First of all.
This is a permanently incomplete story. If that bothers you (I know it would for me) stop reading now.
Second of all. (All being two points, I swear this A/N won't be too long.)
I made this account in 2013; it has since been two years, and I have evolved greatly as an author-I'd like to apologise for the quality of this fic, which looking back I see is shudderingly poor. If you are coming to this story because of something I have published anytime post October of 2014, then please DO NOT read it because you will (as I am) be exceedingly horrified.
Um, actually, you might not-
But that was a warning, and I want to say I wrote this when I was a lot younger so please don't judge me on the fic you are about to read.
If you managed to get past all that, here is chapter 1 and I hope you enjoy.
CHAPTER ONE
We are giving you to America, Mrs Jones had said. Had said, with that fucking patronising blank face and mint breath and power she had over him, over everything to do with him. As a gesture of goodwill. Relations have been strained recently, and besides; all terrorist organisations you have the expertise with have moved to America, no longer being active in Europe. You are needed elsewhere. Giving you. Giving him, as if he was some toy, to be leant out, some bargaining tool, some- Remember, Alex, she'd said with that same blank face, we always have the proof to put you straight in jail.
And of course, since the crime was done in China, we could always follow the course of justice and hand you over to the China authorities; it would be short work to put you in front of the firing squad.
He'd punched her for that, a satisfying smash in the face, and she'd jumped back and he'd felt a wave of satisfaction at the crack, at the red liquid dripping down her face- and the next thing he knew he was waking up in a plane, informed he was on a one way trip to America.
America. The land of dreams. Of opportunities. Opportunities to be used by the American government for his extensive knowledge on the odd twenty or so terrorist groups he had become affiliated with in the past year; opportunities to do nothing until they needed him, and so waste away in boredom until some explosive few days when they'd take him out to look at some terrorist group and many people would get blown up and he'd have the inevitable showdown with the evil villain from his past and he had to be careful not to yawn or they'd get mad before they'd finished the Big Speech, which would document all their evil plans and broken pasts which served for motivation, etc., etc. Then he might try and run away, and he'd get caught, and sent back to MI6. Or, in this case it would be CIA, since he was officially American Property.
The last statement had been curtly told to him as a greeting by one Joe Byrne, who was currently cuffing him after his most recent escape attempt (he just couldn't resist) and now was dragging him along the streets of New York to his first assignment.
It was, as he expected, some branch of the American government wanting to use him as he was now American property for his extensive knowledge on terrorist groups, specifically the Eye, a group who'd recently acquired some supernatural help after being humiliated by him, Alex. The branch of government was some long name he couldn't quite remember, but abbreviated (Joe had told him, in the one sided, short conversation they'd had since meeting) to one word; S.H.I.E.L.D. He'd had no doubt that they would've sent him in first to weaken the defences, were it not for the supernatural help he was decidedly unsuitable for (being, unfortunately, not supernatural) so they were using some super heroes, who he would stay with for a while, providing information.
Joe steered him along a New York pav- sidewalk (he had to get into an American personnel, complete with the accent, as apparently people wouldn't like a British boy working with them) and past an couple walking their dog, who raised their eyebrows at his handcuffs and stern black-suit behind him. He scowled at them and wished, not for the first time, that he didn't have the handcuffs so he could raise a middle finger.
"Joe." he said. "Where the fuck are we going again?"
No answer.
"Joe-ey. Joey boy. You, um, forgot to mention our destination?" he tried.
To no avail.
Damn those spy types!
"Byrne. Joe. People are giving me weird looks. I don't like it. You know why? 'Cause of them handcuffs. If you could just take them off-"
"Alex." Joe interrupted, still steering him through crowds of people. "All this is your fault. If you hadn't punched the head of MI6, maybe you wouldn't have been given to CIA." (I so would, Alex muttered, but Joe ignored him.) "And maybe if you hadn't tried the fifty or so escape attempts while in America, you wouldn't have been put up on the market for anyone who needed some help with their various terrorist problems." (Always happy to help, that's me! Alex quipped, and was again ignored.) "And then SHIELD wouldn't have snatched you up, and I wouldn't be dragging you along in these damn handcuffs to the Avengers!"
Woah.
"Wait, wait! You. Did. Not. Just. Say. AVENGERS!?"
"That's all you got out of it?"
"Well, no shit- I'm staying with the fricking Avengers?"
"Yes. And they will be your prison guards, so don't get any delusions of meeting your idols- to them, you are a criminal, and they will treat you as such."
"Wha- criminal? Who made up that BS? After everything I've done, this is just, just fucking great-" Alex tore away from Joe suddenly and turned to face him, eyes with whites showing, breathing ragged, hands in cuffs clenched. Byrne was so surprised he didn't make a move to stop him. "You know who I've lost? What I've been through? Do you have any idea- do you have any semblance of the disgusting way the people you work for act? How they use me? I did everything, I gave everything, and they call me a fucking criminal! And you know, all I can do is go along with it or they'll kill me!"
He stepped back suddenly, regaining his composure. His face seemed to harden, go blank, and he raked his fingers through his hair (Joe realised with a start that he'd somehow managed to get the handcuffs off, and- yes, there they were, glittering in the gutter). "I'm sorry." he said. "I didn't mean to go on about it to you like that. It's just-" he took a deep breath, took another step backwards. "I can't hold it all in, you know? It won't happen again." He turned around, picking up the handcuffs, and handed them to a shocked Mr Byrne, proffering his hands for Joe to cuff, which he did, numbly.
"Okay." said Joe. "Let's go, then."
Because, really, there wasn't anything he could do about Alex, could he?
No. Not really.
ARA
They arrived outside the 'A' tower, known before the Loki incident as the Stark Tower and now 'remodelled' by the otherworldly criminal. There were rumours that Tony was going to change the logo to 'Avengers', seeing as all members of the team currently resided there, but that had not happened yet.
The Avengers were currently doing small tasks, travelling round the world where supernatural help was needed against supernatural forces and retiring to the tower. Lately a terrorist group self named the 'Eye' had been targeting America, particularly New York City, using obvious clumsy supernatural powers, meaning they'd either a) been granted them suddenly by an outside force or b) had suffered a mutation, both granting them with powers evidently new and unpractised.
It wasn't like it was some massive, world threatening task for the Avengers, but they were the only ones really equipped to deal with it; and besides, CIA had promised them an agent with expertise on the group, so it wasn't like they were going in completely blind.
Fury had only thought to inform them about the agent afterwards; apparently he wasn't actually a CIA agent, just a CIA... asset, prone to escape attempts, with a criminal record- which, Fury said he assumed (he hadn't found any records of the agent), was how the person knew so much about the Eye, because he had been with them, and been captured by CIA, or something of the sort- so though he would help them, they'd have to act as prison guards for the six months or so it took to bring down the group.
None were particularly pleased at the new development but they'd already accepted the mission, so had to deal with it; besides, it wasn't like they couldn't handle a mere delinquent.
Alex stepped inside and was instantly greeted by heads swinging round and suspicious stares drilling into him. He was momentarily confused; surely they wouldn't have released the news that he was (allegedly) a criminal to every single person in this tower? But then, of course; he wasn't in disguise for an older man, so still looked like a child- albeit a sixteen year old child- a demeanour he was unaccustomed to taking. He glared at all the pristine people in their starch business suits and gleaming shoes with a ferocity of a wild animal, wishing again with a fervour for the use of his middle finger.
Joe must have realised his intention, because he cinched the handcuffs tighter and walked faster to the elevator.
Elevator.
"Joe? I, um-" the doors were opening, even more curious stares (if that was possible) were turning onto them and Joe was hurrying him forwards. "Joe, not the elevator-"
And then he was in and the doors were closing-
Ah, fuck it, he could do this. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out. He was fine.
See? Didn't have claustrophobia at all. At all.
The walls were closing on him they were going to get squashed they were going to die why couldn't anyone see that? Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Couldn't they feel it, the air dissipating with every breath they took, until, until- short sharp breaths, little pants, because he couldn't waste it-
"Alex? What's wrong?"
He shook sweat soaked hair from his eyes and stared at Joe. "Elevator- the elevator-"
Joe frowned, the doors opened. Alex tumbled out, feeling a slash of pain as his hands, restricted by the handcuffs and held by Joe, were wrenched behind him. Joe walked out and helped him stand up- they were in a modern looking, glass walled corridor with metal doors on either end- and the doors closed behind them. "You have claustrophobia?" Joe questioned.
A weakness, don't tell him, don't TELL HIM!- "Of a sort," he shrugged, regained composure. "Can we go?"
They went to the metal door and Joe knocked, firmly. Alex heard strains of laughter and conversation going on from the other side, which stopped at the knock, and felt a pang of excitement- he was going to see the Avengers! The Avengers! As an enemy, yes, but still- the Avengers!
A red haired woman opened the door, who Alex recognised as Natasha Romanova, a.k.a Black Widow. "Good morning, Joe." she greeted formally.
So she was on first name basis with the deputy of CIA. Interesting.
Well, so was he- it was just that Joe frowned whenever he said his name, as if he should call him Mr Byrne or some other such foolishness.
"I suppose this is the prisoner we're meant to guard?" she queried.
"The terrorist expert we're generously providing you with, yes." Joe corrected, no hint of amusement on his face as he studied her equally blank one. "I'll leave you with him, then."
His cuffs were unlocked (he could run now- spinning kick, down them both for a second, run to the elevator-) (oh crap the elevator, where the hell were the stairs?) and he was pushed into the room in front of Natasha- Black Widow- Ms Romanov- what was he meant to call her? While Joe went, walking back down the corridor and into the elevator.
Alex stumbled inside as Black Widow (the reporters called her that, so he decided it was best) slammed the door behind them, then prodded him forwards to the figures of the most famous people in the world; Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Thor and Steve Rodgers. The only one missing, if he was right, was Clint Barton, the archer guy. They stayed where they were seated, resting languidly on sofas and watching some film on a huge ninety inch television.
"Boys." she said. "Say hello to Alex."
There was a ripple of movement as heads moved away from the screen and turned to him. Black Widow clamped a hand on his shoulder. "I assume you know who everyone is?"
He nodded, mumbled something, and tried not to stare at everyone.
The Avengers!
"And you're the criminal we're looking after, right?" And there was Tony Stark- Iron Man!- walking up to him, smirking in the way you always saw him doing in the news when he was saying something obscenely rude and/or inappropriate.
"Actually, the terrorist expert who is helping you as you can't do it yourself." he said, pleased his voice didn't break and his Texan accent stayed relatively smooth. Tony raised an eyebrow.
"Ah, a smart mouthed criminal. My favourite. Makes it much more entertaining when I'm kicking their asses to hell."
"Leave him alone, Tony." Banner said, elbowing Tony out of the way.
Alex was awed at the casual way they acted around each other. He was awed with the surroundings, awed at the people, and still kept scanning for the nearest exits.
"How old are you, anyway?" Banner asked, examining him closely with a half frown on his face.
Alex thought for a moment. Was he allowed to reveal that information?
No, probably not.
Fuck them. "Sixteen." he said, and watched everyone's eyes widen.
"What the hell did you do to get involved with so many terrorist groups and work against and with CIA?"
"That's what they told you?" he said half to himself, amused. Well, it wasn't like they were paid to be original.
"What do you mean by that?" Black Widow asked sharply from behind him.
Right, in a room full of super heroes. He'd forgot that.
"Nothing." he shrugged and used the classic excuse for getting out of awkward situations. "Uh, where's the toilet?"
Rodgers stood up and gripped his arm. "I'll take you."
"I can go myself, thanks." he said, half offended.
"You're not allowed anywhere unescorted." he explained shortly.
But he wasn't that offended, because; Steve Rodgers- Captain America!
"Right." he muttered, and let himself be led by the coolest old man (ever) to the bathroom. It was large and gilded and the lock was chased with gold and clicked as he turned it- Rodgers waited outside, and he leaned against the cold wall and wondered again how the hell he got there.
But- there was a window, and, well, it was open; no cameras that he could see, a clear route onto the roof, and a short gap between that and the next.
He couldn't resist.
Alex stepped on the sink and hoisted himself out of the window, feet first, balancing on the narrow ledge outside. He inched along slowly, trying not to look down. Shinning up the pipe, he lifted himself onto the roof and collapsed, taking a few short breaths before standing up and looking over at the view of snaking metal cars and tall gleaming buildings.
New York. Maybe, once he'd got some documents from an American contact, he'd stay here for a bit.
Three steps back- two giant running steps forwards, then jump!-
"Hey, kid!" two strong arms locked around his chest and he was dragged back from the edge of the roof.
That was where Clint Barton had gone. Figured.
"What the hell are you doing here?" the man said, shaking his hair out of his eyes and looking suspiciously at Alex, who shrugged.
"Just messin' about." he said, slipping into a familiar role of sheepish London teen. "Want'd to see the Avengers, ya know. Can I have your autograph?" he added the last sentence with a hopeful look upwards.
The hands on his arms relaxed slightly. "You know these roofs well, then?" Clint asked, his tone so nice Alex was instantly on guard.
"Uh, yeah- I'm a local, actually."
He was stared at for a moment before Clint spun him round and twisted an arm up behind his back, an effective and painful hold which Alex could get out of if he really wanted but felt this would result in him getting knocked out, which wasn't really preferable. "What the fuck, man?" he spluttered instead.
"A local. With a London accent."
Alex paused for a moment. Damn, he was well out of practise. "Ach, crap."
"What are you really doing up here, kid?"
"Er, I- there was just, some- a dare." he finished.
"Really."
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Clint tap the comm unit in his ear (why hadn't he seen that before?) and frown. "Tony? That you?"
"Yeah." said the crackly voice Alex could only just hear. "You on the roof?"
"Yeah- about that, actually-"
"Do you, by any chance, see the boy that was meant to be helping us for the Eye? That criminal we're babysitting who Rodgers said has escaped out the bathroom window?"
"Yup." Clint's tone was grim as he twisted Alex's arm further up his back, causing him to press his lips together in pain. "Got him right here."
"Thanks. Bring him down, would you?"
"Will do."
A loud crackle, then silence.
Shit, thought Alex miserably.
"Better luck next time, kid." Barton told him, leading him over to the fire escape that ran up to the top of the building. "Get down there, now."
Alex took a step forwards, and in the split second while Barton's grip lessened as he stepped down he spun around and punched the man in the gut.
He felt a moment's remorse for punching his role model- but he'd started this escape, and had to see it through.
Back on the roof. Run to the edge- no pausing- jump! Land, knees bent, hunched slightly forwards. Take off running, one two three four one two three four-
"Ah, fuck it." he said to the arrow that pinned him by his shirt to the floor.
First chapter of 'A Cruel, Hard World.' Equalling a total of 3,052 words (and 16640 characters, in case you wanted to know) and hopefully updated soon.
Please review, follow and favourite; it was confusing (what of my work isn't?) so feel free to ask questions or make suggestions or whatever.
Well, until next time.
9th July note;
It was large and gilded and the lock was chased with gold and clicked as he turned it- Rodgers waited outside, and he leaned against the cold wall and wondered again how the hell he got there.
Barton bit was changed. Embarrassing how many people picked up on that. Thanks!