[REWRITING] SHOOT TO THRILL ✷ May Parker

09. cherry bomb

09. cherry bomb
(🕸🧷🎒🤟🏼🕷)
shield safe house, venice
int. morning

     GAVIN GROANED, EYES FLUTTERING OPEN. He was staring up at a plastered ceiling. Everything ached—it was like he'd gotten run over by a train.

     "Carver." A hand touched his shoulder.

     He shot up, gripping the wrist of the person who'd touched him.

     "Let go—before I break your arm." Maria Hill shrugged him off, staring down at him in distain.

     The apartment looked abandoned, old and unfinished. He'd been lying on a wooden table, in a cathedral of wiring and exposed framework. "What happened?" Gavin demanded. "Where's Freida?"

     "Freida D'aureville?" Maria demanded, helping Gavin sit up. "Last night?"

     "Yeah," Gavin winced, swinging his legs over the side of the table. He clutched at his shoulder, still sore from the dart. "She's here. I dunno where the shipment's coming in. I think they drugged me."

     "I found you face down near the canal, so that's a safe bet."

     "I could—"

     "You're not bugged, and I tested your blood. Everything thing seems normal—at least, for what we've got on hand at the moment."

     At 'we' he took a look around, flinching as he noticed Nick Fury leaning against the adjacent wall.

     "You called in the calvary?" he accused. "I can handle this. I just need to—"

"Y'know, I don't appreciate being lied to," Fury sounded stern, but his expression was unreadable.

"I didn't lie," Gavin insisted. "Kobra is my mess. It's my job to clean it up."

     Fury huffed, bringing a chair over to the table. "Now it's ours. Who is she, Carver—who are they?"

     Gavin looked to Maria, who just scoffed.

     "Don't drag me into this," she warned.

     "As Maria knows," Gavin began, "Frieda is easily one of the most dangerous people alive. She's got almost unlimited resources, and she's never satisfied. I've been on her shit list for years. I'm shocked she didn't blow me alway last night."

     "You said Kobra were opportunistic," Fury recalled. "Mercenaries. Smugglers. What's in this for them?"

     "Besides money? I dunno. That Stark tech isn't an everyday score. Whoever's buying it from them has money, time, and a plan to use it. Frieda would only get involved personally if it meant a big payout. She wasn't alone, either. Sniper—got me in the shoulder."

"Who?" Maria had her data pad out, pulling up a profile. "Was it Malcolm?"

"Probably. There's no one else she'd trust."

"Back up," Fury raised a hand. "Who's Malcom?"

     "Malcom Hargreaves is former MI6. He's Frieda's right hand—sniper, weapons expert. It had to be him."

     Fury considered that. "Do we have anything—satellite of last night?"

     Maria was already shaking her head, filling out the profiles as Gavin talked. "No. I lost comms, but they cut everything. They're good. Really good." She sighed, shutting off the pad. "We need backup."

     "We can't risk bringing anyone new into this." Fury sat back a little, arms folded across his chest.

     "The kid," Maria said suddenly, turning to Fury. "Parker. You've been wanting to give him a test run."

     Gavin was incredulous. "Yeah, absolutely not. The second he sees me, months of work'll be gone. I'm not sacrificing that. Besides—i-it's not safe," he chewed his lip. "Kobra won't care that he's a kid."

     "No one said anything about him seeing you. All he has to know is that we need his help." Fury reached into his long coat, pulling out a pair of glasses. They were square-ish, with black frames and blue lenses. "Stark left these—they're for him. Tell him Hogan passed them on to you. It's time for the kid to step up."

     Gavin studied the glasses, frowning before pocketing them. "This is a shit plan."

     Fury checked his watch. "I suggest you get back—hotel serves breakfast at 7:00. Don't you have a paper to write, Professor Carver?"