The words were printed in serif capital letters on a small bronze plaque by the front door. Technoman didn't see them when he was led in by two orderlies like a little kitten, servos purring softly. Angel of Life didn't see them when she was wheeled in, screaming and cursing, strapped face down on a gurney. She beat her wings in frenzy, battering two aides, until a male nurse wrapped himself around their feathered splendor and restrained them against his own chest.

But the Enforcer read them when he passed through the front doors, his face hidden behind the turned up collar of a 3XL trench coat.

A diminutive receptionist greeted him from behind the front desk. She pretended she didn't recognize him, and Enforcer's throat tightened with a wave of wrenching gratitude.

" I... um... I need to..." He wasn't sure what to say.

"Honey, are you here to check yourself in?"

He nodded mutely.

She put her hand on his, a baby doll's hand against his burled fist.

"It's okay, Honey," she comforted him. "We'll take care of you."

The Enforcer was in the common area playing Rummy with Public Defender. The Public Defender had once struck fear into the heart of every super villain within fifty miles of New City, but now he chain-smoked and chewed his fingernails to the quick. It had something to do with the death of Public Enemy #5, but Enforcer didn't know the details.

Public Defender slapped down the two, three and four of hearts with triumph. "Ha!"

Enforcer glanced at the clock on the wall and adjusted his bathrobe. "Ten minutes until my session with Dr. Curtis."

Public Defender grunted. Then, "Wait - I've got the five, too. Your play."

"P.D., haven't seen you in the gym lately." Enforcer hesitated over the top card, then over the deck. "You gotta stay in shape, you know. Think of the work piling up while we're in here."

Public Defender raised unreadable eyes. "If you're not going to play, get lost. Give Doc Curtis a treat and show up early."

Dr. Curtis seemed pleased to see Enforcer, like always. They shook hands, then sat down together in a black leather chairs. Three months of sitting in the chair hadn't dulled Enforcer's amazement. It fit him. It actually fit him. He'd spend his lifetime accommodating himself into chairs too small, taxis too tight, and doorways too low. On the few occasions that someone had made something his size, it has always been bestowed with a certain smugness on the part of the giver. But Dr. Curtis only smiled and ran his hand through his thinning hair, or adjusted his glasses, when Enforcer mentioned the chair.

Enforcer decided to get to the point. "Doc, how long I gonna be here?"

"I'm not sure. You never get around to telling me why you came to us."

Enforcer squirmed. "You know. I felt down all the time."

"Superheroes rarely come here for simple depression."

Enforcer's frown had intimidated many in the past, but it had no effect on Dr. Curtis.

"Well, depression and I got angry. I don't like being angry." He felt the old, familiar resentment build up inside. "But why shouldn't I get angry? Anyone would."

"Angry about what?"

"It was just never enough, you know? I save the whole family, even the dog, and everyone acts like I'm the greatest. But within a day the lawyers start calling, asking why I didn't save the house. Or why I destroyed the house."

Dr. Curtis leaned back in his chair. "You feel like no one appreciated you?"

"Heck, Doc, it's not about being appreciated. I didn't do it for the glory. I did it because I thought it was my destiny to rescue people and fight super villains and all that. But nothing I did was ever good enough. Maybe I should've gone in wrestling, or been one of those guys with a moving van."

"I know about the man in the subway. Do you blame yourself?"

"The man in the subway? How about the kid in the factory? Or the people on the tram? Those that survived wish they hadn't. And all in the same month."

"So, do you build a scrapbook around every time a bad guy comes out on top?"

Enforcer didn't answer. Couldn't. The blood was pounding in his head.

"You can't expect to save everyone every time."

Enforcer slammed his hand down on the edge of the wooden desk. It splintered. He caught his breath in a sharp gasp, conditioned to expect the sound of popping flashbulbs and oohhs and aahhs from reporters. But instead he heard Dr. Curtis's soft voice.

"Stay as long as you want to. We're here for you."

"Can't. Gotta get better, get control, so I can get back to work."

"There are lots of up and coming superheroes in New City. Think of it as giving them their chance to break into the scene."

Enforcer stood and walked to the window. "They screw things up worse than I do."

"They have to learn. Give them a chance. Take the time you need, now, for yourself."

"Don't you understand? As long as I'm here I'm still a failure. The sign on your front door says it. Haven't you ever read it? 'What is the measure of a super man but that he stands until he can stand no more.' If I'm not standing and fighting, I'm worthless."

Dr. Curtis joined him. "That plaque is not meant to be a statement. It's meant to be a question. A question to society, who values its heroes only when they're in top form. And the answer is no." He turned Enforcer to look out at New City. "This exists because of people like you. People who've given and given and just can't give any more. So maybe you need to take a break. That doesn't mean you don't measure up. I - we - know that your value lies not in what you'll do for us tomorrow, but what you did for us yesterday."

The tears refused to stay back any longer. Big and awkward as the sobs that shook his shoulders, they splattered off his chin and were lost in the space of the room. Dr. Curtis reached up and stroked his hair, cooing to him. It brought back memories of his mother, rocking him and singing to him. "It's okay. It's okay."

When Enforcer made his way back to his room, an immeasurable time later, he thought again about the plaque. And he thought that maybe some super men didn't have bulging muscles or wings or laser-shooting eyes. Maybe sometimes they had little hands and soft voices, or crisp white uniforms, or receding hairlines, weak chins and eyeglasses.

And maybe the measure of such super men was not that they stood and fought, but that they were kind to those who needed help learning how to sit down.