Fic: Four Times Carol Hated A Costume And One Time She Didn't.
Title: Four Times Carol Hated A Costume And One Time She Didn’t.
Author: Jadedoll
Recipient: samuraiter
Prompt: “The cape? Never been my favorite.”
Word Count: 1,509
Characters: Carol Danvers, Stephen Strange
Warnings: Het.
Spoilers: Only recent Dark Reign and oblique Civil war references.
Summary: Snapshots of a relationship with too many costumes.
1.
Carol Danvers stared down at the torn fabric in her hands and wondered briefly if she was going to have to fight more versions of herself anytime soon. This girl had been all of eighteen, likely less. Damaged by an unforgiving mid-west town, twisted by Osborn into being his latest Ms.Marvel, her moderate telekinesis and faux heroes no match for the real super heroine or the reformed Avengers with Captain America and Iron Man at their head.
It hadn’t even been Carol who’d taken the girl out. She’d been battling Wolverine 2.0, dodging those vicious claws when a burst of energy had knocked the red and blue figure to the ground. Later Carol had seen the dark roots at the base of honey blonde tresses and cursed Osborn once again for being such a bastard.
“She’ll be given leniency due to her age.” Looking up from the tattered remnants of her old costume, Carol saw Stephen Strange standing three feet away with an unaccustomed glint of sympathy in his eyes.
A twist lifted her lips into something that wasn’t a smile. “Is it ironic or just sad that he picked the really messed up ones to play me?”
The sympathy was drowned by sudden loathing. “Opportunity I would think. Osborn needed a powerful female archetype for his little band. Ms.Marvel was the obvious choice.”
Fairly sure she had just been complemented but completely at a loss how to respond, Carol crushed the torn costume into a ball and focused enough energy onto it to leave a small pile of prettily colored ash.
“That costume used to itch the hell out of me anyway.” Grinning up into the handsome face at her side, Carol joked, “and scarves are almost as bad as cloaks for smacking you in the face when you fly.”
Laughter flashed across normally solemn features.
“True. My dear. Very True.”
2.
Following Dr. Strange’s butler into an impressive parlor, Carol looked at the gently burning fire beneath a marble mantle and wondered if it was colder outside than she’d guessed. The need to scratch was becoming more and more unbearable, so she started twirling a strand of hair around her fingers instead.
Likely looking like a combination between a schoolgirl and a bad porn star, Carol was refraining from biting through her tongue when Stephen Strange opened a previously hidden door.
“Carol? I’m pleased you called by…” Grey eyes sharpened on her obviously tense stance and the brilliant red cause of her problem.
Twining they’re way up her bare arms, yes bare because they had already eaten through the fabric of her gloves, were blood colored magical runes that flicked like flames up past her elbows.
Two long strides had Stephen reaching for her shoulders saying some kind of spell in a language that sounded like the offspring of classical Latin if it had a dirty one night stand with gangster rap.
“Tell me.” Carol might have bristled at the order under normal circumstances, but given she wanted to scratch off her skin to stopped the incessant itching, this wasn’t normal even for a super heroine.
“Helped S.H.I.E.L.D agents raid a compound…” She may have snarled the words through her teeth but whatever Stephen’s magic was doing hurt like a bitch. “...cultists were kidnapping teenagers for sex slaves. High Priestess was rumored to have powers and yeah…she did.”
Flexing her fingers, Carol watched as the best wizard in the world, despite the damaged hands, cast another spell. Cool blue radiance washed over her arms causing a sob of relief to fall from her lips. The red was still there, like ivy strangling a tree, but the itch and the pain were gone.
“Oh god, thank you Stephen.”
Long fingers with twisted knuckles stroked thoughtfully across that wicked beard. “Not a god my dear.” A frown at the damage done to Carol’s costume. “At least not yet.”
Smiling in relief as well as the small joke, Carol continued her explanation.
“So, the Priestess was in a bikini and what I thought was red glittery body paint. I dodged the spells she threw at me, but when I grabbed her and flew back to the S.H.I.E.L.D van…I saw this. Only just on my palms at the time.”
Dr. Strange said nothing, gaze now resting on Carol’s brilliant red fingers.
“Can you stop it?” She asked. Because if he couldn’t then Carol needed to know ASAP, she had things to do if this shit was going to kill her.
Surprised silver eyes rose to hers for the first time since the man before her had looked at her arms.
“Of course I can,” fair ole hint of arrogance there Stephen, Carol noted. “It’s a basic, defensive curse that she’s tinkered with to enhance the discomfort level. I have the components in my Sanctum to create a salve, you’ll be fine.”
“Awesome.” Carol followed the rather attractive backside that preceded her up the stairs. She liked seeing Stephen in street clothes, he was much less intimidating in black dress pants and crisp blue shirt, than all the swirly, cloaky theatrics of his regular uniform. “Remind me to be more cautious with witch-types in the future won’t you?”
“Well yes,” that hint of sardonic humor was back in the gimlet eyes. “Touching naked ladies with funny tattoos is probably not a wise thing to do.”
“Noted.” Carol followed the mage into his sanctum.
3.
Hovering over Central Park, Carol watched another fireball explode.
A negligent hand-wave from her companion at two hundred feet and the surrounding tree line was again protected from falling ash and embers.
Carol narrowed her eyes at the figures below her. “So the villain of the week can breathe out a cloud of combustible gas…”
“Yes.” Dr. Strange confirmed.
“…has essentially used duct tape to attach thousands of match sticks to a boiler suit…”
“Yes.” Hilarity laced the smooth baritone voice.
“…thus creating small fireballs whenever he coughs hard enough?”
“Unfortunately yes.”
Carol sighed as the match-stick villain and his gas-powered robot army attempted another offensive against the heroes below.
Stephen quashed another fireball, deep red cloak flicking slightly in the cool breeze.
“This is getting repetitive.” She groused, arms folded, her face a reflection of boredom and frustration.
Stephen pointedly did not smile at her irritability. “Containment and back-up duty is very important.” The words were smooth, betraying no hint of the mage’s own opinion of their mission.
“Tony just wants to blow stuff up,” Carol corrected. “Must be cathartic for Steve and him to vent their mutual issues by punching robots at each other while cursing a lot.”
A small gurgle of laughter from the man beside her. “I don’t actually think that is what they’re doing.”
“Betcha’ it’s pretty close,” she muttered back. Just then another loud explosion followed by hundreds of small mechanized creatures scuttling away from the battleground beneath them.
“That’s me.” Carol lifted her hips to arch delicately upwards like a platform diver, before shooting towards the beasts. A navy and red missile with hair and attitude to spare.
“Enjoy yourself my Dear.” The mage saluted before returning to his fire-suppression duties with the relaxed air of those on sun lounges in Tahiti.
4.
“Definitely feel like an idiot.” Carol smiled through her teeth as yet another wealthy New York socialite’s gaze lingered a little too long on her chest.
The Atlantis Corporation charity fundraiser this year was, naturally, a costume ball. This had lead to Carol’s current attire of silver corset, fitted deep blue skirt and shells in her hair.
“You are a lovely mermaid my Dear, not even remotely idiotic.” Stephen complimented, handing her a glass of something bubbly. Knowing the mage had better judgment than most, Carol smiled in thanks before taking a sip of the…apple cider.
“Thank you, on both counts.” Carol decided that Stephen made a fairly gorgeous looking Neptune himself, what with all the long hair and bare shoulders under fish-scale looking chain mail. “But considering what I wear to fight, I still feel really weird in this get-up.”
“Hmmmm...” Stephen looked thoughtfully at the gold trident held in his gnarled fingers. “..as do I.’
Carol drank deeply from her cider and pasted her best smile in place.
****
Dancing a little to avoid the cool chill of the tiles, Carol tugged the voluminous red folds around her bare skin and flicked off the bathroom light. Grateful that gothic mansions could be re-wired with solar power these days, she sighed as her naked toes felt again the deep pile of expensive carpet.
Keeping the garment in place, Carol crawled back into bed, settling herself against the warm skin of her new lover.
“I’ll never bitch about cloaks again…yours is delicious.” She murmured into faintly stubbled skin.
“You, my Dear, would be delicious in anything,” Stephen smiled into the back of her neck, gently brushing aside Carol’s hair to allow access to cooled skin. “But nude underneath my cloak would now be one your better costumes.”
Carol closed her eyes on swathes of red and smiled.