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Brooklyn, New York, late Saturday. On the grounds of Fort Hamilton, civilians walk with servicemen, kids play in the playground, and the public pools are filled to capacity. The weekend is great for those who are not on duty.
Meanwhile, Private Johnny Rock is about to embark on his court-martial. He HATES having to deal with the motor pool duty, and lugging around parts and equipment takes a lot out of a guy.
Rock puts the forklift in reverse, lifting the pallet of oil drums up and begins hustling then over to the garage. He lifts the pallet higher as he trundles towards the Quonset hut.
In the Officer's Club, Steve Rogers sips at what his fellow serviceman calls a "Harvey Wallbanger". Orange juice, vodka, and a float of Galliano on top — screwdriver with a twist. It's light, refreshing, and while the man had laughed at how drunk his cohorts had been after two this one night a few years back, for Steve…it's merely a drink. He stands by one of the windows overlooking the broad expanse of the Fort property and listens politely to the story. The man's thrilled to be speaking to Captain America, after all, and rosy in the cheeks. It seems as if his mouth just won't stop running. In formal military uniform, hair coiffed, the Captain looks the part minus the spangly superhero guise.
The Reillys are having a relatively-quiet moment at home. Lorraine is listening to her father's latest initiative to counter the "anti-mutant" bill. He is laying out what organizations can train and use the help of those with special abilities. Senator Reilly does like to hold forth, but Lorraine indulges him with a smile as she picks at her fried salmon.
Rock raised the lift higher. It messed with the balance, but that cute secretary was about to walk past, and he had to get an eyeful.
Smiling, he mentally ordered himself, *Eyes….RIGHT!"
Oh, yeah. The girl was perfect. A generous bust, and legs that went all the way up and made a glorious ass of themse-
Then he felt the resistance before the cable sheared loose from the pole overhead, and Rock suddenly became the shortest route between the energy running through the cable and into the ground.
By the time the oil drums went up, Private Johnny Rock's impending court-martial had been assigned to a much higher court.
The glass vibrated in the window a moment after the flare of light near the motor pool.
" — and y'see, ol' 'Limpet' Llewellyn, he says — "
The man's smiling one-liner is well and fully interrupted by the explosive reaction between broken lines and gasoline. Steve flinches, his drink sloshing over his fingers and down onto the carpet, as various yelps and squeals interrupt the contained quiet of the Club. He's the first to straighten, first to locate where the glass-warping sound came from — not hard to find, given the thick black smoke now rising from the accident site — and the first to politely excuse himself from the conversation while the other man continues staring out the window.
Outside of the Club, he can hear cries of shock and the beginnings of hard-drilled incident orders being shouted as he and others move to quickly attempt to contain the roiling fire. Halting at a safe distance first, he scans the area of anyone caught in the immediate blast radius. Who cares about the uniform? He's more heat-impervious than most.
Lorraine raises a fork and is about to correct her father, perhaps suggest something more refined than scut work for one of the programs, when she sees a sudden flare from her right. "Dad…?"
The Senator looks up, the toone in her voice eliciting sudden watchfulness, and then he looks. "My God…I think that's the Army base in Brooklyn…"
Lorraine stands up abruptly. "Dad, I have to go."
He understand immediately. "Of course, of course. Howard, get me the phone!"
Lorraine isn't looking back to see if her father's assistant is there with the phone. She is already moving, running to the back yard, her body already beginning to smoke and glow. She is just outside when the Power fills her and she changes, glowing wings snapping out as she leaps into the air.
The powe cable is grounded out, the overload shutting off the power to the line, but the oil drums touched off the fuel tank nearby, which enveloped the vehicles parked nearby, and they go off like one-ton firecrackers.
The first car to go off is close enough to knock back the non-super soldiers a few steps. Steve curls a shoulder against any shrapnel and looks over the line of his uplifted bicep. BOOM! Another — and then another, BOOM!
"Get back!" He yells, waving a hand to the others arriving on-scene. A tire flies at deadly speed from another car and with his preternatural timing, the Captain kicks it aside and into one of the nearby walls, denting the metal outer coating. "BACK UP! Get the foam! The foam!!!" He takes a few lengthy steps over to a nearby soldier. "Was anyone nearby when it went off?"
The soldier, another buck private, looks dazed. "I…think Private Rock was driving the forklift…but the fire is getting closer to the ammo dump! They've got 10 2,000-pounders in there. If they go off, the whole base is gonna be a parking lot!"
An ambulance and two fire trucks pulls up. The ambulance workers jump out, and both are civilians. "Sir? Captain Rogers! We just got a call. Apparently, some muckity-muck Senator called to tell us someone was coming to help!"
Steve swallows hard at the realization of the nearby ammo dump. 2,000 pounders. Uh oh. He looks around the scene again and then puts a hand on the private's shoulder. The man, despite looking glazed, glances away from the raging conflagration. "Scramble, soldier — we need that foam. Swing the trucks around the far side and start spraying. We have to get this put out before it reaches the bunker." This is the Captain's sternest tone.
The sound of the fire crackling and the rank scent of burnt rubber on top of chemicals is enough to make Steve cough quietly even as he turns in place, frowning at the approaching paramedics. A call? "We're going to need all the help we can get with this," he says quickly. "We've got three over here with some flash-burns and inhalation poisoning." He points in the direction of a small group of people off to one side, tending to the three men collapsed against the wall on the ground.
The private blinked and suddenly looks up. "Did one of the missiles go off? It looks like one is coming in!"
The ambulance workers look up, and one of them says softly, "That's…not a missile…"
The glowing woman with the wide wings soars down to hover 20 feet above the people, Rogers included.
There is a file on her, of course. The circumstances require it, especially with her presence in the newspapers.
What did they call her?
Oh, yes. FireHawk, the Nuclear Woman.
"Hello…! What's going on over here?"
Steve follows the man's gaze to see the fiery comet arcing down and towards them across the sky. His frown deepens until his memory catches up to him. Indeed, a file, a newer one and it has crossed his desk once on the weekly catch-up on the expansion of meta-humans in New York City.
"Well, m'am, there's a fire," the Captain deadpans up at her loudly, one hand gesturing towards the huge conflagration. "If you've got help to offer, we'll take it."
FireHawk looks to Steve. He looks familiar but she can't place him. He does have that noble hero look.
She looked across the breadth of the fire, then says, "There's a water main running under the cement there. I can blast it open to keep the fire from going to that building marked ARMORY!"
"You do that, it's going to create an oil slick and spread the fire more! We need to get the foam trucks involved on the far side," Steve shouts over the roar of the fire still inching its way towards the building with the dreaded stark-white lettering on its side. "Can you see them driving across the base? If you can pick one up, do it!" He's then darting around the far side of the flames as fast as he can manage, heedless of any heat damage done to his fine officer's uniform. Where are the trucks?!
Firehawk looks puzzled for a moment, then points, "They're over there!" She calls out, trying to remember. These foam trucks had concentrated soap. When mixed with water, they would creat foam that would choke off the air. Air, heat, fuel. Nice to know her Physics classes came in handy here.
She saw them heading towards the pipe necessary to hook up to, but the pipe seemed to have developed a serious leak.
"I'll go help them!" She flew over to the pipe, then examined it. A chunk of metal had pierced it, and water was gushing out of it. She looked at it closely, then nodded. The two metals would work together.
She raises one winged hand, and a beam of energy lances out to hit the pipe. It melts the same way the welding textbook said it would. Now, to close the leak…
"Good! Keep at it, they'll need the water supply!!!" Leaping over a five-foot spread of lit gasoline, the Captain then darts around the side of the nearest building. He scans the shadows for something — anything — to use to slow the spread of the fuel. Tossed off to one side, mayhaps even by a lazy hand uninterested in finishing moving the canvas sacks, are bags of sand. He gathers up two beneath each arm before jogging back out into sight. It takes little effort to rip the industrial stitching on them and there he goes again, hand covering his face as he runs along the oozing edge of the flaming liquid. It's not a happy sound when the inert sediment stops up the crawling wash, but the fire doesn't travel much further. Coughing, Steve goes back for another bag and this time, throws the contents onto the fire itself, attempting to smother it while the foam trucks prime and Firehawk does the necessary fixings to enable them.
Wait for the molceules to align…and…YES!
The water in the pipe cools the seal, but she watches to make sure it does not become brittle. She steps back as the firemen run up with theier hoses and a Y-junction pipe fitting. She's just in the way here.
What else, what else?
She rises as the firemen begin to spray the fire with soft white foam, and then she flies over to the place where Rogers had found the sandbags, she lifts two more, grunting slightly with the effort.
She REALLY needs to exercise more.
She lifts the bags over to where Steve is, dropping them nearby. "I got these! Do you need more>?"
The heat swirls up and crisps at the edges of Steve's officer's uniform even as he dances back. Those shoes are indeed a loss. The smoldering canvas bag is dropped aside and he steps on the embers on its ragged opening edges before it can catch alight as well. Another hard cough and he looks up as a shadow passes over him.
"No, I think those two'll do." He cranes his head to see if the foam trucks are doing their job now. Indeed, they are! One more of the sand bags tears open under his hands and the small and lengthy hillock stops up one last area of encroaching gasoline. Now it's up to the foam trucks. Coughing into his hand, he jogs away from the heat of the flames and over to the side of one of the trucks. Cool and clean air is a blessing and he wipes a sleeve across his brow, unwittingly spreading a little bit of ash across his temple. "Over here, m'am!" He waves to Firehawk to join him.
FireHawk rises up, then drifts over the flames. Because heat doesn't bother her anymore.
She lands lightly on the ground near Rogers, her wings lowering with her hands, and she looks at the firemen currently beating back the fire. "Damn…I feel sorry for the poor guy who started this." She can see the blast pattern and the spray of metal, including the chunk that had been in the metal pipe.
He takes one step back away from the wings, in manners and in some sense of self-preservation (despite Barnes' insistance that he has none), and then looks to the dwindling flames disappearing beneath smothering foam.
"Yeah. He probably didn't feel much, which is in his favor. Burn wounds are slow to heal. I'm glad we were able to stop it before it reached the bunker." His sigh is slow and deep, with a brief husk on the end. "Appreciate your assistance." He glances over at the woman again. "They call you Firehawk, right?"
FireHawk turns and smiles pleasantly. The fire is under control, in the hands of fine men a lot braver than her. "Yes, sir. You look quite familiar, yourself. Are you stationed here at Fort Hamilton?"
She extends a hand, the wing going with it, but there is no sense of any unusual heat from her body. She seems almost an oasis of cool air in the heat from the fire.
Steve returns the handshake with polite strength, nowhere near his potential. The lack of heat feels refreshing after darting in and out so close to the flaming gasoline.
"You could say that I'm stationed in New York. Captain Rogers," he says by way of introducing himself, his smile polite and transparent in its truth. He notes the burnt and frayed cuff of his sleeve as he pulls his arm back and scowls at it even as he brushes at the crisped fabric. "The men said a senator called you in…?" His eyes rise to Firehawk once again.
"Uhm, yes. Senator Reilly has been working to increase awareness of those who have sppecial abilities and has been pushing for funding to train them in noble pursuits, and…"
Then it clicked. Captain Rogers.
Her pupilless eyes suddenly widen, and she places a gloved hand over her mouth. "Ohmigosh…you're HIM, aren't you? The one they call Captain America?"
The blond nods at the name. Ah yes, Senator Reilly. He knows the name very well. It's come across his desk multiple times, been thrown about in meetings, and he's probably going to meet the man in person at one point…if politics have their way. Knowing this, he then considers that the young woman absolutely must be…
Firehawk's sudden reaction is enough to make him mirror the lifted brows and then his smile turns mildly wry. "Yes, m'am, that's me. Today, I'm simply Captain Rogers who appreciates your assistance in this incident. The foam trucks would have had a hard time functioning without access to the water pipes."
Firehawk must be blushing, if that little shimmer in the cheeks is her blushing. The body language fits, though.
"Uhm…yes. I had just certified in welding techniques, and I was glad to see I was doing it correctly. The first time, with a ship's hull plating, I didn't know WHAT I was doing. I was like a kid with Play-Doh. The ship nearly sank because I didn't know how to use my powers." She sighs. "I wish I could have gotten an instruction manual, but that's not how it works, apparently…"
The Captain is far too much the gentleman to linger on the social excitement he causes. He replies calmly to Firehawk,
"If there's anything I've gathered over the years, it's that you might need to learn on the fly." Steve tilts his head towards the fire, now disappeared entirely beneath the rafting of military-grade foam. Beyond and across the lake of white, the paramedics continue working on folks tagged by shrapnel and heat and smoke alike. "This was contained because of drills. Sometimes, drills don't cut it and you have to improvise. I won't deny that it's nice to have experience to fall back on, like the welding techniques. You did just fine." Little dimples appear as he gives her another genuine and polite smile.
Lorraine. Lorraine. You're giving him the moon-eyed smile. Stop.
I can't. I just can't.
You have to remain cool, calm, collected. Dignified…you're still giving him the smile.
FireHawk smiles, seeming to dwell on the compliment FAR too much, and then blinks, straightening up like a schoolgirl as the teacher shows up next to her desk.
"Uhm…thank you. Sorry, I'm…REALLY new at this."
"We're all new at one point," Steve replies levelly. "You'll find a rhythm to your abilities sooner than later. Your father will be glad to hear that you were able to help us out."
He glances over as one of the truckers approaches him. A small frown and lean-in to hear what the man murmurs to him and he nods, answering in that same undertone. The foam truck-driver then returns to his rig and confers with his coworkers. "They wanted to know who you were," he explains to Firehawk. "I said you'd been called in."
FireHawk's eyes widen. Her mouth drops open.
"How did…" She looks around and whispers, "How did you know…?"
Those wheat-gold brows rise again. "That you'd been called in? Your father called in. One of the soldiers on the grounds ran over and let me know that a senator had phoned in that someone was on the way to offer help," Steve replies evenly.
She adds it up. Okay…wow, Lorraine, that was stupid.
"I'm…REALLY new at this," she says with a heavy sigh. "Don't tell anyone, please? If word got out his own daughter was a…well, a superpowered vigilante…he'd be finished in the Senate."
Steve smiles faintly again. "I have no intention of doing so. What you choose to reveal to the public is ultimately in your hands. If we're being honest with one another, the wings are flashy right now," and he gestures from the waist towards the flaming-yet-cool feathers. "Anyone with a camera could snap a picture to send into one of the papers. Gossip's going to spread around here, but it'll be nothing new. Mysterious things happen on military bases all of the time. 'Training exercises' is the usual coinage." He clearly tries not to grin more, but one side of his mouth dimples.
Firehawk looks around. "Right. Sorry, they sorta…come with everything else. I should probably get out of here…" She nods firmly, then says, "Listen…thank you. For everything. If you…want to come by, visit my father…all you have to do is ask. He told me once he saw you, in the war. That you saved the lives of him and his squad."
"Really?" Steve appears mildly surprised to hear this, despite having it come up in conversation once every two years or so. He draws up taller and gains a touch of militaristic pride. "Well. It was my duty and honor to be the shield between our men and the enemy fire — the least I could give. If I get the opportunity to shake his hand, and he brings up the phone call, I'll tell him that we're grateful here."
FireHawk smiles. "Well, I suppose I'll see you again soon."
She spreads her arms wide, and then she rises up into the sky. She speeds up at about 50 feet, heading straighty up into the sky before heading back into the city. She is soon lost to view behind the buildings.
Her first meeting with an honest-to-goodness Hero. And she came off like a blushing schoolgirl. And somehow, she didn't even mind.