martin, a former engineer, and he and Andy had never really connected -- though Andy had liked him well enough. Connie Black was black-haired, dark-skinned, and brown-eyed; Amy had taken after her. She used to smile when Andy came around; now she just sighed. Thomas was likely to be the problem here -- he was dark-haired like his father, olive-skinned and blue-eyed, and he glared at Andy like he wanted to commit murder then and there.

Then he really focused, and did a huge double-take.

"Yeah," said Andy. "This is me, now. I didn't live through them either. I just happen to be dead and walking around, instead of cleanly dead."

Thomas had been two years ahead of him in school; he'd already graduated when Andy and Amy first started dating. "You're really him?"

Andy sighed. "When I first started dating her, you warned me I'd better not hurt her. I promised you that if I did, it would only be by accident." He looked at Connie. "You always made the very best cookies, and looked like you just wanted Amy to be happy." 

Donald grunted, and Andy shifted to face him. "I never quite knew how to try to talk to you. I tried to help out with the grilling on the Fourth, but you shooed me away."

Donald grunted again, but nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe that was my fault. My baby girl, you know?"

Andy shook his head. "I felt that way about her, too." There. He didn't know how to be any more clear than that. "And then we were studying in the living room, and these things busted in the door and killed us, and now I'm one of them."

"You better have tried to protect her," Thomas half-growled. 

"How?" asked Andy, then swallowed and held up a hand. "No, I'm sorry. I tried, but they were well above my weight class. Judith only survived because they were busy with us, and she hid. If I'd known they were coming and had a ton of magic bullets, I might have been able to do something. I wish..." He swallowed. "I wish I could have gotten her out." 

"Thomas," said Connie. "He's right." She looked at me, then sighed. "I did some research. You're stronger now, aren't you?"

I nodded, reluctantly.

"A lot stronger. And the ones involved in the attack would have been stronger than that."

I nodded again. "Yeah."

Thomas sat still for a very, very long time. Finally he looked up and asked, "What do you think, Dad?"

Donald shook his head, then met my eyes. "I wish she hadn't gone over to your house," he said. "But my beautiful wife--" He reached over, and squeezed her hand. "--is right. It's like wishing she hadn't gotten hit by that drunk driver."

I sat back, and then realized that a waitress was standing beside us. "Um," she said, and cleared her throat. "Are you ready to order?"