The old gymnasium was silent, save for the rhythmic whisper and snap of Hawk's fists cutting through the air. Though the cataclysmic trial of a thousand days was over and his Cosmo was awake, the ritual remained. The habit, forged in desperation and discipline, was now a part of him, as essential as breathing.
Besides, he had nothing better to do.
But the nature of the training had changed. It was no longer a desperate grind to reach a distant finish line. It was now a form of meditation, a method of refinement. With each set of a thousand punches, he could feel a subtle shift in his inner universe. In the vast, dark expanse of his soul, another star, faint and distant, had begun to glow. It wasn't the violent, instantaneous ignition that came from the crucible of combat; it was a slow, steady gathering of light, like a stellar nebula gradually coalescing over eons. He estimated another month of this steady training would be enough to bring it to its full, brilliant life.
The realization was a calming one. Combat was a shortcut, a violent catalyst for growth, but it was not the only path. This steady, deliberate effort was also a valid way to power.
That was important. Hawk had no desire to become a battle-crazed maniac, forever seeking conflict to fuel his power. The thousand-day ordeal had forged not only his body but, more importantly, his will. He controlled the power; the power did not control him. That discipline was the cage that contained the tiger of his Cosmo, and he had no intention of letting the beast run wild.
Furthermore, he was in no hurry. A Saint without his Cloth was a glass cannon, a warrior with a nuclear reactor for a heart but skin as soft as any mortal's. To rush into lighting constellations without the sacred armor to channel and withstand their immense power would be the height of foolishness.
A while later, the ten thousandth punch snapped through the air, creating a small vacuum in its wake. His work for the day was done. After a long shower, he changed into a fresh T-shirt and jeans, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and walked out into the bright afternoon sun, heading for the school gate.
His independent hearing at the Queens Family Court was scheduled for 3:30 PM. From here, one bus and two transfers would get him there with time to spare. He found an empty bench at the bus stop, sat down, and began to eat the sandwich he'd prepared, his mind drifting as he watched the traffic flow past.
For the first time in his life, he began to seriously consider buying a car. Before getting his license, of course. It was a simple thought, but one that represented a seismic shift in his entire outlook on life.
Before his Cosmo had awakened, his future was a terrifying, suffocating weight. Every dollar was counted, every expense scrutinized. The thought of life after turning eighteen—with no federal subsidies, the full burden of rent, and the potential for crippling student loan debt—was a source of constant, breathless pressure. A car? The insurance alone would have been a death sentence to his meager budget. He didn't deserve such a luxury; he barely deserved to survive.
But now, that crushing weight was gone. The biggest change his awakened power had brought him was not strength, but freedom. A profound, soul-deep sigh of relief. The future was no longer a terrifying unknown to be survived, but a blank canvas upon which he could paint one of two pictures: a comfortable life, or an even more comfortable one.
He acknowledged the darker temptations that came with such power. He could, if he chose, become a tyrant, an emperor of the criminal underworld where his fist was the only law. But that path held no appeal, at least not now. His discipline was, for now, stronger than his ambition.
His more immediate path to a better life was tucked away in a secure corner of the ruins he once called home: five high-tech Chitauri weapons. Even if he sold them on the black market for a laughably cheap twenty thousand dollars apiece, that was a hundred thousand dollars. It wasn't just enough for a decent car; it was rent for years. It was the foundation for a new life, built from the spoils of an alien invasion.
He was so lost in these thoughts, calculating the logistics of fencing alien technology, that he didn't notice how long he'd been waiting, nor the strange emptiness of the usually busy bus stop. He was only pulled from his reverie when a familiar yellow Toyota Corolla with the personalized license plate 'GW521' pulled up in front of him.
The passenger window hummed as it rolled down, revealing Gwen Stacy. Her golden hair was casually tied up, and her sharp blue eyes, which always seemed to hold a spark of intelligent curiosity, met his.
"Get in," she said, her voice clear and friendly.
Hawk hesitated. His instinct, the one that had kept him isolated and safe for so long, was to refuse. He didn't accept help. He didn't rely on anyone. "No, I'll just wait for the bus," he said, his tone polite but firm. "Thank you, though."
A small, knowing smile played on Gwen's lips. "Are you sure? The bus service is suspended today."
"Suspended?" Hawk blinked, the information failing to compute. "When? Why?"
"Since noon," she said, her smile widening slightly. "The New York Drivers' Union is on strike. Didn't you notice you're the only one here?"
Hawk's eyes darted around. She was right. The entire, usually crowded bus stop was completely deserted except for him. He had been so lost in his own world, he had missed the most obvious clue in this one. A quiet curse echoed in his mind.
He took a deep breath, his pragmatic side overriding his instinct for isolation. He stood, grabbed his backpack, and walked to the car, pulling open the passenger door. "I appreciate it. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Gwen said as he settled in. She stepped on the gas, and the Corolla pulled smoothly into traffic, heading towards the courthouse. After a moment of comfortable silence, she spoke again. "Oh, by the way."
She glanced at him, her expression turning serious. "There have been some changes to your hearing. The judge has been switched to General Ross, and the time has been moved up. It's at three o'clock now."
The name hit Hawk like a physical blow. General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross? The man who hunted the Hulk? A question mark slowly materialized in his mind. He turned to look at her, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion.
Gwen seemed to read his thoughts. "Your contact number on the school file is just the main office line. The court called, but the counselor couldn't reach you. I took the message." She gave a small shrug. "I saw you head to the old gym at lunch, so I figured you'd be here waiting for a bus that was never going to come."
The pieces clicked into place. She hadn't just stumbled upon him. She had seen a problem, deduced his routine and location, and taken the initiative to solve it herself. If she hadn't, he would have missed his hearing entirely, a legal disaster that would have set him back months.
He felt a surge of genuine gratitude. "Thank you," he said again, his voice imbued with a weight it didn't have before.
"Again, you're welcome," Gwen replied, her smile returning. "I'm the grade's student assistant. Helping students is part of the job."
As she spoke, Hawk truly looked at her, connecting the dots of everything he knew about Gwen Stacy. He'd seen her patiently explaining complex equations to struggling students like Daisy. He'd even seen her give Flash Thompson the time of day, answering his questions without a hint of condescension. He'd watched from a distance as she'd stood up for Peter when he was being bullied, and had even seen her verbally tear down the cheerleading captain for harassing another girl.
She was consistently, unfailingly, good. The realization settled in his mind with the force of a simple, undeniable truth.
Beautiful. Kind. And smarter than almost anyone he had ever met. A truly rare combination.