Warning: death/suicide

Birds of a Feather Collection

Choices

— Hawks meets a lost wondering soul atop a high place and simply talks. But sometimes words are not enough.

Hawks had to admit that, in certain situations, having such mighty Quirk didn't always equal to power that let him do anything. Truly, 'control' and 'power' were more of an illusion than anything. And that illusion translated into another, one of a hero who, because he was made from such a young age to fulfill his role given by society, could do anything.

Save everybody.

Things Hawks knew where nothing but lies.

Though he was aware of this, the reality and gravity of such thought didn't sink into him until one particular night–the night he spotted you just sitting atop one of the highest buildings around his neighborhood. He'd gone out to take a leisure fly around and visit some convenience store after hours of tossing and turning in his bed when he found you just sitting around staring skyward into the darkness overhead that obscured the starlit sky. Curious, Hawks landed and approached you, startling you somewhat.

"Sorry," he frankly apologized while the rubbing the back of his neck and giving you smile. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's alright," you said, the faint trace of a smile upturning yours lips as you gripped your shoes tightly in your hands. Hawks noticed then that you were barefoot, sitting very near the edge of the building. "I didn't think anybody flew around this late at night."

Feigning disconcern about your rather obviously concerning state, his smile broadened. "Everybody needs a break every now and then."

"Truly, that they do."

Though he found it somewhat overbearing, it was that exact heaviness that clung in the air that forced him to step closer and keep the conversation going. "You seem like you could use one too."

Swiftly, he took out one of the beers he got and passed it along to one of his feathers to take the beverage closer to you. Somehow it felt rather intrusive to approach as you were now. Something told him that that just wasn't what you needed right now. His feather left the beer just by your side and you eyed the can curiously for a moment before taking it gingerly in your hands. Though you didn't open it right away, your hands gripped the cold can tightly. Like an anchor of sorts. A strange, cold anchor in an already gelid night. Taking a few tentative steps closer, he only walked as close as you allowed it–the subtle glance over your shoulder signal enough for him to stay where he was–before his vibrant wings cradled around you to keep the cold breeze away as you finally cracked open the can and took a sip. Hawks followed suit, the cracking of his own can reverberating just as much as yours had. In serene silence, you two drank, and while you could not take away your eyes from the sky, Hawks couldn't keep his away from you.

A foreboding feeling sank in his stomach, like something was twisting his gut and pleading him to act. To do something. About what, he could honestly imagine, but he didn't want to jump to such outrageous conclusions. Not without any evidence at least.

That in mind, his mouth moved on its own as he tried talking to you, hoping not to find any sustenance for his foreboding ideas. "Were you expecting someone?"

Qauntily, you shook your head. When that was all the reply you provided, Hawks prodded further.

"It's kinda of dangerous for a woman to be out in the open like this so close to 3 in the morning, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't have to walk far," you intervened, for once in the conversation sparing a glance downwards beyond the roof you sat on to the city below. "I live on the floor below."

"Couldn't sleep either then?"

"Most nights can't."

"Ah, an insomniac."

"No. Just don't feel like sleeping." Your gaze went skyward for a brief second before turning back over your shoulder at Hawks. "And pardon or not the crudeness but what does a hero care?"

"Many reasons," he exaggerated. Which made sense, because if asked, Hawks knew he wouldn't be able to name more than the one that stuck out like a sore thumb in his mind. "Mostly that it's rare to see a night owl so high up. It got me curious."

"Curiosity kills cats."

"Good thing I'm not one then," he said with a gentle movement of his wings outward towards you. When the conversation died down again, Hawks tried slowly prying his way in again, wanting to prove his highly imaginative mind wrong. "But people don't come to look up at the skies when they can't catch a wink of sleep. Most stay in bed and listen to something, or count sheep or what have you, or even drink something warm. Being here, in the chilly night, seems kinda like…the opposite of wanting to sleep."

Just barely, Hawks caught the spare glance over your shoulder before you turned to face straight ahead into the city before you both once more. "Many have found peace in high places. Or so I've seen."

"High places are dangerous."

"Maybe take your own advice."

Hawks pursed his lips and stopped mid drink to look at you over the rim of the can. "I have wings though."

You don't.

"Must be nice then to just fly away whenever you want to."

"Not exactly." Now it was his turn to gaze skyward. For a moment he didn't care to elaborate but when he caught your glance rapt on you just the smallest of bits, he thought it best to. His wings rustled as he moved them for emphasis, "Wings don't mean much when I'm always needed down there."

You let out a low pensive hum as you stared down at the city below. "You're forcibly grounded by us–the ones you're sworn to protect."

"Sounds like I'm shackled when you put it that way."

"Aren't you though?" How deadpanned you were made Hawks lower his beer and place it down on the floor close to yours, an almost half finished can beside a mostly full one. "Bound by others, I mean; by mostly society. By people who expect you to do something, to be someone they themselves constructed, and where they push their own expectancies onto. You rise to their expectations and all they do is ask for more and when you fail to meet them, it's you who's at fault. Not them for placing such absurd goals in the first place. In the end, you lose either way."

Whoa. Pretty intense. Not wrong though. Especially when considering his background. But that statement seemed just inclusive enough to apply to others aside from him.

"You do have a choice though," he countered, his fingers turning the can in his hands. "Whether you do it or not, whether you even begin–that's a choice you make of your own accord. Isn't it?"

"An illusory one. We all exist to fulfill a role, and whether we fit into that role and how well we do it has always been part of how society judges us."

"Good has come out of those roles though, thanks to those who fulfill them."

"For society, yes," you agreed. "But for those like you, hardly."

Not finding any way to drive your pessimism away, Hawks frowned and walked up to plop down a few feet beside you, his wings now protecting the two of you from the freezing breeze.

"We do good." Hawks didn't know to who he was being so adamant to reassure. "We bring safety and goodwill along with it. Something sorely gone from people nowadays."

"A legacy is what you find driving?" This being your first question, he didn't shy away from answering.

"Not really," he replied, "I want to live that peace in my lifetime. There's no point in fighting for something you don't get to experience."

"Merit then."

Tired of your over-analyzing, Hawks waved his hand dismissively at you and looked out at the bright lights of the city. "Call it whatever you want. If it's what I want, then it is my choice. And if its my choice, then its worth pursuing no matter what society has against me."

For a moment you stopped and Hawks barely heard what sounded like "it's my choice no matter what, huh." He didn't have time to ask about them though as your gaze fell and you grasped the rim of the can between your fingers as you stood, motioning it to him with a faint, forlorn smile coming to your lips. "I'll give you that one," she said under her breath before making her way towards the door that surely led into the building.

Hawks zaid nothing, just stood up and watched your back as you left, hearing the loud thud of the door closing behind you. Not trusting that you wouldn't come back to do what what he guessed you were there to do in the first place, he waited out the dawn there by drinking the hours away and watching the gold and orange hue paint the sky overhead before leaving.

The rest of his day went along like normal with work, catching villains, and going to interviews and shoots, but throughout it, Hawks couldn't keep the idea of you out of his mind. About how complex your mind was–how your short yet cluttered sentences spoke volumes–keeping him intrigued and wanting to hear more. To know more. Or at the very least learn your name.

Settled on that idea, Hawks left straight out of work and hurried to the only thing he knew for certain about you: your building. But as he approached a couple of things caught him off guard. The crowd of chattering people surrounding the entrance to the foyer of your building and the flashing lights of the police cars and ambulance. A sick feeling, much alike the one he got last night but worse, hit him and lowered him to the ground over the corded section laid out by the police. Coming to the first one he spotted–a lad looking too young for the job–the police officer tipped his hat at seeing him, though his furrowed brow wondered why he was there at all.

"What happened here?" Hawks instantly asked, cutting to the chase.

"Oh, quite the tragic thing, sir." When he tipped his hat in respect and looked over to where a coroner carried away a body bag with the EMTs' help, Hawks felt everything stop. "Young lady jumped off her rooftop. Passersby who witnessed it said it all happened too fast for anybody to do anything to stop it."

God. Let me be wrong.

"Did she–by any chance was she…" Hawks described you as well as he could from what he recalled from the night before.

"That would be her, yes. And excuse my asking but were you two acquainted maybe?"

The question made Hawks pause. No, you weren't. He didn't even know your name, for crying out loud. Even calling you acquaintances was too far-fetched. You had been nothing more than strangers who happened to find each other and talk about existential bullshit. That was the truth.

"No." His answer was concise and curt, as if distancing himself would help the news not hit as hard. Vibrant red wings fanned out only to come back to cocoon himself, as if they could somehow guard him the ravaging emotions hitting him.

It was odd to be this affected by someone's passing. Especially yours–someone he knew nothing off. Not even a name. But knowing you for those few hours only that one night, reinforced an idea in his mind that he had heard off but hadn't experienced to such 'personal' level.

Despite the signs that he clearly saw, he failed to save you from yourself. And in your passing–that of a complete and utter stranger's–he found more truth in his own words that he ever wanted to.

It'd been your choice to do what you had done. Your choice to not walk away when he decided to perch on your roof. Yours to talk to him when he started the conversation. And ultimately yours to jump the day after.

Over the years as a hero, Hawks learned that his choices could affect so much in this world. But that night with you, he learned that those same choices changed nothing. In the end, he failed you. He saw the signs–he'd been aware to some degree–but even then, he couldn't rightly react to your loudest yet wordless cries for help atop a lonesome rooftop.

The biggest thing Hawks learned after that day was that no matter how fast he was and regardless of the talent he was praised for, he was only human. And that was something not even the most powerful of Quirks would ever change.