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The Thing was used to it. It was his curse. He was photogenic. Even when he was trying to enjoy a beer in a nice little Yancy Street pub where everyone had finally gotten used to him, that didn’t stop some tourist from seeing him, realizing who he was, and wanting a picture.

At least it let Ben call himself the idol of millions without making a liar out of Petunia Grimm’s favorite nephew.

“Sure,” he said, waving off the usual effusive entreaties, as Reed might say. “You can get a picture. Big smile or lookin’ P.O.ed?”

“Big smile,” the tourist said, and Ben obligingly put his pearly whites out there as the camera phone centered on them and—

Flash.

***

“Are you Thor?”

Jane grinned to herself. She might never get used to that question, but she didn’t really want to. Especially not when adorable little girls like this one—probably near hysterics before she’d arrived to help, and now as happy as a clam—were asking.

“That’s right,” she said, deciding not to bother with the Shakespeare talk. She always figured that was the old guy’s affectation and the old guy’s bag. People got that she was a Lord of the Rings character without that nonsense.

“You mean a girl can be Thor?”

Jane’s smile widened. When she’d taken the job, she hadn’t meant to be some sort of feminist role model, but she supposed it was inevitable. After all, there were a lot of girls who just didn’t see themselves in Sue Storm, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Emma Frost, Spider-Woman, Spider-Girl, Arana, Black Widow, Captain Marvel, Ms. Marvel…

Well, anyway, it was a man’s world, but if her beating up frost giants showed someone that it didn’t have to be, then it was worth the clobbering she’d taken.

(That frost giant was clearly not a feminist.)

“Sweetie,” Jane said, “a girl can be anything!”

“Whoa!” the little girl said, awestruck. Then, with great care, she reached into her rain coat and brought out a pen. “Can I have your autograph?”

“Of course, kid.” She’d brought along some folded three-hole notebook paper just in case. It’d be easy for the girl to put in a binder when she got home. That was the kind of thoughtfulness the old Thor had never displayed. 

She took hold of the pen and—

Flash.

***

The stranger eyed Laura up and down, taking in the ragged fishnets she wore under tight leather shorts, the leather jacket, the bra that was her only covering beneath it. Laura eyed him unapologetically. He wasn’t bad-looking. Not handsome either, but he looked rough enough to be interesting.

She supposed she should tell him she wasn’t a prostitute anymore. But that would really cut into her dating life.

“How much?” he asked her, digging into his pocket.

“How much do you think?”

“Twenty.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go big or go home. You have a problem going big?”

“Full-service service, huh?” He dug deeper into his pocket. “A hundred.”

If he wasn’t worth her time, he’d at least be worth his hundred. Laura reached out for the bill.

Flash.