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marysuevirusTitle: The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers!
Chapter Twenty Three: Peace
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
The sound of playful yips and almost puppyish growls brought a soft smile to Phoebe's face. She was so happy to see that Tex and Denver were acting as if nothing had happened. Even if Tex moved a little slowly, or sometimes not at all, Denver pretended that there was nothing wrong with his brother. It was such a relief to see the boys' antics, the same antics she'd seen from them their entire lives. Sighing with a rush of relief, she rested her head against Tony's shoulder. His arm snaked around her shoulder, pulling her in closer to him.
"He looks good," she told him, her eyes following Tex's slow progress across the floor as he mock stalked his brother. Denver had lowered his head toward the ground, front feet out in front of him. The stump of his tail was wagging furiously as he yapped at his brother, goading him to make another attempt at an attack. Even if it was a half-hearted attempt, he was eagerly awaiting it. "I know its only been a week, but he's moving so much better. He looks so much better."
"I told you that the vet was the best in the city," Tony commented. She didn't have to look to know that he was watching the dogs play, too.
"I need to send the man a thank you gift. Something that can possibly convey exactly how much I appreciate just what he's done for me." Phoebe tried to figure out just what that would be. Even though someone was running her book store for her, there wasn't enough money to buy the man what he deserved for saving Tex's life.
Tony leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his hand stroking idly up and down her arm in an absent caress. "I've already taken care of it, sweetheart. Pepper has made sure that there's a really expensive basket being sent to him. I think there's some Beluga caviar in there, as well as a bottle of Cristall. I told her to make it good."
"You didn't have to do that, Tony. I would have found something to send him in thanks." She turned her head so that she could look up at him. He offered her a smile, his eyes soft and gentle.
"I know I didn't have to, Phoebe. But I wanted to. I know how much he means to you. And you mean just as much to me. I want you to be happy, sweetheart," he replied. She smiled at the endearment, the hint of emotion behind it warming her to her toes. "Besides. Tex has kind of grown on me. It would be weird if he wasn't around anymore."
"You old softie," she poked him in the belly. He caught her finger between his own, then lifted her hand to his mouth so that he could press a kiss to her palm. When he gave her her hand back, he was smiling. It was faint, but there was still a smile there. It was good to see. The past week had been so hectic and horrible. She gave him her smile, reached up so she could run a hand against his cheek. "You look tired, Tony. Am I going to have to have a conversation with Director Fury? He's been working you too hard lately."
"There's still far too much to do. I've been working with Fury on plans for a new helicarrier in between bouts of going into the old one to try and salvage what's possible. Thankfully, we've stopped finding bodies." There was something hard in his words, wiping away the tender expression on his face and from his voice. She pressed closer to him and wrapped her arm across his chest. "And let's not even mention the emotional roller coaster that is the funerals."
"You don't have to go to every single one, Tony," Phoebe told him softly. She watched as Tex made a slow, fake lunge at Denver. She was starting to think that he needed to calm down before he hurt himself. But his happy puppy behavior was such a good thing to see, a confirmation that he was actually feeling better. Denver yipped and lunged forward before jumping back in the hopes that it would convince his brother to continue playing with him. "Denver. That's enough. Tex needs to rest. If you keep this up, he'll hurt himself again. Do you want that?"
The dog halted his antics and looked at Phoebe, head cocked to the side. She could see that he was considering whether or not he could get away with defying her orders. She gave him a stern look to let him know that he should put that thought right out of his head. He gave her a soft whine, then dropped down to lay on his belly, chin resting on his paws in an angelic pose. Tex followed his brother's move, settling slowly to the floor on his belly with his head on his paws. The two of them stared at her with hope in their eyes.
Tony chuckled at the pair of them, then turned and buried his face in the sheet of hair that hung down against her throat. "I need to go to the funerals. These are people that I've worked with for a while, or known in passing or annoyed the crap out of at some point. It would be disrespectful if I wasn't there to continue annoying them as they were laid to rest."
He meant the words to be amusing. But there was nothing but sorrow and loss in his voice. She sighed and reached up to stroke a hand against the disarray of his hair. "I know, Tony. I'm sorry. I just hate seeing you like this."
"Like what?" he asked, lifting his head so that he could tug her closer to him. Phoebe sighed and settled her head against his shoulder. It was odd to find herself sitting here with him, just relaxing. For the past week, he'd been on the go from before dawn to after midnight. She'd barely seen him. She'd attended a few of the funerals, but they'd been too much for her. There'd been far too much sorrow to allow her to go to anymore unless it was someone she knew. But Tony had gone to damn near everyone. And doing so, combined with the lack of sleep, was taking a toll. He was wearing himself down and that had her worried.
"So serious," she told him through a yawn. She wasn't doing so well in the sleep arena herself. Between worrying for Tony and the nightmares that had slowly crept into her slumbering hours, she wasn't getting as much rest as she should have. So this moment of domesticity between them was much needed. And so relaxing that she could sense sleep creeping up on her. Damn it, she wanted to spend some time with him. It was the first she'd seen him in a couple days.
"I thought you wanted me to be serious," he teased softly.
"I did. But not this serious, Tony. I kind of liked you when you were reckless and arrogant."
"Well, sweetheart, there's plenty of reckless and arrogant to go about. I'm filled to the top with those," he promised her. Phoebe smiled and made a half hearted attempt at pinching his side. He caught her hand and settled it at his hip. "I'm just tired, Phoebe. Its been a long week and there's no end in sight."
"I'm sorry, honey," she told him, fighting back another yawn. "I wish I could help make it all better."
"Just sitting here next to me helps make it all better," he promised her. She smiled at that, glad that he thought so. She let her gaze slide toward Tex and Denver, found them laying side by side on their mat. Their bodies touched, relaxed in sleep. It was something she cherished seeing. Something she hadn't thought she'd see again after Tex had been injured. She loved that her dogs were together again. Just as much as she loved that she was sitting here on Tony's couch with him, cuddled up to his side and soaking in the heat that came off his body.
She knew she had to have dozed off because she remembered staring at the boys as they slept on the mat. Then she was opening her eyes to find herself cradled in Tony's arms, her head resting against his chest. They were moving, probably on their way to the bedroom. She shifted closer to him and slid an arm up over his shoulder. "When did you last sleep?" he asked her quietly.
"Last night," she said through a yawn.
"Okay. Let me rephrase that. When was the last time you got real rest?"
"Dunno."
"I thought as much." Tony stopped for a moment and she heard the door close behind them. Since he hadn't turned or anything, he must have reached back with a foot to kick the door shut. Then they were moving again, likely heading toward the bed. "I want you to sleep, Phoebe."
"What about you, Tony? You need rest, too," she murmured, caught somewhere between sleep and waking.
"I'll be okay. I'm more worried about you," he replied, settling her down on the mattress. She refused to let go of him, locking her fingers behind his neck so that he was caught bending over the bed.
"Funny," she whispered, staring up at him sleepily. "I was going to say the same thing about you. Have you had any sleep since everything happened?"
"I've had enough," he answered, doing his best to deflect her question.
That response prompted Phoebe to frown at him. The hold she had on his neck tightened and she gave a gentle tug. His hands landed on the mattress to keep him from tumbling down on top of her. She must have surprised him by her actions otherwise it would have never happened. "Baby, you need to rest. You might be super smart and amazing and all that, but you're still a man and you have to sleep. I can see the exhaustion beating at you. Come to bed with me," she said quietly before leaning up to press her lips to his. He did as she expected and hugged her against his body. That gave her the opportunity to whisper her next words directly into his ear. "Please, Tony. Come to bed with me and hold me. Maybe that way, I'll be able to sleep."
He pulled back to look at her. It didn't take someone with his level of intelligence to figure out what she wasn't actually saying. His lips thinned into a frown. "How long have they been going on and how bad are they?"
"They're bad enough. And they started a few days ago." When he pulled back this time, she let him go. His frowned deepened as he stared down at her. "I didn't want to tell you because you were worried about and involved in so much."
"I told you before that you suffered a trauma. That stuff doesn't always just go away, Phoebe. You should have told me." Tony raked a hand through his hair, turning it into a stylist's nightmare of a mess, then sighed and shook his head. His hands were already working on unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm going to go clean up. I'll be back in five minutes. I want you under the covers when I return," he warned her before disappearing into the bathroom.
Phoebe sighed triumphantly. No doubt he'd lecture her later on the ways trauma presented and what one could do to face them head on. Never mind that he'd seen much worse than she had and was more or less ignoring the fact that it bothered him like crazy. She'd take the victories where she could.
Sliding from the bed, she reached for the buttons on her blouse and slowly slipped them from the holes. She pondered slipping into her nightgown for a few moments, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. As long as she got out of her blouse and skirt, that would be fine. She could sleep in her bra and panties without problems. When she had the buttons completely undone, she slid the blouse off her shoulders and laid it across the back of a nearby chair. Then she lowered the zip on her skirt and set it with the discarded blouse.
When Tony emerged from the bathroom, clad in his favorite pyjama bottoms, Phoebe was already under the covers with her head cradled by the pillow. Tony walked around the room, dimming lights here and turning them off completely there. When he was done, a pair of lamps on the other side of the room cast small circles of golden light on the carpeted floor. The area where the bed was located was cast in shadows. He slid into bed with her, one hand reaching for her to pull her against his body.
She sighed and sank into his heat, happily allowing him to shape her frame to his. When he had here where he wanted her, his arm settled heavy and possessive over her waist. And found herself suddenly very wide awake.
She wasn't sure if it was his close proximity or the heat of his body. Maybe it was the spicy scent of his cologne. It could have been the feel of his skin against hers. Or perhaps it was nothing more than the simple need to touch. And be touched. She wasn't the only one to feel it, either. After only a few seconds of simply laying there, the hand that held her so close to him began a slow, maddening climb toward her breast. His palm covered it, bra cup and all, and rubbed until her nipple woke up and responded to his touch.
She moaned softly, barely a sound passing her lips. But she knew he heard it because his hips pressed harder to hers, rubbed his groin against her backside as all the blood in his body flooded his cock. Made it firm up and twitch against the curve of her ass. His fingers walked across the material of her bra cup, found the edge and eased past it. The heat conveyed through them saw shivers of anticipation roll through her. When his fingers closed around her nipple and squeezed it, Phoebe let go a long, loud sigh of need.
Tony rolled her onto her back so that he could stare down into her face. The hunger that showed in his eyes was intense. Almost frightening. She'd seen desire on him before, but never anything like this. She knew then, staring up into his face, that he needed this almost more than she did. He needed the touching and the skin on skin contact. He needed to feel her body against his own, feel it wrap around his. Feel her welcome him with open arms. After all the death and destruction of the past week, he needed something that affirmed he was alive. That made him feel alive. He needed to touch and be touched. Sex was the most primitive means of proving that he was still alive. She could no more deny him this than she could deny herself.
She lifted her hands and let them slide down his back, let her nails rake lightly against his skin. The sensations that touch brought on saw him closing his eyes and shuddering against her. When her fingers found the waistband of his pyjamas, the spell tightened around them. There would be no turning back from this. Not now. Not when they both so desperately needed to simply feel. She teased her way under the waistband, smiled up at him when she found no further barriers between her skin and his.
He wasted no time in removing each their clothing. His hands made quick work of her bra and the garment went sailing across the floor without care. He pushed the covers back so that he could rid her of her panties. Her hands had managed to push his pyjama bottoms as far as she could get them without sitting up. He finished pushing them down and kicked them off, leaving them balled up somewhere near their feet.
His touch was feather light, fingertips barely grazing the silky flesh of her thighs as he worked his way back up. He delivered kisses along the way, heated caresses that fell against her skin like fresh drops of rain. She sighed, sinking back into the softness of the mattress as a week's worth of tension began to leak out of her. But that only lasted a moment, because the second his lips touched the swollen flesh of her nether lips, she found herself wound up as tight as she could be.
His tongue traced along the seam of flesh, alternating between touching her with only the tip and pressing the muscle flat against her body so that he could lick at her. Her hands found his head, fingers spearing into his hair while her back arched and her legs fell further apart. So very slowly, as if he wanted to take his time and prolong it all, he fitted his tongue between the folds and took a long, slow lick from front to back. It ended with his tongue pressed hard against her clit. Sensation ripped through her, tendrils of feeling climbing along every nerve ending until they reached her brain.
Pleasure exploded through her, seeing each and every muscle tightening as her body was rocked with a minor orgasm. She wasn't sure why it hit her so quickly and Tony didn't give her any time to consider it. His tongue kept at her clit, pressed and licked it to prolong her climax. Occasionally, he allowed it to slide back and dip deeper so that he could lick at the very core of her. When he pulled his tongue back, he would draw her clit between his lips. Suck and nip at it. Send heavier, thicker shivers of delight crawling through her.
She had no idea how long he kept his head buried between her thighs. She'd closed her eyes with the first tremor of release and had been unable so far to open them again. Her lids were heavy, but not with sleep. Desire and pleasure made her feel liquid. Made her feel as if she couldn't lift an arm or a leg if it was needed of her. Her fingers were curled into his hair, held his head almost without thought as he licked and sucked and nipped. The whole time, his fingers traced light patterns against her inner thighs.
He lifted his head for a breath. The electric current that had been strung tight between the spot where his mouth touched her body and her brain finally frayed and snapped, giving her back a small amount of rational thought. "Tony, please," she gasped softly, prying her eyes open to look at him. Eyes gone almost black with hunger and need stared back, sending even more spirals of pleasure curling through her. She watched as his lips curled into a self-satisfied, knowing grin.
"All you had to do was ask, sweetheart," he told her.
With careful actions, he began climbing his way up her body. His mouth pressed tender kisses to the dark curls between her thighs. To the lower curve of her belly. He took his time with her belly button, his tongue circling it when he wasn't sucking the skin between his teeth and biting at it. Little prickles of pain were left behind when he was done, telling her that she'd have bruises ringing her navel when she woke. She couldn't bring herself to care about it, could only care that each kiss and nip left her even more mindless with need.
After he'd paid careful attention to her belly button, he once again began his climb toward her breasts and face. He fanned kisses across her ribs, let his tongue trace patterns against the skin pulled over them. His hands glided over the curve of her thighs, tightened down around them and kneaded at them. He touched every inch of them, inside and out, until it felt as if the muscles in her thighs had turned to jelly. Then and only then did his hands glide inward so that his thumbs could stroke over the swell of her lips. So that he could slip them inside of her. So that he could press his fingers into her and thrust them in slow motion until her hips rose and fell in a frantic need for more.
Again, he had only to touch her clit and she was awash in her orgasm. This one came harder than the first, lasted longer. Brought a soft cry from her throat. When he tapped his thumb against her clit a second time, his mouth bit down on a nipple. The sudden jolt of pain flickered through her to make her release that much more intense. To make it last that much longer.
By the time he drew his thumb from her clit and his teeth released her nipple, she was a quivering mass of jelly. She sagged back against the bed and gasped for air. Tried to still the rapid pounding of her heart. Tony's head lowered again so that he could suck the abused nipple between his lips. This time, he only sucked at it. Each pull of his mouth against her flesh bringing a corresponding sensation to life somewhere behind her belly button. She writhed beneath him, her hands skimming down his sides toward his hips. But her goal was out of reach, spurring a few mumbled curses. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against sensitive flesh and making that feeling behind her navel grow more intense.
For what felt to be hours, he traded off breasts, moving back and forth between them to lavish her nipples and the mounds of flesh behind them with attention. She wrapped her arms around him, twisted her fingers in his hair, coiled her legs around his body in an effort to draw him higher. His caressing touches had brought a violently hungry need to life within her and she wanted it sated. Right then. But his strength was greater than hers and she was left waiting for him to decide when he would rise up higher. When he would fill her with himself.
Eons passed before he lifted his head from her breasts so that he could kiss and lick a path up her breast bone to her throat. Little tingles followed in the wake of his tongue, leaving her aching with anticipation. When he reached the column of her neck, he bit down with enough force to bring a soft squeal from her throat, then sucked until it felt like her heart and her pulse were located right under his mouth. Upon letting go, he lavished the tender spot with his tongue and with tiny butterfly kisses where his lips barely touched her flesh.
"God damn it, Tony. Stop teasing me!" Phoebe ground out harshly, body strung tight and sitting on the razor's edge. He lifted his head so that he could smirk down at her.
"Why, Miss Sinclair. I do believe that's the first time I've ever heard you utter a swear word. You must be really worked up."
She wanted to hit him and knock that look right off his handsome face. Instead, she rose up and took his lips with her own. His body settled heavy over hers as his mouth opened against her own. She moaned into it when he pressed his tongue inside so that it could glide and dance against her own. Her arms and legs tightened around him, pulling him even closer until the hard length of his cock poked almost painfully into her belly.
They broke the kiss with a gasp for air that was loud in the silence of the bedroom. She didn't have to say anything more. He'd head enough of teasing. She could see it in the expression he wore. He shifted his position until he was propped up on his knees and one arm. She let her fingers trace over the swell of muscle there, her dark gaze following every move he made with the hand he wasn't using to hold himself up with.
She shuddered when his fingers curled around his length. She spread her legs wider, gave him unhindered access to her body. He guided himself inside of her and his hand released its hold on his cock. She continued to watch as his hips surged forward and pushed every last inch of him inside. "God. You feel so good," she whispered. Her hands reached up to pull his head down to hers while her legs once against wrapped around his waist.
Tony needed no other prompting. He settled himself over her and inside of her. His mouth worked at hers, long and slow and luxurious kisses that were perfectly matched to the rhythm of his thrusting hips. The pleasure that had been simmering just under her skin the entire time exploded into a conflagration of need and want that ran unchecked through her until she was utterly consumed by it.
She lost sense of everything. It all spun away from her until it was only Phoebe and Tony. The softness of the mattress was a faint touch at the back of her mind. Tony's heat and weight was an erotic blanket that covered her front. Her skin was silk. Soft. His was rougher. Harder. Laced with muscles that flexed and tightened against her as his body moved. As he pushed in and pulled out with delicious friction that burned through her like a wild fire. Their coupling was all sensation and heat and deliciousness that pulled her under time and time again.
They kissed, their mouths clashing with a ferocity that had never been between them before. Their tongues danced and dueled, seeking control and dominance. Her hands roamed over his body, tracing the line of his spine and the curves of his ass. Mapping the play of muscle under the skin of his arms and thighs. Plotting the planes of his masculinity so that they would always be locked away in her mind. She burned every inch of him into her brain matter through the touch of her mouth and fingers.
He pulled back before she could stop him, pulled out of her to rise up on his knees. She tossed him a pout, conveying through it her disappointment that he'd just so suddenly stopped without warning. Tony only smiled down at her and used his hands to roll her up on her side. Then he settled behind her and pulled her in close so that her back was pressed up against his front. A ripple of need tore through her at the feel of him hard and thick as his cock rubbed against the curve of her ass.
His lips pressed tender kisses to her throat while his hands began shifting her around. He lifted one of her legs, drew it up and over his hip in order to open her up to him. The same hand reached down and found its way between her nether lips. She sighed and arched into him when his fingers stroked deep. He lifted his head enough so that he could whisper in her ear. "You're the one who feels good, sweetheart."
His hand slid away, only to be replaced moments later by his erection. She pushed back toward him as he pressed in. Once Tony had himself buried fully inside of her, his hand crept back over her hip and then down between her thighs so this his fingers could stroke against her clit in time with the thrusts of his hips.
She lost herself in his touch, in the feel of him shifting inside of her, in the friction that built and grew. Every single one of her nerve endings was on fire with need, with the desire to fall over the edge into oblivion. She wanted Tony to fall with her, so she whispered dirty things to him. Encouraged him to take her fast and hard. He countered with his own dirty things, told her how wet and tight she was around him. And his hips churned faster.
She came only a heartbeat or two before he did, the tension coiled in her belly snapping her muscles tight for a second or two. She found herself washed away in a tidal wave of pleasure, golden and light and so wonderfully brilliant. Heat poured through her, turning her bones to liquid until she lay limp in Tony's embrace.
His hips moved faster, thrusting against her mindlessly as he reached for his own peak. She felt him swell within her. Felt his cock twitch a moment before he came. Then his hips were melded to hers, pressing up hard against her as he filled her. A few shallower thrusts finished him off. Then he lay silent and still against her back, his chest heaving as he worked to pull air into his lungs. His hands stroked over her skin while he pressed tiny kisses to her shoulder. "Feel better, sweetheart?" he whispered in her ear.
"Much, Tony. Promise me you're going to stay in bed with me and get some real sleep. I want you to rest up," she said, rolling onto her back so she could look up at him. He offered her a smile, one that fully reached his eyes, and brushed her hair from her face.
"It does odd things to me knowing that you care about me, Phoebe," he told her quietly. She lifted a hand so that she could rest her palm against his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. Then he sat up and leaned down to grab the blankets. One tug saw them pulled up over both their bodies. He settled down beside her without saying anything.
"Promise me you're going to sleep, Tony. Please."
"I promise, Phoebe," he said gently. His words put a smile on her face. She turned up on her side so that she faced him, settled her head on his shoulder without saying anything more. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and urged her closer to him. She sighed and rested an arm across his abdomen. Despite their bed play, the exhaustion was there to swallow her down the moment she let her eyes drift closed.
But even as she was slipping under, she could feel the tension that had been thrumming through him sliding away to leave his muscles loose and limp. His lips ghosted across her forehead, delivering to her a butterfly kiss. "Go to sleep, Phoebe. I'll be here to keep the dreams at bay." His words whispered through her mind like a faint summer breeze stirring the curtains.
She thought he said more, but the words barely had any sound so she couldn't hear them. That didn't matter, though, because they brought with them a gentle warmth that made her feel safe and special.
Loved.
~*~*~*~*~
When Miri read the same sentence for the sixth time, she took it as a sign that she needed to sit back and take a break. Which sucked, because she really hated paperwork. The faster she got it down, the happier she'd be. She didn't understand how Phil could spend hours at a time on his reports. Then again, she'd heard him grumble often enough about just how incompetent the Avengers were when it came to filling out their reports and filing them. No doubt he spent as much time fixing their reports as he did writing his own.
Then again, she didn't think that Phil had had to do many reports that detailed just how the attacks on the base and the helicarrier had gone down. She was pretty sure he'd never had to do a stack of reports explaining away the deaths of countless agents. Fury was busy with meetings and plans and all kinds of things that had to do with getting the helicarrier and the base rebuilt. Which meant that he'd left Maria more or less in charge of just about everything else. She'd been spending her time on the phone with various government officials, assuring them the 'incident' had been a one time thing and the offending parties had already been dealt with. Which had left all of the crap paperwork to her. Because Phil was out of commission and she had high level clearance.
Just for this once, she wished she didn't.
Sighing, she sat back in the chair and rubbed at her face with her eyes. They'd been in the backup headquarters for a little more than a week now and she was still unaccustomed to the tiny, dark office she'd been assigned. The walls were industrial grey, a very unhappy shade that made her think of rainy days and cuddling under the covers. And it didn't help that there was nothing on the walls to break up the monotony. S.H.I.E.L.D. had made the remains of the damaged base off limits to everyone but the clean up crew and contractors. Everything that Miri had to liven up her office and make it feel like home was lost somewhere in the rubble of the old building.
Her hand reached absently for the cheap ceramic mug she'd brought in to use for coffee. The mug in her real office had been a gift from Phil. She wished she had it here, but she hadn't bothered asking Fury about personal belongings. He had far too much on his shoulders as it was and she didn't think he'd appreciate her whining to him about a mug and a few pictures. So she'd let it be, had simply brought a mug from home that had no sentimental value to her.
The sludge inside was getting cold and thick, making it hard to drink. She needed fresh coffee. Real coffee. Not the toxic tar found in the break room. How was it that these people could shoot a fly off an elephant's ass with all the accuracy in the world, but they couldn't make a decent cup of coffee to save their lives. Maybe she should take half an hour and go out to fetch some Starbuck's or something.
The last time she'd done that, she'd been swamped by people who had attempted to bribe or cheat her out of her cup of heavenly brew. Someone had even tried to steal it from her, only to find that Alex knew how to use a ruler just like any good Catholic nun.
Thinking of her friend sent her thoughts skittering off in a few different directions. She hadn't heard from Alex since she'd seen her at the family's church. To be honest, her mind had been so filled of work and Phil that she'd kind of let thoughts of the other woman slide away from her. It wasn't anything she'd done intentionally, but she still couldn't help but feel guilty about shoving Alex away in a small, dark corner and leaving her there while he brain ticked over on the endless reports. On the fact that Phil didn't seem to be getting any better.
That thought saw her muttering a curse as she buried her face in her hands. Everything made her think of him. Part of her didn't think that she should always be thinking of Phil, no matter that Fury had more or less given her the go ahead to sit with him. But she couldn't seem to help herself. Even when she was up to her eyebrows in paperwork, there was a part of her that thought about him. Dwelled upon him. Worried about him.
She hated that there was nothing new. And she hated that the doctors seemed to think that she'd accept their gentle assurances that it was good that he wasn't getting any worse. She didn't care about that as much as they seemed to think. All she cared about was that he wasn't getting any better. She hated seeing him lying there in bed, not moving or speaking or responding to her in any way. It was like staring at a shell or something. But that never stopped her from sitting at his side and holding his hand and just hoping that he'd wake up, that he'd give her that smile of his and tell her that everything was going to be okay.
Her stomach made some odd noises, prompting her to look at her watch. It was well past noon and she hadn't had anything to eat. It was probably time to head down to the cafeteria and pick up some lunch. She'd been forgetting food lately. She needed to quit doing that. It was hard to keep track of everything when she got lost in the reports and her worry for Phil.
Standing, she stretched the kinks out of her spine and rolled her neck before reaching down to carefully close the folder containing the report she'd been working on. It, along with the other stacks of papers on her desk, were stowed away in a drawer, which was then locked. Miri scooped up the keys to her office, tucked them into the pocket on her onsie, and left the room.
There were a few familiar faces in the commissary when she arrived. Some were free of bruises and marks. Others were scratched and scraped, a testament to living through the hell of that HYDRA attack. She still bore a few scratches of her own. She nodded a head at them in response to their greetings, then headed for the chow line.
She picked food up randomly, barely taking note of what she chose. A salad with bits of grilled chicken on it. Two slices of ham. A small mound of potatoes doused with gravy. Steamed broccoli. A glass of milk. Fresh coffee. A cup of chocolate pudding for dessert. The cashier smiled brightly and took her money, then wished her a good lunch. Miri thanked her and headed off into a corner to sit and eat. To decompress.
She tried to turn her brain off as she ate, but it refused to quiet. Since her talk with Maria, she'd spent every free moment she had with Phil. There had been a kind of solace in sitting in the chair next to his bed, her fingers curled loosely around his own as she told him every story from her youth she could think of. The doctors had told her that talking to him was good, that it would help him find his way back. She'd been skeptical, but she'd done it anyway. Anything to have him back, even if it did maker her feel stupid.
So she'd spent hours talking to him and making herself hoarse. She'd told him of life at home with her military minded father and her miserable mother. She'd told him about the time when she was six when she'd "borrowed" her mother's expensive brooch with which to play dress up and how she'd ended up dropping it down a deep well. Her mother hadn't forgiven her for that to this day. She'd told him about anything she could think of, because they'd never really gone deep into their private lives with each other and she'd wanted him to know just how much she loved him and just who she was and just how much she missed him.
She'd also told him about how everyone else was doing. She'd told him that Barton was constantly making trouble for the nurses because he hated being confined to bed and all he wanted to do was get up and go use the toilet because there was nothing that wrong with him that he couldn't lean against the wall and piss in the bowl. He was fucking Hawkeye, damn it! He never missed. She'd told him about Elsa being pampered at home by Rogers and how the super soldier had it so bad for the good doctor that he'd risked his life to save her. She'd told him about the mission to clean out the nest and how she'd done just that.
She'd told him about everything she could think of, until she'd been left almost completely without a voice and still more stories to tell. She hadn't allowed herself to think of what might happen. She hadn't let herself mention the names of those they'd already lost and buried. She hadn't told him about the state of the base or the carrier, about how they'd been almost completely destroyed. She hadn't told him any of the bad stuff, because she'd been afraid that doing so would only push him farther away from her.
Miri ate on autopilot. She barely even tasted the food. She was filled with a weariness that had nothing to do with being physically tired. She'd known that it would be a new kind of hell for everyone as S.H.I.E.L.D. attempted to rebuild and reorganize. But she hadn't known that it would be so physically and emotionally draining for her. Of course, spending hours a day filling out forms relating to people's deaths wasn't likely to be a walk in the park..
A hard feminine voice caught her attention and drew her from her thoughts. Miri looked up from a nearly empty plate to find that one of the agents present had engaged Natasha in a conversation. And judging by the look on the Black Widow's face, the topic of discussion wasn't anything happy or pleasant. After a few seconds of chatter, Tasha slammed her fist down on the table hard enough to make plates and cups and trays jump and silverware clatter.
Miri was suddenly reminded of Alex's empty face, pale even in the dim interior of the church. "Go ask Natasha. I'm sure she'd be as happy to enlighten you as she was to enlighten me."
Alex had suggested she talk to Tasha, implying that Tasha knew something about what was going on. Miri rose from her seat without bothering to bus her table at all. Her gaze followed Natasha as the redhead stalked angrily from the dining room without another word to the junior agent. A glance at the guy showed Miri a face that was a little pale with eyes that were too wide and too wild. Natasha was good at frightening the junior agents without having to work at it too hard.
She hurried across the floor and stepped out into the hallway. Natasha was going at a damned good clip, forcing Miri to job in order to keep up with her. If Natasha knew Miri was there, and she had no doubt the other woman was aware of her presence, she gave no indication of it. Instead she walked with purpose, almost stalking menacingly. Miri kept pace with her, watching as the other woman let herself into the gym. That brought a smile to Miri's face.
Maybe a workout was just what she needed.
Natasha was in the middle of some complex martial arts moves against a sparring dummy when Miri stepped into the gym. This one wasn't as big as the one on the base had been, but it was still well equipped. A few other agents were making use of the equipment. Someone from the legal department was using the punching bag while a junior agent, fresh faced and far too eager, was pounding away with vigor on the heavy bag. That was always Alex's favorite one, too.
With careful, precise movements, Miri crossed the floor to where Natasha was working out. Her mind kept going back to the last time she'd seen her best friend, to the lack of life and the sense of dejection she'd gotten off her. Somehow, something Natasha had done had brought that into being. "I'd like to speak with you for a moment, if you can spare a few seconds, Natasha." Miri paused and thought about it. "In fact, I'd like to speak with you even if you can't spare a few seconds."
"I don't have time to--" Natasha began, her voice as cold as the Siberian tundra. Miri offered her a smile and shook her head.
"I don't care. You're going to talk to me, whether you want to or not. You have answers. I have questions. Let's put them together and see if they fit," Miri replied, tone firm and hard. Natasha halted her swing at the dummy and spun to face Miri. There was nothing but unpleasantness in her eyes. "Tell me about the chat you had with Alex."
"I don't think anything she and I have talked about is any of your business, Miriam." Tasha replied evenly.
"Its all my business, Natasha. You see, I saw Alex a few days ago and she told me that you could explain to me why she suddenly thinks everything she's ever known is a lie."
Her words saw Natasha snorting. The redhead crossed her arms over her chest and glared daggers at Miri. "I simply told her a truth she may have been unaware of."
"And that was?" Miri lifted an eyebrow in a silent invitation for the other woman to continue.
"Why does this matter to you. Miriam? I was under the impression that you are displeased with her," Natasha said softly.
Miri shrugged a shoulder absently. "We had a difference of opinion. Nothing more, nothing less. She's still my best friend."
Natasha studied her for a few seconds. "Are you here to defend her?"
Oh, that question told Miri more than she wanted to know. Whatever else had gone between Natasha and Alex, the redhead and obviously taken Alex to the mat. Probably more than once, too. Miri could only think of one reason why Natasha would do such a thing. Alex had told her that she'd messed things up with Clint. Hurt him. Clint and Natasha had been partners for a while. The redhead no doubt knew the archer's moods as easily as Miri knew Alex's moods. So Natasha had probably seen the hurt. And upon figuring out who had caused it, she'd gone after them. Alex.
Miri tossed a smile at her. "Just like you went after Alex to defend Clint?"
"I didn't defend Clint. I warned Quinn off."
"Meaning you beat the crap out of her." Something about that sparked a memory and Miri saw a bruised wrist. Dropped a wrench her ass. "Was it worth it, Tasha? Do you like frightening everyone you work with?" Natasha said nothing to that. Not that Miri expected her to. Miri shook her head and glared at the other woman. "So you went to her and beat on her a little bit? Warned her away from Clint because she's not good enough for him? What did you say to her that makes her think her life is a lie?"
"I told her the truth," Natasha replied.
"What truth was that? Pretend I don't know Alex almost better than she does and tell me what you said to her." Miri put a little extra firmness in her tone. She was tired of the game. She just wanted to know what was going on. She wanted to know if there was some way she could fix it.
"I told her that the only reason she made it to full agent status is because Fury liked her uncle." Without waiting to see if Miri had anything else to ask her, Natasha turned back to the sparring dummy and once more attacked it with a flurry of martial arts moves. Miri stared at her for a few seconds as she soaked that in. That didn't make any sense. Unless Natasha knew something she and Alex didn't.
She left after another minute, not bothering to say goodbye to Tasha. Her mind was spinning like crazy, trying to piece it all together. Alex had told Miri that her uncle had worked in something innocuous like insurance. She'd never really been clear on it, as if she hadn't known exactly what it was he'd done. Alex had also told her that about the time she was in college, her uncle Alex had been killed while away on a business trip. Or something.
Natasha had said, without actually saying it, that Alex's uncle had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., for or with Director Fury. If that was the case, there would be information on Alexander Quinn in the files. She pondered the trouble that she could get into by going in search of those files. She had no business looking up the files of former agents. But that didn't mean she didn't have the clearance. She did. She had almost as much clearance as Phil did. And right now, she didn't give a fuck if she was supposed to be digging into decades old files or not. This was for Alex.
She was still trying to find a way to make things right with her friend. Still trying to find a way to get Alex and Clint back together. Alex loved him so much that it hurt Miri to see it. It hurt her to see Alex hurting. Miri had gone to see Barton a couple of times. Any attempts she'd made to bring up her friend had been met with icy silence. He hadn't been willing to speak with her about Alex, which told her two things.
First, Clint was still smarting over whatever had happened between him and Alex. That much was plain to see in the look he'd given her at the mere mention of the other woman's name. She'd also taken note of the fact that he did, in fact, still have feelings for her. Second, seeing Clint had told her was that she was going to have to do some fancy footwork if she was going to pull off getting those two back together. It was all going to be up to her. Now all she needed was a damned good plan.
Miri let herself into her office and closed the door behind her. She gave consideration to turning the look, but decided that she didn't need to do that. No one would likely interrupt her. And if they did, it wasn't like she had to tell them what she was doing. Settling behind her desk, she jiggled her mouse to bring her computer out of sleep mode. When it was as awake as it ever got, she clicked on the appropriate icon and opened up the database.
A password was required. She'd expected that, so she typed hers in and held her breath. The computer whirred and hummed as the little light flickered, letting her know it was doing work. A few seconds passed and she thought she was going to be shut out of the database. But it finally brought up a page that contained several different icons. Active agents. Inactive agents. Agents on report. Agents on psych eval. Avengers Initiative. Miri avoided temptation and clicked on the Inactive Agents icon.
A brief search form popped up. Typical things like name and sex. She typed in Alex Quinn, male, then hit enter. The machine whirred again, only for a second or two, then produced a single file. Miri clicked it open and stared at the information spread before her.
Alexander Michael Quinn had served as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for much of his adult life. He'd been recruited right out of college and had worked with Fury almost from the beginning. There were numerous commendations in his files, pointing toward a dedicated agent who was damned good at his job. He'd worked his way up in rank until he'd achieved the highest level of security clearance allowed. The man had seemingly been a boy scout and one of the best agents S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever employed.
The picture supplied with the file showed a man who bore a striking resemblance to his niece. Alex and her uncle had the same dark hair and the same green eyes. Of course he looked like his older brother, too. But there was a much more worldly look to Alexander Quinn than there was to Brendan Quinn. Maybe that was because Alexander had seen more of the world than his older brother.
Miri closed the file without looking at anything else. And she sighed. Natasha had been telling the truth. Alex's uncle had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. And Alex had apparently never known. That explained why she thought that her life was a lie. Ever since Miri had known her, Alex had had problems with lying to her family about what it was she did for a living. There'd been one time when Mary Magdelaine had asked why Alex had bothered with all of those language and history courses in college if she had no plans to use them. Miri had seen Alex swallow hard before answering that she loved what she did. Having grown up Catholic, there were times when Alex simply couldn't deal with the lying and the secrecy.
Which was definitely part and parcel to being an agent. There were rules about family knowing what they did, especially if the family had no ties to the military. Alex's family didn't. Miri had told her father about the career she'd chosen because he'd been military all his life, much to the chagrin of her mother.
So it made sense that Alex hadn't known her uncle was an agent. But why hadn't Fury told her about her uncle? No wonder Alex thought that she'd been lied to. Between not knowing about her uncle and then being told the only reason she'd gotten her job in the first place was because of that same uncle, what else was she supposed to think?
Miri drummed her nails on the desk's surface, her mind going over what she knew. Alex was in love with Barton even if she wasn't willing to actually admit it. Barton had feelings for her, too. Miri was willing to bet that the man loved her, even if he wanted to try and pretend that he didn't. So Alex's assessment that he hated her was wrong. It was more than likely that the archer was simply hurt and confused by Alex's behavior. She had to find a way to bring the two of them together.
Then there was the matter of Alex's uncle and her sudden belief that she didn't really belong at S.H.I.E.L.D. The idea must have taken root in her thick Irish head because Natasha had to have mentioned it after Alex and Clint had had their falling out. Alex would have been moody and full of self-doubt. It wouldn't have taken much to see her lose confidence in herself completely. A few well placed words and even better placed kicks and punches had seen what little confidence Alex had had left simply disappearing.
Two very intriguing pieces of the puzzle. And if they were the only ones, Miri might be able to find a way around them. But there was still at least one more piece to be dealt with. And it had to be done before she could get those two knuckleheads back together again. She had to figure out where Alex's first partner fit into all of it. She knew that Alex and Stevenson had been a couple. Alex had admitted as much to her. And she knew that Alex had taken his death hard. What had happened on that mission that made Alex want to keep her distance from Clint, despite the fact she was madly in love with him?
Miri was turning the question and the facts over in her head when her phone rang. The shrill noise jolted her from her thoughts and sent them skittering away. She reached for the receiver with one hand, already pushing the problem of her friend and her friend's love life from her mind. "Hello?"
"Agent Grant? I could use your assistance in the conference room," Director Fury drawled into the phone.
"Of course, sir. I'll be right there."
~*~*~*~*~
It felt as if he was wrapped in cotton and floating. He knew he had limbs, arms and legs, but he couldn't feel them. Hell, he couldn't even really feel his torso. There was a vague, mildly annoying throb of pain somewhere but he couldn't pinpoint a location. That made sense since he couldn't seem to feel most of his body. He tried to figure out why that would be, but his brain didn't seem to want to function for him. That, too, was heavily clouded with cotton. The kind of clouded that wasn't natural. Something had to have happened.
He tried to think of what that something might be, but thoughts slipped away from him before he could fully grasp them. That was fine. He liked the idea of floating. Floating felt good. It was like when he'd been a young boy learning to swim. Floating had come first and he'd spent hours upon hours simply floating on the surface of the water, arms and legs akimbo as he stared up at the blue sky. Maybe that's what he was doing. Maybe he was once again floating in that cool blue lake staring at the soft blue sky.
He tried to open his eyes, found that his lids felt glued together. It took too much energy to pry his lids apart, so he gave up and simply let himself float along. Maybe he was on a river, floating on the surface of the water and flowing along with the current. He could imagine big, puffy clouds dotting the sky and birds drifting on thermals. He could imagine the chirping of small wrens and sparrows, the warbling of robins. He imagined her felt the heat of the sun upon his face. Sighing with contentment, he slipped back into the cotton and continued to float.
It seemed as if he floated for hours on end. The sun never waned, shone steadily on his face and warmed his skin. Though he couldn't feel the water at his back, there was something soft behind him, supporting him as he drifted along. Very slowly, he became aware of a slight pressure against what he assumed was his hand. It was warm and loose. His mind searched slowly for what it might be and finally came back with a hand. There was a hand in his. Who would be holding his hand? He tried searching his memories again.
Filmy images tripped through his head, people and places and things that he was sure he recognized and knew. There were explosions that leveled cars. Men in flashy metallic suits. There were men and women in dressy suits, in one piece things that seemed like a uniform. There were hammers and thunder and lightning. Faceless men intent on destruction. A group of people battling as a team. Soft sighs and gentle touches. A husky voice in his ear. Velvet skin against his own. His name, whispered softly and with deep emotion.
Something about that voice was important to him. He had a hard time remembering who it belonged to or why it was important, but he knew without a doubt that it was important. With the flood of fuzzy emotions, the cottony feeling subsided a little. It proved fortuitous because he found he could open his eyes. After a glance around him, he decided he preferred the blue sky when he was floating.
A harsh light shone over his head, not at all the brilliance of the sun. Beyond that, he thought he saw a plain, boring white ceiling. There was an annoying beeping sound in his ear. He was sure that meant something, but he couldn't immediately place it. The sharp sting of industrial cleaner touched his nose. The fuzziness receded a little further. He shifted his gaze, letting it travel the room so that he could take in everything. Plain walls of pale green. Paintings that he couldn't quite make out. Closed doors. A chair next to the bed with a person in it. A person who dozed, body bent over itself so that a bright red head could rest on the edge of the bed. A pale hand in his own. A woman's hand.
The energy required to keep his eyes open quickly ebbed. His lids fluttered closed, heavy as lead, and he slid back toward the floating sensation. This time, it was mingled with flashes of what he decided were more memories.
He was talking to a strawberry blonde, a tall woman in a finely made suit, asking her to set up a debrief. He was talking to a man, wildly unkempt and disheveled, threatening him with a taser if he didn't do exactly what he was supposed to. He was trying to calm a mildly hysterical woman as men in suits hauled away various pieces of equipment, logs, and pictures. He was asking questions of a muddy blonde who had somehow gotten past his secure perimeter and beaten the crap out of his men.
He was in a hotel room somewhere, holding a redheaded woman as she clung to him and sobbed softly against his shoulder. He knew something horrible had happened other wise she wouldn't be crying. As her tears subsided, their hands moved against one another's bodies until they were naked and twined around one another. The bed beneath them creaked gently with their slow, tender motions until she cried out in completion. Then they were kissing.
The clouds crept over him again, taking him back to that place where he was floating in the water, little more than a speck drifting with the current. He allowed himself to sink into the cotton, allowed himself to remain calm and mellow. Some part of his mind registered that he shouldn't want to stay here, that he should be trying to climb back to the real world. But the real world looked boring and he was sure it was full of pain.
Here where he was floating, there was no pain. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to be done. No reports to fill out or papers to file. No annoying, childish people to deal with. It was a place of solitude and bliss. It was a place of calm, of peace and serenity. He shouldn't want to go back. And yet...
Something tickled at the back of his mind, something he thought could be classified as a memory. It was a room paneled with dark wood. Painted with light walls. The floor was grey carpeting. The table was long and heavy, a wooden thing that was darkly stained. He was on one side, a group of men were on the other. He knew them, recognized their faces. But names escaped him. They were talking about some artifact, about splitting it and keeping it in two different places. They were talking about splitting their numbers up to protect the artifact.
His head pounded from trying to figure it all out. If his eyes had been open, he would have closed them on a sigh. There was a growing throb at the back of his skull. There was a dull ache climbing up his leg. There was a tightness in his chest. He knew that those different pains meant he had suffered serious injuries. Somehow. He struggled to find the reason why this would have happened but his mind came up blank.
There was a shift against his hand, reminding him of the woman sleeping beside his bed. He needed to go back for her, didn't he? The memory of her body pressed to his made him think that she meant something to him. That he cared for her. No. Cared wasn't right. Cared didn't cover the depth of emotion he felt for her. Loved. Loved was the right word. As comfortable as the clouds were, they couldn't give him that.
He struggled to push the clouds back. Something told him that if he didn't make his escape from them, he never would. As much as he liked the floating, he didn't want to be there permanently. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to take her down to the bed and show her how much he loved her. He wanted to see her when she woke up in the morning, all mussed and sleepy and perfect. He knew that there would always be annoyances in his life. He knew that those men whose faces he'd seen would always be a pain in his ass, but that would be worth it just to have her at his side.
Her. She had a name. She had to have a name. He tried searching for it. He had to push the clouds aside again when they threatened to creep up and consume him one more time, but he found that it was getting easier with each attempt. The clouds slid away, allowing a flood of memories to come back to him. Coffee at a small diner in Jersey on a cold December night. A broom closet and dress clothes. The sound of an explosion over the phone and the fear that said noise brought welling up inside of him.
... Mentions of hookers?
He let the memories play across the surface of his brain, searched them methodically for some of the answers he sought. Her smile made his heart pound just a little. The wicked light that hid in the backs of her violet eyes. Her laughter, rich and full and bright. The lush curves of her body. Her wonderful intelligence and the amazing agility of her mind. She was so beautiful. And she was his.
The light speared into his eyes as he pulled his eyelids open. She was still bent over herself, head laying against the mattress. His fingers tightened around hers, hand tugging gently against her own. She stirred, slowly sitting up. Her hand slipped from his as she arched her back in order to work the kinks out. She looked like she needed a shower and a real bed in the worst possible way. It made him smile.
"You should go home and get some rest," he told her in a voice that hadn't been used in a long time. Her eyes snapped to his, wide with surprise.
"OhmyGod!" she exclaimed, words running together in her amazement. "Phil!"
"Hello, Miri."
Chapter Twenty Three: Peace
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
The sound of playful yips and almost puppyish growls brought a soft smile to Phoebe's face. She was so happy to see that Tex and Denver were acting as if nothing had happened. Even if Tex moved a little slowly, or sometimes not at all, Denver pretended that there was nothing wrong with his brother. It was such a relief to see the boys' antics, the same antics she'd seen from them their entire lives. Sighing with a rush of relief, she rested her head against Tony's shoulder. His arm snaked around her shoulder, pulling her in closer to him.
"He looks good," she told him, her eyes following Tex's slow progress across the floor as he mock stalked his brother. Denver had lowered his head toward the ground, front feet out in front of him. The stump of his tail was wagging furiously as he yapped at his brother, goading him to make another attempt at an attack. Even if it was a half-hearted attempt, he was eagerly awaiting it. "I know its only been a week, but he's moving so much better. He looks so much better."
"I told you that the vet was the best in the city," Tony commented. She didn't have to look to know that he was watching the dogs play, too.
"I need to send the man a thank you gift. Something that can possibly convey exactly how much I appreciate just what he's done for me." Phoebe tried to figure out just what that would be. Even though someone was running her book store for her, there wasn't enough money to buy the man what he deserved for saving Tex's life.
Tony leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his hand stroking idly up and down her arm in an absent caress. "I've already taken care of it, sweetheart. Pepper has made sure that there's a really expensive basket being sent to him. I think there's some Beluga caviar in there, as well as a bottle of Cristall. I told her to make it good."
"You didn't have to do that, Tony. I would have found something to send him in thanks." She turned her head so that she could look up at him. He offered her a smile, his eyes soft and gentle.
"I know I didn't have to, Phoebe. But I wanted to. I know how much he means to you. And you mean just as much to me. I want you to be happy, sweetheart," he replied. She smiled at the endearment, the hint of emotion behind it warming her to her toes. "Besides. Tex has kind of grown on me. It would be weird if he wasn't around anymore."
"You old softie," she poked him in the belly. He caught her finger between his own, then lifted her hand to his mouth so that he could press a kiss to her palm. When he gave her her hand back, he was smiling. It was faint, but there was still a smile there. It was good to see. The past week had been so hectic and horrible. She gave him her smile, reached up so she could run a hand against his cheek. "You look tired, Tony. Am I going to have to have a conversation with Director Fury? He's been working you too hard lately."
"There's still far too much to do. I've been working with Fury on plans for a new helicarrier in between bouts of going into the old one to try and salvage what's possible. Thankfully, we've stopped finding bodies." There was something hard in his words, wiping away the tender expression on his face and from his voice. She pressed closer to him and wrapped her arm across his chest. "And let's not even mention the emotional roller coaster that is the funerals."
"You don't have to go to every single one, Tony," Phoebe told him softly. She watched as Tex made a slow, fake lunge at Denver. She was starting to think that he needed to calm down before he hurt himself. But his happy puppy behavior was such a good thing to see, a confirmation that he was actually feeling better. Denver yipped and lunged forward before jumping back in the hopes that it would convince his brother to continue playing with him. "Denver. That's enough. Tex needs to rest. If you keep this up, he'll hurt himself again. Do you want that?"
The dog halted his antics and looked at Phoebe, head cocked to the side. She could see that he was considering whether or not he could get away with defying her orders. She gave him a stern look to let him know that he should put that thought right out of his head. He gave her a soft whine, then dropped down to lay on his belly, chin resting on his paws in an angelic pose. Tex followed his brother's move, settling slowly to the floor on his belly with his head on his paws. The two of them stared at her with hope in their eyes.
Tony chuckled at the pair of them, then turned and buried his face in the sheet of hair that hung down against her throat. "I need to go to the funerals. These are people that I've worked with for a while, or known in passing or annoyed the crap out of at some point. It would be disrespectful if I wasn't there to continue annoying them as they were laid to rest."
He meant the words to be amusing. But there was nothing but sorrow and loss in his voice. She sighed and reached up to stroke a hand against the disarray of his hair. "I know, Tony. I'm sorry. I just hate seeing you like this."
"Like what?" he asked, lifting his head so that he could tug her closer to him. Phoebe sighed and settled her head against his shoulder. It was odd to find herself sitting here with him, just relaxing. For the past week, he'd been on the go from before dawn to after midnight. She'd barely seen him. She'd attended a few of the funerals, but they'd been too much for her. There'd been far too much sorrow to allow her to go to anymore unless it was someone she knew. But Tony had gone to damn near everyone. And doing so, combined with the lack of sleep, was taking a toll. He was wearing himself down and that had her worried.
"So serious," she told him through a yawn. She wasn't doing so well in the sleep arena herself. Between worrying for Tony and the nightmares that had slowly crept into her slumbering hours, she wasn't getting as much rest as she should have. So this moment of domesticity between them was much needed. And so relaxing that she could sense sleep creeping up on her. Damn it, she wanted to spend some time with him. It was the first she'd seen him in a couple days.
"I thought you wanted me to be serious," he teased softly.
"I did. But not this serious, Tony. I kind of liked you when you were reckless and arrogant."
"Well, sweetheart, there's plenty of reckless and arrogant to go about. I'm filled to the top with those," he promised her. Phoebe smiled and made a half hearted attempt at pinching his side. He caught her hand and settled it at his hip. "I'm just tired, Phoebe. Its been a long week and there's no end in sight."
"I'm sorry, honey," she told him, fighting back another yawn. "I wish I could help make it all better."
"Just sitting here next to me helps make it all better," he promised her. She smiled at that, glad that he thought so. She let her gaze slide toward Tex and Denver, found them laying side by side on their mat. Their bodies touched, relaxed in sleep. It was something she cherished seeing. Something she hadn't thought she'd see again after Tex had been injured. She loved that her dogs were together again. Just as much as she loved that she was sitting here on Tony's couch with him, cuddled up to his side and soaking in the heat that came off his body.
She knew she had to have dozed off because she remembered staring at the boys as they slept on the mat. Then she was opening her eyes to find herself cradled in Tony's arms, her head resting against his chest. They were moving, probably on their way to the bedroom. She shifted closer to him and slid an arm up over his shoulder. "When did you last sleep?" he asked her quietly.
"Last night," she said through a yawn.
"Okay. Let me rephrase that. When was the last time you got real rest?"
"Dunno."
"I thought as much." Tony stopped for a moment and she heard the door close behind them. Since he hadn't turned or anything, he must have reached back with a foot to kick the door shut. Then they were moving again, likely heading toward the bed. "I want you to sleep, Phoebe."
"What about you, Tony? You need rest, too," she murmured, caught somewhere between sleep and waking.
"I'll be okay. I'm more worried about you," he replied, settling her down on the mattress. She refused to let go of him, locking her fingers behind his neck so that he was caught bending over the bed.
"Funny," she whispered, staring up at him sleepily. "I was going to say the same thing about you. Have you had any sleep since everything happened?"
"I've had enough," he answered, doing his best to deflect her question.
That response prompted Phoebe to frown at him. The hold she had on his neck tightened and she gave a gentle tug. His hands landed on the mattress to keep him from tumbling down on top of her. She must have surprised him by her actions otherwise it would have never happened. "Baby, you need to rest. You might be super smart and amazing and all that, but you're still a man and you have to sleep. I can see the exhaustion beating at you. Come to bed with me," she said quietly before leaning up to press her lips to his. He did as she expected and hugged her against his body. That gave her the opportunity to whisper her next words directly into his ear. "Please, Tony. Come to bed with me and hold me. Maybe that way, I'll be able to sleep."
He pulled back to look at her. It didn't take someone with his level of intelligence to figure out what she wasn't actually saying. His lips thinned into a frown. "How long have they been going on and how bad are they?"
"They're bad enough. And they started a few days ago." When he pulled back this time, she let him go. His frowned deepened as he stared down at her. "I didn't want to tell you because you were worried about and involved in so much."
"I told you before that you suffered a trauma. That stuff doesn't always just go away, Phoebe. You should have told me." Tony raked a hand through his hair, turning it into a stylist's nightmare of a mess, then sighed and shook his head. His hands were already working on unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm going to go clean up. I'll be back in five minutes. I want you under the covers when I return," he warned her before disappearing into the bathroom.
Phoebe sighed triumphantly. No doubt he'd lecture her later on the ways trauma presented and what one could do to face them head on. Never mind that he'd seen much worse than she had and was more or less ignoring the fact that it bothered him like crazy. She'd take the victories where she could.
Sliding from the bed, she reached for the buttons on her blouse and slowly slipped them from the holes. She pondered slipping into her nightgown for a few moments, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. As long as she got out of her blouse and skirt, that would be fine. She could sleep in her bra and panties without problems. When she had the buttons completely undone, she slid the blouse off her shoulders and laid it across the back of a nearby chair. Then she lowered the zip on her skirt and set it with the discarded blouse.
When Tony emerged from the bathroom, clad in his favorite pyjama bottoms, Phoebe was already under the covers with her head cradled by the pillow. Tony walked around the room, dimming lights here and turning them off completely there. When he was done, a pair of lamps on the other side of the room cast small circles of golden light on the carpeted floor. The area where the bed was located was cast in shadows. He slid into bed with her, one hand reaching for her to pull her against his body.
She sighed and sank into his heat, happily allowing him to shape her frame to his. When he had here where he wanted her, his arm settled heavy and possessive over her waist. And found herself suddenly very wide awake.
She wasn't sure if it was his close proximity or the heat of his body. Maybe it was the spicy scent of his cologne. It could have been the feel of his skin against hers. Or perhaps it was nothing more than the simple need to touch. And be touched. She wasn't the only one to feel it, either. After only a few seconds of simply laying there, the hand that held her so close to him began a slow, maddening climb toward her breast. His palm covered it, bra cup and all, and rubbed until her nipple woke up and responded to his touch.
She moaned softly, barely a sound passing her lips. But she knew he heard it because his hips pressed harder to hers, rubbed his groin against her backside as all the blood in his body flooded his cock. Made it firm up and twitch against the curve of her ass. His fingers walked across the material of her bra cup, found the edge and eased past it. The heat conveyed through them saw shivers of anticipation roll through her. When his fingers closed around her nipple and squeezed it, Phoebe let go a long, loud sigh of need.
Tony rolled her onto her back so that he could stare down into her face. The hunger that showed in his eyes was intense. Almost frightening. She'd seen desire on him before, but never anything like this. She knew then, staring up into his face, that he needed this almost more than she did. He needed the touching and the skin on skin contact. He needed to feel her body against his own, feel it wrap around his. Feel her welcome him with open arms. After all the death and destruction of the past week, he needed something that affirmed he was alive. That made him feel alive. He needed to touch and be touched. Sex was the most primitive means of proving that he was still alive. She could no more deny him this than she could deny herself.
She lifted her hands and let them slide down his back, let her nails rake lightly against his skin. The sensations that touch brought on saw him closing his eyes and shuddering against her. When her fingers found the waistband of his pyjamas, the spell tightened around them. There would be no turning back from this. Not now. Not when they both so desperately needed to simply feel. She teased her way under the waistband, smiled up at him when she found no further barriers between her skin and his.
He wasted no time in removing each their clothing. His hands made quick work of her bra and the garment went sailing across the floor without care. He pushed the covers back so that he could rid her of her panties. Her hands had managed to push his pyjama bottoms as far as she could get them without sitting up. He finished pushing them down and kicked them off, leaving them balled up somewhere near their feet.
His touch was feather light, fingertips barely grazing the silky flesh of her thighs as he worked his way back up. He delivered kisses along the way, heated caresses that fell against her skin like fresh drops of rain. She sighed, sinking back into the softness of the mattress as a week's worth of tension began to leak out of her. But that only lasted a moment, because the second his lips touched the swollen flesh of her nether lips, she found herself wound up as tight as she could be.
His tongue traced along the seam of flesh, alternating between touching her with only the tip and pressing the muscle flat against her body so that he could lick at her. Her hands found his head, fingers spearing into his hair while her back arched and her legs fell further apart. So very slowly, as if he wanted to take his time and prolong it all, he fitted his tongue between the folds and took a long, slow lick from front to back. It ended with his tongue pressed hard against her clit. Sensation ripped through her, tendrils of feeling climbing along every nerve ending until they reached her brain.
Pleasure exploded through her, seeing each and every muscle tightening as her body was rocked with a minor orgasm. She wasn't sure why it hit her so quickly and Tony didn't give her any time to consider it. His tongue kept at her clit, pressed and licked it to prolong her climax. Occasionally, he allowed it to slide back and dip deeper so that he could lick at the very core of her. When he pulled his tongue back, he would draw her clit between his lips. Suck and nip at it. Send heavier, thicker shivers of delight crawling through her.
She had no idea how long he kept his head buried between her thighs. She'd closed her eyes with the first tremor of release and had been unable so far to open them again. Her lids were heavy, but not with sleep. Desire and pleasure made her feel liquid. Made her feel as if she couldn't lift an arm or a leg if it was needed of her. Her fingers were curled into his hair, held his head almost without thought as he licked and sucked and nipped. The whole time, his fingers traced light patterns against her inner thighs.
He lifted his head for a breath. The electric current that had been strung tight between the spot where his mouth touched her body and her brain finally frayed and snapped, giving her back a small amount of rational thought. "Tony, please," she gasped softly, prying her eyes open to look at him. Eyes gone almost black with hunger and need stared back, sending even more spirals of pleasure curling through her. She watched as his lips curled into a self-satisfied, knowing grin.
"All you had to do was ask, sweetheart," he told her.
With careful actions, he began climbing his way up her body. His mouth pressed tender kisses to the dark curls between her thighs. To the lower curve of her belly. He took his time with her belly button, his tongue circling it when he wasn't sucking the skin between his teeth and biting at it. Little prickles of pain were left behind when he was done, telling her that she'd have bruises ringing her navel when she woke. She couldn't bring herself to care about it, could only care that each kiss and nip left her even more mindless with need.
After he'd paid careful attention to her belly button, he once again began his climb toward her breasts and face. He fanned kisses across her ribs, let his tongue trace patterns against the skin pulled over them. His hands glided over the curve of her thighs, tightened down around them and kneaded at them. He touched every inch of them, inside and out, until it felt as if the muscles in her thighs had turned to jelly. Then and only then did his hands glide inward so that his thumbs could stroke over the swell of her lips. So that he could slip them inside of her. So that he could press his fingers into her and thrust them in slow motion until her hips rose and fell in a frantic need for more.
Again, he had only to touch her clit and she was awash in her orgasm. This one came harder than the first, lasted longer. Brought a soft cry from her throat. When he tapped his thumb against her clit a second time, his mouth bit down on a nipple. The sudden jolt of pain flickered through her to make her release that much more intense. To make it last that much longer.
By the time he drew his thumb from her clit and his teeth released her nipple, she was a quivering mass of jelly. She sagged back against the bed and gasped for air. Tried to still the rapid pounding of her heart. Tony's head lowered again so that he could suck the abused nipple between his lips. This time, he only sucked at it. Each pull of his mouth against her flesh bringing a corresponding sensation to life somewhere behind her belly button. She writhed beneath him, her hands skimming down his sides toward his hips. But her goal was out of reach, spurring a few mumbled curses. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against sensitive flesh and making that feeling behind her navel grow more intense.
For what felt to be hours, he traded off breasts, moving back and forth between them to lavish her nipples and the mounds of flesh behind them with attention. She wrapped her arms around him, twisted her fingers in his hair, coiled her legs around his body in an effort to draw him higher. His caressing touches had brought a violently hungry need to life within her and she wanted it sated. Right then. But his strength was greater than hers and she was left waiting for him to decide when he would rise up higher. When he would fill her with himself.
Eons passed before he lifted his head from her breasts so that he could kiss and lick a path up her breast bone to her throat. Little tingles followed in the wake of his tongue, leaving her aching with anticipation. When he reached the column of her neck, he bit down with enough force to bring a soft squeal from her throat, then sucked until it felt like her heart and her pulse were located right under his mouth. Upon letting go, he lavished the tender spot with his tongue and with tiny butterfly kisses where his lips barely touched her flesh.
"God damn it, Tony. Stop teasing me!" Phoebe ground out harshly, body strung tight and sitting on the razor's edge. He lifted his head so that he could smirk down at her.
"Why, Miss Sinclair. I do believe that's the first time I've ever heard you utter a swear word. You must be really worked up."
She wanted to hit him and knock that look right off his handsome face. Instead, she rose up and took his lips with her own. His body settled heavy over hers as his mouth opened against her own. She moaned into it when he pressed his tongue inside so that it could glide and dance against her own. Her arms and legs tightened around him, pulling him even closer until the hard length of his cock poked almost painfully into her belly.
They broke the kiss with a gasp for air that was loud in the silence of the bedroom. She didn't have to say anything more. He'd head enough of teasing. She could see it in the expression he wore. He shifted his position until he was propped up on his knees and one arm. She let her fingers trace over the swell of muscle there, her dark gaze following every move he made with the hand he wasn't using to hold himself up with.
She shuddered when his fingers curled around his length. She spread her legs wider, gave him unhindered access to her body. He guided himself inside of her and his hand released its hold on his cock. She continued to watch as his hips surged forward and pushed every last inch of him inside. "God. You feel so good," she whispered. Her hands reached up to pull his head down to hers while her legs once against wrapped around his waist.
Tony needed no other prompting. He settled himself over her and inside of her. His mouth worked at hers, long and slow and luxurious kisses that were perfectly matched to the rhythm of his thrusting hips. The pleasure that had been simmering just under her skin the entire time exploded into a conflagration of need and want that ran unchecked through her until she was utterly consumed by it.
She lost sense of everything. It all spun away from her until it was only Phoebe and Tony. The softness of the mattress was a faint touch at the back of her mind. Tony's heat and weight was an erotic blanket that covered her front. Her skin was silk. Soft. His was rougher. Harder. Laced with muscles that flexed and tightened against her as his body moved. As he pushed in and pulled out with delicious friction that burned through her like a wild fire. Their coupling was all sensation and heat and deliciousness that pulled her under time and time again.
They kissed, their mouths clashing with a ferocity that had never been between them before. Their tongues danced and dueled, seeking control and dominance. Her hands roamed over his body, tracing the line of his spine and the curves of his ass. Mapping the play of muscle under the skin of his arms and thighs. Plotting the planes of his masculinity so that they would always be locked away in her mind. She burned every inch of him into her brain matter through the touch of her mouth and fingers.
He pulled back before she could stop him, pulled out of her to rise up on his knees. She tossed him a pout, conveying through it her disappointment that he'd just so suddenly stopped without warning. Tony only smiled down at her and used his hands to roll her up on her side. Then he settled behind her and pulled her in close so that her back was pressed up against his front. A ripple of need tore through her at the feel of him hard and thick as his cock rubbed against the curve of her ass.
His lips pressed tender kisses to her throat while his hands began shifting her around. He lifted one of her legs, drew it up and over his hip in order to open her up to him. The same hand reached down and found its way between her nether lips. She sighed and arched into him when his fingers stroked deep. He lifted his head enough so that he could whisper in her ear. "You're the one who feels good, sweetheart."
His hand slid away, only to be replaced moments later by his erection. She pushed back toward him as he pressed in. Once Tony had himself buried fully inside of her, his hand crept back over her hip and then down between her thighs so this his fingers could stroke against her clit in time with the thrusts of his hips.
She lost herself in his touch, in the feel of him shifting inside of her, in the friction that built and grew. Every single one of her nerve endings was on fire with need, with the desire to fall over the edge into oblivion. She wanted Tony to fall with her, so she whispered dirty things to him. Encouraged him to take her fast and hard. He countered with his own dirty things, told her how wet and tight she was around him. And his hips churned faster.
She came only a heartbeat or two before he did, the tension coiled in her belly snapping her muscles tight for a second or two. She found herself washed away in a tidal wave of pleasure, golden and light and so wonderfully brilliant. Heat poured through her, turning her bones to liquid until she lay limp in Tony's embrace.
His hips moved faster, thrusting against her mindlessly as he reached for his own peak. She felt him swell within her. Felt his cock twitch a moment before he came. Then his hips were melded to hers, pressing up hard against her as he filled her. A few shallower thrusts finished him off. Then he lay silent and still against her back, his chest heaving as he worked to pull air into his lungs. His hands stroked over her skin while he pressed tiny kisses to her shoulder. "Feel better, sweetheart?" he whispered in her ear.
"Much, Tony. Promise me you're going to stay in bed with me and get some real sleep. I want you to rest up," she said, rolling onto her back so she could look up at him. He offered her a smile, one that fully reached his eyes, and brushed her hair from her face.
"It does odd things to me knowing that you care about me, Phoebe," he told her quietly. She lifted a hand so that she could rest her palm against his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. Then he sat up and leaned down to grab the blankets. One tug saw them pulled up over both their bodies. He settled down beside her without saying anything.
"Promise me you're going to sleep, Tony. Please."
"I promise, Phoebe," he said gently. His words put a smile on her face. She turned up on her side so that she faced him, settled her head on his shoulder without saying anything more. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and urged her closer to him. She sighed and rested an arm across his abdomen. Despite their bed play, the exhaustion was there to swallow her down the moment she let her eyes drift closed.
But even as she was slipping under, she could feel the tension that had been thrumming through him sliding away to leave his muscles loose and limp. His lips ghosted across her forehead, delivering to her a butterfly kiss. "Go to sleep, Phoebe. I'll be here to keep the dreams at bay." His words whispered through her mind like a faint summer breeze stirring the curtains.
She thought he said more, but the words barely had any sound so she couldn't hear them. That didn't matter, though, because they brought with them a gentle warmth that made her feel safe and special.
Loved.
~*~*~*~*~
When Miri read the same sentence for the sixth time, she took it as a sign that she needed to sit back and take a break. Which sucked, because she really hated paperwork. The faster she got it down, the happier she'd be. She didn't understand how Phil could spend hours at a time on his reports. Then again, she'd heard him grumble often enough about just how incompetent the Avengers were when it came to filling out their reports and filing them. No doubt he spent as much time fixing their reports as he did writing his own.
Then again, she didn't think that Phil had had to do many reports that detailed just how the attacks on the base and the helicarrier had gone down. She was pretty sure he'd never had to do a stack of reports explaining away the deaths of countless agents. Fury was busy with meetings and plans and all kinds of things that had to do with getting the helicarrier and the base rebuilt. Which meant that he'd left Maria more or less in charge of just about everything else. She'd been spending her time on the phone with various government officials, assuring them the 'incident' had been a one time thing and the offending parties had already been dealt with. Which had left all of the crap paperwork to her. Because Phil was out of commission and she had high level clearance.
Just for this once, she wished she didn't.
Sighing, she sat back in the chair and rubbed at her face with her eyes. They'd been in the backup headquarters for a little more than a week now and she was still unaccustomed to the tiny, dark office she'd been assigned. The walls were industrial grey, a very unhappy shade that made her think of rainy days and cuddling under the covers. And it didn't help that there was nothing on the walls to break up the monotony. S.H.I.E.L.D. had made the remains of the damaged base off limits to everyone but the clean up crew and contractors. Everything that Miri had to liven up her office and make it feel like home was lost somewhere in the rubble of the old building.
Her hand reached absently for the cheap ceramic mug she'd brought in to use for coffee. The mug in her real office had been a gift from Phil. She wished she had it here, but she hadn't bothered asking Fury about personal belongings. He had far too much on his shoulders as it was and she didn't think he'd appreciate her whining to him about a mug and a few pictures. So she'd let it be, had simply brought a mug from home that had no sentimental value to her.
The sludge inside was getting cold and thick, making it hard to drink. She needed fresh coffee. Real coffee. Not the toxic tar found in the break room. How was it that these people could shoot a fly off an elephant's ass with all the accuracy in the world, but they couldn't make a decent cup of coffee to save their lives. Maybe she should take half an hour and go out to fetch some Starbuck's or something.
The last time she'd done that, she'd been swamped by people who had attempted to bribe or cheat her out of her cup of heavenly brew. Someone had even tried to steal it from her, only to find that Alex knew how to use a ruler just like any good Catholic nun.
Thinking of her friend sent her thoughts skittering off in a few different directions. She hadn't heard from Alex since she'd seen her at the family's church. To be honest, her mind had been so filled of work and Phil that she'd kind of let thoughts of the other woman slide away from her. It wasn't anything she'd done intentionally, but she still couldn't help but feel guilty about shoving Alex away in a small, dark corner and leaving her there while he brain ticked over on the endless reports. On the fact that Phil didn't seem to be getting any better.
That thought saw her muttering a curse as she buried her face in her hands. Everything made her think of him. Part of her didn't think that she should always be thinking of Phil, no matter that Fury had more or less given her the go ahead to sit with him. But she couldn't seem to help herself. Even when she was up to her eyebrows in paperwork, there was a part of her that thought about him. Dwelled upon him. Worried about him.
She hated that there was nothing new. And she hated that the doctors seemed to think that she'd accept their gentle assurances that it was good that he wasn't getting any worse. She didn't care about that as much as they seemed to think. All she cared about was that he wasn't getting any better. She hated seeing him lying there in bed, not moving or speaking or responding to her in any way. It was like staring at a shell or something. But that never stopped her from sitting at his side and holding his hand and just hoping that he'd wake up, that he'd give her that smile of his and tell her that everything was going to be okay.
Her stomach made some odd noises, prompting her to look at her watch. It was well past noon and she hadn't had anything to eat. It was probably time to head down to the cafeteria and pick up some lunch. She'd been forgetting food lately. She needed to quit doing that. It was hard to keep track of everything when she got lost in the reports and her worry for Phil.
Standing, she stretched the kinks out of her spine and rolled her neck before reaching down to carefully close the folder containing the report she'd been working on. It, along with the other stacks of papers on her desk, were stowed away in a drawer, which was then locked. Miri scooped up the keys to her office, tucked them into the pocket on her onsie, and left the room.
There were a few familiar faces in the commissary when she arrived. Some were free of bruises and marks. Others were scratched and scraped, a testament to living through the hell of that HYDRA attack. She still bore a few scratches of her own. She nodded a head at them in response to their greetings, then headed for the chow line.
She picked food up randomly, barely taking note of what she chose. A salad with bits of grilled chicken on it. Two slices of ham. A small mound of potatoes doused with gravy. Steamed broccoli. A glass of milk. Fresh coffee. A cup of chocolate pudding for dessert. The cashier smiled brightly and took her money, then wished her a good lunch. Miri thanked her and headed off into a corner to sit and eat. To decompress.
She tried to turn her brain off as she ate, but it refused to quiet. Since her talk with Maria, she'd spent every free moment she had with Phil. There had been a kind of solace in sitting in the chair next to his bed, her fingers curled loosely around his own as she told him every story from her youth she could think of. The doctors had told her that talking to him was good, that it would help him find his way back. She'd been skeptical, but she'd done it anyway. Anything to have him back, even if it did maker her feel stupid.
So she'd spent hours talking to him and making herself hoarse. She'd told him of life at home with her military minded father and her miserable mother. She'd told him about the time when she was six when she'd "borrowed" her mother's expensive brooch with which to play dress up and how she'd ended up dropping it down a deep well. Her mother hadn't forgiven her for that to this day. She'd told him about anything she could think of, because they'd never really gone deep into their private lives with each other and she'd wanted him to know just how much she loved him and just who she was and just how much she missed him.
She'd also told him about how everyone else was doing. She'd told him that Barton was constantly making trouble for the nurses because he hated being confined to bed and all he wanted to do was get up and go use the toilet because there was nothing that wrong with him that he couldn't lean against the wall and piss in the bowl. He was fucking Hawkeye, damn it! He never missed. She'd told him about Elsa being pampered at home by Rogers and how the super soldier had it so bad for the good doctor that he'd risked his life to save her. She'd told him about the mission to clean out the nest and how she'd done just that.
She'd told him about everything she could think of, until she'd been left almost completely without a voice and still more stories to tell. She hadn't allowed herself to think of what might happen. She hadn't let herself mention the names of those they'd already lost and buried. She hadn't told him about the state of the base or the carrier, about how they'd been almost completely destroyed. She hadn't told him any of the bad stuff, because she'd been afraid that doing so would only push him farther away from her.
Miri ate on autopilot. She barely even tasted the food. She was filled with a weariness that had nothing to do with being physically tired. She'd known that it would be a new kind of hell for everyone as S.H.I.E.L.D. attempted to rebuild and reorganize. But she hadn't known that it would be so physically and emotionally draining for her. Of course, spending hours a day filling out forms relating to people's deaths wasn't likely to be a walk in the park..
A hard feminine voice caught her attention and drew her from her thoughts. Miri looked up from a nearly empty plate to find that one of the agents present had engaged Natasha in a conversation. And judging by the look on the Black Widow's face, the topic of discussion wasn't anything happy or pleasant. After a few seconds of chatter, Tasha slammed her fist down on the table hard enough to make plates and cups and trays jump and silverware clatter.
Miri was suddenly reminded of Alex's empty face, pale even in the dim interior of the church. "Go ask Natasha. I'm sure she'd be as happy to enlighten you as she was to enlighten me."
Alex had suggested she talk to Tasha, implying that Tasha knew something about what was going on. Miri rose from her seat without bothering to bus her table at all. Her gaze followed Natasha as the redhead stalked angrily from the dining room without another word to the junior agent. A glance at the guy showed Miri a face that was a little pale with eyes that were too wide and too wild. Natasha was good at frightening the junior agents without having to work at it too hard.
She hurried across the floor and stepped out into the hallway. Natasha was going at a damned good clip, forcing Miri to job in order to keep up with her. If Natasha knew Miri was there, and she had no doubt the other woman was aware of her presence, she gave no indication of it. Instead she walked with purpose, almost stalking menacingly. Miri kept pace with her, watching as the other woman let herself into the gym. That brought a smile to Miri's face.
Maybe a workout was just what she needed.
Natasha was in the middle of some complex martial arts moves against a sparring dummy when Miri stepped into the gym. This one wasn't as big as the one on the base had been, but it was still well equipped. A few other agents were making use of the equipment. Someone from the legal department was using the punching bag while a junior agent, fresh faced and far too eager, was pounding away with vigor on the heavy bag. That was always Alex's favorite one, too.
With careful, precise movements, Miri crossed the floor to where Natasha was working out. Her mind kept going back to the last time she'd seen her best friend, to the lack of life and the sense of dejection she'd gotten off her. Somehow, something Natasha had done had brought that into being. "I'd like to speak with you for a moment, if you can spare a few seconds, Natasha." Miri paused and thought about it. "In fact, I'd like to speak with you even if you can't spare a few seconds."
"I don't have time to--" Natasha began, her voice as cold as the Siberian tundra. Miri offered her a smile and shook her head.
"I don't care. You're going to talk to me, whether you want to or not. You have answers. I have questions. Let's put them together and see if they fit," Miri replied, tone firm and hard. Natasha halted her swing at the dummy and spun to face Miri. There was nothing but unpleasantness in her eyes. "Tell me about the chat you had with Alex."
"I don't think anything she and I have talked about is any of your business, Miriam." Tasha replied evenly.
"Its all my business, Natasha. You see, I saw Alex a few days ago and she told me that you could explain to me why she suddenly thinks everything she's ever known is a lie."
Her words saw Natasha snorting. The redhead crossed her arms over her chest and glared daggers at Miri. "I simply told her a truth she may have been unaware of."
"And that was?" Miri lifted an eyebrow in a silent invitation for the other woman to continue.
"Why does this matter to you. Miriam? I was under the impression that you are displeased with her," Natasha said softly.
Miri shrugged a shoulder absently. "We had a difference of opinion. Nothing more, nothing less. She's still my best friend."
Natasha studied her for a few seconds. "Are you here to defend her?"
Oh, that question told Miri more than she wanted to know. Whatever else had gone between Natasha and Alex, the redhead and obviously taken Alex to the mat. Probably more than once, too. Miri could only think of one reason why Natasha would do such a thing. Alex had told her that she'd messed things up with Clint. Hurt him. Clint and Natasha had been partners for a while. The redhead no doubt knew the archer's moods as easily as Miri knew Alex's moods. So Natasha had probably seen the hurt. And upon figuring out who had caused it, she'd gone after them. Alex.
Miri tossed a smile at her. "Just like you went after Alex to defend Clint?"
"I didn't defend Clint. I warned Quinn off."
"Meaning you beat the crap out of her." Something about that sparked a memory and Miri saw a bruised wrist. Dropped a wrench her ass. "Was it worth it, Tasha? Do you like frightening everyone you work with?" Natasha said nothing to that. Not that Miri expected her to. Miri shook her head and glared at the other woman. "So you went to her and beat on her a little bit? Warned her away from Clint because she's not good enough for him? What did you say to her that makes her think her life is a lie?"
"I told her the truth," Natasha replied.
"What truth was that? Pretend I don't know Alex almost better than she does and tell me what you said to her." Miri put a little extra firmness in her tone. She was tired of the game. She just wanted to know what was going on. She wanted to know if there was some way she could fix it.
"I told her that the only reason she made it to full agent status is because Fury liked her uncle." Without waiting to see if Miri had anything else to ask her, Natasha turned back to the sparring dummy and once more attacked it with a flurry of martial arts moves. Miri stared at her for a few seconds as she soaked that in. That didn't make any sense. Unless Natasha knew something she and Alex didn't.
She left after another minute, not bothering to say goodbye to Tasha. Her mind was spinning like crazy, trying to piece it all together. Alex had told Miri that her uncle had worked in something innocuous like insurance. She'd never really been clear on it, as if she hadn't known exactly what it was he'd done. Alex had also told her that about the time she was in college, her uncle Alex had been killed while away on a business trip. Or something.
Natasha had said, without actually saying it, that Alex's uncle had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., for or with Director Fury. If that was the case, there would be information on Alexander Quinn in the files. She pondered the trouble that she could get into by going in search of those files. She had no business looking up the files of former agents. But that didn't mean she didn't have the clearance. She did. She had almost as much clearance as Phil did. And right now, she didn't give a fuck if she was supposed to be digging into decades old files or not. This was for Alex.
She was still trying to find a way to make things right with her friend. Still trying to find a way to get Alex and Clint back together. Alex loved him so much that it hurt Miri to see it. It hurt her to see Alex hurting. Miri had gone to see Barton a couple of times. Any attempts she'd made to bring up her friend had been met with icy silence. He hadn't been willing to speak with her about Alex, which told her two things.
First, Clint was still smarting over whatever had happened between him and Alex. That much was plain to see in the look he'd given her at the mere mention of the other woman's name. She'd also taken note of the fact that he did, in fact, still have feelings for her. Second, seeing Clint had told her was that she was going to have to do some fancy footwork if she was going to pull off getting those two back together. It was all going to be up to her. Now all she needed was a damned good plan.
Miri let herself into her office and closed the door behind her. She gave consideration to turning the look, but decided that she didn't need to do that. No one would likely interrupt her. And if they did, it wasn't like she had to tell them what she was doing. Settling behind her desk, she jiggled her mouse to bring her computer out of sleep mode. When it was as awake as it ever got, she clicked on the appropriate icon and opened up the database.
A password was required. She'd expected that, so she typed hers in and held her breath. The computer whirred and hummed as the little light flickered, letting her know it was doing work. A few seconds passed and she thought she was going to be shut out of the database. But it finally brought up a page that contained several different icons. Active agents. Inactive agents. Agents on report. Agents on psych eval. Avengers Initiative. Miri avoided temptation and clicked on the Inactive Agents icon.
A brief search form popped up. Typical things like name and sex. She typed in Alex Quinn, male, then hit enter. The machine whirred again, only for a second or two, then produced a single file. Miri clicked it open and stared at the information spread before her.
Alexander Michael Quinn had served as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for much of his adult life. He'd been recruited right out of college and had worked with Fury almost from the beginning. There were numerous commendations in his files, pointing toward a dedicated agent who was damned good at his job. He'd worked his way up in rank until he'd achieved the highest level of security clearance allowed. The man had seemingly been a boy scout and one of the best agents S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever employed.
The picture supplied with the file showed a man who bore a striking resemblance to his niece. Alex and her uncle had the same dark hair and the same green eyes. Of course he looked like his older brother, too. But there was a much more worldly look to Alexander Quinn than there was to Brendan Quinn. Maybe that was because Alexander had seen more of the world than his older brother.
Miri closed the file without looking at anything else. And she sighed. Natasha had been telling the truth. Alex's uncle had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. And Alex had apparently never known. That explained why she thought that her life was a lie. Ever since Miri had known her, Alex had had problems with lying to her family about what it was she did for a living. There'd been one time when Mary Magdelaine had asked why Alex had bothered with all of those language and history courses in college if she had no plans to use them. Miri had seen Alex swallow hard before answering that she loved what she did. Having grown up Catholic, there were times when Alex simply couldn't deal with the lying and the secrecy.
Which was definitely part and parcel to being an agent. There were rules about family knowing what they did, especially if the family had no ties to the military. Alex's family didn't. Miri had told her father about the career she'd chosen because he'd been military all his life, much to the chagrin of her mother.
So it made sense that Alex hadn't known her uncle was an agent. But why hadn't Fury told her about her uncle? No wonder Alex thought that she'd been lied to. Between not knowing about her uncle and then being told the only reason she'd gotten her job in the first place was because of that same uncle, what else was she supposed to think?
Miri drummed her nails on the desk's surface, her mind going over what she knew. Alex was in love with Barton even if she wasn't willing to actually admit it. Barton had feelings for her, too. Miri was willing to bet that the man loved her, even if he wanted to try and pretend that he didn't. So Alex's assessment that he hated her was wrong. It was more than likely that the archer was simply hurt and confused by Alex's behavior. She had to find a way to bring the two of them together.
Then there was the matter of Alex's uncle and her sudden belief that she didn't really belong at S.H.I.E.L.D. The idea must have taken root in her thick Irish head because Natasha had to have mentioned it after Alex and Clint had had their falling out. Alex would have been moody and full of self-doubt. It wouldn't have taken much to see her lose confidence in herself completely. A few well placed words and even better placed kicks and punches had seen what little confidence Alex had had left simply disappearing.
Two very intriguing pieces of the puzzle. And if they were the only ones, Miri might be able to find a way around them. But there was still at least one more piece to be dealt with. And it had to be done before she could get those two knuckleheads back together again. She had to figure out where Alex's first partner fit into all of it. She knew that Alex and Stevenson had been a couple. Alex had admitted as much to her. And she knew that Alex had taken his death hard. What had happened on that mission that made Alex want to keep her distance from Clint, despite the fact she was madly in love with him?
Miri was turning the question and the facts over in her head when her phone rang. The shrill noise jolted her from her thoughts and sent them skittering away. She reached for the receiver with one hand, already pushing the problem of her friend and her friend's love life from her mind. "Hello?"
"Agent Grant? I could use your assistance in the conference room," Director Fury drawled into the phone.
"Of course, sir. I'll be right there."
~*~*~*~*~
It felt as if he was wrapped in cotton and floating. He knew he had limbs, arms and legs, but he couldn't feel them. Hell, he couldn't even really feel his torso. There was a vague, mildly annoying throb of pain somewhere but he couldn't pinpoint a location. That made sense since he couldn't seem to feel most of his body. He tried to figure out why that would be, but his brain didn't seem to want to function for him. That, too, was heavily clouded with cotton. The kind of clouded that wasn't natural. Something had to have happened.
He tried to think of what that something might be, but thoughts slipped away from him before he could fully grasp them. That was fine. He liked the idea of floating. Floating felt good. It was like when he'd been a young boy learning to swim. Floating had come first and he'd spent hours upon hours simply floating on the surface of the water, arms and legs akimbo as he stared up at the blue sky. Maybe that's what he was doing. Maybe he was once again floating in that cool blue lake staring at the soft blue sky.
He tried to open his eyes, found that his lids felt glued together. It took too much energy to pry his lids apart, so he gave up and simply let himself float along. Maybe he was on a river, floating on the surface of the water and flowing along with the current. He could imagine big, puffy clouds dotting the sky and birds drifting on thermals. He could imagine the chirping of small wrens and sparrows, the warbling of robins. He imagined her felt the heat of the sun upon his face. Sighing with contentment, he slipped back into the cotton and continued to float.
It seemed as if he floated for hours on end. The sun never waned, shone steadily on his face and warmed his skin. Though he couldn't feel the water at his back, there was something soft behind him, supporting him as he drifted along. Very slowly, he became aware of a slight pressure against what he assumed was his hand. It was warm and loose. His mind searched slowly for what it might be and finally came back with a hand. There was a hand in his. Who would be holding his hand? He tried searching his memories again.
Filmy images tripped through his head, people and places and things that he was sure he recognized and knew. There were explosions that leveled cars. Men in flashy metallic suits. There were men and women in dressy suits, in one piece things that seemed like a uniform. There were hammers and thunder and lightning. Faceless men intent on destruction. A group of people battling as a team. Soft sighs and gentle touches. A husky voice in his ear. Velvet skin against his own. His name, whispered softly and with deep emotion.
Something about that voice was important to him. He had a hard time remembering who it belonged to or why it was important, but he knew without a doubt that it was important. With the flood of fuzzy emotions, the cottony feeling subsided a little. It proved fortuitous because he found he could open his eyes. After a glance around him, he decided he preferred the blue sky when he was floating.
A harsh light shone over his head, not at all the brilliance of the sun. Beyond that, he thought he saw a plain, boring white ceiling. There was an annoying beeping sound in his ear. He was sure that meant something, but he couldn't immediately place it. The sharp sting of industrial cleaner touched his nose. The fuzziness receded a little further. He shifted his gaze, letting it travel the room so that he could take in everything. Plain walls of pale green. Paintings that he couldn't quite make out. Closed doors. A chair next to the bed with a person in it. A person who dozed, body bent over itself so that a bright red head could rest on the edge of the bed. A pale hand in his own. A woman's hand.
The energy required to keep his eyes open quickly ebbed. His lids fluttered closed, heavy as lead, and he slid back toward the floating sensation. This time, it was mingled with flashes of what he decided were more memories.
He was talking to a strawberry blonde, a tall woman in a finely made suit, asking her to set up a debrief. He was talking to a man, wildly unkempt and disheveled, threatening him with a taser if he didn't do exactly what he was supposed to. He was trying to calm a mildly hysterical woman as men in suits hauled away various pieces of equipment, logs, and pictures. He was asking questions of a muddy blonde who had somehow gotten past his secure perimeter and beaten the crap out of his men.
He was in a hotel room somewhere, holding a redheaded woman as she clung to him and sobbed softly against his shoulder. He knew something horrible had happened other wise she wouldn't be crying. As her tears subsided, their hands moved against one another's bodies until they were naked and twined around one another. The bed beneath them creaked gently with their slow, tender motions until she cried out in completion. Then they were kissing.
The clouds crept over him again, taking him back to that place where he was floating in the water, little more than a speck drifting with the current. He allowed himself to sink into the cotton, allowed himself to remain calm and mellow. Some part of his mind registered that he shouldn't want to stay here, that he should be trying to climb back to the real world. But the real world looked boring and he was sure it was full of pain.
Here where he was floating, there was no pain. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to be done. No reports to fill out or papers to file. No annoying, childish people to deal with. It was a place of solitude and bliss. It was a place of calm, of peace and serenity. He shouldn't want to go back. And yet...
Something tickled at the back of his mind, something he thought could be classified as a memory. It was a room paneled with dark wood. Painted with light walls. The floor was grey carpeting. The table was long and heavy, a wooden thing that was darkly stained. He was on one side, a group of men were on the other. He knew them, recognized their faces. But names escaped him. They were talking about some artifact, about splitting it and keeping it in two different places. They were talking about splitting their numbers up to protect the artifact.
His head pounded from trying to figure it all out. If his eyes had been open, he would have closed them on a sigh. There was a growing throb at the back of his skull. There was a dull ache climbing up his leg. There was a tightness in his chest. He knew that those different pains meant he had suffered serious injuries. Somehow. He struggled to find the reason why this would have happened but his mind came up blank.
There was a shift against his hand, reminding him of the woman sleeping beside his bed. He needed to go back for her, didn't he? The memory of her body pressed to his made him think that she meant something to him. That he cared for her. No. Cared wasn't right. Cared didn't cover the depth of emotion he felt for her. Loved. Loved was the right word. As comfortable as the clouds were, they couldn't give him that.
He struggled to push the clouds back. Something told him that if he didn't make his escape from them, he never would. As much as he liked the floating, he didn't want to be there permanently. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to take her down to the bed and show her how much he loved her. He wanted to see her when she woke up in the morning, all mussed and sleepy and perfect. He knew that there would always be annoyances in his life. He knew that those men whose faces he'd seen would always be a pain in his ass, but that would be worth it just to have her at his side.
Her. She had a name. She had to have a name. He tried searching for it. He had to push the clouds aside again when they threatened to creep up and consume him one more time, but he found that it was getting easier with each attempt. The clouds slid away, allowing a flood of memories to come back to him. Coffee at a small diner in Jersey on a cold December night. A broom closet and dress clothes. The sound of an explosion over the phone and the fear that said noise brought welling up inside of him.
... Mentions of hookers?
He let the memories play across the surface of his brain, searched them methodically for some of the answers he sought. Her smile made his heart pound just a little. The wicked light that hid in the backs of her violet eyes. Her laughter, rich and full and bright. The lush curves of her body. Her wonderful intelligence and the amazing agility of her mind. She was so beautiful. And she was his.
The light speared into his eyes as he pulled his eyelids open. She was still bent over herself, head laying against the mattress. His fingers tightened around hers, hand tugging gently against her own. She stirred, slowly sitting up. Her hand slipped from his as she arched her back in order to work the kinks out. She looked like she needed a shower and a real bed in the worst possible way. It made him smile.
"You should go home and get some rest," he told her in a voice that hadn't been used in a long time. Her eyes snapped to his, wide with surprise.
"OhmyGod!" she exclaimed, words running together in her amazement. "Phil!"
"Hello, Miri."
