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[i]#02 The Secret Name (Part 2)[/i]
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[i][color=darkblue][b]Earth, Manhattan[/b][/color][/i]

Stepping through a mystic doorway of light was Kent Nelson, the civilian guise of Doctor Fate, Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. Kent emerged from the portal into a small, tidy condominium. The doorway vanished as soon as Kent was through, and he was alone in the small apartment. While everything in it was clean and seemed like new, it was very clear that no one lived there, and that it had been that way for some time. The decor looked like something out of a homegoods catalog from the 70s, and with good reason: the brown carpet, brown drapes, brown furniture (kept pristine with spotless cellophane furniture covers), brown paneling, and orange-brown wallpaper had been copied wholesale from the 1971 Sears Spring Catalog. Doctor Fate was not much of an interior decorator, and saw no reason to change the furniture of a residence he only maintained as part of his civilian alter-ego. He had similar residences set up in London, Cairo, Lima, and Hong Kong. Each was shielded from magic surveillance, connected to Fate's personal teleportation nexus, and was enchanted to keep itself tidy, collect the mail, and keep the bills paid on time. Fate did not undervalue the advantage of having shielded safehouses like these; they helped enormously when he wanted to drop into the city without announcing his presence to every magician and metahuman in New York.

He departed his time-capsule apartment, looking much the part of someone that would live in such a place. Doctor Fate's wardrobe suffered similarly to his interior design, serving as a relic of the last time the he cared about such earthly endeavors. He wore an ultramarine pinstripe suit, brown oxfords, and had the matching navy hat and tan ox leather briefcase. Kent checked his wristwatch, a heavy, gold timepiece, and saw that he was right on time, as always. Time and Fate worked hand in hand.

Despite what Kent regarded to be the rapidly-worsening condition of his safehouse's neighborhood, Kent made it to the closest subway station without incident. He already knew what line to take, and when his train would arrive, and so he surprised himself by arriving early, and having to wait on the platform for the train like everyone else. Kent diverted himself by watching a street magician, who was busking on the platform by performing various simple tricks of misdirection, generally haranguing passerby in the process. Kent approached and watched a few coin tricks, and then volunteered to choose a card from a deck. The magician went through many seemingly complex maneuvers with the card Kent had picked, though the magician (and Kent of course) knew where it was the entire time. When asked to pick out his card, Kent did so, deftly sliding the card out of the deck with two fingers. Then, he crumpled the card into his hand, blew into the knot of his fist as though pantomiming blowing up a balloon, and as he opened his hand, a paper butterfly fluttered out. The street performer watched amazed as the animated origami landed in his outstretched hands, and then unfolded itself, revealing the kind eyes of Benjamin Franklin on the hundred-dollar-bill it had been folded from. As the performer looked up, they saw that Kent had boarded his train, and was pulling away from the station.

After a few more stops, transfers, and a hot dog, Kent managed to reach Tribeca and the office he had been on his way to reach; the New York branch of the American Institute of Archaeology. He had a lunch date with the chapter president, Mr. Carter Hall, known to Kent and a rapidly dwindling list of others as Hawkman. Kent stepped into the lobby, its air conditioning refreshingly cool in the late-summer Manhattan heat. He would take the dry heat of a desert over the sweltering stink of the city any day. He doffed his hat and fanned himself with it as he rode the elevator to Carter's office within the complex. The AIA chapter offices were merely a few rooms connected by a waiting room that boasted an impressive plaster casting of a slab of stone from the eighteenth dynasty, depicting the god Horus. There, the receptionist, Julie, was waiting for him.

"Good afternoon Dr. Nelson," she said, her North Jersey-Gotham accent broken up by the smacking of the gum in her mouth, "Dr. Hall will be with you in just a sec."

"[color=gold]Hello, Mrs. Sirrico,[/color]" Kent said, easing himself into a chair to await his friend, "[color=gold]How is your baby, dear? I didn't expect to see you back so soon.[/color]" He said, with a warm, grandfatherly affectation. Kent's carefully-maintained received pronunciation helped in making him seem genial and wise, as an elderly man should be.

"Don't call me 'Missus,' it makes me feel old," she mockingly chided him. Julie retrieved a few things from her desk and stepped over to show them to Kent. "Here she is," she said, offering a photo of a newborn baby, swaddled and with a pink bow in her thin infant hair, "Maria Josephine, six pounds twelve ounces. She's a dream, but I can't leave Carter alone too long or he'll miss me too much. I've got the husband at home looking after her."

Kent examined the photo, holding it out to feign farsightedness, and smiled with a parent's genuine affection. "[color=gold]She's breathtaking, absolutely beautiful, you must be very proud. I hope she enjoys my gift from the shower.[/color]"

"Oh, the bassinet? It's gorgeous, where did you find an antique like that in such good condition?" Julie asked, accepting the photo back from Kent. "Actually, I have something for you, here." She handed him another photo.

"[color=gold]Well, it wasn't any trouble...[/color]" Kent started, before looking at the photo Julie handed him. He was then slightly startled to be looking at his own face. Much younger, of course, he was barely in his twenties when he had been shipped off to France to fight in the Great War. Cameras were uncommon things; Kent had not even known that his photo had been taken, but there he was in a muddy foxhole in France none the less. Kent smiled again, this time completely insincerely, and said, "[color=gold]This is quite a find, my dear, did you pull this from Carter's personal collection?[/color]" She nodded, and said she found it while digitizing his photo album. "[color=gold]You have an excellent eye. This is my grandfather, Kent Nelson Senior.[/color]" It was a convenient lie for a man who was perpetually in his early sixties. Every time he started to look too young for the age he was supposed to be, he fabricated a new identity as his own son and continued the ruse. He had done it twice already, but the digital age was shrinking ground beneath his feet. If anything was evidence of that fact, it was his own face from a hundred years ago staring back at him at that moment.

"So you're Kent Nelson the Third? Is there a fourth?" Julie asked, innocently breaking Kent of his internal monologue.

"[color=gold]Er, that's correct,[/color]" he said, feigning as though he had been mesmerized by the photograph. He gave a small, sad laugh before answering, "[color=gold]No, I didn't see the point in continuing the tradition. My son's name was Khalid.[/color]"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Julie said, tensing suddenly, "I didn't know."

"[color=gold]It's quite alright,[/color]" he said with a bittersweet smile, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

It was then that Carter Hall emerged from his office into the reception area. While Kent was a tall, well-built man, in very good shape for his alleged age (supernaturally good shape for his actual age), Carter was comparatively a towering figure. He was a head taller than Kent, burly in the shoulders and huge, calloused hands. His hair was short and gone completely white, and he had a face like a bulldog, all wrinkles and jowls. Kent wondered if there was enough fabric in his suit to make a tent. Said suit was a terribly garish thing, forest green with golden accents, just like Carter's old costume, just without the wings, helmet, and mace.

"[color=gold]Carter, you mummy,[/color]" Kent called out to his old friend as soon as he saw him, eager to break the tension in the room, "[color=gold]Have they been hiding you in the discount suit rack? You look like a lawyer for the Wizard of Oz.[/color]" He rose to shake his comrade's hand.

Carter laughed boisterously, accepting his friend's handshake with his bearlike grip. "[color=khaki]Me? You look like a Sinatra-themed bank robber.[/color]" He returned Kent's jest, and the two shared a laugh that was long-needed by both.

The two old heroes quickly exchanged the routine of "Hi, how's your mother" and so on, before Carter suggested the two take their lunch at a hotel bar nearby that he was particularly fond of. While Kent wasn't eager to step back into the noonday heat, he agreed, and the two set out on foot, a striking pair on Manhattan's streets. Along the way they discussed matters that were relevant to their civilian identities, as they were each highly respected doctors of archaeology. The difference between them had been that Carter had retired and embraced his civilian persona wholly. For Kent it was still merely that, a persona. Still, they chatted like old friends and colleagues about the ongoing digs in southern India, about the damned extremists continuing to blow up Mesopotamian ruins in the Levant, and Carter swore up and down about how the British Museum's recent repatriation of many of its artifacts was merely pandering to "liberals and pinkos."

They reached their destination and ordered their lunch and martinis, sitting shoulder to shoulder with businessmen yammering into cell phones or tapping away at laptops. "[color=khaki]So,[/color]" Carter broke the ice between sips of his drink. "[color=khaki]What brings the immortal Doctor Fate down to rub shoulders with we mere human beings?[/color]"

Kent could only give his old friend an annoyed glance. "[color=gold]Carter, you're a demigod, and you're older than I am.[/color]" He said, taking a sip of his own drink. Gin martini, no ice, double olives. He looked back at his friend, their eyes meeting, and in that moment Carter knew why Kent had come to see him.

"[color=khaki]God dammit.[/color]" He said, exasperated. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before sighing and asking, "[color=khaki]Alright, who this time?[/color]"

"[color=gold]Sandy Hawkins.[/color]" Kent said, momentarily feeling like some unwelcome visitor in the lives of his old comrades. Just like Carter had said a moment before, the immortal Doctor Fate descends to share the news of their dying friends. Carter didn't reply at first, so Kent continued, "[color=gold]He was Wesley's protege, and took over for-[/color]"

"[color=khaki]Yes, I remember him, Kent.[/color]" Carter cut him off, sounding more distraught than unkind. "[color=khaki]He and Hector worked together, back when Hector was still the Silver Scarab. Christ, I'm gonna have to be the one to tell him. It's gonna break his heart.[/color]" He sighed again, and ran his hands through his short, white hair. "[color=khaki]Sandy was young, wasn't he? Well, maybe not [i]young[/i], but younger than us.[/color]"

"[color=gold]Most people are.[/color]" Kent said, sipping his martini.

"[color=khaki]You know what I mean, smart-ass. When did this happen, what did him in? Is Wesley holding up alright?[/color]"

"[color=gold]A few days ago, if I understand correctly. His ex-wife called my New York house, I guess I was still in their address book. Police have ruled it a suicide so far, but the investigation is ongoing.[/color]" He took another sip. "[color=gold]I was hoping to check in on Wesley while I was still in town.[/color]"

Carter nodded approvingly, still clearly deep in thought. "[color=khaki]Good, he needs the company. Loony old bastard.[/color]" He caught himself and chuckled ruefully, "[color=khaki]Heh, look who's talking though.[/color]" He turned back to Kent. "[color=khaki]You know that makes two this year.[/color]" It was true, Alan Scott had died of a stroke at the beginning of the year. It had been a massive blow to the superhuman community as a whole, and his funeral was an international event, complete with media circus. Sandford Hawkins, Sandy the Golden Boy as they had best known him, was a comparatively obscure hero, and his death would likely go unremarked, save for those few that knew him.

"[color=gold]Death comes in threes.[/color]" Kent remarked joylessly, understanding Carter's implication. The words hung ominously in the air between them, despite the noise and bustle of the bar at business lunch hour. The two shared another pregnant glance, each pondering the idea of the other's death. Carter had little to fear from death; he would simply reincarnate with the love of his life into the next iteration of Khufu, champion of Horus. A much different afterlife awaited Kent, as the soul of a sorcerer was a prized commodity in dark realms below the mortal world.

Before they could remark on the point, their food was served to them, and there was only one thing left to do. Together, the two heroes recited an ancient prayer in a long dead tongue, a humble plea to the Jackal-God of the Underworld to judge their departed friend with truth and wisdom, and to wish him luck in his journey to the Western Lands. Their task accomplished, the two enjoyed their meal, continuing to converse about the news of the world, and reminisce about old victories and long-lost friends.

Kent and Carter parted ways after their meal, as Kent had more errands to run while he was in New York. Still, as he walked through the congested Manhattan streets, he noticed something very peculiar going on. It was as though he was the only thing moving, and the world had gone as still as a photograph. Sure enough, people were stood like statues mid-stride around him. A bird hung in the air as though by a wire, and steam billowing out of a subway grate froze like a sculpture. Just as Kent was sensing his surroundings for signs of magic or other interference, he turned and came face to face with one of the most powerful entities in the known universe.

"[color=007236][b]Hello, Doctor Fate.[/b][/color]" Said a haggard old man in a filthy robe, carrying a heavy book, bound to him by thick, golden chains.

"[color=gold]Greetings, Destiny.[/color]" Fate said warily, "[color=gold]It's funny to be running into you, I was just anticipating a visit from your sister.[/color]"

"[color=007236][b]You'll see her. All you mortals inevitably do.[/b][/color]" Every one of his words felt like a grain of sand ticking down to the end of Kent's life. He tried to keep it from bothering him.

"[color=gold]In that case, to what do I owe the pleasure of a personal visit from one of the Endless?[/color]"

"[color=007236][b]I don't know. Not yet, anyway.[/b][/color]"

"[color=gold]That's unusual. You have the entire fate of the universe inscribed in your book.[/color]"

"[color=007236][b]That's just the trouble.[/b][/color]" He sounded more exasperated than angered. "[color=007236][b]Something is tampering with fate. Who, or what, or to what end, I cannot say. It is difficult for me to know what exists outside the bounds of this universe's intended destiny. What I do know is that whenever I feel these... deviations, I'm always lead back to you, Doctor Fate.[/b][/color]"

"[color=gold]To me? Surely there must be some mistake.[/color]" Kent hadn't been concerned before, but he was now. For something to be tampering with destiny at a level noticed by one of the Endless was one thing. The fact that he was being set up to take the fall for it was quite another.

"[color=007236][b]Maybe... Maybe not.[/b][/color]" Destiny pointed a withered finger at Kent. "[color=007236][b]Know this, so-called Fate: I will learn the truth of this aberration, and I will know what hand you have played in it, and then there will be penance extracted. Do not mistake me for some petty god or demon. I am Destiny, inescapable.[/b][/color]"

With that, he disappeared, as did the street Kent had been standing on. So he thought at first, but he realized after a moment that time had leaped several hours forward in an instant, leaving him in the middle of a darkened Manhattan street. Destiny, and all of the people that had been on the street when he had left his lunch with Carter were gone. Only the noise of the city and few assorted streetwalkers kept him company now. Kent rubbed his eyes the same way he had seen Carter do, hours before. Wesley would have to take care of himself for a while yet, Doctor Fate had pressing business to attend.