Secret Bit of Right From Wrong | By : ChrisCross Category: Marvel Verse Movies > Avengers, The Views: 9417 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America or The Avengers. I make no money, and live on reveiws alone |
A.N. We're almost done! Two more chapters in the pipeline now, and then this fic is complete! Although I may write another with Karen and Steve after Winter Soldier comes out, depends on if the muse is kind. Speaking of which, my muse only eats reviews, so toss him some Muse Chow!
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An emergency meeting of all the Avengers had been called the moment the Doombot footprints had been found. Tony, Bruce and Thor flew out to meet the team at the tiny hotel the official rescue team had rented rooms at. Beast had helpfully called in a few favors to get them landing clearance, and set up a video conference call with the Fantastic Four. The call was dominated by Tony, Bruce, Hank and Reed, who spent the time discussing the security systems likely in place. Like any collaboration between smart, strong-willed individuals, the four scientists butted heads at first.
“No, no, you misunderstand, Victor Von Doom’s skin has metallic properties, but it doesn’t have any magnetic field.” Reed’s voice crackled and his image wavered over the shaky internet connection. “I’d recommend avoiding him; he’s usually up in his ‘throne room’, far from the basement labs.”
“Usually won’t cut it, he’ll know we’re there, for certain, with this security.” Bruce paused a moment, bracing for his next statement. “Especially if I have to let the other guy out. He’s kind of hard to miss.”
“Then this is a suicide mission! It takes heavy firepower to get Victor to even notice that you’ve hit him, but he knows every inch of his own defenses, and he doesn’t take kindly to trespassers. I’m surprised you got that close to his territory without taking casualties.”
“Well, technically, Logan counts as MIA….”
“What about the Doombots? You’re pretty handy with computers, McCoy, right? You can hack the mainframe and steal us his giant robots. We can use them to contain the lab assistants and help us break out.”
“Damn it Tony, I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker! Victor Von Doom’s got state-of-the-art security protocols, his RSA implementation is completely unhackable without being plugged into his network, from the inside.” The blue fur prevented his face from visibly turning red with anger and frustration, but his body language spelled it out fairly clearly. “What about liquid nitrogen as a paralytic for both Dr. Doom and his robotic helpers, with some kind of mordant as a back-up? Concentrated Tetrahydrocloride should work.”
“What kind of delivery system are we talking about here? Tony, can you repurpose the nanocyte missile array we came up with a few months ago?”
“Yeah, but that’ll mean I have to get up close and personal, like ‘buy a guy a drink first’ close. I’m not wild about that. But if I can get some ten gauge tubing, I could re-use the flame thrower design from my Mark one….”
While a steady stream of technobabble issued from the corner the three scientists were using for the conference call, Natasha relayed the vision she’d had of the tunnels under the castle of Victor Von Doom. Using that insider knowledge and the experience of the heroes who most often fought Doom, the team assembled a plan of attack.
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While the gathering of heroes planned a rescue, Karen and Steve were simply trying to stay alive. He’d woken late in the afternoon the day they were captured, and Zola wanted to give him a bit of time to recover before beginning the strenuous testing needed to discover what had made the Super in the Soldier. So, he’d been relocated to a cell in the branch of the dungeon closest to the lab. After Karen’s psychological attack on Zemo had successfully snapped the resolve of the proud swordsman, she too had been relocated. They put her in the cell opposite Steve’s as an incentive for good behavior. It was made quite clear, almost graphically so, to them both that any infraction would result in the other being harmed. It kept them docile in the presence of their captors, while when left alone they did all they could to keep their spirits up. Nightly pun wars were a small rebellion, but a safer one than outright revolt.
“Hey, Steve, I got one for ya. A famous Viking explorer returned home from a voyage and found his name missing from the town register. His wife insisted on complaining to the local civic official, who apologized profusely saying, ‘I must have taken Leif off my census!’” Steve groaned in appreciation.
“I’ll see your horrible pun and raise you a tall tale. You see, during the War, I happened to spend some time with a submarine captain who had been ordered to take a British spy named Harry Lyme to Walter Reed Medical center to have his eyes checked, for he appeared to be going suddenly blind. All was well and good, until my friend found out that Harry had a lady friend living in the area. He didn’t think the man’s eye condition was faked, but he still couldn’t risk Harry skipping the appointment to have some quality time with his girl. So when it came time to disembark, he took the man aside and said ‘I’m ordering you to go directly from the Sub, Lyme, to the Reed oculist.’”
“Oh, that is baaaad. I surrender, you win. I can’t top that.”
“I win huh? What’s my prize?”
Thinking a moment she came up with an idea. “I know! Your prize is I tell you a story. I had wanted to show you the movie, but we didn’t get to it. Fortunately I have the thing practically memorized. It’s called The Princess Bride.”
“I’d love to have you tell me a story, really. But I’m not real sure that’d be one I’d get into. Sounds, I don’t know…”
“Like a chick flick? To girly and mushy? Don’t worry, it’s an exciting story, I swear. To quote the movie it has ‘Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles...’” Her imitation of the grandfather from the movie was spot on. “I promise, it has a little of everything, but fair warning, it does kind of start out girly and mushy. Would you be willing to give it a chance, anyway?”
“If you like it, I suppose the least I can do is give it a shot.”
“Alright. It begins with a farm, a girl named Buttercup and the boy who helped her run that farm, Westley, only she never called him that, she only called him Farm boy. Let me see if I remember this part right… ah yes. Nothing gave Buttercup as much pleasure as ordering Westley around.
“Farm boy, polish my horse's saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.”
"As you wish"
“Farm boy, fill these with water.”
“As you wish.”
“Whenever she gave these orders, ‘As you wish’ was all he ever said to her. One day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish", what he really meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back.” Karen continued the story, even mimicking the accents of the actors, using her skill as an actress to create a thorough mental escape from their captivity. And despite the less-than-macho beginning, Steve seemed as caught up in the story as she had been as a girl, watching the movie for the first time. Despite the lack of visuals, the magic of storytelling gave them both a chance to not feel so lost or alone. Even when the story was over, they still felt the warm inner glow of its fantasy world.
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The next morning, cursing and muttering to himself over the microscope he was looking into, Zola was coming to realize that whatever knowledge that could have been gained from the Captain’s blood had be irrevocably damaged by whatever had reverted his body. Only incomplete wisps and broken fragments of the serum remained in his system. After great effort, he might, might, just be able to restore the Captain’s enhancements, increasing both his value as a specimen and the risks involved in keeping him. *It is a risk that must be taken, if I am to succeed. We shall have to use the female as a control for him, though.* Leaning over the PA system’s microphone, he ordered the Captain brought to him.
The man now confirmed as Captain America was hardly the imposing figure from the forties propaganda. With the threat to Karen hanging in the air, he was almost meek in his bearing. It was obvious that he cared for her well-being more than for his own, so threatening her had seemed like the best way to ensure co-operation. It seemed to be working, as he barely raised a fuss over even the most painful of the procedures. The straw that seemed to break the camel’s back, as it were, was when a handful of lab assistants on coffee break began questioning what he saw in such a tubby, frumpy looking girl.
“Must be a goddamn wildcat in bed. That’s the only explanation.”
“O’ course she’d be, girl what looks like that must go years before she gets any.”
“Just gotta wonder what tempted ‘im in the first place. Personally, I’d have to be blind drunk. Ugly bitch, and fat to boot.”
“I dunno, if she’s good enough in bed, I might just give her a visit, just gotta keep the lights off. Har har.”
Breaking free of the two lab techs that had been pulling him toward yet another machine, he leapt at the two nearest offenders, breaking one’s nose and leaving a goose-egg knot on the temple of the other. It wasn’t something any of them thought he could do in his current state, but adrenaline and anger gave him strength. As he laid into the rest of the men, he let loose a tirade of frustrated rage. “How dare you! That girl is not fat, not ugly, and that is not up for debate. It’s braying jackasses like you that created a system that rips to shreds any woman, no matter their true loveliness, who doesn’t fit your flawed, asinine definition of beauty. Thanks to creeps like you, the woman I love more than life itself thinks she’s ugly, and I’m left fighting an uphill battle to convince her I love her. You do not get to disrespect her. You. Will. Not. Touch. Her.” He punctuated the words with blows to the subject of his anger. “I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO HURT HER!!!”
A well placed stun-gun to his back brought him down as his rage hit its peak. As he convulsed on the floor, Zemo knelt by him, saying “Oh, but we will. You knew the rules; you caused this.” Standing, he barked orders. “Get those two cleaned up. You can chain the Captain in the main lab. I’ll go get the girl.”
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Back in the cells, Zemo steeled himself to confront the harpy, as he thought of her. He was looking forward to punishing her, and had been since their first meeting. Roughly hauling her to her feet and into the stone hall by the handcuffs they left on her, he began to use this opportunity to rub his success in her face. He won so infrequently that when he was winning he couldn’t help but gloat.
After about five minutes of hackneyed villain monologue, Karen had had enough. Interrupting she began a monologue of her own. “You people have pattern recognition problems, you know. I could be a better villain, success-wise, because I at least can at least identify the common pitfalls you people just leap into, like lemmings.” Thinking back to her story-time with Steve, she smiled; a disconcerting expression on a bound prisoner. “The rules are simple; never start a land war in Asia, never gamble with a Sicilian when death is on the line, and never, but never monologue long enough to let the good guy sneak up behind you.” The purple-clad villain spun abruptly, to ward off an attack, but the hall was empty. Taking a firm step forward, Karen punted him in the groin from behind. As he lay prone and whimpering, she removed the ring of keys from his belt, freed herself, and used her own manacles to handcuff him to the cell. Patting his cheek in ridicule, she gave him a parting pithy quip. “And, while you’re at it, never underestimate the love interest. We can be feisty when pissed off.”
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