BoB-F: It's taken awhile to get over my procrastination and post this chapter, I apologize.

Rath: You better be sorry after making all those readers tear up from the last chapter.

BoB-F: But it makes for good story! And it's apart of Holiday's character, it had to be done.

Rath: Killing her best friend had to be done? I had no idea you could be so cruel.

BoB-F: o_o Hey now, don't be like that. Don't make the readers dislike me.

Rath: Well, if they didn't already dislike you for killing Roman than they definitely dislike you for such a late update.

BoB-F: I'm going to ignore you now, Star Trek Into Darkness is on anyway.

Rath: I knew you were obsessed with that Benedict Cindersnipe guy!

BoB-F: ... So, uh, yeah...I don't own Avengers, but I do own Holiday, Roman, and any other OC. I also don't own Star Trek..or Benedict CUMBERBATCH.


The Aggressor

Chapter Three: Decisions

Holiday O'Conner had never had trouble sleeping, never had any traumatic dreams that were the result of her many years of military servitude, but waking up in a cold sweat was something that Holiday was quickly coming to terms with. Then again, losing her partner and long standing friend would do that, she supposed. She wasn't ready to deal with all the trials that were being set in front of her. She wasn't ready to deal with PTSD, the loss of her best friend, living on her own, and hell, she wasn't even capable of standing without the use of her hearing aid yet. It was all so frustrating and nearly mind crippling, but she pressed forward with her life.

She grabbed the flesh colored device off her coffee table and tucked it into her ear. Holiday barely registered the noise of rustling as she adjusted the fit, then she turned the little unit on. The noise that she heard was muted, as if it were at the distant end of a tunnel, but it was better than nothing.

It was four in the morning, but her bad dreams had encroached on her sleep, and she was adamant on not having a repeat performance twice in a day. So she stood slowly, knowing that her equilibrium was still out of whack, and she really wasn't in the mood to lose her balance and crash into the coffee table again. With tired steps, she maneuvered herself through the mess that was her apartment.

It was filled with wrappers and bags from various restaurants, tipped over beer bottles, pizza boxes, Chinese takeout containers, three pairs of shoes (all hers), and the worn furniture that she had picked up at a garage sale.

She made it to the tiny kitchenette with an ease she was slowly regaining, and grabbed the one glass she always had set aside for water to fill it from the tap at the sink. She realized for the hundredth time that she needed to do the dishes, which were piled haphazardly in the sink. She shoved the dishes around until she could angle her glass to fill it with water; it was pure laziness.

Holiday refused the sigh that wanted to escape her parted lips. Where had her motivation gone? She knew that she needed to clean, she also knew that she needed to start going to her rehabilitation classes to work on her balance, as well as the tightness in her shoulder from being shot. Maybe she was depressed?

She mulled that thought over in her head as she sipped at her water. She slept when she could, which was becoming less and less because of the dreams. She didn't have any energy to go shopping for groceries or to clean. She also hadn't been picking up the phone when the rehab place called. Yeah, she was probably depressed. Looking around her apartment again, Holiday finally sighed. Making up her mind, she set the empty cup on the counter, and started cleaning her filthy apartment in silence.

It was finally a reasonable time for normal waking people when Holiday put the last clean dish away. Her apartment now smelled lemony fresh and the counters didn't have a speck of dirt or grime on them. She wasn't sure if she felt accomplished or not, but she did know that she was hungry beyond reason. Holiday picked up her cellphone (a dinky little black flip phone that was three years old) and punched in the number for her favorite pizza place. It was ran by a family from Ireland; they constantly argued, but they made the best three meat pizza in all of New York.

A heavily accented voice answered after several rings. Holiday imagined that they waited for a pause in their current argument to answer the phone. A thunderous noise exploded outside just as she opened her mouth to politely place her order. Holiday turned to her window to see what the hell was going on, even with her bad ear she'd heard that.

"What the…" Her window provided an unobstructed view of the gaping black hole in the sky that was spewing out people-sized, flying objects. The civilians running and screaming in the streets was the next thing that she took note of. Holiday ended the call, the hellacious round of voices yelling at each other was making it hard for her to focus on what was happening. Needing more information, Holiday turned to her TV, switching it on and scrolling to the local news station.

Reports jumped back and forth between close ups of grey blue humanoids and…a team of very mismatched people that were trying to combat them. Holiday gazed out the window again, watching a monstrous worm whale…thing pass through the giant opening in the sky. Holiday's lethargic mood dissipated in an instant and she stormed out of her merger living room. She had made up her mind for the second time that day.

Holiday hurried to her bedroom, going to her closet and yanking her desert combat uniform from its hanger. It still had blood on it from her last mission, but she choose to overlook it. The uniform would provide a leadership role to the civilians, and make yelling out orders a cake walk. Holiday tugged the uniform on, leaving the jacket open and her helmet swinging from her fist. She marched back into the living room, plopped down on the couch and stuffed her feet into her boots.

Once fully dressed with her helmet resting on her head, she reached into the drawer of her end table. Holiday pulled out a handgun, one that was standard issue for the local police, and holstered it. She felt like she was wasting time as the noises from outside grew louder than the ones coming from her TV. She pocketed her cellphone as she headed for the door, and picked up her Bor sniper rifle and ammunitions case on her way out. Holiday didn't bother locking her door; if things went to shit then she likely wouldn't have an apartment to return to.

Holiday didn't pass anyone on her way up, but when she got to the roof several of her neighbors were already there watching the scene unfold. No one turned at her appearance until she reached the edge of the building. Worried faces turned to her, wondering if she knew what was going on.

Maybe her uniform wasn't such a good idea after all…

"I'm going to need you all to stand back," she told them, gesturing with her arm as she sat the case of bullets down. Many did, but a woman holding her toddler stepped forward; hope in her eyes.

"What's going on, is everything going to be okay?" The woman asked, tears welling up in her eyes; wrapping her arms around her child a little tighter. Holiday looked back at the city, a lot of destruction was occurring in a short span of time; she had to be honest with the woman, it didn't look good.

"I don't know, ma'am. But I'm trained for this, I'll keep you all safe for as long as I can." Holiday's voice was determined, and the woman nodded and stepped away. Holiday had been wrong; the uniform was a great idea.

Holiday looked around the rooftop, it was surrounded by a chain-link fence and the only high ground that allowed for the best angles was atop the entrance to the roof. She tossed her ammunitions case up first and turned back to the civilians, having spotted two stout teenage boys in the group.

"Hey guys, care to give me a boost?" Holiday motioned to the stair cap. The young men rushed over, making a cradle with their hands. Holiday stepped up and they hoisted her to higher ground. "Thanks, keep a look out for me," Holiday ordered and they dutifully followed her words.

Holiday set up her gun stand in record time, loading it and adjusting the scope. She left her ammunitions case open as she hunkered down, prone on her stomach. She pulled herself into the gun, squinting into the scope and started tracking the mayhem.

The monsters (they looked a lot like Orcs from Lord of the Rings to her) were climbing the sides of buildings and flying about on flying…crafts. UFOs; who would have thought? Holiday saw a few of the friendlies; one being Iron Man, the others were just miscellaneous do-gooders in odd outfits. She flicked the safety off on her gun and called out a warning to the civilians that she was going to start shooting. Scaring a bunch of people that were already terrified never worked out well in the end.

Holiday took aim at a baddie on the side of one of the buildings; taking a breath, she pulled the trigger. The shot was noisy, but it didn't half register to her. The creature dropped like a sack of bricks, and she didn't waste any time dispatching the others that were hanging about like monkeys. The toddler began to cry at the sudden noise, but Holiday didn't allow it to distract her from her task.

Holiday ignored the giant creature that was somehow flying in the air (she would have guessed magic, but some science shit was probably more on the money), she knew her bullets wouldn't affect the thing; it wasn't like she had antitank or antiaircraft ammo. Sometimes she wished she had gone for the Barrett .50 Cal like all the newbies did, but she shrugged the thought off and shouldered up to her rifle again.

She would do what she could; snipe the stragglers and the ones that were in pursuit of the friendlies in the air. Holiday didn't have a good enough vantage point to help out with the ones on the ground, but she knew that if she moved she would be risking the lives of the people around her. So she stayed put, hoping her presence eased the fears of the people.

Steve ducked out of the way when the slack body of one of the Chitauri nearly fell on him. He looked up, seeing several more beginning to rain down. He blocked the mighty fist that one of the creatures on the ground aimed at him, returning the blow in kind. Steve surveyed the downed creatures that had once occupied the side of the building. There were no arrows to be found, nor did they appear to be…smashed. These creatures had been shot – with a high powered rifle, if he were to guess. Steve internally thanked whoever was taking the initiative; they needed all the help they could get.

Holiday had run out of bullets before the battle was over, and now she sat on the top of the building with the others, watching the end of the invasion through binoculars. She'd never seen anything like the Hulk; he had really saved the day, taking out those giant whale-worms. And now, Iron Man was guiding a missile through the wormhole. Holiday tracked him for as long as she could, but he eventually disappeared. Her hands tightened around the binoculars, hoping everything was going to turn out okay.

The ruckus from the radio and the civilians had created a silence that Holiday was suspended in. She was rooting for Iron Man to come flying out of that wormhole; she wanted this win, to see the hope flare in the peoples' eyes. Heroes did that, and the people of New York needed a hero like Tony Stark. But they needed him alive.

It felt like the whole city had stopped breathing when that red-and-gold clad man fell from the sky, like a tiny pinprick. And then the collective of the city breathed again. The younger people whooped and jumped about, and the elders cheered with pools of tears in their eyes. It felt like everything was going to be perfectly alright. But Holiday was already thinking ahead, about the removal of the creatures, the rebuilding.

She was also thinking about that pizza she never ordered.


BoB-F: Pizza sounds SO good right now.

Rath: Any food sounds good right now.

BoB-F: o.o You should learn how to cook.

Rath: Why? To further promote your laziness?

BoB-F: Jackass. No food for you then.

Rath: Oh, hold on. I'm sorry, that was uncalled for.

BoB-F: And it wasn't written, smoke-signaled, telegraphed, or prophesized.

Rath: ...If I'm quiet, will you feed me?

BoB-F: Only if you watch Topgear and Kitchen Nightmares with me (I don't own those either).

Rath: -_- ...alright...

BoB-F: YAY! :D I hope you lovely readers liked this chapter!

Rath: Please read and review...and *whispers* send food.

BoB-F: What was that?

Rath: Uh..I like the Stig?