Heroes
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Note: This is a challenge to all those who write comic-baised fanfic, to all the MV1 lurkers and Tapastry poets - See good character, LOVE good chracter, write for said good character.... or else.
Disclaimer: Look! A Marvel logo!
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If there was one thing Jim Hammond hated, it was the rain. It was damn clechéd, but for some reason, he decided it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. The heroes did all the work in the city, and what could he say? He had a nine-to-five that payed well, a trusted circle of 'friends', and free cable. But he wasn't making a difference. Not like he used to.
Even when his powers had gone, he had done *something*. He had helped, even in the smallest way, to save lives and change the outcome of certainly bad situations. Now he was a bookie to a bunch of novices, selling them off to the highest bidder. Oh yes. Making a difference.
The meek, fair skinned receptionist peeked in, reminding him that it was after ten and that he should be getting home. Sleep, she said. He fought back the urge to snap at her, tell her that he didn't need sleep, instead nodding calmly and thanking her for the gesture.
Maybe he did need to go home. To think. No, not home. Somewhere else.
He crossed the room in four long strides and, taking his coat off the rack, was out the door without so much as a glance back.
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.
If hailing a cab in L.A. was hell, then surely New York was someplace far worse. The yellow checkered things went by quickly, insanely, not checking if there were people in front of them, only trying to get their fare to the desired point. Jim cursed every one that passed him by, and something a bit more obscene was saved for the ones who stopped, but ignored him.
Finally, after what seemed like a variable eternity, one of the yellow blurs stopped in front of him. He quickly swung open the door, only to be met with a young lady who was already inside. She easily scooted over to allow him in. He smiled in thanks, and then yelled a number at the cabbie. They were off a minute later.
He had been staring out the window for at least ten minutes before he heard her speaking. It then took him a few seconds more to comprehend she was talking to him and what was being said.
"-ere you going, then?"
The voice was soft and clean with a faint hint of an English accent to it. It reminded him oddly of Jackie, only he was quite sure she had never spoken to him in any other tone except contempt, or some form of it. He looked back at the woman, then, after a moment, he smiled. "Just gonna go to an old place I used to know. Wanna know if its still there. I... I used to go there to think."
"Ah," she gave him a small, almost bashfull smile, "wish I knew the places here. I'm just here to sightsee."
"Oh?" One eyebrow quirked up.
"Yes. Well, you know, lots of people come here to see the heroes. And well, I've always been taken by them, even when I was very young," she played with a small bracelet on her wrist almost absent-mindedly, "I used to see Captain America and the Avengers on TV. I always wished I could meet a real live super hero. Then I made a deal with myself - when I was old enough, I'd go to New York and see one. A real live super hero." She blushed deeply, "Oh, I'm sorry, that must have sounded a bit bad..."
"Not at all. I think it's wonderfull that you're keeping your promise to yourself." He then smirked just the tiniest bit, "But you do realize that when people around here see a super hero, it's usually because something nasty has made itself known."
She laughed, "Yes, I guess you're right."
He paused for a moment, then sighing deeply, turned to her. "Jim Hammond," he extended a hand.
She laughed again as realization dawned, "Deardrie Oleson."
Jim was about to say something, something that was of no real importance because he forgot it just as soon as the cabbie called up, "Yer stop's here, buddy!"
"Ack."
"Hmm, fate's a biznitch?"
He chuckled, "What?"
She only smiled at him.
Realizing the cabbie was staring impatiently, he quickly clambered out of the cab. He began to pull out several bills when Deardrie was standing next to him, unfolding a large umbrella. "This isn't your stop, is it?"
"No, but it's close enough. What's two blocks?"
"Quite alot in this city," He handed the cabbie the money, both their fares, and waved him off. Deardrie made a move to object, but Jim help up a hand, "A thank you."
"For what?"
"For talking," he said honestly. "Maybe..." He looked up at the tall, old stone building that was amazingly still standing, "Maybe I won't have so much to think about now."
"That's good?"
"That's good," he agreed. "Now how about I walk you home?"
"No. You just payed my cab fare. I don't want to trouble you anymore than I already have," she put up her free hand in a defensive pose.
"It wouldn't be-"
A galre. She really did remind him of Jackie.
He sighed, defeated. "Yes, Ma'am."
She smiled triumphantly, then with a waves, turned and walked off down the street. Jim watched untill the rain didn't allow him to see her any longer, and then headed up the old steps.
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-------------------
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.
A human might have commented that the air in the building smelled stale, old. Like death. But to the android standing there, it was a familliar anchor in an insane futuristic world.
He ran a hand over an old dusty table. It was still shiney, underneith. He could still see his reflection in it. Odd, though. He never did before. But then again, he probably didn't notice. So many things he didn't notice. Took for granted, and then they were gone. Old. Forgotten. Like him.
This place had once been the base of the wartime group The Liberty Legion. They had welcomed him there, along with Cap and Namor and anyone else who decided to tag along. Thinman was always up in the attic, updating his hero files, then zipping down to welcome them with a huge rubber hug and some coffee. He breifly wondered what had become of the strange, but helpful hero after the war. He'd never checked, always assuming he'd settled down, had a family. Curiousity got the better of him and he made a mental note to look into the subject when he went back to work on Monday.
The old war maps were still in their cases, Thinman had been very neat about it all. "Can't have a war without order," he'd said, and then he'd snatch whatever you were holding and dust it off. Careful, Jim pulled one out and unfurled it. It was of the Western Front, and still marked to show the advancements of the Russian forces. He put it back and made his way farther up.
Getting to the attic, he moved to one side of the room and pushed up a false door. Still farther up was the hangar. It took up the entire top floor, and, as he remembered, it could keep two Atlantian warships safely in it with room to spare.
He could almost see himself running down the ramp of Namor's fish-ship, glad to finally be out of the small confined space. Quite a few of the others had made little comments about robots and quastriphobia, many of which meant pranking later. Once he was out of the ship and, time permitting, he would run down into the main room and raid the cabenets for any type of liquor. He and Namor would then procede to get drunk off their asses and the latter would begin to recite every cuss word he knew in all of fifteen different languages.
It was strange that the Namor of today was so different from then. But every now and then he was sure that he could see that little mischief in the Atlantian's eyes. So sure that he would mentally check himself for any type of blackmail material the other might have.
He also remembered that he had been helping then. There had been a war and he was fighting in it. It had been his *duty*. And he had never been one to shirk off duty. At least, he thought he hadn't.
Sighing, he sat down heavily on a wood bench that was mostly unrotted. Lately he couldn't name one thing that he'd done that would somehow drastically effect a person's life.
'You talked to the girl.'
He sneered at that. 'She was just being kind and talking to *me*.'
'But she was happy!'
'I- I'm talking to myself!' He groaned and ran a hand through his ruffled blond hair. He was beginning to pile up reasons against himself in his mind when he heard it. It was pure terror.
He was aflame and through a boarded up window before rational thought could set in... and remember the rain. Every droplet that even came close to him sizzled and evaporated, and a huge cloud of steam was everywhere. He flew straight ahead toawrds the screams, however, and soon the cloud was trailing behind him. He thanked the powers up above for simple solutions.
He couldn't hide his suprise when he saw that same girl, Deardrie, running down the street in full-out terror. She had been heading towards the building he was in - another good thing, he never would have heard her otherwise. Behind her, snapping and growling, were two *things*. Jim couldn't decribe them, they were just things. Monsters. Their hungry jaws were biting at Deardrie's feet and legs, playing with her like a cat to a small rodent. There was a moment of thought and then...
One of the things was gone, ash on the pavement. A scortch mark was on the brick wall behind it. The other thing jumped back from the sudden heat and light, growling with rage. It saw the bright thing that had hurt the other, and it leapt at it. Even Jim wasn't prepared for the thing. It slammed into him, forcing him down into a huge puddle. His flame was out, and the thing was on him now, sharp teeth going for his face. He held them back and the thing almost seemed... suprised? It growled loudly and ripped into him with a sharp, deformed paw. He could feel his synthetic blood mixing with the water in the puddle. He had to end this. He took the thing by the shoulders and held it fast. It yelped and began to struggle as flames engulfed it, burning it from the inside out. Soon there was nothing but foul smelling ash.
"Oh my God..."
'Deardrie!'
Jim was on his feet in an instant, rushing over to her. She gaped at him, staring.
"Are you-" he began, but she was still staring at him like he'd grown another head. At the moment, however, he wouldn't have cared. Her safety was at the very front of his concern.
And then she began to giggle. The giggle was soon a full on laugh and she was leaning against the brick to steady herself.
Jim was now the one staring. "Did I miss something? 'Cuz if I did, I'd *really* like to be let in on it now."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she was gasping for breath inbetween short bursts of insane giggles, "It's just I feel really stupid now." He raised his eyebrow quizcally at her, and she elaborated, "I mean, here I was talking to you about super heroes..."
He looked to the sky and grinned, chuckling. He turned back to her with a more serious expression, "Are you hurt?"
"No. They just scared me. But you seemed to have gotten the worse end of the deal," she pointed to his chest.
Jim looked down, "I'm fine. It's already healing." He wiped some blood off his bare skin.
"I want to say thank you, by the way."
"Why?"
"For talking," she smirked.
He laughed.
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-------------------
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.
Jim went to work that Monday with an odd way about him. He was... awake. He wasn't just dozing through life anymore, and he seemed to be really enjoying it. Rumours were going around about his sudden change in attitude, but he did nothing. 'Let them guess and wonder like fools!'
He had walked Deardrie home that night, and she had thanked him, repeatedly. He tried to make her stop, but she gave him one of those Jackie- esque glares and he laughingly gave in. She promised him that they'd meet again some day, and that she'd find some way to track him down sooner or later. He hoped she would.
Falling back into his chair to start another day, he noticed something on his desk. It was a single white envelope, unmarked and fold-sealed. He took the letter out and began to read;
"Dear Jim,
I am thankful that New York has its abundance of heroes, and that they are not afraid to make a difference, no matter how small."
And for the first time in months, Jim was truely happy.
.
.
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fin.
.
.
Note: This is a challenge to all those who write comic-baised fanfic, to all the MV1 lurkers and Tapastry poets - See good character, LOVE good chracter, write for said good character.... or else.
Disclaimer: Look! A Marvel logo!
.
.
.
If there was one thing Jim Hammond hated, it was the rain. It was damn clechéd, but for some reason, he decided it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. The heroes did all the work in the city, and what could he say? He had a nine-to-five that payed well, a trusted circle of 'friends', and free cable. But he wasn't making a difference. Not like he used to.
Even when his powers had gone, he had done *something*. He had helped, even in the smallest way, to save lives and change the outcome of certainly bad situations. Now he was a bookie to a bunch of novices, selling them off to the highest bidder. Oh yes. Making a difference.
The meek, fair skinned receptionist peeked in, reminding him that it was after ten and that he should be getting home. Sleep, she said. He fought back the urge to snap at her, tell her that he didn't need sleep, instead nodding calmly and thanking her for the gesture.
Maybe he did need to go home. To think. No, not home. Somewhere else.
He crossed the room in four long strides and, taking his coat off the rack, was out the door without so much as a glance back.
.
.
-------------------
.
.
If hailing a cab in L.A. was hell, then surely New York was someplace far worse. The yellow checkered things went by quickly, insanely, not checking if there were people in front of them, only trying to get their fare to the desired point. Jim cursed every one that passed him by, and something a bit more obscene was saved for the ones who stopped, but ignored him.
Finally, after what seemed like a variable eternity, one of the yellow blurs stopped in front of him. He quickly swung open the door, only to be met with a young lady who was already inside. She easily scooted over to allow him in. He smiled in thanks, and then yelled a number at the cabbie. They were off a minute later.
He had been staring out the window for at least ten minutes before he heard her speaking. It then took him a few seconds more to comprehend she was talking to him and what was being said.
"-ere you going, then?"
The voice was soft and clean with a faint hint of an English accent to it. It reminded him oddly of Jackie, only he was quite sure she had never spoken to him in any other tone except contempt, or some form of it. He looked back at the woman, then, after a moment, he smiled. "Just gonna go to an old place I used to know. Wanna know if its still there. I... I used to go there to think."
"Ah," she gave him a small, almost bashfull smile, "wish I knew the places here. I'm just here to sightsee."
"Oh?" One eyebrow quirked up.
"Yes. Well, you know, lots of people come here to see the heroes. And well, I've always been taken by them, even when I was very young," she played with a small bracelet on her wrist almost absent-mindedly, "I used to see Captain America and the Avengers on TV. I always wished I could meet a real live super hero. Then I made a deal with myself - when I was old enough, I'd go to New York and see one. A real live super hero." She blushed deeply, "Oh, I'm sorry, that must have sounded a bit bad..."
"Not at all. I think it's wonderfull that you're keeping your promise to yourself." He then smirked just the tiniest bit, "But you do realize that when people around here see a super hero, it's usually because something nasty has made itself known."
She laughed, "Yes, I guess you're right."
He paused for a moment, then sighing deeply, turned to her. "Jim Hammond," he extended a hand.
She laughed again as realization dawned, "Deardrie Oleson."
Jim was about to say something, something that was of no real importance because he forgot it just as soon as the cabbie called up, "Yer stop's here, buddy!"
"Ack."
"Hmm, fate's a biznitch?"
He chuckled, "What?"
She only smiled at him.
Realizing the cabbie was staring impatiently, he quickly clambered out of the cab. He began to pull out several bills when Deardrie was standing next to him, unfolding a large umbrella. "This isn't your stop, is it?"
"No, but it's close enough. What's two blocks?"
"Quite alot in this city," He handed the cabbie the money, both their fares, and waved him off. Deardrie made a move to object, but Jim help up a hand, "A thank you."
"For what?"
"For talking," he said honestly. "Maybe..." He looked up at the tall, old stone building that was amazingly still standing, "Maybe I won't have so much to think about now."
"That's good?"
"That's good," he agreed. "Now how about I walk you home?"
"No. You just payed my cab fare. I don't want to trouble you anymore than I already have," she put up her free hand in a defensive pose.
"It wouldn't be-"
A galre. She really did remind him of Jackie.
He sighed, defeated. "Yes, Ma'am."
She smiled triumphantly, then with a waves, turned and walked off down the street. Jim watched untill the rain didn't allow him to see her any longer, and then headed up the old steps.
.
.
-------------------
.
.
A human might have commented that the air in the building smelled stale, old. Like death. But to the android standing there, it was a familliar anchor in an insane futuristic world.
He ran a hand over an old dusty table. It was still shiney, underneith. He could still see his reflection in it. Odd, though. He never did before. But then again, he probably didn't notice. So many things he didn't notice. Took for granted, and then they were gone. Old. Forgotten. Like him.
This place had once been the base of the wartime group The Liberty Legion. They had welcomed him there, along with Cap and Namor and anyone else who decided to tag along. Thinman was always up in the attic, updating his hero files, then zipping down to welcome them with a huge rubber hug and some coffee. He breifly wondered what had become of the strange, but helpful hero after the war. He'd never checked, always assuming he'd settled down, had a family. Curiousity got the better of him and he made a mental note to look into the subject when he went back to work on Monday.
The old war maps were still in their cases, Thinman had been very neat about it all. "Can't have a war without order," he'd said, and then he'd snatch whatever you were holding and dust it off. Careful, Jim pulled one out and unfurled it. It was of the Western Front, and still marked to show the advancements of the Russian forces. He put it back and made his way farther up.
Getting to the attic, he moved to one side of the room and pushed up a false door. Still farther up was the hangar. It took up the entire top floor, and, as he remembered, it could keep two Atlantian warships safely in it with room to spare.
He could almost see himself running down the ramp of Namor's fish-ship, glad to finally be out of the small confined space. Quite a few of the others had made little comments about robots and quastriphobia, many of which meant pranking later. Once he was out of the ship and, time permitting, he would run down into the main room and raid the cabenets for any type of liquor. He and Namor would then procede to get drunk off their asses and the latter would begin to recite every cuss word he knew in all of fifteen different languages.
It was strange that the Namor of today was so different from then. But every now and then he was sure that he could see that little mischief in the Atlantian's eyes. So sure that he would mentally check himself for any type of blackmail material the other might have.
He also remembered that he had been helping then. There had been a war and he was fighting in it. It had been his *duty*. And he had never been one to shirk off duty. At least, he thought he hadn't.
Sighing, he sat down heavily on a wood bench that was mostly unrotted. Lately he couldn't name one thing that he'd done that would somehow drastically effect a person's life.
'You talked to the girl.'
He sneered at that. 'She was just being kind and talking to *me*.'
'But she was happy!'
'I- I'm talking to myself!' He groaned and ran a hand through his ruffled blond hair. He was beginning to pile up reasons against himself in his mind when he heard it. It was pure terror.
He was aflame and through a boarded up window before rational thought could set in... and remember the rain. Every droplet that even came close to him sizzled and evaporated, and a huge cloud of steam was everywhere. He flew straight ahead toawrds the screams, however, and soon the cloud was trailing behind him. He thanked the powers up above for simple solutions.
He couldn't hide his suprise when he saw that same girl, Deardrie, running down the street in full-out terror. She had been heading towards the building he was in - another good thing, he never would have heard her otherwise. Behind her, snapping and growling, were two *things*. Jim couldn't decribe them, they were just things. Monsters. Their hungry jaws were biting at Deardrie's feet and legs, playing with her like a cat to a small rodent. There was a moment of thought and then...
One of the things was gone, ash on the pavement. A scortch mark was on the brick wall behind it. The other thing jumped back from the sudden heat and light, growling with rage. It saw the bright thing that had hurt the other, and it leapt at it. Even Jim wasn't prepared for the thing. It slammed into him, forcing him down into a huge puddle. His flame was out, and the thing was on him now, sharp teeth going for his face. He held them back and the thing almost seemed... suprised? It growled loudly and ripped into him with a sharp, deformed paw. He could feel his synthetic blood mixing with the water in the puddle. He had to end this. He took the thing by the shoulders and held it fast. It yelped and began to struggle as flames engulfed it, burning it from the inside out. Soon there was nothing but foul smelling ash.
"Oh my God..."
'Deardrie!'
Jim was on his feet in an instant, rushing over to her. She gaped at him, staring.
"Are you-" he began, but she was still staring at him like he'd grown another head. At the moment, however, he wouldn't have cared. Her safety was at the very front of his concern.
And then she began to giggle. The giggle was soon a full on laugh and she was leaning against the brick to steady herself.
Jim was now the one staring. "Did I miss something? 'Cuz if I did, I'd *really* like to be let in on it now."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she was gasping for breath inbetween short bursts of insane giggles, "It's just I feel really stupid now." He raised his eyebrow quizcally at her, and she elaborated, "I mean, here I was talking to you about super heroes..."
He looked to the sky and grinned, chuckling. He turned back to her with a more serious expression, "Are you hurt?"
"No. They just scared me. But you seemed to have gotten the worse end of the deal," she pointed to his chest.
Jim looked down, "I'm fine. It's already healing." He wiped some blood off his bare skin.
"I want to say thank you, by the way."
"Why?"
"For talking," she smirked.
He laughed.
.
.
-------------------
.
.
Jim went to work that Monday with an odd way about him. He was... awake. He wasn't just dozing through life anymore, and he seemed to be really enjoying it. Rumours were going around about his sudden change in attitude, but he did nothing. 'Let them guess and wonder like fools!'
He had walked Deardrie home that night, and she had thanked him, repeatedly. He tried to make her stop, but she gave him one of those Jackie- esque glares and he laughingly gave in. She promised him that they'd meet again some day, and that she'd find some way to track him down sooner or later. He hoped she would.
Falling back into his chair to start another day, he noticed something on his desk. It was a single white envelope, unmarked and fold-sealed. He took the letter out and began to read;
"Dear Jim,
I am thankful that New York has its abundance of heroes, and that they are not afraid to make a difference, no matter how small."
And for the first time in months, Jim was truely happy.
.
.
.
fin.