Bad Aim Chapter 10

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Please read and review. It's much appreciated.

New York City

Tony entered the Bar Room of the 21 Club restaurant. The ceiling was famous in Manhattan for its collection of "toys" hanging from the ceiling. Sports memorabilia and miniature vehicles donated by sport stars and captains of industry covered the top of the room. It was like a Hard Rock Café, but less touristy.

A table near the bar was his favorite spot. A crimson red toy plane with "Stark Industries" hung over the table. It wasn't donated by Tony, but by his father in 1955. Next to it a mini red and gold Iron Man suit glimmered. When management hung the suit up, he felt pride that he was finally as accomplished as his father.

The table was already filled by two people. One was Clint "Hawkeye" Barton. The other he presumed was A.I.M. C.E.O. Dr. Monica Rappaccini. They both rose to greet him.

Tony took his sunglasses off and surveyed the room to see who was watching them.

Clint formally introduced Monica to Tony. As he did so, he looked sullen and stared down at the ground instead of making eye contact. Tony chalked it up to Clint's usual problems with authority.

Monica air-kissed him on both cheeks. Tony felt her cleavage press up against him. He suspected she did it on purpose. Tony was familiar with the little "tricks" women did to attempt to seduce him. Except Tony was never really seduced, he decided which women interested him on his own and he let them think they were hunting him.

Monica said, "Thank you for meeting with me. Although we could have met in each other's offices."

He said, "I like to keep things neutral with new business acquaintances."

That wasn't entirely true. Normally Tony liked taking business contacts back to Stark Tower to show it off. Now he wanted to be seen in public, so any other CEO's or presidents in the room would think he was still busy, still important, and still relevant.

Monica said, "I'm hoping we could be much closer than just acquaintances. I'd love for us to…merge."

Tony said, "Stark Industries has been an independent corporation for decades. Why would I sacrifice that independence now?"

Dr. Rappaccini handed him a folder. "Here is my proposal. It is no secret your company is having a financial crisis. If you allowed A.I.M. to buy out a reasonable percentage of your stock, we can save the Stark name."

Tony opened the folder and speed-read through it. Her proposal gave way too much power to A.I.M.

Tony glanced at Clint, who was unusually silent. His eyes were rapidly darting from left to right. Tony knew the eyes were mechanical and questioned if it was a malfunction.

"I can't save my family name by selling it out. And Stark Industries has had financial hard times before and come out on top. When the ARC Reactor power station can provide all energy on Earth, I'm sure I'll have multiple investors knocking on my door. Can I get a drink? I want a drink. Waiter, can I have a Johnny Walker Red, no ice please?"

Monica smiled. "The ARC Reactor can't even power Stark Tower. Everyone knows about the blackout. Are you getting nervous?"

He didn't like her smile. Smugness was painted on her expression even louder than the scarlet lipstick she wore.

"I'm not nervous." He said: "I always speak at 89 rambling words per minute. And Scotch is my bottled water. And I don't know if I'd even want someone like you as a partner."

"Someone like me? Is it because I'm female?"

"No. I love women. My C.E.O. Pepper Potts is a woman. She'd have the final say on any buyouts."

"Well, take it back to her and you both can think about it. You are surrounded by enemies. You need some more friends. Your friend Clint here can vouch for me."

Clint looked up with guilt on his face. "Uh…yeah…A.I.M. is great. Our employees are all super smart like you."

His voice was robotic and the word "super" seemed unnatural coming from Clint's mouth. Tony figured he was just going along with his Monica's orders. He'd spent most of his life with wealth and as his own boss. It was difficult to get in the mindset of selling out to survive, but he had to swallow his pride and consider it.

The waiter came by with Tony's drink. He downed it as he read through the proposal again.

He said, "I'll take it back to Pepper and get her opinion."

Monica beamed. "Excellent. Listen, I'm having a little get-together at my house in the Hamptons this Saturday. You and Pepper are more than welcome to visit."

Tony needed a party. "OK, we'll be there. That doesn't mean I'm committing yet."

Clint was doing that rapid movement with his eyes again.

Dr. Rappaccini smiled and said, "After the weekend, I'm sure you'll be dying to join us. It was a pleasure meeting you."

She left with a flip of her long dark mane. Clint followed her, not like the hawkish archer Tony had come to know, but like a tamed dog on a leash.

Tony ordered another drink. As he waited, he remembered Clint's eyes. Could the left and right movement be an attempt to signal him "No?"

Latveria

Natasha opened her eyes. She was bound to a wooden chair. Her arms and legs were covered in metal chains. She tried to test how heavy and strong they were, but her injured knee acted up.

On the floor, the guard she had tricked into letting her enter lay dead. A stream of blood trickled from his forehead onto the ground. Doom had apparently murdered him for the crime of failure.

Natasha wondered if the man was a voluntary soldier or a civilian recruited against his will. She felt no guilt over murdering career soldiers. They were trained to risk their lives. People pulled into international intrigue over their heads were a different story.

Doom walked to her. His metal boots clanked against the wooden floor. He reminded her of Darth Vader, with his heavy mask and aggressively regal bearing.

He placed a metallic hand under her chin and forced her head up. All she could smell was metal and gunpowder.

He demanded, "Who do you work for?"

"I'm an Avenger. You don't want to fuck with me."

He slapped her face. Her chin went numb.

He said, "Don't use vulgarity in front of me, child."

"But murdering your own people is classy?"

He slapped her again from the other side. Her face throbbed.

He hissed, "Your futile attempts at rebellion will do you no good. You're going to tell me everything about why you're here. Or I will beat it out of you."

Natasha stared up at him. It was going to be a long night.

To be continued.