{Chapter: 27 - Damsel In Distress?!}
"You know," he added, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "this might actually be a first. I've talked to spies, assassins, and even an Asgardian once—but you're the first woman who wouldn't even pretend to humor me with a conversation."
The bartender arrived and set down two fresh drinks. Without missing a beat, Aiden pushed one of them toward her. "Here," he said. "If you won't talk, at least accept a drink. No strings attached. Consider it my tribute to your mystery."
The blonde narrowed her eyes at him, appraising him more seriously now. There was something in her gaze—sharp, piercing, the kind that had seen too much. Still, she didn't say anything. Instead, she picked up the glass, downed it in one smooth motion, and stood up.
She didn't offer a thank-you. She didn't offer a name.
She just walked away.
Aiden watched her go, her hips swaying in a way that made it hard not to stare. He let out a small laugh and shook his head. "Well damn… that's a fail."
He took another sip of his own drink, letting the music and the ambient chatter of the bar soothe his nerves. He hadn't come out looking for anything serious—just a moment of distraction, a change of pace from secret missions and encrypted files. He drank a few more glasses, occasionally catching stray glances from other women at the bar, but none of them held that same magnetic pull.
After about four or five drinks, Aiden decided it was enough. He stood up, tossed a few bills on the bar for the bartender, and made his way out. He wasn't drunk, just nicely buzzed. Relaxed.
Out in the cool night air, Aiden stretched his arms and yawned. The idea of crashing at the hotel instead of returning to the cramped quarters of the Bus sounded perfect. He started searching for nearby hotels on his phone when something—or rather someone—caught his eye.
The blonde.
She was walking unsteadily down the sidewalk, her heels clicking against the pavement in irregular rhythm. She wasn't alone, though. A figure—male, tall, wearing a dark hoodie—was following her, his steps quiet, deliberate.
Aiden's jaw tightened.
"Well that escalated fast," he muttered under his breath. "Is this really happening? Damsel in distress? Is this some kind of setup and the hero saving the beauty. Isn't this too much of a coincidence?" Aiden muttered to himself.
Still, his conscience wouldn't let him turn a blind eye. Whatever had happened in the bar didn't matter. He couldn't ignore the possibility of a woman being stalked—or worse.
Despite her dismissive behavior towards him at the bar, he felt compelled to intervene when he saw someone attempting to exploit a woman, particularly one as attractive as her, regardless of her rudeness.
He followed quietly, keeping a safe distance as the blonde staggered into a side alley. The man behind her quickened his pace.
Then, out of nowhere, she snapped her hand forward in a powerful gesture—almost like she was hurling something invisible.
"F*ck off!"
A split-second later, the man flew backward as if struck by a wind. He landed hard on the concrete, rolled, groaned, and didn't get up.
Aiden froze.
His eyes widened in disbelief as he processed what he just saw. "Okay… that was definitely not normal."
There was no physical object. No weapon. Just raw, unseen force. A wave of pressure. A telekinetic push, maybe?
"Don't tell me… it's her" Aiden murmured, now staring at her in a new light.
"Damn?" Aiden was a bit astonished and shocked by convince.
"Nah, it could just be some invisible wind attack, magic, or telekinesis; it can't be her, right?"
Aiden was about 80% sure of who she was; the attack was sneaky, and he just felt a rush of energy.
Marvel Universe had a few females with that kind of attacks but a beautiful blonde woman, the first one that came into Aiden's mind was of course the Invisible woman Susan Storm from Fantastic Four.
Now that he looked at her closely, it seems that she is really the invisible woman.
'She skipped her Fantastic Four outfit and probably switched up her hairstyle a bit so he wouldn't spot her at the bar!'
'But, this is Queens, New York! Shouldn't Spider-Man be around? What's Susan doing here all by herself at a bar instead of in Manhattan?' Aiden thought and he even observed that she was quite drunk.
She stood there, breathing a little heavily, still wobbling slightly from the alcohol but very much in control of herself. Her eyes darted toward him.
Aiden took a step closer. "Hey… Invisible Woman?"
She turned sharply, her blonde hair whipping around as she squinted at him. "It's you," she said, her voice low and accusing. "The guy from the bar. I should've known. You followed me. You set this up."
"Set what up?" Aiden threw up his hands. "I literally just walked out for some air and saw you being followed. I didn't know he was gonna go flying through the air like a ragdoll!"
"You expect me to believe that?" she snapped, her hand rising slightly—fingers flexing like she was gripping something that wasn't there.
"I expect you to calm down before you accidentally throw me into a traffic sign," Aiden said, keeping his tone light, but his hands were already half-raised in a non-threatening gesture. "Seriously. I'm innocent. And if I'm being honest? I was kind of hoping to get your number. Not get hit by a force field."
She blinked at that.
Then narrowed her eyes.
"Wait… you know who I am?" she asked, her tone cautious now.
Aiden smiled. "Pretty hard not to. Blonde hair. Barbie-perfect face. Voluptuous figure. Mysterious aura. Plus you threw a guy across a sidewalk without touching him. That narrows it down to, what, three marvelous women? But only one has that mix of sass and strength."
"You're insane," she muttered, voice laced with both disbelief and anger.
"Maybe," he said with a faint, unapologetic smile. "But at least I'm honest."
She stared at him for a long, silent beat. Something in her stance changed—her arms still crossed, her expression still guarded, but the sharpness in her eyes dimmed ever so slightly. Less hostile now. More… wary curiosity. The alcohol in her system made her emotions hazy, but that didn't stop her from analyzing him, trying to figure out if what he just said was some kind of trick—or something else entirely.
"I really was just trying to be nice," he said, his voice dropping lower now, the earlier confidence thinning into something quieter—more uncertain. "And… you were kind of mesmerizing."
But the moment those words left his lips—trying to be nice—something shifted in the air. Palpable. Sharp.
Susan's expression froze. Her eyes didn't widen, but they hardened—the warmth evaporating in an instant like water to flame. Her breath caught ever so slightly, her lips parting but no words spilling out. That phrase… It was like a shard of glass pressing against old wounds in her heart. The kind that never truly healed.
Trying to be nice.
It echoed like a ghost. A memory dressed in someone else's voice. One too familiar.
Her jaw tensed, her fists clenched at her sides. The alcohol might have blurred her balance, but the rage gave her something opposite of clarity.
Her jaw clenched.
"You bastard," she whispered, her voice trembling—not from fear, but from a fury carved deep. "You don't try to be nice. You don't try to give your beast even a sliver of kindness. You just smile, say the right things… and then you take everything."
She stepped closer, the flicker in her eyes no longer anger alone, but something older—raw and bruised. "You don't get to say those words—not you, not when people like you always say them right before they twist the knife. Right before they make you believe you're loved… and then disappear into their damn work again."
Her voice cracked, just barely, but she didn't stop.
"You think a few words—'I'm just trying to be nice'—make up for everything? For the nights I sat waiting in silence while he lost himself in his machines? For all the times I tried to reach him, and he'd just nod, like I was background noise? He said he loved me—but it was always in passing. Always while he was scribbling on some board, solving some equation, chasing something that wasn't me."
Her breath hitched again, this time not from fury—but from the sting of memories she hadn't meant to revisit.
"So no. Don't say that. Not when it sounds exactly like him."
And then she moved.
Fast. Too fast.
Her hand lashed out, not just out of anger, but desperation—an unconscious scream from a part of her that had never stopped hurting.
Before he could say another word, her hand lashed out, as she attacked him.