Christine was sprawled on the floor in front of her sofa wearing a plaid flannel robe and bunny slippers. The sofa was one of her few remaining pieces of furniture. Her apartment as Marjorie had known it had been packed and was sitting in boxes in Stephen's garage. Marjorie knew that, since she'd lugged some of those boxes earlier that day! 

This had been a long day, and Marjorie had already decided after the first fifth of Scotch that there was no way in hell she was hoofing it back to the apartment. She was laying on the sofa (she'd appropriated the spot after Christine fell out about an hour ago), wondering how the hell she was going to tell her friend about her father-in-law's projects. Well, she was too drunk to remember the details now, she admitted to herself, knowing it was only another excuse. And besides, after the draconian tactics of Mrs. Hawkins at the rehearsal, why add to the poor girl's worries? Even Stephen was shooting Marjorie looks of pure terror, and that was before Christine had been escorted up the aisle! 

"I still can't believe he's planned his stupid retirement two days after the wedding," Christine stated. "He had to have known." Dimly Marjorie remembered that she had another pressing engagement two days hence -- the retirement, as everyone's been referring to it. After thirty or so years (no one could remember, it seems, it's been so long) General Hawkins was turning over the reins of PRIMUS to Colonel Peter Glenn. The only thing that irked Christine is that it was scheduled for the eleventh, two days into their honeymoon. Marjorie had talked your way into a pass (CBS was desperate, it seemed) and hopefully an opportunity to poke around at PRIMUS. Hmm... 

Christine sat up suddenly, hair flying. "You don't think they're at a strip club or something, do you?" She looked enraged. "I'll kill them, I really will!" She was referring to Stephen and D.J., his best man, as well as half of the Avenger corps. Actually, she looked like she was about ready to transform into Firehawk and fly away. Her eyebrows were smoldering, anyway. 

Quickly Marjorie sat up. Well, not too quickly, since the room was spinning. "I'm sure they're not doing anything bad, Christine," she reassured her. "This is Stephen and the Golden Avenger you're talking about." 

"Yeah, the Navy pilot Golden Avenger," she retorted. "And we all know they have the moral fiber of goats." She stopped, reconsiders. "That's not really fair," she admitted. "I mean, I don't even think D.J. has even had a girlfriend since Kim died. Not that we haven't tried to set him up with anyone we could think of!"   Somewhere in her vague memory Marjorie recalled the elusive report on the Golden Avenger which had been blown up by VIPER along with her car. She sighed as she remembered the car -- Gwen Jones-Owen's own Gekko. 

When she looked up, Christine was looking at her. "Have you heard from Ronan in a while?" she asked bluntly. 

Marjorie exhaled at Christine, exasperated. "Well, not exactly. We've talked recently, though." As much as it irritated her, just remembering talking to Ronan was a pleasant rush. That Irish brogue, the sparkling blue eyes and perpetually wicked smile...Even when Christine had seen Ronan for the first time, her jaw had dropped. And Marjorie had talked with him recently. He'd sent her flowers for her birthday two weeks ago -- twenty five dozen roses! And since she didn't have enough room to put them out, she ended up giving five dozen to Christine and another three dozen to Orion, who had been flabbergasted but excruciatingly polite as he'd thanked her. He had also promised to put a dozen on the moon for her. 

Ronan had arrived to take her to Chez Bernarde, the most expensive, nicest restaurant in town. He had danced slowly, deliberately with her until closing time. It was, in fact, the most exquisite evening Marjorie had ever spent with anyone (especially with anyone she'd ever met in VIPER!). And when he'd escorted her home, he'd kissed her passionately at her door -- the first time she'd ever kissed him. And then he had politely declined to tarry, pleading work and an early flight. He had promised to get in contact with Marjorie when he was back in the States again. Marjorie had been livid ever since. 

She hadn't told anyone about this latest visit with Ronan -- it was too embarrassing to mention before, and she had been thinking about work -- but when she turned back to Christine, she found that her friend had passed out on the floor. 

A passed out super hero whose powers involve fire. Somehow this doesn't sound good. Isn't alcohol flammable? That would make Christine one large butane lighter right about now. I count my blessings that she has very good control over her fire powers. I'm in no condition to put out any minor flames. 

Christine just had to mention Ronan. I just managed to put the infuriating man out of my mind for a few days. A huge accomplishment considering this was a wedding and I could have really used a date for it. 

I hate going to weddings unattached. Everyone is being romantic. They are always playing couple's dances, etc.   But, since I don't have a phone number I can reach Ronan at, I have no way of inviting him. Every time I'm out with Ronan I feel like I should be humming the song "Secret Agent Man." I have no idea who he works for or what he does. He waltzes in on my birthday and treats me to an evening that a Regency Romance writer would be jealous of and then disappears. I don't know if I should be worried about him or be insulted. Maybe I should call Foxbat for a date. At least he wouldn't desert me. On the other hand, he probably would drive nuts with his devotion in two minutes. Ah the joy of being a single, super hero in the 1990s. At least I'm not dating a vampire! 

Christine spent the first hour of her wedding day flaming around the house as Firehawk, since it was the only way she could metabolize all the alcohol in her body fast enough to cope with the ceremony. It was a comical sight -- Marjorie knew at least one person who'd pay to see a hung over Firehawk stumbling around her apartment looking for Advil. But then, NBC reporter Jessica Black wasn't invited to the ceremony. 

Marjorie, herself, was not feeling too bad -- she had a hearty Irish constitution, she had to admit. A genetic propensity for coping with alcohol better, or something. Waking up at 12:30 in the afternoon didn't hurt either. So while Christine muttered about the consequences for Silver Avengers who party at strip clubs, Marjorie started preparing the dresses and answering the door. 

The day passed with the type of chaos that characterized wedding days. Christine was excited, once her headache was gone and a discrete phone call or two revealed that Stephen hadn't been out at a strip club (at least, Marjorie didn't think D.J. was lying). Marjorie made it to Grace Cathedral on time, and Christine followed up up the aisle, escorted by a proud uncle. She looked beautiful, though Marjorie was still a little shocked she'd gone with such a plunging back. Stephen almost looked bashful. 

It was an Episcopalian service, and a long one at that. At least it's not a full Catholic Mass, something to be grateful for. This dress would have to itch. Marjorie tried to surreptiously scratch that itch without attracting the attention of anyone in the wedding party or the audience. At least I'm not in Christine's dress. I wonder if she's getting a draft. I swear when D.J. first saw the back of that dress his eyes looked like they were about to bug out.  

Halfway through the sermon DJ Johnson caught Marjorie's eye behind the priest's back and rolled his.  Stifling a giggle -- it was kind of funny that the Golden Avenger would be that irreverent, and everything's funnier in front of a crowd -- she somehow made it through the service. 

Marjorie smiled her way through the reception and began to network. It was being held on the Empress, a luxury liner turned hotel and casino. "It was the nicest place Hudson City had to offer," Mrs. Hawkins sniffed at Marjorie disdainfully, then moved off. Looking around the crowd (there were about three hundred people here), she realized she knew very few of the guests. Several Silver Avengers introduced themselves to her and congratulated her on her work against VIPER, including Robert Webster, the Avenger from Dallas. 

Marjorie remembered seeing him on C-SPAN, as one of the PRIMUS personnel called before a Senate subcommittee dealing with Waco. Like most Avengers, he was about six feet tall and muscular. His hair and eyes were deep brown. He had a wide Texas smile. He looked to be in his early thirties, and (she noticed, since she was still pissed at Ronan) he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. 

She ran into David and Albert, looking a little damp and haggard, opened her mouth to ask, then discreetly closed it as Christine's youngest sister walked up with MaryHudson. David winked at Marjorie, then slid his arm around Monica's waist. "No pictures, please," he said to her. 

The formal dinner boasted champagne chicken breasts, exquisite wine, a hosted bar, and a covert contest between the Silver Avengers to see who could flick pieces of ice into the most glasses without being noticed. Several waiters were hit in the fray (which no one else seemed to notice), though the crowning moment was when Robert Webster managed to lob a piece thirty feet, and landed it smack in the middle of D.J.'s champagne glass just as he was giving the toast. Without batting an eye, the Golden Avenger finished and lifted his glass. But in the immediate confusion, as everyone in the room was raising their own glasses, he managed a return shot that hit Webster on the forehead. That table (which held eight Avengers and four Avenger spouses, including the  Freemans) erupted into laughter that earned them a nasty look from General Hawkins. 

Marjorie passed through the typical dancing, cake-eating, and garter tossing that characterized most weddings, and ended up with a large group escorting Christine and Stephen to their suite in the hotel area. They wouldn't be heading off to St. Croix until Monday afternoon, following General Hawkins' retirement speech. Returning to the party, she found that David had vanished, but most everyone else was still here. The Golden Avenger was mostly drunk, and he and Albert Hudson were comparing German Shepherds. She passed them just as D.J. was saying, "Yeah, it was Fraulein somebody who gave him to me last year. Some German superheroine. Erik likes to fly, though." 

"You put him in the F-14?" Albert Hudson laughed. 

"Well, he's actually a very good navigator," D.J. drunkenly explained. 

Marjorie snorted, but Albert only waved slightly to her. He looked a little tipsy as well. I think I'm beginning to like D.J. a little better now that I know he has a sense of humor. And that awful yarn about his dog flying the F-14. I know Olympian (excuse me Mr. Hudson) must have been tanked if he believed that story. 

The Sentinels were not here, noticeably so; Marjorie knew that Christine didn't like them, though she hadn't told her that she was deliberately not inviting anyone. She even saw Charly at the church. There were twelve Silver Avengers (i.e. all of them), the Golden Avenger, and a lot of PRIMUS and Army guys to talk to. 

Marjorie had kept the imbibing to a minimum. While she wished Christine the best and was really happy for her and Stephen, she had to work; this wedding was one of the few chances she might get to talk to a number of Silver Avengers outside of PRIMUS. 

She worked the crowd, always keeping a glass of champagne in her hand. As the party got more riotous, she tried to glean useful information from the Silver Avengers, trying to steer to steer the conversation. How did they feel about the Sentinels? What was the gossip on Hawkins retiring? A well-placed comment about how the Sentinels seemed to be getting a lot more press coverage. Why was PRIMUS PR working overtime? Or, was Christine was miffed at her inlaws for scheduling the retirement in the middle of her honeymoon? Her skill as a reporter, her acting ability and the booze worked on her side. 

After the ceremony, she hot footed it back to the apartment. With relief she got out of the dress. Why did wedding outfits have to have those dinky little buttons in the most hard to reach spots? Like you really needed them. 

Ahh, much better. A hot shower, some comfortable jeans, and an oversized man's shirt later she sat down with a cold beer and tackled the background material for this press conference. Maybe I should get a couple of these shirts and put them in the closet to make Ronan jealous. Well that only works if he ever stays the night. 

She'd already had CBS assemble the necessary footage for the retrospective on Hawkins' career. She'd written the voice over and dubbed it in. A quick scan of the footage made sure everything was OK. It was running a few seconds long. I think I'll cut his early service years in favor of Hawkins' stand on the Paranormal Registration Act. 

She also checked the synopsis of Peter Glenn's career, tried to get inside his mind. How did he think? What were his political leanings? What direction would he take PRIMUS? She checked out his military background. Any comendations? She saw if she could talk to old military buddies, people he served with. 

She'd also pumped her sources for information on both men. Why the sudden announcement about retiring. Sure Hawkins was getting up there in age. But, she'd never known him to be rude and he scheduled his retirement right in the middle of Christine's wedding. Something didn't jibe there. 

Was he being forced out? CBS might have something from their own sources too. She would have to check with their news director. 

She realized she wouldn't get much time in PRIMUS headquarters. If I have time to contact my dad, I'll see if he can get me some sort of walking bugging device. (I'm thinking something like a self propelled spider made out of an industrial plastic. It would be pretty hard to detect and could probably get around the ventilation system. It should be pretty life like so that people would ignore it unless they have arachnaphobia. I'm looking for some thing that could relay audio and/or video footage to me.) 

Since that was probably a longshot, she'd try the other tried and true way of journalism - sneaking around. Bathrooms were usually a good source of info. Usually you could hear conversations in the men's facility, if you got a stall in the women's room next to the wall. A lot of times there was a waiting room off the press conference room. Kind of a reception area where VIPs could get last minute briefings, etc. before they went to the podium. If it was possible to sneak in there and hide, listen to conversations and then get back to the press conference when everyone left she'd try it. The beginning of the news conference was usually filled with fluff questions anyway. 

I'll ask Jim to fit me up with an earpiece so I can hear everything his camera is picking up. I also tell him to keep his eye peeled for unusual conversations off to the side. Anything we can film, we can probably enhance back at the office. We might be able to get some good info that way. 

Hawkins was around when those children were kidnapped. But he had always pushed for the Avengers. Perhaps this retirement wasn't all it appeared  to be. She really needed to contact her sources.