There is a man sitting in a room. There is only a chair and a table there, and reflective glass windows all around. The man is dressed in a rumpled shirt and tie, an omnipresent frown on his face, a cigarette dangling limply from the corner of his mouth. He is looking intently at the person across the table from him. The lone powerful fluorescent light set into the ceiling casts harsh shadows onto the man's face, and harsh lighting from the smooth metal surface of the desk. The man puffs contentedly, then noticeably slouches in his ergonomic chair.

On the desk are a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Across the surface, there is a briefcase and small sheaf of paper. Across from the man, a smartly dressed executive looks back at the man with disinterested curiousity.

"You know why you're here, Mr Wisdom," the executive says, cold, impassive.

The man blows a smoke ring. "Sure." He looks back at the executive, and there is only impassiveness in his eyes. "Yer want ter kill me off."

The executive pauses at such an unpleasant word. "I think Kill is a bit strong a word, but yes, you are basically correct. We want nothing to do with you any more, Mr Wisdom."

Pete nods his head sagely. "I been expectin' it," he says casually, and looks down at the burning embers at the end of his cigarette. "Don't want someone, like, ter be 'family unfriendly'."

The executive nods in reply, relieved that Pete is taking it so peacefully. "We at the company believe it is best if our employees don't smoke or drink or even really act like normal humans unless there's some plot reason to do so."

"Bloody explains Scott Summers," Pete chuckles to himself. "Man's lucky he ain't a nervous wreck yet." He puffs away for a few more seconds, looking interestedly in his reflection in the wall mirror. "I'll take it," Pete says, "on one condition."

"We've anticipated this problem." The Executive says. "Kitty will have to tie off a few minor plot points that we'll be resolving soon, but after that she'll be free to go."

"All good ter me," Pete replies. "Although," and at that Pete leans forward, ash from his cigarette dropping onto the shined metal table, "I'm curious wot exactly yer want ter get rid o me for. Is it fer the smokin an the drinkin?"

The executive coughs uncomfortably. "That was a bit. And your lack of morality. And lack of codename, and refusal to wear spandex, and consorting with the dregs of society, and being English, and dating a woman half your age." He meets Pete's eyes, but only for a second or two, before darting back down again. "You're just not very..."

"Hero Like."

"Exactly. Our clients need role models to look up to, to use as examples in later life. You're not very much of a role model. Mr Drake, or Mr Summers, or Mr Wagner, they're much more acceptable to mainstream opinion in their own opinions and actions."

"That's true," Pete said, leaning back into the chair. "I ain't a role model. I drink, I curse, I don't respect authority..."

"It's not entirely your fault. It's why we hired you in the first place. But Your not being a good role model just isn't good for us." The executive looked back up again. "We need people who are paragons of humanity, who make us think over what defines true humanity and all its values. They need to be upright and responsible, pro active and positive. They have to understand the true weight of their actions."

The executive looked pained now, for he didn't want to hurt Pete much either. "But you, Pete, you have problems. You are reluctantly dragged into situations, you rarely recommend a direct approach, you are devious, and in many ways an un pleasant man. You do not seek limelight. You do not try to convince your friends of the rightness or wrongess of an idea. You are overwhelmingly sarcastic and ironic. Even worse, you love more than anything Kitty, who to us is a very innocent and sweet girl. We can't really use her anymore because of her involvement with you. Worst, you do not believe in ideals, in unity between man and mutant, or in idealistic dreams. Your code of ethics is not societally standard."

"That's fine," Pete said. "Methinks I'll be on me way then, mate." He gave the executive a firm handshake and got up, heading over to the door. No shouting. No righteous anger. No disgust at being ejected from his job, no great simmering irritation over the injustice being done to him. It was no big deal.

"Thank you for working here," the Executive said, relieved that this was over.

As Pete strolled down the hallway to where he knew he'd find Kitty, with her short hair that she'd told him she'd completely hated but needed to keep her job, he thought that indeed, he was not a good role model. He was not a good model where Duty was something someone had to boast he upheld, where to leave others be was a vice, where love was a complex formula of drama, where your very morals had to be exactly what others expected of you, where an ideal was a final goal. He was a horrible role model. He didn't want to change the world. He just wanted to be at peace. He supposed that was bad for his employers. He wasn't a superhuman. He wasn't a hero for fool kids to gawk at and pretend to be.

He was just Pete Wisdom. He was himself. Role Model to no damn one else but himself.

As Kitty loomed into view, smiled and gave him a hug, lingering a little to smell his shirt, Pete reflected on himself. He Did what had to be done, he enjoyed life to its fullest, and he loved his Kitty more than anything, even an ideal. The two left the office, ready for the world out there... sordid, grey, but beautiful nonetheless.

"I got me girl," Pete muttered to himself. "Who could ask fer anythin' more?"

And indeed, no one could. He was Pete Wisdom, and for all his lack of skill at being a Role Model, he was the one who was closest to reality.

Hope you liked it. If you don't get it, Pete is Not a traditional Role Model, which is presumably why Marvel dumped him (And Kitty). But I disagree.