If one were to rank the most popular female students at Midtown High, the top of the list would be a fierce competition of shallow metrics. But if the question was about who was the most respected, the most genuinely admired, the answer would be singular and undisputed: Gwen Stacy. The silent majority, the students who didn't run in the popular cliques but formed the true backbone of the school, would cast their votes for her in a landslide.
Hawk counted himself among them.
He still remembered his first few weeks as a freshman. Quiet, reserved, and utterly uninterested in socializing, he had been a ghost in the crowded hallways. Gwen, in her then-new role as a student assistant, had noticed him eating alone or reading in the corner of the library. Mistaking his deliberate solitude for loneliness, she had made a concerted effort to help him integrate, inviting him to study groups and introducing him to others.
He had politely but firmly declined each time, and to her credit, she had respected his boundaries and let him be. He understood then what he understood now: it wasn't personal. It was simply Gwen being Gwen. Her kindness was a universal constant, applied equally to everyone she felt needed it.
And, as the famous saying goes, there are three great illusions in life: your phone is vibrating, you can accomplish all your tasks tomorrow, and, undoubtedly the most dangerous of them all, she likes me. Hawk was a pragmatist. His entire life was built on observing cold, hard facts. To mistake Gwen's innate goodness for a specific romantic interest would be a self-indulgent fantasy, a critical error in judgment he refused to make.
The Queens County Courthouse was an imposing, stoic building of granite and marble. Gwen pulled her yellow Corolla into a spot on the street outside. Hawk looked at the building, a place where futures were decided by paperwork and precedents, and felt a knot of anticipation tighten in his stomach.
"Thanks again for the ride," he said, reaching for the door handle.
He pushed the door open and got out, but before he could even close it, he heard the driver's side door open and shut behind him. He turned to see Gwen walking around the front of the car, her bag slung over her shoulder. A question mark seemed to physically manifest above his head.
"?"
She stopped in front of him, a wry smile on her face. "So what's your plan to get back? Walk? The airport hangar is miles from here."
"Subw—" he started, the word dying on his lips as he remembered.
"The drivers' union is on strike," she finished for him, her smile widening. "Subway drivers are drivers, too."
It was a perfect, logical checkmate. Hawk fell silent. He wasn't used to being looked after, and the sensation was foreign, slightly uncomfortable.
Gwen's smile softened. "Come on, it's almost three. You don't want the judge to cancel your hearing." She turned and started walking up the courthouse steps.
Hawk watched her go for a moment, a silent battle waging within him between his ingrained self-reliance and the undeniable logic of his situation. With a slight shake of his head, he followed.
Inside Family Court, Courtroom Three, the air was stale and formal. A bored-looking Judge Brooks sat on the high bench, his expression impassive. Gwen had said it would be General Ross, Hawk thought, but the docket lists a Brooks. A last-minute change, probably for the best.
The judge tapped his gavel. "Next, the emancipation hearing of the minor, Hawk."
"My Lord," Hawk said, rising from his seat, his voice clear and steady.
A tired-looking caseworker from Children and Family Services, a woman Hawk had met a few times over the years, also stood.
Judge Brooks peered at the documents before him over a pair of reading glasses. "I see from the file that the minor has never been adopted, nor placed in a long-term foster home. Can you explain why?"
The caseworker gave a wry, weary smile. "Yes, My Lord. Hawk was… different from the other children. He was always very quiet, very self-contained. He didn't seek out interaction. As a result, prospective parents tended to overlook him. He has remained in the state's care for his entire life."
The judge nodded, his gaze shifting to Hawk. He was a veteran of this court, and he could see that the quiet boy described in the file had grown into a young man with a formidable presence. "Mr. Hawk," he began, then corrected himself. "Hawk. The documents state you are seeking emancipation primarily to secure independent housing. Is that correct?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"And how do you plan to support yourself? To pay rent?"
"I have savings, My Lord. Thirty thousand dollars in my bank account. It's enough to cover the rent on a small apartment and my living expenses until I find employment."
The number hung in the quiet courtroom like a small explosion. The caseworker blinked in surprise. Judge Brooks' impassive expression finally broke, his eyebrows rising slightly. He shuffled through the documents until he found the certified bank statement, his eyes scanning the numbers. Then he looked at the rest of the file. No phone. No computer. No car. Not even a driver's license.
The judge leaned back, looking at Hawk with a new, profound interest. He had seen countless kids from the system. He'd seen them fail with far more resources and far less discipline. What he saw in Hawk was a level of monastic self-control, a steely maturity that was almost unheard of in someone so young.
"You have remarkable self-control, Mr. Hawk," the judge said, his tone now imbued with a deep, genuine respect. The use of the honorific was deliberate.
"Thank you, My Lord," Hawk replied, his heart giving a small leap.
Judge Brooks smiled faintly. He picked up his official stamp and brought it down on the application with a crisp, definitive THUD. He handed the document to the bailiff. "Under normal circumstances, I am reluctant to grant early emancipation. The adult world is a cruel and unforgiving place. However," he looked directly at Hawk, "I believe you, Mr. Hawk, are more than ready to face it. Congratulations."
Hawk took the stamped document from the bailiff. It wasn't just paper; it was a key. It was his declaration of independence. He looked at the judge, a flicker of real gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you."
Outside, the afternoon sun seemed brighter. Hawk looked at the document in his hand, the official court seal a vibrant symbol of his new freedom. He could sign a lease. He could build a life. He could finally leave the powder keg of the hangar, with its atmosphere of despair and simmering violence, behind him for good.
A genuine, unrestrained smile touched his lips. Lost in his triumphant thoughts, he turned and began walking briskly towards the subway station. A moment later, a hand gently pulled him back by the sleeve.
He looked up, blinking, into Gwen's slightly exasperated, slightly amused face. Oh. Right. The strike.
"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling a rare flush of embarrassment.
"Let's go," she said, shaking her head with a smile. She paused, her eyes twinkling. "...Mr. Hawk."
He raised an eyebrow at her playful tone but followed her back towards the car. As they approached, they saw a traffic cop standing beside the yellow Corolla, his ticket machine already in hand.
"One moment, officer!" Gwen called out, breaking into a run.
She reached the officer just as he was about to print the ticket, hastily digging into her backpack. She pulled out not a wallet, but a small, laminated card. "Sorry, officer, my father…"
The traffic cop, initially annoyed, paused as she handed him the card. It wasn't a driver's license. It was an NYPD family pass, a simple card circulated among the families of police officers, a piece of tribal identification. The officer's eyes scanned the name and details printed on it: 19th Precinct: Captain George Stacy.
His entire demeanor shifted. His professional stiffness melted into a look of recognition and respect. He immediately put away his ticket machine and handed the card back.
"No problem. Go ahead."
"Thank you," Gwen said, breathing a visible sigh of relief.
The officer gave a short nod, got back on his police motorcycle, and rumbled away.
Gwen watched him go, letting out her breath. She turned to Hawk, her tone light and relieved.
"That was close!"