DISCLAIMER: Though none appear in part 1, any Marvel characters appearing henceforth belong to Marvel. This is their universe. Brandon just lives here.

NOTE: How's *this* for a unique power?

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Brandon Trent Downey stood under a tree in the pouring rain, where no one would see him. He didn't bother with an umbrella, so his black hair soon hung in lank locks over his dark eyes. His best suit, black, somewhat threadbare, showed dark spots where the moisture had soaked in.

Even though this was little more than a light spring mist, umbrellas invariably succumbed to inside-out, broken-spoke syndrome within twenty minutes in his hands.

In the tree he laid his hand against, a jaybird chattered in alarm, but, for a wonder, did not divebomb him with the bluejay's typical kamikaze aggressiveness.

Brandon ignored the bird, his entire attention focused on the gathering at the bottom of the hill. A huge cluster of people, two hundred strong, encircled a simple pine coffin. That the casket was inexpensive served only to contrast the outpouring of love for the deceased. The box dripped with flowers, ranging from roses of every color and description to daisies, orchids, and any other bloom anyone had been able to get their hands on. At the head of the coffin was an elaborate floral arrangement draped with a ribbon which read: "Farewell, beloved Samantha."

~Samantha loved flowers,~ Brandon thought, feeling the lump well up in his throat again.

The wind carried the words of the officiate to his ears. "...knows why God chose to take Samantha from us, who loved her. We can only take comfort in the knowledge that He holds her in His arms now, and she walks in the Glorious Kingdom of Our Father."

Brandon looked up, eyes streaming, and shook his head. He wanted to rush forward and shout, "That's not true!" but he knew it would be a stupid thing to do. ~I killed her,~ he thought miserably. ~I loved her, I made love to her, and I killed her.~

It had been an accident, to be sure. Brandon Downey had been hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with Samatha Marie Taylor since the two of them had been in kindergarten. The last thing in the world he would've done was hurt her, let alone bring about her death. When they were that small, he had made mud pies for her and told her they were wedding cake. She had giggled and chased him off the playground.

By second grade, he would trade with the other kids to get Sammy's favorite dessert -- oreos with double stuff.

In the sixth grade play, they did The Presidents of the United States of America. He had played George Washington, and Sammy had played Martha. While an entire audience full of parents sighed, "Awwww, how cute," Sammy had given Brandon his first kiss, and laid permanent claim upon his heart.

Unfortunately, that was the same year in which Brandon's life started its slow but increasingly rapid slide into the pits.

The bike he got for his birthday was a rusted heap three months later. His father had assumed Brandon had left it out in the rain and tanned his hide but good.

Right before April Fool's Day the same school year, his desk came apart under him, dumping him unceremoniously in a pile of plastic shavings and sawdust. The teachers thought someone had played a mean prank on him. He didn't mind; Sammy had consoled him and gone for a bandaid for his knee.

It was another year and a half before Brandon figured out what was really happening. He was a mutant, and his ability made things old and fall apart before their time. ~Cool,~ he'd thought at the time. ~Maybe I can use this.~

He spent countless afternoons in the junkyard six blocks from school, touching coffee cans and watching them develop rust holes under his touch. To his shock, the grass often died underfoot if Brandon let his concentration waver. That had been something of a shock to him. Especially when he'd gotten down on hands and knees and discovered the ants in the grass had died as well. ~More serious than I thought,~ he realized. ~I have to learn to control this.~

Their freshman year in high school, he'd asked Sammy out to the homecoming dance, and she'd said yes. He'd walked on air for the rest of the day, too giddy and distracted to be bothered by anything until he realized he'd let his mutant talent out of his control and his desk fell apart under him for the first time since it had happened years earlier.

Worse, the night of the dance, he got a case of nerves when Sammy insisted on dancing to the slow song. His ability slipped free of its moorings again, and both straps on her dress snapped. Mortified, Brandon admitted to the love of his life that he was a mutant, it was an accident, and she could slap him silly if she wanted. He expected her to run screaming to the principal, her parents, *his* parents.

But to his delighted surprise, Sammy had laughed, even though her mother had been rather put out that the $85 dress had had such shoddy stitching.

Having someone to confide the secret in had taken a pressure off Brandon that he hadn't known existed until it was gone. That safety valve helped him gain more control.

By junior year, Brandon and Samantha were 'the couple,' inseperable except when classes demanded otherwise. Brandon didn't play on the sports teams. He'd been studying with Samantha and discovered that the basis for his mutant gift -- if you could call it that -- was entropy. It was dangerous for him to go out for teams. His very presence could hurt someone. A sprained ankle might give out if he were nearby, escalating to a break. He didn't even stay around Samantha when she had cheerleading practice.

He came to pick her up, though, at the end of the afternoon and found Donny Tanner backing her up against the wall, his smelly football uniform pressed against her as she struggled and protested. Brandon's instinct was to hit the punk. He was a slender kid who lacked mass, but a side effect of his power was that he knew where to strike -- entropy guided his hand unerringly to the weakest point he could possibly hit. So, instead, he walked over to Tanner's car and leaned on the hood for a moment, then returned to where the football player was harassing his girl. After a moment of examining Tanner, he simply mimed where to hit him, and Sammy slammed both open palms against his earlobes.

Tanner's car's distributor, fan belt, and carburetor all going out simultaneously two days later was just icing on the cake.

Sammy had kissed Brandon passionately to thank him for his heroism, and Brandon had, quite naturally, started to respond. But he stopped in a panic, fearing he'd lose control and decay the stitching in her clothes again. She'd laughed, understandingly, and behaved herself.

Until they were eighteen. Prom night. Sammy was an angel in blue, wearing a gown that brought out the blue of her eyes, and contrasted against the platinum blonde of her long, curly hair. His physical response to laying eyes on her that night was the strongest he'd ever had, and Brandon had felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

He hadn't been able to buy her a corsage. He'd wasted $20 before he realized that no cut flowers would be able to survive in his hands. Sammy hadn't minded.

The other kids split up to head for the amusement parks, the after hours clubs, or hotel rooms. Sammy had sidled up to Brandon and whispered, "My folks are upstate at my grandparents' for the weekend. We have the place all to ourselves." She had blushed, but her intent was clear. Truth be told, there was no one else Brandon would rather have made love to for the first time.

It had been equal parts scary, embarrassing, and indescribably fantastic. She'd clung to him and cried, whispered that she loved him, then fallen asleep in his arms.

They woke up the next morning skewed at an angle. His first climax had thrown his entropic talent out of his control and it had expanded in a circle outward from the bed. The wooden supports had rotted away, and the box spring had fallen to the floor. Springs poked through the mattress. The sheets looked motheaten. Sammy's beautiful new white nightgown was nothng but diaphonous rags. Samantha had laughed, although she looked thin, wan, and exhausted. She had kissed him, told him she loved him, and drawn him back into her arms to make love with him again before they had to clean up the evidence and deal with parents.

And a week later, Samantha Marie Taylor was dead, a previously undiscovered and thus undiagnosed congenital heart defect had suddenly made its presence known -- by snuffing out her life.

Brandon was certain the fault had been his. ~Damn it, I'd *known*,~ he berated himself as the funeral-goers began to break up and go their separate ways. ~I knew in high school, stayed away from the goddamned *teams*. I should've never touched her.~

Sniffling and knuckling savagely at his eyes, Brandon waited until the last straggling mourner had left the grave. Then, finally, he made his way down to the casket in which his one and only love lay.

"I'm sorry, my angel in blue," he murmured shakily, shivering in the chilly June rain. "I promise you -- I won't hurt anyone like this again. Forgive me."

Bereaved, heart heavy with grief, Brandon Downey turned and walked back up the hill the way he'd come, leaving yellow patches of grass where his footsteps landed.

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