#YES i know its a falcon and I drew a Dodge JUST LET IT SLIDE THIS ONE TIME

[microwavedfishsticks]

He's squaring up guys

[marblesarelost]

Change Your Mind, Change Your Life

                                         CHAPTER FIVE

Her throat was raw for the next two days from the strength of her scream.

Later, all Darcy would remember was her vision suddenly being covered by green, Doom whirling his cloak over her and turning, placing his body between hers and the blast. Thankfully, he didn’t throw her to the concrete floor and dive on top of her or anything like that; he probably ran about two twenty to two fifty, it would have hurt like hell.  Instead, though, strong arms encased in faintly glowing metal wrapped around her, holding her up as the floor shook.  “No, you are safe, I will not allow any harm to come to you,” he rumbled in her ear, and for just a second, half a second, she allowed herself to be comforted.

“But the others,” she protested, “they were sitting --“

“We will see what has happened to the Avengers in a moment, and you may call for assistance from whoever might be able to help.  For now, we must wait; there are still missiles being fired.”

“Who,” she choked out, “whoever did this, whoever did this, they have opened up such a goddamn can of whoopass…”  

“What an interesting idiom. And yes.  They have.  They have attacked a home where the King of Atlantis and the Lord Protector of Latveria were being treated as honored guests.  They will know the wrath and the fury of the Sub-Mariner, and of Doom.” The noise was dying down.  “I will release you in a moment; find cover. Three, two, one, go.”  His arms uncrossed from around her, the green falling away, and she could see the door to the common room.  

“Be careful,” she said, then ran forward, jerking the door open and heading through the kitchen into the TV room.  “FRIDAY, status report?”

“No known casualties at this time.  Mark 16 and RESCUE were initiated when Sir saw the incoming bogeys. All of the other Avengers dove into the pool as the first missile was fired.”

“Okay,” Darcy breathed. “Okay.  Where’s Steve’s shield, Friday?”

“Captain Rogers’ shield is in his quarters.”

“Emergency override his lock.  SHOCKER-Alpha-3-9-6SW,” she said, running for the elevator.  “Who else needs their weapons?”

“Falcon does not have his wings, and Hawkeye does not have his bow.”

“Damn it,” she sighed. “Do they have other weapons up there that they can use?”

“Currently, both are firing Glocks.”

“They need more than that,” Darcy muttered as the elevator door opened on the residential floor, and she ran down the hall to Steve’s quarters.  Opening the door, she saw the shield beside his couch.  Grabbing it, she headed out again.  “How heavy are Falcon’s wings, FRIDAY?”  Because the shield by itself was heavy enough she was having to use both hands.  “More strength training, Darce,” she muttered to herself.

“Hey Darce,” Sam’s voice sounded over the intercom system.  “Don’t worry about my wings, sugar, we’ve already got enough flyers out here to make things really interesting, especially since I’ve never worked with Doom or Namor.”

“You sure, Sam?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.  Does Clint want his bow and quiver?”

“Negative.”

“Oh.  Okay.  I’m bringing Steve the shield, though.”

“He’ll appreciate that; he’s pissed ‘cause he’s having to hide at the moment.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

She was upstairs again, and now she was pissed.  Oh, she was pissed.   She stopped at the door to peek out from around it, and her breath caught. War Machine and Iron Man were blasting the hell out of what appeared to be a red suit of armor, while Namor and Doom were busy kicking in the faceplate of another.  A third was being kept busy by Clint, Natasha, and Sam, while Steve stood helplessly fretting nearby, She-Hulk holding him back.

“Hey Rogers,” she shouted, stepping into view.  “Catch!” She threw the shield with both hands like a discus in his general direction.

“Lewis, you’re a lifesaver,” Steve called, leaping to catch the wobbling airborne disk.  He rolled as he came down again, jumping up and launching the shield at the armor that Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Falcon were firing at. It hit the chest mounted machine gun, bending it sideways, ricocheted into the side of the building, then back to Steve’s hand.

She-Hulk leapt from the building toward that armored attacker a split second afterward, making the jump, but barely.  She held onto the assailant, however, and started pulling pieces off of the armor, digging her strong green fingers into the suit, its defense systems all but useless against her.  Sure, she could be shocked.  Sure, it hurt.  But nothing like it would do to an unenhanced person.  Darcy watched, her mouth open, as she tore the faceplate away from the helmet, exposing a woman who couldn’t be much older than Darcy.  A single punch from She-Hulk was all it took to knock the pilot out.

What she hadn’t taken into account was that an unconscious pilot meant that the suit was going down, her scream echoing between the buildings as she and her foe plummeted toward the earth.  Namor left Doom to deal with their opponent, diving through the night sky as easily as he cut through water, and Darcy crossed her fingers. “Please,” she murmured.  “Please, please…”

A flurry of laser shots drew her attention back to the battle in the sky.  Doom’s opponent was giving it all he had, obviously, but Doom only hovered there, letting his unseen foe fire at him at point blank range. Until he had had enough, that is. “You have made a grave error,” he proclaimed, reaching out his hand a lot like Darth Vader’s force-choke.  The suit began to crumple, Darcy could hear it, the metal squashing and screeching as it folded in on itself.  “You have angered Doom.”

“Holy shit.”  Darcy glanced to the side to see Clint watching beside her.  “Why the hell didn’t he do that before?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy replied.  “Maybe you can ask him in a minute.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Think I will.”  He looked down at his Stitch patterned swimming trunks. “Fuckers got a hole in my new trunks, too.”

“Aww.  I’ll patch it for you this weekend,” Darcy offered.

“You’re a treat, Darce.”

“Did Namor catch --“ she began, and Clint nodded.

“Yep.  Looked to me like he was controlling the fall rather than trying to drag them back up, though.  I gotta go downstairs and help collect them.”  His shoulders sagged.  “You did good getting Steve his shield.  That helped.”  He sighed, standing straight again as Black Widow came to stand next to them.

“Barton.  Let’s go.”  

“Wait,” Darcy said, quickly untying her sarong and handing it to Widow.  “Here.”   For a second, ‘Tasha blinked out of Widow’s face, then faded away again as she nodded, wrapping the sarong around herself quickly into a full sleeveless dress before jerking her head to the door where Pepper stood, her gaze fully on the battle still raging between Iron Man, War Machine, and the last armored asshole. Doom was slowly lowering the one he had subued to the now wrecked pool as the last red armored adversary dodged a blast from Iron Man and knocked into him, hard.  The heap of scrap metal, for that’s what it was now, dropped the last twenty feet in free fall as Doom surged forward from the impact, then turned around, purple sparks flying off of him.

“Coward!”  He thundered, and Darcy couldn’t see what he did next, but the enemy armor suddenly thrashed about in the sky, its limbs flailing wildly and likely painfully, as Iron Man and War Machine backed away in the air.

“Holy SHIT!”  

“Fuck my life, son, you shoulda done that earlier,” War Machine said.

“I could not; you and Iron Man were in too close quarters, and this would likely have affected your armors as well.”  The armor stopped moving as quickly as it had begun, holding deathly still for a moment before it moved smoothly toward the building, ending up beside the mangled metal that had been its associate.  “Crimson Dynamos, are they not, Iron Man?”

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like,” Tony agreed, coming to a landing and flicking the suit off a few seconds later.  “Uh. This one…is this one dead, Doom?”

“No.”  He landed beside Tony, a few seconds before War Machine. “The pilot is alive.  Perhaps a bit worse for wear.  But alive.”  He stepped out of the way as Pepper ran to Tony, hugging him tightly, and Darcy could, would swear later that for a fraction of a second, just a fraction, she saw Doom’s perfect posture stiffen before he stalked back to the edge of the terrace, his back to them all.

“Fuck,” Darcy muttered, turning on her heel and running for the bar.  “FRIDAY, where does Tony keep the really, really good stuff?”

“Wine, champagne, or whiskey, Miss Lewis?”

“Any of it.  All of it,” Darcy snapped, her eyes sliding over labels.  “The good shit, FRIDAY, the Thank You For Being A Pal shit.”

“I would suggest the single malt Macallan Single Malt Craigallachie if you are celebrating the triumph.”

“Great.  Where’s that?”

“Third shelf from the top, to the left.”  Darcy stepped up on the stool, grabbed the bottle and two glasses; hopefully he drank his whiskey neat.  “How much is this bottle, FRIDAY?”

“The MSRP is three hundred dollars.”

“Great.  Take it out of my pay for the next couple months, would you?”  She was already in the kitchen before the AI could reply affirmatively, and out the door, picking her way around the rubble that had been the terrace pool five minutes earlier.  She waved at Rhodey and Tony, but never stopped moving until she was a few feet behind Doom.

“Lord Protector?”  She called softly.  He turned, he had to turn his whole torso to do so, she noticed, and saw her.  She held up the bottle and glasses.  “To the Victor goes the spoils?”

“Is that my Laphroaig, Lewis?”  Tony called from across the hole where the pool had been.

“Nope!  It’s something called Macallan…Craigie something, it came recommended,” she shouted back.  “And I already arranged to pay you for it, so hush.”

“Nah.  On the house,” Tony said.  “Doom, take five and have a drink with a pretty girl before SHIELD gets here; you’ll have to give a statement, damn it, I didn’t want --“ Tony was cut off by Pepper’s fingers over his lips.

“What Tony means to say, Lord Doom, is that he deeply appreciates your help tonight,” Pepper said, and Tony sighed.

“Yes.  Yes, that is what I want to say, seriously, I just…this isn’t what I wanted, I wanted to just kick back and have a good time and make new friends, goddamn it.”  Tony kicked at a piece of loose concrete.  “And you BASTARDS had to fucking RUIN it!”

“If it comforts you, Mr. Stark, that is exactly what I had hoped for this evening as well,” Doom said, turning all the way around at last.  “And I add my curse to yours.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. “Well.  Unfortunately, this comes from being my friend.”

“God, you have no idea,” Rhodey sighed.  “He’s been a trouble magnet since I’ve known him, building the suit didn’t change anything.” He wrapped one arm around Pepper’s waist, the other around Tony’s.  “Come on, you two.  Let’s go find our own bottle.”

The bottle was plucked from her fingers a moment later, and she wondered briefly, how did he move so fast and so silently?  Oh yeah, hovering, Darcy, he’s a fucking Sith Lord, remember?  “This is a very good Scotch,” he said lowly.  

“Yeah, well, you won. Practically single handed,” she shrugged.  “And hey, saving the plucky sidekick’s life comes with benefits.”

“Do not speak of yourself so.  You are, even on our short acquaintance, much more than the plucky sidekick.”  He opened the bottle, poured two fingers’ worth of liquor into both glasses.  “Prosit.”

“L’chaim,” she replied, touching her glass to his and sipping, the alcohol peaty, burning its way down her throat.  She didn’t cough, but her eyes watered.  “Damn,” she said after she caught her breath.  “I just remembered why I like Irish better.”

“Oh?  Then why did you choose this?”

“One, it’s one of Tony’s best, two, you seem like a Scotch kind of guy; complicated, with added fire.”

“That is…a very apt descriptor.  You used a Hebraic term for your toast; you’re Jewish?”

“Yep,” she nodded. “Not observant or anything, but yeah.” She sipped her drink again, glancing at the two subdued assholes.  “They’re not gonna wake up anytime soon, are they?”  He chuckled, and a shiver ran down her spine at the sound.

“Not likely.”  It wasn’t quite a growl, but it wasn’t far from it, either.  “I overloaded the subdermal receptors in one suit, causing a massive amount of biogenetic feedback.  Nothing that can’t be cured with a few weeks’ care.  As for the other, well.  The Grasping Hand is not known for subtlety.  There may be broken bones.  I’m afraid I have no sympathy for them; they meant to ambush unarmed people at a party, after all.”

“Yeah, I don’t have any sympathy for them myself at the moment,” Darcy agreed.  “So that’s what the Force Choke move is called?  The Grasping Hand?”

“Force Choke?”  He asked her, gesturing, and a pair of chairs and a table, knocked over to the wall by the missiles, rose, righting themselves. “I’m not sure I know the term.”

“Star Wars?  Darth Vader, Princess Leia, Luke Skywalker? Kylo Ren, Rey?  The Millennium Falcon?”  He shook his head as she named off each integral piece of the space opera.

“I am afraid I do not care for much modern media.  I have had other concerns.”

“Oh, um…yeah, okay,” she said, joining him as he walked over to the table and taking a seat.  “Star Wars.  It’s a movie franchise, very…at its core, it’s the Hero’s Journey, I guess, and the actual first three movies are awesome, the prequels are crap except for Rogue One, and we’re now waiting for the last in the current trilogy.”

“I see.  It is a cultural difference, I suppose; movies were never that important to me.”  He refilled her glass, and his own.  “Books were. Do you know Tolkien?”

“Three Rings for the Elven-Kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf-Lords in their halls of stone, nine for mortal men, doomèd  to die, one for the Dark Lord on his dark throne, in the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie,” she quoted, and he nodded.

“Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul,” he intoned, purposely, she was sure, deepening his voice as he spoke the Black Tongue of Mordor.

“In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie,” she repeated softly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, me and John Ronald, we go back.”

“Obviously,” he agreed.

“Also, the Black Speech?  Really?”

“It amused me, in my youth.”

“So,” she said after a moment.  “Are you Theoden awakened, then?  Or Boromir, regretful at the Falls?”  He didn’t answer her for several long minutes, taking a drink, considering his words.

“I think…” he began slowly.  “I think I am more Saruman, but a Saruman who has seen his folly.  I have broken the White, and become the Saruman of Many Colors; and now I am trying, perhaps, to regain my humility, and earn back my Staff of Office.”

“Or Bilbo,” she offered. “After giving up the One Ring.”

“No; no.  You are very kind, Miss --“ she glared at him, and he changed.  “Darcy. But I, like Saruman, have committed too many sins, and Bilbo did not.  No. I am Saruman if Saruman had come down at Orthanc, when Theoden and Gandalf and the Ents had cornered him.  I have come down, and I know I have a great deal of work to do to redeem myself.”

“Looks like you’re doing a good job of it, from my point of view,” she offered.

“Thank you.  There is a veritable Aegean stables to clean, however,” he sighed, “and the expedient way tempts me, always.”

“Change is hard,” she agreed.  “Changing as completely as you’ve done, that’s…that’s next to impossible.  May I ask, if it’s not too personal, what…did something happen to drive you to it, or…” she let her words trail off. “Sorry, I’m presuming on short acquaintance.”

“You are,” he agreed. “But at least you’re asking.” Slowly, he ran his finger over the rim of his glass, the metal of his glove causing the glass to ring, just slightly. “Good crystal.  Stark has taste.”

“Yep.”

“The truth of it is…” he began, sitting back, “the truth of it is, I am tired.  I am tired of always being on edge.  I am tired of always fighting.  I am weary, Darcy.  I have seen the future and the past, I have fought battles with gods and monsters, demons and abominations, and while…while I have always…prevailed, at least in survival, I have not always triumphed.  I am tired.  I wish, at this point, only to lead my people into a new age.  An age in which Latveria prospers beside her neighbors, rather than eking out a spare living, hand to mouth.  It is time, it is past time, to give up the childish travails and idiocies of my youth, and see to the welfare of my people, rather than myself and my own wounded pride.”  

“Those are good reasons,” she said softly.  “I can understand those reasons.”

“Oh, there are more.”

“Of course there are; you’re complicated.”  She grinned at him.  

“I’m tired of seeing them quail whenever I walk among them.  Of seeing women hide their children behind them, of seeing even my own people, my mother’s people, quake in fear at the mention of my name.  Fear is not what I wanted, when I took the throne, I did not want their fear, I wanted to help, I wanted to build, to make things better…and all I have done is make it worse.  No more.  No more traipsing about time and space, no more fighting with Reed over sins, his and mine, long past.  No more proclamations of how great I am, and playing Big Brother from Orwell.  I am not great.  I am a man who has made a multitude of mistakes.  And I cannot, even if I went back in time again, I would not be able to rectify them all.  But I can build a better future.  I can.  But it takes allies.  It takes trust.  And I have to earn that trust.”

“Doing a hell of a job so far,” Steve’s voice cut through the night, and Darcy looked over her shoulder to see him standing a few feet away.  “Sorry to interrupt.  Coulson wants to ask a few questions, you know how it is.”

“Of course.  If you will excuse me, Darcy?”  He asked politely, and she nodded.  He rose, taking her hand and bowing over it.  “It has been a delight to spend time with you; I hope to do so again before I leave New York.”

“It’s been my pleasure, Victor,” she assured him.  “And thank you again.  I know you saved my life.”

“I would gladly do so again. Good evening.”

“Good evening.”  She watched him walk away with Steve, sighed to herself.  Well, the assholes hadn’t completely ruined the evening.  Just mostly.  

 STAY TUNED, TRUE BELIEVERS!

EXCELSIOR!