Fantastic Four: Ben/Alicia (Patreon)

Usually, Ben came through Alicia’s door with world-shaking footsteps, but today, he came in surprisingly quietly, as if for once remembering to take it easy on her poor prefab floors.

“Something the matter?” Alicia asked. He flicked on the lights, which she heard and felt more than saw, for obvious reasons. Although she couldn’t see his facial expression or body language—not that those were much use on a man so mutated from the norm—she could feel the energy he was putting out into the room. Disquieted and a bit nervy, like he was restrainedly angry at something.

“Nuthin’,” he said in his low, gruff voice. “Gotta catch a shower, babe.”

That did nothing to reassure her, and while he rinsed himself off, Alicia busied herself with fixing him a meal, topped off with hot chocolate. She knew how good it smelled, but when Ben came out—smelling ridiculously shower-fresh from soap atop his usual earthy scent—it barely registered on the seismograph of his emotions.

“C’mon,” she said. “Eat something. And tell me what’s the matter before it starts bothering me.”

“Aww, heck, Alicia, ya shouldn’t worry about a big lug like me. I go toes to toes with the Hulk for fun!” His usual boisterous air wasn’t in his voice, though.

“Then it shouldn’t be too hard for you to tell me what’s wrong.”

His booming footsteps carried him to the kitchen table, where he pulled out his specially reinforced chair and settled his bulk into it. Alicia smiled to herself as she picked up his plate and mug to bring to him.

“Alicia,” he said at last, taking the dishes from her in exaggerated care for her blindness, “do you think I’m a homophobe?”

“A what?” Alicia asked, almost amused with how she thought she’d misheard him. Aren’t blind people supposed to have heightened senses?

“Y’know—a homophobe. Not like I’m afraid of homosexuals, but like I dislike ‘em, don’t like bein’ around ‘em, that sort of thing. Like a racist for—“

 

“I know what it means,” Alicia said. “Do you have anything against gay people?”

“No!” Ben protested.

“Well, there you go.”

“But what if I’ve got, y’know, sum of that subliminal—“

“Subconscious?”

“Yeah. Some subconscious homophobia.”

Alicia sat down across from him, stealing his mug of hot cocoa for a sip. If he wasn’t going to enjoy it, there was no reason she should let it get cold. “Honey, I’m an artist. In New York. You’ve met my friends, and even a blind woman can tell they’re not subtle about their preferences. And I haven’t ever noticed you being rude to them, or being uncomfortable around them—well, maybe a little uncomfortable, but I’m pretty sure there isn’t an art critic in the world that could kick back and have a brewski with you. Heck, they all love you. Everybody loves you. So where is this coming from?”

“I’m getting’ woke, Alicia.”

Sometimes, Alicia wondered how she knew to make the faces that she pulled, when it wasn’t like she had seen anyone express themselves that way. Her face just twisted into the right shape as she regarded Ben. “Sweetie, I love you, but—no.”

She felt his big body sag from across the table, the segmented plates that made up his rocky hide locking together a little more tightly as he shifted his stance. “Okay—so I’m fighting Deadpool… you know that one?”

“Youtube star turned supervillain?”

“That’s close enough,” Ben hedged. “We’re fighting, you know, he’s trying to kill someone, I’m trying to stop him, and he starts makin’ comments.”

“Comments? Ben, that guy has to have an IQ in the double digits, since when could he get under your skin?”

“It’s not like he’s talkin’ about my childhood or anythin’… he’s, I don’t know, talkin’ sexy. About how handsome I am, how he’d like to do things with me—smutty stuff. At least, I don’t know, I think it was smutty…”

“You can be a little behind the times,” Alicia said gently. “But that’s all?”

“Nah. I just ignored him. I was grabbing at him, punching him, trying to stop him, y’know? And he keeps saying stuff about how he likes it, rubbing up against me. I thought he was just trying to psyche me out! But it got so that I lost my temper—I went and really knocked his block off.”

Alicia froze, now worried not so much for Deadpool, but for the guilt Ben would bear if he really had hurt the guy. “And?”

“He’s fine. By then I’d figured he had one’a those healing factors. It just took him out of the fight for a bit, gave ol’ Stretch the chance to do his sciencing and for everything to work out okay.”

“Cool. So what’s the problem?”

“It just got me thinking, you know?” Ben asked with wild gesticulations that sent rolling air currents breaking across Alicia’s face. “Why was I so pissed off at this yutz? It wasn’t like he was Doom or Kang or nobody… compared to them, he was harmless. Sure, he killed people, an’ that ain’t right, but I’ve worked with people who was killers before. Hell, I wasn’t no angel in the war either. So I got to thinking—what if it was that he was coming onto me that got me so worked up? I mean, mad, not worked up… I ain’t no looker, but I’ve had a few girls take a fancy to me while we was fighting, and I never got all irate with any of them…”

“Yes, but Ben, you can barely hit a woman. Shulkie won’t even spar with you, you pull your punches so much. Of course you’re not going to get angry with a girl. And what about him? He was groping you, treating you like some sex object, either because he thought it was funny or because he was actually getting off on it. If some guy did that to me, don’t you think I’d be angry?”

She could hear Ben’s teeth go on end just thinking about it. “You wouldn’t have to be angry. I’d be furious!”

“And you don’t think I hate men, do you?”

“No, of course not, but—“

“No buts. Eat your dinner. We’re having some friends over later and I want you to be a good host.” She reached across the table to him and patted one of his hands. “Think about it this way. I’m sure most of the guys you beat the crap out of are straight. It’d probably be intolerant of you not to beat up a gay guy.”