THEN
"THEY'RE TRAITORS AND LIARS," AC/DC screamed at Tony. "KILL THEM FIRST OR THEY'LL DROWN YOU IN BLOOD."
Those were... not the words to Thunderstruck. Tony yanked the headphones off and scrubbed at his face, then glanced at the clock on the computer. 2139 – which meant it had been eight hours since he'd last eaten. Two and a half days since he'd taken his last dose of medication – at the inside. 15,678 lines of code written in 611 modules, densely packed enough that even if Bruce ignored all of the seemingly helpful but subtly misleading comments, he'd be going in circles. Progress on dismantling Banner's work to figure out how he'd generated the portal: well, he'd ascertained that the Asgardian rune-work was mostly superficial, which meant that the virus should work, even if he had no clue how the portal did.
Great.
"You should get some sleep," Natasha said from over in her corner, where she'd sat for the last two days, watching him. He had the vague idea she'd been saying something like it for the past few hours, but he couldn't be sure. If only it hadn't been Natasha, he could have tried something – but fuck, no, SHIELD had to assign him the most badass agent they had, so that he hadn't even bothered trying to do anything surreptitiously yet. He would have to try, at some point.
He shook his head again and banished the thought. That was... not what he was supposed to be thinking.
"When're the meds supposed to come?"
"You said you had a week," Natasha replied, frowning.
"Forgive me for not wanting to leave the state of my sanity hanging until the last moment," he retorted, drumming his fingers on the desk.
Natasha grimaced. "If you go too long without sleep, you'll start making mistakes," she said, completely ignoring his question. But then, it wasn't like she had any control over the medication situation either, did she? "Not to mention what it might do to your sanity."
"Jesus, fine."
He changed in the bathroom – the door was faintly ajar, unable to close entirely on the thick cord running to the socket in the other room – brushed the coffee off his teeth and splashed water on his face. In the mirror he looked wan and pale – that wasn't Natasha's fault; that was his own. Well, it was her fault insofar as she probably wouldn't let him borrow any makeup even if he asked, but shit, if he couldn't ignore appearances when locked in an apartment with a deadly assassin, when could he?
By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Natasha had changed and was already tucked underneath the covers of the other bed, her eyes closed and her breathing even. Tony didn't believe it for an instant – but even if she was asleep, no doubt she'd wake up in an instant if he tried something stupid, like opening the door. He crawled under the covers of his own bed rather than try it, clicked the light out and rolled over onto his side facing away from her, lay in the darkness and tried to breathe evenly without letting his mind go.
It didn't work. Absent of code to pore over, his brain kept returning to the one problem that it had been trying to solve since he got here, preventing his body from relaxing into that ideal state where it would require less oxygen. Or thought it would – careful testing had revealed that aside from some aerosolized sedatives and painkillers – apparently the same applied to injectable ones, thanks, Natasha – it didn't really matter what he was breathing. Probably for the best, or he'd never have survived the ruins of Asgard. Loki's spell must have forgotten to tell his hind-brain that, however, because now he found himself unable to fake the slow, shallow breaths that came with sleep.
Kill them first.
Well, he might as well just ask, then. "How did Steve die?"
For a long moment, there was only silence, and he began to think that Natasha wasn't going to answer, would pretend sleep instead (because there was no way she hadn't woken up the moment he'd spoken, if she'd ever actually dropped off at all. Not when she was on guard duty).
"ULTRON attacked our back-up base. It brought four armours with it. Rogers made himself bait, drew two of them off, to buy everyone else more time. He didn't come back."
"What, you never saw the body?"
"He was up against two armours. They came back. We lost half our people in their second run."
Not seeing the body was the oldest cliché in the book. It had to count for something, right? But equally, Steve would never have cut and run, would have kept fighting until everyone else had gotten out. Unless he'd been injured beyond what even he could stand – and the serum had the potential for immense healing capability, the limits of which had never been tested (and for good reason). If he'd healed later –
Cling to too much hope and you'll drive yourself crazy, he thought, but he couldn't make himself let it go. Nor, however, did he voice as much to Natasha. He didn't think that she had much tolerance remaining for him right now. Which made it either the absolute worst or absolute best time to ask his next question.
He'd always been a gambler.
"And Clint?"
The pause this time was longer; her voice, when she spoke, was devoid of emotion, almost without inflection at all. "Right before the Chitauri Invasion, Loki let himself be caught. It was Barton's plan. They thought they could down the Helicarrier and take out SHIELD in one blow. He overstepped himself. His extraction plan worked for Loki, but I caught up with him before he made it off the Helicarrier, and took him out."
Breathe. Silently, slowly.
She didn't know Clint had been brainwashed.
Or she was lying. Or she did know and didn't care. Or he hadn't actually been brainwashed, and had been a traitor, because that was just as possible as one of his own AI's becoming a genocidal maniac.
Should he tell her? What was the point? Clint was dead and she'd killed him – what would be the use in telling her, except to make her feel awful? Unless he needed her to feel awful, needed leverage at some point, but those were all just more arguments in favour of keeping it from her. Of course, if he didn't tell her until later, what were the odds she'd kill him for keeping it from her? Did she have a right to know?
Liars and traitors...
"You didn't try to capture him alive?" he asked the far wall.
"The Helicarrier was falling from the sky. Things got... turbulent."
Pause.
He had to ask it.
"What did his eyes look like, before he died?"
A longer pause.
"...are your symptoms returning?"
He buried his head in the pillow, letting his voice come out muffled. "Just maudlin. And tired." The last was a lie – but what was he supposed to do, admit he was trying to avoid sleep entirely? Worse, admit that he was capable of doing so?
"The meds'll be here by tomorrow. I'll make sure of it." Her voice hardened. "Go to sleep, Tony. Or I'll drug you."
Shit. That was the last thing he needed. But focusing on breathing was boring, and between one shallow breath and the next, Tony's mind slipped free.
He fell headlong into nightmares.
NOW
The next time Steve woke up, the IV was still present, but the restraints hadn't returned. The catheters were gone, too, which was... rather embarrassing, but illness wasn't big on dignity. He woke more slowly, this time, and didn't try to sit up immediately; instead, he went over the events of the past few – hours? Days? Weeks? – in his head, trying to put them all more firmly into place.
It was hard not to be embarrassed at his earlier paranoid thoughts – and worse, vague memories of screaming at people about... something, and needing to be restrained. These people had treated him for radiation sickness and saved his life – and he remembered being irradiated, now. But the feeling of fear, uncontrolled – where had that come from?
Carefully, Steve sat up, pulling the blanket around him in case Susan was still in the room – but, as far as he could see, he was alone. His vision still seemed oddly blurry – and then after a moment, he realized that it wasn't. It just wasn't as crystal-clear as it had been ever since the serum: it was like his vision had been before. And that explained how weak he felt, too – Steve looked down at himself and saw muscles. He hadn't shrunk; he had the natural strength of this body. But the serum's strength was gone. Hearing, though – he could still hear the buzz of the lights, the humming of machines around him, at frequencies well above normal human hearing. So what did that mean?
Cross that bridge when he got there, he decided, and turned his attention to the rest of the room. It wasn't the lab that he'd first been brought to; this was a smaller room, clearly designed specifically for medical purposes – it looked a lot like the infirmary on the Helicarrier. There were three other beds, counting the one that Anthony had sacked out in last – night? Day? What time was it, anyway?
A chair beside his bed held a pile of clothes and a post-it note, reading in blocky letters, Be back in fifteen. Do NOT pull your IV. He stood awkwardly, feeling off-balance and like he was overcompensating for every movement, and dressed. It was a slow process, especially getting the shirt – really just a very stretchy scrub-top – to go on over the IV, but at least by the end of it he felt like he knew his own limbs a bit better.
His internal sense of time was somewhat off, too, he noted; he couldn't tell if it had been closer to five minutes or ten. In any case, he wondered why nobody had noticed he was awake – or had some emergency drawn them away? The building around him was quiet, still, but that might not mean much if he was surrounded by a larger force field.
Well, there was one way to find out. He had the vaguest memory of somebody – Susan? – Sue – talking to an AI. Steve cleared his throat and asked, feeling a bit foolish at addressing an AI without a name – if it was a full AI – "Building? Uh, where am I?"
There was no verbal reply, but he heard the quiet whirr of machinery moving – a panel on the wall drew back and lit up with blueprints. Steve crossed over, pulling his IV stand along with, to take a better look, since he was unable to make out the details from a distance. A pulsing blue dot in the northeast corner – he automatically oriented 'up' with 'north', and then had to double-check with the map compass – had an arrow pointing at it, with a label in large font proclaiming, You are here!
"Thanks," he said, not quite sure what to make of the exclamation mark. Too bad the building couldn't, or wouldn't, talk. "Can I look outside? Or if there's a balcony, that would be great." Being unable to see a horizon – to verify that this was still New York, but not his New York – was making him feel claustrophobic. He didn't know how Tony did it, staying shut up in his workshop (which had no real windows, although it was equipped with a number of panels that could make a good imitation of an outside view) – or how Tony had done it. Would do it – no, Steve quashed that line of thought. If – when – he found Tony, his Tony, he was going to make more of a point of dragging him out of his lab and ensuring he wasn't... building an apocalyptic zombiefying nanovirus.
If Tony wasn't busy serving twenty-to-life instead.
The schematics on the screen rotated, turning 3D in the process, and showing a gently glowing blue line leading up through the building, the words, This way! written along it, along with a smiley emoticon. He glanced over the diagram, realized that a few seconds' thought wasn't enough to memorize it – not without the serum – and studied it for another half-minute, until he had it. "Thanks, building," he said with a smile, and set off with his IV pole.
The doors opened automatically – he repeated his thanks each time, although he felt a bit foolish with no one talking back to him. The design of the hallways looked not-quite familiar; it was sort oflike the decor in Stark Tower, but yet not; high tech, modern, but different in a way that he couldn't pin down. Steve shook his head. Maybe it was just that he was still drugged – which probably meant he shouldn't just be wandering around. On the other hand, surely the building, as nice as it seemed to be, wouldn't have let him out of iso if his immune system was still dangerously low, so he didn't feel many qualms about pushing open the fire escape door and making his way onto the roof. The stairs did give him a bit of difficulty; having to carry the IV stand meant that he was slightly out of breath by the time he reached the top. Whether that was normal for someone with his physique and no serum, or the result of lingering weakness, he wasn't sure.
Good thing the clothing provided for him had included shoes; the roof was covered in the standard large, sharp gravel, making it impossible to drag the IV pole over it: he had to carry it again. But he didn't need to fully reach the edge to appreciate the differences from the New York skyline he was used to seeing. Granted, that skyline was the view from Stark Tower, whereas this was from a more southern location – but there were other differences, too: buildings too tall, or not tall enough. The biggest change was Stark Tower: although it was still there, the top-most floors of it seemed to be missing, and there was scaffolding up around it. More strangely, it seemed to have grown an attachment, and although Steve might not be an engineer, he was having difficulty trying to figure out how the attachment – like a wing on a rocket, if Stark Tower was a rocket pointed toward the ground – was managing to stay up, especially as most of the beams that should have connected it to the Tower seemed to end abruptly over the wreckage of the top floors. More magic? Or was it some kind of force field? Maybe it had an engine like the Helicarrier's.
Well.
Alternate universes. Maybe crazier than waking up seventy years in the future – or maybe not. From what he'd gathered from Anthony, he was pretty sure he'd be able to get home at the end, so.
He took a deep breath. He could, in fact, do this.
The fire escape door opened behind him; he turned, the motion pulling awkwardly at the IV – already somewhat sore from all the wandering about he'd been doing. But the moment he saw who was joining him on the roof, all thought of pain or the altered skyline vanished; his jaw dropped open. Walking over to join him at the edge was... well... him.
Gravel crunched beneath his double's feet; he got close enough, and Steve could begin to pick out faint differences from the face that stared back at him from the mirror every morning. A few years older, perhaps, but – "Wow," Steve blurted out, blinking.
His alternate self chuckled, and – had Steve ever sounded that self-assured? Holy moley. "First time dealing with alternate realities?"
"Yeah, I... uh. You're me," Steve said, and then cringed at the inanity of the comment. That was obvious.
"Yeah," said Steve. Other Steve. He sounded amused. "Weird, huh? Don't worry, you get used to it. We're a bit of a hub for inter-dimensional travellers. Get a lot of passerby – though, half the time they're villains. Glad that's not the case this time." He turned around to lean back against the brick half-wall, his elbows far enough back to rest on its low top – casual, like a fellow out for a smoke. "And the other half there's something apocalyptic going on."
Steve, for his part, leaned forward, feeling his shoulders hunch despite himself. His mind flashed back to the pile of corpses in Shenzhen – then, strangely, to a dead cornfield, gone hazy at the edges. Something he'd seen while he was sick? "I don't know about that," he said slowly. "I mean – I hope it's not that bad. Yet." If he could find Tony – Tony was alive. Surely he'd be able to do something about extremis, something that would exculpate him.
Other-him raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"Zombies."
"Oh, those're never good."
"Tell me about it," Steve said. It came out gloomier than he'd intended.
Other Steve laughed, humorous, but short; there was an edge of grief to it, barely perceptible. "Do you know who's behind it? There's always a super-villain whenever there's zombies, usually some two-bit magician with a chip on their shoulder. We had two near-zombie apocalypses just last year." His face had darkened with remembered anger.
"Yeah. I got an idea."
His other self shot him a concerned look, and Steve replayed the last two seconds in his memory: oh. That had come out more bitter than he'd first realized. A lot more bitter. But the look he was getting was completely free of judgement, even the type that most people had: there was compassion, mercy, but no possibility for pity. Just... empathy, and completely trustworthiness. With a start, Steve realized that he would have believed his counterpart if he'd claimed that horses could ride on bridges made of rainbows – was that really what he looked like? Jeez.
If he couldn't trust himself, though, who could he trust?
But that was the entire problem. He'd screwed up so massively, trusting his own judgement when it came to Tony – trusting Tony. Until he knew what had been going through Tony's head these last few months... relief made his limbs loose, the thought that he would get to know, he just had to find him...
The faintest beginnings of crows-eye wrinkles spread out around Other-Steve's eyes as he nodded. "Someone you trusted."
He knew. He knew. And if he was older than Steve – if he'd lived it, or whatever had caused the top of this world's Stark Tower to go missing –
- maybe that meant that Steve would get through it, too.
"Tony built a virus," he said, haltingly, staring out at the construction work. "My Tony, not the... other one. And then he – we thought he'd died, but it wasn't really him. He got reality switched..." he snuck a glance at his counterpart.
"Sorcerer Tony – ah, the one who brought you here, but that's what we've been calling him – told us about the problem. Him and Reed have been working on it since you stabilized."
"Right. Well. He was gone, and some of his work..." Steve sighed. "He was working on a human enhancile. It got out, and..." he made an encompassing gesture with his hands, meant to mimic a bomb going off. "Zombies."
"A human enhancile?" The words were neither doubting nor confused. Steve could tell what his other self was asking just as easily as he could hear his own thoughts.
"He was doing some really shady stuff, with really shady people, while working on it," he admitted.
Other-him nodded, settling back against the brick again. "How long have you known him for?"
"Six months." Such a stupid, short amount of time.
His answer elicited a wince; he cocked an eyebrow, but didn't get an explanation for it. "Tony... is one of the smartest people I know, but he's also one of the dumbest people I know. And I've never met a version of him that wasn't like that. He's a good person – most versions of him – but he goes a bit... overboard, especially with things he thinks are his responsibility."
"Overboard like blowing up part of his Tower?" Steve asked, watching a crane swing slowly around the top of the wrecked bit, hauling up a load of piping large enough to make out from here.
Other-Steve laughed – but again, it was cut with grief. "Yeah, exactly like."
He seemed to be about to say more but a chime from his watch interrupted him; he held up his wrist, pressing a button on the side, and a hologram – 3D and all! Even Tony could only get that to work with surrounding architecture in place – burst up out of it, showing Sue's face. "Steve," she said quickly, and then looked over at Steve, too – so there had to be some kind of camera, although glancing again at the watch, it looked... well, like an ordinary watch. Neat. That outdid even Tony's tech."And Steve. Sorry we had to leave you – lab emergency, you know how it is –anyway. You should get down here. Strange finally turned up, and he's got news you need to hear, both of you."
"We're on our way," Other-Steve promised.
The hologram winked out, seeming to fold back into the watch as it did so, and Steve couldn't quite stop himself from blurting out, "That's really nifty."
Other-Steve grinned at him, good-humoured. "Future's not all bad." He picked up Steve's IV pole with enviable ease – enviable in Steve's current state, at least – and, catching Steve's look, said, "Oh, and don't worry about the serum. The docs are pretty sure it'll go back to normal soon, although you'll have to ask Sue or Sorcerer Tony for the details."
That was a relief. "Thanks. Strange?"
"Our version of Sorcerer Tony, although I think he's a bit more mystic, overall," Other-Steve explained, as they made their way back across the rooftop and back through the building. Not to the medical bay again, though – other-him took them down a few more flights of stairs before exiting out onto a floor marked with a bit '51' on its fire door.
"I'm... not exactly dressed," Steve said, looking down at himself. Even ignoring the IV still stuck in his arm, he was wearing khakis and a scrub-top: not the most dignified of clothing.
But Other-him shrugged. "Don't worry, we don't stand on ceremony."
Maybe not, but there was something armouring about not being dressed in clothing that he might have worn to bed. Oh, well – he'd suck it up and brave it. There wasn't much for it but to go, anyway – he wasn't about to be left out of hearing whatever it was this Strange had to say.
They reached an open door and went in, sound suddenly becoming audible as they stepped over the threshold. Some sort of security device? " – break all the bounds of sanity," a man was saying coldly, and Steve, although forewarned, did another double-take.
Although there were other people he didn't know in the room, it was obvious which one of them was Strange: he and Anthony looked eerily similar. It wasn't just the wardrobe – although that wasa large part of it; the other sorcerer (and he had to be a sorcerer) was dressed almost the same, except that he wasn't wearing a golden half-faceplate; the winking gem that was set over Anthony's left eye instead hung around his neck as an amulet. But it was the same general mien, some sort of aura that, seeing them together, Steve realized Tony – his Tony... lacked.
What was it? A willingness to wear ridiculous capes, and the ability to pull it off, maybe?
The conference room was small, designed to host perhaps a dozen people. Half that many were within. To be fair, Reed was stretched out enough to fill the seats of three people; his head was horribly distended, apparently so that he could manage to look at three computer screens at once; he was tapping away at two different keyboards with fingers that more resembled a spider's legs. Steve shuddered and looked away. At the far end of the table, a... man? Was that a man? A person, certainly, although possibly not human – the guy looked like he was made out of literal rock, and stood twice as wide as the young man sitting near him. Incongruously, both appeared to be playing on a hand-held gaming device, and were elbowing each other – the rock-man taking apparent care not to do so too hard – each time one or the other got a leg up.
"I knew perfectly well what I was doing, and nothing would have gone awry had nobody decided to forcibly interfere," Anthony retorted, glaring at the other Steve, who pulled out a chair for Steve before taking one himself. The IV line got caught on the armrest and had to be freed, making Steve slow to sit.
"Yes, how unreasonable of us to stop you from conjuring the literal Devil," Other-Steve said, very dryly. He nodded cordially at Strange. "Stephen. Good to see you again."
Stephen? Childishly, Steve couldn't keep from thinking – didn't they have enough Steves in the room already? He was surprised that this world's Tony wasn't here, too, to further complicate matters – unless... other-him hadn't said anything, but there was a chunk of Stark Tower missing, and the way Other-Steve had sounded... maybe it was just a really bad week to be Tony.
He cut that thought off almost as it formed: horribly, terribly gauche.
"And how did you get the Urn of Unnhar?" Anthony asked – Steve thought it was directed at Strange, although Anthony was staring pointedly at the ceiling, looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
"As a last resort – "
"Enough," Sue cut them off, taking on the role of diplomat. "Steve," she was looking at him, not his counterpart, "I'm glad to see you're up and okay, even if I would have preferred you have a check-up before absconding from the med-bay."
"Sorry, ma'am."
Sue blinked at him. "Well... it's fine," she said, after a pause. Was he not supposed to call her ma'am? Or was it that she was friends with this universe's Steve? But that didn't mean they knew each other, any more than he knew Anthony – somewhat less, actually. He hadn't stripped naked in front of her, thank the Lord. "Your results are stabilizing – " she tapped the table and, like one of Tony's, it turned out to be a computer screen, displaying a chart of completely incomprehensible terms and numbers.
"I take it from the argument we walked in on that you've been told what's going on here, Stephen?" Other-Steve took the opportunity to ask, while Steve thanked her awkwardly.
"Yes. And now I see I may have come to the wrong place in looking for help. You will have your hands full dealing with this reckless incompetent!" He looked down his nose at Anthony – not hard to do; he was standing and Anthony was seated. "If you cannot look past individual concerns to see the greater good, then you have no business meddling as you have."
"You'll not stop me, Stephen," Anthony murmured, and even Reed – who had thus far been totally engrossed in his computers and ignoring the brewing – looked up at the sheer hostility he managed to pack into the words.
"Woah," said the youngest man in the room (aside from Steve himself), the guy at the back playing video games. "Wizard fight!" He, like Reed and Susan, was wearing a dark blue, close-fitting leotard with a 4 logo on it; unlike them, he wasn't also wearing a lab coat. Were they some kind of team, then? Who was their fourth member? The boulder-guy was wearing the same coloured pants, but he didn't have a shirt. And who on earth had designed a uniform that dorky? Steve's own uniform had – issues – but at least it had a point.
"Enough," Steve found himself echoing Sue, before feeling suddenly, terribly off-balance – this wasn't his place. But, Hell, when had he let that stop him? He barrelled on. "This isn't helping. Mr. Strange – "
"Doctor, thank you," Strange interrupted acidly.
"Dr. Strange," always had to be the pushy ones – of course he was a Doctor, "I don't know what news you've got for us, but I'm guessing it isn't good. And it's not like this situation is a pretty one to begin with. We need to work together to get this fixed, and having a pissing match isn't going to help anything."
For a moment, there was silence, and the uncertainty loomed larger in Steve's brain. Should he have stayed quiet? He was a visitor here, after all – they were all staring at him, except himself, who was staring down at the tabletop with a far too deadpan expression. Damn it. Steve put on his best Faced With News Cameras face and stared back, setting his jaw. The moment drew out longer.
"Wow, it's like... mini-you," said video-game guy. He sounded faintly awed. "Half the age, twice the sincerity – "
"Johnny." Wow. With that tone, Sue and Johnny had to be related, and closely. Siblings?
" – you have got to be. Like. Twelve. And I would still totally take on Nazis for you –" his gameboy gave a disheartened beep and he looked down at it; evidently the boulder-guy had taken advantage of his distraction. "Hey!"
"Out," Sue ordered crisply.
"Awright, friends don't let friends be idiots at Captain America," Boulder-guy said – his voice was low and rumbly, as one might expect, but surprisingly easy on the ears. He dragged Johnny out. "Come on – best of twenty-three?"
As soon as they were past the threshold of the door, Reed said, "Building, lockdown this room with security pattern alpha-triad-fifty." The lights dimmed – barely perceptible to Steve's reduced vision. A low hum began behind the walls, every few seconds adding another chord, higher and higher – Steve rubbed at his ears as they started reaching uncomfortable pitches. Without the other aspects of the serum balancing it out, it seemed there were some more downsides to super hearing than he'd already thought.
The six of them remaining in the room sobered; thoughts of asking what Johnny had meant by Steve being 'twelve' were driven from his head.
"Stephen?" Reed broke the silence. Well, not-silence – from where Steve was sitting, it was pretty loud. "You said you had urgent news."
Strange glanced around the room. "Not the usual assembly," he murmured. "But I suppose it will do." He took a chair, finally, and sitting – the high collar of his cape framing his head – he looked even more like Anthony than he had before.
"Three days ago," Strange began, "I was on my way back from the Dark Dimension when I stumbled across a... disturbance, one that might have had concern for Earth. During my attempts to rectify the situation, I attempted to travel to Tepeu and found the way barred – the entire realm closed to travel."
"Tepeu?" asked Other-Steve – and Steve was glad he didn't have to be the one to ask. He snuck a glance at his counterpart, but Other-Steve seemed genuinely sincere about the question – asking for his own sake and not just taking pity on Steve, then.
"The realm of the Aztec gods," Anthony answered for him. Their earlier enmity seemed forgotten – or at least put aside, for now.
"Exactly so," Stephen nodded graciously. "Fortunately I was able to take care of the matter despite it. But upon double-checking, in the last twenty-four hours I have discovered that Tepeu is far from the only godly realm to have shut its gates. K'un L'un, Vaikuntha, Asgard, Takama-ga-hara, Olympus – I could go on. The gods of Earth have barred their realms to mortals. Nor can I find the slightest scrap of evidence that any of them remain on Earth itself, although I could have sworn that a number were in residence before I left."
The gods of Earth.
Did they all believe that? After seeing Thor and Loki... well, they were powerful, but they weren't God. Other religions had different views, of course – but that didn't make much sense, that somebody would believe in all of them. Did it?
A question for another time, he told himself.
Silence, for a moment. "Well," said Anthony at last, "I guess that makes my search more urgent."
That was... sort of a leap, Steve thought, and apparently he wasn't the only one who failed to see the logic, there. "You don't think this takes priority?" Other-Steve asked, eyebrows raised.
"I think they go hand-in-hand." Anthony steepled his fingers, and managed to end up looking like a villain out of one of the 'old' movies that Clint had taken to showing Steve to try to get him 'caught up on cinematic history'. "Somebody tosses a bunch of me's through one collection of universes, and now in another universe there's something cosmic enough going on to make the gods themselves fort up? I think they're related."
"I think you might be over-stating your own importance, Tony," Sue said, also sounding skeptical. "No offense. Besides – gods might be forting up in our universe, but that doesn't mean they're doing so elsewhere. If you run the number of how likely you were to drop here, or some other world with a similar situation..."
"I know the math, Sue," Anthony said, apparently un-offended. "And exactly how important I am." He winked at her – though it was more friendly than flirtatious – as well it might be. She was married; her husband was right there, for crying out loud.
But Reed wasn't watching Sue or Anthony; he looked like he was trying to have a telepathic conversation with Stephen. Hell, one of them was a sorcerer, and the other was apparently made of rubber; maybe they were having a telepathic conversation. "Actually, I think Tony's right, dear," Reed chimed in now. "Anything powerful enough to so badly frighten the Gods in such a manner is liable to pose a threat to more worlds than just our own. In that light, multi-versal shenanigans are more suspect than usual."
Sue was staring narrow-eyed at him, and Steve recognized – more from a life ago, when he'd been around married couples at least occasionally – the universal signs of, We will be having a conversation about this later, dear, when the guests are gone.
She couldn't be annoyed that he'd contradicted her – she seemed too level-headed for that, and anyway, it was the wrong type of stare. Reed's body language was almost impossible for Steve to read – Reed's body was simply too, well, wobbly – but Sue was a clearer picture. She thought Read was keeping something from her.
But what?
"I am rather uncertain about sending someone so rash to deal with this," Stephen said – obviously aimed at Anthony, although he wasn't speaking directly to him. His fingers tapped against the table-top, catching attention – deliberately? What had been said, or hadn't needed to be said, between him and Reed?
Was Steve just reading far too much into everything? He glanced at his counterpart – who was also watching Reed and Stephen, with much the same look as Sue was wearing, minus the wifely threat and plus a commander-ly one. Maybe they didn't want to ask in front of Steve, then – or was it Anthony? They were the outsiders here, after all, and Steve wasn't sure he wouldn't have the same sort of reservations in their place.
Anthony rolled his eyes, drawing attention again. "As I said before, Stephen, you won't stop me." At least it didn't have the same level of hostility as before – apparently, he'd calmed down somewhat.
Still, their bickering was... useless. Steve tried deflecting it, asking a question that apparently everyone but him knew the answer to – at least that was something he had plenty of practice at. "Um. What do you mean by multi-versal?"
"Across multiple... earths..." Stephen answered automatically, trailing off when – apparently – the inanity of the question hit him. He turned to Reed – who also looked somewhat surprised, as did Sue. "How old is he?"
Well, that was just insulting. "Twenty-six," Steve said evenly, at the same time as Reed said the same thing.
Stephen's mouth twitched slightly upward, and he nodded to Steve – point taken.
"Or ninety-five, if you like," Steve added shortly, although that just garnered him more odd looks. "So, what's multi-versal mean?"
"The 'multi-verse' is somewhat inaccurate name given to the collection of alternate realities along the higher dimensions," Reed finally explained. "Technically, it's all still in the same universe, but since carrier frequencies of the schisms experience exponential decay along – "
"Just consider it the local collection of alternate realities," Susan said firmly, cutting her husband off. "Our universe has worlds accessible mainly through the lower dimensions – what we think of as 'space': length, breadth, and width – and the middle dimensions, such as the routes to Asgard or the Dark Dimension." She nodded at the two sorcerers. "Higher dimensions – along which we have so-called 'alternate realities' – are just ones that are harder to move through – it takes more energy. That's why we don't have nearly so many people crossing through."
"Not really true," said Anthony, temporizing.
Sue raised an eyebrow at him, as if daring him to explain – or threatening him if he didn't. "Oh?"
"There are laws and forces that keep various universes – realities," Stephen explained in his place, "from threatening each other." He leaned back in his chair, looking rather as though he would have steepled his fingers, if Anthony hadn't already adopted that pose. "Powerful entities, for example, rarely manage to keep their full power once outside their home universe. The same goes for powerful artefacts."
"Yes," Anthony drawled; he leaned back in his chair as well, at an angle that seemed likely to have been calculated just to annoy Stephen. "How fortunate for me that I make my own toys, instead of relying upon the craft of those long dead."
"The point," said Stephen, unperturbed, "is that to create an energy spread along such a large range of realities as Tony has described should be impossible, unless someone is abusing a loophole. And if that is the case, then where are the beings whose job it is to look out for that sort of thing?"
Was he supporting Anthony's position, or arguing against it? Steve was beginning to have problems keeping track.
"Previously, I hadn't thought it much of a threat; cosmically speaking it's a minor inconvenience." Anthony shrugged. "It's not like you could use this method of travel to displace anything of greater consequence than a human – for the reasons you yourself mentioned. Their power gets left behind."
Stephen grimaced. He looked slightly guarded – like he had before, when he and Reed had been maybe-telepathically-speaking. So. More of whatever it was that they didn't want to mention in front of strangers, perhaps?
"You underestimate humanity," Reed said, off-handedly.
Other-Steve put up his hand jokingly. "I'll toast to that."
"Note my use of previously," Anthony replied, somewhat peevishly. "Gods bugging out would indicate something more than a minor inconvenience."
"We still don't know it's related," Sue put in. Steve glanced at her – she looked like she was starting to get annoyed by all the cloying secrecy in the room, too.
"Let us assume, then, that it hasn't previously been taken care of by the Living Tribunal or some other such power because its usage has been small," Stephen extemporized. "Granting that the Tribunal knows its own business, and granting that it has not simply been outmatched and therefore we are not about to die horribly any moment now – "
" – which is also assuming a lack of such mundane cosmic events such as gamma-ray bursts, stellar black holes, quasar rotation, Galactus – "
"He already came by and agreed to spare Earth in exchange for the Nullifier," noted Reed.
" – granting that we are not about to die horribly any moment now," Stephen flicked his fingers dismissively at Anthony, while Sue rolled her eyes, "it remains that while your situation may be related, there is no sudden solution. You lost the trail. It will not be easily found again."
"To be fair," Steve said, raising the hand that didn't have an IV sticking into it, "that was my fault."
Both of the sorcerers looked at him, and then away, in a move so synchronously dismissive that it could have been practiced. Steve grit his teeth. They seemed to be having an entire conversation, silently, based off of past shared experiences – past similarities between their two roles.
"The rest of us have a duty to this world to prepare it for whatever may come," Stephen concluded.
"He has a point. I have an extrapolation algorithm that would at least get you back to where you where, eventually," Reed said thoughtfully, "but given how many times you hopped about, and the delay since you arrived, it would have to run off of close-matching anisotropic biosignatures – so, predicting a 69% chance of taking longer than three months."
Anthony leaned forward in his chair, his eyes glinting with amusement; but he was very serious as he said, "The fast and sure conventional methods are shot, yes. But since we are all so very good at thinking outside the box, let's consider doing so. In fact, I might be so bold as to suggest that always astonishing idea – I could ask for directions."
"No," Other-Steve said immediately and firmly. Steve shot him a surprised look.
"Steve's right," Sue said. Reed nodded in agreement, a motion that had his head staying at the same angle while his neck squished up and down.
Anthony leaned back in his chair, his mouth twisting.
"Um," said Steve. "Why is that a bad idea?" It sounded surprisingly like common sense, for all that it coming from a Tony Stark who was wearing, well, that.
"Because anybody – or should I say, anything – that might be able to give inter-reality directions is going to ask a hefty price, one that may not work out in Earth's favour," his counterpart explained with a brief glance, before looking back to pin Anthony to his chair with his eyes. "Summoning Mephisto was a bad idea yesterday, and it's still a bad idea today."
"Not Mephisto, then," Anthony shrugged, although the motion wasn't as carefree as it could have been; there was too much tension in his movements now. "He's generally the fastest, true – "
" – for which he commands the highest prices – " Reed murmured.
" – and he's the most willing to deal – "
" – because he's the best at screwing people over – " Other-Steve said darkly.
" – but there are other sources out there."
"Who, then?" Stephen demanded. "None of the gods of the Earthen pantheons will see you. Anyone else will be as bad as Mephisto."
"And that's where I think you're wrong," Anthony retorted, pointing with his steepled fingers. "If the gods are acting in consort then they've got some sort of diplomacy happening between them – and it might not be happening at the Infinite Embassy, but I'll bet you ten grand that there's spillover into there."
"If they have locked their realms, the Embassy will empty at the moment," Stephen pointed out after a short pause – although he no longer sounded totally opposed to the plan. "You are still only likely to find the sort of beings with whom a deal would make the current situation definitively worse."
Anthony smiled, and it was the exact same sort of shit-eating grin that Tony liked to direct at Fury. "And yet, that's the plan. Unless you've got a better idea."
"We could deal with our crises one at a time," Sue suggested dryly. "Also a revolutionary idea, I know."
"No, he's right about there being a likely connection," Reed said, and earned himself another one of those We're talking later looks.
"Any other ideas?" Anthony challenged them, at large.
Steve wasn't sure what he should say. This was all so far beyond his experience, beyond his expertise – sure, he knew about some deals with the devil (working special ops in WWII, you learned all about 'em) but dealing with beings... he kept his mouth shut, and beside him, Other-Steve did the same, although he was watching the other four with narrowed eyes. Maybe he was saving his objections for in private afterward, then.
"You don't get to deal on behalf of our Earth," Sue said, finally, wearily.
"I wouldn't, in any case." Anthony sounded indignant.
"I still find myself doubting the wisdom of this path," Stephen said slowly. "I cannot see that you are the worthy choice."
"If you want a duel for the honour you're going to find yourself outmatched," Anthony said flippantly – dangerously. Then he sobered – even more dangerously. "I have bested Dormammu on his own ground; I have crafted items of power that will carry me through any battle. You're a powerful guardian, Stephen, but you were a healer before you were a sorcerer. I was a weapons designer. Think carefully before you invite me to take my best shot."
"No one," Other-Steve said firmly, "is fighting anyone. And the more you keep suggesting it, the more I find myself doubting this idea."
The two sorcerer locked gazes for a long moment. "Certainly, no fighting," Stephen replied, equally quiet. "Any trial I might propose would test more subtle qualities than that. Unless you really think that force is what is needed here."
"No, not at all," Anthony said easily, "but without force to back it up, you can propose any test you damn well please and I can ignore you as much as I like."
"Oh, enough," said Sue, sounding exasperated. "You two are worse than Franklin and Valerie." She slapped her hand down on the table. "If that's agreed, then Steve should get back to the med-bay – I want that IV changed for the next course of antibiotics." But her gaze skipped over him, landing on Other-Steve – Steve was too slow to turn to look, to see if or how it had been acknowledged – before returning to her husband.
Multi-versal 'shenanigans'. Steve wondered if the building, like JARVIS, could pull up some reports on the topic for him to read.
"Well, if that's settled," Reed put in as Steve and Sue both stood. The IV got caught under the arm-rest again and nearly ripped it out this time. "Stephen, I'd like your thoughts on my defense re-designs. We have such a propensity for attracting visitors, I've thought for a while that it would be a good idea if we had something more stringent in place – and now is a better time than ever."
"Excellent," Anthony said, rolling his eyes. "So I am free to go on my way unhindered by your offers of help, then? Because I really think I've delayed long enough."
"Certainly, certainly," Reed said, his attention clearly focused on the screen in front of him. "I can run that algorithm and have Steve home soon." He rubbed at his chin with fingers that were far too long to be normal. "A few months, tops."
Steve froze where he stood, feeling his face and jaw tighten. "No. I'm going with you."
Anthony blinked at him. "You're still recovering."
"You just implied force wouldn't be the answer to this," Steve pointed out. "I'm going."
"It might be, it might not be – that doesn't mean that wandering across the worlds isn't dangerous," Anthony said, looking worried. "Look at where I managed to land you after only a few jumps."
"I'm going," Steve said a third time, and hesitated. "I think... I think this could be my fault."
"That the detector wasn't sturdy enough to stand up to a second signature was my fault, Steve – "
"No, that's not it," Steve shook his head. "Before... Tony, my Tony, I mean – he was trying to build, uh, portals to other worlds. Not just to Asgard, but to... other places. Thor took a look at where Tony was trying to go and called them 'elseworlds'."
Silence, for a moment, as they all mulled that over; then, "I was on your world, and it wasn't the source of this," Anthony said.
"So maybe he didn't do it from my world."
More silence.
Stephen leaned forward, his full attention on Steve; it felt vaguely like he was, if possible – which, it was – that the man was reading his mind, or perhaps his very soul. "You'll be bringing attention to yourself that you may not wish to bear."
"I'll deal with it," Steve said firmly. The feeling of everyone else insisting he wasn't physically fit for the task put him on familiar ground again, making it easier than it might otherwise have been. "I'm going."
Anthony hummed, considering. "I'll have to ward you, of course. Head to toe – Reed, if you've got some sort of experimental body-armour lying around, now would be the time – "
"That was more Tony's thing, really," Reed said. Everybody else in the room winced, except Steve and Anthony.
"Was?" Steve asked, and then almost bit his tongue at his own faux-pas.
"We... uh, had a Tony," Other-Steve said. His expression was a strange mix of grief, anger, and bafflement. "It's a long story."
Anthony snorted. "A long and ridiculous story."
"People died," Other-Steve snapped at him.
"Yes, and in entirely ridiculous ways, too," Anthony agreed urbanely. "Which, in my experience, tends to mean they're going to be resurrected sooner rather than later, probably as soon as this dimensional warp has wrapped itself up – lucky you. Stephen, it will have to be me who wards Steve, if we're going to possibly be moving on immediately. Am I to assume that I should also handle the transport to the Infinite Embassy myself, or might you be so kind as to save us the additional day in preparation?"
"Ah, so you are asking for help, now?" Stephen chuckled, but there was a dour note in it.
"No, I'm asking if you're going to be an asshole or not."
"Me? Hardly ever. Or at least only occasionally. No, I'm going to be kind, and tell you to do it yourself. Steve looks could use all the time he can get to recuperate."
"I'll be fine."
"You're wearing an IV," Stephen pointed out. "As Tony has been so kind to remind us all, I have the title of Dr. Strange for a reason. Unlike you, I am fully capable of understanding exactly what Reed and Tony did to you to save your life, and my professional medical opinion on the matter is that you ought to rest for at least another week. It would help the serum rebalance faster."
"He's right," Anthony put in. "You really ought to stay here."
Great. So he hadn't actually managed to convince Anthony – which meant he'd have to stick around the guy, make sure he didn't try to take off without Steve. "I'm going," he insisted, glaring at them both – and then at all of them. They were all looking at him with such... concern. Fondness. And he didn't know any of them. "What's your real problem with me going?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
Sue had leaned back against a wall, rather than retaking her seat, and now she spoke up, eyes dancing, for all that her expression was serious. "Johnny might have been a bit... tactless about it, but he was right, too. You're young."
Steve set his jaw, and said evenly, "I'm twenty-six."
Other-Steve sighed. "You're eight months out of the ice."
"Eight months out of the War. I can take care of myself."
"That's not – would you give us some privacy?" Other-Steve directed that one at the sorcerers.
"Silencio," Anthony intoned – which evidently worked, because Steve could see everybody's eyebrows raising, mouths moving as they heckled him, but he couldn't actually hear any of them except other-him, who muttered, "Really?"
Another reference he didn't understand. Well, fine. Eight months out, he thought he was doing pretty good.
"Look," Other-Steve said, "it's not about age. Not exactly," he amended.
"I have responsibilities I need to take care of," Steve told him, catching his gaze and holding it.
"I know. And I'm not going to stop you. I don't have the right. But I – we look at you, and we see ourselves, from years ago. We were all so damn young when we started this. We threw ourselves at the world and survived by the skin of our teeth and ran away laughing... we didn't think we could lose. Not really."
"If you've fought in my War," Steve said, "then you know."
"Maybe I did," he admitted. "But I made myself forget. Because I couldn't do it again – I couldn't lose it all again. I couldn't let myself... imagine the possibility. Can you?"
Steve stared at him. The empty place in his thoughts echoed silently, tantalizing, drawing him in – the still-aching grief and the memory, the resignation, the knowledge that he would never get any answers. Working with the Avengers had only barely begun to melt his fears of waking up and finding the world changed again – but they weren't untouchable. They could break, like Tony had. All of them could be... gone.
"I haven't forgotten yet," Steve said quietly, spreading his palms flat against the table and leaning in, heedless of the way the much-abused IV pulled at his skin. "I don't have the luxury. But my friend is out there, somewhere. He might be in trouble. He might be able to fix the zombie problem. I don't know, but I'm gonna find him, and God have mercy on you if you stand in my way, because I sure won't."
He got a long, measuring look, that he met without blinking. At last, apparently satisfied, Other-Steve nodded. "Okay." He waved at Anthony to get his attention again. The sorcerer flicked his fingers, and the sounds outside returned.
" – faux-Latin is hardly less dignified than some of the idiocy that the ancients would have us recite," he was arguing to Stephen.
"Have you even read those books?" asked Sue, incredulous.
"Nope," Anthony admitted cheerfully, before turning to Steve and other-Steve. "What's up, then? Did Cap manage to make you see sense?"
"Yes, he did," said other-Steve, earning himself a blink, and then a sour look. "So when are you two leaving?"
THEN
"Sure you know who to trust, Stark?" Clint asked him, his eyes perfectly normal, perfectly not blue, as he raised his gun, not even looking, and shot Pepper in the face. The back of her head exploded, bone and brain matter blown out from the exit wound.
Tony couldn't move, even though all his limbs strained forward, strained to do something, to stop him. But he was encased in stone from the neck down and rendered completely impotent. "JARVIS!" he shouted. The HUB was blurred, something was wrong with it – no, that was his own tears, half-blinding him.
"I'm afraid, sir, that your judgement in these areas is lacking," JARVIS replied calmly, and then his arms were moving against his will, his hands coming up to his face, palms toward him.
"JARVIS!"
The repulsors powered up and fired.
Tony jolted awake. The sheets were uncomfortably damp with sweat, and he shoved the covers off, but that just left him shivering, sweat-soaked and freezing. His chest ached. After a moment, he looked down, and managed to make out in the semi-darkness that it was due to his left hand being wrapped around the cord and pulling on it with considerable force – not enough to pull the wire, which was attached with a screw, but enough to make reactor housing tug painfully at the flesh around it. Shit. He couldn't quite make his fingers let go, but he brought up his other arm and clutched them both to his chest as he curled up to shiver on the bed.
"Stark?" Natasha's voice drifted over to him.
He pushed himself off the bed, nearly tripped over the cord, and made his way to the bathroom, flicking the light switch on there. The door still wouldn't shut; through it, he called, "I'm taking a shower." His reflection in the mirror looked sallow – the lights, dingy as they were, weren't helping. The thought at climbing into the shower, naked, made his skin crawl; even around the sink, the evidence of use by two people without any cleaning – because Natasha was the furthest thing from a maid, even if she did take care of microwaving meals and ensuring there was coffee – was showing. He needed sandals or something.
You've put up with worse, his reflection seemed to say. So he had. Of course, in Afghanistan he'd had to put up with worse; he hadn't had the option of being able to go without food, sleep, or showers. But this wasn't Afghanistan.
As if to belie the thought, Yinsen asked him mildly, "I thought you had given up killing children, Stark." His voice was coming from just behind Tony's left shoulder, but of course there was no reflection in the glass – because there was nobody there. "This is not what I gave up my life for."
"An AI is not a child," Tony told himself, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it to scrub at his face. When he looked up at the mirror again, Yinsen still wasn't there.
He shaved, taking extra care around his goatee. The razor was harsh against his skin. How long would it be until Natasha noticed that he didn't actually need it? Could he hope that even she might occasionally be careless, that she wouldn't be looking for something so outlandish as a man who grew hair not merely slowly, but not at all? His fingers were clumsy around the razor, after months upon months of not bothering with it, and he nicked himself twice.
"Careful," someone murmured to him. It could have been Yinsen, again, or maybe it was Steve; one worrywart sounded much like another.
"Yes, mother," he muttered back. If he shaved his head entirely, would he be permanently doomed to baldness? It was a question he hadn't dared to test the answer to, but now... running fromanyone in this world ULTRON or SHIELD, would be difficult with his trademark look. But if he lost it...
The lights buzzed annoyingly as he inspected his reflection in the mirror. They were altogether inadequate, too yellow, making him look sallow; not the best way for anyone to be evaluating how their face would look for the rest of their life.
I have to get back. I have to survive long enough to figure out the portal data this Banner has.
Why are you so convinced you ' ll have to run from this SHIELD, anyway? Because of imaginary voices?
He washed off the razor and stored it away above the sink, beard still intact.
The shower had to come eventually. He grit his teeth, ignored the fact that his feet were trying to float clear of the bathtub ceramic, and washed as quickly as he could. As he was towelling off, after, Natasha knocked on the door – hard enough that she must have been holding onto the handle on the other side; otherwise it should have swung open. Tony supposed he was supposed to be grateful that she was willing to grant him at least the illusion of privacy, so much as could be had in a place with cameras everywhere.
He shouldn't have talked back to Yinsen. Weakness, stupidity – he needed to be more careful.
"The medications arrived," she said through the door.
He pulled his jeans up, hopping about a bit as they stuck to still-damp skin, and stuck his head out. He kept his torso behind the door – it made a flimsy shield, but even if she'd almost certainly seen it before, he wasn't about to go flashing the gaping hole in his chest around. "They did? Gimme." When exactly, did someone come by, did you leave the apartment, were questions that went unasked, and Natasha didn't volunteer any answers. Instead she just handed over a small baggie of pills. He eyed it for a moment, then snatched it from her hand and shoved the door to close as much as he could.
His chest was hurting again. He snatched his hand away from the cord and pulled on a shirt, then picked up the bag again and stared at it. The pills inside were white, round – on the bag someone had written 100mg with a permanent marker. The ones that he'd gotten from the pharmacy back home – that he'd hacked into a local pharmacy's records to create a prescription for, that JARVIS had delivered to a drop-box – they'd been oblong, all 200mg in one pill.
He pulled two of them out, stared at them down in his palm. The back of his neck itched from the hidden cameras watching him. No doubt Natasha was watching him right now. Nothing personal in it. It was just her job. Master assassin.
She'd killed Clint.
Clint had killed Pepper.
No, he reminded himself firmly. Nobody had killed Pepper. Pepper was alive, and well, and probably freaking out over his absence back home, and he had to build a virus that could take down ULTRON, he had to –
- he had to –
- he had to get back home. He had to focus on Loki.
SHIELD always lies.
The pills looked like poison, and he barely stopped himself from laughing. Natasha had been making the meals for the past few days, and he was worried about her feeding him poison now? Not that she could kill him, probably, but he knew at least some drugs still affected him – or the Tanaxa would have been worthless. The only way to avoid possibly being poisoned would be to stop eating or drinking anything – and at that point he might as well stop sleeping, too, because if he was going to give away any of his secrets...
"You can't trust her," a woman's voice whispered in his ear. She sounded frightened, whoever she was.
Tony wanted to laugh again. Of course he couldn't trust Natasha. If he could trust her he wouldn't fucking be eating –
He popped the two pills into his mouth, pushed them into his cheek with his tongue. Ran the tap, filled his cupped hands with water, and swallowed it – not the pills. Kept the tap running – rubbed at his forehead, his eyes, like he had a headache. Grabbed the washcloth, wet it and scrubbed at his face and neck – would that be suspicious, after showering? It didn't matter – he wasn't good enough at slight-of-hand not to need an aid. As he passed the washcloth over his mouth, he spat the pills into it, and rinsed them down the drain when he passed the cloth beneath the water again. Folded the cloth against his eyes. It was freezing cold, and it did feel nice, even if it was making his fingers go numb.
"This is a bad idea," said Steve. He sounded worried again.
Tony ignored him. He was good at that. He had six months' – more – of practice at it.
And anyway, Steve wasn't telling him anything he didn't know. Skipping medication was a terrible idea.
But he couldn't possibly take it.
