Author's Note: Some very general spoilers for the latest New Ultimates #1. No idea where this is going aside from to satisfy my desire for some good old-fashioned angst. Keep in mind, I've never written anything Marvel, but hopefully something comes of it. Obviously inspired by New Ultimates. Please R&R!
Nemesis
By: Silver Spider
She'd been missing for seven months after Fury assured everyone Colonel Danvers was on an undercover mission and contact with the Triskelion was expected to be spotty. It was a load of crap, of course, since her meticulous reports arrived like clockwork once a week for the first six weeks. The general still did not acknowledge her M.I.A. status. Official S.H.I.E.L.D. business, he'd said. No need to get your tights in a twist. No one bought it, but what were they going to do?
Life went on, and Tony Stark, of all people, was not about to get drunk on account of a woman. On any other account, for any other excuse, but not for a woman. Not again.
Besides there were plenty of distractions for everyone. Fast forward after the departure of their tough-as-nails liaison and Cap, Hawkeye, and Iron Man were in Canadian air space closing in on the target. A.I.M.? The Facility? Gene Nation? One of those, anyway. Tony just knew that there was a blinking target on the view screen inside his helmet and he needed to take it out from his position on the rooftop when the signal came. Rooftop, because hulking red and gold armor was not exactly inconspicuous nor easy to get in and out of in a hurry. It was times like this that he envied his teammates who could throw on an overcoat and walk down the street in the middle of a crowded city.
Seven p.m., and he was getting damn tired of sitting on his metal ass for the fourth consecutive hour and beating himself in the game of chess going on entirely in his head. Usually he would have left by now, but he was trying to be a good boy, reliable and all that jazz. He was just about to call to find out what was happening ground-side when the blinking target suddenly changed from red to green on his view screen.
Finally.
Tony narrowed his eyes and assessed it: a medium sized office building. The days of bad guys hanging out in abandoned warehouses were long gone. They liked to hide in plain sight now. A rundown building in a shady neighborhood looked suspicious, but no one would even blink at a boring beige office. His targeting systems made the calculations instantly. If he hit it at ground level at the right angle, the whole thing would look like a scheduled demolition which was always a nice simple cover story.
Two shots from each of the shoulder rocket launchers at either side would do the trick, and Stark sent the miniature missiles on their mile and a half long trajectory, waited for sixty seconds, then took off after them. He figured he'd arrive just in time to help Cap ad Hawkeye with the cleanup and any stranglers that were still alive.
Tony Stark never expected to see what he did when his boots touched the ground.
The twenty-first century had a disheartening effect on Steve Rogers. In a few short years after being defrosted he'd become ten times more cynical than he'd been in the war – World War II, for God's sake! But this world was not the black and white one he left behind. In fact, it was mostly black. He was grateful for almost every field assignment because sometimes Steve honestly believed duty was the only thing standing between him and a padded room.
This one was supposed to be a simple hit and run. Their stranding orders were to bring in any prisoners for questioning, but that was optional if there were no survivors. From what he could see as they neared the rubble, he and Hawkeye might as well have stayed home as Iron Man's toys made a fairly convincing pancake of the five story building. There was no sign of anyone, but a job was a job, and he began to dig taking what used to be the front while his teammate came around the back.
It was then that he heard Clint shout a profanity and for him to get over there. The urgency in his voice made Steve practically leap over the pile. The other man was leaning over someone, his back obstructing Cap's view until he was almost directly behind him.
"What's...?" the question died half-way out of his mouth. "Good God..."
It was Carol Danvers. A bleeding, barely alive... and demonstrably pregnant Carol Danvers.
Cap just stared, caught somewhere between amazement and about a million questions. Clint, thankfully, was quicker on the uptake, and after a quick assessment of the woman's obviously injuries he turned to the captain, face ashen.
"Steve... it's bad. Very bad..."
No shit.
He could not even see where all the blood was coming from. There was so much of it drenching her very civilian clothes. She tried to speak, but succeed only in bringing forth bubbles of red. The only word he thought he caught was a very faint "save". After a quick mental subtraction, Steve understood. Wordlessly he produced a stiletto and handed it to Hawkeye.
"What the hell is this for?" the other man demanded.
"Triage," he said simply. "You have better hands. Make it quick. Before Tony..."
The sound of Iron Man's thrusters reached him a split second later, and suddenly Steve had the sinking feeling he was about to loose two friends at once.