[Classified Location], SHIELD Helicarrier
April 2011
Fury ran through the bowels of the ship. A low thrum of worry sat in his stomach, but he ignored it and focused on his stride. He'd left the bridge at a sprint when the alert for the dropped containment unit flashed on his screen, leaving Lang in charge. Fury knew perfectly well that Barton, Hill, and Romanoff would all have been better choices - they improvised rather than following orders to the letter - but he didn't exactly trust Romanoff at the moment, Hill was down, and Barton was busy. So Fury'd gone after the closest thing he had to a friend.
Coulson. His one good eye was down in the containment unit.
Fury skidded around the corner. His heart pounded irregularly when he saw the door, hanging off its hinges. And blasted - in?
He slid to a stop in the howling containment unit. The hole in the floor had sealed in the glass enclosure's wake and the air pressure was back to normal and Darcy Lewis, of all people, was clutching Coulson's hand.
Coulson was impaled on a broken piece of rebar.
She looked up when she saw him, face streaked with tears. "Thank God!"
"Miss Lewis?" he asked incredulously.
"I called a paramedic team," she said, voice unsteady. "He - Coulson - said there was a panel over there." She gestured vaguely toward the observation rooms, where there was indeed a medical call panel. "They'll be here soon."
Sure enough, boots were pounding two levels up on the catwalks.
"Get out," Fury snapped. "Wait for me two levels up."
Darcy nodded her wet face and left, hugging her stomach. She was a civvie; she'd probably never seen such a wound before.
Coulson was barely conscious. "Sorry… boss," he whispered. "He got me."
"Who?" Fury asked.
Coulson's eyes flickered. "Thor."
Thor ?
"Was fighting… Loki. Tried to… get Loki back in the cell. Thor swatted me aside. And…"
"Stay awake," Fury ordered. "Eyes on me." His mind was spinning. Loki must've escaped somehow, either through his powers or from the virus Hill hit the bridge with, and Thor arrived in time to fight them. Probably Thor got insulted when Coulson tried to intervene, smacked him out of the way, and this unfortunate happened. But where was Thor? Who had been in the cage when it fell?
"Loki… tricked Thor. Loki's gone," Coulson whispered, voice weaker. "Thor fell. I… hung on… had to tell you."
"You're not going anywhere," Fury ordered, but he knew it was futile. The medical team skidded into place around him, shouting things about shock and blood loss, but Coulson kept his eyes on Fury's one.
"Clocking out here."
"Not an option," Fury insisted.
Coulson shook his head. "It's okay, boss. Use… it. This was… never gonna work unless… they had something - to…"
His voice trailed off.
Fury had seen enough men fall in battle to recognize the moment life left his old friend's eyes.
He stepped back and closed his eyes, letting the paramedics cluster around Coulson's body. They were trying something with a defibrillator, possibly, but Fury knew it was useless.
Coulson was gone.
Unless…
Fury filed that away for later and pressed a hand to his comm. "Coulson is down."
"What?"
Rogers. Stark was on the line a second later, demanding to know what had happened.
"I'll brief you in the bridge," Fury said, deliberately sounding exhausted. "Get Romanoff there too, Barton if you can track him down."
A pause, then Rogers said, "Copy that" and Fury turned off his earpiece.
He couldn't tell the team this was Thor's fault. He was the single strongest person on the force leveled against the alien invasion that was to come, and Romanoff, Stark, Rogers, and Foster would all have a grudge against Thor. Probably refuse to work with him anymore. And that was not an option.
Which left one more question: what had Lewis seen?
[Classified Location], SHIELD Helicarrier
April 2011
Darcy watched Fury approach with no small amount of nervousness.
She kept her face crumply and the fake tears coming, a trick she'd learned for eliciting pity from her dad. It was the easiest way to make him go away when he was drunk; only that would snap him out of his rages and stagger off to beat the shit out of the couch in the backyard. Or something.
Although there'd been times when she'd taken his anger just to protect Lizzie.
Not that it had done much good.
Darcy shoved those thoughts away before they ruined her control and made sure she looked appropriately nauseated. It wasn't all that hard, honestly. She'd seen her fair share of gory horror movies, but it was different in real life. Her tummy was feeling a little ticked.
"Miss Lewis," Fury greeted her.
"Director," she got out.
He eyed her. "What, exactly, were you doing down here?"
Jesus, no kid gloves. "I was looking for Jane," she said. "When… when the explosion hit. And… I heard the PA… some guy saying the people who invaded were wearing SHIELD gear. I saw some guys with guns and I ran because I didn't know who they were. I got lost and ended up down here. Loki was… leaving." She shuddered. "I hid, and then I heard Mr. Coulson groaning and followed the sound. So he had me call the paramedic team, and then I stayed. It didn't feel… I didn't want to leave him." Darcy let out a hiccuping sob and ordered another wave of tears to pour down her face.
Fury remained stoic, but she strongly suspected he was both uncomfortable around the weeping and also not totally buying her story. That was fine. She could always revise it later, and she knew there weren't a lot of cameras in the corridors; it was too power-expensive to run many in nonessential or non-restricted areas. They'd never be able to really fact-check her. And Coulson was gone - she'd heard them saying so. And Thor had never seen her.
"Did… did he say what happened?" Darcy asked in a shaky voice.
Ease up there, Darce. Laying it on a little thick . But Fury seemed to be buying it at last; a tiny bit of tension trickled out of his shoulders. "Loki tricked Thor into falling down the containment chute," Fury said quietly. "Then Loki killed Coulson for trying to stop his escape."
Darcy didn't think she quite managed to hide her surprise. Well, shock would be a better word. The lie was so ballsy - but then again, there was no one to cross-check him.
And if that was his story, she'd have to be careful about telling the truth. But she also had to tell the truth. Thor was generally an asshole, but this was way too far.
"I hope you catch him," Darcy said. "Loki, I mean. And - is there a way of reaching Thor? To make sure he's okay? That thing was meant for the Hulk."
"We'll find them," Fury said wearily. "For now, you should go back to the civilian quarters. I'm evacuating you and Dr. Foster to Stark Tower. They've got state-of-the-art security and it's less of a target for Loki than this thing. You'll have better tech to track the cube."
"What about Banner and Stark? Isn't that their job too?"
"Banner's gone. He hulked out, ripped a hole through the middle of my ship, and busted out the window on an escort. Stark stays here. He's combat-ready. You and Foster aren't. Miss Lewis, this is a military operation, and while you are onboard you follow my orders, understand?"
"Yes, of course," she stuttered. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm not a military girl, I didn't mean to question you, I was just-"
He softened a fraction. "No hard feelings. Go up these stairs, turn left, and tell the first person you see that Fury said you need a guide to civilian quarters. Dr. Foster will be there in the protected areas. I'll send someone to take you to the hangar bay shortly after."
"Thank you, Director," she said with a watery smile, and left him.
[Classified Location], SHIELD Helicarrier
April 2011
Fury watched Lewis go with a frown on his face.
She was good, he'd give her that. But the woman knew more than she was saying. Most people would've been fooled by her sob routine, but Fury had decades of reading people's secrets under his belt, and she was definitely hiding something.
Lewis had just become a significant liability.
Fury's mind worked furiously. Stark Tower - he had to send Foster to keep the "evacuating civilians" story secure, but he needed her alive. She was too good to lose. Lewis, though… Lewis had to be dealt with.
Fury strode away. Not toward the bridge. He had to contact an ally, and he had to do it where no one would see.
[Classified Location], SHIELD Helicarrier
April 2011
Tony didn't want to be having this meeting.
His body felt like one massive goddamn bruise, and he had two fractured fingers. The digits on his suit had the least structural integrity; he'd had to compromise some armor to maintain mobility. Tony made a note to figure out how to strengthen the alloy there, and also that he had to go get a new suit. The Mark VII was ready and waiting back at the Tower, but no way would Fury let him go get it.
And then there was Coulson.
Tony sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"You good, Stark?"
Tony glanced at Rogers. "Yep."
Rogers nodded once and fell into silence once more.
They were waiting on Fury and Natasha at the conference table above the bridge. Below them, the SHIELD personnel were scrambling to get the virus fixed and their equipment up and running. Navigation and communication were both completely fried; from the sound of it, staying in the air was in itself a challenge, much less getting anywhere. Tony supposed he should help them, but right now he was definitely feeling the impact of too many fights and not enough sleep. And also like he did not want to help SHIELD at all.
"Did you know him?" he asked abruptly.
"Coulson?"
"Yeah."
Rogers sighed. "Not well. I've not been awake much, and he's been busy. On…"
"Widow Watch," Tony said, and laughed without amusement. "Sounds like Fury doesn't trust any of us as far as he could throw this helicarrier."
They lapsed back into silence. Tony sneaked glances at Rogers, who was examining the big bay windows with a faraway expression. This man was disorientingly different and similar from the one in Tony's dad's stories. That Captain America had been tediously noble, lawful good all the way, America's golden boy. This man was inherently good, but - Tony got the sense that he was nearing a breaking point of some kind, and also that the "lawful" was maybe more "neutral". He'd do what he had to to get what he wanted, and what he wanted - that was the real question.
Fury marched in, snapping Tony out of it.
"Romanoff?"
"No sign of her," Rogers reported.
Fury grimaced. "She'll-"
"Here, sir."
Natasha slipped in the door in Fury's wake, looking bloody, dusty, and exhausted.
"What happened to you? Interesting hairstyle, by the way," Tony drawled.
She shot him an irritated look as she sat down across from Rogers. "I had a spat with the Hulk."
Tony whistled. "And survived. Impressive." He glanced at Fury. "Is this where you tell us what the hell happened?"
Fury sighed. "Coulson was the only available resource I could dispatch to the containment unit. He took a Phase 2 prototype - yes, Rogers, from the weapons arsenal we were building with the Tesseract - to control Loki. Thor beat him there. Coulson told me, before he died, that he arrived just in time to see Loki flush Thor out the containment tube. He tried to stop Loki, but Loki killed him and then escaped. The scepter is gone, Banner is gone, and we have no way of tracking either at the moment. Communications are down; so are navigation and propulsion. We're dead in the water."
"Well, that's just great," Tony muttered.
"On the upside, we got Hill back. Barton's with her. It seems that cognitive recalibration is enough to snap someone out of Loki's control, although it's dangerous - there's significant risk of brain trauma."
Natasha relaxed a tiny, tiny fraction.
There was a long moment of silence. Rogers was the first to break it. "What now?"
"We rebuild." Fury looked determined. "We rebuild, we get communications online, we find that cube, and we stop Loki."
No one answered.
At last, Fury sighed. "Fine. Yes, we were going to build an arsenal with the Tesseract. I never put all my chips on that number though, because I was playing something even riskier." He paused. "There was an idea - Stark… knows this - called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles that we never could. Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea, in heroes."
Tony stood up and walked out of the meeting.
It was too much. Fury had lied, and Banner was gone, and the helicarrier was down, and Coulson was dead.
He was a good man. The good people weren't supposed to die.
Tony was suddenly and overwhelmingly furious with himself. He should've known better than this. He shouldn't be so fucking naive .
Sometimes the good guys don't win.
Slowly, slowly, Tony's fingers clenched into fists.
Maybe it was time to not be a good guy anymore.
Where had it gotten him, anyway? Mocked by his fellow businessmen, ridiculed and shunned by all his old social circle. Pepper was the only one who'd stuck by him, the only one who'd believed in him and tried to help him be better. Who'd been convinced he could change even when he had his doubts.
Tony glared down the corridor, walking without knowing where he was going, barely noticing how people got out of his way. He was done. Done trusting the wrong people, done relying on anyone else. He'd be following his own code from now on, his own orders, or those of someone he trusted. Sure as hell not Fury's. He would stand by his people and do what he wanted, and the world would move out of his way.
He was Tony fucking Stark, after all.
[Classified Location], SHIELD Helicarrier
April 2011
Natasha stood up shortly after Tony did. "Where's Clint?"
"Med bay," Fury responded. "Before you go find him, I need you to put Foster and Lewis and the other civvies on a Quinjet to Stark Tower. It's a lower profile target and they'll be safer. If this is any model to go by, they'll only be liabilities in the real fight."
"Yes, sir," Romanoff said, and left.
Fury sighed. "I suppose heroes are a bit old-fashioned," he said bitterly. "You'd know."
Steve looked at the tired man for a long moment. "No," he said at last. "I don't think I do." I don't think I am one. Not anymore. I gave everything I had and then some for this world, and from now on I get to choose.
But he couldn't say that. Not when Fury already didn't trust him, already had proven that beyond a doubt by keeping him in a coma until he was needed. Steve gritted his teeth and left Fury in the ruins of the bridge.
He found Stark in the containment unit, staring blankly at the space the cell used to occupy.
"Was he married?" Steve asked.
"There was a cellist," Stark said tightly. "In Portland." He turned abruptly to Steve. "Did you notice the cameras in here are all down?"
"What?"
"The cameras," Stark repeated impatiently, gesturing at the ceiling. "They have red lights when they're active. Every single one in here is down. There's no footage. Fury could be hiding anything."
"What is there to lie about?" Steve asked doubtfully.
Stark laughed. It was a hollow sound. "His secrets have secrets, remember? He could be lying about anything. We already know he will."
"You're too suspicious for your own good."
"We balance out, then. You're too trusting."
"Not anymore," Steve muttered.
Stark's lips quirked. "Always entertaining to watch naiveté die."
"Coulson seemed like a good man," Steve said, remembering what he'd come here to say.
"He was an idiot," Stark said, but it came out jerky, and Steve knew it was a lie.
"For believing?"
"For taking on Loki alone."
"He was doing his job."
"He should've waited! He should've-" Stark broke off, breathing harder than he had been a moment ago.
Steve examined the scientist. "Is the first time you've lost a soldier?"
Stark snapped. " We are not soldiers! And I am not marching to Fury's fife!"
"Neither am I," Steve said.
Stark turned to glare at him. "If you're just saying that to get me to cooperate, Rogers, I swear…"
Steve shook his head. "No. I'm being honest. That doesn't mean we can't work with Fury long enough to take Loki down. We'll get him. He's killed too many people."
"Yeah, and he made it personal," Stark said darkly, glaring at the bloodstain on the wall.
"We can't think like that," Steve said, even though he didn't believe the words. Making it personal limited soldiers' effectiveness in battle; he knew that from experience. He had to remind Stark and himself of that fact.
"No, we have to," Stark insisted suddenly. "That's the point. That's Loki's point. This whole plan of his was idiotic. 'Divide and conquer,' sure, but-" He shook his head. "There's better ways to have handled this. He wants attention, an audience - which is weird in itself, since Thor said he always preferred to work behind the scenes, but whatever-"
"Yeah, I caught that act in Stuttgart," Steve said.
Stark shook his head, becoming more and more animated. Steve could see him latching onto this idea as a way out of his grief. "No, that was like - the preview. This is opening night; he wants action, he wants drama, he wants a monument to the skies with his name plastered - Son of a bitch."
"What?" Steve asked in alarm, as Stark turned with blazing eyes and jumped down from the platform.
"Stark Tower," Stark said. "He's using my tower, my new power supply. Asshat . And - oh, fuck ." His face was ashen suddenly. "Pepper's there."
"And Fury sent Darcy and Jane there," Steve said suddenly.
Stark pointed at him. "Do not breathe a word of this to Fury. He'll saddle us with babysitters and slow us down. I need to fix the suit to get me there, and you need a jet - we're not too far away from New York."
"I'll try to get to the hangar bay, keep Darcy and Jane on board," Steve said.
Stark shook his head. "They'll be gone by now. Go track down Barton and Natasha, Hill if she's well enough. Catch them up. We have to sneak out while the rest of the ship deals with repairs."
"Meet me in the medbay as soon as possible," Steve said. "Stark. Are you sure about this?"
"Sure as sure," Stark said. "Also, call me Tony. You did save my life."
"And you saved mine, so call me Steve," he replied.
Stark - Tony - glanced back once while taking the stairs two at a time. "Deal."
[Classified Location]
April 2011
He came to at the bottom of a crater.
Bruce bolted upright with a gasp from dreams (or maybe memories) of killing and falling. For a wild, endless moment he didn't know who or what or where he was, and then it all came rushing back.
He sunk down onto the stones beneath him with a groan.
Little snippets were all he remembered from his time as the other guy . The boiler room, and - Natasha had been there? He'd been chasing someone with red hair… and then an image of the sky and the accompanying knowledge that he was on a smaller aircraft, infuriated, tearing it to pieces. And then falling.
I hope I didn't kill her .
"Ya fell outta the sky."
Bruce jerked toward the voice.
An older man in a worn uniform of some kind stared down at him from the top of a crater of shattered glass and concrete and metal and earth.
Bruce paused, but the man didn't seem perturbed.
"Did I hurt anybody?" he asked. That was the question. Always the first one he asked when he woke up. He just usually didn't have the advantage of someone there to tell him.
"Nobody around here to get hurt," the old man replied.
Bruce closed his eyes, crippling relief washing over his body. "Lucky."
"Or good aim," the man said. "You were awake when you fell."
At that, Bruce twitched, eyes snapping open. "You saw?" And you're not screaming while you run? You're not calling all the media ?
"Whole thing," the man said. "Big and green and buck-ass nude. Here."
A bundle thumped to the ground next to Bruce, who flinched before he realized it was clothes: pants and a shirt and a belt. "Didn't think those'd fit ya till you shrunk down to a regular-size feller."
Bruce hesitated, then reached over to the clothes. "Thanks."
He had the pants on and was struggling with the belt when the old guy spoke again. "You an alien?"
"Huh?"
"An alien, like from outer space." The man sounded impatient, and Bruce let out a rusty chuckle. If only this guy knew.
"No, I'm… no. From Earth."
"Well then, son… you've got a condition," the security guard said, nodding as if he was the wisest sage since Plato.
Bruce had to laugh.
When he at last climbed out of the pit, clothed in too-big hiking boots, too-short gray pants, and a shirt that was missing a button - he didn't care, though; it was better than most of his post-blackout experiences - he paused and looked around.
It was a damn-well isolated area. Hills on one side and forests all around, with no roads or buildings in sight beyond the abandoned-looking one he'd demolished.
Very lucky indeed.
Or… was it possible that the old man was right, and the other guy had aimed for an unpopulated area?
No. The other guy was unchecked and unmitigated rage and destruction, nothing more. It was ridiculous. Impossible.
Tony's words echoed in Bruce's mind.
He narrowed his eyes. Maybe it had to do with intent? With wanting the other guy's help, rather than accidentally changing when he was furious and in danger? Or possibly with the target of his emotions-
"Do you know where you're goin'?" the old park ranger asked.
Bruce startled a bit. "Uh - do you know how I could get out of here? Transportation? I don't want to call a service if I can help it."
"Come with me," the man said.
He led Bruce across the clearing around what Bruce thought was an old airplane hangar with an attached seating area, or something. There were traces of an abandoned runway in the grass that he and his guide crossed, finding a worn track beneath the trees and setting off beneath their shadows.
In a quarter of a mile, they came out by an old but well-kept house in a clearing, surrounded by a garden and the signs of grandchildren.
Bruce felt a lump in his throat. "You live here?"
Pride gleamed on the old man's face. "Sure do. My wife and I've lived here for twenty-four years. The grandkids came down for a few days during spring break. She took 'em into town for ice cream." He snorted. "Good thing, too, otherwise I'd have to explain this and I'm not sure I could."
"You don't want to know," Bruce muttered.
"Probably not," the old guy agreed. "C'mere." He crossed the garden and walked in the back of a freestanding garage through a people-sized door. Bruce hesitated on the threshold, unsure, and then the old man stuck his head back out. "You comin' or what?"
Cautiously, Bruce stepped inside.
The garage was dim but not dark, and cluttered; furniture and bicycles hung from the ceiling and disorganized workbenches and shelves lined the walls. It was big enough for three cars but only held one, a silhouette Bruce thought might be an old-model minivan, or possibly a Jeep. It was hard to tell.
The man laughed at Bruce's expression. "I know. Been meaning to clean this place out for years, but it just never seemed that important."
He picked his way through the stuff - Bruce couldn't quite bring himself to think of it as junk - with the ease of long practice. Bruce himself was slower, careful to not knock anything over or disrupt this peaceful life any more than he already had.
"Here we are," the old man said, heaving an old puttery-looking motorcycle out of the shadows.
Bruce stared at it. "You mean-"
"You can take this," the man said, thrusting it forward so that Bruce had to take it or let it crash to the ground. "It was my son's, but he-" Sadness crossed the man's face. "He had a fall, years ago. Doctors said he had to give up the bikes, too risky to ride anymore. He sold most of 'em, but this one was one of his first. Built it with him. I couldn't bear to junk it."
"I can't take this," Bruce said.
The man waved his hand. "If you don't, it'll sit here gathering dust and get thrown on a junk pile once I'm gone. Might not be too much longer now. I'd rather it saw some use before that happens."
Bruce stared and stared at the old man, who seemed perfectly content to sit and wait for a response. At last, he asked, "Why are you helping me?"
"I'm a good judge of people," the old man said with a grin. It twinkled, and Bruce suddenly imagined with stark clarity exactly how much the grandkids must love this man; how he'd bounce them on his knees and tell frightening stories in the evenings and sing goofy songs around an outdoor fire on summer evenings. They would adore coming to this peaceful cabin in the woods, and they'd fight over his affection, for his attention.
Anger and grief welled up in Bruce in equal measures. Grief because this was a life he could have had, in a different life, if his pride and stupidity hadn't set him on this path where he was nothing but a wrecking ball. Anger at all the people who'd betrayed and shunned him over the years until he turned into somebody who couldn't even want this life anymore.
And there was Bruce's greatest secret, the thing he kept hidden from everyone and sometimes from himself: he didn't hate what he was.
He wanted to. God, did he want to. But he couldn't.
"Thank you," he said softly, and took the motorcycle.
The old man rolled up the garage door and Bruce pushed the thing out into the sunlight, blinking. His guide lifted a dusty gas can and topped off the fuel tank, brushed off the seat, and handed Bruce the keys. "Here ya go."
It took three tries before the ignition caught. Bruce squeezed the brakes and tested the throttle. The engine's slightly putzy growl rose to fill the yard and then slackened off when he relaxed.
Stark Tower. That was where he'd have to go if he wanted to contact his team, and where they'd probably be headed. For a time, with Stark and Foster and Steve and even Romanoff, he'd felt - useful. Needed for more than the other guy. There he might find camaraderie among the only people who might understand what it was to be broken, bitter, betrayed, and a monster that lashed out at everything around him.
Or he could run.
Bruce knew he could do it. He had years of practice. He could vanish on this ancient, unregistered bike into the wilds of Canada or the chaos of Central America, as he'd done before, and leave the world-saving to people who actually cared about what they were saving.
Even as Bruce had the thought, he knew he did care. For the innocents, at least.
But then again, he was a burden. To anyone, any team.
"Thank you," he said, turning to the old man. "For… all this."
"I like helping people," the man said. "You seem to need it more'n most. Do you know where you're goin'?"
Bruce examined the dirt driveway stretching out in front of him. "Yes," he said, two futures spreading out in front of him. "Yes, I think I do."