The Last Avenger [What If...? x DCAMU Crossover]

11. I Do a Better Job Than Mr. Incredible

4 Weeks Later

The next weeks were hard. No reason in particular. I was just so incredibly lonely, and I almost couldn't bare it. Sometimes, when things were particularly bad, my brain gave me a happy dream. Like it was taunting me.

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My stomach churned as the quinjet sawed over New York City then to the wilderness beyond. I knew if this thing dropped out of the sky I could fly us to safety. I wasn't afraid, noooo. It was just that when I was up real high, I had a problem with gravity.

But Steve had insisted I learn how to fly the jet. Like he was the best person to teach me, Mr-I-had-to-crash-the-plane. Mr-bombs-on-board. Mr-why-didn't-he-just-jump-out?

Steve glanced at me, grinned, and took my hands, wrapping them around the flight controls. He held them firmly.

"Hold it steady," he said. "See how we're slant against the sun? Cause there's a whopper of a crosswind, so we have to crab. Just like sailing. You point the jet sideways. Got it?"

I nodded, now that I was flying without the heat of battle to distract me, my face had gone pale, my jaw set, but I was determined. Howard Stark, my adopted father had been the best pilot around, and I wanted to do good by him. At least once.

"See?" Steve let go of my hands and held his aloft. "You're in control. You're flying the plane. The Flying Scotsman!"

"High time they put the RAF in kilts," I squeaked.

"Don't cling to it – just hold it gently – that's it."

We beamed at each other for a moment. Then we looked back at the sky.

"Oi, Steve, you seeing this! Look, look at the sun!"

It was green.

God's truth – the rim of the setting sum, all we could see of it, had turned green. It was sandwiched in between a low dark haze and a higher bank of dark cloud, and just along the upper edge of the haze was the bright lozenge of flaming green, like Chartreuse liqueur with light behind it. I had only seen this in Pirates of the Caribbean.

The green flash.

I flew the plane, but I stared at the sun's green edge, too, for a long, wind-buffeted glorious half minute. Thirty seconds it lasted, green sunlight breaking through the cloud on the horizon. Then the light winked out below the haze again and Steve and I were left blinded in the dull gloom of the showery autumn afternoon.

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Gone. One moment flying in green sunlight, then the sky suddenly grey and dark. Out like a candle. Here, then gone.

I began to take in my clothes around the waist. Dick and Tim fretted over the bag under my eyes (even my bags had bags). I started taking pills to sleep, but they didn't work, not well enough. I drifted off only to be roused by nightmares that had increased in number and intensity. When I struggle out of the haze of drug that only prolong the horrible dreams, I took to roaming the halls or all asleep somewhere hidden. An abandoned air duct. Behind the pipes in the laundry. Sometimes I even took the graveyard shift in the kebab shop across the street.

Tonight, I was too restless to even stay in one place. I got out of bed and started pacing, heart beating too fast, breathing too short. The loft felt like a prison cell. I ran down the hall to the door to the roof. It was not only unlocked but ajar. Maybe someone forgot to close it, but it didn't matter, I just wanted to fill my lungs with air.