Reed zipped his parka up tight. Sue had pointed out that trying to walk in the front door of a Maxwell Lord owned research hub, guarded by armed men while wearing a bright blue nanoweave suit with the logo of a former short-lived superhero team maybe wasn't the best way to sneak beneath the Baxter Building. He turned to face the full-length mirror leaning against the wall of their makeshift bedroom and inspected his reflection. The beard wasn't an intentional addition to his aesthethic, more like something that he had let grow out of control and had now committed to styling and trimming in the vain effort to prove to his fiancée that it had been intentionally grown. He raised a hand to scratch it. Did it make him look older?
Sue stepped into the room behind him, her own coat half-zipped and a duffel slung over one shoulder. Her expression softened as she caught him scrutinizing himself in the mirror.
"You look fine." she said, brushing past to grab a small device from the nightstand. "Very grizzled genius chic." She turned back to face him fully, and then stopped, eyes scanning his outfit.
"Is that...is that the parka from when my dad took the Think Tank to the North Pole?"
Reed glanced down at himself. "It's warm. And durable."
"It's also six pounds of reinforced thermal mesh with a radiation liner. We're going under Midtown Manhattan, Reed, not trekking across the Ross Ice Shelf."
He looked momentarily defensive. "It rained yesterday. Water seeps down through the old foundation layers. If the ambient temperature dropped enough overnight, that moisture could create frost slicks underground, especially near sealed metal or unmaintained tunnels. Hypothermic microclimates form more easily than you'd think that deep down."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're wearing combat boots. In Manhattan."
He opened his mouth. Closed it, then looked down at his boots.
"I thought they'd be practical."
"They squeak." She walked over and started unzipping his jacket without asking, peeling him out of the oversized gear like she was field-dressing a particularly stubborn sleeping bag. "We're trying to blend in. If someone stops us, you want to look like a guy going to fix a power main, not auditioning for The Day After Tomorrow." She moved over to the wardrobe. "Plus, and don't take this the wrong way honey, but you don't exactly come across like one of the punks down in the East Village. I think you'd be getting a few funny looks trapsing about in these."
Reed watched her as she moved with efficient precision, grabbing a charcoal-grey utility jacket. It was faded, slightly scuffed, something that looked issued rather than bought, and something that had been used through all weathers. She tossed it to him along with a pair of dark cargo pants and a plain black beanie.
"These have RFID tags spoofed from an old ConEd database. Jacket passes for contractor wear. Pants have reinforced knees and deep pockets for tools. The beanie's just for style."
"You've really thought about this."
"I've had to sneak into a lot of places since we came back." Her tone softened a little. "And I know you. If you get stopped, you'll start explaining the quantum weave in your parka's insulation, and we'll both be arrested before you finish the sentence."
Reed gave a sheepish shrug as she handed him the new jacket. "That only happened twice."
"Three times." She smiled faintly and adjusted the collar on his shirt. "There. Now you look like someone whose backpack probably has tools in it instead of illegal interdimensional prototypes."
"I do have tools in it." Reed muttered.
"Good. Then we're halfway there."
She stepped back to admire her handiwork, then shouldered her own gear. Sue's disguise was just as inconspicuous, dark navy work pants with reinforced seams and tool loops, a fitted gray fleece jacket zipped over a collared shirt, and a high-vis vest stuffed into the top of her duffel in case they needed to play official. A faded ID lanyard with a barcode tag hung from her belt, just worn enough to look real, and her hair was pulled into a low, ponytail tucked under a generic navy ballcap bearing the logo of a long-defunct city utilities company. Just obscure enough to pass as real to any inattentive guard or camera.
"So I'm guessing we're not taking the Argo this time?"
Sue grinned. "It would sort of defeat the point of the disguise, don't you think?" She lead the way out of the bedroom and towards the door. Herbie perked up, beeping enthusiastically as he hovered over to the two of them. "Sorry, Herbie, not this time."
Herbie's light dimmed slightly, a warbling chirp escaping his speaker like a disappointed sigh. Reed gave the little drone a sympathetic pat as it lowered itself back onto its recharging pad. "Don't take it personally, buddy." He said. "You'd only make the machines at Lord's place jealous."
Sue stared at the buildings passing by as Reed fiddled about on his phone. It felt like years since they'd been on the overground together. She glanced at her partner.
"This takes me back to those days at the think tank." She spoke.
Reed smiled, glancing up from his phone. "Back when we were splitting instant noodles three ways and arguing over whose turn it was to clean the communal microwave?"
Sue gave a soft laugh, tucking her chin into her collar. "You mean back when Johnny set popcorn on fire and tried to convince your prototype smoke detector it was a controlled experiment?"
"He said he was 'testing the heat thresholds of common snack foods.' I still have the incident report. We were nearly evicted."
"You framed it," she shot back, grinning. "Hung it above your workstation like it was a degree."
"It was my first documented proof of field failure under unexpected variables." Reed said mock-seriously. Then, after a beat. "Also, I thought it was funny."
Sue shook her head fondly, leaning back against the rattling seat. "We were broke. Brilliant, stubborn, and barely surviving on scholarship stipends and vending machine coffee. God, remember that one winter when the building's heating gave out?"
"You wore two coats to bed for a week!" Reed laughed. "I tried to recalibrate the lab's kinetic battery array to power a space heater and nearly fused the entire subgrid."
"Nearly? You blew every breaker in the east wing, Reed."
He gave her a sheepish look. "It was a small explosion. Contained."
Sue chuckled, "You remember that one time Ben came to visit during finals week? Showed up unannounced, lugging that awful duffel bag he'd had since high school."
Reed laughed. "Oh God. The one with the broken zipper and half a Knicks logo stitched on with dental floss?"
"That's the one." She grinned at the memory. "He barged into the lounge like he owned the place. Scared half the bioengineering cohort. Brought you that awful diner coffee and a full bag of those off-brand energy bars."
"I think he said, and I quote 'Figured you eggheads might forget to eat something that didn't come out of a petri dish.'"
Sue snorted. "Then he took over our couch for three days and snored so loud the building manager filed a noise complaint."
Reed smiled faintly, but this time it didn't quite reach his eyes. He went quiet. Sue noticed immediately. Her smile faded. "Sorry." She said gently. "I didn't mean to-"
"It's okay." He shook his head. "It's a good memory." He smiled, staring out the window.
They sat in silence for a moment, the clatter of the train their only soundtrack.
"He always knew when I needed him." Reed said eventually. "Even when I didn't. Especially then."
Sue nodded. "He'd play dumb about it, but he was never clueless. He was a good friend."
Reed looked down at the screen of his phone, not reading it. "I still write messages sometimes. Almost hit send last week."
Sue didn't speak right away. She reached out instead, resting her hand briefly over his. He turned his palm slightly, letting their fingers interlock.
"He'd give us hell if he knew we were getting sentimental." Sue said softly.
Reed gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah. He'd tell us to stop moping and get back to work."
"'The world's not gonna fix itself, Stretch.'" Sue replied, doing her best attempt to mimick Ben's voice.
Reed's face bore a look of resolve. "No. It's not."
The train hissed as it pulled into the station. The overhead lights buzzed. Both of them stood, their hands separating as they stepped out of the train. They made their way in almost silence to the old Baxter Building. Neither of them were sure if it was the pressure of the mission, or the weight of the memories this place held for them that kept the two of them quiet.
They had seen the Baxter Building a few times since they were ousted from it all those years ago. At first it looked the same as it always did, but slowly overtime it became more and more militarized. Reinforced fencing had been erected around the perimeter, not the kind that screamed "construction site," but the kind that buzzed faintly with a low-grade current and had motion sensors built into the posts. The front plaza, once a public square where school kids would gawk at science exhibits and tourists posed for photos, was now a checkpoint zone. Armored drones patrolled overhead on lazy figure-eights. Reed could see the joints of their undercarriages glinting in the morning light, housing stun turrets and micro-surveillance arrays.
Sue nudged Reed as they approached the entrance. "Let me do the talking."
Reed gave a small nod, eyes flicking nervously to the security camera above the door. He cleared his throat. "I just - if they ask about our clearance, we can say we’re here for a maintenance subgrid ping. That's technically true. We're checking residual-"
The guard at the door raised a hand to stop them. He was in his mid-40s with a buzzcut and a moustache. Wearing sunglasses despite the cloud cover. Sue wondered if he knew he was a pastiche. "Badges?"
Sue was already reaching into her jacket. She flashed their forged ConEd credentials casually, like she had done this a million times before. Reed tried to do the same, but fumbled slightly, his badge catching on the inside of his coat. The guard's eyebrow arched.
"You two new?"
Reed blinked. "Uh, we - yes. I mean, not exactly new, just on reassignment, we were rerouted from - uh, Substation Delta to follow up on-" He trailed off, eyes darting briefly to Sue like a man praying for a lifeline.
She sighed, exaggerated, and slapped a hand on Reed's shoulder. "Listen," she said, voice suddenly hard-edged with a thick Brooklyn accent, "my guy here's not much for chitchat, but he's the one who knows what kind of voltage spike you're gonna get if someone don't re-run the grounding check down in Sector G."
The guard blinked. Sue leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to sound conspiratorial. "Now, you wanna be the guy who has to tell one o' those lab rats upstairs their cryo array just blew a ten thousand dollar lens because nobody checked the subgrid after last night's rain? Be my guest. But I'm tellin' ya - you'll be the one mopping the coolant off the ceiling. I betcha a hundred bucks our unions way better than yours."
There was a pause. The guard glanced at the other, who gave a minute shrug, then he stepped aside. "Maintenance's through the east access lift. Stay in your lane. Badge out when you leave."
Sue gave him a two-fingered salute. "Appreciate ya, boss."
Reed followed a half-step behind as they entered through the glass doors, he was almost whispering. "That accent is terrifying."
Sue smirked. "Worked, didn’t it?"
The interior had changed even more than the outside. The old Baxter reception desk was gone, replaced with a minimalist console staffed by a bored-looking clerk in a slate-grey uniform. Screens lined the walls, cycling through building schematics, power usage charts, and departmental access logs.
Sue tilted her head subtly, taking in the layout. "They gutted the core labs."
Reed's voice was tight. "Rebuilt it to their specs. Probably reconfigured the floorplans. But if the subbasement's still structurally intact, our route to the signal should be just past the east stairwell."
A soft chime echoed through the lobby, some kind of access confirmation as they swiped into the service corridor. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead.
"I really liked that old receptionist," Reed muttered, mostly to himself. "What was her name again? She used to bring banana bread on Fridays."
Sue shot him a look. "Focus, honey."
They pressed deeper into the belly of the building.
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