The Goring Apartment in Manhattan was a warm, inviting space, a stark contrast to the sterile efficiency of Hawk's own spartan living quarters. Helen Stacy, a woman whose gentle demeanor was the perfect counterbalance to her husband's stern authority, was in the kitchen, the air filled with the delicious aroma of a home-cooked meal.
In the living room, nine-year-old Howard and eight-year-old Simon Stacy, Gwen's two younger brothers, were glued to the television, seizing every precious second of screen time before their mother's inevitable call to study. Helen held a firm belief: since their older sister was a genius, and they all shared the same genes, there was no reason their own grades shouldn't be stellar. The reality was that the two boys were distinctly, stubbornly average, a fact that had led to a one-hour reduction in their daily entertainment time after their latest report cards.
Just as the cartoon on screen reached its climax, the doorbell rang.
"Howard, Simon," Helen's voice called out from the kitchen, calm but non-negotiable. "Time for you to go to your rooms and read."
With a synchronized, theatrical sigh, the two boys accepted their fate, trudged up the stairs, and disappeared from view. Helen wiped her hands on her apron and walked to the door.
Hawk stood on the welcome mat, a nervous but determined expression on his face. He offered a polite smile. "Good evening, Mrs. Stacy."
Helen was momentarily taken aback by the handsome, intensely focused young man at her door, but her maternal warmth quickly took over. "Good evening, Hawk. Please, come in."
Before he could even step over the threshold, Gwen appeared at his side, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside with an excited, proprietary air. This was the first time in this life that Hawk had ever set foot in someone else's home, and the warmth of the Stacy apartment was almost overwhelming.
Hearing the commotion, Captain George Stacy descended the stairs from his second-floor study. He wore casual clothes, but his expression was as serious and meticulous as if he were in full uniform.
"Dad," Gwen said, her voice bright.
"Mr. Stacy," Hawk greeted him again, his voice steady.
George's response was a low, noncommittal grunt. He gave Hawk a single, appraising glance, then walked past them to the dining table without another word.
Helen shot her husband a look that was a mixture of amusement and exasperation, then turned back to Hawk. "Please, Hawk, sit down. It's time to eat."
Hawk thanked her and, led by Gwen, took a seat at the beautifully set table, directly across from the silent, imposing figure of the Captain.
"Howard! Simon! Dinner!" Helen called upstairs.
The two boys, who had clearly been waiting just inside their rooms for this exact summons, came thundering down the stairs. They skidded to a halt upon seeing the stranger at their table, their eyes wide with curiosity as they took their seats and continued to stare intently at Hawk.
Hawk, sensing their scrutiny, decided to meet it head-on. He extended his right hand to the older boy. "Hello, Howard. My name is Hawk."
"I'm Howard," the boy replied, shaking his hand with a solemn formality.
"My name is Simon," the eight-year-old piped up, hopping from his seat to extend his own small hand. After shaking, he looked up at Hawk, his blue eyes wide and guileless. "Are you my sister's boyfriend?"
The question dropped into the quiet room like a grenade. Hawk's eyes instinctively flickered to the man sitting opposite him. Captain Stacy's face had darkened to a shade that could rival a thundercloud. He said nothing, but the disapproval radiating from him was a physical force.
Hawk, however, did not flinch. He met the boy's innocent gaze and gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Yes."
The single word caused George's expression to darken even further. Gwen, on the other hand, beamed, reaching over to ruffle her younger brother's hair. Well done, little brother, she thought. You've just earned yourself ten dollars.
The meal was a masterclass in controlled tension. It was an individual serving system, each plate perfectly arranged. For Hawk, who was used to either functional school food or whatever was cheap and filling, it was the first meal that truly felt like a dinner in this life.
George ate in a stony, patriarchal silence. Helen, the gentle matriarch, made polite, surface-level conversation, asking Hawk about his day and if the food was to his liking. Gwen acted as a buffer, a mediator, and a vigilant lookout, her eyes constantly darting to her father, ready to intercept any sudden eruption. Howard and Simon, oblivious to the undercurrents, simply ate with gusto.
Finally, George picked up a glass of whiskey, took a sip, and cleared his throat.
The moment had arrived. Helen and Gwen both tensed. Hawk met the Captain's gaze, which had been subtly observing his every move all evening.
But just as George was about to speak, Helen, having caught her daughter's pleading look, smoothly interjected. "Oh, George, tell us about work. That Spider-Man, have you caught him yet?"
George looked at his wife, then at his daughter with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes, and then his gaze finally settled, hard and unyielding, on Hawk. "Not yet," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But we will. He's an amateur. He's leaving clues all over the city." He didn't give them another chance to interrupt, his eyes locking onto Hawk. "By the way, Hawk. What's your opinion of this new 'Spider-Man'? Do you also think he's some kind of hero?"
It was a test. A character interview disguised as a casual question. Under the table, Gwen's hand gently gripped Hawk's thigh, a subtle warning.
Hawk received the signal. He leaned back in his chair, a relaxed, almost indifferent expression on his face, and shook his head.
"Sir, with all due respect, I've been in Maryland for the last few weeks. I only got back yesterday, and I spent all of today in the library." He met the Captain's intense gaze without flinching. "To be honest, I'm just a student. Right now, the only things I'm concerned with are whether I can get a scholarship to NYU, and whether a bank will approve my loan application."
He gave a slight, dismissive shrug. "As for this Spider-Man… I don't care if he's a hero, a vigilante, or just another attention-seeking criminal in a costume."
It was the perfect answer. A declaration of focus, of pragmatism, and of a complete and utter lack of interest in the chaotic, vigilante world that George Stacy so thoroughly despised.