Miguel O'Hara Oneshots

GABRIELLA

*For a little bit of backstory, I saw a theory that Miguel's daughter was named Gabriella because the name was on the files that he watched of him and her. So I'm going with it. Spoiler; this is going to be sad.

~~~

Everyone feared Miguel. Why wouldn't you? The dude was massive. He moved like an animal, and he killed like one, too. He didn't show remorse, or regret or fear. He was a machine, operating on the hatred he had for the world. 

Really, he was just a guy who had lost people. All of them were (well, not all of them were guys, but you get the idea).

It was a normal day at work. Miguel and a couple of the others--Pav, Gwen, Peter B., Hobie, etc.--were on Earth 7179, there for a simple mission of spotting an anomaly. He opened his watch when they stepped through the portal, and into a seemingly normal New York.

"We have two hours. Let's get this over with," he said, taking off for some other buildings. The others followed. He swung around the city, shooting his webs all over. Because they were organic, they took longer to go away, and they would most likely be there for another day or so.

But he wouldn't be there by then. 

Again, Miguel absentmindedly checked his watch. He knew what the creature looked like, which was very tall, very skinny, and covered in feathers. Definitely should stand out.

He located it's general area, and it was around a large courtyard with soccer fields.

Soccer fields. 

He felt that sharp pain again, in his chest, and it ran all the way through his palms. From the outside, Miguel was a statue. He talked in a low, intimidating voice that vibrated rooms, and his face was unmoving, always rock hard and cold.

On the inside, he was a broken man.

He called out to the others.

"I'll take the far west side. Don't let him out of your sight," he warned, and they all knew that they wouldn't. Not when Miguel talked like that, they wouldn't.

He swung over the fields, surveying the area for the bird-like man. He ignored the fact that they were soccer fields, and he just focused on his work, like he always did. He was a ticking time bomb. At any given moment, his emotions would burst out of him. 

Which is part of the reason being a superhero was so good for him. But it was also the reason...

No.

He turned cold again, thoughtless, emotionless. A killer. And he went lower, going from tree to tree so quickly and silently that no one looked up. The man could be hiding anywhere...

As if he had no past and no pain, he made observations. The fields were small. They were meant for children. They were badly mowed, and they looked neglected. Parents sat in chairs on the sidelines, cheering for their kids while they sipped gatorade and wore sunglasses.

He found himself stopping in a tree, just to get a closer look. You know, because he thought the man was hiding there. He could have been on the sidelines, maybe, dressed up as a father. But he wasn't looking at the sidelines.

They were little girls. They looked her age; nine. They wore the same blue uniform that she used to, and they had the same white headbands that always fell off while they were playing. Everything went quiet while he watched. His face was so hard, so cut off underneath his mask. 

And then he looked at the parents. They sat in their chairs, smiling, maybe getting a little too into the game. The fathers stood and the mothers sat, hats casting shade over their eyes. They watched their child and only her. She was the only one worth watching to them.