"Repeat, call off the missiles! There are children onboard!"

Bob's face suddenly tensed further. His heart leaped to his throat. For the first time that he could remember, he was honestly, genuinely frightened. His family was in danger. And, as usual, it was all his fault.

His wife's frantic voice continued to yell into the microphone. Between screaming something that sounded like "violent four feels" and giving small yelps of surprise, she continued to yell for Mirage and Syndrome to stop the missiles.

Helen. Elastagirl. However anyone thought of her, his beloved wife. What had she told him when they'd spoken over a criminal, just before the wedding? "You need to be a little more...flexible."

She was right. God knew she was right. It was his rigidity, his inflexibility, that had got him into this mess in the first place. If he hadn't been so anxious to be a hero again...but no, this had started before that, fifteen years before, when his inflexibility had stopped him from allowing Buddy--or "Incredi-boy", as he'd called himself then--to help him, that little incident that had started so much: the bomb on Buddy's cape, the train wreck he'd barely been able to keep from burrowing into the ground, allowing Bomb Voyage to escape...

Bob shook himself mentally as another one of Helen's frantic screams--obviously not directed to Syndrome and Mirage--echoed through the room. Finally, that first word penetrated--"Violet". It clicked in Bob's brain. She was trying to get Violet to extend a force field around the plane.

Violet. His little girl, his oldest, his "shrinking violet". She'd always been so shy and reserved; perhaps it was an effect of her powers. On a "super" level, she could become invisible and throw up force fields at will; on a normal level, she acted invisible in the sense of a person who was quiet and unnoticed and seemed to put up force fields to keep people from getting close to her. He'd told her once, a long time ago, that she could make friends if she only believed in herself. She'd just looked up at him through that dark curtain of hair and told him quietly that she was too afraid of seeming weird. It broke his heart; he knew all his little girl had ever wanted was to be normal for real instead of just pretend. He'd have given her the world if he could, if that was what she wanted, and it hurt him a little because the one thing she'd always wanted was the one thing he couldn't give her. She just wanted to fit in.

Not like Dash. Bob's mind flashed to his oldest son: hyper, arrogant, show-off Dash, the fastest runner Bob had ever seen. If the moment hadn't been so serious, if he hadn't wanted more than ever to cry, if he wasn't the most afraid he'd ever been in his life, he would have smiled. Dash had always wanted to be able to run track or play sports or something. Bob knew he could be the best. Which was exactly why Helen had always forbidden him--she was afraid he would show off. Actually, she was probably right. Dash was headstrong. Dash was a touch arrogant. Dash was...Dash was...Dash was his father. It hit Bob in a rush. Helen had often said Dash was his father's son. Bob had always associated that with the complimentary things--strong, handsome, intelligent (maybe). But now, now that his foolhardiness had sunk him into despair and would most likely cost him that which he held most dear, he saw all of his other traits that Dash had inherited: stubbornness, arrogance, vanity, a desire to be the best all the time. A desire to be a hero. The center of attention.

Which was why Jack-Jack's birth had been so hard on Dash. Bob's thoughts turned to his youngest son. Baby Jack-Jack...no powers that they knew of, but he had to have some, right? He was a Parr! Look at his parents! But because Bob had been so cursed stupid, he'd never see his baby boy again. With a jolt, he realized that Jack-Jack might not even grow up. Was he on the plane too? Frankly, Bob couldn't see Helen endangering Jack-Jack like that, even if she didn't know what kind of trouble Bob was in. But then, Bob couldn't exactly see her endangering Violet and Dash like that either...and yet, there they were. He winced slightly as a shriek split the airwaves and the radio was abruptly cut off.

Bob had to have hope. He had to! Helen would cover the children as best as she could. Violet's force fields--she could save them. She could keep the missiles from hitting. She could keep them protected. She could--

Mirage spoke, seeming to have difficulty with her words. "One of the missiles registered a hit."

Bob's head dropped to his chin. All was lost.

Syndrome came over, taunting him. Bob barely heard it. Straining against his bonds, he suddenly lunged out for Syndrome--and grabbed Mirage instead.

"I'll kill her," he threatened, his voice soft and dangerous, not his own.

"Go ahead," Syndrome said carelessly. "I don't believe you can."

Bob couldn't believe it. "It would be really easy," he continued. "Like breaking a toothpick."

"Go on then," Syndrome urged, an unreadable expression in his evil eyes. "I don't care."

Violet's face flashed before him, blue eyes wide with shock. Dash appeared, looking frightened of his own father. Even though they were dead, he could never disappoint his children. He couldn't let them down. Slowly, Bob released Mirage, then dropped his head to his chest again.

"See?" Syndrome smirked triumphantly. "You can't do it, even when you have nothing to lose. You're weak."

And he was, Bob realized as Syndrome threw a few more taunts, then left with his assistant. Not because he couldn't kill Mirage. Bob had never been able to willingly take a human life, even an evil one; he respected life too much for that. No, Bob was weak because of another failing: he couldn't take the loss of his family. He wasn't strong enough for that. He wasn't strong enough for anything anymore. All he could do was wait...wait for the end.