Civil War Prose Novel (26 page)
Read Civil War Prose Novel Online
Authors: Stuart Moore
Tags: #Avengers (Fictitious Characters), #Comics & Graphic Novels, #Fiction
One more blow, and Tony’s helmet cracked. His faceplate clicked open, revealing split skin and bloody bruises. Once, Cap might have felt sorry for him. But not today.
“Arrogant little rich boy,” Cap hissed. “You had it all. Born with a silver-plated rattle in your crib.”
“Ugggh!”
“Not me. I’m just a fighter, a soldier. A man trained to seize any chance, find the crack in any enemy’s armor.”
Tony said nothing.
Cap paused, gestured around him. “See those Atlantean warriors? They’re my cavalry, Tony. They’re gonna pound your forces into fish food.”
“S.H.I.E.L.D. has…tranqs. Made specially…for mermen.”
To the north, the S.H.I.E.L.D. copters were just dropping to the ground. Agents swarmed out the doors, leaping the last few feet, not even waiting till touchdown.
“Then we’ll fight even harder.”
Tony reached up with trembling hands and pulled off his faceplate. His face bled from a dozen cuts; his lip was split. One eye was almost swollen shut. But as Cap watched, a kind of peace seemed to settle over his face.
“What are you waiting for?” Tony grunted. “Finish it.”
Cap paused for just a second. Then he pulled his fist back—
—and a hand clamped down on his shoulder, from behind. “Lay off him, man!”
Cap whirled, swinging his shield at the attacker.
“Uhhh!”
The attacker fell back against a pedestrian seating table, striking his head on the round metal leg. Cap jumped to his feet, then stopped at the sight that confronted him.
The man wore a tracksuit and glasses. Short graying hair, a face that had seen a few scraps. But not a hero, not a villain; neither an Avenger nor a Resistance member. Just an ordinary man.
The man rubbed his head. “What are you
doin’?
”
Behind him, a clutch of other bystanders stood just in front of the sparking flag display. A tall businessman with a loosened tie. A big girl with teased-out hair hair. Black guy in shades. Sharp-faced Japanese woman, and a blond fireman in full uniform. Trim businesswoman in a tailored suit and heels.
Cap frowned at them. “I—”
The fireman pointed.
“Get him!”
Then they were all on Cap, grabbing for him, pulling him down. His eyes went wide with shock; he couldn’t even fight back. They swarmed over him, tugging at him, dragging him down to the pavement.
Tony Stark struggled to rise. Cap could feel Tony’s good eye on him, watching the scene.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” the Asian woman demanded.
“Let me go!” Cap struggled, still stunned. “Please. I don’t want to hurt you—”
“
Hurt
us?” The businesswoman’s face showed shock. “Are you trying to be funny?”
The fireman hauled Cap roughly to his feet, and gestured around.
Cap took in the scene. Heroes fought heroes; S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and Atlantean warriors traded shots, while civilians ran panicked for cover. Fires burned in a dozen spots, from gas mains and trash cans and office windows. To the north, half a building had collapsed, rubble blocking the entire street and half a pedestrian area.
“People are worried about their jobs, their futures, their families.” The black man lowered his sunglasses, glared at Cap. “You think they need to worry about
this
?”
Cap opened his mouth to reply. And stopped, struck dumb.
Tony’s words, from the press conference, came back to him:
moment of clarity.
“Oh my God,” Cap whispered.
Falcon swooped low overhead. “Cap!” he called. “Stand back, I’ll—”
“No!”
“What?”
Falcon spread his wings, touched down in front of the half-smashed American flag display. The civilians stepped back, releasing Cap.
Tony Stark staggered to his feet. Spat a tooth, but held his fire.
“They’re right, Falc.” Cap lowered his shield, bowed his head. “We were…we were supposed to be fighting for the people. But that’s not what we’re doing anymore.” He gestured around. “We’re just
fighting
.”
The Human Torch swooped in. “What are you doing, Cap? You want them to throw everybody in jail?”
“We’re beatin’ ’em!” Falcon gestured at a troop of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, on their knees before the fierce Atlantean warriors. “We can win this!”
Cap turned, ran his eyes across the civilians who’d attacked him. Their faces showed fear, but also determination. They knew their cause was right.
“We can win,” Cap repeated. “Everything but the argument.”
He raised his shield slowly, tossed it to the Falcon. Falcon caught it in surprise, and stared at it for a long moment. Then he turned to glare at Cap, a horrible look of betrayal and accusation. He threw the shield to the ground and shot off into the sky.
The shield rolled down the street, past Cage. He didn’t move, just shook his head as it passed by. Hawkeye ran for the shield, grabbed for it, and missed.
Tigra snatched it up, stared across its shiny surface at Captain America. There was something in her eyes that might have been understanding.
Maria Hill ran forward, accompanied by her S.H.I.E.L.D. guard. At her signal, the agents took aim at Captain America. But Tony Stark raised a hand.
All around him, the heroes gathered together. Paused in their battles, looked to their leaders for guidance. Another S.H.I.E.L.D. troop ran up, followed closely by a pair of local cop cars.
Namor soared on to the scene, stopped in midair, and locked eyes momentarily with Cap. Then Namor shook his head, held up his hand, and let out a low whistling sound. All around the square, Atlantean warriors began to retreat from their battles.
Slowly Cap reached up and pulled off his mask. Revealed bruises, cuts, and decades’ worth of scars.
“Steven Rogers,” he said. “United States Armed Forces, Honorably Discharged. Serial Number RA25-262-771.”
Maria Hill stepped forward, her leather-garbed form dark against the bright stars and stripes of the recruiting center.
Cap held out his hands. “I surrender.”
Hill lowered her shades…the first time Cap had ever seen her unsure of herself. “I, uh, he should be processed by local authorities first.”
Tony nodded. His face was swollen, unreadable.
Two New York cops moved in, wide-eyed. The tall one pulled out cuffs, snapped them on to Cap’s wrists.
Spider-Man webbed his way on to the scene. He was saying something, calling out to Cap. But Cap couldn’t hear him.
The other Resistance members looked around, eyeing the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents nervously. Cage looked exhausted; Johnny Storm was stunned. Ms. Marvel hovered above, alongside the brightly glowing Sentry. One by one the battles slowed, the powers faded.
Fires blazed all around; the noise of sirens and rescue vehicles suffused the air. Everyone seemed dazed, shell-shocked. No one wanted to make the next move, fire the next shot.
The cop gestured toward his squad car. Cap moved toward the open door, ducking his head.
“Stand down, troops.” Cap paused, just long enough to register the stunned, betrayed looks on his followers. “That’s an order.”
The door slammed shut behind him, and the War was over.
My Dear, Sweet Susan:
Forgive my erratic handwriting. You know how difficult I find it to slow my thoughts to the point where a keyboard can translate my sentiments into linear sentences. A handwritten letter like this one takes an even longer, more excruciating period of time to compose.
But you wrote me your thoughts in this form when you left. So it seemed fitting, symmetrical even, for me to respond in kind.
Sue Richards stood in her rented room on the Brooklyn waterfront. Mattress on the floor, rusted teakettle heating on the stove. The letter felt cold in her hand.
It has been nearly two weeks since that terrible battle. I hope you were pleased by the general hero amnesty offered in the wake of Captain America’s surrender. Certainly I was pleased that you accepted it.
I saw you across the square, during the cleanup. But I felt it was inappropriate to discuss our future while our adrenal glands might still impair our judgment.
You looked so beautiful, so vibrant and clear-eyed. Like the girl I first met, wise beyond her years, with a raging fire for justice in her heart. It seemed as if all the years melted away and I was a nervous suitor again, fumbling for the right words to say to such an exquisite creature. That day, as so many times before, I failed.
When I returned home that night, I cried for a full ninety-three minutes.
The kettle whistled. She crossed to the stove, poured a cup into a cracked mug. Watched for a long moment, while the teabag steeped and the water turned a warm, dark color.
She took a tentative sip. Hissed in a breath, and resumed reading.
By now you will have seen the launch of the Initiative. When it is completed, it will comprise at least one super hero team in every state. I’m sure you can appreciate the pressure I, and all the others involved, have been under: creating new heroes, revamping old ones. Building a super-powered force for the twenty-first century.
The public seems very pleased, overall, with the new arrangement. How frightening the world must have seemed to them before: vigilantes roaming the streets, amateurs with the power of nuclear weapons, villains whose atrocities never seemed to reap genuine consequences.
It’s a wonder we were tolerated for as long as we were.
Of course, not everyone is happy with the new order. Some have moved to Canada, where Registration laws do not apply. Here in the U.S., a small band of Captain America’s followers are rumored to be still at large, forming a new, more radicalized underground movement.
And then, of course, there is Cap himself.
But on the whole, our experiment has been an enormous success. What once seemed like our darkest hour has been transformed into a great opportunity.
Perhaps the most heartening thing, for me, has been the new life the Initiative has given to old friends. Hank Pym has thrown himself into the job of training new heroes. Tigra felt some guilt over her betrayal of Captain America, I think, but she too has become a valued member of our team. First, last, and always, she’s an Avenger.
Our remit has now progressed beyond simple enforcement of law and order. We’re now working directly with the U.S. government, tackling everything from environmental crises to global poverty.
Tony in particular. Can you believe the new job the President has handed him?
But utopian ideals and favorable opinion polls mean nothing to me, my darling, without you by my side. No matter what we achieve in this New America, it can never be Heaven to me unless I have you.
So I promise you: no more traps, no more clones. None of the painful things we had to do on that path toward respectability.
I could never, would never try to pressure you. You know where I am, and I’ve reprogrammed the rebuilt Baxter Building locks to admit you once again. The choice is yours, and yours alone.
But I hope, beyond all hope, that you will return to the family who needs you more than
A rustling noise at the door. Sue whirled, feeling pent-up and angry:
That better not be the creepy guy with the dogs again.
She flung open the door.
Reed stood there, wearing a sadly dated suit and tie. His limbs were normal-length; he wasn’t using his powers. He held a small bouquet of daisies, already starting to wither.
“I couldn’t wait,” he said.
She smiled, felt tears rising. “That’s the sorriest batch of flowers I’ve ever…”
And then they were in each other’s arms, sobbing and mumbling apologies. His breath was warm in her ear, his tears hot on her shoulder. She reached out, pulled him closer.
His body began to stretch involuntarily, forming a thin blanket, reaching out to cover her in a full-body embrace. But it didn’t feel confining or stifling. It felt right.
“…too much futurism,” he said, his thoughts spilling out too fast. “Learned I need to moderate my logic. Tony’s learning that too, I think. And also, also you should know: The Negative Zone prison is being closed. Tony didn’t want to do it, but I insisted. It was the price of my continued involvement in his plans. Probably the last chip I’ll ever be able to play with Tony, but…”
“Reed.” She pulled back, framed his face in her hands. Stared into his wet, suffering eyes. “Reed, can I tell you something? Something that might shock you?”
He stared, nodded.
“Tony Stark is not a partner in this marriage.”
A moment passed, a long quiet beat in that shabby room on the docks. And then Reed Richards laughed. It was a lovely human sound, a sound Sue hadn’t heard for a long, long time. She laughed back, then leaned forward and kissed him.
Tears mingled with laughter, and Sue let Reed into her heart in a way she hadn’t for a long time. She felt warm, loving, loved.
And very, very visible.