The garage was quiet. He'd been eerily silent too, throughout the drive home. Azula watched the slow ripples in his blue eyes every second she could. Light pierced them, but they didn't take it in too well. She impatiently hungered for the ripe moment to produce the wrapped gift she'd been hiding…

"You drive real smooth," he remarked out of the blue. "Viper's all yours."

"No, you wouldn't."

He was earnest, "No, Zed. I insist. You mind if I check her spark plugs first?"

Her focus was solely on the mystery of what he just said. "Sure. By all means," came her reply. She failed to read his expression. It was quite random of him to do that, but unusually nice of his person to help. She felt tingly warmth inside, her thought processes latching onto a memory: of him telling her how his first word ever was 'car'. He'd picked it up when he was a mere six months old!

"No surprise there," she remembered herself saying in response. Other little memories of little pleasant experiences alongside him flooded her head.

In a similar way, he pondered a phrase she once used sarcastically. She'd regarded him as 'cloyingly sweet', whatever that meant. He wasn't the type to look up the dictionary to clarify her meaning. Again, it was her ingenious way with words that he marveled at so much. Perhaps her first word was 'beautiful', first spoken at an age of five months..

Trudging to the nearby cabinet, he took out the necessary tools - wrenches, some cloth, spare plugs, labels, etc. He opened the car hood, venturing a close glance at the little components lining one side of the engine. He removed a spark plug, inspecting it critically. Clearly, Azula observed he was a little different in conduct. She looked for a second at the bag she held which had his pain meds inside. Hallelujah, she was thinking, he's on the move, at least, instead of moping around or staring the floor in its face.

When he completed the job, around fifteen minutes later, she could no longer wait. "Hotshot?" she called him over.

"What's up?"

"Here's your 'Outta-The-Hospital' gift," she chuckled, awkwardly. Then she stretched out the present wrapped in bright-coloured paper toward him. She thought she heard him laugh in excitement while he was opening it.

"I got it specially designed for you. Whatdya think?" she enquired.

In his palm was a hard cover Bible coated in an eruption of loud but beautiful shades. & no doubt, the patterns flowing along the cover were fiery streams. A stylish ignited cross with a shape more like an X than a T took its place at the center. "Nah, you didn't have to. I ain't religious," a forced smile came across his countenance.

"But you need help." She reached for his good hand, & squeezed. It was incumbent on her to care for him throughout his recovery period, partly because Sue only had so much time daily to break away from her study filled with paperwork.

He couldn't choke out an answer. He turned away, & she got worried wondering if he was choking back tears. "It'll be handy if you think you can't talk out a problem with someone," she added. Ghostly fingering on his shoulder dragged him back around. "Please. Take it," she begged. Silence intensified in the room. "It looks great," he finally muttered, struggling to make the smile genuine. But it was more like it was cracking his face.

"So…thanks," he finished.

A fortnight elapsed quickly, without much on the plate of the six heroes. Save for them settling the misunderstanding that led the public to look down on superheroes. The problem stemmed from the time when Johnny was influenced by Diablo's potion. Though the citizens got the message that he was simply 'affected by energies of the potion' (Reed's wording), they weren't 100% convinced: not ten days later, the Human Torch went on another little craze, except it was on a smaller scale. He'd destroyed vehicles & incinerated smaller structures spread about the city, plus even stole a few bikes for a joyride or two. Little was known that the culprit had been the Skrull, Lyja, disguised in human form & manipulating Johnny.

Reed, Sue & Ozai were primarily engaged in a number of conferences, interviews & miscellaneous events related to the costs of repairing the damage inflicted upon the city. Because they had to speak on behalf of the Human Torch (who had to rest & recover in the comforts of home) about the mob attack initiated on him, Sue promised that "it would not happen again", & "he would change". Her statement held much truth.

At last, the government's plans to launch drastic programmes addressing the 'havoc' wreaked by New York's superheroes were successfully thrashed in their early stage.

Johnny's eyes opened to the dull morning light. Balmy was the weather today; he felt some wonderful warmth on his blanket as the sun decided to lay a golden finger on his bed. He was still groggy so he tossed & turned for a bit, until a surge of pain interrupted his movements. His ribs that suffered the 'greenstick' fractures pressed hard against the mattress, making a groan leave his lips. At least the couple of weeks that had passed since the mob attack helped diminish the pains plaguing him.

Craning his head to the nearby bookshelf, the first thing he cast his gaze upon was that open book. The page where Ephesians 3:6 had been was still there for viewing. The phrase "enjoy the promise of blessings" had been marked in striking ink. Just then, he picked up the noise of his room's sliding door.

"Jonathan, my boy!" the voice was joyous & joking. Given his slight memory loss, it wasn't a breeze piecing things together still. Somebody lifted up him all of a sudden. His feet were hanging in the air & he no longer felt the blanket. Two mighty arms kept him off the ground for that moment.

The deep seasoned voice had more to say, "Come, my daughter's made you breakfast. Extra special."

Ozai turned to exit the room in rather happy struts.

More than enough people out there cared unfathomably deeply for Johnny's messed up person. The emo feelings were evaporating in no time as he simpered to himself, as if involuntarily.