Different [A Superhero AU] - Book One

Chapter Ten - Face to Face

Mark leaves Matthias' office, jogging down the stairs to the entry and through the front doors with a huge grin on his face. Matthias has a mission planned for tomorrow and he gets to go. Finally, he doesn't have to stay bedridden while the other heroes go out and save the world! He heads out into the street, allowing the noise to fill his ears. He was told by the nurses to go on a walk and stretch his body in order to get used to moving a lot again, so move he will. Right now, Mark will do anything if it means he can go on a mission tomorrow. He strolls through the streets, eventually reaching a large, grassy park. The sun shines through the leaves and the birds chirp, the sky the perfect shade of blue. Two kids race past and Mark can't help but smile. Freedom has never felt so sweet.

He sets off down the path, closing his eyes as he absorbs all the sunshine he missed while he was stuck in the hospital ward. When he opens them again, he freezes.

Sitting on a bench, just up ahead, is a man that Mark is all to familiar with. The green haired Irishman looks up, his one visible eye locking with Mark's. Both of them tense considerably, their fingers fidgeting at their sides.

"Why are you here?" Mark asks, his attempt at conversation awkward and tentative. Every muscle in his body is telling him to fight, but he can't.  He looks around, noting the multitudes of people strolling about.  Without their super suits on, a fight would look really, really bad. 

"What, I'm not allowed to sit in a park and mind my own business?" Jack retorts, leaning back against the bench with a frown.  The hero notices how red his visible eye is, and how dark the bag under it is.  He rubs his eye, sliding slightly lower into his seat. 

Mark shifts from foot to foot. "No?"

Jack scoffs. "That's stupid." He glances over, noticing how much the American is fidgeting.  Honestly, he doesn't blame him.  "I'm not going to take off my eyepatch and beat you up, you know. I don't want to fight."

"How can I trust you?" Mark demands.

The Irishman shrugs. "You can't."

"Oh."

Jack stands up from the bench and stretches, causing the hero to flinch involuntarily. The Irishman glances over, a wave of guilt flooding his features that he tries his best to mask.

"Walk with me for a sec," he orders.

"That seems like a really bad idea," Mark replies.

"I swear, I won't do anything. I really don't want to fight, I just want to talk."

The hero stares at the villain, his eyes narrowing. Why was he being so... conversational? If there hadn't been people around, they would have beaten the pulp out of each other by now. Or maybe they wouldn't have, since he says he doesn't want to fight...  And why does he seem so down?

Even though his mind screams at him not to, Mark finds his legs moving towards Jack. They fall into step with one another, never making eye contact. Mark can't help but feel incredibly confused, yet intrigued by this mysterious Irishman.

"You got smashed pretty bad," Jack states, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. "How are you feeling now?"

"Fine," Mark replies. He grimaces at the memory. "You were the one who did it. Why do you care how I'm feeling?"

The Irishman glares at him. "That wasn't me. That was Anti."

"You ARE Anti."

"No, I'm not! God, heroes are dense."

Mark stops in place, turning towards the villain. "We aren't dense, you literally turned into Anti!"

Jack groans and crosses his arms over his chest. "Anti is not me. I didn't ask for anything that is now a part of me, got it?"

He returns his hands to his pockets and starts walking again, but Mark stands in place as he attempts to process the Irishman's words. It takes him a moment to realize that Jack is going on ahead of him, causing him to jog in order to catch up.

"Why are you telling me this? Why are you being all... nice-ish?" Mark inquires. "You confuse me."

The Irishman glances sideways at him. "No reason. And I am not nice-ish."

"You asked me how I was. That was nice-ish."

"Shut up, okay?"

A grin yanks at the corners of Mark's mouth. "Aww, is the little villain feeling salty because he's really a nice guy with a big, bad exterior?"

Jack rolls his eyes. "You annoy me."

"I'm not wrong, though."

"Why did I start talking to you, anyway?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

A few beats of silence pass.  Jack hunches his shoulders as though he's trying to disappear into his hoodie and takes a deep breath through his nose.  Mark watches the people that walk past, attempting to ignore the tension that grows between the two of them.  Every so often, he sneaks a peek at Jack.  He's incredibly pale, making the dark circles under his eyes look worse than they probably are.  He sniffs and wipes at his nose, making Mark's eyebrows furrow.  It's not even cold out. 

Finally, the Irishman glances over at the American.  "What's your name? I don't think we've ever introduced ourselves due to the fact that we're always intent on killing one another."

"Mark."

"Cool. Call me Jack."

"Alright, I guess we're on a first name basis now," Mark comments. "It's weird, because the next time I see you I'll be trying to kill you."

Jack nods, sighing deeply. "Yeah. It's been a strange day."