How does that song go? "Oooooh, heaven is a place on Earth!"

Well... yeah. You're welcome.

I'm a schlub. I know it. My girlfriend is so far out of my league that it's not even funny. We work well together, though. We're a real power couple.

Yeah, yeah, sorry. I have a schlubby sense of humor, too. Dad bod, dad jokes. It's a package deal.

Angela - I kid you not, her name is literally "Angel" with a grace note at the end - comes into the TV room carrying a hot cup of my favorite tea in one hand and our combat kit in the other. The latter contains a bottle of wonderful-yet-nonaddictive painkillers (thanks, Dr. Science!) some heating pads, some scented oils, and even some little snacks to tide me over until dinner's ready. I look up at her and offer my wan smile.

"Damage report?" I ask.

She smiles back - pure love and sympathy - and shakes her head. "The Justicar and Madcap."

"Oof," I reply. "He's been to ground for ages. I'm guessing this is the big reveal?"

She nods. "Dead man's switches, graveyards, crematoriums, and insurance databases. Just enough vague anti-capitalist sentiment to get the usual mobs worked up."

I chuckle. "Why does it feel so familiar, even though I'm quite sure nobody's ever done it before?"

She sets our gear down and leans in for a kiss. I happily oblige. She smells like home and tastes like love. Since it's just you and me, I'll add that there's definitely some weird Mommy vibes too - but guess what? We're both into it.

Her superpower begins to envelop me. I'll never admit it, but it's even better than that other stuff. Any idiot should know that you never, ever, ever admit to that. Not ever.

I take a deep breath and settle in. "I love you, Angel," I tell her, and I grasp her hand meaningfully. "Not just for what we have to do. Crosswords in bed. Lunch on the deck. Barbecue with the neighbors."

"Well that last one's a total lie," she jokes. "The Hendersons always make you grumpy."

"It's just so much dog hair!" I whine. "Okay, fine, they're very polite for not bringing the mutts along to outdoor events, but it's just... it's everywhere. It should have its own pollen alert in the goddamn newspaper."

"'Newspaper,'" she echoes, shaking her head again. "You are such an old man."

"Geez, I hope not," I reply. "A young lady like you, that'd be super gross."

She's actually fifty years older than me. She looks like a college coed - and it ain't just the looks. She has to put in some effort with her makeup and wardrobe to make those Mommy vibes vibrate. Some people's superpowers have really, really obvious benefits. Some people's don't. You should be curious as to how many unsung heroes there are out there, doing their thing, day in and day out, never putting on a fancy suit or doing a press conference.

Is that a metaphor? Subtext? It probably should be, but it's not, because this is a world of superheroes.

She feeds me three pills and hands me my water glass. She maintains loving contact, and will for most of the afternoon. The oil and heating pads are for later, if it gets really bad. It will, more than likely. Madcap doesn't have amazing powers, but he's a planner. It's been three years. The Justicar can't brute-force his way through this one - though, ironically, I'm on call precisely because shit's about to explode.

I feel each one - each destructive event that should leave hundreds or thousands maimed and dead. I'm Bruce Lee. I'm like water. I do tricky judo moves on the horrific reality that barely anyone remembers even exists, and it's just enough to redirect it towards cartoons and comic books. Angela's there through it all. Her touch, her love, our combat kit, and - most especially - her superpower keep me in the game. The TV is on more out of tradition than anything else. I'm not really in a good place to absorb ego boosts. It's funny what qualifies. The newscasters are, by turns, somber or panicked. More destruction. More carnage. More rioting.

A couple slip through, always. A fair number of those deaths or injuries are meaningful - poetic, ironic, intimately connected to some major player. Cartoons and comics have a cost. No one can ever know how... specific it is. Any idiot should know you never, ever admit to that.

Angela sees a man suffering greatly to do everything he can, knowing it's never quite enough. That's mostly true. Decades ago, she had her phase. She wanted to be out there, healing the front-liners, or at least their collateral damage. To her credit, it didn't take her long after meeting me to change her tune. Then again, I do have a few very special friends willing to put in good words for me. Guys like The Justicar would never order somebody to play nursemaid, but heroes are heroes. Stories unfold. Love blossoms. Things just kind of work out.

Like I said, it's mostly true. I feel the strain. Madcap was not fucking around. The heating pads and oil come out. I disrobe and stretch out, still feeling every massive blow. Angela's working overtime, just as surely as I am. I dread the day when she starts showing the strain. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to talk about it. It's the third thing that even idiots know not to mention to the loves of their lives who are massively out of their leagues.

I have some special friends I can hash it out with. There's this one total asshole, actually, who you'd never even think... well, never mind that. It's getting close to the grand finale. Don't ask me how I know, but it's just around the time when Dr. Science and Mental Master are relaying the vital information to the front-liners. Madcap's plans will be foiled, but not trivially. He'll escape, or get caught and escape, or maybe today's the day that his luck finally runs out. That'd be nice. I'm not god; I don't get to decide that. I'm just Bruce Lee, with the hottest wife in the world. That has to be enough.

Angela keeps being a true hero long after the major disasters have been contained. Tomorrow morning we'll give each other some very heroic rewards. Tonight, she's my regular nurse, not my weird Mommy-vibe one. Tonight, she eases me out of combat mode and back to regular mode.

You know, regular mode? Did I not mention that before? Of course I didn't. I wanted to save it for the end.

We live in a world of cartoons and comic books. People with superpowers get to be superheroes and supervillains. The world doesn't end. The death count remains reasonable. The repair work happens quickly, quietly, and just about on-budget.

Civilization doesn't collapse. The massive, widespread, worldwide psychological trauma that ought to have torn it apart right along with all the superweapons and supervillains simply never materializes. Well, that's mostly true. Those supervillains do come from somewhere, after all.

Don't you remember what I said at the very beginning?

You're welcome.