AU-2: Vengeance Tears Chapter 8: Clarity, an avengers fanfic

Chapter 8: Clarity

Stark Industries Global Headquarters, Queens, New York

Pym looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a cross between Blue Man Group, a ballet dancer, and a farmer – one fond of yellow suspenders at that. But Stark had thought of everything.

The suspenders, which were thick, wide and close together when Pym was at normal size, contained spools on the underside that were rolled with what Pym liked to call "Iron Man foil" – ultra-thin sheets of the same alloy as Stark's Iron Man suit that would unspool as he grew, and protect his torso from bullets and other hazards they were likely to encounter. As a fashion statement, even Pym found it lacking. But as an outfit that would accommodate his growth and provide him some protection, it was unbeatable.

Just then, Stark walked in for the morning. "Hey, looking snazzy there big boy!"

Pym laughed and turned to him. "The yellow boxer shorts are a nice touch. Couldn't you give me something more . . . subtle?" The shorts were designed to be worn outside the one-piece and be big and baggy when Pym was at normal size, then snug up as he grew. But not too much. That was the point.

Stark looked at Pym like he was crazy. "Why would you want to go subtle when you can grow your pecker to six feet long?"

Just then, Janet walked in. "Sounds like you're still talking about your favorite subject," she shot at Stark.

"Well good morning, Sunshine," Stark called back. "I wasn't sure if we'd ever see you again after the way you stormed out of here last night." Stark cleared his throat. "And for the record, his pecker is not my favorite subject."

Janet grinned and sat down at her work station. But she didn't reply with any of the obvious snappy comebacks available. Pym walked over to her.

"You sure seem in a better mood this morning."

Janet looked up at him and smiled. "Oh, well . . . you know, a good night's sleep, a chance to unwind a little . . . ."

Her answer seemed a little superficial to Pym. But he didn't say anything. "So Tony," he called over to Stark. "Now that Janet's here, let's try again: tell me about this fabric."

Stark walked over. "Well, the fibers essentially fold and unfold on themselves. When combined with their elasticity, this gives them the flexibility they need to shrink and grow with your bodies. They're also hollow, which makes the fabric lightweight. But they retract into a tightly compact and rigid framework, so when you're at your smallest size, they actually provide some protective capability, like body armor." Stark looked around and found a screwdriver. "Here, see?" Without warning, he plunged the screwdriver toward Pym's chest. It bounced off harmlessly.

"They'll even stop a small caliber bullet if it's not a straight shot from point blank range."

Pym was impressed. Stark turned to Janet.

"So . . . at risk of bringing up a very touchy subject . . ." he looked at her sideways, as if asking permission to go on.

"Go ahead," Janet replied.

Stark continued. "This means that when you are at your engagement size – which is to say, at your smallest and most vulnerable - your outfitoffers its greatest protection."

Stark turned back to Pym. "But you on the other hand . . . when you grow, your suit gets thinner, and the protection goes away. That's why I developed the suspenders."

"Very fashionable," Janet added.

"Unfortunately, your head, arms and legs will still be vulnerable," Stark continued. "I can make you a headpiece to protect that brilliant brain of yours. But not one that will stretch with you. You'll have to put it on after you grow."

"And what about my head?" Janet asked.

Stark turned to her. "I can make a headpiece for you, too, if you want. But there's one major difference between you and him. When he's at engagement size, he's a huge target. Everybody'll be taking shots at him. When you're at engagement size, you're virtually invisible. That's not to say you couldn't get hit with a stray shot. But no one will be aiming for you. They'll hardly be able to see you."

Janet stepped over and tried to tug at the thick, coarse fabric of Pym's outfit. It wouldn't budge.

"Oh," Stark went on, talking to Janet. "And I have something else for you."

"If it's another outfit that I'm wearing in one of your wet dreams, you can skip it," Janet replied.

Stark put on the goofiest-looking set of eyeglasses Pym had ever seen – like two magnifying glasses attached to a strap. Then he bent over and started looking around on a nearby counter. "Well, my dear," he said to Janet, "this will prove that I do have your best interests at heart." He found what he was looking for, raised up, and pulled off the goggles. He walked over and – for what seemed like the umpteenth time this week – dropped something into Janet's hand so tiny Pym couldn't see it.

"Stingers," he announced. Janet studied what was in her palm.

"Stingers?" Pym asked.

"Repulsors even tinier than her propulsion packs, attenuated for offense, like the ones in my gauntlets. You can wear one on each wrist. If you get into trouble and need a little sting to get you out, you can press a button in your palm and these babies will fire. Because they're so tiny, I can't give you the kill power of mine. But it'll be enough to give a normal-sized person a jolt they won't soon forget. Might buy you enough time to get out of a jam."

Janet looked at Stark with genuine appreciation in her eyes. "So you do think about something other than sex."

Stark raised his eyebrows. "I think about cars sometimes."

Pym felt a simmer of resentment rising inside him. Given the way Stark constantly harassed Janet, he couldn't believe she would have any respect left for him. It bothered him that she did – or seemed to.

"Anyway, my dear," Stark went on. "This means that you have got to get practicing."

Janet looked puzzled. "Practicing what?"

"Uh, you're just going to strap on a couple of repulsors, take off flying, and go fight bad guys? Even I had to practice."

"Does it mean putting that outfit back on?"

Stark's lascivious grin returned. "Unless you'd rather fly nude."

Janet shook her head. "I only put on that outfit again on one condition: make it black. I don't like the see-through look."

Stark feigned irritation. "Want me to put a few of those little yellow stripy treatments on there too, to match your moniker . . . to match your personality?"

Janet was unfazed. "That'll be fine. The more coverage, the better."

"Fine. In the meantime, why don't you go get changed into the outfit you have, and I'll get the new one under way."

Pym interrupted. "Uh, hang on a second Janet. I think you should stay for something." He didn't like the way Stark was giving orders to Janet, as if he called the shots around here. He'd been thinking about something since last night, so he decided this was a good time to bring it up. Janet and Stark both looked at him.

"So if my outfit's ready, and Janet's is about to be, and we've got all our weapons, and Janet's going to practice and all that . . . then, we're close, right?"

"You got it, big guy." Stark sounded supremely confident.

"Close to what?" Janet asked.

"Close to being ready for our first . . . mission, I guess you'd call it." Pym turned back to Stark. "And that brings us to the open issue from last night."

"Uh oh, here we go," Stark sniped.

Janet suddenly looked interested. "Open issue?"

"Yes. Namely, which mission to undertake first: find Maria's killer, your Dad's killer, or Tony's parents' killer."

"Is this what you guys were arguing about last night?"

"He was arguing." Stark shrugged. "I was merely asking what five hundred million dollars buys these days."

Pym wanted to set the record straight. "Yes, Janet, this is what we were arguing about. But in fairness, we shouldn't have been having that discussion without you."

"Oh. Well, sadly, I still don't have a clue where to start looking for Dad's killer."

Stark picked up a tablet device from a counter, punched in some commands, and started looking at it. "Well, we did manage to get a security team into your house to do a sweep. Unfortunately, they found the same thing the police and the military found: nothing. Whoever broke into your father's study was a professional."

Pym couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Wait a minute!" He could hear his voice already starting to rise in anger. He pointed to the tablet. "What's that?"

"This? An iPad. Modified of course: Apple's tech is a little primitive for my-"

"That's not what I meant!" Pym interrupted. "What are you looking at? You've got a file on Janet's father?"

"Umm."

"Have you got one on Maria?"

"Now hang on. I can explain—"

"You didn't say anything about this last night!"

"That's because I just got it yesterday. I hadn't had a chance to read it last night."

"So what does it say?"

"Look, I think we need to have a rational discussion about this before we start talking about what's in these files, okay?"

"Rational? My wife was murdered right before my eyes! How am I supposed to be rational about that!?"

"Well, that's exactly my concern, actually."

"What's that supposed to mean!?"

"Umm, for the record, what exactly do you plan to do when you find Maria's killer?"

Pym's blood felt like it was starting to boil inside his head. He'd envisioned that moment a million times since his wife's death – the moment he had Maria's murderer in his giant hands - and he knew full well what he planned to do.

"I'm going to rip his goddamn body apart." Pym's voice sounded almost unfamiliar, even to himself – like a demon had awakened inside him. His head swam with rage. "Limb from limb."

"Yeah, okay, so . . . that's what we need to talk about," Stark said.

"What's there to talk about!?"

Janet suddenly spoke up. "Hank, you can't mean that."

Pym looked at her. "Of course I mean it. The man kicked and beat and stabbed my wife to death. He has to pay!"

"He will pay," Janet replied. "But we can't go around taking revenge on people just because their crimes happened to be committed against us."

"Oh? Then what do you suggest we do, dial 9-1-1?"

"No, Hank, we catch them, but we turn them in," Janet said. "We use our powers to do what ordinary people can't, but we stop there. We turn them over to the authorities."

"Are you kidding me? So they just be turned loose by corrupt officials?"

"No," Janet replied. "So they can face justice."

"Some crimes don't need justice," Pym argued back. "They just need to be punished!"

"No they don't," Janet said. "Not by us."

Pym couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Guys, I thought we were clear on this. This is why I joined the team. Why are we even calling ourselves the Avengers if we're not going to avenge anybody? Why not call ourselves the 'Justice League' or something?"

"Because that would be a dumb name." Stark crossed his arms. "Look, we are going to avenge them . . . by bringing them to justice. These people aren't going to get away with it. But we have to be clear on this. I don't want to get to Belgrade and have to attack you to keep you from killing somebody."

"So we're going to Belgrade first?"

"I didn't say that."

Pym threw his hands up. "I don't believe this." He turned to Janet again. "Janet, please. We agreed on this."

Janet looked at him, disappointment written vividly on her face. "No, Hank, we didn't. Not if this is what you meant by 'avenge.' I'm not some vigilante. And neither are you. Come on, Hank, you're above this."

Pym put his hands on the sides of his head. "Above what? Above the memory of the sound of knives slicing up my wife's flesh?"

"Hank—"

"Above the sight of her mouth, frozen open in a scream for me to help her, while all I can do is look on like some pathetic weakling!"

"Hank, that's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean, Janet? I'm not supposed to avenge that?"

"Hank, we've all been hurt. Okay? I found my father's body, remember? I saw what they did to him. But that still doesn't justify taking the law into my own hands."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd watched them kill him."

Janet stared at Pym like she was trying to decide whether to slap him or walk away. In the end, when she responded, her tone was icy.

"I'd like to think that my higher self would inhibit my baser instincts."

Pym's head reeled in disbelief. So that's what she thought of him? His mission, his sole reason for living, his quest to avenge Maria's death – that was nothing more than "baser instincts" to Janet? He felt like his spirit was being ground to dust inside him.

"Janet," he resumed, weakly. "You saw what this did to me. You remember the state I was in when you found me."

Janet stepped close. "I didn't find you, Hank. I found a man who'd lost his way." Janet looked like she might put a hand on his shoulder; she didn't. "But I always expected you to come back. I expected the real Henry Pym to come back."

Pym slumped into a chair. Dredging back to the surface those fetid days after Maria's death made him feel like his mind was about to capsize - a feeling made worse by hearing Janet say these things. How could she turn on him like this? Avenging Maria was the deepest part of who he was right now. How could she not know that? Yet to her, it was nothing but a disappointment - he could see it in her eyes. He felt humiliated.

And what about all those vulnerable days they'd spent together, when she nursed him back to health and helped him with his research? Had she only tolerated them because she was waiting for the "real" Pym to come back? What about the tenderness he felt for her – despite the guilt-ravaging talons it sunk into him. Had she felt none of that?

Pym stared at the floor.

Stark held up his iPad. He spoke hesitantly. "So . . . do we still want to discuss this right now?"

Pym shook his head. "No. I don't want to talk about this anymore right now."

Stark nodded and put the iPad down. Pym heard him say to Janet softly, "Why don't you go ahead and start practicing then." Janet nodded and walked off. Stark turned back to Pym.

"Just so you know, I do have a file on Maria's killer." He walked over and patted Pym on the shoulder. "Whenever you're ready."