The Reserves

Participants: U.S. Agent
Open/Closed: Open to Anyone
Location(s): The DC War Memorial
Time of Day: Mid-Morning
Weather: Cold, grey, and snowy
Summary: After the disassembling of S.H.I.E.L.D., John Walker finds himself without marching orders. A meeting with top Government brass did not go his way and now he's been placed in the reserves to be called upon when "needed." 


John Walker was good at a lot of things that didn't require a lot of thought. When the chips are down and you're being bombarded by enemy fire the best thing you can do sometimes is to just shut off mentally, climb over the trench, and charge head on. He'd won a lot of his best fights when he was caught off guard and didn't have a plan. He'd pulled off miracles that way too. There was a beauty in simplicity sometimes.

He didn't mind briefings or strategy sessions, hell he relished them some days. Fail to plan and you plan to fail. There was nothing quite like getting a group of experts together, routing out a mission, and executing it perfectly. There was a certain comradery there that he had only found as an Avenger and as serviceman that he hadn't found anywhere else. Some people liked to garden, others liked to paint, but John loved covert and spec ops. The thing is that sometimes, especially in Government, there is just too damn much red tape. There isn't always time for four people to sign off on a decision before action can be made. That was the problem with people these days-no one wants to accept ownership. They want to kick the can down the road and avoid making decisions out of pure fear of what if the choice they make is the wrong one? It is the path of least resistance. The only reason S.H.I.E.L.D. was shut down was due to someone in a shirt and tie terrified that they would be blamed if something wrong happened. A real man owns his decisions, owns the results of those decisions, and owns the solutions to those results if needed. The United States military taught John that you have to see a problem from start to finish no matter what happens... it was just a shame that the elected officials in this country didn't have that same amount of backbone.

"Cowards." John's breath steamed with the word as he buried his hands in the pocket of his winter coat. It was cold and snowing in DC as it usually was here. Christmas was a few weeks away and the snow covered streets and twinkling lights hanging off every pole made for a scene Norman Rockwell couldn't resist. Christmas in DC was always a big production with the giant tree the president lit and all... but he preferred the smaller Christmases back home in Georgia. Georgia hadn't felt like him since his mom and dad died though. His brother had died long before them and his relationship with his sister or her family wasn't that great. She deserved better than being associated with him anyway. Their parents were living proof of the dangers that can come when you're related to a hero in this world. If she wanted to keep her husband and children safe away from him he didn't blame them one bit. Christmas and most holidays were depressing reminders of better days with a happy family. He'd rather be working. 

John sighed again as he walked through the paved sidewalks towards the big, marble dome that stood alone. It looked like a small gazebo he always thought and he'd seen where people could pay to get married in it. What a strange gesture that was. What it represented deserved better than that but whatever. The DC War Memorial was a small piece of the District that he had carved out for himself. It wasn't the biggest monument and it wasn't the fanciest looking but it did commemorate the lives of the men who died serving their country in the first World War. That one was also underappreciated. There wasn't a Captain America back then... just scared men who were looking down the barrels of tanks and breathing in chemical warfare for the first time in recorded history. They died the brave heroes they lived as though and to die serving your country was a life not wasted. 

He brushed some snow off one of the marble steps before sitting down. His coat bulged from his U.S. Agent armor and shield being concealed underneath it. The mask was laid back behind his head, allowing him to feel to cold, stinging air from the wind. He was angry. He was disgusted. He wanted to hit something but there wasn't anything near him that deserved it. New York City was lousy with alien invasions, interdimensional beasts, and low level crooks with multi-million dollar tech ripping a bank off for barely 1 percent of what their gear was worth. DC didn't see that sort of action as regularly and normally he'd prefer to keep it that way. 

"Hey, Michael." His therapist told him it was better to cope with loss by talking to people as if they were there. He felt silly doing it. If someone saw him just sitting and talking to himself they'd think he was crazy. Problem was he really would go crazy again if he didn't listen to the therapist. He still felt like a jackass though. His older brother Michael died overseas in battle and World War 1 ended way before Michael was even born. It was a war monument though... and a quiet one... which was better than nothing. 

"So... they finally done it. The bureaucrats have finally seen to the end of S.H.I.E.L.D. Those jackasses... you can't talk sense into them some times. They act like if we all just play nice with each other and sing kumbaya then the world will keep running as if nothing is wrong. If that was the case they'd never need guys like us to wear a uniform. We do the stuff they're too scared to do. This is the real world." He was shouting. His voiced echoed throughout the area he was sitting but thankfully the monuments don't get too many visitors in the cold. Still he clinched his fists and growled under his voice. The world needed organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D. to do the work no one else was willing to do. Otherwise the scum like Red Skull, Hydra, and the rest of the filth infiltrate the country and try to destroy it from the inside. Were there bad eggs? Of course. You're dealing with people. Nothing is ever perfect but John would rather have an imperfect S.H.I.E.L.D. than a vulnerable United States. 

"The Avengers are fine. At least when I was there we did a lot of good, honest work for people. I respect Steve Rogers more than any other man alive but I just feel like they could do more. Take the threats down before they end up at the front door of the Average Joe, you know? People shouldn't have to be afraid of the Hulk starting a fist fight with some intergalactic alien or magical nonsense." Some days it felt like Steve Rogers was the only man in the metahuman community with his head on straight. Some of the other jackasses talked too much, did too little, or just plain ol' not around to help when the little guy needed it. There needed to be more structure. The space and magic stuff were necessities but why did New York have to have so many damn Spider-men swinging around? Wouldn't it make more sense to station people in communities that need their help. It was unpopular opinion to have but John didn't think the Superhuman Registration Act was that bad of a deal. The metahuman community was too disorganized and too inefficient to really make a difference. It was his biggest sticking point when he served as leader in the Avengers - too many Tony Starks out there and not enough John Walkers. 

Well now there were no John Walkers. The review panel he had just come from made it abundantly clear, his orders were to stay out of the field until they needed him. The looks on their faces when they told him that suggested that Hell would have the very same temperature as DC did currently when that would happen. "So... now what? I just sit on my ass in front of the TV until the bureaucrats realize they do need a guy like me?" 



=Tags Open for Anyone=

Jean Grey could recall when the thought of having contacts in Washington DC would've sounded impossible. Doubly so, as a known and arguably celebrated mutant. Humanity was perpetually evolving, though - blatantly evidenced by the existence of the X-Gene in the first place. For all those close-minded, embittered people mired in hatred and intolerance, enlightenment and acceptance of those who were different seemed more and more sound a hope as the years wore on.

Particularly since the events that had unfolded since her most recent return - including appearing personally before the United Nations - Jean had a fairly sturdy list of amenable names in the United States's capital. She was there, just then, to make use of them. Today, though, her meetings weren't tied up in mutant politics at all whatsoever. Atlantis's preparations for warfare with the surface weren't a closely guarded secret. But Jean had set events rolling, after some careful insights, and was confident that that war wouldn't come about... So long as the surface didn't play the role of aggressor.

Namor was balancing on a knife's edge. Jean knew he could be pulled back, but if he was given too great a push by the US government or others...

Lunch dates, meetings, face-to-face encounters. Jean had been bouncing between them for two days, planting seeds of reassurance and calm, assuaging nervousness and trying to use her contacts to spread those sentiments further still. It was during a break between points in her schedule that morning that Jean was walking toward a nearby café to get a warm drink and pass the time. Or, that had been her plan.

Emotions and harsh thoughts pricked her mind. She furrowed her brow and drifted nearer to them, and a particular memorial commemorating those that lost their lives in the First World War. Soon a raised voice hit her ears in tandem with the psyche boring into hers. She didn't pry telepathically, but Jean listened to what words she could make out. For a moment, she hinged on whether or not to intervene. Then she turned up the collar of her coat further and turned toward the memorial.

Jean rounded the gazebo of marble, coming upon the source of the commotion just as the man was ending his solitary conversation with a defeated question. "Excuse me," she said, shock of scarlet hair tumbling down her long coat and onto the yellow scarf around her neck. She smiled gently. "I'm sorry to interrupt. You just... Sounded like you might want someone to talk to."

John Walker

The voice caught him off guard. "What? No, I'm fine..." John turned on the heels of his boots towards the redheaded woman. She was familiar but he couldn't put his thumb on where from. The problem with the life he led was that you see and meet so many people that after awhile they all blurred together. Some about about her in particular was bothering him. He needed to say something else though. Whoever this lady was, she had just walked in on him talking to his long dead brother in public and not in that weird "Dr. Strange" way that those magic types do. She probably thought he was crazy and there were already too many people who thought that about him. "I'm just... thinking out loud." 

It hit him like a bolt of lighting. "Wait... you're Jean Grey?" He had met her before, but she was wearing a blue and peach bodysuit at the time. She was one of Xavier's people. She had been in Congress lobbying for some other pro-mutant agenda like they tended to do. They were always wanting to have some sovereign nation recognized on their behalf. Wait... wasn't she supposed to be dead? Dumb question. Half of those mutants spring up from being dead on a regular basis. It was rarer for them to stick than it was for them to make some miraculous recovery from a space god or magic or some such. The thought made him bitter. Why do these people get to come back? His brother was a hero. His parents were innocent bystanders who got put in the middle of his problem with the Watchdogs just because of who their son was. He gritted his teeth. That was his fault too. "So what... you probing into my mind or something? Isn't that what your type does?" 

He was ready to launch into another tirade but... he didn't want to do that here. This was a place to show respect for people who fought and died protecting their country. The thing about all of those deaths and rebirths of the mutants was that more often than not they were dying in the line of duty just like Michael did. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that." He'd fought alongside the X-Men before. He knew for a fact that they were brave and selfless people. Grey herself had done that which is more than he ever did. He lost his arm and leg but he got them back. She sacrificed her life. Another person who had done the same was Charles Xavier. His death sent shockwaves through Capitol Hill. Many saw him as the only person that stood between the country and terrorists like Magneto. "I'm sorry about what happened to Charles Xavier. I don't know if you remember this or not but I assisted Xavier and Hank McCoy on a mission to Genosha a few years back. He was a great man and the world is worse off for his loss." 

He didn't bother introducing himself. She would either remember him or she'd probe his mind. 



Jean Grey

She'd hoped not to startle him, and had maybe even put some extra weight into her last handful of steps in the effort to make the smack of her booted heels unmistakable against the pavement. And Jean didn't startle him. Not really. She knew the difference with his reaction - the steeling of his eyes, the faintest tensing of muscles - someone whose body reacted defensively and on honed instinct with her interruption, rather than jumping or flinching away.

"What? No, I'm fine... I'm just... thinking out loud."

Jean nodded in a gentle and understanding way. The irony of the wording wasn't lost on her, either. The man in front of her couldn't know that it was those very thoughts and emotions reverberating that had drawn a woman who could read them. Or... He didn't know initially, because in another second recognition strobed through his eyes, and the next he was putting a name to her face. Jean's reassuring nod turned into a head tilt of surprise, then another dip of her head to confirm. "I am," she said.

The anger that'd been raging through the man had stalled when Jean turned up. That'd been part of her logic in interfering, hoping that she'd distract and help him grapple with his anger through that. Now it twisted, though, like a spring coiling, and then leaped to new heights. Jean remained calm and thoughtful when the man accused her of probing his mind, the only noticeable shift being a sadness to her green eyes.

And Jean was poised and prepared to stand there and bear the brunt of whatever momentum the anger still had left in the man. It didn't come, though. Instead, an apology. A pause. And then condolences. Jean studied the man for a moment, then slowly walked closer, pushing her hands into the pockets of her coat, she slowly sat on one of the steps of the monument. "Thank you," she said, smiling faintly, feeling the loss of Charles like a dull and constant ache.

Now she took her turn to pause, before looking up at the man and saying, "I'm sorry that I don't remember: could I get your name?" The notoriety Jean had was still strange to her, but she was highly and genuinely curious to know more about this man who, while familiar in voice and jawline, and who obviously had points of contact with the X-Men in the past, was unknown to her.

John Walker

He was cautious near Grey despite his earlier apology. While many deemed Wolverine the most dangerous of the mutants, the real threats were those that could manipulate your mind. Then, of course, was that Phoenix business. Whether she realized it or not, Grey and several of her comrades had been labeled "persons of interest" by the United States government for years now. If she knew, she certainly didn't let it show. Her body language was calm and her movements were smooth. Even her voice was steady and even despite him flying into a brief tirade for a moment. Most people would be rattled if a man his size and his condition yelled at them. She could easily use her powers to throw him like a ragdoll without breaking a sweat and she knew it. 

Of course she wouldn't remember him. No one seemed to. He was only a super-powered United States operative that beat Captain America in multiple fistfights and saved the world more than a handful of times. People were quick to forget about John Walker. The Avengers only called him in when Rogers or Barnes weren't available. The United States Government were now discharging him from active duty. This is the thanks he gets? What's one more insult? He tried to bite down on his temper. He already blew up once with this lady and she could read his thoughts if she wanted to anyway. John removed his coat to reveal his uniform and shield. Maybe a visual cue would shake something loose in her memory. "John Walker. U.S. Agent. I was brought in on assignment to work with Xavier and McCoy when a mutant terrorist damn near started a civil war on Genosha. Fat lot of good that did us..."

John took a seat beside her on the step and propped his shield up on the ground in front of him. The population of Genosha had been severely wiped out by terrorist attack after terrorist attack. Thousands of lives lost in total and there wasn't much left of the country to show for it. He'd been dismayed at the lack of response by the United States government but it hadn't been his place to question it. They weren't US citizens. They would offer aid when they could but they weren't the responsibility of the United States. People were people at the end of the day. Genosha was an easy target and the only surefire way to survive an attack there was simply not to be there. He pushed the thoughts away. He was already upset enough as it was. 

"I'm sorry again. Sometimes I let my emotions get the better of me." He didn't look at her, just stared forward. He didn't like apologizing. Not because he thought he was without blame but out of pride. To apologize was to admit you screwed up and he'd done enough screwing up in his life. His therapist told him that was all normal but he should focus on trying to move forward from it instead of dwelling. John sighed and ran his hands up and down the curved edge of his vibranium shield. "So what brings you to Washington? I thought your school was in New York." 

Jean Grey

Jean was giving him all due privacy. But she couldn't help but notice the brief flare of his frustration when she admitted to not knowing his name. The man reached for the seams of his jacket and opened it, showing the colors that had been hidden underneath. Jean smiled softly and nodded. "Aah. Yes. I believe I've only ever seen the lower half of your face until now."

John mounted the steps slowly, turned and sat down at a comfortable distance beside her. Jean watched him and, when it was clear he was going to stay facing forward, she did the same, looking out over the neatly manicured lawns, paths and pools of the surrounding area. His voice came quieter now. Like each word was a struggle, but Jean appreciated the sentiment. That, and the sincerity reluctantly behind the syllables.

Jean tamped down the urge to formally accept the apology - that would call more attention to it - or to wave it off as not necessary - it'd been a kind thing to do to say it, and that would be dismissive. Instead, she drew her knees closer to her chest and nodded, staring out alongside him. "That's something I definitely understand," she said, about emotions getting the better of him.

The next question drew a soft laugh out of her. "I keep forgetting they named the school after me. Seems so surreal and hardly deserved." Jean shook her head, a mind as powerful as hers still not able to totally wrap around that fact. "I'm actually here doing some... damage control? I guess that's a good way to put it. Some tensions are rising between the US government and Atlantis and I'm trying my best to keep tempers calm until a peaceful resolution can happen."

Jean finally turned to look at John, auburn hair spilling over her shoulder at the movement. "What about you, Mister Walker?"

John Walker

Jean Grey was one of the most respected and, in some instances, feared members of the mutant population. She was every bit as her mentor Charles Xavier from grace, intelligence, and poise but there were stories about her locked away in case files that terrified most people. Yet here she was, sitting in front of him, minimizing her space by hugging her knees and looking out at the world around them like a little girl. She was practically Mother Theresa in her own community - they named the damn school after her. The mutants were like that: big explosions in small packages. During his time with Xavier and McCoy he felt like a simpleton next to those two and it only made him angrier at a time in his life when he already had a short fuse. He wasn't sure what about the mutants upset him more, the way they were treated by the world around them or the fact that maybe there should be oversight on them to prevent devastating events like Genosha occur. His government was complicit in a lot of these actions and... it wasn't his place to make any value judgements. 

Instead John leaned against a column on the monument and looked out at the same field Jean was. His problem was that he always felt like he needed to have an opinion and to make it the loudest opinion in the room. Jean didn't need to hear that even if she was likely already reading his mind or at the very least picking that up. His emotions were always one step away from being out of control and he was already tired today. He buried his hands in his coat pockets and watched people jog past, walk dogs, and generally exist as if they didn't have a care in the world. "All we can do is our best, correct?" 

The mention of hostilities between Atlantis and the United States government wasn't surprising. There were always hostilities with that dictator Namor around. It always amazed Walker that the United States had allowed that madman to stay in power of his country for as long as he did. Whether it was his multiple threats against the US as well as the rest of the "surface world" as he called it or his interference in the affairs of a country that wasn't his, Namor was given far too much rope. The question, though, was what did Jean Grey and the mutants have to do with Atlantis? Again, it wasn't his place to form opinions or voice them. He simply nodded his head. "Me? I'm out of the job it seems. Now that SHIELD is out, I'm being put on ice until the United States government has something they can use me for." 

If there was bitterness in his voice it was because it deserved to be there. There were places he could go and things he could do. There was always a need for men like him in this country - those brave enough to do the work no one else would. Avengers, Defenders, whatever. It didn't matter. Due to being a sanctioned agent of the United States government, however, his wings were clipped. He could only go somewhere with their blessing and authority and, after SHIELD's collapse, the Senate decided they don't need anymore black eyes for the time being. "I understand damage control. That's part of my problem too. SHIELD went down hard and Congress wants to act like it never happened. What's the situation underwater?"



Jean Grey