To Thine Own Self...

- A story of Dr. Henry Pym, brought to you by "The Other Doc" Joe Lionelle

- Henry Pym created by Smiling Stan Lee and Jack 'The King' Kirby

We've all had grim outlooks on the world, right? Seen it full of death and despair and just absolutely sickening things. That's exactly how I feel looking upon the world right now. It has an almost putrid yellow coating, evocative of something sour and jaundiced, but that's because I'm looking through the eye-shielding of my cybernetic cowl. Normally the optic systems filter in the proper colors and project the 'true scene' upon my retinas but a blow to my temple about fifteen seconds ago apparently damaged those systems and left me briefly stunned. It's not the shade of what I'm viewing that sickens me, however. No, that honor goes instead to the mechanical terror filling my field of vision. It's a little over 2 meters in height and shaped like a mockery of a man - jagged edges, shoulders enhanced by spikes of about six centimeters in length, and an oval head whose only features are two rectangular visual sensors, a dual antennae array in place of ears and a jack-o'-lanternish gash of a mouth. It is from the latter that streaming energy is vented in lethal clouds as the robotic being's systems cools itself of the radiation coursing through its' interior. The most important matter of note, regarding the automaton, however is that it's...-

"Hank! No time for dozing!" A voice tinged with a Midwestern drawl snaps me back to attention. 'Hank' is indeed my name, though in the guise I'm currently wearing I've been better known as Yellowjacket. Dressed in a garish outfit of yellow and black - complete with antennae on my cowl, two rigged shoulder "wings", and the emblem of my namesake - I battle alongside the Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes. The voice to my side belongs to a heavily muscled man bedecked primarily in purple hues; the outfit is essentially a tabard and harness while a cowl emblazoned with a stylized "H" obscures details of his features. Unleashing an arrow from the sleek compound bow he carries the man pauses for a second to inquire, "Yo! Hank? You didn't get clobbered that bad did ya'?". "That's Hawkeye for you - obnoxious one second and the next he might just slip and let you know he's a pretty decent fellow.", I think to myself as I arise and acknowledge that I'm all right. I launch myself at the robot firing two crimson bolts speckled with Kirby Dots from my gauntlets. I'm not at all surprised as they splash harmlessly against my foe's metal body, just as Hawkeye's arrow did a scant few seconds ago.

Surprise does come less than half a minute later as the mechanoid reaches out with computer-enhanced reflexes to grapple Hawkeye, slamming the Battling Bowman to the ground and pinning him. "Urk..*gasp*...Hank..little help.." escapes from Hawkeye's quickly constricting lungs as our opponent begins to crush my ally. Then comes my second surprise..."'Little help' is exactly what you'll get from Hank, Hawkeye." says a barely audible voice even as a minuscule winged figure the size of an insect - or more accurately a wasp - flies forth from Hawkeye's quiver. "I should know," the pixie sized female continues, "considering I was married to him for way too long!". I want to speak up and protest but find I can't - not because I can't speak, but because She's right. Firing beams similar to the ones I previously tried She attempts to blow back the robot. Unlike my assault Her's is successful and the enemy clangs to the floor. She reverts to Her normal size of 1.62 meters - yes, I know Her exact size...I know everything about Her...or at least I thought I did - and bends down to assist Hawkeye.

I want to speak to Her...to say something...anything. "'How's Hawkeye doing?'. You should at least inquire that." are the words I start to use, but She stops me cold before I can even start. "He's dead." She informs me, as if She'd been reading my thoughts. Her gaze is full of cold fury as She stands and advances towards me. "He's dead because you couldn't hack the little he asked of you." Her next phrase is accentuated by a slap across my cheek. It stings on many levels. Continuing to assault me with both words and blows She forces me to my knees and then to the ground. I curl into a fetal position and try to weather out the external and internal battle. How long it goes on I don't know but after an eternity a shrill whistle rips through my audio receptors and then all goes silent. "Feedback." I realize and tell myself after a bit. I also realize that She has stopped Her attack. Slowly I stand to my feet and open my eyes to look for Her...to look for Her in that cold pale yellow light. I find Her lying burned and expired next to Hawkeye's body. Looming over the both of them is the robot we had been fighting and thought defeated. He never is.

*BZZT! BZZT! BZZT!" An alarm jars me awake for the day. "That dream again." I mutter as I arise and push the 'off' button on the beetle-shaped alarm clock next to my bed. Walking to the bathroom to get ready I try and figure out why I once again had that dream. It's been occurring off-and-on for almost a month now and it shouldn't be happening. I put all of those things behind me. I know I did. "*Sigh* Maybe there's a problem in my 5-HT levels. I guess I'll have Paul run some tests today at work.." I say to, well, no one these days. "Talking to myself now. Careful Hank or people might start to say you're crazy." Shaking my head I silently thank myself for at least not reaching out for...Her...when I woke up from the nightmare. I still sleep with a few pillows next to me for the feeling of contact, but at least I'm getting used to Her not being there. Looking in the mirror above the sink I notice that some of my blond hair is getting a little gray in places. "Not to worry, Hank." I tell myself, stepping into the shower, "You're not going crazy. Just senile."

Stepping out of the elevator and into my apartment building's parking garage, fifty-seven minutes later, I feel a sharp burning sensation on my neck. Reacting with reflexes I rarely have need for anymore, I lash out and slap at the spot of my discomfort. A slightly disturbing wetness spreads against my palm and I force myself to look into my hand to see what causes it. I needn't have done so...I already knew. The crushed remains of a tiny exoskeleton seeps ichor from its' separated joints. The tiny corpse was at one time a member of the Vespidae family...or, in other words, a wasp.

A few hours later I'm at work trying to figure out a way to maximize efficiency in the delivery of synthesized glucocortocoid. It's an elementary problem - as was creating a top line synthesization in the first place - but then Wilton Bio-Research is still fairly young in the world of bio-research. Nonetheless WBR insures that I make a living and the least I can do in return is help them move up the ladder.

"After all," I muse, "they were the first ones willing to give me a shot after my expulsion from the Avengers and my treason trial." The truth, however, is more than that. I contracted with WBR not just because they were the first but because they were fairly small and far away from New York City. I'm not a huge fan of Chicago, however, and have been considering moving to their head office in Colorado Springs, Colorado, but for now life in the Windy City will have to do. At least it has no regular super-heroes.

A whisper-thin buzz sounds in my ear alerting me to an incoming signal from Latt. Latt is a security device I built at the bequest of one of the uppers in WBR. They'd had some trouble with corporate espionage before I got there and figured I might be able to assist them. Latt is a small robotic drone built in the shape of a flying ant. It essentially traverses throughout the main WBR labs and is coded to transmit conversations containing keywords. The conversations are recorded on a computer, but I built a transmitter capable of fitting on my earlobe so that I could monitor them quicker. Considering my lab had almost been broken into on no less than three separate occasions - though my security devices had held - I had decided to use my name as one of the keywords. The conversation I was now receiving was apparently one that had keyed in by that.

*Ssst* "Bugs?"

*Ssst* "Yeah. Little robotic thingies he has running around his lab and all over this building. Perform all sorts of errands for him. Pretty freaky if ya' ask me."

*Ssst* "Yes, well, I guess I'll have to see and decide for myself."

*Ssst* "Suit yourself. I'm just warning you that he's one cold fish. Doesn't like people very much and, frankly, we don't think much of him in return. I mean, how much worse can you get than a failed Avenger?

A chime 72.4 seconds later informs me that my guest has arrived with the reports. Briefly I'm tempted to just give-in to the apparent perception of my level of hospitality and just have one of my servitors retrieve the papers. After all, I'm very busy with...with...well, frankly not very much. Certainly not enough to shut out the rest of the world. That is, after all, what brought about my problems originally. "Perhaps if I hadn't been such a 'cold fish' previously I wouldn't..." No. Mustn't go down that path. Therein lies things I have no reason to face again.

Unfortunately for my guest, my lab is not quite what one would call sociable. The tables are all filled with equipment and experiments in progress and countless - okay, not countless...there were 47 at last count - devices to assist in my endeavors hang from the ceiling and walls. Assorted servitors - my "bugs" as Kelso called them - are scattered about the lab performing their duties and are the closest thing I have to 'personal affects". My lab is for work and, frankly, there's little about my non-work life I wish to be constantly reminded of anymore.

Walking to the door, I key in a lock code to allow entry. I start to greet her when the door slides open but the words don't make it out of my throat once I get a look at her. As observed earlier she has auburn hair down to her shoulder. She's very slim and petite, perhaps about 50 kilograms and 1.5 meters high. Her eyes are sparkling blue and are accentuated by a smile formed with perfect teeth. She looks a lot like...well, a lot like a certain woman I'm not sure I can bear to see.

Unfortunately for me, my pause in greeting her has given the young woman an opening to get into the lab. Extended a hand she introduces herself, "Dr. Pym? I'm Dr. Pare...Mary, if you prefer...and I'm so very excited to meet you." 'Mary'....like my first wife's name, 'Maria'. This is definitely a person I think I'd like to avoid.

"Yes. Well, it's...uhm...it's a pleasure to meet you as well Dr. Pare. Now then, I'll just take the papers Paul sent you over with and let you be on your way as I'm sure you're quite busy.", I inform her.

"About that...," she pauses a second and continues, "..well...truthfully I sort-of begged and pleaded Dr. K to let me come see you once I learned you were working here. So, I was hoping if you weren't too busy we could sit and talk for a little bit?"

Naturally, I try and inform her that I'm quite busy. Mary - that is, Dr. Pare - is a very stubborn individual, apparently, and as such my words fall on apparently deaf ears. She essentially invites herself into the lab and before I know it an hour has passed in conversation with the young endocrinologist. Dr. Pare is cheerful, charming, and - to my absolute chagrin - even a little flirtatious, much like..Her. Yet, on the other hand, she is also extremely well educated in the fields of science and despite my reservations I find myself enjoying her visit. Then she goes and does something very unexpected....she asks me out.

"So, Hank - you don't mind if I call you that, do you doctor? - I was just realizing that it's getting close to the end of the work day and we still have so much to that I'd like to chat with you about. There's a dinner club about fifteen minutes from here and I hate to eat alone, so please tell me you'll join me tonight."

"Well, I'd like to but I've already missed working on a few things this afternoon because I got a little sidetracked. I'll take a raincheck, thank you very much.". It's true in a way...I haven't done much work this last hour.

"Sorry. Not taking 'No' for an answer and as for your work, well, all work and no play makes - ", she retorts before I interrupt her.

"Stop. Stop right there and don't /ever/ use that phrase around me again." She, of course, has no way of knowing that's an argument I heard far too often from...well, you know by now.

"Fine. I won't, but in return to make sure I don't slip up and have to use it you're just going to have to resist arguing and come with me." So, just like that she wins our debate.

I never was any good with stubborn women.

Dinner goes fairly well that evening. Nice light meal and plenty of enjoyable conversation. I'm still cautious but I have to admit I'm starting to like spending some social time outside of the lab. It's been too long and my only regret is that it's with Dr. Pare instead of someone it should have been with long ago.

Shortly after our meal a comedian comes out and starts to entertain. Dr. Pare..Mary.. informs me that this is common at establishments like this one. Obviously I take her word for it. The comedian's humor, however, is a bit too offensive for my tastes. He's a young African-American male - Garret Stone I believe is the name - who spends half of his time pointing out the appearances or idiosyncrasies of the audience members and berating them. That alone is enough to turn me off to him. It's when he starts in on his skit about super-heroes, however, that I start to look for a way out. His remarks about Dr. Richards are beyond crude and I'd rather not think about the ones on Wanda and the new Captain Marvel. Then the jokes, unwittingly, turn personal.

"What about that Ant-Man guy, huh? Or Gi-Ant Man, or BumblebeeTunaMan or whae'er the @$*# he calls himself now. Hello!! You'd think for a doctor he'd know the terms "split personality" and "nutcase"! Makes me wonder about them Avengers, y'know. Keeping a loony around as long as they did, but, hey at least they almost wised up. Yeah. Almost. They forgot to give him a noose when they booted his @$$! Talk about survival of the fittest. That guy did NOT deserve to make it as long as he did. Ooooh...I shrink to the size of an ant and keep the strength of an average human male. Wow! Bet that scared the heck outta' ol' Doc Doom! Average human strength. Why, he could lift a chair! Spit man, someone shoulda' stepped on him a loooong time ago." The audience, by this point, is in laughter. I'm looking for a way to tactfully leave. Stone, meanwhile, continues his little bit of filth.

"Ya' think he'd at least have been able to keep that babe of his. What man out there wouldn't want size-changing abilities when it comes time for that, huh? Why the two of them shoulda'...". I'm gone long before he finishes; to blazes with tact!

I'm outside signaling a cab before I realize that I foolishly left Mary back in the club. I start to turn around to go back and get when and nearly run into her.

"Whoop! Careful there big guy. I hope I'm not heavy enough to make a good wall so I'm afraid you'd plow right through me, Blue Eyes." she points out. I wince at the nickname but let it go considering how rude I'd just been to her. Apologies are quickly extended.

"Hey, no need to say anything. I should've given you an excuse to leave soon as the punk started in on your friends, let alone before he attacked you." Great. She won't even let me feel like a cad.

It's at that moment a female's scream shatters our conversation. "Help! Somebody - anybody - please help me!" A second scream, however, is quickly stifled.

"It came from that alley over there." Mary points out. Having already deduced that I've been busy looking around to see if anyone else is dashing to aid...preferably a policeman. "Come on, somebody! This isn't my gig anymore! Like the lady screamed '...anybody..'." our my thoughts, but it looks like my prayers won't be answered as the sidewalks are surprisingly deserted.

"Hank! You're a hero. That's what you do. You've got to help the poor woman.", is all that Mary contributes to my dilemma. I grab her by both arms and almost shout at her. "I'll do it, but I'm not a hero. Don't ever call me that again! Ever!". Giving her no time to respond I dash to the alley to see what is the problem.

The problem appears to be that a young woman clad in a halter top and shorts - hardly Chicago nightwear for strolling - is becoming the victim of assault and mugging. Her assailant is the standard burly thug clad in leather jacket and pants - but no shirt - and sporting a rather nasty looking Bowie knife. Instinctively I stretch out my right hand in his direction and shout, "Something tells me you're not her idea of a great date. Think you'd better back off right now, pal."

The thug turns towards me and begins advancing. Slicing his knife through the air in patterns he states, "An' I think you'd best just turn around and fergeddit, 'pal'! What're you gonna' do to stop me, 'sides strike fancy poses?" Idiot! How stupid can I be? I'm so used to having my disrupter blasts that I'd automatically gone into firing stance.

Any future mistakes, however, would not be wise as by this point the thug is almost on top of me and has started an upwards strike with his blade. A bit of quick footwork backs me away from the strike and then I flash back into his arc range, grabbing at his wrist with my right hand while reaching for his elbow with my left. Goosenecking his wrist and contraforcing his elbow proves effective in disarming my attacker. Unfortunately I'm tied-up enough with him that I fail to avoid his snapkick to my lower chest. Even as I fall I hear a *snap-crackle-pop* sound and realize that my sternum and xiphoid process are likely splintered. While I'm instantly out of breath and hoping the xiphoid hasn't been damaged enough to tear the diaphragm, I'm fortunate enough not to feel pain thanks to automatic shock. The pain will come later. Lucky me.

Drifting in and out of consciousness while cursing myself for rookie mistakes, I'm only faintly aware of more shouting coming from the end of the alley. Seconds later gunshots rock the air and the crook shudders as the shells strike their target. Shudders but not falls. High-pitched secondary sounds inform me that the bullets have instead ricocheted. That would mean not only have I blundered into a mugging but into one involving a powered assailant. The realization gives enough boost to my glands to kick some extra epi into my system and bring me around to a coherent state. Focusing on the situation I realize that the police have arrived and that if I don't do something they're likely dead as they are most certainly outmatched. My mind reminds me of the problem with this situation, "What am I supposed to do? I'm not a super-hero. Just a normal man. Or...rather...a scientist!"

The solution - as I've always believed - comes in the name of science. Not so much a scientific strategy, in this case, but at least a device I use in the lab. Reaching into my shirt pocket I pull out a silver tube shaped not unlike a pen. The tube projects a very short - 7 cm. - but very focused laser. I use it for making fine cuts in metal. Not an ideal weapon, but I think in this case it should work. Igniting the beam I drive upwards at the thug who has remained looming over me during the 2.7 seconds it has taken me to process all of this information. I make a strike for the posterior of the right patella and from the way the man buckles I know that I've succeeded. Good. I can pass out now.

A few hours later I'm heading back to my apartment. I do indeed have a fractured xiphoid and splintered sternum but I was lucky and nothing else was damaged. I wasn't so lucky when the police got around to speaking with me about my "brutal" and "unnecessary" actions.

The police inform me that the reason for the ricochets was because the "alleged criminal" was wearing a bulletproof outfit and if I hadn't gotten in the way they would have been able to apprehend him through use of mace or some similar method. I'm informed that I'm supposed to leave the job of saving people to "real heroes" and stay out of the way in the future rather than mess things up worse. I never even find out the names of the parties involved, but I figure it's not worth pushing the matter. I look around a bit for Mary before I leave but apparently she's decided not to stick around for the invalid. Time to find out if taxis in Chicago are anything like those in New York.

When I finally arrive home I notice a number of messages on my machine. The system has already sorted them and the majority are 'Business'. There are two, however, marked 'Personal' which is a little surprising.

*BREEP* "Yo! Hank! Remember me?" says a familiar Midwestern drawl. "Took forever for me to track you down. Now if I was the sort to be easily offended I might just think you were trying to avoid your old compadres." I forward through the rest of the message. It's not that Clint isn't a friend - actually, considering the number of times we almost came to exchanging blows he ended up being the Avenger who stood by me the most and perhaps my best friend next to...Her - but I'm just not prepared to deal with any Avenger yet. I know he won't give out my number to anyone so at least I don't have to worry about any of the others calling me.

*BREEP* "Hello Henry. This is Dr. Pare. I'm sorry I didn't stick around but things were a little too exhausting and strange for me. The police informed me of what you did. Sigh...I guess now I see why you didn't want me to call you a hero. I'm sorry tonight didn't work out very well and I hope things go better for you. Have fun with your test tubes."

Remind me again the benefits of a personal life....

The next morning I find my sedative-laced sleep disturbed by an incessant ringing of the phone. The caller has apparently decided to hang up rather than leave a message and then promptly calls again. I do consider, after the third time of this little cycle, having my phone system block calls from whichever number is pestering me. I'm tired, in great pain, and have no desire to deal with people. Nontheless my curiosity gets the best of me.

"Speaker system connect." I order to the computers the next time the phone begins to ring. "Thank God for voice commands at least. Hard enough to get out of bed with a broken sternum without having to rush to the phone."

"This is Dr. Pym. State your business." I announce as soon as the call is connected.

"Hank, this is Mary. I'm sorry to bother you but you need to turn on the local news if you haven't yet. It's important." Outstanding. Last time she believed it was important for me to do something I ended up injured, almost arrested, and abandoned.

"Dr. Pare, I really don't think - "

"Hank. Do it. Now." she intrudes, and then amends, "Please. I'm serious about it being important."

Don't ask me why I continue to give in to this woman, but against my better judgment I grab the remote unit next to my bed and turn on the television news. I quickly realize what the commotion is when I see the report on the news. A rather large - twenty-five feet tall according to the reporter - anthropomorphic robot, with an ant's head and wings, is terrorizing pleasant southern Chicago. Considering that people may be injured or dying I resist the urge to acknowledge such violent renovations may be doing the area a favor. Still, people are in trouble and I must admit that I find the robot's form more than a little disturbing. "Nontheless, this is exactly the sort of thing I've sworn off."

"Dr. Pare, I see the problem but what do you expect me to do about it?" I inquire of the awaiting scientist.

"Robots are a specialty of yours, right? You made Ul-", she begins.

"I'd stop right now if I were you. You have a point, correct? Just get to it!". The last thing I need is a listing of my failures from someone who wasn't even there.

"Fine. There's a threat that the police can't handle. Chicago doesn't have many native heroes and none of shown their face yet. So, it's up to you to stop it."

It's times like these that I understand how easy it is for Clint to respond to people with sarcasm. That would be effort I don't feel like expending on Dr. Pare, however, so I merely note, "Doctor, as you so accurately noted in your message last night I am most assuredly not a hero. I am a scientist. Surely the Avengers or the Fantastic Four could be contacted for help."
"It's been tried and they're not responding. I know what I told you last night and guess what: I was right. You're not a hero when you're running around in a labcoat. You are a hero as Yellowjacket or Goliath or whatever name you could use. So go put on one of those colorful outfits, grab a ray gun, and save some people. Act like a hero, Pym, or any casualties are on your shoulders."

I give the verbal command for the computer to disconnect the phone conversation. Dr. Pare had said enough and I had no desire to continue the conversation.

An anti-grav "crutch" assists me in getting out of bed and making it to the small workbench I keep in the apartment. I stare long and hard at it as I consider my options and the accusations I've heard of late about my ability to act as a hero. It seems like an eternity but, in truth, it's only a few minutes before I pick up my tools and begin to hastily assemble the components of a disrupter blaster.

I'm not sure how much super-heroics Chicago has seen over the years. Despite that lack of information, I'd still wager that the majority of citizens have never seen a giant robotic weapon of mass destruction. Today, however, they were making up for loss time.

When I arrive the robot is busy spewing flames from a nozzle concealed in its' mandibles. Fortunately the gout of fire was directed at cars, buildings and other inanimates. The Chicago police have actually done a pretty good job of keeping back the citizens. That gives me plenty of room to maneuver into place and introduce myself to the robot. While normally "Hello." is considered the appropriate greeting to someone new, I feel in this case circling the head and unleashing a volley of electrical discharge from a disrupter pistol will work better.

*Zzrrk!* The azure beams make contact with the robot and I'm very pleased to find out that they scramble my opponent's systems long enough for me to switch on a speaker - doubly useful considering insect-sized objects don't have much vocal range - and inform the crowd, "My name is...the Hornet. I'm here to help. Please, for your own safety, clear out of here!". Glancing over at the bystanders I see that my words have had their desired effect as I note a smiling Dr. Pare. "Hope you're pleased lady. You may be surprised at the consequences."

A sonic boom - KRAKABOOM! - blows me from my perch and I realize that I dawdled too long, giving the robot time to recover. Gyro-stabilizers quickly work in conjunction with the flight systems to aright me in a flight pattern around the robot's torso. The wings on the robot are vibrating at high speeds as they gather up the power for a second directed boom.

"No. Sorry pal, but I've had enough fun already today." I tell the mechanical being as I jet directly in front of the optical units. "You see, it's like this. I spent time as an Avenger and faced some of the nastiest robots out there. Super-Adaptoid. The Dragon Man. Kang's Spiderbot." Firing bolt after bolt at one of the lenses in the robot's right "eye" I continue my lecture. "Naturally the one that frightened me the most was my own creation. It's the most dangerous foe the Avengers have ever faced. Some would call it my Son. I call it Ultron." Finally! A crack has split along the upper orbit. Setting the disrupter pistol on a nigh-overload charge I I take aim and fire one last crackling bolt. *SHTHOOM!* The head shatters in a ball of fire and shrapnel which quickly engulfs my sensory arrays.

"Perfect." Dr. Pare notes to herself as she watches the pyrotechnic display. Time to end this little misdirection.

"You didn't let me finish, Mary." I whisper into her ear as I step out of a nearby alley. "I was about to inquire that if I can survive Ultron did you really think your shoddy workmanship was any threat to me?"

"*Gasp* Wha-...I mean...". She whirls about to try and run away but I grab her arms and pin them to her side. "I just saw you over there. The almighty 'I will never again be a super-hero' Pym fighting that thing in a costumed ID. Now you're...you're..."

"Standing here in a labcoat." I finish for her. "Yes, you're correct on that account. The part where you seem to have had some trouble was when you thought I was flying around as the Hornet." Tapping a comm-unit attached to the side of my head I continue, "That was a remote unit. I told you: I'm a scientist. Not a super-hero." Hopefully Hawkeye will forgive me for the destruction of the action figure of him that he gave me. Outfitting it with the weapon systems and remote control unit seemed the best way to confirm my theory. Not that Dr. Pare needs to be informed of that.

Abruptly, with a burst of superhuman strength, she breaks free of my grip and backhands me across the face, shattering my control unit. "Fool!", she shouts, "You think you're so smart because you pulled off a petty illusion. That's always been your problem, Pym: you think you're smarter than you are but we both know the truth. We both know that you got lucky because we both know you're not a real hero!"

Slowly I wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth and smile. "Oh, I don't know. I was smart enough to figure out that someone was setting me up to try and get me into costume again and I was smart enough to figure out it was you. So tell me, if I'm the fool what does that make the person who couldn't outwit the fool?"

A engulfing wave of darkness punctuated by a shrill scream overtakes me as Dr. Pare suddenly becomes larger than the scope of my vision; I sense her in ways beyond sight. "Hank, my boy, I'd say you've gotten a reaction." The darkness and the looming scientist begin an unholy dance, melding together. Her features begin to pale and run as the darkness shapes itself into an all-enveloping cloak. It takes no time before Dr. Pare is gone and in her place is a somewhat more masculine being. I sense he is infinitely large, but I have no trouble seeing all of him. Gaunt waxen skin, a tooth-filled maw, skulls in the place of eyes and wrapped in the void - I must admit I found him far more pleasing to the eye as Mary.

"So, Henry Pym," the demon begins, "do you really believe you can cope with D'Spayre?". The way he says it I know that it means both name and emotion. Floating closer, until his foul air assails my nostrils, the creature continues, "Tell me then, Oh Highly-Intelligent One, just what mistake tipped you off, hmm?"

Facing it straight on, I answer, "I knew something was up when you made your blatant error last night of having the police inform me of the thug's 'bulletproof' outfit. It took me a few hours, admittedly, but I did eventually remember that he wasn't even wearing a shirt. I may be a fool, but I'm not stupid. So then all I had to do was draw out whoever was stupid. Mary's eagerness to have me suit up and go back on my promises was just a little too convenient, don't you agree?"

D'Spayre reaches out with a clawed hand and wraps it around my face as it draws closer and whispers, "Very well played, I must admit. I hadn't expected quite so much when I offered to fulfill a debt to a certain sorceress by eliminating the chink in the armor of the forces soon to oppose her." Not having a clue what he meant, nor the strength to break free, I can only remain silent and still as the demon continues, "Yet we both know that all your fancy moves are but a front, are they not Henry Pym?"

His neck stretches around as he begins to speak in my other ear, "It was your last little hurrah, to be sure, yet it took you far too long to deduce. Hours, by your own admission. So slow for a scientist and no talent anywhere else. I guess that's why you couldn't hack it as a hero, hmm?" He's right in a way. It did take me too long to remember a simple detail like a missing shirt. Then again I hadn't exactly done anything else right last night, so why not flub that as well?

Stroking my cheek with its' other hand as it speaks, D'Spayre keeps speaking, "Yet I have a soft spot for you, truly I do, Henry Pym. You see you have afforded me countless feasts from your failures. Not just your own emotions feeding me, but others as well. Others like children who see their parents struck down by your creations, or a battered wife so uncertain on how to save a pointless marriage." Flinching, I realize too late, that I've just given the creature an opening.

"My! A reaction. Feeling a little haunted by that last little bit are we? I can't say I'm surprised. I've seen it in your nightmares so many many times. Made it so easy to manipulate you with just little things like wasp stings or a borish security guard, yes, it did. I can't blame you really. It must be hard living with those emotions. Realizing you'll never again hold her in your arms and make love. Avoiding songs or movies simply because you first heard or saw them with your lover. Reaching out at night and finding no one there after so many years of having somone. Facing each and every problem alone. How do you mortals do it, Henry Pym? You had endless love and you destroyed it. How do you go on after losing the most valuable emotion in your small petty lives?"

D'Spayre reaches down and places something cold and heavy in my hand. Releasing his grip on me, he backs away and points to what he just gave me. I hoist it up to eye level and find no words. He has given me the old disrupter pistol I used as Yellowjacket. There's little question for what it's to be used. He's giving me the easiest way out.

"I said I like you, Pym, for all the times you've sated me." he notes as he waits for me to raise the blaster to my temple. "That's why I gave you one last chance to be a super-hero and go out in style. Yet you couldn't even do that properly. A remote unit, indeed. How positively unheroic. Just the same I'll give you one last chance. The good people of Chicago believe you faced things as a costumed hero. End things now - find rest from your failed life - and they'll never have to know how you could never hack it as a super-hero. Why, even Janet will be proud of you." Those finals words, intoned in the deep sepulcher of the demon's voice, are all the words I need to make the choice.

I pull the trigger. I pull the trigger as I swing the disrupter pistol level with D'Spayre's chest. A soundless bolt of lightning cascades from the barrel of my gun and strikes target. D'Spayre gives one scream, "NOOOOOO!" and is gone.

I return to consciousness within my bedroom. I know the gun - which is gone - didn't have any actual way to harm D'Spayre. No, my victory came from within me. She would never have been proud of me for taking the easy way out. It was attempting the easy way that had led to my failures in the first place. You see, I thought I could be a super-hero because adventure was easier than trying to face things as Dr. Henry Pym. It was easier to try and impress Her. It was easier than trying to find the solution to a lab experiment. It was just the easy way. The problem is that the easy way is rarely the best way.

I came to the realization long ago that I could face things as Henry Pym. I didn't need to be the Ant-Man, or Giant-Man, or Goliath, or Yellowjacket. She loved me for who I was, not who I tried to pretend to be and it was trying to take that easy way out that made me forget that.

D'Spayre was right about one thing. I'm not a super-hero. I saved lives as one, but each time I come up with a new medicine I've saved many more lives of people I never would've been able to help had I been jetting around in a Quinjet. Tell me, which is more heroic? No, I am not a super-hero and I'm proud of that.

My name is Henry Pym. I am a doctor and a scientist. I am a friend and I have friends. I once knew love and someday, God willing, I will again. Anything else is just details and should I ever forget that, D'Spayre is welcome to come back because then - and only then - will I have truly failed.

So, tell me, what are you?

This story took place between Avengers 230 and Avengers 240 - Lonni

Author's Notes:

Hi. I realize this is a little different twist on Hank Pym - heck, even I hadn't originally planned it quite like this - so I'm quite interested in any constructive criticism or other comments you folks out there might have for it. Considering I think Pym is the most heroic of all the Marvels, I'd really like a second - and a little lighter - shot at him someday. So if you absolutely shrink in dread of that, better let me know! :) I can be contacted via Lionelle@sni.net so feel free to write. Oh, and one last thing...THANKS LONNI! :)

- Dr. Joe Lionelle, Jan. 16 '99