Around the World!
A is for Assassination
The man with the square glasses knew exactly what he was going to do when he arrived at the doors of the Hall that day. He had spent months preparing himself for it . Months and months of grueling training — no, this was not the time for thoughts like that. He needed to focus.
"The meeting is over already." one of two guards stationed at the glass doors stated curtly, blocking him from the entrance with a slide of a foot. "If you want to enter, I'll need to see your ID."
"Oh, come on, guys," the man with the square glasses laughed. "Y'know that you can let me of all people through."
The guardsman's foot did not budge. So, with a grumble, the man with the square glasses reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an identification card. The two guards looked it over, checked it with the list of names recorded in their guest list.
"Sorry for your time, Mr. Jones." the guardsman coughed as he handed the man back his ID. "Protocol is protocol." He stepped to the side and averted his eyes.
"No problemo at all!" The man with the square glasses replied in a sing-song voice. Waving the two guards off, he entered the Hall with a hop in his walk.
As the guards had said, the meeting had ended hours before, so the Hall was now eerily empty and quiet — quite the stark contrast to the bustling humbug it had been earlier. The main lights had been switched off; the only visible source of light came from the dim, yellow, back-up overheads. The yellowness of the lights reflected off of the marble floor tiles which the man quickly sped across.
He made his way across the Hall and began to ascend the swirling staircase that was at the end of it. His footsteps echoed with his purpose. The purpose was imminently gaining on him, so his footsteps quickened. Step, step, step, step, rapidly, until he reached the top floor.
This floor was darker than the one below. No back-up lightings showed the man the way. The moonlight streaming in through the windows lining the hall was his only guide. Such light urged him towards a pair of oak doors residing at the very end of the hall. He drifted towards them, his purpose ringing loudly in his mind.
Placing a hand on one of the doors' brass knobs, he turned it and swung the door open.
A stereotypical meeting room unfolded before him. A long table that stretched from one end of the room to the other; several dozen tables neatly pushed back along the walls; large windows, allowing brilliant silver light to enter, that took up the entire other half of the room. A young man standing in front of the centermost window with his back turned towards the door.
This was it. This was the moment.
The man with the square glasses reached into his coat pocket, pushed back his ID, and pulled out a sharp object. He leapt forward, leapt across the desk, charged at the young man. Glass broke. A clear, clattering shrill rang out. Droplets of red splattered the black sky.
The two men, for a moment, were soaring out in open night air, one with a look of surprise and the other with a look of accomplishment. The next moment, they plummeted downwards.
The man with the square glasses looked at the young man falling beside him — the young man with the knife-like object in his chest. The young man's cerulean eyes glistened as he attempted to identify the man with the square glasses. Perhaps the young man was crying. Perhaps the cold night air was beating so ferociously at his eyes that they began watering. No matter. That glisten soon dulled, so much so that the young man's eyes resembled two worn-out pieces of blue chalk.
The dull eyes closed.
The world around the young man seemed to distort and crack, as if the world no longer wanted to exist without him.
Yes, the man with the square glasses knew exactly what he was going to do that day. That was the day he was going to kill a country. That was the day he was going to assassinate America.
The plane ride was abnormally quiet. Quiet, as in Tony Stark had Lady Gaga blasting on the intercom. Quiet, as in Thor was jollily and hypocritically laughing at Steve's attempts to lower down the intercom system's noise levels. Quiet, as in Bruce Banner was inwardly chanting calming Buddhist prayers with twitching lips. Quiet as it usually was with the Avengers.
At least they had their own personal plane this time around, instead of having to share their ride with half a thousand other passengers. It saved them from awkward situations and chaotic mishaps.
Steve wished that Natasha and Clint were still with them. The duo had departed immediately after the team's evaluation was over. Apparently, their presence was needed elsewhere by SHIELD. Perhaps if they had stayed, the two might have been able to straighten Stark out with an arrow to the knee or an electrified punch to the gut… Well, Barton would probably have been rocking out to Lady Gaga with Stark, so he wouldn't have been much help in the end.
After several more minutes of fumbling around with the remote control to the intercom system, Steve decided that he had enough of 'Poker Face'-ing. He didn't have anything against Lady Gaga or anything, but a sudden migraine had hit him several minutes earlier and the popping beats of the music just made his head pound all the more intensely.
Standing up from his seat, he began to make his way to the cockpit where Stark was most likely and inevitably steering the plane with one hand and rocking out with an air guitar with the other. Why SHIELD hadn't provided them with a pilot, Steve didn't know. Budget cuts probably — especially considering the whole Hydra thing that had occurred recently.
Just as he was about to reach the door leading to the cockpit, the entire plane tremored as if it had just been hit head-on by another plane. Steve caught himself mid-fall, having nearly lost his footing with the impact. He immediately snapped his head around and ran to where Bruce had fallen. Thor was already next to the scientist and helping him to his feet.
"We are both unharmed," Thor informed the soldier calmly. "But what was that tremor? Have we hit something?"
"I don't know…" Steve muttered with narrowed eyes. "I'm going to check the cockpit."
The plane was still creaking and groaning and shaking, but Steve made his way to his destination without much effort. He swung the door the compartment open and began to yell Stark's name. The sight that unfolded before him cut him off short, however.
The frontal windows of the cockpit revealed the source of the tremors: a large black helicarrier had docked right next to their plane. The door leading from the cockpit to the open sky outside had been opened. A bridge had been drawn out from the helicarrier, connecting it to the open door.
Stark sat in the pilot's chair, conversing amicably with someone who sat in the co-pilot's chair next to him. The billionaire noticed Steve's approach and nodded at him.
"Well," Stark drew sarcastically, "look at who finally decided to show up. And it only took the entire plane nearly falling apart to get your attention."
"Stark," Steve frowned, cautiously moving forward and peering curiously at the co-pilot's chair, "what's going on here?"
The person who had been sitting in the said chair stood up and turned towards Steve. Dirty blonde hair. Deep green eyes. Thick eyebrows. A permanent scowl. A tailored suit.
Steve had seen this man before — rather recently too.
"Captain Steve Rogers," the green-eyed man nodded to him, extending his hand, "it's a pleasure to meet you. This may seem a bit sudden, but I am in need of your services."
A/N: Well, here's a new fic! I know a lot of you wanted a sequel to Potpourri!, and I guess you can kind of not really consider this that sequel. But hey. It contains the Avengers and the countries all on the same plane thing, so it's kind of related? It'll also contain a shitload of chaos and interactions later on, so...Idk.
I'll probably write a fic that takes place in-between Potpourri! and Around the World! where the countries and Avengers meet up at some bar or something.
Kudos to those who give feedback!