Enjoy! I got pretty bogged down writing this one. It is pretty long. I hope to make this length standard and then I can update only once a week, especially since Summer is over and I have lots of work in my lap. c:
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of Marvel's. Aaron and Amira are mine, though. You jealous thing, you.
Chapter Four - I Hate This Day
"I just don't see why, Fury. It feels like I only just acclimated to being on this team." Amira popped the top on a water bottle. Everyone was supposed to be able to relax for a little after a debriefing but Fury had a bone to pick with her which meant she was trapped. "I mean, what do I bring to the table, anyway? You've already got Natasha. She does everything I do." She offered.
"Everything?" Fury gave her his signature withering look.
"Okay, so she doesn't do everything I do but since when have the Avengers ever used tact? That's my thing, tact." She argued. The stiffness of her muscles made her very aware of how badly she wanted to crash land into her bunk. "I mean, Christ, I don't think they've ever been in an engagement where a skyscraper – or a governmental power – didn't crumble to the ground."
"I wholeheartedly agree, Mizrahi, they do need tact which is exactly why I have pressured you to be apart of it." The volume of his voice rose intensely. "I'm not going to force you but there is no reason you shouldn't pursue this. You should consider yourself very lucky to have this opportunity." She sighed and drew her gaze to the floor.
As if the prestige of this new position would shift her opinion. Why could he not understand that she had no desire to move up in the world of clandestine organizations? She dealt with enough brushes with death as it was. A promotion almost always meant lower survival rate. Hell, just being a receptionist for S.H.I.E.L.D. makes one eligible for a pretty swanky life insurance package. She felt chilled and irritable in the drafty converted storage room in their remote Libyan headquarters. Amira pondered over which of the drab appointments of his makeshift office she could feasibly strangle him with.
"Just tell me why, Fury. I'm not an idiot. Why me?" She demanded; her determination renewed. She met his gaze with crossed arms and a set jaw. With an eye-roll Fury circled his desk to find his seat in front of his computer. His fingers mechanically worked until finally the tapping of keys stopped. She stepped forward and tried to make her posture look certain. Fury clamped a hand down on his monitor and glared at her as if pondering whether or not he should show her it's contents. After a resolute sniff he turned it around so she could see. She stooped over to take in the images plastered before her.
"I know who that is. What does it have to do with me?" She stated with in a matter-of-fact snark. Just as she thought. She didn't have a death wish.
"He needs a handler, Mizrahi. He is an immense asset but as he is now- well his condition is exploitable." He explained. "He targets anything and everything. If we're lucky he fights for us and even follows commands but those times are rare. You have to power to control what he sees." Amira only knit her eyebrows together in confusion. "You can steer him."
"I knew there was more to it than you were letting on." She hissed.
"Yes. Very perceptive." Fury deadpanned. "Are you in or not?" He impatiently asked.
"I can't imagine you have too many awareness manipulators out there clamoring for the position." She bit back. She set her hand under her chin and mused for a moment. She suspected the reason that he didn't tell her of the details of the job was because he thought she wanted the self flattery of being a true Avenger and not just a 'handler'. He had often been wrong about her intentions just as he was now. Truthfully, all she wanted safety. Safety for her and Aaron. Being a mutant wasn't exactly the most popular thing to be these days. With Fury she was gainfully employed and her secret was safe. Being able to keep an eye on Aaron was a nice bonus.
However, perhaps this job did have it's own pros. So far, the only person who was immune to her abilities was Fury. She always suspected he cheated with some sort of eyepatch-embedded radar or something unfair like that. And he specified she would only be a handler. What sort of danger does that job imply? Well, if the Hulk does not feel the effects of her awareness manipulation- if she couldn't get inside his head - she would probably be called off and return to her former position. If it does work, then what? There is nothing safe about being anywhere near the sidelines of an inter-dimensional alien battle, but she could not forget her ability to make herself essentially invisible. Essentially.
Some part of her - deep down in the strange corridors of herself that she did not understand - stirred. There was an odd urge within her. She had to go where she could do the most good, she decided fully. Half of her panicked but the other half was so sure.
"I'll do it." She resolved. Fury's eye widened with surprise. He tamped down on his reaction immediately, rebuilding his calm facade.
"Oh. Well, that's good." He stammered, the shock had not yet been filtered out of his voice. "I'll make the-"
"But I have demands!" She finished. Fury's jaded frown was replaced instantly. She had the grace not to laugh.
"Of course you do." He mumbled. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin; his gaze aloof. Amira took that as a prompt to continue.
"Aaron goes where I go, that's non negotiable." She punctuated her requirement with a finger jabbing his desk.
"Don't you think he's old enough to look after himself." Fury chided with a mocking chuckle.
"Non-negotiable, Fury." She growled inching closer to him across his desk. He stood and met her steely glare with an equally imposing frown. He slowly leaned forward, hands braced on the edge of his desk. She felt her vim and vigor bleed out. He cut quite an imposing figure.
"I think you mean 'Sir' Or have you forgotten that I am non-negotiable-y your boss?" He intoned through clenched teeth. Amira remembered her place. She stepped back and stood at ease.
"Sir." She lowered her head slightly in submission. Fury sighed and rubbed his forehead. It had been a long day for everyone.
"There is always a need for a capable pilot, especially for the Avengers." Fury gave in. Amira's head snapped up, her eyebrows did the same and her mouth was comically agape. Fury looked, frankly, exasperated.
"Sir! I-" She began
"You will commit to this project." He commanded rather than asked. She nodded eagerly, her eyes still wide with surprise. As for wherever she ended up, she couldn't care less. She just needed to keep and eye on Aaron. Just as she had promised her mother she would. Fury dropped back into his chair with a huff. Amira, grateful, felt the need to lower her eyes again.
"There is still some cleaning up to do as far as our operations in Libya. I expect that the rest of our operatives can handle it. You can inform Aaron whenever you like but I expect you to be packed and ready to leave tomorrow night." That gave Amira very little time to pack. Luckily, she didn't keep much.
"Sir." She affirmed. Hesitantly, she spared her leader a glance. "If I may-" He swept out an arm as if to say be my guest, I guess. "Where are we going, exactly?"
"The current base of operations is located in New York City. I trust you are familiar with Stark Tower?" He explained.
"Tony Stark's New York HQ? That's where they all live?" She shrieked with shock, entirely forgetting to be respectful. Again. "That's where Clint gets to go when he isn't in this dusty mouse hole?" She rambled. Fury was too overworked to interrupt her tirade. He settled for giving her his signature look until she shut her self up, which she did promptly.
"You are dismissed, Mizrahi."
"Thank you, Sir." Amira turned to leave.
"I'm trusting you to take this seriously, Mizrahi. Do not let me down." Fury added as she left. She wryly smirked – her back still turned to Fury – and thought about every last filthy Nazi she had ever buried. Although she only nodded, she vowed to herself that she would do whatever she could to help her ailing world.
"Just say it, Banner." Tony taunted, his arms outstretched in victorious self-adulation. He was wearing an old worn out Iron Maiden t-shirt but it clearly didn't stop him from acting like he was wearing white tie and tails. He was not quite looking at Bruce, but rather, off at some beautiful imaginary horizon that he, the brilliant visionary, was sharing with the common people. "Say I was right!"
Bruce set down his pen to worry his brow with the thumb of his right hand. The office was completely dark save for the lone spotlight of his lamp shining down on his painstakingly organized desk. He had just been in the middle of writing a very important missive with one of his contacts in New Mexico about retrieving some of his old files. That was, of course, until Tony strutted over to his desk and began making noises from his mouth again. He tended to do that when Bruce was most involved with work.
Bruce, feeling confused and perturbed, simply sat appraising his friend mulling over what to say. He didn't leave his chair and Tony refused to break his stance.
"I'm sorry, Tony, I just have no idea what you're talking about." Bruce closed his eyes and tried not to sound to wearied by his friend. Tony dropped his hands and gawped in mock affront. Bruce simply shrugged.
"About Fury. About Lightfoot. I was right." Tony raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. "He's bringing her on. We just got the call. Everything's already been arranged and Cap gave the okay. I was right. I demand affirmation." Tony sullenly exclaimed. Bruce was absolutely bewildered. He hesitantly surveyed the spacious research room he had chosen as his work spot, checking left and then right and then looking back up at Stark. His expression read 'Why me? Why now?'
"Tony, I never said you were wrong. I agreed with you, remember? The gravitas of me telling you were right all along is sort of lost when I never-." Bruce gave up and settled for covering his eyes with his hand; he impatiently inhaled. The sound was sharper than he intended.
"Well, I'm sorry I crave reassurance every once in a while, Bruce." Tony threw his arms up and then plopped into a chair near Bruce. "You've been so distant lately. You didn't even compliment me on the program I wrote to discover new Monohedral convex pentagonal tilings." He whined in an exaggerated fashion. As hard as he tried, Bruce could not stop himself from being amused by his friends antics.
"It utilizes a pretty impressive algorithm." Bruce idly murmured, an equally idle smile played on his lips.
"Thank you. Yes. It is impressive." Tony loudly agreed, his tone relieved. "And also I was right about this Lightfoot thing too." He tacked on eagerly.
"Should I be particularly enthused about this update?" Bruce queried. He saw what she could do; he read about it. He wasn't sold on her utility but didn't care enough to question her induction into the Avengers.
"Actually, I'm glad you asked that question." Tony wagged his finger and smirked as he spoke. He stood to turn his chair around and replaced himself in it, only now he was sitting in it backwards like a hip school teacher from the nineties. Bruce became suddenly alert. Tony had that tone in his voice that signaled something unpleasant. For Bruce, that is. These things often had Tony laughing at his expense.
"What?" Bruce's eyes went wider with every repetition. "What is it?"
"You and – Amira, she's called – are going to become very close as long as this little...experiment plays out." Tony impishly explained. Bruce flinched at the word experiment. He did not like that word one bit. What could this woman possibly have to do with him in that regard? The details of her case file flickered through his mind at impressive speed. He had the intellectual prowess of a very accomplished scientist, after all. People often forgot that about him. All at once, every piece fell into place as soon as he recalled one small morsel of information.
Awareness Manipulator.
The words ricocheted around his head like a tin maraca thrown into the maw of a crevasse. His expression was open mouthed and idiotic. He slowly raised his head to meet Tony's gaze, his expression unchanged. Tony actually looked concerned.
"You're going to try and control the Hulk." He murmured, entranced. Tony glanced down at Bruce's white knuckle grip on the arm of his chair. The smarmy scientist threw up a defensive hand.
"Control? No! Not control, Bruce." He placated. He made a gesture as if to give Bruce a friendly pat on the arm but, seemingly, thought better of it. "She'll be more like a handler! Which is cool because that makes you sound like a famous person. I have like, seven handlers. It's normal. A totally normal thing." At that Bruce regained his bearings. And his slack-jawed confusion flickered briefly into bitter smirking realization and then, shortly, into tense, unstable anger. He shot out of his seat and towered over Tony, broad and dangerous.
"You talk about normal as if you have any idea." He bit back at him. "I can't believe I bought all that tripe you fed me about the arc-reactor. About how it saved you! Defined you!" His gravelly voice crescendo'd sharply. Tony flinched at the volume.
"Do you really want to have this kind of blow out here, Bruce?" Tony reasoned as he stood and gestured around him. His voice was even and trying not to escalate tension.
"How could you possibly compare your situation to mine, Tony? Huh? What was your worst case scenario?" Bruce pointed accusingly at Tony. His voice was quieter now but his rage was still seething, burning up every word that left his mouth. "That you would die? That must have been very hard for you Tony."
"Bruce, the surgery was incredibly dangerous I am lucky-"
"No!" Bruce shouted. Tony stumbled over the leg of his own chair trying to create some space in between himself and the very angry Dr. Banner. Bruce could see his fingers playing on the bracelet that would summon his suit. He didn't care; he would be heard. "You and I are nothing alike. Because I would rather die than hurt another innocent person ever again!" He exclaimed.
Her eyes flashed in his mind. Her soft hair tickled his nose again for a brief moment. His heart felt as if it were trod upon by a draft horse. "You will never know what that means." His voice broke. He felt weak and panicked.
"Don't you get it? Death is my best case scenario." He finished. His chest rose and fell dramatically; his breathing was labored and his muscles were tense. There was a tone of finality in his voice that made Tony move his hand from his bracelet. Bruce threw himself back into his chair. His pulse was racing and his wavy hair was wild about his face. He removed his glasses to wipe his face and worry his brow. His eyes were swimming with tears he forbade to fall.
"Bruce, I didn't make this call." Tony's voice was barely above a whisper. They both sported a gleaming sheen of sweat on their faces.
"I know." He quivered with the realization that he had almost lost control. "I guess I thought you'd step in for me." He refused to look at Tony in the eyes.
"Maybe I can't compare my experience to yours." Bruce scoffed at this. "But maybe I know you well enough to know a good opportunity for you when I see one." Bruce pushed his shame aside for a moment to meet Tony's gaze. He had that earnest look that Bruce could never help but believe. The moment passed and both understood it as a re-establishment of trust.
"Sorry," Bruce bashfully admitted, "about...that." Tony's gaze softened. He patted his weary friend on the arm and gave him a solemn nod.
"You're right, Bruce. I can't relate to what you feel. But I want to try." Bruce appreciated these times when he was serious, they were rare and welcome. "Besides, I'm the one who should be sorry. I dropped that bomb on you all wrong." Tony winced and sucked in air between his teeth.
Here it comes, Bruce thought ruefully. Tony blanched and his brow furrowed. His hands were together, as if in prayer, and rested against his lips.
"I worded that very poorly. Can I try that again?" He dared to joke. How very Stark of him. It strangely put Bruce at ease that Tony didn't tip toe around his accident.
"Please. Don't." Bruce glowered and turned back to his work. When he thought he was sure Tony was turned away he let a crooked smirk flash across his face for a brief second. He heard the Iron Avenger's foot steps grow quieter as he left. Before the heavy doors fell shut Tony piped up.
"Trust me on this one, pal. I think working with this girl might do you some good." He optimistically intoned. Bruce wasn't sure at all but it didn't seem to matter what he thought. Fate always found him tied up in new and strange relationships.
"-As in, the Avengers?" Aaron stuttered. His toothbrush hung sloppily out of his mouth.
"Of course, Aaron. It's not like there's a football team by the same name you could confuse them with." She snapped, rolling her eyes. "And we really can not finish this conversation until you finish brushing your teeth." He returned to the little sink in their cramped sleeping space.
"Whatever, Mom." He finished up his nightly routine. Amira reclined in her bunk and flipped through a magazine. Aaron joined her shortly flopping into his own bunk with a contented sigh.
"Alright, spill the details!" He looked over at Amira expectantly. She set aside her reading material and intertwined her fingers on her stomach.
"I'm being shipped off to New York tomorrow night." She exhaled. He gasped.
"That seems pretty sudden. How long?" He inquired. His tone was slightly anxious.
"It's kind of a 'for the foreseeable future' type of arrangement." She confessed. Aaron dropped his head on his pillow in bewonderment.
"I know it's going to be a big change for us, Aaron. You're going to have a lot to adjust to." She continued on, gesturing dramatically.
"I don't think we've ever been apart more than a couple months." Aaron realized. His brows creased together and a nervous sneer marred his face. Amira struggled to keep her composure. Aaron self consciously schooled his expression to one of nonchalance. "It's cool, y'know? I feel like girls are afraid to approach me with you around, anyway. You're like Baba Yaga- do you know who Baba Yaga is?" He turned to her expecting her to ask. She reminded herself to hide his language learning software. He was getting a little too big for his britches with all the new vocabulary.
"I don't know what that is, Aaron, but I'm sure it's a super rude thing to call someone." She chided sternly. "Especially if that someone just got you a position piloting for the Avengers."
"'Mira." It was about at this point that his brain melted. His face was priceless. She began to chortle. She then noticed his drying curls had settled shockingly atop his head making him look, literally, struck dumb. It was this detail that sent Amira wild with giggles.
"You ass!" He sharply whispered. She only laughed harder. Then he grew suddenly pale, making his olive skin turn somewhat yellow. "I get to meet Thor!" He soberly exclaimed. "How?!"
"What can I say? I have a way with Fury." She bragged. He didn't know that Fury sort of caved in on this one. Aaron was sat straight up in his bed. "Don't tell me you won't be able to sleep." Amira smirked.
"How could I?" He wondrously intoned. Amira released one more breathy laugh.
"You could try using that thing." She gestured to his well-worn tanakh, which was neatly placed on his minimal bed stand. "It never fails to make me snooze."
"Hey!" He whined. "That's no way to talk about our holy text." He snatched the old leather bound tome and lovingly passed a hand over the cover. He read it every night; it's pages were dog-eared and notes were crammed into the margins in neat script.
"Our holy text, he says." She muttered low enough that he couldn't hear. She did not want to go through that lecture again. If she heard him go on about their heritage again she might actually explode. "Sleep. Don't sleep. It doesn't matter to me, just as long as you're packed and ready to go tomorrow." Amira made a move to switch her lamp off.
"Oh no." Aaron ruefully moaned.
"What? What is it?"
"I've got to break things off with Melanie." He blurted.
"Oh my God, Aaron-"
"I know!" He confessed.
"Are you kidding-"
"I know!" He insisted, grabbing his pillow and stuffing it in his face with shame.
"You had better not pull this kind of crap when we get to New York, I swear..." Amira threatened.
"It's not my fault, 'Mira. It's these damned cheekbones. They make me look roguish and adventurous." Aaron reveled in his mock-martyrdom. Amira just groaned and rolled to opposite to face away from him. She pulled her covers up around her shoulders. Soon, it was quite silent in their shared sleeping quarters.
"You know, for a second there I thought you were leaving me behind." Aaron admitted; his voice almost inaudible. "It never occurred to me that we'd ever be very part apart for very long." Amira turned to him. His expression was a thoughtful one. She gave him a sorrowful smile. In this moment, he looked so young. She could remember wiping away his tears at times like this when they were children.
"You don't have to worry about that, Aaron." She assured. It was harder than she remembered to comfort him. It had been awhile, after all. "Just get some sleep. We have to make preparations tomorrow morning." With that, she turned her lamp off and rolled on her side and began compartmentalizing all of her worries and fears regarding her new post and her brother. She became distracted thinking of him. Perhaps, she had done him a disservice by making sure he always stuck by her all these years. Maybe she guarded him too closely. She liked to tell herself that she protected him out of duty but she knew that she worried for him out of her own sisterly caring. Whatever the reason, Amira would never leave him to be alone.
"I promise." She whispered. It was a meek prayer that she knew well. Her train of thought deteriorated into dreams.
Listening to Danzig while writing makes me weirdly productive! Here's a little vocabulary, for those that need it (I certainly did).
A kippah (skullcap or yarmulke) is a small hat or headcovering. In traditional Jewish communities only men wear kippot (the plural of kippah) and they are worn at all times (except when sleeping and bathing).
The Hebrew Bible, also known as Mikra ("what is read") or Tanakh.
These definitions were taken from MyJewishLearning.
So as you can see, I'm exploring writing about Judaism. I, myself, am not Jewish - except in heritage - and know very little about the religion itself. I fully expect to get things wrong but I have also put many hours into reading up on practices and vocabulary. There is only so much you can learn from Wikipedia, however. If you see something that ought to be corrected please, PLEASE PM ME. I want to try to keep the evidence of my many mistakes from flooding the review section. I guess I'm a little vain ;-;. Anyway, please correct me. I would feel absolutely dreadful if I disrespected this religion or people in any way. Thank you so very much.
