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marysuevirus2011-12-01 11:26 pm
ladydeathfaerie) wrote in marysuevirus2011-12-01 11:26 pm
The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers!
Title: The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers!
Chapter Thirteen: Misdirection
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. probably some drinking.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers! - The Index
She came awake slowly, her mind telling her that there was something... off. Some instinct told her to remain still until she figured out what it was. It came to her in bits and pieces, each one fitting in with the last until the puzzle was completed and made a whole picture. Her nose was slightly stuffy, a lingering reminder of her emotional upset the night before. As was the fact that her eyes felt gritty and dry and her lashes were gummed up from all the tears she'd shed.
She couldn't recall just how long she'd cried. But she'd cried herself out. She remembered going limp and simply leaning against Tony's chest, letting herself bask in his warmth and the solace he'd so willingly given her. She thought she might have stopped crying at some point, but much of the night was a blur. The only thing that stood out clear in her mind was the fact that Tony had been there when she'd needed him and that he'd held her close without attempting anything. He'd made a promise to her and he'd kept it.
Truth be told, Phoebe had enjoyed the feel of his arms around her. They were comforting in a way nothing had been since the accident. And they did an amazing job of keeping the memories from overwhelming her again. Even now, as she lay in bed and basked in the warmth of his body next to hers, in the tender way his arms held her close to him, she was aware of the memories lingering in the background. Waiting to assault her once again. Waiting to pull her down into that sucking vortex of despair.
For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder if this was what it would feel like to waken in his arms every morning. If that same sense of peace and belonging would always be there. She knew it was silly to think such things. Ultimately, Tony Stark was not a man who cared to wake next to the same person every morning. He wasn't anything but a one night stand. She knew these things. But it didn't stop her from wanting to do this day after day. It didn't stop her need to feel his body next to hers. She was delusional if she thought she could have any kind of domestic bliss with Tony Stark, playboy extraordinare.
She was delusional because she wanted it so very much.
She couldn't recall just how they'd ended up in her bed. She knew she'd been at her work station and that she'd looked at the reports surrounding the accident. She remembered his arms holding her, keeping her safe within his embrace. She remembered crying on his chest until nothing but sobs were left. She remembered feeling spent and washed out. She must have fallen asleep in his arms and he'd brought them here to her bed. Part of her felt all warm and fuzzy with the thought that he'd continued to hold her all through the night. Part of her had a moment of panic as she realized that Tony Stark had put her to bed. But her clothes were still in place, so he obviously hadn't been too interested in sex. Of course, she must have looked a fright.
Her brain shocked her with a question that seemingly came from out of the blue. Would sex with Tony have been so bad? Not in the horrible lay manner, but in the regret it come the morning way. Would it have been so bad to just... let go and let him warm her up from the inside out? Would it have been so terrible for her to give in?
Of course it would have. She knew the answer to that. Chances were good that any sexual encounter with Tony Stark would end up being a one night stand or very short lived. And even if such were not the case, she didn't think she'd ever be able to overlook his alcoholic excesses. Especially not now after she finally knew what had happened to her parents. That accident had almost killed her. She'd gotten lucky and lived, but she couldn't be sure she'd really survived. That was something Tony had been right about.
If she let him in, if she allowed him to breach the defenses she'd built up around her heart, and something horrible happened to him as a result of his drinking, she didn't think she'd ever survive it. She couldn't take the risk. She wasn't strong enough.
"Turn it off, Phoebe. It'll only make you crazy," Tony said quietly, his voice still husky with sleep.
"I wish it was that easy, Mr. Stark," she said, already building up walls. Already putting distance between them.
Her words saw him rolling up on his side so he could stare down into her eyes. She was both relieved and dismayed to find out that he was still fully clothed. "Really? After crying on my shoulder last night? After sleeping in my arms all night long? You're going to push me away?" Even though he shared a charming smile with her, his tone was serious.
"You were there at a moment of weakness and you were gentleman enough to make and keep a promise when I needed comfort. Thank you for that. But that was all last night was. A moment of weakness." Before he could counter that with anything, she rolled from the bed and crossed to the closet to find clean clothes for the day. She heard the rustling of clothing as he climbed out of the bed. When she turned, he was only a few feet from her.
"I was a moment of weakness?" he asked her. She thought that she'd made that clear, but she supposed that he deserved the benefit of the doubt, seeing as he'd only recently woken up.
"Yes, Mr. Stark. You were a moment of weakness. No doubt I would have cried on Director Fury's shoulder, had he been the one to show up in the computer room last night," she told him evenly. The comment earned her a laugh.
"I doubt that Fury would let you cry on his shoulder," Tony replied with a faint grin.
"He doesn't seem the type, no. But that wasn't the point I was trying to make. And you're intelligent enough to know that. All I wanted you to understand was that I would have gladly cried on the shoulder of anyone who happened by at that moment." Phoebe shot him a frown. She didn't like that he couldn't take the topic at hand with any kind of seriousness. She laid her chosen clothing selections over the nearest chair and shook her head at him. "Can you never be serious, Mr. Stark? You're standing there, making light of my sorrow. I don't appreciate it."
"I think you'll find that I can be very serious when the occasion requires it," he told her, all hint of humor gone from his voice.
"I have yet to see any hint of this serious nature. I don't think you're capable of being serious, Mr. Stark."
She watched as he stared at her, his gaze intent and probing. Something about it left her a touch uncomfortable and she wanted nothing more than to squirm under his gaze. A frown tugged the corners of his mouth down. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Just what data and information do you base this judgement on, Miss Sinclair? I assume you have some, because a statement such as that one requires hard facts and data to back it up. Do you have anything to back up your words?"
"I think your drinking speaks loudly in my favor. How can you take anything seriously when you're always drunk? It has been my experience that most drunks use alcohol to hide from their problems." She paused and pinned him with her own stare. "What problems are you hiding from, Mr. Stark? What is so terrible in your life that you seek solace in a bottle?"
"Alcoholics bother you that much?" He cocked a brow at her, giving the appearance of eagerly awaiting her answer. "Because you know so much about them? You've spent hundreds of hours studying the millions of people who drink and what it is that drives them to do so?"
"I dislike anyone who uses something as a crutch when that crutch can mentally and physically impair their ability to function and think and react." He opened his mouth to counter her words, but she lifted a hand and brought him to silence once more. "You take your life and the lives of those people around you in your hands every time you toss a drink back, Mr. Stark. You've been lucky not to hurt anyone so far. But it is terribly irresponsible of your to think that your genius somehow sets you above the rest of us mere peasants."
"I see," he gave a slow nod of his head. "You dislike me because I'm an alcoholic and that makes me irresponsible. Never mind the fact that I am Iron Man and I've done so much good for the world at large. Those accomplishments, everything I've done, are negated by the fact that I crack a bottle open every now and again. Wow. Really. I would never have known just how selfish and irresponsible I am if you hadn't pointed it out to me, Miss Sinclair. Seriously. Thank you. The world should be filled with more conscientious people such as yourself. Maybe then you wouldn't need heroes like myself or the Avengers."
Phoebe sighed and shook her head at him. "That isn't what I mean at all, Mr. Stark. I'm not trying to belittle your accomplishments in the guise of Iron Man. The world is a better place with all of the good he does. But those good deeds simply cannot overshadow your dependency upon alcohol."
Tony stared a moment, then raked his hand through his hair, leaving it delightfully mussed. Seeing it so unkempt made her want to run her fingers through it and attempt to straighten it. " Ah. I understand it all perfectly now. It isn't that you don't like me. You don't like that I drink. And because some stupid ass who happened to get behind the wheel of his car all those years ago plowed into your car and killed your parents, I'm not better than he is. Because the alcohol makes me who I am. Not my character or personality. The alcohol."
"You're twisting my words around, Mr. Stark," Phoebe insisted.
"Am I? Because unless I need my hearing checked, pretty much every excuse you've ever given me to keep me at arm's length has to do with alcohol. Nothing to do with who I am as a person." His stare pinned her and she swore he was looking deep into her soul to find all the truths that made her who she was. "You find me attractive. Our kiss the other night proves that. It also proves that you'd be willing to sleep with me. But you can't let yourself go for one second because you're afraid. Of living. Of finding out that you like it. Of doing something that isn't safe."
"Of course I find you attractive, Mr. Stark. But visual stimulation cannot override the emotional toll that alcohol--" she began, only to have him lift a hand and bring her words to a halt. Phoebe stared at him, surprised by the action.
"I get it. Trust me. I do. So here's what's going to happen. I'm done. I'm just done. I'm going to get out of your hair and get cleaned up. You won't have to worry about me any more. I promise. Because I'm done." Then he turned on his heel and made his way from the bedroom.
Phoebe was so shocked by his admission that she didn't move from her spot, even when she heard the door to her quarters close. She was alone. She'd finally gotten Stark to understand how she felt and what she thought. She'd finally convinced him that he didn't stand a chance with her. She'd finally gotten him to leave her alone.
So why did she feel absolutely lost without him?
~*~*~*~*~
The metallic chirp of a cell phone slid into the dream and disrupted the fluid flow of two figures twisting their way through a tango. In seconds, she was caught up in a vivid recollection of the HYDRA base in Scotland and those few minutes right before the explosion. She even heard Phil's voice in her dream, soft and pitched low. As if he was doing so in order to not disturb her.
That made the dream disappear altogether, something for which she was eternally thankful, and flicked her eyes open to find him sitting on the edge of the bed with his cell up to his ear. Miri considered, for a moment, rising up so that she could press herself to his back, but given the tense line of his spine, she figured that this was work related and he wouldn't appreciate her attempts to distract him. So she remained where she was and let her eyes slide down the length of his back to where his body met the bed. She really, really wanted to cup her hands around his ass and convince him to come back to bed.
She wasn't sure who he was talking to. All of his answers were short and monosyllabic. They gave nothing away. Even so, they made her feel just a little uncomfortable. Something big was going on.
Phil took the phone away from his ear and returned it to the spot on her nightstand where it usually stayed when he spent the night. Then he stood and headed for Miri's bathroom. In moments, she heard the shower come to life. She frowned at that. He never took a shower until just before he left. What was going on?
She rose from the bed and began collecting his discarded clothing. She considered taking it directly into the bathroom, but she quickly nixed that idea. She wanted to see him wet from the shower and wearing nothing but a towel. If he was leaving so soon, she wanted that one last thrill. Noticing that his shirt was a little wrinkled, she dragged out the iron and the ironing board. The least she could do was press his clothes so that they were presentable. She'd been the one to tug them haphazardly from his frame, after all.
While the iron heated up, she found her robe and shrugged into it. The silk brushed her skin softly, reminding her of the way Phil's hands had mapped her body last night. She shuddered, tied the sash at her waist, then headed for the ironing board. The iron was ready and she carefully began smoothing the wrinkles from the garment.
As she'd hoped, Phil emerged from the bathroom in little more than a towel, his hair wet and disheveled. She might have taken the opportunity to admire the muscles in his arms and chest, but the serious look on his face stole all pleasure she got from seeing him wrapped up in that length of material. "Phil? What's going on?"
"I have to leave, Miriam. Director Fury wants me on a plane to the South Pacific in an hour. I don't know how long I'll be gone or if I'll be able to contact you." he told her. The tone of his voice said he was fully in work mode and it almost felt as if he'd forgotten the night they'd spent together.
She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. "Oh. Okay. Have a nice trip," she told him. He didn't notice the sudden flatness of her tone or the look on her face. He was too caught up in putting his clothes back on to realize that she was not pleased with this turn of events. When he was fully clothed, right down to the neatly arranged tie, he turned to give her a brief smile and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
"I'll call you when I can," he said, then he was out the door.
Miri blinked after him, stood where she was even when she heard the door to the apartment swing open and then shut.
Just like that, he was gone. Frowning, she finally convinced herself to step into motion. The first thing she did was head for the door and make sure that the locks had been turned. The apartment felt oddly empty now that he'd gone. Leaning her back against the door, she allowed herself to think back over the night she'd shared with him. The massage he'd given her had shifted slowly into something much more sensual.
They'd spent more than half an hour doing nothing more than kissing and touching while sitting on her couch. Then they'd moved into the bedroom and had spent the rest of the night rumpling her sheets. It had been a beautiful night. Or so she'd thought. Now... She wasn't so sure.
His departure had been so abrupt. Truth be told, so had his last words to her. Almost as if he'd been trying to avoid some kind of long, drawn out, emotional goodbye. Did Phil regret his words from the night before? It wasn't as if he'd said anything too permanent or anything. Hell, she hadn't even said anything permanent. Maybe the whole evening had been a heat of the moment kind of event. They were still dealing with the aftermath of the explosion and, really, that was when all of this oddness had started. It was possible that they'd both said things they might not have ever considered saying otherwise.
So why did she feel like he'd just taken something back? If she really sat and gave it thought, Miri wasn't exactly sure what her feelings for Phil were. She knew that she enjoyed having him in her life. The sex was always fantastic and he always just seemed to know exactly what it was she needed at any given moment. Maybe that's what last night had been? In the entire time they'd been together, he'd never once hinted at any deeper emotions where she was concerned. He'd seemed just as happy as she did to keep what they had between them as nothing more than strictly sex.
She was no fool. She'd been around S.H.I.E.L.D. long enough to know that the job took a toll on relationships. She'd seen first hand how it destroyed the lives of agents. Men and women who had had spouses leave them and take their children. Those people usually went one of two ways. They either ended up deep in the bottle, unable to function without their crutch, or they suddenly became so intent about the job that there simply was nothing else in their lives but work. Maybe Phil was trying to protect them both by taking a step back and returning their relationship to its usual place.
A week ago, she might have welcomed such a move. But after recent events, she wasn't so sure that that was what she wanted. It must have been what Phil wanted, though, because he was the one who had set them back. Maybe he didn't have any deeper emotions for her. Maybe he was content with things the way they were. All sex and nothing else. Maybe he...
Damn it. This line of thinking wasn't getting her anywhere. She needed to get away from the revolving mess of thoughts in her head and do something constructive. There was nothing between Phil and herself. She was imagining things because of the explosion. Everything that had happened after the fact could be blamed on exhaustion. That was all there was to it. Things were better this way. She was sure of it.
Sighing, she pushed off from the door and headed for the living room. If she was going to stop her thoughts from running crazy, she was going to have to keep herself occupied. First order of business was to clean up the bottles they'd left on her coffee table.
The empties were easily disposed of in her recycling bin. Then she took a few seconds to put the few dirty dishes she had into the dishwasher. She wiped down the counters and checked the fridge to see if she needed to go to the market and pick anything up. She was low on milk, but it could wait another day.
In the bedroom, she gathered up her dirty clothes and dumped them into her hamper. She tackled the sheets next. Part of her wanted to leave them on the bed because they smelled like Phil and she had no idea how long it would be before she heard from or saw him again. But common sense said they needed washing after the work out they'd given her bed the night before. She tugged them from the bed reluctantly, then shoved them into the hamper before she could do something silly like change her mind.
Once a fresh set of sheets had been tugged into place, Miri took herself to the bathroom for a shower. It was still wet from Phil's use, the towel he'd had slung around his hips hung up on the bar. That would have to go in the wash, too. She'd do some laundry later, after she showered and ate. Ignoring the pull of that damned towel, she set the water in the shower. The robe was hung up on the back of the door for future use. Then she climbed into the shower and stood under the spray.
She was halfway through the shower when a set of very pleasant memories crept up out of the darkness to tease her. It hadn't been that long ago, when she and Phil were still in Scotland, and it had been a particularly trying day. It had been the day that MI6 had held a memorial service for their fallen agents. She and Phil had attended the ceremony, two higher ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. agents representing their country and their agency at a service for fallen compatriots. By the time it had all been over and they'd sat through eulogy after eulogy and had attended some get together after the fact, Miri had been mentally and physically exhausted. On the verge of tears. And Phil had, upon their return to her hotel room, herded her into the shower. He'd joined her and he'd done his best to wipe away every last ounce of sorrow with tender caresses. It had been a lovely night that...
Frustrated with herself, Miri pushed the memories aside and finished scrubbing her skin clean. This was madness. Pure madness. She had to stop thinking of him or else she'd go insane. There had to be something she could do to distract herself, something that would keep her from going round and round with her thoughts where Phil was concerned.
She considered her options as she climbed from the shower. Maybe a run would be good. Or a sparring session. She could even handle spending time on the range if it helped keep her mind from thinking about Phil. But not if she had to do those things alone. She needed someone to keep her mind else where.
Of course. She could call Alex. Last night had been dinner with her family. No doubt she'd want to piss and moan about the experience to someone. They could hit the gym and run or do some cardio and Alex could bitch about her mother's match making obsession and they could both get a work out. Relieve tension and stress. Not think about the things that were bothering them.
Maybe Miri could find time to get in a few jabs where Barton was concerned while she was at it.
Smiling, she headed for the dresser to find clothes for the day. After slipping into clean underwear, she donned jeans and a t-shirt. Then she towel dried her hair and secured it in a loose pony tail at the nape of her neck. Her cell was in the other room, so she padded on bare feet into the living area to retrieve the device.
Alex's number was programmed in, allowing her to speed dial the other woman's cell. She hit the correct button and listened to the phone chime out the numbers. It clicked straight through to voice mail. Miri frowned. That was unusual. Alex never had her phone shut off. Maybe the battery had died and she didn't know it. Miri tried Alex's land line. It rang and rang and rang. She disconnected the call, her frown even deeper than before. Something was up with her best friend.
Miri couldn't recall a time when she'd never been able to get a hold of Alex on the phone. She always had her cell on her and she always had it on. Always answered it. One never knew when the bosses were going to throw a mission their way. They always had to be prepared to go on a moment's notice. So it was strange that Miri couldn't raise her friend at all. What could have possibly happened at her parents' house last night that saw her staying away from her phones?
Miri pondered the possibilities for a few moments before deciding that she hoped Alex had gotten her brains fucked out. If anyone was uptight and needed to get laid, it was her friend and partner.
With the idea of training with Alex effectively out of the running, the only thing Miri felt she had left to keep her from thinking too much about her personal life was work. She had plenty of paperwork to get through in her home office. She felt there was enough there to keep her busy for the rest of the day. Decision made, she tucked the phone into her pocket and headed for the kitchen. A sandwich and a cup of java. She needed something to eat and it was positively criminal to do anything without a cup of coffee in hand.
~*~*~*~*~
At first, she thought the pounding she heard was her head after one too many beers. But a glance at the nightstand told her that she'd only had a couple before falling into a restless slumber. The clock hidden behind the empties suggested that she'd been asleep for four or five hours. It was almost noon. Groaning, she rolled over and snuggled deeper into the bedding, intent on sleeping for four or five more hours because she felt like absolute shit. But the pounding started again and it was then that she realized it wasn't in her head. It was on her front door.
Shit.
Maybe if she ignored it, whoever was trying to wake the dead would go away. Maybe they'd leave her in peace and she could spend the day curled up in bed, pretending that she wasn't the biggest fucking idiot on the face of the planet. Yeah, and maybe pig would fly out of her butt.
The pounding continued.
Fuck. She'd have to answer the door and deal with whoever it was. Yawning, barely conscious, she stumbled from the bed and slipped a Glock out of the holster that hung off the vanity. The mirror suggested that she put some clothes on by showing her that she was still in her bra and panties from the night before. Mumbling to herself. she opened a drawer and pulled over her head the first thing she grabbed. It was an old t-shirt that had belonged to her uncle and it was big enough that it hung nearly to mid-thigh.
Another round of pounding saw her staggering out of her bedroom and toward the front door. But halfway there, she stopped dead in her tracks when the pounding came with a voice. "Damn it, Lexi! Open the door!"
Her heart did an odd combination flip-flop and freeze at the sound of his voice. What was he doing there? Hadn't she made a big enough fool of herself last night? Did he need to rub it in? She was torn between letting him in and hiding in her closet until he went away. But he pounded on the door again and, this time, it sounded like he was using the flat of his hand instead of the side of his fist. "Open the door or I'll pick the lock," he ordered.
She froze. He wouldn't! Would he? Who was she kidding? He would totally pick the lock to let himself in. All agents went through training that taught them how to pick locks. Even with that skill, she wouldn't put it past him to kick the fucking door off the hinges. Either way, she didn't want him letting himself in even more than she didn't want to talk to him. His being there was likely already drawing attention. She knew her mother had spies in the building and if any of them saw Barton outside her door, beating on it and yelling at her, it would get back to her mother faster than she could fire off a round. Damn it. That meant she really didn't have a choice. She forced herself forward and, with trembling hand, turned the locks on the door.
She'd never heard a louder sound in all her life than that of the tumblers rolling and pulling back.
Almost before she put her hand on the knob, it was turning. The door swung open and allowed Clint to step into her apartment. His gaze raked over her frame for a moment, taking in the over-sized t-shirt and the Glock held loosely in one hand. When his gaze hit her face, she was surprised to find a hint of wildness in the depths of his stare that slowly ebbed away upon actually seeing her. A smile slid across his face as the wildness disappeared. Then he stepped forward until they were almost touching and, before she could fathom his intent, he tugged her into his embrace so that he could kiss her long and hard on the lips.
For just a moment, her brain went on break and let her body take control. She liked the kiss, liked the feel of his lips against her own. Liked the way they tasted. Liked the way he tasted. She was about to melt into him when he pulled back and his hand went to the gun she still held. His other hand fingered the collar of her shirt. "Is this how you always answer the door?" he asked. "I like the tee. But I don't know that I like the gun. Are you expecting someone dangerous?"
The cocky smile he tossed her threw her right out of the sleep and beer induced haze. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that it was too late on that account, but she didn't want to encourage him. She didn't need this. Not so soon after realizing that she'd done something stupid. It didn't matter if she felt anything for the man. She just couldn't let it happen. She couldn't let herself fall again. It was too hard. So she pulled the tattered remains of her pride around her like a cloak and shot a glare his way. "What are you doing here?"
The question caught him off guard and the cocky attitude was replaced by confusion. "I came to find out why you got up and left this morning without even waking me to say goodbye." He cocked a brow at her. "Again."
"Saying goodbye would imply that we actually have some kind of... Hmmm. What was that word?" She paused as if thinking about what word should come next. She even rolled her hand in a circular motion to simulate wheels turning. "Right. Relationship. You act like we're in a relationship. I don't remember that happening."
The coldness in her tone saw him frowning. "So what was last night?"
"It was fun. It was sex. It was a hot time for both of us. But it wasn't anything meaningful. It just was."
The frown disappeared as his mouth flattened into a thin line. "I would have thought that you'd say such a thing about our first night together."
"Very well. Our first night together was fun, hot sex for us both. Our second night was..." she paused and again pretended to consider her words. "Let's just call that one a mistake."
He took it like a blow to the face, rocking back and away from her as if she'd physically struck him. She let a smug smile creep across her face even though she was far from feeling it. All she really wanted to do was climb up his body and wrap herself around him before she kissed him until neither of them could breathe. There was something between them, something that she didn't dare acknowledge. Something that she would fight with her heart and soul. She couldn't go there again. If she did and something happened... No. It was better this way. Better for her and better for him.
"A mistake? So now last night was a mistake to you?" he asked. When she merely lifted her chin in answer, Clint stepped closer to her. She could either take a step back and prove her cowardice or stay where she was and try to ignore the wonderful sensations she knew would race through her body at the mere touch of his. She took the coward's way out and stepped back because if he touched her again... Her actions saw him smiling, saw him keep moving forward. Saw her keep stepping backward. Until her back hit the wall and she had nowhere else to go. "That's funny, Lexi. Because I swear you were as into last night as I was. In fact, I'm sure that you're the kind of woman who doesn't just hop into bed with the first hot guy you stumble across. You've got to have feelings for him before that will happen."
He shouldn't know that about her. Not that she planned on agreeing with him because that would only encourage him. But the man was observant and he had obviously been watching her. He'd figured that much out. God only knew what else he'd figured out. That meant it was now more important than ever to get him the hell away from her. Before he really figured everything out. "Wow. Is your ego so large that you actually think I'd have to have feelings for you in order to sleep with you?"
"It has nothing to do with ego, Lexi." His smile was certain. One of his hands dropped to her waist, fingers teasing lightly against her skin through the t-shirt. She forced herself not to respond, to simply stare at him and wait for his important revelation. Obviously not phased by her act, Clint let his fingers find the edge of her shirt so he could hike it up and lay the heat of his hand against her skin. Sensation spiraled out of that single touch and left her struggling to remember why she was keeping him at bay. "It has everything to do with reading the signs. I could write off a single encounter as a mistake. But then you came back for more." He leaned in so he could whisper the next words in her ear. "You wanted more. The prickly bitch act you've been putting on lately is just that. An act."
"Please. It was hardly an act," she retorted, just managing to put a good dose of heavy scorn into her voice. "Everyone knows I'm a prickly bitch. I always have been."
"Right. That's why you would have let me strip you naked and do you right there in the mud last night?" The hand under her shirt crept higher, fingers skimming her skin until they rested just under her breast. "Why are you fighting this, Lexi? Admit that you've got feelings and end this farce. Surely it isn't that difficult. Even for someone like you."
God, if he only knew. She shot a sneer his way and shoved his roaming hand away. "Last night was little more than a release after the build up of tension at my parents' house. You just happened to be handy. Don't read anything more into it."
"Really?" he asked. He inched closer to her, until he almost touched her from shoulders to thighs. Even now, in the midst of their encounter, he wanted her. She could feel that. And she wanted so badly to respond to it. To him and his words. She wanted to give in. "So fighting is foreplay to you? Is that what this is? Because every encounter we've had in the past month has been so sexually charged that I'm surprised no one has noticed. Is that what you want here, Lexi? Now? A fight? I'm willing to oblige if it will make you admit that you're attracted to me."
"Would you stop calling me that? My name is Alex. Or Alexis." She made sure to pitch her voice low so that he would have no choice but to listen to her.
"What? You don't like it when I call you Lexi?"
"No. That isn't my name and I will not respond to it if you continue to use it," she told him, voice filled with annoyance. At the same time, her heart was filled with sorrow and grief. And a small flare of desire.
"That's funny. You responded to it just fine last night," he remarked. He inched even closer to her, until they were touching and... God, the feel of him... Need rushed recklessly right to her groin, prompting her to tighten her hold on the Glock so much that the butt bit into her hand. She wanted to throw herself at him and forget about everything, everyone else. Her heart might have started hammering in her chest if not for the supremely smug look he gave her. "Come on, Lexi. Why are you fighting this? What's between us... Its a good thing. We're good together. Last night proved that. Just let go."
She could. She wanted to. There was nothing more in the world that she wanted than to simply put it all aside and give in to him. It would be heaven in his arms. His kisses tasted of passion and desire and masculinity. He was all heat and hunger. Some sleek jungle cat silently stalking his prey. It was what he'd been doing all along. Ever since that night. And she'd been doing her best to fight it. She'd tried. So hard. For what? Leaving him earlier had been one of the hardest things she'd had to do in a long time.
Hadn't she felt it out in California? That indefinable thing that lived between them? She'd felt it then, because she could clearly remember the panic that had lanced through her when she'd imagined a HYDRA agent standing over his dead body. Everything would be so much simpler if she just... gave in. Let him in, let him have what he wanted. Let him give her what she wanted. There was so much attraction between them, so much friction and heat. Last night had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that they could be so good together. If only she gave them a chance.
She could do it. Give him that chance. All she had to do was let everything go and tell him what he wanted to hear. Tell him everything. Tell him why she fought it so hard. Her eyes lifted to his face, the intent to spill it hanging on the tip of her tongue. He was watching her, eyes intent as if he knew she was on the verge of telling him her deepest, darkest secrets. "That's it, Lexi. Let it go."
"Come on, Lexi. Just let it all go. Come for me, baby." The voice that echoed in her head was a bare whisper of what it had once been, but she knew it well. The years spun away from her, took her back to another time and another place. The bed was soft beneath her back, his lean body tight and hard against hers. His hips driving, his eyes smiling. His lips curved up into a tender, loving smile.
And then there was blood. Everywhere.
Alex didn't even think about it. The gun came up, heading straight toward his forehead. But his reflexes were absolutely, perfectly excellent. In the blink of an eye, his hand lifted and caught hold of the Glock, wrenched it from her hand. After ensuring the safety was on, he tossed it down onto the cushion of her couch where it was left forgotten. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I swear to God, if you call me Lexi one more time, I will blow your fucking head off." The words came out in a near growl as she fought the conflicting shafts of panic and need that warred within her. "Get off me. Now! And get the fuck out of my apartment." He didn't move.
She brought her arms up and shoved him away from her. Barton took a few steps back, then stopped and turned an icy glare her way. Any other time, it might have bothered her to see someone look at her that way. But not at that moment, not when she was clinging to her sanity with her nails and nothing more. She was on the verge of going over the edge and she needed him gone before it happened. "Let me clue you in on something, buddy." Alex took a step forward to put her finger in his chest. "No matter what you think, what happened between us meant nothing. I had a moment and forgot myself. It was sex. It won't happen again. I don't owe you jack shit. So stay the fuck out of my face and out of my life."
They glowered at one another for a long time, silence stretching taut between them. Alex couldn't help but notice that he looked sexy as hell with a fire burning in his eyes the way it was. God, she had to get him out of the apartment before she lost her strength and gave in. So she kept memories of that other face, pale and splashed with blood, at the front of her mind. It served as a buffer between what she wanted and what she knew was the right thing to do.
He eventually moved, closing the distance between them again so that he could herd her into the wall. One hand came up to grasp at her chin and hold it in place, as if he was afraid she'd try to pull away or look away. As if she could. His body pressed against hers, a blatant reminder of what she'd had. And what she'd thrown away. He was close enough that she could kiss him simply by turning her head to the right. She forced herself to keep her eyes straight ahead, forced herself to ignore the touch of his body on hers. His fingers dug into her cheeks, ground against her bones.
"You know. I've just realized how much of an idiot I've been. What everyone else has told me about you is true. You're a stone cold bitch, Quinn. Absolutely nothing touches you, does it?"
Her heart wanted to shatter in her chest. She kept hold of it for a moment. She could fall apart once she got him out of her apartment and out of her life. So she stared straight ahead, kept her face an icy mask of indifference. "You're nothing but a tease, Quinn. A giant fucking cock tease."
Her fist caught him straight on the chin and the blow had enough strength behind it to stagger him back from her. "Now that you've had the pleasure of getting into my pants and figured me out, you can march your ass out of my house and never come back."
Barton didn't look back at her. He just turned and headed for the door. She didn't move when he turned and shot a look her way. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her alone with her broken heart and shattered emotions. Which was exactly what she'd told him she wanted.
So why did she feel so crappy?
~*~*~*~*~
Phoebe sighed as she tapped away at the keyboard, her eyes scanning the words scrolling across the monitor in the hopes of finding any more information to be had on both HYDRA and Loki. She'd had a conversation with Director Fury about her duties at S.H.I.E.L.D. the same day that she'd last seen Tony Stark. She'd been adamant that he allow her to return to her bookstore and her private, simple little life. Unfortunately, he'd had a different idea about things. He'd been so impressed with her ability to slip into HYDRA's computer system that he wanted her to continue doing so. And based on the tone of voice he'd used, he wasn't going to allow any arguments. Which explained why she was sitting in front of a monitor, studying a slew of electronic information instead of sitting in her house, reading a book while the boys slept at her feet.
So far, she'd not come across anything that jumped out at her as important. It was almost as if HYDRA had flooded their computers with all kinds of information on Loki and their current projects with the knowledge that someone was looking for it. Once it had been discovered, they'd removed it all. Or strengthened their firewalls to make it harder than hell to get to the information. Which meant she was going to have to dig deeper.
Rolling her neck to try and relieve some tension, she pondered the merit of heading toward the base commissary to find herself something to eat and drink. She'd been at it for hours without the benefit of either. It was probably a good time to do so. Maybe a break would give her the fresh eyes needed to seek out bread crumbs and hidden trails that could lead them toward some kind of break through.
Decision made, she stood and turned. And found Stark's secretary or personal assistant or whatever she called herself standing right behind her. Pepper Potts was in a tidy business suit of deep navy blue. The jacket was buttoned closed over a pristine white dress shirt. The hem of the skirt ended just below her knees. Her feet were encased in black heels. Strawberry blonde hair had been pulled back into a bun, leaving her face unframed. Phoebe had met Pepper once or twice over the course of her stay at S.H.I.E.L.D. and had taken an immediate liking to the woman. "Miss Sinclair. I'm sorry to bother you but I was wondering if I could speak to you. Its about Tony. I have some questions and I think you're the only person who can answer them."
"Of course. I was just going to fetch myself some lunch. Would you care to walk with me?" Phoebe offered her a smile. Pepper nodded and stepped back, waiting as Phoebe motioned to the boys to follow them. The two women fell into step with one another, their shoes echoing loudly up the hall as they walked together. She wondered what had brought Pepper to her side, but knew that the other woman would talk when she was ready. So they walked in silence until they reached the commissary.
After picking up tea and a banana nut muffin for Phoebe and a cup of coffee for Pepper, they sought out a table back in a corner and settled into the chairs. Phoebe waited patiently, knowing that Pepper would get to the heart of the matter as soon as she was ready. She was ready some minute or so later, just as Phoebe was nibbling at her muffin. "What happened between you and Tony?" The question was to the point and filled with an overwhelming sense of curiosity.
"I'm afraid I don't understand the question," Phoebe replied softly.
Pepper stared at her for a few moments, then shook her head. "For weeks, Tony has made one excuse after another to spend time here at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Ever since you were hired on." Phoebe didn't bother correcting Pepper about her status. The fewer people who knew that she was hacking for the government, the better. "I didn't think it was possible, but he shirked even more duties than usual. Then, a few days ago, he showed up at a production meeting. He was immaculately groomed and he never nodded off once. He didn't even make any comments that would derail the meeting. And he was... sober."
Phoebe blinked. "Sober? As in... sober sober?"
"As in sober," Pepper nodded her head, too, as if simply saying it wasn't enough. Her gaze slid around the room for a moment before turning back to Phoebe. "I've tried to figure it out and all I can come up with is that you have something to do with this new and improved Tony Stark. So what did you do to him?"
"I didn't do anything," Phoebe promised. And she hadn't. Pepper looked as if she didn't believe her. It prompted a sigh from Phoebe. She was going to have to tell the other woman something, but she wasn't sure how Pepper would take it. It was no secret that she'd had a brief relationship with her boss and Phoebe was sure that the woman still held some softer emotions for the man. "I promise. I didn't do anything. Mr. Stark made his interest in me perfectly clear. But I made it just as clear to him that nothing would ever happen between he and I."
"Why not?" Pepper asked. "You don't find him attractive?"
"On the contrary, Miss Potts. I find him terribly attractive. But I have problems with his drinking and I told him so. I cannot commit myself to a relationship with anyone who is so intent on destroying himself." She thought that was a good enough excuse. There was no way she was going to tell the other woman about what had happened to her parents at the hands of an alcoholic. Some things were private and didn't need to be shared around.
Pepper stared at her for a few moments, then seemed to sag in her chair. She carefully set the coffee cup back on the table before her and pinned Phoebe with a knowing stare. "Ah. I understand now. I don't know how I could have missed it."
"Missed what? What do you understand?" Phoebe asked. She was glad someone got it because she certainly didn't.
"You may or may not have noticed that Tony has taken a liking to you." Pepper sounded mildly amused by that statement. Phoebe nodded because she'd figured as much on her own. "You challenged him. Tony never backs down from a challenge."
"How did I challenge him?" Phoebe asked. She didn't know what Pepper was talking about.
"You told him that you wouldn't have anything to do with him because he drinks. He took that as a challenge. Because he wants you to have something to do with him. So he's going to do whatever he can to make you sit up and pay attention," Pepper explained. When Phoebe only continued to stare at her, Pepper smiled and shook her head. "He quit drinking so that you'd pay attention to him."
Phoebe blinked at that. "Why would he do that?" She didn't really understand it. Sure, there was a physical attraction between the two of them, but she didn't think it was something that was worth such drastic measures. She was relatively certain that he'd be on his merry way once he got what he wanted from her. Which was a tumble between the sheets. So why go to so much trouble to get that?
"Tony is very competitive and very driven. He likes you. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he more than likes you. And if he has to do something to prove it to you, he will. You offered him a challenge when you told him that you wouldn't have anything to do with him while he was still drinking. He takes such things seriously. So if he has to change in order to get you to pay any attention to him, he'll do it. I've never seen him like this. He wants you. And Tony always gets what he wants," Pepper explained. To Phoebe's ears, the last bit sounded more like a warning than an explanation. And it left her speechless. Pepper took that opportunity to glance at her wrist. The watch there was slim and gold and no doubt very expensive. "I have to run. I have a meeting across town and I have half an hour to get there. Thanks for meeting with me, Miss Sinclair. I'm glad we could talk and clear this up."
"You're welcome, Miss Potts." The words came out without thought and only because her mother had long ago made her understand that manners were always called for. There was never an excuse to be rude to someone. She watched Pepper click her way across the floor, heels striking the tile with purpose, and slip out the door.
Phoebe remained where she was sitting, her mind turning over what she'd just learned. Was it possible that Tony's intentions where she was concerned were perfectly honest? Had they always been that way? She wasn't really so sure. But if anyone knew Tony Stark well enough to tell her that he was interested, it was Pepper Potts. Their brief relationship not withstanding, she spent day after day with him. She saw the man he was under the polished, suave exterior. While she hadn't come out and said so, Pepper seemed to think that Tony had deeper emotions for Phoebe than were warranted for just a quick roll in the hay.
Picking absently at her muffin, Phoebe considered the subject of Tony Stark. She'd purposely stayed away from him because he was known near and far as nothing more than a ladies' man. He'd never been tied to one woman for very long, always moving on to new pastures before the old once had time to wither and brown. And she knew that no one ever told him no. As Pepper had said, Tony always got what he wanted.
Was that part of the appeal for him? That she'd turned him down time and time again? She considered the man deadly attractive and had a hard time not staring when they were talking. She suspected he knew the effect he had on her. He had a natural charm and wit that never really left him. And he was so damned intelligent that it was almost painful. If not for his drinking problem, she'd have likely ended up in bed with him long ago. But the alcohol always got in the way.
Except now, according to Pepper, he wasn't drinking anymore. She thought back to their last encounter, recalling his final words to her with painful clarity. She'd been too upset to really probe their meaning that night and had chosen not to think on them too deeply since. But she'd thought that he'd meant he was done trying to get into her skirt and he wouldn't bother her about it again. But now, playing them back in her head, she realized that he'd told her then what he'd meant to do.
He'd told her to her face that he was going to clean up. For her. And she'd completely missed it.
Damn it, she was an idiot. She needed to go talk to him and find out just how committed he was to the path of sobriety. How committed he was to her. She was, perhaps, asking for trouble by courting him this way, but she had to know. She'd been attracted to him almost since the beginning. What was it the others had told her? That was the way the Virus worked?
What are you waiting for? Get up and go get him. You know we both want him! Rylan's voice whispered in her head.
"Come on, boys," she said to her dogs, who had accompanied her to the commissary despite the dirty looks she'd gotten from the staff. Tex and Denver's ears perked as Phoebe rose from her seat. She glanced down at them. "Let's get back to our computer. We need to find out where Tony is. I need to talk to him."
~*~*~*~*~
The book was old and heavy, but she tugged it from its place on the shelf anyway. For days on end, since Thor had walked out and not looked back, all she'd been able to do was think about what he'd said. Think about that odd grouping of runes and images. Think about what a fool she'd been for being unable to say a few simple words. Frowning, frustrated with herself, Astrid did her best to shove thoughts of the big blonde aside so she could concentrate on the matter at hand. The runes and the images. Something about them was familiar, had been teasing at the back of her brain from the very moment she'd put them down on paper.
When not working on her projects for Stark Industries, she was caught up in researching the images and runes. Caught up in trying to discover what they meant. Caught up in pretending that Thor hadn't left her high and dry, hadn't called or come by or anything.
The heavy tome thumped against the table when she set it down, the writing on the front an old form of Norwegian that her family had known for centuries. One that few people spoke anymore. Hell, Astrid couldn't actually speak it. She could read it and interpret. But not speak. Still, it was her last source for information before she had to give up and say that she'd failed in deciphering the secret of the summoning circle.
She opened the book with great care and gentle hands. The pages smelled musty and the ink had faded in some places. Unlike regular books, there was something about this one that kept the pages from crumbling away into nothing. She had no idea what it was or why it did that, but she didn't care. If it could help her solve the riddle of Thor's ancient runes, she'd be happy. Maybe Alex or Miri knew someone who could use the information. If she ever figured out what it all meant. Sighing, Astrid settled before the volume and began skimming pages.
Pen in hand, paper stacked next to the book, she made notes in her own peculiar brand of shorthand, a mix of actual letters and pictures. On the other side of the book was the drawing she'd made, which she referenced regularly. Each page revealed some small piece of the puzzle and the world slowly fell away from her. All Astrid knew was the book before her, the notes she made and the drawing she kept trying to decode.
Eventually, she'd thumbed through the entire tome and she'd made so many notes that her curious script covered page after page with blurry lines and unusual images. Sitting up, she worked the kinks from her spine and rubbed at her eyes. They were tired from reading small script in dim light, but she never remembered to turn on anything brighter than her desk lamp. She carefully returned the book to its place on the shelf, then headed for the kitchen to grab a snack and some caffeine. Something told her she'd be up for hours still, trying to get the best and most accurate translation of the runes.
Diet Coke in one hand and a small bowl of carrots in the other, Astrid made her way back to her desk and settled before the numerous sheets of notes she'd made. Time to make sense of it all, find some order and pattern. Figure out what kind of summoning the people who'd inscribed it could use it for. Or what kind of summoning they'd done with it.
It became clear to her almost immediately that whoever had inked the circle, the runes and the Celtic looking figures had had absolutely no clue what they'd be unleashing upon the world. Several times she found that the runes referenced Loki. And there were a few passages that more or less invited him into the world. As a living, flesh and blood creature of unimaginable power. And without some kind of leash or safety net to keep him from destroying the world.
Astrid frowned and peered closely at her notes again. Was that right? Loki was the Norse God of Mischief. But more than that, he was supposed to be the destroyer of the world. He was supposed to have been the one who brought about Ragnarock and the end of the Norse Gods. Gods like Odin and Thor and...
Her heart skipped a beat as her head came up, a surprised 'O' shaping her lips. Thor. Loki. Brothers locked in a struggle against one another. Norse Gods with unimaginable power. Was it possible that the things she'd learned in her childhood were more than the fairy stories her mother had said they were? Was it possible that she'd been sleeping with the God of Thunder?
It made some kind of sick sense. Thor had repeatedly used odd words, spoke with an odd speech pattern. She'd written it off as some kind of cultural difference type thing. But what if she'd been wrong? What if he's speech was so old and antiquated was because he was old and antiquated?
Unable to fully believe what her mind was telling her, she turned her attention back to the notes and took another look at them. Read them over again. Her notes didn't look wrong. She'd copied everything faithfully, from the design to the meaning. All of it was in Old Norse, but still. It was right. Which meant... "Holy crap!"
She needed to contact someone about this. But who? Alex or Miri. She wasn't sure why her brain said to call them, but she didn't question it. She dug for her cell phone because it had Alex's number on it. She could just hit redial and let the woman know what was going on. She had no doubt that Alex would know what to do with the information.
The phone dialed out and went to voice mail. She listened to the recorded voice tell her to leave a message and a call back number and Alex would get back with her soon. It beeped and she opened her mouth to speak. Only to have the phone tugged from her grasp and tossed carelessly across the room. She looked up into a pale face and frowned. "You're a very clever mortal. My brother has an annoying habit of picking clever women."
Dark hair. Blue eyes. An aura of power that anyone could feel. Just like she'd felt on Thor more than once. Only she'd never really paid much attention to it. Now, she understood what it was. "Loki."
"Very clever, indeed. Sadly, that cleverness is your downfall. I cannot have you alerting your friends before plans have a chance to come to fruition. I'm afraid that you'll simply have to come with me until all of the excitement is over." His hand curled tightly around her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh when she tried to pull loose.
"What plans?"
He only smiled at her in reply. He snapped the fingers of his free hand and the apartment surrounding them went dark with a sickening swirl.
Chapter Thirteen: Misdirection
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. probably some drinking.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers! - The Index
She came awake slowly, her mind telling her that there was something... off. Some instinct told her to remain still until she figured out what it was. It came to her in bits and pieces, each one fitting in with the last until the puzzle was completed and made a whole picture. Her nose was slightly stuffy, a lingering reminder of her emotional upset the night before. As was the fact that her eyes felt gritty and dry and her lashes were gummed up from all the tears she'd shed.
She couldn't recall just how long she'd cried. But she'd cried herself out. She remembered going limp and simply leaning against Tony's chest, letting herself bask in his warmth and the solace he'd so willingly given her. She thought she might have stopped crying at some point, but much of the night was a blur. The only thing that stood out clear in her mind was the fact that Tony had been there when she'd needed him and that he'd held her close without attempting anything. He'd made a promise to her and he'd kept it.
Truth be told, Phoebe had enjoyed the feel of his arms around her. They were comforting in a way nothing had been since the accident. And they did an amazing job of keeping the memories from overwhelming her again. Even now, as she lay in bed and basked in the warmth of his body next to hers, in the tender way his arms held her close to him, she was aware of the memories lingering in the background. Waiting to assault her once again. Waiting to pull her down into that sucking vortex of despair.
For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder if this was what it would feel like to waken in his arms every morning. If that same sense of peace and belonging would always be there. She knew it was silly to think such things. Ultimately, Tony Stark was not a man who cared to wake next to the same person every morning. He wasn't anything but a one night stand. She knew these things. But it didn't stop her from wanting to do this day after day. It didn't stop her need to feel his body next to hers. She was delusional if she thought she could have any kind of domestic bliss with Tony Stark, playboy extraordinare.
She was delusional because she wanted it so very much.
She couldn't recall just how they'd ended up in her bed. She knew she'd been at her work station and that she'd looked at the reports surrounding the accident. She remembered his arms holding her, keeping her safe within his embrace. She remembered crying on his chest until nothing but sobs were left. She remembered feeling spent and washed out. She must have fallen asleep in his arms and he'd brought them here to her bed. Part of her felt all warm and fuzzy with the thought that he'd continued to hold her all through the night. Part of her had a moment of panic as she realized that Tony Stark had put her to bed. But her clothes were still in place, so he obviously hadn't been too interested in sex. Of course, she must have looked a fright.
Her brain shocked her with a question that seemingly came from out of the blue. Would sex with Tony have been so bad? Not in the horrible lay manner, but in the regret it come the morning way. Would it have been so bad to just... let go and let him warm her up from the inside out? Would it have been so terrible for her to give in?
Of course it would have. She knew the answer to that. Chances were good that any sexual encounter with Tony Stark would end up being a one night stand or very short lived. And even if such were not the case, she didn't think she'd ever be able to overlook his alcoholic excesses. Especially not now after she finally knew what had happened to her parents. That accident had almost killed her. She'd gotten lucky and lived, but she couldn't be sure she'd really survived. That was something Tony had been right about.
If she let him in, if she allowed him to breach the defenses she'd built up around her heart, and something horrible happened to him as a result of his drinking, she didn't think she'd ever survive it. She couldn't take the risk. She wasn't strong enough.
"Turn it off, Phoebe. It'll only make you crazy," Tony said quietly, his voice still husky with sleep.
"I wish it was that easy, Mr. Stark," she said, already building up walls. Already putting distance between them.
Her words saw him rolling up on his side so he could stare down into her eyes. She was both relieved and dismayed to find out that he was still fully clothed. "Really? After crying on my shoulder last night? After sleeping in my arms all night long? You're going to push me away?" Even though he shared a charming smile with her, his tone was serious.
"You were there at a moment of weakness and you were gentleman enough to make and keep a promise when I needed comfort. Thank you for that. But that was all last night was. A moment of weakness." Before he could counter that with anything, she rolled from the bed and crossed to the closet to find clean clothes for the day. She heard the rustling of clothing as he climbed out of the bed. When she turned, he was only a few feet from her.
"I was a moment of weakness?" he asked her. She thought that she'd made that clear, but she supposed that he deserved the benefit of the doubt, seeing as he'd only recently woken up.
"Yes, Mr. Stark. You were a moment of weakness. No doubt I would have cried on Director Fury's shoulder, had he been the one to show up in the computer room last night," she told him evenly. The comment earned her a laugh.
"I doubt that Fury would let you cry on his shoulder," Tony replied with a faint grin.
"He doesn't seem the type, no. But that wasn't the point I was trying to make. And you're intelligent enough to know that. All I wanted you to understand was that I would have gladly cried on the shoulder of anyone who happened by at that moment." Phoebe shot him a frown. She didn't like that he couldn't take the topic at hand with any kind of seriousness. She laid her chosen clothing selections over the nearest chair and shook her head at him. "Can you never be serious, Mr. Stark? You're standing there, making light of my sorrow. I don't appreciate it."
"I think you'll find that I can be very serious when the occasion requires it," he told her, all hint of humor gone from his voice.
"I have yet to see any hint of this serious nature. I don't think you're capable of being serious, Mr. Stark."
She watched as he stared at her, his gaze intent and probing. Something about it left her a touch uncomfortable and she wanted nothing more than to squirm under his gaze. A frown tugged the corners of his mouth down. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Just what data and information do you base this judgement on, Miss Sinclair? I assume you have some, because a statement such as that one requires hard facts and data to back it up. Do you have anything to back up your words?"
"I think your drinking speaks loudly in my favor. How can you take anything seriously when you're always drunk? It has been my experience that most drunks use alcohol to hide from their problems." She paused and pinned him with her own stare. "What problems are you hiding from, Mr. Stark? What is so terrible in your life that you seek solace in a bottle?"
"Alcoholics bother you that much?" He cocked a brow at her, giving the appearance of eagerly awaiting her answer. "Because you know so much about them? You've spent hundreds of hours studying the millions of people who drink and what it is that drives them to do so?"
"I dislike anyone who uses something as a crutch when that crutch can mentally and physically impair their ability to function and think and react." He opened his mouth to counter her words, but she lifted a hand and brought him to silence once more. "You take your life and the lives of those people around you in your hands every time you toss a drink back, Mr. Stark. You've been lucky not to hurt anyone so far. But it is terribly irresponsible of your to think that your genius somehow sets you above the rest of us mere peasants."
"I see," he gave a slow nod of his head. "You dislike me because I'm an alcoholic and that makes me irresponsible. Never mind the fact that I am Iron Man and I've done so much good for the world at large. Those accomplishments, everything I've done, are negated by the fact that I crack a bottle open every now and again. Wow. Really. I would never have known just how selfish and irresponsible I am if you hadn't pointed it out to me, Miss Sinclair. Seriously. Thank you. The world should be filled with more conscientious people such as yourself. Maybe then you wouldn't need heroes like myself or the Avengers."
Phoebe sighed and shook her head at him. "That isn't what I mean at all, Mr. Stark. I'm not trying to belittle your accomplishments in the guise of Iron Man. The world is a better place with all of the good he does. But those good deeds simply cannot overshadow your dependency upon alcohol."
Tony stared a moment, then raked his hand through his hair, leaving it delightfully mussed. Seeing it so unkempt made her want to run her fingers through it and attempt to straighten it. " Ah. I understand it all perfectly now. It isn't that you don't like me. You don't like that I drink. And because some stupid ass who happened to get behind the wheel of his car all those years ago plowed into your car and killed your parents, I'm not better than he is. Because the alcohol makes me who I am. Not my character or personality. The alcohol."
"You're twisting my words around, Mr. Stark," Phoebe insisted.
"Am I? Because unless I need my hearing checked, pretty much every excuse you've ever given me to keep me at arm's length has to do with alcohol. Nothing to do with who I am as a person." His stare pinned her and she swore he was looking deep into her soul to find all the truths that made her who she was. "You find me attractive. Our kiss the other night proves that. It also proves that you'd be willing to sleep with me. But you can't let yourself go for one second because you're afraid. Of living. Of finding out that you like it. Of doing something that isn't safe."
"Of course I find you attractive, Mr. Stark. But visual stimulation cannot override the emotional toll that alcohol--" she began, only to have him lift a hand and bring her words to a halt. Phoebe stared at him, surprised by the action.
"I get it. Trust me. I do. So here's what's going to happen. I'm done. I'm just done. I'm going to get out of your hair and get cleaned up. You won't have to worry about me any more. I promise. Because I'm done." Then he turned on his heel and made his way from the bedroom.
Phoebe was so shocked by his admission that she didn't move from her spot, even when she heard the door to her quarters close. She was alone. She'd finally gotten Stark to understand how she felt and what she thought. She'd finally convinced him that he didn't stand a chance with her. She'd finally gotten him to leave her alone.
So why did she feel absolutely lost without him?
~*~*~*~*~
The metallic chirp of a cell phone slid into the dream and disrupted the fluid flow of two figures twisting their way through a tango. In seconds, she was caught up in a vivid recollection of the HYDRA base in Scotland and those few minutes right before the explosion. She even heard Phil's voice in her dream, soft and pitched low. As if he was doing so in order to not disturb her.
That made the dream disappear altogether, something for which she was eternally thankful, and flicked her eyes open to find him sitting on the edge of the bed with his cell up to his ear. Miri considered, for a moment, rising up so that she could press herself to his back, but given the tense line of his spine, she figured that this was work related and he wouldn't appreciate her attempts to distract him. So she remained where she was and let her eyes slide down the length of his back to where his body met the bed. She really, really wanted to cup her hands around his ass and convince him to come back to bed.
She wasn't sure who he was talking to. All of his answers were short and monosyllabic. They gave nothing away. Even so, they made her feel just a little uncomfortable. Something big was going on.
Phil took the phone away from his ear and returned it to the spot on her nightstand where it usually stayed when he spent the night. Then he stood and headed for Miri's bathroom. In moments, she heard the shower come to life. She frowned at that. He never took a shower until just before he left. What was going on?
She rose from the bed and began collecting his discarded clothing. She considered taking it directly into the bathroom, but she quickly nixed that idea. She wanted to see him wet from the shower and wearing nothing but a towel. If he was leaving so soon, she wanted that one last thrill. Noticing that his shirt was a little wrinkled, she dragged out the iron and the ironing board. The least she could do was press his clothes so that they were presentable. She'd been the one to tug them haphazardly from his frame, after all.
While the iron heated up, she found her robe and shrugged into it. The silk brushed her skin softly, reminding her of the way Phil's hands had mapped her body last night. She shuddered, tied the sash at her waist, then headed for the ironing board. The iron was ready and she carefully began smoothing the wrinkles from the garment.
As she'd hoped, Phil emerged from the bathroom in little more than a towel, his hair wet and disheveled. She might have taken the opportunity to admire the muscles in his arms and chest, but the serious look on his face stole all pleasure she got from seeing him wrapped up in that length of material. "Phil? What's going on?"
"I have to leave, Miriam. Director Fury wants me on a plane to the South Pacific in an hour. I don't know how long I'll be gone or if I'll be able to contact you." he told her. The tone of his voice said he was fully in work mode and it almost felt as if he'd forgotten the night they'd spent together.
She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. "Oh. Okay. Have a nice trip," she told him. He didn't notice the sudden flatness of her tone or the look on her face. He was too caught up in putting his clothes back on to realize that she was not pleased with this turn of events. When he was fully clothed, right down to the neatly arranged tie, he turned to give her a brief smile and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
"I'll call you when I can," he said, then he was out the door.
Miri blinked after him, stood where she was even when she heard the door to the apartment swing open and then shut.
Just like that, he was gone. Frowning, she finally convinced herself to step into motion. The first thing she did was head for the door and make sure that the locks had been turned. The apartment felt oddly empty now that he'd gone. Leaning her back against the door, she allowed herself to think back over the night she'd shared with him. The massage he'd given her had shifted slowly into something much more sensual.
They'd spent more than half an hour doing nothing more than kissing and touching while sitting on her couch. Then they'd moved into the bedroom and had spent the rest of the night rumpling her sheets. It had been a beautiful night. Or so she'd thought. Now... She wasn't so sure.
His departure had been so abrupt. Truth be told, so had his last words to her. Almost as if he'd been trying to avoid some kind of long, drawn out, emotional goodbye. Did Phil regret his words from the night before? It wasn't as if he'd said anything too permanent or anything. Hell, she hadn't even said anything permanent. Maybe the whole evening had been a heat of the moment kind of event. They were still dealing with the aftermath of the explosion and, really, that was when all of this oddness had started. It was possible that they'd both said things they might not have ever considered saying otherwise.
So why did she feel like he'd just taken something back? If she really sat and gave it thought, Miri wasn't exactly sure what her feelings for Phil were. She knew that she enjoyed having him in her life. The sex was always fantastic and he always just seemed to know exactly what it was she needed at any given moment. Maybe that's what last night had been? In the entire time they'd been together, he'd never once hinted at any deeper emotions where she was concerned. He'd seemed just as happy as she did to keep what they had between them as nothing more than strictly sex.
She was no fool. She'd been around S.H.I.E.L.D. long enough to know that the job took a toll on relationships. She'd seen first hand how it destroyed the lives of agents. Men and women who had had spouses leave them and take their children. Those people usually went one of two ways. They either ended up deep in the bottle, unable to function without their crutch, or they suddenly became so intent about the job that there simply was nothing else in their lives but work. Maybe Phil was trying to protect them both by taking a step back and returning their relationship to its usual place.
A week ago, she might have welcomed such a move. But after recent events, she wasn't so sure that that was what she wanted. It must have been what Phil wanted, though, because he was the one who had set them back. Maybe he didn't have any deeper emotions for her. Maybe he was content with things the way they were. All sex and nothing else. Maybe he...
Damn it. This line of thinking wasn't getting her anywhere. She needed to get away from the revolving mess of thoughts in her head and do something constructive. There was nothing between Phil and herself. She was imagining things because of the explosion. Everything that had happened after the fact could be blamed on exhaustion. That was all there was to it. Things were better this way. She was sure of it.
Sighing, she pushed off from the door and headed for the living room. If she was going to stop her thoughts from running crazy, she was going to have to keep herself occupied. First order of business was to clean up the bottles they'd left on her coffee table.
The empties were easily disposed of in her recycling bin. Then she took a few seconds to put the few dirty dishes she had into the dishwasher. She wiped down the counters and checked the fridge to see if she needed to go to the market and pick anything up. She was low on milk, but it could wait another day.
In the bedroom, she gathered up her dirty clothes and dumped them into her hamper. She tackled the sheets next. Part of her wanted to leave them on the bed because they smelled like Phil and she had no idea how long it would be before she heard from or saw him again. But common sense said they needed washing after the work out they'd given her bed the night before. She tugged them from the bed reluctantly, then shoved them into the hamper before she could do something silly like change her mind.
Once a fresh set of sheets had been tugged into place, Miri took herself to the bathroom for a shower. It was still wet from Phil's use, the towel he'd had slung around his hips hung up on the bar. That would have to go in the wash, too. She'd do some laundry later, after she showered and ate. Ignoring the pull of that damned towel, she set the water in the shower. The robe was hung up on the back of the door for future use. Then she climbed into the shower and stood under the spray.
She was halfway through the shower when a set of very pleasant memories crept up out of the darkness to tease her. It hadn't been that long ago, when she and Phil were still in Scotland, and it had been a particularly trying day. It had been the day that MI6 had held a memorial service for their fallen agents. She and Phil had attended the ceremony, two higher ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. agents representing their country and their agency at a service for fallen compatriots. By the time it had all been over and they'd sat through eulogy after eulogy and had attended some get together after the fact, Miri had been mentally and physically exhausted. On the verge of tears. And Phil had, upon their return to her hotel room, herded her into the shower. He'd joined her and he'd done his best to wipe away every last ounce of sorrow with tender caresses. It had been a lovely night that...
Frustrated with herself, Miri pushed the memories aside and finished scrubbing her skin clean. This was madness. Pure madness. She had to stop thinking of him or else she'd go insane. There had to be something she could do to distract herself, something that would keep her from going round and round with her thoughts where Phil was concerned.
She considered her options as she climbed from the shower. Maybe a run would be good. Or a sparring session. She could even handle spending time on the range if it helped keep her mind from thinking about Phil. But not if she had to do those things alone. She needed someone to keep her mind else where.
Of course. She could call Alex. Last night had been dinner with her family. No doubt she'd want to piss and moan about the experience to someone. They could hit the gym and run or do some cardio and Alex could bitch about her mother's match making obsession and they could both get a work out. Relieve tension and stress. Not think about the things that were bothering them.
Maybe Miri could find time to get in a few jabs where Barton was concerned while she was at it.
Smiling, she headed for the dresser to find clothes for the day. After slipping into clean underwear, she donned jeans and a t-shirt. Then she towel dried her hair and secured it in a loose pony tail at the nape of her neck. Her cell was in the other room, so she padded on bare feet into the living area to retrieve the device.
Alex's number was programmed in, allowing her to speed dial the other woman's cell. She hit the correct button and listened to the phone chime out the numbers. It clicked straight through to voice mail. Miri frowned. That was unusual. Alex never had her phone shut off. Maybe the battery had died and she didn't know it. Miri tried Alex's land line. It rang and rang and rang. She disconnected the call, her frown even deeper than before. Something was up with her best friend.
Miri couldn't recall a time when she'd never been able to get a hold of Alex on the phone. She always had her cell on her and she always had it on. Always answered it. One never knew when the bosses were going to throw a mission their way. They always had to be prepared to go on a moment's notice. So it was strange that Miri couldn't raise her friend at all. What could have possibly happened at her parents' house last night that saw her staying away from her phones?
Miri pondered the possibilities for a few moments before deciding that she hoped Alex had gotten her brains fucked out. If anyone was uptight and needed to get laid, it was her friend and partner.
With the idea of training with Alex effectively out of the running, the only thing Miri felt she had left to keep her from thinking too much about her personal life was work. She had plenty of paperwork to get through in her home office. She felt there was enough there to keep her busy for the rest of the day. Decision made, she tucked the phone into her pocket and headed for the kitchen. A sandwich and a cup of java. She needed something to eat and it was positively criminal to do anything without a cup of coffee in hand.
~*~*~*~*~
At first, she thought the pounding she heard was her head after one too many beers. But a glance at the nightstand told her that she'd only had a couple before falling into a restless slumber. The clock hidden behind the empties suggested that she'd been asleep for four or five hours. It was almost noon. Groaning, she rolled over and snuggled deeper into the bedding, intent on sleeping for four or five more hours because she felt like absolute shit. But the pounding started again and it was then that she realized it wasn't in her head. It was on her front door.
Shit.
Maybe if she ignored it, whoever was trying to wake the dead would go away. Maybe they'd leave her in peace and she could spend the day curled up in bed, pretending that she wasn't the biggest fucking idiot on the face of the planet. Yeah, and maybe pig would fly out of her butt.
The pounding continued.
Fuck. She'd have to answer the door and deal with whoever it was. Yawning, barely conscious, she stumbled from the bed and slipped a Glock out of the holster that hung off the vanity. The mirror suggested that she put some clothes on by showing her that she was still in her bra and panties from the night before. Mumbling to herself. she opened a drawer and pulled over her head the first thing she grabbed. It was an old t-shirt that had belonged to her uncle and it was big enough that it hung nearly to mid-thigh.
Another round of pounding saw her staggering out of her bedroom and toward the front door. But halfway there, she stopped dead in her tracks when the pounding came with a voice. "Damn it, Lexi! Open the door!"
Her heart did an odd combination flip-flop and freeze at the sound of his voice. What was he doing there? Hadn't she made a big enough fool of herself last night? Did he need to rub it in? She was torn between letting him in and hiding in her closet until he went away. But he pounded on the door again and, this time, it sounded like he was using the flat of his hand instead of the side of his fist. "Open the door or I'll pick the lock," he ordered.
She froze. He wouldn't! Would he? Who was she kidding? He would totally pick the lock to let himself in. All agents went through training that taught them how to pick locks. Even with that skill, she wouldn't put it past him to kick the fucking door off the hinges. Either way, she didn't want him letting himself in even more than she didn't want to talk to him. His being there was likely already drawing attention. She knew her mother had spies in the building and if any of them saw Barton outside her door, beating on it and yelling at her, it would get back to her mother faster than she could fire off a round. Damn it. That meant she really didn't have a choice. She forced herself forward and, with trembling hand, turned the locks on the door.
She'd never heard a louder sound in all her life than that of the tumblers rolling and pulling back.
Almost before she put her hand on the knob, it was turning. The door swung open and allowed Clint to step into her apartment. His gaze raked over her frame for a moment, taking in the over-sized t-shirt and the Glock held loosely in one hand. When his gaze hit her face, she was surprised to find a hint of wildness in the depths of his stare that slowly ebbed away upon actually seeing her. A smile slid across his face as the wildness disappeared. Then he stepped forward until they were almost touching and, before she could fathom his intent, he tugged her into his embrace so that he could kiss her long and hard on the lips.
For just a moment, her brain went on break and let her body take control. She liked the kiss, liked the feel of his lips against her own. Liked the way they tasted. Liked the way he tasted. She was about to melt into him when he pulled back and his hand went to the gun she still held. His other hand fingered the collar of her shirt. "Is this how you always answer the door?" he asked. "I like the tee. But I don't know that I like the gun. Are you expecting someone dangerous?"
The cocky smile he tossed her threw her right out of the sleep and beer induced haze. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that it was too late on that account, but she didn't want to encourage him. She didn't need this. Not so soon after realizing that she'd done something stupid. It didn't matter if she felt anything for the man. She just couldn't let it happen. She couldn't let herself fall again. It was too hard. So she pulled the tattered remains of her pride around her like a cloak and shot a glare his way. "What are you doing here?"
The question caught him off guard and the cocky attitude was replaced by confusion. "I came to find out why you got up and left this morning without even waking me to say goodbye." He cocked a brow at her. "Again."
"Saying goodbye would imply that we actually have some kind of... Hmmm. What was that word?" She paused as if thinking about what word should come next. She even rolled her hand in a circular motion to simulate wheels turning. "Right. Relationship. You act like we're in a relationship. I don't remember that happening."
The coldness in her tone saw him frowning. "So what was last night?"
"It was fun. It was sex. It was a hot time for both of us. But it wasn't anything meaningful. It just was."
The frown disappeared as his mouth flattened into a thin line. "I would have thought that you'd say such a thing about our first night together."
"Very well. Our first night together was fun, hot sex for us both. Our second night was..." she paused and again pretended to consider her words. "Let's just call that one a mistake."
He took it like a blow to the face, rocking back and away from her as if she'd physically struck him. She let a smug smile creep across her face even though she was far from feeling it. All she really wanted to do was climb up his body and wrap herself around him before she kissed him until neither of them could breathe. There was something between them, something that she didn't dare acknowledge. Something that she would fight with her heart and soul. She couldn't go there again. If she did and something happened... No. It was better this way. Better for her and better for him.
"A mistake? So now last night was a mistake to you?" he asked. When she merely lifted her chin in answer, Clint stepped closer to her. She could either take a step back and prove her cowardice or stay where she was and try to ignore the wonderful sensations she knew would race through her body at the mere touch of his. She took the coward's way out and stepped back because if he touched her again... Her actions saw him smiling, saw him keep moving forward. Saw her keep stepping backward. Until her back hit the wall and she had nowhere else to go. "That's funny, Lexi. Because I swear you were as into last night as I was. In fact, I'm sure that you're the kind of woman who doesn't just hop into bed with the first hot guy you stumble across. You've got to have feelings for him before that will happen."
He shouldn't know that about her. Not that she planned on agreeing with him because that would only encourage him. But the man was observant and he had obviously been watching her. He'd figured that much out. God only knew what else he'd figured out. That meant it was now more important than ever to get him the hell away from her. Before he really figured everything out. "Wow. Is your ego so large that you actually think I'd have to have feelings for you in order to sleep with you?"
"It has nothing to do with ego, Lexi." His smile was certain. One of his hands dropped to her waist, fingers teasing lightly against her skin through the t-shirt. She forced herself not to respond, to simply stare at him and wait for his important revelation. Obviously not phased by her act, Clint let his fingers find the edge of her shirt so he could hike it up and lay the heat of his hand against her skin. Sensation spiraled out of that single touch and left her struggling to remember why she was keeping him at bay. "It has everything to do with reading the signs. I could write off a single encounter as a mistake. But then you came back for more." He leaned in so he could whisper the next words in her ear. "You wanted more. The prickly bitch act you've been putting on lately is just that. An act."
"Please. It was hardly an act," she retorted, just managing to put a good dose of heavy scorn into her voice. "Everyone knows I'm a prickly bitch. I always have been."
"Right. That's why you would have let me strip you naked and do you right there in the mud last night?" The hand under her shirt crept higher, fingers skimming her skin until they rested just under her breast. "Why are you fighting this, Lexi? Admit that you've got feelings and end this farce. Surely it isn't that difficult. Even for someone like you."
God, if he only knew. She shot a sneer his way and shoved his roaming hand away. "Last night was little more than a release after the build up of tension at my parents' house. You just happened to be handy. Don't read anything more into it."
"Really?" he asked. He inched closer to her, until he almost touched her from shoulders to thighs. Even now, in the midst of their encounter, he wanted her. She could feel that. And she wanted so badly to respond to it. To him and his words. She wanted to give in. "So fighting is foreplay to you? Is that what this is? Because every encounter we've had in the past month has been so sexually charged that I'm surprised no one has noticed. Is that what you want here, Lexi? Now? A fight? I'm willing to oblige if it will make you admit that you're attracted to me."
"Would you stop calling me that? My name is Alex. Or Alexis." She made sure to pitch her voice low so that he would have no choice but to listen to her.
"What? You don't like it when I call you Lexi?"
"No. That isn't my name and I will not respond to it if you continue to use it," she told him, voice filled with annoyance. At the same time, her heart was filled with sorrow and grief. And a small flare of desire.
"That's funny. You responded to it just fine last night," he remarked. He inched even closer to her, until they were touching and... God, the feel of him... Need rushed recklessly right to her groin, prompting her to tighten her hold on the Glock so much that the butt bit into her hand. She wanted to throw herself at him and forget about everything, everyone else. Her heart might have started hammering in her chest if not for the supremely smug look he gave her. "Come on, Lexi. Why are you fighting this? What's between us... Its a good thing. We're good together. Last night proved that. Just let go."
She could. She wanted to. There was nothing more in the world that she wanted than to simply put it all aside and give in to him. It would be heaven in his arms. His kisses tasted of passion and desire and masculinity. He was all heat and hunger. Some sleek jungle cat silently stalking his prey. It was what he'd been doing all along. Ever since that night. And she'd been doing her best to fight it. She'd tried. So hard. For what? Leaving him earlier had been one of the hardest things she'd had to do in a long time.
Hadn't she felt it out in California? That indefinable thing that lived between them? She'd felt it then, because she could clearly remember the panic that had lanced through her when she'd imagined a HYDRA agent standing over his dead body. Everything would be so much simpler if she just... gave in. Let him in, let him have what he wanted. Let him give her what she wanted. There was so much attraction between them, so much friction and heat. Last night had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that they could be so good together. If only she gave them a chance.
She could do it. Give him that chance. All she had to do was let everything go and tell him what he wanted to hear. Tell him everything. Tell him why she fought it so hard. Her eyes lifted to his face, the intent to spill it hanging on the tip of her tongue. He was watching her, eyes intent as if he knew she was on the verge of telling him her deepest, darkest secrets. "That's it, Lexi. Let it go."
"Come on, Lexi. Just let it all go. Come for me, baby." The voice that echoed in her head was a bare whisper of what it had once been, but she knew it well. The years spun away from her, took her back to another time and another place. The bed was soft beneath her back, his lean body tight and hard against hers. His hips driving, his eyes smiling. His lips curved up into a tender, loving smile.
And then there was blood. Everywhere.
Alex didn't even think about it. The gun came up, heading straight toward his forehead. But his reflexes were absolutely, perfectly excellent. In the blink of an eye, his hand lifted and caught hold of the Glock, wrenched it from her hand. After ensuring the safety was on, he tossed it down onto the cushion of her couch where it was left forgotten. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I swear to God, if you call me Lexi one more time, I will blow your fucking head off." The words came out in a near growl as she fought the conflicting shafts of panic and need that warred within her. "Get off me. Now! And get the fuck out of my apartment." He didn't move.
She brought her arms up and shoved him away from her. Barton took a few steps back, then stopped and turned an icy glare her way. Any other time, it might have bothered her to see someone look at her that way. But not at that moment, not when she was clinging to her sanity with her nails and nothing more. She was on the verge of going over the edge and she needed him gone before it happened. "Let me clue you in on something, buddy." Alex took a step forward to put her finger in his chest. "No matter what you think, what happened between us meant nothing. I had a moment and forgot myself. It was sex. It won't happen again. I don't owe you jack shit. So stay the fuck out of my face and out of my life."
They glowered at one another for a long time, silence stretching taut between them. Alex couldn't help but notice that he looked sexy as hell with a fire burning in his eyes the way it was. God, she had to get him out of the apartment before she lost her strength and gave in. So she kept memories of that other face, pale and splashed with blood, at the front of her mind. It served as a buffer between what she wanted and what she knew was the right thing to do.
He eventually moved, closing the distance between them again so that he could herd her into the wall. One hand came up to grasp at her chin and hold it in place, as if he was afraid she'd try to pull away or look away. As if she could. His body pressed against hers, a blatant reminder of what she'd had. And what she'd thrown away. He was close enough that she could kiss him simply by turning her head to the right. She forced herself to keep her eyes straight ahead, forced herself to ignore the touch of his body on hers. His fingers dug into her cheeks, ground against her bones.
"You know. I've just realized how much of an idiot I've been. What everyone else has told me about you is true. You're a stone cold bitch, Quinn. Absolutely nothing touches you, does it?"
Her heart wanted to shatter in her chest. She kept hold of it for a moment. She could fall apart once she got him out of her apartment and out of her life. So she stared straight ahead, kept her face an icy mask of indifference. "You're nothing but a tease, Quinn. A giant fucking cock tease."
Her fist caught him straight on the chin and the blow had enough strength behind it to stagger him back from her. "Now that you've had the pleasure of getting into my pants and figured me out, you can march your ass out of my house and never come back."
Barton didn't look back at her. He just turned and headed for the door. She didn't move when he turned and shot a look her way. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her alone with her broken heart and shattered emotions. Which was exactly what she'd told him she wanted.
So why did she feel so crappy?
~*~*~*~*~
Phoebe sighed as she tapped away at the keyboard, her eyes scanning the words scrolling across the monitor in the hopes of finding any more information to be had on both HYDRA and Loki. She'd had a conversation with Director Fury about her duties at S.H.I.E.L.D. the same day that she'd last seen Tony Stark. She'd been adamant that he allow her to return to her bookstore and her private, simple little life. Unfortunately, he'd had a different idea about things. He'd been so impressed with her ability to slip into HYDRA's computer system that he wanted her to continue doing so. And based on the tone of voice he'd used, he wasn't going to allow any arguments. Which explained why she was sitting in front of a monitor, studying a slew of electronic information instead of sitting in her house, reading a book while the boys slept at her feet.
So far, she'd not come across anything that jumped out at her as important. It was almost as if HYDRA had flooded their computers with all kinds of information on Loki and their current projects with the knowledge that someone was looking for it. Once it had been discovered, they'd removed it all. Or strengthened their firewalls to make it harder than hell to get to the information. Which meant she was going to have to dig deeper.
Rolling her neck to try and relieve some tension, she pondered the merit of heading toward the base commissary to find herself something to eat and drink. She'd been at it for hours without the benefit of either. It was probably a good time to do so. Maybe a break would give her the fresh eyes needed to seek out bread crumbs and hidden trails that could lead them toward some kind of break through.
Decision made, she stood and turned. And found Stark's secretary or personal assistant or whatever she called herself standing right behind her. Pepper Potts was in a tidy business suit of deep navy blue. The jacket was buttoned closed over a pristine white dress shirt. The hem of the skirt ended just below her knees. Her feet were encased in black heels. Strawberry blonde hair had been pulled back into a bun, leaving her face unframed. Phoebe had met Pepper once or twice over the course of her stay at S.H.I.E.L.D. and had taken an immediate liking to the woman. "Miss Sinclair. I'm sorry to bother you but I was wondering if I could speak to you. Its about Tony. I have some questions and I think you're the only person who can answer them."
"Of course. I was just going to fetch myself some lunch. Would you care to walk with me?" Phoebe offered her a smile. Pepper nodded and stepped back, waiting as Phoebe motioned to the boys to follow them. The two women fell into step with one another, their shoes echoing loudly up the hall as they walked together. She wondered what had brought Pepper to her side, but knew that the other woman would talk when she was ready. So they walked in silence until they reached the commissary.
After picking up tea and a banana nut muffin for Phoebe and a cup of coffee for Pepper, they sought out a table back in a corner and settled into the chairs. Phoebe waited patiently, knowing that Pepper would get to the heart of the matter as soon as she was ready. She was ready some minute or so later, just as Phoebe was nibbling at her muffin. "What happened between you and Tony?" The question was to the point and filled with an overwhelming sense of curiosity.
"I'm afraid I don't understand the question," Phoebe replied softly.
Pepper stared at her for a few moments, then shook her head. "For weeks, Tony has made one excuse after another to spend time here at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Ever since you were hired on." Phoebe didn't bother correcting Pepper about her status. The fewer people who knew that she was hacking for the government, the better. "I didn't think it was possible, but he shirked even more duties than usual. Then, a few days ago, he showed up at a production meeting. He was immaculately groomed and he never nodded off once. He didn't even make any comments that would derail the meeting. And he was... sober."
Phoebe blinked. "Sober? As in... sober sober?"
"As in sober," Pepper nodded her head, too, as if simply saying it wasn't enough. Her gaze slid around the room for a moment before turning back to Phoebe. "I've tried to figure it out and all I can come up with is that you have something to do with this new and improved Tony Stark. So what did you do to him?"
"I didn't do anything," Phoebe promised. And she hadn't. Pepper looked as if she didn't believe her. It prompted a sigh from Phoebe. She was going to have to tell the other woman something, but she wasn't sure how Pepper would take it. It was no secret that she'd had a brief relationship with her boss and Phoebe was sure that the woman still held some softer emotions for the man. "I promise. I didn't do anything. Mr. Stark made his interest in me perfectly clear. But I made it just as clear to him that nothing would ever happen between he and I."
"Why not?" Pepper asked. "You don't find him attractive?"
"On the contrary, Miss Potts. I find him terribly attractive. But I have problems with his drinking and I told him so. I cannot commit myself to a relationship with anyone who is so intent on destroying himself." She thought that was a good enough excuse. There was no way she was going to tell the other woman about what had happened to her parents at the hands of an alcoholic. Some things were private and didn't need to be shared around.
Pepper stared at her for a few moments, then seemed to sag in her chair. She carefully set the coffee cup back on the table before her and pinned Phoebe with a knowing stare. "Ah. I understand now. I don't know how I could have missed it."
"Missed what? What do you understand?" Phoebe asked. She was glad someone got it because she certainly didn't.
"You may or may not have noticed that Tony has taken a liking to you." Pepper sounded mildly amused by that statement. Phoebe nodded because she'd figured as much on her own. "You challenged him. Tony never backs down from a challenge."
"How did I challenge him?" Phoebe asked. She didn't know what Pepper was talking about.
"You told him that you wouldn't have anything to do with him because he drinks. He took that as a challenge. Because he wants you to have something to do with him. So he's going to do whatever he can to make you sit up and pay attention," Pepper explained. When Phoebe only continued to stare at her, Pepper smiled and shook her head. "He quit drinking so that you'd pay attention to him."
Phoebe blinked at that. "Why would he do that?" She didn't really understand it. Sure, there was a physical attraction between the two of them, but she didn't think it was something that was worth such drastic measures. She was relatively certain that he'd be on his merry way once he got what he wanted from her. Which was a tumble between the sheets. So why go to so much trouble to get that?
"Tony is very competitive and very driven. He likes you. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he more than likes you. And if he has to do something to prove it to you, he will. You offered him a challenge when you told him that you wouldn't have anything to do with him while he was still drinking. He takes such things seriously. So if he has to change in order to get you to pay any attention to him, he'll do it. I've never seen him like this. He wants you. And Tony always gets what he wants," Pepper explained. To Phoebe's ears, the last bit sounded more like a warning than an explanation. And it left her speechless. Pepper took that opportunity to glance at her wrist. The watch there was slim and gold and no doubt very expensive. "I have to run. I have a meeting across town and I have half an hour to get there. Thanks for meeting with me, Miss Sinclair. I'm glad we could talk and clear this up."
"You're welcome, Miss Potts." The words came out without thought and only because her mother had long ago made her understand that manners were always called for. There was never an excuse to be rude to someone. She watched Pepper click her way across the floor, heels striking the tile with purpose, and slip out the door.
Phoebe remained where she was sitting, her mind turning over what she'd just learned. Was it possible that Tony's intentions where she was concerned were perfectly honest? Had they always been that way? She wasn't really so sure. But if anyone knew Tony Stark well enough to tell her that he was interested, it was Pepper Potts. Their brief relationship not withstanding, she spent day after day with him. She saw the man he was under the polished, suave exterior. While she hadn't come out and said so, Pepper seemed to think that Tony had deeper emotions for Phoebe than were warranted for just a quick roll in the hay.
Picking absently at her muffin, Phoebe considered the subject of Tony Stark. She'd purposely stayed away from him because he was known near and far as nothing more than a ladies' man. He'd never been tied to one woman for very long, always moving on to new pastures before the old once had time to wither and brown. And she knew that no one ever told him no. As Pepper had said, Tony always got what he wanted.
Was that part of the appeal for him? That she'd turned him down time and time again? She considered the man deadly attractive and had a hard time not staring when they were talking. She suspected he knew the effect he had on her. He had a natural charm and wit that never really left him. And he was so damned intelligent that it was almost painful. If not for his drinking problem, she'd have likely ended up in bed with him long ago. But the alcohol always got in the way.
Except now, according to Pepper, he wasn't drinking anymore. She thought back to their last encounter, recalling his final words to her with painful clarity. She'd been too upset to really probe their meaning that night and had chosen not to think on them too deeply since. But she'd thought that he'd meant he was done trying to get into her skirt and he wouldn't bother her about it again. But now, playing them back in her head, she realized that he'd told her then what he'd meant to do.
He'd told her to her face that he was going to clean up. For her. And she'd completely missed it.
Damn it, she was an idiot. She needed to go talk to him and find out just how committed he was to the path of sobriety. How committed he was to her. She was, perhaps, asking for trouble by courting him this way, but she had to know. She'd been attracted to him almost since the beginning. What was it the others had told her? That was the way the Virus worked?
What are you waiting for? Get up and go get him. You know we both want him! Rylan's voice whispered in her head.
"Come on, boys," she said to her dogs, who had accompanied her to the commissary despite the dirty looks she'd gotten from the staff. Tex and Denver's ears perked as Phoebe rose from her seat. She glanced down at them. "Let's get back to our computer. We need to find out where Tony is. I need to talk to him."
~*~*~*~*~
The book was old and heavy, but she tugged it from its place on the shelf anyway. For days on end, since Thor had walked out and not looked back, all she'd been able to do was think about what he'd said. Think about that odd grouping of runes and images. Think about what a fool she'd been for being unable to say a few simple words. Frowning, frustrated with herself, Astrid did her best to shove thoughts of the big blonde aside so she could concentrate on the matter at hand. The runes and the images. Something about them was familiar, had been teasing at the back of her brain from the very moment she'd put them down on paper.
When not working on her projects for Stark Industries, she was caught up in researching the images and runes. Caught up in trying to discover what they meant. Caught up in pretending that Thor hadn't left her high and dry, hadn't called or come by or anything.
The heavy tome thumped against the table when she set it down, the writing on the front an old form of Norwegian that her family had known for centuries. One that few people spoke anymore. Hell, Astrid couldn't actually speak it. She could read it and interpret. But not speak. Still, it was her last source for information before she had to give up and say that she'd failed in deciphering the secret of the summoning circle.
She opened the book with great care and gentle hands. The pages smelled musty and the ink had faded in some places. Unlike regular books, there was something about this one that kept the pages from crumbling away into nothing. She had no idea what it was or why it did that, but she didn't care. If it could help her solve the riddle of Thor's ancient runes, she'd be happy. Maybe Alex or Miri knew someone who could use the information. If she ever figured out what it all meant. Sighing, Astrid settled before the volume and began skimming pages.
Pen in hand, paper stacked next to the book, she made notes in her own peculiar brand of shorthand, a mix of actual letters and pictures. On the other side of the book was the drawing she'd made, which she referenced regularly. Each page revealed some small piece of the puzzle and the world slowly fell away from her. All Astrid knew was the book before her, the notes she made and the drawing she kept trying to decode.
Eventually, she'd thumbed through the entire tome and she'd made so many notes that her curious script covered page after page with blurry lines and unusual images. Sitting up, she worked the kinks from her spine and rubbed at her eyes. They were tired from reading small script in dim light, but she never remembered to turn on anything brighter than her desk lamp. She carefully returned the book to its place on the shelf, then headed for the kitchen to grab a snack and some caffeine. Something told her she'd be up for hours still, trying to get the best and most accurate translation of the runes.
Diet Coke in one hand and a small bowl of carrots in the other, Astrid made her way back to her desk and settled before the numerous sheets of notes she'd made. Time to make sense of it all, find some order and pattern. Figure out what kind of summoning the people who'd inscribed it could use it for. Or what kind of summoning they'd done with it.
It became clear to her almost immediately that whoever had inked the circle, the runes and the Celtic looking figures had had absolutely no clue what they'd be unleashing upon the world. Several times she found that the runes referenced Loki. And there were a few passages that more or less invited him into the world. As a living, flesh and blood creature of unimaginable power. And without some kind of leash or safety net to keep him from destroying the world.
Astrid frowned and peered closely at her notes again. Was that right? Loki was the Norse God of Mischief. But more than that, he was supposed to be the destroyer of the world. He was supposed to have been the one who brought about Ragnarock and the end of the Norse Gods. Gods like Odin and Thor and...
Her heart skipped a beat as her head came up, a surprised 'O' shaping her lips. Thor. Loki. Brothers locked in a struggle against one another. Norse Gods with unimaginable power. Was it possible that the things she'd learned in her childhood were more than the fairy stories her mother had said they were? Was it possible that she'd been sleeping with the God of Thunder?
It made some kind of sick sense. Thor had repeatedly used odd words, spoke with an odd speech pattern. She'd written it off as some kind of cultural difference type thing. But what if she'd been wrong? What if he's speech was so old and antiquated was because he was old and antiquated?
Unable to fully believe what her mind was telling her, she turned her attention back to the notes and took another look at them. Read them over again. Her notes didn't look wrong. She'd copied everything faithfully, from the design to the meaning. All of it was in Old Norse, but still. It was right. Which meant... "Holy crap!"
She needed to contact someone about this. But who? Alex or Miri. She wasn't sure why her brain said to call them, but she didn't question it. She dug for her cell phone because it had Alex's number on it. She could just hit redial and let the woman know what was going on. She had no doubt that Alex would know what to do with the information.
The phone dialed out and went to voice mail. She listened to the recorded voice tell her to leave a message and a call back number and Alex would get back with her soon. It beeped and she opened her mouth to speak. Only to have the phone tugged from her grasp and tossed carelessly across the room. She looked up into a pale face and frowned. "You're a very clever mortal. My brother has an annoying habit of picking clever women."
Dark hair. Blue eyes. An aura of power that anyone could feel. Just like she'd felt on Thor more than once. Only she'd never really paid much attention to it. Now, she understood what it was. "Loki."
"Very clever, indeed. Sadly, that cleverness is your downfall. I cannot have you alerting your friends before plans have a chance to come to fruition. I'm afraid that you'll simply have to come with me until all of the excitement is over." His hand curled tightly around her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh when she tried to pull loose.
"What plans?"
He only smiled at her in reply. He snapped the fingers of his free hand and the apartment surrounding them went dark with a sickening swirl.
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Phoebe's reaction to waking up with Tony was fabulous. I love how they spark off each other. Her misinterpretation of what he was saying to her were so realistic coming from someone who'd been through what she had. It's a lovely dynamic there!
... Miri... girl, just stop. >.< The rate her brain is going is like warp 9 already. My GOD! lol
And speaking of just stopping... JFC those two! When Clint is the rational one about relationship stuff, you know that's a bad sign. lol They're so hot together though! I hope they (and by they I mean Alex) figure their shit out!
Oh Pepper! :D I do love Pepper. And I love that she totally sees what's going on and is just there to give it a good old kick with her Manolos! :D
EEP! Astrid! What have you gotten yourself into! We have our villain! And he's damn creepy! Bravo! Great work all around! Can't wait to see where this all winds up!
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i really love that Tony and Phoebe are so wires crossed all the time. and when she finally gets him to understand, she completely misinterprets what he means.
Miri definitely needs to stop. yes. definitely warp nine there.
Alex and Clint. holy crap! i know, right? those two are so... jesus. she needs to stop thinking and just feel. and Clint... he should just throw her down on the floor and fuck her brains out. be done with it. right? eventually, someone will figure it out.
Pepper is the only one who could really take such liberties where Tony's personal life is concerned, i think. that and she really does know him that welll.
poor Astrid. too smart for her own good.
so glad you're enjoying this, sweetie. we're really cooking now.
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These girls just don't know what's good for them, do they? LOL. I love the dynamics going on. Phoebe and Tony, Miri and Coulson, Alex and Clint...Really enjoying all the twists and turns. And the sparks. Especially the sparks.
And then...Loki. Ooo! Poor Astrid. She's in big trouble. I'm dying to see what happens next.
Excellent work, love. (BTW -- something went wonky with my first attempt to comment. So sorry if you get a double post.)
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yes. there's Loki. he's the bad guy and Astrid is totally in trouble. or is she? you'll have to wait to see what happens next. but trust me. it will happen.
glad you enjoyed, honey. stay tuned.
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*stops her impersonation of Charlie Brown*
Dammit, you HAD to leave it there, didn't you? DIDN'T you?! Dammit, what'll I do until the next exciting epi...er, chapter! ('Cos yeah, it plays like a damned series...and I'm hooked! *grins evilly*)
I love everyone and everything and...and...dammit, when will there be more???? LOL ;D)
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glad you enjoyed it, sweetie. and i don't know when there'll be more. so keep your knickers on.