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She was sitting on her balcony, her legs stuck through the railing poles and hanging over the side when there was suddenly a figure hovering in front of her.
Rhea blinked up at him. “Hi,” she said, surprised.
Bluebird seemed to take her greeting as permission to fly over and land on her balcony next to her. “Hello, Detective Silvia” he greeted. He held out a wrapped basket in his arms. “I have come to apologize for my behavior a few days ago.”
“Is… that a fruit basket?” she asked.
“I was informed it was an appropriate offering for such things.”
She laughed a bit at that. He seemed flummoxed by this concept, and she could see in her mind’s eye someone, likely the man who had scolded him for using his powers on her at the time, attempting to explain to him why fruit was an appropriate apology. She didn’t have a face for either of them, but it was already a hilarious concept.
“Thank you,” she said. There were a few moments of silence and he shifted awkwardly on his feet, still holding the fruit basket. “Have a seat,” she offered.
He paused and then carefully folded himself down to sit next to her, putting the fruit basket between them.
“Oreo?” she offered, taking the pack sitting on her lap and offering it to her.
“I was under the impression that I was supposed to be offering you food in this apology.”
“And this is my way of accepting,” she said.
He hummed and took one of the cookies from the package. She set the package down between them as a silent offering for more. She looked down past her feet at the city below as he took a bite of cookie.
“So, your memories are back?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I assumed you knew that already.”
“I knew you were back, but no one is sure if you really have your memories back.”
“I do,” he confirmed.
“The lab techs who studied the memory gun said it wouldn’t be an easy thing to do if it was possible at all.”
“It was only a partial shot,” he explained. “I didn’t lose all of my memories, and I had some help remembering.”
“The man by the river?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said after a moment of hesitation.
“I’d assumed you worked alone.”
“I work alone,” he said. “That is all I’m saying on the mater.”
“Okay,” she agreed. She found herself interested in that. The man at the river had shown no signs of powers or other abilities, but he’d known enough about Bluebird to track him down and convince him he was an ally. She wondered who he was. She wondered who Bluebird was. Yet, she respected him enough not ask. It’s why she hadn’t mentioned to anyone the fact that she’d seen Bluebird with the man at the river. She was glad that wasn’t a mistake.
He nodded and she tapped the package between them. He reached for another cookie.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Everyone in the city was relieved when you reappeared yesterday.”
“I’m sure another hero would have stepped up if I never recovered.” Oh, but that wasn’t the point. There was always another hero, but there wasn’t always a good one. There wasn’t always one who people could trust. There wasn’t always one that was willing to work with others. There wasn’t always one whose protection didn’t come with a cost. There wasn’t always one that didn’t want control or rewards or adoration. There wasn’t always one that would stay. “So, you’re sticking around?” she asked.
“Of course, I am, why wouldn’t I?”
She almost laughed. “Most heroes don’t last 5 years. It’s been 6 and no one would blame you for bailing after almost having your entire life erased.” It was a sore spot, Rhea knew, for people with powers and without alike. It was a constant fear for everyone, having your life erased. Blight was less than 40 years ago. Rhea’s father had been a teenager when the news of her acts broke. Blight may have been defeated over a decade before Rhea was born, but she still hung over the world even today. She was a dark shadow that never relented.
What would it mean to people if Bluebird did come back, for real, not just for a couple minutes to assure everyone he was alive? Bluebird was what most people wanted as a superhero. Rhea had worked with him many times in the past few years, and she had to agree with the public. There was something about him that made him the quintessential hero. What would it mean for him in particular to have faced that collective fear of having your memories erased or manipulated and come back whole? Rhea was pretty sure that would mean a lot.
Bluebird thought for a moment. She wondered if he could see the weight of his decision as she could. “Would you stop?” he asked, surprising her. “If you got hurt helping people? Would you be able to abandon this city if its people still needed you?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She thought about why she had taken her job. Was it because she wanted to help the city or because her father and grandfather expected it of her? She knew what she wanted the truth to be, but making such things a reality was not always an easy feat. “I’d like to think so,” she continued, “but I don’t think I’ll know until the choice is in front of me.”
He nodded and then stood, considering her. “I’ll stay if you do,” he said, and somehow, she knew he meant more than just keeping her job. There was a weight to what he was asking of her.
She looked up at him for a few seconds. There was a reason people liked him more than they did most heroes. People had trouble articulating it. They said it was because he wasn’t vain or because he always prioritized life, even of those he was fighting. It was because he didn’t demand things subtly or directly and didn’t try to get in the way of other people trying to help. There were so many things people said about why they liked Bluebird, but Rhea thought she understood then, sitting on her apartment balcony with a fruit basket and a mostly empty package of Oreo cookies in between them. She thought she understood what made him different.
He wasn’t trying to be a superhero, at least not in the way the world knew them. He just had an ability and could see a way to help. So, he did. It was written in every action the city applauded him for. Every choice they’d seen him make was not to try to make himself a hero, but because he already was one. It’s how, without a memory of being Bluebird, he’d still stood up and taken Lightwave down. He made choices every day and he made the right ones. It was as simple as that, but nowhere near easy. Could she do the same?
“I’ll stay,” she said. “For as long as I’m able, I’ll be here.”
“As will I,” he said. “Goodnight, Detective Silvia.”
“Goodnight,” she replied, and then he flew away.