Femme Fatale

You woke to sunlight streaming in through the windows. You groaned and nestled deeper into the soft sheets, not quite ready to give up your blissful sleep. You needed at least another hour in bed, then maybe you’d think about getting up to start the coffee maker. You curled your fist in the blankets, thanking your lucky stars that it was one of your rare days off.

And then you remembered. The mission gone south. The Avengers. The bomb in your foot.

You sat up with a start, throwing the sheets aside to reveal your leg, now covered in a patchwork of bandages and shiny new cybernetics, ending in a rather unattractive metal stump. You really couldn’t wait for Tony to finish your new foot -- being reduced to hobbling around on crutches was seriously killing the “deadly cyborg assassin” thing you had going here.

You remembered how your heart had pounded when you saw the clock in your foot and realized that Stark’s tampering had accidentally triggered the bomb. He’d frantically gone to work on your leg, snipping wires and poking at the electronic components and muttering a string of words so filthy that even you wouldn’t dare repeat them. Bruce had stood by, looking very stressed and possibly nauseous and offering occasional advice or encouragement. By the time the other members of their team burst into the room and started demanding to know what was wrong, all three of you were nervous wrecks.

Tony had managed to defuse the bomb with exactly one minute and forty-eight seconds left on the clock. By that point, it had been decided that if the timer got down to the one minute mark, they were going to have to saw off your foot and ankle in order to keep you from blowing up along with it. When the countdown froze, everyone in the room seemed to let out a communal sigh of relief.

And if any of the Avengers had noticed your quiet sobbing in the last minute or so of the ordeal, they’d been respectful enough never to mention it. You appreciated that.

With a small groan, you sat up in bed and stretched your arms over your head. In the six weeks since your first meeting, the team had proven to be excellent hosts. They’d given you a very large, very private bedroom (“Although we will be keeping you on 24/7 surveillance until we know for sure that you’re trustworthy,” Agent Romanoff had warned you), and they’d defended your innocence to the Powers That Be by proving that you’d been just another of Hydra’s victims and, therefore, not a terrorist. Once you’d been cleared, Tony had started on the daunting task of slowly replacing all of the mechanical bits of your leg with Stark Industries tech, since the government wanted to confiscate all of your old “enhancements” as evidence. Your leg had been finished for over a week now; you were just waiting on Tony to put the finishing touches on your new robot foot.

After several frustrating minutes of hopping around your bedroom and the attached bathroom in an effort to make yourself more presentable, you grudgingly took up your crutches and decided to head downstairs. Maybe one of the guys had already gotten started on breakfast. Hopefully Clint, since he seemed to be the only one with any real cooking skills.

The kitchen was suspiciously empty, which meant either everyone was out on a late night mission and was currently catching up on their beauty sleep, or you’d slept later than you thought and they’d all already started the day without you. Either way, it looked like you weren’t getting any of Clint’s pancakes. Damn it.

You’d just settled down on the living room couch with a bowl of cereal (not even good cereal, because Thor had eaten all the Lucky Charms again, the heartless monster) when the back door swung open to reveal Captain America. You noted that he was wearing sweats and looked slightly less perfect and put-together than usual, so it was safe to assume that he’d just returned from his morning jog. If you could call seven miles uphill a jog. What a freak.

“Hey Steve,” You smiled sweetly, waving your spoon in greeting. You got along with Steve fairly well, and you were pretty sure he liked you. Liked you, but maybe didn’t necessarily trust you. Which was fair, considering that a month and a half ago you had actively tried to kill him.

“Hey.” He wandered past you into the kitchen, only to return moments later with a glass of water. “How’re you holding up?”

“Same old.” You shrugged. “Can’t wait for my new foot.” You used your good (i.e. only) foot to kick at your crutches, which you’d dropped carelessly on the floor by the couch. “I hate these things so much.”

Steve chuckled and sat down on the loveseat across from you. “At least your shining optimism hasn’t suffered at all. Do you know if anyone else is up yet?”

“I am.” Natasha seemingly appeared from nowhere, which was a habit of hers that never failed to make you jump.

“Clint’s awake, too. But he’ll probably be a while -- I just won our sparring match, and it wasn’t pretty.” She gracefully seated herself next to Steve, and you saw that she had indeed been training: she wore a plain grey tank top and black shorts, had her bright red hair up in a messy bun, and was breathing just a bit more heavily than normal. She gave you a quick once over -- out of the whole team, Natasha was proving to be the most reluctant to trust you. Which made sense, as it was her job not to trust anybody. And she was very good at her job.

You shook your head, swallowing a mouthful of cereal. “You people are terrifying. Who works out before breakfast? And why do none of you ever look gross after you exercise? You’re all robots, aren’t you?”

“Nah, the only robots around here are you and Tony.” Clint panted as he stumbled through the training room door. Natasha hadn’t been kidding -- the aftermath of their sparring match really wasn’t pretty. His red T-shirt was stained with sweat, his breathing labored like someone who had just run a marathon (or, you know, gone hand to hand with the world’s deadliest assassin), and he was rubbing his side, which you were willing to bet would be covered in bruises in a few hours.

“I’m a cyborg, thank you very much.” You scooted over to make room for him. “Although I’m told that the new, politically correct term is ‘mechanically augmented persons.’ Apparently there’s enough of us now that they need a name for it.”

“Whatever.” He gracelessly collapsed onto the couch next to you. Clint was cool, Clint was your buddy. He’d warmed up to you the fastest after the team decided not to hand you over to the government to be processed as a terrorist. You weren’t sure if you’d known him long enough to consider him a friend, but he was definitely the closest thing you had to one.

“At least I know that Clint is human.” You gently patted his sweaty shoulder. “And Thor is a demigod, so of course he always looks flawless. But you two--” You gestured to the super soldier and the spy seated across from you, “-- are just freaks. Perfect, ridiculously attractive freaks.”

“Speaking of Thor, where is he?” Steve purposely ignored your last comment. “I haven’t seen him around for a few days.”

“He’s on vacation.” Natasha smirked, crossing her arms in classic I-know-everything posture. “He wouldn’t say where he was going, but I’m pretty sure he’s visiting his lady friend. He got all flustered when I asked about it.”

“I wish he’d bring Jane around here more.” You muttered. “Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in the testosterone.”

“You and me both.” Natasha nodded solemnly.

Jane Foster had only visited the Avengers facility once since you’d been staying there, but you’d taken an instant liking to her. She was kind, friendly, and could hold her own against both Bruce and Tony in scientific debates that made your head spin. Cybernetics weren’t her strong suit, but she’d taken a look at your leg anyway, more out of curiosity than because she thought she could help. You liked Jane a lot, and the two of you now exchanged emails on a semi-regular basis. As for her Asgardian boyfriend, you weren’t really sure where you stood with him, as you’d probably spent less time around him than any of the other team members. You were pretty sure he liked you, but then again, Thor seemed to like everyone. If you were honest with yourself, you were a little intimidated by him. Maybe it was paranoia, but you got antsy around anyone who literally had the ability to call down lightning at any given moment.

“Hey guys, can you send Inspector Gadget down to the lab? I need to make sure her new prosthetic fits.” Tony’s voice rang through the Intercom, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You sighed. “He’s never going to stop with the stupid nicknames, is he?” You handed your half-empty bowl of cereal to Clint, who immediately started digging in, grabbed your crutches, and started off on the long hobble to the lab.

When you finally made it, you found Bruce waiting for you inside. His face brightened when he saw you. “Hey! How are those new augmentations working out for you?”

“Hey Bruce! Everything seems fine so far.” You held out your right leg and waved your ankle stump around to emphasize your point.

You followed him deeper into the lab, where he told you Tony was putting the finishing touches on your new foot. Your relationship with Bruce was odd, but comfortable. You wouldn’t really say that you were friends, but you definitely liked and respected the guy, and you sensed that the feeling was mutual. You were always polite and friendly with each other, and you appreciated him helping with your new “augmentations,” as he called them.

The two of you found Tony at one of his work tables, wearing the same outfit he’d been wearing the last time you saw him (two days ago) and surrounded by empty coffee mugs and takeout containers. You felt bad that he’d obviously been pulling all nighters to finish your new prosthetic, but you were overjoyed by the possibility of finally being able to walk again.

“Hey, Hop-Along!” He waved cheerfully. “I think I’ve finally got this thing in working order. Care to come try it on?”

“If it means no more crutches-based humor, I’ll do anything.” You handed Bruce said crutches and waved off his attempt to help you up onto the lab table.

Despite his teasing, you were pretty sure Tony liked you. You knew that he at least enjoyed working on your new tech, if nothing else. But he’d also been the first to rise to your defense when the government tried to arrest you, so you figured he must at least be kind of fond of you. Or maybe he just didn’t want to lose his new tinkering project. Whatever the case, you were grateful.

“Alright.” Tony held up your new foot, which you couldn’t help but admire. It was smaller and sleeker than the old one, almost exactly the same size and shape as your remaining flesh-and-bone foot, made out of fitted metal plates that, you imagined, would have greater mobility than the old prosthetic. Most importantly, this one didn’t have any hidden explosives rigged to blow you up if you stepped out of line. “This shouldn’t hurt, and if it does we’ve got big problems, so let me know if you feel anything other than very mild discomfort.”

“That’s reassuring.” You rolled your eyes, but failed to keep the excited smile off your face. “Ready when you are.”

There was a soft magnetic hum as he connected the foot to your ankle joint. A small electric buzz shot up your leg, but it wasn’t painful. You tried to wiggle your toes, but the new foot didn’t respond. You frowned. “I can’t move it.”

“Give it a few seconds.” Tony was hovering around your prosthetic like an anxious mother over her newborn baby. “The system needs to connect. Do you know how complicated this technology is? The wiring--”

You held up a hand to stop him. “Spare me the detailed explanation. We both know that I won’t understand a word of it. Just let me know when to try moving it again.”

“Try it… now.”

You gave a determined nod and tried to flex your foot. The prosthetic responded, letting out a nearly inaudible mechanical whirring. You’d been right, this new one did have more mobility than the original.

“It works! This is amazing, I--” You jumped to your feet -- and immediately lost your balance and toppled over. You would have landed facedown on the floor if Tony and Bruce hadn’t both rushed forward to catch you.

“Careful. It’s going to take some getting used to.” Bruce smiled reassuringly. “Probably no more than a few weeks of physical therapy, though. You should be able to run and jump again by this time next month.”

You nodded slowly. You hadn’t considered the possibility of physical therapy, but it made sense. You could work with that.

“It’s a major upgrade, too.” Tony was more excited than you’d seen him in weeks. “It weighs less than the old one, with enough shock absorption that you could jump off of a building, if you really wanted to. As long as you land on your right side, because the bones in your left foot would shatter on impact. Bruce wouldn’t let me add any defensive systems--”

“Thank you, Bruce.” You interrupted quickly. “I prefer to keep my weapons outside my body, if possible.”

“The point is, it shouldn’t slow you down at all.” Tony rattled on, ignoring your remark. “In fact, it could be a real asset to you, once you learn how to use it properly. After a few months of training, you might even be able to keep up with the rest of the team.”

“Mr. Stark,” you spoke slowly, “Are you offering me a job?”

“Not on the record. Not yet.” He shrugged. “But we have these… Avengers Reserves, you could say. Super-people who aren’t technically on the team, but are on standby in case we ever need the backup. You’ve heard of War Machine, right? And Steve’s friend Sam -- pretty cool guy. There’s plenty of spots open, if you’re interested.”

You looked at Bruce. “How does the rest of the team feel about this? I was under the impression that I was still on probation.”

“We’ve had several group discussions about it.” Bruce leaned back against the lab table. “Certain team members think that if you were going to betray us, you’d have done it already, while others still aren’t convinced that you’re 100% trustworthy. But we all agree that, for now, the safest place for you is here, where we can keep an eye on you. And Tony’s right: With proper training, you could be a valuable addition to the team.”

“Plus, your old boss probably isn’t all that happy with you right now.” Tony threw an arm around your shoulders. “What, with you handing over all those juicy Hydra secrets and helping us pinpoint the locations of their remaining strongholds. Thanks for that, by the way. But it’s unlikely that you’ll get your old job back, and joining the Avengers definitely beats unemployment, right?”

“I don’t know. I have some serious connections in the mercenary business.” You half-joked. “I was thinking of calling up my friend Wade and asking for career advice. I hear you can make a lot of money killing people, if you’re good at it.”

“Yeah, except then you’d be a criminal, and the team would have to hunt you down and arrest you, which would be awkward.” Tony shook his head. “Imagine what a mess that would be. Superheroes fighting other superheroes. Ridiculous, am I right?”

“Good point. How’s your health insurance? Do you guys have dental?”

Tony laughed, then suddenly became serious. “Does this mean you’re in?”

You smiled. “It means I’m interested. We can discuss the details while you help me figure out how to walk on this new foot. Because I am never, ever using crutches again.”