"Hero?"
"Yes."
Locke frowned.
Robert, who had already stood up, looked at the rest of the group. Everyone nodded in solemn agreement. "That's right, Locke. You saved us. You're a hero."
Gwen looked at Locke too, her eyes sparkling like tiny stars—bright and clear. It was a beautiful sight. "He's right, Locke. If it weren't for you... if you hadn't taken charge, we never would have made it off the Poseidon."
Locke opened his mouth to protest.
He wanted to say that he hadn't intentionally set out to save everyone. But obviously, even if he said it, Robert wouldn't believe it—and Gwen certainly wouldn't.
But... from beginning to end, Locke truly hadn't planned on being a savior. He didn't just lack the action; he didn't even have the thought.
Gwen was his priority. She was his only focus. The others were simply people who happened to be in the right place at the right time to move with them.
In fact, if things had turned truly dire, Locke had been prepared to expose his identity to get Gwen out. As for the others? He was still "considering" them at the time.
"I'm not a hero."
"You are."
"No, I'm not."
Locke shook his head, looking directly at Robert. "I never have been, and I have no desire to be one. You saved yourselves."
He would have to be insane to want to be a hero. Especially a hero in the Marvel universe.
Weren't there enough cautionary tales of people losing their homes and families for the sake of that title?
Look at Peter Parker. He was a hero, right? And the result? To be a hero, he not only watched his aunt and uncle's lives be destroyed, but he also dragged everyone close to him into the line of fire.
For what? Just for that line about "great power and great responsibility"?
Look at Iron Man. A hero, surely. And the result? He's gone, leaving behind a widow and an orphaned daughter. Based on subsequent events, one could infer that after Stark sacrificed himself, Stark Industries basically became Nick Fury's personal toy box.
For what? Tony Stark chose to sacrifice himself for the entire universe, and this was his reward? His suits given away? His company absorbed by SHIELD? What did Pepper Potts and their daughter have left?
Vain titles are the most exhausting things in the world.
So, from the very start, Locke had never entertained the idea of being a hero, let alone a "superhero." He didn't want the spotlight.
Grind quietly, stay steady, don't show off. Wait until he had enough money to buy the "Sun God" template and then soar off to find a scenic spot in deep space to relax. Wouldn't that be better?
Besides, the destruction of the world had nothing to do with him.
However... looking at the faces around him, all etched with the expression "You ARE a hero," Locke's mind raced. He quickly came up with a very convincing reason.
"We got out," Locke said, his voice dropping into a somber, heavy tone. "But thousands of others didn't have the chance. Because of that, I am not a hero. We should be remembering those who didn't make it, rather than celebrating ourselves. I am not a hero, and I don't deserve to be called one."
This was actually a sincere sentiment from Locke. He didn't want the job, but it didn't mean he didn't respect those who actually did it.
Captain America counted as that kind of hero. The rest of the so-called "Superheroes"? Hmph.
Hearing Locke mention the majority who didn't escape, the survivors felt the weight of their memories return. They nodded in unison.
Yes. They had made it, but so many more—the vast majority—had gone down with the ship.
Seeing the mood shift, Locke pressed on, his emotions perfectly pitched. "The dead are gone. The only thing we can do is mourn them. I think we should hold a candlelight vigil at the New York harbor to guide them... to show them the way home."
The others looked up.
"Yes."
"We should."
"It's the least we can do."
Locke's suggestion galvanized the group. By the time the plane came to a complete stop, they had already decided on the time for the vigil.
Tonight. They had returned to New York, but so many others never would. The only thing they could do was light a candle and tell them: 'We're home. We've lit the way. Come home, too.'
The cabin door opened.
The group gathered their emotions, preparing to disembark.
Even though Locke had successfully convinced them not to call him a hero when talking to the media, they still naturally deferred to him. They waited for Locke and Gwen to be the first to exit.
Maggie hugged Connor and looked at Locke. "Just like on the Poseidon, you led us. Now that we're home, you should be the first to step off."
The group stood firm. Their expressions said: We insist. If you refuse, we're telling the media you're a hero.
Locke opened his mouth, let out a short laugh, and didn't push back. He looked at Gwen. "Alright then. Shall we go home?"
Gwen nodded and took Locke's hand.
First off the plane it was. It wasn't an interview; there was nothing to fear.
...
Below, George and Helen Stacy were waiting, their hearts pounding so hard they were ready to storm the stairs. Finally, Locke appeared in the doorway in his suit, with Gwen—in her down jacket—clinging tightly to his hand.
Helen gasped, "Oh, thank God!"
"Gwen!"
"Mom!"
The moment they reached the bottom of the stairs, Gwen collapsed into Helen's arms.
Locke shared a brief, firm hug with George. As they pulled apart, Locke looked him in the eye. "Mr. Stacy, Gwen hasn't suffered a single injury. I've kept my promise."
Gwen, crying tears of joy as she pulled away from Helen, wiped her cheeks and looked at George. "It's true, Dad. Locke protected me... he protected all of us."
Out of all the survivors of the Poseidon, she was the only one without a scratch. Not even a bruise.
George nodded, looking at Locke with gravity. "When I heard about the Poseidon, I never doubted you for a second. I knew that as long as you were alive, you would protect my daughter."
Locke smiled. "It was my promise, sir."
George nodded heavily. "Yes. You did an outstanding job."
Nearby, Cindy and Kahn were embracing their parents, who had been waiting since dawn. The hangar was a chaotic scene of tears and laughter.
"Let's go," George said, looking at his daughter with relief. "Your mother has hot cocoa waiting at home."
Gwen wiped her eyes. "Dad."
George smirked. "Fine, then no cocoa. I'll give it to—"
"I want it!" Gwen interrupted. "It's Mom's hot cocoa."
George laughed, the sound washing away the tension of the previous hours. He gestured to both of them. "Then let's go home."
A short while later, an NYPD cruiser—sirens chirping briefly—sped out of the airport grounds.
Locke and Gwen sat in the back, watching the wall of reporters gathered at the main gates. "It looks like every reporter in New York is here," Locke noted.
Probably more than that. Gwen saw another wave of reporters sprinting toward the main group from the parking lots.
Gwen looked at George in the driver's seat. "Thank God you brought the cruiser, Dad. Otherwise, we'd never get out of here."
Helen, in the passenger seat, added, "Your father threw all his principles out the window for you today."
George was famously strict about separating his personal and professional lives. Usually, he wouldn't even use a department car while on vacation. When Helen was pregnant, George would drive home in the cruiser, swap to his personal car, and then take her to the hospital.
But since Gwen was born, George's rules were flexible where she was concerned. Principles didn't matter more than his daughter.
Gwen smiled sweetly. "I'm my father's little girl."
Locke sat beside her, silent. 'I wonder what George would think if he knew it was Gwen who tipped off the 'Legendary Assassin' back then? He'd probably realize his 'little girl' has a bit of a rebellious, dark-hearted streak.'
"Locke?"
"Locke?"
"Hmm?"
Gwen looked at him with concern. He had needed a few prompts to snap out of it. "Are you okay?"
Locke smiled. "I'm fine. I was just wondering where my car ended up."
Gwen remembered. "Oh, right! Dad, Locke's car is still at the pier."
George replied, "We'll head to the pier first then."
"No need," Locke said.
"Don't you need to drive it?"
"I can't." Locke's tone was calm. "My driver's license, car keys, wallet... they all went down with the ship."
Luckily, his apartment at the Star Tower had fingerprint and keypad locks, or he wouldn't even be able to get through his own front door. He had originally kept those items in his inventory, but Gwen had offered to keep them in her bag so they wouldn't get lost when they disembarked. As a result, they were now at the bottom of the North Atlantic.
Fortunately, there were a few things he'd forgotten to take out of the car when they boarded.
"It's fine," Locke said, shaking his head. "I'll grab a spare key at home. I'll pick up the car tonight after the vigil. Hopefully, it's still there."
"It's still there," George said as he drove. "The officers on patrol at the harbor check on it three times a day—just to make sure the 'Legendary Assassin' hasn't stolen it again."
Locke: "..."
***
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