Jameson Bryant
Jameson was elated - and more than a little relieved - that everything had gone so well at S.H.I.E.L.D. and Marshal was a free man. As he should be. But that wasn't enough. The mission was only half complete. Physical freedom was important, but there were other ties that held Marshal in bondage. Until his HYDRA conditioning was removed from his brain forever - until there was a guarantee that he could never be used and abused like that again - he wouldn't be truly safe.
Of course, Jameson was happy to join in the celebration and pizza. When Marshal occasionally glanced to him for reassurance, Jameson would give it, smiling and nodding or squeezing his shoulder.
But the mission was only half complete.
When his phone buzzed with a text that it was time, he excused himself to make a call.
"Your Majesty, I'm grateful that you were willing to speak with me..."
"We can dispense with titles. Unless I am to call you Mr. Stalwart?"
He couldn't help smiling. "No. Please. Jameson."
"Very well. I am curious what you have to say to me, Jameson. Despite the White Wolf's current estrangement from us, he has not ceased to ask us for favors. He convinced Ayo to persuade me to speak with you."
"Then I suppose you know the gist of what I have to say."
"I do. But I would rather hear it from you."
"Of course, Your Maj-- Shuri. My friend Marshal is in a very difficult situation. He was brainwashed by HYDRA like Sergeant Barnes. Sergeant Barnes said you were able to help him. That your algorithm saved him from what HYDRA left in his head. That you said it could help other people, too."
"I did. But other events have transpired since then. Go on."
"We also may have another problem. The records we accessed at S.H.I.E.L.D. indicate that Marshal may be suffering from multiple physical health problems as a result of the super soldier serum he was injected with. He may be dying from it. I know Wakandan medical care is some of the best in the world. I know you would be able to help him..."
Shuri sighed. "At risk of sounding callous, there are some among my people who would argue this is a self-solving problem. If we do nothing, and your super soldier dies, he cannot be controlled by anyone and the danger is averted."
"But he doesn't deserve that! He's a good man! He didn't ask for any of this. This is all because people hurt him. All his life, people have used him and hurt him. I want to make it right. None of us can change the past, but you can make the future right for him. I know I'm asking a lot. But you could..."
"I'm sorry, Jameson. You are asking a lot. And I wish I could provide it. There are a great many people in the world who are suffering from illness and harm that is not their fault. Good people, who do not deserve their fates. Wakanda can't save all of them. You are obviously very kind and good, Jameson. You are very charitable. But that isn't enough. Can you give me a reason why we should choose your friend, among all the others?"
"Because I'm selfish."
"I... beg your pardon?"
"Because he's my friend. More than that. He's my family. I didn't grow up in the happiest environment. I had everything material, but no nurture. No care. No love. I waited my whole life for a family who could give me those things. Now I have Marshal. Now I have that family. I'm not going to watch him die. I can't save everyone, but I can move heaven and earth to save him. He's like a brother to me, and I'm selfish, and I want to keep him."
There was a long silence.
"Very well," Shuri finally said. "I will do it."
"You... uh... you will?"
"Yes. I will. Because you are selfish and you want to keep your brother. I would have kept my brother too, if I could. I will save him."
"Thank you! I don't even know what to say..."
"There will be conditions, of course. Not because of me. But for reasons of diplomacy. The White Wolf created some rather significant political headaches for Wakanda. Fixing another HYDRA soldier will not be popular. It will be questioned. I must be able to demonstrate that Wakanda is getting something in return."
"And what is it that you need me to do?"
"You will owe us two favors. One for using the algorithm to save your friend's brain, and one for healing his body."
"Okay. But I can't kill anyone for you. I'm not an assassin."
"Of course not. I don't need an assassin. We have the Dora Milaje, if such a need should ever arise. The task would not fall to an outsider."
Jameson wasn't sure whether to be relieved about that or not.
Shuri went on, "I am confident that nothing we ask of you will violate your morals. If I am wrong, you may decline - but if you do, you will continue to owe a favor until you accept a task. Is that agreeable to you?"
"Yes. That is very agreeable. Thank you. Thank you so much."
"Then we will see you in Wakanda, Mr. Stalwart."
Jameson breathed a sigh of relief. Owing two favors to Wakanda was a small price to pay for Marshal's freedom and his life. As for what those favors would be? That was a problem for another time. For now, he would rejoin Marshal in his celebration, with a lighter heart.
Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
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Monkey Kitty
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Monkey Kitty
- Posts: 786
- Joined: Thu Oct 29, 2020 7:31 pm
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Marshal Knox and Jameson Bryant
"Wakanda?" Marshal asked casually, gesturing to the phone Jameson was slipping back into his pocket. "She said no, right?"
He was prepared for that no. He'd been steeling himself for the no, ever since the subject came up. He could accept it. He could make the most of the life he had, for as long as he had left...
"She said yes. To all of it."
Marshal drew in his breath. He blinked a few times. Could he possibly have heard that right?
"They're really going to fix my brain? They're going to get rid of the HYDRA stuff? Like for Bucky Barnes? So I don't have to live with this anymore?"
"Yep. Shuri was very confident she can do that. And they can give you back the lifespan you should have had, that was taken from you."
Marshal bit his lip, fighting not to cry, because thick, hot tears of relief were threatening.
So I don't have to live with this anymore...
Jameson saw - it was, Marshal had to admit, pretty much impossible to overlook - and gave him a long hug. He managed to avoid a full-on cry, but there were a couple of suspicious wet marks left behind on Jameson's shirt.
Finally, Marshal said, "Do you think you could maybe take me to the airport, when the time comes? It's just, I don't want to miss it, and I don't have a car..."
"Of course we'll get you to the airport. Don't worry at all about that. But I was actually planning to go to Wakanda with you."
"You are?"
Being cared for when he was sick was still somewhat of an alien concept for Marshal. His mother had never really bothered with him when he was ill. The one time she'd had to, when he had his appendix out, she'd complained the whole time about all the demands he was making on her time. It hadn't occurred to Marshal that Jameson would get involved in this part - the tedious waiting by the hospital bed part - voluntarily.
"Definitely. I think you'll want to have somebody there. It may be pretty stressful for you. I'll be there to hold your hand."
That hit Marshal like a splash of cold water. It had to be mockery. It had to. No one would really do something like that for him. There was no way. No, he was pushing his luck, asking for too many things, and Jameson was upset about it. Marshal had to backpedal, and quickly, or he was going to lose one of the few lifelines he had...
"I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I know I need a lot from you. Too many things. I'm going to stop asking for so much. I promise. I'm really sorry."
Jameson was visibly confused. "I... don't know why you're apologizing."
"The thing you just said. Holding my hand."
"Oh. Well, I don't have to. It's your choice. I just thought it would be a good idea. You were tortured, Marshal. You were tortured a lot. And a lot of it was in a medical setting. Wakandan medical care is amazing, and I know they'll do their best to take great care of you, but there's probably going to be some discomfort involved, and I'm not sure your body is going to be able to distinguish very easily between that and its memories of how you got hurt in the past. I think it'll be a lot easier for you to relax if you know that someone who loves you is holding your hand."
"So you really... that wasn't a joke?"
"It wasn't a joke. I wouldn't joke about something like that."
"People may give you weird looks. For doing something like that for someone like me."
Jameson shrugged. "Weird looks don't bother me at all. I don't care about that."
"Okay. Well. If you're really sure..."
"I'm sure. I'll be there. I promise."
Jameson is a really safe person, Marshal realized. That realization made him think maybe he could confide some other things.
"You know, Jameson, I've been... kind of thinking about the future. I didn't really do that before. I was just kind of trying to get through one day at a time. But now I've been thinking about... maybe what I want to do with my life."
"Oh? And what did you conclude?"
"Promise you won't laugh."
"I won't."
"I've been... thinking I might try to stop drinking. Not just take a break from it for one night but like... really stop."
Jameson nodded. "I think that's a really good idea. I think that will be healthier for you, physically and emotionally."
Marshal breathed a sigh of relief. He had expected that one to go over okay - Jameson had been very positive when Marshal had refrained from alcohol in the short-term in the past - although there was still that faint flicker of fear when the words were coming out of his mouth, because Ginny had mocked him when he talked about cutting back. But Jameson isn't Ginny. That thought gave him the courage he needed to go on.
"There's something else. Something I never told anyone. I didn't choose to be a super soldier - you know that part. But I am, and I probably shouldn't waste it. I don't like fighting, though. I never have. I'm okay with defending myself, or other people, but I don't want my entire life to be about that, y'know? So I was trying to think about what else I could do, and I had an idea. Remember how I told you I saved that kid from a fire, and that was how I got my lawyer? Well, doing that was something I did like. It was something I felt good about. So I thought maybe... I could be a firefighter. I could use the super soldier strength for that. To save people. Instead of hurting them."
"I think that's a fantastic idea."
"You do?"
"Yeah. Absolutely. That's a great way to use your talents. You could really help people that way."
"The only thing is... Ginny always said I couldn't tolerate stress. That I might snap and hurt someone. So I was scared to say anything because what if she's right?"
"She's not. I've seen you tolerate a tremendous amount of stress, and you handled it fine. You're capable of a lot more than Ginny convinced you that you were."
"Yeah, I... think maybe I am," Marshal replied thoughtfully. "Yeah. I think I am."
"Wakanda?" Marshal asked casually, gesturing to the phone Jameson was slipping back into his pocket. "She said no, right?"
He was prepared for that no. He'd been steeling himself for the no, ever since the subject came up. He could accept it. He could make the most of the life he had, for as long as he had left...
"She said yes. To all of it."
Marshal drew in his breath. He blinked a few times. Could he possibly have heard that right?
"They're really going to fix my brain? They're going to get rid of the HYDRA stuff? Like for Bucky Barnes? So I don't have to live with this anymore?"
"Yep. Shuri was very confident she can do that. And they can give you back the lifespan you should have had, that was taken from you."
Marshal bit his lip, fighting not to cry, because thick, hot tears of relief were threatening.
So I don't have to live with this anymore...
Jameson saw - it was, Marshal had to admit, pretty much impossible to overlook - and gave him a long hug. He managed to avoid a full-on cry, but there were a couple of suspicious wet marks left behind on Jameson's shirt.
Finally, Marshal said, "Do you think you could maybe take me to the airport, when the time comes? It's just, I don't want to miss it, and I don't have a car..."
"Of course we'll get you to the airport. Don't worry at all about that. But I was actually planning to go to Wakanda with you."
"You are?"
Being cared for when he was sick was still somewhat of an alien concept for Marshal. His mother had never really bothered with him when he was ill. The one time she'd had to, when he had his appendix out, she'd complained the whole time about all the demands he was making on her time. It hadn't occurred to Marshal that Jameson would get involved in this part - the tedious waiting by the hospital bed part - voluntarily.
"Definitely. I think you'll want to have somebody there. It may be pretty stressful for you. I'll be there to hold your hand."
That hit Marshal like a splash of cold water. It had to be mockery. It had to. No one would really do something like that for him. There was no way. No, he was pushing his luck, asking for too many things, and Jameson was upset about it. Marshal had to backpedal, and quickly, or he was going to lose one of the few lifelines he had...
"I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I know I need a lot from you. Too many things. I'm going to stop asking for so much. I promise. I'm really sorry."
Jameson was visibly confused. "I... don't know why you're apologizing."
"The thing you just said. Holding my hand."
"Oh. Well, I don't have to. It's your choice. I just thought it would be a good idea. You were tortured, Marshal. You were tortured a lot. And a lot of it was in a medical setting. Wakandan medical care is amazing, and I know they'll do their best to take great care of you, but there's probably going to be some discomfort involved, and I'm not sure your body is going to be able to distinguish very easily between that and its memories of how you got hurt in the past. I think it'll be a lot easier for you to relax if you know that someone who loves you is holding your hand."
"So you really... that wasn't a joke?"
"It wasn't a joke. I wouldn't joke about something like that."
"People may give you weird looks. For doing something like that for someone like me."
Jameson shrugged. "Weird looks don't bother me at all. I don't care about that."
"Okay. Well. If you're really sure..."
"I'm sure. I'll be there. I promise."
Jameson is a really safe person, Marshal realized. That realization made him think maybe he could confide some other things.
"You know, Jameson, I've been... kind of thinking about the future. I didn't really do that before. I was just kind of trying to get through one day at a time. But now I've been thinking about... maybe what I want to do with my life."
"Oh? And what did you conclude?"
"Promise you won't laugh."
"I won't."
"I've been... thinking I might try to stop drinking. Not just take a break from it for one night but like... really stop."
Jameson nodded. "I think that's a really good idea. I think that will be healthier for you, physically and emotionally."
Marshal breathed a sigh of relief. He had expected that one to go over okay - Jameson had been very positive when Marshal had refrained from alcohol in the short-term in the past - although there was still that faint flicker of fear when the words were coming out of his mouth, because Ginny had mocked him when he talked about cutting back. But Jameson isn't Ginny. That thought gave him the courage he needed to go on.
"There's something else. Something I never told anyone. I didn't choose to be a super soldier - you know that part. But I am, and I probably shouldn't waste it. I don't like fighting, though. I never have. I'm okay with defending myself, or other people, but I don't want my entire life to be about that, y'know? So I was trying to think about what else I could do, and I had an idea. Remember how I told you I saved that kid from a fire, and that was how I got my lawyer? Well, doing that was something I did like. It was something I felt good about. So I thought maybe... I could be a firefighter. I could use the super soldier strength for that. To save people. Instead of hurting them."
"I think that's a fantastic idea."
"You do?"
"Yeah. Absolutely. That's a great way to use your talents. You could really help people that way."
"The only thing is... Ginny always said I couldn't tolerate stress. That I might snap and hurt someone. So I was scared to say anything because what if she's right?"
"She's not. I've seen you tolerate a tremendous amount of stress, and you handled it fine. You're capable of a lot more than Ginny convinced you that you were."
"Yeah, I... think maybe I am," Marshal replied thoughtfully. "Yeah. I think I am."
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Monkey Kitty
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Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Thompson's Man
He lay motionless on the concrete floor, willing himself to sleep - it would be better if he could just get some rest - but the cold of the floor felt like it was leeching all the warmth out of him, and he was so thirsty, and he ached so badly all over.
Had there been something he was trying to remember?
What was it?
Something had happened. He couldn't remember what he had done. But he had been punished for it. The worst pain of all was in his left hand, but he was trying not to look at it. Thompson had severed the soldier's left pinky finger. Had the mage said why? The soldier didn't remember. But he understood the gist. He had been disobedient, and he had lost a finger for it. If he disobeyed again, he had nine more. The soldier didn't know why the thought of harm being done to his hands filled him with such horror - it was a thousand times worse than the thought of just dying. But the threat had worked. He had no intention of disobeying again, if he could help it.
The rest of it had been standard. Just a beating. Enough to make him spit blood a few times, but not enough to kill him. Thompson had cut the runes again. It had hurt, but it hadn't bled as much as usual. The soldier hoped that meant that Thompson had miscalculated - that he was about to bleed out, that he didn't have enough left to lose - but it was probably just the dehydration.
Don't look at the hand, just don't look...
Footsteps on the stairs. The soldier considered trying to slink away into the shadows, but a moment later, there was the flick of a switch and a harsh fluorescent bulb illuminated every inch of the small crawlspace.
"Get up," Thompson said. "Get dressed."
The soldier sullenly imagined retorting that he was already fully dressed, but it wasn't worth risking another finger, and anyway, he understood the mage's meaning. Put on a shirt that doesn't have your blood all over it. It's time for another mission.
He scrambled to his feet.
Apparently Thompson wasn't going to leave to let him change, so he awkwardly pulled off his blood-soaked shirt and exchanged it for a clean one from the pile. The mage just kept talking.
"I think we may have been wrong about the location of the sword."
We? the soldier thought sarcastically... then abruptly balled his hands into fists, despite the pain that shot all the way up to his shoulder in the left one, just in case the mage could somehow read his thoughts and got any ideas about other fingers.
Thompson seemed unaware of the tiny mental mutiny, however. "Based on some conversations at S.H.I.E.L.D., I believe they may have given the sword to the other sister. The child. Very irresponsible. But at least it will be easier for you to get it back."
The soldier would have protested if he could have, even at risk of his fingers. He didn't want to harm a child. But that didn't matter. The order was being given.
"Go. Now. Look for her. I'll drop you off in their neighborhood. She may be next door. Get the sword back, by any means necessary. You may have an obstacle, however. A superhero and a super soldier live in that house. So keep your wits about you."
Great. At least I won't have to worry about being alive for much longer.
The thought of death both terrified him, and simultaneously seemed like the most welcome thing in the world.
Thompson briefly stopped the car a block down from the home in question, let the soldier out, and drove away. The soldier looked down at his hand, and grimaced, and started walking toward the house.
He lay motionless on the concrete floor, willing himself to sleep - it would be better if he could just get some rest - but the cold of the floor felt like it was leeching all the warmth out of him, and he was so thirsty, and he ached so badly all over.
Had there been something he was trying to remember?
What was it?
Something had happened. He couldn't remember what he had done. But he had been punished for it. The worst pain of all was in his left hand, but he was trying not to look at it. Thompson had severed the soldier's left pinky finger. Had the mage said why? The soldier didn't remember. But he understood the gist. He had been disobedient, and he had lost a finger for it. If he disobeyed again, he had nine more. The soldier didn't know why the thought of harm being done to his hands filled him with such horror - it was a thousand times worse than the thought of just dying. But the threat had worked. He had no intention of disobeying again, if he could help it.
The rest of it had been standard. Just a beating. Enough to make him spit blood a few times, but not enough to kill him. Thompson had cut the runes again. It had hurt, but it hadn't bled as much as usual. The soldier hoped that meant that Thompson had miscalculated - that he was about to bleed out, that he didn't have enough left to lose - but it was probably just the dehydration.
Don't look at the hand, just don't look...
Footsteps on the stairs. The soldier considered trying to slink away into the shadows, but a moment later, there was the flick of a switch and a harsh fluorescent bulb illuminated every inch of the small crawlspace.
"Get up," Thompson said. "Get dressed."
The soldier sullenly imagined retorting that he was already fully dressed, but it wasn't worth risking another finger, and anyway, he understood the mage's meaning. Put on a shirt that doesn't have your blood all over it. It's time for another mission.
He scrambled to his feet.
Apparently Thompson wasn't going to leave to let him change, so he awkwardly pulled off his blood-soaked shirt and exchanged it for a clean one from the pile. The mage just kept talking.
"I think we may have been wrong about the location of the sword."
We? the soldier thought sarcastically... then abruptly balled his hands into fists, despite the pain that shot all the way up to his shoulder in the left one, just in case the mage could somehow read his thoughts and got any ideas about other fingers.
Thompson seemed unaware of the tiny mental mutiny, however. "Based on some conversations at S.H.I.E.L.D., I believe they may have given the sword to the other sister. The child. Very irresponsible. But at least it will be easier for you to get it back."
The soldier would have protested if he could have, even at risk of his fingers. He didn't want to harm a child. But that didn't matter. The order was being given.
"Go. Now. Look for her. I'll drop you off in their neighborhood. She may be next door. Get the sword back, by any means necessary. You may have an obstacle, however. A superhero and a super soldier live in that house. So keep your wits about you."
Great. At least I won't have to worry about being alive for much longer.
The thought of death both terrified him, and simultaneously seemed like the most welcome thing in the world.
Thompson briefly stopped the car a block down from the home in question, let the soldier out, and drove away. The soldier looked down at his hand, and grimaced, and started walking toward the house.
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Cait McIvor
Ah. Of course. While it would have been all too easy to focus on the offence of being a child and told so - she didn't really feel as though Maureen was treating her as one. No, the woman was all logic and law and Cait had to concede that it was only right that the whole family should meet their new dog and approve of him before welcoming him home. And hopefully, she was a touch concerned, hopefully 'Sully' would approve of the family.
"Well, you heard her. I must leave you for a time. I will be beack. I swear it."
The dog simply lay down and looked away, noncommittal. We'll see was the attitude and Cait couldn't blame him. People made promises all the time. It was a matter of knowing who among them could keep them.
"Thanks for that." she said, tapping the small sign Maureen had placed by the name plate outside the dog's kennel. "I admit I don't know anything about adopting pets. Or actually...owning pets. I had a falcon once, but I don't think that really counts as a 'pet'."
Perhaps a little too honest, but if some of the people she'd seen own pets were allowed - surely their little family would be allowed to have one.
The ride back to Marshal's - or rather, Marshal, Jameson and Maureen's - was a touch on the fast side, which Cait approved of. She stared out the window wondering exactly what she should do next. It was strange that having more years ahead of her should so drastically reduce her options for what to do with them.
So lost in thought, she paid little mind to the scenery and was surprised by the familiar shadow of the house over the driveway. Cait chastised herself, briefly concerned by the lapse in discipline. She needed to spend some time training - and soon.
Ah. Of course. While it would have been all too easy to focus on the offence of being a child and told so - she didn't really feel as though Maureen was treating her as one. No, the woman was all logic and law and Cait had to concede that it was only right that the whole family should meet their new dog and approve of him before welcoming him home. And hopefully, she was a touch concerned, hopefully 'Sully' would approve of the family.
"Well, you heard her. I must leave you for a time. I will be beack. I swear it."
The dog simply lay down and looked away, noncommittal. We'll see was the attitude and Cait couldn't blame him. People made promises all the time. It was a matter of knowing who among them could keep them.
"Thanks for that." she said, tapping the small sign Maureen had placed by the name plate outside the dog's kennel. "I admit I don't know anything about adopting pets. Or actually...owning pets. I had a falcon once, but I don't think that really counts as a 'pet'."
Perhaps a little too honest, but if some of the people she'd seen own pets were allowed - surely their little family would be allowed to have one.
The ride back to Marshal's - or rather, Marshal, Jameson and Maureen's - was a touch on the fast side, which Cait approved of. She stared out the window wondering exactly what she should do next. It was strange that having more years ahead of her should so drastically reduce her options for what to do with them.
So lost in thought, she paid little mind to the scenery and was surprised by the familiar shadow of the house over the driveway. Cait chastised herself, briefly concerned by the lapse in discipline. She needed to spend some time training - and soon.
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Monkey Kitty
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- Joined: Thu Oct 29, 2020 7:31 pm
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Marshal Knox and Jameson Bryant
Marshal couldn’t quite believe how much his life had changed in such a short time. From crushing solitude to having a family and friends. From aching loneliness to being A Person Who Is Loved. From terror of being a perpetual pawn for someone to having the prospect of being a free man on the horizon. From a bleak desire for oblivion to having tangible things to live for.
“Thank you, Jameson,” Marshal said. “Thank you so much for everything. Wakanda and… everything.”
“You’re welcome,” Jameson said with a cheerful smile - as simple as if he'd just let Marshal have the last cookie on the plate, not saved him from a lifetime of incarceration earlier today and then protected him from the darkest hell of violence and abuse.
Marshal threw his arms around Jameson and hugged him tightly.
“Like I said,” Jameson told him quietly. “I've got you. I'm not going to let people hurt you anymore - that's the bottom line here.”
Dear Jameson. The first human connection Marshal had ever had that didn't seem to have any sharp edges to impale himself on. It was such a relief to finally have a soft place to land.
Maureen hugged him too, when she got home. So much hugging. Marshal loved it. He still couldn't quite believe she wanted him around. She was a civilian; after reading that file and knowing what he was capable of, after hearing that he had been ordered to torture and kill her too, he wouldn't have blamed her for wanting him to just disappear from her life. But here she was, still his friend and yoga buddy.
And here was Cait, too. Apparently still willing to put up with him, for all his mistakes. She was a good person. A really great kid. He was going to keep his promise to be a good friend to her. Maybe someday even like a big brother or something. Surely there were books about... well, maybe not this exact situation, but for adults who weren't used to children and suddenly ended up with a significant kid in their life. He would do his homework.
"They're letting me go to Wakanda," he told Cait with a smile, and gave her a high five. He would bring her back something cool, he decided. Maybe something with a lion on it. Because lions are cool.
They had pizza - and, to Marshal's delight, also the little cinnamon twist things. Maureen hadn't forgotten her promise about the yoga, and Marshal found that doing it for the second time, he was more accustomed to the moves and could focus on the mental aspects. On being calm and relaxed and clear-headed. He liked that part too. Then it was movie time, and Marshal briefly opined about the genius of Steven Spielberg, and they settled in to watch the flick.
All in all a great evening, Marshal thought. How had he gotten so lucky?
Marshal couldn’t quite believe how much his life had changed in such a short time. From crushing solitude to having a family and friends. From aching loneliness to being A Person Who Is Loved. From terror of being a perpetual pawn for someone to having the prospect of being a free man on the horizon. From a bleak desire for oblivion to having tangible things to live for.
“Thank you, Jameson,” Marshal said. “Thank you so much for everything. Wakanda and… everything.”
“You’re welcome,” Jameson said with a cheerful smile - as simple as if he'd just let Marshal have the last cookie on the plate, not saved him from a lifetime of incarceration earlier today and then protected him from the darkest hell of violence and abuse.
Marshal threw his arms around Jameson and hugged him tightly.
“Like I said,” Jameson told him quietly. “I've got you. I'm not going to let people hurt you anymore - that's the bottom line here.”
Dear Jameson. The first human connection Marshal had ever had that didn't seem to have any sharp edges to impale himself on. It was such a relief to finally have a soft place to land.
Maureen hugged him too, when she got home. So much hugging. Marshal loved it. He still couldn't quite believe she wanted him around. She was a civilian; after reading that file and knowing what he was capable of, after hearing that he had been ordered to torture and kill her too, he wouldn't have blamed her for wanting him to just disappear from her life. But here she was, still his friend and yoga buddy.
And here was Cait, too. Apparently still willing to put up with him, for all his mistakes. She was a good person. A really great kid. He was going to keep his promise to be a good friend to her. Maybe someday even like a big brother or something. Surely there were books about... well, maybe not this exact situation, but for adults who weren't used to children and suddenly ended up with a significant kid in their life. He would do his homework.
"They're letting me go to Wakanda," he told Cait with a smile, and gave her a high five. He would bring her back something cool, he decided. Maybe something with a lion on it. Because lions are cool.
They had pizza - and, to Marshal's delight, also the little cinnamon twist things. Maureen hadn't forgotten her promise about the yoga, and Marshal found that doing it for the second time, he was more accustomed to the moves and could focus on the mental aspects. On being calm and relaxed and clear-headed. He liked that part too. Then it was movie time, and Marshal briefly opined about the genius of Steven Spielberg, and they settled in to watch the flick.
All in all a great evening, Marshal thought. How had he gotten so lucky?
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Monkey Kitty
- Posts: 786
- Joined: Thu Oct 29, 2020 7:31 pm
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Evening, In And Outside The Knox Residence
Agent Coulson had said not to ‘pester’ Marshal Knox. The Hammer of Justice had decided that this instruction did not preclude surveilling the HYDRA operative’s house with a scope from the cover of a nearby Jeep, however.
Kyle watched as the fat girl and some little kid got out of the car. Apparently the fat girl was incredibly stupid, agreeing to a booty call with the superhero even after a couple of days of humiliation about their past tryst. Sad. Or maybe just desperate for attention.
The kid puzzled him a little, since no one involved had children as far as he knew. Was Knox up to something nefarious? It figured the guy would be a perv.
Kyle kept watching.
Nothing interesting happened for quite awhile. He was about to give up - it looked like they were in for the night, and he was either going to have to try another day or figure out how to get surveillance access to the inside of the house, or both - when a figure moved in the shadows.
The Hammer of Justice was suddenly all attention again.
***
Thompson's man slowly edged closer and closer to the house. Then, from the cover of a nearby hedge, he peered in the window. The four people inside were watching something on the TV, and the interior lights versus the outside darkness as well as the foliage concealed him from their view. It gave him a chance to observe at length.
...Not that observing helped at all, because there was the red-haired girl. She was curled up in an armchair, her eyes on the screen - and there was no possible way she had the sword on her. There was simply nowhere on her person she could be hiding it.
That meant it was hidden somewhere in this house. Or the house next door.
Great.
There was just no way he could fulfill the mission. It was too much ground to search, and he would absolutely be caught. He needed to return to Thompson. Admit his failure. Take his punishment. Probably lose another finger.
The terror of that latter thought made him cast about for another solution that would allow him to stay within mission parameters without returning.
He could think of only one.
The soldier could attack head on. Brazen it, force his way in, demand the sword.
He was well aware that if he did that, he would die. The was no way he could take on both the superhero and the super soldier at the same time, especially not bleeding and thirsty and bruised as he was. If he fought them, he would be defeated.
But... challenging them was within mission parameters, he realized, especially without a clear alternative course of action that held a better chance of success. If he died... well, Thompson always told him there was no way out, but that wasn't really true, was it? He was still mortal.
So. One way out.
He circled around the house and started forcing open the back door. It was sturdier than he had expected - he had expected the shoddy construction of a hasty suburban cookie cutter new build, and was surprised to find it was actually heavily reinforced - but it wouldn't hold against magical super soldier strength for long.
***
Marshal sat up abruptly. "Do you hear that?"
At first, Jameson - completely relaxed, snuggled with Maureen - had chalked it up to the movie, but the sound came again. "Yeah. I think someone's trying to get in the back door."
Wow, that thief has the worst luck ever, Marshal thought, but then he became more serious - Maureen was here, a civilian, potentially in danger.
Jameson disentangled himself from Maureen, and Marshal and Jameson both scrambled to their feet. For a stupid moment, Marshal imagined Cait - Adult Cait - would be by their side. She's a child. Idiot. It's your job to protect her. Well, that he could certainly do.
"Sit tight," Jameson said. "We'll be right back."
Without needing to communicate it in words, Jameson and Marshal headed out the front door circled around the house in opposite directions, converging on the back. And there, as they had assumed, a young man was prying open the back door, illuminated by the motion-sensor light. He looked up, made eye contact with Marshal...
Marshal felt like he'd caught a brick in the chest. He was panicked, paralyzed, frozen--
"Marshal," Jameson whispered, noticing that his friend had gone motionless and was just staring as the other man stared back with blank, glassy eyes. There was something wrong about the guy, Jameson registered. Something about the eyes, something about the movements... "Marshal, what's going on?"
Okay, Jameson thought. I guess that would be two somethings wrong. First, this odd guy was breaking into their house. And second, Marshal was apparently having a full-blown PTSD episode at the same time.
"Please, Jameson," Marshal whispered back. "Please, please, please..."
Jameson reached for Marshal, fumbling for his hand in the dark and squeezing it reassuringly - while keeping an eye on the intruder, who hadn't moved. "Whatever it is, Marshal. I'll help you. I swear. Just take a breath and tell me what you need me to do."
Marshal took a breath. "He's... he's brainwashed. Like me. I can tell. Look at his eyes. He's not acting of his own free will. Please..."
It finally registered for Jameson exactly what was causing Marshal so much fear. He wasn't scared of the guy who was breaking into their house... he was staring in a mirror at his past self. And he was scared of what was about to happen to his reflection.
"I understand," Jameson said softly. "Thank you for telling me. It's going to be okay, Marshal. He's going to be safe tonight. I swear to you. He is going to be safe tonight. But we have to make that happen. Can you help me make it happen?"
Marshal nodded. Jameson squeezed his hand again, then let go and stepped into the light. As soon as he moved, the other man moved too, squaring up for a confrontation.
"Hey," Jameson said, addressing the stranger - who immediately took a swing at him. Jameson simply ducked it and went on speaking. "I want to tell you what's going to happen. You're going to survive this. Whoever has been hurting you is never going to lay a hand on you again. That's all over now." He dodged a swing from the opposite hand. "And for the record, this isn't a conditional offer. I know you can't stand down. That's okay. I'm just telling you what's going to happen, so you don't have to worry."
He believed me, Marshal thought. Jameson didn't even question it. He just believed me.
While the intruder was distracted by Jameson, Marshal was moving into position behind him. Jameson made eye contact and nodded, and Marshal raised a fist to knock the stranger out--
And then suddenly there was a flash of orange, and another voice rang out. "How dare you attempt to invade this home and raise your hand against a superhero? Miscreant! You will pay for this crime with your life!"
As far as Marshal knew, Jameson was always carefully correct and polite - but for just a split second, Marshal would have sworn that he saw Mr. Stalwart roll his eyes. But the fraction of a second passed, and Jameson was moving, stepping in to catch and deflect the blow that was aimed at their intruder.
Marshal said something very profane as he stepped into the fray... and belatedly hoped Child Cait wasn't close enough to hear.
Agent Coulson had said not to ‘pester’ Marshal Knox. The Hammer of Justice had decided that this instruction did not preclude surveilling the HYDRA operative’s house with a scope from the cover of a nearby Jeep, however.
Kyle watched as the fat girl and some little kid got out of the car. Apparently the fat girl was incredibly stupid, agreeing to a booty call with the superhero even after a couple of days of humiliation about their past tryst. Sad. Or maybe just desperate for attention.
The kid puzzled him a little, since no one involved had children as far as he knew. Was Knox up to something nefarious? It figured the guy would be a perv.
Kyle kept watching.
Nothing interesting happened for quite awhile. He was about to give up - it looked like they were in for the night, and he was either going to have to try another day or figure out how to get surveillance access to the inside of the house, or both - when a figure moved in the shadows.
The Hammer of Justice was suddenly all attention again.
***
Thompson's man slowly edged closer and closer to the house. Then, from the cover of a nearby hedge, he peered in the window. The four people inside were watching something on the TV, and the interior lights versus the outside darkness as well as the foliage concealed him from their view. It gave him a chance to observe at length.
...Not that observing helped at all, because there was the red-haired girl. She was curled up in an armchair, her eyes on the screen - and there was no possible way she had the sword on her. There was simply nowhere on her person she could be hiding it.
That meant it was hidden somewhere in this house. Or the house next door.
Great.
There was just no way he could fulfill the mission. It was too much ground to search, and he would absolutely be caught. He needed to return to Thompson. Admit his failure. Take his punishment. Probably lose another finger.
The terror of that latter thought made him cast about for another solution that would allow him to stay within mission parameters without returning.
He could think of only one.
The soldier could attack head on. Brazen it, force his way in, demand the sword.
He was well aware that if he did that, he would die. The was no way he could take on both the superhero and the super soldier at the same time, especially not bleeding and thirsty and bruised as he was. If he fought them, he would be defeated.
But... challenging them was within mission parameters, he realized, especially without a clear alternative course of action that held a better chance of success. If he died... well, Thompson always told him there was no way out, but that wasn't really true, was it? He was still mortal.
So. One way out.
He circled around the house and started forcing open the back door. It was sturdier than he had expected - he had expected the shoddy construction of a hasty suburban cookie cutter new build, and was surprised to find it was actually heavily reinforced - but it wouldn't hold against magical super soldier strength for long.
***
Marshal sat up abruptly. "Do you hear that?"
At first, Jameson - completely relaxed, snuggled with Maureen - had chalked it up to the movie, but the sound came again. "Yeah. I think someone's trying to get in the back door."
Wow, that thief has the worst luck ever, Marshal thought, but then he became more serious - Maureen was here, a civilian, potentially in danger.
Jameson disentangled himself from Maureen, and Marshal and Jameson both scrambled to their feet. For a stupid moment, Marshal imagined Cait - Adult Cait - would be by their side. She's a child. Idiot. It's your job to protect her. Well, that he could certainly do.
"Sit tight," Jameson said. "We'll be right back."
Without needing to communicate it in words, Jameson and Marshal headed out the front door circled around the house in opposite directions, converging on the back. And there, as they had assumed, a young man was prying open the back door, illuminated by the motion-sensor light. He looked up, made eye contact with Marshal...
Marshal felt like he'd caught a brick in the chest. He was panicked, paralyzed, frozen--
"Marshal," Jameson whispered, noticing that his friend had gone motionless and was just staring as the other man stared back with blank, glassy eyes. There was something wrong about the guy, Jameson registered. Something about the eyes, something about the movements... "Marshal, what's going on?"
Okay, Jameson thought. I guess that would be two somethings wrong. First, this odd guy was breaking into their house. And second, Marshal was apparently having a full-blown PTSD episode at the same time.
"Please, Jameson," Marshal whispered back. "Please, please, please..."
Jameson reached for Marshal, fumbling for his hand in the dark and squeezing it reassuringly - while keeping an eye on the intruder, who hadn't moved. "Whatever it is, Marshal. I'll help you. I swear. Just take a breath and tell me what you need me to do."
Marshal took a breath. "He's... he's brainwashed. Like me. I can tell. Look at his eyes. He's not acting of his own free will. Please..."
It finally registered for Jameson exactly what was causing Marshal so much fear. He wasn't scared of the guy who was breaking into their house... he was staring in a mirror at his past self. And he was scared of what was about to happen to his reflection.
"I understand," Jameson said softly. "Thank you for telling me. It's going to be okay, Marshal. He's going to be safe tonight. I swear to you. He is going to be safe tonight. But we have to make that happen. Can you help me make it happen?"
Marshal nodded. Jameson squeezed his hand again, then let go and stepped into the light. As soon as he moved, the other man moved too, squaring up for a confrontation.
"Hey," Jameson said, addressing the stranger - who immediately took a swing at him. Jameson simply ducked it and went on speaking. "I want to tell you what's going to happen. You're going to survive this. Whoever has been hurting you is never going to lay a hand on you again. That's all over now." He dodged a swing from the opposite hand. "And for the record, this isn't a conditional offer. I know you can't stand down. That's okay. I'm just telling you what's going to happen, so you don't have to worry."
He believed me, Marshal thought. Jameson didn't even question it. He just believed me.
While the intruder was distracted by Jameson, Marshal was moving into position behind him. Jameson made eye contact and nodded, and Marshal raised a fist to knock the stranger out--
And then suddenly there was a flash of orange, and another voice rang out. "How dare you attempt to invade this home and raise your hand against a superhero? Miscreant! You will pay for this crime with your life!"
As far as Marshal knew, Jameson was always carefully correct and polite - but for just a split second, Marshal would have sworn that he saw Mr. Stalwart roll his eyes. But the fraction of a second passed, and Jameson was moving, stepping in to catch and deflect the blow that was aimed at their intruder.
Marshal said something very profane as he stepped into the fray... and belatedly hoped Child Cait wasn't close enough to hear.