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moon_blitzTitle: From Vengeance to Justice
Fandom: The Avenger (Magazine Enterprises)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: slight Roger/Claire
Rating: G
Word Count: 956
Summary: In the wake of tragedy, Claire witnesses the birth of a hero.
Author's Note: Any love for an old comic book superhero with a non-existent fandom?
From Vengeance to Justice
Claire sits up as the faint rumble of powerful engines signal the Starjet’s return, relief flooding through her. She meets Roger at the entrance to his lab, wide awake and not caring that she was rather improperly dressed for the occasion. Anxiety had kept her up - would the Starjet perform as predicted? Would Roger be able to rescue his brother and sister-in-law? Would he even come home alive?
“Ralph…?” The question trails off as the door swings open and her employer emerges from his basement hanger alone. Roger pulls the facemask and hood of his outfit off and shakes his head slowly.
“Dead. Both of them. Soviets probably killed them right after Ralph wrote the letter ordering me to hand over the Starjet plans,” he says hoarsely, staring blankly at the wall behind her as he speaks. Claire covers her mouth with a hand, horror twisting her stomach into a knot at the news. She hadn’t known either of them very well, what with Ralph off fighting in Europe for most of the war and his wife living out west, but their deaths still hit her hard.
Realizing that she has a job to do, Claire reaches out and gently grabs Roger’s hand. “Come along, Roger, let’s get you cleaned up. Would you like some warm milk or something stronger?”
He is silent as she leads him through the darkened mansion, finally answering with a soft, “Milk, please.” Squeezing his hand in response, she ushers him into the kitchen and bustles around while she prepares his drink, trying to project a cheerful attitude despite all that had just occurred. As the milk heats up, she glances at Roger, knowing that he was still in shock from the whole ordeal and wishing she could comfort with more than just words.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” she asks gently, thinking that perhaps tending to any wounds might help a little.
He blinks, considering the question, then flexes his hands and admits, “My knuckles are a little banged up from punching those guys, and I’m sure I’m bruised…”
“I’ll be right back, then.” It only takes her a moment to grab some supplies from the medicine cabinet in the nearest bathroom, and after she serves Roger his drink, she slides a chair up beside him and starts to tug the white glove off of his free hand. The gloves of his suit were designed to be tight-fitting, and that, combined with the fact his hands are slightly swollen from the fighting he had done, makes getting them off trickier than she had expected.
Still, she doesn’t complain, and Roger sits quietly through it all, sipping his drink as she swabs and bandages his hands. She senses that he’s trying to appear strong in front of her, and can tell from his bloodshot eyes that he spent most of the flight back to Empire City crying. “May I?” She gestures to his suit, and he nods, granting her permission to undress him.
She tries not to blush as she strips the skin-tight red suit down to his waist, unable to keep from admiring his bare chest and arms. She had seem him in various states of undress before since they both lived in his mansion, but this was much more intimate than what she was used to. Roger had been right though - bruises had formed on his shoulders and upper back, making her wonder exactly what kind of fight he had gotten into.
As she begins to dab at them with a wet cloth, he sighs and relaxes every so slightly, bringing a faint smile to her lips. Noticing that he has finished his drink, she offers, “Shall I make you another one?”
“No, that’s alright,” he replies, pushing away the empty glass. “I’ve decided on a name,” he adds abruptly a moment later.
“A name?”
“A name for my alternate identity. From now on, the world will know me as The Avenger.”
“The Avenger…” Claire repeats the name to herself quietly, noting that it matched the capital A that they had added to the front of his costume. “It’s a strong name, a frightening name,” she notes, then presses worriedly, “Does this mean that you’ll be going after the Soviets on your own?”
“No,” Roger answers, looking directly at her for the first time since he returned home. “I’m furious at what they did, but I’m not stupid. Even so, while I’ll not fight them alone if I can help it, I will fight them. The Soviet Reds, the Chinese Reds, all of them.” Claire draws back slightly at the determination in his voice, noticing that his hands are clenched into fists as he goes on. “I won’t just go after them, either. Anyone who threatens the peace of Empire City and this country will become a target for my justice.”
Claire knew that there was no sense in trying to talk him out of it - his mind had probably been made up as soon as he heard of Ralph’s death, and after all, she was his secretary, not his mother. But she was going to support him as much as she could, that much was certain.
“All right,” she says, nodding slowly as she returned to his wounds. “You protect the world from them, and I’ll be here when you come home. Does that sound like a good deal to you, Roger Wright?”
He stares openly at her then, surprise momentarily replacing the grief and exhaustion on his face. Moving slowly, he reaches out and draws her into a hug, resting his head on her shoulder. When he answers, his voice is thick was tears.
“You have yourself a deal, Claire Farrow.”
Fandom: The Avenger (Magazine Enterprises)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: slight Roger/Claire
Rating: G
Word Count: 956
Summary: In the wake of tragedy, Claire witnesses the birth of a hero.
Author's Note: Any love for an old comic book superhero with a non-existent fandom?
Claire sits up as the faint rumble of powerful engines signal the Starjet’s return, relief flooding through her. She meets Roger at the entrance to his lab, wide awake and not caring that she was rather improperly dressed for the occasion. Anxiety had kept her up - would the Starjet perform as predicted? Would Roger be able to rescue his brother and sister-in-law? Would he even come home alive?
“Ralph…?” The question trails off as the door swings open and her employer emerges from his basement hanger alone. Roger pulls the facemask and hood of his outfit off and shakes his head slowly.
“Dead. Both of them. Soviets probably killed them right after Ralph wrote the letter ordering me to hand over the Starjet plans,” he says hoarsely, staring blankly at the wall behind her as he speaks. Claire covers her mouth with a hand, horror twisting her stomach into a knot at the news. She hadn’t known either of them very well, what with Ralph off fighting in Europe for most of the war and his wife living out west, but their deaths still hit her hard.
Realizing that she has a job to do, Claire reaches out and gently grabs Roger’s hand. “Come along, Roger, let’s get you cleaned up. Would you like some warm milk or something stronger?”
He is silent as she leads him through the darkened mansion, finally answering with a soft, “Milk, please.” Squeezing his hand in response, she ushers him into the kitchen and bustles around while she prepares his drink, trying to project a cheerful attitude despite all that had just occurred. As the milk heats up, she glances at Roger, knowing that he was still in shock from the whole ordeal and wishing she could comfort with more than just words.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” she asks gently, thinking that perhaps tending to any wounds might help a little.
He blinks, considering the question, then flexes his hands and admits, “My knuckles are a little banged up from punching those guys, and I’m sure I’m bruised…”
“I’ll be right back, then.” It only takes her a moment to grab some supplies from the medicine cabinet in the nearest bathroom, and after she serves Roger his drink, she slides a chair up beside him and starts to tug the white glove off of his free hand. The gloves of his suit were designed to be tight-fitting, and that, combined with the fact his hands are slightly swollen from the fighting he had done, makes getting them off trickier than she had expected.
Still, she doesn’t complain, and Roger sits quietly through it all, sipping his drink as she swabs and bandages his hands. She senses that he’s trying to appear strong in front of her, and can tell from his bloodshot eyes that he spent most of the flight back to Empire City crying. “May I?” She gestures to his suit, and he nods, granting her permission to undress him.
She tries not to blush as she strips the skin-tight red suit down to his waist, unable to keep from admiring his bare chest and arms. She had seem him in various states of undress before since they both lived in his mansion, but this was much more intimate than what she was used to. Roger had been right though - bruises had formed on his shoulders and upper back, making her wonder exactly what kind of fight he had gotten into.
As she begins to dab at them with a wet cloth, he sighs and relaxes every so slightly, bringing a faint smile to her lips. Noticing that he has finished his drink, she offers, “Shall I make you another one?”
“No, that’s alright,” he replies, pushing away the empty glass. “I’ve decided on a name,” he adds abruptly a moment later.
“A name?”
“A name for my alternate identity. From now on, the world will know me as The Avenger.”
“The Avenger…” Claire repeats the name to herself quietly, noting that it matched the capital A that they had added to the front of his costume. “It’s a strong name, a frightening name,” she notes, then presses worriedly, “Does this mean that you’ll be going after the Soviets on your own?”
“No,” Roger answers, looking directly at her for the first time since he returned home. “I’m furious at what they did, but I’m not stupid. Even so, while I’ll not fight them alone if I can help it, I will fight them. The Soviet Reds, the Chinese Reds, all of them.” Claire draws back slightly at the determination in his voice, noticing that his hands are clenched into fists as he goes on. “I won’t just go after them, either. Anyone who threatens the peace of Empire City and this country will become a target for my justice.”
Claire knew that there was no sense in trying to talk him out of it - his mind had probably been made up as soon as he heard of Ralph’s death, and after all, she was his secretary, not his mother. But she was going to support him as much as she could, that much was certain.
“All right,” she says, nodding slowly as she returned to his wounds. “You protect the world from them, and I’ll be here when you come home. Does that sound like a good deal to you, Roger Wright?”
He stares openly at her then, surprise momentarily replacing the grief and exhaustion on his face. Moving slowly, he reaches out and draws her into a hug, resting his head on her shoulder. When he answers, his voice is thick was tears.
“You have yourself a deal, Claire Farrow.”
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8/5/13 16:09 (UTC)(no subject)
8/5/13 17:00 (UTC)