#futzyou

Having the Young Avengers once more a team, fortuitously re-formed only hours before Kate Bishop was replaced, presented several unique opportunities. Reconnaissance on the younger heroes of the city was made suddenly simple. She could gather information on their strengths and weakness, slip bad-habits into their training exercises, and manipulate their naive little minds. They trusted Kate Bishop, and why wouldn’t they? There was no way to expect the wolf hiding amongst the sheep, and certainly no way to find her. No way to stop her from leading these youthful idiots to the slaughter.

They patrolled quite often as a group -- and ran into several other heroes along the way. This city had quite the population of cape-wearers. It became clear to Baclath that a replacement crew would not be able to defeat all the Young Avengers at once, not when they could so easily call on allies if need be. Not with near the amount of secrecy it would require to keep the ruse alive. No, she would have to be patient. She remembered Caden’s lessons, and she would make her mentor proud.

So she waited. Sussed out which member to replace first. Eventually, she decided to target MJ Watson, also known as Spinneret. A stupid name for a stupid Terran. The girl was not remarkable in any way other than influence. Personal assistant to Tony Stark, Young Avenger, well-trained, dating the speedy blue one of the Avengers. It would relieve some of the burden on Veranke as well, as MJ was close to the Drew-host. Eager to please her queen and her mentor, Baclath set her trap, and then made her way to a nearby rooftop.

On Kate Bishop’s phone, she dialed the number. “Spinneret!” she hissed, because Kate Bishop insisted on using these insipid names while they were ‘working.’ “Got a situation, abandoned warehouse at 354 Canal street. I think these guys have gotten their hands on some Syndicate gas -- ya know, that stuff that takes powers away? I figure you and I are blessedly powerless, so it’s probably best to handle this ourselves. What do ya say, Spin?”

Ever since Pietro’s confession and Franklin Storm’s appearance, MJ was unfortunately off her game. As a Young Avenger, she was supposed to be better than this, she was officially a member of a team, an important one, and here she was, more upset about her boyfriend telling her he loved her, and her best friend’s father coming back into his life (despite what he wanted). Regardless, she was doing her goddamn best. Systematically, she patrolled streets, intervening whenever she could, and battled whatever idiotic robber crossed her path. It paled in comparison to the work she did with the Young Avengers, but Kate hadn’t called, and Tony hadn’t mentioned any major changes to the Skrull threat. Because of that, she was going to pray that everything was going as best it could under the circumstances.

Apparently jinxing herself, MJ flinched when her phone vibrated in her pocket, and immediately picked up when she saw Kate’s name on the screen. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she promised. If it really was the gas the Syndicate used, they needed to get a handle on this immediately. The heroes would suffer irreparable if they allowed it to continue, and the gas to spread across the city. Wasting no time to linger on personal problems, she quickly changed into the Spinneret suit, and swung across New York to Canal Street.

When she arrived at the address Kate gave her, MJ immediately entered the alleyway, and saw Hawkeye standing there. “Let’s catch up later, and kick ass now,” she suggested, touching Kate’s shoulder gently. With that, trusting Kate was directly behind her, MJ kicked open the doors and immediately spun a web to take her to the rafters. She was always deadlier when she got a little momentum going, and it gave her a better vantage point. Gas began spreading throughout the building immediately, although it was nothing like the gas the Syndicate used. Her eyes began watering, and she choked on the fumes. Deadly as she was from up high, the soldiers in question seemed to know that, and shots were fired onto the rafters. Coughing, MJ swung back down into the centre of the action, and tried dodging the blows dealt. Their opponents had gas masks, shielding their vision, and she quick as MJ was, she was already outmatched.

The gas was not a complete lie. The Skrulled soldiers waiting for them in disguise were equipped with a very potent toxin, one that she could tell was already having an effect on MJ Watson. Good, she thought, though she kept the grin off her face. Kate Bishop was supposed to be her friend, it wouldn’t do to drop her disguise now. Even if MJ Watson would only be a threat for a few moments more.

In that spirit, Baclath fired a few shots towards the soldiers. Her aim was not as good as Kate Bishop’s, but that was for the better. She didn’t truly wish to wound her own men, after all. They did not wish to harm her either, but they had to keep up the ruse for a little while longer. So she found herself dodging shots, and firing the ridiculous amount of arrows that Kate Bishop had in her pack. She grabbed one at random, and fired it towards the men -- only to discover that it was not, as she had assumed, a normal arrow. No, this one exploded when it hit the ground.

The soldiers were thrown backwards, and only then did Baclath recall that Clint Barton (very possibly the most irritating human on this entire irritating planet) liked to create his own specialized arrows and give them to his protege. Dammit. She had grabbed one by mistake, and the gas they were employing was flammable. The sparks were already starting to ignite.

Her men were down, though some were starting to rouse themselves. The building they were in, though not in use, very possibly held more explosive materials inside. Baclath lowered Kate Bishop’s bow, coughing on the smoke as she assessed the situation.

It was not going well, that was for sure. “Retreat,” she murmured. She clenched her jaw, beyond furious that her plan had gone so poorly. “Retreat!” she yelled, more for her soldiers’ benefit than Watson’s. Where was she? In all the chaos, she had lost track of where her target was. Caden would be ashamed, and so was Baclath.

Luckily, the soldiers seemed to be focusing more on MJ than Kate. Considering they were all adept at hand-to-hand and she was the one in their immediate vicinity, it was the logical strategy. As tears streamed furiously down her cheeks, she gagged once more on the gas, but continued attempting to dodge blows. Judging from the pain spreading across her body, completely killing the speed she relied on moments ago, MJ knew it was useless. The villains were winning this fight, and she couldn’t evenx see enough to use her webs for emergency aid.

Quickly, one of the soldier’s hands shot out, grasping her wrist, and wrenched it backwards. MJ bit down on her lip to keep from shouting out, refusing to give them the satisfaction. Her leg shot out, attempting a kick to the groin — it was a sound strategy! — but he responded by dodging, and threw her to the ground. Her head throbbed, and her vision ducked in and out for a moment. When her eyes finally focused, sparks were flying, caused by the smoke, and thank god, Kate’s arrow.

Hazily, MJ noted several barrels across from her, and the hazy shapes of the soldiers. Without thinking, she lifted her hand — the one that wasn’t lying at a peculiar angle — and shot a web out towards the barrels. She yanked one froward, and watched as the contents spilled over, and immediately caused the sparks to evolve into furious flames. “That’s bad,” she murmured, trying to muster the energy to move. The flames were moving quickly, and their heat was already scalding her skin. Christ, everything was throbbed, and her vision was unfocused.

“Kate?” She called out frantically. Think, Watson, goddammit, she chided herself. Where had the arrow come from? Could she move her wrist? Could she move at all?

There was a loud crash and a splintering sound -- Baclath turned her head just in time to see a barrel come tumbling down, breaking open against the floor. Whatever was inside erupted into flames. Anything coated in the gas or the contents of the barrel was on fire. And if the flames hit the rest of those barrels, the entire building could go up.

She saw Watson, in the middle of the floor, near some of the fallen soldiers. Those who had heard Baclath’s cry were already heading for the exits, but Watson was just laying there. Dazed, her wrist at an odd angle, shouting her name -- her host’s name. Did that mean that Watson saw her too? Even if she hadn’t, Baclath couldn’t let a valuable resource like this die. There would be other opportunities to replace the Watson girl, but only if she managed to get them both out of here.

Grabbing another one of Barton’s ridiculous arrows, this one marked ‘tether,’ in tiny letters on the tape, Baclath shot into the wall right above a window, and swung down, landing next to Watson, one hand still holding the rope. “I’m here,” she said, voice clipped. Surely not even Bishop would be chipper during a battle going this poorly. “But we gotta get the futz out of here. Can you hold onto me?” She tugged on the tether -- still secure. “I know I’m not an official spider or anything, but I’ve always wanted to try and swing out a window. Say that one, right there,” she said, pointing to the broken glass just below her tether.

Kate was still alive, although she sounded far away. Squinting against the flames, she tried to search for her friend, but her vision was still blurred, and she was moving in slow motion. Idly, she wondered if that was how Pietro felt during the power swap, like he was struggling underwater. Hesitantly, MJ struggled to sit up, her wrist, bruises, burns and head made that difficult, but she had never been a quitter. No matter how dire the situation seemed, she was determined to live through it. Philip had been the first test, the Syndicate the next, and this was apparently going to be the third. As she moved, she groaned loudly, and her entire body protested the movement.

In true heroic fashion, Kate appeared right in her line of vision. She had a rope tied securely to an arrow, MJ was guessing, and she was in way better shape than she was. That was a relief, it was one small thing that she hadn’t fucked up in the past week. “Yeah,” she said hoarsely. “I’ll hold onto you.” Even if it seemed nearly impossible, in order to live, MJ would make it work. With her good hand, she held tightly onto the rope, knowing full well that it was no metaphorical lifeline. “Swing out that window and get us out of here,” she requested.

Baclath was taking no chances. Too much had already gone wrong, and if she let Watson die here, it would muddle up her plans. It was lucky that Kate Bishop’s tether was not made of regular rope, but a specialized material, apparently flame retardant. (She would not give credit or say Barton’s invention was impressive -- it was merely lucky.) She reached over and looped the end of the rope around MJ’s waist, tied it securely just in case, and then attached the end to her belt. The window wasn’t far above them, but they would need momentum.

There was no time to think. The flames were spread out all around them, catching on old cardboard boxes, licking at the heels of outdated machinery. Baclath had to focus. She surveyed her environment, the way Caden had taught her. A Skrull always found something to use to their advantage. She just had to think. What was here?

Heat prickling at my skin. Boxes. Machines. The mix of smoke and gas strange and heavy in the air. Arrows. Webs. Flames. Many flames, licking at our heels. A series of catwalks stretching up to each level…

An idea came into her mind, a dangerous one, but she was out of time to decide. “Hey, so, web yourself to me if you have to,” she said, drawing a very specific arrow from Kate Bishop’s quiver. “Because I’m catching us a ride.”

With that, she fired the explosive arrow into the collection of gas and flames. It shot them upward, she kicked off as hard as she could at the same time, and let the tether be her guide through the thick haze. Cold metal slapped against her skin as she hit the catwalk, just below the window. “Holy futz!” she shouted, scrambling to her feet, reaching down to pull Watson up as well. “I didn’t expect that to work!”

Though of course, she had. She had more confidence and more skill than Kate Bishop. Below them now, the remaining barrels were starting to splinter and crackle, so Baclath wasted no more time on foolishness. She hoisted herself up onto the window sill, and checked the tether once more. All they had to do now was climb down before those barrels blew.

Jessica’s lessons never extended to what to do when your vision was blurred, your skin was burnt, and your wrist was potentially broken. Strangely, while her mentor thought of lesson plans, mostly focused on offence and defence, that scenario had never come to mind. Christ, that was hysterical. She was going to die, Johnny would never know he was her best friend, no matter what happened, Pietro was never going to know she definitely loved him, Tony wouldn’t know how greatly he influenced her, and she couldn’t think of anything heartfelt to say to Kate given the opportunity. She was pathetic, a complete failure, and her vision darted out once more. At least that gave her something else to focus on.

It wasn’t that MJ didn’t trust Kate to save her life. Part of being on a team as tight knit as the Young Avengers ensured that she did. If anyone was capable of getting them out of this, it was going to be Hawkeye, but even if she did survive, the injuries she sustained were bad — worse than she’d experienced in the past. There were burns, bruises, oh god, she was going to look hideous. Her head began throbbing once more, and just like that, all focus went out the window (unlike her fucking body). “You got it,” she mumbled. Obediently, she webbed herself to Kate, unable to aim very well. Hopefully it’d be sufficient.

MJ was only semi-lucid when Kate propelled them forward, but she definitely realized the second her body slammed into the cold metal catwalk. She hissed in pain, and her arm defensively wrapped around her torso, like it could take away the throbbing on impact. Kate pulled her up, and she stood unsurely on her feet. Her own bodyweight felt like several hundred tonnes, but she’d faced worse, and now they had a shot at survival. Nothing could stop her from taking it. “You did great,” she said, offering her a tense smile.

Their time was undoubtedly limited, and MJ only had one half-formulated plan in mind. “I can web us down from here, it isn’t that high up.” Granted, her idea of heights was skewed in comparison to most people’s. “The tether will work both ways, and we’re already webbed together. You trust me?” Given her nausea and severe lack of balance, she wouldn’t be offended if Kate said no, but they were running out of time.

Watson was still in one piece, despite her dangerously dangling wrist. If there was any victory to be had tonight, it was in that alone. Baclath was already imagining ways to spin this night -- she could not tell Caden or Veranke the truth. She had failed. She was more shameful than her foolish, idiot brother. She was a disgrace to all Skrullkind. And if she did not fully intend to make up for this mistake, she would surrender herself for execution.

But no. She was far too valuable to this invasion, even if she was stuck in a pathetic wimp of a host. She would blame the men. The replacement crew that should’ve been able to subdue Watson much quicker, before everything got out of hand. Only a handful had managed to flee, the rest were still inside. It would mean hunting down those who had escaped, but that was simple enough. Their death was already a bygone conclusion in her mind. Tonight would be full of casualties indeed, but these Skrulls were obviously weak and worthless, or they would’ve found a way to survive. Just as she was, right now.

She was thinking of all this, distracting herself from her inner rage (which burned hotter in this moment than the fire at their backs). So intently, that when Watson spoke, she had to blink and refocus. Trust? No wonder these humans were such a pathetic species. She had just risked life and limb to keep this girl alive, while she pathetically cried out about her wrist and her burns, and Baclath was supposed to trust her?

But in this form, it wasn’t about what she would do. It was about what the host would do. And she knew without even looking into Kate Bishop’s mind, what the answer would be. “Of course I do,” she said firmly, wrapping an arm around MJ’s waist.

Kate did trust her as it turned out, even if MJ privately wondered whether that was a good choice or not. Web slinging took focus, and most of all, it took precision, neither of which she currently had in spades. Unfortunately, the rest of the barrels were seconds from blowing, and wasting time would mean dooming them both. With Kate’s arm securely around her waist, MJ lead them towards the window, and then slung a web across to the other building, as promised. With her vision ducking in an out, and her mind spinning, she couldn’t gauge the exact distance, but intuition told that she would have to release that one, and rely on her bad hand. Halfway across, she did just that, and ignored the blinding pain. Life or death, she reminded herself, and then she clumsily landed on the ground.

Behind them was the burning building, and distantly, she could hear sirens. “We’re alive,” she said gleefully, wrapping a single arm around her friend. As the sirens rapidly approached, MJ ducked into the alleyway, knowing Kate would understand exactly why. Unsteadily, she leaned against the bricks, and began the painstaking process of tearing her Spinneret suit away from her scalded flesh. It was gruesome, but in order to maintain her identity, it was very, very necessary. “I think I gotta go to a hospital,” she muttered as the wooziness set in, worsening by the second. Finally, she was free of the spandex, and she only pulled a (thankfully) long shirt overtop of herself. Stark would definitely understand why after catching sight of her.

“Yeah, I gotta — ” she cut off mid-sentence, heaving for breath. People witnessing her injured had always left her panicked, though her thoughts were far from clear enough to remind herself of that fact. She pulled her phone out with one hand and dialled Pepper’s number, knowing she would be at their location in minutes, and prepare the necessary medical staff. At least she had insurance now. Once the text was sent, MJ’s eyes flitted closed, and she leaned her head against the bricks.

Baclath had only been half-listening to Watson when she mumbled out her plan, so when the girl shot out the web and swung them far, far from the warehouse, she felt her breath catch in her throat. It was not fear, merely surprise. She corrected herself quickly, forced a grin of triumph onto Kate Bishop’s face. For her, something as paltry as just getting away with their lives would be considered a victory.

The tether arrow snapped halfway through their escape, but MJ had already swung again, this time with her bad wrist. Her pain was both amusing, and irritating. What if that wrist was permanently damaged? It could affect her standing with the Young Avengers, turn her from valuable asset to damaged goods.

When they finally landed, Baclath snapped the bow to its harness across her back, and turned to Kate Bishop’s friend. She too slung an arm across the other girl’s shoulders, though the casual touch made her want to vomit even more than the gas-smoke mixture had. But it was MJ who broke the contact first, leaning against the building, stripping away her charred costume. Baclath had to keep her face carefully blank, but the injuries did not look good. Burns. Lacerations. The dazed look in her unfocused eyes. That wrist. All of it added up to trouble.

And it would be up to her to fix it. To make matters worse, it seemed that physical injuries were not the extent of Watson’s problems. Why was she breathing like that, as if she were terrified? The danger was passed, they were alive. A mental health issue, perhaps then. It was difficult to say, and even more difficult for her to figure out what to do. The first step was simple enough -- she reached over and plucked the phone out of MJ’s hands once she saw who was being called, and spoke for her. “We need a pick-up at 354 canal. Well, near there,” she said, breathing heavily herself now. Mostly out of irritation, though it might be construed as fatigue. “And a medical staff on standby, please Pep?” The overly-concerned woman on the other end assured her that the Iron Legion was already on its way to pick them up, and that she’d call in a doctor.