November 16, 2009
Joe did his best not to jiggle his leg impatiently as he waited in the lobby of Vanity Fair, but fortunately, he didn't have to wait long before he heard the click of high heels on the tile behind him, and he rose and turned to see a thin blond woman dressed in a turquoise blouse and perfectly fitted pencil skirt emerging from the newsroom.
"Miss Everhart?" Joe said to her, extending his hand. "Joe Capecci, Boston Chronicle."
Christine Everhart nodded crisply, shaking his hand with a firm grip. Her blonde hair was pulled back into an elegant updo, with softly waved tendrils framing her face. Her makeup, too, was just so, and briefly Joe wondered why she had chosen to write for a magazine rather than anchor a news show; she had the face for TV. Of course, Holly was always telling him he had a face for TV too, but back in college he had barely even considered the possibility. The thought of sitting in a chair every morning having someone fuss over his appearance sent a shudder of distaste down his spine. Wasted time that could be spent doing real work. At the newspaper, no one ever frowned when Joe slouched past in a wrinkled shirt and unruly hair; as long as he wrote well, that was all his editors cared about... and besides, compared to some of the photographers in the newsroom, he knew he looked downright professional.
"I've seen your byline," Christine said to Joe. "Your series on military contracts last year? You were extremely thorough. Impressive work." Her eyes flicked up and down, and despite the sincerity of her words Joe could see she was slightly less impressed by his appearance. Well, in this case that was a good thing. He needed her to think he needed her.
"Thank you," he said with a friendly smile. "I enjoyed your piece on Tony Stark back in February. Most reporters don't think to go into the impact Stark Industries has had on non-military projects."
"Yes, well, that was one of those stories that didn't end up being quite what I thought it would be," she admitted, and for some reason a faint flush touched her cheeks. She cleared her throat sharply, and then gestured for him to precede her into one of the small interview rooms adjacent to the lobby. She shut the door behind them, and they sat down facing each other across the small table. "So what's this all about?" Christine asked then.
"I'm sure you're busy, so I'll get straight down to business." Joe rummaged through his briefcase, found a file, and slid it across the table toward her. "Given your work on Tony Stark, I think you'll be interested to see this. These photos were taken yesterday in Gulmira, Afghanistan."
Looking intrigued, Christine opened the file and pulled out a small stack of photos. On top was a photo of a stout bearded man in a bulky jacket overseeing several men carrying long metal munition cases through a dusty village.
"Who's this guy?" she asked curiously.
"Abu Bakaar. He's one of the top lieutenants of the Ten Rings."
She frowned slightly, and then her eyes fell on the familiar logo that was stamped on the munitions box. There was a long silence, and then she looked up at him with sudden alarm in her eyes.
"Are you kidding me?" she asked, startled. "Is that what I think it is?"
Joe nodded soberly. "Yeah. Look at the rest."
She shuffled through the rest of the photos with sharp flicks of her wrists, the creases in her brow deepening with each one she saw.
"That's Jericho," she whispered, holding the last photo with shaking fingers. "Stark's Jericho missiles. But-" She glanced up at Joe, looking sick. "Did they steal a shipment from our boys somehow?"
Joe kept his tone carefully neutral. "What do you think?"
Christine let out an explosive breath. "That our military would detonate those weapons remotely if they got into the wrong hands. Before they could be used against us."
"You got that right."
Christine looked back down at the photos, and he could practically see the moment when it finally dawned on her what the alternative was, because her expression darkened like a thundercloud and in a tight voice she described what she thought of Tony Stark in a few, well-chosen words.
"I can't believe I actually believed him," Christine spat out next, jumping to her feet to pace back and forth as she shuffled through the photos once more. "All that bullcrap about accountability... and he's selling missiles to terrorists! He didn't mean a word of it, did he?"
"Maybe he doesn't know," Joe pointed out mildly.
Her laugh sounded more like a snarl. "Like hell he doesn't know! This is Tony Stark we're talking about. He is Stark Industries." She took several sharp breaths. "Who did you get these photos from? The Air Force? The British?"
"Neither. These were taken by a third party, just yesterday."
She stared at him. "Doesn't our military know?"
"Nope. I'm sure you know the situation in Gulmira with the refugee exodus. The international community's been keeping their distance. The Middle East is a quagmire as it is, and we all have our fingers in enough pies already. There's no international will to pick a fight with Ten Rings on top of everything else."
She stared down at the photos. "Are you sure these are real?" she asked faintly. "I mean, how much do you trust your source?"
"Perfectly," Joe said in tones that left no room for doubt.
"Well, you have to turn this over to the military," she said matter-of-factly, blue eyes boring into his.
"Oh, I will," he assured her coolly. "And soon. But the moment they have this, they're gonna start asking questions, and Stark Industries is gonna call in the lawyers and lock up tight as a clam. You know how these things work. But if we confront Tony Stark with it now? When he isn't expecting it? We might be able to get a genuine reaction from him first."
"We?" Christine asked blankly. "Are you... sharing your scoop with me?" An expression of utter mystification crossed her face. "Do your editors know you're here?"
Joe looked down at his hands and chose his words carefully.
"My editors don't need to know," he said quietly, glancing back up at her. "Look, I love getting a scoop as much as the next person, and this one's big. Biggest I've ever had. But I have a lot of contacts in the military who aren't just contacts: they're also friends. My own family is a military family. My older brother served three tours over there." His eyebrows drew together in a scowl, and he didn't have to fake the anger he felt as he continued. "And the thought of all those good men and women being blown to pieces by a weapon that was designed to protect them? That bothers me a lot more than the thought of sharing a scoop with a competitor. The fact of the matter is, these photos aren't enough. We need Tony Stark's reaction to them."
"Yes," she agreed readily.
"And let's face it, Miss Everhart," Joe said levelly. "I could never have the kind of access to him that you have."
An odd flush rose up on Christine's face. "I've... tried to get him for follow-up interviews," she reluctantly admitted after a beat. "His personal assistant won't even return my calls. She hates my guts, to be honest with you. I can get into press conferences with everyone else, but obviously I'll need him alone for something like this."
"Then do an end-run," Joe said bluntly. "Crash the firefighters fundraiser in L.A. tonight. Catch him then."
"Just because Stark's name is on the invitation doesn't mean he'll be there," she pointed out with a hint of condescension. "He's been in hiding for months, ever since that disaster of a press conference. Rumor is Obadiah Stane told him to keep his head down until the PR storm blows over, and who can blame him? I didn't even bother to request a press pass."
"He'll be there," Joe said firmly. "I have a source who says so."
"Oh, yeah? And who is that?" she asked with a tone of challenge.
"You don't seriously think I'm going to answer that."
"I have to know if your source is someone who actually knows what they're talking about," she pressed. "I'm not going to waste a whole evening if he doesn't show up. I have other big stories on my plate, believe it or not."
"It's a close friend of Mr. Stark's," Joe said. "Good enough?"
She studied him for a long moment. "James Rhodes?" she guessed.
He held his tongue.
"Okay," Christine said at last, clearly taking that as a yes, which suited him just fine, given that she was completely wrong. "I'll be there."
Joe reached over, closed the file on the Gulmira photos and stuffed everything back into his briefcase.
"Wait," Christine said quickly, holding out her hand to take them back. "Aren't those my copies?"
He smiled knowingly as he stood up. "We're under embargo. We can't publish until my source gives the word. I'll be waiting outside the fundraiser to give you the copies to show Stark. Understand? You talk to Stark and get his reaction, I talk to my military contacts and get theirs. You and I publish at the same time. Our stories will be different, but they'll also corroborate each other. And the photos will be in the hands of someone who can do something about it."
Christine obviously thought he meant the military, and she nodded once, looking satisfied. "Everyone wins."
Joe thought of the refugees he had seen yesterday — his fingers still ached from pounding out their troubling story so quickly on his way here — and a grimly satisfied smile of his own touched his lips. "Everyone wins."
His phone chimed in his suit pocket, and Harrison — standing in the broad carpeted hallway outside the ritzy Los Angeles ballroom where the well-heeled attendees of the third annual Stark Firefighters Family Fund were loudly enjoying themselves — pulled it out to see a text from his cousin Joe: "Package delivered."
He straightened up and looked around expectantly, and sure enough, after just a few minutes an attractive blond woman approached the security checkpoint: Christine Everhart. She was dressed in a strappy black dress with a thin black shawl draped over her arms... and she was carrying a small black purse that no doubt carried some extremely important photos. He moved a little closer to hear her conversation with the guards on duty.
"I'm from Vanity Fair," she was saying loudly, holding up a badge, but the security guard waved it away.
"A work ID isn't enough," he said firmly. "You have to have a press pass too-"
"I did request a press pass," she insisted.
"-and you have to request it before the deadline," the guard barreled on. "When did you submit it?"
Christine's bare shoulders heaved up and down in her formal dress as she sighed in frustration. "This morning. Before that I didn't know-"
"The press list was finalized at 6 p.m. last night." The guard's tone was curt. "You missed the deadline."
"Look, this is important," Christine said sharply. "Mr. Stark wants to see me-"
"Then it's up to him to come outside the security checkpoint to talk to you," the guard said flatly. "I can't help you."
Christine looked aggravated, but grudgingly moved aside as another reporter edged past her and showed his identification to the guards. She stood back several paces, looking on as the man's press pass was scanned and he was waved through. Then she glanced down the hallway where a second security checkpoint was set up, and her expression grew canny.
Expression determined, she began to march toward it, the ends of her shawl flapping with the motion and her high heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor.
"Miss Everhart?" Harrison called out as she passed him.
She turned to glance at him, and then her eyes fell on his security badge. "Okay, I'm going," she said testily, turning away again, but he quickly reached out and held her by the arm.
"I don't work security for the venue," he told her quietly. "I'm a bodyguard for Mr. Stark. You wanted to see him?"
Christine held still and looked at him for a long moment, hope suddenly flaring in her eyes. "I just need to ask him a few questions," she said, trying to hide her eagerness. "Please, it won't take long. Five minutes, tops. I've spoken to him before, I'm with Vanity Fair." She started to show him her work badge, but he waved it away.
"I know who you are," he said. "I was there the day you stopped him at his car and called him the 'Merchant of Death.'"
She managed to look both embarrassed and angry at the same time, but she recovered quickly.
"Look, it's in his best interests to respond to my questions before I publish this particular story," Christine said crisply. "Trust me on this one."
He scrutinized her for a long moment, making her squirm a little, before saying mildly: "We'd better go through a different entrance. You seem to have antagonized the gentleman at this one."
She looked visibly relieved as he walked with her down the hallway. "Here, take this," he murmured as he surreptitiously handed her a badge.
"It's Christine, not Christina," she said, looking at the name on it.
"That's my wife. Works in Accounting. Her name's on the invitation list, but she felt too ill to come. You'll have to be her for a minute."
Her perfectly manicured eyebrows went up. "Oh."
They got through the security checkpoint without incident, and were soon mingling with the other attendees in their formal wear as a jazzy piano tune competed with the loud chatter in the room.
They circled the room together once before finally spotting Tony Stark, dressed in a black tuxedo and slow-dancing with a red-headed woman in a backless blue dress: Pepper Potts. Christine's expression darkened like a thunderstorm was brewing and she picked up her pace, but before the two of them reached Tony and Pepper, the couple stopped dancing mid-song and headed toward the French doors that led to the balcony.
"Okay, thanks for your help," Christine said to Harrison, not even glancing toward him as she kept her eyes fixed on Tony's retreating back. "I can take it from here." She started to click away in her high heels, but Harrison quickly reached out and held her by the elbow.
"Wait. He's with someone," he said, and Tony and Pepper were, in fact, settling into what looked like an intense conversation out on the balcony now.
"That isn't one of his conquests," Christine pointed out with a hint of frost. "It's just his personal assistant."
He leveled a stern look at her. "May I remind you, Miss Everhart, that you are here at my pleasure? And you'll be leaving at my pleasure as well?"
She melted a little under his gaze. "Okay, okay," she said, but she allowed him to pull her back until they could no longer see Pepper and Tony on the balcony. She folded her arms and waited with visible impatience until finally Tony came back inside — alone — and strode over to the bar. This time, Harrison let her go, and watched from a distance as Christine, with an air of righteous anger, confronted Tony with the photos Joe and Holly had taken.
"Excuse me?"
Harrison looked over to see Phil Coulson of all people standing right next to him, looking out of place amid the finery wearing a regular suit, a serious expression and his S.H.I.E.L.D. badge on prominent display.
"I noticed your Stark Industries badge," Coulson said. "I wonder if you could help me. I made an appointment with Mr. Stark this evening and he said he would inform his assistant, but, uh-"
"-he has a tendency to forget that kind of thing," Harrison finished for him.
Coulson's poker face didn't break. "You know your employer well," he said mildly.
Harrison fought back his smile. "Miss Potts is outside," he told Coulson, nodding toward the balcony. "You're welcome to let her know yourself."
Coulson nodded politely. "Thank you."
"Anytime."
By the time Harrison looked back toward Tony and Christine, they were already headed for the exit... and Tony was wearing an expression of cold fury as he held the incriminating photos in an iron grip.
Guess he hadn't known about that weapons sale to the Ten Rings after all... and now Christine Everhart knew it.
November 17, 2009
In the family room, Bruce and Hank had assembled every single toy car they owned — which was a lot, apparently — and were busily constructing an elaborate obstacle course for the cars to navigate, using Legos and Jenga blocks and hardcover books to serve as ramps. Library books, unfortunately. She should probably put a stop to that, Holly thought distractedly as she glanced over the kitchen bar, before they ended up having to pay yet another fine.
But later. She had her hands a little full at the moment, with Petra perched on one hip while she busied herself pulling dinner ingredients out of the pantry. Usually Petra was content to play with her older brothers, but she'd kept knocking down parts of the obstacle course, to Bruce and Hank's vociferous complaints, and finally Holly had taken pity on them and brought Petra into the kitchen with her. But holding her like this was starting to do a number on her back: she was just so solidly built. Even as a newborn she had always been heavier than she looked, and now she was in the midst of a growth spurt on top of it.
Just then the phone rang, and Holly put a bag of rice down on the counter next to the frozen chicken and answered it. It was Joe.
"Hi, honey," Holly said, putting Petra down for a second so that she could hold the phone in one hand while she rummaged through the fridge for the milk with the other. Petra didn't like that one bit and wailed as though her heart were breaking, clinging to Holly's legs and threatening to trip her up. Holly raised her voice to make sure Joe could hear her. "What's up?"
"Another day, another deadline," Joe said easily. "Just filed my story. Jan's reading it now. Should be online soon." He had that preternaturally calm tone to his voice that always came after the tension of writing an important story in a blazing hurry, knowing that it was now a done deal and out of his hands.
"Oh yeah? What happened at the press conference?" Holly asked loudly, turning on the speaker and setting the phone on the counter so she could pour milk into a sippy cup for Petra, who was crying and impatiently holding her hands out for it.
"You know that strange bogey that downed an American F-22 Raptor over Afghanistan earlier today?" She could barely hear Joe's voice over Petra's fussing. "Coincidentally mere minutes after some mysterious armed force blew away a Ten Rings outpost in Gulmira?" He paused for effect. "Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes just told the entire press corps that it was a, uh-" He cleared his throat loudly. "-a training accident."
Against her will, Holly laughed, more out of relief than amusement. On the other end of the line, Joe was laughing too. But she could detect a note of unease in his voice that matched her own. Both of them had been wildly out of their elements during their mission. Nothing in their previous experiences could have prepared them for it. All had ended well, which they were both profoundly grateful for, but last night they had admitted to each other how shaken they were by their brush with death. If things had gone only a little differently in Gulmira, one or both of them may not have been able to come home to the children. It would have been worth it, they had reminded each other over and over again, to ensure that Tony Stark became who he needed to be. To make sure he'd be in a position to save countless other lives when the time came. Including their own family. But the unease persisted.
And so she handed a cup of milk to her daughter and laughed at the thought of Tony Stark clearing out the nest of evil they had only just escaped, with a hysterical edge born of the lingering fear that squeezed at her heart. She could still see the look in Omar Fazal's eyes as he had prepared to shoot them. He'd been scared, too. She hadn't expected that.
But his fear would not have stopped him from pulling the trigger.
"Mom, what's so funny?" Bruce demanded, abruptly appearing at her elbow to pick up the phone curiously, and quickly she pulled it out of his hands before he could push any buttons.
"Iron Man was just born, sweetie," Holly told him before shooing him back over to his toys, ignoring the confused look her son gave her. "Joe, honey? I gotta go. These kids are driving me nuts, and I gotta get dinner going."
"You didn't order a pizza?" Joe asked in some disbelief. "After the weekend we just had?"
"Well, we can't live on greasy pizza," she pointed out matter-of-factly. "The kids need something healthy."
"You're the world's greatest mom, you know that?"
She scoffed, even though she was privately pleased. "Everyone says that about the mothers in their lives."
"Well, maybe everyone's right."
November 18, 2009
"Tell me one of the funny stories," Peggy said.
Steve gave her his best I-know-what-you're-doing look, but Peggy only smiled sweetly at him from across their kitchen table and waited expectantly.
"You've heard all of them," Steve pointed out dryly, keeping his voice down so as to not wake up Sarah and Dave this early in the morning, although they had both assured Steve and Peggy several times that they could be woken up if they were needed during this vigil. But so far the cellphone on the table had remained silent, and Steve and Peggy had had nothing to do but sip at their coffee and tea, respectively, and make quiet conversation.
"Tell me the laughing story," Peggy said, chin propped on her hand. She hadn't bothered to brush her hair after they had gotten out of bed — neither one of them had, actually — and her gray waves were unruly. But she was beautiful that way and Steve had told her so, even though, like always, a puzzled expression had crossed her face and she had claimed she didn't understand why.
Steve suppressed a smile and looked out the window, although it was still dark in Manchester and there was nothing to see. "I hate that story."
"Well, I love it," Peggy said warmly.
Steve sighed dramatically, playing along like he knew she wanted. She was right — it was better to think of this rather than the fact that once again Tony's life was in danger, and he couldn't be there in person to help.
"Well, it started at a party," he said.
"Why is it that all of your stories about Tony Stark begin that way?" Peggy asked.
"Why is it that all of your stories about Howard Stark begin that way?" he shot back.
Peggy suppressed a smile, and her dimple popped out. "Fair point."
"Tony was giving me a hard time because — so he claimed — I was a stick in the mud who never, ever laughed out loud, not even at parties."
"He may have had a point," Peggy put in.
"I laugh out loud!" Steve said with a wounded expression.
"Now," Peggy agreed. "Before, well..."
"Look, just because no one ever heard me-"
"If no one heard you, then you were hardly laughing out loud, darling."
Steve sighed. "Are you going to let me tell the story or not?"
"I apologize. Go on."
"So he decided to make it his mission to get me to laugh by the end of the night."
"Let me guess," Peggy said. "First he tried to get you drunk."
"I'd explained to him before about my metabolism, but he wouldn't believe me until I got Bruce to back me up."
"And that having failed, then what?"
"Well, he started telling me funny stories."
"And that didn't work either?" Peggy said knowingly.
"It isn't that there aren't things I find funny," Steve said defensively. "It's just that I don't find the same kinds of things funny that Tony does."
"Let me guess. He was telling you dirty jokes."
Steve blew out a sigh and hung his head. "The dirtier, the better."
"Well, you might have thrown him a bone, darling, and at least faked a laugh," Peggy said. "You probably hurt his feelings."
"I smiled once!" Steve objected. "Audibly."
Peggy affected a scandalized reaction. "At a dirty joke? Why, Steve-"
He wasn't having it. "Peggy, you laugh at dirty jokes all the time."
"Yes, but in the bedroom!" Peggy said with wide-eyed innocence. "Alone with you! I would never dream of laughing at something like that in mixed company!"
"Look, it was a different time."
"Oh, don't start with the 'it was a different time' excuses," she teased him, and then adopted a serious expression and said: "Right is right, no matter what century-"
"Don't quote me at a time like this," Steve said. "You make me sound like a stick in the mud. Besides, I haven't said that yet."
Peggy rested her chin on her hand and looked at him coyly through her eyelashes. "Someday you really must tell me what joke it was that Tony told you that made you smile so audibly."
"It doesn't matter, because he said it didn't count as a laugh."
"So then he took more drastic measures, didn't he?" Peggy knew where the story was going next, and clearly relished it.
Steve looked down at the table and scowled. "I don't want to talk about it."
"He found the spot, didn't he?" Peggy asked with a smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "The same one I did. Just below your ribs, on the side, to the left-"
"First of all, Tony has no sense of personal space when he's drunk," Steve said grumpily. "Second of all, he's lucky I was laughing too hard to punch him in the nose, which is what he deserved for-"
There was no point in continuing, because Peggy had dissolved into silent laughter, one wrinkled hand clamped firmly over her mouth to prevent her from waking up Sarah and Dave, tears of mirth springing to her eyes.
After a brief struggle, Steve gave up, and smiled, too. Audibly.
But they were interrupted when the phone on the table chimed, and abruptly they both sobered up as Peggy reached for it. She read the message and then glanced up at Steve.
"Harrison says Agent Coulson and Pepper Potts just arrived at Stark Industries headquarters," she said.
Steve straightened his shoulders, feeling the pulse of joy fade away and the tension return. "Okay. This is it."
At that moment, there was a quiet knock on the front door.
Peggy and Steve frowned at each other — it had to be a family member, since only they had access through the perimeter fence — and then Peggy flipped to a different app and used the phone to look at the video feed of the front door.
It was their grandson Clint.
Looking surprised, Peggy pressed the button to unbolt the door, and a few moments later Clint came into the kitchen, carefully keeping his footsteps quiet.
"Good morning," Steve said, getting up to greet him.
"Wasn't sure anyone would be up quite yet," Clint said quietly, giving Steve a brief hug and then bending down to give Peggy a kiss on the cheek. Then he paused to look at the cellphone sitting expectantly on the table in front of them, seemed to notice their serious faces for the first time, and asked, looking taken aback: "Are... you working right now?"
"Harrison and Christina are standing by in Los Angeles," Peggy answered readily. "Tonight's the night Obadiah Stane attacks Tony at Stark Industries Headquarters. It's happening now."
"Oh," Clint said, taking a small step backward. It was hard not to notice the crestfallen look on his face; he'd clearly expected to have their attention to himself. Early mornings in this time zone were usually the ideal time for that, after Clint got off work back in Chicago but before Sarah and Dave got up to go to work here.
Clint really shouldn't have been surprised, Steve thought; it wasn't as though the Avengers timeline was a mystery to anyone in the family. All the grandkids had their own copies of his comics, and the family had been eagerly discussing Tony Stark's progress among themselves for weeks now — but then again, Clint and Karma, his girlfriend who had been living with him for several years now, didn't keep in touch as often as everyone else did, preferring to stay in Chicago and work their jobs and live the ordinary lives they seemed to want to live.
Their aloofness troubled others in the family sometimes, although the two of them did make appearances for the annual summer gathering and for the holidays, and sometimes came to visit Steve and Peggy when it was just the four of them — but at the same time, Steve understood why Clint and Karma might feel that way. Family gatherings tended to be kid-filled chaos, and the two of them had never made a secret of the fact that they liked their child-free existence the way it was. It wasn't hard to see the utter mystification in Clint's eyes every time he looked at Maggie and Henry in particular, with their six children who had been born in rapid succession with the idea that the two of them could have the large family they wanted while getting past the demanding years with young ones by the time Henry was ready to run for office.
The other grandchildren had smaller families than Maggie — Bram, Joe and Harrison had three children each, and Natty, Sammy and Amanda only two — but whenever the family got together it was inevitable that the talk would turn at some point to PTA meetings or toilet training or Little League games, and then Clint and Karma would gradually fall silent, having nothing to contribute to the conversation. It hadn't escaped Steve's notice that in those situations they often ended up pulling young Steven away from the group to play a card game with them instead.
Naturally, Steven didn't have any children to talk about either, but that never stopped him from coming to family events or from gunning for "favorite uncle" status with a select few nieces and nephews. Maggie's Aisling in particular had formed a connection with him, and Steven was now the only one who got away with calling her "Vision" in English instead of Gaelic. But Clint and Karma stayed at arm's length from the children — and from almost everyone else, too. Steve and Peggy worried about that, but the best they could do was maintain their own relationship with Clint, and at least there they felt they were meeting with reasonable success. Even though Clint had moved out of their home years ago — even though he never showed the smallest interest in taking part in the family's secret missions or even discussing the Avengers — he still felt more like a son than a grandson to them.
"Come and sit down," Steve told Clint firmly, nodding toward a chair. "We only have to help if your brother calls for it."
"Are you sure?" Clint asked, hesitating, but Steve pushed out the chair expectantly and Clint finally sat in it.
"What's new with you?" Steve asked him.
Clint took in a deep breath and slowly let it out, looking down at his hands. "I don't even know where to start," he confessed.
"Good news, or bad?" Peggy asked gently.
Clint laughed humorlessly. "That's the problem. I don't even know which it is. And if I don't know, who will?" He scratched his head as a faint crease appeared between his eyes.
"What's happened?" Steve asked.
Clint shuffled his feet under the table and nervously tapped one fist on top of the other while he looked around the kitchen for several seconds, and then finally blurted out: "Karma's expecting."
Before they could even react, he cleared his throat roughly and then added reluctantly: "And, we weren't, uh... we weren't expecting... Well, you know. We weren't planning to."
Steve and Peggy looked at each other for a long moment, searching for the right words to say. Finally, Peggy spoke up and said gently: "Well, I think that's good news, isn't it?"
Clint let out a sharp breath. "I'm freaking out," he said bluntly. "Karma's freaking out. Even more than I am, I think, and that's saying something. We're not- we're not ready for this. We're not even close to wanting to be ready for this." He paused, and then added reluctantly, with a hint of embarrassment: "We thought we were being careful, but-" He let out a loud sound of frustration. "We really messed up. We messed up real bad." A stricken look crossed his face. "We're gonna- we're gonna be the worst parents of all time."
"Good people make good parents," Steve said calmly. "And I think that describes both you and Karma."
"Well, that sounds really great, Grandpa," Clint said in the tones of someone who doesn't want to be convinced otherwise. "But you don't live in my head. You don't know. Sometimes I still think about using. A couple months ago I started going to meetings again because I was scared I was going to relapse again. At- at least before, it was mostly my own life I was screwing up. If it happens again..." He trailed off for a minute, eyes bleak. "You remember what it was like, trying to live with me back then. What if I screw up my kid's life, too?"
"That isn't going to happen," Steve said.
"You don't know that."
"Clint, you and Karma won't face this alone," Peggy said firmly. "You have us to help. And you have parents and siblings and cousins who will want to help, too. Believe it or not, none of us felt ready to be parents either. You'll learn as you go, just as we did."
"Grandma, I get what you're saying, and I appreciate it," Clint said with quiet vehemence. "But it's so much worse than just trying to figure out whether to give the kid a bottle or nurse it, or whatever it was Amanda and Aliyah were arguing about at the last family party." He swallowed hard. "Look, no one in this family ever had to deal with the kinds of things Karma did when she was a kid. The things her cousin did to her... she's really scared that it runs in the family, that she might end up becoming the same kind of monster he was." He looked sick. "There's nothing I can say to convince her otherwise."
"I thought you said she'd talked to someone about that," Steve said, dismayed.
"She's seen three different therapists," Clint said flatly. "None of them could get anywhere. You have no idea how stubborn she can be. I think she still blames herself for what happened. She won't say that anymore because she knows how much it upsets me, but I think she still believes it." He rubbed his face with both hands and fell silent, his broad shoulders moving up and down as he drew in shaky breaths.
"Clint, you and Karma are stronger than you know," Steve said quietly after a long pause. "You've both already been through more than most people have, and you survived. More than that, you became good people in spite of everything. I think you might be surprised at how well both of you learn to rise to the occasion. But even if you struggle-" He paused for emphasis. "-nothing bad is going to happen to that child. There's going to be a whole family here ready to help, whatever it takes. Even if that means taking him or her in for a while if it gets to be too much for you two. I just... I don't want you to think you don't have any options."
"Oh, don't worry about that, Grandpa," Clint said in a tone of weary resignation. "We're not going to do anything drastic. We can't- I can't. We were sitting there in the doctor's office, and he saw how upset we were, and he started telling us how they could- you know, make the problem go away. And all I could think was-" He paused for a long moment, face working. "He'll be eight years old when it happens. Or she. When- when Thanos comes." There was a savage undertone to the way he said the name, like nothing Steve had ever heard from Clint before. "I haven't even seen the kid — didn't even want a kid — but I swear..."
Clint shook his head emphatically, a dark scowl creasing his face. "I'll kill him," he said harshly. "I don't care how strong he is. I'll kill him with my bare hands if he even dares-" He broke off, making a choking sound in the back of his throat, and then he started to sob, looking utterly lost and confused.
Steve scooted his chair closer and wrapped his arm around Clint's shoulders, just as Peggy reached out and took one of Clint's strong hands between her wrinkled ones.
They sat that way in silence a long time, waiting for Clint to calm down as the pain tore at their own hearts. They had long ago come to terms with that looming fear of the future in the only way they knew how: by living the lives they wanted to live, and loving the family they had, for as long as they could. It didn't matter that Mike and Sarah had long ago grown up, that they had their own children and grandchildren now: in Steve and Peggy's eyes they were still those round-faced babies laying in their arms, innocent and small and infinitely precious, bringing them more joy than a human heart should be capable of holding...
They deserved better than what was coming. Those trillions of lives across the galaxy... That new life that Clint and Karma didn't even know how to love yet...
They all did.
The phone on the table rang, startling the three of them, and the instant Steve saw Harrison's name on the screen, he blinked rapidly to clear his eyes, picked it up and answered it.
But it was a woman's voice that spoke in his ear.
"Hello?" She sounded shaky. "I'm sorry, I don't know who this is. Harrison told me to talk to you." To Steve's shock, he recognized the voice as Pepper Potts', and instinctively he pressed his lips together, afraid to let her hear his voice, even though he'd already said hello — and come to think of it, Pepper hadn't met him yet, so it hardly mattered.
Pepper breathed in and out shakily, half-crying, and considering what must have just happened, he could hardly blame her. "He wanted me to tell you that Christina's hurt," she managed to get out.
Steve's heart seemed to stop, and suddenly being recognized was the last thing on his mind as he blurted out: "Christina? How bad is it?" Beside him, both Peggy and Clint straightened up, looking alarmed.
Pepper sobbed a little into his ear. "She's- she's burned. The paramedics are here. They're looking at her, but Harrison said to say that-" She paused as if trying to remember. "-that his Aunt Sarah should come. We're at Stark Industries headquarters. That's at the intersection of-"
"I know. I know where that is," Steve said, trying to keep calm enough to help Pepper calm down. He put his hand over the receiver, locked eyes with Peggy and said tersely: "Go get Sarah." He spoke into the phone again as Peggy got up swiftly and left the room: "Are you okay? Is Ton- Is Mr. Stark okay?"
"I don't know," Pepper said tearfully. "Harrison went in to look for him. I don't know. The building exploded, and, and-"
"Okay. When he comes back, tell him Sarah's coming," Steve said firmly. "I want you to stay with Christina. Stay with the paramedics. Don't try to go back into the building, just let Harrison handle it. Promise me."
"Okay. Okay." Pepper sounded a little less frantic now.
"I'm going to hang up now. Tell him Sarah's coming."
"Okay, I'll tell him."
"Thank you," Steve said, but the line had already disconnected. Pepper must be fearing the worst for Tony, he knew, as Sarah came rushing into the room, sling ring at the ready, to shove on her shoes while Dave carried her medical case with serum and Peggy brought in the paramedic jacket she kept on hand just in case. Quickly Steve explained the situation, and in less than a minute Sarah had disappeared into a sparkling portal, leaving Dave and Steve and Peggy behind in the sudden silence of the kitchen.
"Where did Clint go?" Peggy asked then.
They looked around, but it seemed Clint had left amid the confusion.
TO BE CONTINUED
Author's note: Apologies for the long wait! The holidays happened, and as always, various other real-life responsibilities tend to get in the way too. :-) More to come on the final battle of "Iron Man," and then it's back to Bruce Banner, Steven, and his personal conundrum. We're only a few years away from young Steve waking up from the ice and I've got plans (*rubs hands together gleefully*). Thanks for your readership! Reviews welcome.