He has missed this so much.
The thrills, the exhilaration, the sense of being himself, of being more than mediocre, of being seen as more than mediocre. Heroism is doing the right thing the world isn't watching, but Bob Parr has spent too much time squandering his abilities on helping little old ladies find ways to dodge bureaucratic red tape and even though they thanked him in hushed whispers he did not feel like a hero. He felt like a weakling who holds back because now he is afraid.
Mr. Incredible was never afraid—not of doomsday machines, of super villains, or the darkest depths of the night. He was—is—a super hero gifted with incredible strength, which meant he was strong enough to beat anything without having to fear defeat.
Of course there are things in this world that could send grown men crying to their mothers that did not have teeth or lurk in the darkness, but they were to be feared nonetheless. He remembered coworkers that would break down sobbing at the mention of "D-RDS14 forms" in the insurance business, or the expression on Violet's face when he sent her off to a new school after another reassignment. But things like that could hurt in a normal sort of way, like getting a papercut or a depressing phone call. Some things didn't have to signal the end of the world to inspire fear; they didn't even to be particularly bad.
Bob Parr was not afraid of insurance forms or papercuts or bad phone calls. But he knew that for every notch he added on his belt and every traffic jam he sat through in his too-small car for his too-large frame, something that was Mr. Incredible withered away inside him. And Mr. Incredible was not afraid of anything, which meant that it might expose a little bit more of Bob Parr that was.
When he received the summons to once again put on the mask and boots in covert do-gooding he felt the growing unease in him halt, but the absence of fifteen years reflected in his efforts. That rogue government machine drew blood at their first contact. He sometimes couldn't tell if his breath caught from overworking himself or being just the smallest bit hesitant in his victory. But in the end he prevailed, made witty quips and returned back to his employer, Mirage, with the widest grin on his face in years. Because he was Mr. Incredible and he didn't fear anything.
So when Mirage smiled with a smile that was too bright and strolled over him with legs that were too long to hand him the receipt for his payment, Mr. Incredible smiled graciously. And Bob Parr, somewhere deep down, felt a little afraid.
It was nostalgia, he rationalized on the trip back. She had promised him the chance to return to what he was once was and he was grateful. She recognized him as a super hero and he was flattered. She was a beautiful woman who turned and swayed with her eyes fixed on him and he was doing a normal thing in trying not to stare and not quite succeeding. Even if he never considered himself to be normal.
He started working out in the train yard. Of course that was because he couldn't quite fit in his old costume, and it was always easier to battle the forces of evil without a beer belly. The stare of approval she gave him was simply acknowledging his commitment to returning, despite it having shiny white teeth in the shadows of their transport vessel.
Things were going good. He had a new costume, a new job, a new lease on life that made his old clockwork routines seem far away. Dash commented that he looked happier and more alert right before Bob grounded him for playing pranks on Violet. Violet muttered a half-hearted "thanks dad" before staring at him, almost as if her powers of invisibility could uncloak his secret before she turned and went to her room. Helen just looked relieved that he seemed to have put his old life behind him, and in the darkness of their shared bed Bob started to remember how beautiful she was when she wasn't constantly exasperated.
Mirage was never on edge, if anything she seemed perfectly serene on each debriefing she gave him. One might think that would make her a strict, rigid person working for the military but her hair was always loose and her bangs parted to the left in a way that was asymmetrical. He was too nervous to ask her why she liked it that way and she was the type that would only provide erroneous information in the form of a gentle tease.
That was how their relationship worked. As Mr. Incredible regained more and more of his old habits he knew he was stepping into an old cat and mouse game he played before with other damsels in distress. Bob Parr felt the niggling suspicion that her "move this robot scrap to the hanger" was a lot like "could you open this jar" with batted eyelashes and a high-tech console. And where requesting a dinner conference with his unnamed boss left him unsurprised that it was a table set for two and Mirage was the only one there.
"Am I overdressed?" he asked Mirage nervously when they met for the evening. He managed to stop fiddling with his tie in the waiting room. It was the one the kids got him for Christmas. Helen thought it looked "dashing."
Helen never would have asked him to open up a jar. She was a firm believer in "women can stand on their own two feet and save the world thank you very much." The courtship he had with her was more of who was glory hogging and who was showboating in their heroic duties. Their dates were alternately bounding over rooftops and those few times where they were in civilian fatigues and the coffee they had tasted like bitch bark.
On the other hand, this banquet was food that put those few charity dinners at City Hall to shame. Mirage was providing a lecture over the viability of volcanic ash in farming and he was only half listening as he sipped a wine that was strong enough to give even the great Mr. Incredible a buzz.
When she noticed he wasn't paying attention, or perhaps she did notice and she thought that this was the most vulnerable moment to speak of it, she changed topics.
"So, exactly how strong are you, Mr. Incredible?"
He fumbled a grape, which slid into the forest they called a salad and consumed entirely. "I, uh, can bench press three tons."
"Hmm, the latest unit you hurled into the ocean was two and a half," Mirage said in a soft business-like voice that did not suit the glow of the magma screen that filled the room and the silence of absolute privacy. "I think your estimations may be off."
Mr. Incredible rubbed the back of his neck. "In the heat of the moment you don't really know what you're capable of, I guess."
"No," she agreed as if he was saying something else entirely. "I guess nobody knows that."
"Mirage, when do you think your boss will finally meet with me?"
"He needs to finish some preparations before you two can have a grand meeting of like minds. So until then I'm afraid you'll have to contend with me."
Mr. Incredible felt a flush and he wondered if the volcano they were dining in had just started a minor eruption. He lowered his head and focused on not trying to carve through the expensive marble and porcelain when cutting his prime rib. "So is there anything else you need to know?"
"Chicks are always trying to tell you their secret identities," his buddy, Frozone, once said through rolled eyes. "Thinks it strengthens the relationship."
The dining table suddenly seemed much shorter than it was a moment earlier. Mirage was resting her chin on interlaced fingers. "Most of my surveillance has given me a good idea of you Mr. Incredible. Oh, don't worry, I didn't pry anymore than I had to in order to prove you were indeed who you once were," she stood, "and are again."
"I appreciate the opportunity you gave me. And the fact that you didn't pry," he murmured, placing a heavy emphasis on the latter.
Mirage was walking over to him now in slow, measured steps. "Anyone who wears a mask has a secret to hide. But there's something to be said for the give and take of information in a working relationship."
Bob Parr barely knew the people who worked in the cubicles alongside him at his old insurance agency. But the way she said it made perfect sense. He felt his hand tighten involuntarily and he could hear the small scream of metal warping under his grip.
Mirage noticed it as well. "For one, I've never seen your hands without gloves." Her eyes rested on his wedding ring. "It keeps things like...oh, fingerprints, from people wanting to discover your secret identity."
If he didn't already know that she had discovered his identity as Bob Parr before their meeting he would have thought this was some elaborate trap. The way her fingers pulled the knife from his hand he thought maybe it still was.
"Perhaps you'd like to run through training programs with the soldiers?" she offered gently, "in case you start a case that involves back up?"
"I work alone," he said and stood up from the table with more force than he intended to. He pulled the napkin from his lap and realized it was wrapped around his left hand where his wedding ring was palpably obvious.
"Of course," Mirage said lightly, her head tilting to the side and her bangs falling across her eyes in a way that only worked if they were parted from the opposite side. "But there are different kinds of teams. We work together where I give you the necessary information and you go out and use it while I watch. I think that makes us a pretty good team, don't you?
"You're...different," he whispered.
"Than who?"
He realized belatedly that he was leaning down to look her in the eyes. And this was the moment of fear that he never had as Mr. Incredible. This was the moment of doubt where, for a single second, he thought he would...he would...
Do what?
Mr. Incredible stumbled back. "That's just different. You aren't in the way—of danger. Yes, of dangerous things so I don't have to wo-worry about you."
Her olive skinned fingers reached up and touched the side of his temple, where the seam of his mask and his bare skin met. "How strong do you think you could be if they were in danger?"
She didn't have to specify who she meant.
"I would lift the world," Bob Parr whispered without a trace of doubt.
Mirage's fingers traced his jaw where they dropped away and fell by her side again. "You're far stronger than my estimates gave me."
'No,' he wanted to say, 'I'm not. I'm not very strong at all.'