Will McIntosh - Defenders

At 3 a.m. she packed up and went home. If she stayed all night it might raise suspicion. On top of that, she wasn’t making progress. Not real progress, anyway. So far she was only learning what wouldn’t work. As she turned off the lights, it occurred to her that if the Luyten were telling the truth about the defenders’ plans, then in a very real sense every day she failed to create the blueprint for the altered defenders, millions of lives could be lost. Not that she needed to feel any more pressure.

Halfway home, the Luyten’s voice blared in Lila’s head again.

Please turn around and go back to your office. Make a portable copy of the defenders’ blueprint. Take it to Oliver’s apartment.

“Are you fucking kidding me? If I’m caught carrying a copy of—” She shut her mouth, thought the rest. Of the blueprint, I’ll be killed on the spot, and if I’m followed to Oliver’s apartment, he’ll be killed.

I’m passing on this request from Oliver. You’ll understand when you get to his apartment.

“Why can’t you just tell me now?”

I could, but it would ruin the surprise.

Lila slowed, pulled into an empty Wendy’s parking lot, and turned around. The surprise? Lila couldn’t help but laugh. How long had it been since she’d had a surprise that wasn’t a shitty one?

Surprise. Your own people are dropping bombs on your head. Surprise. While you were a POW, your husband was shot a half dozen times.

This is a good surprise.

“Stop eavesdropping.”

I literally can’t.

“Then have the courtesy to pretend you’re not eavesdropping.”

That seemed to shut the thing up.

As she knocked on Oliver’s door, Lila tried to imagine what could possibly be on the other side that would surprise her. What she really wanted was to hear that she didn’t have to do this, that they’d come up with another plan to avert the coming genocide, but that seemed too much to hope for.

The door swung open; instead of Oliver, Lila found herself face-to-face with a ghost.

“Oh my God,” Lila whispered. “I can’t believe it.”

Dominique grinned. “I can’t believe it, either.”

Lila launched herself, wrapping both her arms and legs around Dominique, who dropped to the floor under her weight, laughing.

“You’re going to help me?” Lila asked, speaking into Dominique’s shoulder. She noticed Oliver, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching the two of them and grinning. Another man Lila didn’t recognize stood behind him, watching over Oliver’s shoulder.

“Let’s get to it,” Dominique said.

“I’ll make some coffee,” Oliver said.

Lila leaned back so she could look into Dominique’s eyes. “Tell me we’re doing the right thing.”

Dominique shook her head. “I used to think I knew when I was doing the right thing, but no more. At least we’re doing something. I’m not much in love with the status quo.”

Lila wished she could be so laissez-faire about it. The tightness in Dominique’s brow suggested she might be putting on a brave front, to take some of the pressure off Lila. That would be just like her.

December 28, 2047 (two months later). Washington, D.C.

Oliver stared down at the phone, his heart pounding. If he was going to call her, he needed to just do it; there was never going to be a moment when he felt calm and collected making this call.

He punched Vanessa’s number, raised the phone to his ear.

Vanessa answered on the third ring. When she heard his voice, she said, “How did you get my number?” She didn’t sound angry, only surprised.

“The same way you got my address.”

“Ah. Of course.”

“I just wanted to check in, make sure my friend stopped bothering you.” Since the defenders had taken over, talking on the phone had become an art. You had to avoid using key words that would trigger their automated filter and bring your call to their attention.

“Yes, he has. Thanks for intervening.”

“I’m just glad I was able to get in touch with him.”

Vanessa started to speak, stopped, breathed a sigh into the phone. “I have to say, it’s given me a new appreciation for what you went through. Your friend knows just what buttons to push.”

Oliver felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. “Thank you for saying that.” He looked up, found himself staring up at his Marvel superhero FOOM ( Friends of Ol’ Marvel ) poster. It reminded him of Five’s take on why he’d gone back to collecting comics, all those years ago.

“It’s impossible to understand what it’s like, until you experience it yourself,” Vanessa said.

Oliver wondered if that had been Five’s strategy all along—not to try to convince Vanessa to reconcile with Oliver through his words, but to give her a taste of what Oliver had gone through. Although Five never would have been able to capitalize on Oliver’s doubts about Vanessa’s fidelity if the doubts hadn’t been there to begin with.

“It still doesn’t excuse what I did,” Oliver said.

“Let’s not go there,” Vanessa said. “That was a lifetime ago.”

“It certainly feels like a lifetime.”

“‘May you live in interesting times.’ That’s what the Chinese used to say, if they wanted to curse someone.”

Oliver laughed. “We’ve certainly lived in interesting times.”

“We certainly have.”

There was a pause. Oliver listened to the sound of Vanessa’s breathing.

“Well,” Vanessa said, “thank you for calling. I’m glad we talked.”

“I am, too. You have no idea.”

Oliver set his phone on the coffee table. That one call, those four or five minutes, had brought him more peace than all the hundreds of hours of psychotherapy he’d undergone after the war. He went over Vanessa’s words in his mind, wanting to commit them to memory so they could go on salving that wounded place.

What would his life have been like, if he and Vanessa had stayed together? Certainly he would have laughed more. She’d been such a light and playful presence, had been able to bring out a playful side of him he hadn’t even known about. That side of him had shriveled and died during the divorce, and the war. Maybe he would have rediscovered it with Galatea, who had reminded him of Vanessa in a lot of ways, but really, how well had he known Galatea?

He wished he could talk to Vanessa again, but next time he wouldn’t have a handy excuse. Maybe that was okay, now that Vanessa had apparently forgiven him.

Did he still have feelings for her after all these years, or were they only memories of feelings? Over the years he’d spent so much time thrashing himself for losing the love of his life that he’d rarely stopped to think about whether the present-day, flesh-and-blood Vanessa was still the love of his life. How would he know that, unless he got to know her again?

He picked up the phone. What was the worst that could happen?

She answered on the first ring, sounding surprised. “Hi, again.”

“Hi. I was just wondering: Would you like to have coffee sometime?” He closed his eyes, held his breath.

“Sure. That would be nice.”

“Great. Great.” Oliver stammered, feeling like the awkward doofus he’d been that first time he called Vanessa and left a message. He’d asked her to go to the Smithsonian. He winced at the thought of it. The Smithsonian. How romantic.

Is this a good time to ask for your forgiveness? Five asked, as soon as Oliver was off the phone.

Oliver considered. “I appreciate the gesture you made,” he allowed.

We’re going to be allies. It’s important we trust each other.