The dining room of the Dealer residence spoke volumes about the family that had once filled it with life and laughter. A mahogany table dominated the space, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow of an overhead chandelier that cast intimate pools of light across place settings meant for four but now arranged for just two. Family photos lined the walls, their frozen smiles watching over mother and guest like silent guardians of happier times. The autumn wind whispered against the windows, carrying with it the faint sounds of festival preparations from the city beyond.

  Angelo sat rigidly in his chair, his untouched plate a stark testament to his discomfort. The aroma of home-cooked comfort food – roasted chicken, herb-infused potatoes, fresh vegetables – only seemed to heighten the surreal nature of the moment. His police uniform felt suddenly constrictive, as if even his professional armor couldn't shield him from the raw intimacy of this maternal concern.

  "The food's getting cold," Miriam observed softly, her voice carrying the gentle authority that only mothers seem to master. Worry lines creased her forehead as she studied his untouched plate. The past weeks' grief had etched new shadows beneath her eyes, but couldn't dim the innate warmth in her gaze.

  Angelo released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I just..." he began, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the tablecloth. "This feels wrong, somehow. When we first met, you had every right to blame me for putting Bill in danger. Now you're treating me like..." The words stuck in his throat, too laden with meaning to escape.

  Understanding softened Miriam's features. "You never knew your mother, did you?" The question hung in the air between them, gentle but penetrating.

  Angelo's head dipped lower, his response a barely perceptible shake.

  "That's what mothers do," Miriam explained, her voice carrying years of maternal wisdom. "We rage against anything that threatens our children – it's instinct, pure and simple. But we also recognize pain when we see it, especially in those our children cared about."

  "I understand," Angelo managed, though his voice suggested otherwise.

  Miriam leaned forward slightly, attempting to bridge the emotional distance. "You know, Bill couldn't stop talking about that incident in town square – the Infernian attack. He was so proud of your squad's response." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "The news coverage was impressive too. Are you the squad leader?"

  Confusion flickered across Angelo's features. "My... squad?" The words tasted foreign on his tongue.

  "Oh yes," Miriam's eyes lit with remembered enthusiasm. "The way he described your team's coordination – he made it sound almost supernatural."

  "I believe she's referring to us," Blue's measured tones resonated through their shared consciousness. "Bill likely simplified our nature to avoid complicated explanations."

  "The kid was fanboying about us even to his mother?" Red's mental voice carried equal parts exasperation and hidden pride.

  Angelo's internal conflict played across his face as he struggled with the weight of truth versus comfort. "It's... complicated," he managed, fingers drumming nervously against the table's edge.

  "Shall I assist with the explanation?" Blue offered internally.

  "She'll panic!" Angelo's mental response crackled with anxiety.

  "Then prepare her properly," Blue countered with philosophical patience. "Or would you prefer to handle this yourself?"

  Angelo's muttered acquiescence drew a questioning look from Miriam. He straightened, gathering his courage like a shield. "What I'm about to tell you... it's going to sound impossible."

  A gentle laugh escaped her. "Oh, sweetheart, at my age—"

  "I'm literally split into three people," Angelo interrupted, the words tumbling out with the grace of a toppling bookshelf.

  Miriam's fork paused halfway to her mouth. "I'm sorry?"

  "The squad Bill mentioned – they're all me. Different aspects of me." Angelo's attempt at clarification only seemed to deepen her confusion.

  "You mean like brothers? Triplets?" Hope brightened her features. "I would have set places for them too!"

  "Not exactly." Angelo shifted uncomfortably. "Imagine taking one person and splitting them into three identical copies, each with their own personality but sharing the same consciousness."

  Comprehension struggled across Miriam's face. "I'm not quite sure I follow..."

  "Would it help if..." Angelo hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "If I showed you?"

  Understanding dawned in her eyes. "You can make this happen? Right now?"

  At Angelo's nod, azure smoke began to pour from his form like morning mist from a still lake. It coalesced in the chair beside him, taking shape with elegant precision until another Angelo sat there – this one slightly grayer, his posture carrying scholarly dignity.

  "Mrs. Dealer," Blue's cultured tones carried gentle formality. "I'm honored to properly make your acquaintance. I am Blue, and I must apologize for any alarm my appearance may cause. Angelo was supposed to prepare you more thoroughly, though his explanation skills leave much to be desired." His pointed glance at Angelo drew an exasperated gesture in response.

  Miriam's hands clasped together on the dining table as she processed what she'd witnessed, the chandelier light casting gentle shadows across her weathered features. Her gaze darted between Angelo and Blue like someone trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle. "So what Angelo told me is true? But what exactly are you?" The question carried no fear, only genuine curiosity tinged with maternal concern.

  Blue settled into his chair with scholarly grace, his posture reminiscent of a professor about to deliver a fascinating lecture. "That very question plagued us for years, Mrs. Dealer," he began, folding his arms thoughtfully as his eyes closed in contemplation. "However, Professor Albert Goldstein's recent research has illuminated much about our unique condition."

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  As Blue explained their nature in carefully chosen terms, the tension gradually melted from Miriam's shoulders. The distant chime of festival bells filtered through the windows, providing a surreal soundtrack to this impossible conversation. Family photos watched from their perches on the walls as another version of her guest explained concepts that seemed to belong more in science fiction than her dining room.

  "Well," Miriam said finally, her smile carrying the warmth of acceptance, "I may not grasp all the scientific details, but I know a good heart when I see one – or three, in this case." Her words drew a gentle smile from Blue, his usually stoic features softening. "Though, didn't you mention a third? Where is he?"

  "Red?" Angelo called out, his voice carrying expectation that quickly turned to confusion when nothing happened. "Red, come on out."

  "I'm fine where I am, thanks," Red's mental voice carried none of its usual swagger or bite.

  Angelo's brow furrowed in frustration. "What do you mean 'fine'? She wants to meet you!" His outburst drew a questioning look from Miriam, who was witnessing only half the conversation.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked, maternal instinct detecting the underlying tension.

  Angelo ran a hand through his hair, bewilderment evident in his features. "This isn't like him at all. Usually we can't stop him from materializing and causing chaos."

  "Can he hear me?" Miriam asked, her voice taking on the gentle tone mothers reserve for coaxing reluctant children.

  "Indeed," Blue confirmed, his scholarly demeanor softening slightly. "We share all sensory experiences."

  Miriam straightened slightly, addressing the apparently empty air with surprising naturalness. "Would you come out, dear? I'd very much like to meet you properly."

  A moment passed where only the tick of the grandfather clock marked time. Then, like blood in water, crimson smoke began to curl through the air. Red materialized in the remaining chair, his usual predatory confidence nowhere to be seen. "H-hey..." he managed, his gaze fixed firmly on the tablecloth. "I'm Red."

  The transformation in Angelo and Blue was immediate and dramatic. Their jaws went slack, eyes widening in perfect synchronization as they stared at their normally boisterous counterpart. Through their shared vision, Red could see his own uncharacteristically meek posture, which only served to heighten his discomfort.

  "What are you staring at?!" he burst out, but the words carried more embarrassment than anger, like a cat trying to maintain dignity after a graceless fall.

  "It's lovely to meet you, Red," Miriam's voice carried such genuine warmth that Red's eyes finally lifted to meet hers. Something passed between them in that moment – an understanding that seemed to lift a visible weight from his shoulders.

  Miriam glanced at her other guests' dumbfounded expressions with barely concealed amusement. "Is something wrong?"

  "Wrong?" Angelo's voice cracked with disbelief. "This is Red we're talking about – chaos incarnate! How did you manage to... to..."

  "The psychological implications are fascinating!" Blue's analytical mind was already racing ahead. "Perhaps maternal presence triggers some form of—"

  "Oh, shut it, both of you!" Red finally exploded, though something vulnerable lingered beneath his outburst. "If you could feel what she's feeling right now, you wouldn't be laughing!"

  The room plunged into sudden silence, interrupted only by the soft gasp that escaped Miriam's lips. The chandelier light seemed to dim, as if even it sensed the gravity of Red's accidental revelation. The weight of unspoken grief and understanding hung in the air between them, more tangible than any of their manifestations could ever be.

  Angelo's discomfort radiated like physical heat as he stumbled over his apology. "Mrs. Dealer, I'm so sorry, we were completely out of line..." Shame evident in his features, making the moment feel somehow more exposed.

  Miriam waved off his concern with a gentle gesture that seemed to encompass all three versions of her guest. "Please, don't apologize." Her fingers traced the edge of her water glass, gathering thoughts like precious stones. "Red sees clearly, doesn't he? But you know what I've learned about grief?" The question hung in the air like autumn leaves before a fall. "The truest way to honor those we've lost is to keep living – really living. Not just existing in the shadow of their sacrifice."

  Her gaze drifted to the family photos on the wall, where her husband and son's smiles seemed to affirm her words. "My husband, and Bill – they gave their lives to make others' better, safer. That wasn't spite or carelessness. It was love, pure and simple." Tears gathered in her eyes but didn't fall, like rain caught in sunlight. "They'd want joy for us, not endless sorrow. Their memory should lift us up, not drag us into darkness."

  "Profound wisdom," Blue murmured, his scholarly demeanor softened by genuine respect.

  "You three," Miriam's voice carried warmth that seemed to fill the room like golden light, "you've given this grieving mother something precious – a moment of brightness in the dark." Her gratitude made them shift in their chairs, unused to such naked emotion.

  The atmosphere lightened perceptibly after that, like clouds parting after rain. Conversation flowed as naturally as wine into glasses, ranging from police work to festival preparations. Even Red contributed, his uncharacteristically polite responses making Angelo do double-takes that drew knowing smiles from Miriam. The empty plates before them told their own story of comfort found in shared meals and open hearts.

  "This evening has been..." Miriam's voice carried the satisfaction of someone who had accomplished something important but subtle.

  "Your culinary expertise is remarkable, Mrs. Dealer," Blue offered with formal grace.

  Confusion flickered across her features. "But you haven't eaten anything – you said you couldn't..."

  "Ah, but remember our shared experiences," Blue explained, a hint of pleasure in his scholarly tone. "We experienced every delicious bite through Angelo. Red was particularly enthusiastic about the seasoning."

  "Oh!" Understanding brightened her face. "Well then, I'm delighted you all enjoyed it." Her expression shifted to something more hopeful as she began gathering dishes. "You'll stay the night, won't you? I couldn't bear to send you out so late."

  Before anyone could respond, Red's crimson aura flared to life like a sudden sunrise. "Allow me," he said, smoky energy tendrils materializing with surprising grace to collect the plates. They wove through the air like sparkly mist, carrying dishes to the sink with delicate precision.

  Angelo watched with undisguised admiration. "That's some control you've got there – managing all those tendrils at once." The ghost of a smile that touched Red's features seemed somehow more genuine than any of his usual grins.

  "Well?" Miriam's gentle prompting carried hope barely contained. "Shall I prepare the guest room?"

  "Say yes," Red's mental voice carried unusual softness. "You can feel how much this means to her."

  "I... that is... um..." Angelo floundered like a fish in air.

  "He would be honored to stay," Blue intercepted smoothly, ignoring Angelo's internal protests about overriding his autonomy.

  "This isn't about your comfort," Blue's mental response carried gentle rebuke. "Consider what she needs."

  Later, moonlight painted the guest room in shades of midnight blue, casting long shadows across walls that had probably once echoed with Bill's laughter. Angelo lay still, absorbing the unfamiliar sensations of being part of a real home. The orphanage had provided shelter, yes, but this – this felt different. The house seemed alive with memories and possibility, each creak and settling sound speaking of lives lived fully, of love given freely.

  Through their shared consciousness, he sensed Red's unusual calm and Blue's quiet satisfaction. The night air carried the distant sounds of festival preparations through the slightly open window, mixing with the gentle tick of a hallway clock and the soft whisper of curtains in the breeze. It felt, Angelo realized with a start, like belonging.

  Family photos watched over his rest like benevolent guardians, their faces holding secrets about what it meant to be truly connected. As sleep began to claim him, Angelo wondered if this was what coming home really felt like – not just a place to stay, but somewhere your heart recognized, even if it had never been there before.