"I'm not going to talk about this anymore, Nick."

"I understand that, I just want to be sure you know what you're doing."

"You think I'm not in control of my own life?"

"No. Just saying…you have a history with rash decisions."

He slammed the now-empty coffee mug on the table and gave Fury a look of death. One of those annoyed librarian, over the rim of his glasses looks. He let out a breath slowly, exhausted, and clenched his teeth.

"You know that's just like you, Nick. You've always doubted my power—"

"When Electro blew the Raft wide open, I was hiding in bunkers in North Dakota. S don't tell me what I know and don't know, Bob, because I wasn't even around then."

"Oh but you knew, Nick. You know about everything."

Fury tamped the cigar out in the ashtray and blew smoke out through his nostrils. Returned the look of death.

"You're not afraid of me, Bob, I get that. I don't care. Really. I also understand that you're not afraid of anything anymore, and about that I really don't care either. You beat the hell out of Banner a couple of months ago and suddenly you're not a timid little kitten anymore. I get it. I don't like it, but I get it."

Reynolds was getting irritated. For once. He said, "You just don't like it when you get a dose of your own medicine, Nick. Tell me what you're really thinking now."

Fury flicked the cigar away and leaned forward. His voice was deep and powerful and covert angry. "I want to know just what the hell you think you're doing. You think dropping your goddamn problems is going to make your life easier? You think you can outrun the world, Bob?"

"No," he said simply. "I'm making your life easier. Removing myself from the situation is the only way."

"We've heard that one before," Fury said and blew out more smoke. "But since I don't seem to get it, explain it to me till I do."

Bob thought about watering down the truth. He stared around the bistro for a moment before committing. "I'm tired of it, Nick. Can't that be enough for you?"

"No. You think leaving is the right thing to do?" Fury was unimpressed.

Bob looked at him disdainfully. "I'm not fasting in the arctic if that's what you mean."

Fury had to smile at that. "Then what are you doing?"

"I'm leaving. The Watchtower is under lock and key. CLOC is property of Reed Richards for the foreseeable future."

"And Stark?" Fury's eyebrow peaked.

"Tony understands. Which leaves us only with you, Nick. Why did you call me here?"

"The bistro's nice enough," Fury said and looked around as if casing the place—a little hole in the wall coffee and donut shop in the middle of Chelsea. "I know the owner. We go way back."

"Commandos?"

Fury shook his head, and said, "I wanted to see for myself."

"See what?" Bob asked and tried to play nonplussed.

Fury nodded and said, "I wanted to see just what it was that would make Robert Reynolds, the great and powerful Sentry, shake in his boots and decide to leave the world behind."

"I have my reasons, Nick. Everyone's understood this but you. Why do you keep hammering the issue?" He waited for a response.

Fury tamped his cigar in the tray again and took a long inhalation. Blew it out his nose. His remaining eye looked at Bob unapologetically. For a moment, Bob almost felt ashamed that Fury, of all people, was doubting him.

Everyone doubted him.

A few months ago, he supposed, that would have just made things worse and caused him to run away. Again.

But, after the Hulk…

You made a promise to yourself, Sentry. You're going to face your problems on your terms in your time. Saving the world on an hourly basis doesn't help. Doesn't give you the mental latitude you need to even begin to work through these things. Think of Dr Worth.

He's been recommending you take time for yourself for the past two years. Shouldn't that be time you owe yourself, especially since no one's around anymore to hold you back?

Bruce, in government custody.

Steve, dead.

Lindy…

Bob's jaw clenched at the thought. Out of all the things that had happened in the past few months, Bob had rather escaped presence in it all. He hadn't caught Cloak's teleportation field when Cap's Secret Avengers broke out of the Negative Zone. He'd even missed Steve's assassination, such as it was. He'd been out of the country during the funeral, and it took a month of dialogue with Namor to even see the casket.

To give his last goodbyes.

Bob remembered Fury's perturbed expression staring at him. The anger became a two way street when the silence became unbearable, and Bob recalled Fury still hadn't answered the question.

When none came, Bob snapped. An errant arm threw the empty coffee mug across the room. It met a chalk-scrawled brick wall with no resistance and shattered into a thousand smaller bits of itself. The barista across the room shrunk a bit when Bob rose from his chair and started to glow yellow.

Fury sat back in his chair and lit another cigar. It was illegal, but no cop in three states would've arrested Fury. For his own part, he felt somehow entitled to the smoke.

"Power down," Fury said and glanced around. He didn't want to make a scene. More quietly: "You think you can solve your problems by running, Bob? No one beats an army by facing the opposite direction. No one. You put on your man pants and face the goddamn world, Bob."

Fury's voice kept its anger. He was genuinely upset that Bob was leaving. He genuinely knew Bob would carry through with it. He desperately wanted it not to happen. But then, Nick Fury had never really known a light touch. The byproduct of a thousand suns under Uncle Sam and the Howling Commandos had given him a demeanor just beyond gruff. It translated to militaristic arrogance to his detractors, and tough love to his allies. In all instances, Colonel Fury nevertheless had no tolerance for quitters. That he saw Bob Reynolds as one of those quitters...pissed him off.

Robert Reynolds unclenched his jaw and sat. Slowly. He didn't glow anymore.

"I'm done, Nick," he said wearily. "I'm just…I'm done."

Fury's lips curled in halfhearted disgust. "Done," he said and sounded offended by hearing the word. "You let yourself be done, Bob. You gave up the race when the going got rough. You didn't learn a thing from Steve. Did you?"

Bob looked back at Fury. His eyes blackened.

Fury went on: "That's the Bob Reynolds the world has come to know. Power of a million exploding suns, and afraid to get the goddamn morning mail. You're running from your life because you think you can't handle it. Just like you always did."

They locked eyes.

A moment later, Bob stood up from the table, forcing the chair to slide back and fall over on its side.

Then he was gone.

One of the baristas came over to upright the chair, and Fury ordered another coffee. Stubbed the cigar out in the ashtray, and said, in characteristic guttural: "Damn it."


Bob didn't sleep that night.

He spent the time in a low hover above the planet.

He didn't feel the cold. Didn't feel any heat, either. Except for the very obvious fact that he wasn't breathing—and didn't really need to—the fact that he was ten miles above the surface of the earth meant nothing to him.

He exhaled slightly and watched the vapor crystallize and shatter.

Space, he thought and pricked up an eyebrow. One of those things he'd never get used to, no matter how hard he tried, or how long he'd had these stupid little powers that allowed him to be up here and not die.

It was just another place to go. Another place to be. Another place to sit, and wait for something that would never come.

He missed Lindy.

No, that's not entirely accurate. How can you miss her when you understand completely what happened to her and why it happened? And you do understand. Don't you? Just in case we're not clear on this matter.

You couldn't save her, Sentry. She was gone a long time before…

A long time ago.

But things were different, too, a long time ago. After the powers came to him, and before the Sentry manifested those. She'd been happy. He'd been happy. It was magic, and after a while and some admittedly minor strongarming? She'd said yes.

He had to smile at that.

She'd said yes. He'd asked her to marry him. And she'd said yes. By God, she'd said yes. He couldn't have guessed it in a million years. But, that was Lindy's great mystery. She was a hard one to predict. That's what he'd loved about her. He was drawn to that mystery, perhaps partially out of a messiah complex.

They were two different people. Bob, appointed and maybe even a little obsessive-compulsive. Lindy, free and whimsical; delightfully so. She was…different. And he relished that.

They were always close. And always so far. Two icebergs was the old symbolism Bob'd used. Two icebergs. Barely capping the oceans and hiding infinitely more mysteries beneath calm waters.

He smiled.

A tear formed at the edge of his eye. In the airless void, it froze and shattered into its tiny billions.

He started to descend to the earth, and felt slightly deflated. And couldn't recall why it was he wanted to leave.

To regain your sense of self, Sentry. To find Bob Reynolds again. And to see, just maybe, if there's a place for you in this world. And if not…

Optimism, Sentry.

If there was no place for him, he would make one.

He accelerated and felt the heat of friction against his face.

He could live with that.


Continued...