Author's Note: I wasn't happy with the Terminator fic I wrote, so I completely trashed it and then submitted a new version. Lol, even if no one reads it at least I'm happy with it now. Victory is mine. And yes, that was a shameless last ditch effort to get peeps to read it. On another note, I completely mapped out this story, so I know how it ends, finally. When I started I had absolutely no idea how I was going to fill in the pieces. But now, lol, the end is in sight. I am going to do my absolute best to get this finished before the Avengers film comes out, but we all know how LNAN and goals do together: badly. BTW DID ANYONE SEE THE NEW AVENGERS TRAILER? Omygod I laughed so hard I nearly cried. Loki: I have an ARMY! Stark:...We have a Hulk.
Anyhooodly, here's the next installment, lemme know whatcha guys think on it!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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Chapter 29: Dueling and Mortality
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"You did WHAT?"
Jane winced, stuck a finger in her ringing ear, and jiggled it. War Machine loomed up behind the rail thin purple haired ninja, a white faced Darcy hoovering by his armored elbow. Psylocke paused in her tirade only to take a deep breath, and then continued as though air were just a roadblock in her lecturing rage crusade. Her rage gave her cheeks a red hue and in contrast with her red tattoo, it made for an interesting pattern. If the situation weren't so rotten, Jane would have pointed out the spectacular Rorschach pattern on her face.
"What part of 'lie low' didn't you understand? Getting in a 'we dual at dawn' fight is not lying low!" Psylocke snarled, advancing on Jane like a Terminator after someone named Connor.
"I'm sorry!" Jane whispered, ashen faced, "It just kind of happened."
War Machine tromped over to the two women and inserted himself between them. "What's done is done. Foster, I'd like you take this moment to heart and learn from it. If you were in the military you'd be court marshaled so fast you'd get whiplash. But you're not military, you're civilian and I can't do jack shit right now. At this moment we need to figure out how to fix this, work it to our advantage."
Jane nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Tears were burning at the corners of her eyes, but she would be damned if she let them fall.
"Let's all put our heads together, then," Beast said gently.
He pushed wire rimmed spectacles up his nose and set down the steaming pot of tea he carried on the table. Psylocke growled under her breath and stalked to the table, accepting her tea cup very carefully, as though she'd break it if she didn't pay attention. War Machine didn't sit; he and Iron Man both broke furniture when they tried to use them. He ignored the tea.
Jane swallowed a hiccup and pulled a mug towards her, fingers curling around the warmed pottery. The mug, Nordic knots curling around it in an endless weave, quickly heated her cold hands, making her fingertips tingle deliciously. Jane forced the tears back and inhaled the flavored steam. Mmmm, who would have known Vikings liked Earl Grey?
It wasn't much, but the tea made her feel insanely better. "I'll fix it," Jane said, "Whatever it takes."
Psylocke massaged her temples, then sighed. "Alright. Let's get started. For the record, I'm still pissed off though."
Jane smiled, but it was a short humorless one that was gone before it really even got started. "Noted."
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Darcy stood awkwardly by while her boss, War Machine, Psylocke, and Beast sat around that table like they were generals in their war room drying to avert doomsday. Jane's spine was ramrod straight and her eyes clear, but Darcy knew her boss better than anyone. Jane's quivering chin belied the fact that her boss was about to come to pieces at the seams, and Darcy's heart broke for her.
Darcy had always been a fan of the idea that 'true love always finds a way', but life was starting to shake her back to planet Earth. Love didn't find a way, and she was starting to see that now. Jane kept getting knocked down whenever she tried to be with Thor, and this last time Darcy felt like it was her fault. Darcy had encouraged her boss to go see Asgard's golden boy, and it was Darcy's fault Jane was in this mess.
Darcy clenched her fingers around the sheaf of paperwork she held in her hands. Jane relied on her for advice, she was her only real friend after all, and Darcy knew Jane Foster better than anyone.
And she had let her down. Darcy wanted to scream but the sound choked in her throat. Instead, she turned and left the room, tears clouding her vision. She stomped into the next room and dropped the papers on the table to scrub at her wet eyes.
What to do? How could she fix this? Love sucked. Her love life sucked, and her boss's love life sucked. Her sobs turned into strangled laughter. What a joke. The Universe was funny that way.
"Miss Darcy?"
She turned. Jarvis stood behind her, black dress shirt neatly tucked into pressed black pants. He held a folder full of notes in one hand and a pen in the other. He looked adorably bewildered. Darcy mentally smacked herself the moment her libido started noticing how pretty his eyes were, and how it would like to test and see if his short blond hair was as soft as it looked. Now was not the time.
Instead she got her tears under control and straightened, wiping a hand across her nose. She inadvertently tracked a trail of snot across her cheek, and squeaked. Ew, ew ew ew. Why oh why could she not be a pretty crier?
"Ew," she muttered, "Dammit."
Jarvis dangled a handkerchief over her shoulder. Darcy blew her nose and wiped up her face. "Thanks," she mumbled, still not wanting to look at him.
Jarvis caught her elbow gently when she tried to escape. "What's wrong?"
"I messed up bad," she said, head bowed, mumbling at his shirt.
"Tell me. I'll fix it," he said simply.
Darcy gave a slightly hysterical giggle. "You can't! It can't be fixed. I've ruined everything between Thor and Jane, and now Sif is going to kill my boss in some stupid duel!"
She told him the whole story, in spite of herself.
The whole nasty thing just seemed to pour from her. Jarvis was quiet a moment when she finished, and she felt her stomach drop. There it was, all out in the open. Her stupid girlish ideals about love had destroyed the world. Now that was a lot to live with. She was never going to pick up another romance novel again; love was bullshit.
Jarvis tucked a finger under her chin. Her gaze met his clear intense one, and she was struck at the intimacy of the situation she was in. Jarvis probably had no idea what a 'moment' was, but if there was ever a moment this was it. Just a few inches, all she had to do was lean forward and she would know what he tasted like. She reeled back from him. Now where the hell had that come from?
Jarvis dropped his hand awkwardly and straightened his collar. "The point is, Miss Darcy, that I am Tony Stark's butler."
She sniffled. "Yeah?"
A smile quirked at his mouth, and she wanted to kiss him again. "I have averted catastrophes much, much worse than a duel and a bit of confusion."
"Okay."
Jarvis didn't touch her again, probably figuring his touch had upset her, but he bent until their gazes were inches apart. "Do you want me to fix this?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"Consider it done. Now, I'm going to have a word with the others. While I'm doing that, I need you to fetch me a javelin. Can you do that for me?"
Darcy grinned. "Yes sir!"
She scampered off, suddenly feeling much, much better about everything. She didn't know what it was about him, but she felt like a load had been taken off of her shoulders. Jarvis watched her go, smiling slightly. He reached up to touch his face. The smile looked like he imagined it did on other people: happy and content. How odd. He wasn't a person, wasn't capable of those sorts of spontaneous reactions. Yet here he was, grinning like a fool as he watched Darcy run off brown curls bouncing madly.
How strange. He did not know what to make of these new emotion things. It would take some looking in to.
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Darcy rejoined them a while later, lugging a heavy javelin. Jarvis stood, set down his tea, and took it from her. He twirled it in his hands, getting a feel of the weight.
"Now," he said, "Miss Foster if you'll come with me, and bring your sword, I can teach you a thing or two about facing an oponant such as Sif."
"I still don't think this is going to work," Psylocke mumbled.
"We don't have a choice," Beast said, "And I think Jarvis's plan has merit. The Asgard are big on battles and honor. If Miss Foster conducts herself correctly, this could earn their respect more than a simple plea for help ever could."
"Whatever you say."
"What I say usually turns out to be the proper thing."
"This coming from the guy who leaves blue hairballs in the bathroom."
Beast pushed his glasses up primly. "I clean them up."
They were still arguing when Jane followed Jarvis out into the garden. The cyborg loosened his collar and stuck the javelin into the dirt. He faced Jane, hands lightly on his hips. Jane wondered what he was going to do. She was sure Stark had made his robot butler more durable than the average joe, but the idea of him getting his hands dirty was funny. Jarvis was always prim and impeccably dressed, and now he was going to train her? Hah.
"I downloaded some programs on the study of javelins, and I have reviewed the footage of Sif's battle with the destroyer. I believe I can provide an adequate foil for you," he said.
Jane took a deep breath. "I only have until some unspecified time tomorrow tomorrow to get this right. Let's do this."
Jarvis picked up his javelin and spun it expertly. "Then let us begin."
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To be continued...
