Chapter 10 (1/2)

Dan had forced himself to watch the security tapes of his little scuffle. With a sense of mortified curiosity, he had shuffled his way over to the tiny surveillance room, escorted by an amused Margaret. The room itself was every bit as thematic as the rest of the hotel, with monitors that looked like they were plucked straight out of an eighties Alien movie, and keyboards that made satisfying click-clack noises as their keys were depressed.

The tapes themselves were rather high quality, all things considered. The Pearson did not skimp on its security cameras. The video showed the entirety of Dan's brief encounter with the would-be bank robber, in all of its excruciating glory. It did not paint him in a flattering light. That said, he could see how, to a blind optimist, his actions might have seen selfless. The keyword here is blind.

Moments before teleporting, Dan had bit down on his knuckles in anger. The camera angle could only catch the back of his head, and so the action itself was obscured. Dan's hand could have been doing any number of things. Maybe his chin itched, and Dan was scratching it. Maybe his fingers were prospecting for gold. Maybe he'd stuck his hand in something gross and was sniffing at it. There were many options available for a reasonable interpreter.

Officer Pierre-Louis had gone with the 'prepping a surprise attack' interpretation. Dan had to wonder what sort of lunacy Pierre-Louis engaged in himself, to believe that Dan's master plan involved pinpoint accurate retching.

The teleportation itself was, and Dan still felt absurd even thinking this, perfectly normal. Visually, there was little difference between Dan's teleportation and someone who could short-hop. One moment he was by the door, the next he wasn't. He had even kept his eyes open, not that the camera angle could have caught that fact. Dan felt marginally better knowing that he had managed to not raise too many questions within the first month.

Next was Dan's 'attempted takedown' of the thief. Nothing about it was pretty, nor sensible, nor even remotely on purpose. He had nearly headbutted the poor, flailing, vomit-covered man right in the sternum. Dan hadn't even noticed at the time, too concerned with his own horrified vision-induced meltdown. Through blind luck, Dan's distraction had sent the robber's gun clattering to the floor, in an action that might have seemed intentional if not for the awkward belly-flop that followed it.

Had Margaret not stepped in at the end there, Dan was fairly certain he would've eaten a bullet or three. Instead, the end result of Dan's misfired teleport was a tangle of bodies and two effectively unconscious adult men. Not the worst result, all told, but it certainly could have gone better.

Dan concluded that he wasn't very good at being heroic.

A single errant thought had put both him and Margaret in exponentially more danger than they had started the encounter in. Had the robbered fired out of surprise, had he not dropped the gun, had Dan fallen slightly earlier or differently, had any number of tiny things gone differently, someone might have died. It was a painful lesson on why the word vigilante was viewed here in such a negative light. Accidental or not, Dan had meddled in something that he should have stayed out of. He felt a a surge of extraordinary gratitude towards kind Officer Gregoir Pierre-Louis for not arresting Dan's dumb ass on the spot.

Dan sighed as the tape ended. Margaret gave his shoulder her signature pat, seemingly reading his thoughts.

”We can burn the tape if it'll make you feel better,” she remarked.

It might. Dan was perfectly capable of burying this mortifying event in the darkest depths of his mind and never remembering it again. He wanted to, badly. It was evidence of his very worst fears, that his silly dreams were exactly that. Dan wanted to believe that he could rise to an occasion that would never occur. So long as it never occurred, he would never have to prove himself. So long as he never had to prove himself, he could believe that he would rise to the occassion. It was a circle, a horrible, poisonous loop.

Deep down, Dan still wanted to believe that he was special.

”No,” Dan decided aloud. It was better this way. He needed the reminder. The next time he fell into a rut, the next time he fooled himself into thinking I'd shine if only I had the chance, he could come back here and watch himself fail in the most embarassing way possible.

Normal Dan, that's what people had called him. What had changed since then? What had he changed?

He used to be Normal Dan, now he was just Normal Dan with powers.

Dan discovered that he hated that fact.

________________

”You couldn't even last a month without getting into trouble?” Marcus asked incredulously. ”Your talent for stumbling into idiotic situations is almost impressive.”

”I didn't get into trouble!” Dan protested. He was back at Mercury's space station, standing in the good doctor's lab. The old man was peering through a microscope, paying Dan just enough attention to deliver the occasional insult.

”You've garnered the attention of an over-enthusiastic police officer. What would you call it?” Marcus asked sternly, not even glancing away from his work.

”The guy is a nut. I'm sure he'll find some other insane thing to hold his interest sooner or later,” Dan pointed out.

”On your head be it,” the doctor replied with a shrug. The conversation lulled for a moment as he refocused his microscope. After a moment, he sniffed at the air.

”Why do I smell vomit?”

Dan grimaced, wiping absently at his shirt. ”That's me. Sorry.”

”Seriously, Daniel?” His voice was flat and unimpressed.

”I couldn't help it,” Dan huffed. ”I kept my eyes open when I teleported and things got weird.”

Mercury frowned. ”Define weird.”

”Umm, like physics took a vacation, weird. Like I was riding in Spackle again, weird,” Dan clarified with a shudder.