*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to
Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, and if there are any others, I still don't
own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of
making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.
WARBIRDS
By moon
Steve handed his ID to the airport MP, who scrutinized it carefully before returning it. They both fired off quick salutes to each other. Then Steve was free to bolt down the hall until he reached Gate 14.
He let out a puff of relief. Made it just in time.
From his back pocket he pulled out the black beret that had recently become standard wear for the Army. He tugged it over the 'proper' haircut he received just prior to his drive to the airport.
He had always hated that haircut.
But too much was riding on this meeting, so he had to look the part.
With that in mind, Steve straightened his immaculate Private uniform and checked his gleaming regulation-laced black boots one last time.
The airline employees opened the boarding doors.
He fell into parade rest just in time.
Disembarking first was not one, but two huge imposing men, very much of a similar type with Steve himself. Long limbed, solidly built, alert for trouble and moving with the sure grace of men who could more than handle trouble, as their scarred knuckles attested to. They were even both blonds, though the older man was surprisingly only a few shades shy of platinum, a color Steve thought reserved only for childhood or from a bottle.
Steve wasn't even going to ask if it was natural. This wasn't a suicide mission.
Like Steve, the older man wore Army dress greens. But where Steve's uniform was a virtual blank canvas of stiff green cloth, the other man's uniform was a glittering testament of his long service to their country.
Holding pride of place on each shoulder were three meticulously polished brass stars.
"General Abernathy, sir," Steve barked out, snapping to attention and smartly saluting, stiffly holding the salute in place. "Private Grant Joson reporting, sir!"
The General stopped in front of him, sharp brown eyes looking him over carefully. Steve knew he didn't fool him one bit, which was fine. He didn't really expect to.
What wasn't fine was the way the other man was looking at him, the younger man in the non-descript black suit. He walked like a solider, deferred to the General and guarded his back like a solider, but those hooded blue eyes…they spoke of a different profession.
Fed.
G-man.
Spy.
Spook.
…
Trouble.
Normally, Steve had no problem with Agents. But this close to the heart of the Belt, when far too many people had far too many agendas, unknown Agents were not a welcomed factor into his current mission.
In short, trouble.
General Clayton Abernathy, Hawk to friends and enemies alike, hid his shock well. What in thunder was HE doing there, he asked himself, mind racing. "Private…Joson," Hawk said in a very normal voice, casually saluting the man. Best play along for the time being. "What's your assignment, solider?"
The arm came down in a loud clap to his side. "To drive the General to wherever he pleases and to tender apologies on behalf of the Fort Killington Command for not providing the General with proper air transportation, sir!"
All in one loud, earnest breath too. That surprised a deep chuckle from Hawk. Apparently the man didn't forget how it felt to be a Rawhide around Brass. "Well, flying first class on a commercial liner wasn't exactly torture, right Duke?"
"No, sir," Duke said neutrally. "It was fine."
Hawk didn't have to look back to know that Duke was bristling at the so-called Private. He couldn't blame his Second. Hawk's inspection of Killington had been in decidedly unfriendly territory. There had been something shady going on there, and Hawk didn't like the way they kept trying to separate him from Flint, Lady Jaye, Lifeline and Psyche-Out. He definitely didn't buy that BS about how their original flight plans got fouled up. The commercial plane tickets that the five were given instead appeared too quickly, placed conveniently for three separate, overbooked flights, leaving Hawk alone. The five of them had been debating what to do when Duke appeared out of no where, waving a first-class ticket seating him right next to Hawk. "Air marshal status," Duke told them. "Knew it'd come in handy."
They spent the entire flight alert for trouble.
And now, here was trouble all wrapped up in dress greens. Or so it must seem to Duke.
Hawk deliberately caught the 'Private's gaze with his eyes, then glanced to the side to indicate Duke. A barely noticeable shake of the head. The 'Private' hadn't anticipated Duke, nor did he want him along.
Coming right out of Killington, Duke was definitely not going to like that.
Might as well grab the bull by the horns.
"Convey my thanks to Killington, Private. Duke, looks like you're relieved of baby-sitting duty."
"HUH? Hawk, what the---"
"Do you have a problem with that, Duke," Hawk asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Yes, sir," Duke said through gritted teeth. "The General shouldn't go anywhere without a guard."
"I have a guard," Hawk said, nodding to the 'Private.' "I'm sure Joson here will do fine."
"Hawk," Duke hissed. "May I have a word with you, sir?"
"Excuse us, Private," Hawk said, nodding to the man.
The two Joes walked to the other side of the gate and huddled in a corner.
"Permission to speak freely, sir," Duke asked, scowling.
"Always."
"What the hell is going on," Duke demanded. "Killington tried their damnest to isolate you from the rest of the Joes and now you're going to just walk off with this guy who's no more a Private than I am?"
Hawk smiled. "It is pretty obvious, isn't it?"
"Only if you know what to look for," Duke amended. "This doesn't smell right, sir."
"No, it doesn't. But I'm going to go anyways. I don't believe," Hawk said firmly, overriding a protesting Duke, "that he has anything to do with the Killington trouble."
"You know how I feel about coincidence, General."
"And you know I'm of a like mind. But I will tell you this with the utmost confidence; that man will not do a thing to harm me, and he'll fight by my side as ably as any Joe."
Duke's brow smoothed. "I hadn't realized that you knew him, sir."
"I know of him. Saw his file once. This is the first time I've actually met him."
"Then…are you sure it's the right man, sir?"
Hawk smiled wryly. "Stake my life on it."
Duke did not smile back. "Not funny, sir."
And then, for the first time, Hawk realized that Duke wasn't just worried for him.
He was scared.
"Duke," Hawk snapped, his face growing as fierce as the raptor he was named for. "Do you know something that I don't?"
"……yes, sir…..."
"Spill it, solider."
"Hawk---"
"NOW!"
Duke reflexively snapped to attention. "Assassin, sir."
Hawk stared at his Second incredulously. "Cobra?"
"Yes, sir."
"Confirmed?"
"No, sir."
"So you didn't want to bother me."
"No, sir."
"Well BOTHER me next time, dammit! Keeping me out of the know isn't going to protect me one bit! Did you think this old man would fall apart?"
"SIR, NO, SIR!"
"Then give me the courtesy of assuming that the Pentagon hasn't caused my brain to slide aft side!"
Duke just looked at him, blue eyes wide. "Hawk, I would never suggest---"
"Haven't you," Hawk asked pointedly.
Duke fell silent, looking like a kicked dog.
"Dismissed," Hawk told him curtly.
"Hawk, I---"
"I SAID dismissed, Joe."
Very formally, Duke saluted his General, whose terse return was more of an angry gesture.
Duke speared the 'Private' with a deadly warning glare, even now only thinking of Hawk's safety.
The 'Private' and the General watched Duke march off in silence.
"It's hard to be friends with subordinates, isn't it," the 'Private' asked softly.
If he had been a real Private, Hawk would have told the man where to stick his question. But instead, Hawk answered him with the simple truth.
"Yes."
They didn't speak again until the car.
The 'Private' opened the door to the back seat for Hawk, who unceremoniously tossed his briefcase inside before slamming the door shut out of the man's startled hands. "I can open my own damned door," Hawk growled, yanking open the shotgun door. "Get in and drive."
"Yes, sir."
More uncomfortable silence stretched between the men.
The 'Private' turned on a Glenn Miller CD.
Hawk promptly shut it off.
It was a long drive out of the parking garage.
When they pulled out of the airport, Hawk finally spoke again. "The next time you come wearing dress greens, you better come wearing your own damned rank, Captain!"
The man winced. "But, sir, the truth is I never really made it past Private First Class. The rank of Captain is purely honorary."
"It's still your rank and you've more than earned it."
"It's just…it didn't feel right putting on bars. It felt like cheating."
Hawk raised an eyebrow. "Are you making me repeat myself, solider?"
The Captain smiled. "No, sir!"
"Good. So. Tell me, Captain. Why is a busy man like you taxi-ing a temperamental old bird like me around? And on the sly?"
"Well, one reason is that I didn't like your original driver. Killington really did send out a car. I was just going to hitch a ride with him to meet you, but, well, begging the General's pardon, I didn't think it proper for stockade scum like that to be driving you around. Lucky for us, he had an unfortunate accident with my fist."
Hawk sighed. "Where is he now?"
"Oh, the MPs seemed to want to talk to him and inspect his car. Something about the motor pool boys finding something funny, I'm not sure what." The Captain patted the steering wheel affectionately. "So I went out and rented this beauty, checked it top to bottom. I would have preferred getting you a SHIELD hovercar…but I think that would have been more dangerous to you in the long run than letting that driver taxi you around."
"Ah. Now we come down to it," Hawk said softly.
"General, this is a very dangerous game you're playing," the Captain told him soberly.
"How did you find out," he asked, honestly curious.
The Captain snorted. "How else? SHIELD."
Hawk's head spun sharply. "How much do they know?"
"Not half as much as they'd like. Not nearly as much as you." The Captain scowled fiercely. "General, I don't understand. You've got the dirt on the Jugglers. You can bring them down. Why won't you?"
"Captain…" Hawk steepled his fingers to his lips. "How much do you know about the Jugglers?"
"Only that they're a secret cadre of the Armed Forces' top Brass, self- interested and corrupt to the bone," the Captain spat, looking like he tasted something foul. "Which is why I'm having a hard time figuring why you're a part of them now."
Hawk felt the hair on his neck rise. "Who else knows?"
"That you're a Juggler? SHIELD Director Sharon Carter wanted knowledge of your membership shut under HIGHLY CLASSIFIED, so besides myself, only the Director and her inside Agent."
"What's that about an Agent," Hawk demanded sharply.
The Captain let out a long unhappy sigh. "You've got a SHEILD Agent in your Joes, sir. I don't know whom, Director Carter wouldn't tell me. I swear to you, that's all I know. I'd tell you if I knew more."
"DAMN IT ALL," Hawk swore venomously, smashing both fists onto the dashboard. "Damn it all to Hell!" He kicked the door. "You tell that officious, high handed young lady to KEEP HER HANDS OFF MY JOES! She wants to play Spy vs. Spy, she better do it through me and not over my head or so help me I will make the Devil's own unholy Hell look like a picnic! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!"
"Sir, yes, sir," the Captain barked. "You are preaching to the choir, sir!"
"Did the Agent make off with copies of the evidence?"
The Captain grinned broadly. "No, sir! Apparently when ordered to find your files on the Jugglers, said Agent told Director Carter to (and I quote), 'go to Hell. If the General's not using it yet or giving it out, he's got his reasons and that's good enough for me.' End quote."
Hawk rubbed a hand over a mouth that threatened to break out into full- blown smile. The Captain noticed from the corner of his eye. "That's quite a testament to you, sir."
"Hmmm?"
"When a hardened SHEILD Agent places loyalty to you above the Director…that says a lot about the kind of man you are." He shook his head. "That's why I can't understand why you've joined the Jugglers instead of nailing them to the wall."
Hawk regarded the driver warily. "Is that why you're here, Captain? To straight out ask for the evidence instead of trying to sneak off with it?"
"Well, I do admit that Director Carter had that scenario in mind when she broke the news to me. She thought we'd be able to connect because we're so much alike. Warbirds of a feather, she called us." His grin faded. "I think what she was really banking on was me shaming you into surrendering the evidence. Give you my 'Do the right thing' speech."
"And will you?"
The Captain was silent for a long moment. "That would be preaching to the choir, sir. And I believe the Joe Agent has the right of it. You'll use the evidence when the time is right."
The tension Hawk didn't even realize he was holding faded. "Thank you, Captain." He hesitated before admitting, "Your good opinion means a lot to me."
"I think she knew that," the Captain said softly.
Hawk looked out the window. "Manipulative little thing, isn't she?"
"Very," the Captain agreed, that one word laced with very personal pain. Before Hawk could pry, the other man pushed the conversation back on track. "I still want to know why you joined them, General."
Hawk crossed his arms with a sigh. "Do you know the legend of the Hydra, Captain? The multi-headed monster the Greek demi-god Hercules fought?"
"I'm…somewhat familiar with the legend, yes," he said, amused. "Please, sir, go on."
"Well, that's what I'm fighting right now, Captain. A Hydra. Yes, I could destroy the Jugglers now, but if I do that, more Brass will fill in the gaps. If that happens, I won't be in ANY position to stop them from meddling with my Joes. I'll have an army of political chaos with only a few tarnished Brass to show for it. The work we're doing is too important to let our efficiency drop. So. I'm embracing the monster, deflecting its influence instead of attacking, trying to find a way to burn the heads down to a stump so I won't have new ones popping up."
The Captain digested that in silence. "This is a very dangerous game you're playing, General."
"I know."
"They'll be waiting for a chance to strike at you."
"I know."
"And even if they don't---sir, I truly don't mean any disrespect, but you know the old saying. 'Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely.' And it's a disease, sir! If you surround yourself with that much corruption…it's only a matter of time…"
Hawk pressed his fingertips together and closed his eyes. "I am well aware of the risks, Captain. But my Joes need all the support I can give them, and I WILL give it to them. Besides," he continued in a softer voice, "my troops are my guiding stars. If I stray, they'll point the way back for me. They always have. They always will."
They drove on in silence, the air heavy with thought.
Hawk had almost dozed off when he heard the Captain whisper, "Sharon was wrong."
"Hmm?" Hawk straightened up. "What was that?"
"We're not all that similar," the Captain told him.
That stung Hawk quite a bit more than he expected. "I'm sorry I don't meet with your approval," he said stiffly.
"What? Oh, no, sir! You have it all wrong! What I meant was…well; I'm the type of solider that sees evil and destroys it as soon as I can reach it. That's what I was designed to do."
Hawk shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't say 'design' per se. Makes you sound like a blasted robot."
The Captain smiled. "Trained then. But the results are still the same. Bull in the china shop." He shook his head. "When it comes to upholding this nation's honor, I'm not a patient man. I wouldn't have the discipline to do what you're doing."
"Oh, its not discipline that's holding me in check," Hawk confided in him. "It's anticipation. I look forward to the day when I can tear down the warpath and scalp their collective heads!"
"Thus sayeth the Tomahawk?"
"Damn straight."
"Good." The Captain flashed him a grin. "I'm glad we had this chat, General."
"Me too." A surprisingly shy smile came over the Joe Leader. "It's not too often I get a chance to speak to a boyhood hero."
A bright blush spread over the Captain's Irish-fair cheeks. "Quit it, sir," he laughed.
"I'm serious! And I'm telling you now, if you hadn't proven yourself needed elsewhere, I'd have accepted that transfer you put in a long time ago."
The Captain's brows shot up. "You remember?"
"'Course I do. Actually," Hawk admitted, blushing just as bad as the Captain, "I cut out your signature and had it matted and framed." He held up his hands. "'STEVEN ROGERS.' It's hanging on my office wall, under my gilt eagle. Only place to put it."
"Oh NO," the Captain choked, now laughing so hard that he had to pull over into the emergency lane.
"Oh yes," Hawk laughed, gasping. "The only time I didn't have the guts to write a rejection letter myself! I mean, I was denying a transfer request from CAPTAIN AMERICA! I just dumped it all in Lady Jaye's lap without telling her who you really were!" He doubled over holding his side and pounded the seat with a fist. "Oh, the flack I caught---when she found out- --!"
Suddenly the driver's door yanked open. "Freeze," Duke screamed, aiming a gun right at Captain America's head. "Make a move, snake, and I'll blow your freakin' head off! General, you OK?"
The Hawk and the Eagle looked at each other somberly and did the only thing two warbirds could.
They dissolved into the throes of hysterical laughter, leaving Duke no choice but to step back and slam the car door shut in disgust. "A pair of turkeys, the both of them!"
WARBIRDS
By moon
Steve handed his ID to the airport MP, who scrutinized it carefully before returning it. They both fired off quick salutes to each other. Then Steve was free to bolt down the hall until he reached Gate 14.
He let out a puff of relief. Made it just in time.
From his back pocket he pulled out the black beret that had recently become standard wear for the Army. He tugged it over the 'proper' haircut he received just prior to his drive to the airport.
He had always hated that haircut.
But too much was riding on this meeting, so he had to look the part.
With that in mind, Steve straightened his immaculate Private uniform and checked his gleaming regulation-laced black boots one last time.
The airline employees opened the boarding doors.
He fell into parade rest just in time.
Disembarking first was not one, but two huge imposing men, very much of a similar type with Steve himself. Long limbed, solidly built, alert for trouble and moving with the sure grace of men who could more than handle trouble, as their scarred knuckles attested to. They were even both blonds, though the older man was surprisingly only a few shades shy of platinum, a color Steve thought reserved only for childhood or from a bottle.
Steve wasn't even going to ask if it was natural. This wasn't a suicide mission.
Like Steve, the older man wore Army dress greens. But where Steve's uniform was a virtual blank canvas of stiff green cloth, the other man's uniform was a glittering testament of his long service to their country.
Holding pride of place on each shoulder were three meticulously polished brass stars.
"General Abernathy, sir," Steve barked out, snapping to attention and smartly saluting, stiffly holding the salute in place. "Private Grant Joson reporting, sir!"
The General stopped in front of him, sharp brown eyes looking him over carefully. Steve knew he didn't fool him one bit, which was fine. He didn't really expect to.
What wasn't fine was the way the other man was looking at him, the younger man in the non-descript black suit. He walked like a solider, deferred to the General and guarded his back like a solider, but those hooded blue eyes…they spoke of a different profession.
Fed.
G-man.
Spy.
Spook.
…
Trouble.
Normally, Steve had no problem with Agents. But this close to the heart of the Belt, when far too many people had far too many agendas, unknown Agents were not a welcomed factor into his current mission.
In short, trouble.
General Clayton Abernathy, Hawk to friends and enemies alike, hid his shock well. What in thunder was HE doing there, he asked himself, mind racing. "Private…Joson," Hawk said in a very normal voice, casually saluting the man. Best play along for the time being. "What's your assignment, solider?"
The arm came down in a loud clap to his side. "To drive the General to wherever he pleases and to tender apologies on behalf of the Fort Killington Command for not providing the General with proper air transportation, sir!"
All in one loud, earnest breath too. That surprised a deep chuckle from Hawk. Apparently the man didn't forget how it felt to be a Rawhide around Brass. "Well, flying first class on a commercial liner wasn't exactly torture, right Duke?"
"No, sir," Duke said neutrally. "It was fine."
Hawk didn't have to look back to know that Duke was bristling at the so-called Private. He couldn't blame his Second. Hawk's inspection of Killington had been in decidedly unfriendly territory. There had been something shady going on there, and Hawk didn't like the way they kept trying to separate him from Flint, Lady Jaye, Lifeline and Psyche-Out. He definitely didn't buy that BS about how their original flight plans got fouled up. The commercial plane tickets that the five were given instead appeared too quickly, placed conveniently for three separate, overbooked flights, leaving Hawk alone. The five of them had been debating what to do when Duke appeared out of no where, waving a first-class ticket seating him right next to Hawk. "Air marshal status," Duke told them. "Knew it'd come in handy."
They spent the entire flight alert for trouble.
And now, here was trouble all wrapped up in dress greens. Or so it must seem to Duke.
Hawk deliberately caught the 'Private's gaze with his eyes, then glanced to the side to indicate Duke. A barely noticeable shake of the head. The 'Private' hadn't anticipated Duke, nor did he want him along.
Coming right out of Killington, Duke was definitely not going to like that.
Might as well grab the bull by the horns.
"Convey my thanks to Killington, Private. Duke, looks like you're relieved of baby-sitting duty."
"HUH? Hawk, what the---"
"Do you have a problem with that, Duke," Hawk asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Yes, sir," Duke said through gritted teeth. "The General shouldn't go anywhere without a guard."
"I have a guard," Hawk said, nodding to the 'Private.' "I'm sure Joson here will do fine."
"Hawk," Duke hissed. "May I have a word with you, sir?"
"Excuse us, Private," Hawk said, nodding to the man.
The two Joes walked to the other side of the gate and huddled in a corner.
"Permission to speak freely, sir," Duke asked, scowling.
"Always."
"What the hell is going on," Duke demanded. "Killington tried their damnest to isolate you from the rest of the Joes and now you're going to just walk off with this guy who's no more a Private than I am?"
Hawk smiled. "It is pretty obvious, isn't it?"
"Only if you know what to look for," Duke amended. "This doesn't smell right, sir."
"No, it doesn't. But I'm going to go anyways. I don't believe," Hawk said firmly, overriding a protesting Duke, "that he has anything to do with the Killington trouble."
"You know how I feel about coincidence, General."
"And you know I'm of a like mind. But I will tell you this with the utmost confidence; that man will not do a thing to harm me, and he'll fight by my side as ably as any Joe."
Duke's brow smoothed. "I hadn't realized that you knew him, sir."
"I know of him. Saw his file once. This is the first time I've actually met him."
"Then…are you sure it's the right man, sir?"
Hawk smiled wryly. "Stake my life on it."
Duke did not smile back. "Not funny, sir."
And then, for the first time, Hawk realized that Duke wasn't just worried for him.
He was scared.
"Duke," Hawk snapped, his face growing as fierce as the raptor he was named for. "Do you know something that I don't?"
"……yes, sir…..."
"Spill it, solider."
"Hawk---"
"NOW!"
Duke reflexively snapped to attention. "Assassin, sir."
Hawk stared at his Second incredulously. "Cobra?"
"Yes, sir."
"Confirmed?"
"No, sir."
"So you didn't want to bother me."
"No, sir."
"Well BOTHER me next time, dammit! Keeping me out of the know isn't going to protect me one bit! Did you think this old man would fall apart?"
"SIR, NO, SIR!"
"Then give me the courtesy of assuming that the Pentagon hasn't caused my brain to slide aft side!"
Duke just looked at him, blue eyes wide. "Hawk, I would never suggest---"
"Haven't you," Hawk asked pointedly.
Duke fell silent, looking like a kicked dog.
"Dismissed," Hawk told him curtly.
"Hawk, I---"
"I SAID dismissed, Joe."
Very formally, Duke saluted his General, whose terse return was more of an angry gesture.
Duke speared the 'Private' with a deadly warning glare, even now only thinking of Hawk's safety.
The 'Private' and the General watched Duke march off in silence.
"It's hard to be friends with subordinates, isn't it," the 'Private' asked softly.
If he had been a real Private, Hawk would have told the man where to stick his question. But instead, Hawk answered him with the simple truth.
"Yes."
They didn't speak again until the car.
The 'Private' opened the door to the back seat for Hawk, who unceremoniously tossed his briefcase inside before slamming the door shut out of the man's startled hands. "I can open my own damned door," Hawk growled, yanking open the shotgun door. "Get in and drive."
"Yes, sir."
More uncomfortable silence stretched between the men.
The 'Private' turned on a Glenn Miller CD.
Hawk promptly shut it off.
It was a long drive out of the parking garage.
When they pulled out of the airport, Hawk finally spoke again. "The next time you come wearing dress greens, you better come wearing your own damned rank, Captain!"
The man winced. "But, sir, the truth is I never really made it past Private First Class. The rank of Captain is purely honorary."
"It's still your rank and you've more than earned it."
"It's just…it didn't feel right putting on bars. It felt like cheating."
Hawk raised an eyebrow. "Are you making me repeat myself, solider?"
The Captain smiled. "No, sir!"
"Good. So. Tell me, Captain. Why is a busy man like you taxi-ing a temperamental old bird like me around? And on the sly?"
"Well, one reason is that I didn't like your original driver. Killington really did send out a car. I was just going to hitch a ride with him to meet you, but, well, begging the General's pardon, I didn't think it proper for stockade scum like that to be driving you around. Lucky for us, he had an unfortunate accident with my fist."
Hawk sighed. "Where is he now?"
"Oh, the MPs seemed to want to talk to him and inspect his car. Something about the motor pool boys finding something funny, I'm not sure what." The Captain patted the steering wheel affectionately. "So I went out and rented this beauty, checked it top to bottom. I would have preferred getting you a SHIELD hovercar…but I think that would have been more dangerous to you in the long run than letting that driver taxi you around."
"Ah. Now we come down to it," Hawk said softly.
"General, this is a very dangerous game you're playing," the Captain told him soberly.
"How did you find out," he asked, honestly curious.
The Captain snorted. "How else? SHIELD."
Hawk's head spun sharply. "How much do they know?"
"Not half as much as they'd like. Not nearly as much as you." The Captain scowled fiercely. "General, I don't understand. You've got the dirt on the Jugglers. You can bring them down. Why won't you?"
"Captain…" Hawk steepled his fingers to his lips. "How much do you know about the Jugglers?"
"Only that they're a secret cadre of the Armed Forces' top Brass, self- interested and corrupt to the bone," the Captain spat, looking like he tasted something foul. "Which is why I'm having a hard time figuring why you're a part of them now."
Hawk felt the hair on his neck rise. "Who else knows?"
"That you're a Juggler? SHIELD Director Sharon Carter wanted knowledge of your membership shut under HIGHLY CLASSIFIED, so besides myself, only the Director and her inside Agent."
"What's that about an Agent," Hawk demanded sharply.
The Captain let out a long unhappy sigh. "You've got a SHEILD Agent in your Joes, sir. I don't know whom, Director Carter wouldn't tell me. I swear to you, that's all I know. I'd tell you if I knew more."
"DAMN IT ALL," Hawk swore venomously, smashing both fists onto the dashboard. "Damn it all to Hell!" He kicked the door. "You tell that officious, high handed young lady to KEEP HER HANDS OFF MY JOES! She wants to play Spy vs. Spy, she better do it through me and not over my head or so help me I will make the Devil's own unholy Hell look like a picnic! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!"
"Sir, yes, sir," the Captain barked. "You are preaching to the choir, sir!"
"Did the Agent make off with copies of the evidence?"
The Captain grinned broadly. "No, sir! Apparently when ordered to find your files on the Jugglers, said Agent told Director Carter to (and I quote), 'go to Hell. If the General's not using it yet or giving it out, he's got his reasons and that's good enough for me.' End quote."
Hawk rubbed a hand over a mouth that threatened to break out into full- blown smile. The Captain noticed from the corner of his eye. "That's quite a testament to you, sir."
"Hmmm?"
"When a hardened SHEILD Agent places loyalty to you above the Director…that says a lot about the kind of man you are." He shook his head. "That's why I can't understand why you've joined the Jugglers instead of nailing them to the wall."
Hawk regarded the driver warily. "Is that why you're here, Captain? To straight out ask for the evidence instead of trying to sneak off with it?"
"Well, I do admit that Director Carter had that scenario in mind when she broke the news to me. She thought we'd be able to connect because we're so much alike. Warbirds of a feather, she called us." His grin faded. "I think what she was really banking on was me shaming you into surrendering the evidence. Give you my 'Do the right thing' speech."
"And will you?"
The Captain was silent for a long moment. "That would be preaching to the choir, sir. And I believe the Joe Agent has the right of it. You'll use the evidence when the time is right."
The tension Hawk didn't even realize he was holding faded. "Thank you, Captain." He hesitated before admitting, "Your good opinion means a lot to me."
"I think she knew that," the Captain said softly.
Hawk looked out the window. "Manipulative little thing, isn't she?"
"Very," the Captain agreed, that one word laced with very personal pain. Before Hawk could pry, the other man pushed the conversation back on track. "I still want to know why you joined them, General."
Hawk crossed his arms with a sigh. "Do you know the legend of the Hydra, Captain? The multi-headed monster the Greek demi-god Hercules fought?"
"I'm…somewhat familiar with the legend, yes," he said, amused. "Please, sir, go on."
"Well, that's what I'm fighting right now, Captain. A Hydra. Yes, I could destroy the Jugglers now, but if I do that, more Brass will fill in the gaps. If that happens, I won't be in ANY position to stop them from meddling with my Joes. I'll have an army of political chaos with only a few tarnished Brass to show for it. The work we're doing is too important to let our efficiency drop. So. I'm embracing the monster, deflecting its influence instead of attacking, trying to find a way to burn the heads down to a stump so I won't have new ones popping up."
The Captain digested that in silence. "This is a very dangerous game you're playing, General."
"I know."
"They'll be waiting for a chance to strike at you."
"I know."
"And even if they don't---sir, I truly don't mean any disrespect, but you know the old saying. 'Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely.' And it's a disease, sir! If you surround yourself with that much corruption…it's only a matter of time…"
Hawk pressed his fingertips together and closed his eyes. "I am well aware of the risks, Captain. But my Joes need all the support I can give them, and I WILL give it to them. Besides," he continued in a softer voice, "my troops are my guiding stars. If I stray, they'll point the way back for me. They always have. They always will."
They drove on in silence, the air heavy with thought.
Hawk had almost dozed off when he heard the Captain whisper, "Sharon was wrong."
"Hmm?" Hawk straightened up. "What was that?"
"We're not all that similar," the Captain told him.
That stung Hawk quite a bit more than he expected. "I'm sorry I don't meet with your approval," he said stiffly.
"What? Oh, no, sir! You have it all wrong! What I meant was…well; I'm the type of solider that sees evil and destroys it as soon as I can reach it. That's what I was designed to do."
Hawk shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't say 'design' per se. Makes you sound like a blasted robot."
The Captain smiled. "Trained then. But the results are still the same. Bull in the china shop." He shook his head. "When it comes to upholding this nation's honor, I'm not a patient man. I wouldn't have the discipline to do what you're doing."
"Oh, its not discipline that's holding me in check," Hawk confided in him. "It's anticipation. I look forward to the day when I can tear down the warpath and scalp their collective heads!"
"Thus sayeth the Tomahawk?"
"Damn straight."
"Good." The Captain flashed him a grin. "I'm glad we had this chat, General."
"Me too." A surprisingly shy smile came over the Joe Leader. "It's not too often I get a chance to speak to a boyhood hero."
A bright blush spread over the Captain's Irish-fair cheeks. "Quit it, sir," he laughed.
"I'm serious! And I'm telling you now, if you hadn't proven yourself needed elsewhere, I'd have accepted that transfer you put in a long time ago."
The Captain's brows shot up. "You remember?"
"'Course I do. Actually," Hawk admitted, blushing just as bad as the Captain, "I cut out your signature and had it matted and framed." He held up his hands. "'STEVEN ROGERS.' It's hanging on my office wall, under my gilt eagle. Only place to put it."
"Oh NO," the Captain choked, now laughing so hard that he had to pull over into the emergency lane.
"Oh yes," Hawk laughed, gasping. "The only time I didn't have the guts to write a rejection letter myself! I mean, I was denying a transfer request from CAPTAIN AMERICA! I just dumped it all in Lady Jaye's lap without telling her who you really were!" He doubled over holding his side and pounded the seat with a fist. "Oh, the flack I caught---when she found out- --!"
Suddenly the driver's door yanked open. "Freeze," Duke screamed, aiming a gun right at Captain America's head. "Make a move, snake, and I'll blow your freakin' head off! General, you OK?"
The Hawk and the Eagle looked at each other somberly and did the only thing two warbirds could.
They dissolved into the throes of hysterical laughter, leaving Duke no choice but to step back and slam the car door shut in disgust. "A pair of turkeys, the both of them!"