Civil War Prose Novel (16 page)

“PETER,
I tell you I’m fine. Nobody has threatened me, nobody’s—Peter,
where
are we
going
?”

Peter Parker glanced at the map on his phone, then leaned forward. “Take the next right,” he told the cabbie.

“It’s not that I love having policemen outside the house all the time,” Aunt May continued. “But they’ve been very nice.”

“They’re not policemen, Aunt May. They’re S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.”

“Either way, Mister Smarty. That doesn’t explain why I had to pack up my things and sneak out past them.” She looked out the window, grimacing in distaste. “And what are we doing in
Brooklyn
?”

The cabbie half turned toward them. “This block, sir?”

“I think so. Slow down.”

Like many New York neighborhoods, Fort Greene had come up a lot over the past decade. Rows of old brownstone buildings had been cleaned, refaced, and restored to their 19
^th
-century splendor.

“Peter—”

“Just a minute, Aunt May. Please.” He frowned, peered out the window. “Should be the next one on the…whoa.”

The cab lurched to a halt.

“Whoa it is,” the driver said.

Aunt May clutched at Peter’s shoulder now, afraid. He turned to smile at her, gently removed her fingers. Then he opened the door and stared.

Most of the block was lined with concrete sidewalks and plain iron railings. But in front of one particular building, the sidewalk had been replaced with elegant, old-fashioned flagstones. Plants grew everywhere: Inside the fence, along the sidewalk, lining the steps leading to the main entrance. A young maple tree sprouted from a square cut into the walk, dirt still mounded around its base.

He frowned, double-checked the address. No mistake.

“Peter.” Aunt May struggled with her suitcase. “Didn’t I teach you to help a lady with her bag?”

He hefted the suitcase easily, paid the cab driver, and led Aunt May up the steps—all in a daze. His heart was pounding. This wasn’t going to be easy, and the appearance of the house made him feel like he’d stepped into some mirror-world.

Maybe she won’t be home,
he thought. And then:
No. She has to be.

She answered the door in jeans spotted with dirt and grass stains, a casual shirt tied up at her lovely waist. Her long red hair was tousled, hint of sweat on her brow. She held a trowel in one hand.

Her eyes went wide with shock. “Oh my God.”

“Mary Jane,” Peter said.

They stood together for an awkward moment, staring at each other. The thought flickered through Peter’s mind:
Is she gonna stab me with the trowel?

Then Aunt May pushed past him, her arms wide. “Dear,” she said. “It’s been too long.”

Still stunned, Mary Jane reached out and hugged the older woman. But her gaze stayed on Peter.

“Good to see you, Aunt May,” MJ said slowly. “Why don’t you sit down and have some tea. I think your nephew and I need to talk.”

MJ’S
backyard was, if anything, even more impressive than the front. It was vast, covered with green: bushes, tomato plants, neatly tended rows of flowers. A carriage house stood beyond, with an arched glass-tiled roof; she’d converted it into a greenhouse.

Peter looked around, amazed. “This place is…it’s really something, MJ.”

She stooped down, hastily tamped down a hole she’d been digging. “It’s largely self-sustaining, Tiger. The walls are insulated with recycled denim, there’s solar panels on the roof. The roof garden helps keep the place warm in the winter, and prevents toxic water runoff. I’m thinking about drilling a geothermal well, but that takes a lot of permits.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, MJ. But this doesn’t sound like you.”

“An actor friend did something similar in Clinton Hill, told me about it. But I guess, really, I just needed a project. Something that was really mine. After…”

She trailed off.

“After I left you at the altar,” he finished.

“You mean, Spider-Man did.” Her lip curled up in a sad half-smile. “Guess that’s a secret I don’t have to keep anymore.”

“I would have married you,” he said, his voice faltering. “I mean, that thug had me unconscious during our
scheduled
wedding. But afterward. Any day, any time.”

After the wedding debacle, she’d fled town, refused to speak to him for two weeks. He tried everything to make it right: flowers, gifts, handwritten notes, tearful video apologies. When she’d finally agreed to talk, he assumed she’d finally forgiven him. But her answer was clear and definite: She would never marry Spider-Man.

And Spider-Man, he’d discovered, wasn’t something he could give up.

She waved him off now, a bit of the old smirk creeping onto her face. She crossed to a long bench made out of a single log and plopped down on it, stretching out her long legs. Her shirt rode up a bit more, revealing that incredible stomach. No wonder she was still getting gigs at Vogue and on VH-1.

She looks amazing,
he thought.
Is she getting
younger?

“So, Tiger. You couldn’t call first? Too busy making headlines?”

He perched awkwardly on the edge of the bench. “I don’t really trust the phones right now.”

“Sounds good and paranoid.” Then she leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Hang on. All this publicity…has somebody threatened Aunt May? Is that why you brought her here?”

“No. Not yet.”

“I saw the Doc Ock thing, on the news. Tiger, didn’t you think about this stuff before you revealed your identity on national freaking TV?”

“I did! Really, I did.” He turned away. “And somebody promised to keep her safe. But…”

“But?”

“But I’m not sure I trust that person anymore.”

“We’re not kids anymore, Peter. Knock off the guessing games.”

“Tony. It’s Tony Stark.”

“Tony Stark.” She raised a hand to her lovely lips. “The richest man we know, the guy who’s now basically in charge of all super hero activity in the country. Don’t you think he can handle keeping your aunt safe?”

“It’s not a question of
handle
. It’s just…” He got up, started to pace.

“Watch those geraniums,” MJ said. “They’re just starting to bloom.”

“There’s a lot of weird stuff going on, MJ. Did you hear about the hero who died yesterday? Bill Foster?”

“Goliath, right?” She frowned. “The news reported it, but they didn’t give too many details.”

“That’s because Tony doesn’t want to tell people how it happened. That Bill got impaled by a lightning bolt, shot off by a defective clone of Thor that Tony’s guys grew as part of their new hero team.”

MJ stared. “I think I just had a little stroke,” she said.

“I keep seeing it,” Peter continued. “Blood spurting out Bill’s back, his huge body tumbling like an oak. And that’s not all. It’s only the beginning. Tony’s also got a prison for metahumans…this weird, antiseptic fortress run by robots. It’s not even on Earth, it’s in some weird dimension called the Negative Zone.”

He paused, gasped for breath. He could feel himself starting to break down, the barriers falling. Something about this place, about seeing MJ again. He’d never been as close to anyone as he’d been to her, and now that she was with him again, he found he couldn’t stop talking.

“There’s supposed to be…Tony wants fifty super-teams, one for every state. It’s all top secret right now, but I’ve seen some of the names he’s trying to recruit. You can’t fill out fifty teams without signing up some pretty unstable people.”

“Peter—”

“And Captain America! There’s no better man in the world, but I stood there and watched Tony just pound the crap out of him, beat him to a bloody pulp. I’m not squeamish, MJ, you know that, I’ve seen things. But this was just
wrong
. It was…oh dammit…”

He wiped away a tear, tried to smile.

“Stupid pollen. You got too many plants out here, you know that?”

And then she was there, directly in front of him, her lovely dark eyes boring into his. Challenging him, just as she’d done when they were kids. She smelled of skin and earth and strawberry perfume. Her lips were slightly parted.

He moved forward to kiss her, driven by a deep, unconscious need. But she held out a hand, pushed him away.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

Peter looked down, embarrassed. “Tony’s a good man. He’s done so much for me, for a lot of people.”

“But you think he’s gone too far.”

“I’m just gonna talk to him. He and me, we think alike. He said so.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m not sure of anything. Well, one thing. Just one.”

He pulled her close, hugged her like a sister. Buried his head in her shoulder.

“You’re the only person.” He felt tears rising again. “The only person in the, in the world that I really, truly trust.”

She said nothing. Raised lithe hands to his shoulder blades, held him tight.

“I need you to take her away,” he said. “To keep her safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“From—from nothing, hopefully. But if this doesn’t go the way I hope—if
he
doesn’t see—”

“Dammit. Dammit, Petey.” MJ broke away, stalked across to a clutch of sunflowers. “You expect me to uproot my whole life and—”

“I know. I know, but it’s—”

“—and leave my
house
that I just
finally
got the way I want it, after
everything
that’s…”

She buried her head in her hands, started to cry.

Peter stood, helpless.

“I can’t let her be hurt,” he whispered. “Not because of…”

MJ turned hard, tear-stained eyes toward him. “Because of Spider-Man.”

He nodded.

“Is everything all right out here?” Aunt May poked her head out the back door, then grimaced. “Oh, I see. More of the old drama. Well, don’t mind little me. Oh, my, Mary Jane. What lovely posies you have.”

AUNT
May sputtered and protested. She jabbed her finger at Peter, repeatedly, and for a terrible moment he expected her to explode into a full-on tantrum, the kind she hadn’t allowed herself since Uncle Ben’s death. But in the end she nodded, set her mouth, and allowed Mary Jane to lead her to the car.

In the end, as she’d said, she trusted him.

Peter stood on the sidewalk, watching Mary Jane’s Mini Cooper recede down the street. MJ had barely said a word to him while packing. But he knew that she, too, understood.

He let out a long breath, collapsed back against the young maple tree. Closed his eyes, inhaled the thick nature-smell. He thought of the two women he loved most in the world, crammed together in that tiny car, headed for parts unknown.
Don’t tell me where you’re going,
he’d begged Mary Jane.
It’s better that way.

He wondered when he’d see them again.

WAS
it all sliding off a cliff? Tony Stark couldn’t tell. Public opinion had turned against Registration somewhat, after the chemical plant debacle; the latest polls were split pretty evenly. The defection of Susan Richards was a problem, too, one that he’d have to deal with eventually.

And the international community wasn’t happy. European Union leaders had been making speeches nonstop against the new policy, happy to have something to take attention off their own failing economies. Wakanda, the African nation that supplied Stark Enterprises with the valuable element Vibranium, was considering cutting off all diplomatic relations with the United States.

The sunken nation of Atlantis was another potential problem, since one of the dead New Warriors had been a daughter of their royal family. Prince Namor, ruler of Atlantis, had once staged a full-scale invasion of the surface world. Not much had been seen of Namor, or of the enigmatic blue-skinned Atlanteans, in recent years. Tony hoped Namor’s legendary temper had cooled with time.

The X-Men had practically walled themselves up in their school. Maria Hill was ready to assault the gates full-on with S.H.I.E.L.D. shock troops, arrest and detain everyone inside. Tony had persuaded her to hold off. The X-Men’s relationship with the larger hero community had always been uneasy; they wouldn’t give in easily to an invasion. The result would be a bloodbath all around.

But Hill was right about one thing: Every holdout added to the overall problem. For Registration to work, a critical mass of heroes had to comply. Otherwise the whole process would backfire. Instead of taking control of the problem, Tony and S.H.I.E.L.D. would seem helpless, ineffectual—and
that
would pave the way for more repressive, hostile forces to step in.

On the positive side, the training camps were really coming together. Intel continued to stream in from inside Cap’s Resistance. Project Thunderbolt had entered its alpha-test phase. And slowly but surely, more heroes
were
registering. Just this morning, Doc Samson and the Sentry had signed up.

Registration is the law,
Tony reminded himself.
In time, everyone will fall in line.

“Just over this hill, Happy.” Tony ducked farther under Happy Hogan’s big umbrella, stepping carefully around a mud puddle. Rain sheeted down all around, painting the cemetery in grays and browns.

“Whoa,” Happy said.

The hole was eleven feet wide by thirty feet long, and at least twenty feet deep. Six large industrial cranes whirred and strained, slowly lowering the wrapped, manacled body of Goliath down toward the ground.

People stood watching, grouped uncomfortably in twos and threes. Ms. Marvel and the Black Widow stood together; Carol looked tall and elegant in a gray suit, while Natasha wore a black trenchcoat. Reed Richards wore a corduroy jacket and tie, but his arms were stretched out protectively around Franklin and Valeria, his two children. They looked puzzled and uncomfortable in formal clothes.

“Reed brought the kids?” Happy asked.

“He didn’t want to leave them with the robots all day.” Tony sighed. “And there’s nobody else left at the Baxter Building.”

An older black couple held each other. The woman met Tony’s eyes for a moment, glaring at him. He looked away.

“Bill’s parents,” Tony said.

“This must be rough for ’em,” Happy replied. “Especially since you couldn’t shrink the body down again.”

“Hank Pym’s on leave right now. But I called him, he said it couldn’t be done. Something about electrical brain activity and organic tissue decay.”

“I wonder how much the family had to shell out for…what? Thirty-eight burial plots?”

“Nothing. I took care of the expenses. Least I could do.”

A crane lurched slightly. Goliath’s body slipped, and his arm banged against the edge of the hole. Tony grimaced.

“God, Happy. Is this all worth it? Do I have the…the right to do this?”

Happy said nothing. Just stood, holding up the umbrella, shielding Tony from the deluge.

“Stark?”

Maria Hill’s voice, in his Bluetooth earpiece, made Tony jump. He turned away from the grave, clicked it. “What?”

“Got a few people for you to meet.”

“Dammit, Maria. Let me get Bill Foster into the ground first.”

He cut off the call before she could speak again. That woman was really becoming a problem. If she had her way, all the capes, all the heroes would be shut down for good.

Tony looked around. “Where the hell is Peter Parker?”

Reed approached, towing the kids behind him. He looked like he’d been dragged through the sewer. “Tony.”

“Reed. Thanks for coming. Hey Franklin, Valeria.”

Happy crouched down, tried to ruffle Franklin’s hair. The boy turned away, hid behind his father’s leg.

Reed held a wet slip of paper, clenching and unclenching his fist around it. “What’s that?” Tony asked.

“Nothing,” Reed said, and hurriedly stashed the paper in a pocket. But Tony caught a quick glimpse of the signature at the bottom:
Susan
.

“Reed.” Tony reached out a hand, clasped it on Reed’s shoulder. “This is a rough patch. We’ll get through it. We’re doing the right thing.”

“Daddy,” Val said, “my shoes are growing sodden.”

Reed patted her on the back and turned away. The kids followed.

“See you at the Baxter Building tonight,” Tony said. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has a new batch of prisoners.”

“Of course,” Reed said. He sounded old, defeated.

With a dull mechanical noise, the cranes released their burden. The enormous body of Goliath settled to rest in its deep, muddy grave.

A speaker came on, and the Eurythmics song “Hey Hey, I Saved the World Today” filled the air. It sounded sad, dirge-like. A childhood memory sprang, unbidden, to Tony’s mind: Annie Lennox in a music video, dressed in a crisp man’s business suit, her hands waving and conjuring over a globe of the Earth. She looked like a machine, powerful and sexual, cradling the world like it was her own personal toy.

“Tone?”

Tony looked up. The cranes had moved back. Steam shovels groaned and creaked, lifting wet earth to dump into the grave. People scattered, shuffling slowly away.

Ms. Marvel and the Black Widow approached. Natasha had an odd look in her eye. “Everybody’s happy now,” she said, “the bad guy’s gone away.”

“What does that mean?” Tony snapped.

She waved a hand in the air, gave him her Stupid-American look. “The song,” she said.

“Mister Stark?”

Tony turned. Miriam Sharpe, the woman from Stamford, stood under a small umbrella. Happy tensed at the sight of her, but Tony held out a hand.

“Mrs. Sharpe. I’m sorry I haven’t had time to—”

“No no, don’t worry about it. I just came by because—I know you guys lost a lot of support in the super hero community, after…” She gestured at the gravesite.

Tony frowned. Behind him, Ms. Marvel and the Widow were listening, too.

“I wanted to say my piece,” Sharpe continued. “Goliath knew what he was doing, and what he was doing was breaking a law designed to save people’s lives. If he’d only gone legitimate, he’d still be alive.” She smiled at Tony, a tear starting to form in her eye. “This isn’t your fault. No more than, than a cop could be blamed for shooting a punk who pulls a gun on him.”

“Mrs. Sharpe…”

“Shh. I also wanted to give you this.” She reached into her purse. “It was my son Damien’s favorite toy since he was three years old.”

He took the toy, stared at it through the rain. A six-inch Iron Man action figure, its joints stiff, red-and-gold paint worn with age. He rolled the toy between his thumb and forefinger. Pushed at the arm; it swiveled upward.

Still works.

Tony looked up at Mrs. Sharpe, completely lost for words.

“Just to remind you why you’re doing this,” she said.

He touched her shoulder once, a wordless thank-you. Then he turned away, still clutching the toy figure. It felt warm in his hand.

Tony jabbed a finger at his earpiece. “Maria? Talk to me.”

Brief pause. “About time, Stark. Meet me at the west entrance. But be prepared…your little funeral has stirred up some of the natives.”

NIGHT
was just falling as Tony ducked his head and trotted through the cemetery gate, passing between two lines of demonstrators. From his right, a chorus of groans and boos erupted, punctuated with cries of “Fascist” and “Cape killer!” To the left, a smaller ripple of cheers rose up. “Keep us safe!” someone yelled.

Tony took a moment to study the two groups. Both sides were a mix of college students under rain ponchos, ordinary working people, and some grieving women he recognized from Stamford.
If you were to pull out a random member of the protest,
Tony realized,
I couldn’t identify which side she belonged on.

One side hates me because I’m a super hero. The other side is cheering because I’m an authority figure.

State troopers had erected sawhorses to keep both groups back. But the cops looked nervous. Tony stopped to ask a trooper, “You have enough men here?”

“National Guard’s on the way.” The trooper grimaced. “We can hold out till then.”

“Stark,” Maria Hill’s voice said again, in his ear.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. Mobile Command Center sat parked along the street, jutting out into the first lane of traffic. A line of guards surrounded it, parting quickly when Tony and Happy approached.

Inside the War Room, two newcomers waited. Hawkeye stood grimacing, in full purple costume, his bow lying on a table nearby. With him was a tall blonde girl in red and black, wearing a domino mask. Tony frowned for a moment, not recognizing her.

“Stature,” Maria Hill said. “Formerly of the Young Avengers.”

“Of course.” Tony held out his hand. “And Hawkeye. Good to have you back, Clint. I know it can’t have been an easy decision.”

Hawkeye rubbed his neck. “Hardest I’ve ever made, Tony.”

“I know. Your head knows the right thing to do, but your heart just wants things to stay the way they’ve always been.”

“Yeah, but…we’re livin’ in a different world now. Guess it took Goliath dying to make me realize that.”

Tony studied the bowman for a minute, then turned to face Stature.

“What about you…Cassie, right? This is a huge step you’re taking here.”

“I know that.” She looked him straight in the eye. “My teammates don’t understand.”

“But you do.”

“People want us to be properly trained, sir. It’s not the 1940s anymore.”

“That’s the truth,” Happy said.

“All I want is to do my job, to the best of my abilities.”

Tony nodded, slowly. This was good news; two more recruits. And yet, something nagged at him. Something wasn’t right here.

Hill stepped forward. “We’ve got a lot to go over, Stark. Starting with Project Thunder—”

Tony raised a hand to his neck, made a slicing motion. Hill followed his gaze over to Hawkeye, then nodded.

Hawk smiled. “You don’t trust me, Tone?”

“Believe me, Hawk. There’s parts of this operation I don’t tell
myself
about.”

Stature’s eyes followed them, like a ping-pong game.

Hill gestured to a pair of agents. “Stathis, Roeberg. Take the new recruits back to the city by limo. You can fill ’em in on procedures along the way.”

“Roger.”

Hawkeye shouldered his bow and followed the agent to the door. He paused, shot Tony a last glance.

Pissed off at me?
Tony wondered.
Or is he pulling a scam, and wondering if I’ve seen through it?

Hill came up next to him. “You think Cap’s trying to put a mole in your operation.”

“We’ve got one in his, don’t we? And Hawkeye owes a lot to Captain America.” Tony frowned suddenly. “Any sightings of Spider-Man today?”

Hill gestured to the remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. “Ellis, run the CapeSearch protocol. Subject: Peter Parker.”

The agent’s hands flashed over his controls. A dizzying number of surveillance-camera images flickered across his screens, blurring into a brightly colored super hero montage. The display halted on an aerial shot of Spider-Man, in his red-and-gold armored costume, swinging across the night skyline of midtown.

“Last sighting, yesterday 1834 Hours. Outside the Baxter Building.”

“1834 Hours. That’s right after I left him.” Tony frowned. “Nothing after that?”

“Not in costume, sir. The civilian-ID subroutines aren’t up and running yet.”

Tony turned to Happy. “Hap, you’ve got the suit, right?”

Happy held up Tony’s briefcase.

“Good. Maria, I hope you won’t mind me changing in front of you.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

Agent Ellis’s head snapped up in surprise. “Back to work, mister,” Hill barked.

“What’s up, Mister Stark?”

“I think I’ve got a big problem, Hap.” Tony snapped open the briefcase, stared at the Iron Man costume. “And it’s time I took care of it.”