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Five o'clock in the afternoon.
New York, John F. Kennedy International Airport.
George Stacy of the NYPD's 19th Precinct was pacing back and forth near the arrivals gate, feeling like he was about to lose his mind.
This was it. The day he'd always dreaded.
His little girl, the precious daughter he had raised so carefully, was finally being snatched away by some animal.
And a wild one at that.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was that, from the looks of it, his daughter was the one who had gone looking for the animal.
George couldn't understand it. But at this point, it didn't matter.
Right now, only one thought consumed him.
He wanted to put a bullet in the punk who had stolen his little girl.
Just then, the passengers from the flight from Hagerstown, Maryland, began to deplane.
George stopped his pacing, took a deep breath, and stood by the gate, his eyes fixed on the passengers emerging from the jet bridge.
A moment later.
His breathing hitched, sharp and ragged in his chest.
Jesus Christ.
What was he seeing?
His baby girl was walking out, hand-in-hand with some handsome punk.
George's face went dark.
The other people waiting nearby felt a sudden, inexplicable chill in the air. They glanced at George, then instinctively took a few steps away.
...
Finally, the new couple—fresh off the plane and still in the early days of their relationship—felt a wave of pure hostility crash over them.
Gwen looked up, saw the source of the cold front, and immediately let go of Hawk's hand. "Shit. It's my dad."
Hawk had already seen him. George Stacy, standing at the gate, dressed in a black suit, his normally stoic face radiating a dangerous cold.
Their eyes met.
Hawk could feel the captain's gaze on him—suspicious, analytical, and utterly hostile.
It was to be expected.
Hawk figured that if his own daughter had run off without a word and come back with some guy, he'd probably be even angrier than George Stacy.
Breaking the punk's legs would be letting him off easy.
What's that?
He's the punk in this scenario?
Oh.
Right. Never mind.
Hawk thought to himself.
To be honest, Hawk was still a little fuzzy on how he and Gwen had ended up holding hands.
The memories were a blur.
But he was happy.
It was just like he'd thought before.
Hawk had never been against the idea of a relationship, especially with Gwen Stacy, the undisputed number one girlfriend in all of comics.
He had always felt out of her league.
But now, he wasn't.
And once he got his hands on that meteorite, got the Vibranium from Wakanda, and forged his Phoenix Armor, he'd own the whole damn league.
So—
Hawk watched as Gwen ran ahead to her father, grabbing his arm. His own expression remained calm. He walked right up to Captain Stacy, met his glare without flinching, and extended his right hand.
"Mr. Stacy. I'm Hawk. I'm sorry for worrying you."
"..."
George didn't speak. He didn't shake Hawk's hand. He just glanced at it, then completely ignored him and looked at Gwen.
"Let's go. Your mother's waiting."
"Dad!"
"It's okay, Gwen." Hawk smoothly retracted his hand, his expression unchanged. "You should go with your father."
He understood. He didn't blame George for not shaking his hand. Right now, even if the man had tried to punch him, he would have just dodged. He wouldn't have fought back.
Hawk gave Gwen a small, reassuring smile, said a final "Goodbye, Mr. Stacy," and then walked away, not wanting to make things any more difficult for her.
...
Hawk was back at his apartment near Queensbridge Park.
He flipped on the light.
He had expected to find the place covered in a thick layer of dust after being away for over twenty days.
But it was clean. Even the shorts he had left hanging in the window were now neatly folded on the sofa.
And on top of them was an envelope.
This must be the gift from Dr. Connors that Gwen had mentioned on the phone.
Hawk sat down on the sofa, picked up the envelope, and pulled out a handwritten letter.
It was a letter of recommendation to New York University, written by Dr. Connors himself.
Hawk had forgotten. Dr. Connors was an NYU alumnus.
Hiss.
"Damn. This is a pretty big deal."
Hawk blinked.
Honestly, the letter was impressive.
A recommendation from a scientist of Dr. Connors's stature was more than just a nice gesture, it was the kind of thing that could open doors. Other students would kill for something like this.
A letter of recommendation was a form of social currency, a personal endorsement.
So, If Hawk had received this letter before he had awakened his Cosmo, he would have been ecstatic.
But now?
He didn't really care if he got into NYU or not.
He wasn't planning on dropping out of school, but his perspective had shifted.
If it happens, great. If not, that's fine too.
He could see a different, more brilliant future laid out before him now.
However—
He still owed Dr. Connors a thank-you call.
Hawk turned the envelope over. Gwen had written Dr. Connors's number on the back.
He pulled out his phone, saw the black screen, and chuckled. He stood up and walked into the bedroom.
Hawk plugged his phone into the charger and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for it to power on.
As he waited, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the picture frame on his nightstand had been moved slightly.
Hawk raised an eyebrow. He reached over and carefully adjusted the frame, angling it back toward his pillow.
It was a habit.
He slept on his side, and with the frame positioned just so, there was a seventy percent chance it would be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes in the morning.
There. Perfect.
Hawk smiled, then looked at his now-powered-on phone and dialed Dr. Connors's number.
The call connected quickly. "Curtis Connors speaking."
"Dr. Connors, it's Hawk."
Hawk introduced himself, then apologized for the delay, explaining that he had been out of town and had just gotten back and seen the letter.
Dr. Connors sounded genuinely pleased to hear from him.
After a few minutes of pleasantries, Hawk asked casually, "You sound like you're in a good mood, Doctor. Did the experiment finally succeed?"
Dr. Connors laughed.
"Almost. One of the test mice showed me the breakthrough is within reach."
"...Well, congratulations in advance, Doctor."
"Thank you, Hawk. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."
"Of course. Take care."
"..."
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