Civil War Prose Novel by Stuart Moore Page A

down into a corridor near the FF’s main operational center.
    “So are you here as an Avenger?” Spider-Man asked. “Or representing S.H.I.E.L.D.?”
    The Widow shrugged, as if the question had no meaning.
    A flurry of laughter, and a tiny girl stumbled into sight, tripping over her own feet. A slightly older boy with a thick mop of blond hair came chasing after her. They both stopped simultaneously, eyeing the Widow. She glared back down at them.
    Then the boy turned to Spider-Man and grinned. “Hey, Uncle Spidey. Cool costume!”
    “ Thank you, Franklin,” Spider-Man said. “You’re the first person I’ve met today with any taste.”
    The girl—Valeria—had recovered, and looked at them with witchy, glowing eyes. “Everybody’s in Daddy’s lab,” she said.
    “Cool.” Spidey reached down and ruffled her hair. Valeria stood stock still, watching him, as though they were conducting an experiment together.
    Then Franklin slapped her arm and ran. She whirled, laughing, and took off after him.
    Spider-Man watched them go. Franklin and Valeria were great kids, and he knew how much they meant to Reed and Sue. He felt a twinge of regret, of envy. If only things had worked out differently with…
    “While we’re young?” the Widow said.
    Spidey grimaced, and followed the Widow down the hall.
    He always felt like a twelve-year-old around her.
     
    REED Richards’s laboratory was huge, windowless, high-ceilinged, and utterly packed with scientific equipment. Particle beam microscopes, giant lasers, alien spaceships laid out like frogs ready to be dissected. Supercomputers, ranging from the latest SUN systems to antique Cray assemblages, all custom-networked together in a tangled system that only Reed’s incredible brain could understand. Johnny Storm had once observed to Spidey that, if anything ever happened to Reed, nobody would even be able to toast a slice of bread in this lab, ever again.
    It seemed an odd place for the biggest gathering of super heroes ever assembled. But Spider-Man quickly realized: It was the only room in the Baxter Building large enough.
    Hawkeye, Goliath, the Falcon, Tigra, and Ms. Marvel stood together, talking intensely. These, Peter realized, were the core Avengers, the nexus of Tony’s premier super hero team. Hawkeye gestured wildly, nearly banging into one of Reed’s big electronic devices. A time machine, maybe.
    Luke Cage stood apart, in street clothes and dark shades, speaking in low tones with Cloak, a young African-American hero in a swirling blue costume. Nighthawk and Valkyrie, representatives of the off-and-on team the Defenders, milled about uncomfortably, drinks in their hands. Spider-Woman, the red-and-yellow-clad masked Avenger, stood alone in the group, tapping at her phone. The Young Avengers—Hulkling, Patriot, Wiccan, Stature, and Speed—seemed to huddle together, eyeing the older heroes suspiciously.
    Dagger, a willowy young girl with light powers, danced around the room, flitting excitedly from one of Reed’s machines to the next. Reed stood in the back, near the Negative Zone portal, his neck stretched out like a ten-foot snake. His head bobbed back and forth, following Dagger’s path. Every time she touched something, he winced.
    Spider-Man felt a stab of claustrophobia. Here, among all his fellow heroes, he felt somehow, paradoxically, exposed. Vulnerable.
    You’re not wanted by the law anymore, he reminded himself. You’re an Avenger now.
    He spotted Daredevil over in a corner, talking in soft low tones with the green-skinned She-Hulk. Get two lawyers together, he thought…they were probably deep into the legal implications of the Superhuman Registration Act by now.
    Spider-Man started over toward Daredevil, but Natasha elbowed past him. She slinked up to Daredevil, laid a hand on his chest. She-Hulk rolled her eyes and turned away.
    Ben Grimm, the Thing, clapped a hand on Spider-Man’s back—not too hard; Ben had learned not to cripple ordinary