A hero's revenge

I don't know much of Avengers, but I love Tony Stark and Spiderman, so...

Nick Fury picked a newspaper from the pile he'd brought into the room at the meeting's start. He glanced at it, then he looked back at the twelve people sitting at the conference table. They were heroes, all of them. Some wore masks, some didn't, but there was one thing that united them as one: they were powerful enough to cause mayhem and destruction, if they so desired…

But only if he, the head of SHIELD, allowed it.

Damn. It felt good to be boss.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "The alien invasion was handled in a most efficient manner." He lifted the paper. "The president says so," he said, letting them see the words in print. "Headlines from all over the world say so," he added, and he picked another paper and then a third, to illustrate his point. "But I... I don't think so."

The papers fell to the floor.

Fury leant on the conference table.

"No, ladies and gentlemen. 'Efficient' is not enough in this organization; it can't be. For the world to survive, we have got to do better." He leant forward. "The question is... Can we?"

He looked around. He wasn't expecting a reply; his challenges were meant to be taken in and held in the heroes' minds and souls. All he wanted was to convey the urgency; the passion behind his own commitment to the job. No, he didn't expect a reply –

But he got one.

A spitball flew by, seemingly out of nowhere, and BAM! hit him on the cheek.

Now, Nick Fury met challenges every day; he could handle anything, from deep-sea monsters to earth-conquering alien creatures. But this was so unexpected, that for a couple of seconds, all he could do was watch as the little missile bounced across the table.

However, when it finally came, his reaction was swift. He grabbed the offensive ball and immediately looked around for a culprit.

He didn't have to look far: Tony Stark was sitting only a few feet away. The only hero who chose not to wear his outfit in SHIELD's hearquarters, Stark had been clearly distracted all evening, glancing into his phone instead of paying attention to the meeting.

More damning in this case, he had a rubber band in his hand.

"Mr. Stark!"

Tony Stark deftly pushed his Nicorette gum into a corner of his mouth before looking up.

"Yep?"

"What is the meaning of this?"

"This?" Tony repeated. He had no idea what Fury was talking about but he wasn't about to admit it. "You mean, right now?"

Fury held up a little ball between his thumb and his forefinger.

"I mean this, Mr. Stark."

"That's a spitball, isn't it?"

Fury forced himself to answer civilly. "I know it's a spitball, Mr. Stark. That's not what I asked you."

"Ok... " Tony shifted in his seat. Damn, suddenly, it was like being back in Junior high, where he was constantly singled out by the teachers. He even threw a surreptitious glance around, in case someone might want to whisper him the correct answer, like his classmates used to do, back in the day.

Unfortunately, the guys sitting next to him - Captain America and Spiderman - had proved to be pretty much like the rest, here: a bunch of straight-laced prudes who'd never dare to defy Nick Fury. Shit, people here were so prim and proper you couldn't even say 'shit' or 'fuck' anymore without one of them pointing out that swearing was wrong.

Morosely, Tony looked back at Fury.

"Ok, look; I don't know what you're talking about, but -"

"You don't?" Fury said. "Well, I'm sure you can at least tell us what you're doing with that rubber band," and he waved at Tony's hand.

Tony looked down. Sure enough, there was a rubber band wrapped around his fingers.

"What, this? This is no mere rubber band; this is the first in my new line of Businessmen Therapeutic Devices." He tugged at it. "See? It's meant to be used whenever you're -" bored out of your freaking mind, "-er, focused on important issues."

"So, what you're you saying is, you didn't use it as a slingshot."

"What?" Tony sat up, suddenly putting two-and-two together. "You saw a spitball lying around and assumed that I...? That's not -" He was too indignant to finish. "I'd never -"

"Never, Mr. Stark? May I remind you that over the past months every person in this room has been, at one point or another, the butt of a practical joke perpetrated by you?"

Tony looked around. Every face in the room was turned in his direction this time.

Damn. It was like Junior high.

"Oh, come on, we're in constant danger; someone's got to bring a little humor to the place!" Unfortunately, no one seemed to agree with him. "Ok, look; yes, I've played a couple of jokes. But I've always owned up to them!"

"Only because you're too vain not to take the credit," Fury retorted.

"Whatever," Tony replied morosely. He'd had it with Fury's continuing study of his character. "The point is, I'd never stoop to that level." He waved at Fury. "Spitballs aren't my thing."

Fury took a deep breath.

"Mr. Stark, I must ask you to leave the room."

"What?"

"Please, wait outside."

"You're kidding me!" Tony glanced around. Was it too much to hope for one of those miserable kids to protest of at least offer some words of support? After all, he'd saved their asses more times than they'd saved his!

No one spoke.

"Oh, ok. Fine." He rose. "I'll be outside. Better yet," he added snidely, "I'll go to the Principal's office and wait there."

Fury looked at the other superheroes.

"Well," he said, "Now that we've cleared this matter, I believe we can go on with our meeting." Satisfied, he pulled his chair and sat down –

And suddenly, a fart, loud as an explosion, escaped from under him.

"MR. STARK!"

Tony turned. Purple-faced and eye-popping, Nick Fury had never looked more, er, furious.

"Oh, yeah," Tony said as if he'd remembered just then. "That's one of mine. The Microscopic Whoopie Cushion, from Stark Industries new line of practical jokes." He opened the door. "Oh, and by the way…" He glanced around. "There might be a special discount for my masked buddies here."

Epilogue

Tony was sitting at an open window, legs dangling over the ledge. Having checked on his messages, he finally had time for what passed for pleasure in this place: smoking.

He lit up a cigar and drew a long puff from it. There. Things were ok in the world again.

A door opened somewhere in the building. A number of sounds –hurried steps, flowing capes, flapping wings –told him that the meeting was over, and heroes were heading home.

Tony didn't hear any steps coming in his direction, but wasn't surprised when someone nearby cleared his throat. He knew Nick Fury would find him sooner or later.

Only it wasn't Fury.

It was Spiderman.

"So," Tony said. "Meeting's adjourned?"

"Yes."

Tony stared at Spidey for a moment.

"You know, I can never tell where exactly it is that you're looking at. Couldn't you open a couple of slits on your mask so the rest of us mortals…? No. I guess not."

Spidey took a step closer.

"I've got a confession to make, Mr. Stark."

"Talk to Thor. He's the one with the god connection."

"I was the one who threw that spitball."

Tony accidentally inhaled. He started choking.

"You?" cough, cough, cough. "You threw that spitball? I thought maybe Hawkeye -"

Spiderman shook his head.

"It was me. It landed right where I wanted it, too. Mr. Fury's face."

"And he never saw it coming?"

Spidey made a little gesture with his hand. "It's all in the wrist," he said modestly.

"I see." Tony was noncommittal. Sure, what Spiderman had done was pretty impressive, but damn if he was going to say so. "And you didn't admit you did it because…?"

"Well… I could say I didn't because secrecy's the whole point of a practical joke..."

"Is it?"

"But that's not the reason I kept mum, Mr. Stark." He leant on the wall. "You put rubber flies in my food a week ago, remember?"

Tony smiled at the memory. "Oh, yeah. I thought it was appropriate, what with you being a spider."

"I swore I'd get back at you."

Tony Stared at him, then nodded. "Fair enough." Hey, even he could admit defeat now and then.

He'd assumed the conversation was over, but when Spiderman didn't move, he looked up again. And did a double take. It may have been a trick of the light, but he could swear Spiderman was smiling under the mask.

"But that's not why I threw that spitball."

"So, why did you?"

"I was bored! I thought someone should liven up things a little."

Tony smiled. Maybe there was hope for these kids yet.

The end.