Miracleman stands there solemnly, his feet touching the ground for once. He looks more remorseful than angry. "It's about your children, Miss Jennings."

It is at this point Peggy starts screaming.

"My children?"

She fights down the urge to flee. Instead, she steps closer.

The wheels in her head aren't spinning. It's too late for spinning wheels. Either she has a contingency for this eventuality, or she doesn't.

She threads her way along tenuous neural connections, aware all the while that the nemesis she speaks to can trace those threads right alongside her.

Meanwhile, the flight rehearsals in the next room are interrupted. "Jess, can you feel that?"

"Someone's outside. Someone like us."

And your incubator's mind is all foggy, like when she's trying not to be nudged?

And your mother's screaming.

Oh right, that too.

"I assure you both, I'm not here to hurt anyone."

"That's good."

Why is that good?

There's pieces slipping into place in her head.

The next piece tells her to take Miracleman's hand.

Which is, uh, a little weird but she'll go with it...

...and then she'll lean against his chest and finally let her fear show?

(Huh. That's a strange tack for her contingency plan to take.)

Ayup. And once she's sobbing on him, she'll turn the next corner...

(She can't think too hard about how confusing this script is, can't double-guess her past self's memorized directives, lest he pick up psychically on the fact that there's a script she's following.)

"It's alright, I understand."

The reaction doesn't surprise him much. What information he could gather on this woman didn't suggest one prone to violence. 

He risks putting an arm over her back, as gently as though he were comforting a woman made of smoke.  

...she holds him tight.

And then she hits the end of her pre-committed thread-of-actions, and understands the angle she's pursuing here.

Run. Fly. Fast as you can.

She thinks it loudly. The mental equivalent of shouting.

Don't tell me where you're going. Follow the plan as best you can.

These mental words were rehearsed long ago, starting months before Summer was even conceived. They flash across her conscious mind in the blink of an eye.

Don't come back for me until you're strong enough.

And she's still got her hands locked together tight around Miracleman's back. She's a woman made of smoke to him, it's true. But if he wants to chase down her children, he'll have to be willing to splatter that woman-of-smoke across the countryside.

Summer... is hesitant.

Should we...

The thought trails off in his sister's mind.

"It's Dad."

Jess speaks those two syllables, not necessarily expecting to have a chance to speak a third.

She's still hovering in midair, but all thoughts of whimsy have given way to various flavors of 'how quickly can I get out of here'?

Eventually, a kind of grim resignation overtakes Summer. Half a second later, he's flying out the window a little short of the speed of sound.

She's right behind him.

She doesn't actually expect a rescue. She'll be lobotomized, most likely, long before they're in any position to challenge the regime.

(That's how Miracleman and his ilk habitually deal with dissenters, after all--a quick bit of 'humane surgery' to correct underlying 'brain disorders' and create properly Functional Members Of Society.)

But she does not let this resignation cross her mind until after her children are well out of telepathic earshot.

She just thinks: I love you, I love you, I love you over and over again.

Miracleman clearly hears the wind. "I suppose that was you and Mrs Gravel's children?" he asks.

No point in denying that.

"Yes."

She hasn't actually let go of him yet.

"Might I ask what their names are?"

Okay. That's something else he could figure out trivially from anybody else in the church.

(New Protocol: Volunteer any information that an average churchgoer would know.)

"Summer and Jess."

"My firstborn would laugh, I think."

"I think that was my firstborn's intention."

The rueful smile is genuine. The uncontrollable shaking is also genuine.

"I hope this doesn't distress them. I really do only want to talk to you. I won't pretend you'll be at complete liberty, but you'll be comfortable." He smiles, just a little. "And I can assure you it won't be the result of a lobotomy."