The room was silent save for the sound of shuffling papers and the soft clicking noise that Anastasia's phone made whenever Freya swiped to the next picture. Dan nervously drummed his hands against his thigh as he counted the seconds, certain that time had slowed to a crawl. All he wanted, all he needed, was confirmation. Is this evidence good enough, and is turning it over the correct course of action?

"I'd wager it's good enough for a warrant," Freya spoke, breaking the silence. She glanced meaningfully at Dan. "That said, while these appear to be high quality photos, but I have no expertise with photographic manipulation. If these are fake, there would be... consequences."

That hadn't even occurred to Dan. "You think they're fake?" he asked.

"Of course not," Freya immediately denied, with Connor loudly echoing her. It seemed his ability to kiss ass was in no way constrained by a lack of his target's presence.

"If Mrs. Summers gave these to you, then I'd imagine she's already vetted them," Freya continued with a pinched expression. "It's simply something I felt bore mentioning. Just to be thorough."

Dan blinked. "So you think I should turn these over to our boys in blue?"

"That's a more difficult question." Freya shifted awkwardly in her seat, glancing to Connor who held an expression of intense contemplation upon his face. When the younger man failed to speak, Freya added, "I've heard of the People. While it's possible that the APD are unequipped to properly deal with this situation, it should also be irrelevant. I think my great-uncle worked on a case against them, once, in Washington. This mess should get kicked up to the federal level pretty quickly."

Dan tried to process this, but his brain stalled on a specific point. "I just realized, Freya, that I have no idea what your family does."

Connor glanced up and stated, "You wouldn't have heard of them. They aren't locals." His bland tone contrasted sharply with Freya's indignant snort.

"My grandfather was an FBI analyst," Freya explained, giving Connor a exasperated shove. "He met this one's old man when he liaised with the locals for the Franklin Avenue killer. They got along well, and when grandpa retired, he remembered his old friend who lived in Austin." She shrugged. "Our families grew quite close."

"And now you two are getting married someday," Abby sighed emotionally. "I bet your folks were so happy to hear that."

"Well they weren't exactly surprised," Connor admitted.

Which made sense, Dan thought. The two of them were hardly subtle about their feelings for one another.

"After all, our betrothal was partially to secure the political capital that her family's connections to the intelligence community provides," Graham finished.

...

"Come again?" Dan said, shoving a finger in his ear and scratching vigorously. "I could've sworn that you just said the words political capital, Connor. I thought you came from a family of cops?" Hadn't Gregoir said something to that effect?

"Ah, well, father served for twenty years," Connor admitted with a grimace, "but mother forced him to take a less risky job after my birth. He's currently the Representative for Texas' 10th Congressional District."

There was a pregnant pause in the room as two people's worldviews realigned themselves.

"Your dad is a Congressman?" Dan managed to choke out.

"You really didn't know?" Connor queried with audible surprise. He looked taken-aback by that fact, though rather pleased. With a considering hum, he added, "This is a novel feeling. I don't think I've encountered more than a handful of people who haven't heard of at least one member of my family."

Dan thought that statement spoke volumes about how sheltered a life the younger man had lived, but chose to let the comment pass unmocked.

"Getting back to the point," he said, waving to Freya. "You were speaking about the People, I think?"

"They are upgrade extremists," Freya summarized briefly. "They, I don't want to say worship, but rather idolize the process of gaining natural powers. They thought—" she paused, then amended, "think that upgrades constrain humanity. They were a pretty major problem in the early eighties, when one of them figured out a way to build cosmic generators."

Dan opened his mouth, but Abby offered an explanation before the question could leave his lips.

"They were basically radioactive boxes," she explained. "Came with all kinds of nasty side effects, too. Tumors and cancer and such. They couldn't perfectly imitate that first event in White Sands, and those first generation powers have always seemed more stable." A pause, then, "Not that there's all that many of those around, these days."

"So they are terrorists, then?" Dan tried to clarify. Abby huffed beside him, as if that conclusion had ever been in doubt.

"They actively engaged in violent activities against mostly civilian targets," Freya said slowly. "I would say that the term Villains is more accurate, however, as they favored Naturals and Mutates among their ranks. But it really comes down to semantics, in the end."

That wasn't a denial. It was good to have confirmation that Anastasia wasn't completely full of shit. Abby, as much as Dan cared for her, was more than a little biased on the subject. All her information was tainted by the old woman's touch.

"What else do you know about them?" Dan asked.

"Ah, well..." Freya shuffled on the couch uncertainly. "I'm hardly an expert but— Well as you are aware, I have a bit of a fascination with villains." She had gotten into an enthusiastic debate with Gregoir on the subject, the last time they had visited.

Dan nodded in recognition, and waved her on.

"The people were hardly the only villainous organization to arise in the aftermath of the Vigilante Acts, but they were one of the few with such a consistent ideology." Freya took on the pose of a lecturing teacher. "They demanded a ban on upgrades. Full stop. They targeted upgrade markets and companies that researched new upgrade patterns. There was a bombing in um," she nodded to Abby, "in Summerset's Chicago branch, about a decade and a half ago. I was young, but I remember my parents talking about it."

"That wasn't their first, or last attack on us," Abby said, her voice soft yet grim, "but that was when grandma started to seriously go after them. She thought they were all dead. Everyone did."

Dan remembered the strange, spiked collars, and the odd symbol emblazoned on the tapes he'd found in Quantum's old lair. Anastasia had mentioned that collar, even if it was only in the context of throwing half a dozen different allegations at him. There was a connection to the People there, and he'd completely failed to ask her about it. Damn. And hadn't Connor mentioned wearing a similar collar, when he'd been captured?

"Maybe not as dead as she'd prefer," Dan muttered. But he was getting distracted. Refocusing the conversation, he asked, "So can the APD handle this if I pass it to them?"

"It's not really their job," Connor admitted reluctantly. "You should be sending this information directly to the FBI."

The younger man's failure to endorse the local police was almost alarming. "I wasn't expecting that from you," Dan said, raising an eyebrow.

Connor grimaced. "Its a matter of scale. The APD deals with local threats, not country-spanning organizations. It's not our jurisdiction." Dan noted the use of 'our' in that statement with clinical interest, but pressed onwards.

"You don't think that your kidnapping, and the subsequent plot to bomb the APD, kind of puts it in their wheelhouse?"

"That's not how it works," Freya interjected when Connor failed to hide a flinch. "The APD are charged with investigating the incident, they still are, in fact, but the moment that they discover Andros Bartholomew's connection to the People, they should pass the case upwards."

"Should?" Dan queried.

The blonde gnawed at her lip, and admitted, "Every department sometimes faces issues of over-zealousness. Especially with recruitment rates being so low these past few years, the APD may want to make a splash. Something newsworthy."

"Like capturing a suspected terrorist without federal interference?" Dan suggested with a voice as dry the Sahara.

Freya shrugged helplessly.

"It's personal," Connor finally said, with a look of deep melancholy. Attention fell on him, and he clarified, "The kidnapping of an officer and a," his voice barely hitched, "trainee, the attempted bombing that you so neatly foiled, these were targeted at the APD. They made it personal."

"I'm confused," Dan admitted. "Are you suggesting that I should go to the APD with this information, so that they can resolve it themselves?"

"No!" Connor denied passionately, straightening in his seat. One fist clenched rhythmically, while the other gripped white-knuckled around his bouncing knee. "It shouldn't be personal. That's the point. That's not how things are supposed to work! We have to be dispassionate. The APD should be in the business of justice, not vengeance."

The younger man's gaze fell on Dan, teeth gritted and jaw tense. "You can't give it to them, Newman. My uncle leads our SPEAR Team. He'll hear about it, and he'll want to deal with things himself. To handle the insult that was dealt to our family." Freya placed her hand over his, and Connor gave her a weak smile.

"He's good," the younger man continued, "but this is not his job. If he makes a mistake, if he gets hurt or someone else does, then that's on me."

It wasn't, but Dan had dealt with enough misplaced guilt to know that simply saying so wouldn't help.

"Give it to the FBI," Connor finished. He gestured to Freya. "I'm sure Freya has a cousin or something who can be trusted to hand this over."

Dan eyed his young friend. The man seemed drained, somehow. The arrogance that he carried around like a torch had spilled out upon himself. It burned away at his skin, protecting him and consuming him at the same time. It was a slow burn, but deadly.

Dan's goals had been met here. It was time to help someone else.

"That's settled then," Dan announced, clapping his hands together. He turned expectantly to Connor. "Now, you were looking for some advice?"