Chapter 27: Sorry, My Pants Ate Your Ice Cream
Benjamin had just rounded the street corner and was about to pull out his phone to call Holander.
As he looked up, he saw a blond man in civilian clothes walking toward him from a short distance away. His pace was light, and his lips bore that signature smile.
"How did you know I was here?"
"I happened to be passing by," Holander said, coming to a halt in front of him. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and tilted his head. "What’s for dinner?"
Benjamin looked at him. "Let’s get barbecue. That place on the corner, charcoal-grilled."
Holander fell into step with him, the two walking side-by-side in the early autumn New York night wind.
The streetlights stretched their shadows long behind them. Without the cape and with the shield left behind in the office, the two big n walking down the street in civilian clothes looked exactly like an ordinary father and son out for a al after work.
No one recognized them. Or rather, even if soone did, they weren’t entirely sure; after all, they were just passing by without taking a close look.
The owner of the barbecue joint was an old Chinese man in his sixties. Watching the two massive guys squeeze into a cramped booth, he saw one order an entire rack of beef ribs, while the other ordered three portions of grilled chicken wings plus two skewers of grilled peppers.
The charcoal smoke drifted over from the back kitchen, mixing with the fragrant aroma of cumin and rendered fat.
The owner slamd two glasses of ice-cold beer onto the table, foam trickling down the sides. Suddenly, his pupils contracted. "Holy shit... you guys, are you Holander and Soldier Boy?"
Benjamin raised an eyebrow.
"Can I get your autographs?"
"Sure."
It was a good thing the barbecue joint was mostly empty; otherwise, if anyone else had heard the owner’s exclamation, a crowd would have sward them instantly.
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"Eat. Don’t be fucking polite with ." Benjamin picked up a rib and took a bite, grease dripping down the corner of his mouth. He wiped it casually with a napkin. "Anyway, with our physiologies, it doesn’t matter what kind of junk food we eat. If our cholesterol spikes, our livers will tabolize it ourselves. If cancer cells grow, our immune systems will choke them out on the spot. Being happy is the only thing that matters."
Holander picked up a skewer of chicken wings and took a bite, the crisp skin charred by the charcoal crackling faintly between his teeth. He chewed twice, then suddenly stopped, staring at the wing in his hand.
"What’s wrong? Doesn’t taste good?"
"No." Holander swallowed the chicken wing, his voice dropping half a notch. "I was just thinking... if you hadn’t been taken away, if I could have had this when I was a kid."
Benjamin set down the rib in his hand, took a sip from his beer glass, and said nothing.
"It’s no big deal," Holander quickly twitched the corner of his mouth, as if trying to smooth things over for himself. "Just a sudden thought. It’s nothing, just curiosity."
"It really isn’t a big deal," Benjamin said, placing his beer glass on the table, the base thudding against the wooden surface. "It’s not too late to make up for it now. We’ll hit a hobby shop after dinner."
"A hobby shop?"
"Model airplanes. Didn’t you say last ti that it’s in the script you’re shooting next week?"
Holander set the chicken wing down. He picked up his beer glass, threw his head back, and took a massive gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing twice. When he set the glass down, beer foam was still clinging to the corner of his mouth, but his blue eyes were exceptionally bright in the dim light.
"Two sets aren’t enough," he said. "Buy four. Just in case we ss up assembling them, we’ll have spares."
"You’ve got it all fucking planned out, haven’t you? Anyway, your treat—those goddamn corporate fucks at Vought haven’t paid yet."
As they were finishing up the barbecue, Holander stood up. "I’ll go settle the tab."
"Go ahead. I’ll get you back once I get paid."
The two walked out of the barbecue joint, heading along the sidewalk toward the hobby shop.
The New York night wind carried a damp chill blowing off the Hudson River, feeling quite comfortable against their faces. Soone was strumming a guitar outside a small roadside bar, a fragnted lody leaking through the half-open doorway, mingling with the clinking of glasses.
Across the street, a little girl wearing a pink dress was running in their direction. She was about five or six years old, her blonde hair tied into two little pigtails, holding a double-scoop ice cream cone with two precariously balanced scoops of cream topping the tip of the waffle cone. She was running incredibly fast, her face wearing an expression that only a child eating their favorite treat could possibly have. A very cute little girl.
"Yay! My favorite double-scoop ice cream!"
"Mia! Slow down! Don’t trip!" Her mother chased after her, clutching shopping bags.
The little girl wasn’t looking where she was going; children her age didn’t have the slightest concept of watching the road. Holding up her ice cream, she dashed around the corner and slamd headlong into Holander’s leg.
Splat.
Both scoops of cream instantly lost the support of the cone and sared solidly onto Holander’s pants. From his thigh down to his knee, the entire length of his trousers was streaked with a cascading white waterfall of cream. The waffle cone tumbled to the ground, crushed into fragnts beneath the little girl’s shoe.
Mia looked down at her empty hands, then looked up at the tall, blond man standing before her. The corners of her mouth twitched twice, and she burst into a loud wail.
"My ice cream..."
"Oh my god—it’s... it’s Holander!" Mia’s mother caught up, the shopping bags in her hands... nearly dropping to the ground. Her face turned white as a sheet instantly. Her lips trembled. "I’m so incredibly sorry, Mr. Holander! My daughter is still so young, she didn’t an any harm, I’ll pay for your pants—I—"
Holander looked down at the puddle of cream dripping down his pants, remaining motionless. Staring at the little girl weeping uncontrollably before him, an image flashed through his mind. An image that didn’t exist—because he had absolutely no mory of it, the scene could only be sothing he had conjured up in his imagination. A man wearing a deep green suit walking in front, with a little blond boy holding an ice cream cone trailing closely behind him, taking tiny strides, trying his absolute hardest to match the rhythm of those massive boots ahead.
He had never walked behind anyone holding an ice cream cone. But right now, this little girl could.
Holander knelt down. Bringing his eyes level with the little girl’s, he extended his right hand, gently wiping away the tears on her face with his thumb.
"What a cute girl," Holander murmured.
The little girl looked up, a bit of snot still hanging from her lip, but her crying ceased as she realized the person in front of her was a superhero—the strongest superhero of all. Plenty of her classmates at school would mimic Holander, putting on performances of taking flight.
"Sorry about that," Holander’s lips curved upward, a smile entirely free from any trace of PR training. "My pants accidentally ate your ice cream. Here, go buy another one—get a few triple-scoops."
He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket, folded it, and tucked it into the little girl’s chubby palm.
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A/N: Next goal: 300 Power Stones = 1 bonus Chapter!
And if you want to read ahead and find out what happens next right away, you can get up to 20 Chapters ahead on my p@tr~on:
/ForgottenDaoist (@ = a, link is in my profile).
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