Interlude: Introducing Yakuza's FamilyMature

A/N: PotatoOverlord - you wanted backstory, you get backstory. And hey - I didn't make the Director's backstory completely depressing. Of course, I never promised anything in regards to the husband...
Also, "Otkon" means "spirit" in Mohican. "Dyrektor" is "director" in Polish. And Oronhyatekha is named after the historical figure - a Mohawk physician and scholar. It is really hard to find a historical Mowhawk figure D:<

The Director sighs. 

It's been a long week - a mission in Tasmania went south very, very quickly, and two of his specialists for the Tactics & Strategy division of C.A.R.D. were currently missing. They'd probably show up later, as the specialists tended to do, but the paperwork was horrendous. Just because he usually dumped at least half of it on Mortician too didn't make it any less migraine-inducing.

But now he got to go home.

Home, to his family.

Yakuza managed to wrangle the large stack of forms from his mahogany desk into his laptop bag, folding his suit jacket over his arm and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, loosening the tie as well. 

Then, he went through the pinpricking (blood testing), retina scanning (eye recognition), and voice/password stage, all to make sure that he was who he said he was. 

After that, a space opened up under his desk. He gingerly lowered himself down to strap himself into the seat, and then pressed a small fig-colored button, the opening sliding shut and the seat moving quickly down, down, down into the darkness.

Suddenly, it stuttered to a stop, and the Director had to figure out where the second button was - the one that controlled the lights. After two unsuccessful attempts (one nearly releasing a dozen peeved rattlesnakes into the Tunnels with him), he managed to find it, the Tunnels suddenly flooded with light.

To the side, there was a golf cart.

Clambering in, he headed into the maze of underground passageways and caves and tunnels. He had the route memorized, luckily, because more than one person before him had taken a wrong turn once and fallen into a pit of tar. 

The headlights of the golf cart flickered on the walls, the lighting getting worse and worse the farther he went. But then he saw the spray-painted sign - a rhombus with an odd shape inside. Hitting yet another button, Yakuza climbed off and watched at the golf cart drove crazily off, swerving and making odd screeching noises as it went. 

Then, he put his palms to the wall, hearing the low hum as it recognized his hands, and opened.

He came out into an alley, from what looked (to outsiders) like a maintenance door - only the run-down shop it was attached to had no idea that it existed.

Clearing his throat and brushing off the front of his shirt, Piotr O'Brien proceeded to step out of the alley and onto his route home, smiling at the old lady who kept avocados in her purse for snacks, and waving at the postman. 

After all, he was Piotr right now. Not the Director, or Yakuza, or head of one of the most secretive organizations out there. Piotr didn't care about the Agency. Piotr only cared about his husband and daughter.

Making his way up the nice stone path that led to his front door, he stooped to pull the key out from where it was taped inside the nearly-closed mouth of the gargoyle. 

"Hey, Oronhyatekha! I'm home!" He called, smiling when a man in a wheelchair came rolling furiously towards him.

"Piotr!" The Mohawk man was grinning, and he just barely avoided crushing one of the other male's toes as he stopped, reaching his hands out so that Piotr could hug him. 

"I missed you so much," The standing man admitted, throwing his arms around his husband and resting his chin on his shoulder. 

"Me too." Oronhyatekha smiled. 


Piotr blinked. "Um. Yes, Riley, you look just like a fairy princess. So, Raké:ni is showing you how to add glitter to your shirt? Do you want to show me?"

The small girl, still sparkling everywhere, looked up at him with wide, wide eyes. Her right was cloudy, but the left was perfectly clear. One of her hands was prosthetic, the black surface also sparkling with glitter. She'd never know what it was like to have two flesh-and-blood hands. But she was brave. She could do it. They both knew she could.

Suddenly, she grinned. "YAY! Come, Daddy, you've got to see it, it's great! We should glitter-fy your shirt to!"

Smiling, Piotr mouthed "Glitter-fy?" at Oronhyatekha, who just raised an eyebrow and shrugged, his body a picture of contentment.

After all, he had his husband and his daughter. What more could he want?

Rolling after the pair as they ran through the house, he managed to avoid the sharp corner of the wall, his wheelchair skidding a little, but the Mohican man managed to keep it from tipping. 

The living room was a mess. The table was covered in glitter and glitter glue, and the cat was sitting there trying to eat what looked like the blue sparkles. But he would clean it later - right now it made his daughter happy, and that's what mattered. 


He was running.

"Otkon!" Somebody yelled. The rain was heavy and thick. The air smelled of blood. The concrete walls closed in.

"Dyrektor!" He yelled back. His partner was holding off the main group. He was running. Running so fast. Needed to get to where they could pick him up. Dyrektor would catch up.

Otkon was like a bird. He could fly on the ground faster than anybody in his entire family ever could. Nobody even in C.A.R.D. could beat him. But his wings would need to go quicker. Quicker than the heartbeat of a rabbit.

His boots were slipping on the ground, the rain seeping in through cracks as Dyrektor fought, blood and bullets and gleaming metal in the sun and how the dying breath of a human was the anthem for assassination but it never left you alone in the end - your lungs would match theirs eventually. 

But then-

Then he saw her. A baby, held by a terrified mother. They must have escaped from the compound holding the soldier's families hostage. But the building behind her was collapsing. The bombs set off earlier were doing their work. The rain made everything slippery. The rubble began to fall off the heap. The rubble began to fall. 

And the mother, wide-eyed with the certainty of death, threw her child.

The baby, wailing now, landed on the unforgiving wet concrete as the woman was crushed, her guttural scream cut off abruptly as her vocal cords were destroyed. Only the thick blankets swaddling the babe saved it from a similar fate. Baby bones were thin and far too weak. Not made for a battleground. 

Otkon stopped. For a moment, the bird was gone and he was just a scared agent trying to run in the rain. And he picked up the bundle of sopping blankets.

Now, he was a bird with a true purpose. His arms tried their best to block the baby from the rain, from whatever could hurt it. 

He reached the helicopter. Tucking the baby inside, the pilot yelled at him, wondering what the hell he was doing. Otkon ignored him. He turned back.

Dyrektor was stumbling towards him, doggedly going, going, going.

The Mohican ran towards him, flying on the ground again. He pushed his partner towards the helicopter, trying to explain to him through the driving rain that he would hold the remaining people off while Dyrektor took shelter in the mode of transport. 

And then two of the people behind them, the ones they were running from, the ones Otkon was flying, flying away from like a bird, raised their guns.

Otkon pushed his partner.

Pushed him forwards as he fell, having put himself in the line of fire. There was a horrible sound as the bullets tore into his kneecaps.

They shot his wings.

They shot his wings.

The bird was no more.

He would never fly again.


The baby girl would survive. She had almost died, because of the cold and the wet blankets that had surrounded her. But C.A.R.D. didn't have the best medical personnel for nothing. 

She was named Mockingbird. A name given by a trapped woman - she wanted to give her daughter a chance to fly. She wanted to believe that her daughter's fate would not match hers.

But it was cruel to mock the loss of someone else's wings, so she became Riley.

She would not ever remember being named Mockingbird. 

A broken man who had turned from the fastest flyer into one who could not go anywhere without the assistance of a wheelchair took her in. 

He sacrificed his wings for her. He was damn well going to take care of her.

(If he had not stopped to save her, then he would have put up the signal to call the Dyrektor back so late. And backup for the people they were fighting would not have arrived in time. And his unusual burst of compassion would not have been there. Ultimately, his disability had been caused by a baby. But you cannot blame a child for these things. So he made her his wings. He taught her to fly.)

Oronhyatekha knows that he will never walk again. And if you do not walk, you cannot be a bird. So he cares for his little bird, and her middle name becomes Ori:te nih wa'a - "dove" in his native tongue. Riley Ori:te nih wa'a Danes. Her name screams of freedom. 

A year later, he marries Piotr. And Piotr moves on from Dyrektor to becoming the Director. 

They are in love.

Piotr did not use to believe in love. He believed that he would have crimson-stained hands forever, live with the guilt of the loss of a pair of wings forever, and make his job his life. And then he fell in love with Oronhyatekha. And he loves his daughter so much it hurts sometimes. 

But he will be okay.

(Riley is not the only one that Otkon gave the gift of wings to.)

The End

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