"New Orleans has fallen," he says. His voice hangs heavy as he watches the video feed. Another star-spangled flag falls, replaced by the enemy's. Green and red, with a panther at its center. Wakanda.

"Looks more like they've joined, Cap," says Sam. The leather of his jacket squeaks as he crosses his arms. Been real easy to get good leather with all the looting. "Just like Atlanta." His chest heaves. How many years did he fight? How many men did he lose? Just to watch Americans raise the enemy flag. A damn shame.

"Just like Miami," says Rogers. He lets a gloved hand wander to his chin, almost forgetting the beard that's grown there. A year goes by fast. The Accords. Bucky. Then, global attacks.

"Guess we gotta kill more Wakandans," says Sam. Another day, another war, he might have forced a smile. He might have made a joke. Those days are gone. Now there is only war.

Natasha steps into the control room. Well, it hasn't been a control room in a while. Not since SHIELD days. Dust covers half the monitors and electricity barely crackles in their wires. The whole place is almost as worn as she is. The first wrinkles are starting to appear on her cheeks, and crow's feet around her eyes. When she spotted that first grey hair, she knew it was time for another dye job. Black, this time.

"There's been an attack upstate," she says. Not passion, no energy. Not even worry. Just a fact. "No survivors. Wakandan relays are reporting Tony and Rhodey dead."

Steve sighs. He's been doing that a lot lately. "Guess we came all this way for nothing."

"I don't think so," says Sam. "If they took down Tony, that means the big guy is here."

"King T'Challa," says Natasha.

"Sure, cat dude," he says. "If we can get out of this city, this'll be our best shot at finally killing him."

"We've never been this close," he says, mostly to himself. And to another. An old woman who lives now only in his memories. That spunky Brit who brought him down to this basement, strapped him in a machine, and made him a soldier.

Natasha rubs her hands together. "Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm gonna go kill him."

"No," says Steve.

She goes silent, then defiant. "He's here, so are we. Got a better plan?"

He stares into the video feed. It loops and loops, new content every few seconds, crashing waves upon his mind. Looters, rioters, celebrating soldiers. Prisoners, slaves, bleeding bodies. Just another day in New Orleans, not that he'd ever seen it. "We wait."

"We've been waiting for a year. And now Tony's dead. Now Rhodey's dead." Anger stirs within her. For so long those men seemed immortal. And now? They've been snuffed out like candles that lost their scent.

Then a realization hits Steve. Like a sandbag in the chest. "What about Vision?" he asks.

"Relays didn't mention him. Why?" she asks. "He's been out of play since our little break-up. Just like Scott, just like Wanda."

"If he's not with Stark, that means he's still out there, right?" he asks. "And if we find him, we can find Wanda."

"What, you wanna get the band back together?" asks Sam.

"Wanda and Vision are every bit as powerful as Thor and the Hulk, wherever the Hell they are," says Steve. The idea bubbles inside of him like a shaken soda can or a live grenade. He worries that it might evaporate if he doesn't get the words out quick enough. "We get them together, we might not have to fight in the shadows."

"Spit it out, Steve," she says.

"We've been trying to get to Tony," he says. "Inching our way across the world as it fell apart, just trying to get back to our mightiest hero. And all the while, we just figured he would be able to solve the problem. What if we've been looking for the wrong fighters? What if we just need a couple powerhouses? To hit them harder than they can hit us."

"You think we can be Avengers again?" asks Sam. He would have once sprung at the opportunity to fight alongside them. Now he wonders if it's even possible. Is this even a team anymore?

He glances back at the monitor. The screen has shifted to an aerial image of the Avengers compound. Smoke billows out of it. Wardogs surround it. But T'Challa doesn't make an appearance. He never has, at least not in that damned costume. For all they know, it's some other Wakandan in it. "Well, we've got someone to avenge."

"I'm stopping you right here," says Natasha. "No. We followed you around the world to get to Tony, now you're saying it was one big mistake. No, this is the wrong approach. We need to cut off the head now while we're still in the same state as him."

"Hey, I'm all for fighting tyranny," says Steve. "You know that. These guys, they're just Hydra with better equipment. But those little sticks aren't gonna do much against vibranium."

"And you think a girl with anger issues will?" she asks. They've been fighting too much lately. Every decision, every call, she knows is the wrong one. And she tells him so every time, but never fights for too long. And now, here they are, in some old SSR basement, realizing that their plans have all failed. It's enough to make her feel more impotent than she already is.

"It's a step in the right direction," adds Sam.

"Yeah. Especially if she brings her robot boyfriend. Who happens to be made of vibranium."

She lets herself breathe, lets her fists loosen. He's right, she realizes, even if she doesn't want to. Vibranium against vibranium. "But it doesn't matter if we can't get to them," she says. "Got a plan for that?"

"That depends," he says. "You still have Clint's number?"

"No, but I have an address."