* DISCLAIMER * This is a non-profit work of fan-fiction involving characters created and owned by Marvel Comics Group. * WRITTEN BY * Samy Merchi * ARCHIVED AT * http://mash.yok.utu.fi/corona.html * STARRING * Roberto "SUNSPOT" da Costa in *********************** * NEW MUTANTS #41 1/2 * * "Silent Submission" * *********************** * GUEST STARRING * Emmanuel da Costa Nina da Costa * CONTINUITY * This story takes place * after NEW MUTANTS #36, Roberto has taken a leave of absence from the New Mutants and gone back home to Brazil * before NEW MUTANTS #43, where Roberto returns to Xavier's School, by way of Nova Roma * FOREWORD * This is somewhat of a companion piece to NEW MUTANTS #42 1/2, a short Danielle Moonstar story I wrote much in the vein of this story. They both were away from the New Mutants during the same time period, and these stories deal somewhat with their inner turmoils and to a degree, their families and homes. *** It's quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The dining room is only catered for three people. Me and my parents. They sit at the opposite ends of the table, as usual. I sit in the middle of the table. Caught between them, in more ways than one. As usual. "So, Roberto", my mother breaks the silence, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Are you all packed and ready to leave in the morning?" We are headed up the Amazon, for the ancient Roman/Incan remnant colony of Nova Roma that I and my friends, the New Mutants, helped my mother in discovering. "Yes", I reply, staring at my plate quietly, my fingers flexing in frustration underneath the table. "Assuming father won't try to have us assassinated in the middle of the night." I am still angry about him sending an agent trying to get me and mother out of the way during the last expedition to claim the riches of Nova Roma for himself. "Roberto", father snaps. The skin of my back crawls. My stomach is knotted. He is not a man to take such comments lightly. No da Costa is. I don't look to him immediately, trying to avoid him. It doesn't work. The silence grows even heavier. I can feel his eyes boring into me. My teeth grit, and finally I look up, angrily, defiantly, at him. His expression is not more happy than mine. "I did not *want* either of you harmed", father says sharply, glaring at me. "But it was a length you were willing to go to, just for money!" I hiss back, my hands clenching into fists. But I hold them underneath the table. "I would not have made it where I am in life, if I was not willing to risk *everything* I have, Roberto", he replies, taking a glass of wine in his hand, sharp eyes still staring daggers at me as he takes a slow, measured sip. "And one day, you will have to be like me, or watch Da Costa International crumble into ashes in your fingers." "I would rather tear Da Costa International apart personally with my bare hands than harm family!" My temper rises, I can feel my hands shaking, I don't know if it is because of fright and nervousness, or because of fury about to break loose. "You will not destroy the company I built, Roberto", his eyes turn steel-hard. "You have *no* idea how hard I worked, how many years I endured blisters on my hands and feet, slept less than three hours a night, worked while in the grips of a burning fever because I could not afford to lose the edge that allowed me to inch out my competition! I have worked harder than anyone so *you* would never have to see poverty, and you would throw away all my work? How long would you survive without money, Roberto? I could take away your credit cards, and we would see how long it would take for you to change your mind." "I would not change my mind!" I claim firmly, suddenly noticing that my teeth are bared. A few moments pass as I calm myself down slightly, and then tear my eyes away from my father, looking quietly down at the plate. "I would not", I say, a bit more quietly. "There is still right and wrong. I will never turn on those I love!" "You turned on me", he points out with a quick, sharp, to the point sentence. Sipping his wine, he watched me over the rim of his glass for a few moments, before asking, "does that mean you did not love me, or that your claim is hollow?" After I open my mouth, I realize I have no answer to give. Staring at him, my mouth hanging open, I come to the conclusion that I have been checkmated. And it frustrates me more than anything to think that he might be right. All my life, father was my best friend. I loved him even more than mother. Maybe even as much as I do Juliana. If I turned against him -- can't I turn against anyone? And if I can, what does it mean? Honor is of paramount importance to a da Costa. Honor, loyalty -- if I cannot be trusted, what honor do I have? Do I even have the right to call myself a da Costa? That is the core of my being -- what I was raised to believe. That a person must have honor or they are no better than an animal! "Fine", I spit out, standing up and shoving my chair back with a loud sound. "Roberto", he says with that level face, only his eyes narrowed in warning. "Proper dinnertable behavior." Hands trembling in anger, breath hissing in frustration, I close my eyes, mustering my self-control. It takes very many moments. "I apologize", I finally say, putting the chair quietly back in place. Face muscles as rigid as steel, I regard my father, and say, trying to be as calm as I can, "You may have won tonight's battle, father, but you have not won the war. I go back to the New Mutants, and I will resist the Hellfire Club until my dying breath." "Give up, Roberto", he says in an imperious tone. "You are my blood, you are obligated to follow in my footsteps." Swallowing a bit, I steel my posture, raising my chin defiantly. "You taught me never to give up, father. And I won't. A da Costa is not a quitter -- we do not yield to demands." With a dry mouth, I quickly say, "Good night", turn around, nod to my mother who had, as usual, watched the argument quietly. "I will see you in the morning." "Where are you going?" father asks as I head for the door leading to the foyer. "The cemetary." *** I spend easily two hours, just sitting on the ground beside Juliana's gravestone. The night is cool, though it would still be regarded as warm by my friends in the United States. Palm trees rustle softly here and there in a soft breeze blowing thru the cemetary towards the beach. She was my first love, and she will always hold my heart. Whatever may one day happen in my life, nothing will ever change what I felt, and still feel, for Juliana. I didn't know there was so much to life before I met her. She showed me that attaining perfection was not the only thing to strive for. One could also strive for attaining happiness. I had thought achieving perfection would equal happiness. After I met her, I wasn't so sure anymore. I always wondered why father had no objections to our relationship, even though Juliana helped me in a direction I suppose father didn't want me to go. Without her -- and without the New Mutants and Thomas Magnum -- I think I would not have given a second thought to following in father's footsteps. Leaning closer, I kiss the gravestone lightly, touching briefly the flowers I brought and laid at the foot of the stone. I imagine I'm caressing her cheek one more time. I pretend she's not gone, and whisper into the wind that I love her. I'm not deluded, I know she is dead, but that doesn't mean she can't -- somewhere -- hear my words, and know that I will never forget her. Voices carry over from another part of the cemetary. Laughing. A cemetary is no place for laughter. Standing up, I cast the gravestone one more glance, then narrow my eyes, and walk off in the direction of the sounds. Three boys. Carrying bottles, lacking in balance. Drunk, most likely. But more seriously, spray-painting the gravestones. A desecration that can not be tolerated. None of the vandalized stones are Juliana's, but it does not matter. Waiting to be personally threatened before taking action is merely self-defense. And everyone engages in self-defense. I am not just anyone. I am a da Costa. I represent something better. "The expenses for cleaning those gravestones", I declare from the shade of a palm tree, the breeze rustling my jacket, "will be incurred by you or your legal guardians. You will follow me to the nearest authorities and confess to your deeds." "Or what?" the largest boy -- well over a foot taller than me -- laughs, tossing an empty flask at me. It bounces off my shoulder, a few droplets of alcohol spattering onto me. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of cheap liquor. "Or you will suffer severe broken bones preventing you from vacating this location while I retrieve said authorities", I answer, narrowing my eyes and taking a step forward. The second largest one pulls out a knife. I am not afraid. Not of defeat, for a da Costa will not be defeated by drunken incompetents, nor of death, for I know I will then be reunited with my beloved Juliana. I am almost tempted to let them kill me, but such a humiliation will not be permitted upon the person of a da Costa. When I will die, it will be in the only manner worthy of a da Costa -- in glorious battle against a *worthy* foe. Not honorless curs. The one with a knife lunges for me. I dodge easily to the side. With my battle experience among the New Mutants, I could defeat these dogs without using my mutant powers. But I choose not to. Turning fully black, the air around me crackling with darkness, I grin as I see their jaws fall. A light swat with my left arm sends the knife-wielder crashing into a bush. The other two scream at my transformation and whirl around to run away. I let the other one go, but grab the back of the tallest boy before he can escape. "Demon! Demon!" he screams. "Don't kill me! By all the blessed saints, I am a good boy! I swear!" Yanking him down so his eyes are level with mine, I say, "You will inform the authorities of the identity of your escaped comrade and where to find him. Is this understood?" "Yes! Yes! Anything!" he screams frantically. "I don't want to die!" "Good", I smile. A flick of my fingers against his jaw sends him to unconsciousness. The cemetary is silent again. I stand in the middle of gravestones and palm trees, and wonder what Juliana would have thought of my actions. What the New Mutants would have thought. What my parents would have thought. It is not easy being a da Costa. You have to do so much more -- *be* so much more than every other person. Otherwise, the name means nothing. Otherwise, *you* mean nothing. Regular people are fourteen in a dozen. A da Costa is a rarity. And rarity means responsibility. Responsibility to excel, to be exemplary, to be as close to perfection as humanly attainable. It is not easy. I voice my complaints. It's quiet enough to hear a pin drop. ***