stands_for_hope | Firebrand, Superman, Lois Lane, and the Avengers in... Unfortunately Lex Luthor Is An Asshole

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Firebrand, Superman, Lois Lane, and the Avengers in... Unfortunately Lex Luthor Is An Asshole

That morning, there wasn't a paper that didn't have a variation of one headline:

Captain America Comes Out in Support of Superman

The quotes were all different, though: 'He's here to help, same as me.' 'I've never met a kinder, more civic-minded man.' 'I've fought beside him and I'd do it again; there's very few people I'd trust to have my back like Superman.'

The Planet was the only one who had a full interview to go along with the statement that had been distributed to the various publications, an exclusive as written by Lois Lane who was starting to get known as the woman to go to if you needed to talk to a harder-to-find superhero. Lois didn't mind that one bit, honestly, though Cat Graham had started to ask her if she knew any of their numbers to get herself a date.

Later, on another day, Clark might wonder if that had been as much of a catalyst as anything. Because that was the day that Lex Luthor decided to make his play.

The massive spider mecha seemed to appear out of nowhere, towering over parts of the downtown area that had only just begun to be rebuilt. The streets were suddenly filled with rolling war machines, filled to the brim with alien soldiers speaking a language that was unfamiliar and strange to anyone who might hear it. Strange flying ships made their way from the outskirts of the city inward, terrifying the people as they scattered them from the streets. And all of them, each and every one of them, wore red, blue, and gold... and sported the s-like curve as an emblem.

The invasion had begun.

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Clark gave a peaceful, happy smile at the friendly gesture before snatching a pretzel from the bowl that had been left on the counter. The popcorn had long since been nabbed by the couch-sitters for watching their show.

Steve, looking around at the fullness of the room, picked up his pack and his shield and nodded first at Jim, and then down the hallway.

"Can I put my stuff away? Better to have more room when the food comes."

"Sure. This way," he said, and nodded down the hall for Steve to follow him. Maybe it was a gesture of trust. Maybe it was just comfort and confidence. Either way, he guided Steve into his bedroom, which was likely part predictable and partly unsettling.

The bed was a folded-out futon that was pushed to one wall, a couple pillows on one end. Beneath it, there was a flat tupperware container that, if anyone looked closely, was rather laden with weaponry. The closet door was open, showing a few pairs of pants and shirts that needed to be hung, and only a couple pairs of boots underneath. Rather sparse. Most of his clothes were in the chest of drawers that were to one side.

The only other piece of furniture was a bedside table with a lamp. All in all, the room was almost hollow, the walls plain white, the floor clean but undecorated.

"The bed's actually pretty firm," Jim said. "There's room in the closet for whatever. Room in the chest, too."

Steve had gotten used to living out of his go bag and chose instead to place it and the shield nearest to the bed, beside the bed table. It still left plenty of floor for Jim to sleep on.

Once that was done, he put his hand to the futon mattress and gave it a squeeze, nodding in agreement that it was about as firm as he could ask for and almost certainly sleepable. Leaning down, his enhanced senses gave him a good sniff of the bed and his chest tightened up for a moment at the aching familiarity. Smell, he'd been told, either by Bruce or Tony, had the strongest effect on a person, could hold the most potent memories. He couldn't disagree right then.

He didn't hide it, but he also didn't say anything as he stood up again. Yeah, the bed... he'd sleep just fine in this bed. Probably better than he'd slept since he'd woken up from the ice.

"Looks good," he reported as he shot Jim a smile.

He was saved from having to say anything else by the sound of the doorbell.

"Ah, food. We should probably go out and help bring it up."

"Since I ordered the restaurant, yeah," he agreed. "Let's go."

He didn't wait before heading out - he'd given his own name, after all, and that meant he'd have to confirm everything. He only stopped to pick up his glove from the kitchen before opening the door. Jim greeted the man with a polite few words of Cantonese and a bow of his head.

The delivery man gave a nod of recognition. "Having a party?"

"Something like a party, anyway," Jim answered, hearing Tony take his cue and stand up, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

"What's the total?" Stark asked and the delivery man answered - pretty steep, but for the amount of food that was around him, it was proportionate. Stark didn't even bat an eye before forking it over with a generous tip. "Thanks," he said. "It smells great."

"Threw in some desserts for free. Enjoy," he said, and handed over two cardboard boxes of fragrant food.

Steve waited until the next box was held out and took that one, shifted it to his one arm, and grabbed the last of them. He gave the delivery man a pleasant smile and closed the door.

Clark had cleared the table and the countertop, one for food and the other for people to sit at, and a small sticky note was placed over one of the cabinets to inform the guests that the plates were there if they wanted one. Another was on a drawer with the simple label of 'silverware'.

Steve put his boxes on the countertop and held up a finger.

"Lemme go get Clint."

And disappeared back out the door.

Jim let him go, but dug into the boxes just the same, finding one takeout box marked with a V - and that, he held out to Clark. "For you."

Meanwhile, Clint was doing mental math. Lois and Clark had a room. Jim was going to be sharing with Steve. There was one couch. That left three people needing the floor in the other apartment, and he was fine with one of them being him. He'd put a pallet in each of the bedrooms, so people would have a little privacy, and one in the living room. Complete with borrowed pillows, he knew he'd slept on worse.

"Hey," came the voice from behind him, Steve hanging in the doorway, "food's here. Jim ordered Chinese for everyone. And pretty much everything they served, so there should be something you like."

Clark took the box from Jim with a faint smile and a quick duck of his head.

"Thanks, Jim."

All the preparation done, he slipped out of the kitchen to remove at least one thing taking up space and settled into his desk chair to eat at his desk.

"Hm-- what?" Clint looked up from what he was doing, brows raised. "Oh, Steve, hey. What was that? Kind of off in my own world there."

Three bedrolls - the apartment was pretty well appointed for a quick notice night's stay, really.

He set out foods, from finger foods to full dishes, making a mental note of the ones marked with a V, setting those slightly aside. He eventually said aloud, "The ones with a V are vegetarian, and we do have a vegetarian so make sure he's full before you steal his food."

When the occupants included two reporters, one of whom had spent most of the last five years abroad and the other of which was known for her tendency to dive headfirst into a situation wherever it was, bedrolls were thankfully a thing kept on hand.

"Food's here," he repeated, "Jim got Chinese. Ordered pretty much the whole restaurant, so there ought to be something you like in there."

Clark blushed and waved off the worry.

"I'm all right. There's enough for everyone. Eat what you like."

He lifted the box in his hand, labeled with a 'V' to show that he had some food.

"Oh, cool," Clint nodded. "Remind me to thank him. Got some bedrolls in here - I figure probably me, Stark, and Thor?" Standing, he stretched, then headed for the door. "Figured Sam would probably want to keep an eye on you."

"Score," Tony said, looking like he was about to jump the couch, but he stopped himself and walked around instead. Surprising a few people, perhaps, he went for the V-marked boxes and looked them over before choosing one, grabbing a couple eggrolls, and a set of chopsticks. Having the surgery to take out the shrapnel had made him a little more health conscious to say the least.

Jim, meanwhile, grabbed a box of what looked like lo mein to him and got a fork. There was more than enough food, but everyone had their choice.

"We can just let them figure it out," Steve admitted with a shrug. Sam was his friend and his partner, not his babysitter. Though if it got him the couch, he guessed that wasn't a terrible thing.

"Come on, let's get some food."

He headed back to the main apartment in time to see Lois go for the beef sticks and a small container of won ton soup, though she put it down on the kitchen table after a second.

"I'm gonna get changed before I wreck this outfit any worse."

Then she disappeared into her and Clark's bedroom.

Sam slipped in after she'd left and grabbed himself some beef with broccoli before snatching a chicken and cashew for Thor and returning to the couch with enough chopsticks for the both of them and a beer each.

Clint followed along, smirking at seeing what he was seeing. "This is the most sausagefest slumber party I've ever seen in my life," he muttered under his breath but he headed for the counter and table laden with Chinese food and started grabbing. A fork, a couple of little white containers, some finger food, and he took a place in the floor between the couch and the TV. Might as well join the throng.

Jim just watched with a kind of amusement. Once people had eaten, he was sincerely considering suggesting a poker game. All they lacked was cigarettes and it'd almost be like things were, longer ago than he remembered.

Edited 2014-06-28 19:34 (UTC)

Lois came out a minute later, dressed in pajamas and an old ARMY t-shirt. She frowned a little as she saw that the seats were mostly filled up before Clark noticed and offered his. There was some silent communication before she scooped up her food and took his seat.

Clark chose instead to cross his legs and float beside her as he ate his food.

Steve smiled a little at the two of them before heading to actually get his own food, a sweet and sour chicken plucked from the mass of boxes and a container of sauce scrounged up from one of the bags. He'd make sure everyone got enough before he started taking more.

Then he was settling not far from Jim to find out what these 'ponies' were exactly.

"Apparently you're the orange one," Jim said when Steve settled in to eat. "And Clark's the yellow one with the pink hair." He'd picked up that much, at least, in the short time he'd been watching.

"Pretty sure they don't have one for Nat," Clint put in.

"I don't know," Sam said observed thoughtfully, "I could see a couple ponies fitting her. Not that anyone here heard me say that."

Clark laughed a little and floated up some.

Steve ran a hand through his hair before popping a piece of chicken into his mouth.

"I don't recall having a Missouri accent, but I'll have to see if I agree. Clark seems about right."

Jim sent Clark a fond glance. The floating made him happy. It was proof that he was relaxed, even with so many people around who knew his secret. That was something to keep. "Nah, your accent's something else entirely - when you're not tryin' to hide it," he said, though, giving Steve a nudge.

Steve grinned.

"I'm not tryin' to hide it," he said, though it came out thicker, richer once Jim had prompted him. He sounded like a proper New Yorker; he'd never really talked like that around any of them before.

"Just got used to talkin' like that from the USO shows an' it never slipped off."

He'd had voice coaches a plenty making sure that he sounded as middle America, as untraceable and universal, as possible. It was part of the persona that he still had trouble shaking off, and one he didn't even think about (or hadn't) until Jim said something.

Clint stifled a laugh from where he was sitting. "Swear to God, if he breaks out with a 'youse guys', I might piss myself laughing."

Jim rolled his eyes and picked up an eggroll. "That was more me than him, anyway. I was the poker guy. Steve was the hustler."

Steve did his best to look utterly innocent, which was a very good attempt except for the little twist to his lips.

Clark floated over and peered down at Steve curiously.

"Hustler?"

Sam, at his place on the couch, stifled a laugh.

"Oh man, don't even get me started. It is a damn beautiful sight to behold when he's at it."

Lois was just raising her eyebrow.

"Oh, this I've got to hear."

Steve leaned back against a wall with a laugh.

"It's not hustling if you just let them make their own assumptions."

"Skinny little five-foot tall asthmatic," Jim said, "purple shiners under his eyes, asking between coughs if you wanna game of pool. Stick taller than him sometimes. Puttin' down a fifty cent bet. Looks like a sure thing. Next thing you know, he's walkin' out with ten bucks and I'm makin' sure the guys he took for their wallets aren't gonna try to flatten him before we get home."

Tony was grinning. "You dog."

"A well-fed dog. Easier shootin' pool than movin' groceries," he explained before popping another piece of chicken into his mouth, "so if I was too sick to do one, I did the other one. Just a matter of keepin' the rent paid and food on the table. Couldn't let this mook over" and he slung his thumb back at Jim, "here work himself to death."

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