Running from Himself 14 (Patreon)

“Maya Nubian, if you don’t slow down!”Nubia's heels hit the polished linoleum with sharp, impatient clicks that echoed off the walls, announcing her presence to every nurse and orderly who probably already knew who she was anyway. Who the fuck am I kidding? It wasn’t like the white and gold costume didn’t announce her half the time anyway.“Sorry, mommy!”

A brand-new pair of Vought Star-Light-Up sneakers squeaked as Maya eased up on her pace with each bounce. As much as she loved her little girl, she had energy for days while Nubia was running on three hours of sleep and the kind of caffeine jitters that made her want to punch something. 

Again.

"But is he gonna be, like, okay? For real? You said you guys hit him really hard." Maya's voice carried that loud whisper kids thought was quiet, bouncing off every surface in the hall. “Like, really hard.”

"Trust me, My-My, he’s fine,” The words tasted sour coming out but she knew it was true, usually. If there was one thing Vought knew how to do, it was to build them tough. That, and sell them real well, as much as she hated that. “He's a supe. We're all fine. That's the brand." "But you said his jaw was, like, sideways.” Maya’s hands went to her cheeks, so much cuteness on display that she could already imagine some Disney recruiter looking at her with dollar signs in his eyes. “That's not fine. That's, like… like suuuuuper gross. Does that mean he has to drink everything through a straw? Can he drink a hamburger? I bet he can't drink a hamburger. I kinda wanna drink a hamburger."

Jesus Christ, Maya. Room 308 appeared ahead, and Nubia stopped, finally looking down at her daughter. The kid was practically vibrating with curiosity and concern, which was sweet and also the exact opposite of what this situation needed. She forced her voice to soften just enough to sound like an actual mother. "Which is why we are here. To apologize. One more time, what are the rules?"

Maya just rolled her eyes with the dramatics that reminded Nubia to cut down on her daughter’s iPad time. "Be nice, of course. Don't mention Dad, easy. Don't ask if his pee is a weird color from the medicine, hard. And don't say he looks like a sad, lumpy raisin. I mean, duh."

A ghost of a smirk touched Nubia's lips. "Good girl."

California’s Most Popular Female Supe — five years running — pushed the door open, and the room hit her with that raw hospital cocktail of disinfectant, recycled air, and misery. Groundhawk was propped up in bed looking like a before-and-after photo of what happened when you pissed off the wrong supe.

Her old mentor’s face was a swollen, purple roadmap of exactly how badly she and Gerald had fucked this one up, one arm encased in a thick over-wrapped cast that looked heavy enough to anchor a boat. When he looked up at them, his scowl deepened into something that could have curdled milk.

Yeah, well, you started it, Nubia thought, but kept her mouth shut because well…

"Oh my god, Mr. Groundhawk! You look like a lumpy grape!" Maya gasped, her voice going to new levels of high.

Fuck. Before Nubia could grab her daughter, the eight-year-old was already running to the bed, and her small arms wrapped themselves tight around Groundhawk's good shoulder.

"Yeah, well, your mom and her ex-husband turned my face into a Picasso.”  His voice came out like rocks grinding together in a cement mixer, all gravelly pain and irritation that Nubia recognized way too well. “Good to see you too, kid."

Maya pulled back, face serious with eight-year-old concern. "I brought you a get-well-soon card. I drew you punching a bad guy but, like, winning this time. And I used glitter."

Groundhawk actually managed to crack a smile, something she hadn’t seen on his face since her early days in the G-Men. Sure, it was crooked and painful-looking as it pulled at his stitches but it was definitely a smile. "Glitter. Fuckin' great. Just what I needed. Now my depression can be sparkly."

"We came to see how you were recovering." Nubia stepped forward, arms crossed tight across her chest because keeping them there was the only thing stopping her from doing something that would end up on TMZ in thirty minutes. 

All that money on Dr. Feldman, and what does it get me? Truthfully, if she hadn’t agreed to anger counseling, she might have had to pay even more to Gerald in alimony.

Groundhawk looked up from his hospital bed, face still a purple mess of their handiwork. "Oh, I'm just peachy. Jaw's wired shut, shoulder broken in two places, got six ribs that feel like they're trying to stab my lungs, and the nurse this morning was a real piece of work. Said I had a 'bad attitude.' Can you believe that?" 

He laughed out loud, the sound almost a garbage disposal of sounds grinding up against each other. "Other than that, livin' the dream."

He looked at Maya bouncing on her toes next to the bed, then back at Nubia with those bloodshot eyes that held way too much knowing. "So you finally listened to her, huh? That she made the whole thing up?"

Don't react. Don't let him see it gets to you. "We did, yeah. Took us a little bit, we just... weren't thinking straight." The words tasted bitter coming out, admitting fault to this washed-up has-been who'd been pushing her buttons since she was fifteen and stupid enough to think mentors gave a shit about anything other than their own egos.

"Thinking straight? You call putting my poor skull through six feet of asphalt 'not thinking straight'?" Groundhawk winced as he shifted in the bed, a small army of tubes and wires trailing from his arms. "You and Prince Charming coulda maybe asked a few questions before giving me the ol' thunder and lightning. Just a thought."

Prince Charming. The nickname for Gerald hit different now, loaded with all the bitterness of divorce papers and custody arrangements that still made her want to break things. "It was a mistake. We're admitting that. Vought is covering your medical."

"Oh, Vought's covering it? Great. So I get my face rebuilt by the same company that signed off on you two turning me into a speed bump. Real comfortin'."

Jesus Christ, does he ever shut up? "Don't you regenerate or something?" She knew the answer, knew his powers had been declining for years, but watching him squirm felt better than being professional.

"That kinda stopped kicking in once I got the gut. Pretty much just keeps me from dying at this point. Metabolism of a hibernating bear these days."

The opening was right there, hanging in the air, and Nubia's mouth moved before her better judgment could stop it. "Maybe lose it then? A little cardio wouldn't kill you. Clearly."

Groundhawk let out this rough, wheezing laugh that sounded painful even for him. "Lose it, she says. Easier said than done when your whole brand is bein' the 'lovable tough guy.' Besides, not all of us can maintain that perfect, camera-ready figure. Must be easy when you got a husband to pay for the best trainers."

Ex-husband.

The correction blazed through her mind white-hot as the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Nubia uncrossed her arms, and the familiar tingle of electricity started building in her fingertips. Blue sparks danced between her knuckles, tiny and brilliant and looking for somewhere to go.

"Don’t tell me dumb ol’ Groundhawk hit a nerve?" The older man’s smirk didn’t waver an inch, the fight-happy ‘idiot’ of the classic G-Men showing his ability to taunt hadn’t faded with his healing powers.

"You have five seconds to apologize for that." Her voice came out slow and deliberate, each word weighted with the promise of violence. The ozone smell filled the air, sharp and electric.

"Or what? You gonna finish the job? In front of your kid?" That smug smirk spread across his battered face, ugly and knowing. "C'mon, sweet cheeks. Lighten up."

Sweet cheeks. Heat flashed through her chest, rage building pressure behind her ribs. "Say it again. I want to make sure I heard you right before I rearrange what's left of your face."

The electricity was building now, crackling louder, and Nubia could feel that familiar rush of power looking for a target when Maya suddenly scrambled off the bed and planted herself directly between them.

"Mommy, no. We talked about this. No zapping Mr. Groundhawk. It's, like, rude. And he's already broken! You can't break something that's already broken, that's, like, bad science." Maya's hands hit her hips in perfect mimicry of Nubia's own stance, voice dropping into that bossy cadence she'd learned from watching her mother handle Vought executives.

"Yeah, Nubia. Listen to the kid. Bad science. And no hurting Mr. Groundhawk." Groundhawk's grin spread wider, that pained smugness that made her want to show him exactly how much voltage a human body could handle.

Breathe. Count to ten. Maya's watching. Nubia glared at him, electricity still humming around her fists, mouth opening to deliver the kind of cutting remark that would haunt his dreams when her phone rang.

Now? She pulled it from her purse, only for every muscle in her body to go still as her stormy eyes landed on the screen. She stood there stock still, shocked and silent.

"What? See a ghost?" Groundhawk's smugness faded into genuine curiosity.

Nubia stared at the caller ID, thumb hovering over the screen. Her voice shifted into that crisp, professional tone she'd perfected for corporate calls as she raised the phone to her ear.

"Mr. Edgar?"