The Shadow [a marvel fanfiction]

Age of Ultron: Chapter Two

"Come on, Bruce. Please? I went s-s-six months without—"

"We agreed on eight for me to even consider it," Bruce said, never looking up from his tablet. Marie groaned and thumped loudly up the stairs after him.

"It wasn't even my-my fault! That stupid blue track-track-track suit started it!"

Tony whistled sharply above them. "Marie! What did I say about stomping on the stairs?"

"Shut up, metal-head," Marie snapped. Tony had a running list of rules for the Avengers now that everyone had all but moved into the Tower. Every day there seemed to be a new rule he would prattle on about.

"I'm not going to break the—break the glass." She tugged on Bruce's sweater. "I was barely affected by the snow and the cold! Even when I—Even when I breached the altitude limit—"

Bruce stopped. "You did what?"

"Nothing," Marie said quickly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "I've done enough work to-to-to prove that I can handle the paintball retreat. Please, Bruce? We'll never know if we-if we never try."

He hesitated in answering her, playing with his tablet. Marie bounced on her toes and stared at him eagerly. With enough pressure and concessions, he would cave. She would make him. There was no way she was missing the paintball retreat for the fourth time.

"I'll think about it."

Well, he didn't say no.

Marie squeezed the scientist in a quick hug. "Thank you!"

"I didn't say yes—" Bruce cautioned but Marie was already running towards Helen Cho's set-up. She skidded into the lab with a grin on her face, ignoring Helen's disapproving glance. She snagged a rolley-chair and wheeled it over to Clint's side.

"Guess who got per-per-permission to go paintballing?"

Nat glanced at her. "Really? What happened to the "no asthma attacks for at least eight months" rule—"

"Well," Marie amended, "he didn't exactly say yes but—"

"—or the "stay under your altitude limit" rule—"

"—okay I get it—"

"—and don't forget the one about keeping our hands, weapons, and powers to ourselves when in a meeting, or during dinner, or out in public, or on a mission—"

"All right that's enough." Marie threw a wad of gauze at the redhead, pouting. Natasha laughed and swatted it away. Clint breathed out a laugh, groaning immediately as he shifted and pulled at the healing skin. Marie frowned at the sight.

"How's the old man?"

"He's great," Clint muttered and looked at her through squinted eyes, "and he is not old."

"Tell your—Tell your crow's feet."

Clint grit his teeth as he spoke. "I'm—a—joyful—person."

Marie peered closer at the machine. She didn't understand how it worked or what it was doing, but it seemed to hurt. It looked like a laser was scanning back and forth over his skin. She had no interest in trading places with Clint.

"You sure he's going to be okay?" Nat asked, grinning at Clint. "Pretending to need this guy really brings the team together."

Helen nodded. "There's no possibility of deterioration. The nanomolecular functionality is instantaneous, his don't know they're bonding synthetically."