Tortured Genius (A Marvel Fanfiction: Reader Insert)

Chapter 18: The Art of the Compromise

You possessed an unreasonable number of swords, which is to say, none, which is an unreasonable number, you thought, personally.

Probably not the thought that should be going through your head as you ducked a swing from a Queens, New Yorker who hadn't taken time out of his day to step off his high horse after you accidentally bumped him and he insisted that you'd done it on purpose.

"Look, all I'm saying," you continued, tripping him and resisting the urge to freeze his foot solid as to not cause a scene, "is that maybe, when my life is normal for once, I could buy a couple of swords. Fencing. Should I take up fencing, perhaps?"

He stood up and growled, rubbing his jaw where you'd punched it lightly about two seconds ago. "Shut your cakehole." 

You shrugged. "Your funeral. I could put the fun in yours if you pay me double." Another swing. This time, you caught it and sighed. "Are you gonna make me do this?"

He struggled.

In return, you froze his hand and he cried out, in shock, pain and confusion all at once. "God!"

"No, I'm called (your name) and sometimes Ice Box but good guess, though. Furthermore, since you won't leave me alone, let me just take your brain for a spin, hmm?" You cracked your neck and grinned. It'd been too long.

"You've been drinking. Plain as day. Dilated eyes, shaking hands. Your phone, back there: charging entry is scratched from previous drunken adventures. You can't even take a proper swing or form a decent English sentence. Not that I'm saying you could even speak another language but I digress.

"Your wife left you. Oh, don't look at me like that; it's obvious. Tarnished, dented ring but you didn't throw it away so she left you - possibly didn't like your drinking - and you still carry sentiment to it despite the fact you're very aware she's not coming back and you already have another woman in your life...a girlfriend probably. There's lipstick on your cheek, still, if you're wondering. D'you want me to get it off? Sorry, right. Er, do you care if I know about your job position or what 'cause it's kind of screaming at me here-"

"You're scaring him." A quiet voice said from your right.

You turned to look and saw who you least expected to see: Agent Coulson. You looked back at the man who'd you frozen into place and watched him crumble at your feet, dropping to his knees. Instantly, you smashed the ice, hardly caring about your bleeding knuckles at the moment and stepped away.

Coulson was like a second father to you, more or less. You hadn't seen him in ages and when he'd sent you to the Fridge, something inside you had roared in frustration for letting him down, although it had never been you. You found your eyes shifting to the ground of the ally, uncomfortable. It was unlike you, and a feeling you didn't want to explore. It made you feel young, unequipped. "I didn't mean to," you replied, even quieter, although you knew that was a blatant lie. You'd needed to blow off steam and the man had happened to be there. However, as much as you felt the need to apologize in some way, you weren't here for Coulson. You were here for Spider-man and the Avengers. And Jack Sparrow too, if you met up with him but heaven knows what that pirate is doing.

He smiled his awkward, serious, confronting, kind smile. But it was pained. He'd been broken too, in a way, you saw it and knew. He needed you, for something. That much you could tell.