[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

[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."

[daretodo]

What Steve apparently doesn't know is that the banter's for my benefit more so than anyone else's; it's to distract me, to keep my mind off how nervous I am, or how scared. If it happens to bug the ever-loving heck out of the guy I'm fighting, that's just an added bonus.

I launch myself into an aerial to bypass his leg, but my landing's not the greatest; my ankle rolls from the angle, and I manage to stay on my feet through stubbornness alone. Biting back a wince, I waste no time in going at him again; it hurts, but I can deal with it.

"Yeah, well," I say, "I'm a professional."

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

I frown, slipping easily into the defensive, watching the shift as he presses forward, the choices he's making. As I do all this, I also ask, "Is that ankle okay?"

This isn't a fight. Needless injury isn't a desired result of the exercise. Putting him into worse shape is hardly the goal.

[daretodo]

"What?" I ask, surprised enough by the question that I drop form entirely, cutting a combination short, and stare up at him in wide-eyed disbelief. In my defense, it's not a question I've been asked very often, not in these kinds of circumstances.

Startled more so than confused, though, I nod, sharply, and add on an exhale of laughter, "Yeah, it's fine. I mean, it twinges a bit, sure, but it's not sprained or anything."

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

"Good," I say, puzzling silently, internally over his reaction to the question. That's as telling as putting him on the attack, in its own way.

"Don't push it to the point of injury if it keeps twinging at you. Was it the landing?"

[daretodo]

"Yeah," I say, a little uncomfortable in admitting as much, but not enough so to prompt me to lie. Given how lousy a liar I am, anyway, this is probably for the best. "Uneven ground plus depressingly Average Joe balance occasionally equals a few rolled ankles."

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

There was a time in my life when being anything close to an Average Joe would have felt like being a king among men. I can understand the frustration.

It was the first thing I noticed, his balance, and this cements it for me. Balance will be our lynchpin- the strength will come back, but he's going to have to find a new way to balance himself, and that won't be easy.

"Well, we can't fix the ground, but the rest of it we can manage. We'll start with balance."

[daretodo]

"Well, technically speaking, we could fix the ground if we just leveled the area, or--" I cut myself off mid-babble, because that so isn't the point, and let out a resigned sort of sigh. Shortly after my arrival, I ran my body through a battery of tests, curious to see my new limitations. I know how much I can lift, how long I can hold my breath, how high I can jump, and an assortment of other trivia, but it's like I was saying before, about not trying to improve on those factors in any intelligent way.

I went out and I practiced, came home a little bruised and battered whenever I was trying to work on my targeting -- I've gotten the hang of that much, at least, even if it took me a while -- but I didn't have a goal beyond not dying the next time someone like Norman rolls into town. That's got to change. That's why I'm here.

"Or we could start with balance."

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

"Good call." I walk a little around him, just to keep warm, keep moving, not in some attempt to size him up or intimidate him.

"So you've never had any training, for any formal technique?"

[daretodo]

"Not in so many words," I say, following his trajectory with my eyes until that's no longer feasible, and I have to start turning on the spot. I'm not about to show him my back, even if this is just training; I have a feeling I'll end up on the ground if I do.

"I've had... People who've tried to help me understand my abilities, mostly," I add, thinking of Ezekiel, and how that all ended. "A few sessions here and there with different people over the years. Nothing structured or steady, though... And nothing, initially."

[onlyforthedream.livejournal.com]

"All right," I say, walking forward until we're closer and face to face, then step back with one foot and lift both hands up into a traditional boxing stance.

"The basics."

[daretodo]

"Include boxing, apparently," I say, arching an eyebrow even as I mirror his stance, albeit with one important difference. I stand on one foot, the one not attached to the twinging ankle. "Are we gonna fight on one leg or something? I mean, if we're working on balance, and all."