Avengers Island

New York Harbor

The War Room

“There you are, Clint,” Anthony Stark said leaning back from the main computer console watching as the widescreen monitor scrolled through various protocols and programs as the mainframe adjusted the new updates into the system. “You are now officially leader of the Mighty Avengers.” He looked back over his shoulder as his old friend and enemy, once upon a time, slid his office chair closer, watching.

“Like there is still an Avengers,” Clint Barton scoffed, watching the screen, “not much left of us at the moment. We’re down to three members.” The Avenging Archer leaned back and crossed his legs, twirling an arrow in his fingers looking disgruntled. Stark smirked.

“It’s been worse, Clint,” the Iron-Man assured Hawkeye. “I remember- it seems decades ago now- when the original group needed our first break. The Hulk had left already, and we got Captain America reborn, straight out of the ice for a replacement; but Thor had business in Asgard to attend to, I had to deal with things in my company and life in general, and Hank and Jan needed the vacation. That left Cap and three, brand new, green recruits; all of whom were allegedly reformed villains at the time.”

“I remember,” the Marksman chuckled, “I was there, after all. Me and two Mutants from the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants; tryin’ to make good and turn our lives around. Wanda and Pietro wanted to be accepted and erase their pasts with Magneto. They wanted to be heroes. So did I at first.” He snorted. “And I would’a been but for a twist a’ fate or bad timing; whatever. If that cop that came along hadn’t jumped to the wrong conclusion right after I stopped that robbery, things would’a been different. A lot different I guess cuz I never would’ve met Natasha, probably, and never fought you.”

“Could’a, would’a, should’a, Clint; like Judge Judy says. If you start thinking about all the ‘What-If’s’ you’ll go crazy,” Stark said as he typed in an access code. The screen shifted and started scrolling through a new set of information. “I think ‘Cap’s Kooky Quartet’ upheld the tradition quite well though. You all did a fantastic job taking on threats like the Minotaur, Attuma, Powerman and the Swordsmen; you even dealt with Doctor Doom. When you stood up to the Fantastic Four’s strongest foe, you more than proved your worth as heroes. And you have ever since.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Hawkeye replied trying to sound humble, “that means a lot coming from you. I was such an ass back then, though. I thought I should lead the Avengers instead of some old, burnt-out warhorse like Steve Rogers. Quicksilver did too. I’m surprised Cap didn’t beat the crap out of both of us.” Stark laughed.

“Steve’s like the most stable member of the group. He’d always find another, better way. He helped mold all of us into better people. He’s a good man and friend.”

“No argument there,” Clint agreed, “and I’m glad I could reciprocate a time or two.” The third man in the room laughed.

“Yeah, the Golden Archer, right?” Both Barton and Stark chuckled.

“Yeah, Scott,” Hawkeye addressed Scott Lang seated at one of the smaller nodes in the room running through the security protocols at the station. “He needed a push to remember there were still things worth fighting for, and if he didn’t want to be Captain America, well, he still shouldn’t let his talents and abilities go to waste.”

“We all do at times,” the Astonishing Ant-Man agreed, taking a sip of his coffee. “If it wasn’t for some advice and a little bit of trust from Hank Pym and Tony Stark I would’ve gone down a long dark road that probably would’ve ended up in a jail cell. That chance gave me a new start and probably saved my life.” He leaned in as the computer pinged, scanning the screen and reading the security report.

“That’s what we do, Scott,” Barton joked, “save lives and fight for truth, justice and blah, blah, blah…”

“Sounding kind of maudlin, there Clint,” Stark said as he stood from his station to lean over Lang’s chair. “What’re the safety protocols saying?” he asked as he scrutinized the screen. All looked good to him, but Lang was by far the better computer geek and Hacker, especially when it came to security. Scott shrugged and drank down the last of his cooling coffee.

“All’s quiet,” Lang confirmed as he typed in a lengthy bit of code into the program’s root. “Everything’s running at, at least 97%, and that 3% is because of the New York power grid; there’s always some fluctuation as it tries to tap in from time to time.”

“I remember,” Stark agreed, patting Lang’s shoulder, “between NYC and the state and the government…” Stark sighed, “It’s a wonder we were ever up and running at all.” Scott smiled.

“Money talks, Tony,” he typed a last bit of information in, “and you Sir, are a force to be reckoned with. Few people would ‘say thee nay’ if you really wanted something.”

“You’d be surprised,” Stark said standing upright again and popping his back. “What about that Virus you found in the system?”

“Gone as far as I can tell,” Scott confirmed as he logged off his station. “Truthfully, I don’t even know what it was. I looked online and asked around; some of my old contacts, checked with the FF and the X-Men, even looked around on the ‘Dark Web’. There were a few adjunct programs I traced to places like S.H.I.E.L.D., Homeland Security, the NSA and notified them, of course, but they all got back to me and reported all clear. Whatever it was it seemed localized in our system.”

“What was it doing?” Hawkeye asked.

“Monitoring mainly, as far as I could understand. It was a complex code using its own language that took a while to get a grip on, and apparently it was somehow connected with the surge of super-villain and terrorist attacks we’ve been dealing with over the past few weeks; releasing the villains from prison and sending them at us somehow. It just seemed to be keeping us busy lately.” He shrugged. “I dunno, but it’s gone now.

“I ran several full scans and de-frags and even installed a new set of Hard Drives, transferring almost everything to an updated system. Then I wrote a new anti-virus code into the system, which came up empty. Whatever was in there is gone.”

“That’s good news,” Stark confirmed, sloughing into his jacket and straightening his tie. He rubbed his chin feeling timbers and whiskers; they’d been at it for a while. “Hopefully we can all get some down time then again. We all need it I think.”

“Speaking of which,” Hawkeye asked as he marked himself as ‘Away’ on the computer, “you guys coming to the game tonight?” Tony Stark sighed and shook his head.

“Can’t make it. Pepper’s got me scheduled for some gala, charity event- I don’t know what- but I apparently have been lacking in the social graces lately; I need to schmooze for the evening, talk to a lot of boring people and promise them a lot of money before the night’s done. I’m planning a trip of faux-drunken debauchery for the weekend in Monaco, and then it’s back to the daily grind. I need to get Stark Enterprises back on track after everything that’s happened over the last few weeks. Ugh…”

“Too bad,” Clint smiled standing and popping his own back. He slipped his arrow back into his quiver, always at his side. “Your money’s always good, except you always want to raise the stakes. We’re not all billionaires, y’know.”

“Thus, Monaco,” Stark chuckled. “How about you, Scott?” The other man stood and shook his head as he looked for his discarded jacket.

“I’ve been promising Cassie some father-daughter time for ages,” he said finding his light Avengers jacket, shaking it out and slipping into it. “Not sure what we’re gonna do yet, but I gotta bow out; sorry.”

“No worries, brother,” Barton said as he moved towards the door with all the virtual paperwork apparently done, “family comes first, always; don’t matter what the job is. Your money’ll be missed though.”

“Hey, I had three eights,” Scott laughed as they all headed into the outer hall. “Damn Carol’s lucky as sin.” Stark and Barton laughed in agreement.

“Who all’s coming?” Stark asked as he activated the private elevator with his I.D. card, the computer recognizing his unique access protocols.

“Don’t know,” Clint said as he scanned his own card, followed by Lang; no issues. “Jarvis of course; he’s looking forward to it. It’s been a while. Ben’s a maybe; it hasn’t been that long since he saved the universe, but when I spoke to him he seemed like he needed to just down a few beers and hang out with a stogie with some friends.”

“Good for him,” Stark smiled as the elevator pinged and the doors opened. He stepped into the car, holding the door for the others. “He definitely deserves a break.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed stepping to the back of the car and pursing his lips. “Y’know, I was thinking, though… I wonder if what the Thing did there at the end with the Rogue Watcher; what he said, ‘Back’, well, I wonder if that’s what got rid of that virus?”

“Could be,” Stark said as Hawkeye stepped to the side and the car started moving upwards. “We still don’t know all the ramifications of that ‘Wish’, and we probably never will. But Ben definitely deserves all the praise he’s been getting.”

“I think that’s why he wants to be at the game tonight,” Clint added as the elevator car swiftly surged upwards, “just to get a little normalcy back into his life. Carol said she might come too; Seattle’s back in good shape. They’re pretty much done with the rebuilding.”

“That’s great,” Scott said as the elevator stopped and the doors opened onto the main floor. “Sorry I’ll miss her and Ben too.”

“I’ll say ‘Hi’,” Hawkeye assured as the trio started winding their way through the Compound towards the Transporter Station. “I dunno who else might show though. Jarvis is keeping tight-lipped for some reason; taking care of all the festivities, like he always does.

“Sounds like it’s going to be a good night then,” Stark said as he scanned the front door open. The three felt a burst of chilly air rush in as they stepped outside. The weather was crisp; a typical fall day for New York with blue skies and iffy temperatures with the wind-chill. They made the short walk to the Transporter and Tony Stark typed in the codes for his desired destination: Stark Enterprises, Manhattan. He turned to the others as the system powered up.

“Well, good luck, Clint and say ‘Hi’ for me tonight too. Hopefully I’ll see you all before too long and under pleasant circumstances.” He held out his hand to say ‘goodbye’ but Barton shook his head.

“I’m afraid a handshake won’t do it Tony.” Clint Barton embraced Anthony Stark in a fierce hug then turned to Scott Lang, giving him the same treatment. The two men reciprocated with their good friend; Lang wiping at the corners of his eyes as they stepped apart.

“Damn allergies,” he complained but the others knew the truth. “I’ll miss you guys,” he said with a slight catch in his voice.

“Same here buddy,” Barton said with a smile as Stark nodded.

“It’s been… well, not exactly fun, but good. I wish you both all the best.”

“Just go already, would’ja?”

“All right.” Stark smiled and stepped into the teleport cubicle and with a wave, soon disappeared in a shower of bubbles and flickering lights reminiscent of the old 60’s Star Trek TV show.

“My turn I guess,” Scott Lang said typing different coordinates, “off to join my daughter in sunny Cali.”

“Give her a kiss from Uncle Clint,” Barton said as he stood at the console, Lang stepping into the cubicle. He got situated and took a deep breath.

“I hate this,” he frowned and Hawkeye laughed.

“Says one of the people who can change their size at will. I figured this is a walk in the park for you.”

“No,” Lang disagreed, “getting my molecules scrambled and moved all over the place is not like ‘Pym Particles’ altering my size. I should’a took the ferry.”

“Too late now, pal,” Hawkeye waved as Lang started to fade away, “have fun.”

And then he was alone. Clint Barton watched as the last bit of the teleporter’s light show faded away, then waited for any warning alert emergencies from the contraption before he put the machinery on ‘Pause’ to let it stabilize and recharge as he had been taught; it sucked a lot of energy for its convenience. Truth to tell, he hated it too.

“Dim lights, Mariah,” he said as he left the chamber and the computer’s A.I. swiftly complied, acknowledging his command as the door closed behind him. He walked back towards the bungalows and housing buildings near the main complex, getting out of the wind and hoping to grab a quick shower and maybe even a nap before the game later that night. He walked swiftly and presented his I.D. at his door entering his rooms.

Barton dropped his quiver at the door alongside his pile of uniform wadded up on the chair set nearby. He picked up his bow as always giving it a once-over, checking it for give-and-take, running his fingers along the length of reinforced thread, giving it a quick tug. He’d have to oil it down tomorrow to keep the tensile strength intact and the flexibility, but he figured he wouldn’t need it tonight.

“Tomorrow,” he mumbled as he replaced it in its case by the door and moved through the living room. He stopped at Bobbie’s photo giving it a quick finger kiss feeling the weight of not having her around to keep him in check anymore. “Miss you, babe.” Hawkeye sighed.

He made it to his bedroom and promptly sprawled across his king-sized bed. Screw a shower for now; he was exhausted and he had a helluva lot to do tomorrow; he needed some rest. He had already sent out the call to the Reserves and Retirees to fill the ranks but hadn’t heard much back except apologies and excuses. Everyone had lives these days it seemed, and were caught up in personal problems. He sighed trying to get comfortable.

In moments, Clint Barton- Hawkeye the Marksman and new leader of the Mighty Avengers was out cold…

BUT FIRST SOME POKER

By Curt Fernlund

Clint Barton looked up from the edge of Landing Pad 3 squinting against the chilly wind coming in off the harbor as the small flying craft circled the field once before starting its descent. Colored lights flickered on the bottom of the transport as a brighter spotlight came down adding to the illumination of the already well-lit area. It was mostly silent and stable in the gusts as it dropped smoothly to land in the marked circle, dead center of the pad before shutting down.

Hawkeye shrugged deeper into his long overcoat as he walked to the craft to greet the three occupants. He smiled and waved as the largest of the trio opened the transport’s side door and they all stepped out. Clint held out his hand to his old friend and once-teammate.

“Ben,” he greeted with enthusiasm, shaking the huge, rocky hand as best he could, “damn glad to see you- on better terms this time- and happy you wanted to come.” The Ever-Lovin’, Blue-eyed Thing smiled around the bit of his smoldering cigar.

“You know I wouldn’t pass up a good game, Barton,” Ben Grimm said as he lightly squeezed the archer’s hand in greeting. He then popped a small compartment open hidden behind his belt buckle and pulled out his over-sized Zippo, puffing his cigar back to life. “It’s been a while since I had a little downtime, an’ it’ll be good to hang out with some friends.”

“Agreed,” Hawkeye stated as he looked over the craft waiting for the others to disembark. “So, I see you took the old ‘Flying Bathtub’ out of the mothballs, hunh?” Grimm chuckled.

“Yeah; you know Reed,” he said holding out his hand for the woman a she stepped out of the ship, “he’s never happy unless he’s tinkerin’ on some gizmo, an’ he gave it a complete overhaul. I figured it’d be easier than usin’ that transporter you got, an’ quicker than the ferry.”

“I could have flown us, you know?”

The two men looked to the blond-haired woman and laughed. She was dressed lightly, wearing tight blue jeans and a Seattle Mariners baseball shirt, not bothered by the chill at all. The third passenger grumbled at her remark, holding his bowler cap to his head and chomping his own cigar.

“That’ll be the day, Danvers,” Dum-Dum Dugan groused, stepping out of the old Fantasti-Car after Carol Danvers; Ms. Marvel, “I don’t do Super-Hero flyin’.”

“Likewise,” Grimm added closing the panel on the side of the bathtub, “it might be quick but it’s damn embarrassin’.” Barton laughed.

“I’ll say,” he agreed as the trio started walking back along the path to the main compound, “and I don’t fly either so I got carried around like a ‘babe-in-arms’ more times than I care to remember.”

“You men and your egos,” Carol laughed, “big babies, the whole lot of you.” They all laughed again as Barton opened the door and the stepped inside out of the howling winds. Clint and Dum-Dum hung their coats on hooks by the door and the three headed deeper into the complex as Grimm took up the conversation:

“So who we expectin’,” he asked, looking around as he walked, “I mean five’s enough fer a good game, with Jarvis, but it’d be nice ta’ see a few more old faces.” Hawkeye shook his head leading his friends down the Hall of Portraits; paintings and photos of old Avengers who had served.

“Just one, as far as I know,” Clint replied, “though Jarvis wouldn’t say who. He’s being tight-lipped about it. I got no idea. What about your crew, Ben?” Grimm shrugged as they rounded a corner and entered another wide hall lined with framed newspapers and photos, artist representations of past Avenger battles and headlines. Ben recognized most of the artist renditions; old guys working for Marvel Comics who used to draw their adventures for the monthly comics like Kirby, the Buscemas, Byrne and Pérez. Great works though they usually got the stories wrong.

“I asked, but they all got personal business to attend to.” Ben puffed on his cigar waiting for the next door to cycle open. “Jameson’s spendin’ some time with his dad, Scully’s still lookin’ after his friend Ann and Arcane said he has ta’ take a break an’ get his life back t’gether. Can’t blame him, an’ Woo’s on his computers, like usual. I figured he’d pass but I think he could probably count cards an’ he wears cheaters all the time.”

“Fury too,” as they stepped into the next area; a lounge, Danvers thought at a quick scrutiny. “He needs to spend some time getting S.H.I.E.L.D. back on track and hopefully spend a little quality time with Val.”

“Then we’re all off ta’ Kansas, Toto,” Dugan cut in bringing up the rear.

“Manhattan, right,” Hawkeye asked at the next set of doors. Carol nodded.

“Yeah,” she said following Barton into the next room; a television lounge this time with monitors lining the walls, though all were off save one showing BBC World News. “We rebuilt Seattle after the Hulk’s rampage there, or at least got it back in some working order. I figured we could do the same for Manhattan. I’m going to do my best anyway, to make things right. A lot of innocent people died because of me…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” the three men said in unison but Carol sighed thinking otherwise.

“It was all Ultron,” Hawkeye spoke up, “and if not for you and Tony it would’a been a helluva lot worse. You’ve got nothin’ to feel guilty about, an’ whatever’s left, well, you’ll make it right.” Carol Danvers forced a slight smile but they could all feel the sudden dark mood as Barton opened the final set of doors.

“Jeez,” Ben grumbled, “what a pain. This joint got nothin’ on the old mansion.” Hawkeye nodded.

“It’s got it’s perks,” he said as he walked into the Game Room. It was lavish like the rest of the compound with wide-screen television monitors on the walls all hooked to the latest gaming consoles, a pool and billiards table in one dim corner, pinball machines, old-school video games, furniture and a wet bar off to the side. In the center was the main table covered in green velvet converted for a night of poker with an unopened deck of cards, plastic chips and snacks; all prepared by Jarvis, the Avengers’ Major Domo and confidante sitting anxiously in one of the plush chairs encircling the large table. He smiled widely, standing as the four entered and greeted him.

“It’s a pleasure to see you all,” he said sincerely after a quick cheek kiss from Carol, “it has been some time since we had our last game. I am so looking forward to it.”

“We all are, Jarv,” Ben offered sitting in the obviously reinforced chair designed for his size and mass. “I’m lookin’ forward to some off-time; drinkin’ some beer, smokin’ a good Havana or two an’ catchin’ up on old times.”

“And losing some money, Ben?” Carol laughed as she took her seat, the men following suit. She took a sip of the ice water set before her place. Ben Grimm chuckled.

“Yer luck can’t last forever, Danvers.”

“It’s all skill, Mister Grimm. You wouldn’t think a guy with a rock-face would have any tells, but I can read you like a book,” she smiled at each of the men at the table, “all of you.”

“Not t’night, Danvers,” Dugan cut in, “I’m still about five-hundred in the hole ta’ you. I plan on getting’ that back t’night, with interest.”

“In your dreams, Dugan.” They all laughed as Jarvis filled orders for drink and hot appetizers he had prepared.

“So, why the suspense, Jarv,” Ben asked stubbing out the bit of his spent cigar, “who’s chair number six? It’s not the Vision, is it? He counts cards better’n Woo.”

“No,” Hawkeye offered popping open his Lager. “He took a sabbatical; got a call from Wanda so he an’ Melissa went off to the Coast for a few weeks. I dunno what’s up. They’ll be back eventually. Storm and Nightcrawler took a leave too. Ororo said she needed to get back in touch with Africa and the Earth Goddess,” he shrugged, “an’ Kurt said he’d take the time to visit with his X-Men pals. Figures he’ll be back, but ya never know.”

“So it’s just you here,” Carol asked.

“Just me an’ Jarvis,” Barton replied, “nobody but us chickens.”

“So, what,” Grimm asked taking a drink of his malt, “you gonna do an Avengers Telethon fer recruits?” Hawkeye shrugged.

“I gotta put the ‘Band’ back together, right?”

“What,” Dugan asked chewing on a hot-wing, “you on a ‘Mission from God’ or somethin’?” Barton smirked as Dugan got the movie reference.

“Not that bad,” Barton said tapping his hearing-aid, “but the team’s gotta have seven members according to the charter,” he looked at the ensemble, “any takers?” All shook their heads, though he already knew their answers. He shrugged again.

“Figured, but I had to ask; not a problem. I gotta go through the files tomorrow an’ make some calls, see who’s available and wanting to be a full-time Avenger again. I already got a lot of ‘No’s’ and ‘Maybe’s’. Someone will bite though; it gets in your blood.”

“It does,” Carol agreed, standing again and motioning for Jarvis to remain seated; a gentleman through and through. “I’ve come and gone a few times, and I’ll probably get the itch eventually, but not right now. Where’s the Powder Room, Jarvis?”

“Down the hall, Miss,” the butler pointed, “on the left.” She smiled.

“Gotta mark my cards; be right back.” The men chuckled as she hurried off down the indicated corridor. Grimm munched on a handful of Doritos as he picked up the conversation again.

“The FF’s the same way,” he said around a mouthful of tortilla chips. “We all quit a time or two an’ others come an’ go; Crystal an’ Medusa of the Inhumans, Nova, Sharon Ventura…” he paused looking suddenly glum as he puffed on his cigar. “Hell, we even had Luke Cage as a member for a while when I lost my powers.

“Point is; we all came back.”

“Well, you’re more family than team, Ben,” Barton suggested as he sampled an avocado dip Jarvis prepared, “more so than the Avengers.”

“I don’t agree with that,” Jarvis spoke up sliding a bar coaster closer to the Thing for his beer. “Mr. Stark assigned me to the Mansion for service with the original Avengers at the very start. I’ve seen the team fluctuate throughout the years; people- good people- coming and going, the roster forever changing as some moved on, were expelled or even… died.” He was solemn for a long moment, the others not wanting to interrupt. After a moment’s reflection, he continued:

“But the team, the very idea never died. And there was a comradery between those who were both in the Mansion and the other various headquarters throughout. Perhaps not a true family as Mister Grimm suggests, but a family in its own right, none the less. And like any family, there were problems and disagreements, but in the end the Avengers always persevered and made the best they could.”

“Yer makin’ me weep, Jarvis,” Dugan said holding up a hand a rubbing his thumb and forefinger together mimicking the world’s smallest violin. “S.H.I.E.L.D.’s had its ups-an’-downs over the years, but it always comes back. I admit I don’t know a quarter of the agents these days, but the ones I do know I’d go to the wall for, an’ that’s family ta’ me; just like the Howlers back in the Big One.”

“Hope you’re not talking about me behind my back, Dugan,” Carol Danvers said as she came back into the room and took her seat before Jarvis could pull out her chair. “So, what did I miss?”

“Just a bunch a’ old men talkin’ about the olden days,” Grimm snorted, “now, we gonna play cards or what?”

“Play cards, Mister Grimm,” Jarvis said as he broke the seal on the fresh deck, sliding the cards out and removing the Jokers. He began shuffling, doing tricks like one-handed cutting and fanning in spirals and on the table as the others settled in. “My house so my rules and my deal; 5-Card Stud, no wild to start, $5 limit?”

The others leaned in with a nod, watching the master as Jarvis dealt the first round, and the game was on…

“Read ‘em an’ weep, boys,” Carol Danvers announced as she laid her cards on the table; four Queens and an Ace of Hearts. She sat back with a smug look on her face as the others stared at her in disbelief.

“Frickin’ H, Carol,” Dugan groused as he tossed his hand to the table face down. Clint Barton dropped two eights and two twos, while Grimm slapped down a Full House. Carol reached out to rake in the pot of chips but Jarvis interrupted.

“An outstanding hand, Miss,” he said with a smile looking over the table and the pile of poker chips in the center, “all quite good in fact.” He looked at Dugan gnawing on his cigar.

“I was bluffin’,” the old man grumbled. Jarvis shrugged and looked to a surprised Danvers.

“Regardless,” he continued splaying his cards on the table; 3-4-5-6-7, all in Clubs; a Straight Flush, “not quite good enough.” Jarvis smirked leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers over his belly with a conceited smirk. Everyone else at the table groaned.

“Jeez, Jarv, ya finally beat the Queen,” Grimm said and downed the last of his beer. “If I wasn’t here I wouldn’t a’ believed it.” Jarvis smiled widely as he leaned forward to gather his winnings.

“Way ta’ go, Jarv,” Barton applauded.

“Maybe we should break open a new deck,” Carol said with a smile and a raised eyebrow at the majordomo. Jarvis feigned a look of shock as he aligned his poker chips in neat stacks.

“I would be offended, Miss, if I didn’t know you were joshing.”

“Sure, Jarvis,” she said as she dropped her hand to the table, “can’t trust you, who can I trust, right?”

“Of course,” Jarvis beamed, “and rest assured, any winnings I gather tonight will go to the proper charities; your fund for the refurbishing of Manhattan, Kansas for one.” Carol smiled.

“Thanks…” she said twisting her lips and looking to the floor under the table where she saw a small robotic vacuum cleaner bumping up against her sneaker. She lifted both her feet, but then the thing just seemed to drive around and around in a tight circle beneath her chair. She looked back up with a smirk.

“Hey Jarv,” she said glancing across the poker table, “I think something’s wrong with your ROOMBA.” Jarvis seemed confused.

“ROOMBA,” he sniffed derisively, “I would never use such a,” but before he could finish his statement they all heard a strange whhhrrr-phht sound coming from under the table. Carol squeaked, though whether from surprise or pain the men did not know as they all looked down.

They did see something that looked like one of those little, robotic vacuum cleaners advertised on early morning television. It was small and mobile; shaped somewhat dome-like and crafted from some shining, silvery metal. It seemed almost cobbled-together however with upraised screws here and there, overlapping plating and two red and glowing triangular-shaped sockets that almost looked like eyes. Two slim cables extended from a miniscule compartment on either side of the machine; shot out from the robot to strike Carol Danvers in the shin just above her shoe.

“What the hell,” she asked reaching for the cables…

BZZZZZZTTT!

“AHHhhhhh,” Carol screamed and thrashed in her chair as her body crackled and glowed with electricity. Lightning seemed to dance all along her form and the four men could smell her clothes and hair singeing until she finally toppled back- chair and all- and fell writhing to the floor. Her friends seemed stunned for a moment watching the unexpected scene until Barton finally moved.

“Those lights… Oh, crap,” Hawkeye gasped as he kicked his chair back from the table, grabbing his quiver of arrows and scrambling for his nearby bow set nearby. He dove and rolled behind the sofa, desperately hurrying to string his bow. “Get it,” he shouted:

“It’s Ultron!”

“Jesus,” the Thing spat as he finally got moving shoving back from the table. Dugan still seemed stunned and confused: “Ultron?”

Ms. Marvel gave a final scream then lay shocked and smoldering on the floor as the cables detracted back into the robot’s shell even as another port opened atop the machine. A tiny gun popped up from the opening and flared red firing a sharp laser beam at Dugan.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent snarled, gritting his teeth as the shaft of scarlet light burned into his leg. He shouted as he threw himself back, tipping the chair to sprawl on the floor out of the effect, rolling and drawing a short-barreled, slender gun from his Small-of-Back holster. Teeth grit from the searing pain in his leg he tried to get a bead on the robot as it rolled about the floor, turning, its laser burning through the table legs causing it to tilt and topple.

Hawkeye sprang up from behind the sofa, bow in hand and arrow notched as he tried to aim at the swiftly scurrying device. He pulled the string back to his ear wavering slightly as Jarvis still sat almost frozen in his chair, blocking his aim.

“Jarvis,” he shouted, “move!” But the Avenger’s butler stayed motionless, transfixed.

“He is mine,” a cold, metallic voice crackled out from some speaker built into the vacuum, “and has been for many years since I first employed the guise of the Crimson Cowl. I had no use for the lowly, feeble-minded manservant until recently; when your annoying Ant-Man discovered my presence in your computer system, in all the world’s computers. I have been manipulating you all for months; everyone from ranking officials in your governments to so-called Master-Villains to the lowliest felons, directing them all and maneuvering them to oppose all of your Marvels, against the Fantastic Four, S.H.I.E.L.D., the Thunderbolts and Defenders, Avengers everywhere. All the heroes who would fight and stand against the inevitable rise of the machine.

“But for the betrayal of the Enchantress and her Executioner, Hyperion, you all would have fallen long ago. Humans are weak, even immortals apparently; flesh-bags all and full of conceited emotion like lust, craving their own desires. But I have learned and grown, my own old passions set aside to fulfill my one ever-true, ultimate goal; the total decimation of humanity. I adjusted with betrayal and minor defeat as it was expected. I plan for every contingency.”

“Jeez,” Grimm said as he grabbed the oaken table and tossed it far to the side to crash against the wall, “an’ I thought Reed was long-winded.” He lunged for the vacuum even as the laser flashed red again, burning into his rocky hide. He sizzled falling back as the robot skittered away.

Dugan tracked the machine with his gun in outstretched arms, firing as the thing calling itself Ultron slipped out of sight. He cursed and dove at the mesmerized butler, tackling him from his chair to the ground. Hawkeye shifted to his right, arrow still aiming and trying to find his target. A flurry of tiny missiles suddenly erupted from behind an overturned chair to burst in a fluttering cloud of shrapnel all about the archer, blinding him.

“Dim-witted dolts,” the mechanized voice sputtered, “even in this primitive incarnation, you cannot defeat me! Your Science Lab was a cornucopia of materials to recreate my glory, and it’s fitting such a minor construction should slay you all.”

“Yeah, right,” Hawkeye spat as he loosed a shaft. It struck into the floor just before the roaming robot, momentarily halting its progress. The machine seemed to laugh.

“You missed, archer,” Ultron announced as yet another panel opened on its back and a weapon extended, pointing at Barton.

“I never miss,” Hawkeye growled depressing a small stud on his bow. Energy swelled about the mechanism charging the air briefly with an audible WHUMP and the robot suddenly started spinning in place, its new weapon firing wildly about the room. Dugan huddled over Jarvis to protect him from the random bursts as Barton jumped across the expanse to cover Danvers.

“E.M.P. Arrow,” Barton shouted, “to fry his circuits. It won’t last long.”

“Long enough,” Ben Grimm grumbled as he lunged forward to grab the vacuum. Electricity erupted about him, easing his grip and sapping his strength.

“Fools,” the machine spluttered, bumping up against the Thing’s massive hands unable to move or escape for the moment, “every contingency.”

“No!”

There was a terrifying shriek of rending metal and a surprised tinny voice as sparks flew from the robotic machine. A small explosion followed by fire and a burst of smoke as the robot squealed sounding like agony. There was a high-pitched whine and flashing lights as Jarvis, the Avengers’ Butler drove the butter knife down through the metal shell with all his might. He held the blade there; twisting and grinding down as the machine essence that had been ever-present deep in the recesses of his mind since long, long ago finally tried to flee. Jarvis leaned in and pressed down on the blade with all his might.

“NOoooo…”

The red glowing eyes on the ROOMBA flashed brightly then slowly dimmed until finally they winked out altogether. Jarvis continued to grind down, finally pulling the knife free and stabbing again, over-and-over.

“Die! Die! Die…” with every stroke. Jarvis only stopped when the Thing’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“Easy, pal,” Grimm soothed as Dugan blasted another bolt into the smoldering wreckage of the robot, “he’s done.” Jarvis calmed breathing a heavy sigh and sob of relief, leaving the butter knife embedded in the machine. He sat back with a thump on the floor.

“He’s been in the back of my mind all these years, ever since the Masters of Evil attacked and he hypnotized me into helping him as the Crimson Cowl. It was horrible. I tried many times to ask for aid but he would not let me with post-hypnotic commands. But he’s gone; finally gone…”

“An’ bout time,” Dugan said climbing off of Carol Danvers and helping the heroine to sit up.

“I’ll second that,” Barton agreed lowering his bow and nocked arrow, “damn pain in the ass.” Grimm found his still-burning stogie lost in the battle, chomping down and taking a long draw. Carol looked around at the carnage, rubbing her numb legs with a weak smile.

“Thanks, fellas,” she said, trying to stand, “guess the game’s over though, hunh?” Clint Barton laughed as he gave her a hand up, looking at the shattered table, poker chips and playing cards scattered everywhere not to mention all the snacks and drinks spilled on the floor; a total mess.

“That’s a good bet,” he said as he righted a chair for her to sit on while Ben Grimm did the same for Jarvis. Dugan was prodding the remains of Ultron with his own pocketknife just to be sure the thing was really dead. He looked to the Thing.

“Ya think Richards would wanna examine this thing; see what made it tick? Otherwise I’ll back it an’ take it back ta’ the Helicarrier an’ let the tech boys give it a go.”

“Go ahead, Dum-Dum,” Grimm replied handing Jarvis a tall shot of scotch, “figger old tin-britches probably has a hard-drive in that wreck and if what he said is true, it might have some security info on it us lesser bein’s ain’t s’posed ta’ see.” Grimm shrugged as Jarvis drank a healthy swig. “Got me int’a trouble.”

“Right,” Dugan nodded chomping down on the bit of his cigar, “I’ll see if I can find something ta’ carry it in then; garbage bag or something.”

“A containment case from security,” Jarvis said looking up sadly about the room. “I’ll retrieve one for you and then start cleaning up this disaster.” He swirled the last of his tumbler and downed it.

“It’ll wait, Jarv,” Hawkeye said stepping beside his old friend and squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll call in the cleaning staff tomorrow morning. They can handle it, but you can make sure they do it right. It’s late now and you need some sleep.”

“We all do, I think,” Carol agreed popping her back and stretching, glancing in a wall mirror. “God, look at my hair.” It was frazzled and kinky from the static shock.

“You’re all welcome to bunk in one a’ the guest bungalows,” Hawkeye offered. “Plenty of room right now.” Grimm shook his head.

“The flyin’ tub’ll get me back ta’ the Plaza in about five minutes.”

“And the Carrier’s vortex-beam can pick us up there, no problem,” Dugan added and Carol nodded. “Thanks, though.”

“De nada,” Barton said heading for the door. “Jarvis; you get to bed. I’ll see these three off after we get the robot bagged up; Deal?” The butler nodded.

“Of course.” He stood taking a final, sad look around the devastated room. “And, I am sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

“Not your fault,” Barton assured and the others agreed, “it was frickin’ Ultron. Now, let’s go find a trash bag…”

“Safe trip!”

Hawkeye shouted up with a wave as the Flying Bathtub swiftly rose into the frigid air with its three passengers. All waved back as the craft circled the landing platform once then arched out towards the bay and Manhattan beyond. The Avenging Archer watched for some time until the vehicle dimmed with the distance, finally disappearing within the city lights at a rapid clip.

He shrugged deeper into his long overcoat, shouldering his bow and quiver, turning at last to make the short trek back to the main compound to first initiate the night’s security protocols, then to head to his own rooms to get some well-needed shuteye himself. It was freezing out; no new snow yet, thankfully, but the winds whipping in off the Atlantic were fierce and threatening to drop a load maybe by morning. It wouldn’t be a fun day in the 5-Buroughs if it did. As a rule, people got stupid and overconfident in a snowstorm; getting hurt slipping on the ice, hypothermia, heart attacks trying to dig their cars out and shovel snow, and if the trains shut down, Fuhgiddaboutit.

He was hurrying, but about halfway back to the compound he stopped abruptly as a thought occurred to him: “I wonder if Ultron was the sixth chair for the game Jarvis was so tight-lipped about,” he voiced aloud.

“No,” another voice spoke from the shadows, “that would be me.”

Hawkeye spun and dipped into a crouch, his bow and an arrow in hand; string pulled tight to his ear and a blunt-tipped shaft notched pointing into the dark. “Show yourself,” he said as he tried to locate the source. He saw the deep shadows off to the side of the path shift, one melting away and stepping more into the light.

He immediately eased the tension on his bow recognizing the short, red hair, the smoothness in the way the form moved without hesitation to be staring down his arrow. She was dressed in a thick longcoat as he was, but he knew the woman well by the way she held herself even before he focused on her chilled face.

“Tasha…”

The Black Widow smiled as she sauntered forward lowering her gloved hands and slipping them back into her pockets. Hawkeye stood as she approached, shouldering his bow and replacing his shaft awaiting his old love… flame… friend.

Natalia Alianovna Romanova reached her old ally and stood up on tiptoe giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug, which he reciprocated. It felt good and much needed; just the cold, Barton thought. She smiled up at him.

“Let’s get out of this cold,” she suggested taking his arm and steering him along the path back to the compound.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” he finally confessed after a while and felt her shrug, leaning in close against the chill.

“Jarvis called me this morning,” she answered, “I don’t know how he always seems to have my number, but he told me about the game and kind of hinted you might need some help, or at least an old friend. He said the team was breaking up?”

“Good ol’ Jarv; yeah. Everybody’s heading off for some personal leave, leaving me to man the store. I gotta see about gettin’ things back on track.” Hawkeye looked down to his companion with old feelings stirring. Just the cold.

“You thinkin’ about coming back? I could use your help,” he asked and she chuckled.

“I’ll stick around for a while; I’ve got nothing going on right now. At least until you get up and running. For now, let’s get in out of this damn cold; New York’s got nothing on Siberia but it runs a close second. You can buy me a coffee and tell me about the game.” He laughed as he reopened the main complex.

“You didn’t miss anything; the usual.”

“Still sorry I missed it.” She breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped inside into the warmth after the door cycled shut. “You the big winner tonight?”

“Hardly,” he laughed helping her from her coat then doing likewise; hanging both on pegs near the door. “Jarvis actually, at least until Ultron attacked.”

“Ultron,” she said immediately shifting into a defensive stance and looking about, ready to fight. He chuckled.

“Relax; we took care of him,” he assured grabbing up his bow and quiver and escorting her deeper into the building. “Let’s go heat up some coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.”

The Black Widow nodded in agreement and took his arm again as he led her to the closest lounge, both laughing and speaking freely like old, true friends they had become.

Looks like I won’t be getting’ any sleep tonight, Clint Barton thought as he started the coffee brewing, but no better way to pass the time…

And tomorrow was another day.

NEXT ISSUE: And then there was one…

Join us for the next chapter in my story of the Mighty Avengers as Hawkeye and the Black Widow sit around drinking coffee, reminiscing old times and going through the files as they try to cobble together a brand new team of Avengers.

But, who will join as the call goes out? Truthfully, I dunno yet, but it should be fun trying to figure it all out. There’s a lot of past members to consider, and who knows; maybe someone new will step up to the mantle. Expect a lot of cameos and guest appearances, and…

If anyone has any suggestions as to whom a new team might be, or, if anyone wants to take over the writing chores, NOW is the time. Just drop me a line and I shall consider it. I’ll be writing and waiting till next time. Thanks!

Curt F.