New Avengers: Breakout Prose Novel

by Kwitney, Alisa

  “You probably know more about American history than I do, then,” said Clint.

  Jessica’s hair blew into her face, and she tucked it back. “There’s no probably about it.”

  “Hey there,” said a familiar voice, and a square-jawed blond man came toward them. “I tell you, this is one view that hasn’t changed too much.” He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, but carried himself like a military man. It took Jessica a moment to recognize him.

  “I don’t suppose you got in trouble, did you, Captain?”

  “Call me Steve, please. And don’t tell me you two caught flak? After we put forty-five of the Raft inmates back in their cells?”

  “We’ve been turned into suits,” said Jessica. “Clint’s going to be investigated.”

  “Ah. I thought I saw your bow in the armory when I locked up my shield.” Steve Rogers put his thumbs in his pockets and looked thoughtful. “Seems a heck of a shame.”

  A sudden gust of hot wind made Jessica shield her face. She looked up to see Tony Stark blasting down in his red-and-gold Iron Man suit, faceplate raised. “I just made a quick run to H&H,” he said, indicating the brown paper bag in his hands. “Who wants coffee and who wants a bagel?”

  There was something a little incongruous about seeing Tony’s lean, slightly shopworn face with its shrewd brown eyes and diabolical goatee emerging from the gleaming, articulated armor. Up close, there were no outward signs of the man’s struggles with alcohol or the heart problems that had inspired him to create the miniature arc reactor he wore in his chest. The reactor kept shrapnel from entering his heart and fueled the Iron Man armor—a pretty nifty trick, especially considering the fact that Tony had invented the gizmo while being held prisoner by terrorists.

  Jessica took a bagel and a cup of coffee. “What kind of cream cheese is this?”

  “I don’t know, maybe scallion. Here, I think this one’s plain.”

  “You’ve already taken a bite out of it!”

  “And you’ve got some weird slime on your sleeve. Didn’t you take a shower yet?”

  “Nope. I probably don’t get as sweaty as you do in that suit.”

  “My suit’s air-conditioned.” Tony turned to Clint, offering him the bagel bag. “What about you, Katniss?”

  “You want to know if I showered? Smell me.”

  “No breakfast for you, wiseass.” He turned to Steve. “Cap?”

  “Thanks.”

  While Tony’s back was turned, Jessica offered Clint her bagel. He shook his head and showed her that he had already acquired one. For a moment, there was silence as everyone chewed and contemplated the sunrise.

  “So,” said Steve, “that was some day we had, yesterday.”

  “Forty-two still at large,” said Tony, pulling off an iron gauntlet so he could eat a bagel.

  “Forty-three,” said Clint. “If you include the Black Widow.”

  Tony nodded. “I’ll add her to my database. I’m still figuring out who was behind it. Probably Nefaria or Electro or one of the other electrical guys.”

  “I thought Electro had gone straight and was working a real job,” said Steve.

  Jessica took a big gulp of coffee, burning her tongue. “He could have broken into the Raft. But Max Dillon’s not smart enough to mastermind an escape from a locked bathroom stall.”

  “So who could have hired him?” Steve frowned, thinking. “Nefaria? Someone on the inside?”

  Tony brushed a crumb off his beard. “I’ll question the prisoners back at the Raft. One of them has to know something.”

  Jessica, Clint and Steve exchanged glances. “Or I could do it,” said Jessica. “Oh, crud, I forgot. I’ve been put on desk duty.” Her heart was pounding, because she could tell this wasn’t just a casual conversation anymore. Steve was putting something together, here. “I can’t believe the bad guys are getting away, and we don’t get to play any part in bringing them back in.”

  Steve looked at her, not saying anything, then looked out at the lightening sky.

  Jessica pretended to watch the horizon, as well—no longer tired, but trying to keep from giving the game away by appearing too eager. Let him make the offer, she thought. Don’t push too hard.

  “You know, we were good back there,” said Steve. “We worked together like a team.”

  “Tell that to Commander Hill,” said Clint.

  “I already did. I also told her that last night reminded me of the early days of the Avengers.”

  “You mean, before the Scarlet Witch went psycho and decided that reality needed a makeover?” Tony took another bite of his bagel. “Yeah, it was all fine and dandy before everything went to hell.”

  “Last night’s job isn’t done yet,” said Steve, stretching out his arms on the railing. “There are still a lot of dangerous criminals out there.”

  “Like I told you, I’m working on it,” said Tony.

  “Don’t think it’s a one-man job. Not even a lot of one-man jobs. This is going to take a team effort, Tony.”

  To everyone’s surprise, Tony gave a bark of laughter. “Aw, jeez, don’t tell me you’re talking about reassembling the Avengers?”

  “Tony, if you’ll just give me a chance to explain…”

  “What about the little fact that I just don’t have the money to fund the team anymore, huh? My little misunderstanding with the Latverian ambassador didn’t exactly help my cred.”

  Jessica and Clint exchanged glances. Like everyone else, they had heard about the events leading up to the Avengers’ breakup on the news. But this was an insiders’ fight.

  “Tony, if you’ll just shut up long enough for me to get a word in edgewise, you’d understand that I’m not talking about assembling the same team. I’m talking about a new team. The team we were working with last night.”

  “Oh.” Tony took a sip of coffee. “I’m still not paying for it, though.”

  “No one said you have to pay for it.”

  “Commander Hill is never going to approve this,” said Jessica. “She doesn’t like to cede power to anyone.”

  Steve smiled, and for a moment Jessica felt as though she were in an old World War II movie. The only thing missing was that little swell of background music. Steve said, “Actually, I’ve already gotten permission from Washington to assemble a task force. We don’t need Hill’s permission.”

  Jessica couldn’t keep herself from grinning. “So where are we going to have the secret clubhouse, Steve?” It still felt strange, calling him by his first name.

  “Well…” Steve looked at Tony.

  Tony sighed. “I suppose you want to meet at my place.”

  “That would be swell, Tony.”

  Jessica, about to take another bite of her bagel, paused. “Are we talking about me having to wear a skintight, bright-red-and-yellow suit again?”

  “I think we need to be both public and visible, yes.”

  Jessica threw the remainder of her bagel back into the bag. “All right, then. No more carbs for me.”

  Steve turned to Clint. “How about you? You in?”

  Clint raised his eyebrows. “Let me get this straight. You’re inviting me to join a team of super heroes.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  “Why me?”

  Steve looked surprised. “Are you kidding?”

  “I’m good with the bow, and I can fight, but you’ve got people who can fly or lift school buses or fire energy bolts out of their hands. And I’m not being modest when I say I’m not exactly a scientific genius, either,” he added, nodding at Tony.

  “You had some good suggestions for the arrowheads,” Tony offered. “And wasn’t that your idea for the bow to open and close with a flick of the wrist?”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have known how the hell to make it.”

  “We can’t all be multi-talented,” said Tony. “If I only wanted people with my level of intelligence on a team, I’d be pretty limited. I mean, Bruce Banner, maybe, and Reed Richards, and
that X-Man with all the fur…”

  “We don’t all have powers,” said Jessica, breaking in. “I don’t. Just fighting skills and know-how.”

  “It all depends on the situation,” said Steve. “Some of the most brilliant and resourceful Resistance fighters I knew were teenage girls who could take apart a Sten gun and hide it quicker than most girls today can put on their makeup.”

  “Yeah,” said Clint. “But if you’d had a choice between a regular teenager and one with special laser fingers, I’m guessing you would have chosen the one who could singe off Hitler’s moustache without the Sten gun.”

  “I’ve seen you fight, Hawkeye,” said Steve, very simply. For a moment, that seemed to be his entire closing argument, but then he added, “Back in the war, I would have put you on my team. I would have known that I could send you out with nothing but the bow and a few arrows, and you’d come back. A platoon of other guys could be armed to the teeth, and I’d never see them again.” Steve paused, and the rising sun burnished the gold of his hair. “People talk about super-powers. But some guys—some gals—they have something. It may not be obvious, like being able to blast energy from your fingertips. It may not even have a name. But it’s real. You’ve got that something. That girl you were with last night—the redhead—she had it, too. Otherwise, how could she get away?”

  Clint met the other man’s gaze. “Don’t play games with me, Cap. You know how.”

  “Clint, what are you saying?” Jessica stared at him, trying to understand how one admittedly pretty redhead could have undermined his loyalty in just one night. And even though she had no right, she felt betrayed.

  “She saved your life. I saw it. I’m not blaming you,” said Steve.

  Oh, so she saved his life, thought Jessica. That made sense, then. He felt he owed her a debt.

  Clint looked at Tony. “What’s your say on this?”

  Tony looked amused. “Hey, I don’t care if you get killed trying to play with the big boys. Last time around, we had nothing but super-powered folks, and one of them lost her nut. You’re not mentally unstable, are you?”

  Clint shook his head.

  “No big unresolved childhood issues? No, never mind that. I think it probably goes without saying that we all have those. Anyway, it’s fine with me.”

  “Guess it beats doing paperwork,” said Clint. “Just one thing, though.”

  “Name it,” said Steve.

  One side of Clint’s mouth quirked up. “I’m not wearing some crayon-colored onesie.”

  Jessica gave a whoop of laughter that frightened a pigeon from the railing.

  S E V E N

  THE middle-aged butler who opened the door to Tony Stark’s penthouse was dressed in the traditional English morning dress of tails, bowtie, vest and striped trousers. To his credit, the butler didn’t blink when he saw that Jessica was wearing a gray sweat suit and carrying a large brown paper bag. “Jessica Drew, I presume?”

  “You presume correctly.”

  “The others are inside. Just go down the hallway.” As he closed the door behind her, Jessica noticed a floating staircase wrapped around a glass elevator.

  “This place takes up two floors?”

  “Three,” said the butler, giving her an encouraging nod.

  Jessica made her way down a long, hardwood-floor hallway with brick walls. A painting of a gold android with a melting clock in her abdomen—probably an original Dali—hung on one wall, alongside a human skull encased in diamonds that had been on display at the Tate Gallery in London, until very recently.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have come straight from the gym, thought Jessica. It was too late to head home to change, though, because now she could see Tony, Peter, Steve and Luke, all seated on leather couches and chairs arranged beside an enormous glass wall that led out onto a wraparound balcony.

  The men were all dressed for action. Steve was wearing his Captain America suit under jeans and a light leather jacket. Tony had on his Iron Man armor without the helmet, and Peter was in complete Spider-Man costume, including mask. Only Luke Cage wore regular clothes: a black turtleneck, cargo pants and rugged leather boots.

  Guess Tony doesn’t walk around in his underwear much. On the other hand, she thought, the billionaire inventor didn’t seem like the kind of guy to give a damn about anyone else’s opinion.

  Hell. Jessica had been so sure this was a sweats-and-beer kind of meeting. Sometimes it’s so hard to fit in with the guys.

  “Hey, everyone,” she said. “Sorry I look like this, I came straight from the gym. I brought beer, though.” She pulled the six pack of Corona Light out of the paper bag. “Anyone want some?”

  “Sorry,” said Tony, “there’s no drinking alcohol tonight. Help yourself to water, seltzer or soda, though.” He pointed to a tray on a side table that looked like a giant stone head.

  “Oh,” said Jessica. “Sure. Um, what should I do with these?” She held out the beers.

  “I’ll just take those to the kitchen,” said the butler.

  Behind Tony’s back, Steve shook his head. Clearly, this was a sensitive subject.

  “Sorry,” Jessica mouthed back.

  “Steve,” said Tony, without turning around, “stop telling the new girl that I’m a lush. Jessica, the reason I’m not serving spirits is because I was hoping to get some field work accomplished tonight.”

  “Before you go volunteering me for the dance committee, remember I haven’t signed up yet,” said Peter, sitting down on the couch. He was moving a bit stiffly, and Jessica wondered just how badly he’d been beaten last night. There was a wrist brace on his left hand, attached with Velcro straps.

  “Aren’t you going to take your mask off?”

  Peter pulled the fabric up so his nose and mouth were uncovered and took a sip of water. “I like to preserve a sense of mystery.”

  “What do you think they’re going to do, post your picture on Facebook?”

  “Unlike some people, Ms. Drew, I actually have a secret identity.”

  “Everyone here and at least two dozen Raftees saw you without your mask last night. You do remember that, right?”

  Peter tugged his mask back down over his chin. “I remember telling you it was all right to call yourself Spider-Woman. Now I take it back.”

  “Hang on a minute,” said Luke, taking a handful of almonds from a silver bowl. “I just realized. Spider-Man, Spider-Woman—you guys related, or what?”

  “Yes,” said Jessica, tugging at Peter’s mask. “He’s my brother.”

  “No, I am not,” said Peter. “And would you mind not doing that?”

  “You’re injured, aren’t you? That’s what you’re hiding.”

  “No, really, what’s the deal with you two?” Luke pointed at Peter. “Boyfriend and girlfriend?”

  “Are you kidding? He’s getting married. Or got married,” said Jessica, wondering where Clint was. “Also, he’s like my brother.”

  This was not exactly true. Jessica had met Peter back when she was new to New York. Nick Fury had just recruited her, but he wasn’t around much, and Jessica was missing her old friends at Hydra. She couldn’t really go back, of course, not after learning the organization was responsible for terrorist activities all over the globe, but Hydra had been more than just a job. It had been like a family. Suddenly she was on her own most of the time, making headlines as Spider-Woman, but eating dinner alone in her apartment while watching CNN.

  That had changed when Jessica met Spider-Man on patrol one night, and learned they had more in common than just their professional names. Peter had taught her a great deal about how to use her powers, and she found herself crushing on him for a good long time. Part of the appeal had been that back when she had her full powers, Pete and Nick Fury had been the only two men who were completely immune to her pheromonal charisma. Jessica had viewed Fury as a mentor, but she had always wondered whether Pete would have found her attractive if he hadn’t been with Mary Jane. No point thinking about that now, of c
ourse, since he and MJ were probably in full honeymoon mode.

  “Actually,” said Peter, “Mary Jane and I just broke up.”

  “Oh,” said Jessica. As she tried to think of something to say, Clint came in from the balcony, dressed for action in a black vest and combat pants, a partial gauntlet on his left arm.

  “Hey, Jess. That’s some view,” he said to Tony. “And some plane you’ve got on the roof. What is it, some new experimental prototype? It kind of looks like an updated SR-71 Blackbird.”

  “It’s nothing like the Blackbird,” said Tony, visibly annoyed. “And that was supposed to be a surprise. How did you get on the roof from here, anyhow? You don’t fly.”

  “I thought it looked like a Blackbird, too,” said Steve, joining the other two men.

  “Hey, Drew” said a familiar female voice. Jessica grinned in delight as she recognized Jessica Jones, Luke Cage’s wife.

  “Jones, you bad girl, what have you been up to?” Jessica ran up to hug the other woman, and then hesitated, looking down at the size of Jones’s pregnant belly. “It is safe to hug you, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not catching, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You look wonderful.”

  “Please. My face is all puffy. In the movies, pregnant women never get puffy faces. And I don’t know how I can be retaining fluid—I go to the bathroom every other minute. You should check out the restrooms here, though—the toilet does everything but serenade you.”

  Jessica laughed. It was difficult to reconcile this relaxed, smiling pregnant woman with the edgy, hard-drinking detective Jessica had known just a couple of years earlier. “When are you due?”

  “She’s in her eighth month,” said Luke, putting his arm around his wife.

  “I still think I should be part of the new team,” said Jones. “I could be Preggo Woman.”

  Tony looked at her, frowning. “You are joking, right? Because while I have a great deal of respect for your abilities…”

  “I don’t know, Tony, I hear some guys are deathly afraid of pregnant women…” She approached him, and Tony held up his hands.