The Armorer

Unlike my last house-buying experience, this one was a disaster. And it wasn't because of the realtor, who had superhuman levels of tolerance. This was all on me. Unlike my last relocation from South America to Austria, I wasn't prepared to leave. And I wasn't sure I wanted to stay in Seattle; I'd come here on nothing more than a location generator and a few pictures. Finally, though, I lucked into a sublet downtown in an area that had recently been gentrified, from a recently retired history professor and her anthropologist professor husband, both connected to UW, who were going on sabbatical to Brazil. We met a few times, I made some disclosures in light of why I was deported, and they still decided to rent to me. Best yet, they left their personal library for me to explore. They would be gone nine months, and I felt like this timespan should be adequate for me to determine whether I wanted to stay in this city.

I started exploring the city and its environs. I took the ferries around, visited the splendid Hoh rainforest, did some kayaking on the Sound, checked out the Fremont Troll. Got a library card at the magnificent Seattle library. Went to the Pike Place Market and the Space Needle, the Museum of Glass, the Seattle Erotic Art Festival, the Frey Art Museum, the arboretum, the Chihuly gardens, and Alki beach. The restaurants and food in general were fantastic. The main negative was the lack of a hockey team. I had to road trip to BC to see a game in person. My home in Austria sold within two weeks of being put on the market.

The winter was pretty mild, unlike where I'd lived in Austria; they'd gotten a lot of snow there and had a couple of terrible blizzards. I kept up with emails from my former neighbors. One day I laced up my winter boots and visited the Kubota Gardens after a light snow. I was the only visitor when I went in and I enjoyed the solitude, walking through the white-capped trees. I paused on a red arched bridge to enjoy the beauty and silence. I frowned to hear footsteps behind me, muffled into soft "crumps" by the snow carpet, and started to move again.

"Don't leave on my account," a familiar voice said, and my frown turned into a snarl. Don't push him in the pond, I instructed myself firmly. Don't do it. I turned to see Tony Stark, complete with his characteristic smirk.

I couldn't think of anything to say that didn't contain a lot of expletives, so I settled for a withering stare and turned around, walking carefully to avoid falling on my butt. "Hey," he said, sounding offended, and caught up with me. "I'm sorry we got you deported."

"Leave me alone," I requested, and set off back to the parking lot, walking briskly, just this side of breaking out into an unseemly run. Stark dropped back, but in the parking lot Black Widow and Hawkeye were leaning against another nondescript sedan.

"How'd he manage to piss you off this time?" Hawkeye wanted to know.

"By breathing in my vicinity," I snapped, and stomped off to my car.

"Hey," Natasha said, walking toward me. "Stark can be irritating, but he's right that we owe you for the events in Austria."

"I don't want anything from you," I said, turning around. "I've tried to do the right thing, but being associated even tangentially with the Avengers has gotten me run out of two countries, one of which I was actually settling into and liking a lot. Now I'm back in the US, I can't be deported, but I can still be jailed, which is not something I'm interested in experiencing. So if you think you owe me, you can repay me by leaving me alone."

"Stark's taking us all to lunch," Hawkeye said. "He bought out Lark for it."

"It's a great restaurant," I said politely. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

"Thor and Steve will be there," Natasha said. "Steve has a question about his shield."

I can't decide if she's telling the truth or not and I don't necessarily want to see Thor again, either. What if he decides to go back on his promise? "He can email me if he's got questions," I told her. She cocked her head and looked at me intently.

"Look, Tony is going to bother you until you agree to speak with him. This is an easy way to get him off your back."

That stiffened my spine some more. I was starting to feel like I had a stick up my butt. "If he keeps harassing me, I'll get a restraining order."

"You'll have to face him sometime."

"Why? I was able to avoid him, effortlessly, until recently."

Hawkeye walked forward and hands me an envelope. "This is the last arrow in my quiver," he said. "I don't know what it says, none of us do, but if you still don't want to go to lunch after reading this, we'll leave you alone."

Warily, I take the envelope. It's lovely stationary, high rag content, very appealing texture. It's sealed, but there's no writing on it at all. I cycle through my vision options and all I see inside is a piece of paper fresh from the printer. I open it gingerly and read the letter.

My breath hisses out. It's the one offer I can't refuse. That I don't want to refuse.