When Wasps Fly

“Don’t–”

Jan leaned up sharply and tensely in that brief moment before she registered that Tony’s gesture was meant for a Jarvis that existed in his imagination, a Jarvis-the-invisible-man. Jarvis-the-detached-voice fell silent and as Tony turned to pacing, Janet tried her best to look in-control of what she’d done, bordering on imperious—anything to erase her flinch, to pass it off as a natural motion.  

She stayed silent as Tony talked.  Every few words, she shook her head as he gave her far too much credit.  She really wished Tony wouldn’t try and reframe what she’d done.  Everyone had their small vices.  Who was he—who was anyone—to judge that?  When he attributed to her some other motive than that—some desire or calling to protect an artefact or protect others from what the artefacts could do—it infused her with guilt of her real, far more selfish motive.  She just wanted to be happy, and maybe, sometimes, that couldn’t be achieved by playing by the rules.  Sometimes, these things had to be made, and taken, and, “Borrowed,” she corrected Tony.

“I borrowed it,” she insisted, though the distinction between ‘borrow’ and ‘steal,’ between ‘justified’ and ‘unjustified,’ existed primarily—perhaps only—in the conviction with which Jan spoke.  “And if there were protections or wards on the gem, they’d worn off by the time I got there, as evidence by the fact I haven’t grown an extra head or the like, so maybe there are better places for it to live while Strange’s away, but that’s beside the point.”  

Jan tapped her nails along the lid, clacking a hollow tone that lifted out of the instrument.  

“What happened –”  

It would be easier for Tony, Jan thought, if he didn’t know, but, in a prescriptionist sort of way, he had asked.  

“I was visiting Clea, actually, at the Sanctum Sanctorum.  You’ve met her, haven’t you?  The sorceress with white hair and an affinity for purple?  Stephen’s girlfriend?  She knows my son, and it was because of him, you know, that I was there the other day.  She left the room for a moment, and I had a feeling, Tony, that I knew there was a way to solve everything, if only I found the gem.  It called to me, and I know it sounds crazy, I know it does, but when I saw it, I knew what I had to do, and I knew what it could do for me, so I took it, and I plan to use it.

“I only need to use it once.”  She looked pleadingly at Tony, hoping he could be talked around and convinced to help her.  

“Borrowed. I borrowed it,” Jan emphasized.

Tony nodded. He stifled the anxious chuckle that clawed up his throat the way it always did at the wrong times, then with a muttered, “Oh Lord,” he broke into a pacing while Jan elaborated on how she had happened upon the magical artifact. God grant him serenity to etc etc etc. He walked all the way to the large floor-to-ceiling windows about ten feet away from the piano and then back twice as Jan talked.

Apparently the thing had, uh, called to her. Stark instantly regretted not having beaten down his fear long enough to gather a more decent working knowledge of how the infinity stones operated while Stephen was willing and able to provide him such instruction – specifically about the soul gem, Tony knew that was the one guarded at the NYC Sanctum Sanctorum. But no, Tony had been trying this new method called “not micromanaging every single little thing so as to hopefully avoid getting back to the point where he was prepared to quite literally drink himself to death,” and it clearly had been blowing up in his face in tons of different ways –

He wondered if the gem was latching on to Jan’s soul precisely because hers tended to be the greatest in almost any given room on this Earth, and right about now, it was also one of the most vulnerable.

“Dear, speaking as a certified mad man and, most importantly, a Lord of the Rings fan –” Tony stopped in front of Jan again, clapping his hands together and keeping them palm-to-palm at the level of his chest. “When glowy items of potentially cataclysmic power start whispering in your ear, it’s – generally advisable to take a step back…”

The plea in Jan’s gaze trapped Tony’s eyes.

Oh, no.

“I only need to use it once.”

Let’s just share one glass, he’d told Pepper once, while detoxing. Just one. To celebrate his decision to get better, and all of that. Just one drink, he’d told himself innumerable times ever since. He knew he needed to stop mentally comparing every questionable decision that other people made to the impulse he himself felt to drink, he knew the first step was admitting that he had a problem, and that was why it was always one of the hardest steps, it implied accepting that he’d fallen where most people were generally able to stand. He was barely able to hold his own against the whispers of wine bottles, for God’s sake.

He approached Jan until she was close enough for him to be able to place his hands on her shoulders. Then he rubbed her upper arms, squeezed them gently, and let her go again so he could run his hands through his hair before letting them settle back down on his hips.

She mirrored Tony’s stance, placing a hand on her hip--her love handle, if she was honest with herself; she’d been gaining weight again, which was particularly annoying after she’d managed to get down to her pre-Henry numbers--and let the other hang or gesticulate as she spoke.  Her voice was almost too confident, with a tinge of plea to appeal to Tony and have him understand and agree that what she wanted and needed to do was not only necessary but inevitable.  He had to; his approbation was paramount both for her plan’s success and for the ease of Jan’s psyche.

“I’m not going to use it to harm anyone, Tony, if that’s what you’re afraid of.  I think a great deal of harm could be avoided by, well, forgetting.  That’s what the soul gem does, at least in part.”

Jan paused for a fraction, trying to pick the best place to start.  “I don’t know if you knew this, Tony, but Hank’s been married before.  And that’s not a problem--well, it is now.  Tony, he always talked about her like she was dead, so I didn’t care, but now she’s back and of course it’s good for Nadia to know him, but Maria’s a magpie, Tony, who just--” Jan’s voice had risen about two octaves since she’d begun talking, and she had to look up to keep her misty eyes from dripping.  The thought of being Hank’s second choice all these years, living together, having a child together was all too much.  She took a deep breath, even as her nose felt narrow with misery. 

Jan leaned against the piano, and Tony’s gaze flickered to the prop keeping the lid open. Jan didn’t touch it, and it didn’t move, and it probably wouldn’t unless she really tried, but that still seemed like an accident waiting to happen in Tony’s paranoid, overworked mind. He didn’t really like when people leaned on the piano, but he knew it was something he risked by not keeping it in storage and by keeping his mouth shut about its significance.

Not that this was the grand piano. The grand piano – a 1930s Bluthner – had been destroyed along with the Avengers Mansion. This one had been store-bought a few short years ago, when the Tower was renovated, and whatever age-old meaning it carried was an illusion projected by Tony and his memories of a similar-looking instrument. His annoyance at the sight of people leaning on the thing had been, long ago, officially downgraded to unreasonable. Still, he had to make a conscious effort to focus back on Jan and not on the simmering anxiety chewing at the edge of his judgment, much like it did when he was forced to accept items somebody else had handed to him all too suddenly.

Jan was talking about Hank, about her – their – her house, about how Hank called it “her palace.” Tony himself was no stranger to resentful, passive-aggressive, or snide remarks made about his wealth and the properties in which his wealth manifested itself. He needed to navigate these situations carefully; his history begged him to take a conscientious approach to his wealth, and what it meant, and where it had come from, and what other people thought of him for having it, and how justified they were in thinking that, and how righteous their resentment was, and how he could make the most out of what he had not for himself but for others, and, and, and, and… Jan had always been the one person in his close social circle who could maybe understand that. The weight of having. That guilt that should expect or ask for no sympathy.

“Well, you know how it is. Sometimes you give everything you can give…”

(For the millionth time, Tony remembered Steve’s words at the Raft. A home that I don’t have.)

“And you still can’t turn the big house into something more than just a big house.”

Sometimes, home just… didn’t happen. There were so many empty rooms in this Tower that attested to that fact. Grand and beautiful rooms that felt like mausoleums for the sense of home he’d tried and failed to build for the Avengers, or that he’d taken away from them over the past year–

“But if you’re offering to help, Tony, there is one thing I need, if you’re up to it.”

Jan paused, and Tony regarded her as carefully as she regarded him. If you’re up to it. It sounded like a challenge. More specifically, it sounded like Jan had fucked something up, or was prepared to fuck something up, and was wondering if he might come fuck up that something with her.

“I did something I shouldn’t have done, Tony, something ill-advised.  And there’s more to come, and, Tony, I need your help.  Tony, I borrowed an infinity gem from Stephen Strange…and, strictly speaking, he doesn’t know I did.”

… like that.

Tony took his hands from his pockets so he could fold his arms across his chest. He opened his mouth, closed it, blinked a couple of times.

“JARVIS!” he called, still looking at Jan.

JARVIS scanned the room.

“Yes, there seems to be a highly unstable energetic hotspot in Ms. Van Dyne’s bedroom, sir,” the system responded. “I told you so. Shall I record this on our scoreboards?”

“Don’t–” Tony unfolded his arms and waved JARVIS off like he was a physical person peering mischievously over his shoulder.

Don’t be funny with me in front of people. Not now, anyway. Tony knew JARVIS had picked up on the spike in his adrenaline levels and was trying to diffuse the situation. He inhaled and took a step away from Jan so he’d be at more physical liberty to pace if necessary.

“Infinity gem? I thought it was just a cool Pym Particles-infused gizmo you were carrying around–” More specifically, JARVIS had said erlier that the energy signature was worth investigating more closely, and Tony told him it was fine, it was some type of Jan tech, he trusted her – he had to trust the very few people he had left, otherwise he would officially go insane. “What happened – is it for safe-keeping? Is someone targeting the Sanctum? Should we be worried about the other items – of course we should – don’t they have a lot of magical whatever going on there to protect these things?”

“Don’t--”

Jan leaned up sharply and tensely in that brief moment before she registered that Tony’s gesture was meant for a Jarvis that existed in his imagination, a Jarvis-the-invisible-man. Jarvis-the-detached-voice fell silent and as Tony turned to pacing, Janet tried her best to look in-control of what she’d done, bordering on imperious—anything to erase her flinch, to pass it off as a natural motion.  

She stayed silent as Tony talked.  Every few words, she shook her head as he gave her far too much credit.  She really wished Tony wouldn’t try and reframe what she’d done.  Everyone had their small vices.  Who was he—who was anyone—to judge that?  When he attributed to her some other motive than that—some desire or calling to protect an artefact or protect others from what the artefacts could do—it infused her with guilt of her real, far more selfish motive.  She just wanted to be happy, and maybe, sometimes, that couldn’t be achieved by playing by the rules.  Sometimes, these things had to be made, and taken, and, “Borrowed,” she corrected Tony.

“I borrowed it,” she insisted, though the distinction between ‘borrow’ and ‘steal,’ between ‘justified’ and ‘unjustified,’ existed primarily—perhaps only—in the conviction with which Jan spoke.  “And if there were protections or wards on the gem, they’d worn off by the time I got there, as evidence by the fact I haven’t grown an extra head or the like, so maybe there are better places for it to live while Strange’s away, but that’s beside the point.”  

Jan tapped her nails along the lid, clacking a hollow tone that lifted out of the instrument.  

“What happened –”  

It would be easier for Tony, Jan thought, if he didn’t know, but, in a prescriptionist sort of way, he had asked.  

“I was visiting Clea, actually, at the Sanctum Sanctorum.  You’ve met her, haven’t you?  The sorceress with white hair and an affinity for purple?  Stephen’s girlfriend?  She knows my son, and it was because of him, you know, that I was there the other day.  She left the room for a moment, and I had a feeling, Tony, that I knew there was a way to solve everything, if only I found the gem.  It called to me, and I know it sounds crazy, I know it does, but when I saw it, I knew what I had to do, and I knew what it could do for me, so I took it, and I plan to use it.

From: N Romanoff ([email protected])

To: Janet van Dyne ([email protected]) RE: [no subject]

Janet–

I’ve never met your son. I don’t know what kind of enhancement he might have, or how he might have gotten it, or even what he looks like (aside from your instagram of course). But I think–and this is an unofficial opinion, not something political I’m trying to convince you to believe–that it would be in your interests to register yourself. Once you are registered, the government surveillance will be focused elsewhere, on those who haven’t registered. You can protect your son.

That might be cynical or manipulative. But its’ the advice I have.

N

It was the next week before Janet actually managed to find time to meet with Natasha.  In that week, the news of the SRA spread, opinion pieces flooded even the reputable newspapers and blogs, and the number of adopters rose slowly.  There was some confidence, at least, that if she were to sign, she wouldn’t be alone.  

Jan had made two trips in that time out to the New Avengers Facility.  The first trip was made as a friend, a fellow superhuman.  Everyone was still processing the news and seemed on highly individual paths.  The second time, she meant to go as the chairman--but she found that though she’d signed the documents both for herself and for her family, she had little advice to give to anyone.  In the end, she’d just been an authority of sorts for them to confide in.  Then she’d left.  How could she give any advice, after all, when she had signed, but hadn’t the conviction to turn in the documents?  

“I don’t know how well you’ll be able to claim your son gave you a 24-hour ‘thing’ from the playground.”  

Stark returned Jan’s sure, wide, and mirthless smile. She was right and that had stung him somewhere, probably more than it should.

It had been a while since he’d last seen Junior. Was he really old and big enough for playgrounds already? He must certainly be waddling about on his own two feet by now. He might not even remember Tony anymore, he probably hadn’t made any long-term impressions in the growing kid’s memories, he hadn’t been stable enough a presence for about a full year now.

(Who took care of him while Jan was here? Did Jan say goodbye and tried to explain that she’d be gone, or did he still wait for her to arrive at night? Did he know when she’d come back? Certain parenting styles could end up fueling separation anxieties, Tony had read about it once. He might have experienced it firsthand as well.)

Tony didn’t leave his spot as Jan approached, but he pocketed his hands. He was still wearing his work clothes, minus the jacket, tie, and vest.

Jan most likely had Rhodey’s number. She definitely had Tony’s, but she didn’t call him much anymore, nor did he call her himself. Funny how they’d gone from weekly coffee dates to… this. The smallest and most important things always ended up being the quietest casualties of war.

News of the divorce – or technically, Jan’s plan to get one – didn’t come as too much of a surprise, under the circumstances. It certainly wasn’t a decision he would fight against; sometimes he still stopped and closed his eyes and cringed in the middle of his day when he was suddenly reminded of what had transpired between Jan and Hank in Thor and Jane’s wedding reception, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what the memory must do to Jan.

(He hadn’t forgotten the role he’d played in all of that. Christ. If Hank knew where Jan had been spending some of her nights, he might think Tony was taking advantage of her.)

“Well, you know I’ll help you in any way I can. If you want.” He shrugged an uneasy, but hopefully sympathetic smile. “I came to find out I have a bit of a knack for paperwork and emotionally laden legal tensions.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Jan replied, her demeanor softening.  She leaned back against the piano, and the cover dug into her rib, prompting her to stand up once more.  She took a hand out of her pocket to rest instead on the black wood.  “I appreciate that.  Of course,” she added, “I hope things will go smoothly.”  

Their lives had been entwined for two years, yet it felt like a lifetime ago, now, that she had agreed to marry Hank.  They’d just survived the sleeping sickness, and she’d been so grateful to be alive, so happy to have more time that she’d rushed things.  And she’d just graduated school.  One thing ends and another begins; she wasn’t the first girl to earn her M.R.S. along with her B.B.A.  The logic which had felt so sound in the moment now felt like contradictory factoids which couldn’t quite be reconciled.  Jan knew if she was asked today--even a year ago--she wouldn’t have agreed to marry Hank, but how could she have said ‘no’ back then?

They had tried to put their lives together, but thankfully they had been, in so many ways, unsuccessful.  Her house, her fortune, her shares in her company and in others, her investments--it was all safely in her own holding.  What was hers, Hank couldn’t claim, and what was theirs--Henry Jr--Jan would admit only privately to herself that she would be relieved if he sued her for full custody.  Hank was a better parent than she thought she would ever be.

She continued, “I can’t imagine I won’t get the better deal--I’d even buy him a new house, if only he’d--” Jan balled a fist and rapped her knuckles against the black piano lid.  “You know what he calls my--our--my house?  He calls it ‘my palace,’ as if he wasn’t there when we bought it, as if he hasn’t lived there as long as I have.  I could never tell if he was criticizing me, or if he just felt uncomfortable in his own home.

His mother used to keep a candle on top of the piano, right by the music rack, and she lit it up every time before playing. Tony never knew why. It wasn’t a prayer candle and she didn’t usually seem to need the extra help with visibility. Tony would sit next to her as her fingers ebbed and flowed across the keys, and sometimes he would blow out that candle and snicker at her. It didn’t bother her, but she still lit up that candle every time she sat down to play.

Tony kept a candle on his grand piano as well – a small monument in honor of something he didn’t know. Something that had died with his mom, something he would die without knowing. He had asked so many questions as he grew up, but not this one. Why the candle? He hadn’t asked. He pictured himself asking, sometimes. Less times, he pictured her answering. At no time was he ever satisfied with the make-believe answers he came up with.

Thinking about his mother was always something he risked when he spent time in this room, and lately he had been doing that more frequently. Jan’s bedroom was just upstairs, and JARVIS had been keeping track of her comings and goings. She didn’t always greet him or said goodbyes. Tony didn’t always look for her. But he did come here when he could spare a few minutes to pretend to read something on his tablet or whatever, just in case Jan decided to come down. He’d been doing that since the day she broke down over her cat.

It would have sucked if no one had been there the day of the cat.

Tony had been about to leave when he heard Jan’s shoes clicking against the steps; she might have missed him if he hadn’t decided to linger by the piano for a few minutes. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said.

“Sorry I’m standing in the way of your silent retreat,” Tony replied, turning around to look at Jan. He wasn’t particularly sorry. “Rhodey sends his love.”

Tony had turned down an invitation to join him and Carol in their outing as well. He hoped they would have fun together, without him dragging them down or overexerting himself in the process of trying not to. At the very least, they’d be able to peacefully share a bottle of wine or something.

“So, what’s the fake excuse you used to avoid socializing tonight? I need to upgrade my own repertoire.”

Jan opened her mouth to answer, then paused to smile wide at Tony’s request to expand his repertoire.  Nothing about this question was funny, just as nothing about Jan’s smile was cheery–Jan might reflect on that later to come to the conclusion that she hadn’t laughed about much in too long a time.  The smile came from her own answer, and lingered until she’d finished saying, “I don’t know how well you’ll be able to claim your son gave you a 24-hour ‘thing’ from the playground.”  

Then her smile fell and she stepped closer.  Her hands slid into her trouser pockets in a movement too just a little too comfortable and a little too languid, as if to say, ‘I’m at ease–of course I am.  Look how deep my hands are in my pockets.’

“I’m sorry to have missed him, though; I really am.  It’s always a treat, and we so seldom see one another except through you.”  Jan stopped walking when she reached the piano, rolled onto the balls of her feet and fell about a quarter inch back onto her high heels. “As for silent retreats, no, I’m glad I caught you…

“Alone.”  

The soul gem was still upstairs in her little box, and Jan wondered if she was the only one who could feel it calling out.  It might have been that it called to all those who could use it, or perhaps it had singled her out, having spent a few days close to her and her ambitions.  There was a distinct possibility–which Jan thought the most likely, though didn’t feel most authentic–that she had simply made up her mind on her own, and now that she had decided, her choice to use the little green stone felt inevitable.    

“Hey, there’s something I never asked you–why aren’t you in electric cars?  I mean, you’re basically a Elon Musk impersonator already.”  

“I am into electric cars,” Stark intoned, only vaguely defensive. “This one was just physically closer today, when I was sitting out the urge to jam a screwdriver under my kneecap. We bonded.”

He almost smiled, looking ahead. He might as well have been joking for all of the casual flippancy of his tone, even though he’d put no deliberate effort into sounding like he was. But he didn’t mind if he did. He didn’t really mind either way, this was less a sincere answer, and more some performative display of the dark sort of ennui that had recently settled over him.

He didn’t say anything else for a few moments after that, despite the fact that there had been plenty of prompting from Jan. He’d noted something distant and disconnected in his own voice, it kept him from talking further as it reminded of some of his more inebriated afternoons circa 2008, his dullest, and most unimpressed, and oppressive hours.

(I’m different now, he often told himself these days, but this thing was still there in his head, just like before, except that after months of therapy he’d come to label it a depressive episode or a mood drop and he pretended, with fluctuating levels of success, that all of it didn’t essentially come down to evidence of Tony Stark’s predisposition to coldness and cruelty and nothing.)

The light changed to green, but Stark couldn’t move much. Lovely traffic. The hip hop music coming from the car on his diagonal was annoyingly loud, denouncing the silence in this one. The silence spoke to Tony’s present failure to be the pretentiously fun-loving machine he was often expected to be, calibrated to entertain.

“By the way, Elon Musk is the Tony Stark impersonator. I got in the business first.”

There. A nugget of the petty competitiveness that was usually ascribed to him. He even went as far as turning his head to flash Jan a smile, but what was supposed to be a quick and shallow exchange of looks ended up absorbing Tony’s attention for a beat longer than he’d intended, long enough for his smile to pale as he regarded Jan. He couldn’t look at her without remembering what had transpired this August, he couldn’t look at her without searching for physical evidence that it had happened, while hoping that he wouldn’t find any. There was an apology and a million attempts at reparation and even more expressions of concern suffocating somewhere between all his regret and his hesitation to vocalize it. He didn’t want to break whatever calm or denial had settled over Jan.

He also hated how he was just supposed to assume that this whole thing had been properly “fixed” and that it was “okay” for Jan and Hank to share a roof after what happened.

He flinched and clicked his tongue when someone honked behind him. Then he focused back on the road, and finally advanced now that he had the space to do so.

“Do you want to go somewhere specific?”

He didn’t know if he’d meant the question as do you want to go somewhere together or should I drop you off somewhere. He meant it however Jan would take it, he supposed. He didn’t think he should be calling any shots.

(He kind of wanted to.)

(He still had some fight building up in him and Hank would be the one with the black eye if Tony ever broke down and acted on it.)

“Oh, such petty competition!” exclaimed Janet.  “You boys and your egos.”  She found she was grasping at straws, and wanted badly not to actually acknowledge what Tony had said about the screwdriver, even though the mention and the image it had given her had made her wince in sympathy.  It was clear something was bothering Tony, but it was equally apparent that he didn’t want to call attention to it, or he would have brought it up himself.  as Jan struggled for something more to say, Tony tasked her.  

The question felt like an ultimatum.  Give me something to do or leave me alone with my thoughts.  His thoughts, which Jan was sure were about digging hardware into his body and sitting in midday traffic and whatever else he had going on.  Jan’s mind sped, as if every second she sat there without an answer was a waste of Tony’s time and energy which he could be using to brood by himself.

Where Jan wanted to go was easy--her first thought was that she wanted to spend a lot of money on something that might make her feel better.  Specifically where she wanted to go was harder.  There were only so many things that could actually lift her mood like that.  Perhaps she could buy herself a new car; something stylish or fast and necessarily so expensive it would make Hank shudder to think what she’d done.  Seeing the look on his face to find she’d brought home a Lamborghini would make the day so much sweeter. However, cars could only go so fast or so far--as their current predicament showed.  

Then there was always the possibility of purchasing herself a lovely yacht.  yes, that sounded a little better.  She could take that anywhere in the world, and she could spend weeks away at a time on uncharted waters and nobody could find her and ask anything of her.  There would be no embezzling to investigate, no SRA to handle, no child to mother.  

Though, if escape was on her mind, then she already had the greatest gift of all--how many women longed for a pair of wings so they could simply fly away from their problems?  Feathered, Jan imagined they coveted, like a pigeon or an angel, and they’d fly away and never face their husbands, children, or poverty again.  Jan had none of these problems.  It wasn’t the means itself, at all, that was the issue with her need to escape.  

It was simply, then, a feeling of being trapped.  Freedom, then.   She wanted to go to freedom, in every sense of the word.  But there was no destination for freedom, for Jan was sure she had the freedom to do as she pleased.  Freedom to come and go, to see her friends, to run her company, to buy what she wanted, to bring up her child any which way she pleased--but there were things she couldn’t escape.  It wasn’t freedoms to which she lacked, but freedoms from.  There was no freedom from boredom, from tension, from her problems at work, from losing the respect of her colleagues as she struggled and failed to make good on her innumerable projects and personal endeavors.  Jan had, in short, managed to accumulate all the trappings of success while amassing an even larger sensation of failure.  

She wanted, then, she supposed, to go somewhere that she didn’t have to feel she’d let someone down.  Jan didn’t know, but felt fairly sure that such a place didn’t or couldn’t exist.  She wanted, then, the illusion, the mere illusion that none of this mattered.  A tab of acid might do the trick, but as seriously as the possibility entered Jan’s mind, she remembered with whom she was sitting and kept that thought tightly in-hand.  What, then?  Some other thrill?  A very real flirt with death?  That might be nice.  Some would have jumped out of planes for the thrill, but again, such things couldn’t suffice for Jan.  She wanted a fight, then, perhaps.  It wasn’t, she didn’t think, quite that she wanted to die, but just that she didn’t want to be convinced, either, of her chances for survival.  She hadn’t been in the field since Henry had been born.  A fight seemed overdue.  Now, things weren’t right between her and the group.  Fighting was a lot better than managing a brand--literally making money on the fact that her friends were being imprisoned and had been putting themselves in danger.  That money was filthy, absolutely dripping with shit and blood.  Yet, she didn’t feel right about selling her rights to the team, either.  Such a property ought to be held in the group, after all.  She was still one of the team, and that had to mean something.  It had to. 

No, then, the destination needed to be somewhere physical.  Jan was tempted to say “Asgard,” but she was sure she wouldn’t be welcome there.  Even a mythical realm had managed to become home to some of her failures and embarrassments.  And she still needed to apologize to Tony for what she’d done.  For a second, her cheeks flushed in shame before she turned her thoughts to other things.  There was a moon, wasn’t there, around Jupiter which seemed to be able to support life?  Jan hadn’t messed up there at all, yet.  If only there were a way to go. 

Relapse nightmares were bad. He had them sometimes, nightmares of blackouts and lack of control and forced drinking, and those were the ones with the most debilitating immediate after-effects – panic attacks, pacing, tears and sweat buried in the pillow. Ultimately, he tried holding the nightmares as evidence of his commitment to get better. On good days, he even believed that.

The fantasies were the worst.

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“I just flew in from New Jersey, and--” Jan gasped for air, finally feeling her lungs loosen, as if the tight muscles in her chest needed a chance to relax, “boy am I tired, really, let me catch my breath.”  Again, Jan ran her fingers through her hair, this time to push her bangs out of the way.  As the air hit her body, the clammy grip of sweaty super suit began to lessen as the cloth dried and pulled away from her body.  

“After all these years, Tony,” she smiled, not sure even as she said the words if she was teasing or chiding or mocking or endearing, “I can still surprise you with that?  It’s the oldest trick in my book.”  For a moment, Tony had looked like he was going to have a heart attack, and Jan had been entirely unsure of what to do in a situation like that.  Would she have had to grab the wheel?  How could she have reached the pedals?  But his nerves of steel (or iron, as the case may be) had prevailed, and Jan was only left with a slight wrenching feeling about having startled him.  She had assumed he was driving because he had to be somewhere, but it occurred belatedly to Jan that perhaps he was driving for reasons beyond the utilitarian.  

Then, Jan realized, she wished she had watched him for just a moment longer before revealing herself.  Either through the window or in his back seat, she could have easily invaded his privacy to see what he was thinking, how he held himself, what his face would do if he didn’t think he was being watched.  Now, how could she know what to say?  “Wow, when was the last we saw each other?” she pretended to muse.  Sarcasm would have been easy, but it had no place in her tone now.  “I guess I’ve been alright.  Seeing more of Henry lately.  Junior.  Well, Senior, too, I guess.  Really feel like I’ve been shirking, but there’s not much of a team to oversee these days, is there?”  Each phrase was as passionless as the last; Jan just couldn’t quite sell the happy suburbanite story--not when she was hiding from her husband and best friend out of shame, not when her child was the most boring creature on the face of the earth.  

“I came into the city for some retail therapy.  But what about you, handsome?”  She finally let herself look, really look at him.  Just to see if he was still tense, she told herself.  Just to see if he had relaxed at all, if he was still holding himself rigidly.  He was dressed in expensive clothes that hadn’t been cared for.  They were far from immaculate, yet Jan knew their lines.  He could buy new, but Jan wanted to care for them--they had once been someone’s art.  

Janet–

I’ve never met your son. I don’t know what kind of enhancement he might have, or how he might have gotten it, or even what he looks like (aside from your instagram of course). But I think–and this is an unofficial opinion, not something political I’m trying to convince you to believe–that it would be in your interests to register yourself. Once you are registered, the government surveillance will be focused elsewhere, on those who haven’t registered. You can protect your son.

That might be cynical or manipulative. But its’ the advice I have.

Natasha, 

I’m surprised you call that cynical.  As soon as I sent that message, I was sure you’d tell me how young you were drafted and that he had a young duty, as well.  Thank you.  It was surprisingly kind of you to say that.  

My first duty is to the team, of course.  The bigger this goes, the less I feel I can do to help her.  Let’s discuss this more fully in person some time.  I feel there are things I can’t convey in writing.

She was enough of a political pragmatist to know that Tony was right, and the Act would likely pass soon. And she, personally, had enough ‘common sense’ to know that she had no choice but to register, if she wanted to remain a respected political player and mitigate whatever effects the Act might have. But some part of her–maybe the part that had spent too much time with Steve Rogers–rebelled at the thought that they couldn’t fight this bill, couldn’t somehow, perhaps at the last minute, succeed in derailing it so it wouldn’t pass.

She clicked her pen open and closed.  “Of course this came as a surprise.  It was a surprise that one of my team made such an egregious mistake with  her conduct.  I don’t support what Wanda did--not even she does, mistakes happen--but I do support Wanda.  That’s not a political decision--it’s about taking responsibility.  The SRA is giving us a chance to step up and be responsible for some of the frankly questionable conduct that’s taken place over the last few years.  Tony’s right; we’re lucky we weren’t called out before this, but now it’s time to play by the rules.  The army and the police do it, so why shouldn’t we?”  

She cleared her throat.  

“but then…well, one thing led to another, you know?”  Angie was sobbing into her microphone now.  “Nobody would have known if I was still a nobody.” 

Peggy listened quietly, conscious both of Angie’s need to vent her pent up, hopeless feelings and of the company she kept in the little hotel room.  “Angie…you can call the police about them, you know that, right?”

“I did, I did.  Lynn’s being really good to me and asked the police to wait by the back door, but they can’t keep everyone away.  I don’t know what’s worse, Peg, the haters or the furries.”  

“Furries?” she asked.  

Angie changed how she was sitting, and the camera moved about.  “It’s this fad.  Maybe it’s not, but they’re these cosplayers–they dress in animal costumes and I think are sexually attracted to animals.  They’ve decided that I’m their…leader?  Queen?”

Peggy had to hold back a snort of laughter and ducked off the screen for a moment while she gathered her senses.  This clearly bothered Angie, but the idea was so ridiculous.  “I’m sorry,” she said, still fighting a smile.  “I’m sorry, but they what?”  

Angie looked back at her so nonplussed that Peggy managed to fight the smile off her face.  “They gather around the exit and shout abut how shout about how they want to pet my ears and beg me to shift.  But we can’t keep them at bay like we can with the others, since they’ve only ever said things to me.”  

“Ange…”  

“I don’t know if it’ll go away if I sign or if it’ll only get worse.”  

Peggy bit her lip, thinking for a moment before responding.  “Angie, I’m sorry this is happening to you.  I don’t think it’ll go away…but hold off on signing, okay?  There’s still a lot at stake if you sign now, and there’s still time.”  Peggy had seen this before.  It would only get more difficult to leave the country as the deadline got closer and closer, but this wasn’t the time to capitulate yet.”  Natasha got off the bed and went into the bathroom.  Peggy seized the opportunity.  “Do you trust me?”  

Angie sniffled, then nodded.  

Peggy dropped her voice low so that Natasha couldn’t overhear from the bathroom.  “I’m working on a plan to get you out of the country, if nothing else.”  Angie’s eyes widened.  “It’s a last resort, but we can find you asylum in England if you like.”  

“Peggy, I can’t leave New York.  I have a job, and everyone knows I’m a werewolf.”  

“Acting jobs don’t last forever.  You can try again in West End.  At least in England, you’ll be safe.”  

“My whole family lives in New York.  I can’t leave them.”  Peggy grit her teeth and looked to the ceiling.  How many times had she wanted to keep some idiot in her life safe?  Of all of them, this seemed the most avoidable.  There was no cause, no need, no greater endeavor–Angie was just being stubborn. 

“Angie, it’s neither forever, no will they be barred from visiting you.  Please,” the toilet flushed and Natasha came out of the bathroom.  “Just consider it.”  

“Peggy,” Peggy was glad she wore ear buds.  “I can’t do that.  Thank you, but I can’t do that.  My life is here.”  

Peggy folded her hands under her chin and smiled, like their conversation had turned sweet and innocent.  “I know you do, and I find it quite fetching.”  She winked, trying to signal that the discussion was over and left at a draw.  

“Fine.  I’ll consider it.  But that’s not a yes.”  

“Hmm,” Peggy winked.  “I had a feeling you’d come around.”  Natasha was setting up her own laptop.  “Alright, darling.  I think I ought to let you go, because my partner needs to use the internet.  Promise you’ll be careful around the furries?”  

“I don’t think they’re dangerous…Peggy, I wish you were here.  It would all be better if you were here.  I miss you.”  

“I miss you, too.  But I have a feeling I won’t be much longer.”  She kissed the air towards her camera and waved her goodbye.  

“Call later?”  

“Of course.  Whenever I can.”  

“You don’t call enough.”  

“I know.  But I love you.”  

It was a good old boys network--it was as simple as that.  They’d been picked by her father, and Jan wondered if some were left over from his father before him.  Dad--Vernon, as they called him--had always been so interesting at home.  He planned manned trips to Mars and managed to communicate with the extraterrestrials who lived beyond their planet.  It was difficult to imagine him sitting in here with such boring and reprehensible people who talked about their mistresses and their fishing trips.  At least they had money, and knew money.  It wasn’t as if they didn’t have their place, but why, Janet stressed, did they always want her to be persuaded to their opinion?  If they kept their ideas company-related, these might not be second choice to dental work.  (...a cleaning, not a root canal.)

She hadn’t forgotten, but that was an hour away.  Why was she getting a reminder so early?  “Thank you...” she replied, and checked her watch.  Because it was 3:00, that was why.  Still, it wasn’t time for her four o’ clock meeting.  “Are they waiting?” she asked, wondering if there was more to the message.  

Marion shook her head and frowned.  “No.  I just thought I’d remind you, because last time your spa visit ran over the meeting.”  

“It’s a zoning problem,” Jan protested, and pulled up skype on her desk top.  “I can’t be held responsible for poor decisions that led to putting a spa on the same block as VDI.  But I’m glad you came in, I do have somewhere I need to...”  She trailed off.  The details of her SRA meeting had no bearing at VDI, and, while her superhero identity was public, it was better that she didn’t appear consumed by the matter.  “Marion?”  

“Yes?”  

“Could you make me a pumpkin spice latte?”  It wasn’t in Marion’s job description, Jan knew, but she also offered, “and get yourself whatever you’d like?”  

“Of course.”  

Jan plugged her ear buds into the computer and called the same group from last month.  “Good afternoon, everyone,” she typed.  “Now that the legislature has passed, I assume everyone here has registered.  As you’re very well aware, many of the community are holding out. It may be indecision or pride, but if anyone can be swayed, we need to start coming up with ways to change opinions and ingratiate people to this government program.  Some vocal minorities, we’ll never win over,  but this has to be about saving as many people from themselves as we can. 

Thoughts of her would settled him normally, and it did temper his rolling emotions some, but the music and Jan did nothing to help his mood.   Instead he felt like an animal rattling the bars of his cage.   The urge to lash out crept up his spine and wrapped around his arms.    So he may have been a bit rougher with the criminals than strictly called for, but they deserved more than the by standers.  

“Like I said, don’t know why I expected to be treated any different by you.  Even though I’m the one risking my life and limb out there to keep people safe,” he replied darkly.   “Go back to your party, princess, and leave the real work to me.”

So Jan waited until he was done, still conscious of the way her friends and colleagues looked at her and him, as if she had been at the root of this mess as much  as he. That was the only thing that still bothered her.  When Spider-man left, Jan would still be here with them and their questions, their fears, and their disapproving looks.  

It was after Spider-man said that the cops were coming that Jan picked up on the sirens.  In a few seconds, they would arrive and see the mess he’d made.  The mess they’d put on her, as the sitting chairman of the Avengers, she was sure.  This was always the way.  

They had to put on a united front.  As a community, they had to make sure the police and the citizens knew that they were standing together to try and minimize events like this, and to try and stop them from occurring at all.  One look at Spider-man’s behavior tonight showed quite clearly that he wouldn’t be joining, and he wouldn’t be one to make things easy for the rest of them.  

The redhead smiled lightly as she saw Jan try to avoid yawning again. “Let’s get some coffee in you. That should help a little bit, right?” She nodded and stood up, moving over to the small coffee maker at the one end of the conference room. “We wont get anything done if you fall asleep on me.” The keurig only took a couple of minutes to brew a cup of coffee, which Pepper brought over to the conference table and set in front of the other woman along with a small caddy full of packets of cream and sugar. Before she sat back down, Pepper made sure to get herself a glass of ice water.

“There was a significant allocation of funding, however.  Even though SI and VDI both operate in technologies &c...there are other issues of affiliation and monetary support for the Avengers, which could be a problem.”  She clicked her pen a few more times and wrote down the first idea.  “The most easiest obvious solution would to be to simply come forward with our respective affiliations with the organization and announce support for the SRA as a means to combat the PR nightmare that has been the fallout of the Scarlet Witch’s actions last month.  I, for one, think that these measures are necessary and in everyone’s best interest, but there are drawbacks. 

He flat out ignored the muttering.  People that want to talk trash about him deserved none of his concerned.  Quite frankly he didn’t give a rats ass about their opinion of him.  Spider-Man did his job cleaning up the crime in his city.   Jan buzzing in his face just increased his ire.

[~hunter, predator, enemy~]

“Don’t make me laugh.   You, concerned about me, and what I’m doing?  Let alone what is happening to the common person?  How did they pry you out of your ivory tower?”   The loud music really starting to get to him and  he wanted out of here.

Jan wasn’t convinced that it was all worth while.  If she had known then what she knew now about such things, she never would have made the same choices.  Back in that hospital bed, she would have crawled in with Hank, cuddled him, happy to be alive and getting well.  They would have gone on vacation, certainly.  He had owed her that much after everything he had put her through.  But they had done this--started a family and gotten married--because they had been so relieved to be alive and wanted to do this while they still had the chance.  Things hadn’t turned out the way Jan had hoped they would.  She was still squishier than she would like to be, still couldn’t sleep through the night because of her son, and never spoke to her husband.  

Those were only the personal consequences.  

Further, there was no way to justify it to the community. Try as she had to stay active, Jan hadn’t been able to work as a super hero in the last year.  She’d been unable to transform and couldn’t risk hurting her child even if she could have.  

There was no smiling child.  She was no closer with her husband.  And people had noticed that she was gone from the community.  

No.  Jan had to remember his words meant nothing.  He was baiting her.  He just wanted to get a rise out of her.  Maybe he was jealous.  That seemed just about right for a spider.  

She laughed at the mistake, and touched Hank’s shoulder when he stepped in to correct it.  “That’s alright, Hank, everyone makes mistakes.  Now, I’m not quite sure how this particular one was made, but we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.  After all, I’m only covered in the news slightly more often than the Queen of England–sorry,” she said, turning from the cameras to the reporter himself, “I think you may know her as Prince Phillip’s wife.”

“Mrs. Pym, yes, now if we could move on to–”

“At any rate,” she continued, cutting him off, then took a breath, “in case there was truly some confusion on the matter, I am Janet Pym, CEO of Van Dyne Industries,” God, she hated how that sounded now that the names didn’t match, “and Chairman of the Avengers team, of which, yes, Hank Pym was a part until very recently.  Joining me today is my superhero colleague and the public face of mutant politics; Hank McCoy.”  

“Mrs. Pym, would you please–” 

“Undoubtedly, many of you have heard by now about the tragedy that befell New York City when the Black Knight decided to terrorize several businesses and private citizens less than a week ago.  It is the Avengers’ sworn duty to protect this city and to respond to all instances of super human proportion.  Wanda Maximoff was on duty the day that it happened, and she bravely responded to the call, along with Fandral of Asgard.  The two did combat with the Black Knight, who is currently awaiting trial.  Because of these heroes, New York is safe from outside threats.  As an organization, the Avengers will always try to keep the peace while trying to cause as little collateral damage as humanly possible.  In this, very unfortunate moment, due to the nature of the villain at hand, the price of of security was steep. 

“Then, you would characterize Wanda’s actions as ‘heroic’?”

Hank grit his teeth and decided to speak up. “Heroism is a relative term. The Black Knight considered himself a hero, and to some degree he was. It’s not the term we should be equating with ‘good’. When you analyze the term, it just means someone who can be idealized for acts of bravery, having noble qualities, or someone who has courage. For mutants and even the Avengers, it’s not heroism that calls us to defend the helpless. It’s because we have means they do not to protect the average citizen.”

“So everyone who does heroic acts are evil?”

“No, that’s not at all what I said,” Hank really wanted to just take the mic and start speaking, but that would be rude. This reporter was so frustrating. “It’s easy to call people we admire heroes. People like the Avengers usually pop into people’s mind. But to every villain who commits a heinous crime, they are a hero in their own mind, and to some degree they are because they put forth bravery and courage to do what they believe is right. We cannot discredit that, and using the term ‘hero’ is not objective. We have to dig deeper than that.”

Before Hank could continue, he was interrupted by the reporter again.

“Being a hero requires incredible rigor and discipline and a great number of personal choices and sacrifices.  Being a super hero means putting one’s life in danger for the good of people you’ve never met and might never meet.  It’s simply the right thing to do if you have the ability to do such things.  People like Wanda ought to be encouraged, not dissuaded, in light of their failure.”

“Speaking of rigor and discipline, Mrs. Pym, you’re looking your usual self--any tips and tricks you’d like to share?”  

It was bait and Jan knew it, but the praise felt so good.  Below her wrap she was squishy and wrinkly in ways which she longed to either fade quickly or she might have to take a more proactive stance.  But he couldn’t see that.  As critical as this man was, he couldn’t see the worst part of her figure, and Jan smiled back at him and nodded.  This was an easy question.  “The best way to return to being yourself is to truly return to being yourself.  Daily routines, work schedules, workouts, diets; if they were working before the baby, they’ll work after the baby.”  

“And as for the child itself, what do you suggest?”  

Alright, she’d indulge in one more before getting back on topic.  “Daily interaction is important.  The child needs to know who their parents are.  

“Similar rules apply to a team like this--ask any NASA astronaut; if you go to space you live with your team.  The Avengers live together, are each others’ support system, share problems, and check in regularly.  We would all know if there was something going on with Wanda, but this was purely an accident.  It was a tragic accident, but she is not an ‘evil hero,’ as you put it.”