Author's Notes: Oops. Uploaded the wrong chapter at some point. Here's the right one.
Disclaimer: Ultimate Spider-Man is not mine. Nor are any of its characters. That's Marvel's job. Any Original Characters and art you note, however, are all me. No. I'm not making money. Don't rub it in.
Chapter 09 - Shtick
Ah, early Wednesday evening. The sun was setting. The moon was rising. And the scent of coffee drifted strong throughout the Tricarrier. Well, at least it did beneath Peter's nose.
The teen hero kept a keen eye on the mug in his tight grasp, careful not to spill a drop no matter which way he twisted, bounced, or flipped through the halls. He did an exceptional job, if he did say so himself. (Ignore Coulson's claim otherwise.) So by the time he entered Fury's office, the mug continued to steam with its full glory.
"Special delivery for one Special Agent Fury," Peter chimed while offering the porcelain piece. He flashed a cheesy grin behind his mask. It couldn't be seen, of course; however, the teen was quite confident the SHIELD Director sensed it. The man's lovely, even expression said so.
"Where's Agent Milton?" Fury retorted. His good eye studied the black cup like it could explode at any moment or poison him by a single touch.
"Oh, Milton," Peter replied dismissively, waving a hand. "I gave him a break. Now, come on." He placed the coffee beside the control panel before his boss. "Drink up! It's made just the way you like it: black. Like your heart."
The man forced a sigh back, speaking without hesitation. "Start this again, Parker, and you'll land even more missions no one wants."
The hero shrugged under Fury's narrowed brown eye. "What? All I'm doing is giving you small prods to bring back your humanity."
"No, what you're doing is beating down a nail that's already set deep in the wood."
"That's a weird analogy."
"Will you ever just accept my decision, kid?"
"Probably not."
"Well that's too bad; it's going to stand."
"Even if I say pretty please and bat my lashes?"
"Especially then."
"Oh, come on!" Peter groaned in powerful exasperation as his shoulders stooped. "I seriously think you're being too harsh. You won't even give her a chance to explain her side!"
"Forensic evidence doesn't require explanation," countered Fury, tone strained. "The prisoner killed my agent, and I have eye witnesses from the team who will corroborate that."
"That prisoner is named Zeelan," the teen said with a frown. "And regardless of that, she deserves a chance to be heard."
"You think that about everyone."
"And how many times have I been right?"
"Fewer times than you've been wrong. Just drop it, kid."
"You know I can't do that." Peter's words were frank and brought a scowl to his boss' face. "She's been ignored for four days already. You threw her in solitary with no regards whatsoever like some escaped zoo animal and then you expect me to just be okay with it all? Sorry, normal people aren't that heartless."
"And you think I'm okay with it?" Fury added sorely. "You think I like keeping young women contained?"
Peter opened his mouth.
"Don't answer that."
Then closed it.
"I don't like it one bit, Parker. It's simply what must be done."
"One of Agent Fury's famous lines," the teen all but grumbled. "Look, 'this ain't my first rodeo'. I've dealt with misunderstood threats before—like Hulk and Doctor Connors. After all this time, I know what one looks like."
"You saying she 'misunderstandingly' killed my agent?"
The teen flashed a look. "I'm saying there are such things as set-ups."
"Now my agents are dirty?"
"Who's to say? Maybe we would know more if your bug trap wasn't sucking the energy out of our other eye witness."
"Now you're going to complain about our safety features? To weaken her mind, we must weaken her body. Otherwise…well. You saw Saturday."
"Right, right." The hero's tongue clicked. "Because she was such a threat trying to run away from you. But who can blame her? I mean, who wants to come to the surly face of a—"
The Director's hard, intense expression cut the hero off.
"Alright, alright; I'll be serious"—Peter raised his hands in submission and spoke as if a switch for his humor had suddenly been flipped off—"You should give her a chance. Even if, like you claim, she's done something terrible, you should at least listen to her reason for it. So many people have been incarcerated or mistreated because of assumptions or misunderstandings. So we, as the good guys, should try harder to fight for them. Take Sandman, for instance."
"We were both wrong about him."
"But you hoped he had been rehabilitated. Right?"
Silence from Fury.
"Flint Marko is a man who's unstable and done so many wrong things," Peter continued, heartfelt, "yet you dared to hope. Why can't you do the same for Zeelan? Everyone deserves a chance."
"We've talked enough about this, Parker," the Director snapped coldly. He raised a thick fist, clenched, over the control panel above his legs, yet stopped it from colliding with the component once a mere fraction away. Then, he breathed deeply, almost solemnly, as the fist fell to his side. "Agent Reyes was a good agent that wouldn't have done anything that deserves death. She wouldn't have provoked Miss Weir into such a situation…"
The hero cocked his head at the light tremble in Fury's words. "Fury…did you and Agent Reyes—"
"You called for me, Sir?" a new voice interjected. Of course, Danny. Groaning on the inside, Peter watched his friend walk from the door to behind Fury's computer seat.
The Director shifted and then stood so he looked down at the blonde, who returned the man's hard stare with a very Zen-like expression. "Yes, I did," he answered critically. "We have something to talk about."
Peter glanced between the duo, silent in anticipation.
But Fury's side-glance rendered the teen sighing as he said, "Alone, Parker. You have a mission with Nova."
"Ah, man, seriously?"
"He's been debriefed already by Coulson. Get the details from him. You leave now, so go meet him."
"Where?"
"I don't care where, Parker; just go find him!"
Fury pointed a strong finger, to which Peter glared at mildly for several seconds. Only when Fury's nostrils began to flare did the teen flip towards the office door like the graceful gymnast he was. Naturally, a sly glance over his shoulder was spared at the two that remained silent in wait. The teen exited without a fight in full knowledge that Danny would later give a recount of what Fury had to say. Or he'd better. If he didn't, Peter would make him.
In the hallway, Peter slammed into a passing body. The light stinging of his nose, which had collided with a metallic helmet, caused the teen leader to rub it tenderly until a familiar voice spoke up.
"Jeeze, watch where you're going, Webs; I need this pretty face."
"Dude, I was walking just fine," Peter countered while invading his teammate's personal space. "It's your big head that takes up the whole hall."
"Oh?" Nova snort-laughed. "My big head?"
"Yeah!"
"Look who's talking. I'm surprised you even fit in the Tricarrier!"
"That's saying something, coming from the guy who—"
"Come on, you two; you have a mission to accomplish." Coulson's voice erupted like an alarm yet he casually stood between the silenced teens. Peter jumped, backing away from the agent that stood upright with hands clasped behind his back and a light smile across his wide mouth.
"Dude, how do you even do that?" questioned Peter breathlessly.
Coulson's smile grew. "Years of practice. Which you earn from missions, by the way."
"Point taken, Coulson," Nova added with a huff. "But what Fury's been assigning us these past few days have been insults, not missions."
"Not all missions are glamorous," the older man countered, smile dying.
"So give those ones to the guys without super powers," the Hispanic noted easily.
Peter gave a slight nod. "Even I have to agree with Bucket-Head. Fury's basically been using us as errands boys. Do we look like the UPS? No. None of us have the scrawny legs to pull off those Khaki shorts. Save for Nova."
"Hey!"
Coulson sighed as Nova glared at Peter. "Have you kids learned nothing while working with Damage Control?" the agent asked.
"This has nothing to do with collateral," Nova cried.
"Apparently you didn't."
"This is just Fury's punishment for us not agreeing with Zeelan's arrest."
Coulson knew that was true. Otherwise, he wouldn't have hesitated.
"Look, kids, Fury may be trying to keep you busy."
"May?"
"Parker."
"Listening."
The agent's thin lips pressed at Peter's fake innocence. "None of SHIELD's missions are unimportant—no matter the details. Just remember that."
"Got it, Sir," Peter replied with a weak salute.
"Sure," grumbled Nova as he hovered from the cool ground. He sent Coulson a lazy look then started floating down the wide hall. "Come on, Web-Head."
"Ah, Nova"—Coulson added frantically while Peter caught up with his teammate—"don't forget this is—"
"A guard mission. SHIELD important. Yadda, yadda."
"Yes, but it's also—"
"I know, alright? You've only told me, like, five times or something. Sheesh." Nova, releasing a noisy breath, picked up speed as Coulson's voice faded into inaudible babble.
Beside him, Peter swung in perfect speed, asking, "So, where are we heading anyway?"
"This is a blood bank," Peter stated, bland.
"Yes, it is," Nova replied just as blandly.
"An average blood bank."
"Yup."
"An old blood bank."
"Uh-huh."
"One that isn't even in the Global Scientist's Questionnaire as a top blood bank."
"And that dork gibberish is supposed to mean…?" While floating several feet above an unimpressive wooden roof, Nova glanced at his teammate on the splintered tiles below.
Peter barely acknowledged the Hispanic's celestial glow in his peripheral vision—weary eyes set on the backside of a billboard that he knew displayed 'Backer's Blood Bank' in faded paint. He threw his hands in the cool night air then said, "Dude, it's not even in the top ten for the state!"
"I'm sure geeks all around mourn with you, Webs."
"Is this place even legal?" Pausing, the leader's gaze landed on every uprooted nail and sunken section around the weather-beaten building set no higher than two stories. "It looks like a Black Market advertisement for Dracula's army."
The Hispanic shrugged at the pointed stare his teammate sent. "Hell if I know. But this is the address Coulson gave us."
"I'm finding it hard to believe that anyone would want to order a hit on this place."
"Well, it's either a hit or a hand off. Maybe both."
Peter flashed the contemplative hero a look.
"What?" Nova countered with an easy shrug of his shoulders. "Does it really matter? We're watching for any sketchy behavior, right? Besides, it's probably all a ruse anyway. Like that New Jersey mission where Fury had us search for an Asgardian 'artifact' in the city dump."
"Hey, I found a nice pair of sneakers that night," the leader joked while flipping forward. His sleek form landed with a crouch onto the lopsided billboard, whose wobbly form provoked a 'woah' from the hero. Once steady, he then began studying the vacant street beyond for any suspicious activity.
"You're taking this better than I thought you would," remarked Nova critically from above.
"Yeah, well, I've got to keep my cool," Peter replied frankly. "If I don't play along, Fury will have that much more reason not to listen to me."
"You still think you can talk him into releasing Weir?"
"I have no choice for now; a break out isn't possible yet—not with SHIELD's security."
"And here you led us to believe that you would be assaulting solitary—webs swinging—the next morning."
"I thought better of it after a night's sleep."
The Hispanic scoffed. "You aren't going to change Fury's mind, dude. No one changes Fury's mind. He's Fury. And the more you keep prying into him, the more useless missions we're assigned."
"You guys agreed to back me up on this," Peter said in a grim tone. He craned his neck to glance at the glowing Nova that rolled his eyes. "It's the only plan we got right now. I know Danny says Zeelan's been growing depressed and restless, but she'll have to be patient too."
"I don't do patient very well, Webs."
"Yeah, I know."
"Can we at least hack The Trackers' files?" A sense of unadulterated desperation clung to the teammate's words, lowering him closer to the rooftop as his arms spread. "The reports Fury printed for us are probably half-true, so maybe they didn't lose track of them after all."
"Why, Samuel"—Peter started comedically with a high, mixed accent—"What a blasphemous suggestion to violate the direct order of our superior. You ought to be ashamed!"
"…You've already looked, haven't you?"
In reply to Nova's blanched expression, Peter gave a silly grin.
"Dude, you went back without me?"
"Relax. It was a whim. After you got Danny a clearance cheat to see Zeelan, I couldn't' fight the curiosity."
"Caving into curiosity isn't a whim, idiot." The Hispanic hit Peter upside his head—an action that threatened to turn the leader's fake tears into real ones.
"Ow," grumbled Peter while rubbing a new tender spot on his cranium.
"Tell me what you found," Nova continued hurriedly. "Does Fury know who sent them? And where they are? Tell me you have an idea."
"As I expected. You want to know for the sake of yourself—not Zeelan."
"So?" Nova's eyes narrowed in defense, rousing a small sigh from the spider hero. "You kept me out of the loop because of that? Come on, Web-Head, I need to find Trickster."
"Your wounded pride is not what we should be focused on right now."
"He made me look like an uncontrollable idiot!"
"And that isn't normal?"
"You too, in case you forgot."
"Don't know what you're talking about; the jumpsuit paralyzed me." Still, memories of the mutant's penetrating voice sent a subtle tremor down Peter's curved spine.
"Whatever." The Hispanic growled as blue-white energy gathered around his posed fists. "I want another shot at him. And next time, I'll level him into the pavement before he even speaks or hides himself."
"Focus, Sam"—Peter spoke sternly—"I didn't read the files for that. I was looking for more details into Zeelan's supposed crime, and searching for some sort of clue that could hint towards a set-up."
"And what did you find?" In a few short flickers, Nova's energy dispersed.
"A lot of…not good things." Eloquent, Peter. But it was only Bucket-Head; he could deal with some blundering at such a late hour. "Agent Reyes was killed by blunt-force trauma. Head to toe—same impact. Notes say it was caused by Zeelan's force-fields, and she threatened to kill the other agents if they followed her. Uh, she did that 'viciously', I might add."
"Yeah, she's the definition of vicious alright," noted Nova distantly.
"I mentioned to Fury that Reyes' body was found in the wilderness, so a slip down the steep cliff shown in the crime scene photos could have been possible. But he claimed 'no perimortem trauma indicated an intense fall down rocky terrain'. Then he brought up the eye witnesses again." Peter paused. "You know, I would really like to talk with them. When I can remember their names."
"Do that, and Fury will be on your case worse than ever."
"Well, I happen to harbor immense experience in dealing with an upset Fury."
"Until he really slams down the hammer."
"Details. I admit, though; my charm would work better if the man wasn't so touchy about Agent Reyes' death. Speaking of which"—the teens' eyes met—"have you noticed anything weird with our resident one-eyed troll?"
The Hispanic flashed an inquisitive look. "Is that supposed to be a trick question?"
"No. I've noticed it when he talks about her."
"Who?"
"Agent Reyes."
"The agent was a girl?"
"Apparently. And I think Fury may have had a thing for her."
Stiff silence. Two even stares. Then, Nova's face broke into a wide grin that reached from one side of his helmet to the other. He floated lengthways in the air, holding his sides as fits of high laughter left him breathless. Peter frowned with half-lidded eyes, watching as his teammate rolled around.
After a few moments, Nova regained his voice, saying, "A—a th—thing? Fury? Ye—yeah, right!"
"I'm serious, Bucket-Head!" Peter cried while standing up straight on the billboard.
"Can you just imagine Fury on a date?" added the Hispanic with no regards of his teammate's huff.
Disturbing flashes of Fury in a tuxedo, acting like a love-struck gentleman, raced through Peter's mind; however, he quickly shook them away, glaring ahead. "Look. If we find out more about her, maybe we could convince Fur—Gah!"
Ow, pain! Peter cringed terribly as his Spidey Sense—again—rung milliseconds too late. A startling force met his spine like a tackling lineman. It propelled his lithe body over the blood bank's roof and towards a tall building behind it. But rather than arch downwards with gravity, whooshing wind beat against Peter's ears as a sharp pressure around his arm drew him higher into the sky. His squinted eyes landed on five gnarly talon-finger-things by his face, wrapped thickly around his bicep and smelling of sewer.
"Buddy," the hero chirped without seeing who they belonged to, "I know they're expensive, but you really outta think about investing in a pedicure!"
And he swung his legs upwards like on a jungle gym. His pointed toes successfully kicked his assailant in the face and earned him freedom once the grip loosened enough that he could pry away. He chuckled at the strange squawk that rang out then shot a glob of web fluid over the being's head as he soared backwards.
Now there was the matter of falling. A glance down. Yup, that was a long way. And the buildings were all rather low. Great. Where was Bucket-Head?
Peter's vision fell to the blood bank, where bright blue lights erupted in battle against its roof. The hero couldn't see Nova's opponent—what with the rushing wind melding his mask to his face and all—but he narrowed it down to two possibilities: Electro or Kevin Weir. Hum. Toughy.
"Come here, bug."
Peter twisted in the air at a fruity voice—mostly because it sounded teasing and not at all perturbed like he would have expected. Again, his biceps were captured by strong grips, with him facing the opposite way of his opponent. The soaring rate of their flight caused the hero's body to fold in half and the strong pressure of loud, flapping wings kept his head ducked. It all came to a sudden halt when he was tossed onto a flat rooftop.
"Should I be thanking you for the save?" asked Peter once his rolling stopped.
"If you had right manners, yes," the figure—a male—answered.
The hero crouched in defense as he spared a moment to fully observe his opponent. Alright, a fair-skinned Asian with an obvious love for athletics and the color magenta. The majestic wings that sprouted from his back tugged tightly at his worn sweatshirt like they were still trying to escape. And he remained standing on the roof's cement ledge, his form awkwardly hunched because his feet and shins—well, they were mutated into chicken legs. Or falcon legs. Maybe eagle? Regardless, they were meaty, avian and matched the golden-brown feathers that sparsely covered the young man's body.
"You got a permit for those wings?" Peter questioned with a little smirk. "I'm not sure that's a legalized mode of flight."
"I'm as legal as you are," the Asian retorted evenly. Then, his dark eyes narrowed behind limp, greasy bleached sections of his hair. "My name is Kai, and I would rather not hurt you, Spider-Man. So just cooperate."
"Yeah, blindly? Sorry, Kai, that's not my shtick. I'm more of a 'observe your options in the midst of battle' kind of guy."
Chuckling, Peter released two long streams of taser webbing towards Kai's chest. Their terrible shock met the mutant's talons as he swiped the threads away, but only for a moment. Kai retaliated by swooping forward like a hawk barreling down on its pry. Peter had never been more thankful that he was more agile than a fleeing rabbit. Every aerial attack, he bent, twisted, jumped, or flipped out of the way—until he could ground the mutant by binding his massive wings with large amounts of web fluid.
"Why don't you stick around for a while?" the hero teased while bending down to meet Kai's glare.
"That's just weak," the mutant retorted, face red with struggle.
"Yeah, I know. I'm usually better at this, honest."
Kai's lips quirked into a smirk. "So am I."
Swoosh! A sudden wind pushed Peter off balance. He skidded into the roof's ledge as the mutant's wings tore through the webbing like serrated knives. Rising from the roof, Kai stared down at Peter's new stance, silent sans the flaps of his wings. It felt unnerving. And a bit awkward.
"What do you want from us?" Peter asked. "Who's your friend? And wh—wait, did you say your name was Kai? Are you Kevin's right-hand man?"
The answer came in form of an appearance. Peter barely acknowledged a flash of blue electricity before a well-built blonde tossed a limp Nova at Peter's feet. The Hispanic groaned, and Peter kneeled by his side to help him up, though his narrowed eyes never left the teleporter.
"Fury's dogs"—Kevin started dangerously while taking slow, purposeful steps forward—"you have something of mine."
