Benjamin had just turned the corner and was about to take out his phone to call Holander.
But when he looked up, he saw a blond man in plain clothes walking toward him not far away.
His steps were light, and that signature smile hung at the corner of his mouth.
"How did you know I was here?"
"I just happened to be passing by," Holander said, stopping in front of him with both hands in his pants pockets. He tilted his head slightly. "What are we eating tonight?"
Benjamin looked at him.
"Barbecue. The place on the corner. Charcoal-grilled."
Holander fell into step beside him, and the two walked side by side through New York’s early autumn night breeze.
The streetlights stretched their shadows long, one ahead and one behind. Without capes, and with the shield left back at the office, the two large n in plain clothes walking down the street looked just like an ordinary father and son heading out for dinner after work.
No one recognized them.
Or rather, even if soone did, they were not entirely sure. After all, they were only passing by and had not taken a close look.
The barbecue shop’s owner was a Chinese man in his sixties. He watched the two big n squeeze into a cramped booth, one ordering an entire rack of beef ribs, the other ordering three servings of grilled chicken wings plus two skewers of grilled chili peppers.
Smoke from the charcoal fire drifted out of the kitchen, mixed with the charred aroma of cumin and sizzling fat.
The owner set two glasses of iced beer down heavily on the table, foam sliding down the sides. Then his pupils suddenly tightened.
"Holy shit. You two... are you Holander and Soldier Boy?"
Benjamin raised an eyebrow.
"Can I get your autographs?"
"Sure."
Luckily, there were not many people in the barbecue shop. Otherwise, after the owner’s shout, everyone probably would have sward over.
...
"Eat. Don’t fucking hold back."
Benjamin picked up a rib and took a bite, grease running down the corner of his mouth. He wiped it casually with a napkin.
"Anyway, with our bodies, it doesn’t matter what junk food we eat. If our cholesterol gets too high, the liver tabolizes it on its own. If cancer cells show up, the immune system kills them on the spot. Being happy is what matters."
Holander picked up a skewer of chicken wings and took a bite. The crisp, charred skin crackled lightly between his teeth.
He chewed twice, then suddenly stopped, staring at the chicken wing in his hand.
"What’s wrong? Not good?"
"No."
Holander swallowed the chicken wing, his voice half a degree softer than before.
"I was just thinking... if you hadn’t been taken away, could I have done this when I was little too?"
Benjamin set down the rib in his hand, picked up his beer, took a sip, and said nothing.
"It’s not a big deal."
Holander quickly pulled at the corner of his mouth, as if trying to smooth things over himself.
"I just thought of it suddenly. It’s not a big deal. I was just curious."
"It really isn’t a big deal."
Benjamin set his beer glass on the table. The bottom of the glass hit the wood with a dull thud.
"It’s not too late to make up for it now. After dinner, we’ll go to a model shop."
"A model shop?"
"Model airplanes. Didn’t you say that script you’re shooting next week has one?"
Holander put down the chicken wing.
He picked up his beer and took a large gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing twice.
When he set the glass down, there was still beer foam at the corner of his mouth, but his blue eyes were shining a little too brightly under the dim lights.
"Two kits won’t be enough," he said.
"Buy four. That way, if we ss one up, we’ll have spares."
"You’re pretty fucking organized. Anyway, you’re paying. Fucking Vought still hasn’t paid ."
When they were almost done eating, Holander stood up. "I’ll go pay."
"Go on. Once I get paid, I’ll treat you back."
The two left the barbecue shop and walked along the street toward the model shop.
The New York night wind carried the damp chill blowing in from the Hudson River, cool and comfortable against their faces.
Soone was playing guitar outside a small bar by the road. Broken bits of lody drifted out through the half-open door, mixed with the clink of glasses.
Across the street, a little girl in a pink dress was running toward them.
She looked about five or six, with two little blond braids and a double-scoop ice cream cone in her hand, two wobbling balls of cream perched on top of the cone.
She ran very fast, her face wearing the kind of expression only a child with her favorite snack could have.
A very cute little girl.
"Yay! My favorite double-scoop ice cream!"
"Mia! Slow down! Don’t fall!"
Her mother chased after her with shopping bags in hand.
The little girl was not watching the road. Children her age had no idea what "watch the road" even ant.
Holding up her ice cream, she rushed around the corner and slamd straight into Holander’s leg.
Splat.
Both scoops lost their support at the sa ti and sared solidly across Holander’s pants.
From his thigh down to his knee, a white waterfall of cream now hung all over his pants.
The cone rolled onto the ground and was crushed into pieces under the little girl’s shoe.
Mia looked down at her empty hand, then looked up at the tall blond man in front of her. The corners of her mouth twitched twice, and she burst into tears.
"My ice cream..."
"Oh my God. It’s... it’s Holander!"
Mia’s mother caught up, almost dropping the shopping bags in her hands.
Her face turned pale instantly.
Her lips trembled as she said, "I’m so sorry, Mr. Holander. My daughter is still little. She doesn’t know any better. I’ll pay for your pants. I..."
Holander looked down at the lting cream on his pants and did not move.
He looked at the little girl crying her heart out in front of him, and an image flashed through his mind.
An image that did not exist. Because he did not have that mory at all, it could only be sothing he imagined.
A man in a deep green Supersuit walking ahead, and a little blond boy following behind with an ice cream cone in his hand, taking small steps as he desperately tried to keep pace with the big boots in front of him.
He had never followed anyone with an ice cream cone in his hand.
But right now, this little girl could.
Holander crouched down. He t the little girl’s eyes and reached out with his right hand, wiping the tears from her face with his thumb.
"What a cute girl."
Holander sighed softly.
The little girl looked up, snot still hanging from her lip, but she had stopped crying. She had also realized that the person in front of her was a superhero, and not just any superhero, but the strongest one.
Plenty of kids in her class liked to imitate Holander and pretend to take off into the sky.
"Sorry."
The corner of Holander’s mouth curved up. There was no trace of PR training in that smile.
"My pants accidentally ate your ice cream. Here. Go buy another one. Buy a few triple-scoop ones."
He took a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket, folded it once, and tucked it into the little girl’s chubby palm.
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