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cap_ironman2009-01-31 12:25 am
seanchai.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2009-01-31 12:25 am
Entry tags:
When the Lights Go On Again 7/19
Title: When the Lights Go On Again 7/20
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seanchai and elspethdixon
Rated: PG-13
Pairings: Steve/Tony, Hank/Jan, Carol/Wanda
Warnings: Some swearing and violence. Minor character death in this chapter.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Summary: Aliens have invaded earth, and the Avengers are scattered. While Steve leads the resistance, Tony once again finds himself playing captive scientist. In the midst of a violent alien regime, separated by seemingly insurmountable boundaries, Steve and Tony have nothing to keep themselves going but each other.
Author's Note:The point in volume three that we're branching off from was originally published around '98-'99, but since Marvel time runs at a slower speed than real world time, early volume three is probably four or so years ago in canon time. Hence 2004 and troops in Iraq.
X-posted to Marvel Slash.
When the Lights Go On Again
"Flame on, fuzzy alien scum!" Johnny shouted, bright orange flames roaring to life around him, and Steve winced inwardly. Over a month, and the kid still wasn't taking this seriously.
From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Argonians bringing a ray gun to bear on him, and he brought his shield up, covering his face. The plasma bolt splashed harmlessly against the metal.
"Kid, will you for once try to pretend you've got some class?" Ben Grimm's voice carried even in the midst of battle, even when he wasn't trying to be particularly loud.
The air around Steve was thick with plasma bolts and gunfire; their third-hand connection with the Kingpin, via Daredevil, had born fruit in the form of a case of handguns and semi-automatic weapons, all of them, unsurprisingly, without serial numbers. Steve had handed the guns out to the newer, non-superpowered members of the Resistance -- a ragtag collection of firemen, policemen, three surviving National Guard troops, and one vaguely familiar man Steve was certain he'd once seen wearing a Hydra uniform -- and they were using them with gusto now, particularly the three Guard troops, who were firing at the Argonians with a kind of wild, vindictive glee.
Steve threw himself forward, ducking a blow from an Argonian's tail, the blade scything through the air over his head, then came back up, slamming his shield into it's side, hard. He felt something crunch, and the Argonian staggered back with a hiss, clutching at its ribs. Then two more of them were on him.
Steve's world became a dance of knives, tailbarbs, and fists, and he barely noticed when one of his attackers disappeared, abruptly hoisted into the air by Justice's telekinesis and slammed into a bridge pylon; within moments, another Argonian had taken its place.
He had the uneasy feeling that they were in over their heads; they hadn't anticipated so many Argonians at the checkpoint, hadn't planned for it. Their intelligence had projected around two dozen guards, and Steve had mentally added another twelve or so to that, anticipating that Carol and Wanda's attack on the Manhattan Bridge subway line yesterday would cause an increase in security, but his estimate had been too conservative. There were at least four dozen Argonian warriors here.
Simon and Firestar were meeting the Argonian's counter-attack energy-blast for energy-blast, but there were only two of them against a sea of the aliens. He should have waited for Carol, Jan, and Wanda to rejoin them. Spiderman, too.
An Argonian came at Steve with its' blade, and Steve threw himself backwards, catching his weight on his free hand and kicking up to send the short, curved sword flying. They didn't have to hold out much longer. Just long enough for Sam to make it through the shield and find some kind of cover, then he could order everyone to pull back. They didn't actually have to win this fight, just survive it.
Steve knocked an Argonian's feet out from under it, and twisted aside just in time to mostly avoid the blow with its tail as it tried to sideswipe him. The end of its tail caught him in the ribs, hard enough that it staggered him and was going to leave bruises, but the tailbarb skidded harmlessly over his costume, the angle too shallow for it to penetrate the tough leather and mail. Two or three hard punches, and the Argonian stopped moving.
The air was thick with the choking scent of burned fur, and then someone screamed, and the charred-fur smell was overlaid by the sickening smell of burned flesh.
Overhead, the circular gap in the shield was still open, just visible as a circle of pure blue against the violet tinged sky. They had caught the Argonians just as a convoy of Argonian soldiers had been about to exit the city, and everything depended on keeping them too distracted and busy to close the hole in the shield again.
The entire thing had been carefully planned out. The Argonians sent a convoy through the shield every other day, either at midnight, or at high noon. They rotated the location, sometimes entering and exiting the shield over the Verrazano bridge, sometimes over the George Washington Bridge, and sometimes roughly over the Lincoln tunnel. But they changed location on a predictable pattern, not randomly, and so it had taken only a little work to pinpoint the time of their next convoy, and that they would be sending it through over the George Washington Bridge.
Steve and the others were supposed to distract the Argonians long enough for Sam and Redwing to slip through the opening in the shield unnoticed, whereupon Sam would try to locate any organized resistance that remained outside the shield. The Argonians couldn't have wiped out both the entire US military and all of SHIELD; there had to be someone out there for Sam to make contact with.
There had to be. The alternative was unthinkable.
One of the National Guard troops was down, the source of the burned-flesh smell. Justice was kneeling by his body, a look of horror on his face. "Focus, Avenger!" Steve yelled at him, but then an Argonian was shooting at him again and he didn't see whether Justice actually listened or not.
Sam was overhead now, heading for the shield. Firestar, Simon, and Johnny had redoubled their attacks; their role in this was to be distractions, to keep attention away from Sam, and they were giving it their all.
One of the ex-policemen was kneeling next to Steve in a classic shooter's stance now, gun held in both hands, firing at the Argonians. It was a textbook shooting range technique; Alvarez admitted to Steve before leaving for this mission that he'd never actually fired his gun at another person before, despite spending seven years on the force.
Ben had waded into the thick of the Argonians and was laying out all around him with his fists, oblivious to their swords, blades, and stingers.
Sam folded his wings and dove for the hole in the shield, a red, white, and silver streak, and then he was through, Redwing a smaller streak beside him.
Time to pull back.
Steve opened his mouth to say so, and then an Argonian came charging at them, notched sword swinging. He brought his shield up to throw, and then another Argonian was firing at him; he swung his shield around to catch the plasma bolt just in time, the heat from it nearly singing his eyebrows off.
And the Argonian with the sword charged past him, twisting away from Steve's kick as fluidly as a cat, and took Alverez's head off in one clean stroke.
The blood went everywhere, spattering all over the ground, the Argonian, and Steve.
Alverez's body crumpled to the ground, and Steve launched himself at the Argonian.
They both went down, the Argonian lashing at him with its tail, and Steve grabbed the flailing appendage with the hand that wasn't holding his shield and forced the tailblade back around, until it was nearly touching the Argonian's throat.
The Argonian beat at him with the hilt of its sword, slamming the weapon into Steve's ribs and shoulders. He ignored it.
"Fall back," Steve shouted, with what breath he could spare. Sam was through, and they were close to being overwhelmed. They had taken too many casualties already.
The Argonian was fighting him for all it was worth, and his arms were starting to ache from holding it still.
"Hold on!" Justice's voice. "I've got you."
Steve glanced up involuntarily to see two Argonians go sailing through the air, surrounded by the faint purple glow of Justice's telekinesis, as they were removed from the fight. Steve didn't see which Argonian fired; he only saw the plasma bolt that caught Justice in the center of the chest.
The Argonian underneath him snarled something, but Steve heard it only distantly. Justice hit the ground limply, obviously dead, and somewhere, Firestar was screaming.
The Argonian writhed, and locked one hand around Steve's throat, sword abandoned in favor of the claws that were now digging into his skin. Steve threw all of his weight against the thing's tail, shoving the tailblade into its throat.
Hot blood splashed across Steve's face, stinging his eyes, and the Argonian went still.
Firestar was still screaming.
Steve rose to his knees, wiping the back of his hand across his face to clear away the blood, and then there was a flood of bright light, and the smell of burning was suddenly overpowering. Searing heat hit him like a wall, so intense that his eyes hurt and it was suddenly impossible to breathe.
"Angie, stop it!" Simon was shouting. "We have to go! Angela! Do you want to kill Cap and the firemen, too?"
The light and heat faded. Steve staggered to his feet, blinking away tears, and grabbed the nearest human -- one of the firemen -- by the arm, pulling him upright as well.
"Run," he snapped.
The Argonians were blinking their huge, black eyes dazedly, temporarily blinded by intensity of Firestar's blast. This was their chance to get out of here.
Carol would have been useful right about now, Steve thought distantly. Simon had his hands full with Firestar, and Johnny couldn't carry any passengers when he flew.
When the remnants of his team hit solid ground again, leaving the bridge and the Argonians -- just beginning to recover their vision, if the plasma bolts now searing through the air after them were any sign -- behind, Ben had one of the policemen draped over his shoulder, bleeding, but conscious, gun still held in a while knuckled grasp. Two of the firemen were leaning on each other, both limping.
"We can't leave Mark," one of the soldiers protested. "You're not supposed to leave-"
"We don't have a choice," Ben interrupted, voice as gentle as a seven-foot pile of rock could make it. "He wouldn't want you to die trying to bring his body back."
"But-" the soldier protested. He was painfully young, probably barely old enough to drink.
"Come on." The other guardsman took him by the arm. "It's time to split." He turned to Steve. "See the rest of you at home base when the Argonian response has died down."
"Simon," Steve said, "go with them." The non-superhero resistance members had thrown their support in with the Avengers for this mission, and paid for it in blood. The least he could do was send somebody with powers out with them to watch their backs.
Simon nodded. He had reverted back to his normal, non-ionic form, making him a less obvious target, even in his bright red coat. Now, he pulled his sunglasses out of his breast pocket and slid them on, completing his transition from Wonder Man to ordinary person. "I'll see you around." He hesitated, then, "The Falcon got through, Cap. We did what we came here for. It's... the rest isn't your fault."
Steve nodded grimly, not sure what his face looked like. Assigning blame didn't make things any easier.
The non-superheroes -- Steve generally thought of people who weren't wearing costumes as "civilians," but these men were anything but -- melted away down a sidestreet, Simon bringing up their six, with the injured fireman leaning on his shoulder, and Steve was left alone with Ben, Johnny, and Angela.
"Let's go home, people," he said, suddenly feeling terribly tired.
The walk back to the Waldorf-Astoria took over two hours, twice as long as it normally would have, because Steve took them on a long, circuitous route to avoid leading any Argonian pursuit back to their main base.
Hank was waiting for them in the hotel room, along with Jan, returned from her part in the train job without a scratch on her.
Jan jumped to her feet when they entered, face alight with curiosity and welcome, then stilled, her expression of welcome changing to one of horror. "Oh my God, Steve, are you all right? You're covered in blood."
"Where's Vance?" Hank asked. "Did the Falcon get through?"
Angela burst into tears.
Steve felt frozen, not sure what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to say. "He... There were casualties. It's, it's not my blood."
Franklin and Valeria were standing in the doorway to the living room, looking very small and frightened. Valeria began to cry loudly, and Franklin grabbed her hand, scrubbing the back of his other hand across his eyes.
Ben and Johnny rushed over to them, each taking a child and carrying them out of the room. The sound of Valeria's wailing receded.
Steve stood there, feeling useless, his costume covered in tacky, dried blood, while Angela threw both arms around Jan and buried her face in her shoulder.
"He wanted to be a hero," she sobbed. "He's the one that wanted to join your stupid team in the first place."
"I-" Steve started.
"Steve," Jan said. "I've got this. Hank, take Steve and make him go clean up."
Hank nodded at the doorway to the master bedroom, and Steve obediently followed him through it and into the cavernous bathroom beyond it.
Jan was right, he thought, as he caught a glimpse of himself in the massive vanity mirror. He was covered in blood. It had dried in his eyebrows and between the edges of the scales on his mail shirt, which was going to take hours to clean. It would have to be done, though, or the mail would rust.
Steve pulled his cowl back, the blood-soaked leather peeling reluctantly away from his skin, only to discover that he had blood in his hair as well, from where it had seeped under the edges of the mask.
He turned away, back to Hank, not wanting to look at his reflection any longer. He looked... strange. Not like himself. If the face that had looked back at him from the mirror had been a soldier under his command, he would have given the guy three days of leave and sent him back behind their lines to the rear to rest up before he cracked.
"So," Hank said awkwardly, his voice abruptly shattering the silence, "you just saw a kid you felt responsible for get killed right in front of you, and I'm really hoping that's not his blood you've got all over your face. If I leave you in here, I'm not going to come back to find you huddled in the corner of the shower having some kind of flashback or breakdown, am I?"
Steve just looked at him. "No," he finally said, when Hank kept staring at him, unnervingly silent. He didn't have the luxury of falling apart right now, and he had kept himself together through worse. It was far from the first time he'd killed someone, even in hand to hand combat, and far from the first time he'd seen someone he was fighting beside die.
He had hated it then, and he hated it now, but there were no other options, and crying about it would do no one any good. He was in charge, and he needed to stay calm and in command of himself for the sake of the others.
"Good," Hank said, after a moment. "Because talking Tony out of the shower that one time is not something I ever want to repeat. I'll just, um, go now."
Steve didn't ask. He didn't want to know.
He started to pull his leather and mail shirt over his head. By the time he had it off, Hank was gone.
The shower was hot, and the blood made brownish-pink swirls against the marble as it washed away.
He'd never actually ordered people to their deaths before. There had always been someone else higher up giving the order during the war.
Vance had looked surprised when the plasma bolt caught him. He truly hadn't thought that he could get hit, could die. Spiderman and Johnny were kids, too, but they had been superheroes as long or longer than Steve. Vance had still been a rookie, inexperienced.
Someone had left clean clothes out for him while he was in the shower, and Steve put them on gratefully. There were no shoes or socks, though, so he left the bathroom barefoot, his boots in one hand.
Angela was still crying on Jan's shoulder, the two of them sitting on the couch in the parlor, and Hank was nowhere to be seen.
Carol and Wanda weren't back yet, debriefing Jan was out of the question at the moment, and he wasn't about to take Johnny and Ben away from the children right now.
It had been days since he'd written a letter to Tony. He'sd been too busy planning the bridge assault, and coordinating things with the new Resistance members.
He suddenly found himself assailed with an intense longing to hear Tony's voice, to have Tony talk to him and put a hand on his shoulder, and tell him it wasn't his fault in a way that he actually believed. Somehow, Tony could always do that.
Sam was good at it, too, but Sam was gone now, Thor and Wanda weren't here, and Clint was stuck underground with the Argonians, too, right beside Tony.
He couldn't afford to mention any doubts to people under his command, anyway.
But he could tell them to Tony. And maybe, if Jan could get a letter in to him soon, he might even get lucky and get a response back quickly this time.
Tony's letters were too few, too infrequent, and always far, far too short. Steve had never expected to find himself missing him so much, but then, he had never been so completely cut off from him before, either; even when Tony had been on the other side of the country, there had always been phone calls, visits, Avengers missions. The only time Steve had truly gone months without seeing him before was when Tony had been drinking, and had dropped off the radar for weeks, and then hidden from the rest of the Avengers for months afterward.
He missed Tony's smile, and the way he talked with his hands when he was explaining some complex engineering issue Steve only barely understood, but which Tony was discussing with him as if he were a fellow professional anyway. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see Tony's hands, long fingers covered in tiny white scars from years of working with metal. Could see the sharply cut cheekbones, the almost ridiculously long eyelashes, the blue eyes that were so startlingly pale against the rest of his coloring. The strong, lean lines of his body, all long limbs and unexpectedly well-defined muscle.
Tony had been his friend and teammate for years, for reasons that had nothing to do with his physical attractiveness, but Steve was honest enough to admit to himself that he had always enjoyed looking.
Right now, though, he'd settle for just the chance to hear Tony's voice over the radio, to be able to talk to him directly, instead of relying on the stunted and delayed communication that was all letters allowed him.
"I've been telling myself that the risks and losses were worth it in order to get word out to SHIELD, and whatever may remain of the American government," he found himself writing, some minutes later, "but I can't shake the fear that maybe there's no one out there. Maybe they really have conquered everything, and I've sent Sam out to face them all with only Redwing for back up, all for nothing."
The attack on Penn Station had gone almost perfectly, the attack on the train better than he had expected. Had he gotten over-confident? Allowed them to go in to this without enough preparation? Half the people who'd been out there today had had next to no experience with this kind of situation. He should have tried to get some of the infantrymen from Fort Hamilton to come across the river and help.
"I don't know what to say to Firestar. An apology would be meaningless; Justice made his own choices, and to apologize for leading him to his death would demean that. Justice had gone out there as an Avenger, as a soldier. They all knew the risks involved, and he had chosen to take them. Maybe he hadn't really believed that it might happen to him, but he had still made the choice.
"But I still feel responsible. How many more kids am I going to watch die, Tony? If you were here, you would tell me to stop brooding and that it wasn't my fault, which would be the height of hypocrisy by the way, since you always try to shoulder the blame for everything.
"I wish you were here, to talk me out of this stupid funk, or spar with me to distract me from it. It's harder than I thought it would be, doing this without you. It was your theories on the way the Argonians' shield functioned that let us come up with the plan in the first place, you know. It never occurred to any of us that opening up a gap in the shield was even possible; we had been assuming the ships phased through the shield somehow, and that the only way in and out was to be in physical contact with an Argonian vessel.
"When this is over, remind me to buy you dinner".
--Steve
***
...The Argonians have to know by now that we have someone on the inside. Be very careful, Tony. You might not be able to get away with delaying results on whatever new project they've given you for weeks on end. If they push you for results, don't try to stall this time.
We've been encountering more resistance since the bridge. More guards, tighter security. Tell Hawkeye he's right; any surprise they once felt over humans they don't consider warriors bearing arms has long since worn off. Once they start thinking of all humans as potential enemies, it's only a matter of time before they become suspicious of their human allies, too.
I just hope we can avoid retaliation against the civilian population for a little longer. They've already cracked down even further on casual movement around the city, and imposed a curfew during daylight hours.
Just hold on, and don't take any chances.
--Steve
Tony crumpled Steve's letter into a loose ball, and, making sure that his body shielded it from the sight of the rest of the room, turned on the tiny welding torch he'd been given for performing maintenance work on Argonian ship engines and held it under the paper until it had been reduced to a small pile of ash.
As Steve had said, he wasn't taking any chances.
He had held out for three months in Afghanistan. Just over two months in Argonian hands, and he had already built them a nuclear missile. Granted, they didn't yet have the nuclear material to make the missile operational, but that was what the team of kidnapped physicists at their second lab location was for. One of them was probably completing the work Tony had begun right now, hoping all the while that no one on the engineering and systems side of things had cracked the missile's guidance system.
Now they had him repairing their machinery, and cannibalizing the cold-fusion power cores from damaged plasma guns to build new ones. Things he had refused to do under torture, once upon a time, and now he was doing them just because Isimud asked him to. Like a good little collaborator.
They had also assigned him to help Gruenwald with the particle accelerator he was building from scratch, which had been an interesting experience. Tony had been so eager to finish the job and get away from Gruenwald's vocal contempt that he hadn't even enjoyed the challenge, and hadn't thought to try and stall.
Every now and then, Isimud would bring him pieces of technical diagrams, and ask Tony where the mistakes in them were. He tried to avoid pointing out more than half of them, but he was never sure how much evasion he could get away with, never certain how much of the questioning was sincere, and how much was Isimud testing him.
They had tortured one of the physicists last month. A Dr. Ohnn, one of the people the Argonians had captured from right out of their cells at Rikers.
Tony had heard the Rhino describing it to one of the other scientists; Ohnn had been made an example of after Isimud had informed his superiors of Tony's revelations about "isotopes." A warning to them to stop concealing information.
If Tony corrected the wrong error, he might cost some other, braver scientist his life.
He sighed, and returned to his study of what, as far as he could determine, seemed to be a cross-sectional diagram of part of an Argonian spaceship's propulsion system. The print was so small in places that it made his eyes hurt -- Argonians had greater visual acuity than humans, at least in low light -- and completely indecipherable, since it was written entirely in angular Argonian lettering.
The anonymous Argonian mechanikos they'd had draw the thing had the makings of a talented draftsman, though, especially considering that he had probably had little to no clue what most of the system's components did.
Was he the only person looking at this? If he stalled, and gave them half-answers, would he find himself caught out immediately, because some other engineer had already figured out how it worked and told them everything? If he gave them the answers they wanted, would he be revealing some other prisoner's attempts at misdirection?
Tony closed his eyes, and rubbed at his temples with both hands. Exhaustion seemed to drag at him, making his head throb. He was always tired these days.
His ribs still hurt when he put too much pressure on them, even though, for the first time in his adult life, he'd actually been out of action and away from the armor long enough to give them a chance to heal completely. He shouldn't still be hurting like this.
It had to be in his head. The last time he'd been in a situation like this, he'd been badly injured, had nearly died. He probably ought to be grateful that he wasn't having phantom chest pains.
Or he could just be tired because the looming presence of the guards made it impossible to sleep.
"Hey, Barton, what's the matter with you? Did you draw the short straw and pull guard duty in the physicist's dungeon? You know everyone there has the flu, right?"
"That's not funny, Schultz," Conners snapped, his voice hissing slightly on the sibilants, the way it always did when he was annoyed. "They don't have the flu; they're dying. They aren't using radiation shielding in there. And don't call it the physicistss' dungeon. It'ss inssulting."
Tony looked up from his schematics to see Clint walking slowly across the room towards him, one arm cradled against his chest. As he watched, Clint staggered slightly, grabbing for part of one of the giant converters with his other hand, and Tony hurried around his lab bench to meet him.
He grabbed Clint around the waist just as the other man's knees gave way, and he sagged heavily against Tony.
Clint might have looked small next to Steve, but he was only two inches shorter than Tony and years of archery had given him solidly-packed muscles that made him weigh significantly more than he looked like he should. Half-dragging/half-carrying him the remaining distance to Tony's cot took real physical effort.
He meant to ease Clint down gently onto the cot, but Clint chose that moment to come too again, and his attempts to help in this process caused Tony to lose his grips on him, so that he half-fell onto the bed.
All the while, Tony was performing a kind of quietly frantic survey of him, looking for blood, bruises, or any obvious injury. The only one he could find was a long, angry-looking scratch down Clint's left arm, where something had torn through the sleeve of his uniform tunic.
What was wrong with him? Was he sick? Hurt?
"What happened?" he demanded. He took hold of Clint's scratched arm, trying to get a closer look at it, and Clint flinched and pulled away.
"Hurts," he mumbled. "Alien bitch hit me."
"On the head?" Tony asked. Clint's pupils were dilated, making his eyes look weirdly dark, and his skin was flushed. His arm, when Tony reached for it again, was hot to the touch.
"With her tail," Clint said, closing his eyes and looking sick. "I don't feel so good."
Tony stared at Clint's scratched arm, the long red line of the injury already visibly swollen, and thought of the black, scorpion-like barbs that grew from the ends of female Argonian's tails. Some kind of venom, he thought, and felt a little sick himself.
"Wait, you mean they actually have people working with unshielded radioactive material in there?" Schultz's voice rose noticeably in volume and pitch as he spoke. Tony wanted to turn around and snarl at the man to shut up and stop distracting him, but that would only have drawn more attention to himself and Clint.
"Radioactive material?" Clint's eyes snapped open. "I don't have radiation poisoning from your stupid missile, do I? Oh God, you gave me radiation poisoning." He sounded as if he were on the verge of hysteria, and Tony, looking at his flushed face and the beads of sweat forming along his hairline, felt hopelessly out of his depth.
"Clint," he said, as calmly as he could manage, "you do not have radiation poisoning." Where was Hank when you needed him? Who knew if Argonian tail-barb venom even had an antidote, or what kind of effects it had on the human body? It might be fatal simply because of the fact that it was alien, the difference in their physiology making something that could easily be the alien equivalent of a jellyfish sting deadly.
"Oh. Good. My arm hurts." And just like that, he was reassured. Since when did Clint listen to him?
"Is that scratch on your arm from where the Argonian hit you?" Tony asked. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe Clint was sick, not poisoned.
"I hate her," Clint mumbled, his tone sullen, and tried to pull his arm away from Tony again. "Leave it alone. It's fine."
"What's wrong with him?"
Tony jumped, his heart pounding, as Dr. Connors seemed to appear out of nowhere behind him. Having a six foot tall crocodile looming over your shoulder was disconcerting even when it wasn't a surprise. "I don't know," he managed.
Clint was trying to sit up again, pushing himself up with his good arm. Tony set one hand against his chest and pressed him back down. "Lie down, Clint."
"I can't." Clint started to struggle, frowning, his voice rising in intensity again. "It's almost noon. I have to go see Jan."
"You don't have to go anywhere," Tony told him. 'Shut up, Clint,' he begged silently. Of all the ways to get caught... "Lie down."
"She'll worry if I'm late, and we need to give Cap your-"
"Clint!" Tony snapped. "Lie down and be quiet."
Surprisingly, Clint complied. There were hectic spots of red on his cheeks, and he was trembling slightly.
"Perhaps I can help. Is he sick, poisoned? Does he know what caused this?"
Tony turned sharply, looking up at Connor's scaly green face. Kurt Connors might be a reformed supervillain, but he was also a good man, and a skilled biologist. And more than intelligent enough to figure out what was going on if Clint let anything else about their undercover status or his meetings with Jan slip out.
One more incoherent remark from Clint in Connors' hearing and both of them could be in serious trouble. If the Argonians learned they were spies, Clint wouldn't get the chance to die from Argonian poison, because he'd be cut into pieces by Argonian soldiers first.
And if Connors didn't tell, knowing their secret would put him at risk, too.
"I can handle it, Connors," he said, loading his voice with all the scorn he usually reserved for Titanium Man, or his cousin Morgan when he tried to sponge money off him, or people he was about to fire because they couldn't comply with basic safety protocols. "We've all seen how effective your medical skills are."
It was difficult to tell, because reptilian faces weren't exactly expressive, but he thought Connors flinched. It reminded Tony uneasily of Hank when somebody threw Ultron in his face, and Tony wanted to apologize, to take it back, to beg Connors to help him, because Clint could be dying for all he knew, and he had no idea what to do about it. He wasn't a doctor, or a biologist, or even a chemist -- the only thing he really knew about medical science was far more about how the human heart worked and the many and varied things that could go wrong with it than he wanted to.
"Fine, then. Come get me if he getsss worssse," Connors hissed. Then he turned and walked away, tail lashing behind him like an Argonian's.
Clint had closed his eyes, and was lying there silently, shivering.
Tony pulled his boots off -- tall, polished black Argonian boots, now, instead of the bucket-topped purple ones that went with his costume -- unfastened the front of his uniform tunic so the high collar wouldn't choke him, and spread a blanket over him.
Then he stood there for a moment, feeling helpless. There had to be something else he could do.
Clint needed anti-venom, or antihistamines, if this was some allergic reaction to non-Earth biochemicals, and probably an IV drip, and all kinds of medical treatment he couldn't provide. The most Tony could do was clean the cut on his arm, and get him some water.
During his two months in what Clint had begun calling 'The Mad Scientist Basement,' Tony had avoided contact with the Argonians whenever possible. His stomach felt hollow as he approached the pair of Argonian mechanikos standing near the barrier separating the human scientists' area of the big, man-made cavern from the banks of modern converters where the power core was located.
If you walked too close to the power core, he knew, the guards -- always Argonian for something this sensitive -- would return you to you assigned area by physical force.
The mechanikos turned at his approach, and the relief he felt when he realized that one of them was Isimud was probably something he needed to worry about. Later.
Right now, it was time to take advantage of the fact that he'd found the one Argonian who would actually listen to him.
"Tony Stark?" Isimud's ears swiveled forward in greeting. "Have you completed work on the power core and engine schematics?" he asked, ignoring the other Argonian's snarl.
"I'm working on it," Tony replied automatically, hating himself for how immediate the urge to start offering placating excuses was. "That's not why I'm here."
The second Argonian looked truly annoyed now, both ears pulled back, but Isimud only looked curious.
"One of the guards -- the human guards--" he didn't say Clint's name; if the Argonians hadn't figured out yet that he and Clint were friends, he wasn't going to hand them any more clues, "is sick. He was scratched by one of your people's stingers, and is having some kind of reaction to it."
"Oh." Isimud's face cleared, and his tail curved up over his shoulder alertly. "Yes, sometimes our tailbarbs poison weaker species. Woman evolved them to defend their young from predators; it's why women make natural warriors. A good mother, even a mechanikos, can kill just about anything before the venom has a chance to take effect, but there are some very large subterranean predators on Argon. Or at least, there were." His ears lowered, and Tony felt bad for him for an instant before he remembered that the Argonians' solution to losing their planet had been to come and take over Earth.
And then, in an instant of sickening hope, it struck Tony that, if the Argonians knew their tailbarbs poisoned people, and it wasn't just some allergic reaction to alien proteins, then they might have an antidote.
The question was out of his mouth immediately, without pause for thought.
Isimud frowned, tail swaying behind him. "There's no need. Argonians are immune to it." Then he hesitated, one ear flicking backwards. "That might be... an oversight. But it is generally non-lethal," he told Tony, sounding for all the world as if he were actually trying to reassure him. "At least, in larger, stronger species. I am sure your species is sturdy enough to withstand it, especially a warrior. You did say it was a guard?"
Tony drew in a deep breath, and fought down the desire to say something that would have been inappropriate, not to mention dangerous considering the circumstances. "I need medical supplies to clean the injury, and water."
"They will be brought to you. You should return to your workstation, before Arch-Captain Mamitu notices your absence. She is short-tempered today."
When isn't she? Tony thought, rubbing at the still-healing scar on his cheekbone, but he knew better than to say it, even to Isimud, who clearly didn't like her either.
Clint's condition hadn't changed. He was semiconscious, still shivering and sweating, and had rolled onto his uninjured side and curled himself into a pathetic little ball, the blanket clutched tight around him.
To Tony surprise, Isimud brought him an Argonian first aid kit himself, only minutes later, and stayed long enough to explain what each item inside did. Then he asked one or two new questions about the schematics and left again.
Once he had gone, Tony cut Clint's sleeve off with a pair of small wire-cutters, and began swabbing the now raised and swollen scratch with the Argonian equivalent of an alcohol pad. The first aid kit was little enough, but he felt pathetically grateful for it.
He hadn't been able to accept aid from Dr. Connors, but at least he'd been able to get Clint some help. He wasn't entirely useless, he thought, and Clint moaned faintly and tried to pulled his arm away again; he just felt that way
It still wasn't enough, though. The poison could be doing anything to Clint. Tony didn’t even know what kind of poison it was; it might be shutting down his brain or heart or lungs, attacking his central nervous system, necrotizing the flesh of his arm, or any number of other things that he didn't know enough about poisons to think of.
There was the sound of heavy footsteps, and Tony glanced over incuriously to see the Rhino heading his way, probably bringing Doc Ock or Shutlz -- who had to be some kind of supervillain, though Tony couldn't place his face or name -- their lunch.
Only, instead of stopping by Doc Ock's workstation, or pausing to chat with Shultz, the Rhino kept walking, until he was standing right there in front of Tony's workbench, looming over him.
"Herman said you have a radiation detector," he announced. His voice was deep, and slightly rough, and he had the remnants of a Russian accent, just discernable under a thick, nasal layer of New Jersey.
"You could call it that, yes," Tony hedged, wishing with all his heart that the Rhino would just go away and leave him alone. He didn't have time for supervillains trying to gang up on him and steal in lab equipment now, or whatever this was about.
"I want you to use it to check me out. I've been taking Dr. Ohnn his dinner, and..." He shook his head, the three-foot horn sprouting from it suddenly looking both massive and wickedly sharp. "You'll check me out with it, or I'll flatten your lab for you." The he glanced over at Clint, where he lay huddled on Tony's cot. "Is he sick?"
"Never mind him." Tony gave the Rhino his most charming smile. There was about half an hour left until noon, when Jan would, hopefully, be coming to meet Clint in the main concourse. The first aid kit had little vials in it for taking blood samples; if he could get one to Jan, she could take it to Hank, and he could make Clint an antidote. If Clint were still alive by then. "I'll check you over with it, but only if you do something for me. I've been down here for weeks; I haven't seen the sun in ages. Get me upstairs for twenty minutes or so, just long enough to walk around and look out the windows, and I'll scan you for contamination when we come back down."
The Rhino appeared to think about it for a moment, eyes narrowing. "It's a deal," he finally said. "But if you get caught, I ain't seen you, and I don't know what you're doing up there."
Tony nodded, still smiling. "Of course."
When the clock struck noon, he was standing in the remains of a restaurant in the station's lobby, a vial of Clint's blood in his pocket, waiting for Jan.
The Rhino had abandoned him instantly once they hit the ground floor, telling him that he had ten minutes before he came back, and to be there or else.
The lobby was filled with sunlight, so bright it hurt his eyes; he hadn't realized how long it really had been since he'd seen the sun until he stepped into it. How long it had been since he'd been warm.
For a moment, Tony resented Clint for getting to come up here every day, and then he remembered that Clint was sick, might be dying right now, as he stood there enjoying the sunlight, and guilt twisted in his stomach.
When Jan landed on his shoulder moments later, full of shocked questions, he had his head tipped back and his eyes closed, luxuriating in the feel of the sun on his face.
***
God, was that Tony?
It took her a moment to recognize him at first. She had been looking for Clint's blond hair and dark uniform, not dark hair and the grey that all the non-military Argonians wore.
She had actually scanned the room twice, trying to decide if she should do the safe thing and leave, or wait for Clint to show up, before she realized that the thin man with the dark goatee standing in one of the long bars of sunlight was Tony.
Even then she had hesitated, part of her not believing that it was really him, convinced that she had to be seeing things. Then he closed his eyes and turned his face upwards, and there was no more room for doubt.
She dove for his shoulder, landing there neatly. "Tony? What are you doing here? Where's Clint?"
Tony jumped slightly, but to his credit didn't turn to look at her. "He couldn't come," he said, very quietly, barely moving his lips. "Look, I blackmailed one of the guards into letting me up here. I have less than ten minutes before I have to go back down."
"You shouldn't have taken the risk," she said. "If Clint could have make it, he should have waited and tried again tomorrow. He knows I come again the next day if we fail to make contact." This close, found herself shocked at how bad Tony looked. He was pale, his face gaunt, and there were dark circles under his eyes, like bruises.
She crawled inside his collar, tucking herself between the fabric and his neck, the hiding place so familiar by now that it had stopped being claustrophobic. It felt different than hiding against Clint's bare neck did -- less awkward, less intense, somehow, though the position was every bit as intimate. Maybe it was because she'd seen Tony naked, so the mystery was already gone.
She and Tony had dated briefly, during that miserable period after she'd ended things with Hank, before they'd gotten back together. She'd done much more intimate things with him than simply touching his bare neck.
"You look awful," she said. "Any messages for Steve?"
"Clint's been poisoned by one of the Argonians," he said, in a monotone rush. "Those stingers they have in their tails are venomous. I have a blood sample here for you to take back to Hank."
"Clint's been what?" A cold knot formed in her stomach.
Vance's death had been bad enough. They couldn't lose Clint, too.
He couldn't be poisoned. Of course he and Tony were in danger down here, but he'd been meeting with her on a regular basis for over two months without getting caught.
"The stinger scratched him on the arm," Tony was saying. "The wound site is red and inflamed, hot to the touch. I cleaned it as well as I could, but any damage is already done."
"Symptoms?" she heard herself asking. Hank would want to know.
"Chills, disorientation, sweating, tremors... he was pretty out of it when I left him. He complained that his arm hurt, before he passed out."
"How long ago did it happen?" Some poisons worked quickly. She hoped this wasn't one of them, was something that took hours to take effect, or they might already be too late.
"An hour, maybe less," Tony shook his head slightly. "I think he came straight to me after it happened."
"That's..." not good. "Either it's really, really poisonous, or he's having some kind of allergic reaction to it." Hank had been exposed to a variety of insect venoms over the years, and all of them had taken several hours to take effect. Except for the infamous funnel-web spider incident, when he'd lost consciousness less than fifteen minutes after being bitten, just after Scott Lang had given him a shot of antivenom.
That had been during the long, painful period after the divorce. Jan had gone to the hospital anyway, and there had been a screaming argument over arthropods that didn't belong in the Avengers Mansion. She could still remember how washed-out he'd looked lying in the hospital bed, an IV in his arm, and thinking how stupid it would be, after years of fighting supervillains, for him to die from a lab accident.
"I thought of that. He's still breathing properly, though, and anyway, if he were going into anaphylactic shock, he'd already be dead. I asked one of the guards about antivenom, but they've never made any. Apparently," he said bitterly, "Argonians are immune and other species aren't important enough to bother with it."
"Give me the blood sample," she said, forcing herself to be calm. Panicking wouldn't help Clint. "I'll take it to Hank. Can you be back up here at midnight?" The Argonian guards would be eating their equivalent of lunch then, and would be less likely to notice Tony skulking around.
"I don't-" Tony's jaw set, and his shoulders went rigid. "I'll find a way." Then he stiffened. "Damn it, there's the Rhino. Go." He reached up with one hand, pretending to scratch at his shoulder, and slipped a plastic vial inside his collar.
It was big enough that Jan had to wrap both arms around it, and heavy, but she made it to the ceiling in seconds anyway. She was outside of the station, two streets away, and full sized again before she realized that she hadn't said goodbye.
***
A/N 2: Well, the vote seems to be for no beta, but weekly posting, so look for chapter eight next week. Also, feel free to go to town, and offer any con-crit you may have; we'd love to hear what you really think even if it isn't all good.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five (a) | Chapter Five (b) | Chapter Six (a) | Chapter Six (b) | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty (a) | Chapter Twenty (b) | Chapter Twenty One
Authors:
seanchai and elspethdixonRated: PG-13
Pairings: Steve/Tony, Hank/Jan, Carol/Wanda
Warnings: Some swearing and violence. Minor character death in this chapter.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Summary: Aliens have invaded earth, and the Avengers are scattered. While Steve leads the resistance, Tony once again finds himself playing captive scientist. In the midst of a violent alien regime, separated by seemingly insurmountable boundaries, Steve and Tony have nothing to keep themselves going but each other.
Author's Note:The point in volume three that we're branching off from was originally published around '98-'99, but since Marvel time runs at a slower speed than real world time, early volume three is probably four or so years ago in canon time. Hence 2004 and troops in Iraq.
X-posted to Marvel Slash.
"Flame on, fuzzy alien scum!" Johnny shouted, bright orange flames roaring to life around him, and Steve winced inwardly. Over a month, and the kid still wasn't taking this seriously.
From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Argonians bringing a ray gun to bear on him, and he brought his shield up, covering his face. The plasma bolt splashed harmlessly against the metal.
"Kid, will you for once try to pretend you've got some class?" Ben Grimm's voice carried even in the midst of battle, even when he wasn't trying to be particularly loud.
The air around Steve was thick with plasma bolts and gunfire; their third-hand connection with the Kingpin, via Daredevil, had born fruit in the form of a case of handguns and semi-automatic weapons, all of them, unsurprisingly, without serial numbers. Steve had handed the guns out to the newer, non-superpowered members of the Resistance -- a ragtag collection of firemen, policemen, three surviving National Guard troops, and one vaguely familiar man Steve was certain he'd once seen wearing a Hydra uniform -- and they were using them with gusto now, particularly the three Guard troops, who were firing at the Argonians with a kind of wild, vindictive glee.
Steve threw himself forward, ducking a blow from an Argonian's tail, the blade scything through the air over his head, then came back up, slamming his shield into it's side, hard. He felt something crunch, and the Argonian staggered back with a hiss, clutching at its ribs. Then two more of them were on him.
Steve's world became a dance of knives, tailbarbs, and fists, and he barely noticed when one of his attackers disappeared, abruptly hoisted into the air by Justice's telekinesis and slammed into a bridge pylon; within moments, another Argonian had taken its place.
He had the uneasy feeling that they were in over their heads; they hadn't anticipated so many Argonians at the checkpoint, hadn't planned for it. Their intelligence had projected around two dozen guards, and Steve had mentally added another twelve or so to that, anticipating that Carol and Wanda's attack on the Manhattan Bridge subway line yesterday would cause an increase in security, but his estimate had been too conservative. There were at least four dozen Argonian warriors here.
Simon and Firestar were meeting the Argonian's counter-attack energy-blast for energy-blast, but there were only two of them against a sea of the aliens. He should have waited for Carol, Jan, and Wanda to rejoin them. Spiderman, too.
An Argonian came at Steve with its' blade, and Steve threw himself backwards, catching his weight on his free hand and kicking up to send the short, curved sword flying. They didn't have to hold out much longer. Just long enough for Sam to make it through the shield and find some kind of cover, then he could order everyone to pull back. They didn't actually have to win this fight, just survive it.
Steve knocked an Argonian's feet out from under it, and twisted aside just in time to mostly avoid the blow with its tail as it tried to sideswipe him. The end of its tail caught him in the ribs, hard enough that it staggered him and was going to leave bruises, but the tailbarb skidded harmlessly over his costume, the angle too shallow for it to penetrate the tough leather and mail. Two or three hard punches, and the Argonian stopped moving.
The air was thick with the choking scent of burned fur, and then someone screamed, and the charred-fur smell was overlaid by the sickening smell of burned flesh.
Overhead, the circular gap in the shield was still open, just visible as a circle of pure blue against the violet tinged sky. They had caught the Argonians just as a convoy of Argonian soldiers had been about to exit the city, and everything depended on keeping them too distracted and busy to close the hole in the shield again.
The entire thing had been carefully planned out. The Argonians sent a convoy through the shield every other day, either at midnight, or at high noon. They rotated the location, sometimes entering and exiting the shield over the Verrazano bridge, sometimes over the George Washington Bridge, and sometimes roughly over the Lincoln tunnel. But they changed location on a predictable pattern, not randomly, and so it had taken only a little work to pinpoint the time of their next convoy, and that they would be sending it through over the George Washington Bridge.
Steve and the others were supposed to distract the Argonians long enough for Sam and Redwing to slip through the opening in the shield unnoticed, whereupon Sam would try to locate any organized resistance that remained outside the shield. The Argonians couldn't have wiped out both the entire US military and all of SHIELD; there had to be someone out there for Sam to make contact with.
There had to be. The alternative was unthinkable.
One of the National Guard troops was down, the source of the burned-flesh smell. Justice was kneeling by his body, a look of horror on his face. "Focus, Avenger!" Steve yelled at him, but then an Argonian was shooting at him again and he didn't see whether Justice actually listened or not.
Sam was overhead now, heading for the shield. Firestar, Simon, and Johnny had redoubled their attacks; their role in this was to be distractions, to keep attention away from Sam, and they were giving it their all.
One of the ex-policemen was kneeling next to Steve in a classic shooter's stance now, gun held in both hands, firing at the Argonians. It was a textbook shooting range technique; Alvarez admitted to Steve before leaving for this mission that he'd never actually fired his gun at another person before, despite spending seven years on the force.
Ben had waded into the thick of the Argonians and was laying out all around him with his fists, oblivious to their swords, blades, and stingers.
Sam folded his wings and dove for the hole in the shield, a red, white, and silver streak, and then he was through, Redwing a smaller streak beside him.
Time to pull back.
Steve opened his mouth to say so, and then an Argonian came charging at them, notched sword swinging. He brought his shield up to throw, and then another Argonian was firing at him; he swung his shield around to catch the plasma bolt just in time, the heat from it nearly singing his eyebrows off.
And the Argonian with the sword charged past him, twisting away from Steve's kick as fluidly as a cat, and took Alverez's head off in one clean stroke.
The blood went everywhere, spattering all over the ground, the Argonian, and Steve.
Alverez's body crumpled to the ground, and Steve launched himself at the Argonian.
They both went down, the Argonian lashing at him with its tail, and Steve grabbed the flailing appendage with the hand that wasn't holding his shield and forced the tailblade back around, until it was nearly touching the Argonian's throat.
The Argonian beat at him with the hilt of its sword, slamming the weapon into Steve's ribs and shoulders. He ignored it.
"Fall back," Steve shouted, with what breath he could spare. Sam was through, and they were close to being overwhelmed. They had taken too many casualties already.
The Argonian was fighting him for all it was worth, and his arms were starting to ache from holding it still.
"Hold on!" Justice's voice. "I've got you."
Steve glanced up involuntarily to see two Argonians go sailing through the air, surrounded by the faint purple glow of Justice's telekinesis, as they were removed from the fight. Steve didn't see which Argonian fired; he only saw the plasma bolt that caught Justice in the center of the chest.
The Argonian underneath him snarled something, but Steve heard it only distantly. Justice hit the ground limply, obviously dead, and somewhere, Firestar was screaming.
The Argonian writhed, and locked one hand around Steve's throat, sword abandoned in favor of the claws that were now digging into his skin. Steve threw all of his weight against the thing's tail, shoving the tailblade into its throat.
Hot blood splashed across Steve's face, stinging his eyes, and the Argonian went still.
Firestar was still screaming.
Steve rose to his knees, wiping the back of his hand across his face to clear away the blood, and then there was a flood of bright light, and the smell of burning was suddenly overpowering. Searing heat hit him like a wall, so intense that his eyes hurt and it was suddenly impossible to breathe.
"Angie, stop it!" Simon was shouting. "We have to go! Angela! Do you want to kill Cap and the firemen, too?"
The light and heat faded. Steve staggered to his feet, blinking away tears, and grabbed the nearest human -- one of the firemen -- by the arm, pulling him upright as well.
"Run," he snapped.
The Argonians were blinking their huge, black eyes dazedly, temporarily blinded by intensity of Firestar's blast. This was their chance to get out of here.
Carol would have been useful right about now, Steve thought distantly. Simon had his hands full with Firestar, and Johnny couldn't carry any passengers when he flew.
When the remnants of his team hit solid ground again, leaving the bridge and the Argonians -- just beginning to recover their vision, if the plasma bolts now searing through the air after them were any sign -- behind, Ben had one of the policemen draped over his shoulder, bleeding, but conscious, gun still held in a while knuckled grasp. Two of the firemen were leaning on each other, both limping.
"We can't leave Mark," one of the soldiers protested. "You're not supposed to leave-"
"We don't have a choice," Ben interrupted, voice as gentle as a seven-foot pile of rock could make it. "He wouldn't want you to die trying to bring his body back."
"But-" the soldier protested. He was painfully young, probably barely old enough to drink.
"Come on." The other guardsman took him by the arm. "It's time to split." He turned to Steve. "See the rest of you at home base when the Argonian response has died down."
"Simon," Steve said, "go with them." The non-superhero resistance members had thrown their support in with the Avengers for this mission, and paid for it in blood. The least he could do was send somebody with powers out with them to watch their backs.
Simon nodded. He had reverted back to his normal, non-ionic form, making him a less obvious target, even in his bright red coat. Now, he pulled his sunglasses out of his breast pocket and slid them on, completing his transition from Wonder Man to ordinary person. "I'll see you around." He hesitated, then, "The Falcon got through, Cap. We did what we came here for. It's... the rest isn't your fault."
Steve nodded grimly, not sure what his face looked like. Assigning blame didn't make things any easier.
The non-superheroes -- Steve generally thought of people who weren't wearing costumes as "civilians," but these men were anything but -- melted away down a sidestreet, Simon bringing up their six, with the injured fireman leaning on his shoulder, and Steve was left alone with Ben, Johnny, and Angela.
"Let's go home, people," he said, suddenly feeling terribly tired.
The walk back to the Waldorf-Astoria took over two hours, twice as long as it normally would have, because Steve took them on a long, circuitous route to avoid leading any Argonian pursuit back to their main base.
Hank was waiting for them in the hotel room, along with Jan, returned from her part in the train job without a scratch on her.
Jan jumped to her feet when they entered, face alight with curiosity and welcome, then stilled, her expression of welcome changing to one of horror. "Oh my God, Steve, are you all right? You're covered in blood."
"Where's Vance?" Hank asked. "Did the Falcon get through?"
Angela burst into tears.
Steve felt frozen, not sure what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to say. "He... There were casualties. It's, it's not my blood."
Franklin and Valeria were standing in the doorway to the living room, looking very small and frightened. Valeria began to cry loudly, and Franklin grabbed her hand, scrubbing the back of his other hand across his eyes.
Ben and Johnny rushed over to them, each taking a child and carrying them out of the room. The sound of Valeria's wailing receded.
Steve stood there, feeling useless, his costume covered in tacky, dried blood, while Angela threw both arms around Jan and buried her face in her shoulder.
"He wanted to be a hero," she sobbed. "He's the one that wanted to join your stupid team in the first place."
"I-" Steve started.
"Steve," Jan said. "I've got this. Hank, take Steve and make him go clean up."
Hank nodded at the doorway to the master bedroom, and Steve obediently followed him through it and into the cavernous bathroom beyond it.
Jan was right, he thought, as he caught a glimpse of himself in the massive vanity mirror. He was covered in blood. It had dried in his eyebrows and between the edges of the scales on his mail shirt, which was going to take hours to clean. It would have to be done, though, or the mail would rust.
Steve pulled his cowl back, the blood-soaked leather peeling reluctantly away from his skin, only to discover that he had blood in his hair as well, from where it had seeped under the edges of the mask.
He turned away, back to Hank, not wanting to look at his reflection any longer. He looked... strange. Not like himself. If the face that had looked back at him from the mirror had been a soldier under his command, he would have given the guy three days of leave and sent him back behind their lines to the rear to rest up before he cracked.
"So," Hank said awkwardly, his voice abruptly shattering the silence, "you just saw a kid you felt responsible for get killed right in front of you, and I'm really hoping that's not his blood you've got all over your face. If I leave you in here, I'm not going to come back to find you huddled in the corner of the shower having some kind of flashback or breakdown, am I?"
Steve just looked at him. "No," he finally said, when Hank kept staring at him, unnervingly silent. He didn't have the luxury of falling apart right now, and he had kept himself together through worse. It was far from the first time he'd killed someone, even in hand to hand combat, and far from the first time he'd seen someone he was fighting beside die.
He had hated it then, and he hated it now, but there were no other options, and crying about it would do no one any good. He was in charge, and he needed to stay calm and in command of himself for the sake of the others.
"Good," Hank said, after a moment. "Because talking Tony out of the shower that one time is not something I ever want to repeat. I'll just, um, go now."
Steve didn't ask. He didn't want to know.
He started to pull his leather and mail shirt over his head. By the time he had it off, Hank was gone.
The shower was hot, and the blood made brownish-pink swirls against the marble as it washed away.
He'd never actually ordered people to their deaths before. There had always been someone else higher up giving the order during the war.
Vance had looked surprised when the plasma bolt caught him. He truly hadn't thought that he could get hit, could die. Spiderman and Johnny were kids, too, but they had been superheroes as long or longer than Steve. Vance had still been a rookie, inexperienced.
Someone had left clean clothes out for him while he was in the shower, and Steve put them on gratefully. There were no shoes or socks, though, so he left the bathroom barefoot, his boots in one hand.
Angela was still crying on Jan's shoulder, the two of them sitting on the couch in the parlor, and Hank was nowhere to be seen.
Carol and Wanda weren't back yet, debriefing Jan was out of the question at the moment, and he wasn't about to take Johnny and Ben away from the children right now.
It had been days since he'd written a letter to Tony. He'sd been too busy planning the bridge assault, and coordinating things with the new Resistance members.
He suddenly found himself assailed with an intense longing to hear Tony's voice, to have Tony talk to him and put a hand on his shoulder, and tell him it wasn't his fault in a way that he actually believed. Somehow, Tony could always do that.
Sam was good at it, too, but Sam was gone now, Thor and Wanda weren't here, and Clint was stuck underground with the Argonians, too, right beside Tony.
He couldn't afford to mention any doubts to people under his command, anyway.
But he could tell them to Tony. And maybe, if Jan could get a letter in to him soon, he might even get lucky and get a response back quickly this time.
Tony's letters were too few, too infrequent, and always far, far too short. Steve had never expected to find himself missing him so much, but then, he had never been so completely cut off from him before, either; even when Tony had been on the other side of the country, there had always been phone calls, visits, Avengers missions. The only time Steve had truly gone months without seeing him before was when Tony had been drinking, and had dropped off the radar for weeks, and then hidden from the rest of the Avengers for months afterward.
He missed Tony's smile, and the way he talked with his hands when he was explaining some complex engineering issue Steve only barely understood, but which Tony was discussing with him as if he were a fellow professional anyway. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see Tony's hands, long fingers covered in tiny white scars from years of working with metal. Could see the sharply cut cheekbones, the almost ridiculously long eyelashes, the blue eyes that were so startlingly pale against the rest of his coloring. The strong, lean lines of his body, all long limbs and unexpectedly well-defined muscle.
Tony had been his friend and teammate for years, for reasons that had nothing to do with his physical attractiveness, but Steve was honest enough to admit to himself that he had always enjoyed looking.
Right now, though, he'd settle for just the chance to hear Tony's voice over the radio, to be able to talk to him directly, instead of relying on the stunted and delayed communication that was all letters allowed him.
"I've been telling myself that the risks and losses were worth it in order to get word out to SHIELD, and whatever may remain of the American government," he found himself writing, some minutes later, "but I can't shake the fear that maybe there's no one out there. Maybe they really have conquered everything, and I've sent Sam out to face them all with only Redwing for back up, all for nothing."
The attack on Penn Station had gone almost perfectly, the attack on the train better than he had expected. Had he gotten over-confident? Allowed them to go in to this without enough preparation? Half the people who'd been out there today had had next to no experience with this kind of situation. He should have tried to get some of the infantrymen from Fort Hamilton to come across the river and help.
"I don't know what to say to Firestar. An apology would be meaningless; Justice made his own choices, and to apologize for leading him to his death would demean that. Justice had gone out there as an Avenger, as a soldier. They all knew the risks involved, and he had chosen to take them. Maybe he hadn't really believed that it might happen to him, but he had still made the choice.
"But I still feel responsible. How many more kids am I going to watch die, Tony? If you were here, you would tell me to stop brooding and that it wasn't my fault, which would be the height of hypocrisy by the way, since you always try to shoulder the blame for everything.
"I wish you were here, to talk me out of this stupid funk, or spar with me to distract me from it. It's harder than I thought it would be, doing this without you. It was your theories on the way the Argonians' shield functioned that let us come up with the plan in the first place, you know. It never occurred to any of us that opening up a gap in the shield was even possible; we had been assuming the ships phased through the shield somehow, and that the only way in and out was to be in physical contact with an Argonian vessel.
"When this is over, remind me to buy you dinner".
--Steve
...The Argonians have to know by now that we have someone on the inside. Be very careful, Tony. You might not be able to get away with delaying results on whatever new project they've given you for weeks on end. If they push you for results, don't try to stall this time.
We've been encountering more resistance since the bridge. More guards, tighter security. Tell Hawkeye he's right; any surprise they once felt over humans they don't consider warriors bearing arms has long since worn off. Once they start thinking of all humans as potential enemies, it's only a matter of time before they become suspicious of their human allies, too.
I just hope we can avoid retaliation against the civilian population for a little longer. They've already cracked down even further on casual movement around the city, and imposed a curfew during daylight hours.
Just hold on, and don't take any chances.
--Steve
Tony crumpled Steve's letter into a loose ball, and, making sure that his body shielded it from the sight of the rest of the room, turned on the tiny welding torch he'd been given for performing maintenance work on Argonian ship engines and held it under the paper until it had been reduced to a small pile of ash.
As Steve had said, he wasn't taking any chances.
He had held out for three months in Afghanistan. Just over two months in Argonian hands, and he had already built them a nuclear missile. Granted, they didn't yet have the nuclear material to make the missile operational, but that was what the team of kidnapped physicists at their second lab location was for. One of them was probably completing the work Tony had begun right now, hoping all the while that no one on the engineering and systems side of things had cracked the missile's guidance system.
Now they had him repairing their machinery, and cannibalizing the cold-fusion power cores from damaged plasma guns to build new ones. Things he had refused to do under torture, once upon a time, and now he was doing them just because Isimud asked him to. Like a good little collaborator.
They had also assigned him to help Gruenwald with the particle accelerator he was building from scratch, which had been an interesting experience. Tony had been so eager to finish the job and get away from Gruenwald's vocal contempt that he hadn't even enjoyed the challenge, and hadn't thought to try and stall.
Every now and then, Isimud would bring him pieces of technical diagrams, and ask Tony where the mistakes in them were. He tried to avoid pointing out more than half of them, but he was never sure how much evasion he could get away with, never certain how much of the questioning was sincere, and how much was Isimud testing him.
They had tortured one of the physicists last month. A Dr. Ohnn, one of the people the Argonians had captured from right out of their cells at Rikers.
Tony had heard the Rhino describing it to one of the other scientists; Ohnn had been made an example of after Isimud had informed his superiors of Tony's revelations about "isotopes." A warning to them to stop concealing information.
If Tony corrected the wrong error, he might cost some other, braver scientist his life.
He sighed, and returned to his study of what, as far as he could determine, seemed to be a cross-sectional diagram of part of an Argonian spaceship's propulsion system. The print was so small in places that it made his eyes hurt -- Argonians had greater visual acuity than humans, at least in low light -- and completely indecipherable, since it was written entirely in angular Argonian lettering.
The anonymous Argonian mechanikos they'd had draw the thing had the makings of a talented draftsman, though, especially considering that he had probably had little to no clue what most of the system's components did.
Was he the only person looking at this? If he stalled, and gave them half-answers, would he find himself caught out immediately, because some other engineer had already figured out how it worked and told them everything? If he gave them the answers they wanted, would he be revealing some other prisoner's attempts at misdirection?
Tony closed his eyes, and rubbed at his temples with both hands. Exhaustion seemed to drag at him, making his head throb. He was always tired these days.
His ribs still hurt when he put too much pressure on them, even though, for the first time in his adult life, he'd actually been out of action and away from the armor long enough to give them a chance to heal completely. He shouldn't still be hurting like this.
It had to be in his head. The last time he'd been in a situation like this, he'd been badly injured, had nearly died. He probably ought to be grateful that he wasn't having phantom chest pains.
Or he could just be tired because the looming presence of the guards made it impossible to sleep.
"Hey, Barton, what's the matter with you? Did you draw the short straw and pull guard duty in the physicist's dungeon? You know everyone there has the flu, right?"
"That's not funny, Schultz," Conners snapped, his voice hissing slightly on the sibilants, the way it always did when he was annoyed. "They don't have the flu; they're dying. They aren't using radiation shielding in there. And don't call it the physicistss' dungeon. It'ss inssulting."
Tony looked up from his schematics to see Clint walking slowly across the room towards him, one arm cradled against his chest. As he watched, Clint staggered slightly, grabbing for part of one of the giant converters with his other hand, and Tony hurried around his lab bench to meet him.
He grabbed Clint around the waist just as the other man's knees gave way, and he sagged heavily against Tony.
Clint might have looked small next to Steve, but he was only two inches shorter than Tony and years of archery had given him solidly-packed muscles that made him weigh significantly more than he looked like he should. Half-dragging/half-carrying him the remaining distance to Tony's cot took real physical effort.
He meant to ease Clint down gently onto the cot, but Clint chose that moment to come too again, and his attempts to help in this process caused Tony to lose his grips on him, so that he half-fell onto the bed.
All the while, Tony was performing a kind of quietly frantic survey of him, looking for blood, bruises, or any obvious injury. The only one he could find was a long, angry-looking scratch down Clint's left arm, where something had torn through the sleeve of his uniform tunic.
What was wrong with him? Was he sick? Hurt?
"What happened?" he demanded. He took hold of Clint's scratched arm, trying to get a closer look at it, and Clint flinched and pulled away.
"Hurts," he mumbled. "Alien bitch hit me."
"On the head?" Tony asked. Clint's pupils were dilated, making his eyes look weirdly dark, and his skin was flushed. His arm, when Tony reached for it again, was hot to the touch.
"With her tail," Clint said, closing his eyes and looking sick. "I don't feel so good."
Tony stared at Clint's scratched arm, the long red line of the injury already visibly swollen, and thought of the black, scorpion-like barbs that grew from the ends of female Argonian's tails. Some kind of venom, he thought, and felt a little sick himself.
"Wait, you mean they actually have people working with unshielded radioactive material in there?" Schultz's voice rose noticeably in volume and pitch as he spoke. Tony wanted to turn around and snarl at the man to shut up and stop distracting him, but that would only have drawn more attention to himself and Clint.
"Radioactive material?" Clint's eyes snapped open. "I don't have radiation poisoning from your stupid missile, do I? Oh God, you gave me radiation poisoning." He sounded as if he were on the verge of hysteria, and Tony, looking at his flushed face and the beads of sweat forming along his hairline, felt hopelessly out of his depth.
"Clint," he said, as calmly as he could manage, "you do not have radiation poisoning." Where was Hank when you needed him? Who knew if Argonian tail-barb venom even had an antidote, or what kind of effects it had on the human body? It might be fatal simply because of the fact that it was alien, the difference in their physiology making something that could easily be the alien equivalent of a jellyfish sting deadly.
"Oh. Good. My arm hurts." And just like that, he was reassured. Since when did Clint listen to him?
"Is that scratch on your arm from where the Argonian hit you?" Tony asked. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe Clint was sick, not poisoned.
"I hate her," Clint mumbled, his tone sullen, and tried to pull his arm away from Tony again. "Leave it alone. It's fine."
"What's wrong with him?"
Tony jumped, his heart pounding, as Dr. Connors seemed to appear out of nowhere behind him. Having a six foot tall crocodile looming over your shoulder was disconcerting even when it wasn't a surprise. "I don't know," he managed.
Clint was trying to sit up again, pushing himself up with his good arm. Tony set one hand against his chest and pressed him back down. "Lie down, Clint."
"I can't." Clint started to struggle, frowning, his voice rising in intensity again. "It's almost noon. I have to go see Jan."
"You don't have to go anywhere," Tony told him. 'Shut up, Clint,' he begged silently. Of all the ways to get caught... "Lie down."
"She'll worry if I'm late, and we need to give Cap your-"
"Clint!" Tony snapped. "Lie down and be quiet."
Surprisingly, Clint complied. There were hectic spots of red on his cheeks, and he was trembling slightly.
"Perhaps I can help. Is he sick, poisoned? Does he know what caused this?"
Tony turned sharply, looking up at Connor's scaly green face. Kurt Connors might be a reformed supervillain, but he was also a good man, and a skilled biologist. And more than intelligent enough to figure out what was going on if Clint let anything else about their undercover status or his meetings with Jan slip out.
One more incoherent remark from Clint in Connors' hearing and both of them could be in serious trouble. If the Argonians learned they were spies, Clint wouldn't get the chance to die from Argonian poison, because he'd be cut into pieces by Argonian soldiers first.
And if Connors didn't tell, knowing their secret would put him at risk, too.
"I can handle it, Connors," he said, loading his voice with all the scorn he usually reserved for Titanium Man, or his cousin Morgan when he tried to sponge money off him, or people he was about to fire because they couldn't comply with basic safety protocols. "We've all seen how effective your medical skills are."
It was difficult to tell, because reptilian faces weren't exactly expressive, but he thought Connors flinched. It reminded Tony uneasily of Hank when somebody threw Ultron in his face, and Tony wanted to apologize, to take it back, to beg Connors to help him, because Clint could be dying for all he knew, and he had no idea what to do about it. He wasn't a doctor, or a biologist, or even a chemist -- the only thing he really knew about medical science was far more about how the human heart worked and the many and varied things that could go wrong with it than he wanted to.
"Fine, then. Come get me if he getsss worssse," Connors hissed. Then he turned and walked away, tail lashing behind him like an Argonian's.
Clint had closed his eyes, and was lying there silently, shivering.
Tony pulled his boots off -- tall, polished black Argonian boots, now, instead of the bucket-topped purple ones that went with his costume -- unfastened the front of his uniform tunic so the high collar wouldn't choke him, and spread a blanket over him.
Then he stood there for a moment, feeling helpless. There had to be something else he could do.
Clint needed anti-venom, or antihistamines, if this was some allergic reaction to non-Earth biochemicals, and probably an IV drip, and all kinds of medical treatment he couldn't provide. The most Tony could do was clean the cut on his arm, and get him some water.
During his two months in what Clint had begun calling 'The Mad Scientist Basement,' Tony had avoided contact with the Argonians whenever possible. His stomach felt hollow as he approached the pair of Argonian mechanikos standing near the barrier separating the human scientists' area of the big, man-made cavern from the banks of modern converters where the power core was located.
If you walked too close to the power core, he knew, the guards -- always Argonian for something this sensitive -- would return you to you assigned area by physical force.
The mechanikos turned at his approach, and the relief he felt when he realized that one of them was Isimud was probably something he needed to worry about. Later.
Right now, it was time to take advantage of the fact that he'd found the one Argonian who would actually listen to him.
"Tony Stark?" Isimud's ears swiveled forward in greeting. "Have you completed work on the power core and engine schematics?" he asked, ignoring the other Argonian's snarl.
"I'm working on it," Tony replied automatically, hating himself for how immediate the urge to start offering placating excuses was. "That's not why I'm here."
The second Argonian looked truly annoyed now, both ears pulled back, but Isimud only looked curious.
"One of the guards -- the human guards--" he didn't say Clint's name; if the Argonians hadn't figured out yet that he and Clint were friends, he wasn't going to hand them any more clues, "is sick. He was scratched by one of your people's stingers, and is having some kind of reaction to it."
"Oh." Isimud's face cleared, and his tail curved up over his shoulder alertly. "Yes, sometimes our tailbarbs poison weaker species. Woman evolved them to defend their young from predators; it's why women make natural warriors. A good mother, even a mechanikos, can kill just about anything before the venom has a chance to take effect, but there are some very large subterranean predators on Argon. Or at least, there were." His ears lowered, and Tony felt bad for him for an instant before he remembered that the Argonians' solution to losing their planet had been to come and take over Earth.
And then, in an instant of sickening hope, it struck Tony that, if the Argonians knew their tailbarbs poisoned people, and it wasn't just some allergic reaction to alien proteins, then they might have an antidote.
The question was out of his mouth immediately, without pause for thought.
Isimud frowned, tail swaying behind him. "There's no need. Argonians are immune to it." Then he hesitated, one ear flicking backwards. "That might be... an oversight. But it is generally non-lethal," he told Tony, sounding for all the world as if he were actually trying to reassure him. "At least, in larger, stronger species. I am sure your species is sturdy enough to withstand it, especially a warrior. You did say it was a guard?"
Tony drew in a deep breath, and fought down the desire to say something that would have been inappropriate, not to mention dangerous considering the circumstances. "I need medical supplies to clean the injury, and water."
"They will be brought to you. You should return to your workstation, before Arch-Captain Mamitu notices your absence. She is short-tempered today."
When isn't she? Tony thought, rubbing at the still-healing scar on his cheekbone, but he knew better than to say it, even to Isimud, who clearly didn't like her either.
Clint's condition hadn't changed. He was semiconscious, still shivering and sweating, and had rolled onto his uninjured side and curled himself into a pathetic little ball, the blanket clutched tight around him.
To Tony surprise, Isimud brought him an Argonian first aid kit himself, only minutes later, and stayed long enough to explain what each item inside did. Then he asked one or two new questions about the schematics and left again.
Once he had gone, Tony cut Clint's sleeve off with a pair of small wire-cutters, and began swabbing the now raised and swollen scratch with the Argonian equivalent of an alcohol pad. The first aid kit was little enough, but he felt pathetically grateful for it.
He hadn't been able to accept aid from Dr. Connors, but at least he'd been able to get Clint some help. He wasn't entirely useless, he thought, and Clint moaned faintly and tried to pulled his arm away again; he just felt that way
It still wasn't enough, though. The poison could be doing anything to Clint. Tony didn’t even know what kind of poison it was; it might be shutting down his brain or heart or lungs, attacking his central nervous system, necrotizing the flesh of his arm, or any number of other things that he didn't know enough about poisons to think of.
There was the sound of heavy footsteps, and Tony glanced over incuriously to see the Rhino heading his way, probably bringing Doc Ock or Shutlz -- who had to be some kind of supervillain, though Tony couldn't place his face or name -- their lunch.
Only, instead of stopping by Doc Ock's workstation, or pausing to chat with Shultz, the Rhino kept walking, until he was standing right there in front of Tony's workbench, looming over him.
"Herman said you have a radiation detector," he announced. His voice was deep, and slightly rough, and he had the remnants of a Russian accent, just discernable under a thick, nasal layer of New Jersey.
"You could call it that, yes," Tony hedged, wishing with all his heart that the Rhino would just go away and leave him alone. He didn't have time for supervillains trying to gang up on him and steal in lab equipment now, or whatever this was about.
"I want you to use it to check me out. I've been taking Dr. Ohnn his dinner, and..." He shook his head, the three-foot horn sprouting from it suddenly looking both massive and wickedly sharp. "You'll check me out with it, or I'll flatten your lab for you." The he glanced over at Clint, where he lay huddled on Tony's cot. "Is he sick?"
"Never mind him." Tony gave the Rhino his most charming smile. There was about half an hour left until noon, when Jan would, hopefully, be coming to meet Clint in the main concourse. The first aid kit had little vials in it for taking blood samples; if he could get one to Jan, she could take it to Hank, and he could make Clint an antidote. If Clint were still alive by then. "I'll check you over with it, but only if you do something for me. I've been down here for weeks; I haven't seen the sun in ages. Get me upstairs for twenty minutes or so, just long enough to walk around and look out the windows, and I'll scan you for contamination when we come back down."
The Rhino appeared to think about it for a moment, eyes narrowing. "It's a deal," he finally said. "But if you get caught, I ain't seen you, and I don't know what you're doing up there."
Tony nodded, still smiling. "Of course."
When the clock struck noon, he was standing in the remains of a restaurant in the station's lobby, a vial of Clint's blood in his pocket, waiting for Jan.
The Rhino had abandoned him instantly once they hit the ground floor, telling him that he had ten minutes before he came back, and to be there or else.
The lobby was filled with sunlight, so bright it hurt his eyes; he hadn't realized how long it really had been since he'd seen the sun until he stepped into it. How long it had been since he'd been warm.
For a moment, Tony resented Clint for getting to come up here every day, and then he remembered that Clint was sick, might be dying right now, as he stood there enjoying the sunlight, and guilt twisted in his stomach.
When Jan landed on his shoulder moments later, full of shocked questions, he had his head tipped back and his eyes closed, luxuriating in the feel of the sun on his face.
God, was that Tony?
It took her a moment to recognize him at first. She had been looking for Clint's blond hair and dark uniform, not dark hair and the grey that all the non-military Argonians wore.
She had actually scanned the room twice, trying to decide if she should do the safe thing and leave, or wait for Clint to show up, before she realized that the thin man with the dark goatee standing in one of the long bars of sunlight was Tony.
Even then she had hesitated, part of her not believing that it was really him, convinced that she had to be seeing things. Then he closed his eyes and turned his face upwards, and there was no more room for doubt.
She dove for his shoulder, landing there neatly. "Tony? What are you doing here? Where's Clint?"
Tony jumped slightly, but to his credit didn't turn to look at her. "He couldn't come," he said, very quietly, barely moving his lips. "Look, I blackmailed one of the guards into letting me up here. I have less than ten minutes before I have to go back down."
"You shouldn't have taken the risk," she said. "If Clint could have make it, he should have waited and tried again tomorrow. He knows I come again the next day if we fail to make contact." This close, found herself shocked at how bad Tony looked. He was pale, his face gaunt, and there were dark circles under his eyes, like bruises.
She crawled inside his collar, tucking herself between the fabric and his neck, the hiding place so familiar by now that it had stopped being claustrophobic. It felt different than hiding against Clint's bare neck did -- less awkward, less intense, somehow, though the position was every bit as intimate. Maybe it was because she'd seen Tony naked, so the mystery was already gone.
She and Tony had dated briefly, during that miserable period after she'd ended things with Hank, before they'd gotten back together. She'd done much more intimate things with him than simply touching his bare neck.
"You look awful," she said. "Any messages for Steve?"
"Clint's been poisoned by one of the Argonians," he said, in a monotone rush. "Those stingers they have in their tails are venomous. I have a blood sample here for you to take back to Hank."
"Clint's been what?" A cold knot formed in her stomach.
Vance's death had been bad enough. They couldn't lose Clint, too.
He couldn't be poisoned. Of course he and Tony were in danger down here, but he'd been meeting with her on a regular basis for over two months without getting caught.
"The stinger scratched him on the arm," Tony was saying. "The wound site is red and inflamed, hot to the touch. I cleaned it as well as I could, but any damage is already done."
"Symptoms?" she heard herself asking. Hank would want to know.
"Chills, disorientation, sweating, tremors... he was pretty out of it when I left him. He complained that his arm hurt, before he passed out."
"How long ago did it happen?" Some poisons worked quickly. She hoped this wasn't one of them, was something that took hours to take effect, or they might already be too late.
"An hour, maybe less," Tony shook his head slightly. "I think he came straight to me after it happened."
"That's..." not good. "Either it's really, really poisonous, or he's having some kind of allergic reaction to it." Hank had been exposed to a variety of insect venoms over the years, and all of them had taken several hours to take effect. Except for the infamous funnel-web spider incident, when he'd lost consciousness less than fifteen minutes after being bitten, just after Scott Lang had given him a shot of antivenom.
That had been during the long, painful period after the divorce. Jan had gone to the hospital anyway, and there had been a screaming argument over arthropods that didn't belong in the Avengers Mansion. She could still remember how washed-out he'd looked lying in the hospital bed, an IV in his arm, and thinking how stupid it would be, after years of fighting supervillains, for him to die from a lab accident.
"I thought of that. He's still breathing properly, though, and anyway, if he were going into anaphylactic shock, he'd already be dead. I asked one of the guards about antivenom, but they've never made any. Apparently," he said bitterly, "Argonians are immune and other species aren't important enough to bother with it."
"Give me the blood sample," she said, forcing herself to be calm. Panicking wouldn't help Clint. "I'll take it to Hank. Can you be back up here at midnight?" The Argonian guards would be eating their equivalent of lunch then, and would be less likely to notice Tony skulking around.
"I don't-" Tony's jaw set, and his shoulders went rigid. "I'll find a way." Then he stiffened. "Damn it, there's the Rhino. Go." He reached up with one hand, pretending to scratch at his shoulder, and slipped a plastic vial inside his collar.
It was big enough that Jan had to wrap both arms around it, and heavy, but she made it to the ceiling in seconds anyway. She was outside of the station, two streets away, and full sized again before she realized that she hadn't said goodbye.
A/N 2: Well, the vote seems to be for no beta, but weekly posting, so look for chapter eight next week. Also, feel free to go to town, and offer any con-crit you may have; we'd love to hear what you really think even if it isn't all good.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five (a) | Chapter Five (b) | Chapter Six (a) | Chapter Six (b) | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty (a) | Chapter Twenty (b) | Chapter Twenty One
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Steve... !!
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Bits I especially loved: Tony, feeling sunlight for the first time in two months - his reaction to it, and Jan's assessment of how awful he looks after all that time, are vivid. The bit about no radiation shielding gives an amazing sense of dread. And the battle, at the beginning, was great: Cap's assessment that there were too many aliens and things might go FUBAR was one thing, but the sudden shock of things really going to hell was sharply conveyed. Also, a point of interest: is there going to be any fallout for the Argonian soldiers witnessing the warrior getting his throat slit with his own tail blade? I mean, that's got to be one hell of a dishonour in their society.
As ever, I made embarrassing noises of delight when I saw this, and it didn't disappoint. Ho for next week!
Nice.
Ah yes, Jan and Tony. That really wasn't Tony's best behaviour at all. Bad form, Stark. Bad. Form.
Some typos.
weight on hi free hand and =his free hand?
Steve, are you all right? You've covered in blood." = you've should be you're?
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(2.19 a.M. but I Must Read the new part *_*)
When I read the title I immediately imaged the "WWII"-atmosphere ^_-
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This line in particular had me chuckling, despite the tension and character death: and one vaguely familiar man Steve was certain he'd once seen wearing a Hydra uniform.
I only noticed one typo, fatale should be fatal.
And Tony looking like hell, basking in the sunlight... I could watch that all day. ;)
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I liked the almost subtle drawing of strength Steve's getting from thinking of Tony, it was very believable. I think it could've been easy, there, to slip up and kind of downplay what he'd just been through, but you did a good job of making it an actual comfort for him, instead of suddenly switching gears from all the trauma Steve'd just been through to just, like, mooning over Tony.
Oh Clint D: I refuse to be worried for Clint and acknowledge that he might be in any danger, he is going to be fine, he is going to be fine.
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Eek, Clint is hurt! *glomps Clint* And once again, great job of showing Tony's stress and exhaustion. It's painfully in character for him to keep seeing himself as cowardly and useless even as he's constantly risking his life to provide vital intelligence. Tony's so used to relying on Iron Man for his sense of self-worth, and now he's stuck being "only" Tony Stark full-time. No wonder he's breaking down.
So, yeah. I case I haven't made it clear, I love this chapter. :-)
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[nit]Isn't Firestar's real name Angel[b]ic[/b]a, not Angela ?[/nit]
TBH, the Steve/Tony thing is not my cup of borscht. Probably because they were never particular favorites of mine. But their interactions are well-done here and totally believable. OTOH, Hank, Jan and Carol, Wanda are all favorites, so... [dreamy smile]
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The increasingly seige-like atmosphere is something I'd been waiting for. It kept...almost jarring me, that people were running around pretty much in public...but the lack of concern the Argonians had for humans made sense, and was enlightening. But of course it could only be a matter of time before they caught on and began to crack down.
Which won't go well among the Argonian elite, either, from what we've seen of them. More trouble in already-not-paradise there, I suspect.
Poor Doc Connors! I have <3 for Curt, but he gets nothing but busted on (not aimed at you, particularly; I'm just saying his luck's almost as bad as Peter's). He's even smarter than Tony gives him credit for, though. I'm betting (well, hoping :D ) he'll catch on to what Tony and Clint are up to and go in on the conspiracy.
And poor Vance. Vance is great. His death brings me sadness (and also he's pretty darn kickass with the telekinesis, so it's a real blow to Cap's cause). Still, if anybody had to go...I suppose the others would've been even more painful. Does a great job of driving home the seriousness of the situation, though. Even superheroes aren't invulnerable in a situation like this.
Finally (because I have to stop sometime), I adore Clint's grumpy little kid attitude when he gets poisoned. He's always such a tough guy, but you mess him over and he goes all pouty...and runs straight for the nearest Avenger, because no matter how much of a lone wolf routine he puts on, he knows where he belongs.
Go, Sam! Find them help! And hurry back with the next chapter! :D
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Yay, thanks! (especially for such a long and detailed review!).
The increasingly seige-like atmosphere is something I'd been waiting for. It kept...almost jarring me, that people were running around pretty much in public...but the lack of concern the Argonians had for humans made sense, and was enlightening. But of course it could only be a matter of time before they caught on and began to crack down.
Well, Wanda was using magic to keep people from noticing her, but you're right - we probably ought to have dropped in a few more details about Argonian curfews, and human-transit restrictions (for example, I don't know that we ever mentioned that there's a curfew in place during the hours around noon, or that people are forbidden to drive cars, or that public transport will only carry Argonian-approved passengers, etc. We thought about it, but since readers can't read our minds, that doesn't do much good).
Poor Doc Connors! I have <3 for Curt, but he gets nothing but busted on (not aimed at you, particularly; I'm just saying his luck's almost as bad as Peter's). He's even smarter than Tony gives him credit for, though. I'm betting (well, hoping :D ) he'll catch on to what Tony and Clint are up to and go in on the conspiracy.
The plethora of Spiderman villains staffing the Argnonians' mad scientist basement are definately going to play a role in the plot before this whole thing is done *grins* (well, except for the Spot - he's pretty much toast after the torture and the radiation poisoning).
And poor Vance. Vance is great. His death brings me sadness (and also he's pretty darn kickass with the telekinesis, so it's a real blow to Cap's cause). Still, if anybody had to go...I suppose the others would've been even more painful. Does a great job of driving home the seriousness of the situation, though. Even superheroes aren't invulnerable in a situation like this.
Finally (because I have to stop sometime), I adore Clint's grumpy little kid attitude when he gets poisoned. He's always such a tough guy, but you mess him over and he goes all pouty...and runs straight for the nearest Avenger, because no matter how much of a lone wolf routine he puts on, he knows where he belongs.
Go, Sam! Find them help! And hurry back with the next chapter! :D
If I am ever sufficiently motivated, I may someday write a side-ficlet for this titled something like, "The Falcon and SHIELD vs. the Alien Menace." Because you know Fury's busy outside the giant forcefield bubble doing exactly the same thing Steve's doing inside it. Only with a much higher rate of Argonian casualties, and possibly aided by a robot army of LMDs.
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And Tony! With his tendency to take responsibility for anything even remotely, peripherally related to him or his work or his company, he's going to be tearing himself apart with guilt. Heck, he already is. Steve's going to have a hell of a mess to take care of when he can finally manage some hands on care for that man. He needs it so much.
And Clint! This seems to be the chapter for exclamation point responses. *g* But Clint! He must live. He must. *pets Clint* Weirdly, I almost hope that Hank has to come up with an antidote to save Clint, because Hank really needs to do something a little more tangibly productive; his self-esteem is pretty terrible at the moment.
*hugs them all*
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Your guesses are probably right; we hate to have to kill off any character that people might care about because we're wusses like that, but it seemed like in this story, someone was going to have to buy it eventually, and Justice was a minor enough character that we felt we could justify killing him without needing to put in an entire plotline dedicated to the main characters dealing with it.
And Tony! With his tendency to take responsibility for anything even remotely, peripherally related to him or his work or his company, he's going to be tearing himself apart with guilt. Heck, he already is. Steve's going to have a hell of a mess to take care of when he can finally manage some hands on care for that man. He needs it so much.
That may or may not be one of the secret reasons for this fic existing.
And Clint! This seems to be the chapter for exclamation point responses. *g* But Clint! He must live. He must. *pets Clint* Weirdly, I almost hope that Hank has to come up with an antidote to save Clint, because Hank really needs to do something a little more tangibly productive; his self-esteem is pretty terrible at the moment.
Poor Clint; he's so incredibly endearing when feverish and sullen. He's almost as in need of a hug as Tony, by this point.
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That may or may not be one of the secret reasons for this fic existing.
*g* I can't blame you. It's very satisfying to have someone cuddle Tony and pet him and shower him with love. <3
Poor Clint; he's so incredibly endearing when feverish and sullen. He's almost as in need of a hug as Tony, by this point.
*nods* Which is a bit sad, because I'm not entirely sure that he'll get one. Well, maybe not in the same way, but at least he'll be with his friend. *hugs Clint*
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The picture of Tony all beaten and standing in the ray of sun is just... GUH. My goodness. Beautiful and painful and perfect.
Those two... I tell ya... Tony and Steve. Always trying to do everything themselves...
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fyi: "while knuckled grasp"