Last Avenger

Chapter 2

Manahawkin, New Jersey sits at the intersection of two freeways. The town in its naissance seemed to appear out of happenstance beckoned by the roads to New York and Atlantic City. It's possible that wasn't the case, that the people were rather drawn by the tranquil pond just off Route 9 in the little hamlet of Stafford. Though most of the buildings had become uninhabitable, enough remained for a settlement to have followed the same beck and call as the town in which it was now housed.

Directly at the intersection was a two-storey house with baby blue, alloy siding, falling apart the least. It sat in a parking lot set down a small ridge next to the highway with a small concrete lot attached. Its windows were boarded, but it retained its original cottage door. Guarav took to it immediately for his medical practice. Pete had told him it was once an insurance firm; Guarav found the offices perfect for patient rooms. He had to rip up the carpet as it was beginning to rot and collect mould, gumming up the interior with a heavy odor that hung in the air like moisture.

Steve had been set up in a bed on the upper floor. He was upright surveying the bare brick walls and bare concrete floor. Guarav had given him extra blankets to protect against the cold air conducted by the concrete. Steve's face was spotty with medical tape and bandages. He could feel the weight of the makeshift splint around his core to keep him straight while his ribs healed. Breathing was easier now than it had been at first, having tuned his mind to ignore the pain of his lungs touching his ribs.

Guarav tapped on the door frame, leaning at the threshold with a notepad up under his arm.

Steve smiled graciously. "Hey, doc."

Guarav grinned and gingerly stepped in. "How are you feeling?"

"Good as I'm gonna be, I think." Steve chuckled to himself.

"Alright," Guarav said.

He walked over to Steve's bedside and performed a few basic tests of mobility and pain. He lifted Steve's blanket to check the cast. He felt a small swell of pride seeing it holding firm in place. He reset the blanket and looked to Steve. "You seem to have made great improvement. I can't see any reason to keep you here."

Steve took a grateful breath and for a moment a younger, stronger Steve shined through as he looked to Guarav. "That's great."

Guarav's face slowly wound back into concern despite himself.

"What is it?" Steve said.

"You know you are low on meds, yes?" he said, gesturing to a pill bottle on a nightstand at the wall.

Steve sighed and nodded.

Guarav tilted his brow down, looking deeply at Steve. "I would advise you take it easy."

Steve flashed a small smile, like some old loose change he found in the corner of a lint-filled pocket.

Guarav's face unwound and relaxed. "Ari's waiting downstairs to take you and Thor back to Ship Bottom."

Steve nodded and gently sat up, Guarav at the ready like a spotter. Steve gave Guarav a look at his ostensible concern. Made aware of himself, Guarav relaxed and let Steve get up. Steve sat at the edge of the bed, giving Guarav an expectant look. Guarav stared blankly back. Steve's face settled and he shifted his eyes to the door.

Guarav glanced over his shoulder and then the queue dawned on him. "Right, sorry, I'll let you get dressed."

"Thanks," Steve said graciously.

Guarav nodded and showed himself out, closing the door behind him.

Steve rose to his feet, letting his toes and pads gradually acclimatize to the cold and tested his weight on himself as he stood up in stages. He hobbled to get his shirt and jacket off a metal chest at the foot of the bed. In the corner of the room was a section of mirror clumsily hung on the wall, hanging lopsided. Steve grabbed the pill bottle off the nightstand and went over to the mirror. He paused before his reflection. It was familiar, but still jarring. He still appeared fit with his broad shoulders, vast chest, a sturdy core, all with the same gentle but unmissable definition. But there wasn't the same perkiness. Much of the muscle tone was showing stretch marks – across his chest and about his arms. There was mustard discoloration in other places of bruises that still hadn't fully healed. In other places, the skin had coarse ridges of scars from wounds that never fully or properly closed. Overall, he was sore: his muscles were stiff and ached. He realized his chest heaving and was suddenly aware of his own winded breaths. He looked down at the reflection of the pill bottle in his hand. His shoulders made a small rise and fall. He deftly twisted the top off and popped a pair of capsules down his throat.