Gym Day
Summary:
Another retro!fic. In the early Avengers days, Captain America schedules one of his new recruits for physical evaluation, and finds out some of the stuff that Quicksilver is made of.
Disclaimer:
Follows a work of fanfiction intended for entertainment purposes only, the creation and publication of which earns its author no monetary profit. All recognizable characters and referenced canonical events are property of Marvel Comics Incorporated. Or Disney, whatever. Or Fox. I absolutely cannot keep track.
GYM DAY
“Well,” Captain America pulled hard on one glove after the next, squeezing each hand into a deliberate fist. The material protested its abuse in a dull groan. “Let’s see what you can do, Quicksilver.”
It had to be obvious that he postured in play. But if it were in response to the humor, only the barest twist of acknowledgment in the corner of the speedster’s mouth. Along with his twin sister, the Scarlet Witch, the Avengers’ newest recruits had moved into the mansion days ago - and their leader had yet to see a full smile between them both combined, save for the sake of the cameras.
He had yet to see them in action, either.
That day, he had scheduled Quicksilver in the training dock to begin fitness testing. The mutant arrived exactly on time, wearing Magneto’s colors. Steve set a mental reminder to get him sized for a new uniform, and sent him off to change straightaway. “Just regular athletic wear will do today, son. I need to check your form - see if you’re using those muscles correctly.”
It gave the mutant pause, but he obliged.
They started out on speed and agility, but it soon became evident that augmented equipment would be required to accurately gauge the mutant’s abilities to that end. Running on their top of the line professional treadmill at maximum setting would take all day to break a sweat.
“Are you even using your powers at this rate?” asked Steve, after watching him clear 25 miles in an hour, unflinching.
“Somewhat. Probably.”
The Captain would eventually learn how to detect by the stress in his voice -not from physical exertion, but from concentrating to slow his own speech- when he was or was not exclusively drawing from his mutant powers.
They segued on to resistance training, then plyometrics, then gymnastic drills, and lastly hand to hand mock combat. There were some rough spots (and some blank spots), but Quicksilver had a decent foundational skillset that must have been honed under Magneto’s tutorage, and he demonstrated ample potential to master more refined techniques. Most impressively, he showed practically no signs of fatigue - even short rests seemed to return him to full vigor.
While no doubt the kid was tough, more so than Steve had expected, he estimated some of that had to be for show. On his last ‘team’, if the Brotherhood deserved a dignified title, revealing any hint of weakness to a racket of cutthroats was probably not the most effective way to avoid getting bum rushed in your sleep.
“If we braked for lunch, could you make it through all of this again from the top?” It was noon, and they had started first thing.
“I suspect that is what we are here to find out.” Again, that faint twitch of what might be an expression of humor - but his eyes never gave.
There were many objectives on the Captain’s list that day. He chopped two fingers away from his brow. “Meet me back here in one hour.”
When Quicksilver returned in an hour to the minute, they started over from the beginning, in double time.
It must have been the most intense workout of the young man’s life. By the end, he had effectively passed muster for any military unit on the books - and probably a few Olympic qualifiers to boot. He spoke not a word of complaint, focusing diligently on executing the tasks assigned to him, and while waiting for the results to be recorded, watched silent and still, maybe expectant. Steve was not familiar enough with his normal mannerisms to know if this was just an example of good behavior, or if he was on edge - or neither. The nature of his powers made it hard to tell. At any rate, he checked ‘follows orders’ off the list.
“Take five,” he said, pausing to sum up some final figures from his notes. “I’ll work on a solution for the running thing. An outside track might be our best bet. It’ll need to be a big one for you to reach maximum velocity on the straightaway.” Suddenly he readied his pen and paged through observations to statistics. “What is your top speed, by the way? I need forward locomotion at full charge and reactive aversion from standstill.”
Quicksilver looked up from the floor where he stretched. Again, that unwavering gaze accompanied by something other than a grin. “I might not have one.”
Ah, youth - Steve had to smile. “You might not know what it is yet, but trust me you have a limit - everyone does. Anyway, never mind, we’ll figure that out later.” He made another note. “So, how do you feel now?”
“Fine.”
“Really?” He gestured around the dock, indicating all that they had gone through. Twice. “You should be exhausted. This was a lot for one day.” It was a lot for that whole week.
“Tiring is one thing that my body does slowly, Captain.”
“Ha! Apparently so. Good.” He snapped pen to clipboard and tucked it under his arm, satisfied. “To be honest, I didn’t expect you to be as strong as you are. But it makes sense; moving against the friction of wind resistance like you can, your musculature is adapted to endure some really rigorous pressure - and not just that, but resist it with equal force.”
“Yes, precisely. And as such, I can withstand kinetic impact that would knock a normal person off of their feet, or unconscious. I am not equipped with any innate resistance to sharp objects, obviously, but I heal at an accelerated rate as well - and my bones do not break. Well-” he glanced away, “they will eventually, but it requires a tremendous amount of… effort.” He seemed to shake himself, continuing, “My enhanced metabolism can purge non-fatal poisons faster than healthy tissue takes damage, and viruses as well - I was exposed to Rubella and overcame it in three hours. By the way, when I do reach a state of total exhaustion, I can be left to recover with sleep alone - but parenteral nutrition intravenously will help speed it along. Also, I seem to have a heightened tolerance against exposure to low temperatures, while in motion on solid ground - it is impossible to move fast enough to stave off hypothermia while submerged in cold water.”
Steve opened and closed his mouth. What had Magneto been doing to these kids? “That’s… okay. Good to know.”
The mutant rose to his feet. “You are not going to write any of that down?”
“Well... right now, I’m just establishing our starting point, so I can plan out a course for your training.”
“Physical training.” It was not exactly a question.
Steve squared up with the young man. “Whatever it takes to get the job done. So if you’re thinking that all of this is about more than just exercise, you got that right.”
“Well,” he crossed his arms, “I must say; I would prefer if you would… how does it go? Call a spade a spade. If you want a psychological evaluation, Captain, simply ask for one. I care little for tests, and I care for disguised tests even less.”
“Everything in this world is a test, son. I just assume someone is always watching.” He meant it jokingly.
“Magneto hid cameras throughout his stronghold to spy on us day and night. Is that what you mean?”
“…No. Of course not.” Considering the mutant’s previous circumstances, Steve had anticipated a degree of guardedness, and tried to forgive it - along with the sarcasm. He thought getting back to business would shake off some of the budding tension, “Listen. We have a lot of work to do, a lot of ground to cover. And you can bet it’ll be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. I want you to prepare yourself for that, and come into this whole process with an open mind.”
It did not have the desired effect. “I have already had training. I have had extensive training, as it must be obvious for you to see. Magneto was anything but an idle leader. And although he had a knack for developing mutant abilities particularly, along with certain other illicit specialties, his was nowhere near a fighting prowess such as yours. Rest assured, Captain, I am perfectly aware of where my skills are lacking. So with all due respect, there is nothing you could possibly intend to teach that I am not prepared to learn.” He finished with chin held high, as if saying without saying ‘do your worst’, as if it would earn points. Maybe it did, on Magnetos clipboard.
“That’s where I think you might have it wrong. Now don’t misunderstand me, you’re in terrific shape and all. I mean, I’d hire Magneto to condition greyhounds or rob banks any day. But we both know you’re going to push yourself towards peak physiological potential, one way or another. So no, that’s the least of my intentions with you - because it’s not what this team needs.”
“…What? You- why, that is absurd! My abilities are not what this team needs? Rubbish! Earth’s Mightiest Heroes have no use for a man who is fast as lightning and strong as a hurricane?”
“The Avengers is made up of members, Pietro. That’s what I need; teammates. Not unthinking drones, not heartless machines. I need soldiers - not weapons. Sure, I’m going to teach you fighting techniques, combat formations, battle tactics - that’s easy. But most importantly, I’m going to teach you how to be a member of this team. We’ll be co-workers, yes, but companions also. Friends - a family. Are you ready for that?”
Quicksilver seemed to gradually tense up, as though the Captain’s words made the sound of someone squeezing a balloon just out of sight that could burst at any second. “You are not serious,” was his eventual response.
“Try me.”
A silent shake of the head, but no change in expression.
The Captain nodded. “Then that settles it. As I was saying, we’ll rehearse and run drills a lot as a group, of course, but I’ll also set each of you up with individualized tracks catered to your unique abilities.”
“And weaknesses.” Before Steve could respond, Pietro went on, but without ire - he was genuinely asking, “Tell me, Captain, now that you have had all day to consider it; what do you suppose mine to be?”
Not missing a beat, Steve replied, “Trust.” They locked eyes and he took a step forward, taller by a half foot. “No doubt in my mind, your weakness is that you trust no one. You might not even trust yourself.”
He saw Quicksilver blink once, twice, and realized that it had never visibly occurred before. “I- that-”
Steve grasped him by the shoulders, not rough, not how someone like Magneto would. “Pietro - for any of this to work, for us to work together, you’re going to have to trust me. Can you do that?”
That steadfast gaze, the boundless confidence, his unfailing comebacks, all fled to some distant empty space that Pietro stared after as though betrayed, as though he could summon back those comfortable defenses with a deep enough crease in his brow. He asked in a flat tone, “Is that an order, sir?”
“I can’t order you to give me the chance that Magneto didn’t deserve, and never earned. But I’m asking for that chance, and I don’t ask lightly.”
Pietro took a breath, a deep slow breath with eyes closed, something else that Steve had not seen before. “You… I have probably never met a man more worthy of it.”
“Is that a yes?”
Another breath with eyes closed tight, and then returned the steady grey stare like an icy morning in winter. Quicksilver said, “Yes.”
Smiling, Steve offered a handshake to seal the deal. “Then for the love of God, let’s get dinner already. You’re unstoppable, kid.” He left the clipboard on the pummel horse as they walked by - everyone had passed their tests that day.
~fin~
Another retro!fic. In the early Avengers days, Captain America schedules one of his new recruits for physical evaluation, and finds out some of the stuff that Quicksilver is made of.
Disclaimer:
Follows a work of fanfiction intended for entertainment purposes only, the creation and publication of which earns its author no monetary profit. All recognizable characters and referenced canonical events are property of Marvel Comics Incorporated. Or Disney, whatever. Or Fox. I absolutely cannot keep track.
GYM DAY
“Well,” Captain America pulled hard on one glove after the next, squeezing each hand into a deliberate fist. The material protested its abuse in a dull groan. “Let’s see what you can do, Quicksilver.”
It had to be obvious that he postured in play. But if it were in response to the humor, only the barest twist of acknowledgment in the corner of the speedster’s mouth. Along with his twin sister, the Scarlet Witch, the Avengers’ newest recruits had moved into the mansion days ago - and their leader had yet to see a full smile between them both combined, save for the sake of the cameras.
He had yet to see them in action, either.
That day, he had scheduled Quicksilver in the training dock to begin fitness testing. The mutant arrived exactly on time, wearing Magneto’s colors. Steve set a mental reminder to get him sized for a new uniform, and sent him off to change straightaway. “Just regular athletic wear will do today, son. I need to check your form - see if you’re using those muscles correctly.”
It gave the mutant pause, but he obliged.
They started out on speed and agility, but it soon became evident that augmented equipment would be required to accurately gauge the mutant’s abilities to that end. Running on their top of the line professional treadmill at maximum setting would take all day to break a sweat.
“Are you even using your powers at this rate?” asked Steve, after watching him clear 25 miles in an hour, unflinching.
“Somewhat. Probably.”
The Captain would eventually learn how to detect by the stress in his voice -not from physical exertion, but from concentrating to slow his own speech- when he was or was not exclusively drawing from his mutant powers.
They segued on to resistance training, then plyometrics, then gymnastic drills, and lastly hand to hand mock combat. There were some rough spots (and some blank spots), but Quicksilver had a decent foundational skillset that must have been honed under Magneto’s tutorage, and he demonstrated ample potential to master more refined techniques. Most impressively, he showed practically no signs of fatigue - even short rests seemed to return him to full vigor.
While no doubt the kid was tough, more so than Steve had expected, he estimated some of that had to be for show. On his last ‘team’, if the Brotherhood deserved a dignified title, revealing any hint of weakness to a racket of cutthroats was probably not the most effective way to avoid getting bum rushed in your sleep.
“If we braked for lunch, could you make it through all of this again from the top?” It was noon, and they had started first thing.
“I suspect that is what we are here to find out.” Again, that faint twitch of what might be an expression of humor - but his eyes never gave.
There were many objectives on the Captain’s list that day. He chopped two fingers away from his brow. “Meet me back here in one hour.”
When Quicksilver returned in an hour to the minute, they started over from the beginning, in double time.
It must have been the most intense workout of the young man’s life. By the end, he had effectively passed muster for any military unit on the books - and probably a few Olympic qualifiers to boot. He spoke not a word of complaint, focusing diligently on executing the tasks assigned to him, and while waiting for the results to be recorded, watched silent and still, maybe expectant. Steve was not familiar enough with his normal mannerisms to know if this was just an example of good behavior, or if he was on edge - or neither. The nature of his powers made it hard to tell. At any rate, he checked ‘follows orders’ off the list.
“Take five,” he said, pausing to sum up some final figures from his notes. “I’ll work on a solution for the running thing. An outside track might be our best bet. It’ll need to be a big one for you to reach maximum velocity on the straightaway.” Suddenly he readied his pen and paged through observations to statistics. “What is your top speed, by the way? I need forward locomotion at full charge and reactive aversion from standstill.”
Quicksilver looked up from the floor where he stretched. Again, that unwavering gaze accompanied by something other than a grin. “I might not have one.”
Ah, youth - Steve had to smile. “You might not know what it is yet, but trust me you have a limit - everyone does. Anyway, never mind, we’ll figure that out later.” He made another note. “So, how do you feel now?”
“Fine.”
“Really?” He gestured around the dock, indicating all that they had gone through. Twice. “You should be exhausted. This was a lot for one day.” It was a lot for that whole week.
“Tiring is one thing that my body does slowly, Captain.”
“Ha! Apparently so. Good.” He snapped pen to clipboard and tucked it under his arm, satisfied. “To be honest, I didn’t expect you to be as strong as you are. But it makes sense; moving against the friction of wind resistance like you can, your musculature is adapted to endure some really rigorous pressure - and not just that, but resist it with equal force.”
“Yes, precisely. And as such, I can withstand kinetic impact that would knock a normal person off of their feet, or unconscious. I am not equipped with any innate resistance to sharp objects, obviously, but I heal at an accelerated rate as well - and my bones do not break. Well-” he glanced away, “they will eventually, but it requires a tremendous amount of… effort.” He seemed to shake himself, continuing, “My enhanced metabolism can purge non-fatal poisons faster than healthy tissue takes damage, and viruses as well - I was exposed to Rubella and overcame it in three hours. By the way, when I do reach a state of total exhaustion, I can be left to recover with sleep alone - but parenteral nutrition intravenously will help speed it along. Also, I seem to have a heightened tolerance against exposure to low temperatures, while in motion on solid ground - it is impossible to move fast enough to stave off hypothermia while submerged in cold water.”
Steve opened and closed his mouth. What had Magneto been doing to these kids? “That’s… okay. Good to know.”
The mutant rose to his feet. “You are not going to write any of that down?”
“Well... right now, I’m just establishing our starting point, so I can plan out a course for your training.”
“Physical training.” It was not exactly a question.
Steve squared up with the young man. “Whatever it takes to get the job done. So if you’re thinking that all of this is about more than just exercise, you got that right.”
“Well,” he crossed his arms, “I must say; I would prefer if you would… how does it go? Call a spade a spade. If you want a psychological evaluation, Captain, simply ask for one. I care little for tests, and I care for disguised tests even less.”
“Everything in this world is a test, son. I just assume someone is always watching.” He meant it jokingly.
“Magneto hid cameras throughout his stronghold to spy on us day and night. Is that what you mean?”
“…No. Of course not.” Considering the mutant’s previous circumstances, Steve had anticipated a degree of guardedness, and tried to forgive it - along with the sarcasm. He thought getting back to business would shake off some of the budding tension, “Listen. We have a lot of work to do, a lot of ground to cover. And you can bet it’ll be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. I want you to prepare yourself for that, and come into this whole process with an open mind.”
It did not have the desired effect. “I have already had training. I have had extensive training, as it must be obvious for you to see. Magneto was anything but an idle leader. And although he had a knack for developing mutant abilities particularly, along with certain other illicit specialties, his was nowhere near a fighting prowess such as yours. Rest assured, Captain, I am perfectly aware of where my skills are lacking. So with all due respect, there is nothing you could possibly intend to teach that I am not prepared to learn.” He finished with chin held high, as if saying without saying ‘do your worst’, as if it would earn points. Maybe it did, on Magnetos clipboard.
“That’s where I think you might have it wrong. Now don’t misunderstand me, you’re in terrific shape and all. I mean, I’d hire Magneto to condition greyhounds or rob banks any day. But we both know you’re going to push yourself towards peak physiological potential, one way or another. So no, that’s the least of my intentions with you - because it’s not what this team needs.”
“…What? You- why, that is absurd! My abilities are not what this team needs? Rubbish! Earth’s Mightiest Heroes have no use for a man who is fast as lightning and strong as a hurricane?”
“The Avengers is made up of members, Pietro. That’s what I need; teammates. Not unthinking drones, not heartless machines. I need soldiers - not weapons. Sure, I’m going to teach you fighting techniques, combat formations, battle tactics - that’s easy. But most importantly, I’m going to teach you how to be a member of this team. We’ll be co-workers, yes, but companions also. Friends - a family. Are you ready for that?”
Quicksilver seemed to gradually tense up, as though the Captain’s words made the sound of someone squeezing a balloon just out of sight that could burst at any second. “You are not serious,” was his eventual response.
“Try me.”
A silent shake of the head, but no change in expression.
The Captain nodded. “Then that settles it. As I was saying, we’ll rehearse and run drills a lot as a group, of course, but I’ll also set each of you up with individualized tracks catered to your unique abilities.”
“And weaknesses.” Before Steve could respond, Pietro went on, but without ire - he was genuinely asking, “Tell me, Captain, now that you have had all day to consider it; what do you suppose mine to be?”
Not missing a beat, Steve replied, “Trust.” They locked eyes and he took a step forward, taller by a half foot. “No doubt in my mind, your weakness is that you trust no one. You might not even trust yourself.”
He saw Quicksilver blink once, twice, and realized that it had never visibly occurred before. “I- that-”
Steve grasped him by the shoulders, not rough, not how someone like Magneto would. “Pietro - for any of this to work, for us to work together, you’re going to have to trust me. Can you do that?”
That steadfast gaze, the boundless confidence, his unfailing comebacks, all fled to some distant empty space that Pietro stared after as though betrayed, as though he could summon back those comfortable defenses with a deep enough crease in his brow. He asked in a flat tone, “Is that an order, sir?”
“I can’t order you to give me the chance that Magneto didn’t deserve, and never earned. But I’m asking for that chance, and I don’t ask lightly.”
Pietro took a breath, a deep slow breath with eyes closed, something else that Steve had not seen before. “You… I have probably never met a man more worthy of it.”
“Is that a yes?”
Another breath with eyes closed tight, and then returned the steady grey stare like an icy morning in winter. Quicksilver said, “Yes.”
Smiling, Steve offered a handshake to seal the deal. “Then for the love of God, let’s get dinner already. You’re unstoppable, kid.” He left the clipboard on the pummel horse as they walked by - everyone had passed their tests that day.
~fin~