The Last American Hero

by Nicole Field

  "I've got the number for your office now, though. If I hear from him, I'll give you a call." Wasn't that what they said on all the cop shows? When had his life become some big action movie?

  He hung up the call, seeing no good reason to stay on the line, subject to whatever verbal abuse McCartney would see fit to deliver next.

  Bruce's nerves were still jangling from that phone call half an hour later when Leo finally did ring. This time, he did check that the caller ID said 'Leo' before he said anything.

  "Leo…" Bruce didn't give him a chance to speak first. "The D.A.'s looking for you. He hasn't dropped it like you said he would."

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  "I don't think you should come back to the house," Bruce said quietly, hating the words even as he said them. "You might not be safe."

  "You're probably right," Leo said heavily. "I guess it's time to find a comfortable couch outside the Cabinet Room."

  Bruce swallowed. His stomach growled again. Now that he realized he was unlikely to be able to have dinner with Leo tonight, he should probably find something to eat on his own. When had been the last time he'd eaten something?

  "I miss you," Leo said softly, through the telephone line.

  Bruce closed his eyes and absorbed the words.

  "I miss you, too," he said. How long would it be like this, trading information and sharing what was going on in this continuing Battle of Washington? Bruce had gotten used to having Leo as a sleeping buddy far faster than he'd thought he would.

  Apparently, Leo's mind was working along similar lines. "This couch isn't measuring up to being in bed beside you."

  Abandoning the thought of food yet again, Bruce went upstairs to lie down on Leo's bed. "I'm imagining you being here on your bed next to me," he said.

  Leo's laugh cracked in the middle. "That isn't as comforting as I'm sure you meant it to be," he said.

  Bruce smiled sadly, not that Leo could see it. "Did you and the military go in to get those dogs?"

  "Yeah. The scientists are looking into their genetic makeup now. God only knows what they'll find." And, if Bruce was honest, he thought Leo sounded far too tired to actually care what they'd find right now.

  "Are you lying down?" Bruce asked.

  "Yeah," Leo said again.

  "I'll stay on the phone until you actually fall asleep. Okay?" Bruce offered.

  "Yeah," Leo murmured again, voice low.

  Bruce listened to Leo's breathing as it slowed and evened out. He stayed on the phone long after he thought his best friend had fallen asleep, just to make sure. Only then did he press the button to disconnect the call.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Leo called again the next day, just before Bruce knocked off from work.

  "I need you to meet me at the White House. There'll be someone waiting for you when you get there."

  "What? Are you…? All right," Bruce said, looking around at the rest of his peers who were on their way home to home-cooked dinners, or kids, or both. "I'll see you soon."

  Outside on the street, he hoped the shock he was feeling was evident in his expression as he hopped into a cab and directed it to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, head still spinning.

  Sure enough, and as promised, people were waiting for him when he arrived.

  "This way, sir."

  Bruce thought it was the first time anyone in his life had called him 'sir'. He tried not to act like it, lifting his chin and sharing his shoulders before nodding mutely.

  He was brought directly into the Oval Office, a place he'd thus far only seen on episodes of The West Wing.

  Turned out, it was a pretty accurate reproduction.

  "Madam President," Bruce said, as soon as he caught sight of her. He wasn't sure whether he was supposed to bow, or salute, or anything.

  "Mr. Paulson," the president replied. "This is Vice President Hutchins."

  The vice president was a tall, thin man who helpfully stepped forward and offered his hand for a shake, telegraphing to Bruce the appropriate way for him to act. Bruce was grateful for it.

  "Our lead scientist, Dr. Reeves," the president continued.

  Dr. Reeves was shorter, and rounder. He inclined his head but stayed standing where he was. He could understand why the scientist might be here, just as he could understand why the other three people were standing in this room. What he didn't understand was what he was doing here.

  "And you already know Captain Hart," the president said with an air of finality.

  "I do, ma'am, yes," Bruce said, stumbling over words again. He looked towards Leo now, striving for some sort of clue as to what he was supposed to be doing next.

  Leo stood stiff, at attention, and hardly looked at him. It was disheartening in its way, but Bruce understood the need for it, so he stifled a sigh, and turned his attention back to the officials in the room.

  "Very good," said the president. "Captain Hart has made it clear that it's his opinion that you need to be present for this meeting," said the president. There was still no change of expression on Leo's face.

  In person, the president appeared more stern than on TV. Or perhaps that was due to the news she'd been presented with over the past few days.

  Instead of bumbling again, Bruce settled for just a quick nod in answer this time.

  "Now that we're all here…" The president turned her attention towards Dr. Reeves. "Please tell us of your findings."

  "Thank you, Madam President," he said, before addressing all four people in the room. "The dog's DNA showed signs of increased chemical transmitters. Increased hormones were detected in all subjects, though I couldn't posit a theory on the end that was hoped for. I would posit the dog that bit you had increased testosterone, which might go a little way towards explaining some of the physical changes to your metabolism and bone structure, although that science is far beyond any of our own."

  There was a long silence after the doctor's words. Dr. Reeves looked at Captain Hart curiously, as though he'd like to run more tests on him. Captain Hart appeared confused. The vice president seemed concerned.

  The president stepped forward and gained the attention of the rest of the room once more. "Are you saying, doctor, that the science must have been developed by someone other than ourselves? The human race?" she asked, very carefully.

  Bruce saw Dr. Reeves take a deep breath before slowly letting it out again. "It would appear so, Madam President," he replied, just as carefully.

  The president shared a look with Vice President Hutchins.

  The vice president was the one to say what they were all silently thinking. "So it could be more alien technology." He was looking towards Captain Hart as he said it.

  Bruce's lips parted. He felt like he was the slowest person in the room, but even he could certainly see how this could go a long way towards proving what Captain Hart had told them about aliens being on the planet for longer than they'd appeared to be.

  Dr. Reeves bowed his head. "We have no proof that it is," he said quietly. "Only that we could not begin to replicate it."

  Captain Hart let out a deep breath, drawing Bruce's attention. "Has there been any word from the FBI units sent out yesterday?" he asked the president.

  "Some," she answered. "Three sites have confirmed strange activity. Two of them have gone in already." The president looked steadily at the superhero, not shying away from what she had to say. "We haven't heard back from either of those teams as yet."

  Captain Hart swore. "Where are they?"

  "You don't have clearance or the training to go in after them."

  "You're the president," Captain Hart reminded her harshly. Bruce opened his mouth to intercede, unsure that he should be speaking to the president like this, but something held him back. "Give me clearance."

  "The United States can't be seen to be sending untrained vigilantes into an already fraught situation," the president replied.

  "And that was an option when I was quietly going through towns and getting
rid of the problem for you," Captain Hart told her with quiet control. "The situation's different now. I'm the only one you have who has any practical experience with these aliens."

  Captain Hart glanced across towards Bruce. His jaw was tight but his gaze didn't waver. Not in this room.

  The president stared at Captain Hart, meeting his hard glare with one just as hard of her own. Her jaw jutted out. Without looking away from him, she said to the vice president, "Have General Marsters come and join us."

  *~*~*

  The air in the room was tense as they waited for the highest ranking military officer in the building. General Marsters did not keep them waiting long. She was a taller than average woman, with blonde hair tied in a large, tight bun at the base of her neck.

  A Secret Service officer escorted her in. As soon as she saw the president, General Marsters gave a sharp salute.

  "At ease," the president said, waving a hand from behind where she stood at her desk. Her hands were pressed hard against the polished oak of the table. "We may have more of a situation on our hands."

  "Madam President?" was all General Marsters said in question.

  While the president briefed General Marsters on all that had gone on thus far, Bruce attempted to make eye contact with Leo. He wasn't sure whether Leo was unaware of his attempts, or just stubborn. There was no way he could make a noise or gesture without everyone else in the room seeing it, and interrupting the president in mid-brief.

  Just when he was ready to pull at his hair, Captain Hart's head turned. A cool, passive expression covered his features. Bruce had no idea what his own looked like. He tried to reach out to him, to apologize with his eyes, but even the imagined apology was conflicted because he didn't think that what he'd said had been wrong.

  The eye contact between them only lasted a few seconds. Captain Hart's jaw tightened from whatever he saw on Bruce's face, then he returned his attention to the president and the sergeant.

  "It is possible that we'll need to send recon missions to any areas that have already made contact. I've already sent word for the rest of the teams to stand down. They are to watch but not involve themselves directly," Vice President Hutchins said.

  "We have enough manpower to split into four full-sized groups. I would strongly suggest unified attacks. The element of surprise will be important if they are all you say they are."

  "I agree," the president said, calmly but strongly. "Captain Hart, I'm going to require that you outline all strategies you have used against this enemy to General Marsters. Now is not the time to leave anything out."

  And so Captain Hart did.

  The privation that Leo had experienced in the month he'd been gone was laid bare. Unlike what he'd told Bruce, this version didn't leave it sounding like the systematic killing of a species. It was almost worse, the complete and utter absence of emotion in Leo's voice during the telling. Bruce had no idea what Leo was thinking, or feeling under the completely blank mask he wore.

  He outlined and detailed every day of the missing month until Bruce was glad that it had been hours since he'd eaten anything. Captain Hart hadn't arrived in time to save some of the towns from the aliens' plans to take over. He spoke briefly about an alien who had looked up at Captain Hart through the eyes of an eight-year-old girl and told him how he surely couldn't kill her. He'd been sorely outnumbered and had been required to engage in guerrilla warfare more than once. And there'd been a time when his only choice had been to kill the man they'd been holding hostage. Another whole town would have been taken over had he allowed the hostage to stay his hand.

  Bruce lowered his head, averting his gaze to the floor as Captain Hart spoke without inflection, but that didn't do anything to stem the words that filled the otherwise silent room. He made sure to keep his eyes open so that the mental images couldn't play out on the back of his eyelids.

  By the end of it, Bruce's breath was only steady because he was consciously keeping it that way.

  Before then, Bruce had felt that all the suggestions he'd made on Leo moderating his behaviour had been sound, and yet he now wondered how he thought he had any right to speak out like that. He hadn't experienced anything like what Leo had gone through. They might have grown up together, but that month apart had turned them into totally different people. Just like Leo had tried to warn him as soon as he'd gotten back.

  Bruce couldn't help but look at Leo in a different way. In all likelihood, that was the reason he'd been asked to be here for this. Bruce couldn't imagine describing this once, let alone more than that.

  Leo stopped talking. There was a respectful silence.

  General Marsters looked a bit pale. Vice President Hutchins and Dr. Reeves were gazing down at the oval rug on the floor. The president didn't have the luxury of being squeamish, which was perhaps why she was the first to speak.

  "Thank you for your accounting, Captain Hart. Time is of the essence. General Marsters, can I suggest that you assemble your teams? They will be sent out within the hour. Between you and Captain Hart, please decide which team he will be assigned to. Dismissed."

  Besides Bruce, General Masters was standing closest to Captain Hart. He looked at Bruce and Bruce wanted to stay. Wanted to reassure him somehow, take the images that he'd just been forced to relive and replace them with something new. Strangely, perversely, he wanted to reach out, to give that kiss he had offered him, to show that none of this had made Leo any less in his eyes.

  And then a member of staff, probably another Secret Service officer, cleared his throat behind them.

  "Mr. Paulson. There's a car outside waiting for you," was all he said, and Bruce knew he had no choice but to leave.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bruce settled onto the couch with a TV dinner and the remote control and a beer on the cushion beside him. He tried to forget about what Leo was going into while he stared at the television. He tried not to think about the fact that his best friend could die, and they hadn't really sorted out what was going on between them. They hadn't even got to say a real goodbye.

  When he heard the first noise, he wasn't sure if it was one that came from the TV or even next door. Strange if it was behind him. He was the only person in the house. For that reason, he put it aside.

  The second time he heard a noise behind him, he was sure it hadn't come from the TV. Turning it off with the remote, Bruce stood.

  "Hello?" he said. Feeling like a bit of a fool, talking to himself like this, Bruce nonetheless wandered further into his house. Into the dining room, the kitchen, back out again and towards the backdoor.

  That was open.

  Bruce drew himself up. It wasn't safe here. He had to get out.

  That was the last thing he noticed before he was jumped from behind. The impact made him scream, the pain made more severe by his still healing bullet wound. A gloved hand immediately came up over his mouth. Bruce tried to bite it, but he couldn't penetrate the material of the glove. He kept gasping behind it, sharp, jagged pain threatening to flood his vision with blackness. It was only with steel will that he managed to stay aware of what was going on around him.

  The infiltrators to his house were both silent, making the sound of his muffled gasps stark in the room. One of them held him while the other came to stand in front of him. He reached into his pants pockets. Bruce stiffened, his whole body turning to rejection before he realized that all the other man wanted was the phone that was in his left pocket. He watched helplessly as the phone was thrown across the room, probably cracking against the far wall of the dining room.

  One of the intrudes grabbed his arm, and he screamed. The bullet wound was still fresh enough that it was a constant dull ache, even with the painkillers. He didn't hear the cuffs clank shut over his screams. He was panting, hard and fast. The pain wasn't letting up. It wasn't letting up, and then he was being dragged towards the open back door, nearly tripping on the step. He would have fallen over without any way to break his fall, but his attackers weren't willing to let him
go even that long. That was at least one thing he could be thankful for. But those things were few and far in between.

  The gate that opened from the backyard into a small side street had also been left open and there was a third person in a black car keeping the engine running.

  Bruce gasped in pain even before he was pushed into the backseat of the car, which caused another yell of agony. Nobody bothered to see if he was okay with cuffed hands trapped between him and the seat in a position that would have been uncomfortable even without the recent bullet wound on top of it. Bruce worked on trying to slow down his breathing, but it was desperately hard with the waves of new pain that started over each time they drove over a bump in the road. They didn't seem to care how much noise he was making, how much pain he was in. He desperately tried to keep his head above water, fighting against the blackness that was blurring the edges of his vision. He couldn't pass out. He had to see where he was going.

  He didn't have the breath or energy to spare to ask them what was going on, why he'd been stolen from his house, even though he thought he had a pretty good idea. He just wished fiercely for the drive to be over.

  *~*~*

  The car skidded to a stop. They were in an underground car park: one Bruce had never been to before. It was deserted. Graffiti tags covered the concrete walls around them that nobody had bothered painting over. Only half of the electric lights were working, the one nearest to where they were parked flickering slowly, on and off.

  All three men were out of the car before Bruce could open his mouth. He looked around powerlessly as one of the men came to his side of the car, opened the door and dragged him out. The smell of mildew and exhaust fumes was heavy in the air.

  Both of his arms had cramps in them even before a hand reached out and grabbed hold around his bicep. Bruce tried not to cry out at the pain, but another gasp escaped him.

  Then he was let go. Bruce panted. The pain in his arms was only partially alleviated from his release. That wasn't where the main part of his attention currently was. Two car spaces away from where he was standing, there was another black car.