Chapter 1
"Excuse me miss, are you okay?"
The woman turned to him. "Namor?"
He blinked. That word sounded familiar, but it wasn't in any language he knew.
(He could remember...portions of several languages. Fluent German, Russian, French, good Chinese, more Latin than people typically learned these days, enough Japanese that he'd briefly thought it might be a clue to his identity, and a couple of languages that he hadn't been able to identify.
One was soft and rich in vowels, and led to him searching the stacks of public libraries for information on the languages of the Pacific Islands. It turned out he recognized a good deal of Gilbertese and Samoan, but they weren't the language he was looking for. The other language ....he couldn't find any evidence of a language made up of gestures, clicks, and long whistling calls, but he knew it in more detail than he could explain.
It was the language of his thoughts.)
"Namor, what are you doing here?"
"You know me?" After all this time, had he finally found someone who knew him
Was he that lucky? Was it that simple?
"Of course I know you!" The woman stared at him. "I'm Nae!" She shook her head. "You wouldn't recognize me after all this time. Namor Peterson? You remember me? My father named me after you."
"I don't remember anything." She'd been named after him? He'd been that important to someone before he ended up on the streets?
She frowned.
"I mean it," he said. "I don't remember anything."
"Namor, did - " she clutched her belly and moaned.
"Can I help you?"
"The baby's coming. Take me...home," she said. "Namor, take me home."
He nodded. "We should go quickly." He scooped her up in his arms and started flying. "Just show me the way."
She nodded and pointed.
He let her lead at first, but then something in his mind clicked, and he found himself going automatically, anticipating her directions.
He knew this. For the first time that he could remember, he knew where to go.
-
Nae pulled a face as they reached the front door, and let out a sharp little hiss. She was having a brief pain every fifteen minutes or so. He knew that meant the baby was on its way, but beyond that, he wasn't sure what to do.
He pulled the front door off its hinges.
"I was getting the key out!" Nae said, in an annoyed voice.
"Sorry." He'd been worried.
He led her to the living room couch, where she sat down heavily, and sighed.
"Now what?" he asked.
"Find a doctor," said Nae. "Everett Blake's our family doctor." She gave him directions. "Dad's probably out by the sea. I'll call the VFW just in case." She leaned over and reached for the phone on the end table.
"You'll be okay on your own?"
She nodded. "I think there's a little time."
"It'll be okay," said Nae. "Namor, please, go get the doctor."
Namor flew.
-
When he made it back, Nae's father was home.
"Namor!" The man turned. "It's really you!" He paused. "I'm Randall Peterson. Nae said you don't remember anything?" He frowned searchingly staring at Namor's face.
"Wait?" asked Dr. Blake. "Namor? As in the Namor? From World War Two?"
Randall Peterson nodded. "It's fine. He's a family friend. He rescued my little Nae when she was alone in the city and needed help." He gave his daughter's hand a squeeze.
"But this can't be Namor! He looks like he hasn't aged a day since the war!" Dr. Blake gave Namor an inquisitive stare.
Namor glared. "Don't waste our time, Doctor. Help Nae!"
"Of course," said Dr. Blake. "How far apart are the contractions?"
-
After that, things were intensely busy. Namor was sent back and forth between their home and town, given fistfuls of money by Randall to buy items ranging from Vaseline and suction bulbs to some sort of infant garment called a "onesie", and a teddy bear.
(It had been a long time since Namor had held that much money at once. He'd counted himself lucky if he had enough money to eat his fill and sleep indoors on any given day, and Randall Peterson had casually trusted him with enough that he could live on it for a week.)
Randall, when he wasn't checking in on Nae, or giving errands to Namor, stood outside, pacing and smoking.
Nae would let out brief pained cries, followed by encouraging words from Dr. Blake.
Finally, they were all invited in.
-
Nae was tired, and damp with sweat, but with a contented glow, as if she'd accomplished some challenging feat of strength.
Which, Namor realized, she had.
In her arms was an infant, smaller than Namor had ever seen.
"Is...is the baby healthy?" Namor asked. They couldn't possibly be meant to be that small.
"Perfectly healthy," said Dr. Blake. "Just a hair under seven pounds, which makes him smaller than average, but well within the safe range. Good color, good lungs, fingers and toes all accounted for."
Randall moved closer to Nae.
"Meet your grandson," she said. "Little Roman Peterson." She looked up at Namor and smiled. "I wanted to name him after our family hero, but I thought having three Namors in the same house might be confusing."
"Thank you," Namor said. "I'm honored."
Dr. Blake frowned. "Randall, can I talk to you?" He gestured.
Randall nodded, and they stepped out of the room, closing the door.
Out in the hall, they spoke in low voices that Namor was probably not intended to overheard.
"Are you sure it's safe to have Namor around a child?"
"I hope so, considering she's a mother now."
"You know what I mean! I mean I understand why you'd...feel grateful to him after the war, but he's dangerous!"
"Not to us," said Randall. "Not to my family."
"You have a newborn in the house! Do you want to risk it?"
"If there are two things I can be absolutely confident of," said Randall, "it's that Namor would never harm a child, and that he would never harm our family."
"You're risking your grandson's life on this!"
"I'd sooner trust my grandson's life to Namor than to any other man I know!"
Nae looked at Namor. "Dr. Everett doesn't know how good your hearing is? Don't worry about him. Come here."
Namor walked over to the bed.
She held up little Roman. "Want to hold him?"
Namor sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully took Roman into his arms.
"Hello little one," he said, in the language he knew from his thoughts. "Welcome to life in the world. May you grow like a whale, mighty, fearless, and wise."
Nae laughed. "You keep that up, he's going to be speaking Atlantean before he can crawl."
"Atlantean?"
"The language you were speaking."
"Atlantean." Namor smiled.
Nae gave him a concerned look. "You've really forgotten everything haven't you?"
Namor nodded. "We'll talk later. Only happy subjects in front of Roman on his first day." He tapped gently on Roman's little nose.
The door opened. Dr. Blake and Randall were looking at Namor.
Dr. Blake still looked worried.
But Randall was smiling.
-
Later that night, while Nae and Roman were sleeping, Namor and Randall sat out on the front porch.
"So, where have you been?" Randall asked. "I mean recently. As much as you can remember."
"I've been...around," said Namor. "Doing this and that. Sometimes people need day laborers. And I'm strong." Things had been relatively good recently. He'd been on a streak of getting enough work that he'd been able to get a room nearly every night. He'd even managed to get clothes that were good-quality enough that strangers didn't stare at him on the street.
It was better, being by the sea. Fishing, longshoreman's work, anything that kept him near the water.
He was less likely to become confused, or lose his temper. Which meant things were less likely to end badly for everyone.
(There had been...more difficult times. Times when he was more likely to sleep on cardboard than a bed. Times when most of his meals had come from garbage cans. Times when the police were picking frozen bodies off the sidewalk in the morning, and is was only his inexplicable immunity to hypothermia that kept him alive.
He did not want to talk to Randall about those times.)
"Damn right, you're strong," said Randall. He chuckled briefly. "So just...drifting?"
Namor nodded.
"And you don't know what happened to you?"
Namor shook his head.
"How long ago was this? How long have you been living like this?"
Namor shrugged. "A long time, I think. The earlier memories are still foggy. I have had periods of...confusion. Being near the water helps."
Randall nodded. "Right. You always did better after being in the water. My wife, she used to joke that half the reason I picked this place was because it made you happy."
"You have a wife?" Namor asked.
"Had. She passed away."
"I am sorry."
Randall nodded. "It was a while ago. I have Nae. And Roman." He smiled. "And now you, for as long as you're willing to stay."
"Thank you," said Namor. "I would not wish to be burdensome."
"Never." Randall took Namor's hand. "You wouldn't remember this, but you're, well, you're family. And with Roman...one thing I learned when Nae was little is that the ideal number of adults to look after one small child is three, including one who has superhuman strength and endurance. Stay as long as you want. We want you here."
Namor nodded. "You have my profound gratitude." He had, this morning, been hoping to find enough casual work that he could afford both a good dinner and a place to sleep.
Instead, he'd found people who knew him. He'd found a name and some indications of a past. He'd found hope that he could do more than struggle from day to day, with no answers.
And, it seemed, he had found a home.