She never came home in uniform anyway; John only knew what it looked like because he’d been there to see Mary’s indoctrination ceremony into the STAR Force, where all the new recruits took their oaths in their new uniforms. Its not that she had any particular desire to keep her work secret; most of the neighbors already knew that she was a post-human civil servant. It was a pretty good job. Three days on, four days off a week, but always on call in case of emergencies. Equipment, uniform, room, board, and transportation paid for in full. Best insurance policy on the planet. Generous pay, given her rank. It was a job she was very proud of. However, she just that liked the normalcy, particularly after a rough mission, of coming home in normal dress, usually taking normal transportation instead of just flying under her own power. She couldn’t, and didn’t want to, be a superhero 24/7.
“So, honey, how was your day?” said John, a slight smile playing on his lips. Such a mundane question. Rarely a mundane answer.
“Oh, you know,” said Mary, waving her hand dismissively. “Giant robot. Couple of dinosaurs. Nothing big. Though the new kid on the squad is a bit obnoxious.”
“A bit too gung-ho?” said John, checking on the roast beef. Mary nodded, and watched John prepare the meal. She never really got into the details of her missions, instead enjoying just the normalcy of the home. She liked to watch John cook. He’d always enjoyed cooking, and Mary was only too happy to let him do it:
After their third date, when Mary had tried to cook for them, she’d burned the grilled cheese and over-salted the soup. They had laughed and Mary had apologized, gaining that cute little blush across her cheeks. John had said that was okay, they would eat out. Mary had giggled, then got a mischievous look, lifting him into the air with a wave of her hand, and then pulling him into her arms and flying the two of them a mile down the road to the steakhouse her friend worked at. She flew low and fairly slow, a bit unsure of herself then, but John had loved it, waving to passerby as she smiled sheepishly.
Afterwards, they had walked home, Mary not wanting to make either of them queasy by flying on full stomachs. John said he wouldn’t mind doing the cooking from then on. Mary insisted on at least getting the dishes afterwards. It was decided.
The tradition kept up even today; after the wonderful roast beef stew, Mary washed the dishes while John started going over the mail, grumbling at bills out of habit more than any real resentment; as a writer, his own income was rather sporadic, but Mary’s was more than enough to cover their utilities and add to their savings, while John’s money basically went to either fund his writing, or buy things for the house and for Mary. Mary flipped through TV channels half-heartedly.
John paused when he came to a simple, blue envelope, emblazoned with a golden seal. Mary heard the subtle shift in John’s breathing, and glanced to him. He looked up at her with a glint in his eye and slight smile playing at his lips. Mary’s eyes widened a bit when she saw the bold letters of “D.S.R.” on the envelope: The Department of Superhuman Relations. Mary tensed slightly, and gave John a slight smile, nodding.
John composed himself, and took out a letter opener, shaped like a golden broadsword. The dull blade parted the stiff blue paper, the crisp sound of the folds parting akin to a drum roll. Mary hit the mute button on the TV with a flick of her finger, and waited.
John pulled out the single sheet of paper, folded in exact thirds. He calmly opened it, and Mary watched his eyes skim the lines. His expression faltered a bit before settling into a frown. Not saying anything, he handed the paper to Mary. Mary took it from him, using a quick snap of her wrist to keep it straight. The scent of definitively cut paper and efficiently pressed ink seemed to already confirm her suspicions before she actually skimmed the lines.
Dear Mariel and Jonathon Dorschend,
Our tests show that Mariel Dorschend’s superhuman physiology renders her unable to procreate with normal human partners. Further more, artificial insemination procedures have all yielded negative results.
There was more, but there was no need to read the rest. Mary let out a breath, low and soft so that John did not notice. Then she frowned and turned to John. He smiled at her, a bit sadly. Mary smiled back and held out her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, softly rubbing the top of his fingers with her thumb.
“Not your fault,” said John. “I guess we could always adopt.”
Mary’s thumb stopped rubbing, and she opened her mouth, but paused briefly. Then she said, “Honey,” she said. “Would you like to fly around a bit?”
John smiled, looked out to see the sun starting to set and said, “It’d be a good night for it. But you don’t have to. I know you just got back from work.”
Mary smiled warmly at him. “It’s okay. I like it.”
The first time Mary had taken him flying, truly flying, was about five months after they had started dating. Unlike their trip to the steakhouse, where she had stayed only a few feet above the ground, Mary had taken them high enough to clear the office buildings in the distance. Half a mile into the air, Mary just held John, feeling his heart thunder in his chest, his arms tight about her. Mary’s own grip was tense, and she carried him not just with her arms, but with her telekinetic power, wrapping him in a gentle grip of mental force. It was the first time she had carried a person this high into the air with her, and she had been absolutely terrified of dropping him. But after a few moments, John slowly relaxed. He looked Mary in the eyes, and she smiled; for that moment, they forgot that they were half a mile in the sky. Mary leaned a bit closer, letting him slip from her cradling arms to be parallel with her body, and the two hugged, Mary’s telekinesis holding them both steady in the sky. They leaned back just enough for their lips to brush together, before Mary held John in place, then turned around. She gestured for him to hold onto her, and John straddled her back, hugging her hips with his legs and her chest with his arms; from there, she had flown him over the city. John’s grip became less tense, and more snug, and Mary felt the tightness in her muscles relax, letting herself fly normally, as if John was a passenger she had always carried. There was an intimacy in that first flight that even their love making hadn’t quite been able to match.
It was now three years since then, and every time, John’s body tensed as Mary lifted him up, but by now, the tension flowed out almost immediately as his body conformed to her curves, and Mary lifted them both into the sky. As John watched the autumn sunset from a bird’s eye view, laying on top of Mary’s back, Mary allowed her smile to fade a bit, thinking on the letter. She felt as if two weights had been lifted off her chest.
The first weight to be lifted was the certainty that she could not get pregnant. Not by John anyway. Now that it was confirmed, hope couldn’t taunt them anymore. In a way, it was disturbing, this reminder of their most basic, fundamental difference, and yet, as this difference had never impaired their relationship before, Mary was not worried that this reminder would change anything. John probably already suspected they could not have children together, much as he wanted it, and the letter also gave him the relief of certainty.
This itself tied to the second weight that was lifted. John had suspected they were incompatible. Mary could tell, at times, that maybe, just maybe, he thought it wasn’t just natural incompatibility. Mary was a telekinetic of exceptional power and skill. It would be easily within her ability to create a telekinetic diaphragm to block the release of his seed into her womb, or to create a flash of heat inside of her after he pulled out, not enough for John, coming down from sexual release, to notice, not enough to damage Mary herself, but certainly enough to kill his seed before it could fulfill its purpose. Mary wondered at times if John had suspected these things, even if his kind and gentle nature had never allowed him to utter it. But now, with the letter giving a perfectly rational explanation, John would be able to shove aside such suspicions.
As far as Mary was concerned, if John had ever had those suspicions, he need never know they were correct.
***
Mary walked stiffly into the living room, catching John off guard. He was standing on a short step ladder, whistling as he dusted the fan, when Mary suddenly hovered into view on the edge of his peripheral vision. John jumped, and nearly stumbled off the ladder, but Mary held out a hand a caught him with her telekinesis, gently letting him down to the floor.
“Mary!” he said, giving her a hug. He detected a faint, slightly stinging scent coming off her, but what surprised him was to feel her wince as she hugged him back. He pulled away, biting his lip, his eyes searching her over. “Uh… you’re home early. You okay?”
Mary nodded and gave John a strained smile as she shed her winter coat, before sitting down heavily on the sofa. “The boss gave me the rest of today and tomorrow off. I took a pretty big hit today.”
John knelt next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, seriously, you okay?”
Mary took the hand in her own and kissed it, before smiling at John again. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be fine, anyway. I just really need to sit down for a while.”
John’s brow furrowed as he removed his hand from her grasp. It was rare that Mary needed anything more than an hour to recover from even broken bones. “I’m surprised they let you out of medical if it’s that bad,” said John, taking a seat in the adjacent recliner, but leaning forward, with his elbows resting on his knees, and his hands clasped in front.
Mary shrugged. “No point in me hogging a medical bed when I don’t need any equipment. I should be healed by tonight.”
“Thank god for your regeneration,” said John. “Although you’d think if you could heal from anything, you wouldn’t have a problem with…” John trailed off.
Mary glanced at him. “With what, John?”
“Uh… what was it that was tough enough to hurt you this much despite your healing?”
Mary was silent for moment, not looking at him. “I’m sorry my being super has to come at a price for you.”
John frowned slightly. “What’s that mean?”
Mary gave him a cool look. “Go ahead. Blame my powers. My healing makes my cells so strong, your sperm get crushed by my antibodies and can’t bust through my eggs. I’m sorry the thing that keeps me alive is such a disappointment to you.”
John leaned back in his seat, an unreadable expression on his face. It took him a moment to say, “Mary, I wasn’t—”
Mary sighed irritably and shifted in her seat, wincing. John shifted forward a moment, but Mary’s hard expression halted his advance. “Mary. I just wanted to know what hurt you like this. I mean, I started saying you could recover from anything, but then I realized I have no idea what you got into today. You never really tell me the things you get into.”
“Yeah, well, you never seemed all that interested.”
“Because you never seemed to want to tell me.” John sighed. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like talking about your job when you’re off shift. I can’t imagine how stressful it must be. And that’s why I stopped short, because I have no idea what kind of stuff you face that you come home a day and half before your shifts up and you’re acting like you just got slammed into a wall. If, you know, you didn’t have a healing factor to compensate.”
Mary opened her mouth, turning her head quickly to retort, but winced again, as a sharp pain bolted through her neck and shoulders, cutting her breath short. As she let the sensation fade, slowly settling back against the recliner’s headrest, she took a breath and let herself relax, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she finally said, feeling significantly drained. “I guess I’m not used to getting this jacked up in a fight. I should have stayed in the medical ward for the rest of the afternoon. I shouldn’t have barged in and snapped at you over nothing.”
John leaned forward and gently touched her hand, and she squeezed it softly. Her hand was slightly sweaty, and she felt warm, but John did not let this bother him, reminding himself that it was just a sign of her regenerative powers at work. “Hey, no, it’s okay, honey. Like I said, I can’t imagine what you go through, but I know you do important work. You deserve to be able to come home and relax while you mend.”
Mary gave him a tired smile. “You really want to know what hit me?” said Mary.
John swallowed and nodded.
“My squad hit a pack of mutant animals,” said Mary. “I ended up fighting some kind of scorpion/lion thing. Shot me up full of needles before I could put it down. It’s the poison trying to eat its way through my body. My healing ability is recovering the damage slightly faster than it can inflict it, but until the stuff runs its course, it’s still making every joint in my body ache.”
John’s hand twitched in hers, and Mary noticed that he was a bit paler. She let his hand go. “Relax, honey, it’s not catching. My body’s neutralizing it as I sweat it out.”
“I see,” said John, regaining a bit of color.
Mary winced once more as she settled fully into the chair. “Ugh. I’m gunna take a nap, okay? Then maybe take a shower once my joints stop aching so much.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said John, moving back to the ladder. “I’ll get back to the cleaning. I’ll have it finished before you wake up.”
“You wanna join me, sweetie?”
“Hmm?”
“The shower.”
“Um….”
“I told you the poison won’t get on you. It’ll be safe.”
“Well, I just don’t want to push it, honey. Showering together tends to lead to things that require flexible and smoothly swinging joints. I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“Heh. That’s a funny reversal of the norm, huh?”
“Heh. Uh, yeah.”
***
Dinner was cold by the time she got back. She didn’t bother taking off her light jacket as she fished the plastic-covered plate of pasta from the fridge and set it on the dining room table. John offered to heat it, but Mary just shook her head. With a wave of her hand, she warmed the food with a flash of telekinetic heat.
“Dinner’s good,” said Mary flatly. “Sorry, I got back late.”
“It’s okay,” said John quietly, watching her eat. He’d already finished his meal hours ago. “Was it a hard case today?”
“Just kinda long,” said Mary. “It was a large gang we were fighting.”
John took a breath. “Any particularly nasty ones?”
“This guy we were fighting, he had some kind of transmutation ability,” said Mary. “Turned the air in my lungs into solid steel.”
John winced. “God…” he whispered.
Mary shrugged. “My teammate managed to immediately teleport the metal out of my lungs, but let me tell you, that really sucked. I can’t even describe it. I’ve been tasting metal on my breath all afternoon. Gives me the shivers.” Mary took in a particularly large mouthful of fettuccini alfredo. “Mmm. Thank god I’ve got you to help me cleanse my palette.”
“I live to serve,” said John, and slight smile on his face.
Mary finished her plate, and looked at John. “Really, honey, I appreciate it.” She leaned forward and kissed John fully on the mouth. “I’m gunna go watch some TV, okay? I need to unwind.” With that, she went into the living room, using telekinesis to set her plate in the sink.
As John slowly washed the plate, he found he couldn’t get the slight taste of metal out of his mouth.
***
“You have to go into work tomorrow?” said John as he undressed for bed, donning the old, shapeless boxers that served as his summer pajamas.
“’Fraid so,” said Mary, shedding her tank top and shorts and tossing them dismissively on the floor, before pulling on an oversized shirt. John went over and picked her clothes up, bundling them in his own as he tossed them in the hamper.
“But you just got back from your shift today,” said John. “You’re working overtime?”
“Yep,” said Mary. She lay down and turned to her side, away from him. John frowned and lay down on his back. He turned his head to her, but Mary said nothing. “Sheesh, first you add another day to your normal work schedule, and now you’re taking overtime. If this is about money, my new book just got licensed for a movie deal. I really don’t think money is going to be an issue for a while.”
“John, we’re in the middle of a very important case, alright?” said Mary. “I’m sorry, but as cliché as it sounds, crime doesn’t take a vacation, and my squad’s been on this case the longest. They need me in the field.”
“I know honey, it’s just…” John turned to his side, and shifted up against her, slipping his arm around her. “I miss you. Even with the extra day thrown on, you still get three days off, but you’re usually spending the first day off just ‘winding down.’ And on the next two, you’re usually just vegging out in front of the TV or running errands.”
“We see each other plenty,” said Mary. “I mean, you’re right there with me at the TV and we do errands together.”
“Mary,” said John softly. His hand pressed a bit more firmly against her, and he began to rub her stomach. Leaning forward a bit, he nuzzled her cheek and neck, taking in her scent. John noticed she had switched shampoos, from apple-cinnamon to a bland, slight marigold type scent. John vaguely remembered telling her of his distaste for marigolds. He did not let this hinder him now. “I miss you,” he said softly in her ear.
Mary frowned as he snuggled against her more closely. “Not tonight, please. I have to work tomorrow.”
“Mary, you’re always working. Even when you’re home, we barely talk about anything but you’re job anymore.”
“Well, you keep wanting to know how my day goes. And so I tell you.”
“You never ask about how my day goes.”
“How was your day?”
“Well, I just told you earlier, my last book got licensed to be a movie.”
“That’s wonderful. Which one? The one about the monkeys?”
“No, my last book.”
“Uh, the robots?”
“No, that was one was before the monkeys.”
“Umm…”
John sighed, turning onto his back.
Mary let out a breath, and turned over onto her other side to face John. “I’m sorry. Which book was it?”
“It doesn’t really matter. They all suck.”
“If it sucked, Hollywood wouldn’t be interested.”
“Please. It’s Hollywood. Have you seen the crap they produce?”
“John.”
John swallowed. “It was about this couple that adopts a kid, but it turns out he has psychic powers, so the government won’t let the couple keep the kid. It turns into a big court drama over rights of custody.”
Mary frowned slightly, her eyebrows raised. “Sounds tragic.”
“Well, I sort of got the idea from that letter.”
Mary cocked an eyebrow at him. “Letter?”
“You know. The one from the Department of Superhuman Relations some months back. Saying how we couldn’t have a kid because we weren’t compatible. So, I thought, what if there was this couple who couldn’t have a kid because that the kid wasn’t compatible? I mean—” John halted as he noticed the unreadable look on Mary’s face. She just stared at him.
“Yes?” she said flatly. “Go on.”
“Uh, well, that was it in a nutshell,” said John.
“How does it end?”
“Well, why spoil it? You can wait to see it on TV when the movie comes out.”
Mary’s expression went dark. She turned back to her other side and closed her eyes. “I’ll try not to lose any sleep waiting. Not like I can afford it.”
John closed his eyes and shook his head, giving a dejected grunt. He started to reach for her, saying “Mary.”
“Good night.” The lights went out as Mary clicked the lamps off with her telekinesis. There was a soft thump as John’s hand dropped back to his side.
There was a long pause before John said, “Good night,” and closed his eyes to sleep. When he woke up the next morning, Mary was already gone, her night clothes strewn on the floor.
***
Mary’s overtime lasted three straight days, spending the night at her squadron’s base to get things done. Finally, her commander told her to take the next week of, telling her she was getting too fatigued from overtaxing her powers and mind. Mary complained, but went home anyway, wondering what she would say to John. She had forgotten to call him to inform him of her extended time, but she was sure he would understand.
The house was empty when she got there. She shrugged, and figured John must have stepped out; he was usually waiting for her, but he’d had no idea when she was coming home this time, so it wasn’t too surprising he wouldn’t be there. She would dial his cell when she was cleaned up.
Using telekinesis, Mary stripped her clothes off of her body and tossed them into the hamper. She stepped into the shower and quickly washed herself, using her power to set several sponges to work and maneuver the detachable shower head around to rinse herself off just as quickly. She didn’t bother with a towel, simply using telekinetic heat to dry herself in a flash. She snatched a robe out of the room and slipped it over herself with her power, and plopped down on the recliner. She flicked on the television with her power, not even bothering with the remote anymore, and let herself zone out to the television. She fell asleep on the chair.
She woke up the next morning with a start, blinking as the morning sun shone in her eyes. She yawned and stretched, wincing as her stomach rumbled. The distinct lack of breakfast smells seemed almost like an offense odor to her. Where was John?
She got up and began to look around the house, calling his name. This was strange. He’d never be out this long without letting her know. Had something happened? She snatched the cordless phone off the hook with her telekinesis, ready to dial her home office if she didn’t find him in the next few seconds.
She found it in the bedroom. A thick manuscript, a screenplay, lay on John’s pillow. It was a first draft of the story that had been green lit for becoming a motion picture. John himself was apparently the one writing the script. The title of the script was “Superhuman Relations.” Mary flipped through it, and then turned to set it on John’s desk. She paused.
His computer, the laptop he got specifically for writing, was gone. She blinked, then tossed the manuscript back on the bed and dashed to the closet. John’s things were gone, as were two of their suitcases. Mary’s mouth opened, then shut it when no sounds came out. She stumbled to the bed, and sat down heavily upon it.
She let out a shaky breath. Then she turned and with her own two hands, picked up the manuscript, and slowly began to read it.
=========================================
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This story was a one-shot written for a Creative Writing class about eight years ago. No series was intended to come from this, and it doesn’t really fit my various superhero settings. Looking back over it, the story definitely needs a lot of work; it was perhaps one of my first attempts to do a superhero story focused entirely the behind-the-scenes human drama, rather than the action . Still, since I’m clearing out my old archives, I figured I’d share it.
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