Debra Bernard in…

DRESSING DOWN

By Curtis Fernlund

Manhattan:
03 West 15th Street
Chelsea

“At ease, agent,” the man behind the desk said as he shuffled though the papers neatly arranged on his desk. Debra Bernard swallowed and tried to stand at ease, but it was hard.

It had been awhile since she had worn the blues, she had been in the Field and on assignment for so long. She was sweating bullets, an annoying trickle working its way down her back as she watched the man, one of Fury’s elite glance through the papers of her file, occasionally shifting to the side to add data via his Tablet into the computer files. He peered closely at some bit of data, frowning and pushing the thick, horn-rimmed glasses back up his nose before turning to type, his fingers a blur on the keyboard of the modified I-Pad.

Finally he settled back in his spartan, leather office chair, his gaze straying between the I-Pad and her. He was apparently waiting for the data to upload and refresh. Finally he sniffed and leaned forward, stroked a few keys then settled back again turning his attention fully upon her.

She stared at Jasper Sitwell, wondering not for the first time just how he had become one of Fury’s upper echelon in S.H.I.E.L.D. She knew the stories, how he had served his time in the Field as liaison with Stark International back in the day. He had been instrumental in several of the big actions, not the least of which was the Deltite Affair that had almost destroyed S.H.I.E.L.D. and Nick Fury himself. He just seemed so… blatant.

His crew cut hair, blonde and graying at the temples. The thick glasses he wore. Not to mention the rumpled suit and bow tie. He was hardly spy material in her opinion, and seemed to stick out like a sore thumb.

“It’s been a few months since your last report, Agent Bernard,” he finally said. “I’ve got the paperwork, but I’d like to hear your experiences firsthand.”

“Yes, sir,” Bernard said as she snapped back to attention.

“Seriously,” Sitwell said with a slight smile. “Be at ease. This is not IAD.”

“Yes, sir,” Debra said trying to relax. Why was it so damn hot in his office?

“Tell me about your time with the Fantastic Four,” he said tapping a pen on the blotter of his desk.

“Sir?”

“The Fantastic Four, your assignment? Do you like it? Do they trust you?”

“I like to think so, sir,” she said with a little trepidation. “Susan Richards trusts me to look after her children.”

“Of course,” he said riffling through his papers again. “And I see you’ve done an excellent job of protecting them. The Frightful Four incident?”

“I did what I had to do, sir.” Debra Bernard licked her lips, wishing it was not so hot.

“Coffee agent? Water? It is hot in here. Something wrong with the central air I heard.”

“No, sir, thank you.”

“So, the Invisible Woman trusts you. What about her husband?”

“I don’t interact with him that much, sir.”

Sitwell made a notation on the I-Pad then continued. “And the Torch?”

“We speak. He’s involved in other things, sir.”

“Hasn’t made a pass at you?”

Debra blushed. “He has. I’m married.”

“Yes, I saw that. Husband: Jon Bernard. A Mutant?”

“Mutate, sir.”

“Right. Flight, invulnerability, growth, super-strength? He doesn’t appear in the news that often.’

“He’s… retired, sir.”

“Right. How does he feel, you running with the World’s Greatest Fighting Team?”

“Sir?”

“The Fantastic Four. How does he feel you being involved with them?”

“I…” Debra paused gathering her thoughts. “He supports me. He’s proud that I’m a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent in good standing with an important assignment. He wishes me the best.’

“I imagine it’s hard. There are very few agents with your ties. Marriage is… frowned upon. Fury must like your work.”

“I hope so, sir.”

“Tell me about the Thing.”

And there it was, the real reason for her on site inspection and interview. She had been the last to see the Thing and it had actually been her that had sent Ben Grimm tumbling aimlessly through time when he was stalking her and on the verge of killing her. It had only been dumb luck that he had stumbled onto Doctor Doom’s Time Platform and she had managed to send him cascading through time.

“Sir?” she asked, knowing what he wanted but vying for time.

“Benjamin J. Grimm, AKA the ever-lovin’, blue-eyed, Thing. Last report said that you were the last to see him. He’s now apparently back and causing problems. Not the least of which was the death of an aide to Senator Robert Kelly.”

“I don’t know anything about that, sir. I last encountered the Thing in the Baxter Building. Through sheer dumb luck I managed to maneuver him onto Doctor Doom’s Time Platform and send him into… Time. He was trying to kill me at the time.”

“Of course,” Sitwell said as he typed data into the I-Pad. “And you’ve had no contact with him since?”

“No, sir.”

“Very good.” Sitwell depressed a key on his I-Pad, waiting for the information to upload. “I see no reason then to change your assignment, agent, as long as the Richards remain satisfied. You may continue to ‘watch’ their protogen, Franklin and Valeria, and of course report back with any pertinent details.”

“Valeria, sir.”

“Of course.” Sitwell scribbled something in his notes with a pencil then waved her away. “Dismissed, agent.”

“Thank you, sir.” Agent Debra Bernard snapped to attention and made a formal turn striding from the office. Once out in the hallway she sagged against the wall and took a deep breath.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was obviously worried about whatever the Thing was up to and were grasping at straws. She wondered briefly just what she had caused, her involvement with Ben Grimm’s current change. She had heard the rumors, the things that he and his group had done and she shivered.

She had merely saved herself when she had tricked him into the past.

She hoped fervently that he did not hold a grudge.

Debra Bernard stepped pushed from the wall and smoothed down her Blues. It had been ages since she had worn the standard S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, but she was still proud, and happy that it still fit.

She strode down the hallway towards the exit, briefly thinking of Maxwell Smart.

She hoped that Jon would be there when she got home.

She needed to be held…

Willie Lumpkin in…

JUST THE MAILMAN

By Hunter Lambright

“I’m done. I can’t take it anymore.”

Billie Lumpkin threw the mailbag at her uncle’s feet in protest. “I’m sorry. I just don’t have it in me.”

Willie Lumpkin looked up from his newspaper and sighed. The wrinkles chiseled into his face were a product of the years he spent delivering mail in Nebraska all the way up through his tenure in New York City. “I guess the U.S. Postal Service never covered ‘in rain, snow, or under threat of cosmic menaces,’ did they?”

Billie rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I love the family. I really do. But I don’t love them enough to get sucked into the Negative Zone every three weeks… and if that happens when I’m there, imagine how the other tenants feel!”

Guffawing, Willie embraced his niece. “It’s okay. I promise. Besides, maybe it’s time for this old coot to come out of retirement.”

“Why?” Billie asked. “Shouldn’t you get a chance to, you know, enjoy your twilight years?”

“Well, sure, but it’s not the same without your family around, Billie,” Willie said. “And you better believe me, the Fantastic Four’s family to me.”

Billie cocked her head to the side. “You’re weird, but I guess you don’t get to pick your family, do you?”

“No, I guess you don’t…”

“Flame on!”

Willie ducked as the Human Torch blitzed past him in the lobby. He felt the ends of his whiskers singe at the intense heat. Looking back at the trail of fire, Willie couldn’t help but smile at the Torch’s enthusiasm. It wasn’t everyday someone got to save the world, was it?

The Invisible Woman flew out soon after, probably on some kind of invisible disc, Willie assumed, as he could see no other means by which she could be floating. “Sorry, Willie! Johnny gets impatient sometimes!”

Willie chuckled. “Just go save the world. Your mail will be here when you get back!”

So it went. Willie, ignoring the fact that there was some kind of cosmic crisis going on elsewhere in the city. For tourists, this kind of thing was exciting, like a person from the countryside moving to the city and getting excited or worried anytime the police turned on their sirens. For a seasoned New Yorker like Willie, cosmic threats and menaces happened on a daily basis. What was another day with something crazy happening uptown? What was another day with another Spider-Man bad guy robbing the diamond district? These things happened, and Willie had long since gotten used to the idea.

He walked out of the Baxter Building and nearly fell into a tour group, one of the many that was dedicated to telling tourists about the many superheroic locations in New York City.

“…the Baxter Building, home of the Fantastic Four!” the tour guide exclaimed. “You’ll notice that several of the floors’ windows are only projecting the image of normalcy inside, protecting the privacy of the First Family of superheroes. Now, that streak of fire you saw rush out while we were up the block, that was the Human Torch. I imagine they’re out fighting some crazy threat today, so keep your eyes peeled for any sign of that! Moving on…”

Willie fell in step at the back of the tour group. He looked down at the sound of plastic clattering to the sidewalk. When he did, he saw an action figure of the Thing. He picked it up and spotted a young boy near the back of the group.

“Son, I think you’ve lost your toy,” he said, tapping the boy on the shoulder with the action figure.

The boy shrugged Willie off. “I didn’t lose it. I got rid of it on purpose,” he huffed.

Willie frowned. “What’s wrong with it?”

“The Thing isn’t a hero anymore. He’s a loser! Why do they even keep on acting like he’s the hero he was when I was kid?” the boy asked.

Willie shrugged. “Well, sometimes—look out!” He tackled the boy to the ground, the force of his shove knocking down several other members of the tour group. While they groaned at the inconvenience of being knocked down, the rush of the Human Torch forcing the Mad Thinker’s Gammadroid into the sidewalk behind them turned the groaning into a gasp.

The Human Torch was flicked off the Gammadroid, which radiated with purple energy. It turned toward the group, sensing the civilians as targets that the Torch and Invisible Woman could not ignore. The Gammadroid morphed its fist into a spiked club and prepared to swipe at the tour group.

“STOP!” Willie shouted, standing up and putting his arms back over the cowering group.

The Gammadroid hesitated for just a moment, but it was enough. The Human Torch recovered, putting up a wall of flame between the Gammadroid and the tour group. The Gammadroid was forced to turn back to the Human Torch and the threat he presented.

“Run!” Willie said to the group. They had frozen, but at his words they sprung back into action. They ran down the block. Willie was the last to get through. He turned backward, but his palm scraped across an invisible force field. “Thanks!” he shouted to the Invisible Woman. Then he ran back to the group.

“You saved us,” said the boy with the action figure, looking up at Willie in awe.

Willie looked at the group in surprise. “Me? I didn’t do anything. I just stood up. That thing? He’d have killed us in a second. The Fantastic Four—well, two—they did the work.”

Kneeling, Willie focused on the boy who still clutched onto his Thing action figure. “You wanted to know, before I was interrupted, why the Fantastic Four still treat the Thing like a hero?”

The boy nodded.

“Well, for the Fantastic Four, the Thing? He’s family,” Willie said. “And you don’t get to pick your family, like it or not. You just have to love ‘em anyway.”

The tour guide walked up to Willie then, holding out his hand. “You saved us, sir. You’re a hero.”

Willie waved off the hand. “I’m not a hero.” He turned and picked up his fallen bag.

“I’m just the mailman.”