[ WP ] A prominent superhero finds that their godlike powers are useless in helping them solve the most important problem in their lives .

002 ( Edit: Finished: D! ) 
 
 They always say that it is lonely at the top. Those billionaires with all their money. Those geniuses with all their brains. Those world leaders with all their burdens. All sit atop their lonely peaks, surrounded with everything but the one thing we all really need: a companion. And I, sitting here at this bar, drink in hand, am actually standing atop my own peak and looking down on all of them; tiny, lonely specks that are closer to that one thing than I will ever be. Godlike powers will do that to you. Phenomenal Cosmic Powers. The ability to save lives and punish evil. To see through walls and create fire and surf the atmospheric highs and lows in the company of eagles. The power to win over people and influence nations. To change the course of an entire war. But to have a companion? Someone to lend a shoulder to your literally planet sized burden? No. With Power comes Responsibility. With Absolute Power comes Absolute Lonlieness. 
 
 Ego aside, it can be intimidating to meet me. You would n't believe the time I have trying to pick up men at the bar. Sure, I'm attractive, in very good shape, and relatively young. But I can also burn holes through your car with my eyes and then flip said car end over end into the nearest skyscraper with a twitch of my pinkie. It tends to frighten the common folk. And the uncommon folk? Well, a lot of times, we just do n't have a whole lot in common. I want a steady boyfriend; they want to run a series of tests on me and ask me all kinds of questions about what I can do. 
 
 I did eventually meet someone. He lit up my world like the sun when it is just coming over the horizon—sudden and brilliant and only getting brighter. I did n't even have to lean on him. And by “ lean ” I mean, well, it comes with the Phenomenal Cosmic Powers. Not every conflict is going to be solved simply with words or by throwing around a few cars or tanks. You need that extra little oomph to get people to see things your way. World Leaders and thrid world rebel leaders tend to be some of the most hard headed folk I've ever met. But I can be very, very persuasive. 
 
 Him, though, I never needed it with. Not in the beginning, at least. We caught eyes across the room—he, on the bank floor, hands behind his head, Armani suit getting wrinkled, and me, stealing in silently through an upper window, preparing my grand entrance down on top of a soon to be very unlucky robber. He had winked. I could n't help the flash of a smile in return before leaping down two stories, cape fluttering, dark hair whirling, feet connecting solidly with the small of the masked robber's back and sending him sprawling across the marble floor, gun skittering out of reach. Later, after the police had processed his statement, we met for drinks at a bar. Two nights later, we sort of became a thing. And, in every sense, I was on top of the world. 
 
 Here we are, though, now one year later and I do n't want to go home. It has a been a long year. I sit on my stool and swirl my drink and pretend to wonder what went wrong. Was it the long nights? Certainly. Was it the middle of the night calls to the other side of the globe? Most assuredly. Was it the heavy burden of having shared what I'd seen in those dark, dark corners of humanity? Yes, definitely. 
 
 I take a sip of my drink and close my eyes. A deep, slow, quiet breath. Was it that I'd resorted to leaning on him more and more throughout the year as it seemed my life was becoming too much for our relationship to handle? Yes. I can feel my chin tremble and clench my teeth. It should have worked. He was supposed to be happy so that I could be happy. But it had n't worked. And it was n't fair. It. Was n't. Fair. Why did I have to go home to a cold and quiet house? Why did I have to bear the troubles of an entire planet alone? Why did I get all the guts and all the glory and never the guy? 
 
 Glass explodes, shards stinging sharply across my face and hands and causing those that had been brave enough to sit around me to jump from their seats. I glance down at the glass in my hand. Shattered. Booze stung the newly opened wounds and everyone stares at me. I can feel my face turning red, embarrassment and anger heating my insides. Was I just some freak show to them? Something to stare at when I was n't busy keeping the world from bursting open at the seams and spilling her guts out into the cold wasteland of space? The room temperature climbed as my anger did. I could see people giving each other nervous looks. Sidelong looks that were n't meant for me to see. Sweat stood out on foreheads as I grasped the edge of the bar, fingers burning into the wood, ready to give in to everything I had shouldered and just... explode. 
 
 “ Miss? ” 
 
 My thoughts come to a sudden stop, crashing as they are derailed by the unexpected soft tone, and I glance up. The barkeep is standing in front of me, an older gentlemen with a salt and pepper beard and concern set in his cool blue eyes. He's wipping up my spilled drink. Casually. No anger on his face for breaking his glass or, I glance down at my hands, branding his bar. I can still feel the heat in my cheeks and in my chest, boiling, not quite ready to let go. 
 
 “ How about a glass of water? You look a little warm. ” He smiles at me. I let out a heavy breath that I did n't realize I've been holding. With it, the heat of my anger goes, too. Shakily, I let go of the bar. “ Rough day, huh? Here. ” He slides me a glass of water and then leans one elbow on the bar, eyes on mine “ Why do n't you tell me about it? ” I take a sip and, with equal parts disbelief and relief, I do.
