Chapter Text
The HYDRA agent walked down the corridor.
While company policy dictated that agents walk in pairs, Robert was skeptical as to the benefits of having a partner. Honestly, he reasoned, if someone were to get this far into the facilities, it was likely they had the resources to take down two agents.
So really, he was doing them a favour by reducing the initial number of casualties. Better to lose one employee who’d only joined for the dental insurance than to lose another who was actually dedicated to “the cause”.
Teeth aside, the American politician that HYDRA had spoken to had promised to send a convoy in exchange for information on Hydra's weaponry systems.
Of course, it wasn't like they were explicitly going to inform them that the schematics had been derived from Howard Stark's very own arc reactor regalia.
It came as a great shock to Robert when a leg shot straight out of the left hallway, delivering a blow straight to his stomach that most likely caused permanent damage to his intestines.
Robert fell to the ground and raised his weapon woozily, but his assailant kicked him in the teeth (thank god for the aforementioned health coverage). Before he passed out, he managed to set off an alarm tucked away neatly under his goggles.
The woman who’d knocked him out straightened up, with an elegant flick of her short brown hair, unperturbed by the flashing red lights around them.
A short man with untamed facial hair stepped out from behind her. “Really? You couldn’t have just done this the easy way?”
"Oh please, I haven’t had a workout in ages. Honestly, Howlett, if you had your way, we'd be scraping people off the walls until Hanukkah."
"Mary, you talk too much," said James Howlett, in lieu of a response.
"Mmm, that's what my husband likes about me, my big mouth," snickered Mary Parker.
Howlett inhaled deeply, before throwing two agents through the wall. "This is why I never do missions with couples."
As quick as a snake, Mary had her pistol out, bullet slicing the air, and through the shoulder of a goon who'd been about to radio for help.
"What was that about couples?" she snarked at Howlett, the two of them standing back to back as a Hydra patrol turned the corner.
"I pray everyday that your son doesn't inherit his sense of humour from you."
And that was the last they said on the matter for the next while, too preoccupied with fighting, and in Mary's case, trying to prevent Howlett from violently disemboweling the agents that insulted his facial hair.
Once they'd obtained the details for the convoy meeting by threatening to permanently disfigure one of the guards, the two returned to the safehouse, where Richard was flipping pancakes.
Mary wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. "Hello, Mr. Fitzpatrick," she murmured.
Richard started briefly, like a cat that had fallen into a pool, then gave her an embarrassed glance. "Hi, dear. Did the mission go well?"
Howlett walked directly to the refrigerator, yanking open the freezer door and frowning when there were no beers to be found.
Maria Hill stepped out of the adjoining room, holding a six-pack and smirking. "Debrief first. Alcohol later."
“I swear to god, Hill—”
One month later, they intercepted the convoy.
Two months later, Howlett went off the grid.
Three months later, Mary and Richard Fitzpatrick died in a plane crash.
Twelve years later, Peter Parker was bitten by a spider.
And seven years after that, Teresa Durand crashed a car into a lamppost.