Hello readers! I am overwhelmed by your thoughtful reviews, and as always, you silent readers who favorite and follow. I appreciate all of you. Thanks for joining. As usual, personal responses are at the end, and warnings precede each chapter. I hope you all had an amazing Thanksgiving. I was really hoping to post this chapter on that day, but wow, it was super long and way busier than I thought! Any of you getting ready for Christmas? Any unique traditions you'd like to share? Do you let us know in your review ;) I'd love to read about them!
Hugs,
-Pip
Warnings: PTSD, anxiety, language, violence.
...
CHAPTER TEN - Going South
…
PTSD - Tony Stark
I feel the anticipation of what's happening tonight skirting my spine in chills.
Okay, it's not so much anticipation as it is the cusp of another panic attack.
At the least effective moment, I walked through a dark doorway and thought about the portal closing behind me during the battle of New York. Then the flashback begins.
All it took was the imagery, that metallic smell of a post janitorial floor-mopping, and I'm back in space, free-falling.
Wondering if I'll be trapped there forever. Wondering if I'll ever see Pepper again.
My heart rate is jacked, and my hands shake.
Breathe through it. Breathe, breathe through it.
"You all right?" Steve asks.
"Yes, I'm all right," I say, crushing an empty styrofoam coffee cup in my hand and chucking into a nearby garbage bin. "Just dandy. You?"
"I'm good," he says. "We're going to nail this guy tonight. I just feel it."
"Who are we nailing? Why was I not invited?" Wade calls across the nearby table.
I ignore him. "The info from your guy is good?"
"It's good," Steve assures. "He got called in. He got the details to us safely. And we were lucky. They were planning on using Vanchat's boxcar as a holding ground, taking care of the exchange there in the empty lot. But since you guys found it this morning…"
"Last minute improvisations," I finish. "We took his safe spot, so they had to pick a new place last-minute. Across river and more exposed."
"Less places for the fucking Hand to hide in," Wade calls again. "You guys heard about them, right? Killing a bunch of CIA guys?"
"The CIA shouldn't have been there," I snort. "That was Bryan's last mistake."
"He must have thought he was outing them," Steve admonishes. "He was trying to do the right thing. He was Shield's double agent, and he had no idea we had the same play."
"What I don't fucking understand is how Bryan Parsons, double-agent-of-Shield, is somehow responsible for the CIA's involvement," Wade exclaims. "Honestly? I didn't ping him as being that bright of a guy to realize that the best way to hide Shield was to tip off the OTHER agency. It's fucking ludicrous. Someone else had to have done it."
"Shield? CIA? Doesn't matter, they do nothing but get in the way," I sigh. "They have to leave the big ones to us. They're too uninformed and they do this shit anyway. This time, Shield is blissfully unaware…"
"Brock Rumlow isn't crashing our party like some tipsy middle-aged mother named Karen," Wade adds. "Stopping by after Billy's soccer practice to give us shit about every little detail..."
"The thing I don't like is doing this without…" I pause.
"You want to get back in?" Steve asks, rather hopefully.
"What, suit up?" I ask. "And endanger your guy on the inside? Hell no. Falcon and Rhodes can go if the Vulture's wings make an appearance. Otherwise, we're too easily spotted. I much prefer Vision and Wanda's gimmick. Vision will be on ground, transparent, and listening in. Hawkeye has eyes from a nest. And Wanda is our new IT guy. Isn't that right, Maximoff?"
Wanda looks at me coolly from behind a computer monitor. "This is a waste of my talent."
"Ouch," I reply. "But without your electrical manipulation…"
"You hear nothing from this distance without being able to rig the entire building with far more advanced notice," she finishes my sentence. "I know. You've said it already."
"So you got in without wiring up the place," Steve says.
"There's no time to go in with dwarf-drones," I respond. "They'd be spotted and shut down as soon as they walk in. But Redwing and Wanda's manipulating of the signal for long range… literally nothing will appear on their end. No radio waves, no spikes in energy - nothing. She's invisible to them."
"We'll see it and hear it on those screens over there," Wanda points across the room. "I would have taken a longer vacation if I knew you wanted me to be your CCTV."
"What's Redwing?" Barnes's voice appears out of nowhere. He walks up casually, hands crossed over his chest, looking defensive already.
Oh, goody, Balto was able to join us.
"It's the Stark Drone MK82 922 V 80Z V2 Prototype Unit," I recite, enjoying the look on his face go from idle curiosity to miffed. I don't bother explaining further.
"It's going to get us the video feed," Steve shoots me an annoyed expression.
"Yeah, that," I add.
While the conversation with Steve helped distract me, I feel a surge of panic again. This is not the time for an anxiety attack. I have work to do.
"You want a cup of coffee?" I ask Barnes suddenly. "Cream? Sugar? Black? Blond? What, you like with chocolate and whipped cream and shit? Are you a fifteen year old girl? Great. I'll make it happen. Don't gossip about anything important till I get back."
I turn and walk stiltedly away.
Walk it off, Stark.
Walk it off. Walk, it, off.
Nausea cramps my stomach and lungs, sweat trickling down my neck.
I nearly run into Bruce coming through the dark, yawning doorway. Before I even have a chance to say anything, he reaches over, and turns on the hall light.
Fluorescence floods the observation room, multiple monitors and computers over work-tables and on the walls. Behind them, a window looks out onto the dark New York skyline. Each window glitters like another star in space.
Deep, deep, space.
And a portal slowly pushing shut behind me, the gravity decreasing...
"Whoa, slow down," Bruce puts out a hand to stop me from fleeing the room. "Work is this way."
"I've got to get out of here, Bruce," I say in a whisper. "I'm going to go crazy or shit myself. Do you want me to shit myself?"
Bruce clasps my shoulder and pushes me back. "I'm assuming your talking about a panic attack."
"Just let me go lie down in the hallway. There's nothing a little cold cement can't cure."
"How long d'these things usually last?"
"Nine minutes, forty seconds," I say shortly.
"How long has it been going?"
"...Four."
"Okay, so you only have five and a half minutes left," he says calmly. "Go sit in the corner and drink some ice water for… six minutes. Round it up."
"Did I miss the part where you became a different kind of doctor?"
"That's not the doctor speaking, that's the friend," Bruce points at himself like I didn't know which person he was talking about. "Just try it, Tony."
"Fine," I answer shortly. "Fine."
...
Leak - Bucky Barnes
...
I watch Stark flee the conversation like a startled animal. Bruce stops him at the door and they go sit at a table in the corner.
"I know it's not easy," Steve begins.
"It's fine," I hold out a hand. "Really. Steve. It's fine. They're just getting used to me being here. I'm still getting used to being here."
"Right," Steve nods. "I'm sorry we didn't call you in. We were distracted. But now that you're here…"
"I might as well help out, if I can." I point to a place on the screens where there's only a black stripe of darkness. "Why is there a blind spot there? We'd have a better look at Vulture's crew."
"Redwing can only pick up so much," Steve replies. "We have Vision as close as we can.
Hawkeye is on exit points. Wanda? Is there any way you can…"
Her eyes pop open, and the screens flicker. "I manipulate the signal of Redwing to increase the distance," she says firmly, "I cannot magically create an image of a dark corner in a warehouse several miles away where there is no technology."
"What if we sent another drone in?" I suggest.
"I'm sorry, who invited you again?" Wade snaps.
"Do you have a problem?" I ask evenly.
"Sure, because a tiny flying saucer coming through the door won't give us away at all," Wade snorts. He grabs his red and black mask from the table. "I'm fully prepared to go in. Stark, do you wana German blitzkrieg this thing?"
"Everyone just hold your position," Steve snaps at Wade. "We're not doing anything drastic. Let's see how the sale pans out." He turns to me and gives me a smile. "You okay with the overtime? No date to rush off to?"
"I don't remember telling you anything about my dating life," I respond.
"I know you. And I know when you're falling for someone."
"We're taking things slow," I chuckle. "Don't make a big deal out of it. If you freak out, I'll freak out. Let me call her real quick and let her know the change of plans. I'd rather be here to help, if you don't mind."
"Not at all." Steve claps my shoulder and walks away from me, heading for the front of the room.
My shoulders tense up. I feel my eyes - they change. It's almost as if I can hear them glazing over, my jaw clenching.
The words echoing in my brain - typical. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Russian. Doesn't matter which one they are anymore. It's so ingrained that I could easily rip out my own liver with my bare hands if I was compelled to.
I can't make it stop unless I put a bullet in my own head, which I'm not supposed to be able to do, anyway. I know that's against my programming. I'm monetarily valuable.
I guess I won't know until I try pulling the trigger someday.
I walk over to the furthest corner of the room where there is a small coffee station set up. I absently poor black coffee while I dial the Vulture.
"Hey, beautiful," I say quietly. "Change of plans tonight. I'm working late."
"Screw you, asshole," Toomes laughs. "I cooked us a nice dinner and everything."
"We'll have to do it tomorrow."
"I'm not changing anything for tomorrow."
"What about lunch?"
"I'm still doing my effing job tonight. What? They got our location? Eyes and ears?"
"All you can eat buffet."
"That's fine, it will make losing even more disappointing for them," Toomes sighs. "We'll be careful, but we won't guarantee shit. How many guys do they actually have on the ground?"
"Two reservations will do it," I reply. "One for dinner, in the booth by the wall we like so much. The second will be for dessert, maybe somewhere with a view. I mean, a really good view. Somewhere high."
I stop. I feel Wade Wilson's presence bearing down on me before I even see him. But there he is, sidling slowly beside me from the right, his eyes piercing me from his lacerated, scarred face.
"Okay, I get it," Toomes says gruffly.
I give Wade a casual glance, holding up one finger to ask him to wait patiently.
"Look, I like ice cream as much as you do, but that's the type of place for… fancy French feasts," I respond. "If you like it, I'll like it."
"I don't even know what the hell you're saying anymore and I've pretty much given up," Toomes says, annoyingly. "So we've got a douchebag hiding up high, and one in the wall?"
"Exactly," I say, thinking of Nat. "You're the best."
"Anything for you, sweetheart," Toomes replies in a murderous tone. He ends the call.
When I hear dial tone, I whisper, "Yeah, yeah. Love you too." I turn and look at Deadpool with a look of impatience. "Can I help you, soldier?" I ask.
"Just eavesdropping," he responds a little too honestly.
I open my mouth to shoot back a nasty, and totally un-Bucky response.
"Alright, Avengers, listen up," Steve announces. "Tonight is the big night. Our man on the inside said they are selling the microprocessors. We've got eyes and ears on the inside, but we are keeping our distance to make sure the exchange takes place. We want to get the equipment back, nail the Vulture, and do it all without outing our undercover - if even one of those guys gets away, even if we get the hardware back, it puts our informant in considerable danger. Got it?"
Everyone responds with murmurs of assent.
"We'll get a signal from our man on the inside when the microprocessors change hands. If we can chase down the parties separately, it's safer for everyone. A team goes after Vulture. That's Vision, Hawkeye, Widow. Make all the arrests look good until they're in holding, and then I can pull our guy out. B team goes after the buyers with the microprocessors. That's Falcon, Rhodes, and Lang."
"I thought Lang went back to San Francisco," I say to Wade.
He gives me a look. "So he tiny'd up in some guy's toupee who had a United flight booked to New York yesterday. And for once, some totally horrible customer-service nightmare didn't happen on a United flight! So he's here now. Isn't it great how people show up to do their jobs sometimes?"
"So why don't you show up more?" I ask.
"I'm the back up," he says. "Just watch the show and enjoy. There's a reason all the second-stringers are doing the groundwork today."
It seems unfair to call them second stringers just because they aren't Stark, Rogers, Banner. They're Avengers just as much as they are.
"What's that reason?" I ask stiffly.
"Easy," Wade replies. "These old limp noodles are trying to retire. Contracts are up, bucko. They have been for… like, three or four years."
Yeah, right. They'll retire when they're dead.
I see Wanda Maximoff tense up, her eyes glowing faintly red, before she shuts them and appears to be concentrating in a sort of meditative state. "They're here," she says.
"You owe a dollar to the jar," Wade mutters. "The jar of every cliche line in every science fiction genre movie ever."
"That's definitely from Poltergeist," Stark says shrilly. "If you're going to pop-culture reference - which I despise - get it right, please."
"I really appreciate you knowing
"Get Redwing closer," Steve says to Falcon over the monitors.
We watch the screens intently. A few SUVs pull up to the edge of the warehouse, unloading Vulture's crew like maggots. There's a lot of new people that I don't recognize.
They're really packing tonight.
"That's Adrian Toomes, Herman Schultz, Peter Parker, Jackson Brice, Aaron Davis," narrates Steve, pointing at their figures as they file in. "Vulture's hand-picked favorites."
"Those ten other guys are red-shirts," Stark says, approaching us at the screens. His coloring looks improved from earlier. "Stockpile crew members only called in when they need numbers and hands. Vulture probably doesn't intend for any of them to be used more than once, or he intends for them to at least die when they're under his watch. It's easier to dispose of potential leaks and get new ones."
"Who are they meeting?" I ask.
Stark points to a space of darkness on one side of the screen, where eight figures in black clothing approach Vulture from the other side. The only one that stands out is a man in the front, wearing a white shirt under a black vest. A prosthetic arm glints in the buzzing, hanging lamp that barely lights the warehouse.
"That is Ulysses Klaue," Stark explains. "The most notorious international gangster, weapons dealer, and killer alive today. He has expanded since his assassination and heist-work in Africa."
The man looks like he could be that old, grizzled uncle that drinks too much and embarrasses the family at Thanksgiving dinner. He stops an appropriate distance from Vulture's crew, his men fanning out behind him.
The scratchy audio begins to come in from Redwing's system. Wanda's knuckles are pale as they rest on the table, her black-painted fingernails curling in while she listens, works, meditates. There's a faint red pulse through the veins in her arms. When her chest rises with air, the audio sounds like a bad radio. When her breathe releases, the sound grows clearer.
I will never understand energy manipulation like this.
"How are you tonight, gentlemen?" Ulysses Klaue says. His voice is everything a grasping, conniving, coveting, Ebenezer Scrooge rasp ought to be. "I hear you have big game for me today, yes, big, big game."
"I am about to make you very dangerous," Toomes says. "And you're going to make me very rich."
"Happy Christmas," Klaue smiles like a snapping turtle.
"Why don't we do this the easy way," Toomes replies. "Money doesn't bite, but the microprocessors have a mean one. Why don't you show us a few million, and we'll show you our goods."
"I'm a bit insulted," Klaue's missing tooth makes him look like a nightmare. His eyes glint like he swallowed a devil. "But we'll play by your rules for now - this is, after all, your party."
He jerks his head to one of his men.
A grunt in denim trots forward with two black suitcases, followed by a second grunt with two more suitcases. They lay them down in a line before Toomes, opening the hatches.
Hundreds and hundreds of hundred-dollar-bills.
Steve suddenly looks at his phone, then shuts it again.
My eyes dart back to the screen. It's too late to spot which one of Vulture's men used his phone. If the undercover agent made his moves visible to me - there's no telling if I could stop myself from telling Vulture who it is. I am not myself to control.
Several of the men have their hands in their pockets. It could be one of Stark's labeled red shirts, or, it could be Davis or Parker or Schultz. All three of them have their hands in their pockets. They could have used a cell phone from there. It'd be difficult, but possible.
Toomes nods in approval. "Jackson, if you please."
Brice steps forward with a silver case of his own, laying it in front of Klaue, opening it up to reveal ten rows, ten columns, of small glass capsules no bigger than a vitamin pill. Inside those safety nets, of course, are the processors, so tiny they would appear like a speck of silver dust inside.
"Aren't they beautiful," Ulysses Klaue whispers like a revivalist discovering worship for the first time. "Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition."
"That's a good line," Wade Wilson looks like he wants to kick himself for not using it first.
"It's still a cliche," Stark corrects him. "He's better off with it so that you don't look like more of a douchebag than you already are. I think it counts as using it though, so, put a dollar in the jar, please."
Wade ignores him. "How are you doing over there, Wanita?"
Wanda clenches her eyes shut even more, ignoring him.
The exchange is made. Brice and Schultz each take two suitcases of money. Klaue hands his suitcase of microprocessors over to the mercenary beside him.
"Good doing business with you," he says sulturely.
"Before you go," Toomes says lightly. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."
It is almost frightening watching the plastered smile on Klaue's face twitch, like a broken doll in a toy store. "And what's that?" he asks, pleasantly. His throat bobs with murder.
Toomes leans over to Parker. "You got any paper and pen, kid?"
"Oh, oh, yeah, sure," Parker tugs a pen out of his pocket. He hands it to Toomes quickly. "Uh, shoot. I don't have any paper."
Toomes grabs Parker's arm roughly, squeezes his wrist so that he opens his hand, and writes roughly on his palm. Then he man-handles Parker across the space, shoving his hand towards Klaue.
Parker's arm visibly shakes, his mouth pressed in a firm, pained line.
I wonder…
I glance over at Steve and Wilson, but neither of them have any reaction, except for the same idle curiosity they'd have for Vulture being rough with any one.
No protective, instinctually father-like attitudes radiating from them.
So, probably not Parker, then.
My money is on Davis. This chilled, relaxed routine is very clearly a routine. He reads like a fake.
Klaue reads the note on his palm quickly, brows furrowed.
"What the hell is this?" he asks darkly.
"Exactly as it says," Toomes says, shoving Parker away from him. "You can take my word for it, or not."
Parker shuffles back to join the crew, pressing his arm to his side.
"What the hell did they say?" Stark demands. "Get Redwing closer!"
"He can't, Stark," Steve exclaims.
"So? Can't Vision see?"
"Not without leaving the wall!"
"What the fuck is that?" Wade exclaims. "He would only pass notes like a schoolgirl if he knew we were there!" He looks at me, eyes narrowing. "Someone tipped them off. Fuck."
No one notices he is looking at me, they all look at the screens.
"How did they know?" Stark demands, slapping the table angrily. "What - did it - say?"
Steve looks at his phone again. "They know we're there."
"Is that from your guy on the inside?" I ask quickly. "Did he see what was written?"
"Why are you so FUCKING interested in our undercover operations, huh?" suddenly Wade Wilson flies at me, fists gathering my jacket and shoving me away from the monitors. "Why don't you mind your own goddamn business!"
Steve grabs Wilson's arms and yanks him backwards, Stark steps between us quickly and holds out a hand to either chest.
"How about the two of you quit screwing around like a pair of idiots?" Stark demands loudly. "We have a MISSION IN PROGRESS and maybe you two can put your dicks away for one second and concentrate on keeping our people safe and the mission on point? Can you handle that? Huh?"
"I could be down there, if you had called me before," I snap angrily. "I don't like sitting up here feeling useless! That's why I asked!"
"Are you sad you didn't get into MySpace's top eight best friends?" Wade snaps over Steve's shoulder. "Does it melt your little frostbite feelings?"
"They're leaving, the transaction is done," Banner's quiet tone interrupts the heated exchange. Steve shoves Wade back another pace, giving him a deadly glare before turning back to the monitors.
Stark points at a nearby chair. "Go sit with Wanda a minute and cool the hell off."
I do as he says.
"Welcome to the corner," Wanda says dryly when I sit down. Her voice, while relatively unaffected before, is now unmistakably Slavic.
I give her a disbelieving look. Accents can come and go with stress.
Steve and Stark watch with renewed interest as the two parties separate, walking out of the ware house on opposite sides. Instead of going back to the SUVs, Vulture's crew makes their way down to the waterfront…
Heading for a boat at the dock.
"What the hell?" Stark exclaims.
Ulysses Klaue and his crew walk out into the open docking station, also abandoning their vehicles.
We hear the unmistakable chug chug chug of an approaching helicopter.
"Falcon says they've got air support coming in," Steve says urgently. "Listen everyone - it's - it's dangerous to change plans last minute. They know it even better than us since their earlier exchange point was compromised. Keep Redwing pointed at Vulture's crew."
The view from the cameras shift slightly, watching the shadows of Vulture's crew silhouetted by the harbor lights in the wide open warehouse exit.
"We can't lose the microprocessors," Banner says. "Tonight is our shot."
Steve and Wade exchange a look.
"Microprocessors or our undercover?" Wade asks. "We can try and handle both if their exits change, but, fuck, what if..."
"So it comes down to one life or the world?" Stark asks. He curses angrily and kicks a chair. "I hate this. I hate this."
"Are we the fucking Avengers or not?" Wade demands. "I should be there. Stark, suit up already. We'll snatch our man right up!"
"We know where Vulture is, as long as his crew is safe, our guy is still safe," Steve says, and it looks like he is being slowly stabbed in the chest to say it. "Vision, I want you to make sure they get back to their home base safely. If Klaue decides to double cross them from the air, it could harm our guy. We don't know why the hell Klaue has a chopper. It could be armed with missiles. At all costs, we cannot let Klaue go after that boat and steal his money back."
"Vision says he's following Vulture's crew," Stark says to the rest of us.
"Don't engage," Steve warns. "Hawkeye, Widow, come in. They're not enroute. They're skipping your route entirely. They're not using the street. Copy?"
"Time to take the processors," Stark says.
"B Team," Steve replies heavily, "Move in before that chopper lifts off."
There's a pause. Suddenly Steve wrenches his head to the side, pulling a small, penny-sized listening piece out from behind his ear. "DAMN IT," he exclaims.
Stark and Wade did the same things, pressing a hand suddenly to their heads as if someone hit them.
"Explosion," Steve reports, breathing hard. "Get Redwing out there! Wanda?"
Wanda is already blinking with surprise, fingers pulsing with red light. Redwing's view changes from the inside of the warehouse, looking out to the harbor towards the boat to the pavement streaming by.
The camera view opens to the dark blue sky, the black waters, the damp asphalt. Outside the warehouse looking at what is left of the helicopter.
It's now a blazing, throbbing fireball, flames shooting twenty feet high, the propellers still spinning in the molten heat, waves curling out of the open windows and doors of the cockpit.
"Thus perished Ulysses Klaue," Stark whispers in shock.
"And his entire crew," Steve adds.
"Oh, fuck," Wade sighs. "Now I'm craving barbecue."
"Did you see where the explosion came from?" Steve asks. "Anyone."
A pause.
"Lang says that the helicopter landed, the entire crew got in, and BOOM. It just went up," Stark repeats for the rest of us without in-ear. "Bomb was likely already on board."
"Vulture has remote bombs," I say. "This whole thing was a setup to eliminate yet another market rivalry. He did it with Vanchat, and he did it with Klaue. He's eliminating his competition. Maybe he's responsible for the Mac-Scorpion crew too."
"Do you think those were the real microprocessors in that case?" Steve asks.
"Not by a long shot," Stark moans. "We are still missing one hundred microprocessors."
"And Vulture is now a few million richer," I sigh. "Is it just me or was this whole thing just a complete mess to begin with?"
Wade glares at me. "If you don't like my house, you can leave." He leans over to Steve, whispers in a low tone. "If the microprocessors are still out there, does that mean our guy needs to stay out there longer, too? Please say no. In multiple languages if you must. I'll accept sign language."
"He needs to… stay," Steve whispers. "But I don't like it, I don't like leaving him…"
Stark shakes his head. "He shouldn't have to stay there any longer! I don't care what you do. Send in Falcon, Vision, Lang. Tip over the boat and pull him out."
Steve gives him a look. "You act like you know who he is."
"Maybe I have my guesses," Stark snaps. "And maybe I think it's time to quit playing this obnoxious, ridiculous UN-sanctioned game."
"You think we should forget the Accords and our pre-set parameters and do this just by going in, guns blazing?" Steve repeats. "Who are you, and what have you done with Tony Stark?"
"Still me," Stark exclaims. "Am I allowed to see the light or not?"
Wade brightens. "Falcon, Rhodes, and Vision all say they're in. Say the word and we'll Titanic this motherfucker and your guy will be out. He'll be out and he'll be home for good."
"I hate to be the asshole," Bruce chimes in, "But if we pull him now, we will never see those microprocessors again. I absolutely guarantee it. And that's future mass-murder on an apocalyptic scale. World domination, terrorism, a country obliterated - you name it. That blood is on our hands."
There's a horrible silence.
"This isn't recompense for Ultron, you know," Stark mutters.
"Oh it's, it's far worse than that, Tony," Bruce whispers. "It's worse."
"Okay," Steve says. "Then we let him go. Falcon, Vision, Rhodes, Lang, stand down. Join team A and come in."
For a moment, we just watch the massive, rolling flames pluming out of the helicopter. Lang's figure goes running by Redwing, suddenly shrinking down to nothing and disappearing from view. We know the others are in-air, joining the non-enhanced Avengers assigned to other strategic areas.
Wanda takes a deep breath, and the cameras wink out one, by one, by one.
I notice it has started raining, streams of water smudging the blinking darkness on the window pane. I feel shame rising in me like threatening vomit.
...
Getaway - Peter Parker
...
I watch the harbor recede into the distance.
It's easy to hide the fact I'm crying; everyone looks like they are crying. The wind is so cold and sharp on the water that it bites into our eyes, forces the saltwater out.
I look into the writing on my palm.
AVENGERS PRSNT
1 WALL, 1 TOWER.
USE ALT. EXIT
How did Toomes know?
How did the Vulture know they were there?
Captain America was right. He was very, very right. There's someone in that Tower and there is someone feeding him information.
Tonight was supposed to be my way out, and it's ruined. All ruined.
I'm dead, I'm sure of it. They'll kill me like they killed the buyer with the creepy arm and the thick accent.
I recognized the remote in Jackson's hand when the helicopter landed. Saw the smirk on his face, knew it was going to blow up.
Saw Klaue's face felt into red pits of nothing before my very eyes.
Got into the boat like a robot, knowing that wasn't how it was supposed to go. They were going to arrest Vulture on the road - Avengers in position to apprehend us as we drove away. Toomes had a secondary escape route planned all along without telling anyone.
Aaron Davis gives me a look. "Y'know," he says slowly, "This means more jobs. More money."
"Really?" I ask, trying to sound hopeful. I scrub at my eyes with one fist.
"Yeah, man," he drawls. "We're saving those microprocessors for the big wigs."
"I thought Klaue WAS the biggest."
"Not by a long shot," Vulture chuckles. "You've got a lot to learn, Parker. But learn you will." He steps over Jackson's legs, kicking them out of the way behind him, grasping the railing on the edge of the boat.
He raises his voice to be heard over the BBBRRRRVVVVTTT, BBRRRRVVVTTT of the motor. "You came through tonight," he says.
"I didn't do anything special."
"That's right," he says. "You didn't. That's the point. You did what you were told, no complaining, and you didn't react like a scared little kid when the bomb went off. That was good stewardship, get it? A lesser man would have made a stink about an unfair exchange. Betraying a customer. Jumped at the fire. Rushed us towards the Avenger's hidey hole."
I shake my head. "Why would I do any of that?"
"Why would you?" Toomes muses with a catty grin. "Good questions to ask. You didn't. That's the fucking point." He pulls something from his belt, hands it to me.
It's a gun.
It's a fairly ordinary gun, but outfitted with purple wires that glow on the barrel.
"Whoa," I breathe. "For me?"
"You earned it, son," Toomes replies. "It works just like a real gun, but easier, like you see in the space-cartoons. You just pull the hammer back, like this, hand on the trigger, and why don't you uh - why don't you just take aim here? Right across the water. Aim for the Avengers Tower if you want to."
I don't aim for the tower, but I do point it at the black expanse of water.
I pull the trigger.
There's a hard blow to my ears, making me flinch. Tears spring anew to my eyes, freshly streaming down. My ears ring, and if possible, I think my chest, arms, and neck are likely bloodshot. My veins feel as if they're wriggling around, trying to escape my skin. I should be wearing ear protection for this, right?
Now, all I can hear is the ringing, and my heart pounding too hard.
"Cool," I choke out. "So what's it, what's it do, exactly?"
"Well, it kills people," Toomes laughs. "Put this part back. That's your safety on this thing."
I do as he asks, clicking it into place. Then I put it into my jacket pocket.
"The retro-fit we gave you," Toomes says, "Little extra gift from Mason and I. This thing don't shoot bullets. That purple shit is Chitauri juice pressed out of that energy shit. The energy contained in the wires is compressed, hardened, and shoots out a black pellet that works just like a bullet. But the energy renews with light exposure, like a satellite dish. So you don't ever run out of ammunition."
"Wow," I breathe. "That's - wow." I try to look pleased. "Sort of like Star Wars."
"Take good care of her, and she'll take good care of you."
I can't hide the wideness of my eyes, the fear in my heart. But I nod. "Thank you, sir. I'll earn this. I will."
He slaps my shoulder. "You keep obeying orders like you did tonight, and you'll get solo missions soon enough." He turns and makes his way to the bow.
Jackson and Aaron begin to speak in low tones, in a conversation I am not privy to.
I look at the black water, and then into my palm again.
AVENGERS PRSNT
Avengers present? More like gone, I think. I'm stuck here for now. With the sudden change of plans, there wouldn't have been any rescue - couldn't have been. I understand that easily enough.
They have to consider the lives at stake if the microprocessors go missing, instead of the life of just one kid.
That doesn't stop me from feeling abandoned, though. More alone than ever.
I rest my arms on the side of the boat, laying my chin on them. Every so often a sprinkled wave of water sprays my face.
I watch the lights, homesick.
...
...
Review Replies
Starnight5: Aw man, I can't believe you're working a night shift on Thanksgiving night. God bless you and your work. Seriously. I am sure you find the MJ character somewhat relatable, there are upcoming scenes going into more detail about her night shifts at the hospital.
LooneyLovegood1981: Ta da! The dealer wasn't Hydra! Were you surprised? :) Klaue was a deliciously evilly fun character to write. Thank you so much for your review and your compliments. I hope you had a wonderful holiday.
curry-llama: You are calling it like it is! Peter is being SO not smart right now, asking someone out while he's undercover... it's such a bad idea. I'm kind of excited you're waiting to watch the movie! Do you have Netflix in Australia? They just uploaded The Departed on Netflix in the US 2 months ago. There is a scene where Leo DiCaprio's character asks out his shrink and while it's an amazing scene you are just cringing at his bad timing!
Tightpants182: I am sorry this story is causing you anxiety but at the same time I'm delighted?! It's like making readers cry, we feel really badly about it but it's very validating! I had major anxiety while WRITING it lol, the tension was just such a slow cooking build up... (speaking of crock pot hot chocolate, which sounds AMAZING!) Raise a glass to Peter's awkwardness and feel free to blame me when you talk to your mom. I'm happy to help ;) ;)
NEXT TIME: Natasha can't seem to find a breakthrough, but she can't keep up the pretense for much longer. Bucky's mind slowly deteriorates under the strain of faking both lives. The Vulture finally steps out of line.