Fiddler's Green

IV

It is miraculous that this species has survived thus far, don't you suppose? One would think that humanity would have extinguished itself long ago. Throughout history, we have not spoken, we declaim; we do not only question, we implore, explore.

Mary had a talent for stories, tales that her mother would read to her when she was younger, gossip she learned from keeping quiet during the lunch hour. She kept up with the news in her time, careful to pay attention while history was made and new legends were created. However, one thing she didn't take kindly to was being ordered.

"I'm sorry, you want me to do what?"

"Tell a story," The pirate who had introduced himself as Clint waved his hand as he brought his booted feet up to rest on the table beside him. Whatever beverage that was in his mug was chugged. He looked familiar- though he certainly didn't fit her expectation for a pirate- but she couldn't quite place him. "Your kind are always good at that."

"My-" She mustered up enough indignation to step forward and unleash hell on the bastard for whatever generalisations he had made. However, her path of wrath was stopped by the Captain, who fulfilled every thought she'd ever had about pirates when she was younger.

A lean man, unlike Peter's more compact muscular frame, he had swept into the quarters they had dumped her and Peter in. Stepping out of the shadows, she likened him to a bat, for it seemed that even missing an eye he missed nothing, noticing even the smallest of breaths, whenever they blinked. His long coat was as dark as the water at night, and he moved so fluidly with it it was almost a dance. The others addressed him only as Fury; in truth, he did remind her of the goddess of vengeance and retribution. There was a certain militarian precision to him which reminded her of Peter, but as he left, she only had more questions.

Fury said nothing, merely raising his eyebrows in a way that reminded her of her grandmother. With a huff, Mary stepped back to her place, feeling rather like a puppet. He knocked Clint's feet off of the table, sitting down on the bench next to his sailors, and waved at her to continue.

"Why do you want a story?"

"Better to pass the time, innit?" Another pirate spoke up, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He, too, looked oddly familiar, but she couldn't place his face. Biting the inside of her cheek, Mary swayed with the waves, feeling quite out of place.

"I need Peter up here to tell the story," She decided, staring down the stranger, as if daring him to question her. Mary was a prisoner, and she knew what could happen. However, she would have rather had the relief of keeping Peter out of trouble and in sight than feeling that she was living better than someone who had treated her kindly. Of course, their deal was still on-going, and she wasn't going to waste money.

Fury nodded at Clint, who pursed his lips and stalked off, the door banging shut behind him. Mary assumed that he was going to get Peter, but she couldn't help quiver at the thoughts of what kind of things the Pirate could bring back in his place. Privateers didn't keep torture devices laying around, did they?

Peter was thrown up against the wall behind her, and there he remained, slumped with closed eyes and a pale face. There were no visible signs of torture- at least, none that she was expecting. Letting a small sigh of relief escape, she reluctantly turned back to her motley audience. There was a resignation to her shoulders as she wondered what stories had been published by that point.

"There was a man," She began. A pause; a breath. "They called him the Merchant of Death."

Desperately, she tried to recall everything she had learned about Tony Stark from school, trying to remember every bit of information while attempting to sound like Vergil. Fury leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs and his chest slightly exposed where his leather vest gaped open. It almost felt like an interrogation.

"He was seen as cruel, parading in front of the world the destruction that he created. Images of his partying were the gossip of the town. And, yet, he was beloved by many for his advances in technology. The Merchant of Death only continued what his father had started during the war, continuing his legacy of death in the name of freedom." She took a breath, trying to remember what happened next.

"I was merely a child when he was taken from a far off land and held captive. He built himself a metal suit of armour like the knights he had heard about as a child and blasted his way out of the cave. Upon his return, he ceased the production of weapons." Mary shivered, taking a quick glance back to Peter. What would happen if she stopped? Could she possibly escape? She'd never been one of the kids whose escapism was fantastical.

Mary was logical, and always had been. She'd tossed aside the fantasy books from junior high by age 14 in favour of the news. She knew she needed to confront her future, and spent years researching and planning to be prepared. Mary wasn't going to save the world, but she was damned if she was going to be the reason it would fall.

She didn't owe Peter anything. It was a business relationship. However, if he was anything like the Peter she knew, he would only be able to continue to help with her quest of returning home. Mary was an architect of her life. She analysed the world around her, gathering data alone at the top and challenged everything she doubted. The boldest of dreamers and the bitterest of pessimists, Mary couldn't help but indulge in that little bit of her that fantasised what it would be like when she got home.

"He turned his life around, becoming the hero. They called him Iron Man." The ship rocked violently in the waves, and she was tossed to the side. Fury stood, stalwart and confident in his ability to move at such an extreme angle. Throwing open the door, a large splash drenched everyone inside the small cabin on the deck of the ship.

"Rogers!" He roared outside. Mary gingerly pushed herself up from her position on the floor. Rolling her ankles, she checked to make sure everything was alright. When she was sure that nothing was broken, she began to stand up, stopping only when she noticed the aforementioned Rogers in Fury's grip being berated for not warning them about a large wave.

Squinting, Mary tried to grasp why he looked so familiar. He was oddly small for a pirate, though he looked around the same age as she. There was some part of her that was acquainted with his face, something she just couldn't place.

Finally, Fury left, pushing the door open to go out to the deck and Rogers sat down next to Clint, she realised why he looked familiar. Captain America. He was Captain America: Steve Rogers. Peter Parker, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. As she looked closer at the rest of the pirates, she realised why they looked so familiar to her. They were the rest of the Avengers. She had thought she was in the past the entire time, but this was too coincidental to just be ancestral. Where the hell was she?