(A/N): Hello, and welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time, we're going to take a second to check in on some of the victors...

Thanks as always to our writers who have reviewed for your continued support and massive enthusiasm. We love you all! Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your rockstar support (we also like Kaldur's simmering anger). To StarKnightStark: Yes, Harley is a psychiatrist in the comics, and we've paid homage to that in the previous installment with her psychoanalysis of various characters (including Sabretooth!). Her knowledge of different drug and chemical interactions is also a homage to that, since psychiatrists are different than psychologists in that they get medical training... though obviously in this universe, she's self-taught more than anything and just dabbling in whatever information she can get her hands on. But since she's self-taught and obviously brilliant, we wanted to give her plenty of credit in being able to work out the logic of equations. After all, math is a universal language no matter the specific field of study! ;)

Chapter Seven - Raised Voices

Peter Quill

Twenty-First Victor of the Avenger Games

Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl and robbiepoo2341

Peter Quill was grateful that the doctors hadn't asked any questions at first when he brought Gamora with him to the base; she was badly injured enough that they were more focused on keeping her alive than on questioning his motives.

Admittedly, there was every possibility that they thought he had saved her so that they could question her about the inner workings of the Capitol. And he wouldn't be surprised if the SHIELD agents that had stationed themselves outside of Gamora's door as soon as they realized who was in the little hospital room were there to tell the higher-ups as soon as Gamora was awake so they could do just that — and get as much intel as they could on the best ways to get to the remaining Capitol flunkies. Or how to get into the palace, where Schmidt thought sitting on the throne made him king.

But Peter hadn't brought her for tactical reasons — well, outside of the tactics of trying to get another kiss, if he was going to be honest about it. If that counted as tactics.

For the first little while after he brought her in, Peter didn't have anything to do but sit there and soak in the information as it came in. Some of his friends were dead — Drax, Groot… no one knew where Rhodey was, and Peter had liked the guy…

SHIELD had been prepared to take down the Capitol swiftly and efficiently, and that's what they did. The problem was that Hydra wasn't even on their radar until it was almost too late, and now, the revolution had turned into a civil war. So if Gamora could give them a way to strike back when Hydra had wormed itself into Thanos' strongholds, that was good. Peter knew it was good.

He just didn't exactly care about intel until Gamora had finally started to wake up after whatever drug cocktail the doctors had pumped into her — and then he tried to look a little less like he'd been worried and a little more suave and heroic.

Gamora frowned when she saw him, though she wasn't yet strong enough to sit up as well as she'd like, pushing herself on her elbows as she peered at him. "Peter?"

"Oh hey, princess," he said with a crooked smile. "I was wondering how many times I'd have to kiss you before you'd wake up. I mean … I haven't done that ... yet. But I was just … waiting for you to look like you were waking up first. And … it would have … been inappropriate for me to try that. Without, you know, warning."

Gamora shook her head at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You know … the princess that was sleeping in the tower? Guarded by a dragon? Love's … ah… nevermind. Probably not the kind of story you want to hear anyhow. I carried you out — after the bomb went off." He sniffed and thumbed the side of his nose. "You know. At the palace."

Gamora frowned at that and looked around, suddenly trying to sit up faster. "Where are we, Peter?" she demanded.

"New SHIELD base," Peter said matter-of-factly as he pulled his chair a little closer. "Um, I should tell you … your sister and your dad are both dead."

"Nebula?" Gamora's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Are you sure? She's not easy to kill — nor is my father."

"Yeah, she … was pretty torn up from that bomb, and one of our special ops guys cut Thanos' hand off — with the gauntlet. After he was dead."

Gamora leaned back and considered him for a long moment. "Then we were successful," she said.

"In overthrowing the Capitol, yeah, but we're not the only ones in the game," Peter told her. "Hydra is making a big push."

"Hydra was destroyed in the war that granted my father his throne," Gamora said. "What are you talking about?"

"Hydra is making a resurgence," he corrected her. "The Red Skull and Viper in particular."

Gamora sneered as she pulled herself to a sitting position. "They always had ambitions beyond their station."

"Well they're the new Hydra — and it's a lot bigger than we thought," Peter said. "They made a play, went for Fury, raised all kinds of hell, killed some victors, broke into … everything." He shook his head. "It's a mess. But the war is on."

"And yet with all of that, you are here," Gamora said.

He blinked a few times, trying to hold her gaze. "Well … yeah. Of course I am. Where else would I be?"

Gamora almost couldn't help but smile at that. "You are a victor," she said. "Or did they ask you to guard me? I am a daughter of Thanos."

"What? No … no… I just … I wanted to be here when you woke up." By the time he'd finished speaking, he was staring at his hands, and his tone had gone rather quiet.

Gamora's smile softened, and she leaned forward slightly to rest her hand on his arm. "That wasn't necessary," she said.

"There's more to life than just what's necessary," Peter said almost sullenly.

"And that is why you're in my hospital room," Gamora said, though she hadn't moved her hand.

"I'm here," Peter said, still staring at his hand, "because I wanted to be. And you know why."

Gamora watched Peter for a long moment and then let out a breath and leaned forward more until she was resting her chin on his shoulder so she could kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Peter."

He couldn't stop the smile if he'd tried — and there was no way he was going to try. "You're welcome," he said with a little nod. "So … whenever you feel up to it, I can take you down to the director's office so you can fill him in on what's what." He turned her way with a little smirk. "No rush, of course."

"I'd rather not languish in a medical room," she told him. She paused, raised an eyebrow his way, and then said with a smirk, "Unless there is a cell waiting for me. Then I understand your reluctance."

"No, I think you're in the clear," Peter said. "I told them how the fight went down — and the new guy knows all about the work you did for Fury."

She frowned for a moment. "Then Fury didn't survive this fight."

"No, there was an assassination squad looking for him," Peter confirmed.

"And this new director — do you trust him?" Gamora asked.

Peter couldn't help but smile crookedly. "Oh yeah. We're good. We've even had drinks a few times."

Gamora raised her eyebrows at that. "I wasn't aware Phil Coulson had ambitions beyond his team."

"Agent Dad? No. no, no no… no, he's … he's still in the same position." Peter pulled the wheelchair over. "Come on; we'll get things rolling."

"Really, Peter?"

"These are the jokes, Princess," he said, still smiling. "Work with me."

"I'm not getting in that thing," she said, looking at the chair with distaste. But it was hard to argue her point when she tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed and one of them wasn't cooperating with her — broken at the femur and in a heavy cast. And on her ankle on the other foot — a heavy boot.

"I told you — you were caught up in that blast," Peter said. "I was worried for a minute there."

"It takes more than a simple explosion to kill me," she said, waving him off, though when it was clear she couldn't get out on her own, she let out a breath of frustration and reached for him to steady herself. "Fine."

"A simple explosion took out your sister," Peter said in a serious tone as he helped her get settled, even trying to make sure she had a lap blanket as he adjusted everything.

"She spared my life," Gamora said quietly, though her gaze seemed to be elsewhere.

"I would have gotten her out if she was still alive," Peter promised.

"Would you?" Gamora asked, looking up at him.

"Of course," Peter said, frowning at her. "She's your sister."

"She wouldn't kiss you for your trouble, Peter."

"No, and I wouldn't want her to … but maybe …" He shrugged lightly before he started pushing her out of the room, letting the rest of his thought hang in the air between them.

Gamora had fallen into a deep frown as they passed the SHIELD agents outside her room, and if he didn't know better, he'd have thought she was almost pouting as he wheeled her down the hall. "This is undignified."

"What? No," he said, shaking his head lightly. "The guys stuck in traction — that's undignified. You're totally hot wheels, babe."

"Really, Peter." She smirked but shook her head.

"Oh yeah, without a doubt," he said as convincingly as he could before he leaned down over her shoulder. "We could race someone if you want. Slap a number on your chair … I'll call it."

Gamora smiled at that and put a hand on his cheek. "No, that's even worse."

"You sure?" he teased before he let his voice sound more like an announcer, though he was mercifully quiet about it. "And it's the princess on the inside turn; she's running the field — no one can get close…."

Gamora let out a laugh that it didn't sound like she could keep to herself. "Stop that!" she said, though she couldn't stop the smile all the same.

He was going to keep it up, but he simply smiled a little wider and kissed her cheek. "Whatever you say, Princess."

"That is somehow worse," she said with a light laugh. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, honestly confused at what she meant.

"Find ways to listen to me without listening to me," she said. "I'm not asking you to stop, of course. It's a gift, clearly."

He smiled a little wider and kissed her again. "Guess I'll have to keep trying."

Johnny Storm

Eleventh Victor of the Avenger Games

A lot of the victors that had survived the initial rebellion were busy running errands for SHIELD, but Sue and Reed hadn't really moved from where they'd parked with Franklin after SHIELD got them to the base in Twelve.

And Johnny really wasn't complaining about that much, but he was still steamed about why his sister was so wrapped up in her little boy. It wasn't just that she wanted to spoil her son; he knew that she was still upset over Reed's revelation that Malcolm Merlyn had been threatening him.

So was Johnny. Only he was directing his anger, and he'd been working with John Stewart and Shayera Hol — and Ben, too, though Ben was bouncing between checking on Reed and Sue and joining the little group.

A lot of the intel available was still shaky, since the revolution had upended the status quo. It was hard to tell who was with Hydra, who was loyal to the fallen Capitol, and who was simply running their own games in the power vacuums that had cropped up with so many people in power dying or going missing. But eventually, Shayera had confirmed it: Merlyn was with Hydra.

Which simplified things, really, because Johnny was itching for a fight. And if he got to blow up some guys in green uniforms in the meantime, all the better.

The thing was… they didn't know where in Hydra the guy was. And Johnny hated being patient.

"We'll find him," Shayera said, though her own annoyance was clear to see as she massaged her forehead. "He can't hide forever."

"What's the point of getting Hydra defectors in here if we don't learn anything useful?" Johnny muttered, kicking a box of intel before he winced.

"Nice," Ben said.

"Aww, shut up, Ben."

Ben snorted at that, shifting as he looked over the maps of the different districts that they knew were controlled by Hydra, showing various strongholds and troop placements. "Not my fault you're a danger to yourself, matchstick."

John cut in before the two of them could get going as they usually did. "Most of Hydra is concentrated in either the Capitol or Six," he said. "They're trying to fill the throne Thanos left behind — and there's practically a cult of personality following Schmidt. A bunch of his most fanatical followers are in his home district."

Ben shook his head. "Not Merlyn's style," he said. "He's not a follower; he's out for himself. And he's definitely not going to align himself with someone that wouldn't look twice at Thea before he shot her, not with what Reed said about how he was about his girl."

Johnny nodded his agreement. "Yeah, he's probably holed up in the Capitol trying to live up the high life as much as he can."

"If he was on Hydra's side when they swept through the upper Capitol… he probably is," John said. "They have a pretty solid hold there."

"Typical," Johnny grumbled. "We did all the work killing the Capitol hot shots, and they sweep in to take the spoils of war."

"Not the point," Shayera said with a sharp look Johnny's way. "There's no real power in the Capitol anymore — nothing but luxuries to be wasted on Hydra heads who don't want to get their hands dirty."

"As much as I'd like to say that sounds like Merlyn," Ben said, "that isn't quite his style either."

"Oh?" Shayera raised both of her eyebrows as she turned toward Ben. "I thought you said he was one of One's richest."

"With a talent for violence that he's not gonna keep locked up," Ben said. "Guy like that ain't gonna sit on a throne until he's gotten some blood on his knuckles."

"That actually helps us," John said. "If he's not in Six or the Capitol, he has to be part of a smaller enclave."

"And those are easier to search," Shayera agreed, leaning almost unconsciously toward John as they put their heads together. It was plain to see that the two of them were more than partners, but they were subtle about it, brushing hands on occasion or sitting close enough to each other to be touching without going so far as to drape their arms around each other.

It didn't take a genius to figure it out, though it helped that Johnny knew from experience that Shayera had a personal bubble the size of a planet, so seeing the two of them that close to each other was a dead giveaway to someone with inside knowledge.

Still, Johnny appreciated that they weren't the sappy kind of couple. They knew how to get down to business, and that was what he needed so he could track down the guy who had threatened his nephew — and then Johnny would set the guy on fire.

"I suggest we start here," John said, tapping a spot on the map that indicated a larger enclave in District Five. "It's close enough to Six that the Hydra heads would offer them a little protection, but even with Five under Hydra control, there is plenty of fighting at the borders."

"Then let's go," Ben said, getting to his feet. "Even if Merlyn ain't there, that should mean plenty of green suits to clobber."

Johnny nodded. "Yeah. If we have to go through this whole country district-by-district and take down the whole of Hydra by ourselves to get there—"

"Delusions of grandeur, matchstick."

"Shut up, Grimm."

Victor Creed

Eighteenth Victor of the Avenger Games

There were few things that Victor Creed disliked more than the royal family. But Hydra? Hydra was absolutely on that very short list. He'd been warned well about what kind of a rule Hydra would have if they ever came into power. His own father had been involved in the organization years and years ago, and when Hydra fell, he took it out on his family. Ol' Zebadiah had been loyal … and when Hydra shattered, so did Zeb. And the only ones that were around for him to take his rage out on was his family. Of course, once Victor was big enough to fight back at all, his father had met a grisly fate.

Since the revolution started, Victor had been having a hell of a time getting anything done. SHIELD had monopolized the airwaves to broadcast the truth, and that had caused Victor a lot of trouble. No one wanted to serve him — both women and men alike were giving him the cold shoulder — until of course he started introducing himself by killing the first person in the room that gave him a sideways look.

That actually hadn't been too bad for Victor. Kept things quiet. Got him what he wanted quick. He was working his way slowly toward home, and though he'd gotten out of the Capitol, he was only partway through District One, seein' as he was making his way on foot. The residents there were already terrified by what was going on around them, so a little extra terror from Mr. Mean wasn't going to tip the scales too much.

What he didn't know as he made himself comfortable with a rather large steak in front of him was that One was already falling under Hydra control — and that several of their best scientists were trying to make do there. Something else that was of interest … they needed some of the minerals to continue their experiments to test the boundaries of what the human body could tolerate. And though Victor didn't exactly understand all of it … he knew he didn't want to let these bottom feeders keep breathing.

He watched as the scientists tried to keep their discussion private. He slowly nursed his drink and used one finger to stir the ice cubes slowly in the nearly empty rocks glass before he finally finished it and got up to leave.

He knew he wanted to kill them; he just really had no desire to tip them off to that fact. So he did what he liked to do when dealing with undesirables and slipped into a dark alley to watch the door — and wait for his prey to show itself.

He went through four cigarettes before the two coke-bottle glasses-wearing scientists stepped out of the bar, their heads together as they worked toward their destination. All of the high security of the Capitol had been stripped to nothing when the royals fell — and those that had pledged themselves to Thanos' cause had all shifted their allegiance to SHIELD or Hydra — or had simply done a runner. Which meant that Hydra wasn't in control of the facilities to the same degree of security that SHIELD and the Capitol had set up. Which played well for Victor, anyhow.

He watched as the doctors slipped past two heavily armed guards, and after waiting a few beats, Victor rushed toward the guards — silent until the last few steps as he turned the corner. One guard met his end with a simple broken neck after Victor used his partner as a human shield. Only half a dozen shots were fired, but the guard that had pulled the trigger was clearly upset — which was all Victor needed to toss the dead weight aside and kill him.

From there, it was a cake walk. Victor adjusted his long, flowing trenchcoat as he stepped into the lab, striding forward in a purposeful gait. There were several doors — all of them with the lights off — as he approached, until he got to the end of the hall, where a sliver of light was illuminating the floor. There were no guards posted outside, which meant either they were inside or they simply didn't have the staffing for this facility that Victor thought they should.

He watched for a moment before he pushed the doors open and slipped inside, though his first look around the place wasn't really anything he wanted to see. It certainly explained a lot... but none of it was something he thought Hydra should have at their fingertips.

Dead tributes — all of whom looked freshly whole — with monitors attached to them showing signs of life. Victor could feel his frustration in the back of his throat as he looked around ... but there, on a slab pulling and panicking against his restraints was a familiar face. Creed smirked when he saw who it was that these docs were playing games with.

James Rhodes, the last victor from Three, was already injured, immobilized and attached to monitors as the doctors worked checked their leads and lines …

"I think he's an acceptable candidate to test on," one of them said ."He's in similar condition to the children that came out of the Games; if our calculations are correct, then we'll know right away."

"And if your calculations are wrong?" the other said. "I suppose it's no great loss. He's not the genius that Goodness has down the way, but, Cornelius — he isn't a waste either. We can make use of him without killing him first."

"They want results, Hugo," Cornelius replied. "And we don't have time to find another suitable candidate. Victors don't grow on trees, you know."

"Anyone want my opinion on it?" Rhodes said as he looked between the two bespectacled doctors, but the two of them barely gave Rhodes a moment's glance before they started to pull out their tools, talking about the proper samples before Cornelius put a rather large looking needle in Rhodes' arm — right where the trackers for the Games had always gone.

Sticking to the deepest shadows in the poorly lit room, Victor made his way a little closer, examining the two ex-tributes from the Quarter Quell … another one from Three and a crappy Career that never had a real shot. Victor's lip curled on seeing it. Clearly, Hydra wanted braniacs and fighters. And as usual, they were looking in all the wrong places. Putting aside his pride for the moment, Victor pressed on as Rhodes fought his restraints. They weren't going to put him to sleep — instead, they were approaching with a hypodermic needle loaded with a nefarious-looking green liquid.

To catch their attention, Victor reached over and wrapped one overly large hand around the throat of the boy nearest him. If the tag on the boy's IV bag was to go by, and if Victor had his way, Francisco here wasn't gonna open his eyes again anyhow.

When the monitors went off, screaming their warnings, Victor pressed harder. Even unconscious, the body under his hand jerked and stretched as it tried to catch a breath — until it simply didn't.

The two doctors looked up in clear alarm, though when they spotted Victor, they didn't react anywhere near fast enough to save their little Francisco. One of them shouted out for the guards, but Victor wasn't paying attention to their cries for help as he picked up the IV stand and swung it like a baseball bat, splitting the skull of the shorter, bald, four-eyed creep — and silencing him at once.

Cornelius staggered backward, losing his footing as Creed bared down on him. "I can give you anything you want — anything that Hydra can offer — but if you harm me, you'll never leave this place!"

Victor smirked more crookedly at that and caught the little weasel by the ankle before hoisting him closer. "Issat so?" he nearly crooned. "Seems to me like you don't got a way to stop me, and Hydra ain't never helped anyone but Hydra."

Cornelius made a mad swing with the loaded needle, missing Victor's neck by mere millimeters, though it caught in the collar of his coat. He depressed the plunger, thinking he'd hit solid flesh only depositing the greed liquid on Victor's collarbone and chest. Not that it wasn't nasty on the skin, though. On contact, the liquid burned, and in a rage, Victor wrapped his free hand around Cornelius' face and slammed him against the floor several times — even after the scientist went limp.

Whatever the liquid was, it burned. Victor couldn't get the coat, his shirt, or the leftover liquid off of him fast enough. It was burning a path on everything that it touched, leaving angry, bubbling lesions in its wake. Not until he'd found the sink and spent a solid several minutes rinsing it with cold, clear water did Victor even register that Rhodes was asking him for help.

"Come on, Creed, let me up," Rhodes said as Victor seemed to get his bearings in order. "We gotta trash this place and get out of here."

For a moment, Victor smiled to himself, his back still to Rhodes. Yeah. He could help Rhodes, but the guy was a first class snob from Three that had never looked Victor's way without an expression of pure judgement. What the hell would he want to help a guy like that for?

"I don't know what makes you think we're on the same side," Victor said as he turned back toward Rhodes. "We never have been."

"What do you mean?" Rhodes asked, frowning up at him, clearly alarmed, if his heart rate was anything to go by. "If you're not with Hydra, you're with us. That's all it's boiled down to now."

Victor smiled wider and slowly shook his head. "Why do guys like you always think there's only two choices in life?" he mused as he walked toward the other tribute in the room. Slade Wilson was not yet awake, but his monitor beeped along steadily. "Some of us, Rhodey, make our own way." He walked past Rhodes and started knocking things over, trashing the lab and spilling chemicals as he went. Rhodes couldn't do more than simply stare in horror as Victor lit up another cigarette, took a long drag, and then tossed the still burning zippo lighter into a puddle of alcohol on the floor near Slade.

The fire took off fast, climbing the sheets on the bed and lighting up the still sleeping tribute, and though the fire burned hot, it wasn't enough to burn through the leather restraints that held Slade there as he woke up very shortly.

And Victor watched the whole thing lazily, he dropped more fuel into the growing fire before he approached Rhodes with a grin. "You're not gettin' outta here either, flyboy."

Bruce Wayne

District Twelve

There were still times when Bruce saw Helena that the relief took his breath away. Relief that she hadn't been killed, relief that she was at his side, relief that she was alright.

And there were times that he could also see his own anger reflected in her expression, at the injustice of everything that had led up to that moment. Those moments were particularly stronger when they weren't helping in the districts to fight Sentinels or sabotage Hydra — the days when they were on home base and could see the human cost of everything Nick Fury had built.

Bruce understood all too well the difficult decisions that Fury had to make, but that didn't make the consequences any less real. There were children on that base with lasting mental damage — like the girl from Eleven. Bruce had checked on her himself a few times, and she didn't seem to be recovering at all. Or Dick, to a smaller extent.

It was clear to see how much the new body bothered Dick. While Bruce was certainly glad that there were no more lasting mental issues — he had read about Silver Fox, for example — he knew that Helena was as angry as he was when she saw her brother struggle to get his strength back when he should have been by their side, fighting in the rebellion with them from the start.

It was one of the things that he appreciated most about James — no, Logan — and his new direction as the director of SHIELD. He wasn't willing to subject these children — or anyone else, for that matter — to the process again, not when he knew how hard it was on them.

Still, Bruce was frustrated that James — Logan — found himself on the front lines so often, even if he appreciated his need to lead by example. "It's one thing to join a battle and another thing entirely to disappear on a vendetta," Bruce said with a frown. "What is he thinking?"

Helena was the only one around to hear his frustrations, but she wasn't the one who had brought the news of Logan's little side mission to him. That came courtesy of Clint Barton, who had a strange sort of affinity for Bruce and his family by that point… and who seemed to be endlessly entertained by the fact that Coulson and his team were actively trying to prevent another outing by the new director.

Helena, on the other hand, looked far less entertained as she narrowed her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't know that he is thinking about the consequences," she said.

"Clearly," Bruce said in an irritated tone.

"It's worse when he thinks he's helping someone else by sacrificing himself," Helena said, her eyes narrowed further still.

Bruce frowned at her. "Kitten?"

Helena let her shoulders drop for only a moment, a sign of her frustration when she wasn't even trying to hold up her usual posture. "You saw the parachute he sent."

"I saw both of them, yes," he said. "I was glad to see it — and I have to say, throwing in his own winnings was a stroke of genius."

"What?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "He didn't tell you—"

"We haven't talked since I went into the arena," Helena admitted. She shook her head, some of the frustrated tone returning. "If I'd known that…"

"He knew we were about to stage a revolution. I doubt money matters were high on his list of priorities," Bruce pointed out.

Helena shook her head again. "No, you don't understand, Dad," she explained. As she spoke, some of the anger returned to her eyes, and she leaned forward. "I'm sure the Capitol edited it when I told Harley and Pamela, but the Capitolites who donate to the Games ... they ask for favors in return." Her expression twisted, clearly showing what she thought of the practice. "This whole time, the victors were expected to — to whore themselves out for sponsors and for the Capitol."

"What." Bruce shook his head. "There's no way that the Nicholas Fury I knew—"

"Logan told me. He admitted what was going on while we were still in the Capitol," Helena said, her voice rising. "And you saw the cast he gave Dick and the string he gave me. Do you really think he didn't have to do so much more than putting in his own money with the multiplier rule in effect?"

For a long time, Bruce was silent — though that was honestly an indication of just how furious he was as Helena's words rang in the air between them. And then, in an instant, he got to his feet. "I'm going to talk to him."

"I'll go with you," Helena said — and Bruce knew better than to argue with her.

It took next to no time for Bruce to find Logan, since all he had to do was find Agent Skye trying her best to play bodyguard for the new director, and Logan would be nearby. Unless, of course, he had slipped out again on some dangerous mission he seemed determined to take on only for himself.

Bruce's eyes flashed in irritation as he let himself into the room, where Logan looked worn down and frustrated, fresh off a meeting with Charles Xavier on what needed to happen to help Kate Bishop get her mind back.

"I know that the Capitol took a lot from you, Logan, but now is not the time to leave the rebellion leaderless to chase down old allies," Bruce said, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Logan said, holding both hands up. "And the girls ... well... Two of 'em are givin' us some decent intel, anyway."

"No, of course you're not going anywhere; you've already done what you wanted," Bruce said. "And I don't doubt you'll stay here — until another personal matter comes up." He shook his head. "You're in charge of thousands of people; you can't be so narrow-minded."

Logan watched him for a long moment and leaned back. "I told you, I'm not goin' anywhere else unless it's a big push — all hands on deck."

"That's hard to believe," Helena put in, her eyes flashing. "You haven't let anything stop you before from putting yourself in compromising positions."

"Hey, Hel," Logan said, clearly just to rile her. "Glad to see you up, around, and more or less back to yourself."

"It's Helena," she said, almost automatically. She shook her head and pointed her finger his way. "And just so we're clear — in case the Capitol edited out what I had to say — if you ever make me feel like your pimp again, I will put an arrow in you."

Logan closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "Now how the hell'm I supposed to control how anyone feels?"

"Start by not selling yourself," Helena shot back. "I didn't ask you for help. I didn't want your help, especially knowing the price tag."

"You didn't have to ask. And it didn't go down like that," Logan said, holding her gaze. "You can relax."

"Then what happened?" Helena said. "And don't just wave me off like a child, either. I know even putting your own winnings in, if you got something for both of us, there had to be a price. I'm not naive enough to think it was easy. Or worth it."

"Like hell it wasn't worth it." Logan looked more irritated at that. "There was a price. And I was happy to make sure it was paid. I kept it on the up an' up as much as humanly possible. Played it clean. All I ended up havin' to do was to save someone's life. So like I said: you can relax."

"Whose life?" Bruce asked.

"Selene Gallio," Logan said.

Bruce nearly sneered at that. "Why you'd even talk to her…"

"When she was spendin' every spare second she had hangin' off of me and followin' me around, it was hard not to," Logan said. "Not like I could tell her to stick it."

"And she asked you to keep her safe in the revolution?"

Logan paused, then tipped his head. "Once it started, yeah."

But Bruce narrowed his eyes at that. "And what was the original deal?"

"Doesn't matter," Logan said.

"It does to me," Helena insisted. "It matters to me what you had to do in my name."

But when Logan refused to answer, Skye stepped in. "He traded her for a favor. An open favor."

"An open favor with Selene Gallio?" Bruce looked almost thunderstruck. "Do you know what kind of a position that put you in? Especially considering the fact that you were close enough to the director of SHIELD that he named you his successor?"

"No one outside of Coulson and Hill knew that," Logan said.

"It's okay," Skye said, though her tone was sarcastic. "Agent May already read him the riot act. I'm sure that got through to him and he won't do something stupid again."

"Still not convinced the friggin' surgery wasn't payback for that," Logan grumbled.

"What surgery?" Helena asked.

"Dick didn't tell you?" Logan asked with a little frown as he flexed his hands before he waved it off. "Nevermind. It's not important anyhow."

"He's been busy," Helena said, her tone equal parts defensive and annoyed with Dick. "What surgery?"

Logan looked from Bruce to Skye, then shook his head before, instead of saying anything, he simply popped the claws on one hand for a moment, giving them a chance to see the shining, razor sharp edges before he retracted them again. "Anything else you wanna get off your chest?"

"Who authorized — don't answer that," Bruce said, his voice tight as he paced a small path. "Damn Fury for dying without answering for the mess he left in his wake."

"Nothin' anyone can do about it now," Logan said. "But if you wanna keep yellin' — don't break your stride."

Bruce let out a noise of frustration as he gestured to Logan. "This is what I was talking about," he said. "Fury treated you — all of you — as disposable at worst and pawns at best. And you still treat yourself that way, James!"

Logan squared up with him and let his voice drop low. "Don't know if you ever caught the way things were back home? But that's always been the case. No reason to change it now."

"You're supposed to be different from Fury," Bruce replied just as low. "That doesn't stop just because you're the one on the line."

"I'm doing everything I can for the bigger picture," Logan said. "But unlike him, the only one I'm willing to risk is me."

"Then you still don't understand your own value," Bruce said.

"I understand I'm not any better than anyone else. Don't matter any more than anyone else either."

"And you deserve the same defense as everyone else," Bruce pointed out. "You're completely overlooking your own value, your own humanity."

"I know what's expected of me." Logan held up his hands. "I can't undo this. Or anything that goes with it. That ship sailed a long time ago." He let out a breath and dropped into a chair, pulling over a few fresh maps in an attempt to drop the subject. "What the hell do you want me do about it anyhow?"

"I want you to be more than what you were told you are," Bruce said, shaking his head as he put a hand on Helena's shoulder. "I'm only sorry you believe all that you've been told by SHIELD or the Capitolites. Or your grandfather."

Logan looked up at him and shook his head lightly. "Haven't seen a damn thing to the contrary."

"Then you're as blind as the bats in my basement," Bruce said with a quiet, mirthless smile as he turned to leave. "But if you won't respect my opinion of you, I can't change that."

"Never said I didn't respect your opinion," Logan said. "I just don't know what to do with it."

"And deaf as well as blind," Helena said with the same expression Bruce was wearing. "Come on, Dad; he won't listen." She tipped her chin up as she strode out of the room, and Bruce let out a weary sigh as he followed her.