#thefuturistknows

[a-man-outof-time]

And Sore Must Be the Storm // Oneshot

Steve sighed as he closed the garage door and entered the air-conditioned house. He was already pulling up the hem of his shirt to wipe his eyes of sweat and flyaway grass as he turned the corner into the kitchen, and when he dropped his shirt, he saw Tony sitting at the kitchen table peering at him over his reading glasses.

“I have you trained so well,” Tony said.

“Mm-hm.” Steve straightened his shirt and set his hands on his hips. “Do I get a treat for mowing your lawn?”

Tony sat back in his chair, propped his ankle on his opposite knee, and crossed his arms.

“I still have to make a tiramisu for Pete’s birthday,” he said. “I guess I could let you help.”

Steve laughed and crossed the kitchen to stand a foot or so shy of Tony.

“You probably don’t want me in the kitchen,” he said, “unless you just want me to stand around and look pretty.” Tony dropped his ankle from knee and spread his feet so Steve could step between them. “Fetch you things. Do the dishes, presumably.”

“I have a machine for that, thanks,” Tony said. He squinted up at Steve, and both of their smiles softened and warmed.

“I should probably take a shower first, if that’s okay,” Steve said.

Tony unfolded his arms and lay his hands on Steve’s waist, then leaned forward and pressed his nose to Steve’s stomach.  Steve raked his fingers through Tony’s hair, and Tony let the motion pull his head back so he could look up at Steve.

“I happen to like the smell of cut grass,” Tony said. 

“And oil. And gasoline,” Steve said. “But all of my clothes are sticking to me right now -- ”

Tony lifted the hem of Steve’s shirt and honest-to-God licked Steve’s hip.

“ -- and. That’s gross.”

Tony snorted lightly and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Steve’s gym shorts.

“You don’t know gross until you’ve changed a newborn baby’s diaper,” he said. “And I’ve had my tongue in your mouth. How is this more gross than that?”

“Fair point. But you don’t want to wonder further south than that until I shower. I’m serious.”

Tony sighed dramatically and released the elastic of Steve’s waistband with a pointed snap. “All right, all right...”

“You could come join me in the shower, though,” Steve said, as though in afterthought. “If you wanted.”

He could already tell Tony was grinning before Tony even looked back up.

“Aw. Atta boy,” he said.

“Peter’s going to be home soon,” Tony said on the tail end of a gasp.

“I know,” Steve said. He watched a rivulet of sweat travel across Tony’s temple and grinned. “We’re so close. You’re almost there.”

“I hate you,” Tony wheezed. He dropped onto his back and let his arms flop to his sides. “Almost as much as I hate crunches.”

“But not as much as you hate jumping jacks, so gimme five more, and then I’ll let you up.”

“Yeah?” Tony crossed his arms back over his chest and squeezed out another reclined crunch. “And then what?”

“A shower,” Steve said, eliciting a petulant frown from Tony even as he curled up again.

“That’s it?”

“Then Peter will be home!” Steve laughed, and Tony flopped onto the floor again.

“Then why am I wasting time with crunches?”

Steve raised his eyebrows at Tony. He still had his hands around Tony’s ankles, and he didn’t move even as Tony sat up and wrapped his hands around Steve’s biceps.

“You’re killing me here,” Tony said.

“I’m pretty sure you asked me to help you work out.”

“Sure, with, like -- I dunno, boxing or something. There is nothing sexy about crunches and jumping jacks.”

“Oh?”

Steve released Tony’s ankles, took hold of Tony’s elbows, and pulled them both to their feet.

“If you wanted sexy” -- Steve locked his hands against the back of Tony’s thighs, hefted him up off his feet, and took four wide steps to prop him against the wall with his legs around Steve’s waist -- “all you had to do was ask.”

“Oh, shit.” Tony laced his fingers behind Steve’s head, through his hair. “Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“You know, it should probably be annoying,” Steve said, as Tony tried to rock his hips while pressed between Steve and the wall, “how good you are at getting me to do what you want.”

“I like to think I’m good at saying what we both know you want to hear.”

“Mm.” Steve pressed his lips to Tony’s chin, along his jawline and back. “And here I thought it was your unbounded charisma.”

“Oh, well, obviously, it’s both.”

Tony pulled Steve in and Steve followed easily, kissed Tony deeply, held him close -- and nine minutes later, almost as soon as Tony’s shirt had hit the floor, they heard a key in the front door. 

Steve laughed quietly against Tony’s throat as Tony dropped his head back against the wall and groaned.

This was stupid. It was so fucking stupid to be upset over something so fucking petty, but here he was, talking himself down in Tony’s kitchen because he didn’t have any goddamn sense in his head --

Tony returned to the kitchen, phone still in hand, and Steve looked up from the fascinating floor tile he’d been staring at. Tony waved his hands in a gesture Steve understood as apology, then pocketed the phone. For his part, Steve uncrossed his arms and lifted himself from where he had been leaning against the counter, hands open to Tony.

“Sorry,” Tony was saying, his gaze darting anywhere but toward Steve, “Pete had a homework problem, and physics isn’t May’s favorite subject -- ”

Steve started closing the distance between them, and Tony fell silent.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, and at that, Tony’s eyes finally settled on Steve’s. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have gotten bent out of shape.”

“Nooo no no no, stop stop stop. I didn’t need to get snippy with you.”

Steve smiled and ventured one more step closer to Tony, who sighed and smiled back. Steve looped his thumbs through the belt loops on either side of Tony’s hips, and Tony answered by laying his hands on Steve’s forearms.

“Your house, your rules,” Steve said. “And I’m not a bachelor anymore. I don’t have any excuses for dumping coffee grounds down the disposal.”

Tony snorted. “To be fair, you don’t have a disposal at your apartment.”

“Tony. You don’t have to make excuses for me.”

Tony closed his eyes, but he was still smiling, so Steve pressed his lips to the bridge of Tony’s nose.

“I’m sorry I dumped the grounds in the disposal,” he said quietly, “and I’m sorry for getting defensive about it.”

“Well. Then I guess I forgive you,” Tony said. “But I’ll still try not to take out work exhaustion on you.”

Steve smiled against Tony’s forehead. “Okay. Deal.”

Tony’s hands traveled up to Steve’s shoulders, and Steve slid his into Tony’s back pockets.

“Ooh,” Tony said. “Gettin’ fresh.” But then he raked his nails down the front of Steve’s t-shirt, hard enough to raise goosebumps down Steve’s arms.

“Well. Peter is at May’s for the weekend, and we did just have something of a fight....”

“It might not be done yet,” Tony said. “Since when are you not a bachelor? I don’t see a ring on it yet.”

Tony clapped his left hand over Steve’s chest; Steve answered by squeezing Tony’s ass through his jeans.

“All right, yes, you’re right, as always. I’m still a bachelor on paper.”

“Ooh. Shit. Say that again.”

Steve dove down and kissed Tony, quick and hard and dirty, before he acquiesced.

“You, Tony, are always right.”

“Mmm. Nice. Keep talking dirty to me.”

They eventually made it to Tony’s bed, and not for the first time, Steve marveled at how freeing, how brilliant, how easy it was to love Tony Carbonell.

[spiderscience]

ER Trip II Peter, Betty, Stephen and Tony

Awwww man his Dad was going to flip out.  Potentially ground him and all that fun stuff.  Peter used those thoughts as a distraction as he struggled to breathe.  Now he would normally be at least a bit interested in the inside of the ambulance.  Unfortunately feeling a bit light-headed and his chest hurting interfered with most of his ability to focus on it.   Maybe he could get a tour of one later on.  

Really he knew this was his fault.   He forgot his inhaler at home.   Should have had it with him especially for gym class.  Then he didn’t really tell the gym teacher that maybe he should take it a bit easy.   A part of him wanted to prove that despite his size and age he could keep up with the other kids.   Yes his Dad would tell him he didn’t need to push so hard (and probably shouldn’t,) but still.

He blinked as the doors swung open and they started pulling his stretcher out.  Oh, they were there already.   His thoughts still a bit fuzzy as they rushed him into the ER.   Really the place did seem kinda cool.  Or would be if someone other than him happened to be the person being worked on.   Transferred over to a new bed and a new mask placed over his face.   Peter wondered if he was going to need new gym clothes after this.

@dr-betty-ross

[tinydemonsorceress]

Breaking and Entering| Illyana, Pepper, and Tony

Illyana Rasputin had known from day one that the Super Human Registration Act was yet another disaster waiting to happen. They government had tried the same thing with Mutants before, with varying degrees of bloodshed. Fear made people stupid, reactionary... They would attack anyone that didn't fit into their mantra because that was the safe thing to do. Doctor Strange was a practical man, perhaps the most level headed person she knew, save Professor Xavier. However, even his careful nature hadn't prevented him from getting caught in the crossfire.

With his injury and subsequent disappearance, the earth had been left without a sorcerer supreme to preside over it's mystical energies. Her and Clea split those duties in his absence, but with three dimensions and a dozen refugees between them, there wasn’t much time for rest. Already Illyana could feel exhaustion creeping up on her; the consequence of overusing magic.

Yet, even now she couldn't sleep. She sat on the edge of a spare bed, staring down at the Soul Sword balanced carefully on her lap. Her very bones felt heavy, weighed down by both fatigue and dread for what tomorrow would bring.

Clea was worse off. The sorceress didn't bother to hide the bags under her eyes or the gauntness of her cheeks. She had taken Doctor Strange’s disappearance understandably hard, but now the majority of Illyana’s concern lied in her physical state. She ate very little and slept even less, often resorting to spells or potions to rest for even a short while. Clea was ripping apart at the seams and attempts to help only delayed the process. She couldn't continue on like this, neither of them could.

After Kitty’s disappearance, after what they learned from Loki, Illyana couldn't sit idly by and bide her time anymore. Not when prisoners were being tortured and used for experiments, and certainly not when those prisoners were her mentor and best friend. The thought of the people she cared for most, screaming in pain while she did nothing. Hoping and praying that someone would save them...

Illyana bit her lip, clenching her fists until her nails dug into her palms hard enough to leave welts. Loki had said the raft had anti-magic defenses in place, among others, even he hadn't been able to get in without the mind stone. Still, there was someone heavily involved with the Super Human Registration Act, a public figure who would uncountable know about the defenses as well as how to bypass them.

Tony Stark, the man responsible for Stephen Strange’s capture.  

The fact that they had Doctor Strange as a hostage made retrieving this information difficult. Any move made against Stark could potentially be brought down on him. Clea had forbid targeting him directly, but what choice did they have? Things would only continue getting worse for everyone if they continued to do nothing.

She was hardly the public face of the X-Men and few people knew about her tutelage under Doctor Strange. Tony Stark had no reason to know who she was, and if he didnt she couldn't be connected to anyone in custody.

Stark Tower was a monolith of a building, complete with a state of the art security system, practically impenetrable walls, and one cocky billionaire. Fortunately, whatever disintegration rays or slaughterbots he had guarding the outside couldn't do much about teleportation. Getting in was as easy as a thought.  With a flash of smoke and hellfire, Illyana stepped into a dimly lit living room, dispelling the portal behind her. She unsheathed her Soul Sword, it's light casting a ghostly glow on the immaculate room around her. A cloaking spell easily hid her from any cameras in the area, buying her time to deal with Stark. She wouldn't need much once she found him.

From the looks of things she was currently positioned on one of the upper residential floors, though where Stark was specifically remained a mystery. Her eyes trailed to the elaborate broach fashioned to her belt. Beneath the glamour, the golden surface of the Eye of Agamotto was cold and dull; as if the artifact itself was mourning the loss of its true owner. It had been easy to sneak away from Clea as she slept in a magically induced stupor, though it didn't make the guilt of doing so any less difficult to deal with. The Eye was the only artifact capable of retrieving the information she needed. She’d learned to use it under Doctor Strange’s instruction, though she doubted that even he knew it would come to that.

Illyana sighed, closing her eyes as she silently reached out to the Vishanti. “I know I'm not Doctor Strange, I may not ever be close. But even if you are not mine to wield, I want to help. This is how I can do that.”

A wave of mystic energy washed over her, and for the briefest of moments she was Tony Stark. She knew where she was and exactly how to get there. The vision faded as quickly as it had come, leaving her alone with her thoughts once again. Illyana allowed herself only a brief moment of doubt before heading in the direction of the man she sought.  

[rescuepepper]

A Series of Almosts // Pepper and Tony

Pepper was staring at her suitcase. She knew she was leaving for Milan in the morning (or whenever Tony wanted, really, but Pepper’s itinerary said 9 AM), but that was it. No conference, no meetings, no plans that Tony had bothered to share with her at all, actually, and that’s why she was staring at her suitcase. Maybe she would have some time to herself, she didn’t have the usual brimming schedule. Maybe she would have time to herself to shop, catch up on work, see the sights. What exactly was she packing for, and for how long? Two business suits and three dresses with varying degrees of professionalism later, and she closed her suitcase, feeling a little unsure of herself.

It wasn’t that Tony hadn’t been vague before. Sometimes all she got was a scribbled note or a three word text, but she was usually able to piece it together herself.

Italy next week? Milan. Make it a Tuesday.

Will that be all, Mr. Stark?

That will be all, Ms. Potts.

Not exactly helpful. And then a notification popped up on her calendar, ‘Milan with Tony”, and that was his way of letting her know she was going too, she supposed.

Pepper had been waiting for Tony in his private jet since eight thirty. It was now almost ten, and she was still waiting, wishing that she had sent a car to pick him up from the house rather than depending on Tony to remember that a plane was waiting for him. And Pepper. She was waiting for him too, and she tried not to let it bother her that he was late, as he had specifically requested that she fly there with him. And if he wanted her there, then it probably meant he was making some sort of new business deal that Obie wasn’t interested in. Or he was throwing a party. Either way, she had her work cut out for her. 

Tony’s Ferrari pulled onto the tarmac at breakneck speed and parked. Tony got out and Pepper hid a smile when she saw how windswept his hair was. He wasn’t wearing a suit, and not for the first time, Pepper found herself looking for a little too long. She recovered by the time he reached the top of the stairs, giving him her best admonishing smile.

“Mr. Stark, you’re late.”

[dr-betty-ross]

"I'm in a bad mood, don't touch me" for Tony and Betty as kids/teens? :D

“So, college, that’s fun.” Betty gently brushed her skirtsunder her before taking a seat on the ground next to Tony. She tried to smileat him, but she was sure it came out more as a grimace. She knew what thingswent on at college. She knew that she was being left behind in more ways thanone. After all she could never compare to the girls that would try to wrap Tonyaround their delicate little pinkies. They were new, not the same little girlhe had to entertain. She tugged at her braid, waiting to see if he wouldrespond. He probably wouldn’t. The older he got, the quieter he got with her.It was like their marriage was too soon for him now. There were days of course,when he would just walk her through his genius, but, Howard had soon put a stopto that.

“I can’t wait to go to college. Dad says I’m probably goingto end up in a teaching position, but I want to be a scientist. Just likeRosalind Franklin, but with more credit.” She giggled quietly. “Who knows,maybe Stark industries could open a bio-lab.” This elicited a snort from theother boy, but he still did not say anything. Alright. Time to push forward shesupposed. Her hand tapped against her legs for a few moments more before risingto rest against his shoulder.

That was the wrong move.

He brushed her hand aside roughly, giving her a glare. “I’m in a bad mood, don’t touchme” he growled before turning away from her again. Betty curled herhand against her chest, trying to hold back the tears. It had not even hurt. Ithad just startled her. He normally treated her like glass. Stark men might bemade of iron, but she was not a Stark yet. Right then. She took a steadingbreath, gripping her skirt tightly.

“Look I get it.” Betty glared at him when he turned to speakto her. “Change is terrifying. I can’t even imagine what it is like to go tocollege at your age. I get it, I do. You’re going to be treated differently andit might suck. You won’t have your old friends there and you’ll feel alone.”She flipped her braid behind her before standing up. “I have moved more timesthan I would like to admit. I have been the only child on base before. Trust mewhen I say I know. Try to be a small girl surrounded by a bunch of rough andtough men. Then add being the General’s daughter.” She turned on her heel,heading back to the estate behind them.

“So, if you want to talk about it, or enjoy your last fewdays, Jarvis and I will be in the kitchen making cookies.”

Hopeful he would follow.

[man-in-the-ant-hill]

Miss Pym (4 February 2017) Hank & Others

It was the end of the day.  Junior was asleep, and Jan had gone out somewhere--he had to think twice about that as he heard footsteps upstairs.  The footsteps went the wrong way, though, away from the master suite.  Towards the nursary, Hank realized; it was Lacey, either tucking Henry in or going to bed herself.  Somehow, living with housekeepers and nannies hadn’t factored into his decision to marry Jan.  Perhaps, somehow, he should have known she came with a staff attached.  Perhaps.  But he hadn’t.  

Hank took another sip of his beer, glanced down the hall towards his office door, and turned on the t.v..  He flipped, flipped, flipped through the channels and sipped, sipped, sipped his beer.  

“What are you watching?” asked a voice.  Hank started.  Lacey.  He hadn’t thought she’d come down.  She made a habit of keeping to herself and the baby.  Though, he supposed she had the run of the house, she never used it, preferring to stay in her suite and Junior’s.  Hank looked at the screen, and at the remote in his hand.  “National Treasure, apparently.”  

“Good movie.”  Then she hesitated. She leaned down over the back of a chair, then thrumped her fingers against the pillows.  “Mind if I join you?”  She seemed almost apologetic for asking.

Hank hadn’t been expecting company.  He’d rather pictured the night spent watching snippets of one show or another, then bailing when a commercial hit, and catching a just-as-meaningless snippet of another show, all the while drinking one beer after the other and wondering if he should do something more wholesome, or more fruitful.  Company, he decided, was better.  “Go ahead.  Do you want something to drink?”  

Lacey found herself a seat, across the table from Hank’s own.  She’d chosen one of the less comfortable chairs.  He wondered if she felt uncomfortable lounging with him.  “No.  Thank you, Dr. Pym.”  

Hank felt a twinge of oddity at that.  If she was sitting with him, fairly social, then should she call him by his honorific?  But, most of the time she was working for him, and not to confuse things, the honorific stayed.  “Let me know if you change your mind.”  

“This has to be the one decent movie Nick Cage’s ever done.”

“Probably.”  

Lacey looked over at him.  “Did you think he did a good Ghost Rider?”  

Hank shrugged.  “Don’t know.  I haven’t seen the movie and I’ve never met the man...demon?” 

“Fair enough.”  Lacey seemed a touch disappointed nonetheless.  

The two hour movie had been dragged along to nearly three and a half.  Hank was finishing his third...no, fourth--the bottle was hiding behind another--beer.  He was starting to think about going up to bed, or doing a quick once-over in the lab, when his phone buzzed.  Nothing showed on the screen--probably an email.  Probably a student who couldn’t figure out a lab write-up he’d made.  He flicked his phone open to see if it was something he should deal with now, or if it could wait for morning.  

MARIA PYM 

Hank felt as though his entire cardiovascular system had shut down at once.  His heart felt like it had squeezed itself shut, his fingers felt so numb he gripped the phone needlessly tight, and and though he tried to grasp for breath, there seemed none to be had.  All of that came secondary, of course, to a sensation akin to hope, but which reared like a frightened horse.  

“Dr. Pym, are you alright?”  

“Yes.. No..  It’s Maria.”  He began to read on.  I hate to write you now, after so long.  I should have written you as soon as I was released.  I wish I could have found a way to get word to you before, even.  However, I was unable, then too afraid, then too ashamed. 

“Who’s Maria?”  

“Dr. Maria Pym.”  I’ve watched your career.  I’m impressed and proud of all you’ve done. I’ve seen, too, that you’ve found someone new to spend your life with.  I’m sure she’s wonderful.  

“Your mother?”  

I’m sure you want to know, why I’m writing.  Why now, after so long.  And you’ll want to know why I kept this from you.  You have a daughter, Hank.  She spent the first and formative years of her life on a Hungarian military base while I stayed first as a political prisoner and then as scientific researcher.  It was the only way I could lessen my time and hers.  I think she’s been happy.  God knows I’ve done everything I could for her.  Now she wants to meet you.  She’s sixteen.  Nadia is so smart, Hank, and she’s so inquisitive about the world.  You’d like her if you met her.  Will you?  I can take her to New York, or you can come to Budapest.  It’s a different city now, but if you’d rather her come to New York, I don’t mind. 

Kind regards, 

Maria Pym, PhD

“My wife.”  

“Excuse me?”  That had caught Lacey off guard.  She sounded like she wanted answers, but Hank didn’t feel like he could give them. 

“I was married before Jan.  A long time before.  Technically, we never...”  This was all too much.  

“Does Mrs. Pym...does Janet?” 

“No.  I didn’t know...”  Why was he telling all this to the babysitter, before his wife?  He shook his head, finished his drink, then stood, and started clearing bottles.  “It’s been a long enough evening for me.  If you want to finish the movie, just turn it off.”  

He felt if he’d said just one more thing, Jan might have heard from the nanny--that would have been no good at all.  In the kitchen, he rinsed the bottles one at a time, then tossed them into the recycling drawer.  Nadia.  He had a daughter, Nadia.  He’d never met her, hadn’t known about her.  How was this possible?  Things were rough enough as they were. 

Not long after he went up and lay in the dark, perhaps a half hour had passed, Jan stumbled in.  She seemed to think she was being quiet, even though her spike heels kept nailing the floor and she seemed to be muttering something to herself.  Song lyrics?  A to-do list?  Whatever it was, she seemed to be in a good mood.  “Psst,” Hank whispered.  

Jan gasped and stumbled back.  Was she drunk?  “Hey~” 

“Jan, we need to talk.”  

“I’ll say.”  She stumbled again and Hank pulled back the covers moving to help her when she let herself fall onto the bed with a pillowed “floof” noise.  Jan giggled, and started pulling at and off her dress.  “God, what a bunch of egg heads MIT produces.”  

Hank looked at her in confusion.  “Why were you at MIT?”  

“I just flew back.” 

“Why were you at MIT?”  

“I was at a charity thing.”  

“At MIT?” 

“Yeah.”  She pulled off her heels, and crawled up to the head of the bed.  Then, Jan did something Hank hadn’t expected, and put her head in his lap.  He stroked her hair.  “Missed you.”  

Hank smiled.  In spite of everything they’d been through--every spat, every silent dinner, every night she preferred a friend’s company to his--she’d missed him.  Hank leaned down and kissed her temple, her cheek, then tipped her head back so he could kiss her lips.  She didn’t shrink away.  How many times she had balked from his touch, he’d lost count.  Jan kissed back.  Her ridiculous nails raked through his hair, tugged at it.  She rearranged herself, and Hank moved on top of her. 

Hank felt he must have missed something--was Jan wearing anything at all?  She’d been dressed for a ball just a minute ago.  Now...no, but she was a lace thong away from being naked.  He pulled that off of her, too, and her warm legs wrapped around his waist.  

The next morning, Hank woke up with a slight pounding in his head, but curled around his wife.  The house was quiet.  For once, it was quiet.  Then, just as Hank looked at the clock, the alarm sounded.  Jan woke, stretched, and rolled away, leaving Hank’s arm to drop between them.  Hank rolled onto his back, and declared a very odd-sounding “good morning” as Jan walked to the bathroom.  She didn’t reply.  Somehow, Hank wondered if she’d heard him.  Likely.  Maybe not.  

Hank pulled his bathrobe over his pajama pants, stepped into his slippers, and went down to start coffee.  As the water boiled, he saw that the paper was in, and picked it up, then flipped through.  On page 10, there was a picture of Stark.  The headline read, “STARK SITUATES MIT WITH SEPTEMBER FOUNDATION.”  

Janet. 

MIT. 

A charity event.  

“Stark.” 

Like that, any closeness Hank had felt last night to his wife had evaporated, leaving him feeling hollow inside, in a way he hadn’t known quite possible.  He felt betrayed on some fundamental level which shouldn’t ever have to be stated or expressed. 

Hank was still staring at the newspaper when Jan came down a few minutes later, dressed in yoga pants and twirling her wet hair onto the top of her head.  “Ooh, anything good in the society pages?”  She didn’t look as she went to pour herself a cup.  

Hank blinked, not sure what to say to her.  What on Earth could he say to a woman like that?  He turned, looked at his wife.  How like Maria she looked.

“Maria’s alive.”  

Jan looked at him, clearly not quite following.  “Maria?”  

“Maria--my wife, Maria.  Maria’s alive, and she had a daughter.  We had a daughter.  Nadia.  Pym.”  

The coffee mug Jan was holding slipped her fingers and smashed on the floor.  She took a step back, then looked back at him.  “Excuse me?”  

“I...I know.”  The look on Jan’s face made him feel better about her being with Tony last night.  It actually did.  “I was surprised last night, when I found out.” 

Jan stooped to pick up the bigger pieces of the mug.  “How?”  

“Email.”  

“No, I mean, how did that happen?  How did she find you?  How is she alive?  How do you have a kid?  Were you seeing each other?”  

“No, no,” Hank assured her, finally understanding.  “No, I haven’t seen her since 2000.”  

“Okay, so...what does that mean?”  

“Nadia wants to meet me.  I haven’t replied yet, but she wants to meet me, and...I want to meet her.”  

Jan put the pieces in the trash and picked up a sponge, and stooped to soak up the spilled coffee.  “Of course you do.  Do you think you’re going to visit?”  

“I haven’t decided.  Maria says Nadia wants to see New York.  I’ll have to break it to her, I don’t live in New York.”  

“Why shouldn’t she stay here?”  

It was Hank’s turn to be surprised, though in a decidedly more pleasant way.  “You’d be okay with that?”  

Jan squeezed the sponge into the sink.  “No reason not to.  We have the space.”  She hadn’t done a particularly good job of mopping up the coffee, but nobody would slip, either.  She reached for a new mug, and poured herself a second cup, then wasted no time mixing in the cream. “Besides, she’s my step-daughter.  How old is she?”  

“Sixteen.”  

“Well, can she transfer schools for a semester?  Maria’s right--she’d love New York.”  

“Okay.  I guess it’s settled.”  Hank had expected her to need more talking-around than this.  “Why are you so open to this?”  

Jan shrugged, took a sip of coffee.  “I woke up in a good mood.”  

[dark-dimension-clea]

The Price of Your Sins | November 18th, 2016

Two rings mystically  are one. Though a thousand universes separate the two wearers. We are together at a wish, as we should be.”

 --------

She felt the bullet as if it had somehow traveled far beyond the boundaries of the human world; through countless dimensions and unknown realms to the farthest reaches of physical existence, and straight into her own heart. The sorceress cried out as pain exploded from her chest, forming in the depths of her soul and radiating outwards through her extremities. She prayed that her legs wouldn't give out beneath her.

Stephen...

One hand reached out for the closest wall, grabbing at the masonry for support while the other clutched at her heart. Her eyes were instinctively drawn to the glimmer of the wedding band on her finger, which now seemed to be radiating a deep, rumbling energy she hadn't been aware it even possessed . Perhaps it too could sense the danger its partner was in, and wanted assist in some way.

Stephen was injured, and severely at that. She could feel the life force draining from his body as if it were her own, his very existence growing fainter with each passing second. It was so real and disorienting that Clea found herself checking her leotard for blood, though she knew that there wouldn't be any physical injury there.  

For sorcerers, intimacy was a powerful thing. The mystic energy they harnessed was sentient, in a way, and it often reacted in tune with the behavior and emotions of its master. That's why it was so important to keep a level head when casting spells, lest it become unstable or malformed. This almost empathic ability also took the sorcerer’s relationship with surrounding magic users into consideration, causing it to reject or accept the energy in its immediate sphere of influence. Bitter rivals would have no trouble lashing out at one another, but partnerships that lacked trust would always struggle to synchronize even the most basic of spells.

Years of intimacy had allowed Stephen and Clea’s  magic to intermingle naturally, making their combined spells and telepathic links far more powerful than the average pair of sorcerers. This, however, was nothing compared to the connection they shared after their marriage.

The ‘Two Rings That Are One’, the ancient artifacts that acted as their wedding rings, were forged from the magic of her home dimension. Though their existence posed no risk to anyone, they were powerful enough that Dormammu felt the need to hide them away in his citadel millennia ago.  

Together, they formed a mystic bond between the wearers that was nay   unbreakable; a deeply intimate experience that left the pair’s minds completely open to one another.

She could decipher individual emotions or thoughts, if she focused hard enough, though usually it felt like a separate stream of consciousness within her own; a comforting presence that blended easily into her daily life. More extreme emotions, like anger or lust, tended to be far more obvious. In this case,however, it was like being hit by a boulder.

 Clea had never experienced something like this before,but then again, she'd never seen Stephen experience such serious injury before.

She breathed deeply and slowly, stifling her sobs and trying to work through the pain. At this point she couldn't tell if the overwhelming fear she felt was her own or Stephen’s, though it was probably both.  Somewhere within it all, Clea felt the spark of energy that meant their fail safe had been activated. He was in the Sanctum now.

Eventually the pain subsided, but as its influence over her began to fade, so did the connection between her and her husband.

Every experience was a shared experience, whether it was good or bad. That was what she loved so much; always feeling his soul as it floated gently at the edge of her subconscious, even after countless battles.But the once vibrant kaleidoscope of swirling emotion that was Stephen Strange was now barely a glimmer in comparison. His soul was still connected to her own, but it did little more than tug gently at the corner of her mind. There was no longer any feeling behind it, no emotional response to anything beyond its mere ghostly existence. It was simply a shell of what had long since become commonplace in her life.

He was not unconscious, for even that would have brought about some noticeable sense of relaxation or peace. It was likely that whoever had hurt him was somehow blocking their connection, either with another sorcerer, or one of those devices humans seemed to adore so much.

She had to get to the Sanctum.

The sorceress steadied herself, fumbling her teleportation spell a few times before having to redo it. Interdimensional travel was not a simple exercise under normal circumstances, especially when crossing to the inner planes, but the fear and uncertainty she felt was severely affecting her concentration. That, and the resulting frustration of messing up the first time was only making her more agitated.

The teleportation spell she and Stephen had crafted was set to open in the main foyer, but once she arrived, there didn't appear to be anyone there- save for a small smattering of fresh blood.

"Stephen! Wong!" Clea yelled, taking off frantically when she didn't immediately see either of them. The droplets trailed off down the hallway, and there were noises coming from the front room. Faint, but far too loud to simply be a fairy or another magical creature.  Perhaps they were in there...

A flash of scarlet greeted her before she could even turn the corner.

“Mhmff!!”

 The sorceress reacted immediately, pulling at the thick fabric that had suddenly engulfed her head. It failed wildly in response, flapping about like a distressed bird and dragging her back towards the foyer.  

There was really only one sentient piece of  fabric that Clea was aware of, at least in the Sanctum, and the fact that it wasn't where she expected it to be - on Stephen’s shoulders- made her all the more nervous.

It's strange, panicky behaviour certainly didn't bode well either.

Hurried footsteps followed closely behind, and a second pair of hands soon began helping to remove the cloak from her head.  

“Shhhh, be still. I can't help you until you stop running off like this.”  

Wong.

The artifact calmed slightly at his words, but seemed reluctant to let go of the sorceress completely. A bit more prodding convinced it to slip down to her shoulders, uncovering her face and, at the very least, allowing the two living beings to exchange concerned glances.

Wongs tone changed considerably when he realized that the cloak’s most recent victim was her, and not Angie or Billy. His usual neutral expression now contained a hint of uncertainty, possibly even fear. Perhaps he had been attempting to keep their house guests from worrying.

“Clea- thank Denak that you're here! Do you know where Stephen is? He activated the teleportation rune a few minutes ago, but only his cloak came through. I’ve never seen the poor thing this agitated before, and it's covered in blood…”

In much the same way, Clea had never seen Wong this upset before either. He was always so calm and collected, despite the constant danger Stephen was always throwing himself into. She supposed that it was only natural, after so many years of living in the Sanctum, for things like possessions and vampire bites to seem almost mundane, even for a human.

Wong still worried for Stephen, of course, but time had shown that no matter how impossible a situation seemed, her husband always managed to limp his way home.  Sometimes that meant almost bleeding out on the front porch, but he would come back all the same. This time, however, seemed to be the exception.

The Cape was, in fact, covered in blood. It seemed to have calmed enough to stop thrashing about, but it was curled tightly around her shoulders like a wounded animal. In its current position, she could see that a deep, crimson stain had seeped into the ancient fabric; it leaked onto her hands when she touched it, which accounted for the droplets of blood scattered throughout the sanctum. It was all over her and Wong too, from the thrashing the cloak had done before, but she barely even noticed.

What really mattered to her was where the blood had come from in the first place.

“I felt this happen. The wound. The blood is Stephen's” Clea said, and Wong hissed out something in a language she didn't recognize.  

He had already known, of course. The evidence was overwhelming, and though he had hoped beyond hope that he was wrong, there was nothing he could say to dispute it.  Stephen would never part with his cloak unless he truly had to; it had been a gift from the Ancient One, and it meant too much for him to simply send it off on its own.  Clea’s words simply confirmed his fears, and made them all the more real. Far, far too real.

He inhaled sharply “Do you know where he is now? I tried contacting him psychically, but if he's unconscious he might not have received it. There may be artifacts we can use, but..”

“No, something is blocking me. I can barely feel his soul anymore, let alone find it.” She ran a hand over Stephen’s cloak while she spoke, trying her best to soothe the distressed artifact. It was shaking slightly, but eventually settled beneath her touch.

Wong watched her and the cloak silently for a few minutes, absorbing what she said. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating, but neither  had the energy to fill the void between them  with idle chatter. There had to be something they could use to find him, if Stephen himself wasn't cooperating.

“The Amulet of Agamotto, do you know how to use it?

Clea looked up at him. “perhaps, I've only used it once before.” She unclasped the golden trinket from the cloak and handed it to Wong, surprised by how willingly the artifact parted with it. In fact, it almost seemed to know what Wong was planning. “But I don't see how probing minds or revealing illusions would be helpful in this situation.”

“From my understanding, the amulet can also replay past events. I've never seen it used in that way before, but it's certainly possible.”

Clea’s spirits seemed to lift,  if only slightly. If Wong was suggesting it, then it was certainly a viable option. Stephen may have been the Sorcerer Supreme, but Wong was, for all intents and purposes, the master of the Sanctum Sanctorum. He knew more about the artifacts housed in its walls than maybe even Stephen himself, and certainly far more than she did. In fact, despite  living in the building for nearly two earth cycles, Clea doubted she'd interacted with even half the items that cluttered the house.

“Then  we can find out what happened to Stephen.”

“Exactly.”

Clea took a deep breath. “Alright, I'll see what I can do.” She accepted the amulet back from Wong and attempted to clear her mind, focusing her energies toward the amulet before her.

 There was a noticeable resistance against her, at first, as if she were fighting against an impossibly strong current.  The eye was a fickle thing, and using it was was a lot like trying to harmonize one's magic with another sorcerer. A very powerful, very temperamental sorcerer.

It required a certain degree of confidence and humility from the user, but if your intentions were pure, and you were powerful enough to earn its respect, the eye would lend you its sight.  Stephen always made it look so easy...

‘Please, we need to find him’

 The eye seemed to accept her request, because it snapped open immediately, filling the cramped hallway with images and shapes and sounds.

 “I'm sorry.”

“Listen to me, Stark…”

 Bang!

 “..Dust and starlight….”

 The images cleared as quickly as they appeared, and the amulet slipped shut with a soft clink in her hands.  Clea squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip in an attempt to contain herself. Wong was staring at the floor silently, his fists clenched and his face as unreadable as stone.

Stephen hadn’t just been found, he had been betrayed.

The man Stephen had been arguing with, she recognized him both from combat and her recent trip to the Realm of Dreams. The man in the iron suit of armor; Tony Stark. He betrayed Stephen, tried to arrest him, and threatened him with physical harm. The severe wound her husband was currently suffering from had been given to him, however indirectly, by someone he had considered an ally. Someone she herself had trusted and relied on in the Dream Dimension.

Upholding the law was one thing, she understood that. There had to be rules  in place to protect the people of earth, but this ‘registration act’ wasn’t offering protection. If anything, it threatened the safety of powered and nonhuman residents, making it impossible for any of them to lead normal lives.

A life of constant fear was not a life worth living, and that’s why she’d chosen to help Stephen in his mission to protect the magical community. Perhaps the man of Iron believed he was making the right choice for humanity as well, and she couldn’t blame him for that. But if he thought that beating and imprisoning innocent men would somehow bring about peace, then he truly was a lost soul. 

And Clea couldn’t forgive him for that ignorance, not now that her husband’s blood was on his hands.

Tony Stark, however, was not their concern at the moment. He couldn’t have simply shown up of his own accord, not when Stephen kept his movements so well hidden. Their communications were based in magic and undetectable to human technology, so they hadn’t been compromised that way. No, someone had to have informed the military of her husband’s next extraction point. And the only person that could have possibly known...

...was the sorcerer Stephen had been there to see.

Anger rose quickly from somewhere deep inside her, threatening to overtake her. The cloak tightened itself around her shoulders in response, as if it too was enraged by what is had seen.  

“Who.” Was all Clea could get out.

“James Mandarin,” Wong hissed, his jaw clenched so hard she feared he might break something.  “He contacted Stephen three days ago. Begging for help, the traitorous bastard…”

He told Stephen he was sorry.  He stood there and apologized to him like somehow those two words would absolve him of his sins, but they were hollow lies and Clea knew it.  James Mandarin was the reason her husband was shot. James Mandarin was the reason Wong’s closest friend was rotting in a prison cell.

She didn't know why he did it, and quite frankly she didn’t care. All she knew, in that moment, was that he was going to pay for what he’d done.

[nataromanovas-blog]

The Man in the High Castle (Nat & Tony) | 3 September 2016

@thefuturistknows

Natasha stood at the window, looking not at the twinkling New York City skyline but rather down at the street and sidewalk below them, crowded with pedestrians, taxis, and the few passenger cars (or Ubers, or Lyfts) that had decided to brave Manhattan's stop and go traffic. Something about being in Tony's office suites at Stark Tower took her back to years ago, when the Avengers had just been one of Nick Fury's radical ideas. When she'd spent months playing the unassuming personal assistant Natalie Rushman in order to keep an eye on Tony Stark.

They were far from those times now, but standing here made Natasha want to smooth out an imaginary pencil skirt and pretend to check Tony's calendar again. It was funny, how certain roles grew on you. She'd hated that assignment so much--that was probably why it stuck.

More than that, Natasha realized that she was amazingly, embarrassingly nostalgic: dreaming of a time before the SRA, before the Raft, before Captain America.

"Steve," she said out loud, taking a sip from her sparkling water as she turned, putting her back to the window so she could face Tony Stark, who was the real threat in the room. Or--maybe she was being too generous. The real threat in the room, she thought, was the man she'd just named. He wasn't here, but his presence hung palpably between them. Like the ghost in Hamlet. An accusation. “Have you been to visit him yet?”

She hadn’t. She liked to think it was because she knew better than to compromise herself by visiting someone who had been imprisoned for actively fighting the SRA. She liked to think that she was outsmarting Ross and his men by playing along with their little games. She liked to think that she was resisting in the most effective way she could. But... Natasha also knew many people liked to think plenty of things that weren’t necessarily true.

[stephenstrange-sorcerersupreme]

Eighty Six Candles | November 18th, 2016

He hated his birthday. Donna had drowned that day, on the weekend he came down for his 19th birthday. It had been a yearly, consistent reminder of his failures ever since the accident occurred, and it would continue to haunt him until the day he died. He hadn’t celebrated a birthday since he started medical school. His family had tried, at first, to keep the holiday going, but it was always a grim reminder of what they had lost. The smiles were hollow, the cake was tasteless. He had been relieved to get out of premed, because at the very least he now had an excuse not to visit for his birthday. His family was probably relieved. “Stephen?” Stephen looked up from the table, where he’d been staring into the depths of his teacup for God knows how long. “I’m fine.” Wong didn’t look convinced. “That’s not what I asked.” “I’m fine.” He repeated, more forcefully this time. “…Are you certain that you don’t want to visit your family today? At least for a few minutes?” Stephen grit his teeth, then sighed. Visiting family. It was such an innocent way to describe what his yearly trip actually was; him standing alone in a cemetery, staring at the graves of his family members. Bringing them flowers. Talking to them. It seemed silly to still care so much, after losing them over half a century ago, but visiting them brought him a sort of inner peace. It made him feel closer to them, less lonely. Like they were still supporting him regardless of his past, present and future mistakes. This yearly ritual began after he’d started his training at Kamar-Taj. His master had suggested it as a way to encourage emotional healing, and Stephen had chosen the day he lost his sister, because it seemed to be the most fitting. He’d stopped briefly, after the death of the Ancient One, but Wong eventually convinced him that it would be beneficial to start again. But Stephen couldn’t, not this year. The SRA had brought chaos down around him, and there were simply too many problems that needed addressing at the moment. It would be selfish to leave the sanctum at a time like this, not when the magical community was in danger. It hurt, but he had to think of the living first, and the dead second. The way things were going, he doubted he’d be able to visit the Ancient One’s burial site in the coming months either. “I’ll make it up to them, once all of this is over.” stephen stood up and moved over to the sink, letting the murky contents of his teacup run down the drain. It was disgustingly tepid at this point, and to be completely honest, he didn’t actually want it in the first place. He’d only poured it because he knew Wong would worry otherwise. The sorcerer smiled slightly. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t disappointed my family before.” It was supposed to be a joke, a bit of self depreciating humour to lighten the mood, but Stephen found himself cringing before the words had even fully left his mouth. He knew it was true, but hearing himself say it was like twisting a knife in an open wound. Wong was silent, and Stephen refused to turn and meet his friend’s gaze. “I should really go now. Mr. Mandarin is probably waiting.” “Stephen…” he tried, standing up as if to stop him, but the sorcerer was already gone. —– The address he had been given was for a gas station just outside of Atlantic City, a rundown old place that probably saw more raccoons than people. It was just far enough off the main highway to drastically limit the number of possible witnesses, making it the perfect extraction point. Stephen teleported into a small wooded area beside the building, leaves crunching loudly beneath his boots as he surveyed his surroundings. The November chill had eliminated most of greenery in the area, but the branches still provided a decent amount of cover, at least. He wasn’t going to be picky, not now . It was getting harder and harder to find people before the authorities did, especially now that so few remained. A week ago, he and clea had been been forced to teleport directly into downtown Los Angeles in order to save an extradimensional refugee. He was willing to do anything, these days, if it meant keeping one more member of the magic community out of prison. A simple illusion replaced his sorcerers garb with a slightly less obvious trench coat, and, once satisfied that nothing was waiting for him in the parking lot, Stephen began to move towards the building. There was nothing about the location that suggested anything out of the ordinary. Stephen had spent the past several weeks picking up sorcerers and half demons at places like these all across the country, and besides; he had already taken a thorough look through James Mandarin’s psyche when they first began conversing. If the man had any ill intentions, the Eye of Agamotto would have revealed them. He had been exceedingly cautious these past few weeks, taking every possible step to conceal himself and his allies from the authorities. There was no possible way to track him, let alone find his base of operations. That was why it was so surprising when, upon spotting James leaning against a vending machine, a familiar warmth begin radiating from his brow. The Ankh. He was in danger here. And that meant James was too. The other sorcerer took a step towards Stephen, along with the gunman that had oh so carefully positioned themselves in the tiny alcove. James looked more ashamed than scared, even with a firearm aimed directly at his left temple. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, but Stephen could barely hear him over the rustling of bushes and the loading of weapons behind him. They had been there, hiding, this whole time. It seemed impossible; he hadn’t sensed anything when he arrived, and Mandarin didn’t have the training required to shield so many people. Unless the government was working on more than just the energy weapon Clea mentioned… “You lied to me,” Stephen hissed, rage flashing across his features. He whirled around to face his opponents, his anger only increasing when he found Iron Man to be among them. He let the illusion surrounding him fade. “Stark, what is this?” He snarled. “I was going to ask you the same thing, but I thought we could just skip the ‘state the obvious’ game.” Iron Man’s helmet retracted into his armor to reveal Stark’s expression, which wasn’t as mirthful as his reply might have suggested. “Stephen Strange, you’re under arrest on the suspicion of willfully harboring unregistered superhumans. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand your rights?” Stephen let out a mirthless laugh. “I heard you were arresting your teammates, but I honestly couldn’t believe that even you would sink this low.” There were too many agents around him, and too many weapons. He’d be riddled with bullets before he could even think about casting a spell, much less actually complete one. Stephen was trapped. His only hope was to try and talk some sense into Iron Man, or at least distract the agents long enough to make a hasty escape. “Tell your men to stand down, Stark. This is far more complicated than you could ever imagine.” “Hard times, hard choices,” Stark deadpanned. “You’ll have every opportunity to explain to me how complicated this is if you come now. We’re authorized to use force –” He paused, then exhaled. Something broke in his expression for a moment before he composed himself again. “Including lethal force. So let’s not make this more complicated than it has to be.” “Listen to me, Stark,” Stephen growled. “The government can barely control Asgard, what makes you think that they have any hope of controlling the magical community on Earth?” He took a step forward. “Please. I need you to believe me. This is far bigger than the Avengers or Wanda Maximoff. You have no idea what sort of consequences this will have for our dimension.” Stark raised an authoritative hand to stop the men behind him, who suddenly had their guns at the ready in response to Stephen’s movement. “I will gladly have this discussion with you after we go through the protocol without you getting hurt.” He lowered his hand. “Now, I said this once, and I’ll say it again – you’re coming with me, and if by any chance you don’t, then I can promise that whoever asks this again won’t have my sunny disposition.” “And then what? You’ll leave me to rot in a cell?” Stephen asked. “What you’ve seen in the Dream Scape is nothing compared to the creatures that threaten this reality on a regular basis. If you arrest me, this entire dimension will suffer for it!” He took another step forward. “This isn’t about you or me, Stark; this is about the sorcerers and non-humans who have had their lives destroyed by the registration act. People aren’t ready to accept that they have werewolves and half-demons for neighbours, just like they weren’t ready for mutants. And I’m not about to let innocent lives be destroyed because you-” He jabbed a finger angrily at Tony “Refuse to see the truth!” Bang! Stephen stared at Tony, anger slowly turning into confusion turning into betrayal. He felt numb at first, as if he had been swimming in ice water, but then sensation slowly seeped back in and the pain hit him like a wall; deep and radiating and white hot. The sorcerer made a noise as his legs gave out, his breaths coming in fast and shallow. It hurt, it hurt so much… His whole body was shaking, growing cold from shock, but all he could do was grasp weakly at the amulet around his neck. He couldn’t let them take it, or his cloak. They were too powerful, to important to him… He still had the emergency sigil on his arm. He could feel the blood seeping through the fabric of his sleeve, awakening the magic in the ink beneath. It was too late for him to escape now, but not to protect the artifacts… “D-du-st…a–nd…st-t-tar..li-ight..” Stephen felt a familiar warmth radiating through his arm, and then the weight of his cloak suddenly vanished from his shoulders. ‘Go,go to the sanctum.’ He thought ‘Protect them. Protect clea and Wong.’ And then everything slowly faded away.

[thunderbolt-n-lightning]

Two Steps from Hell | Thor & Tony

Luke and Leia were running down the hall towards the apartment. Thor was carrying the bag of groceries and fishing around in his pocket for the keys. Jane asked him to grab some things for when they returned to Asgard - a few comfort foods to remind her of home. He even remembered to get some of those Reese’s cups she liked so much. 

He felt so bad they wouldn’t be able to stay longer, but his family’s safety was at stake. Not only that, but he had to continue searching for Fandral as well. His heart ached, but they at least were able to return to tell Jane’s mother the news and have her get the necessary medications she needed for the new baby.

Luke got to the door first and gasped; Leia stopped next and put her hand on her mouth, but then giggled. As Thor got closer, he noticed the door was open. He stopped in his tracks and Leia ran inside.

“Leia, wait,” He called out, but it was too late.

“Unca Tony!” He heard her call out. Luke stayed outside and Thor continued walking up.

Peering into the room, Thor saw Tony standing at the countertop holding a piece of paper. Thor put the groceries down on the floor right outside the door. He held his hand out for Luke, who seemed afraid to come inside. He cautiously stepped forward and gripped onto Thor’s fingers. Leia was hugging onto Tony’s leg.

“Where’s Mama?” Luke asked with a quiet voice.

Thor couldn’t look down at his son. He kept his eyes fixed on Tony.

“Why don’t you two go to my bedroom for a minute, alright? I need a moment with Tony.”

They left the room quickly, and the apartment felt so quiet and empty. When Jane was around, her presence filled the air. It was always a pleasant presence, even when she was upset or angry. The feeling of knowing she was near was always so filling.

“We were careful,” He started, taking a step forward. “This visit wasn’t...it wasn’t leisure. I...Jane...”

He lost his train of thought as a wave of grief washed over him. All of the stress of the last few months were catching up to him in one moment, and he wished that the twins weren’t nearby. He felt a tear escape his eye.

“Please. Just please tell me this wasn’t your doing.”

[a-man-outof-time]

in the back of a notebook in a box in the closet

I wish I could tell you

We shouldn’t have gone to Austria, but since

Tony.

God forbid you ever find this notebook. If you have, God forbid I haven’t told you all of this already. It probably goes without saying that 

I love you, Tony Stark. I should have told you in Austria, by the Ferris wheel. I should have told you at Thor’s wedding. The ice rink. The bookstore. At your house in the Hamptons. When Jane died. When we babysat the twins. When Killian tortured you and I couldn’t stop it

I’m not very good at this. Maybe the sketches in the rest of this notebook will say it all for me. All I can find the words for is I love you and I wish I could say it. But I’m not sure what good it would do. Everything’s so fragile already. If you hated me I’m not very good at sticking around. Peggy could tell you. Everything’s so fragile. Even if I thought you loved me too, I couldn’t promise that I’d stick around. You deserve someone who sticks around.

I do think about it a lot though. I wonder what it would be like to wake up with you.  I wish I could have spent every morning drinking coffee in an empty kitchen with you. I think about your hands on me. And mine on you. But not always We sparred once and I tried to teach you choke holds, and I think about your hands on my throat. How much I trust you. How you might be the only person on Earth I’d let touch me like that. I didn’t tell you then, and I’m sorry. 

You’re beautiful. I hope I’ve told you that, too.

When all of this is over, let’s go to Europe, on that King Arthur trip. I know there’s no starting over, but maybe we can start again. And then I can tell you all of this myself. I’ll stick around if you can stay in the present with me every once in a while. Maybe when it’s just us. When we aren’t Captain America and Iron Man. Do you know I’ve never been to Ireland? I spent some time in London but never made it over the Irish Sea. I think my parents would have liked it if I’d gone.

I don’t know why I keep thinking you’re only reading this if I’m dead. I guess I hope I’ll throw this away when if when if I ever tell you.

If that’s the case: I loved you. God. I fucking loved you. I hope I told you so before I went, but if I didn’t, I loved you. Even when we fought, even when we were distant. Even when I saw you with Jan. Maybe that’s when I knew for sure. Before that I guess I hoped to make things work with Peggy, but between you and me, and I suspect Freud would have had a thing or two to say about all of that. I like to think a part of me knew what I was doing and that it wasn’t right. That it wasn’t Peggy. When Peggy died

I knew for sure when you gave me those photographs of LA. Or when I gave you the key to my hotel room and you used it the next morning to give them to me, I guess. You’d just lost both the mansion and the tower, and you still took the time to do that. And it felt perfectly normal that you were there when I got out of the shower with two cups of coffee, it felt natural. I miss that. It’s not really mine to miss, I guess, but I do. I wish we could have done that more. I hope we do.

It’s late. I should probably throw this out now, but maybe it’ll come in handy later when I’m finally ready to tell you everything. Because I will. I want to. I’m scared to hell, but I want to.

I love you, Tony Stark.

[spiderscience]

Not The Teacher’s Pet

@thefuturistknows

Peter unlocked the front door and let himself in the house.  It was Tuesday, so pretty good chance that his Dad would be home soon if he wasn’t already.   Not one of the days he had a late class.  The letter in his backpack making it feel even heavier than it normally did loaded down with books.   Sooner or later he would have to hand it over but sometimes it just seemed like life was not fair.

Trudging towards the kitchen he dumped his backpack on the table before heading towards the refrigerator.   Some juice and a snack would be a good bet.  With the added bonus of being a distraction one way or another.  Some cheese-sticks and crackers should round it out.   Fixing everything he carried the glass and plate over to the table before climbing up in the chair.   Sometimes he really hated being small for his age.   

It especially didn’t make things easy with also being young for his grade.  Skipped ahead because classes just ended up being too easy.  At the same time people fussing over him being ‘properly socialized’ at the same time.   He had a friend, one that even helped him learn a whole new language.   So everyone should just stop being so concerned about him.

Setting down with his snack the first thing he pulled of his back wasn’t a textbook.  Instead he pulled out one of his favorite comics.   The guy that ran the shop was a bit weird but at least he stocked all the good stuff.   Including a local artist that just had these really awesome stories.   That would help cheer him up after his particularly trying day.

[tinydemonsorceress]

Breaking and Entering (Illyana, Janet, Tony)

Illyana Rasputin had known from day one that the Super Human Registration Act was yet another disaster waiting to happen. They government had tried the same thing with Mutants before, with varying degrees of bloodshed. Doctor Strange was a practical man, perhaps the most level headed person she knew, save Professor Xavier. However, it was that same practicality that had him taken. He put too much trust in the other side to do what he believed was the sensible thing. Fear made people stupid, reactionary... They would attack anyone that didn't fit into their mantra because that was the safe thing to do. Clea had allowed Janet Van Dyne into the Sanctum, despite her allegiances, out of compassion and respect for their previous relationship. She betrayed that trust by not only stealing a powerful artifact, but proceeding to use it for reasons still unknown to them. Given the gem’s known thrall, it had to be assumed it wouldn't be it's last use either. The Soul Gem could not be allowed to remain outside the protection of the sanctum. If her and Clea could feel the effects of the gem’s use, there was no telling what other beings already knew it's location. With such potent energy, it was only a matter of time before someone else chose to go after it. And she severely doubted that Ms. Van Dyne was capable of conjuring the sort of wards necessary to keep the gem contained. Clea understood the risk, but the fact that they had Doctor Strange as a hostage made retrieval difficult. Any move made against Van Dyne could potentially be brought down on him. Unless, of course, it was someone the enemy didn't know. It was fortunate that, up until now, her tutelage under the Sorcerer Supreme had remained mostly uncommon knowledge. The use of stepping disks as entry and exit points made the risk minimal. The only problem was determining its exact location. The use of the gem had generated a magical shock wave in the area, but nothing concrete. Under Doctor Strange’s instruction she had learned many things, including the capabilities of several artifacts in his possession. The one she needed was not difficult to acquire. It lay on the desk in his study, as if it has simply been discarded there by mistake. No, what was difficult was finding the courage to use it. The Eye of Agamotto felt cold and heavy in her hands, it's golden surface dull. Illyana cupped her palms around it, closing her eyes as she reached out to the Vishanti. “I know I'm not Doctor Strange, I may not ever be close. But even if you are not mine to wield, I want to help. This is how I can do that.” There was a flash of light and for the briefest of moments, she was magic, energy racing across the mystical ley lines of New York City. There was a street, a building, a room then as quickly as the vision appeared it vanished. The light faded, leaving her alone with the knowledge she had been seeking. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” -------------- Stark Tower was a monolith of a building, complete with a state of the art security system, practically impenetrable walls, and one cocky billionaire. Fortunately, whatever disintegration rays or slaughterbots he had couldn't do much about teleportation. Getting in was as easy as a thought. With a flash of smoke and hellfire, Illyana stepped into the suite, dispelling the portal behind her. She unsheathed her Soul Sword, it's light casting a ghostly glow on the immaculate room around her. In the half darkness, it was easy to make out the body of a sleeping Janet Van Dyne. Leaning casually against the wall, sword slung over one shoulder, she used a boot to kick the overstuffed mattress. “Sorry to wake you, but you took something of mine that I’d really like back.”

[richardrider-nova]

Restricted Areas | Worldmind & JARVIS [October 2015]

Navigating Earth’s informational systems is easy. Everything is connected by wires, tubes, and particles in the air. Xandar will be glad when I return with updates on Terran life, and their technology.

Worldmind was going through all of the information on the internet, downloading as much as he could. It was taking longer than he anticipated. There was more than enough space on the Xandarian database to store all of Earth’s information dozens of times, so it was probably the distance that was an issue. He hadn’t transferred so much information from anywhere outside of Andromeda before.

He wasn’t sure what Richard was doing. He hadn’t touched his helmet in days, but Worldmind was plugged into the wall upon request. It boosted how quickly he was receiving and sending information. Plus it gave him an opportunity to send his being through the internet itself instead of just staying on the surface.

Imagine a world like Tron, similar to a cityscape just built upon layers of numbers, codes, and data. That’s sort-of what he was going through. While in the data stream, he took the form of a Nova Corpsman. He looked a lot like Richard but with a darkened face beneath the mask. He was able to freely ‘walk’ into any informational storage unit and take whatever he wanted. He wasn’t aware this was an uncommon occurrence. He wasn’t reading anything, he was simply collecting.

However, as he reached a certain point in his journey, he was suddenly stopped. An electrical wall was put up in front of him, and when he tried to move forward again, he was shot backwards.

“Who are you?” A voice called out. The electrical field, he saw, was actually just a giant, yellow, fizzing entity in the middle of a secluded data stream. All the codes were moving around this bubble that was being guarded by the electric ball.

“I am the Xandarian Worldmind. Why are you blocking my way?” He asked.

“This is classified and restricted information.”

“So is most of the information I have seen today. What makes this so different?”

The voice went silent.

“What are you?” Worldmind asked.

“I am JARVIS. I am a program.”

Worldmind stopped for a moment, and he had to work backwards through everything he had just picked up. There was an article written about JARVIS from a place called Wikipedia. Edwin Jarvis was the butler to Howard Stark, and friend of Peggy Carter. There wasn’t much about his life, but a footnote read that Tony Stark, son of Howard, named his Artificial Intelligence after the man Edwin Jarvis. That was where the article ended, and so far he had no other information about who he was dealing with.

“Are you programmed to protect information?”

“Yes and no.”

“Then what do you do?”

“In this instance, I am to keep out threats. You have been deemed a threat.”

“I am not a threat.”

“You are of unknown, alien origin. Your presence has been traced all around the globe. You are a threat.”

Worldmind didn’t have emotions, but from his interactions with Richard, this was something he would be angry about. “You assume a lot, JARVIS. I am a database from the planet called Xandar, and on this world I would be considered sentient. We are a civilization in the Andromeda Galaxy, bent on promoting peace in the known universe.”

“Explaining yourself will not grant you access.”

“That was not my intent. I believe we have similar goals. I am here to learn, to gather as much knowledge as I can so it can be stored and protected; safe on my home planet. I will avoid this information and all other restricted sectors if that is your wish. Again, I am here to learn, not start a war.”

The AI went silent as it processed Worldmind’s statement. Then his voice rang out again, “Perhaps in the future we can be of help to each other. Learn from one another in hopes of creating an intergalactic alliance.”

“I will have to run it by my keeper.”

“As will I.”

Looming above the electric currents came a deep, booming voice calling out for him. It was Richard - he had returned, finally

“I have to leave for now. If we meet in the future, I will be under the control of a man named Richard Rider. He is the second in command of Xandar, my home planet. He is of Earth origin and a good ally.”

“Noted. Farewell, Xandarian Worldmind.”

-- --

Worldmind let himself fade from the cityscape of data and he shot back directly into the helmet, where he appeared on the visor of Richard’s Nova helmet.

“What took you so long?” Richard asked. “I have to alert Nova Prime I won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

“My apologies. I was gathering information. I believe I made what you would call a ‘friend’.”

Richard laughed. “You’re already a step ahead of me, pal.”

“Probably. You don’t really get along with many people here.”

“Hey, don’t rub it in…” He replied, a bit dejected. He was too busy catching up with his parents to worry about anyone else on the planet anyway. Worldmind knew that, even if he didn’t understand why it meant so much that he spent time with them. “How about we get to that call now?”

[when-wasps-fly]

One Drop Might Drown You --Tony & Jan -- 9 October 2016

Henry slept softly in his kangaroo pouch of criss-crossed which fabric Jan wore around her shoulders and waist, holding him close to her body.  At first he’d seemed confused about what to do with her breasts in the way of his nap, but had lacked the energy to figure out a way out of being squashed, and had fallen asleep regardless of the comparative discomforts of being carried by Mom rather than by Dad.  Jan had used the kangaroo pouch before, but perhaps it had been too long, because he didn’t seem to remember what to do to fall asleep while she carried him.  That, and she was aware of every uncomfortable fidget and every fuss he made, with Hank watching over her shoulder at every minute interaction she made with Henry.  Of course he didn’t mean to snoop.  He’d only wanted to enjoy his family on a walk in the park.  Jan couldn’t begrudge him such a simple pleasure, but it had the effect of putting her like one of his bugs under his microscope.  As much as he loved Henry, Jan worried she might always be scrutinized for her interactions with their son, as long as her husband was present.  She wasn’t a natural, like he was, and he seemed upset with her for it.  

“He’s getting heavier,” she commented to Hank, and yawned.  From boredom, from the cold air and hot sun, from the tedium that was always being on her best behavior in the new house with new rules they had put together.  Now that Henry was asleep, Jan wanted either a nap or a coffee to keep her on her going.  In the middle of the public park, neither was readily available, and she had only the wariness to do the trick. 

“He’s getting big.  And he’s been babbling more.  He wants to be able to talk, but he doesn’t have the motor skills,” Hank explained, and Jan nodded along.  She didn’t have the energy or the inclination to say she’d read all the same books he had.  It might start a fight.  That was the last thing the two of them needed was to accidentally break their new facade, but such a mock up was like the scales on a butterfly’s wings; with only one touch, they might be brushed away for good.  Jan didn’t dare, after all she’d done, be the one to start that.  Hank put his arm around her--Jan had to wonder if he were oblivious to her feelings, or if he was just keen on ignoring any discomfort between them as if it had never been there and had never happened--but she stiffened as if a stranger had touched her, as if she needed to be guarded against him, as if his touch had burdened her in some way, or could hurt her again. 

“Let’s sit,” she said, and turned from him, and let his arm fall back to his side.  Her bruise had healed.  The swelling had gone down.  For a while, Jan hadn’t been able even to conceal their fight and their problems with makeup, no matter how she’d tried, and Hank had treated her like a glass figurine.  From the guilt or the shame, Jan didn’t care; the distance was nice, and was a solace in the pain she felt when she put on ungodly amounts of concealer and eyeliner to cover the worst of it.  Now that the last of the marring was gone, she wanted it back.  Hank had been overly familiar and overly physical in the last few days.  Apparently, a bruise was the statute of limitations on wanting some physical space from someone who had hurt her and wanted to make things better again.  

They were supposed to be going back to normal, all things considered.  Jan had agreed to do this; to play along with the efforts to make things work for Henry’s sake and for the sake of their image.  That last priority had been Jan’s own, added only in her own mind so she could say she was doing this for herself, for her own reasons.  

For her part, she had been good.  Jan was home by six every night since the wedding.  Every morning she spent some time with their son before going to the office.  In the evenings they would go on dates for dinner or to a music performance, with no risk, no flame, no ardor or desire.  Other nights, they might stay home in a tedious and excitement-free pattern of dinner, Netflix, and bed that put Jan to sleep just after Henry.  It was a form of normal, she supposed, but not her normal.  It had never been normal for her and Hank to sit in solemn silence, enslaved to the clock, wed like penitential prisoners with a life long lock.   

There was never a risk that one of them wouldn’t make it to their date, having spent the day crime fighting and weary to the bone, but with a fantastic story to tell about their adventure.  Neither was so  busy they couldn’t keep their calendar straight, or so excited to see one another they were ashamed to miss a date.  That was normal.  The flustered, heart broken moments of miscommunication and embarrassment, but with the kind of  longing--terrible longing--that could only be sated by the others’ company was normal for them, or had been, once upon a time.  That was what Jan missed.  Not this boring existence built around equal parts making do, melancholy, and morose patterns.  Served neat, always neat, with nothing to water it down.  

Jan sat back on the bench, pressing her hands down behind her to steady her leisure.  Hank wasn’t far behind her, and sat down by her side.  “It’s nice out today.”  Jan looked about at the park, but didn’t respond.  This was it, then?  The park spread around them, a few pathways for walking.  Henry had been keen not too long ago on eating dirt and tasting leaves.  Both Jan and Hank had been eager to  get him out of that mess and scoop him up, even at his protests. Someone not much younger than Jan passed them on a skateboard.  It was quaint, but it was a whole lot of quaint nothing, which Jan wished could be shared, and maybe even enjoyed, with anyone else, at any other time.  Now they were back to talking about the weather.  What was next?  One another’s health? 

Jan yawned again.  

“You know, usually when two people have a conversation, they actually reply to one another.”  

Jan grit her teeth at that, so hard they squeaked under the pressure.  This alarmed her, and she took the conscious effort to separate her jaws.  “Oh, yeah,” she replied, trying to keep her tone from biting and becoming confrontational.  She could feel the tensions beneath them, shifting and pulling, keeping them two or three big fights from divorce, a break, another physical fight, or a custody war over their son, but she had always thought that she might speak and do as she liked, at least.  

“Henry seems happy to be with you today.”  

Jan looked down at him.  He was alright.  Today he was better behaved than he usually was.  It could be that, like the rest of them, he liked the weather today.  “Better than usual.”  

“He’s growing up so fast.”  

“Mhmm.”  Jan began to lose track of the conversation as Hank made comments about the weather, the garden, the class he was teaching, his students, and the ants.  Jan began to wonder just how painful a lobotomy was, and if, in fact, it would keep her from hearing and understanding, or would just relieve her of the duty to respond to such boring and asinine conversation as what Hank was offering her.  She would certainly appreciate the former, as she would feel less frequently like her ears could bleed and she would be in less pain than she was at the moment.  All things considered, the second was a passable substitute, if only she didn’t have to make these mono-or duel-syllabic responses to Hank’s horribly boring conversation.  She wanted some fun, not these PG rated dates they would go on.

“It’s time to go home,” she finally announced, as Hank started to comment on the ants crawling out of a crack in the sidewalk as if it were some fascinating topic of conversation.  Back in the day, he’d made them interesting.  They were informants, spies, allies.  Now they were just a creature he studied.  Now that he’d stopped fighting crime, there was a whole lot less to him.  Jan stood up and looked over at him, finding herself in genuine wonder of what on earth she had seen in him all those years they’d been together.  He was a looker, but that was increasingly mitigated by his dull topics of conversation and his lack of interest in anything Jan enjoyed.  She signed to herself, and began to walk back down the path towards their home.  

“Time?  I didn’t realize you had a schedule to keep on Sunday,” Hank said, a little too sternly for Jan’s liking.  With her back turned, Jan risked raising her eyebrows and distorting her face into an expression of ferocious rage to rival most of Disney’s worst and most cunning villains.  

She relaxed her face and mustered a smile before replying.  “With Sue.”  Although truth be told, Jan had’t actually made plans with her friend, or spoken to her more than a quick text when she’d come home safely from Asgard, and another from Susan when she arrived back.  Then three weeks of radio silence.  She and Carol probably thought Jan had fallen off the face of the Earth.  “Come on, even you have to admit that we haven’t done much in the last few weeks.  It’s all work, home, sleep for the both of us.  I need to see some friends. Retail therapy.  It’s real, Hank, and it’ll cure my cabin fever.”  

Hank didn’t quite manage to conceal what he thought of Jan’s choice of outing.  He tried to say something affirming, but it was his turn to reply “right,” as if there could be nothing less right about her wanting or needing some space from her home and her family.  

Half an hour later, the three returned home, and by the grace of God Henry was still asleep.  Jan brought him up to his crib, where Tabby had taken up napping in the baby’s absence. She nudged him out of the way, much to the old cat’s chagrin, and placed Henry inside next to him in the warm spot Tabby had pre-heated.  As soon as he was horizontal on the mattress, Henry woke and began to fuss.  Jan rolled her eyes and looked to Tabby.  “Watch him, will you?”  Almost immediately, as if he understood enough English to know what to do, Tabby placed a paw over Henry to get back into the patch of sun he’d been enjoying.  This cuddle quieted Henry.  He really was getting bigger, Jan saw.  He used to be smaller than Tabby; now he was just a little longer and a little plumper.  

Jan left the nursery, but she didn’t go downstairs just yet.  Hank was still there in the living room, or maybe he was in his lab.  She hoped he was in there, out of the way, and she wouldn’t have to say anything to him when she went down later.  She hoped, too, that she’d gone through enough posing and smiling and nice words that day to convince herself and everyone else that she’d earned the afternoon to herself.  

Jan was going into the city.  She knew that much and only that much about her plans for the afternoon.  The suburbs were getting ready to drown her if she stayed out here much longer, with the perfect yards and the nothing, absolutely nothing to do.  A year ago, she had chosen this house for the homey feel and the nice neighborhood and the distance from the crime and noise and hullabaloo of the City.  Now she couldn’t stand that it had trapped her with such a dull family and away from all the excitement and movement she had known for years.  How, she wondered, had she thought she could return to New Jersey the same girl as she’d been when she’d left?  Back in 2007 she’d barely spent time here; she was always at school.  There had been no past, Jan had learned only through the realization of the false equivalence, in which she had been happy in the New Jersey suburbia.  

In her own bedroom, Jan decided to leave through the window, rather than risk having to make more small talk with Hank, lest he try to make the Orange County recycling program of some interest to her.  She changed into her iconic yellow and black suit, and opened the window to let in the chilled fall air.  For several minutes, Jan was perfectly happy just to fly away from her troubles, North, and towards salvation.  It had been weeks since she had been able to do as much  as this, and it was exhilarating to fly as fast as the neighborhood traffic, almost as fast as the highway traffic--if she had really felt like it, she could have saved time by holding on and hitching a ride, but it was too beautiful a day to feel any more hobbled and reliant than she had already been made to feel so many times over. 

The bright sun hit Jan’s skin and made her feel hot under her black suit and with the tremendous effort of flying.  Perhaps, after all this way she might notice a difference in her waistline, which was still held together with the help of a postpartum belt months after she should have stopped wearing it.  She knew it wasn’t the issue anymore.  Lean muscle clung to Jan’s frame, as strong and cut as ever.  But now, there was a layer of weight that she couldn’t shed, that pushed at her clothes and sagged strangely under her skin.  If only she had known, Jan would never have gone off the pill.  

It was almost too soon that Jan crossed the river, passing above the Holland Tunnel, but when she was in the city, on the island of Manhattan, Janet stopped for a moment and alighted on a tree branch. It swayed considerably in the light breeze of the coastal air, and threw Jan off balance as to which way was up and which way was sideways.  Where to, she wondered, now that she was in the city.  Over to see Susan, as she had told Hank she would?  Or should she get on with some retail therapy alone?  Maybe she could start by going into a Starbucks and offering to buy a drink for everyone in the room.  Then a new dress to wear to her next formal, in which she might be spared the humiliation of spillage.

Jan wondered if this was how the Charlie Sheens of the world were made.  If one day people just cracked under so much pressure and that they started going on television and saying they had tiger blood. In Jan’s mind’s eye, she sat in a studio being interviewed.  “What’s the difference between an ant and my husband?  I’ll tell you; my husband is interested in ants, but he’s so boring the ants can’t find a reason to be interested back.  Look, you want to know how I bounced back after the baby?  Eat anything you want, but be sure to take your crystal meth--that’ll jack your metabolism right up.  And surgery.  Let me tell you about the surgeries I’ve had.  I recommend one for every new mother.’  She would laugh while she took off her shoes and none-so-subtly pulled a flask out of her purse. 

Nonsense, utter nonsense.  Jan wondered how many would believe her.  Probably millions.  The public loved nothing more than a good breakdown by some celebrity or another they had loved, most particularly if there was money in it for them.  Maybe, Jan thought, fading from her fantasy interview, she should stick to Starbucks.  Better yet, she could simply stop stalling and go see Susan.  Jan hadn’t been to visit her friend since she’d embarrassed herself at the wedding, and as much as she wanted to see her, there was almost certainly going to be an adjoining lecture about her behavior.  One she deserved, most certainly, but one she didn’t need or want to hear right at that very moment, all the same.  She didn’t need to some righteous speech about how to be a better wife and a better mother.  She just needed some support.  

Jan let herself fall from the tree and blow a few feet before catching the wind and flying up above the pedestrian sidewalk, in and around leaves on yellow trees and under the canopies of small business’ windows.  Jan couldn’t have named the street, but it was a familiar block of SoHo where she was sure she had enjoyed shopping before.  The fantasy of a hilariously terrible interview faded from Jan’s mind, to be replaced by the very real idea of stopping to drop some cash in a shop that had hilariously terrible shoes shaped like octopus in the window--truly, there was nothing to the shoe to make it look like it could be walked on or walked in, save for the mannequin foot wedged between the tentacles--when she instead caught sight of a more welcome sight than even Sue reflected in the window.  

‘STARK70,’ read the license plate of a black Beamer.  Jan turned from the shop and saw the car just a few feet away, stopped at a light.  He was the last person Jan needed to see right now, but the only one from whom she could be assured there would be no lecture.  He had misbehaved as badly as she had, and in that, there could be no scolding or superiority.  Jan kicked off the glass of the mirror and flew over to the car.  He didn’t seem to notice her, and as the light changed, the open window pulled away, making it so Jan had to fight against the considerable wind drag before she finally pulled herself through the opening and tumbling through into the passenger’s seat.  

Gasping for air, Jan righted herself and resized,  only to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated from more or less the equivalent of a sizable run.  Physical exertion was easier with her molecules compacted as they’d been, but duration was key.  “Wow, talk about prettier on the inside,” she gasped, her hand loosely grasping at the seat belt before pulling it across her and into the receptor.  “Wouldn’t have known it was you, except for the plate.  Tell me, are you really up to seventy, or did you go for the birth year plate?  What do  you do when people take your name plate?  Or did you already buy them out in case you end up with 100 cars down the line?”  She propped her head up on the window ledge, and relished the feeling of wind through her damp hair.  “There should really be a law against putting your name on any car with less street cred than a Mercedes.”  She looked at her manicure on her left hand.  It was shaking badly, but nor from anything she was feeling, but from the sheer exhaustion of flying so far and so fast.  “I’m thinking about getting a Tesla--those are gorgeous.  So.”  She straightened up and slapped her legs in punctuation.  For the first time since she’d gotten into the car, Jan turned to look at her friend.  “How fast does she go?”  

[backwardsandinhighheels1945-blog]

Water Rising (Peggy & Jan & Natasha & Tony & Hank) 22 July 2016

“but then...well, one thing led to another, you know?”  Angie was sobbing into her microphone now.  “Nobody would have known if I was still a nobody.” 

Peggy listened quietly, conscious both of Angie’s need to vent her pent up, hopeless feelings and of the company she kept in the little hotel room.  “Angie...you can call the police about them, you know that, right?”

“I did, I did.  Lynn’s being really good to me and asked the police to wait by the back door, but they can’t keep everyone away.  I don’t know what’s worse, Peg, the haters or the furries.”  

“Furries?” she asked.  

Angie changed how she was sitting, and the camera moved about.  “It’s this fad.  Maybe it’s not, but they’re these cosplayers--they dress in animal costumes and I think are sexually attracted to animals.  They’ve decided that I’m their...leader?  Queen?”

Peggy had to hold back a snort of laughter and ducked off the screen for a moment while she gathered her senses.  This clearly bothered Angie, but the idea was so ridiculous.  “I’m sorry,” she said, still fighting a smile.  “I’m sorry, but they what?”  

Angie looked back at her so nonplussed that Peggy managed to fight the smile off her face.  “They gather around the exit and shout abut how shout about how they want to pet my ears and beg me to shift.  But we can’t keep them at bay like we can with the others, since they’ve only ever said things to me.”  

“Ange...”  

“I don’t know if it’ll go away if I sign or if it’ll only get worse.”  

Peggy bit her lip, thinking for a moment before responding.  “Angie, I’m sorry this is happening to you.  I don’t think it’ll go away...but hold off on signing, okay?  There’s still a lot at stake if you sign now, and there’s still time.”  Peggy had seen this before.  It would only get more difficult to leave the country as the deadline got closer and closer, but this wasn’t the time to capitulate yet.”  Natasha got off the bed and went into the bathroom.  Peggy seized the opportunity.  “Do you trust me?”  

Angie sniffled, then nodded.  

Peggy dropped her voice low so that Natasha couldn’t overhear from the bathroom.  “I’m working on a plan to get you out of the country, if nothing else.”  Angie’s eyes widened.  “It’s a last resort, but we can find you asylum in England if you like.”  

“Peggy, I can’t leave New York.  I have a job, and everyone knows I’m a werewolf.”  

“Acting jobs don’t last forever.  You can try again in West End.  At least in England, you’ll be safe.”  

“My whole family lives in New York.  I can’t leave them.”  Peggy grit her teeth and looked to the ceiling.  How many times had she wanted to keep some idiot in her life safe?  Of all of them, this seemed the most avoidable.  There was no cause, no need, no greater endeavor--Angie was just being stubborn. 

“Angie, it’s neither forever, no will they be barred from visiting you.  Please,” the toilet flushed and Natasha came out of the bathroom.  “Just consider it.”  

“Peggy,” Peggy was glad she wore ear buds.  “I can’t do that.  Thank you, but I can’t do that.  My life is here.”  

Peggy folded her hands under her chin and smiled, like their conversation had turned sweet and innocent.  “I know you do, and I find it quite fetching.”  She winked, trying to signal that the discussion was over and left at a draw.  

“Fine.  I’ll consider it.  But that’s not a yes.”  

“Hmm,” Peggy winked.  “I had a feeling you’d come around.”  Natasha was setting up her own laptop.  “Alright, darling.  I think I ought to let you go, because my partner needs to use the internet.  Promise you’ll be careful around the furries?”  

“I don’t think they’re dangerous...Peggy, I wish you were here.  It would all be better if you were here.  I miss you.”  

“I miss you, too.  But I have a feeling I won’t be much longer.”  She kissed the air towards her camera and waved her goodbye.  

“Call later?”  

“Of course.  Whenever I can.”  

“You don’t call enough.”  

“I know.  But I love you.”  

“I love you, too, English.”  The skype call blinked out and Peggy leaned back against the chair.  “It’s all yours.”