Fic: Avengers Forever
Title: Avengers Forever
Universe: Ruins-verse (does that have a number? Does anyone know??)
Characters: Bobbi Morse-Barton
Warnings: Violence, character deaths
Disclaimer: Marvel owns everything recognizable. I make no money from this little endeavor.
Author's Note: So I re-read Ruins the other day... and after the initial "Oh my god, I think I'm going to die *sobweepflail*" reaction it normally gets, I turned on the iPod of EVIL and it spit out something that spawned this.
She wanted to get close. Close enough to tell the bitch what she really thought of her. Close enough to spit in her face. Close enough so that Wanda Maximoff-Lehnsherr would know who had killed her, and maybe more importantly why she was going to die.
She didn’t care about getting caught. She didn’t care if they gunned her down in the streets. She’d be in good company if that was how this was all going to end. But she did care about getting caught before she got close enough to kill her. So the rifle was going to have to do. Not as up close and personal as she would have liked, that was for damned sure, but it would serve. It would give her some amount of closure. Not enough, but some.
It was a waiting game, once she was all set up. Watching people come and go from the state prosecutors office. Wondering what tales the bitch was telling this time. Thinking over all the things she’d like to say to her right before she died. You took everything from me. You’re a traitor. You’ll burn in hell for what you did to them. She shook her head a little, trying to clear her eyes of the tears again. She should be out of tears by now. There’d been enough of them.
She sniffled and wiped her face with her sleeve. This wasn’t the time. This was a job. She had to be professional. The thought would have made her laugh once upon a time. Remain professional while you get revenge for your friends. For the love of your life who you had to stand by and watch gunned down by government thugs on the street in San Francisco.
Her hands shook a little. She couldn’t think about it now. She couldn’t remember him yelling at her to run, to get away before it was too late. She couldn’t remember the ringing the gunshot had left in her ears, or how even with that high pitch whine blocking out so much, the meaty thud of him hitting the pavement still managed to echo through her head.
There was a special place in hell for their friend. The traitor. Saving her own ass and serving everyone else up on a silver platter. She turned her attention back to the office building watching through the site of the rifle as several men in dark suits and dark glasses made their way through the front door. Arrogant bitch. Probably thought that anyone who could kill her for her betrayal was already dead.
A slow smile crossed her face as the vivid red of Wanda’s dress made its way into view. So easy. So in need of attention. Bitch.
It was over in a heartbeat, her finger barely having to press on the trigger. There was a flurry of activity as Wanda fell to the ground; her head snapping back as the bullet hit her. Right between the eyes. She smiled. He would have been proud of her for that.
It wouldn’t take long for them to figure out where the shot had come from. She had no intention of running, of hiding. This was it, after all. When the agents kicked the door to the abandoned apartment in, she was stilling sitting at the window, still smiling. “Freeze! Drop the gun!” She turned slowly, moving her hand off the rifle, and picking up the handgun at her side. “I said freeze!”
In one last act of defiance, Bobbi Morse-Barton lifted the gun. She didn’t feel fear or regret as her finger twitched at the trigger. She’d done what she’d come here to do. It was time to go back to her husband. Clint would welcome her with open arms now. He’d been avenged. She smiled at the agent and pressed the gun to her chin. “Avengers forever.”
Universe: Ruins-verse (does that have a number? Does anyone know??)
Characters: Bobbi Morse-Barton
Warnings: Violence, character deaths
Disclaimer: Marvel owns everything recognizable. I make no money from this little endeavor.
Author's Note: So I re-read Ruins the other day... and after the initial "Oh my god, I think I'm going to die *sobweepflail*" reaction it normally gets, I turned on the iPod of EVIL and it spit out something that spawned this.
She wanted to get close. Close enough to tell the bitch what she really thought of her. Close enough to spit in her face. Close enough so that Wanda Maximoff-Lehnsherr would know who had killed her, and maybe more importantly why she was going to die.
She didn’t care about getting caught. She didn’t care if they gunned her down in the streets. She’d be in good company if that was how this was all going to end. But she did care about getting caught before she got close enough to kill her. So the rifle was going to have to do. Not as up close and personal as she would have liked, that was for damned sure, but it would serve. It would give her some amount of closure. Not enough, but some.
It was a waiting game, once she was all set up. Watching people come and go from the state prosecutors office. Wondering what tales the bitch was telling this time. Thinking over all the things she’d like to say to her right before she died. You took everything from me. You’re a traitor. You’ll burn in hell for what you did to them. She shook her head a little, trying to clear her eyes of the tears again. She should be out of tears by now. There’d been enough of them.
She sniffled and wiped her face with her sleeve. This wasn’t the time. This was a job. She had to be professional. The thought would have made her laugh once upon a time. Remain professional while you get revenge for your friends. For the love of your life who you had to stand by and watch gunned down by government thugs on the street in San Francisco.
Her hands shook a little. She couldn’t think about it now. She couldn’t remember him yelling at her to run, to get away before it was too late. She couldn’t remember the ringing the gunshot had left in her ears, or how even with that high pitch whine blocking out so much, the meaty thud of him hitting the pavement still managed to echo through her head.
There was a special place in hell for their friend. The traitor. Saving her own ass and serving everyone else up on a silver platter. She turned her attention back to the office building watching through the site of the rifle as several men in dark suits and dark glasses made their way through the front door. Arrogant bitch. Probably thought that anyone who could kill her for her betrayal was already dead.
A slow smile crossed her face as the vivid red of Wanda’s dress made its way into view. So easy. So in need of attention. Bitch.
It was over in a heartbeat, her finger barely having to press on the trigger. There was a flurry of activity as Wanda fell to the ground; her head snapping back as the bullet hit her. Right between the eyes. She smiled. He would have been proud of her for that.
It wouldn’t take long for them to figure out where the shot had come from. She had no intention of running, of hiding. This was it, after all. When the agents kicked the door to the abandoned apartment in, she was stilling sitting at the window, still smiling. “Freeze! Drop the gun!” She turned slowly, moving her hand off the rifle, and picking up the handgun at her side. “I said freeze!”
In one last act of defiance, Bobbi Morse-Barton lifted the gun. She didn’t feel fear or regret as her finger twitched at the trigger. She’d done what she’d come here to do. It was time to go back to her husband. Clint would welcome her with open arms now. He’d been avenged. She smiled at the agent and pressed the gun to her chin. “Avengers forever.”