"Things Change"
Chapter Two: "The Big Pitch"
by Michael O'Connell
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Previously... The city of San Francisco has become overrun with villain activity, gangs using magic and high-tech weaponry, sinister covens, death cults, mob wars and every kind of threat that local law enforcement isn't equipped to handle. And Commander Sydney Todd-Strange, head of San Francisco's UNCLE branch--and the former Forte founding super-heroine called Mist--is trying desperately to hold it all together...and is failing. One particularly bad day that put several of her agents in the hospital led her to don her Mist costume again and hit the streets, along with another Forte alum, the martial master Secundus, who also lives in the city. Their efforts ended up making little difference, so outnumbered they were. But Sydney got an idea, a big one. After spending some time planning it out and thinking it through, she called a meeting of former Forte teammates at her home to discuss it and get their input. Everyone agreed her big idea was a great one, and, catching a plane, she began a journey to talk with some extraordinary individuals in hopes that they would help make her plan a reality...
Mark Spires stood in front of the open double doors of his home’s oversized refrigerator, scanning the contents patiently. The fridge was, as ever, jammed with ingredients, and he was taking his time deciding which of them he was going to pluck out and put together to make into dinner. Dinner for one, this time. His wife, Erin (the former Erin O’Day, now…well, professionally, STILL Erin O’Day, even if she was legally Erin Spires. One didn’t spend years cultivating a name as a P.I. and then go changing that name on one’s business card), was out of town for the evening, visiting an old friend in St. Louis. And his daughter, Bree, wasn’t dropping in for dinner, either, as she was doing her duty as a bridesmaid in the nuptials of an old college pal of hers. No, tonight, it was all Mark. The solitude wasn’t something he required or sought out, but when it did happen on occasion, he had the good sense to look at the bright side of it and take advantage. He had some work to catch up on—there was never a lack of take-home tasks for the worker bees of S.T.A.R. Labs—and he’d been doing so for the past couple of hours in his study. But now, satisfied with his progress, he was taking a break for a meal and to catch up on a little TV. He was paying for the dish on the roof, so he felt it was only proper to get some use out of it once in a while. He didn’t need to work, financially speaking. But he’d taken the job at S.T.A.R. after Bree had graduated high school and gotten accepted at Xavier. Still not willing to be out of her life after so many years of doing so, even though she’d had time to get over Kelly’s death and move on (as much as any girl could after losing her mother), he’d moved his new family—with the addition of Erin—to Ohio. His part-time traffic copter gig in Minneapolis had filled his time while he watched his little girl turn into a woman, but he was, still, a scientist, a fact he couldn’t just sweep under the rug no matter how hard he tried (despite all the pain that had brought to his life over the years). He needed to use his brain. And S.T.A.R. Labs had been almost giddy when he’d contacted them. He’d been doing good work there for several years now, and had made some good friends, too. Among them the local super-hero, the former MidKnight member Slayzer (who had, in almost twenty years of using it, not yet realized how lame his hero name was, or that it really sounded like a villain name), who seemed to spend most of his time hanging out there. So he had no complaints. The job kept his intellect occupied and kept him around like-minded cerebral types that were good company despite their penchant for Karaoke Night at Rhino’s Bar. His daughter still lived in town while she decided what the next step in her life was, and spent a lot of her time at the house, right where he liked her. And he got to spend plenty of time with his wife, the red-haired banshee that had worked so hard to break into his heart back in his Seattle days. He was constantly grateful that she’d been so persistent (while he was busy being such an ass while he tried to decide if he could trust her after all their bizarre dealings before their relationship blossomed), because he couldn’t imagine his life without her. After so much darkness in his life, after so many mistakes and bad choices and nearly biblical bad twists of fate, she was one of the latter miracles that made him feel it had all been worth it to get where he was. He was staring at the chicken he’d left defrosting in the fridge, realizing that it was going to have to be part of whatever meal he ended up with, and was going through, in his head, all the different magical things he could do with it (science was his business, yes, but cooking would always be his greatest passion), when his doorbell rang. Slightly annoyed at having his culinary reverie interrupted, he closed the fridge and headed across the living room. The monkey, however, beat him to the door. Nick, Erin’s pet monkey of many years, bounced across the carpet and soared through the air, catching himself nimbly on the door handle and bounding up to wrap his tiny fingers on the slightly protruding peephole in the door. He swung back and forth as he peered through the hole. “It’s not Ed McMahon,” Mark told him, approaching the door. “So don’t go getting your hopes up.” He casually reached for Nick and placed him on his own shoulder, an act that the monkey accepted without complaint. Their relationship had certainly changed over the years. Nick bounced up and down next to Mark’s head and whipped his tail as Mark took a peek through the looking glass himself. He started at the sight. “Oh, my God,” he said, and not in a bad way. He opened the door, and there, before him and his adopted monkey, stood Sydney Todd—or Commander Sydney Todd-Strange of UNCLE San Francisco, or The Mist, former super-heroine and founding member of Forte, the team that Mark himself had spent years on as Anvil, if you preferred. Her black hair was pulled back in a tail, and she wore jeans and a Sonoma “wine country” tee shirt, and her sunglasses were still on, though the sun was just starting to think about setting. She smiled brightly at him. “Sydney!” he said, genuinely flabbergasted. “I was just in the neighborhood,” she grinned. Setting Nick down inside the door (as lunging at someone with a monkey on your shoulder tended to make them scream), he stepped onto his porch and wrapped a very happy hug around his old, dear friend.
“So you can imagine the annoyance factor,” he went on as he sliced and diced deftly. “We’re stuck on this train to Nice, hiding out from Force Command, I’m hobbled, basically, and Vanguard’s only recently had forced BRAIN surgery, so he and I are just walking wounded. And the oh-so-selfless Twostep is getting intel out of the crazy-hot French spy chick by feeding her bondage fetish and tying her up in her cabin and…well…pumping her for information.” Sydney managed to swallow and properly finish her laugh. “Oh, my goodness.” Anvil grinned. “And then, we can’t have her tagging along after us, right? This pink-garbed redhead who’s like the exact OPPOSITE of low-profile? Plus, we had no idea if we could trust her. We didn’t know WHO we could trust at this point. So, going against all his gentlemanly standards, Nathaniel just leaves Flamingo tied up in her cabin, and we jump off at Nice.” Sydney laughed harder. “So, to sum up,” he said, finishing his chicken-chopping, “fugitives in a foreign land, terrorist army about to overthrow Europe and us the only ones who can stop it, I’m crippled, Robert’s in and out of consciousness…and Nathaniel gets laid.” “Oh, my,” she coughed, getting in control of herself. “Well, he was…a man of many talents.” “That he was,” Mark smiled. Sydney smiled back, thoughtfully, and they said nothing for a moment. Then she raised her glass and held it toward him. Mark picked up his own glass and touched it to hers, and they drank a silent toast to their fallen friend. “Wow,” he said after another moment of silence. “That was…almost exactly thirteen years ago.” “Wow,” she agreed. “Caleb was just over a year old.” “Bree would have been just shy of thirteen,” he said, which brought up a number of memories and emotions he didn’t share with her. “So was Dyna Girl, then.” “Seahawk’s kid wasn’t even born yet. I was…thirty-one.” “And I was…thirteen years younger than I am now,” Sydney laughed. Mark laughed back. “Time does have a way of scooting along, doesn’t it?” “That it does,” she said, thoughtfully, taking another sip of wine. “Well,” he said, lifting his cutting board and portioning out roughly half of the chicken to each of the waiting salads, “all things considered, time has been good.” “No complaints?” she asked, watching him put the finishing touches on their meal. “Nary a one,” he smiled. “I like where my life has ended up. I’m really happy, Syd. For the first time in a long while. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?” She involuntarily cleared her throat, and he picked up on it. “So,” he said, lifting their plates. “Dinner is served. Hungry?” She looked down at the salads and started to salivate with a smile. “Mark,” she laughed, “that looks absolutely fantastic.” “Then let’s eat. Back porch okay for you?” “Perfect,” she said. “It’s gorgeous out.” “Okay,” he said, stepping around the counter as she stood up. “Let’s do it. And maybe while we do, you can finally get around to telling me why you just happen to show up on the other side of the country on a Wednesday night on my doorstep.” “Well,” she said, feeling nervous again now that the pleasantries were over. “Maybe I just will then.”
“Wow,” he said. “Yeah, that’s what Jack said last night,” she laughed. They were sitting across from each other on his enclosed back porch, a small table between them that held their empty plates and their mostly emptied wine glasses. The sun had gone down and a very slight breeze was blowing through the window screens, wafting the summer night in to them. “A…uh…a new…” “Hero team,” she finished for him, studying him. “That’s…great. That’s exciting.” “And very necessary. You have no idea what’s happening in San Francisco. It’s out of control. The bad guys are running the place. And California is sorely lacking in the hero department. I mean, Armor’s in L.A., but you never know when their people are off somewhere across the planet on a job. And there’s Captain Comet, who’s come running plenty when I’ve called him in Sacramento, God bless him, but he’s got his own city to worry about.” “And I’m sure Governor Eastwood doesn’t like him being far away from the capital, anyway,” Mark grinned. “It’s time,” she went on, suddenly serious. “I’ve put a lot of thought and planning into it. I’ve got the resources together and I’m all ready to go.” “And you’re here,” he said, leaning back, “because you want me to be on it.” She smiled at him. “And I thought your wife was the detective.” “Wow,” he exhaled. “That’s…I’m really flattered.” That was the last word she wanted to hear out of him, and her heart sank a little. “I appreciate the trust. That’s…a big thing.” “As Bruce pointed out, it’s a historic thing. This is the start of something big. Believe me, that’s not lost on me. And I need you to be a part of it, Mark.” There. It was out. He scratched his head and furrowed his brow in thought. “I said I was flattered, right?” “You did,” she agreed, watching him. “That’s a big request,” he said. “I know,” she said, kindly. “And I’m sorry to drop this on you in the middle of your week. You can see why I didn’t want to do it over the phone.” “Because that makes it easier to say no?” he laughed. “There’s that,” she smiled back. “And I’m serious when I say I need you, Mark.” “I mean…Syd, there’s got to be other strong guys you’ve considered…” “’Strong guys’?” she asked, amused and incredulous. “Jesus, Mark…” “What?” “You know you’ve got the self-esteem of a pudgy twelve-year old girl?” With a confused laugh, he asked, “What?” again. “I don’t need a ‘strong guy’. God. That’s not why I’m here. You’ve never been able to see it. You’re one of the world’s premiere heroes. You’ve seen and done things that a lot of the other big names have never had to deal with. And yet you’ve still always seen yourself as some kind of second-tier costume. After everything you’ve been through.” “Well…” he said, taking that in and thinking about it. “You are A-list, Mark. Maybe because you never set out to be a hero you have a hard time seeing yourself that way, I don’t know. But God, MOST of us never planned it. We just got thrust into the life and did the best we could. And you did GOOD.” “I was all right,” he shrugged, not really buying it. “But I had good people around me.” “Yes, you did. And you LED them. After the first and second generation of Forte was gone, you WERE Forte. I know you never saw yourself a leader, but it was your team. You carried on for years with the new people coming in, and you held them together and made a difference. You need to spend some more time at the Forte museum and read your bio, pal. Anvil was a legend. And he still is.” She sat forward. “I need you because I need that leadership quality. I’m running this team, but I’m still going to be Sydney Strange, head of UNCLE San Fran, so I’m not always going to be around. I need someone who can guide and lead when I’m not. And more importantly, I need someone who’s been there. Who’s been IN it. I don’t know what kind of stuff we’re going to be facing, but you haven’t just stopped bank robbers and terrorists. You’ve saved the world. You’ve saved the universe.” “Well…” he started to correct her, about to protest that it was always a team effort again. “You’ve traveled through time,” she started ticking off. “You’ve been to Hell. You’ve stood at the Rock of Eternity and stopped the end of all creation. You, Jack and Robert defeated the Almighty just before he destroyed the world. You stood at the brink, every time, and did what you had to do. That’s what I need, Mark. I need someone with THAT kind of experience. Most of my other candidates don’t have it. If it comes to that, heaven forbid, I need somebody the others can turn to to pull them through it. Anvil is that guy.” Absorbing all that, Mark leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees and stared down at his table. “Plus,” Sydney said, reaching for her wine glass and breaking the silence with a grin, “I could kind of use a science guy, too.” Mark smiled weakly at this, but was deep in thought. He raised his eyes to her. “Yes,” he said. “All that is true. But that’s also all in the past.” “And who just stopped an extra-dimensional invasion with the Paragons a few months ago?” she countered (and challenged). “That was…that was just a situational thing. My hanging out with the Paragons…which, I should add, I never plan, but just end up pulled into…is a once-in-a-while thing. Just like when things happen back in Seattle. The thing with Jack. Anubis. Yes, I show up when I’m needed. But I’m retired, Syd. You’re talking about a full-time super-hero, and that’s not what I am anymore.” “I know,” she said, in an understanding, and possibly guilty, tone. “I have a life here. A good one. You’re talking about me moving back to the west coast. I’ve already uprooted Erin twice, and that’s not an easy thing for a P.I. She has to re-establish contacts and connections and all kinds of stuff I don’t even understand. She’s done it…for me. For our family. I don’t know if I could put her through that again.” “If I might suggest,” she said, carefully, not wanting to push too much, “San Francisco is a much better market for a P.I. than…no offense to your home, Mark…than Cincinnati.” He didn’t want to, but he had to admit that to himself. Erin never mentioned it, but he harbored a secret guilt at her lackluster business dealings since their move to the Buckeye state. “And there’s Bree. I left all that behind to finally be her father, full-time.” “And you’ve done a great job,” she said quietly, reaching over and touching his hand. “I know how hard things were after Kelly. You raised a wonderful, smart, beautiful daughter. She’s an amazing woman now. And she makes me feel really old.” He laughed. “How do you think I feel?” She smiled back. “But, honey…she is that—a woman. She’s the same age as Dyna Girl. She’s only two years younger than Rainier. She’s older than Max. She’s all grown up. You don’t have to make her lunches and take her shopping for school clothes anymore. She’s got her own life to get started with, you know?” “I know,” he said, but admitted to himself that hadn’t allowed himself to think of it that way. He was still hanging on, and hadn’t planned to stop anytime soon. “I’m not saying you’re not still her daddy, but she’s not going to be hanging around your house forever. She’ll have a family of her own soon.” He thought of her, at that wedding right now, the bride being her same age. Other friends of hers already had kids. Not liking the thoughts she was making him have, she backed off and leaned back. “And I have my job,” he went on. “You know how many science and tech companies we have in the Bay Area right now? Ones that would stumble all over each other to get their hands on you?” “And there’s Nick,” he said, thumbing toward the armchair in the corner, where the monkey was bouncing up and down, watching them, chowing down on his second banana. “Have you thought about how traumatic this could be for him?” They both looked at the monkey and laughed, breaking the tension. Nick made “Oo! Oo!” sounds at them. Anvil sighed and finished his wine before speaking again. “And I haven’t been that hero in a long time, Syd. I left it. You know, I just…don’t miss putting my life on the line every day, and having to make decisions that could affect the lives of hundreds, or thousands, or millions if I make the wrong one. I have a normal job now. A normal life. The insanity is gone. I’m just Mark Spires. Husband of Erin, father of Bree, defender of no one. I don’t have to carry my co-workers to the hospital. I don’t…have to see them…die.” She felt those words deeply, remembering the image played over and over on the news of Twostep dying in Anvil’s arms on the courthouse steps on a rainy Seattle afternoon. And she thought of Phantashia. And Shrike. And Synergy. And Thresher. And Dash, for that matter. Her eyes grew moist. “I don’t know if I could do that again,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I don’t think I’m that guy anymore.” She leaned forward and took his hand again, this time holding it. “I know, Mark. Believe me, I know. I still go through it every day with my people. That fear, that hurting when they don’t come back in one piece. That guilt when it’s one of them that gets hurt and not you.” He nodded, sharing that emotion with her, the one known best to soldiers and super-heroes. “And I’m happy for you, that you’ve found this peace. And it hurts me to even consider asking you. I wouldn’t be if I didn’t really need you. But I do. That’s why I had to come here, why I have to ask. I’m in a bad way. San Francisco is in a bad way. People are dying. It has to be stopped. If it wasn’t serious, if I could see any other way, I… I’m at the end of my rope. This is the only way out. I need you, Mark. So I just… I have to ask.” He squeezed her hand and smiled a little, nodding. “I understand. And I’m so sorry about everything you’ve been going through. I can only imagine, trying to hold all that together. I didn’t realize it had gotten so bad.” “Well,” she sighed. “Yeah, it’s been rough. But it always is for us, isn’t it?” “Yeah,” he said, looking away, out the window. “It is.” She let his hand go and sat back in her chair, pulling her legs up, and stared out the window at his green back yard that he probably took great pleasure in mowing on Sunday mornings. As she’d expected, she felt terrible. But her life had become about doing what had to be done, about the bigger picture, no matter what the consequences. She tried to reach back and remember what life had been like when she was just a meteorologist, about a thousand years ago. “You know it’s not something I can answer right away, right?” he said, still looking out the window. “I know,” she said, kindly, realizing she sounded very tired. “Will you stay?” he asked. “We have the guest room.” “I have a hotel room.” “Yeeeaaah,” he said, turning his eyes to her, “but the hotel probably doesn’t have homemade ice cream and every episode of Magnum P.I. on DVD.” Her lips curved into a smile and she looked back at him. “What kind of ice cream?” she asked. “You NAME the ice cream,” he said with very little modesty, bouncing his eyebrows twice. Her smile grew wider.
June, 2005 The sound of two women laughing drifted through the door of the darkened apartment, and grew louder as they approached. Soon the sound of a key could be heard…after a pause for a keypad to have a code punched into it. The door opened, and Harry Sullivan—former super-thief and one-time heroine of Forte known as Nightshift—and Sydney Todd stepped in, still laughing. Both were dressed for dinner on the town, as that was exactly what they were returning from. They had spent the evening at the Drake Hotel, first dining on exquisite seafood at the Cape Cod restaurant, and then having drinks at the Coq d’Or lounge bar, catching up on old times and filling in gaps since their last meeting as they sat next to the piano and its seductively handsome player. And they had weathered a number of advances from men, both out-of-town visitors to Chicago staying at the hotel, and locals who trawled the downtown hotspots with expensive clothes and horrible pick-up lines. And why not? Harry and Sydney looked fantastic tonight…and they knew it. “I can’t believe I just met Oprah in a parking garage,” Sydney laughed breathlessly, stepping into the darkness and still feeling the swoon of too many cocktails. “And you know,” Harry laughed back, feeling the wall clumsily (the same swoon was in effect) for a switch, “her driver ALWAYS parks over the line. Pisses me off. I know I’m not a billionaire or anything, but I have to park here, too.” She found the switch she was searching for and flicked it. It was a master switch, and lights began to pop on all over the apartment. “Oh, my God,” Sydney said, suddenly sobering up. Harry’s apartment home was nothing short of spectacular. It was vast and spacious, furnished in contemporary décor (lots of blacks and darker shades) and classic art—the walls held framed Degas and other impressionists. Shelves and cabinets held antiques and first edition books. Tables held sculptures and busts. Sydney supposed she should have expected such a dwelling in a building that also housed Oprah, but she wasn’t expecting this. “This is your APARTMENT?” she found herself asking, looking around. “I hope so,” Harry said, closing the door. “Or you’re going to have to arrest us both.” “It’s bigger than my HOUSE!” “Hey, if you got it,” Harry said, pausing next to Sydney for a moment and giving her a very 70s bump on the hip with her own before walking on, “WORK it.” Sydney laughed and wandered in, trying to take in all the sights, as Harry tossed her keys and black purse onto her coffee table. “I have to pee,” Harry announced, “and I’m going to change real quick, then I’ll give you the tour, okay?” “Okay,” Sydney agreed, setting her own purse down and absently bending her legs up behind her, one and then the other, and unstrapping her heels. Sober people paid attention to social norms like not taking off your shoes in someone else’s home without asking, but the tipsy carried kind of a mental diplomatic immunity. They had talked at length over dinner about Harry’s business, the one she had started after putting her heroing days (short though they were) behind her, and Sydney had known she was doing well for herself, but obviously she hadn’t correctly imagined HOW well. Nightwatch Solutions had an exclusive list of clients around the world—from the upper atmosphere Fortune 500 companies to governments to insanely wealthy individuals—who paid well to have Harry evaluate the security of their corporate offices, installations and homes. In short, she got paid to break into places. In the modern age of people with super-powers—and not all of them fighting for truth, justice and the like—security concerns had grown beyond locks and motion detectors. Having someone with super-powers—and someone who used to make a living as a thief making use of those abilities—checking a place’s back doors and weaknesses was an almost indispensable necessity, if you had the means. Those who did enlisted Harry, who evaluated and researched the site and their systems, did her own little incursion at an undisclosed day and time, and prepared a report for them of their status and suggestions for improvements and upgrades. She had contracts with some of the leading vendors of metahuman security measures, and made a good chunk of money off commissions there as well. She kept an impressive office in the city, downtown, not far from her home, and had a small staff that handled a lot of the legwork and research, but her clients got the boss when it came time to do the deal. Her reputation was spreading fast, and she was in high demand. Not bad for a woman who was forced to join Forte as a condition of parole. Leaving her shoes behind, Sydney walked into the living room area and marveled at the sights. She stopped in front of Harry’s fine couch and stared at a Degas, a painting centering on a young ballerina (as many of his had). She studied it, and something about it she couldn’t place made her sad. Harry came up behind her, now wearing sweats and a tee shirt, a look she was much more comfortable and natural in. She stood behind Sydney and looked up at her prize decoration. “Still a sucker for the impressionists,” she said of herself. “And old Edgar’s still my boy. And you know the best part?” Sydney looked back at her. Harry put her hand beside her mouth and spoke confidentially. “I actually paid for it,” she whispered comically. Sydney laughed. “Come on,” Harry said. “Tour first. Then more cocktails!” Sydney moaned at the thought, not knowing if she could take any more, but Harry dragged her across the apartment, and she followed.
“That’s amazing,” Sydney said, taking in the breathtaking vista, holding a cold glass in her hand. “My kind of town,” Harry said, with her bare feet resting on the table, taking a sip of her drink. “You have done SO well, Harry,” Sydney said, honestly, turning back to her. “Why thank you,” Harry smiled, toasting with her glass. “I think I’ll be polite and agree.” She took another drink and then smiled widely. “I’m so glad you came! This is so much fun. I never get to be girly anymore.” “Makes two of us,” Sydney said, considering her drink and deciding she’d had enough. “The heels don’t really work with the UNCLE uniform. And that purse isn’t big enough for my sidearm.” Harry laughed. “Yeah, for me, it’s just hard to have a social life when you’re running a company and jetting all over the world. Who has the time?” “How do you like it? The company.” Harry nodded. “I like. A lot.” She reached for her pack of cigarettes on the table and pulled one out. “There’s nothing like being your own boss. And having bigwigs treat you like a VIP. They all think I’m the cat’s meow.” She paused and lit her cigarette and inhaled, and winked at Sydney. “Which I am. I’m really good at this. Who knew an embarrassing criminal past could turn into a respectable career? I’m very, very lucky. And I never forget that.” Sydney nodded. “You ever miss the old life?” “Which one?” Harry laughed. “Stealing stuff or playing super-hero?” “The latter,” Sydney laughed back. Harry smoked, and shrugged. “I don’t know. It was never really me, you know? I didn’t plan to get into it. I kind of had to. I never felt like I knew what I was doing. You guys, I mean… Come on, you were born for it. I just did what I had to while I had to.” “You did more than that,” Sydney told her. “You made a difference, Harry.” Harry shrugged again, not looking at her. “I’m serious,” Sydney pressed on. “Yeah, maybe you got forced into it, but you were a big part of the team. And you didn’t just do it and leave. You’ve been there for us since, whenever we needed you. Like with Anubis.” “Anubis,” Harry said, staring blankly out at the skyline, remembering and suddenly quiet. “There was a fun guy.” Sydney, too, shivered a little bit at the memory, though the night was sticky and humid around them. “Nightshift made a difference. A big one. Whether you can see it or not.” Harry took another drink. “Okay, maybe she did,” she surrendered. “But miss it? No. I was scared all the time. I felt like everyone thought I was just this criminal who dodged the system. I know. But I still felt like it. I never really felt like a hero. Do I miss the people? Sure, but we stay in touch. Mark and Erin and Bree come into town to visit. Tommy drops in when he’s on this side of the border. I like the reunion things when I get to see everybody in Seattle. Not the ones when the world’s about to blow up. Or the funerals. The birthdays, the weddings. It’s good to see everybody. But it still feels like that was another life. That’s not who I am anymore, Syd. I’m just Harry Sullivan now. Nightshift is somebody I really said good-bye to a long time ago.” Of course, Sydney thought, mentally shaking her head. That pretty much tracked with how her luck was running. Suddenly, she changed her mind about the drink. She finished what was left in her glass, and winced. After the shudder stopped, she spoke again. “I’m not here to visit,” she said. Harry looked from the skyline back to Sydney. “You’re not?” “No,” she admitted, taking a breath. “I need to talk to you about something, Harry. I don’t know if you’re going to like it, but it’s why I came, and I need to get this out.” “Okay,” Harry said suspiciously, setting her drink down on the table. “Then let’s get it out. What’s going on?”
Why do they keep saying that?, Sydney wondered with some annoyance. “Yeah,” was all Sydney could say back. Harry reached for another cigarette and lit it. She blew smoke and looked up into the summer stars. “Sorry about the fib,” Sydney apologized. “I really did want to visit. But I’m here on business.” “And what business it is,” Harry said wryly. “I’m in bad shape. I’m out of options. This is all I’ve got left to play.” “I’m sorry,” Harry said. “That things are so bad. That’s got to be tough. You’ve got to be feeling pretty helpless.” “I am.” “And pretty desperate,” Harry grinned, “if you’re knocking on MY door.” “Harry…” Sydney said, disapprovingly. “I’m just playing with you.” “You’re not,” she said, sitting up. “And you’re wrong. About a lot of things. Nobody saw Nightshift as some ex-con to babysit. You were in Forte. Your teammates respected you then, they do now. Because you’re a hero, Harry.” “I was a temp, Syd,” she answered back. “Okay? Yeah, I ran around with the big kids for a while, but I didn’t really do anything.” “Really?” Sydney asked, getting a little angry at her. “Remember a place called Pocantico Point?” “Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, dismissively. “You were trapped inside a maximum security super-villain prison, you and a relatively green Forte team, with Doctor Spider and all of Web trying to blow the thermonuclear plant, and Omega Block cracked open and Powermaster, the Marauders, and some of the most powerful villains on Earth coming after you. That was the stuff of nightmares.” “It IS the stuff of nightmares,” Harry said, bitterly, getting a little angry herself. “I still have them, Syd.” “You took on some of Forte’s worst and deadliest enemies. And you stopped them.” “WE stopped them. Me and Tommy, Chelsea, Mark and Kyle. And Hologram, even if he ended up being a fake Hologram. I wasn’t alone.” “You think I haven’t read those reports? You weren’t hiding in a corner while all that was happening. You’d been a super-hero for less than two weeks, and you were dropped into the worst-case scenario, something none of us have ever had to face. There were dead bodies everywhere, there was a nuclear explosion about to go off under your feet, and bad guys that could take out the Justice Squadron coming at you in packs. You didn’t back down. You held ground with your team and you did what had to be done.” “What HAD to be done,” Harry repeated back at her. “I didn’t have a choice.” “How often do we get the luxury of a choice? We face what comes at us. It’s how we face it that makes the difference. You were probably sure you were going to die—” “Probably?” Harry asked sarcastically. “But you didn’t fold. You saved a lot of lives. And the President of the United States does not single you out for commendation and grant you a full executive pardon for being a spectator.” “That was a long, long time ago—” “And speaking of Anubis?” Sydney went on, not letting up and feeling her blood keep getting hotter. “Three years ago you stood by my side, on the battlefield, against an army, an ARMY of walking nightmares while the world was coming to an end around us. That’s not some incident report talking to me. I was THERE. I put my life in your hands, and I did so without hesitation, and you had my back all the way. We didn’t have any reason to think we’d see the sun rise the next morning. And you still gave everything you had.” Harry, still fuming, looked away. “So tell me ‘no’,” Sydney said to her sternly. “But don’t you dare tell me you’re not a hero.” They sat in tense silence, Harry not looking at Sydney, Sydney eventually looking away from her as well, feeling a little exhausted at her unplanned ignition of emotion. Harry smoked and watched the skyline. Harry was finally the one to break the silence. “I fed you too much booze,” she said. “You get pissy when you’re drunk, you know that?” Sydney turned her glance back to Harry, and Harry was smiling weakly. Feeling guilty and a little embarrassed, Sydney grinned mildly back. “Stephen’s mentioned that once or twice, too,” she said. “I’ll bet.” Sydney ran her hands absently through her hair as she leaned her head back and let the tension melt away, hoping the little throbbing in her in temples wasn’t the warnings of a full-blown migraine. Harry put out the last of her cigarette. “So you’re really doing this, huh?” Harry asked. “Starting your own hero team.” “Yeah. One way or the other. I don’t see any other option.” “You’re going to do great with it,” Harry offered. “I mean it. You’re a natural leader.” “A leader’s only as good as the people who follow her,” Sydney grinned back. Harry smiled, and toasted with her glass as if to say ‘touché’, and took a drink. Sydney sat up and took a tired breath. “I really do need you, Harry. I know how you feel. I do. But when I was making my list you were one of the first ones on it. You bring things to the table that no one else can, things I’m going to need.” “I understand,” Harry said, anticipating her. “Having a former thief in the mix, one that still has connections and insight on the whole bad guy mindset, would—” “Harry,” she sighed. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Yes, that’s part of it, too, okay. We’ve got a big freelance villain clearinghouse going on somewhere in town. You know a lot about that stuff. I could use your experience. But what I need, what you offer, is someone who thinks outside the box. Most of the others have been doing this too long. They’ve gotten used to the routine. Not to put them down, in any way, but their thinking has gotten lazy. You see things differently. You see angles others don’t. Including me. I think like a fed now. They think like Superfriends. I need your mind. Your eyes. Your imagination.” “Well,” Harry said, rolling her eyes with a little embarrassment. “I don’t know if I’m all THAT.” “I seem to remember someone shrinking the costume off a super-villainess in the middle of a fight?” Sydney grinned. Harry grinned too, then her smile grew even wider. “That WAS rather clever, wasn’t it?” “Not something I would have thought of, I can tell you that.” Harry started chuckling at the memory. “Oh, my God,” she laughed. “You should have been there. Chelsea and I had to practically take her out ourselves after that. The guys were scared to death to touch her. They were afraid they were going to get sued or something.” She laughed harder, and Sydney laughed with her. “That’s what I’m talking about,” Sydney finally said. “Outside the box. You have a gift for that. I need that. And I need something else you have, too.” “And what’s that?” Harry asked, getting her laughing fit under control. “Balls.” Harry grinned at her. “Big ones, girl,” Sydney said. “You’ve got more guts than any dozen supers I can think of with ten times your power. You gave up a life of crime and put your ass and your life on the line by turning on Professor Night. And you kicked an addiction to one of the most addictive synthetic drugs ever created. Night could have destroyed your life forever hooking you on Nightmare. But you beat it. And you beat her. That alone tells me everything I need to know to want you in my corner.” Harry grew thoughtful and looked away again before speaking. “You know I’ve had a pretty fucked up life, right?” Suddenly serious, Sydney nodded, and said, “Yeah.” “Of course you do,” Harry said. “You read my UNCLE psych profile when I first turned myself in.” Sydney looked a little embarrassed at this. “It’s okay,” Harry said. “Hey, I’m an open book. So you know my family life was…less than ideal.” “Yes.” “When I got out of that, I fell in with a gang. After that, with the Night Fantastic. And after that, Forte. My UNCLE shrink said I kept looking for a new family after my first one failed to satisfy. For a place to belong, to shelter me and fill the empty place.” Sydney let her talk, watching her closely and supportively. “My need for family got me into a lot of trouble. Almost got me dead. And it’s taken a long time, but I’ve finally got to a place where I’ve learned to rely on myself and stand alone. It feels good. I just don’t think me trying to join another family would be the best thing for me right now.” “I’m not asking you to join a family,” Sydney said, softly. “You’re already part of one. I’m just asking you to come on home.” “I’m sorry, Syd,” Harry said. “I really am. But I just don’t think I can walk back into all that right now.” Dejected, Sydney leaned back, and she nodded. “I really do understand,” she said. “You’ve got a great life going. I’m happy for you, Harry.” “Thank you, Sydney. I am, too.” “And, just so you’ll know, if you change your mind, there’s always going to be a place for you there. The invitation stays open.” “I appreciate that. It means a lot. Thank you for the confidence. That means even more.” “You’ve earned it,” Sydney smiled. A weight seemed lifted, and they sat together and enjoyed the summer night. And each other’s company, and more laughter, and a parade of stories and memories that lasted until the sun rose.
June, 2005 Andy Connolly, Riggs Bulger and Daniel Ballard burst out of the side door, into the alley, out into the steamy night in Andrew Square, yet another bad neighborhood in South Boston. Having lost all concern for their friends in the building behind them, the trio were running for their lives. The door hit the wall and bounced back. Just before it slammed shut, a burst of flame whooshed through it and blew it back open, ignited it, and knocked it off its hinges. The flaming door dropped loudly to the alley floor. Danny Ballard dove to the ground, while Andy and Riggs looked back at the sound, and the terrifying sight, and kept running. Danny stumbled to his feet, looking in the open doorway, and frantically yanked his automatic from the waistband of his pants. He pointed it at the opening with a shaking hand, and a stream of fire shot out and engulfed his gun and hand. He screamed as melting metal dripped over his fingers, and he dropped the gun and yanked his hand back, horrified. More fire shot from the door, a column that struck him and knocked him back, hard, into the brick wall of the alley. He bounced and fell forward, crumpling face-down to the dirty cement. His shirt and pants were on fire, but just seconds after, the flames seem to withdraw and disappear, leaving his unconscious form smoking and lying there. The other two had turned back at his scream and watched it happen, wide-eyed. “Oh, sunny Jesus,” Andy breathed. A girl stepped out of the opening, looking down at Danny. She looked maybe twenty-one, had long, stunning red hair, and had struck Riggs, when she’d first walked into their building, as a painfully gorgeous. That was before everything had started and she’d made the up-and-coming mobster in the Irish “Winter Hill Gang” piss himself. She also wore a super-hero costume of dark, deep red, and had tattoos up and down her arms, ones of some type of mysterious mystic symbols. The girl turned to them, fire still flickering from her hands, and glared at them with poisonous anger. And started walking after them. They both pulled their guns and started firing at her, and the alley suddenly sounded like target range. It took a moment for them to realize that what they saw happening was their bullets hitting the wavering air in front of her and melting with soft hisses. She kept on coming. Riggs turned and ran, not meaning to drop his gun, but it hit the ground and bounced away from him anyway, and he left it. Andy, shuddering with fear, stood where he was and kept shooting at her, not understanding why she wasn’t falling down, his mind filled with racing thoughts of Sunday mass in his childhood and warnings about the Devil. She got close to him and swung out her hand, and fire grew from it quickly, molding into a long shape. It made a long scimitar of yellow and red flame, and she quickly took it with both hands. She swung it down, and it passed through his wrists, burning them, and, like Danny, he screamed like a girl. His gun fell, and she slashed again, hard, across his chest, and Andy sailed back from the hit and smashed through a group of old metal garbage cans. His chest smoked, and continued to rise and fall with breath, but his eyes stayed closed. She saw Riggs running madly down the alley, jerking looks back over his shoulder at her, and disappear around the corner. The sword evaporated in her hands, and the ground beneath her feet ignited in a lake of flame, and she suddenly flew up onto the air. Riggs smashed into a dumpster, taking the turn too fast, and he spun and kept running, cursing himself for the loss of momentum. Ahead of him was a wooden fence blocking the alley, and he leapt up onto it, catching the top with his arms. He kicked up and threw himself over, landing hard in a pile of boxes, and struggled to his feet. Ahead, the alley opened onto Dorchester Avenue, and led to freedom and continued life. He sprinted for it, but suddenly a wall of flame shot up in front of him, and he barely stopped himself before tumbling through it. He backed up, but heard another wall erupt behind him, and he spun. The two walls bent and joined and formed a circle around him, the leaping flames nearly up to his neck. He spun around, panicked, and found himself trapped on all sides. He looked up and saw the girl, seeming to be on fire, dropping from the sky and casting dancing shadows on the buildings beside him. She landed softly on the ground before him, between him and the fence he’d thrown himself over. The flaming aura around her died, but the wall around him did not. She regarded him, seeming calm, but definitely seeming angry as well. “Kidnapping’s fun, isn’t it?” she asked him, taking a couple of patient steps toward him, talking over the flames that caged him. “That feeling of control, of being the boss, a scared little girl doing whatever you say, terrified of what you’ll do to her if she doesn’t. Major rush, I bet.” His breathing was close to hyperventilation, and his head whipped around, looking for any way out, but there was none. “Please,” was all he could say. “Please,” she repeated. “Bet you got to hear that word a lot the past couple days. Please don’t hurt me. Please let me go. Kind of a turn-on hearing that, isn’t it? I’m with you. I’m feeling it, too.” “Come on,” he shouted pathetically, starting to drip sweat, feeling the heat from the wall tightening his skin. “I didn’t do nothin’! It was them! I swear to Christ!” She stopped, very close to the wall, and glared at him. “That’s an untruth, Mr. Bulger. And one sworn in the Lord’s name. You’re not racking up a lot of points with Him today, are you? You’re a liar and a violent man and pervert, Riggs. Did the nuns not teach you to expect this kind of view from that type of behavior?” Slowly, the circle began constricting, inching closer to him on all sides. His head pivoted back and forth, and his eyes locked wide open. “You’re an evil man,” she said. “And evil men, Mr. Bulger, are all destined to burn.” The walls closed further. The hair on arms curled and singed. He dropped to a crouch, screaming, and covered his face with his forearms while the girl watched, leaping flames reflecting in her green eyes. There was a loud hiss, and steam, as rain began showering down on him and the wall. The girl looked up, mystified. It was rain falling all right, but it didn’t seem to be falling on her, or anywhere else but right on the area around the mobster. Her wall began to come apart and drop in the sudden deluge, and soon it was gone all together, leaving him drenched, huddled and shaking on the wet ground. “Federal agent!” a woman’s voice shouted. “Don’t move!” The girl looked up, and was surprised to see Sydney Todd running up from the street, her energy pistol drawn and aimed down at Bulger. Sydney kept her gun trained on him and dropped to one knee on Bulger’s lower back. Stretching the other leg out, she quickly tucked the gun in the back of her jeans and pulled a pair of zip-ties from her back pocket. “Spread out,” she barked at him, her hand gripping the back of his neck. Quivering, Bulger, face-down, straightened his arms and legs in the puddle he lay in, and she yanked his arms behind his back and started binding his wrists. She looked up at the still-stunned girl. “Wow, Heatspell,” she said loudly, for his benefit, glaring at the redhead. “I didn’t realize you’d added weather powers to your arsenal. I’m impressed.” “Yeah,” Heatspell said, looking down at her, still catching up with all this. “I’m just…full of surprises.
Sydney quickly bound his feet as well, and started calling on her radio to the local police when she noticed Heatspell turn and fly over the fence, heading back down the alley. “Don’t even try moving,” she told Bulger, and he quickly shook his head as his only response. She pulled her gun again and hopped the fence, not willing to risk her secrets further by using her flight. She ran around the corner and eyed the unconscious bodies of the two other Irish mobsters, and headed for the doorless entrance, peeking around inside with her gun held out in both hands before darting in. Quickly, she found an open door to a dark room, and Heatspell there, untying the hands of a young girl of maybe fifteen. The girl, shackled to an old, dirty bed, still wearing the school uniform she’d been in when she was taken, was shaking with sobs. Heatspell got both hands freed, and the girl sat up and threw her arms around the heroine and clung to her desperately, weeping. Heatspell hugged her back, holding her and rocking her and letting her cry. “It’s okay, honey,” Heatspell told her, soothingly. “It’s over now. You’re going home.” Sydney quietly put her gun back and watched them as the distant sound of sirens drifted in. Heatspell looked back over her shoulder at her. Sydney simply nodded.
With the police having rounded up the kidnappers and carted them away, and after questions answered by both Sydney and Heatspell, the two women sat atop a run-down building and looked out over Columbus Park, and listened to the sounds of the Southie night around them, a mixed din of honking cars, blaring music, and low horns from the passing boats in the harbor. “Anthony Greco’s daughter,” Sydney said. “I heard about that on the news while I was traveling. ‘Mafia princess snatched’. I love how the whole news business is turning into one big British tabloid.” “It’s not her fault who her father is,” Heatspell said, almost defensively. They both realized the irony of it after she said it, and looked at each other. Heatspell looked away again, shaking her head. “Irish boys are getting ballsy,” Sydney said, turning the subject quickly back. “Are they looking to start a mob war?” “War’s already started,” Heatspell said. “They’re just jockeying for position.” “And here you are,” Sydney commented. “Right in the middle of it.” Heatspell glared at her. “When little girls get grabbed off the street as pawns? Yeah, you bet your ass I am.” Sydney held up her hand, quickly. “I know. Okay? I didn’t mean anything. You did a very good thing. That was really good work, Shannon. I mean it.” Shannon Dwyre studied her, backed her temper off, and looked away again. “I wasn’t gonna burn him,” she said after a couple of moments. “Okay,” Sydney said, nodding. “I’m serious. I was just trying to put a scare in the bastard.” “I believe you.” “You didn’t have to butt in.” “Just seemed like the thing to do,” Sydney said, carefully. “Wasn’t trying to step on your toes. Just helping out.” Shannon watched the harbor some more, then turned her head back to Sydney. “So, what?” she asked, and not pleasantly. “Stephen send you here to check up on me or something?” “No,” Sydney said, patiently. “Nothing like that. I’m here on my own.” “So YOU’RE checking up on me.” Sydney fought the urge to sigh. “That’s not why I’m here. I needed to talk to you.” “I know what you both think,” she said, not letting go of the previous supposition and seeming to ignore Sydney’s last words. “Stephen thinks I can’t handle it. Well, too bad, I’m doing just fine. I don’t need his approval or his permission. You can tell him that.” “Stephen has his doubts,” Sydney admitted. “We both know that, so I’m not going to lie to you. And you’re right. You don’t need his permission. You’re a grown woman, you can make your own choices.” “He doesn’t trust me.” “It’s not a question of trust, Shannon. He’s concerned. And he has his reasons.” “You don’t trust me either,” the girl said coldly. Sydney did sigh this time. And then she turned her head and looked at Heatspell. “If I didn’t trust you,” she said, “I wouldn’t be here offering you a job.” Heatspell’s indignation melted away into confusion. She looked back at Sydney, and Sydney met her gaze. “A what?” Shannon asked, wondering if she’d heard wrong. “I’m putting together a new hero team. In San Francisco. I’m going back to being Mist. I’ll be leading it. It’ll be a high-profile, big name hero team. And I want you on it.” The girl blinked, completely dumbfounded, and Sydney took shameless pleasure in it. “Me?” Shannon said. “Yes.” “On a team.” “Yes.” “A hero team.” “I thought about starting a soccer team, but this seemed to make more sense.” Shannon stared at her, taking it all in, and softened. “I…Sydney, I don’t know what to say.” “That’s a first,” Sydney grinned. “I’m writing about this day in my diary.” “Why me?” “Stephen has his doubts. Because he’s worried about you. I am too. But I don’t doubt you. I respect what you’re doing, Shannon. What you’ve accomplished. And I think you’re ready. I’ve been following your progress.” “Big shock,” Heatspell said, but without the bite. “Robberies stopped. Drug houses busted. Sometimes burned down, with no evidence left to convict—” Shannon rolled her eyes. “—but they’re gone. Two murderers caught. One rapist. Two low-level villains. Now a kidnapped girl found. And that’s just the stuff I know about. A lot of good press. This city’s taken to you, especially the Irish community. Mobsters notwithstanding. Don’t think this town would be too thrilled to see you go. Guess they’d have to deal with it. “I’d set you up with a place to live. There’d be no salary, so you’d have to find work. I can help with that, too. You’d be answering to me, doing what I say, listening when I speak. Being on a team would mean taking orders and not always being able to do it your own way. Guess YOU’D have to deal with THAT.” Heatspell snorted a caustic laugh. “You want to keep an eye on me,” she said, her softness disappearing. “Absolutely,” Sydney said directly, looking right in her eyes. “I don’t doubt you. But you’re young. You’re inexperienced, and you’re hotheaded. Yes, get used to the pun. You have an attitude. You’ve had to do all this on your own and it’s made you think you know what you’re doing. You really don’t.” Heatspell put up her emotional walls again and started to speak, probably unkindly, but Sydney cut her off. “And you and I both know what Stephen’s worried about. We both know who your dad is.” That shut her up, and didn’t improve her mood. “And we both know that’s not normal fire you’re throwing around. How a Catholic girl deals with that is, frankly, your own business.” “I can handle it,” she said, frostily. “And I’m willing to bet on that,” Sydney answered. “And on you. But you need guidance. You have to get over yourself and realize that. You’re not sixteen. Being an adult means admitting that we don’t always have all the answers, and that we need other people. You’d be on a team with established, experienced heroes. The real deal. People who have seen and done things you can’t even imagine. You have an opportunity here to learn from them, to learn what they’ve learned. They can help you. They can help make you better. If this is really what you want to do, and you want to be the best at it you can be, to be what I know you can become, this is your best shot. If you choose to take it.” Shannon looked out over the city, thinking, pouting a bit. “For what it’s worth?” Sydney said, sounding less school-teachery. “I wouldn’t be offering you this if I didn’t think you were ready for it. If I thought for a minute that you were going to hinder, and not help, what I’m trying to do. This isn’t charity. I want you on this team because I think you can make a difference. This team needs you. I need you. This is a wonderful chance for you to really shine. To really join the ranks of the hero community, be in the big game. I want this for you. I believe in you, Shannon. Let me help you. Let’s help each other.” Shannon dangled her feet off the roof edge and absently kicked at the wall with her heels, looking down. She put her hands behind her and leaned on them. Sydney tried to read her face, but it seemed to be cycling through thoughts and decisions one after the next. She turned her head, finally, to Sydney, looked pensive, but then grinned a little. “Would there be any single guys on this team?” she smiled. Sydney laughed, and looked upward with her eyes. “Well,” she said, thoughtfully. “If things go well, I MIGHT be able to provide you with at least one…”
June, 2005
Sydney burst into laughter, unable to help herself, and laid her forehead on his shoulder as she did. Max didn’t seem to notice, still staring ahead dumbly. She felt bad about doing so, but the look on his face, and his reaction, had just been too priceless. They sat together on the center couch on the living room of the old Forte base, where she’d asked him, mysteriously, to meet her when she flew into Seattle from Boston. The base was empty but for the two of them, a standard state of being for the historied building that had housed and watched over several generations of Forte heroes. Max’s team, the new Forte, had their own base some distance away, a former warehouse/hanger owned by Tether International that had started out as the secret home for an experimental flying submersible jet called The Mariner—one that had ended up being donated to the new group of heroes that ended up carrying the Forte name. The old base remained empty, still getting use, however, as a meeting place (and sometime hotel) for Forte heroes past and present. Cleaning robots donated by Questar kept it tidy and neat for get-togethers like the one taking place tonight. Sydney sat back up and got her fit in check. “No, you’re not being traded, Max. You’re being recruited. There’s a difference.” “What difference?” he asked, still looking ill. “The difference is that no one on your team wants to get rid of you. But I want to hire you. For my team.” He sat back and exhaled, and she pulled her legs under herself and watched him, sipping from a glass of soda (she had poured them for both of them…as Dr. Jackal always made sure to keep the fridge stocked…and Max’s sat on the coffee table in front of them). “You okay?” she asked with another short laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s just…a little shocking.” “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I didn’t mean to sideline you with this. I know it’s a lot to process. And I didn’t want to do it over the phone. Something like this needs to be talked about face to face. Thank you for not saying ‘wow’, by the way.” He put his arm on the back of the couch and slowly, finally, turned to her. She met his glance and tried to look open and supportive. “And you really want me?” “I really do, Max. You were one of the first ones I thought about. And I have to admit to you, I talked to Jared and Sam and Lucy about it a few days ago. I asked them not to tell you, so don’t be mad at them, okay? I just wanted to let some of your teammates know what I was trying to do, get their thoughts.” “What did they say?” he asked. “What do you think? They don’t want you to go. You and Davis and Lucy and Jared started this new team together. You’re part of the foundation. They count on you. And they love you. They want you here forever. Of course.” That seemed to make him feel a little better, and less like he was being sold off like a trinket on eBay, which made her feel better in turn. “And I don’t want to take you away from that either. Or your teammates. Your friends. But I’m in a bad way, Max. San Francisco is desperate, and it’s coming apart. I’m not able to hold it together anymore. We need heroes. Good ones. We’ve just got me and Secundus trying to hold back the tide, and I can’t do it full-time with my UNCLE duties. The bad guys are taking over. It’s the wild west down there. And I’m the sheriff. And I got no deputies, pardner.” He listened to her carefully. “I heard you were having trouble,” he said, sympathetically. “Capital ‘T’, Max. I’m running myself ragged down there. And I’m fine with that, if it’s getting the job done, but it’s not. People are getting hurt. People are dying. My office is handing out overtime like candy, and every day is Halloween. But my people don’t have powers. They’re great at what they do, and I’m proud of all of them, but they can’t handle this. San Francisco needs a hero team. I’m going to give them one. And I’d like you to be a part of it with me.” She held up her hand as he started to ask a question, and cut him off. “This is the part where you ask the ‘why me?’ question. Trust me, I’m getting used to it. Let me break it down for you, Bobby. You are a ridiculously popular hero. Seattle loves you to death. They did before you ever joined Forte. You are that classic super-hero that people need in their lives. You’re strong, you’re humble, you love people and care about them, you’re devastatingly handsome—” Max blushed instantly. “—you’re great with the press, you’re great with the public, you’re great with politicians and policemen and Shriners alike. You’re locally active but internationally known and adored. From a PR standpoint, there’s nobody better to put on a new hero team to make the public sit up and cheer from the starting gate.” “Really?” is all he could say, looking like all that somehow distressed him. “Really. Why do you think Armor started calling you after you graduated college? They were probably plotting ways to woo you since the Karrigon invasion.” “Yeah,” he said, a little apologetically, “but I told them no.” “I know. And they offered you a lot of money, too, I’m sure.” He nodded, turning his eyes up and thinking back. “Well, unlike them, I am here, dear Max, to offer you ZERO money. Not a cent. Jack squat.” He sat there trying to figure out how that was a selling point, sure that he somehow must have missed something but not being able to divine exactly what. “What I’M offering,” she said, “is a chance to go where you’re needed, and where you can help people. I know enough about you to know what Armor didn’t…that money and fame isn’t why you do this. You do this because it’s right, Max. You do it because you have these amazing powers and you want to make the world a better place with them. It’s a duty to you, not a job. It’s a calling. And I love that about you, Bobby. You’re the real deal. I would have been proud to be a part of Forte with you back in my day. And I’d be honored to work with you on this new team now.” “Wow,” he said, blinking. Then he remembered her earlier words and quickly said, “Oh, Sorry.” She laughed. “No, that was the right time to say it.” “That’s really nice, Sydney. That means a lot. From you. I mean, you’re one of my heroes. I grew up watching you—” “Ugh,” she said, covering her eyes with her hand. “Age bomb.” “Oh, I didn’t mean—” She laughed and patted his shoulder. “I know, I’m just kidding, Bobby. And thank YOU. If I had any part in you becoming Max—” “You did.” “—then that means a lot to ME. That’s something to be proud of. That means I had a little hand in giving you to all those people you inspire out there. Funny how that works, isn’t it? Right now there’s some kid with a Max lunchbox who’s going to end up saving the city or the country or the world someday because of you.” Max’s eyes got a little wide at the thought of that as he ran it through his head. “Let me tell you the other reasons I’m talking to you,” she said, getting back on track. “PR is one thing. But photographers usually aren’t there in the dead of night when a nuclear psycho is ripping the door off a bank vault. I keep a close eye on the Forte team reports. Did you know that?” “No.” “I’m so glad you guys kept up that tradition. Guess I can thank Vanguard for pestering you all into it. Aside from intel that I need for my job on bad guys you guys take down, it helps me get to know all of you and what you do out there. I’ve learned a lot from those reports, and from the times you and I have worked together. You, Max, are courageous, and relentless, and respectful to the law and the people you come in contact with. You don’t have emotional problems or anger management issues. You think about consequences. You make good choices. You worry about them too much, but maybe that’s what makes you make good ones. And I’ve got to tell you, you’ve logged more hero time than a lot of the people I’m considering. Your experience would be invaluable. There’s zero downside with you, Max. You’re the whole package.” He tried to nod and look thoughtful, but started turning red again instead. “Wow,” she said, grinning. “I haven’t made a boy blush this much since prom night.” That made him blush even more, and she laughed. Clearing his throat and trying desperately to change the subject, he asked, “So, who else ARE you considering, then?” “Well,” she hesitated. “I’m really not ready to say. I’m sorry about that. It’s just that people are still making decisions. You’re my last stop on a long trip. I want to give them a chance to think it over before I start floating their names.” “That’s cool,” he nodded. “I get that.” “But,” she said. “I can tell you that most are people you know and trust, and that would be very excited to be working with you. There is at least one new person, though, that you don’t know. And that’s another reason I really need you for this. It’s a she, and she’s new, and she’s young. And she’s raw. Very raw. A lot of power, not a lot of experience. Or discipline, for that matter. She’s going to need some guidance, and you’d be so perfect to mentor her. You’re not too much older than her. You’re still early enough in your career to remember what it was like to just be starting out. You could teach her a lot. She’d listen to you, I think. You’d be a big help to me showing her the ropes and being a friend to her. I’d be kind of making that a special project for you.” “She sounds…interesting.” “Yeah,” Sydney said, trying not to roll her eyes and taking another sip from her glass. “She is that. But she’s not a lock yet. And, of course, neither are you. But if it all came together, I think you two would work really well together. You’re a team player, Max. She’s much more samurai. You’ve been part of a tight unit for over five years now, and you could teach her what that means.” He nodded again, listening to her words. Sydney studied him and put her elbow on the back of the couch and rested her head on her hand. “You’re the only one I’m recruiting from an active team, Max. That’s why I want you to know that you can take some time to think this over. You don’t have to answer tonight.” That made his shoulders loosen a little. “I know this is coming out of the blue, and it’s a major life choice. You don’t just have to think of yourself, like the others, but you’ve got your team to consider. I don’t want to pressure you. And I want you to know, too, that you can do this on a trial basis, if you choose. If you come with me, and help start my team, you can be there to get things going, help whip the city into shape, and if, after that, you feel your place is back here in Seattle, you can always come back. That’s the deal I made with your teammates when I told them about this. If all you can give me is a few months, then I’ll take it, and always be grateful to you for it.” “Thanks,” he said. “That helps.” “Of course, I want you for more,” she grinned, “but you are a special case, so I want to work with you on it.” She paused. “The thing is, Max, you guys have eight heroes here in one town. That’s a lot. We used to get by with four or five, sometimes less than that. It’s great that Seattle’s got so many now, and so many amazing ones. But we’re dealing with two in San Francisco right now. It just seems to me that a little sharing of the wealth would benefit everyone. Of course your team would miss you and would feel the gap without you here. But when it comes to plain old need? San Francisco needs you. Badly. People are scared. They’re getting afraid to walk the streets at night, and even during the day. You could make so much more of a difference there. Real change. Of course you’re needed here. But you’re REALLY needed there. They need a hero like you, Max. So I really hope you’ll give this serious thought.” “I will,” he said, seriously. “Of course. I want to help. I really do. There’s just a lot to think about." “I know,” she said with sympathy, rubbing his shoulder. “I don’t envy you for this. You’ve got a lot of heavy things to weigh.” She thought about something else for a moment, thought better of it, then went on anyway. “Can I say something on a personal note, Bobby?” “Sure,” he said. She chose her words carefully. “You know how I’ve been talking about what a great and amazing hero you are and you’ve been sitting there looking like you have no idea what I’m talking about?” “Uh, I guess,” he laughed. She smiled back, a little painfully. “You were eighteen when you joined this team. Just out of high school. It’s five years later. And I think you still see yourself as that guy. As the kid.” He studied his hands, not looking at her eyes, and she felt better knowing that he at least seemed to realize what she was talking about. “You’re not a kid anymore, Max. You’re an accomplished, seasoned hero. Known throughout the world. And I love your modesty, don’t misunderstand. It’s one of the things that makes you the wonderful guy you are and makes people feel like they can approach you. But I wonder sometimes if being on this team is always going to leave you feeling like the rookie. Like, maybe you feel like that’s the role that you’re meant to play.” Max shrugged. “Have you ever lived away from Seattle, Bobby?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Born and raised.” “And didn’t go away for college, either. Did that right here at home.” “Yep.” “There comes a time,” she said, “when we need to start over somewhere new so we can grow. I just think that maybe a new team, and a new city, would give you a chance to do that. To kind of break out of this image you’ve got of yourself. Spread your wings a little. It’s painful leaving home and all the people you love. I know. But sometimes it’s what we need. To find out who we really are. You could have a new start, with me. With us. You don’t know yet the excitement of starting a new life. It’s so liberating, such an adventure. And you wouldn’t be alone. You’ll be among friends. Hell, you can hang out with me and Stephen all you want. You know what a pail of laughs HE can be.” Max laughed, and she laughed with him. “You know,” he said, turning to her and looking a little sad, but peaceful, “a friend once told me a lot of the same stuff. He was a pretty smart guy.” “He sounds like it,” she smiled. “And maybe you’re both right. I know I kind of do see myself that way. I don’t know why. Maybe that’s what it would take to make me knock it off.” She reached over and took his hand. “The offer’s there, Bobby. I’d love to have you with us. And I’d love it if it turned out to help you see how wonderful you really are. You think about it. You take your time. Not TOO much time,” she laughed, “but really look at all the angles. And you follow your heart. "And I hope," she smiled, "you leave your heart in San Francisco.”
June, 2005 Sydney stepped lightly into her bedroom, carrying her bags. Stephen was, as she’d expected, in bed and asleep. She’d already checked in on Caleb and found him dozing, too, and had paused to kiss his forehead before heading to her own room. It was, after all, almost 1:30 in the morning, and she had told her men not to wait up for her. She set her bags down quietly, resisting the satisfying urge to toss them, and decided immediately that unpacking could wait until tomorrow. She undressed and crawled into their large bed, pulled the covers over herself, and slid over to Stephen and pressed into his back and kissed his ear. Stephen awoke with groggy noises and turned over, and smiled at the sight of his wife. She smiled back, and he put his hand in her long, dark hair and kissed her deeply. All the worries, all the weariness, all the bad airline food seemed to drift away. She slid over, on top of him, and nestled her face against his neck. And sighed. “Welcome home,” he said. “Thank you,” she whispered, closing her eyes and taking in his scent, which she hadn’t realized she’d missed so much. “How was the journey?” he asked, rubbing her back slowly. “Tiring,” she moaned. “How can sitting still in a big metal tube make you so tired?” He smiled and kissed her shoulder. “And how were your meetings? The ones you refused to fill me in on until you returned?” She leaned up and crossed her arms on his chest and laid her chin on them, looking down at his face. “Not…a single…yes,” she grinned tiredly. “Oh,” he said, looking disappointed. “I had hoped for more…celebratory news.” “You and me both, doc,” she said, kissing him. “But at least only one no.” “Are you discouraged?” he asked, studying her eyes. “Too tired to be right now,” she said. “And it’s still early in the game. I’m not giving up yet.” “This does not surprise me in the least,” he smiled, kissing her chin, and then her neck. She closed her eyes and let him. “You think I could talk the city council into just hiring Armor Security full-time?” she asked. “People can’t talk the city council into filling potholes,” he said, still at her neck. “I wouldn’t pin a hope on that.” “Mmmm,” she said, only partially in response. She slid her arms out and put her hands on either side of him, raised herself a bit, and kissed him softly. “Back to the battlefield tomorrow,” she said, sighing heavily. “That is tomorrow,” he said, looking up at her. “I prefer to focus my thoughts on tonight.” She smiled down at him. “You still got that silence spell ready to go for the room?” “I do,” he smiled back. “Use it,” she said, and lost herself, at least for the night, in the love that still gave her the strength to go on, and put tomorrow far from her mind.
The next day, Agent Victor Brace, UNCLE San Francisco, lost his life in the line of duty, bravely fighting alongside fellow agents against a super-villain named Quatro outside the Trans-America building. He was survived by his wife, Julianne, and two small children, Peter and Emily. A memorial service would be held later in the week, attended by the mayor, members of the city council, and prominent UNCLE dignitaries. The family requested that donations be made to the Victor Brace Memorial Fund in lieu of flowers. Commander Sydney Todd-Strange, that same week, received a mark on her permanent record and was placed on seven days administrative suspension for insubordination relating to a phone call to a superior officer in Washington, D.C. A private meeting was held in Washington to discuss the possibility of replacing her as head of UNCLE’s San Francisco branch. The idea was tabled when it was determined that no one else wanted
the job.
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