[for Steve] make a man out of you

[daretodo]

He tells me to meet him in a clearing. It's secluded, far from any dwellings, abandoned or otherwise. Not the kind of place a person's just going to stumble across in the middle of the day, basically. Were it anyone else, I might suspect I was walking into a trap -- and honestly, there's a moment or two, as I cross through some of the denser stretches of jungle, where I entertain the idea, anyway. I've always had a healthy sense of paranoia; it's what's kept me alive this long. But today isn't about relying on dumb luck or good hunches or any number of things I use to supplement actual skill in a fight.

Nope, today's about going to school, so to speak. You never stop learning; if there's one thing I believe in, it's that. There's no experience that can't teach you something, and me, I've got plenty of experience. More than most folks combined. What I don't have a lot of is training; what little I've received over the years from various sources isn't much. Posturing aside, I'm effectively self-taught. Even here, where I've had to condition my mind and body to cope for the loss of my powers, I never bothered going about it in any sort of systematic way. I went by intuition. Trial and error. I used to go out in the middle of the night to fall out of trees when I could've spent those hours in bed with my wife.

There's a saying you hear around hospitals, that no one on their death bed ever wishes they'd spent more time in the office. The problem with my life is, if I hadn't put that time in, I wouldn't have been able to protect her from all the insanity I tend to attract. Maybe it didn't matter in the end, but I have to believe vanishing is better than dying, even if it damn well feels the same.

This isn't about Mary Jane, though. Not really, even if it seems like all roads lead to her, these days, not a single thing about this place that doesn't remind me of her in some way. If the party the other week proved one thing, it's that I do need a distraction, but nothing so frivolous. I need a reason to get out of the mansion that isn't just to make a run to the scrapyard. I need to see people on a regular basis again who aren't just Tony or Pepper. There's no telling what the timeline on this project of mine is going to be; if I don't have something in my life that I can point to and say, 'yes, there's been concrete progress made,' I might very well go insane. And I intend on making progress.

Even so, I can't fight off the fluttering of nerves in the pit of my stomach when I finally come across Steve Rogers -- Captain America himself -- already waiting for me in the middle of the field. He told me to bring just myself, and I listened to the instruction to the letter, opting to leave my web-shooters back at the mansion, and to dress in sweats and a sleeveless t-shirt. Admittedly, it feels weird doing this out of uniform; I find myself wishing for the anonymity of my mask, though the beard would make it pretty uncomfortable. I'm going on my second month, now, without shaving. I just can't be bothered.

But hey, I'm eating again, right? That's something. Of course, I don't know if I'll come to regret having such a big breakfast, but at least I won't have to worry about passing out anytime soon. Well, not from low-blood sugar. There's every chance he'll have to carry me to the clinic by the time we're done here, but that's besides the point. Lifting my hand in greeting, I try to keep the shakiness out of my voice as I call out, "Hi."

Comments

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

When Peter came to me with the request to train him, on the heels of what was effectively taking a shot (whether he did it consciously or not), I was surprised. Peter is a loner who's been in the vigilante game longer than most but happens to be younger. He didn't learn with a team. I'm not sure if he learned from anyone.

I raise my hand briefly in reply, and nod to him.

"Afternoon, Peter. Ready to work?"

What Peter may have assumed, but I haven't told him, is that I've fought him recently, back home. That Peter Parker was in a very different place, however- powered, wearing a suit of Stark's design, and not run down from weeks of depression and self destructive behavior.

[daretodo]

"Guess we'll see, huh?" I say on a laugh, flashing him a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. I'm having second thoughts; I've been having second thoughts all morning, but they were easier to ignore before I actually got here, and saw the reality of my situation. He's bigger, stronger, and even coming off his injuries, in way better shape than I'm in, currently. I haven't been this thin since my two month clinic stay last year, a couple of weeks of three square meals a day not enough to undo the damage of over a month running myself ragged. I'm lean and hungry looking, sure -- but only in the way that makes people like my Aunt May shove a sandwich in my direction.

Cap's Mr. Pinnacle of Human Perfection.

Boy, maybe I should've asked Wolverine. At least he's short.

"So, uh, how's this gonna work? I don't... Normally do this. Should I be bowing?" I lower my head, slightly. "Waxing on and off?" Lifting my hand again, I make a circular gesture, and then quickly straighten, giving him a salute instead. "Standing at attention?"

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

I got through Clint Barton, I can get through this.

"At ease, Peter." I rotate my recovering shoulder a few times and take a couple steps back, easing into a squared off stance but by no means hunkering down.

"We're going to take this easy, there's no rush here. It's just a warm up, think of it like sparring." I gesture, an easy turn of my wrist, for him to move forward.

"Come at me."

[daretodo]

"...you're joking, right?" I say, brows shooting upwards. Granted, there's absolutely nothing about his posture that indicates he's joking -- and frankly, he's not exactly known for his stellar sense of humor, anyway -- but I figure it's worth asking, anyway. There's no point in looking too eager about this, firstly, because of those second thoughts that have since turned into third and fourth thoughts, and secondly, because I've already taken an ill-advised shot at him last month. I try not to repeat past mistakes, it's a thing.

"I mean, I was expecting push-ups. Sit-ups. Some sort of Cap's Bootcamp type of set-up. But you just want me to come atcha? Really?"

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

"Really," I tell him, nodding.

"This isn't about proving something, I'm not telling you to knock me down," a tactic used not infrequently by various boot camp directors I've known, myself.

"You're not exactly a beginner, Pete. You can do push-ups and sit-ups on your own time. Now, unless you'd like to find another way to stall...?"

[daretodo]

It's a good thing he's not telling me to knock him down, because I probably couldn't. He's massive. I've fought the Juggernaut, and he looked like he could moved more easily than this guy. But maybe that's just the nerves talking. Tony called me Mr. Professional Hero, and sure, he was probably joking, but what I said to him in turn was true; I'm good because I know how to fight around my weaknesses. And this, right here, is a weakness. Instinctively, I take a look around at our surroundings, trying to see if there's anything I might use to my advantage, my brain working a mile a minute as I try to calculate angles and the best places to stick a webline, only to stop myself when I realize I have no webbing, and we're literally standing the middle of nowhere.

"I'm not stalling," I say, even though I am totally stalling, rolling back my shoulders, and shaking my arms loose. I make a big show of tilting my head from side to side. "I'm warming up my vocal chords. Besides, you just said there was no rush, I took that to heart, I'll have you know."

After one step forward, I stand perfectly still for all of a second. Then, pulling a face, I add, "But, I mean, if you insist."

I don't go for anything so obvious as a punch; he'll be expecting that. Rather, I start things off with a spinning kick that I'm already anticipating he'll block.

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

I duck, rolling out of reach of the kick and under the twist of his body so I'm behind him when he comes up, already poised for whatever might be coming next. It's a good opener, but his balance isn't what it was the last time we fought. Still, it gives me an idea of how far ahead he's thinking and how fast.

[daretodo]

With nothing to stop me -- and, more importantly, nothing to hit -- I follow the rotation all the way through, almost in a pirouette. Barring last month's altercation, the only fight I've been in for months was aboard the space station, and cyborg zombies aren't too interested in the finer points of hand-to-hand combat, it turns out. Before that, it was the fight with Tony on the yacht, and before that it was the fight against Norman on the beach. None of those guys dodged; they didn't have to, because any hit I could dish out wouldn't hurt them, anyway. I need to change how I think, here; Steve's big, but he's just a man. No armor, no shield.

"Ooh, tricksy."

I stay up high for my next attempt, still using the momentum from the kick to power through with a solid right hook, my left at the ready.

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

I deflect the blow instead of blocking it, wanting to keep him in motion, keeping him off balance so he's forced to start finding it. I'm not going to throw anything forceful at him- force can come later. I meant what I said before about this being a warmup. Peter asked me for something, and it wasn't easy for him to do, so I'm damn well going to do it right.

[daretodo]

I'm no good up close like this, not against someone who knows what the hell they're doing, but there's nothing at my disposal to make fighting at a distance worth my while, so I stand my ground, sinking down lower to use the discrepancy in our size in my favor; without my powers, fighting up high is a lost cause. I've got to focus on what I can do that he can't -- the only problem is, I'm not sure what that actually entails anymore. I can't fight him like a spider, because I no longer have the means to do so, and while I appreciate that that's the point in this exercise -- that that's why I wanted the help in the first place -- it's frustrating.

Anger's been my constant companion for weeks, and I can feel it start to prickle under my skin in place of my nerves, giving me clarity of focus as I go in with another attack, quick and direct -- and, more tellingly for me, silent.

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

It's a sharper hit and I block it, feinting back, never slowing down but my movements are economical, compressed. Peter's demeanor has shifted, and I wonder what, precisely, has caused it. I have no aim for this to turn serious, but it's important to take it seriously. He said this would help him think, and I hope it does, but I wouldn't be surprised- in fact, I have to hope- that this will draw him further from that place of blankness he seems to have been clinging to so fiercely.

[daretodo]

"Do we really need the assessment period?" I ask, all the while trying to find an in, a weak spot, and finding none I'm willing to exploit. His shoulder's gotta be hurting, still, but this isn't a real fight; I'm not going to touch that, not after having to stitch him up the last time. My movements pick up speed, and I start to get creative in my combinations, wondering if I can't overwhelm him into giving me an opening -- if I could get behind him, I might have a chance at landing something, but I need some sort of leverage to get the height I need to jump. I drop lower, again, hoping he'll follow, my brain two steps ahead of my body.

"I already know what I can't do, Cap, teach me something I can."

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

It's a request that earns a smile, however fleeting. I turn on a dime, meeting the end of one of Peter's very cleverly arrayed combinations that's left him ducked low by throwing myself forward, actually rolling over his shoulder. By the time he's up and around again I'm weaving through everything he throws at me. Peter's incredibly smart and he doesn't project where he's going, but I've been doing this longer.

[daretodo]

One thought seizes me even as I keep on moving, keep on sparring, if that's what this actually is: I am in way over my head. I try to break down what he just did, but find I can't; it's all one move, no beginning or end, just smooth, fluid motion, a deadly ballet. Were I in any position to do so, I might take a minute to marvel at the human body's capacity for grace, but I'm not. I'm trying to hit a target who won't stand still, and I have none of my usual tricks up my sleeve; I feel like a chump.

"Okay," I say, annoyance creeping into my tone, "so my lesson is that I can... Not hit you? Is that what I'm supposed to be taking from this? 'Cause I get it. I am slower, weaker, and all around less amazing than I'm used to being. I got that memo when my ol' pal Norman nearly killed me, and I got it again when Tony did the same. My offense needs work." I flip backwards to put some distance between us, feeling better for the acrobatics, and settle into a more defensive position. "I know."

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

I stop, breaking form entirely, standing straight.

"Peter, have you ever watched yourself in a fight? Not a clone, not an imposter, not some grainy, shaky news coverage, but have you ever seen yourself fight? Because I have, and I'm telling you- in action, we're not dissimilar. We look nothing alike, we move differently, but still, there's something kindred in our styles. Do you know why?" I circle my shoulder again, keeping it loose.

"Because we both had to learn fast, and failure wasn't an option. Now, do me a favor and stop treating this like a fight, Peter. We're not there yet."

[daretodo]

Take away clone, impostor, and grainy, shaky news coverage as options, and the only answer to Cap's question is a resounding no, I haven't seen myself fight. Not in a long while, at least; I could arguably piece together some recent stuff with the pictures I take, but I'm lucky if I get one clear shot out of twenty-four.

"Then where are we?" I ask, shoving a hand back through my hair. "I'm self-taught. My first fight was against a wrestler named Crusher Hogan. My first bad guy was that Chameleon schmuck. The first time I took on a group? It was the entire Fantastic Four. I went from being a science geek terrified of heights to fighting on national TV overnight. The training I've received was ad hoc, and didn't happen 'til I'd already been around the block a few times, years later. I know you should roll with a punch, not because someone told me that, but because I learned the hard way that it hurts less if you do. So when a guy tells me to come at him..."

I raise my eyebrows, and lift a hand in a vague gesture. "You see where I'm going with this? I get that we're not trying to beat the stuffing out of each other. I'm not stupid. But, yanno, it's like I said. I am aware of my weaknesses. I've been at this a while, with my abilities and without. And in every fight I've gotten into here, I've been outclassed. The only reason I'm still standing is through luck, intelligence, and sheer force of will, and I need more than that."

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

It's true, he may, but not much more. I don't tell him those are three of the more important factors he needs- like he said, he's not stupid, and I don't aim to treat him as such. The facts line up with what I know about Spider-Man, but for all of his bad press, a lot of what he's talking about wasn't necessarily publicized, at least not accurately.

"I said before, it's a warm up. You have years of muscle memory built up and a body that doesn't work that way, anymore. I do actually know something about how that feels," I add, glancing off for nothing more than a flickering moment, unable to help remembering what it had been like to step out of the Vita Rays as a new person.

"I need to see where you're at; how you move, how you're approaching each hit. I have a good idea of what you're capable of, but not here, not in these circumstances. I'm not trying to goad you, Peter," I tell him honestly.

"I'm trying to get to know you, rather than presume I do based off of interactions we've had that you haven't experienced yet." It's a mistake I worry I made when I found him after Mary Jane had gone, and not one I'd like to make again.

[daretodo]

Well, that's not cryptic at all. I mean, I have a few ideas for what kind of interactions he might be referring to, but I'm in no mood to ask for clarification; I don't need to be running off right now, not when we've barely started. Staring at him a moment, I nod, slightly.

"Alright," I say, crossing my arms. "Then what do you know so far, based on the past five minutes?"

If I can assess him, it figures he can do the same; it's part of the business. I once told Mary Jane -- the one at home -- that I knew how to take out the Hulk if it came right down to it, and I wasn't just being facetious. Threat analysis is important, and he's a soldier; I trust he knows what the heck he's talking about.

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

"You favor your left side," I tell him.

"Your instinct is to talk while you're fighting, until you get angry and then you really focus and drop the banter. What you're focusing on, exactly, I can't tell yet, but your form gets a little wild. Messy. It's good that you're smart, it's good that you're looking ahead, but you may be getting in your own way with it. I need to see more of your defense."

I drop down a little, squaring off sidelong to where he stands.

[daretodo]

The good news is, it's nothing I don't already know, except for the first part, which gives me pause; in retrospect, I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense. Between the dislocated shoulder and the broken leg last year, my right side's taken a hell of a beating lately, and I don't heal as well as I used to. With a nod, I take note of the information, though I'm admittedly not sure what to do with it yet. That much, hopefully, will come in time.

Eying him warily as he gets into position, I nod again, and do the same. If nothing else, I'm more acquainted with being on this side of things, especially since I've gone and lost my powers. That doesn't mean I'm looking forward to it. Even so, I can't help but reclaim some of my earlier attitude, mimicking the pose he used to start us off when I gesture for him to get over here, pointedly using my right hand.

"Well, whatcha waiting for?"

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

That's the spirit, Pete. I move forward, not keeping him boxed in, just keeping him moving again. When we started, I had drawn him forward, given him no choice but to press the attack to see where his mind went. This is no different, though I'm more familiar with watching him on the defensive. Still, most of what I would consider to be his key moves aren't presently options for him, so what he does instead is going to say a lot.

[daretodo]

"You don't talk much," I note, weaving out of his reach. His fists aren't closed, thankfully, but I don't relish the idea of getting struck, anyway, even if this is just a warm up. Arms held in front of me, I keep on the balls of my feet, muscle memory too ingrained to not be at the ready for anything he might throw at me. Without my spider-sense, predicting his next move is a lot more complicated than it used to be, especially since he's not exactly broadcasting where he's gonna come from.

"I mean, you give good speech, don't get me wrong -- you're a speechy kinda guy -- but--" I duck down to dodge a strike, and use the opportunity to sweep my leg under his feet. "--you're quiet."

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

"I found out pretty quickly that unless you've got something to say," I reply, starting to branch out, bring my feet into the equation, along with a greater reach, "it's usually more useful to listen."

[daretodo]

"Wow, that's deep," I say, and let out a breathless woah when his size twenty foot comes within inches of my face. My body twists under the stretch of his leg, bringing me up behind him, and though I'm ostensibly on the defense for this round of the warm up, I aim a kick his way, anyway. "No, seriously. You could find that in a fortune cookie."

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

"If you can distract someone with words," I say, falling forward to miss the kick and pushing off of my hands to sweep whichever leg he's coming down on, "all the better, but I generally leave the banter to someone else."