Chapter three, yay! Sorry for the sporadic updates. I've had a paper in English that's been occupying a great deal of my time. But that's done, so wooo! More free time to write!
JUNE 4, 2004
BUDAPEST, HUNGARY
19:22
"So if we've actually gone back in time to Budapest… where were we the night of June the fourth?" Clint wondered out loud, just for the sake of making noise. He quietly watched his shadow as it moved back and forth under the streetlights
"Running recon," Natasha replied without missing a beat. "You and Fury were scoping out the target and I was looking for his base with Hill."
"So the safe house is unattended."
"Yes."
And the safe house was…?"
"This way. Come on." Without further ado, he found himself being dragged down an alley by Natasha.
Tony dragged himself out of the alleyway into a near-empty street, blinking blearily a few times. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that the few people scattered along the road paid no mind to a drunken-looking man dragging himself out of an alley. What kind of city is this?
He set his mind to the task of answering this question as he strode down the twilit street. In fact, Stark was so engrossed in his thinking that he did not realize the gradual increase in population until he was in a square. People bustled about with arms full of brown bags, the day's shopping concluded. Vendors were making a last-ditch effort to sell the last of their wares for the night, and children laughed and chased each other around the fountain while their mothers gossiped. Tony turned a full circle, staring at the life around him, not noticing the burly man directly in his path.
"Hé!" Now he noticed. The man (who was sporting a rather impressive walrus mustache) towered over Tony by a good four or five inches and was almost twice as broad.
"Nézd meg, hová megy, te idióta!"
"Pardon?"
"Hülye turisták. Nem beszél magyarul? Nem kell beszélni, hogy megértsék, mit fogok mondani!"
"I'm sorry, I don't speak... whatever it is you're speaking." Under his breath, Stark added, "JARVIS, translate." A crowd was beginning to crowd around the man (whom Tony had privately nicknamed Mustache Dude) and Tony. Some were snickering behind their hands. Apparently, this guy was the wrong guy to accidentally walk into after being shot into another time. "Jarvis, any day now..."
Now the bystanders were openly laughing at him. Mustache Dude had his fists out in front of him, looking like he was getting ready to throw a punch. Tony reluctantly assumed a defensive position and tried to assess his opponent. Well then.
The roads Natasha and Clint traveled grew more populated as they went along, navigating their way to the safehouse but not obviously doing so. Natasha was on the constant alert, listening to every snippet of conversation she heard. One thing in particular caught her attention:
"Gyerünk! Van egy harc a téren!"
It was a child- a teenager really, calling to his friends. "Néhány turista összefutottunk régi Estevan újra."
"A tourist, hm?" Natasha muttered under her breath to Clint, who had caught the last bit of the boy's words. "Wonder if it's one of ours."
"Only one way to find out," he replied tersely, and they both turned to follow the small group of boys.
Tony bounced on the balls of his feet as he wiped away a drop of sweat from its precarious position near his hairline. At the moment, he had the upper hand due to sheer agility, but Moustache Dude had the advantage of sheer muscle mass. The guy fought like a tank, throwing all his weight forward into his punches and moving essentially in straight lines. Tony, on the other hand, fought like a boxer: always moving, always dodging, always three steps ahead of his opponent. It was a simple matter of just ducking under the dude's punches and throwing in blows where he could. Unfortunately, ducking and dodging took up a lot more energy than barreling in straight lines, and Tony was getting tired.
A flash of red hair in the audience caught his eye. Spidey? He only knew one person with hair that red... Tony paid dearly for the distraction. A vicious right hook from Moustache Dude, who had taken advantage of the distraction, sent him stumbling back a few steps. He swore under his breath before straightening up and dodging the guy's next assault. This was getting real old, real fast.
"It's Stark," Tasha mumbled, mostly to herself but also to Clint. "Of course it's Stark, nobody else would be stupid enough to get themselves into trouble with the locals within an hour of being here. That idiot!" She heaved a sigh of extreme annoyance before adding, "I guess we should go save his sorry ass."
"But Na-at, do we have to?" Clint whined.
"Sadly, yes. He kind of owns the building we live in."
"Fine. Let's go break up a street fight."
Okay, Tony was starting to get really tired. He could only dodge this guy's punches for so long... And Moustache Dude didn't even seem to be breaking a sweat. Some of the front-row bystanders were talking among themselves, and Tony was pretty sure he saw some kind of money changing hands. Oh, so they were taking bets on him now?
"Estevan, menj vedd ki valaki a saját méretét. Go pick on someone your own size!" a bystander called out. Hang on, that sounded like Legolas.
"Nem!" the bulky man replied, swinging at Tony yet again. The billionaire just barely doged it. The world was beginning to spin a little...
"I said, pick on someone your own size," Clint Barton growled as he swung a vicious right hook at the burly man. Tony blinked a few times before stepping back towards the edge of the ring. A hand closed in a vice grip around his bicep.
"Move your ass, Stark," Natasha Romanoff growled into his ear and yanked him back into the crowd.
"Legolas?" Tony asked, stumbling over his feet as Natasha marched him through the square.
"He'll catch up," she replied absently. "Trust me."
Where was a friendly security guard when you need him? That was the question Dr. Bruce Banner had been asking himself repeatedly over the last ten minutes as he hunted around the warehouse he had crashed into for something, anything that he could wear. His search so far had been futile. The only things his search had uncovered thus far were empty, dusty, tarp-covered crates. Hang on... tarps... This could work. Grimacing to himself at the prospect of what he was about to do, Bruce gingerly untied one of the ancient blue tarps and pulled it off the crate. He shuddered a little in disgust as it released a small mushroom cloud of dust. Well, sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do... Half an hour and one makeshift toga later, a highly embarrased Dr. Banner (he still had some dignity left, even if there was no one around to witness his shame) made his way out of the now-partially destroyed warehouse and began trekking towards what he hoped was the end of the warehouse district.
"So where are we headed, now that we're done with our little excursion?" Despite the bruises blooming splendidly across his face, Tony Stark was still a pain in the ass. Natasha simply huffed irritably, not dignifying the question with an answer.
"Where's Legolas? You'd think he'd have caught up by now," he added a moment later. And a few seconds after that: "Hey Nat,-"
Stark let out an "Oomph!" of surprise as he suddenly found himself pinned (rather uncomfortably) against a brick wall with a knife at his throat.
"Don't. Call me Nat," Natasha hissed dangerously before releasing him. Tony straightened his ruffled dress shirt with as much aplomb as one who had just been pinned up against a wall could as she began walking again. "You call me Natasha, Agent Romanoff or Black Widow. Not Nat. Or Tasha. Or Spidey," she added as he opened his mouth. "Now move, people are going to start to stare." Stark shut his mouth obstinately and followed her down the street, looking rather like a kicked puppy.
MARCH 16, 2013
S.H.I.E.L.D. HELICARRIER
15:25
It took all of Agent Jasper Sitwell's self-control to not dive under the desk in Director Fury's office and curl up in a whimpering, shaking ball as he stood in front of the furious man. The livid director of SHIELD practically had steam coming out of his ears. Hadn't the dude ever heard of the saying "don't kill the messenger"? Apparently he hadn't, because that was what the director of SHIELD was about to do.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THEY DISAPPEARED?! I SEND THEM TO DO SIMPLE SURVEILLANCE AND THEY WIND UP SCREWING UP AND GETTING SHOT TO GOD KNOWS WHERE AND NOW I AM MISSING MY FOUR BEST AGENTS AND THE ONLY PEOPLE ON MY TEAM THAT ARE ACTUALLY FROM THIS CENTURY. AND DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT TELLING ME TO CALM DOWN, SITWELL, BECAUSE I CANNOT CALM DOWN WHEN I AM MISSING SHIELD'S FINEST!" Fury wasn't even out of breath yet. "Call in Pym. We need to find a way to get them back."
Ooooh, what's this?! Henry Pym's making an appearance! And, naturally, Janet too, because I can't have one without the other and I really want to try my hand at writing them together.
Guys, is it too much to ask you to review? I got three reviews last chapter, but no real feedback on my writing. I would really appreciate a second opinion or three on my style and whatnot- I tend to write in the vernacular, and I'm not sure if everyone who's read this story enjoys/prefers/does not prefer it to be written in that style. Please let me know how my writing is! I can't improve otherwise.
TRANSLATIONS: (please forgive the inaccuracies, my school doesn't offer Hungarian as a language...)
Hé! - Hey!
Nézd meg, hová megy, te idióta! - Watch where you're going, you idiot!
Hülye turisták. Nem beszél magyarul? Nem kell beszélni, hogy megértsék, mit fogok mondani. - Stupid tourist. You do not speak Hungarian? You do not need to speak it to understand what I am going to say.
Gyerünk! Van egy harc a téren! - Hurry! There's a fight in the square!
Néhány turista összefutottunk régi Estevan újra! - Some tourist ran into old Estevan again!
Estevan, menj vedd ki valaki a saját méretét. - Go pick on someone your own size.
Nem - No
