Bad Aim Chapter 6
By: Cadet Deming
I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Please read and review. It's much appreciated.
A Gym in Brooklyn
Clint pummeled a punching bag that Steve Rogers held steady for him. The bag may as well have been anchored in place by an elephant for all it moved.
He felt overheated. The air was stagnant, broken only by the occasional relief of a rotating fan. There were more upscale gyms to practice in, but Steve said he preferred this low key one. He seemed more comfortable when they weren't surrounded by technology.
Steve asked, "Are you happy at your new job?"
Clint tried to wipe a bead of sweat from his face, but it felt odd with his hands covered in boxing gloves.
He half-grimaced at Steve, "I like the money. I don't like pretty much everything else about it. Why do you ask?"
Steve held the bag steady with his right hand only. "Frankly, I'm having my doubts about SHIELD."
Clint hit the equipment, but it didn't swing. Steve's right arm didn't even tense up.
Clint asked, "Doubts about what?"
"I can't tell you. Not exactly."
Clint sighed. He wondered if it had anything to do with Latveria, or something else. "So why bring it up to me?"
"I'm trying to be vague so I'm not betraying any confidentiality. Do you want to switch places?"
Clint shrugged in agreement and gave his gloves to Steve. He held the bag in place for him and braced his legs for the impact. Steve took one swing and Clint felt like the wind was knocked out of him.
Clint said, "Ow."
"Sorry. Let's take a break."
Clint grabbed two bottles of Dasani water from Steve's bag. He saw a bright yellow copy of the book "Pop Culture for Dummies" in the knapsack, but chose not to say anything about it. Both men sat on a worn bench.
Steve traced a carving in the bench that stated: "Steve and Penny Forever" and got a wistful expression on his face. He took a draught of the water.
Clint said, "Let's talk around it, since we're manly men and can't say what's really bothering us."
Steve half-smiled. "Everyone shares their feelings about everything now. I miss the repression of the 1940's. I miss a lot of things about the 1940's. Back then everything was black and white. Americans were the good guys and the Nazis were the bad guys. There was no question or shade of grey about it."
"And SHIELD is too grey about something, and possibly fading into black."
Steve took another long draught of water. He looked like he was measuring his next statement carefully.
"It isn't necessarily that it's SHIELD. It's the whole espionage field. I was trained to be a soldier, not a spy. It was clear cut and straightforward who the real enemy was. Now I'm not so sure if we're fighting the right people. Before I was frozen it was the Nazis and Hydra. Now they tell me the Nazis lost and Hydra was completely destroyed. But how does something that big just disappear?"
Clint thought things over. "The dinosaurs were huge and they died out."
"I'm surprised science hasn't found out what killed them off. Science seems to be going too fast on everything else."
"They did figure out what killed the dinos. The theory is asteroids messed up the atmosphere, and the dinosaurs evolved into birds. I heard chickens are the offspring of Tyrannosaurus Rexes."
Steve furrowed his brow. "I'm a Brooklyn boy. I haven't seen too many live chickens in my life. And now whenever I eat one, I'll be thinking of a giant lizard."
Clint remembered his boyhood in Iowa. He had seen far too many chickens and roosters in his youth. He did love the way they tasted when his mother fried them in a deep cooker. The mixture of salty grease, flaky golden crusts, and tender white meat on his tongue was the only positive memory he had of her.
Clint said, "Fried chicken isn't a lizard. It's evolution at its tastiest."
He had certainly evolved from a lonely farm boy in Iowa, to a seasoned Super-agent, to an Avenger, to a Security Director for a multi-national corporation with cybernetically-enhanced eyes.
Steve said, "So evil never dies. It just evolves. If Hydra survived, what could it have evolved into?"
Clint shrugged. "Probably an evil corporation. Let's go a few more rounds."
They returned to the punching bag. Clint zoned out as he struck it over and over. He thought about evolution.
Stark Tower
Pepper walked in to the penthouse carrying bags from a corner market. As a CEO she could have hired someone else to carry them for her, but she was so used to handling details on her own she didn't want to relinquish the control of buying her own food to an assistant. Perhaps she had also been an assistant herself for too long.
"Tony, I'm home. Hello?"
He didn't answer. She put the bags on a counter and dialed him on her cell, but it went to voicemail. She frowned. She knew he was scheduled to be in his home lab.
What if he was with another woman now?
Pepper tried not to be paranoid. She put her groceries away and kicked off her shoes. Her bare feet were chilled on the marble floor, but warmed as she stepped onto the carpeting of the bedrooms.
She heard a groan from one of the guest bedrooms. "Grrr…argh."
Pepper hesitated. She braced herself and opened the door. Tony was lying sprawled on his back across the plush comforter. He was fully clothed, but his suit was rumpled and wrinkled.
She rushed to him. "Are you OK?"
He blinked his eyes open. "I'm…argh… I'm good. It's all good. I love you, man. I mean woman. I need an aspirin. I need a whole bottle of aspirin."
He smelled of flop sweat, expensive scotch and cheap cologne. The sides of his face were rough and dark from Five O'clock shadow.
Pepper rushed to a medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Excedrin. She also opened a bottle of Evian for him.
She gave him both and he popped more pills than he should have and chased them with the water. She thought of the word "enabler," given to people who helped others with their addictions. Pepper's own father had been an alcoholic. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she felt so close to Tony. Weren't many women drawn to men who reminded them of their fathers?
He smiled. "Thanks. I couldn't live without you."
She put her arm around his shoulder. "Tony I…how do I put this? I know you've been under stress, but I don't think it's healthy to start drinking again."
"I didn't start drinking again. I never stopped."
"Well, maybe you need to now."
"I can't stop drinking now. I have to…what do I have on my calendar?"
She pulled up his schedule on her phone and flashed to tomorrow. "You have…let me check the next date, and the next, and the next."
He grabbed the phone and looked at it. "Cancelled…postponed…cancelled. Why am I so unpopular now?"
"We've had the company's stock go to hell before and you've come out ok."
"This is different. It feels different. I saved the world before. This isn't supposed to happen to me. Where's my karma? I'm supposed to be popular, dammit. Where's my parade? Where's my gratitude? I'm a Goddamn hero."
She squeezed his arm, trying to be empathetic. She wanted to tell him to grow up, but knew under his devil-may-care persona he was more sensitive than he let on.
"You'll get it back. Being a hero is about doing the noble thing because it's the right thing, not because you expect a reward for it. And you'll have more perspective if you keep your blood alcohol level down."
He rested his head on his hands.
"If you want me to stop drinking, find me something to do so I can pretend I'm still important."
She searched through his emails. "Here's one. That company that Clint Barton joined called A.I.M. asked you for a meeting."
Tony said, "Pencil me in to see them. What harm can it do?"
To be continued
