Hey, everyone! Sorry if I'm a little late with this one. It was about 30 pages long when I wrote this out, and it didn't always want to work the way I wanted it to. And it really didn't help that T'Challa is becoming bloody insufferable lately. Laugh while you can, you overgrown kitty-cat! It won't last for long, and I will enjoy your suffering!

By the way, there is swearing in this chapter. Who knew Briar had such a dirty mouth on her?

Alone Against AIM

When Clint reported that Hank's new personal assistant was 'easy on the eyes', and that even Hulk's head was turned, I probably should have reminded myself that this interesting bit of information came from the mouth of one Clint Barton—the man who is rather notorious for understating things, in particular the pretty damn important stuff. Often times, when something like that happens, I'm left scrambling to get a proper idea of the entire matter.

This time, however, Clint had described the mystery lady to a perfect 'T', much to my dumbstruck mind.

So, with that in mind why don't I go back to the start of the day, and before I became tongue-tied and left scrambling to recover some of my dignity?

Sept 25th, 20xx

"Rose. Your darling cat is in my face again."

"Before 8 am, he's your darling cat." As perfectly reasonable as my argument sounded, T'Challa wasn't having one bar of it. To be fair, having a cat curling itself into the space between your face and you girlfriend's head? It's probably not the greatest way to wake up in the morning—unless you actually prefer cat hair coating your tongue.

Nevertheless I was more-or-less awake now and carefully pulled a sleepy Salem into my arms. T'Challa gave a satisfied grunt before rolling over to bury his face in to a fur-free pillow. Grumbling under my breath, I quietly slipped out of bed and into the main lounge, immediately spotting a now awake Voltaire, who was sporting an almost human-like look of worry on his muzzle.

"Here's your little brother—didn't we have a discussion about Salem staying out here with you?" I lightly scolded before gently placing the feline culprit in front of the extremely larger-than-average dog. Voltaire gave me an apologetic whine as Salem gave a little mewl of contrition before tucking himself under Voltaire's head.

Feeling the willpower to stay mad (or at least annoyed) at the most adorable pets a girl can own beginning to clash against my rising annoyance at being woken up so early and not so nicely, I turned around and went back into the bedroom. Now even bothering to climb under the covers, I just crawled over and slumped against my boyfriend's warm back. I may—or may not—have had a bit of sadistic pleasure in hearing T'Challa grunt in discomfort when I landed on him—it's before 8 in the morning, I should not be awake! I get cranky and vindictive, he knows this!

But that became water under the bridge as my body began to relax, and my mind began to drift peacefully back into sleepy land…

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

"You can't be fucking serious."

"Rose!"

~.~.~.~.~

"Wow, you look terrible." Clint remarked. If I were in a proper frame of mind, I would have given him a nice bruise on his arm, or even a witty and cutting rebuttal. As it stood, my poor little mind was a mess and my cheeks were more than likely stained a permanent red.

I completely and utterly blame T'Challa for what caused my new look.

After my less-than-lady-like response to the alarm clock going off, I was more than happy to break the machine and go back to sleep, but T'Challa screwed up my plans by slipping out of bed, and then he had the gall to drag me to the edge of the bed, by my ankles!

Since my boyfriend and the rest of the world was more or less against me, I had no choice but to go unhappily along with whatever happens. T'Challa did make up for his actions by pulling me into a bear hug once I was on my feet. Ah, there's nothing quite like the feeling of being enveloped by the nearly overwhelming and comforting warmth that only a loved one can give you. Of course, T'Challa easily managed to top that feeling by pressing a few butterfly-soft kisses to my temples and whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

Sneaky fiend, no wonder that I love him so much!

Considerably less grumpy than when I woke up, I somehow untangled from my boyfriend's grip and slipped into my wardrobe to change into my work-out clothes, before exiting the bedroom and going through my usual morning routine of stretching, yoga, followed by a light breakfast, and then Pilates and a gym session with T'Challa. Everything was going well, right up until we began Pilates. I have no idea how it happened, but halfway though it turned into a weird hybrid of twister and tickle torture. Actually, scratch that, I know how—T'Challa started it. It doesn't help that he knows where all my really sensitive and highly ticklish spots are, and he went after each and every one of them.

Remind me again why I love that big bully?!

Finally taking pity on me, T'Challa stopped his teasing and let me catch my breath and rest long enough before he put me through the usual grueling morning gym session.

"Remind me again why I let you talk me into this?" I panted, my body being on autopilot as I ran on the treadmill. I learnt the hard way that it was an extremely bad idea to turn whilst running on this thing—thank Heavens T'Challa caught me in time. It was even better thanks that he didn't laugh at me for my clumsiness—smile, yes, but not laugh.

"Because, like any other boyfriend, I worry about you when you are out on your own," He replied from beside the machine's head, "And also because I am worried about any after-effects you may have, considering that you had the Odin-force temporarily infused in your body, no matter the short time."

"In other words, you're scared of losing me, especially after I had some crazy Asgardian magic mojo happen to me." I commented breathlessly, "Fair enough."

…Yeah, it really was a fair enough reason.

~.~.~.~.~

I mentioned a bit earlier that I totally and completely blamed T'Challa for leaving me red-faced and an extremely wibbly wreck? The incident in question didn't happen while we were in the gym; it happened when we were getting cleaned up, in which came yet another of my less-than-spectacular moments.

After completing the gym session, which left the both of us sweating a storm, T'Challa and I went back to our room where I was generously given the first shower. Setting down clean undergarments and my vibranium armor on the bathroom bench, I had an incident-free shower.

However I was wa-a-a-ay off in my world when I got out and wrapped a towel around my body. It became horrendously obvious how deep I was out of things when I dried myself off, dressed in my undergarments and the bottom half of my armor, and reaching for the top half when I looked up at the mirror…just as T'Challa had finished securing his towel around his hips, his body still damp with water.

It took my brain a few seconds to play catch-up, and process what I was seeing. My eyes zeroed in and tracked the movements of a water drop as it slowly slid down T'Challa's pectoral muscle, down the grooves of his stomach before disappearing into his towel—my eyes flicked upwards…and the dumb bugger was smirking outrageously.

A saner person than I would have attempted to play the moment off, or use it as an opening to flirt as outrageously as he smirked. And what did I do…I squealed, threw my shirt at his head and ran to the safety of my wardrobe, shut the door behind me and leaned against said door. I didn't even need a mirror to know that my face was blister red.

Please. Kill. Me.

~.~.~.~.~

It took some time, but I was able to come out of the closet (puns aside please) and get dressed. What took the longest wasn't just me trying to calm down—which wasn't likely to happen any time soon—but also T'Challa trying to talk to my through the door, coaxing me out.

Nuh-uh, not happening.

T'Challa eventually got the hint and left. I waited a bit longer to make sure that he was really out of the room—not just tricking me—then cautiously poked my head out. T'Challa wasn't there, but he was kind enough to leave the missing half of my armor on the bed. Feeling a bit (or a lot) shame-faced, I dragged myself out of my hiding-hole and finished getting dressed. As I pulled a pair of denim jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt, my mind (either cruelly or gleefully) went back over the sight of a half-naked and wet T'Challa. I whimpered pathetically to myself as it also went over my gigantic freak out at said sight.

Geez, what the hell is wrong with me?! I've already seen him shirtless dozens of times already; some of the key moments coming to mind being the times we were in the pool, and the 'elevator madness' moment. So why did I have a problem with this now?

'Would it have to do with it being more intimate?' My inner voice offered, 'And maybe because you knew there was nothing but him underneath that towel?'

"Okay, that is so not helping right now!" I told myself firmly, going so far as to face plant myself onto the bed in an attempt to shut out the thoughts and voices. As someone in the near future may well point out, I just went through the 'con' part of having both a male roommate and only one bathroom.

Before I could wallow too deeply into my thoughts, I felt a large head resting beside my leg, shortly followed by a soft questioning whine. Pulling my head up, I looked into Voltaire's bright blue eyes, reflecting an almost human-like curiosity. If he could speak, I'm positive that he'd be asking if I was alright.

"I may have over-reacted badly." I finally admitted in a soft tone. Voltaire's eyes flicked to a side before looking back at me, and inclined his head in a gesture that suggested 'so?'

"And I may also have given T'Challa a wrong idea." In a move that I could absolutely see a human doing, Voltaire rolled his eyes and gave a deep whuff sound before bumping his big head against my leg in a not-so-subtle gesture. I guess animals take a much more simplistic view of matters like this. Since Voltaire wasn't going to let me wallow in my own stupidity, I pulled on my socks and faithful hiking boots and went out into the main lounge.

"Do you want to talk-?"

"No!"

There, all caught up. And believe me, it was a very awkward car ride over to Avengers Mansion, since I didn't want to talk about the freak-out and T'Challa very much did.

When Clint greeted us at the door, I took advantage of the two men talking and snuck inside and into the sub-levels. I was half tempted to seek out Steve for a team up to run a training gauntlet, but ultimately decided against it. Maybe it was just me, but ever since we came back from Asgard, something about Steve has changed. And I didn't mean about his new Captain America uniform—I mean it's like he himself has changed. He didn't waste much time mourning the loss of his prized shield, and I know how damn protective of it he was. Now there's just this weird vibe to him now…

Eh, maybe I'll just camp out in my private lab for a little while, and play a few video games to pass the time. If anything, the little break will hopefully give me a chance to clear my head…and preferably over think my earlier freak-out and avoidance of said freak-out…or should that be the other way around?

It sounded like a very good plan (at least, to me it did) but—like every good plan—it was waylaid by the state of my lab…it was an absolute mess! I know that I can be a tad chaotic when I work, but never on this level!

"My lab!" I cried out in dismay, "JARVIS, what happened in here?!"

"Regretfully, Miss Stark, there is no possible means of answering your inquiry—upon designing your laboratory, Mister Stark complied with your wish of no security surveillance within." The AI answered me from just outside my door.

"I probably should've thought that through better," I mumbled to myself before turning to JARVIS again, "What about the surveillance in the hallways?" There was a pause of the AI went through said surveillance to find an answer, and hopefully a culprit. I don't get angry about possessions all that much, but this crosses a line!

"Apologies: there is no footage of any person approaching or leaving the entrance of your laboratory." He finally answered, sounding the tiniest bit sorry an artificial intelligence could be. I felt myself sag as I stared at the giant mess before me. It's going to take me ages to clean it all up and put it back the way I have everything.

"Miss Stark? Is everything all right?" I just about jumped as a familiar voice called out to me, coming from down the hallway. Turning my head to said person, I was rather surprised to see Phil Coulson walking towards me. Surprised, but also a bit relieved.

"Hey, Phil," I greeted, trying to keep the wan feeling at bay. Of course, being the seasoned SHIELD agent that he is, he could tell the smile on my face looked more fixed than natural. Standing beside me, Phil gave me a look of concern—complete with an almost suspicious sideways look—before leaning to peer into the room, and whistled at the sight within.

"That's, uh, quite a mess in there," He commented, his blue eyes taking in the scattered tools strewed about the floor, the drawers that looked like they've all been blown out from within, and my poor chair—it's super cushy padding was torn out and covering my computer desk. There will be hell to pay if the culprit has done something to my system!

"Was there any particular reason why you did this?" Phil asked, "Art, maybe?"

"Or sheer frustration at certain aspects of my existence," I offered sardonically, "Sadly, I can't claim any of this as mine. Someone must have broken in, though I can't imagine why; there's nothing of interest or sinister use in here."

As I mentioned earlier, Phil Coulson is a seasoned agent of incredible merit, so his poker face is beyond par. He just looked at the scene with a near blank expression on his face. If I hadn't of been so distracted by the calamity before us, I would have recognized the look in his eyes as he look of someone needing to have strong words with someone else in the very near future.

Then the moment passed and Phil is giving me a gentle smile before kindly offering to help me clean up the mess.

I promised to buy him dinner as thanks.

~.~.~.~.~

"You really did that?" Phil questioned in an incredulous tone, "You actually squealed and hid in your wardrobe?"

"And threw my shirt at him, but yes," I winced. In the time it took to clear up the lab, he had asked me about what I had been up to since the last time he saw me, to which I had said that not much had gone on…up until this morning. Damn blush gave me away, and since Phil can be pretty damn insistent about what happened, I had no choice but to tell him. Cue waves of embarrassment.

"Have you talked to him about it?" Phil asked.

…

"You haven't talked to him about it," He remarked dryly, "Do you even plan on talking to him about it?"

…

"Briar," Phil began in a warning tone, "You are going to talk to your boyfriend about what happened, or so help me I'll get involved."

"You wouldn't?!" I finally blurted out in shock. The warning look on his face was promised enough that yes, yes he would get himself involved. "Of course you would. Damn."

"At least use it as a basis for setting some limits," Phil amended slightly, "I mean you're now sharing an apartment—of sorts—with a man, and there's only one bathroom. It won't stop the inevitable walk-in's-at-awkward-times, but at least you can lessen the amount of times it happens."

Huh…such a simple solution, and yet so brilliant. Why didn't I think of that?

'Quite possibly because you were wallowing in your own mind,' my inner voice not so helpfully pointed out, something I chose to ignore.

"Just out of curiosity, why did you freak out?" Phil suddenly asked, "It's not like your intimidated by the man, right?" Did he really need to keep bringing this up? I'd like nothing more than to not to talk about it anymore. It would make me very happy if we stopped talking about it!

"If you ever saw first-hand the damage that man can do just by his sheer presence, let alone any sort of action, you'd be a little intimidated," I finally replied, "Even if he doesn't mean to, T'Challa can be a very overpowering man sometimes."

"Well…he is a king," Phil reminded me in a playfully flat tone. Since we were standing next to each other, I took the opportunity to push at his shoulder, the both of us smiling and laughing.

"Funny," I said, "But I was really getting at that sometimes his powerful presence can be rather off-putting. Even when it's just the two of us, T'Challa can be a bit… a bit…"

"Regal?" Phil supplied, "Aloof? Working on a higher spot than everyone else?" I think the blank look on my face conveyed just how much I actually understood of that.

"Why don't we start off with getting the two of you talking again, and then work on the rest later?" Seeing as he finally understood that I was trying to describe something impossible, Phil back-tracked a bit to a somewhat easier topic.

'Oh, sure, he makes it sound so easy!'

When the last of my scattered tools were put away, and the chair stuffing pushed back into my chair, I was finally able to get to my computer and check on my systems. Phil hovered over my shoulder as I stood at my desk, acting as a second pair of eyes, but after half an hour, the pair of us concluded that nothing nasty had been left behind, or that anything had been taken in the first place.

"Well, that's a big relief," I sighed as I rolled my head, working out a little kink, "I think I might just let JARVIS in, to double check everything."

"Good idea," Phil nodded, "And maybe put some sort of security system in place?" Oh, most definitely! It already proved to be a pain in the ass to clean up this mess, even with another person's help, so any chance to never go through the again, I'll take it.

"I'll bring it up with Tony later." I promised—both Phil and myself—as we left my now clean lab. I paused at a nearby interface and asked JARVIS to keep a watch on my lab, and gave him access to my private computer to give it a thorough scouring in case I missed something.

"Of course, Miss Stark," The artificial intelligence assured me, "Also, whilst you and Agent Coulson were attending to the matter of your laboratory, there was a call from Dr. Pym. Apparently he has left some of his work files in his mobile laboratory, and would like someone to bring it to him at Grayburn College."

"I can do that," I volunteered, "Did he say which files he wanted?" JARVIS gave a response, so I set off down the hallways to find that odd-dome of Hank's. Phil came along with a confused look on his face.

"I though Dr. Pym quit the team weeks ago?" He questioned.

"He did," I nodded, "Though I've gotta be honest, I'm a little surprised he lasted as long as he did. Hank's a scientist, not a fighter, and a pacifist, to boot. It wasn't kind of us to keep forcing him into battles."

"I guess I can understand that," The agent conceded, "But why has he still got his things here and not at the college?"

"No idea. I'll ask him when I drop his files off." You know, Hank…as much as I love you, you can be a real butt sometimes. Those files came in boxes: big, heavy boxes, the sort that required more than one person to carry out to a new location.

"How about I give you a hand with those? I have a car waiting outside."

"Why don't we do that? And afterwards I can buy you dinner, as promised earlier."

~.~.~.~.~

Carting out those boxes wasn't too much of a problem, seeing as Phil was stronger than he looked, and I had super strength too…okay, fine: we had Hulk help out as well. It was the last two boxes, and neither I nor Phil felt all that inclined to make a second trip just for two boxes. Phil led the way to his car…and I almost dropped my arm load of heavy boxes onto my feet. Oh, this was a very nice car: a cherry red 1962 Chevrolet Corvette.

'T'Challa is so gonna be jealous when he sees this!' I giggled to myself as the three of us loaded the back seat with all twelve boxes. As soon as he could, the Hulk went back inside without giving us a good-bye. Part of me was a little annoyed, but the rest of me pointed out that this was the Hulk, after all.

"Short stack," I exchanged an odd look with Phil before walking over to the gates, and saw the Hulk paused halfway through the front door. "Don't get into trouble." He called, and then stomped inside.

…Well, that was weird. Even by Phil's standard and he's seen some pretty darn weird stuff over the years.

Rather than dwell on that—and avoid a possible a possible headache—we climbed into his car and set off to Grayburn College, discussing whatever random topic that came to mind. The most talked about was Disney, off all things, and certain movies that required in-depth debates.

"I still think Dopey was rescued from an asylum," I argued, "His parents were annoyed about his lack of talking, and thought some time in an asylum would help, but it just made it worse."

"And what, the rest of the Dwarves rescued him and adopted him?" Phil countered, "…actually, I can see them adopting Dopey—he doesn't have a beard like the rest, and has blue eyes not brown. But where's you evidence that he's ever been in an asylum?"

"When all the Dwarves are sleeping downstairs: Dopey starts whimpering and twitching in his sleep, then Sneezy pokes him in the backside and he calms down."

"That's it? That's your evidence? A jab in the backside doesn't always equal a serious problem. Maybe Dopey was just having a nightmare and Sneezy poked him to wake him up enough to calm down."

…Dang it, I hate it when he's right.

Before we could discuss anymore theories—or have Phil rip them apart—we had arrived at our destination. Since the Hulk wasn't around to lend a hand like he did earlier, I had to carry a majority of them. Not that it was heavy (super powers, suckers!) but it was pretty cumbersome having to carry ten full boxes.

Thankfully people were nice enough to clear out of the way for us, and that Phil knew his way around enough to guide me.

"I can only imagine the looks we're getting right now," I joked to Phil as we climbed up the last flight of stairs.

"Mostly a mix of 'look at how many boxes she's carrying' and 'it's gotta be a hoax', plus a few boys looking pretty emasculated," Phil reported humorously, and it was all I could do just to not start grinning like an absolute moron. Was I taking too much pleasure in showing up a few males? Probably, but did I enjoy doing it, none the less? Hell yeah!

It didn't take all that long for us to reach the floor we needed, and as kind for that janitor to help, we managed to get to Hank's office, much to my relief. As I mentioned earlier, it's not that the weight of the boxes were finally getting to me, but my arms are starting to get numb. Since his own arms were full, Phil had to call back to the janitor and ask him to knock on the door for us.

I shuffled back as much as I could, but small as I was, these boxes still made things a bit awkward for us all. Eventually the janitor made it and politely knocked on the door before poking his head around the corner. "Miss Nelson? There are two people out here with boxes, a lot of boxes." Who now? Were we at the right place?

"Ah, those must be the files that Hank wanted," A pleased sounding woman's voice said, "Please, bring them in." Ah, okay, we are in the right place, then. So who…oh, brain poot—this must be Hank's new assistant, the one Clint told me about.

Phil went in after the janitor, and between the pair of them, I was able to finally see where I was going and get through the door. It took a bit more awkward shuffling on my part, but the three of us got the now banes of my existence onto the floor.

With a relieved sigh, I plopped down onto my backside then fell onto my back with a grateful sigh, glad that I could now move my arms again—but definitely not liking the blood rushing and the pins-and-needles feeling! "Hank, you owe me a new set of arms," I called out, "But I'll settle for a glass of water, if you could."

"I think I can arrange for some water, at least," The mysterious woman chuckled from somewhere above my head, "Would you like a hand getting up, doll?" Doll…wow, haven't heard anyone call me that for a long while now, other than Rhodey. Anyway, I gladly took her up on the offer, once my arms stopped tingling painfully every time I moved them.

Once I was back on my feet, I turned to thank her—only to come nose to…uh, well…what I thought was her face was actually a very ample…chest. My head shot up higher and finally met her face…only to be struck dumb. In hindsight, I came to realize that—for once—Hawkeye was actually correct in his vague description of a woman.

Towering over me at 5'10'' (she wasn't even wearing heels!) her long and wavy ruby red hair tumbled loosely to her waist. Her glittery emerald eyes sparkled with untold mischief and sass, but also gentleness as well. But what I found the most beautiful feature about her was her skin. It was…well, in all honesty, it looked very similar to tiger stripes, extending all over. At least, I presume so, I couldn't see past the short sleeved business shirt and grey skirt.

The immediate word that sprang to my mind was 'vitiligo', the skin pigmentation condition. But I've never seen or heard anything like this before.

I felt my jaw being gently closed—crap was I staring?! I must have been, and I probably wasn't the first person to do so. That was the only explanation as to why she took my open-mouthed staring in such great stride and a gentle, patient smile. "Believe me, doll, it's all real." She teased me. All I could do in response was blush bright pink, duck my head and wish that I had never gotten out of bed this morning.

Before anyone could poke fun at me, or I could sink any further into the eternal Pit of Embarrassment, the door opened again, this time Hank walked in with his nose nearly buried in a clipboard of something absolutely fascinating and mumbling softly to himself in excitement. Rolling her eyes, our sassy hostess strode over to him and easily plucked the board out of his hands. Pulled abruptly back into reality, Hank gave a befuddled squawk of surprise.

"Greer, I need that!" He protested in a childish tone, trying to reach for his work. The woman—Greer, I quickly corrected myself—just turned around and began examining the contents herself, occasionally making noises of interest as she read whatever it was. As she moved, I watched as Hank followed after her with a pout on his face.

"Oh, yes, very interesting, indeed." She finally claimed in a thoughtful tone, coming to a complete stop. Just when Hank thought he could get his work back (though not without lightly bumping into her back) she held the board tightly against her chest with one arm, her other pressing her hand flat against his chest to stop him from falling forward. Surprisingly, Hank did stop at her touch, his cheeks suddenly a shade pinker than before as he looked down at her hand for a few seconds before looking at Greer's face with an almost child-like hope.

"I know, right?" He beamed excitedly, "I'd like to see if we can replicate the results in another species, maybe in one of the cricket species?" My earlier embarrassment totally forgotten, I found myself picturing Hank as a little boy in a sweets shop, and finding somebody else with the same excitement he had. He was never this happy with Wasp, even when talking science with her…or at least trying to talk to her about it.

"Then we shall get to work," Greer nodded. He hand quickly shot from the middle of his chest to press her finger (with a manicured pointed nail) against his mouth, silencing any further discussions about the subject from Hank. "But only after you've thanked our guests for bringing your files over, baby doll,"

His cheeks as red as his old Ant Man costume, Hank looked at her before tilting his head and making a noise of confusion; and looking too much like a cute, adorable little puppy! And no, the polite cough from behind my shoulder did NOT make the pair of us jump in surprise, though neither Greer nor Phil poked fun at, to our relief. If we did jump, I mean, which we totally didn't.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Pym," Phil greeted him casually. My brain was a little slow on formulating words, so I had to settle for giving him a shy little wave. Hank looked at the both of us for a few seconds, and then to the mini mountain of boxes beside us before it clicked who the two of us were, and what Greer had said. And now he looks like a little boy at his first Christmas, and Santa Claus had delivered the exact presents he wanted. Naw, he's just so cute!

"Hey!" He beamed happily, "What a pleasant surprise!" He stepped away from Greer to come over and pull me into a big bear hug, much to my surprise.

"Ugh! G-Good to see you too, Hank," I somehow managed to get out as he pulled away, "Ah, this is Phil Coulson, by the way." No hugs for Phil (lucky) he just got a firm and grateful handshake instead when Hank let me go.

"Thank you, the both of you," Hank spoke as he took a step back from us, "I hope they weren't too much of a problem getting in here."

"Not at all, since Briar has super strength. Quite handy, that," Phil answered with a down played shrug of his shoulders.

…At this point in time, I would very much like to point out that what's left of my brain has well and truly gone kaput!

Greer must have been watching me closely; before Hank could start talking to me, she smoothly interjected herself into the conversation with an offer of tea, coffee or cold drinks—the last one we all agreed on. Soon the four of us—huh, I guess the janitor left ages ago—were sitting at a hastily cleaned table, each with a clean glass before us as Greer played hostess and poured from a chilled jug of water. Efficient, I'll give her that.

"Oh, where are my manners?" Hank suddenly exclaimed, "Briar, this is Greer Nelson. Greer, this is Briar Stark—Tony Stark's younger sister."

"A pleasure to meet you, doll," Greer smiled as she sat back down in her seat next to Hank.

"Likewise," I replied politely, despite my tongue still being stuck to the roof of my mouth. "This is Phil Coulson." They exchanged pleasantries, Phil even asking about something. I was too busy lost in thoughts to really pay attention to the conversation—the contents of the files we brought over, my brain would pick up—as I quietly sipped at my water and studied Hank.

He was…happy. Truly happy, and peaceful—something I haven't seen in him in all the time I've known him. There wasn't even the slightest trace of sadness and/or guilt that had been weighing him down after the whole Ultron mess. It was almost like that event never happened…

Or maybe—just maybe—he's somehow (and finally) forgiven himself. If that's the case, I wonder who helped him come to terms with it all. Not that I'm looking at Greer or anything. I fully tuned into the conversation just as Phil asked them how Greer came to work for Hank.

"Not to pry or anything, but I was under the impression that Janet Van Dyne was your assistant." Phil was saying, and being cool, casual and subtle as an elephant in the room about it. I—hold the phone. Phil just dropped Wasp's name, but Hank didn't lose any of his chipper. There wasn't even a hint of a wistful look, either.

What the wow?

"She was," Hank nodded, leaning back in his chair. "After I quit the Avengers and came back here full time, however, I found my office nearly drowning in paperwork. I barely made a dent in it, even after a week after we came back from Asgard, until I stumbled into, uh…that is, until Greer knocked on my door." If I were a different sort of person, I would have pointed out that when Hank looked to said woman, he gained an utterly grateful on his face. And I would also have pointed out that Hank was totally going to say something else entirely before that quick change.

Hm-hm…

"I had just enrolled here as a part-time student," Greer took over. There was a teasing smile on her face: my guess is because she noticed that Hank changed how they actually met. "Plus, I used to travel a lot, and at one point came into possession of a rare butterfly specimen. I've been meaning to donate it to science, and since Hank's name is foremost in the field of entomology, I came over to see if he was interested." It started to worry me when Greer looked into her glass of water with an angry look on her face, her fingers curling tightly around her glass. "Only when I opened the door, I found poor Hank almost going under forgotten and unfiled paperwork."

Knowing that my concern was clearly written all over my face, my eyebrows were nearly into my hairline as I turned to Hank. I watched as he fought an internal struggle within himself before Hank finally gave in to one side. Oh, boy…

"Jan might have been good at arranging meetings for me, but often claimed that my paperwork was too boring and left it for me to do, in between teaching and doing my own research," He admitted in a frank tone, "The powers that be the College board said they could only overlook so much, so I needed to get it under control before I got into serious trouble, and lose my job."

…WHOA-ho-ho! Now, if that wasn't a big, big, ouch! That's one hell of a slap to face, for Jan at least!

"So what, when you mentioned it, Miss Nelson offered her help?" I asked him, though I might have directed it at Greer as well.

"Please, call me Greer," She answered instead, "And pretty much, yes. I'm not afraid of a little work." Ouch; tough and probably fair. But why do I sense that there's more to this arrangement than what's being let on? "Besides, the work is super fascinating, and I get some hands-on experience with some of the specimens that Hank has." How interesting—as soon as Greer begins talking about bugs, the animosity towards Jan is gone, and replaced by true excitement.

Greer noticed my little smile and blushed prettily, even as she rolled her eyes. "Yes, fine alright, I'm a massive bug nerd."

"And so enthusiastic about the work, too," Hank added sincerely. In thanks for his words, Greer rested her hand against his wrist and battered her eyelashes at him, making Hank blush. While those two exchanged coy looks, Phil and I just looked at each other silently.

So Greer Nelson is a self-proclaimed 'massive bug nerd', is strikingly beautiful, and is clearly into helping out Hank in anything he needs, out of mutual love for their chosen field…or maybe just out of genuine love.

…oh, yeah, there's no doubt about it: Jan's gonna completely flip and be livid when she hears about this! Or rather 'if', because there's no way in Hell I'm gonna blab to her!

Still, it was really great to see Hank so very happy now, and working alongside someone who not only understands his position, but is in love with it herself.

Whelp, if Hank's happy, then I'm happy!

~.~.~.~.~

The rest of our time with Hank and Greer was filled with interesting conversations of all sorts of topics, though we did spend quite a bit on what Hank will get up to now that he has so much free time. At no point, however, did I bring up the recent-ish events of Doctor Doom kidnapping me, Wasp and Sue Storm, or even draw attention to the plaster bandage on my forehead. I tried to keep it hidden behind my fringe, but I swear it's like a billboard with great flashing neon lights.

Eventually the conversation turned to relationships—neither Phil nor I made mention about Hank sneaking a shy little look at a preoccupied Greer and how he blushed…or how Greer did notice said look, and looked hopeful. Well, we didn't say anything out loud, at least. Somehow (probably avoidable, I guess) the subject of my relationship with T'Challa got brought up.

"Oh, yeah, I heard you are dating royalty," Greer mused aloud, "How's it going, if I can ask?"

"And how is T'Challa?" Hank added.

"It's going good, and T'Challa's good. We've just moved in together, so that's all good," I answered their inquiries. The pair of them gave me an odd look, and I wasn't even going to look at Phil to know what his look was.

'Probably shouldn't have said 'good' all that much,' my inner voice snickered, prompting me to ignore it as much as I could. But between my pesky conscious; and Phil giving me a disapproving look; and both Hank and Greer looking confused and worried…ugh, fine!

"There might have been a teeny tiny incident this morning," I told them, doing everything I could to downplay said accident as much as possible. Now, if I could just get Phil to stop looking at me like that, I'll good and dandy.

"Oh, like what?" Hank drawled slowly as his gaze flickered between me and the now glowering agent beside me. Do I really have to do this?! You know what? No, I don't, and nobody can make me!

…Actually, I probably should say something. Otherwise Phil will, and he won't couch it nicely by any means.

"I, uh….I kinda freaked out a little bit—fine, a lot!—when T'Challa came out of the shower this morning, while I was getting dressed." I begrudgingly coughed up, my cheeks feeling like they were once again on fire.

'And now for the horrible onslaught of teasing,' I thought bitterly to myself and internally braced.

….Nobody said anything.

"Ah," Greer eventually did, but in a completely understanding tone of voice. "The curse of co-ed living arrangements," She didn't say another word, but that naughty little twinkle in her eyes did it for her. Thankfully, she just left it where it was and directed the conversation to something else entirely.

Hm, Greer may turn out to be another close gal-pal, like Chantè.

It didn't occur to me for a while; in fact it wasn't until my Avengers card started beeping at me (quite loudly) that any of us realized how late it had gotten, meaning T'Challa must be out of his mind with worry by now. Especially now that I've just remembered that I never let him know that I was going out today. Whoops!

I was fully and completely prepared to fend off any questions that my overly protective boyfriend might throw at me, but imagine my surprise when it wasn't him, and found myself looking at Hawkeye. Wow…I'm actually a little hurt that it wasn't T'Challa.

"Yo, little Miss Starky," The archer cheerfully greeted me, "So where are you hiding this time?"

"I'm at Grayburn College," I answered, "Hank asked that someone drop off some boxes for him, so I offered." It was very nearly on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he was the one calling me and not my boyfriend.

"Yeah, Hulk did mention something about boxes…a few hours later," Hawkeye admitted, "Boy! It really launched T'Challa into full Captain Cluck mode when you disappeared on him like that." There was a guilty feeling beginning to grow in the pits of my stomach as he said that, but it stopped growing when Hawkeye delivered the rest of his news.

"Then he found out that you had left with Phil. The dork even tried to send Chantè to go find you and bring you back to him…" It should be noted that he trailed off at that point, particularly since I was indirectly giving him the 'supremely aggravated to holy high heavens' version of The Look, complete with twitching upper lip.

Again, it was right on the tip of my tongue to mention that T'Challa's over-protectiveness was starting to look disturbingly like control tactics, and it was starting to grate heavily on my nerves; as was his extreme mistrust of Phil Coulson, even though said man has repeatedly made it clear that I wasn't going to be harmed whenever I was under his watchful gaze. And while I don't hate her company in the slightest, I'm pretty sure that Chantè has better things to do than babysit me all day!

..Okay, so maybe I'm getting pissed off about this, but can you freaking blame me?!

While I was internally seething away, from the corner of my eyes I saw Greer lean closer against Hank. "Who's this Chantè girl?" She whispered into his ear.

"Chantè is sort of a bodyguard of King T'Challa's," He whispered back, "When Briar started dating him, Chantè then more-or-less became her bodyguard, too." Greer gave him an odd look before turning to give me a look of almost pity. Hawkeye—who must've heard their conversation—chose that moment to interject.

"She's also got some incredible sass to her chops," He chimed in, "When T'Challa called to say 'go fetch!' she told him—quite loudly and pointedly—that she's not a bloodhound, and that you could survive without her for one day."

…

"Should I add that I had to clean up the language in a few parts? I'm pretty sure she added a few Wakandan curses in there."

…Trust Chantè to have my back, no matter what her king says.

The anger inside of me was beginning to slowly fade away, but I didn't trust myself to talk just yet—in case I said something about someone that I may end up completely regretting later—so I handed my card over to Phil and ran a tired hand over my face.

I know within my heart that T'Challa means well, but holy damn, can he go overboard!

By the time I managed to calm down enough that I wasn't going to spit fire, Phil had wrapped up the conversation with Hawkeye and disconnected the call before handing my card back to me.

"Was there anything important that I should know about?" I asked wearily.

"Not really," Phil replied honestly, "After Chantè had…words with T'Challa your brother then called and asked that he and Captain America help him move all of the Iron Man armors from Stark Industries to Avengers Mansion. But Chantè did contact Hawkeye an hour ago, asking that a message be passed on to you."

"Uh-huh?"

"She said that it's your shout for dinner, and she wants pizza," He relayed with a completely straight face, "Come to think of it, I could do for pizza, too."

…

By the time I had finished laughing helplessly at it all, it was about getting to the time that Phil and I should be leaving and getting dinner. I offered Hank and Greer to join us, but they had other plans—mostly more paperwork filing and quite possibly getting Chinese take-out. Leaving the pair of them to it, Phil and I made the trek back to his car, this journey a lot easier now that I wasn't loaded down with boxes.

"So where are we going to?" Phil inquired as we got in and buckled up, "I hope it's not too far—I do have work tomorrow."

"Oh, hardy ha-ha," I mockingly laughed before breaking into a real smile, "Seriously though, there's only one place in the entirety of New York City that Chantè will eat pizza and not complain about it—mostly because there are more 'organically conscious', whatever that means."

"Phil gained a thoughtful look on his face. "I think I know which pizzeria you're talking about," He said as he pulled into traffic, "They're more geared towards people that have food allergies, or are really picky about what they eat."

"That's about the gist of it,"

"Isn't it also a few blocks away from your brother's work?"

…now, why does that seem a little suspicious? And as it turned out, I was right about being suspicious, but not for the reasons I had originally thought for.

"I now have to watch over the king," She grumpily announced as Phil and I joiner her and Clint at the table. My poor younger friend looked so down in the dumps that Clint began to pat her shoulder, his face molded with pity.

"Ouch," Phil winced, "Was it because you wouldn't 'go fetch!' as Clint put it?" I'm guessing it wasn't the exact words she used, but she didn't exactly disagree with them either.

"Mostly," She mumbled, "I might have also torn into him about what happened this morning between him and Briar," I raised my eyebrow at her in surprise. How on Earth did she…oh, wait, never mind. This is the Dora Milaje I'm thinking about. Of course they'd know about what their king gets up to…that's kinda embarrassing: also really unnerving, but still mostly embarrassing.

Hang on…please tell me she didn't tell Clint!

"I almost thought she'd light into me, too," Clint took over when I looked at him apprehensively, "She—plus a few of her friends—looked pretty offended when I told them what T'Challa did."

…brain's dead.

"Come again?" Phil asked for me, and probably wondering how the purple archer was involved.

"When they got to the Mansion this morning, and after Starky disappeared into her lab, T'Challa coughed up what he did. And trust me; Chantè wasn't the first to rip into him." Clint explained with a nonchalant shrug.

My brain slowly began working again as Clint related as to how he knew about what had occurred. "And you're not going to tease me about it?" I weakly asked him, wary about the possible answer.

"Hell to the fuck no," He answered emphatically with matching hard glare, "I reminded T'Challa that while he may be a king and your boyfriend, I'm your sort-of-brother, and that beats out anything else."

"And then?" I drawled cautiously.

"After Hulk finally decided to let us know about where you went, he got in touch with his Amazons." Despite her grumpy mood, Chantè gave a badly muffled snort of laughter at the nickname, while the rest of us just smiled.

"Once he got in touch with the ladies, it somehow got mentioned what had happened, and while the other girls settled for disapproving looks, Chantè was the only one to go a step further." Clint carried on with his narrative, "And I've gotta admit that great minds think alike…or, sometimes, very scarily similar."

"And what is it that you both said that was scarily similar?" I asked the both of them. Absently, I noticed that four glasses of sparkling water and a basket of garlic bread pieces had been placed on our table.

"That the king should have waited—at the bare minimum—a few weeks before surprising you like that," Chantè shrugged as she reached for her glass, "You have just moved in together, after all, so that is quite the giant step in any relationship, let alone with a royal personage." There was a look on her face that Clint didn't have, suggesting that Chantè wanted to add more to the conversation, though I could pretty much guess for myself about what it was she wanted to say.

My very strong guess is that she had wanted to say that I'm still very shy. Not so shy that it'd take a nuclear-powered sledge-hammer to try and make a possible dent in my walls, but definitely not so bold as to take advantage of a towel-clad beef cake heartthrob of a boyfriend. Ugh, it really stinks to be me.

"We heard that," All three of my friends admonished, pulling me quite abruptly out of my thoughts.

"There's nothing wrong with being shy, Briar," Chantè gently informed me, "No one expects you to be some sort of brazen fire-cracker just because you have a boyfriend."

"Or because you're Tony Stark's sister," Phil added, "Believe me, I'd much rather deal with a shy Stark than have to deal with a female version of Tony." Clint didn't verbally respond, but Phil's commented on a female Tony made my poor sort-of-brother shudder in revulsion at the disturbing thought, which did make me genuinely laugh and feel better.

My brother does (or did) tend to leave a pretty wide swathe in the social world, especially with his old party boy ways. And some of the after-party stories that I get wind of (and a few others that I definitely shouldn't know about at all) do make one question how someone so quiet, polite and sensible could even possibly be related to Tony Stark.

And yes, I am ignoring the loud hysterical laughter coming from my inner voice right now.

"I guess there's no real harm in being just me, then," I finally admitted with a smile, "Especially if it means not being anything like Party Boy Tony."

"Hear, hear!" My friends toasted in agreement, making me laugh. Once that particular topic was well and truly covered to within an inch of its existence, we moved onto other subjects, though we somehow ended up onto Chantè. Mostly because of the news she just dropped on us.

"You're heading back to Wakanda?" I repeated in dismay, "This weekend?"

"For a few weeks, yes," She nodded unhappily. That totally sucks!

"Not for what you said to T'Challa, I hope," Clint said. That would completely suck!

"No; it's for additional Dora Milaje training, and the Selection," She answered honestly. That…she said what now?

The confused looks on all our faces must have reminded Chantè that no one in the entire world—not even the Avengers or SHIELD—outside of the Dora Milaje themselves know what really goes on within the Wakandan borders, let alone their internal ranks. But unlike other Wakandans, Chantè had no problem in letting her very closest non-Wakandan friend in on the details, as it happens, and if two other people should happen to hear the same information…well then.

"Basically, those of us who are still Acolytes are given additional training in areas we are thought to need. And those who are deemed ready, they are given a sort of 'final exam', to see if we are truly fit to guard the king alongside the more senior warriors."

"Sounds pretty intense," Phil commented, his face slightly betraying any internal worry he might have been feeling.

"Not as much as the Selection," She pointed out in an almost off-handed tone, "That is when the young novitiates chosen to represent their tribes are put through mental and physical challenges, similar to any event one might expect when defending the royal line."

…I'm gonna be honest with myself and say that I'm really afraid to find out just what that entails.

"Oh! That reminds me, Briar," Chantè suddenly perked up, "I have been asked by the head Dora if you would wish to join us, even if it's only for a week."

*Hrgk-ck!*

No, that wasn't the sound of me having a food-related conniption. That was the sound of me just narrowly avoiding a choking fit…although I was now left with garlic-bread-and-sparkling-water-filled chipmunk cheeks. At least the others got a laugh out of my expense.

"Do no worry, my friend. We are not going to put you through what we do," Chantè promised as I slowly began to swallow, "Mostly we need you there so that the advancing Acolytes can get used to your presence, since you and the king are dating."

Well…that did make some sense, partly. It did kinda send out the silent message that the more senior Dora expected me to be with the Black Panther for a long while yet, if they wanted the new girls to get used to my presence. Wait—is that a good thing or a bad thing?

'There's also a sort-of upside to this invitation, you know,' my inner voice pointed out, 'You can visit Zuberi and his pride, like you promised.' Ah, crap. While that was a good idea, I wasn't going to lie about not feeling a cold weight settling on the bottom of my stomach.

My major problem was that I no longer had the magi-staff: my only means of communication with animals. If I don't have it anymore, does that mean I might lose some friends? True, I could have T'Challa to translate for me, but he can't always be there to do so when he's got a kingdom to run. Maybe I could find my own way of communicating with my animal friends? After all, I could talk to Voltaire and not need the staff. Then again he has human-like intelligence…eh, I guess I'll know once and for all when I get there and find out for myself.

The decision made, I told Chantè that I'd love to come to Wakanda with her. If anything, some alone time away might do my mind some good, and maybe just some girl time too. One might argue that I could have girl time here in America, but that would then mean having to put up with Jan and her whinging about Hank.

…that reminds me.

"By the way, Clint," I started once there was a lull in the conversation, "I have a bone to pick with you."

"Uh-oh~," Chantè smirked in a sing-song voice, looking to the archer. At the tone of my voice, Clint looked rather scared about where this was going to go—his gaze flickered over to meet Phil's, but probably wasn't reassured that even the senior agent looked confused. Having a lot of fun in watching him squirm in fear, I carefully kept my poker face as neutral as possible while I leaned forwards against the table. Out of instinct—or maybe even self-preservation—Clit leaned back, and even began to sweat a little.

"When you told me about Hank's new assistant, you didn't mention that she was so breath-takingly beautiful as to make people speechless," I scolded in such a deadpanned voice, and with such a straight face, that it took Clint a good while longer than usual to come up with some sort of response.

In fact, it wasn't until Phil started snickering, and the not-quite-so-innocent Mona Lisa-like smile I was now giving him, that Clint finally pegged that I was pulling his leg…sort of.

He looked at me with a dead-panned expression. "You mean little brat, Starky." We all lost it at that point and just howled.

"But seriously, she's insanely beautiful," I said once we got over our laughter.

"Is she really?" Chantè questioned, looking between the three of us.

"I was staring at her," I reported, "As in mouth wide open, full on staring."

"Trust me, you weren't the first person to do that, and you probably won't be the last one." Clint promised me.

"But I feel so bad about it!" I whined lightly.

"I know, Starky, I know," My sort-of brother assured me, "But seeing as even the Hulk stared at her? I'm pretty sure she's okay with people staring at her." Funny, but somehow that didn't make me feel any better about it all. If anything, it made me feel a hell of a lot worse about the situation.

Chantè looked as though she couldn't quite believe that someone could elicit such a response from others, but when I told her about Greer having beautiful tiger-skin, she started to look a little less sure on her position. Actually, she looked rather thoughtful and curious. Before I could think too much about it, our food was delivered, and I realized how hungry I really was. And I didn't need my stomach to growl at me to emphasize the point.

Putting aside the current conversation, we moved onto the pizza itself as we ate. For me, it was rather delicious, since it didn't have that icky greasy, oily taste to it. It was obvious why Chantè liked this place so much, despite its proximity to my brother's workplace.

Glancing up from my third slice, I paused. I couldn't tell if it was a trick of the light, my eyes or something else, but I could have sworn that the lights in Stark Tower just—ah, never mind. It wasn't a trick; all the lights did just go out. Hang on, what now?

"Uh, guys?" I spoke slowly, getting my friend's attention. "Stark Industries just went dark." Clint gave me a confused look, even with a mouthful of pizza, while Chantè and Phil automatically looked to what had grabbed my attention.

"That's odd," Phil commented in an off-handed way, "I wonder if there's a power outage there."

"I don't think so," I replied, my mind going over details only I could see. "Stark Industries is self-sufficient with its ARC Reactor, but it also has back-up generators that kick in automatically." Yet they haven't, so that makes me even more concerned.

"And since the tower's still dark…" Clint trailed off, thinking the same thing I was. "I smell trouble." Chantè looked at him sharply before reaching up and touched her ear; probably checking up on T'Challa. Since he was inside Stark Tower, he'd have a better outlook on what was going on over there.

Only there seemed to be no update, or any sort of word, if that uncomfortable look on her face was any indication. "I cannot reach the king," She explained, causing a surge of worry to rise inside of me, even as my rational part reassured me that T'Challa was very capable of looking after himself if there's a fight. But that doesn't change the fact that someone I love might be in danger.

…and yes, I'm more than well enough aware that it's the pot calling the kettle black, so hush!

Something must have shown on my face—Clint reached into his jean pocket and pulled his Avengers card and attempted to reach either T'Challa, Steve or even my brother, but he wasn't having any better luck than Chantè did.

Okay, maybe I should be starting to worry. As far as I knew, the Avengers card has an internal power source: therefore it shouldn't have been affected by a power outage. So that could only mean that an external force had blocked communications from Stark Industries to the outside.

The unavoidable conclusion is that someone is doing something illegal at Stark Industries.

"I get the feeling that we may need to head over there," I told my friends.

"Same here," Clint agreed, and Chantè nodded. Phil began to say something but a trilling chime from his jacket pocket interrupted him, and made him reach for his mobile. The caller ID made him pull an unhappy face.

"It's SHIELD," He informed the rest of us before answering his phone. Since it was rude to listen in on other people's conversation, I turned my attention away to think of a plan in case we come across any trouble at Stark Tower.

Admittedly, I was a little put out that Clint wasn't in his Hawkeye persona—his bow and arrow might be needed—but I'll just made do. Besides, it wasn't like Clint didn't have any other skill to fall back onto. I didn't have to worry about Chantè didn't have to worry about too much, or at all, because she was training to be a veritable weapon herself.

And for once, I had my armor and gloves on! True, I didn't have any protective head-wear, but at least I had my other armor!

I had just laid out a rough image of the grounds—using various condiments on our table—when Phil ended his call and looked at the rest of us with an uncomfortable look on his face.

"Bad?" Clint was the first to inquire. It would make sense that he would be the better judge—having worked for SHIELD and all before joining the Avengers.

"Maybe," Phil grumbled, "Wu just told me that he can't raise Hill."

"And that's your problem why?" I drawled out.

"Because I'm the only agent closest to her last known location," He replied around a wince. Why is he…oh, no, don't tell me.

"Please tell me she's not where I think she is." I began to whine, but the apologetic look on Phil's face gave me the answer I was dreading the most: as did the glance towards Stark Industries. "Great, now we have to rescue Director Grumpy-Pants, too."

"No one said being a good person was ever easy," Chantè intoned sympathetically. My response was to lean my arms on the table top and dropped my head on top with a loud groan of dismay. All I got back was a pity pat on the top of my head from somebody.

"Oh, fine! We'll rescue Hill as well. But I want it noted that I do so under great reluctance!"

~.~.~.~.~

"I can't believe I'm doing this. This is completely against my code."

"Briar, I understand your discomfort with rescuing someone you dislike, but -."

"I'm not talking about Hill. I'm talking about catching up to T'Challa later on, and my breath stinks of garlic!"

"Oh…that. Well, in that case, it is your own fault for scarfing down the last few pieces of garlic bread."

"No one else wanted them, so it would have been a waste of food, and Clint already ate my last slice of pizza."

"You are unbelievable, sometimes. In that case, you and you offensive breath can go take care of those AIM drones in that truck." As you can tell, Chantè can be just all heart sometimes. As for the AIM drones, well…

Going back half an hour or so, after I roughly outlined a recon plan, the four of us loaded up into Phil's car and made our way to Stark Industries. Phil parked the car a block away and out of sight, so we snuck the rest of the way, or as Clint likes to call it—skulking.

Skulking our way closer, I spotted four vans parked at the corners of the building. Normally, I'd have deemed that as 'something to worry about later', but when the back door opened and an AIM goon popped out? Yeah, it became a 'worry about now!' thing, and gave a pretty clear indication about who was attacking Stark Tower.

And just how'd they go about it, too.

Given the lack of communication from Stark Tower, and the four vans arranged the way they were, I'd say that AIM had employed a jamming device that is enforced by the electromagnetic daisy chain effect, which loops back to the primary device in order to boost the signal over a wider area; case in point, a whole tower.

…yeah, Clint just gave me a blank look for that explanation.

To simply everything, I told him that we'd need to take out the primary device, which meant we had to find out which of the four vans it was.

"If I could make a suggestion," Phil offered up, "How about we get rid of the AIM drones first? That way Briar can disarm the jamming device without people shooting at her."

So that led us into the Now; after taking down the occupants of the first van (but it wasn't the van we were looking for…damn Star Wars puns) the four of us split into teams of two—Chantè with me, Clint with Phil—and each team took the vans on opposite sides of the building.

And thanks to Chantè, I get to deal with this lot on my own. I mean, just because my breath stinks like garlic…Whoa, boy! Okay, on second thought, maybe she has a point!

Focusing on my task, I stealthily ran over to the side of the van. Since there wasn't an easy way for me to tell if there was anybody inside, and if there were weapons involved, I had to be careful.

'Or I could do something really stupid, and just open the doors and face them head on, since the vibranium armor will repel the bolts.'

…

"Out of curiosity, do you have a little voice inside your head, telling you if what you are about to do is a bad idea?" Chantè questioned as she walked over, avoiding the two unconscious goons I had dropped on the ground.

"I do, actually," I remarked pleasantly, "But it doesn't do a very good job at warning me." Chantè didn't say anything, even though I know she was dying to say something. Okay, so it was a big risk just opening the doors like that. But the two goons inside weren't expecting it, which gave me a head start to throw a punch at the closest one, and a kick to the head took care of the second guy before he could scramble for his weapon.

"Besides, it's not like I pulled their helmets off and breathed on them." I protested.

"I guess that is true," She grudgingly accepted as she rummaged around in the back of the van. I almost asked her what she was doing when she exclaimed happily, and came back out holding a large roll of black duct tape in her hands like a trophy.

"Duct tape, the answer to life's little problems." She declared triumphantly. I couldn't help myself and laughed as we taped the goon's hands and feet together before tapping them back to back.

"Maybe I should start carrying a utility belt, and have duct tape as one of my supplies," I joked as we carefully approached the final van.

"If you do, I promise to keep quiet about your earlier moment of misplaced insanity," She threw back. Now that idea seemed very tempting.

We came to the corner and tentatively peeked around the edge of the building. "Aw, guys!" I playfully whined at Clint and Phil.

"You snooze, you lose, sweetheart," Clint teased back and looking quite smug, even as he sat on the backs of the last three AIM drones as Phil slipped a pair of zip-tie cuffs on the final body. Not to feel left out, Chantè wandered over with the roll of duct tape, much to mine and Clint's amusement. Suffice to say, those three bad guys weren't going anywhere once Chantè finished duct-taping them together.

"Well, since that's the last on the bad guys out here, I guess it's time to do something about the jamming device?" I asked everyone. With mutual agreement, I pulled myself into the back of the last van and knelt in front of the device. It was fairly big, and looked fairly complicated.

"So are you able to disarm it?" Phil asked from outside.

Beep, beep, beep-beep~!

"Done," I called back as I crawled over to the doors, "They based some of it on Stark Industries tech, and it was easy to figure out the rest of it."

"Sounds rather ominous," Chantè commented warily, watching as Phil and Clint helped to hand me out of the van. I was about to reply on how AIM weren't really all that smart to begin with (says the child genius) when a noise from the sky caught all our attentions.

"It's one of AIM's bubble ship thingies!" Clint warned. The only cover we had, and could get into before being busted, was the van behind us. Since needs must, but tossing the unconscious bodies didn't leave much room for the rest of us, though with some tight squeezing we managed.

"That is what they use to fly? It's hideous," Chantè scoffed in disgust, "How do they manage to steer that thing?"

"Don't know, and don't care," I told her, trying to ignore the fact that Clint's knee was digging into my side. We all became quiet as we watched the lone AIM air-ship came to land in front of the entrance to Stark Industries.

"Do you think-."

*THUNK!* "Fuck! Clint!" Fighting the AIM goons, I didn't get a single bruise on my head, let alone any serious damage. I hide in a van with Clint, and I bump my head on the back window—thanks for that, you jerk butt.

"Sorry, Starky," He apologized even as he tried not to laugh, "But I was gonna say, do you think we could sneak over and take him out?"

"It would certainly hinder any AIM forces that are wanting to leave," Chantè mused out loud.

"And it'll give us the opening to call in for back-up, if the others inside should need it." Phil added helpfully.

"All I care about is not having someone's knee in my side, or banging my head anymore. Let's do this."

It didn't take us that long to sneak over to the air-craft, take out the single pilot and 'hold the exit', as it were. Chantè seemed quite intrigued by the interior of the craft, with Clint at her side—probably pointing out the flaws in AIM's designs. Phil and I stood guard outside, smiling at their complaints and commentaries. As if an afterthought, Phil reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a tin of breath mints.

"Found them in my glove box while getting the cuffs," He explained, sheepish at being a little late. Well, if it gets rid of my garlic breath, I'll forgive.

Not even three minutes passed when a cry of alarm, plus a feminine voice calling out my name, caught our attentions. Admittedly, there was a bit of satisfaction in hearing the last few AIM drones and the Supreme Scientist lament that their only means of escape was gone, but that was squashed by fear when I saw that the head scientist had Pepper Potts by her arm, clearly intended to be a hostage.

Call it divine intervention—or even sheer blind luck—but following close behind AIM was my brother in a brand new armor, the Black Panther and Captain America, plus Director Hill and…and the War Machine armor? What gives? My thoughts were pulled into focus when Cap and Panther leapt forward and took down the very last of the AIM drones while Iron Man and the War Machine armor hovered above our heads.

"What now, smart guy?" Clint taunted the Supreme Scientist—the only one left standing—as the fool tried to keep us all in his sight. In a completely and decidedly rookie move, the idiot tried to threaten Pepper's life, but she quickly (and easily) taught him that while she is a lady and won't start a fight, but by Heavens she will end it!

"So I take it that you've been busy?" I cheekily quipped to my brother as I walked over to him and Pepper, the poor woman leaning heavily against his chest. "Nice armor, by the way."

"Thanks; it's the new Mark IX armor," He explained as his face-plate lifted away, revealing his cheeky grin. "So, what about yourself? Busy?"

"Meh, I can't complain," I shrugged as I ran my hand through my hair, and very much aware of a certain somebody staring at me. I wasn't as mad at T'Challa as I was earlier this afternoon, but I was still pretty damn miffed at him. Plus, I wasn't sure if the mint had gotten rid of my garlic breath yet, so I wasn't going to torture him with it…maybe. Depends on how evil I'm feeling later.

"Are you gonna be okay, Peppy?" I asked her softly, using an old nickname that Tony tried to use, but I was the only person in the world allowed to call her that.

Despite looking a little pale, Pepper opened an eye and gave me a little smile. "I'll be all right," She quietly replied, "I'm holding your brother to his promise of a bigger bonus." Exchanging a knowing look with my brother, I had a very strong feeling that not only would she be getting said bigger bonus, but an additional something else (namely a pretty gift) for the next three months, at the minimum.

"By the way, someone is looking your way," Toy smirked at something over my head, "You're not gonna show your overgrown kitty some lovin'?"

I rolled my eyes at my brother. "Not yet. To be honest, he's put himself in the dog house today," I explained, "So if I can make him squirm, then yay for me." I almost grinned when both Tony and Pepper looked at me in surprise, my brother even looking a little apprehensive.

"Really, what did he do?" he inquired, going into his 'big brother must protect little sister' mode.

"Don't worry, it's nothing we can't sort out later," I promised him, "I'll just make him worry about it for a while, then we'll talk about it." And depending on the outcome, he may get to sleep in the bed as opposed to the couch.

I spent a few more minutes speaking to Pepper and my brother, mostly to make sure that Pepper really was going to be okay. When I mentioned that I had garlic bread earlier, Peppy—bless her!—reached into her skirt pocket and held out a tin of mints, the powerful sort.

I gave her a grateful smile as I took a few mints; I then popped one in my mouth (minty! That stuff is MINTY!) I turned to the War Machine armor, and peered at it speculatively.

"So who'd you get to pilot the War Machine?" I asked my brother over my shoulder, "Cos I know Rhodey can be a little protective of his baby, protest as he might." Instead of Tony giving me an answer, the face plate of the dark grey armor pulled back, revealing the pilot to be none other than Colonel James Rhodes himself!

"Holy crap: Rhodey!" I cried happily, throwing my arms around his metal chest. He chuckle and carefully wrapped his arms around me and patted my shoulder.

"Good to see you too, baby doll," He greeted cheerfully. With the usual conversation greetings out of the way, I gave into the undeniable urge to razz up my other older sort-of brother figure.

"Didn't you make a huge song and dance about never getting into the armor again?" I teased him playfully as I took a step back, scrutinizing him up and down.

To my amusement, Rhodey rolled his eyes at my exaggeration before smiling down at me. "Laugh while you can." He playfully warned me, "Once I'm out of this tin-suit, I fully intend to tick to my word…and make Tony pay for getting me back into this thing, just to save his butt.

Laughing as Tony pulled a face at his best friend, the conversation turned to tonight's unusual activities. "I didn't think AIM was so bold as to take a whole building hostage." I remarked.

"They weren't holding us hostage," Pepper corrected, "They were trying to steal all of Stark Industries data."

"And my armor," Tony added, "They also tried to blow up the ARC Reactor, amongst other distractions." For some reason, the hairs on the back of my neck began to tingle unpleasantly at the rather ominous way Tony said that. Not to mention the exchange of looks between my brother, Rhodey and Peppy, making me worry just that little bit more.

Before I could question them about it, they changed the topic again—this time about the clean-up of AIM's mess in Stark Industries. Overhearing this, Phil and Director Hill came over, the former promising to oversee the whole thing, right up to making sure that all the bad guys were locked away in Prison 42.

"Well, at least it's just AIM, and not anything icky." I lightly laughed, noting that Director Hill shuddered.

"Good thing that Technovore is destroyed now," She added. And that's when all hell broke loose.

"Dammit, Hill!", "SHUT UP!", "Briar?!"

It was impossible to accurately tell whose cry was the loudest, but it none the less caught the attention of the other Avengers, in particular the Black Panther. Turning sharply, he noticed that Clint Barton had almost launched himself at Director Hill, even as Agent Coulson clamped his hand tightly against her mouth. Both Colonel Rhodes and Pepper Potts had begun their attempts of minimizing whatever damage had just occurred.

Tony Stark, however, played a far more crucial role in keeping a now non-responsive Briar Rose close to his side, the poor girl's face completely blank as she leaned her back against her brother's armored chest, his arms encircling her body in a protective embrace.

"Briar, what is wrong?!" From by his side, Chantè entered into what T'Challa had privately described as her 'must protect my friend' mode and ran to her side, fretting over the slightly older girl.

"What the Hell just happened?" Captain America demanded as he and the Black Panther approached.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing!" Clint immediately barked back at them, "Just nothing!" It didn't help his case when both he and Coulson physically pulled Director Hill a ways from the others and began talking to her in angry whispered tones.

Turning away from them, T'Challa focused on his lady love, noting that she didn't even seem to be aware of the rest of the world around her, otherwise she would have fended off the fretting of both Pepper and Chantè with great exasperation. Eventually, Tony gently dismissed the ladies and led his sister away for some privacy, even holding T'Challa off with a stern look. Apprehensively waiting for the siblings, T'Challa honored their need for privacy, though his heart ached to hold his beloved to his heart and comfort her, to ease her distress.

The Black Panther could only watch as Tony turned his sister by her shoulder to face him, placing a hand under her chin to tilt her head up. His words to her were quiet, but emphatic, and to whatever point he was trying to get across to her. Briar stared at him for a long time—long enough for T'Challa to think about disregarding Tony's request for privacy—when Briar finally showed signs of life, and whispered something to her brother. Whatever the question was, Tony just smiled and nodded.

T'Challa felt his heart, his soul, his entire body lurch uncomfortably as Briar then stumbled a few steps away and nearly doubled over at her waist, bracing her hands against her knees as she began to breathe deeply and evenly—an exercise she often used to help calm an anxiety attack.

His own anxiousness getting the better of him, T'Challa was seconds away from running to Briar's side and whisking her away to safety when she slowly began to straighten up. Because she now faced away from the others, no one knew of her request to be taken away.

"Panther," Tony called out as he turned to his comrade in arms, "I'm gonna take my sis home." Not even waiting for an answer, Iron Man carefully his sister into his arms and took to the skies. His inside eating away at him, T'Challa could barely wait for Chantè to catch up with his strides, so eager to get to his beloved's side. All the while, a question swirled within his mind like a dark fog.

'What was sad to numb Rose like this?'

All righty, then! That's the end of this chapter, and boy, was it draining? And what do you guys think of the new character? Let me know in a review, but no flames! Otherwise you'll have to deal with the Hulk, and Deadpool, whenever he shows up again.

Later, guys!