The avenging ARCHANGEL! The shadowy PSYLOCKE! Marvel's most wanted, THE THUNDERBOLTS! And Natasha Romanov, the BLACK WIDOW! All together for the first time in...
NEXT BEST THING
The fanfic YOU didn't demand, because you had no idea how good it could be!
by Jim Smith
Chapter 1! "And on That Day They Shall Call it...A Prelude!"
***
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel Comics, and no profit is being made from this unauthorized usage of them. Copyright of me, baby. Feedback encouraged, and paid for on occasion.
This story will be archived on the Thunderbolts Fan Fiction Archive , but if you want it too, just email me at .
Continuity Alert: This installment of the story takes place after UNCANNY X-MEN #368, which I didn't bother to read, and prior to the events of THUNDERBOLTS #27, which was pretty cool.
***
Psylocke could feel him, pushing and throbbing inside of her, rattling her soul until she would relent under the tension. But relent she would not. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction, and with a little extra willpower she resisted his advances one more day. She sighed with exhausted contentment.
Archangel, on the other hand, was rather dismayed. "Betsy? You all right?" he asked. A somewhat pointless question, but there wasn't much else he could do.
"I'm fine, Warren," she muttered in a regal, aristocratic accent. She was sitting up in the bed, holding her head in her hands. "Just a headache. I'll be fine."
Elisabeth Braddock could have been worse, but she certainly wasn't fine. Not since an old foe, Amahl Farouk, made his presence felt in Kenya. As the Shadow King, would-be master of the astral plane, Farouk had given her and her fellow X-Men nothing but grief for years, and she prided herself on bringing that to an end with some unorthodox tactics. The Shadow King's soul was imprisoned within her, contained totally by the telepathic power she'd used as a longstanding member of the X-Men. Now it took every bit of that power to keep him there.*
[* The short short version of X-MEN #77-78.]
For a well-trained telepath like Psylocke--even one who's been manipulated, body-swapped, and reborn through personality-altering forces--her sixth sense was under as precise control as sight. Containing the Shadow King was truly as simple as forcing one's self to stare at a convict to keep him from escaping an unlocked cell. Simple, not easy. The endless sight of a grotesquerie like the Shadow King was a miserable duty at times, and the urge to look away at something more pleasing could become sorely tempting. Farouk knew that. Like a spiteful prisoner with nothing better to do than antagonize his jailer, he "spoke" to her often about letting herself ingore her thankless duty. At Joseph's funeral he suggested she help the active X-Men cope with the loss. During Pagan's rampage in Times Square, he wondered idly if Beast and the Avengers were desperately trying to transmit thoughts requesting backup--and if she was the only one who could possibly receive them in time. When she made love to Warren, he reminded her how much she enjoyed experiencing his feelings along with her own. It was simple to decline.
But never easy.
It was all Warrren Worthington could do just to get an inkling of how this was affecting her. After Psylocke brought the X-Men back from the battle in Kenya, she became more and more reclusive. She'd eventually accepted that she'd have to tell him sooner or later, and did, but only enough to keep him from pestering her about it. Some days were better than others, and occasionally she'd let him treat her to some grand affair as a pick-me-up. But with each passing day, Psylocke was more concerned with her grip on the Shadow King than the rest of her life.
"Betts," he said softly, "you don't have to do this by yourself..."
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. He cared so much, loved her enough that he'd do anything to help her even though there wasn't a thing he could do. Psylocke could see all of that just from his eyes. And just as she was about to smile appreciatively, she felt a burning desire to see more than that--not in his eyes, but his mind. She turned her head away, rejecting the impulse and cringing as if she were naseuous. "You can't help me, Warren. Please, just--"
"Betsy, you've given yourself too big a responsibility." He knew she wouldn't want to accept it, but he didn't have much choice but to say so. "You were the only one there to stop Shadow King in Kenya, but now there's no reason Jean or the Professor or--"
"I can handle this just as well as they can, Warren," she snapped. "All the others threw everything they had at him over the years, and it didn't get us anywhere. Not to boast about it, but I'm the one who defeated the Shadow King, and it seems rather pointless to have anyone else take a crack at him. I just--I just need time to adapt to it. On my own."
Archangel wasn't satisfied. "Betts, you _know_ we've been through this, and--"
"Leave. Me. Alone."
And that was that. Archangel stood up, stretched his wings, and found his costume. "OK. I won't bother you anymore, all right? If that's what you want--"
Psylocke started to realize what he meant. "No--Warren, stop it," she pleaded as she pulled herself out of bed. "I didn't mean that. There's just so much pressure involved in--"
He stared back at her, distraught. "You think I can't see that? I've told you over and over again what I think you should do, but you just go right on shutting yourself away. You don't need my help to call up the X-Men, and I don't need to watch you go it alone, so what am I even doing here?"
His lower lip quivered and he turned toward the nearest window. "I...can't live like this anymore. Maybe when you straighten this out...I'll..." Warren turned back for a second or two, as if he was waiting for just one word from her that could make it all better. She stared back with shock in her eyes, unsure of what do say...
+Words are clunky. There's only one way to get him back, Betsy.+
+Shut up, damn you! Just--+
+Get out of your head? The thought had occurred to me.+
Betsy turned and buried her face in her pillow, too afraid of the threat within her to stop Warren from flying out into the night sky. As she sobbed, she tried to tell herself it was for the best--she could better control the Shadow King without the distraction, and then maybe they could make things work again.
She tried to tell herself that, anyway...
***
"OK, Moonstone, pull back just a bit and shake it."
"I'm _trying_, Songbird, but your elbow is in the way."
"Sorry. Now?"
"_Much_ better. Say when."
"OK...back...back...in a little...now back out...wiggle it a hair...yeeeah. That's it. Ohhhhh yeahhhh..."
"Am I good or what?"
Songbird scooted a few feet back and enjoyed the view. "You're the best, Karla. And here I thought I'd never have it this good without Abe and his expertise. You didn't even need a tool!"
"It was nothing." Moonstone took a seat and admired her own handiwork. "Of course, when one can phase through the components of a monitor station and adjust the reception from the inside-out, one has it easier than the average engineer." Sure enough, the Masters of Evil's monitor--once used for communicating ransom demands to the world's nations*--was now picking up a local station's syndicated programming. The announcer's voice was clear as a bell. "This week's broadcast of Unlimited Class Wrestling Federation's Weekened NAPAAAAAALLLMMMMM...!!!"
[* Back before the T-bolts commandeered the place in THUNDERBOLTS #24-26.]
"Oh goody," Moonstone said with a hint of sarcasm.
"--will not be seen today, so we can bring you this special news update."
Songbird's mouth hung agape. "--da _hell_?!"
"This breaking news just in--Colorado's own...and less than welcome...heroes, the Thunderbolts, have been busy as of late with some unknown activities near or around Mount Charteris..."
"They pre-empted it!" Songbird seethed. "Crap--_I_ pre-empted my own favorite show! I don't BELIEVE this...!"
"Melissa, it's not that big a deal--"
"I charged this issue of _OnSat_ to Hawkeye's Visa for _nothing_!"
Hawkeye walked by the room and did a double-take at the sound of his name. "Do what now?" the gruff, but easygoing, archer blurted in response.
Songbird was in the hot seat. "Oh, uh, hi, Hawkeye. I was just, uh, saying--"
"Songbird's a bit irritated that she used your credit card on this magazine she can't even use," Moonstone interrupted. "Especially after she talked herself out of taking advantage of you and buying a home theatre system."
"Is that a fact?" Hawkeye mused, thumbing through the satellite listings. "Ahh, ain't no thing. We can still use this when we get the reception up and running."
"We already did," Moonstone offered helpfully.
He looked up to the enormous monitor to see continuing news coverage of himself, promising to prove to the world that the Thunderbolts--dangerous fugitives from justice whom he had been aiding and abetting for weeks--would reform into true and respected heroes. "Well, hey--not bad, you two. Just do me a favor, Songbird, and don't go running off into town with my plastic anymore. Now, if you ladies'll excuse me, Br'er Hawkeye's gotta see if he's gotten any word from an old friend..."
The two women sat silently for a few moments after he left.
"You know," Songbird, who had never remotely considered getting a home theatre system, told Moonstone, "your BS is a lot less annoying when you're spewing it to bail my butt out of trouble."
"Oh, it was nothing," Moonstone smiled. "Any chance to fiddle with the man. Besides, once he saw himself on TV you could have stolen his pants and he wouldn't have minded."
"Ugh. Don't even _go_ there, Karla."
"Why?" Moonstone asked, gesutring to their leader's image on the screen. "For all his bluster, he isn't all that unattractive."
Songbird arched an eyebrow. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were sweet on the guy. So, what _is_ it with him and that 'Br'er Hawkeye' junk? Who does he think he is, Uncle Remus?"
"Maybe we should ask the Avengers for a pamphlet so we can translate him to English."
They chuckled quietly. Moonstone and Songbird were hardly best of friends, despite having been in the Thunderbolts since the beginning. They were from very different worlds--Moonstone, an amoral, self-absorbed psychologist; Songbird, a hot-tempered, impassioned ex-wrestler--but they could generally tolerate each other's company. Still, where other superheroines might converse at length about any subject, Karla Sofen and Melissa Gold only made the pretense of civility.
The main thing they had in common was this team. They had run into each other occasionally as supervillains, but it wasn't until Baron Zemo hatched a plot to form a team of Masters of Evil to portray heroes that they truly interracted. While the Thunderbolts gave Songbird the freedom to explore a relationship with her teammate, MACH-1, Moonstone looked for ways to turn Zemo's scheme to her advantage. Both paths led them to turn against the baron--Songbird for heroism, Moonstone for pure opportunistic avarice. Along with Jolt, Atlas, and MACH-1, they tried aimlessly to redeem themselves in the eyes of the public for months after that. That changed when their occasional foe, Hawkeye, decided to take the Thunderbolts under his guidance. They enjoyed newfound success where they'd floundered with Moonstone as leader. But that success came with a high price...especially for Songbird.
Hawkeye wanted to give the Thunderbolts a chance to make up for their crimes, but there was one crime he felt could only be repaid in prison: Murder. MACH-1 was the only Thunderbolt wanted for that particular felon, so in exchange for Hawkeye's help, Abe Jenkins would have to turn himself in. Songbird protested, and continued to hold a grudge against Hawkeye for his actions. But MACH-1 agreed to surrender himself, and before he left Songbird's side he made her promise not to tell Hawkeye about the other Thunderbolt who'd murdered in the past. And thus, Moonstone remained on the team, a constant reminder to Songbird that she and her lover were the only ones in the world who witnessed a cold-blooded murder, committed in an alien dimension.** The fact she was even sitting here talking to Moonstone while MACH-1 sat alone in prison ate awy at her. Moonstone knew that, just as she knew how badly Songbird wanted to reveal that dirty little secret...
[** In the classic THUNDERBOLTS #14]
They chuckled quietly and grew silent for a long pause.
***
From: "Black Widow"
To: "Hawkeye"
Subject: Re: Ol' Hawkeye Needs a Favor...
MIME-Version: 1.0
Received: from 000.000.000.00 by www.starksolutions.com with HTTP
X-Originating-IP: [000.000.000.00]
Received: from smtp.starksolutions.com (www.starksolutions.com [000.00.0.000]) by smtp.tbolts.org (none o' yer damn business) with ESMTP id WAA23243 for
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Message-ID:
Hawkeye wrote:
blackwidow wrote:
Hawkeye wrote:
Hey, 'Tash.
Hope you don't mind me usin' the old private Avengers LAN, but I always
thought it was one of Tony's better ideas, and my current line of work
makes it nice and secret-like.
The disadvantage of it being the Avengers haven't used it much since he
whipped up those communicards--that's why it took me so long to get back to
you.
Then again, I guess it's harder for you to snap your login and password in
half to prove a point to Cap.
Yeah, yeah. Nice to hear from you too, babe.
I think you'll be glad to know the team is shaping together real nice. Atlas has even started calling me "boss." Never thought I'd take it as a
compliment to get the same treatment Zemo used to, but at least I know he's
got my back. I even found this new kid looking to sign up with
us--Charcoal's his name. The others don't trust him because they had some
scraps with him. Me, I kind of like the irony of them having to learn to
trust someone from their rogue's gallery.
I'll just bet you gave them lots of time to adjust to that one, too.
Um...OK, so I'm the most personible leader in the universe. I'm still
better than Cyclops with the X-Men, I bet.
I'm still working out getting
him and Jolt into school, so they get the opportunities ol' Hawkeye
never had.
Beating around the bush ain't my style, so enough small talk. Back when you
and Herc were in the Champions, you guys had some flying funny-car, and I
figure it's gotta be in mothballs somewhere. Wanna do me a real big favor
and work it out so I can get a hold of it? It's no Quinjet, but I'm not
one to be picky.
Let me get this straight, Clint. You want me to give the Champscraft to the
Masters of Evil. Is that what you want me to do?
No, the MOE can't really use the Champscraft, or whatever it is, becuase
they're too busy licking their wounds from where the T-bolts whipped their
asses. You should've seen 'em, Tash. I was down for the count and they
mopped the Masters up without me.
Clint, I slightly understand what you're doing with the Thunderbolts. I
even gave Screaming Mimi and the Beetle a little sermon,
That's Songbird and MACH-1 now, Tash. Those two especially paid their
dues in the Hawkeye School of Hard Knocks, so unless you want a screamer
arrow with your name on it...
All right, all right. No offense intended.
just to clear my
conscience. But just because we both used to run on the wrong side of the
tracks is no reason to feel obligated to go stockpiling equipment for some
other ex-criminals. I'm not going to start playing holier-than-thou with
them, but to be honest, _I_ wouldn't give _me_ an assault vehicle six months
after I broke ties with the Communists.
Oh, yeah? Guess who would? Your friendly neighborhood bowman, that's who.
Think this through a little more, will you? This would just give them
something to run you over with, if you gave it to them.
Mind's made up, Tash. You can give me the keys to the car, or I'll just go
ask Beast if he can get the X-guys to loan me the Blackbird while you try
and talk me out of it.
Your call.
Look, I've got some business to attend to, and I don't have time to argue about this. I'll try and locate the Champscraft and have it shipped to you in...Burton Canyon, Colorado, right? I don't know what aliases you're using these days; it'll be waiting for Clint Barton, so take care around the T-bolts when you pick it up.
_Do_ tell me you haven't given them your real name. Then again, you were naive enough to get mixed up with me once upon a time...
--H
Natasha
--H
Natasha
***
Amanda Robey had been working in the secretarial pool at Worthington Industries' New York office for six months. She'd come to expect a certain set of occurrances in that time. Her boss walking up to her desk, soaked to the bone, was not one of them.
"Ms. Robey? Warren Worthington. Pleased to meet you."
Amanda could do nothing but gawk at the principal stockholder and chairman of the board. "Uh..."
"Oh, right," Warren said absently. "I guess I must look absurd, sopping wet like this. I didn't take the limo, and I spent the whole morning in this storm. Murphy's Law, huh?"
Amanda gawked. "Uh..."
"Listen, I know I usually never come around here, but I was told you're the one they've got redirecting all my work to the rest of the bigwigs. I'd...um...kinda like you to direct some my way. Personal problems are..." he trailed off at the thought of it, but refused to let it bog him down, "...are getting to me, and I need something to bury myself in for a while."
"Sir? Were you aware that you're...um...blue?"
Warren put his palm to his forehead. He'd been in such a rush to get away from Betsy that he'd forgotten to disguise his telltale skin color. He wasn't afraid of people knowing about it, but it was no small wonder that this woman was disturbed. Secretaries at Stark-Fujikawa and Baintronics didn't have these problems. Edwin Cord probably change colors in between visits to the Cordco home office.
"It's a long story," he told her. Which wasn't the half of it. Once he had just been able to tuck his flexible wings up against his back and under his suit to avoid making a scene. That problem was exchanged for another when the avian appendages had to be removed. Warren--the Angel in those days--became despondent and desperate for another chance to fly, and got what he wanted when he accepted the aid of Apocalypse in exchange for serving the supervillain. Warren took to the air once more as Apocalypse's blue-hued Horseman of Death, a mockery of his former self complete with techno-organic steel wings. Ultimately removing himself from Apocalypse's influence, he became the sullen Archangel that had only recently begun to take back his life. The steel wings had mysteriously been replaced with a "normal" feathered pair*, but Warren would always have his azure face to remind him of his fall. "Just give me something to work on and I'll get out of your way."
[* In the rather baffling UNCANNY X-MEN #338]
"Well, there's a board meeting in about twenty minutes--"
Warren groaned quietly. "Reschedule it."
"Umm...a meeting with Osborn Chemical--"
"Cancel it."
Amanda was growing tense from her inability to accommadate him. "Oh! Here's something--it was sent to you personally, but I was told to file it away. Then again, since you're here to receive it..." She handed him a memorandum. "Apparently it's from a Natasha Romanov..."
Warren lit up. "Well, well, well...might be just what I'm looking for," he replied. He took the memo and began reading it. As he went on, his brow furrowed and his interest rose. "Uh-_huh_. Amanda, is it? Amanda, was there anything else from Ms. Romanov?"
"No, sir. Just that."
"Curioser and curiouser. Has this request been approved?"
Amanda shrugged. "I'll need time to check, but that note came in last week. I'm sorry you weren't notified, but I was instructed not to worry about contacting you before passing these things along..."
"Hm. Can you get me in touch with Avengers Mansion?" Warren stared off into space for a moment before noticing his secretary's discomfort. "It's all right, Amanda--the odds were a million-to-one I'd have wanted to check out that memo. You were told the right thing. It's just that Ms. Romanov is a...difficult woman to verify things with." His gaze shifted again and he muttered questions to himself. "Now, what would she need with the Champscraft...?"
"Excuse me, sir?" Amanda was trying her best to stay cool, but Warren wasn't making it easy on her. "Avengers Mansion?"
"That's right," he responded. "Our lady has a certain archer friend over there, if I'm not mistaken. If he can't get in touch with Natasha, maybe he can at least tell me who in Colorado might want a run-down old transport for a bunch of superheroes..."
As Archangel paced around Amanda's desk waiting for the call to go through, the storm that had drenched him earlier that morning let loose with a deafening, ominous thunderbolt...
***
NEXT: If you can't beat it, Warren...
NEXT BEST THING
The fanfic YOU didn't demand, because you had no idea how good it could be!
by Jim Smith
Chapter 1! "And on That Day They Shall Call it...A Prelude!"
***
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel Comics, and no profit is being made from this unauthorized usage of them. Copyright of me, baby. Feedback encouraged, and paid for on occasion.
This story will be archived on the Thunderbolts Fan Fiction Archive , but if you want it too, just email me at .
Continuity Alert: This installment of the story takes place after UNCANNY X-MEN #368, which I didn't bother to read, and prior to the events of THUNDERBOLTS #27, which was pretty cool.
***
Psylocke could feel him, pushing and throbbing inside of her, rattling her soul until she would relent under the tension. But relent she would not. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction, and with a little extra willpower she resisted his advances one more day. She sighed with exhausted contentment.
Archangel, on the other hand, was rather dismayed. "Betsy? You all right?" he asked. A somewhat pointless question, but there wasn't much else he could do.
"I'm fine, Warren," she muttered in a regal, aristocratic accent. She was sitting up in the bed, holding her head in her hands. "Just a headache. I'll be fine."
Elisabeth Braddock could have been worse, but she certainly wasn't fine. Not since an old foe, Amahl Farouk, made his presence felt in Kenya. As the Shadow King, would-be master of the astral plane, Farouk had given her and her fellow X-Men nothing but grief for years, and she prided herself on bringing that to an end with some unorthodox tactics. The Shadow King's soul was imprisoned within her, contained totally by the telepathic power she'd used as a longstanding member of the X-Men. Now it took every bit of that power to keep him there.*
[* The short short version of X-MEN #77-78.]
For a well-trained telepath like Psylocke--even one who's been manipulated, body-swapped, and reborn through personality-altering forces--her sixth sense was under as precise control as sight. Containing the Shadow King was truly as simple as forcing one's self to stare at a convict to keep him from escaping an unlocked cell. Simple, not easy. The endless sight of a grotesquerie like the Shadow King was a miserable duty at times, and the urge to look away at something more pleasing could become sorely tempting. Farouk knew that. Like a spiteful prisoner with nothing better to do than antagonize his jailer, he "spoke" to her often about letting herself ingore her thankless duty. At Joseph's funeral he suggested she help the active X-Men cope with the loss. During Pagan's rampage in Times Square, he wondered idly if Beast and the Avengers were desperately trying to transmit thoughts requesting backup--and if she was the only one who could possibly receive them in time. When she made love to Warren, he reminded her how much she enjoyed experiencing his feelings along with her own. It was simple to decline.
But never easy.
It was all Warrren Worthington could do just to get an inkling of how this was affecting her. After Psylocke brought the X-Men back from the battle in Kenya, she became more and more reclusive. She'd eventually accepted that she'd have to tell him sooner or later, and did, but only enough to keep him from pestering her about it. Some days were better than others, and occasionally she'd let him treat her to some grand affair as a pick-me-up. But with each passing day, Psylocke was more concerned with her grip on the Shadow King than the rest of her life.
"Betts," he said softly, "you don't have to do this by yourself..."
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. He cared so much, loved her enough that he'd do anything to help her even though there wasn't a thing he could do. Psylocke could see all of that just from his eyes. And just as she was about to smile appreciatively, she felt a burning desire to see more than that--not in his eyes, but his mind. She turned her head away, rejecting the impulse and cringing as if she were naseuous. "You can't help me, Warren. Please, just--"
"Betsy, you've given yourself too big a responsibility." He knew she wouldn't want to accept it, but he didn't have much choice but to say so. "You were the only one there to stop Shadow King in Kenya, but now there's no reason Jean or the Professor or--"
"I can handle this just as well as they can, Warren," she snapped. "All the others threw everything they had at him over the years, and it didn't get us anywhere. Not to boast about it, but I'm the one who defeated the Shadow King, and it seems rather pointless to have anyone else take a crack at him. I just--I just need time to adapt to it. On my own."
Archangel wasn't satisfied. "Betts, you _know_ we've been through this, and--"
"Leave. Me. Alone."
And that was that. Archangel stood up, stretched his wings, and found his costume. "OK. I won't bother you anymore, all right? If that's what you want--"
Psylocke started to realize what he meant. "No--Warren, stop it," she pleaded as she pulled herself out of bed. "I didn't mean that. There's just so much pressure involved in--"
He stared back at her, distraught. "You think I can't see that? I've told you over and over again what I think you should do, but you just go right on shutting yourself away. You don't need my help to call up the X-Men, and I don't need to watch you go it alone, so what am I even doing here?"
His lower lip quivered and he turned toward the nearest window. "I...can't live like this anymore. Maybe when you straighten this out...I'll..." Warren turned back for a second or two, as if he was waiting for just one word from her that could make it all better. She stared back with shock in her eyes, unsure of what do say...
+Words are clunky. There's only one way to get him back, Betsy.+
+Shut up, damn you! Just--+
+Get out of your head? The thought had occurred to me.+
Betsy turned and buried her face in her pillow, too afraid of the threat within her to stop Warren from flying out into the night sky. As she sobbed, she tried to tell herself it was for the best--she could better control the Shadow King without the distraction, and then maybe they could make things work again.
She tried to tell herself that, anyway...
***
"OK, Moonstone, pull back just a bit and shake it."
"I'm _trying_, Songbird, but your elbow is in the way."
"Sorry. Now?"
"_Much_ better. Say when."
"OK...back...back...in a little...now back out...wiggle it a hair...yeeeah. That's it. Ohhhhh yeahhhh..."
"Am I good or what?"
Songbird scooted a few feet back and enjoyed the view. "You're the best, Karla. And here I thought I'd never have it this good without Abe and his expertise. You didn't even need a tool!"
"It was nothing." Moonstone took a seat and admired her own handiwork. "Of course, when one can phase through the components of a monitor station and adjust the reception from the inside-out, one has it easier than the average engineer." Sure enough, the Masters of Evil's monitor--once used for communicating ransom demands to the world's nations*--was now picking up a local station's syndicated programming. The announcer's voice was clear as a bell. "This week's broadcast of Unlimited Class Wrestling Federation's Weekened NAPAAAAAALLLMMMMM...!!!"
[* Back before the T-bolts commandeered the place in THUNDERBOLTS #24-26.]
"Oh goody," Moonstone said with a hint of sarcasm.
"--will not be seen today, so we can bring you this special news update."
Songbird's mouth hung agape. "--da _hell_?!"
"This breaking news just in--Colorado's own...and less than welcome...heroes, the Thunderbolts, have been busy as of late with some unknown activities near or around Mount Charteris..."
"They pre-empted it!" Songbird seethed. "Crap--_I_ pre-empted my own favorite show! I don't BELIEVE this...!"
"Melissa, it's not that big a deal--"
"I charged this issue of _OnSat_ to Hawkeye's Visa for _nothing_!"
Hawkeye walked by the room and did a double-take at the sound of his name. "Do what now?" the gruff, but easygoing, archer blurted in response.
Songbird was in the hot seat. "Oh, uh, hi, Hawkeye. I was just, uh, saying--"
"Songbird's a bit irritated that she used your credit card on this magazine she can't even use," Moonstone interrupted. "Especially after she talked herself out of taking advantage of you and buying a home theatre system."
"Is that a fact?" Hawkeye mused, thumbing through the satellite listings. "Ahh, ain't no thing. We can still use this when we get the reception up and running."
"We already did," Moonstone offered helpfully.
He looked up to the enormous monitor to see continuing news coverage of himself, promising to prove to the world that the Thunderbolts--dangerous fugitives from justice whom he had been aiding and abetting for weeks--would reform into true and respected heroes. "Well, hey--not bad, you two. Just do me a favor, Songbird, and don't go running off into town with my plastic anymore. Now, if you ladies'll excuse me, Br'er Hawkeye's gotta see if he's gotten any word from an old friend..."
The two women sat silently for a few moments after he left.
"You know," Songbird, who had never remotely considered getting a home theatre system, told Moonstone, "your BS is a lot less annoying when you're spewing it to bail my butt out of trouble."
"Oh, it was nothing," Moonstone smiled. "Any chance to fiddle with the man. Besides, once he saw himself on TV you could have stolen his pants and he wouldn't have minded."
"Ugh. Don't even _go_ there, Karla."
"Why?" Moonstone asked, gesutring to their leader's image on the screen. "For all his bluster, he isn't all that unattractive."
Songbird arched an eyebrow. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were sweet on the guy. So, what _is_ it with him and that 'Br'er Hawkeye' junk? Who does he think he is, Uncle Remus?"
"Maybe we should ask the Avengers for a pamphlet so we can translate him to English."
They chuckled quietly. Moonstone and Songbird were hardly best of friends, despite having been in the Thunderbolts since the beginning. They were from very different worlds--Moonstone, an amoral, self-absorbed psychologist; Songbird, a hot-tempered, impassioned ex-wrestler--but they could generally tolerate each other's company. Still, where other superheroines might converse at length about any subject, Karla Sofen and Melissa Gold only made the pretense of civility.
The main thing they had in common was this team. They had run into each other occasionally as supervillains, but it wasn't until Baron Zemo hatched a plot to form a team of Masters of Evil to portray heroes that they truly interracted. While the Thunderbolts gave Songbird the freedom to explore a relationship with her teammate, MACH-1, Moonstone looked for ways to turn Zemo's scheme to her advantage. Both paths led them to turn against the baron--Songbird for heroism, Moonstone for pure opportunistic avarice. Along with Jolt, Atlas, and MACH-1, they tried aimlessly to redeem themselves in the eyes of the public for months after that. That changed when their occasional foe, Hawkeye, decided to take the Thunderbolts under his guidance. They enjoyed newfound success where they'd floundered with Moonstone as leader. But that success came with a high price...especially for Songbird.
Hawkeye wanted to give the Thunderbolts a chance to make up for their crimes, but there was one crime he felt could only be repaid in prison: Murder. MACH-1 was the only Thunderbolt wanted for that particular felon, so in exchange for Hawkeye's help, Abe Jenkins would have to turn himself in. Songbird protested, and continued to hold a grudge against Hawkeye for his actions. But MACH-1 agreed to surrender himself, and before he left Songbird's side he made her promise not to tell Hawkeye about the other Thunderbolt who'd murdered in the past. And thus, Moonstone remained on the team, a constant reminder to Songbird that she and her lover were the only ones in the world who witnessed a cold-blooded murder, committed in an alien dimension.** The fact she was even sitting here talking to Moonstone while MACH-1 sat alone in prison ate awy at her. Moonstone knew that, just as she knew how badly Songbird wanted to reveal that dirty little secret...
[** In the classic THUNDERBOLTS #14]
They chuckled quietly and grew silent for a long pause.
***
From: "Black Widow"
To: "Hawkeye"
Subject: Re: Ol' Hawkeye Needs a Favor...
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Message-ID:
Hawkeye wrote:
blackwidow wrote:
Hawkeye wrote:
Hey, 'Tash.
Hope you don't mind me usin' the old private Avengers LAN, but I always
thought it was one of Tony's better ideas, and my current line of work
makes it nice and secret-like.
The disadvantage of it being the Avengers haven't used it much since he
whipped up those communicards--that's why it took me so long to get back to
you.
Then again, I guess it's harder for you to snap your login and password in
half to prove a point to Cap.
Yeah, yeah. Nice to hear from you too, babe.
I think you'll be glad to know the team is shaping together real nice. Atlas has even started calling me "boss." Never thought I'd take it as a
compliment to get the same treatment Zemo used to, but at least I know he's
got my back. I even found this new kid looking to sign up with
us--Charcoal's his name. The others don't trust him because they had some
scraps with him. Me, I kind of like the irony of them having to learn to
trust someone from their rogue's gallery.
I'll just bet you gave them lots of time to adjust to that one, too.
Um...OK, so I'm the most personible leader in the universe. I'm still
better than Cyclops with the X-Men, I bet.
I'm still working out getting
him and Jolt into school, so they get the opportunities ol' Hawkeye
never had.
Beating around the bush ain't my style, so enough small talk. Back when you
and Herc were in the Champions, you guys had some flying funny-car, and I
figure it's gotta be in mothballs somewhere. Wanna do me a real big favor
and work it out so I can get a hold of it? It's no Quinjet, but I'm not
one to be picky.
Let me get this straight, Clint. You want me to give the Champscraft to the
Masters of Evil. Is that what you want me to do?
No, the MOE can't really use the Champscraft, or whatever it is, becuase
they're too busy licking their wounds from where the T-bolts whipped their
asses. You should've seen 'em, Tash. I was down for the count and they
mopped the Masters up without me.
Clint, I slightly understand what you're doing with the Thunderbolts. I
even gave Screaming Mimi and the Beetle a little sermon,
That's Songbird and MACH-1 now, Tash. Those two especially paid their
dues in the Hawkeye School of Hard Knocks, so unless you want a screamer
arrow with your name on it...
All right, all right. No offense intended.
just to clear my
conscience. But just because we both used to run on the wrong side of the
tracks is no reason to feel obligated to go stockpiling equipment for some
other ex-criminals. I'm not going to start playing holier-than-thou with
them, but to be honest, _I_ wouldn't give _me_ an assault vehicle six months
after I broke ties with the Communists.
Oh, yeah? Guess who would? Your friendly neighborhood bowman, that's who.
Think this through a little more, will you? This would just give them
something to run you over with, if you gave it to them.
Mind's made up, Tash. You can give me the keys to the car, or I'll just go
ask Beast if he can get the X-guys to loan me the Blackbird while you try
and talk me out of it.
Your call.
Look, I've got some business to attend to, and I don't have time to argue about this. I'll try and locate the Champscraft and have it shipped to you in...Burton Canyon, Colorado, right? I don't know what aliases you're using these days; it'll be waiting for Clint Barton, so take care around the T-bolts when you pick it up.
_Do_ tell me you haven't given them your real name. Then again, you were naive enough to get mixed up with me once upon a time...
--H
Natasha
--H
Natasha
***
Amanda Robey had been working in the secretarial pool at Worthington Industries' New York office for six months. She'd come to expect a certain set of occurrances in that time. Her boss walking up to her desk, soaked to the bone, was not one of them.
"Ms. Robey? Warren Worthington. Pleased to meet you."
Amanda could do nothing but gawk at the principal stockholder and chairman of the board. "Uh..."
"Oh, right," Warren said absently. "I guess I must look absurd, sopping wet like this. I didn't take the limo, and I spent the whole morning in this storm. Murphy's Law, huh?"
Amanda gawked. "Uh..."
"Listen, I know I usually never come around here, but I was told you're the one they've got redirecting all my work to the rest of the bigwigs. I'd...um...kinda like you to direct some my way. Personal problems are..." he trailed off at the thought of it, but refused to let it bog him down, "...are getting to me, and I need something to bury myself in for a while."
"Sir? Were you aware that you're...um...blue?"
Warren put his palm to his forehead. He'd been in such a rush to get away from Betsy that he'd forgotten to disguise his telltale skin color. He wasn't afraid of people knowing about it, but it was no small wonder that this woman was disturbed. Secretaries at Stark-Fujikawa and Baintronics didn't have these problems. Edwin Cord probably change colors in between visits to the Cordco home office.
"It's a long story," he told her. Which wasn't the half of it. Once he had just been able to tuck his flexible wings up against his back and under his suit to avoid making a scene. That problem was exchanged for another when the avian appendages had to be removed. Warren--the Angel in those days--became despondent and desperate for another chance to fly, and got what he wanted when he accepted the aid of Apocalypse in exchange for serving the supervillain. Warren took to the air once more as Apocalypse's blue-hued Horseman of Death, a mockery of his former self complete with techno-organic steel wings. Ultimately removing himself from Apocalypse's influence, he became the sullen Archangel that had only recently begun to take back his life. The steel wings had mysteriously been replaced with a "normal" feathered pair*, but Warren would always have his azure face to remind him of his fall. "Just give me something to work on and I'll get out of your way."
[* In the rather baffling UNCANNY X-MEN #338]
"Well, there's a board meeting in about twenty minutes--"
Warren groaned quietly. "Reschedule it."
"Umm...a meeting with Osborn Chemical--"
"Cancel it."
Amanda was growing tense from her inability to accommadate him. "Oh! Here's something--it was sent to you personally, but I was told to file it away. Then again, since you're here to receive it..." She handed him a memorandum. "Apparently it's from a Natasha Romanov..."
Warren lit up. "Well, well, well...might be just what I'm looking for," he replied. He took the memo and began reading it. As he went on, his brow furrowed and his interest rose. "Uh-_huh_. Amanda, is it? Amanda, was there anything else from Ms. Romanov?"
"No, sir. Just that."
"Curioser and curiouser. Has this request been approved?"
Amanda shrugged. "I'll need time to check, but that note came in last week. I'm sorry you weren't notified, but I was instructed not to worry about contacting you before passing these things along..."
"Hm. Can you get me in touch with Avengers Mansion?" Warren stared off into space for a moment before noticing his secretary's discomfort. "It's all right, Amanda--the odds were a million-to-one I'd have wanted to check out that memo. You were told the right thing. It's just that Ms. Romanov is a...difficult woman to verify things with." His gaze shifted again and he muttered questions to himself. "Now, what would she need with the Champscraft...?"
"Excuse me, sir?" Amanda was trying her best to stay cool, but Warren wasn't making it easy on her. "Avengers Mansion?"
"That's right," he responded. "Our lady has a certain archer friend over there, if I'm not mistaken. If he can't get in touch with Natasha, maybe he can at least tell me who in Colorado might want a run-down old transport for a bunch of superheroes..."
As Archangel paced around Amanda's desk waiting for the call to go through, the storm that had drenched him earlier that morning let loose with a deafening, ominous thunderbolt...
***
NEXT: If you can't beat it, Warren...