Afternoon.
Hawk drove Gwen over to the Stacy apartment to pick up the things Helen had packed for their trip to Georgia tomorrow—to bring to Grandpa.
Originally, Helen had planned to leave George at home with the two little ones and go back to Falls with Hawk and Gwen.
But…
a case came in.
And it looked like a big one.
"Looked like," because George hadn't said; Helen was guessing from how he'd barely been home these past few days.
Sure, even if George was buried in work, Helen could have taken the kids and gone to Falls anyway.
But she wasn't at ease.
If something happened to George, she'd only find out when men in uniforms with white gloves came to the door.
If—God forbid—anything did happen, being in New York meant she'd learn sooner and get to her husband faster than if she were in Falls.
So—
Helen decided not to go. When George wrapped the case and took a few days off, the two of them would take the kids back to Falls—staggering the trip from Hawk and Gwen.
So tonight, besides mooching dinner, Hawk and Gwen were there to pick up the gifts Helen had prepared for Grandpa and bring them along.
Soon enough,
with the hundred-day "broken arm" act officially over, Hawk slid the car into a neat parallel park behind Helen's family van.
Gwen hopped out of the passenger seat, eyeing Hawk—who had, thankfully, swapped out the very on-the-nose cowboy getup for the black casual suit she'd bought him a while back. Her tone turned feather-light. "Hawk, I swear, I wasn't lying. If Mom saw you in that cowboy outfit, she'd absolutely shower you with compliments."
Hawk slanted a look at her as she hurried up and hooked his arm, a mischievous smile twitching at her lips. "If you're going to say that, at least wipe the glee off your face."
Gwen caught herself, put on a straight face. "Sorry."
"Too late. I saw it."
He grinned.
He wasn't stupid. He and Peter had passed a discount shop the other day; that cowboy set had been an impulse buy.
He'd bought it to tease Gwen—never to wear to meet her grandfather.
Come on.
Knowing the man used to run a farm and no longer did—and showing up dressed head-to-toe like a ranch hand? Might as well stab Grandpa right in the lungs.
He wasn't an idiot.
After a bit,
Helen opened the door and ushered them in warmly. Noticing Hawk's left arm was finally free of cast and sling, her smile grew even brighter.
"Your arm's better?"
"Yeah."
Hawk glanced at Gwen and told Helen with a smile, "All thanks to Gwen's nursing. Honestly, I wouldn't mind being hurt a few days more."
Helen laughed and rolled her eyes. "Don't say that. Who wishes injuries on themselves?"
"Mom, that's exactly the kind of person he is."
Gwen looped her arm through Helen's and leveled a mock-stern look at Hawk. "He just wants to stay 'sick' so I'll keep waiting on him."
Helen patted Gwen's shoulder. "He's your fiancé. If he's sick, of course you should take care of him."
"Thank you, Mom."
Hawk jumped in before Gwen could, entirely guilt-free.
He and Gwen were engaged. They hadn't registered yet—too young, and they hadn't gone up to Alaska because they were watching out for George—but the "Mom" part with Helen had been settled for a while.
Of course,
he didn't use it when George was around. George hadn't given his own "okay" yet.
Not because Hawk couldn't say it,
but because he, Gwen, and Helen had agreed—strictly for George's blood pressure—that they'd hold off on formalities around him for now.
Gwen watched her mother being co-opted—now seemingly Hawk's mom—and shot him a glare.
He answered with a dazzling smile.
He'd thought George might make it back for dinner. He didn't.
Figures.
The case had to be big.
Hawk noticed George's chair empty and let it pass.
Worst-case, there was always the Underworld.
Ugly as it sounded, if George died, his soul would go to Hawk's domain—not Mephisto's hell.
And uglier still:
if something did happen to George, and he ended up in Hawk's realm, it wouldn't be to suffer. There was no way Hawk would toss him into one of the Eight Hells he'd designed.
Because if he sent George down there one second, Gwen would hear the next—and Hawk would be sleeping on the couch for a month.
So—
if George died and came to the Underworld, it would be early retirement, not punishment. One day sooner, one day more of the good life.
Thus Hawk didn't ask about the case and joined Gwen in comforting a worried Helen.
And Helen's worry was the familiar kind—the kind that came every time George had to work late on a case.
Not a mysterious sixth sense—just love.
If she didn't love him, a farm girl from a well-off Georgia family wouldn't have moved to New York with him in the first place.
After dinner, Helen brought out the gifts she'd planned to take to Falls.
There weren't many—three in total.
A finely wrapped leather belt for her father—Gwen's grandpa, William Fox.
A beautifully boxed scarf for her sister—Gwen's aunt, Liz Fox.
And the last gift was for Caroline Fox—
Liz's daughter.
As for why Liz Fox's daughter also had the Fox surname—Hawk didn't ask.
Gwen had told him.
Put simply:
if Helen had been lucky in love with George Stacy, then her sister—Gwen's aunt Liz—had been unlucky and married a dud.
Well, "dud" was harsh. He just wasn't around much, which meant the relationship inevitably frayed.
Rumor had it Liz had a new boyfriend. That was why Helen originally wanted to go back with Hawk and Gwen—to see for herself.
On the drive back,
Gwen, in the passenger seat, glanced at Hawk. "What's up?"
He looked over. "What?"
"You've got something on your mind."
"You can tell?"
"I'm the dau—"
"—ghter of a police captain."
Hawk finished it smoothly, making Gwen smirk despite herself. He didn't hide it. "I was thinking we could refund the plane tickets. Since Helen isn't coming with us."
Gwen thought he was spooked. "Getting cold feet?"
"You forget—I'm cursed when I leave New York."
"Uh…"
Gwen remembered the post–Texas breakdown when Hawk had cataloged his four trips out of New York and the four mishaps.
Trip one: Quantico—robbed outside the airport.
Trip two: Africa—incident before takeoff.
Trip three: London—airborne hijacking; thank God Peter was there.
Trip four: Texas—attacked midflight by the Wind Elemental of the Primal Four.
She blinked and asked, "So how are we getting there?"
"Flying."
Hawk grinned at her. "Faster than a plane. Georgia's not far. Even taking it easy with you along, we'll be there in ten minutes."
Gwen arched a brow. "That works. But I'm curious—if Mom had come with us and your 'curse' kicked in, what would you have done?"
"What else?"
Hawk shot her a look. "You know I never planned to hide what I am. You and S.H.I.E.L.D. are the ones who think it's better."
Gwen turned serious. "And we're wrong? Look around—HYDRA finds out and they're already trying to clone you. We still haven't found them. If you go public, who knows how many scumbag outfits will come for your blood?"
Hawk hurried to change the subject. "Speaking of—any news from S.H.I.E.L.D.? Still no trace of Dr. Merrick?"
"None."
Gwen shook her head, relayed Sharon's morning call, then fixed him with a look. "Hawk—no more selling blood."
Hawk nodded quickly. "You're the boss. No more."
When it came to this, speed was survival—otherwise only God knew how long Gwen would lecture.
Sure enough,
his quick promise softened her stern expression.
Then—
her phone rang.
"It's Sharon."
Gwen glanced at the caller ID and then at Hawk, a thought sparking.
At this hour—could it be they'd found Dr. Merrick?
Hawk's brows lifted.
The next second,
Gwen answered. "Sharon!"
"Gwen, is Hawk with you?"
"He is—is it—"
"Yes. Australia. Alice Springs!"
"…."
(End of Chapter)
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