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starrdust411.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hetalia2011-12-10 07:40 pm
starrdust411.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2011-12-10 07:40 pm
Entry tags:
[Fic] Invincible - Ch. 2
Title: Invincible
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starrdust411
Character(s) or Pairing(s): FACES featuring FrUK In this chapter: Austria, Lithuania, Switzerland, implied AusHun
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, Slash, Action/Adventure, Implied Past Mpreg, Character Death
Summary: After a series of lawsuits forces him and the rest of the Supers into retirement, Arthur Kirkland finds himself trapped living a mundane suburban life. When adventure calls he's quick to respond, but how will it affect the rest of his family?
Prologue|Chapter 1
Chapter 2 Adventure Calling
It may have been mid spring, but the night still had enough bite to remind him of early winter. He shivered as he warmed his hands on the thermos filled with hot tea and turned up the volume on the radio. His chilled ears were met only with static that reminded Arthur of how incredibly pathetic this was. He had owned a police scanner before -- it had been installed by the same chaps at the Agency who had given him the Invinc-obile -- but that one had been custom made and top of the line. This hunk of metal and wires had been purchased second hand from a shady looking bloke at a local Army surplus store and was sitting on the dashboard of a car that could never even wish to be the Invinc-oble.
"What in the blazes are you doing, Artie?" he asked himself, rubbing at his tired eyes with the heel of his palm.
Sitting there in his beaten up old sedan, he had to remind himself that this wasn't the Invinc-obile and he was not Captain Invincible, hadn't been for a long time, and that thought made him feel old. Not that he was old -- he wasn't even forty yet! -- but the heavy label of forced retirement still weighed down on him with every breath and made his joints feel stiff and feeble from lack of use. He supposed it was that very feeling that had brought him here, that drove his need to be here tonight, because he wanted to show the world he still had something left to offer.
He banged on the dashboard, just hard enough to give it a good shake, in the hopes that he'd get the heater working again and instead of a blast of warmed air greeting his slightly chilled skin, his ears were met with the chattering of a human being from the other end of the police scanner.
Arthur turned it up, listening carefully as the dispatcher read off the address of a crime in progress. A bank robbery. No. A jewelry heist. And it was only a few blocks away. He could make it there before the police if he moved fast enough.
A thrill actually coursed its way through his body as he turned the key and ignited the engine. This wasn't the first night he'd snuck out to catch a crook or two, but the excitement was pumping through his veins all the same.
Pulling out of the alley he had been parked in, his eyes caught a brief glimpse of a car that seemed to have been parked across the street at a corner store. For a moment, his mind wondered how long the other automobile had been sitting there and if the driver had actually been looking at him, but he quickly brushed those thoughts aside. He had some jewelry thieves to catch.
--
He looked like one of the crooks.
Glancing down at his body -- clad in a black hoodie, dark gray slacks, tennis shoes, and black gloves -- Arthur was dismayed to find his current attire was far too similar to what the two perps inside the jeweler were currently sporting. A heat rose up to his cheeks, which were currently hidden underneath a cotton ski mask, at this slight foul up. Not that it could really be helped. His old costume was currently on display in his den behind three inch thick glass. Taking it out and putting it on would not only have been suspicious, and would probably have caused this situation to be even more pathetic.
He cringed as one of the men inside smashed another pane of glass. Apparently the police were intent on taking their time getting there. Not that Arthur was bothered by this. It gave him plenty of time to attempt to defuse the situation on his own.
Crouching low to the ground, he crept up to the front door that was still opened ajar, mindful not to step on any of the smashed glass littering the floor. It was nearly pitch black inside the tiny store, the only light available came from the flashlights held tightly in the hands of the two men who were too focused on their task of shoveling fists full of gold into their bags.
For a moment he wondered about these men. Who were they? Had they always been crooks or were they forced into this life due to the bad turn of the economy? What were they stealing for? For kicks or to raise money for something important?
Arthur shook his head. These were thoughts that had never entered his mind in the old days. Clearly he had been a civilian too long.
Trapped in his musings, Arthur had not been giving enough thought to where his foot fell and soon found himself crunching down on a sizable chunk of glass. The men instantly turned towards him, dropping their bags in favor of the pistols that had been tucked under their shirts. Wonderful. He hadn't even been considering the possibility that they were armed. Now what was he supposed to tell Francis when he came home littered with bruises the size of a nickel?
Yet when the two saw him they actually lowered their weapons instead of opening fire at him, their figures relaxing visibly. "Hey you," one of the men said, his own masked face looking at Arthur with what appeared to be recognition. "You're supposed to wait in the car."
Arthur felt like smacking himself. He really did look like a crook. Well, at least it was working to his advantage. He forced himself to relax as well as he carefully approached the two men. "Well, I got sick of waiting, so I thought I'd help you load up."
The man on the left shrugged, bending over to grab one of the filled bags, but his companion's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Wait a minute," he began slowly. "Since when are you British, Rick?"
Another misstep it seemed. Instead of mentally smacking himself, he reached out to grab the pistol of the closet thug with one hand while winding his other into a fist. A cry of "That's not Rick!" filled the air just as Arthur slammed one man square in the jaw (he'd be seeing stars for a week) before grabbing the other and tossing him into one of the display cases. Both of their weapons went clattering to the floor and Arthur was quick to grab them both and crush them in his palms.
"Sorry chaps," he said to the two men moaning in pain at his feet. "Hope I wasn't too rough on you. I'm a bit rusty you see."
It was then that the sound of heavy footsteps met his ears. His first thoughts were that the police had finally shown up, but as soon as he turned around he saw not flashing lights, but a single masked gunman at the door way.
"Hold it right there buddy," the man cried just before pulling the trigger and firing a few shots at Arthur. Ah, this upstanding gentleman must have been Rick.
And fortunately for Arthur, Rick was a terrible shot as most of his bullet went wide and only one managed to hit Arthur in the thigh instead of anywhere more lethal (not that it mattered). Rick didn't get to fire another shot, however, as the police decided then to make their presence known with their flashing lights and sirens.
Limping towards the back door, Arthur decided that now would be a good time to make his way home.
--
Arthur tried his hardest not to hiss as he entered the house from the backyard entrance. The darkened stillness of the house smothered him the second he eased himself into the cozy little kitchen, but that didn't stop the ice pack hidden within the freezer from calling his name. The pumping adrenaline had kept his injury from bothering him, but now that he was home and out of danger his leg was practically singing. Time away from the field had lessened his threshold for pain and he didn't think he'd be able to sleep tonight if he didn't at least attempt to treat himself.
He half limped, half crept his way towards the freezer, mindful of the hour and the four other occupants of the house that were no doubt already fast asleep. The door opened with a too loud pop, the soft light from within flooding the kitchen.
Oh wait, this was far too bright to just be the freezer.
Twisting around, he spotted a disheveled Francis standing by the kitchen entrance clad only in a soft blue dressing gown and the most perturbed expression he could muster. "Have fun at the gym?" he asked bitterly.
"I, uh, lost track of time," he muttered, closing the door without his prized pack of ice as he tried his hardest not to put any weight on his injured leg.
"You said 'two hours,'" Francis reminded him. "It is near midnight."
"I said I lost track of time."
"Ah, oui, because there are no clocks at the gym."
"Look, it's late and I'm tired," Arthur cut in as he attempted to walk past Francis without limping. "We can talk in the morning."
"Non," Francis said, his arms and legs spreading so wide that there was literally nowhere Arthur could move without running into him. He should have known better than to try to escape from a man who was a living rubber band. "Non, we will talk now." His frown deepened as he took in Arthur's appearance, no doubt noticing the bits of dust clinging to his pants or the heated flush to his cheeks. "Arthur, where were you?"
"It's... it's nothing."
"Nothing? You are limping. And you smell like gun smoke!" Francis's expression darkened as something seemed to click into place in his mind. "I swear to God, Arthur Kirkland, if you are having an affair-"
"Why is that the first place your mind goes to?" he yelped. What the hell sort of perversions did Francis think he was into? He sighed, forcing his way past Francis's momentarily relaxed limbs. "Look, it's nothing like that. There was a robbery-"
"A robbery?"
"I sort of got caught up in it."
"Forced yourself into it, more likely," Francis snipped.
"I don't want to talk about it," Arthur sighed, allowing himself to limp now that he had been caught in his lie. "I'm going to bed."
He had nearly made it to the door when he suddenly felt himself being restrained. Looking down at himself, Arthur saw that Francis's arms were now wrapped around his middle like fleshy ropes, firmly holding him in place. It was like one of their bedroom games gone horribly wrong. "We are going to talk about this, Arthur," Francis said sternly. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"
"Nothing!" Arthur snapped. "Nothing. I stopped a jewelry heist. How is that a bad thing?"
"I like this house, Arthur!"
He blinked, caught off guard by Francis's outburst. "What?"
"I like this house," he said again, unwinding his arms from around Arthur's waist and returning them to his sides. "I like this neighborhood. I like the school the children go to. Why do you want to ruin that? Why do you want to get us relocated again?"
"That wasn't my fault last time!"
"Right, putting your fist through a tree was an accident. What the hell happened, Arthur? You promised you would put me first, remember?"
"All I ever do is put you first," he snapped. "You and the children. I go to that stupid job every bloody day and die inside so I can give you money to keep you happy! What's so fucking wrong about me doing something to make me happy just once?"
"It is wrong when you know you are putting us in danger! And just because you have a job does not make you a martyr."
"At least I'm actually contributing! When was the last time you actually did anything except complain and break the appliances?"
"I do plenty around here, but you are too busy drinking yourself blind to notice! When was the last time you talked to the children? To me? You just wander in and out of the house like a zombie while I am the one who has to cook and clean and keep everyone happy. I hate it!"
"If you don't like it, you can leave!"
"So can you!"
Even in the midst of their screaming match, the sound of paper fluttering and a table wobbling on the other side of the room was unmistakable. From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see that Francis had caught on as well and was currently trying to force the flush of anger out of his cheeks. "Alright Alfred," Arthur sighed, "we know you're here."
"You too, Mathieu," Francis mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.
There was a moment of stillness before Alfred peeked his head out from behind one end of the couch while Matthew, slowly rematerializing himself, followed suit from the other end. "You guys haven't yelled like that in a while," Alfred ventured, his voice obviously hesitant as he spoke.
"We're sorry we eavesdropped," Matthew whispered meekly.
"It's alright," Arthur sighed sheepishly. "I'm sure you would have heard us no matter where you were. Papa and I were just talking." His hand fell on to Francis's shoulder and, while he was thankful that his husband did not flinch away from his touch, he was disappointed to feel him stiffen in response. "We haven't talked in a while, but it's good that we did."
Francis didn't say a word, but he did roll his eyes and Arthur had a feeling this wouldn't be the end of their conversation. "It is late boys," Francis said, moving away from Arthur's grasp to place a tender hand on each child's cheek. "You should both go back to bed. We promise we will keep the noise down."
Alfred looked unconvinced, Matthew looked worried, but both boys nodded as they headed back down the hall, muttering quick goodnights to their fathers. Arthur frowned, slumping down into a nearby chair when the twins were well out of sight. "I, um, I think I'll spend the night out here," he suggested.
Francis nodded before turning back towards the bedroom and shutting the door.
--
The next day found Arthur thankful for his set of abilities. His brand of healing may not have made him entirely immune to illness and true, his injuries would never heal instantly, but it was better than nothing. By morning the swelling on his thigh had gone down and the ugly purple bruise decorating his skin had completely disappeared. The damage done to his body was gone without a trace. The damage to his relationship with Francis, however, would not be so easily repaired.
In the early days, most of his mornings would start off in the most pleasant way imaginable: with Arthur getting a hummer from a man with an elastic mouth. This was then traded in for a tender kiss as affectionate fingers massaged his scalp. Before long it was the wail of an alarm clock greeting his ears and the aroma of a freshly made breakfast tickling his nose.
This morning started off with the electronic jingle of his phone awakening him from his place on the couch as his most-certainly-not-a-housewife husband continued to give him the cold shoulder by pointedly not making him breakfast, refusing all of his attempts to initiate conversation, and sending him out the door by tossing a grapefruit at his head.
Now as he sat at his desk, filing reports and re-evaluated claims, Arthur couldn't help but go over the events of their late night discussion in his head. It had been the first real fight they had had in sometime and while he knew that screaming matches were not something to be proud of, it was still hard to believe that they had gone without yelling themselves red for so long.
Fighting used to be such a mundane activity for them, they'd argue and buttheads all the time and just as frequently have loud, violent make up sex afterwards. When had it all stopped? The idea that it was for the sake of the children felt flimsy at best. Arthur could still clearly recall the look on Alfred's face last night when he'd commented on the fight. Sure he had looked a bit shaken, but he'd also seemed... relieved.
Arthur sighed, tapping away at his keyboard as text scrolled by on his monitor. This wasn't what he should be thinking about right now. It wasn't the fight that was important, but what they had fought over.
Try as he might, Arthur couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. It would have been easy to call it all a midlife crisis, but that didn't seem right. Yet there was something to be said about a man who found more enjoyment in putting his life in danger than spending time with his family.
He wondered how they all did it. How did everyone else blend in so well after they went under? Francis and his friends hardly ever spoke of their past lives and instead focused on their families, on their businesses, on... on whatever the hell Gilbert did with himself. Arthur had a house and a family and a career and yet he still couldn't put it all behind him.
Arthur supposed it had something to do with how unremarkable his life had been before he was Captain Invincible, before he even knew that he was a Super. Back then he had just been little Arthur Kirkland, runt of the family and favorite punching bag to his older brothers. Then one day, he discovered that his once wiry frame was starting to swell as muscle began to spring up seemingly by magic. The next thing he knew he was wearing a mask and tights and using a made up name that seemed to fit him so much better than his old one had.
His train of thought was suddenly interrupted when a shrill ringing filled the air of his tiny cubicle and Arthur half heartedly hoped that it was Francis calling to apologize. It was with this thought in mind that Arthur plucked the receiver off of its cradle and was rewarded by a woman's voice attempting to maintain a calm even tone as she spoke over the indignant wailing in the background. "Arthur Kirkland, Mr. Zwingli would like to see you in his office."
Arthur cringed. He did not want to deal with this. "Now?"
"Now."
--
Zwingli's office was... fine. It was a normal office with three light gray walls -- the fourth being replaced with a massive window that over looked the financial district below them -- dark gray carpet, a standard desk framed by standard floor lamps, and a modest sized green chair. It had all the normal features of any corporate office, except for the chalkboard.
With its wooden framing and little black wheels, the green chalkboard was the sort you would find in a typical classroom where it would be used to teach children how to count or write their letters, but this particular chalkboard was reserved only to teach employees that Zwingli had deemed incompetent and were currently on the verge of being terminated. That knowledge in mind was what caused Arthur's stomach to twist ever so slightly when he entered Zwingli's office and saw the stern faced man standing in front of it, a fresh piece of chalk gripped tightly in his hands.
"Sit down, Kirkland," he clipped and Arthur complied, because what choice did he have? He cringed as he collapsed into the metal chair in the middle of the room, the cool arms digging unpleasantly into his side and the back arching him uncomfortably. "Since you seem to have forgotten how to be a proper employee, I have decided to re-educate you on what it truly means to be part of a firm such as Insuricare."
"Mr. Zwingli," Arthur began, hoping to prolong this painful procedure if only for a moment longer. "What exactly-"
"That's enough!" Zwingli snapped, eyes flashing at him with a sort of intensity that actually made Arthur flinch before he quickly turned his attention to the board. He drew a circle -- a surprisingly smooth, even circle -- and went about adding two long lines at an odd angle into the center. "Do you know what this is?" he asked him.
"Um... a pie chart?"
"It's a clock!" he chided before turning back to the board. "A company is like a clock," he said, writing as he spoke, "and each employee is a cog within the clock. A clock can't run unless all the little pieces mess together. Do you understand what I'm saying, Kirkland?"
Arthur fidgeted in his seat as his eyes swept across the angry white scribbles decorating the board's green surface. "I'm a cog in the system?"
"You're part of a team! And you need to start acting like it."
Part of a team. Arthur smirked bitterly at the words. In his costumed heyday teamwork had never been one of his strong suits as he'd often opt to go it alone, shrugging off other Supers when they offered him their aid. His arrogance and stand offish attitude had earned him a great deal of disdain in the Super community. He still remembered quite clearly the time that Iron Eagle had bitterly called him the "captain of a one man ship."
He blinked, shaking the thought out of his mind. This wasn't what he should be focusing on. He was currently being chewed out by his supervisor, likely on the verge of being sacked, but...
His green eyes narrowed as he watched Zwingli's animated frame scribble more words and clocks and other images onto the board. Somehow, even though he was being barked at like a brainless beast, he couldn't focus on what was being said. This had to be the most absolutely inane thing he had ever heard. What had he done wrong? He had helped people, it was what he was made to do, only he had done it in a mundane bureaucratic capacity by giving them contact numbers, faxing them paperwork, and suggesting the claims they should file. Maybe Insuricare would lose a little money (and clearly, that was the issue at hand here) but wasn't the entire purpose of an insurance company to assist its clients in their time of need?
It was no wonder that amidst all the analogies and metaphors his eyes, along with his mind, began to wander. His gaze drifted over towards the wide window, taking in the clear blue sky above the lively city. Down below them people rushed back and forth, driving hurriedly from one point to another, walking briskly along the sidewalk and...
Arthur felt his frame go ridged at the sight. It was so far away, that he was certain a normal man would never have caught it, but his sharp eyes saw the middle aged man in a blue business suit being shoved roughly into an alley by a man in a coal colored hoodie. He cringed as the man in the suit hit the gritty brick building, colliding shoulder first into the wall, only to be twisted around as a knife was shoved under his nose.
"Kirkland." Zwingli's voice cut through the air, gaining his attention, but not his gaze. His eyes were still pinned on the man who was now being tossed from the side of the building to the harsh ground below. "Kirkland are you paying attention?"
From the corner of his eyes he could see Zwingli's frown deepen (if that were at all possible) as he marched over towards him. "There's a man down there being mugged," he told him, sparing his indignant employer only the briefest glance before turning his eyes back to the alleyway where the man had now been shoved into a dumpster, the mugger offering him a few good kicks square to the chest. It was a sickening sight to watch made all the more revolting by the fact that he was doing absolutely nothing to stop it. Captain Invincible would have been there by now, would have climbed out the window and sprinted the few blocks to apprehend the man, but Arthur Kirkland could only sit and stare.
Zwingli turned towards the window, scanning the streets for any evidence of Arthur's story being true. For a moment Arthur thought he wouldn't see it, but he noticed the way his supervisor's eyes momentarily locked on to the scene, before marching towards the window. "That's not important right now," he informed him, literally closing the curtains on the scene, but Arthur was able to see just enough to know that the mugger had actually gotten away. "It's your job that's on the line, and you're going to sit here and listen."
For a moment his heart sank, but it was only a moment, because suddenly it was pounding inside him, slamming in his chest with a churning fury he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. His hands curled into fists, crumbling the arms of the metal chair like a wad of paper under his coiled fingers. There was hatred burning inside of him, pulsing its way through his blood, wild and erratic and unfocused, because there were so many things -- his life, his weakness, that damn hooded bastard -- that he wanted to pour it all out on, but couldn't because they were too abstract or too far away. So instead, he chose the man in front of him.
--
"Do you think they're gonna be okay?"
Alfred's only reply was a distracted "Huh?" muffled by the mouthful of chewed sandwich he was in the middle of swallowing. Matthew wasn't really surprised that Alfred wasn't paying attention to him, he wouldn't have been surprised if his twin had even forgotten all about his presence in the time since they had sat down to eat their lunch.
The cafeteria was already quite crowded as students, and a few teachers, milled in and out, weaving between tables and benches, to gather their meals and find a good place to sit. In all the confusion of the lunch hour, hiding in plain sight was the best way to avoid those annoying classmates who always wanted to steal his homework from him. Being next to Alfred was an added bit of insurance as well since, for some reason, nobody ever picked on Alfred. Matthew supposed it was just one of the many benefits of being the more outgoing twin.
"Dad and Papa," Matthew clarified at last, tearing away at pieces of the sandwich that his blue eyes were currently fixed on. "Do you think they're gonna be okay?"
"They'll be fine," Alfred shrugged indifferently as he turned his attention back to his already half finished sandwich and swallowed the rest. "They fight all the time."
No they didn't. They hadn't fought in years, and certainly not like that. Matthew knew it was weird for a kid to actually want his parents to scream at each other, but he had learned a long time ago that shouting matches and hissy fits were just Dad and Papa's way of communicating, and Alfred knew that. Alfred knew that better than anyone, but he was just being his usually oblivious self and it made Matthew feel all knotted up inside.
"What if they get a divorce?" Matthew whispered, voicing the thought that had been swirling around inside his mind for longer than he'd like to admit. It was a very real possibility in Matthew's mind. After all, most of his classmates had parents who were either separated or separating. Parents just didn't seem capable of staying together anymore and what made theirs any different? Other than the super powers, of course.
"Mattie, you worry too much," Alfred snorted. "They're not gonna get divorced. Our dads are way too old and boring to be single again."
There was that word again. "Boring." It frustrated Matthew to no end how Alfred always seemed more concerned about how "uncool" their parents were instead of the more obvious problems that the two had. As much as Matthew loved his brother, there were times he wished that Alfred would just grow up.
Not that Matthew was completely above the occasional childish impulse. He watched as Alfred raised his hand, reaching his fingers towards the bag of potato chips spilling out across the table only to have them blocked when Matthew created a small bubble around his desired target. "Hey!" Alfred whined, glaring bitterly over at his brother. "No powers in public, remember?"
Matthew huffed, pretending to turn his attention back to his own lunch, only to send another force field around Alfred's food when his twin attempted to grab his sandwich. Alfred responded by giving his brother's leg a kick so swift that Matthew felt it before he could process seeing his sibling move.
It was just another normal lunch.
--
Roderich Edelstein looked perturbed. Yet to be fair, in the two decades that he had known him, Arthur couldn't recall the man not looking perturbed. Not that Arthur could fault him for that today. Not when he was walking out of the hospital room that Arthur had just put his supervisor into after a moment of careless, unchecked rage.
It had felt so good then, so right -- after all what man wouldn't want to punch his boss square in the jaw -- but that feeling had disappeared the second he came out of his cloud of rage and took in what he had done. Three solid walls. With one good hit he had sent Zwingli sailing through three solid walls and crashing into a stack of filing cabinets. He cringed at the thought, because even if the Swiss man was a jerk he certainly didn't deserve the crippling pain and months of physical therapy that he would have to endure.
"What am I going to do with you?" he heard Roderich sigh as he quickly stepped past him and down the hall. "You are unbelievable!"
"I'm fired aren't I?" Arthur asked pathetically, because that was all he could think about. He had not only blown their cover, but he lost the job that his family desperately needed to stay afloat.
Roderich huffed, continuing his march towards the elevators and never once breaking his stride. "That's the least of your troubles," he clipped in a tone that sounded annoyingly similar to one that Zwingli would use. "Do you have any idea how much paper work this is going to cause? How much money will be wasted?"
"I know."
"There were witnesses, Arthur," he went on. "Dozens of them! And they'll all have to have their memories erased and the company will need to be paid off to keep silent and the damages to the building that will need to be covered and then there's the relocation to consider."
Arthur flinched at that last one. Relocation? He couldn't do that to Francis and the children, not again, not after they were all settled in here. "I'm sorry," he whispered and his stomach twisted just a bit at the ping that word caused.
Roderich must have noticed the way his shoulder slumped and the pathetic self loathing expression etched onto his features, because suddenly the man's eyes softened as he placed an awkwardly friendly hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I would normally say you are on your own now," he began haltingly, "but under the circumstances..."
He didn't know what circumstances Roderich was referring to, but he supposed it was their history. Roderich wasn't just his case worker, he had been his Agency liaison since Arthur was just a dumb college kid doing Superhero work for the glory and the ego inflation. When the world had decided it didn't want them around, Roderich had gone out of his way to make sure that he and Francis wouldn't be separated after going under. He'd even been the one to get Arthur his job at Insuricare. Arthur had seen many faces in the Agency change over the years, but Roderich was the only constant. Not that Arthur thought he had anything to do with it. No, Roderich's wife having been Iron Skillet had everything to do with his sympathies towards him and other Supers.
"Thank you," he said morosely.
"I suppose could relocate you, one last time," he began, but Arthur was quick to cut him off.
"No, I can't," Arthur sighed. "We... we're all got settled in here and..."
Roderich nodded before pressing the down button on the elevator. The doors opened with a soft ding. "Take care," he said before stepping into the elevator and disappearing behind the metal doors.
--
Coming home had never been so difficult, but as he sat in his car, parked in the driveway thinking over the events of the day, the task of setting foot inside seemed like an impossible feat. How was he supposed to tell Francis that he had been fired? They had barely been scrapping by as it was with the money he brought in and with Francis's "home business" being so painfully inconsistent, it would be impossible to stay afloat with what little income that venture would bring in.
Arthur sighed, grabbing his briefcase from the side seat and reluctantly stepping out of his pathetic, rust bucket of a car. It would have felt nice to grab the heap of metal and crush it to scraps in his hand, but Arthur had to remind himself that he had gotten into this spot by doing what felt good.
He needed a beer. He needed a hundred beers. Too bad he wouldn't be able to afford even one can from now on.
He dragged himself towards the front door, feeling more miserable with each step, before jamming his key into the slot and twisting the knob. Once again he was greeted with the usual sights and sounds that his arrival would bring. Pierre was twittering away in his little cage while the rest of the house lay still and deserted. Not a soul in sight.
"Hi Dad."
Arthur flinched, looking down at the floating pile of clothes in front of him and realizing that Matthew had been there the whole time. He quickly closed the door behind him as the boy willed himself into visibility once more. "Hello Matthew," he greeted, trying his best to keep his tone natural and even as he offered the boy a half hearted pat on the head. "Is anyone else home?"
"Alfred's in his room," Matthew informed him, "and Papa took Angelique and went to the store to pick up a few things for dinner."
On a normal day Arthur would have been annoyed to find that Francis had left the boys home alone, but there were bigger issues weighing down on him at the moment and the mere mention of Angelique's name was enough to cause a new flood of concerns to wash over him. (If the adoption agency ever found out about this, they'd lose her for sure.) With that dark thought in mind, he was only able to muster a distracted nod as he trudged towards his den.
He flicked a light switch on, illuminating the small room decorated with newspaper clippings, photographs, and other souvenirs from another life. His eye caught the glass case holding his old uniform in the corner and his heart sank just a bit more at the memory of what life had been like as a stupid, carefree kid.
Arthur frowned as he closed the door, locked it and then grabbed the waste bin tucked under his desk as he went about emptying his briefcase. He smashed a few things just to make himself feel better -- ripped the near phonebook sized Insuricare handbook clean in half, crumpled his pocket calculator like tissue -- but after a while he just started to feel childish so he simply tipped the whole thing over and into the bin. A metallic ping greeted his ears in the process and for a moment Arthur felt certain that it was only a pen that had been dropped into the basket. On closer inspection, however, he found something flat and firm sticking out of the heap of trash and his interest was suddenly peaked.
His scowl deepened as he plucked the thing out of the waste bin and inspected it carefully. At first glance it looked like one of those tablet computers that one saw in stores, but Arthur would certainly recall owning something like that and this thing wasn't at all familiar to him. It was lighter than a tablet should be and thinner, nearly paper light, and the logo on the bottom...
"Voice key, activated," a mechanical voice droned, the sound seemingly coming from the flat sheet in his hand.
"Voice key?" he repeated, only to be greeted by a little red light blinking up at him from the bottom of the tab.
"Identity confirmed," the voice hummed as the little red light suddenly expanded, flooding his vision and causing Arthur to drop the little computer in shock. He blinked a few times, trying to erase the glare of the light from his eyes, as the red light swept across the small room. "Location is secure."
Arthur's head was swimming as he bent down to retrieve the device only to find a picture emerge on its once blank surface. A young man with shoulder length brown hair was looking up at him with an uncertain smile and soft blue eyes and suddenly this was all a bit much. "Greetings, Captain Invincible," the image, video, began. "Yes, I know who you are. My name is Toris Laurinaitis and I am contacting you on behalf of a private firm in need of your particular skills."
Arthur titled the flat computer this way and that, turning it over in his hand in an attempt to find a speaker or off button, but there was none. He gave the screen a quick tap, but no other display emerged itself. It seemed as if this device was made solely for the purpose of relaying this message and nothing else.
"I work for an international corporation that specializes in manufacturing weapons for government agencies," Laurinaitis went on. "The information that I am about to relay to you is classified, so I suggestion you listen carefully as it will not be repeated." Arthur quickly scanned the room, searching for a pen and a pad of paper to write on, only to discover that nearly every pen he grabbed was out of ink.
"Recently one of our latest projects, the Omindroid, has gone awry on our private testing facility, causing considerable property damage and endangering the lives of our workers."
Arthur huffed in frustration, tossing pen after pen aside before finally coming across a pencil with a sharpened tip and a blank piece of notebook paper to jot information down on.
"My employer has requested that I contact you in order to help suppress the Omindroid and neutralize the situation. If you choose to accept this assignment a private plane will meet you at the airport to take you to our headquarters. You will be compensated, of course, with payment five times that of your annual salary."
He was ashamed to admit that his heart actually stopped dead in his chest and his stomach managed a little flip at this statement. This was all too good to be true... so there must be some sort of catch.
"You will have twenty-four hours to respond. I will be awaiting your call." With those final words, the screen went blank and Laurinaitis's face was gone.
His breath caught in his throat as he took in the information. Suddenly it was hard to think, impossible to stand, and he felt himself collapsing into the waiting arms of his beaten up old office chair. A small part of him was whispering to Arthur that this was all a scam, because mysterious organizations didn't just randomly contact retired Supers out of the blue and offer them large sums of money. This cryptic message was drenched in danger and the fact of the matter was that he didn't even really know what he was going up against.
Yet all the same, his heart was thrumming with excitement. The old blue and red suit that he hadn't put on in over a decade was staring at him from behind the glass, whispering Arthur's name and telling him that adventure was calling at long last. How could he pass up an opportunity to be Captain Invincible again, to be himself again?
A small beep pierced the air and pulled Arthur out of his musings. He turned towards the computer and watched as a small business card slid out from a previously unseen slot at the bottom of the tablet. Inscribed on the card's smooth white surface were Toris Laurinaitis's name and a number to contact him. Against his better judgment he decided to take the card and slip it into his pocket.
The small red light at the base of the tablet came to life once more as the automated voice chimed in. "This message will self destruct."
The computer exploded into a mess of charred plastic and singed chips before Arthur could even think to respond. Thick black smoke filled the tiny room, burning Arthur's lungs and making him wish that his den had at least one window. Left with no other options, Arthur quickly slipped the door open, allowing the burnt air to escape out of the cramped den and into the hallway where it almost instantly set off the smoke alarm.
Arthur barely heard Matthew's cry of "What's that smell?" over the fit of coughs erupting from his own burning throat and the way that Pierre was twittering up a storm over in the living room.
"The house is on fire!" Alfred practically screamed from somewhere out of sight. "Dad must be cooking again!"
The front door swung open at that moment and Francis's indignant scream of "Arthur!" managed to cut through the panicked cries of the children and the piercing wail of the smoke alarm.
--
Arthur shut the window, because after two hours of having every door and window in the house open to clear out the smell, he felt certain that all traces of smoke were now gone. He heard two other windows close from somewhere behind him, before feeling a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Arthur turned his head just in time for Francis to kiss him, his husband's lips falling somewhere between his mouth and his cheek, before he pulled away to give him a tired look.
"I am not sorry about what I said last night," Francis told him, handing Arthur a beer as some sort of peace offering, "but I'm sorry about the way I said it."
He accepted the offered bottle, its cool glass surface a reminder of just how horrible he had felt a few hours ago. Now he was just confused. "I, uh, I'm sorry too," he returned, not bothering to look at Francis or twist the cap off of his bottle. Instead, he merely fixed his gaze out the window. "I didn't mean what I said, about you leaving and all."
"I do not want to leave," Francis assured him, emphasizing his point by wrapping his arms around Arthur and holding him close. "And I do appreciate everything you do. I know how much you hate your job, but you keep at it just to support us. It is wonderful and... and I think it is time that I started making sacrifices too."
Arthur frowned, pulling away from Francis and meeting his gaze for the first time that night. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I will not buy a new vacuum," he sighed. "I will ask Gilbert to look at the old one and see what he can do. And... and starting tomorrow I will look for a real job."
The ball of guilt that welled up inside of him was so painful that Arthur actually felt himself wince from its sting. He felt like an absolute heel at Francis's words, because he could tell just from the defeated look in his eyes and the weak tone of voice that this was the last thing he wanted. "Francis, you can't quit now. Wedding season's coming up soon. I'm sure you'll get plenty of clients then."
A look of remorse flashed over Francis's face at Arthur's poorly chosen words. He should have known better than to mention weddings to Francis. Even if newlywed couples made up the majority of his clients, Francis had always detested shooting weddings. Arthur knew it had everything to do with their own lack luster nuptials that had taken place inside of a courtroom with just the two of them instead of the intimate ceremony that Francis had aspired to have.
"Yes, I know, but we need the money now," Francis said weakly. "Photography is a nice hobby, but... but it is just a hobby."
Arthur felt his heart sink just a little at Francis's words. He couldn't do this to him. He couldn't force Francis into a menial job that he would come to loath just so that they could have a few extra dollars in the bank.
He suppressed a groan at the stray thought. A few extra dollars? There wouldn't be a few extra dollars now that Arthur was unemployed. Having Francis look for full time work was the smart thing to do given their current situation, but as far as Arthur was concerned it wasn't the right thing to do, not when there was another option.
"Francis," he began, his eyes drifting downward as he spoke. "I... about work. Well, I'm going to be going out of town for a while."
"Out of town?" Francis repeated, intrigued.
"Yeah. They're sending me to a conference."
"A conference? That has never happened before." Arthur's heart stilled in his chest, certain that he had once again been caught in a lie, but instead found himself wrapped in another tight embrace. "This good, isn't it? They are probably going to promote you! I knew that if you just stuck with it, something good would happen."
Arthur nodded, returning the embrace and promising himself that he would look for a real job after he came back from this assignment.
Chapter 3
Author:
starrdust411Character(s) or Pairing(s): FACES featuring FrUK In this chapter: Austria, Lithuania, Switzerland, implied AusHun
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, Slash, Action/Adventure, Implied Past Mpreg, Character Death
Summary: After a series of lawsuits forces him and the rest of the Supers into retirement, Arthur Kirkland finds himself trapped living a mundane suburban life. When adventure calls he's quick to respond, but how will it affect the rest of his family?
Prologue|Chapter 1
Chapter 2 Adventure Calling
It may have been mid spring, but the night still had enough bite to remind him of early winter. He shivered as he warmed his hands on the thermos filled with hot tea and turned up the volume on the radio. His chilled ears were met only with static that reminded Arthur of how incredibly pathetic this was. He had owned a police scanner before -- it had been installed by the same chaps at the Agency who had given him the Invinc-obile -- but that one had been custom made and top of the line. This hunk of metal and wires had been purchased second hand from a shady looking bloke at a local Army surplus store and was sitting on the dashboard of a car that could never even wish to be the Invinc-oble.
"What in the blazes are you doing, Artie?" he asked himself, rubbing at his tired eyes with the heel of his palm.
Sitting there in his beaten up old sedan, he had to remind himself that this wasn't the Invinc-obile and he was not Captain Invincible, hadn't been for a long time, and that thought made him feel old. Not that he was old -- he wasn't even forty yet! -- but the heavy label of forced retirement still weighed down on him with every breath and made his joints feel stiff and feeble from lack of use. He supposed it was that very feeling that had brought him here, that drove his need to be here tonight, because he wanted to show the world he still had something left to offer.
He banged on the dashboard, just hard enough to give it a good shake, in the hopes that he'd get the heater working again and instead of a blast of warmed air greeting his slightly chilled skin, his ears were met with the chattering of a human being from the other end of the police scanner.
Arthur turned it up, listening carefully as the dispatcher read off the address of a crime in progress. A bank robbery. No. A jewelry heist. And it was only a few blocks away. He could make it there before the police if he moved fast enough.
A thrill actually coursed its way through his body as he turned the key and ignited the engine. This wasn't the first night he'd snuck out to catch a crook or two, but the excitement was pumping through his veins all the same.
Pulling out of the alley he had been parked in, his eyes caught a brief glimpse of a car that seemed to have been parked across the street at a corner store. For a moment, his mind wondered how long the other automobile had been sitting there and if the driver had actually been looking at him, but he quickly brushed those thoughts aside. He had some jewelry thieves to catch.
--
He looked like one of the crooks.
Glancing down at his body -- clad in a black hoodie, dark gray slacks, tennis shoes, and black gloves -- Arthur was dismayed to find his current attire was far too similar to what the two perps inside the jeweler were currently sporting. A heat rose up to his cheeks, which were currently hidden underneath a cotton ski mask, at this slight foul up. Not that it could really be helped. His old costume was currently on display in his den behind three inch thick glass. Taking it out and putting it on would not only have been suspicious, and would probably have caused this situation to be even more pathetic.
He cringed as one of the men inside smashed another pane of glass. Apparently the police were intent on taking their time getting there. Not that Arthur was bothered by this. It gave him plenty of time to attempt to defuse the situation on his own.
Crouching low to the ground, he crept up to the front door that was still opened ajar, mindful not to step on any of the smashed glass littering the floor. It was nearly pitch black inside the tiny store, the only light available came from the flashlights held tightly in the hands of the two men who were too focused on their task of shoveling fists full of gold into their bags.
For a moment he wondered about these men. Who were they? Had they always been crooks or were they forced into this life due to the bad turn of the economy? What were they stealing for? For kicks or to raise money for something important?
Arthur shook his head. These were thoughts that had never entered his mind in the old days. Clearly he had been a civilian too long.
Trapped in his musings, Arthur had not been giving enough thought to where his foot fell and soon found himself crunching down on a sizable chunk of glass. The men instantly turned towards him, dropping their bags in favor of the pistols that had been tucked under their shirts. Wonderful. He hadn't even been considering the possibility that they were armed. Now what was he supposed to tell Francis when he came home littered with bruises the size of a nickel?
Yet when the two saw him they actually lowered their weapons instead of opening fire at him, their figures relaxing visibly. "Hey you," one of the men said, his own masked face looking at Arthur with what appeared to be recognition. "You're supposed to wait in the car."
Arthur felt like smacking himself. He really did look like a crook. Well, at least it was working to his advantage. He forced himself to relax as well as he carefully approached the two men. "Well, I got sick of waiting, so I thought I'd help you load up."
The man on the left shrugged, bending over to grab one of the filled bags, but his companion's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Wait a minute," he began slowly. "Since when are you British, Rick?"
Another misstep it seemed. Instead of mentally smacking himself, he reached out to grab the pistol of the closet thug with one hand while winding his other into a fist. A cry of "That's not Rick!" filled the air just as Arthur slammed one man square in the jaw (he'd be seeing stars for a week) before grabbing the other and tossing him into one of the display cases. Both of their weapons went clattering to the floor and Arthur was quick to grab them both and crush them in his palms.
"Sorry chaps," he said to the two men moaning in pain at his feet. "Hope I wasn't too rough on you. I'm a bit rusty you see."
It was then that the sound of heavy footsteps met his ears. His first thoughts were that the police had finally shown up, but as soon as he turned around he saw not flashing lights, but a single masked gunman at the door way.
"Hold it right there buddy," the man cried just before pulling the trigger and firing a few shots at Arthur. Ah, this upstanding gentleman must have been Rick.
And fortunately for Arthur, Rick was a terrible shot as most of his bullet went wide and only one managed to hit Arthur in the thigh instead of anywhere more lethal (not that it mattered). Rick didn't get to fire another shot, however, as the police decided then to make their presence known with their flashing lights and sirens.
Limping towards the back door, Arthur decided that now would be a good time to make his way home.
--
Arthur tried his hardest not to hiss as he entered the house from the backyard entrance. The darkened stillness of the house smothered him the second he eased himself into the cozy little kitchen, but that didn't stop the ice pack hidden within the freezer from calling his name. The pumping adrenaline had kept his injury from bothering him, but now that he was home and out of danger his leg was practically singing. Time away from the field had lessened his threshold for pain and he didn't think he'd be able to sleep tonight if he didn't at least attempt to treat himself.
He half limped, half crept his way towards the freezer, mindful of the hour and the four other occupants of the house that were no doubt already fast asleep. The door opened with a too loud pop, the soft light from within flooding the kitchen.
Oh wait, this was far too bright to just be the freezer.
Twisting around, he spotted a disheveled Francis standing by the kitchen entrance clad only in a soft blue dressing gown and the most perturbed expression he could muster. "Have fun at the gym?" he asked bitterly.
"I, uh, lost track of time," he muttered, closing the door without his prized pack of ice as he tried his hardest not to put any weight on his injured leg.
"You said 'two hours,'" Francis reminded him. "It is near midnight."
"I said I lost track of time."
"Ah, oui, because there are no clocks at the gym."
"Look, it's late and I'm tired," Arthur cut in as he attempted to walk past Francis without limping. "We can talk in the morning."
"Non," Francis said, his arms and legs spreading so wide that there was literally nowhere Arthur could move without running into him. He should have known better than to try to escape from a man who was a living rubber band. "Non, we will talk now." His frown deepened as he took in Arthur's appearance, no doubt noticing the bits of dust clinging to his pants or the heated flush to his cheeks. "Arthur, where were you?"
"It's... it's nothing."
"Nothing? You are limping. And you smell like gun smoke!" Francis's expression darkened as something seemed to click into place in his mind. "I swear to God, Arthur Kirkland, if you are having an affair-"
"Why is that the first place your mind goes to?" he yelped. What the hell sort of perversions did Francis think he was into? He sighed, forcing his way past Francis's momentarily relaxed limbs. "Look, it's nothing like that. There was a robbery-"
"A robbery?"
"I sort of got caught up in it."
"Forced yourself into it, more likely," Francis snipped.
"I don't want to talk about it," Arthur sighed, allowing himself to limp now that he had been caught in his lie. "I'm going to bed."
He had nearly made it to the door when he suddenly felt himself being restrained. Looking down at himself, Arthur saw that Francis's arms were now wrapped around his middle like fleshy ropes, firmly holding him in place. It was like one of their bedroom games gone horribly wrong. "We are going to talk about this, Arthur," Francis said sternly. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"
"Nothing!" Arthur snapped. "Nothing. I stopped a jewelry heist. How is that a bad thing?"
"I like this house, Arthur!"
He blinked, caught off guard by Francis's outburst. "What?"
"I like this house," he said again, unwinding his arms from around Arthur's waist and returning them to his sides. "I like this neighborhood. I like the school the children go to. Why do you want to ruin that? Why do you want to get us relocated again?"
"That wasn't my fault last time!"
"Right, putting your fist through a tree was an accident. What the hell happened, Arthur? You promised you would put me first, remember?"
"All I ever do is put you first," he snapped. "You and the children. I go to that stupid job every bloody day and die inside so I can give you money to keep you happy! What's so fucking wrong about me doing something to make me happy just once?"
"It is wrong when you know you are putting us in danger! And just because you have a job does not make you a martyr."
"At least I'm actually contributing! When was the last time you actually did anything except complain and break the appliances?"
"I do plenty around here, but you are too busy drinking yourself blind to notice! When was the last time you talked to the children? To me? You just wander in and out of the house like a zombie while I am the one who has to cook and clean and keep everyone happy. I hate it!"
"If you don't like it, you can leave!"
"So can you!"
Even in the midst of their screaming match, the sound of paper fluttering and a table wobbling on the other side of the room was unmistakable. From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see that Francis had caught on as well and was currently trying to force the flush of anger out of his cheeks. "Alright Alfred," Arthur sighed, "we know you're here."
"You too, Mathieu," Francis mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.
There was a moment of stillness before Alfred peeked his head out from behind one end of the couch while Matthew, slowly rematerializing himself, followed suit from the other end. "You guys haven't yelled like that in a while," Alfred ventured, his voice obviously hesitant as he spoke.
"We're sorry we eavesdropped," Matthew whispered meekly.
"It's alright," Arthur sighed sheepishly. "I'm sure you would have heard us no matter where you were. Papa and I were just talking." His hand fell on to Francis's shoulder and, while he was thankful that his husband did not flinch away from his touch, he was disappointed to feel him stiffen in response. "We haven't talked in a while, but it's good that we did."
Francis didn't say a word, but he did roll his eyes and Arthur had a feeling this wouldn't be the end of their conversation. "It is late boys," Francis said, moving away from Arthur's grasp to place a tender hand on each child's cheek. "You should both go back to bed. We promise we will keep the noise down."
Alfred looked unconvinced, Matthew looked worried, but both boys nodded as they headed back down the hall, muttering quick goodnights to their fathers. Arthur frowned, slumping down into a nearby chair when the twins were well out of sight. "I, um, I think I'll spend the night out here," he suggested.
Francis nodded before turning back towards the bedroom and shutting the door.
--
The next day found Arthur thankful for his set of abilities. His brand of healing may not have made him entirely immune to illness and true, his injuries would never heal instantly, but it was better than nothing. By morning the swelling on his thigh had gone down and the ugly purple bruise decorating his skin had completely disappeared. The damage done to his body was gone without a trace. The damage to his relationship with Francis, however, would not be so easily repaired.
In the early days, most of his mornings would start off in the most pleasant way imaginable: with Arthur getting a hummer from a man with an elastic mouth. This was then traded in for a tender kiss as affectionate fingers massaged his scalp. Before long it was the wail of an alarm clock greeting his ears and the aroma of a freshly made breakfast tickling his nose.
This morning started off with the electronic jingle of his phone awakening him from his place on the couch as his most-certainly-not-a-housewife husband continued to give him the cold shoulder by pointedly not making him breakfast, refusing all of his attempts to initiate conversation, and sending him out the door by tossing a grapefruit at his head.
Now as he sat at his desk, filing reports and re-evaluated claims, Arthur couldn't help but go over the events of their late night discussion in his head. It had been the first real fight they had had in sometime and while he knew that screaming matches were not something to be proud of, it was still hard to believe that they had gone without yelling themselves red for so long.
Fighting used to be such a mundane activity for them, they'd argue and buttheads all the time and just as frequently have loud, violent make up sex afterwards. When had it all stopped? The idea that it was for the sake of the children felt flimsy at best. Arthur could still clearly recall the look on Alfred's face last night when he'd commented on the fight. Sure he had looked a bit shaken, but he'd also seemed... relieved.
Arthur sighed, tapping away at his keyboard as text scrolled by on his monitor. This wasn't what he should be thinking about right now. It wasn't the fight that was important, but what they had fought over.
Try as he might, Arthur couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. It would have been easy to call it all a midlife crisis, but that didn't seem right. Yet there was something to be said about a man who found more enjoyment in putting his life in danger than spending time with his family.
He wondered how they all did it. How did everyone else blend in so well after they went under? Francis and his friends hardly ever spoke of their past lives and instead focused on their families, on their businesses, on... on whatever the hell Gilbert did with himself. Arthur had a house and a family and a career and yet he still couldn't put it all behind him.
Arthur supposed it had something to do with how unremarkable his life had been before he was Captain Invincible, before he even knew that he was a Super. Back then he had just been little Arthur Kirkland, runt of the family and favorite punching bag to his older brothers. Then one day, he discovered that his once wiry frame was starting to swell as muscle began to spring up seemingly by magic. The next thing he knew he was wearing a mask and tights and using a made up name that seemed to fit him so much better than his old one had.
His train of thought was suddenly interrupted when a shrill ringing filled the air of his tiny cubicle and Arthur half heartedly hoped that it was Francis calling to apologize. It was with this thought in mind that Arthur plucked the receiver off of its cradle and was rewarded by a woman's voice attempting to maintain a calm even tone as she spoke over the indignant wailing in the background. "Arthur Kirkland, Mr. Zwingli would like to see you in his office."
Arthur cringed. He did not want to deal with this. "Now?"
"Now."
--
Zwingli's office was... fine. It was a normal office with three light gray walls -- the fourth being replaced with a massive window that over looked the financial district below them -- dark gray carpet, a standard desk framed by standard floor lamps, and a modest sized green chair. It had all the normal features of any corporate office, except for the chalkboard.
With its wooden framing and little black wheels, the green chalkboard was the sort you would find in a typical classroom where it would be used to teach children how to count or write their letters, but this particular chalkboard was reserved only to teach employees that Zwingli had deemed incompetent and were currently on the verge of being terminated. That knowledge in mind was what caused Arthur's stomach to twist ever so slightly when he entered Zwingli's office and saw the stern faced man standing in front of it, a fresh piece of chalk gripped tightly in his hands.
"Sit down, Kirkland," he clipped and Arthur complied, because what choice did he have? He cringed as he collapsed into the metal chair in the middle of the room, the cool arms digging unpleasantly into his side and the back arching him uncomfortably. "Since you seem to have forgotten how to be a proper employee, I have decided to re-educate you on what it truly means to be part of a firm such as Insuricare."
"Mr. Zwingli," Arthur began, hoping to prolong this painful procedure if only for a moment longer. "What exactly-"
"That's enough!" Zwingli snapped, eyes flashing at him with a sort of intensity that actually made Arthur flinch before he quickly turned his attention to the board. He drew a circle -- a surprisingly smooth, even circle -- and went about adding two long lines at an odd angle into the center. "Do you know what this is?" he asked him.
"Um... a pie chart?"
"It's a clock!" he chided before turning back to the board. "A company is like a clock," he said, writing as he spoke, "and each employee is a cog within the clock. A clock can't run unless all the little pieces mess together. Do you understand what I'm saying, Kirkland?"
Arthur fidgeted in his seat as his eyes swept across the angry white scribbles decorating the board's green surface. "I'm a cog in the system?"
"You're part of a team! And you need to start acting like it."
Part of a team. Arthur smirked bitterly at the words. In his costumed heyday teamwork had never been one of his strong suits as he'd often opt to go it alone, shrugging off other Supers when they offered him their aid. His arrogance and stand offish attitude had earned him a great deal of disdain in the Super community. He still remembered quite clearly the time that Iron Eagle had bitterly called him the "captain of a one man ship."
He blinked, shaking the thought out of his mind. This wasn't what he should be focusing on. He was currently being chewed out by his supervisor, likely on the verge of being sacked, but...
His green eyes narrowed as he watched Zwingli's animated frame scribble more words and clocks and other images onto the board. Somehow, even though he was being barked at like a brainless beast, he couldn't focus on what was being said. This had to be the most absolutely inane thing he had ever heard. What had he done wrong? He had helped people, it was what he was made to do, only he had done it in a mundane bureaucratic capacity by giving them contact numbers, faxing them paperwork, and suggesting the claims they should file. Maybe Insuricare would lose a little money (and clearly, that was the issue at hand here) but wasn't the entire purpose of an insurance company to assist its clients in their time of need?
It was no wonder that amidst all the analogies and metaphors his eyes, along with his mind, began to wander. His gaze drifted over towards the wide window, taking in the clear blue sky above the lively city. Down below them people rushed back and forth, driving hurriedly from one point to another, walking briskly along the sidewalk and...
Arthur felt his frame go ridged at the sight. It was so far away, that he was certain a normal man would never have caught it, but his sharp eyes saw the middle aged man in a blue business suit being shoved roughly into an alley by a man in a coal colored hoodie. He cringed as the man in the suit hit the gritty brick building, colliding shoulder first into the wall, only to be twisted around as a knife was shoved under his nose.
"Kirkland." Zwingli's voice cut through the air, gaining his attention, but not his gaze. His eyes were still pinned on the man who was now being tossed from the side of the building to the harsh ground below. "Kirkland are you paying attention?"
From the corner of his eyes he could see Zwingli's frown deepen (if that were at all possible) as he marched over towards him. "There's a man down there being mugged," he told him, sparing his indignant employer only the briefest glance before turning his eyes back to the alleyway where the man had now been shoved into a dumpster, the mugger offering him a few good kicks square to the chest. It was a sickening sight to watch made all the more revolting by the fact that he was doing absolutely nothing to stop it. Captain Invincible would have been there by now, would have climbed out the window and sprinted the few blocks to apprehend the man, but Arthur Kirkland could only sit and stare.
Zwingli turned towards the window, scanning the streets for any evidence of Arthur's story being true. For a moment Arthur thought he wouldn't see it, but he noticed the way his supervisor's eyes momentarily locked on to the scene, before marching towards the window. "That's not important right now," he informed him, literally closing the curtains on the scene, but Arthur was able to see just enough to know that the mugger had actually gotten away. "It's your job that's on the line, and you're going to sit here and listen."
For a moment his heart sank, but it was only a moment, because suddenly it was pounding inside him, slamming in his chest with a churning fury he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. His hands curled into fists, crumbling the arms of the metal chair like a wad of paper under his coiled fingers. There was hatred burning inside of him, pulsing its way through his blood, wild and erratic and unfocused, because there were so many things -- his life, his weakness, that damn hooded bastard -- that he wanted to pour it all out on, but couldn't because they were too abstract or too far away. So instead, he chose the man in front of him.
--
"Do you think they're gonna be okay?"
Alfred's only reply was a distracted "Huh?" muffled by the mouthful of chewed sandwich he was in the middle of swallowing. Matthew wasn't really surprised that Alfred wasn't paying attention to him, he wouldn't have been surprised if his twin had even forgotten all about his presence in the time since they had sat down to eat their lunch.
The cafeteria was already quite crowded as students, and a few teachers, milled in and out, weaving between tables and benches, to gather their meals and find a good place to sit. In all the confusion of the lunch hour, hiding in plain sight was the best way to avoid those annoying classmates who always wanted to steal his homework from him. Being next to Alfred was an added bit of insurance as well since, for some reason, nobody ever picked on Alfred. Matthew supposed it was just one of the many benefits of being the more outgoing twin.
"Dad and Papa," Matthew clarified at last, tearing away at pieces of the sandwich that his blue eyes were currently fixed on. "Do you think they're gonna be okay?"
"They'll be fine," Alfred shrugged indifferently as he turned his attention back to his already half finished sandwich and swallowed the rest. "They fight all the time."
No they didn't. They hadn't fought in years, and certainly not like that. Matthew knew it was weird for a kid to actually want his parents to scream at each other, but he had learned a long time ago that shouting matches and hissy fits were just Dad and Papa's way of communicating, and Alfred knew that. Alfred knew that better than anyone, but he was just being his usually oblivious self and it made Matthew feel all knotted up inside.
"What if they get a divorce?" Matthew whispered, voicing the thought that had been swirling around inside his mind for longer than he'd like to admit. It was a very real possibility in Matthew's mind. After all, most of his classmates had parents who were either separated or separating. Parents just didn't seem capable of staying together anymore and what made theirs any different? Other than the super powers, of course.
"Mattie, you worry too much," Alfred snorted. "They're not gonna get divorced. Our dads are way too old and boring to be single again."
There was that word again. "Boring." It frustrated Matthew to no end how Alfred always seemed more concerned about how "uncool" their parents were instead of the more obvious problems that the two had. As much as Matthew loved his brother, there were times he wished that Alfred would just grow up.
Not that Matthew was completely above the occasional childish impulse. He watched as Alfred raised his hand, reaching his fingers towards the bag of potato chips spilling out across the table only to have them blocked when Matthew created a small bubble around his desired target. "Hey!" Alfred whined, glaring bitterly over at his brother. "No powers in public, remember?"
Matthew huffed, pretending to turn his attention back to his own lunch, only to send another force field around Alfred's food when his twin attempted to grab his sandwich. Alfred responded by giving his brother's leg a kick so swift that Matthew felt it before he could process seeing his sibling move.
It was just another normal lunch.
--
Roderich Edelstein looked perturbed. Yet to be fair, in the two decades that he had known him, Arthur couldn't recall the man not looking perturbed. Not that Arthur could fault him for that today. Not when he was walking out of the hospital room that Arthur had just put his supervisor into after a moment of careless, unchecked rage.
It had felt so good then, so right -- after all what man wouldn't want to punch his boss square in the jaw -- but that feeling had disappeared the second he came out of his cloud of rage and took in what he had done. Three solid walls. With one good hit he had sent Zwingli sailing through three solid walls and crashing into a stack of filing cabinets. He cringed at the thought, because even if the Swiss man was a jerk he certainly didn't deserve the crippling pain and months of physical therapy that he would have to endure.
"What am I going to do with you?" he heard Roderich sigh as he quickly stepped past him and down the hall. "You are unbelievable!"
"I'm fired aren't I?" Arthur asked pathetically, because that was all he could think about. He had not only blown their cover, but he lost the job that his family desperately needed to stay afloat.
Roderich huffed, continuing his march towards the elevators and never once breaking his stride. "That's the least of your troubles," he clipped in a tone that sounded annoyingly similar to one that Zwingli would use. "Do you have any idea how much paper work this is going to cause? How much money will be wasted?"
"I know."
"There were witnesses, Arthur," he went on. "Dozens of them! And they'll all have to have their memories erased and the company will need to be paid off to keep silent and the damages to the building that will need to be covered and then there's the relocation to consider."
Arthur flinched at that last one. Relocation? He couldn't do that to Francis and the children, not again, not after they were all settled in here. "I'm sorry," he whispered and his stomach twisted just a bit at the ping that word caused.
Roderich must have noticed the way his shoulder slumped and the pathetic self loathing expression etched onto his features, because suddenly the man's eyes softened as he placed an awkwardly friendly hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I would normally say you are on your own now," he began haltingly, "but under the circumstances..."
He didn't know what circumstances Roderich was referring to, but he supposed it was their history. Roderich wasn't just his case worker, he had been his Agency liaison since Arthur was just a dumb college kid doing Superhero work for the glory and the ego inflation. When the world had decided it didn't want them around, Roderich had gone out of his way to make sure that he and Francis wouldn't be separated after going under. He'd even been the one to get Arthur his job at Insuricare. Arthur had seen many faces in the Agency change over the years, but Roderich was the only constant. Not that Arthur thought he had anything to do with it. No, Roderich's wife having been Iron Skillet had everything to do with his sympathies towards him and other Supers.
"Thank you," he said morosely.
"I suppose could relocate you, one last time," he began, but Arthur was quick to cut him off.
"No, I can't," Arthur sighed. "We... we're all got settled in here and..."
Roderich nodded before pressing the down button on the elevator. The doors opened with a soft ding. "Take care," he said before stepping into the elevator and disappearing behind the metal doors.
--
Coming home had never been so difficult, but as he sat in his car, parked in the driveway thinking over the events of the day, the task of setting foot inside seemed like an impossible feat. How was he supposed to tell Francis that he had been fired? They had barely been scrapping by as it was with the money he brought in and with Francis's "home business" being so painfully inconsistent, it would be impossible to stay afloat with what little income that venture would bring in.
Arthur sighed, grabbing his briefcase from the side seat and reluctantly stepping out of his pathetic, rust bucket of a car. It would have felt nice to grab the heap of metal and crush it to scraps in his hand, but Arthur had to remind himself that he had gotten into this spot by doing what felt good.
He needed a beer. He needed a hundred beers. Too bad he wouldn't be able to afford even one can from now on.
He dragged himself towards the front door, feeling more miserable with each step, before jamming his key into the slot and twisting the knob. Once again he was greeted with the usual sights and sounds that his arrival would bring. Pierre was twittering away in his little cage while the rest of the house lay still and deserted. Not a soul in sight.
"Hi Dad."
Arthur flinched, looking down at the floating pile of clothes in front of him and realizing that Matthew had been there the whole time. He quickly closed the door behind him as the boy willed himself into visibility once more. "Hello Matthew," he greeted, trying his best to keep his tone natural and even as he offered the boy a half hearted pat on the head. "Is anyone else home?"
"Alfred's in his room," Matthew informed him, "and Papa took Angelique and went to the store to pick up a few things for dinner."
On a normal day Arthur would have been annoyed to find that Francis had left the boys home alone, but there were bigger issues weighing down on him at the moment and the mere mention of Angelique's name was enough to cause a new flood of concerns to wash over him. (If the adoption agency ever found out about this, they'd lose her for sure.) With that dark thought in mind, he was only able to muster a distracted nod as he trudged towards his den.
He flicked a light switch on, illuminating the small room decorated with newspaper clippings, photographs, and other souvenirs from another life. His eye caught the glass case holding his old uniform in the corner and his heart sank just a bit more at the memory of what life had been like as a stupid, carefree kid.
Arthur frowned as he closed the door, locked it and then grabbed the waste bin tucked under his desk as he went about emptying his briefcase. He smashed a few things just to make himself feel better -- ripped the near phonebook sized Insuricare handbook clean in half, crumpled his pocket calculator like tissue -- but after a while he just started to feel childish so he simply tipped the whole thing over and into the bin. A metallic ping greeted his ears in the process and for a moment Arthur felt certain that it was only a pen that had been dropped into the basket. On closer inspection, however, he found something flat and firm sticking out of the heap of trash and his interest was suddenly peaked.
His scowl deepened as he plucked the thing out of the waste bin and inspected it carefully. At first glance it looked like one of those tablet computers that one saw in stores, but Arthur would certainly recall owning something like that and this thing wasn't at all familiar to him. It was lighter than a tablet should be and thinner, nearly paper light, and the logo on the bottom...
"Voice key, activated," a mechanical voice droned, the sound seemingly coming from the flat sheet in his hand.
"Voice key?" he repeated, only to be greeted by a little red light blinking up at him from the bottom of the tab.
"Identity confirmed," the voice hummed as the little red light suddenly expanded, flooding his vision and causing Arthur to drop the little computer in shock. He blinked a few times, trying to erase the glare of the light from his eyes, as the red light swept across the small room. "Location is secure."
Arthur's head was swimming as he bent down to retrieve the device only to find a picture emerge on its once blank surface. A young man with shoulder length brown hair was looking up at him with an uncertain smile and soft blue eyes and suddenly this was all a bit much. "Greetings, Captain Invincible," the image, video, began. "Yes, I know who you are. My name is Toris Laurinaitis and I am contacting you on behalf of a private firm in need of your particular skills."
Arthur titled the flat computer this way and that, turning it over in his hand in an attempt to find a speaker or off button, but there was none. He gave the screen a quick tap, but no other display emerged itself. It seemed as if this device was made solely for the purpose of relaying this message and nothing else.
"I work for an international corporation that specializes in manufacturing weapons for government agencies," Laurinaitis went on. "The information that I am about to relay to you is classified, so I suggestion you listen carefully as it will not be repeated." Arthur quickly scanned the room, searching for a pen and a pad of paper to write on, only to discover that nearly every pen he grabbed was out of ink.
"Recently one of our latest projects, the Omindroid, has gone awry on our private testing facility, causing considerable property damage and endangering the lives of our workers."
Arthur huffed in frustration, tossing pen after pen aside before finally coming across a pencil with a sharpened tip and a blank piece of notebook paper to jot information down on.
"My employer has requested that I contact you in order to help suppress the Omindroid and neutralize the situation. If you choose to accept this assignment a private plane will meet you at the airport to take you to our headquarters. You will be compensated, of course, with payment five times that of your annual salary."
He was ashamed to admit that his heart actually stopped dead in his chest and his stomach managed a little flip at this statement. This was all too good to be true... so there must be some sort of catch.
"You will have twenty-four hours to respond. I will be awaiting your call." With those final words, the screen went blank and Laurinaitis's face was gone.
His breath caught in his throat as he took in the information. Suddenly it was hard to think, impossible to stand, and he felt himself collapsing into the waiting arms of his beaten up old office chair. A small part of him was whispering to Arthur that this was all a scam, because mysterious organizations didn't just randomly contact retired Supers out of the blue and offer them large sums of money. This cryptic message was drenched in danger and the fact of the matter was that he didn't even really know what he was going up against.
Yet all the same, his heart was thrumming with excitement. The old blue and red suit that he hadn't put on in over a decade was staring at him from behind the glass, whispering Arthur's name and telling him that adventure was calling at long last. How could he pass up an opportunity to be Captain Invincible again, to be himself again?
A small beep pierced the air and pulled Arthur out of his musings. He turned towards the computer and watched as a small business card slid out from a previously unseen slot at the bottom of the tablet. Inscribed on the card's smooth white surface were Toris Laurinaitis's name and a number to contact him. Against his better judgment he decided to take the card and slip it into his pocket.
The small red light at the base of the tablet came to life once more as the automated voice chimed in. "This message will self destruct."
The computer exploded into a mess of charred plastic and singed chips before Arthur could even think to respond. Thick black smoke filled the tiny room, burning Arthur's lungs and making him wish that his den had at least one window. Left with no other options, Arthur quickly slipped the door open, allowing the burnt air to escape out of the cramped den and into the hallway where it almost instantly set off the smoke alarm.
Arthur barely heard Matthew's cry of "What's that smell?" over the fit of coughs erupting from his own burning throat and the way that Pierre was twittering up a storm over in the living room.
"The house is on fire!" Alfred practically screamed from somewhere out of sight. "Dad must be cooking again!"
The front door swung open at that moment and Francis's indignant scream of "Arthur!" managed to cut through the panicked cries of the children and the piercing wail of the smoke alarm.
--
Arthur shut the window, because after two hours of having every door and window in the house open to clear out the smell, he felt certain that all traces of smoke were now gone. He heard two other windows close from somewhere behind him, before feeling a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Arthur turned his head just in time for Francis to kiss him, his husband's lips falling somewhere between his mouth and his cheek, before he pulled away to give him a tired look.
"I am not sorry about what I said last night," Francis told him, handing Arthur a beer as some sort of peace offering, "but I'm sorry about the way I said it."
He accepted the offered bottle, its cool glass surface a reminder of just how horrible he had felt a few hours ago. Now he was just confused. "I, uh, I'm sorry too," he returned, not bothering to look at Francis or twist the cap off of his bottle. Instead, he merely fixed his gaze out the window. "I didn't mean what I said, about you leaving and all."
"I do not want to leave," Francis assured him, emphasizing his point by wrapping his arms around Arthur and holding him close. "And I do appreciate everything you do. I know how much you hate your job, but you keep at it just to support us. It is wonderful and... and I think it is time that I started making sacrifices too."
Arthur frowned, pulling away from Francis and meeting his gaze for the first time that night. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I will not buy a new vacuum," he sighed. "I will ask Gilbert to look at the old one and see what he can do. And... and starting tomorrow I will look for a real job."
The ball of guilt that welled up inside of him was so painful that Arthur actually felt himself wince from its sting. He felt like an absolute heel at Francis's words, because he could tell just from the defeated look in his eyes and the weak tone of voice that this was the last thing he wanted. "Francis, you can't quit now. Wedding season's coming up soon. I'm sure you'll get plenty of clients then."
A look of remorse flashed over Francis's face at Arthur's poorly chosen words. He should have known better than to mention weddings to Francis. Even if newlywed couples made up the majority of his clients, Francis had always detested shooting weddings. Arthur knew it had everything to do with their own lack luster nuptials that had taken place inside of a courtroom with just the two of them instead of the intimate ceremony that Francis had aspired to have.
"Yes, I know, but we need the money now," Francis said weakly. "Photography is a nice hobby, but... but it is just a hobby."
Arthur felt his heart sink just a little at Francis's words. He couldn't do this to him. He couldn't force Francis into a menial job that he would come to loath just so that they could have a few extra dollars in the bank.
He suppressed a groan at the stray thought. A few extra dollars? There wouldn't be a few extra dollars now that Arthur was unemployed. Having Francis look for full time work was the smart thing to do given their current situation, but as far as Arthur was concerned it wasn't the right thing to do, not when there was another option.
"Francis," he began, his eyes drifting downward as he spoke. "I... about work. Well, I'm going to be going out of town for a while."
"Out of town?" Francis repeated, intrigued.
"Yeah. They're sending me to a conference."
"A conference? That has never happened before." Arthur's heart stilled in his chest, certain that he had once again been caught in a lie, but instead found himself wrapped in another tight embrace. "This good, isn't it? They are probably going to promote you! I knew that if you just stuck with it, something good would happen."
Arthur nodded, returning the embrace and promising himself that he would look for a real job after he came back from this assignment.
Chapter 3
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Thanks for reading, sorry it took me so long to respond.
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