The crashes subside after not long after. They never get any closer. The crackle in the air dissipates. Matt knows that this should be a relief, but as time drags on and no one frees them from their packed shelter, a sickening worm of guilt knots his stomach. External waves of terror batter at him from without, and recriminations claw at him from within.
Outside, there are people dying. There is no doubt in his mind of this. Lives are blinking out under piles of rubble, and here he is huddled safe and useless against bags of onions. The rescue crews are springing into action, and he can’t bring himself to move.
Weak, Stick sneers from some half-suppressed memory. You’re soft, kid, and that means you might as well be dead meat. You’re not good for shit if you can’t master your own head.
This is what Stick had meant, then – that moment of proof when your mind and body break down when danger should make them stronger. Everything that he had been through should have prepared him for this day, should have helped him to preserve life from evil, and instead…
Soft indeed. He had thought that might be a virtue, a protest against Stick’s ruthless understanding of strength, but others were now paying the price for the shivers now wracking his frame.
Stick was an asshole. But that didn’t mean that he was wrong.
And what did Stick always tell him when he was overwhelmed with information? Start with your breathing, kid. Your life depends on your lungs. Breathing isn’t exactly easy when each inhale brings with it a fresh burst of chemical dust stinking of death, but he unfolds his arms, straightens his back, and tries to relax into the healing rhythms of meditation. He can’t quite achieve a full trance, so counts the minutes until he’s permitted to surface.
----
It’s nearly evening when they’re finally freed, the waning rays of sunlight filtering down through an ominous haze. There are no cars moving on the streets, and the subway is still on lockdown.
Matt should go downtown. Now is his chance to redeem himself, if he’s quick and smart. But after hours trapped underground, he feels neither. His breathing exercises were barely enough to keep him together; he’s in no state to assist others.
Up here, the air burns his lungs. He already knows that they’ll continue to burn for months. The anticipation is even worse than the actual sting.
He very nearly breaks down and asks a police officer for assistance, but he doesn’t feel very deserving of help right now He’s sure Foggy’s in a panic, but his cell reception is totally dead. The best thing he can do is return to his room for the night. He begins to trudge home alone.
When he at last reaches his door, Foggy leaps to his feet the moment Matt sticks his key in the lock.
“Matt!” The relieved weight of Foggy’s bear hug nearly knocks Matt off his feet. “Oh my God, Matt,” he babbles, salty tears leaking from his eyes. “You’re okay. I don’t know if I want to kiss you or kill you. That call, buddy! I was afraid that you…but you’re okay. Oh my God. What happened?”
“Hey, Foggy,” Matt breathes into his long, sweat-damp hair.
Foggy pulls back, grabbing Matt’s shoulders. “Where the hell were you? They let us out of our bunkers hours ago.”
“I, um, I decided to go to the grocery store. Shit timing, I guess. They kept us there a long time, then it took me a while to get home. Lost my cane in the confusion.”
“Fuck, Matt. How’d you get back?”
“Ah, some people helped me home. They were headed this way.”
Foggy takes a bracing breath. “Yeah. This is when this city really shows its spirit. We New Yorkers take care of each other when it really counts.”
Matt’s stomach twists. He extracts himself from Foggy’s grip and moves to his bed. “Foggy, do you know what happened? I was underground, and people are saying the craziest things. Have you seen anything? Pictures? News?”
“No one knows what’s happening. People are just supposed to stay in their homes for now. Matt… As far as anyone can tell, this weird beam shot out of Stark Tower, and then some crazy sci-fi shit happened and these robot things flew out of a hole in the sky and started taking out buildings. Then they’re saying that Stark showed up in his suit with Captain fucking America in tow and they somehow stopped the robots. I know, none of it sounds real, but the pictures are everywhere and there’s no way it’s all faked. Matt…even if those things are gone for good, this changes everything. And I mean everything.”
Matt thinks about his training, about his failure, about the fact that war has apparently come. “Yeah, yeah it does.”
“I’ve heard that people are congregating in Low. Y’know, if you don’t want to be alone right now. Wanna go check it out?”
“No, Foggy, I – I can’t really do more people right now. No more crowds for the night. You can go, though, if you want.”
“Shit, I’m not leaving you.”
“Then I say we break out some beers and face the music of our brave new world tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow – or next month.” Foggy scrubs his hands over his face. “I am really, really not ready to hear who died.”
“Tomorrow, Foggy. We’ve gotta go help. People need us.”
Foggy huffs and shakes his head. “I’m giving you, like, a super incredulous look right now.”
“You know there have to be people trapped under those fallen buildings. They might not have much time.”
“Shouldn’t we leave that to the professionals? Professionals with professional cancer-blocking equipment who presumably have the full use of all their senses to professionally navigate a disaster zone?”
“Foggy, my senses… You know my hearing’s extra sharp, and that could be useful for hearing people who are struck. Or they can stick me on handing out dust masks. I don’t care, but we can’t just hide up here.”
“Okay, buddy, as soon as it’s light I’ll head down with you to see what we can do. Because if I say no, I know you’ll just run off without me. And I’m not letting you out of my sight for the next month. You really scared me there, buddy.”
Matt wonders what Foggy would think if he knew that Matt had tried to run into the danger. It's really not worth pondering, so he awkwardly pats Foggy's shoulder and stands to fetch them some beers.
Re: FILL 3/?: "The Incident"? Is that what we're calling it now?
Outside, there are people dying. There is no doubt in his mind of this. Lives are blinking out under piles of rubble, and here he is huddled safe and useless against bags of onions. The rescue crews are springing into action, and he can’t bring himself to move.
Weak, Stick sneers from some half-suppressed memory. You’re soft, kid, and that means you might as well be dead meat. You’re not good for shit if you can’t master your own head.
This is what Stick had meant, then – that moment of proof when your mind and body break down when danger should make them stronger. Everything that he had been through should have prepared him for this day, should have helped him to preserve life from evil, and instead…
Soft indeed. He had thought that might be a virtue, a protest against Stick’s ruthless understanding of strength, but others were now paying the price for the shivers now wracking his frame.
Stick was an asshole. But that didn’t mean that he was wrong.
And what did Stick always tell him when he was overwhelmed with information? Start with your breathing, kid. Your life depends on your lungs. Breathing isn’t exactly easy when each inhale brings with it a fresh burst of chemical dust stinking of death, but he unfolds his arms, straightens his back, and tries to relax into the healing rhythms of meditation. He can’t quite achieve a full trance, so counts the minutes until he’s permitted to surface.
----
It’s nearly evening when they’re finally freed, the waning rays of sunlight filtering down through an ominous haze. There are no cars moving on the streets, and the subway is still on lockdown.
Matt should go downtown. Now is his chance to redeem himself, if he’s quick and smart. But after hours trapped underground, he feels neither. His breathing exercises were barely enough to keep him together; he’s in no state to assist others.
Up here, the air burns his lungs. He already knows that they’ll continue to burn for months. The anticipation is even worse than the actual sting.
He very nearly breaks down and asks a police officer for assistance, but he doesn’t feel very deserving of help right now He’s sure Foggy’s in a panic, but his cell reception is totally dead. The best thing he can do is return to his room for the night. He begins to trudge home alone.
When he at last reaches his door, Foggy leaps to his feet the moment Matt sticks his key in the lock.
“Matt!” The relieved weight of Foggy’s bear hug nearly knocks Matt off his feet. “Oh my God, Matt,” he babbles, salty tears leaking from his eyes. “You’re okay. I don’t know if I want to kiss you or kill you. That call, buddy! I was afraid that you…but you’re okay. Oh my God. What happened?”
“Hey, Foggy,” Matt breathes into his long, sweat-damp hair.
Foggy pulls back, grabbing Matt’s shoulders. “Where the hell were you? They let us out of our bunkers hours ago.”
“I, um, I decided to go to the grocery store. Shit timing, I guess. They kept us there a long time, then it took me a while to get home. Lost my cane in the confusion.”
“Fuck, Matt. How’d you get back?”
“Ah, some people helped me home. They were headed this way.”
Foggy takes a bracing breath. “Yeah. This is when this city really shows its spirit. We New Yorkers take care of each other when it really counts.”
Matt’s stomach twists. He extracts himself from Foggy’s grip and moves to his bed. “Foggy, do you know what happened? I was underground, and people are saying the craziest things. Have you seen anything? Pictures? News?”
“No one knows what’s happening. People are just supposed to stay in their homes for now. Matt… As far as anyone can tell, this weird beam shot out of Stark Tower, and then some crazy sci-fi shit happened and these robot things flew out of a hole in the sky and started taking out buildings. Then they’re saying that Stark showed up in his suit with Captain fucking America in tow and they somehow stopped the robots. I know, none of it sounds real, but the pictures are everywhere and there’s no way it’s all faked. Matt…even if those things are gone for good, this changes everything. And I mean everything.”
Matt thinks about his training, about his failure, about the fact that war has apparently come. “Yeah, yeah it does.”
“I’ve heard that people are congregating in Low. Y’know, if you don’t want to be alone right now. Wanna go check it out?”
“No, Foggy, I – I can’t really do more people right now. No more crowds for the night. You can go, though, if you want.”
“Shit, I’m not leaving you.”
“Then I say we break out some beers and face the music of our brave new world tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow – or next month.” Foggy scrubs his hands over his face. “I am really, really not ready to hear who died.”
“Tomorrow, Foggy. We’ve gotta go help. People need us.”
Foggy huffs and shakes his head. “I’m giving you, like, a super incredulous look right now.”
“You know there have to be people trapped under those fallen buildings. They might not have much time.”
“Shouldn’t we leave that to the professionals? Professionals with professional cancer-blocking equipment who presumably have the full use of all their senses to professionally navigate a disaster zone?”
“Foggy, my senses… You know my hearing’s extra sharp, and that could be useful for hearing people who are struck. Or they can stick me on handing out dust masks. I don’t care, but we can’t just hide up here.”
“Okay, buddy, as soon as it’s light I’ll head down with you to see what we can do. Because if I say no, I know you’ll just run off without me. And I’m not letting you out of my sight for the next month. You really scared me there, buddy.”
Matt wonders what Foggy would think if he knew that Matt had tried to run into the danger. It's really not worth pondering, so he awkwardly pats Foggy's shoulder and stands to fetch them some beers.