[Fic] Some Assembly Required (R) (Leverage/The Avengers)

[mizzy]

Title: Some Assembly Required
Author: mizzy2k
Fandom: Leverage/The Avengers (2012)
Disclaimer: Neither fandom belongs to me.
Rating: R
Wordcount: ~3300
Warning: Profanities. Insanities.
Summary: The Avengers walk into a bar. John McRory's Bar.





So, The Avengers walk into a bar.

It's not just any bar. It's John McRory's bar.

John McRory is dead.

John McRory's bar's regulars, however, are... less dead.

That's... going to cause Nick Fury all kinds of problems in the morning when he's explaining to the cops just exactly what happened, because...

Well.

Yeah.

---

Nate doesn't normally have problems getting his team's attention, but halfway through his brief on their current scum-of-the-week, all four of his team stare in his direction like they're transfixed. Nate has learned not to question the blessings in his life. Dramatic irony's a bitch.

He continues, trying not to smile at their undivided attention.

"This Mark has forced hundreds of people to hand over their life savings, and squandered the money on drugs, prostitutes, gambling... We have to destroy him and I have just the plan." Nate slips off his stool. "Let's go steal us a-"

He turns to make his dramatic walk-off and freezes.

Nate recognises Tony Stark first. It's hard not to. The first reason he notices him is the fact his face is recognisable all over the world for both his outlandish activities and his metal computerised suit that lets him be Iron Man.

The second reason is that his face often graces the magazines that Cora stocks in the bar, and drinking alcohol is kind of boring between the second and eighth glass, so Nate's read most of them at some point or the other. He especially likes the ones that have those little multiple-choice quizzes which tell him which of the Twilight hunks suit his personality best.

Nate sends a quick thank you to a God that regretfully exists that it's the Avengers that have bust into his local watering hole and not the X-Men. Christ. Charles Xavier's a bastard and that's before he starts doing that mind-reading shit.

The third reason is because Tony Stark's not wearing pants. It makes him stand out even amongst the small crowd of spandex-clad, incredibly attractive people he's standing with.

His knees, Nate notices with glee, are a little knobbly.

Then he notices the rest of the Avengers behind him, and his glee lessens like it's been hit by... well, one of the Avengers.

Nate turns back to his team. They're still transfixed. He coughs. Waves his arms.

Nothing.

Huh. Apparently Vogue and Elle weren't kidding about the magnetic appeal of Tony Stark's chiselled jaw. Not that Nate reads the articles, he just occasionally happens to see the odd article here and there when he's reading the problem pages in order to get into the mind of their female adversaries more easily (oh, god, if Charles Xavier is anywhere near, Nate's going to borrow one of the Black Widow's guns and put himself out of his misery.)

"We, uh, just need to borrow your restroom," Stark says. "And maybe rest... in this room a while. We're sort of on the run from the police."

"How can you be sort of-" Nate starts, bewildered.

"He means he is on the run from the cops," a tired-sounding female voice says. Nate watches as an impeccably dressed woman in high heels and a neat suit steps forward, her blonde hair scraped back away from her face. It must be Pepper Potts, Stark's erstwhile and ridiculously loyal assistant. "The team was a little enthusiastic in taking down their most recent foe. We'd appreciate some time in your establishment while I contact SHIELD and Mr. Stark's lawyers in order to... smooth over this little misunderstanding."

"Little misunderstanding," Captain America mutters, yanking off his helmet and revealing a ridiculously handsome face to go with those ridiculously full, biteable lips. "Tony, you threw the Incredible Hulk into an elementary school."

"I wanted to see how much damage we could do combined," Tony says, turning to face Captain America as if there isn't a group of con artists staring at him. Pepper coughs from the back of her throat. "I mean, it was a complete and total accident."

"I knew there wasn't a bus headed towards me," a man covered in rock dust and wearing even less than Tony Stark mutters. He must be Dr. Bruce Banner, the Hulk's calmer alter ego, voted number 8 in Vogue's hottest geeks of the decade. (Tony Stark, of course, came in at number 1.)

"Nate," Sophie hisses, kicking him in the ankles. Nate looks at her cluelessly. Sophie rolls her eyes and leans in. "These are the most eligible guys on the planet. If you do not let them in I will cut your balls off next time you fall asleep. With a butter knife," she adds, redundantly.

Nate pulls away slowly, and resists the urge to cover his crotch, because Sophie looks pretty determined.

"Sure," Nate says brightly. "Why not."

---

If Nate had been thinking with his brain, and not purely with the concern that his blunt butter knives might be wielded in such a way to answer the question of if Nate was willing to try procreating again in a permanent and painful manner, he would have known never to say those dreadful three words.

"SURE, WHY NOT." Honestly. They're words that will be inscribed on his tombstone. Which he's probably going to need sooner rather than later. If the damage to Boston is even half as much as the damage they've done to McRory's Bar just by walking in, then he doesn't want to leave the building for at least a decade.

Alcohol is the answer, definitely. Nate's not too sure what the question is, but he's always been more of an answers kind of guy. He heads to the bar and sits down a couple of stools away from Captain America.

Who he probably shouldn't call Captain America. Superheroes were always so precious about their identities, and drawing a line between their hero identities and their real identities; he called his cousin Kevin once and the bastard withered Maggie's garden in the resultant fit of pique. Mr. America has taken off his ridiculous blue costume and is lounging in around in a t-shirt and pair of pants that Nate has a sneaking suspicion are his, dammit, Sophie.

Nate pours himself a tumbler of Jack Daniels. The All-American guy whose name is apparently Steve watches him pour it, and watches him drink it. Nate pours another one. Steve follows the fall of the alcohol from the bottle to the glass with an earnestness that Nate is slowly and terrifyingly surmising that Steve employs to everything. Then his brain applies that to the potential of sex and his brain turns to anger to cover up the instant denial, because he's not gay.

Not for someone who plasters themselves in skin-tight blue spandex and calls themselves Captain America. Nate's dick has standards.

"What's your problem?" Nate snarls.

Steve blinks, like Nate's rage has come out of nowhere. Okay, maybe it has. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you staring?" Nate gestures with his glass, sloshing whiskey over his hand, the counter and Steve's leg. Nate tries his best not to stare at the curve of Steve's leg, because that guy is bulging with muscles and he is not thinking the word bulge in a room of people who spend their time in spandex, he is not.

"I'm just jealous. I can't get drunk." Steve shrugs. "No matter how much I drink."

Nate reluctantly lifts his eyes. "That sounds like a challenge," he says, experimentally.

"I am not facilitating your alcoholism," Steve says, after a pause. He's still smiling as he pats Nate on the shoulder and walks away. Nate stares, and wants him, and sort of hates himself for it. Tony pushes in next to Nate and steals the bottle of JD and Nate can't work up the energy to hate him too.

"Is he always such a dick?" Nate asks.

"You want to sleep with him too, huh?" Tony bumps his shoulder. "You'll get over it."

Nate glances up sourly, because Tony's clearly staring at Steve's ass. "Like you clearly have."

Tony squints at Nate. "I'm a multi-billionaire," he says, eventually.

"Do you often win arguments with that statement?"

Tony laughs, clinks Nate's tumbler with the bottle. "You'd be surprised, my man."

Nate wants to disagree, but it's Tony Stark, who—apart from owning half the developed world (and probably some of the undeveloped world too)—constantly appears in TIME's lists of crazy geniuses, so it's probably best to just smile and nod.

Alcohol is the answer again, definitely. Fuck the question. Unless the question is Tony Stark, in which case... Nate needs more alcohol for sure. Because he's not going to spend the night debating whether its more or less acceptable to lust after Tony Stark because his superhero costume is made of metal and not spandex.

He really, really isn't.

---

(The fact that he does is clearly another thing that one day Charles Xavier will pull from Nate's mind. And it's Xavier who has the first thought to borrow someone's gun, stat. Nate's brain is a terrifying, terrifying place.)

---

Eliot's never been a big fan of the Avengers.

Sure, they do some splendid stuff. Yes, Clint's archery skills are incredible and Eliot's had at least one hard-on in his life watching Hawkeye at work, but that's because he's only human. Yes, the Black Widow is the hottest thing on two legs and Eliot's IQ drops ten points accordingly with her in the room.

Mostly, he's more of a fan of Bat-Man. For some reason, when he goes to see his best mate in Gotham, Bruce thinks it's hilarious that Eliot likes the Bat-Man best. Bruce is probably more of an Iron Man fan, with Tony Stark's wealth and swagger ringing a mental bell for the Gotham millionaire.

Honestly, Stark just seems like a total lush with no concern for the wellbeing of his team, if he threw one of them into a school.

Eliot wanders over to talk to Hardison, refusing to let the fact that none of the Avengers have recognised a similar fight-hardy soul amongst them (and thus have failed to ask for his expertise) bother him.

"I officially have issues with how well Sophie and Natasha are getting on," Eliot says, looking over to where Sophie and the Black Widow seem to be bonding. It's terrifying. He steals one of Hardison's gummi frogs, and freezes with the snack halfway to his mouth. "Dude, you didn't even reprimand me."

Hardison doesn't respond. Eliot bumps him with his shoulder.

"Dude," Eliot says again, crosser. "Hardison? You alive?"

"Tony Stark is in our bar," Hardison says, in a voice that's less out there as not even in the same building. "Tony Stark is IN OUR BAR."

"Uh," Eliot says, and double checks. Tony's flirting with Cora. He stares in horror. He's been trying to get Cora's number for years, and there she is... writing it over the top of one of her breasts so Tony can snap a picture with his phone? What? "He's definitely in our bar," Eliot finishes.

"With the Avengers."

Eliot stares. There's not really much else coming from Hardison except drool, and Nate took the nearest bucket muttering something about proving that Steve Rogers could get drunk, or maybe it was something about getting him drunk so he could fuck him silly, but the former seems more likely to Eliot.

"Uh, yes. Dude. Are you awake? Hardison. Hardison." Eliot shakes him. Hardison remains limp. Eliot sighs, covers Hardison's wide, staring eyes for a moment, and then Hardison shakes himself. He then eyeballs Hardison angrily, and then looks down at his table.

"You didn't have to shake me, I was listening," Hardison says.

Eliot arches an eyebrow which Hardison pretends not to notice. Instead, Hardison makes a show of looking around his laptop.

"Has anyone seen my last packet of gummi frogs?" Hardison casts around, looking dispirited.

"There, man," Eliot says, pointing—just as an arrow slams through the air and pins the back of candy to the ground, grazing Eliot's outstretched arms a little. Eliot turns and stares at Clint, who just shrugs at him with a what are you gonna do about it, huh? expression. Normally Eliot punches people with that expression. He never has to think about what he's going to do when he sees it. This is such an odd sensation.

He settles on grinding his teeth and growling. Maybe he sounds terrifying enough for Hawkeye to back off. The dude's named after a bird, how terrifying could he actually-

"Why are you doing your puppy impression?" Hardison demands. Eliot balls his fists up and at least Hardison has the decency to look terrified as Clint slinks off to talk to Parker, smirking smugly.

A voice distracts both of them. "Is this some form of this technology that Tony Stark is so well versed in manipulating?"

Hardison and Eliot turn around to see Thor's picked up Hardison's laptop by the power cable.

"I must learn how to bend this power to my will," Thor muses, "it will serve me well in your world and assist me to... how does Tony Stark say it... Blend in."

Thor swings the laptop. By the cable alone. The laptop miraculously doesn't slip from its cable, but it's got to be a one in a billion chance. Hardison loses all of the control he'd gained over his voice box immediately, and, from the distinctive smell, possibly control of his bowels as well.

"Dude," Eliot whines. Hardison snatches his laptop back from Thor with his best evil-eye expression.

Thor's nose wrinkles, and Eliot tenses, because Thor's muscles, and that damn hammer... even Eliot might have a trouble fighting a god. Not that he'd admit that out loud. Thor sniffs, and Eliot's stomach sinks. How the hell is he going to-

"A warrior's smell," Thor bellows, clapping Eliot on the back like he thinks it's him. "You and I must eat a whole cow to bond as warriors."

Eliot coughs weakly. "A whole cow?"

Thor's forehead wrinkles next. "I am being uncultured again... I will save you the bladder! It is the choicest part! We shall be great friends, you and I!" Thor swings his arm around Eliot's shoulders. It hurts so much Eliot wants to cry.

Fucking superheroes. Give him a millionaire-masked vigilante any day.

Except, Eliot thinks weakly, as he glances over to the corner where Tony Stark is now- oh god, in public? With Cora?... and is Pepper Potts taking pictures?

Maybe he ought to think that position over again.

"A keg of beer my fine maid," Thor bellows. Cora, somehow, manages to extract her hand and push a bottle of rum towards Thor. Thor downs it before Eliot can tell him it's not beer. "Your Boston beer tastes sweet like the fluid of virginal maidens! More! Twice for my friend, here!"

"I'll get them," Eliot says weakly, covering his eyes and retrieving bottles blindly from behind the bar so he doesn't have to see Tony Stark's remarkably pert and white ass thrusting-

"You look sick, my friend," Thor says, punching Eliot amicably in the shoulder.

If amicably means partially dislocating it.

"That works as a description," Eliot says. Over in the corner, Nate's downing shots next to a puzzled looking Steve Rogers, and Eliot figures... if you can't beat them (and who could even beat one of these Avengers), he really better join them.

Eliot clarifies his thoughts quickly. Join Nate in drinking copiously, not join the Avengers.

Parker's a handful on her own. Parker looks mature next to Tony Stark. Enough said.

---

Nate quits the contest with Steve "My Ass Is Perfect" Rogers thirteen shots in. He does, at least, know when to withdraw even if he doesn't know when to not issue a challenge to begin with.

He has a nice drunken conversation with Clint. Clint doesn't seem to think it's a nice conversation at all. Nate doesn't understand. His team are like Robin Hood with stealing from the rich and given to the poor and all that jazz, and Clint is like Robin Hood because he shoots arrows and wears tights. They're practically identical, the Leverage team and Clint. Conjoined twins separated at birth, clearly.

Clint mutters something about lunatics and wanders off without making a decent excuse. Nate shrugs and staggers over to where Parker's recounting their last job to Pepper Potts. The two of them are so blonde. Nate should tell them, once the room has stopped spinning.

"So I said..." Parker raises her arms wide, "It's like I am the human Hulk. PARKER SMASH!"

Somewhere behind them, Bruce makes an odd sound in the back of his throat, and buries his head in his arms.

"What's wrong with him?" Parker demands.

"He has anger issues," Pepper sighs. "And possibly residual rage from being flung into a school. I didn't tell him, but he disrupted a science lesson. It's tough for a scientist like-"

"I did what?" Bruce stands up from the table, and runs across to the bar where Tony is propping Cora up against the wall. The barmaid has a dreamy expression that Nate's not deciphering, not at all, because if he thinks sex anywhere near Captain America in the next few hours he's going to need a change of underwear as much as Hardison does.

"YOU MADE ME INTERRUPT A KID'S SCIENCE CLASS?" Bruce roars, and then turns into Hulk before Tony can muster a convincing lie.

"Well, shit," Tony says affably. The Hulk smashes Eliot's second-favourite booth out through the windows before charging through after it. Nate gingerly steps through the mess and stands next to his team.

Hardison shudders after a long moment. "We were lucky not to be in the way of that," he declares. Parker's staring out after the Hulk, eyes-wide. "You were thinking the same, huh, baby girl?"

"I was thinking," Parker says faintly, "is he that big everywhere? Angry sex with him must be incredible."

"It is," Steve says fervently.

Everyone turns to stare at him. Tony looks the most dismayed, after Nate himself.

"I mean," Steve starts, sounding appalled himself. "He's animalistic in his Hulk form. He has needs."

Tony's mouth moves like a goldfish. Nate would mock him, except he's pretty sure he's doing the same thing too.

"How did you think Banner returned to his usual form?" Steve says, shrugging, staring out into the street and at the remnants of the window.

"By calming down," Tony whimpers, "not with orgasms."

"We need to calm him down now," Steve mutters, and everyone blanches accordingly.

"Avengers assemble," Tony says, shrugging. "Where are my pants? Never mind. Let's go!"

The Avengers all move to the exit. Pepper pats Parker on the arm and leans over to shake Nate's hand.

"Send me the invoice and we'll fix this on your behalf," Pepper says, before straightening to clamber over the debris to follow the Avengers into the street.

"I don't know if money can fix this," Nate says forlornly, watching her go.

"I think you're right," Eliot mumbles in agreement.

After the longest moment, Parker's the one to speak up. "So, Nate. Before we were interrupted by the best interruption ever. What are we stealing this time?"

"Hmm?" Nate looks across at her. She looks up at him expectantly. "Oh, for the con. My sanity," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck absent-mindedly.

"Oh," Parker says, sounding disappointed.

Nate looks at her for clarification.

"We already stole that years ago," she says.

Well, Nate thinks sadly, that makes one thing in my life that makes sense.