What a weekend.

As if the first time Countdown robbed her own bank wasn't enough, his second appearance had been downright scary.

It was only in Monday's paper did she find out that he hadn't broken jail after all - he had simply posted bail. Bail - for a supervillain.

She was willing to bet he wasn't going to get bail this time, Astrea snorted.

It had taken him less than a minute to devastate an entire block. Fourteen people hospitalized, nine critical. Heaven only knows what he would have done had Americana not shown up.

And no one was offering an explanation for where he got the power-gloves.

Americana knew. She had recognized the stylized, three-headed dog emblem of Cyberus, the same people who had supplied that street gang, months ago. And now they evidently had offered Countdown a second chance.

Astrea had decided to walk off her frustrations and skip the train ride, which admittendly wasn't saying much in a city ten miles on it's longest side. Still, the walk gave her time to calm down on her way to work.

The air was cool enough for a sweater or jacket, but the sun was already burning through the foggy remnants of last night's rains. By nine, ten maybe, the last wisps would be gone, and Washington would gleam in the sunlight.

Seventh Street was already packed with cars in both directions; the traffic in this town seemed to get worse all the time. Thank heaven for the Metro, Astrea thought. At least she -

Suddenly, the sound of screeching tires made her jump! A Channel Eight news van cut off a small car and barreled through a light that had just turned red. The van continued its mad dash down Seventh while Astrea caught her breath.

Geez, there never was a cop around when you needed one, Astrea thought.

Waitasecond - newsvan, going pell-mell through city streets?

Astrea sighed and looked at her watch; she had twenty-five minutes before she had to be work.

This could be nothing more than a man who's late for his morning coffee, she told herself as she looked for a place to change. But just in case this wasn't....

She slipped behind a parked van.

The news van screeched to a halt in front of a townhouse's driveway. Almost before the van had stopped, a young newswoman had leapt out of the passenger seat, followed by her cameraman.

A tall, attractive black woman in a short-skirted suit had her key in the car door – a car that was now blocked in by the van. She quickly looked behind her, but saw nothing to attract the news crew's interest.

"Excuse me? I have to get to work," she said.

"Cathy Davis reporting live," the breathless newswoman ran up to her and shoved her microphone in front of the woman, "with the woman known to all as Americana."

"Wha-a-at?"

"Yes, Channel Eight has learned that this woman, Evelyn Brooks, is actually the secret identity of Americana."

"N-no, I'm not!" the woman protested.

"Do you deny that you were downtown the day 'Americana' was shot?" the blonde shouted (despite being no more than two feet away from the person she was yelling at).

"I work downtown! I –"

"And that you were mysteriously absent from your luncheon group when you fought the Raven?"

"Absent?! I had to make a phone call! I –"

The reporter turned toward the camera. "A likely story. But this reporter has – uh, what? What's the matter?"

Her cameraman pointed.

Slowly entering the camera's view, Americana, the real one, descended, upside down, so that her head and Ms. Brooks' head were at the same height.

"Hi," she said cheerfully. "Did I miss anything?"

She had, just for a moment, considered letting the newswoman go on with her accusations, but the poor interviewee had done nothing wrong save look like Americana.

And not very much like Americana, either, the heroine decided.

Both the newswoman and her target froze.

"Americana," she smiled, thrusting out her hand. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

She had, actually, but figured that the less she appeared to know her, the better for the both of them.

"Ev-evelyn. Evelyn… Brooks," the woman said nervously, shaking her hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Evelyn," Americana said cheerfully. "I wish I looked half as good as you. Well, bye!"

"No - wait -"

But Americana was already moving. She accelerated to top speed, over the rooftops and out of sight.

Ms. Davis just stood there for a moment, along with Evelyn, looking up to the sky.

Finally, Evelyn spoke.

"Do you think you can move your truck now? I have to get to work."

All right, that was fun, Astrea thought as she transformed back to her mortal identity. But that little episode also served to remind her that her true name was still a target.

It was a bit unnerving to think that there were some people out there who would never rest until they had revealed her secret.

She walked thoughtfully through the halls of the museum. She had held out for a long time – perhaps too long. After all, it was growing apparent that the media couldn't remain satisfied with the few bits and pieces she doled out.

It wasn't just about her family or her friends anymore. It wasn't even about the danger she would be in while in her civilian guise.

It was about control of her life – control she was certain to lose forever should her secret be exposed. That was something she learned to treasure since becoming Americana, and she wasn't about to let it go easily.

She sat and stared at her computer screen.

Somehow, some way, she was going to have to deal with the media. The question was how?

Victoria Valentine eased herself out of her companion's van. She could hardly believe that he drove such a… well, crummy car.

"Thanks, Eric. I swear, they better have my car ready tomorrow or… ooooh!"

She held the door open for a moment. "Nice work on that Henderson piece – I'm sorry they chopped it."

"Hey, no skin off my teeth. See you tomorrow, Vic!"

She shut the door and watched him drive off. God, maybe she shouldn't complain so much about her paycheck.

"Hi. About time you came home."

Victoria whirled at the woman's voice!

Her heart fell into her stomach when she realized she was all alone in front of the apartment's parking lot. There was no moon tonight, and the streetlights were more decorative than practical.

She nervously looked around. Where – ? Wait - there was someone standing behind the pine trees.

Victoria swallowed her panic. She took a few steps toward the evergreens - and gasped.

Her visitor was well hidden in the shadows, but Victoria could see quite clearly the bright white stars of her costume.

"Americana?" she gulped.

"Hello, Ms. Valentine."

Victoria hesitated. "You… Eric saw you, you know."

"Oh, I doubt that very much."

Victoria heard herself exhale and she took a hesitant step backward.

"Victoria? Are you okay?"

The newswoman swallowed. "You… aren't going to kill me or anything, are you?"

"Kill you?!" Americana blurted. "Of course not! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, your friend in San Diego for one," Victoria said. "And you, standing in the dark…"

"I believe he was given a presidential pardon," Americana sighed calmly. "Come on, step back here a minute."

Victoria took one last look before hesitantly ducking behind the bushes. She was pretty sure Americana didn't want to kill her now, but maybe she had seen that piece she did for Sunday Morning News?

"Sorry - I didn't mean to scare you."

"Then… what… why were you waiting for me? To get me alone?"

"Well, yes," Americana said matter-of-factly. "Listen, Ms. Valentine, you've been chasing me on and off for months now, always there with a microphone, always trying to ask me questions –"

"And… you want me to stop, right?"

Americana smiled and sighed. "No. I want you to ask me all the questions you want."

Victoria blinked. "I... don't understand."

"Well, you've been wanting to interview me, right? Well, okay, then."

Victoria stared. Was she saying – ?

"Appearances to the contrary," she gestured toward her suit, "I am a little shy. Still, over the past few months it's become obvious that people would like to know more about me. I think it's time to sit down and answer some of the questions people have."

The newswoman continued staring. "Wait. Wait a minute. You're saying you –"

Americana chorused the phrase with her: "… want to do an interview."

"With me."

"Uh huh."

Victoria blinked. This could not be happening. No way.

The woman in front of her was Americana, of that she had no doubt. After all, she had chased after her for months, she certainly knew what she looked like.

It would have been easier had she been a fake. If this one was real - and she was -

"Um, not to be rude or anything... but – why me?"

Americana ran her finger behind her ear. "You've been following me practically as long as I've been doing this. I think you earned it. Actually, I like a lot of your stuff.

"And," she smiled, "I can count on you not to toss softballs."

"Heh." Victoria allowed herself to chuckle. This was too much. "You want me to interview you."

"That's about the size of it."

"Now?"

Americana laughed. "No, no. I'll give you time to get your questions ready. Just… let's make it in the evening, okay? I'm kind of a night owl, so it can be late as you want."

And you might have a job during the day, Victoria thought. "Evening… got it. Any other restrictions?"

"No. Well, I'd prefer not to have an audience."

"No problem."

"You should understand I'm not about to reveal my real name. I know you've got to ask, but if you push it, well, I'll walk."

Still, she could just ask those questions last, the reporter smiled to herself.

"Of course, you could just ask those questions last," Americana said.

"Of… course."

For a moment, the two women just stood there in the darkness.

Oh my God – this is happening, Victoria thought. This – this is what she had been after for months!

"You do realize," the newswoman said slowly, "what you are offering, don't you? I mean, there are way bigger names… you could get anyone you wanted…"

Americana paused.

"I know, Ms. Valentine," she said quietly.

Victoria inhaled deeply. It couldn't be easy for Americana, either. She heard what the heroine left unsaid – that she wasn't totally convinced Victoria was to be trusted.

Smart girl. Victoria was asking herself the same question.

"I'm… honored," she replied. "Really. I promise I won't let you down."

"I know," Americana smiled. "How long do you need?"

"But… but Lou. Eric's always been my cameraman. He's terrific. He's experienced –"

"He's not the most senior member of the union. In fact, he's not even close. Sorry, kid, but I gotta use a professional this time."

Eric Crane's face fell. He got up from the conference table and flashed a smile at Vicki. "Go get 'er, Vic."

Victoria's watched him leave; it was the first time she had ever noticed him with slumping shoulders.

"Now, we gotta get the word out, but not so early it –"

"Just a minute, Lou. I want Eric."

"Wha – Victoria, look, we just went –"

"No, you went over it. I want Eric," she said, standing. "Americana came to me. Not this station – me."

"Now you just hold on, young lady…"

"No, Lou," Victoria said, trembling. "You hold on. Eric's been with me for two years, and done a good job. He's earned this."

"Look, hon," the station manager sighed, "I'm taking a big leap, a big leap, going along with this Americana story as is."

"You – you don't believe me."

"Not entirely, no."

Victoria sat dumbfounded while Lou exhaled forcefully.

"Look, you're good, okay, but not my best reporter, you know that. I'm supposed to believe that you, of all people, are gonna deliver the interview that every damn reporter in town has tried and failed to get.

"You, who by all accounts annoyed said heroine a dozen times. Maybe more.

"You, who won't tell me how you arranged this alleged gold mine interview. You, who insist on doing this interview solo. Without Matt or Rob or Lori."

He threw up his hands. "What am I supposed to think?"

Victoria bit her lip.

"Look.

"You can't lose.

"I don't come through with this interview, I'll quit. You'll be rid of me. But if I pull this off, you are going to have a worldwide exclusive. And everybody's going to want a piece of it."

Lou sat back and stroked his chin. "What networks have you been talking to? Cable?"

She shook her head vigorously. "None. I'm offering it to you first."

"And why – would you want to do that?"

Victoria blinked in surprise.

"Because I work here, Lou."

Victoria stood and pushed her chair in.

"Okay, okay - you win. You win."

"Eric can -?"

"If it means that much to you, he can do the camera, OK?"

"Thanks Lou. I won't forget this, you know I won't."

"Yeah yeah… hey – where ya goin'?"

She paused at the conference room door.

"To get my cameraman. We've got an interview to do!"

"G'nite, Ms. Valentine."

"Goodnight, George," Victoria Valentine said, trying to hide her emotions. "See you tomorrow."

George stopped his shuffle and turned. "Honestly, Ms. Valentine, you keep such hours - for a young lady such as y'self. I'm jes' sayin', y'know?"

"I know. I appreciate the thought, hey?"

Victoria watched the graying man shuffle off into the darkness.

"Hey, Vic!" Eric Crane walked into the room, bouncing back and forth on his feet to a curious beat he called 'wham'. "Ready to make some history?"

Victoria smiled. She and Eric were the only ones in the building - of course, it was nearly two in the morning. "Just got to wait for our guest to arrive, Eric."

Eric just grinned and pointed.

Victoria whirled. Sitting on the edge of a desk was Americana.

"Hi. Hope you don't mind but I let myself in."

Victoria rapped her fingers on the table. "Someday, I am going to figure out how you do that."

Americana smiled and hopped down off the desk. "Kind of surprised to see the studios so deserted."

"I told Lou, my boss, that I'd be interviewing you tomorrow night," Victoria said smugly. "Not that he believed me anyway."

Americana wasn't sure that she approved of Victoria's lie, even if was a small one - but she had to admit it got the a studio clear of an audience, which she much preferred.

Even at two in the morning.

Victoria flicked on the lights to the Sunday morning set. It had two very comfortable-looking chairs, and a small table between them. A pitcher of ice water was on the table, and the right-hand chair was cranked up to its optimum height.

Americana settled into her chair and watched as Victoria settled into hers. She had thought out the answers to questions she thought Victoria would ask, and several she hoped that she didn't. She had adjusted her sleep patterns so that this was more like eleven o'clock for her. She had prepared for this interview in so many ways... now it was time.

"We have Camera One... and Camera Two," Eric announced. "Ready when you are, ladies!"

On the outside, Americana smiled, but inside she kept reminding herself of one of the crucial interviewing rules of Toastmasters. The idea is to get your point across, while the interviewer tries to present an entirely different point of view. No matter how friendly the interviewer pretends to be, never forget that she is an adversary.

That seemed like good advice.

Especially when dealing with Victoria.

"Good evening," Victoria said. "I'm Victoria Valentine. Over the past ten months, a remarkable woman has swept the imaginations of the nation. Tonight, I am pleased to present... Americana."

"Hi, folks."

"Americana, there are probably a large number of people out there who are doubtful that you are who you say you are. Would you kindly bend a steel bar for us?"

"Ah. I was wondering if that was left here by a construction crew," Americana smiled. "Sure, why not?"

She reached down and easily lifted the five-foot section of steel. Then she crumpled it, end to end.

With some satisfaction, she noticed the startled looks on Eric's and Victoria's faces. She guessed they intended her to simply bend it, not turn it into a medicine ball.

Americana casually dropped the steel ball on the stage, which produced a resounding thud!

Victoria quickly regained her composure. "All right. Would you care to tell our audience... why you are here? What does Americana stand for?"

Ah, yes, the easy questions first, Americana smiled. To set you up for the hard ones.

"I think I've shown, over the past few months, what I choose to do with my powers. Primarily, I am a shield against those forces that threaten people, whether unnatural weather or accidents or criminals. I know that in recent months I've gotten a lot of attention for fighting supervillians, but in truth I only step up when the police are outgunned or I can capture a criminal quickly."

"You don't actually go looking for trouble?"

"Truth is, trouble usually finds me just fine as is."

"But when supervillains attack... Countdown, for instance."

"Well, yes, let's take Countdown. You've got a guy who's shooting up the city with some crazy cannon-glove-things. He's already taken out four police officers, done thousands upon thousands in damages, and he's just getting started. Of course I'm going to respond if I hear about it."

"But isn't that response what he wants? A number of people say you attract these 'villains'."

"Nonsense," Americana said sternly. "You live in my neighborhood, you know that taking away the cops just breeds more crooks, not fewer. Our criminals might dress up more than in other towns but they're still pretty much our local crooks.

"I mean, with only a half-dozen superheroes out there, does it make any sense to come to one of the cities protected by one?"

"Perhaps not. But what about those villains who are out to make their mark, so to speak? There were plenty of people who drew on Wyatt Earp, and there were plenty of places to rob which didn't have him."

"Then it's a good thing they concentrate on me, isn't it, instead of turning their weapons on the police or other people."

Victoria nodded slightly and glanced at her notes. "So you're saying that you don't mind when supervillains come to town?"

Ohh, boy. Here we go.

"I didn't say that, Victoria," she said calmly. "And I certainly apologize if I've given that impression.

"I see myself more as a protector of people who have nowhere else to turn. Heaven knows I can keep plenty busy with auto accidents, collapsing scaffolding, fires and the like. If a so-called supervillain shows up and threatens people's lives and property, then by all means I'm going to step up and put a stop to it."

"Even if it kills you? You took a pretty good shot from Il Pheonix the other week."

"That's 'Il Fenice', 'the Pheonix'," Americana corrected her. "Yes, well, I'm going to keep my eyes open a bit more, but I'm one tough cookie."

Victoria's eyes lit up with amusement. That quote would make the papers, for sure.

"Do you work for the Federal government?"

Americana paused. "No."

"But you've met with the FBI, haven't you? Even the Vice-President?"

Easy, Americana. Think before you speak.

"Worked with the Federal Government, when needed, yes. For, no."

"Wouldn't you say that's semantics?" Victoria smiled.

"Not at all," Americana answered calmly. "'Working for' the government means I'm employed by them, that I have superiors, that I follow orders. None of which is true.

"On occasion such troubles have arisen, such as with the Ex-Patriot or Il Fenice, that are so desperate they're willing to share information with me in the hopes that I'll take care of the problem.

"But they aren't my boss, I still remain independent. They ask, they don't command."

Victoria thought for a moment.

"What if... they ask you to do something that you're unwilling to do? Such as... kill someone?"

Americana's eyes widened. Whoa, she wasn't pulling any punches.

"I never, ever kill. Frankly, I never come close to it. A lot of people out there might think that that's my greatest weakness. It's not. It's my greatest strength."

"How so?"

Americana smiled. "I think you know the answer to that. I hope you do."

"So the government - ?"

"Please. Victoria." Americana sighed. "I work with all levels of law enforcement - police, FBI, SWAT - if they'll have me. In return I get to act on my own."

She shrugged. "It's really that simple."

Victoria paused for a moment. "All right. Let's say you do decide to act, to interfere in a crime, for instance. What are the upper limits to your powers, to what you can do?"

"Hmm." Americana thought a moment. "I'm really not sure how to answer that. For instance, I'm strong, ridiculously strong if you must know, but I haven't really reached a limit as to what I can lift or hit. Same as my resistance to harm - I've been knocked out by the Ex-Patriot's explosives, but even that did little to really hurt me. Didn't even break my arm, really."

"You're strong, tough, can fly even. But some people say you have extra powers you don't talk about."

Surprise, Americana thought glumly. This was one of those questions she had hoped would not be asked. Still, she had prepared for it.

"X-ray vision, perhaps."

Americana laughed. "No. No x-ray vision. What, being strong and nearly invulnerable isn't enough?"

"Flight, then," Victoria continued. "You can fly, right? As opposed to just jumping really far."

"Yes."

"Why don't we see you zipping around, like Windjammer, then?"

"Okay... this is kind of embarassing, but... well, when you're running, even pretty fast, it's still running. Whether you leap over a fire hydrant or a fire house, it's still pretty much the same. Flying is, I don't know... not natural.

"Add in that Washington is a no-fly zone and, well, I don't do it that often."

"I have to ask you this..." Victoria said apologetically.

The old secret identity question, Americana nodded.

"But... why don't you reveal your real name?"

"Like 'Victoria Valentine', you mean?" Americana grinned. "That's not your real name, is it?"

The newswoman sputtered. "It is now! I -"

Americana held up her hand. "Easy, Victoria. You changed your name to something that was more professional, that rolled off the tongue easier, right? That was a little snazzier, had a little more oomph?

"Well, same thing."

"You didn't answer my question," Victoria said, calming down.

Ooh, this girl was good, Americana smiled.

"No, I didn't, Victoria," Americana apologized. "For now I think I function better as Americana. If I decide to reveal my real name later, well, you'll be first to know."

Victoria seemed happy with that answer.

"All right, now, I'd like some opinions on each of your enemies. First, the Monarch..."

"... I believe it was in Atlantic Monthly a few years back. The study showed that you have to keep cleaning up after criminals damage your neighborhood. If you don't erase graffiti, pick up the trash, they see it as a sign you don't care and then they take over.

"So, yes, I see my going back to drug houses as a good thing, a positive step to taking back the neighborhoods."

"Well, that's terrific, Americana. I feel we've really gotten to know you better over the course of this interview."

"Thank you, Victoria. It was a pleasure."

"Okay, lights!" shouted Lou.

As the studio brightened, Eric shut off the tape. He and Victoria looked expectantly at Lou.

"Okay. Not the way I would have done it, but... gold. Ratings gold."

He stood and stretched. "It's way too long, though, for the news. We can stretch it out over a week, maybe..."

He smiled. "Or we can rattle some cages and run it Thursday. I think we can skip running 'Wheel of Destiny" for a night, can't we?"

Victoria's face lit up. "You... you mean?"

"You got an hour of prime time, doll. Going to have to cut a little here and there, but I think we should run it as is."

Victoria's heart fluttered. In three days, she would be a household name.

She tried to tell herself that she would continue to pursue Americana's true identity, despite her having given Victoria the interview of a lifetime.

Well. Maybe she'd cut her just a little slack.

For a while.