Pepper laid her hand on Tony's shoulder, causing him to look up from his memories.
"So," she said softly, "where were you?"
"Thinking about how we got here," Tony replied. "Cardiac had just shown up." He looked over as Peter and Doreen re-entered the kitchen, cleaning supplies in hand. "I needed the reminder." He turned back to Pepper. "What happened to staying in bed?"
"It got boring without you there," Pepper replied with a cat-like smile.
"Well, as soon as Steve gets back from his run, we can have him take over and then go back to our room and see about un-boring it," Tony replied, giving her his best leer. Pepper rolled her eyes.
"Actually, I was just about to - whoa. What happened?" Steve asked, coming up behind them.
"Thor's birthday," Tony replied. "Hey, do me a favor, keep an eye on the clean-up while Pepper and I get dressed?" Both Pepper and Steve raised their eyebrows at him and Tony made a face. "I mean, actually get dressed. Or at least me." He yawned. "I'm up for the day . . . morning . . . whatever."
"I may as well get dressed too," Pepper admitted. "Julia and I were going to go over projections today. Maybe we can do it over breakfast and get it over with." And she had to admit, when you looked at the kitchen, a champagne breakfast sounded pretty good.
"Excuse me, Sir, but the Continental Breakfast has arrived," Jarvis announced, punctuated by the ding of the elevator.
"Go," Steve said, looking up from his phone. "Rach says she wants a picture of the kitchen." He grinned. "She also says we can make it twice as dirty with half the cleanup."
Tony rolled his eyes. "You two . . . I don't even want to know."
"She's a heck of a dame, Tony," Steve replied.
Tony threw up his hands as Pepper headed back to their room, and he headed for the living room to deal with the breakfast. Whatever else he could say about Rachel, Steve was happy and that counted for a lot.
Besides, all things considered, when you looked at everything that happened after Cardiac's first attack, Rachel Leighton was one of the high points.
10 months ago . . .
Tony hated meetings.
Especially morning meetings. Especially seven in the morning meetings called by Shield when he'd been up all night working on his suit followed by beta particle shielding and what the hell why was Rogers grinning like that it was creepy as fuck.
"Well, I met this girl," Steve told him, a strange look on his face. Tony facepalmed. Crap.
"No," he told Steve, "I am not going to see a therapist. I have enough on my plate as it is. You all have to live with me verbalizing my thoughts and what girl?"
Steve nodded. "Clint told me the twins are fighting."
"Twins?"
"Well, yeah. Peter and Doreen have the same birthday. Since they're siblings now, Clint said that makes them twins."
"You know that. How do you know that? How does Barton know that?"
"Well, Pepper told me. I wanted to make sure I remembered their birthdays. As for Clint, Natasha probably told him."
"No I didn't," Natasha replied, walking past them. "Morning, Steve."
"It's too early for this. There is in fact no way for it to not be too early for this," Tony muttered as they took their seats in the conference room.
At the front, Coulson tapped a yardstick on the table, calling the meeting to order. "Good morning." He clicked a remote and a still from Cardiac's attack popped up. "Priority one, Cardiac. He has demonstrated extensive medical and engineering skills along with deep pockets, as suggested by the hospital facility. Current profile indicates a planner; He's methodical, focused, and patient, taking the time to learn our post mission routines before he struck." He clicked a remote and an artist's portrait popped up. Most of the Avengers recognized Steve's handiwork. "Priority two, Kron. Last name unknown, Kron is possibly an alias. Purported time traveler from an unknown period into the future. His weapon, some sort of portable and extremely powerful heat ray, suggests a period of seventy-five to one hundred years. He is a VT, and ruthless, as suggested by his massacre of the Navarrone family and the murder of Dino Spinelli and a high society prostitute. Kron also holds plans as to an as yet unknown hotel facility. Why he wants these plans is also unknown."
"I'm still not buying the time travel thing," Tony spoke up. "Just saying."
Coulson ignored him. "Priority three. Someone is trying to frame the Hulk for the murder of Gallery Owner Abigail St. Leoan. The investigating officer's belief is that as many as four individuals perpetrated the actual crime, but the neighbors heard nothing, and neither the damage or the act, matches the Hulk's methods. Our examination of the evidence collected agrees with the officer's assessment, but the New York D.A. intends to see the Hulk held responsible. Ms St. Leoan's family is well connected, which means that they're going to want to wrap this up fast. We'll have to be faster."
"Shouldn't the Hulk thing be priority one?" Tony asked.
"Technically, this is all priority one," Coulson replied. "The faster this is all put to bed, the faster we can worry about really serious threats. New chatter on the grapevine indicates that Madam Hydra, aka, Viper, aka Anna VonStrucker is due in New York for some sort of summit with A.I.M, The Secret Empire, and syndicate chiefs from all over the East Coast, as well as New Orleans, Miami, and Chicago. This summit will be a lot simpler if we're taken out, which means Cardiac, Kron, and St. Leoan may be an attempt to divide and distract or conquer. Also, Stark, Jason Macendale is no longer in the prison hospital where he was recovering."
Tony went still. "He escaped?"
"On his own? Doubtful. The man is a career thug with a eighth grade education. Someone broke him out. At this point, all we know is that the hospital was presented with transfer papers to move Macendale from General in Manhattan to St Conner's in Freeport. St. Conner's never received him and according to the NYPD, no order was ever issued."
"Son of a bitch," Tony groaned and then took out his phone to text Pepper so they could figure out what to tell Peter. Later, it would occur to him that not telling Peter hadn't so much as crossed his mind.
Coulson tapped the yardstick again. "Romanov, Barton. Handpick some agents and hit the streets. Do whatever it takes, but get intel on Cardiac, Kron, and whoever impersonated the Hulk. Take Rogers with you. One other thing, the Blood and Skulls gang are dead. Someone came along after you left and bludgeoned them to death. The bartender, meanwhile, was found unconscious in the closet and apparently had been there since closing the night before. The safe and register where both cleaned out and there's evidence that the man you talked to was impersonating him. It's likely he also was their killer. If you find out anything on that, call it in."
"You have the CSI records?" Natasha asked.
"On your tablet," Coulson replied. "Stark, Banner. Get with Foster and Selvig and scrub the video from Cardiac's attack frame by frame. Anything you can find about his armor, him, or anything else, write it down. As far as Kron, this Mike person apparently can reach back in time via Mjolnir. If he can reach back, we can reach forward. Figure out how. Powell, you're coordinating and compiling. As Romanov, Barton, Banner and Stark bring in data, I want you to make sense of it. Find patterns, anything." Coulson turned to the last person in the room. "Lewis, start battening down hatches. Focus on the Hulk issue since the D.A. will try to light a media firestorm to force us to hand the Hulk over, but the other issues at hand should also be addressed."
"Already on it," Darcy replied. "What about Darkhawk?"
"Classified, if anyone asks," Coulson replied. "Active agent subject to the same security restrictions as Black Widow and Hawkeye. As far as everyone knows, the Darkhawk armor is a prototype in test phase."
"Whatever." Darcy shrugged.
"Any questions?" Coulson looked around the room. "Then dismissed."
Steve stood to let Stark go by, and then waited by the door for Barton and Natasha. As they came over, he noticed Natasha frowning at her tablet. "What's wrong?"
"The Skulls. These blows. There's a lot of them, but only one actual killing blow on each man . . . he wanted to hurt them. Punish them. The killing blows are very precisely placed, so he was still in control, but the others, that's about pain. Pain and punishment. He wanted vengeance."
"Hm," Barton sighed. "Maybe we should get him and Kron in the same room and let them fight it out."
"We have to find them first," Steve reminded him. "Come on."
Barton banged his head on the table. "We didn't find jack, we didn't find shit. Neither jack nor shit was to be found."
Chris took a slice of pizza, a smirk on his face. "Well, there was that hobo—"
"We do not talk of the hobo," Barton interrupted. "Ever. Ever. There was no hobo." He shuddered. "Do not speak of the hobo."
Steve looked over at Tony. "Any luck?"
"Not really, Thor got summoned back to Asgard for a god thing. As for Cardiac . . . you tell them, Bruce."
Bruce set his pizza down. "Remember that Cardiac built that lab for open heart surgery on himself?" Everyone nodded. "We ran the footage from Tony's armor through spectrometer analysis. Cardiac's armor is powered by a mini beta particle reactor implanted into his chest."
"What, like Tony?" Steve asked.
Bruce shook his head. "No. Based on the energy flow and heat patterns, he replaced his heart with the reactor and a medical pump."
"Essentially," Selvig put in, "this Cardiac fellow is quite literally, heartless. Physically, in terms of blood flow and the like, he should be fine. Psychologically . . . God knows."
"Avengers." Coulson entered the room. Though he always looked serious, there was usually a slight hint of amusement in his face. Not now, now he looked grim.
"Coulson?" Natasha asked.
"We've found out which hotel Kron was after." Coulson told them. "It's the Langford on 49th. Two hundred and fifty people are dead."
The Langford building boasted a concierge desk and 24/7 service to its tenants, most of whom were families. It was, in effect, a live-in hotel. Or had been.
Steve was no stranger to death. The war against Hydra had been brutal and if the SSR hadn't lost men on a mission, Hydra had certainly left behind more than its share of bodies.
But this . . . Steve looked down as his booted foot stepped on something that he realized was a human hand. But just the hand. "Sorry," he said, jerking his foot upwards and then carefully side-stepping. the appendage before continuing down the hall. What was really weird about the whole thing, was that preliminary evidence suggested that there were several killers at work. Anyone inside the units bore the signature mark of Kron's heat gun, while the people dead in the hallways had been killed by guns, blunt force, or broken neck or other methods and some had been struck by the heat gun as well, suggesting they'd attempted to flee, only to be cut down.
The current theory was that Kron had worked his way through each floor, killing the tenants while the other killers had patrolled the hallways, killing anyone who came up from the lobby or managed to escape the unit. The security cameras in the halls had been switched to a loop, so the security department hadn't noticed, and the walls and floors and walls were thick, muffling any sound.
"Cap!' Steve turned to see Barton exiting the stairwell. "You're not gonna believe this; Nat sat down with the guard on duty for a chat and for some reason, he felt compelled to share that he'd been paid off to not notice the loop."
"How remarkable," Steve murmured sarcastically. "So he was in on it?" He eyed two girls by the elevator doors, both of whom lay on the ground with heads at unnatural angles, packages on the floor.
"Nah, all he had to do was ignore the loop and not raise an alarm. He thought they were just gonna rob one of the units."
"And scrambling the whole system would make the getaway easier," Steve finished.
"Yup. Turns out he's been jonseing for a raise and promotion. Got neither at the last review, so when some guy sits down with him at the bar and offers him five grand to look the other way while he and some buddies rob six twelve, he figures hey, easy money."
Steve frowned. "Six twelve? Why that name that one if all Kron wanted was to kill people?"
"Wasn't Kron. Or if it was, he's dyed his hair red. Guard didn't ask his name and the guy didn't give it." Barton pointed. "There is a unit six twelve though. Thataway at the end."
Steve nodded and set off in that direction. "Thanks."
"You don't think it was a random pick," Barton said, joining him.
"I . . . I don't know." Steve sighed. "But why not, right?"
"Works for me," Barton shrugged. "Oh, Stark took Banner back to the Tower. He was looking a bit green."
At the door to six twelve, Barton dropped, pivoting on his knee as he drew and nocked an arrow, covering Steve as he entered, shield at the ready. Only corpses greeted them, which is what they'd been expecting, but they'd hadn't lasted this long without being just a bit paranoid. The CSI units hadn't done more than a preliminary survey, so the room was untouched by yellow tape and chalk outlines.
The room was, to Steve's sense, tasteful. Brick and wood with soft blues and simple furniture. A banner wishing Rebecca a happy 18th birthday was strung over the windows, under which was the remains of an extravagant buffet. Glasses of soda lay on the floor, the partygoers having been killed where they stood.
"Jeez. Must be nice," Barton said, studying the buffet. "Hey, Cap, would you ever want to live like this?"
"Nah," Steve replied. "I've got all I need. You?"
"Quilted toilet paper."
"What?"
"We made do with whatever was at hand in the circus and the Army bought the super cheap stuff in bulk, so . . ." Barton shrugged.
Steve laughed despite himself and then his eyes whipped sideways as a noise from the bedrooms reached his ears. He waved his hand to catch Barton's attention and flashed a warning signal. "I guess I can see that," he said out loud. "Helps living with Stark and how he buys the best of everything." He began casually moving towards the bedrooms.
"Well yeah, why do you think I signed on?" Barton replied, also moving towards the bedrooms on noiseless feet, a broad headed arrow in his hand, ready to stab or draw as needed. "It sure wasn't for the paycheck."
"And here I thought we were doing this for the good of all mankind," Steve replied, signaling for Barton to go left.
"Well yeah, that too, but hey, good toilet paper," Barton casually nocked his arrow. "Oh, and the beer."
"Beer is good," Steve agreed. His fingers counted down. 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . they burst into the room, weapons ready.
Nothing. Like the front room, the bedroom was also tastefully decorated. Dance posters hung on the wall, and an armoire lay on its side, doors open and clothes spilled onto the floor. Near the bookcase lay a man, his chest a charred, smoking ruin.
"Hey, Cap?" Barton looked over at him. "How old would you say this person was?" Steve looked over at the body. "Not that guy, whoever's room this is."
Steve looked around again. "Uh, high school?"
"Yeah, a high school girl. And there were no high school girls out there. A couple in the hallway by the elevator, but not in the front room."
Steve's eyes widened. "Rebecca."
"Yeah."
Steve looked around again, and his eyes fell on the corpse by the bookcase. The bookcase that had a bare wall to its left. Casually, Steve moved to the bare wall and looked down. The carpet hid it well, but he could pick out the small track set into it that led right to the bookcase. Then booth men jumped as something behind the bookcase went thud against it.
Barton's hands moved. What do? Shield's internal sign language wasn't big on vocabulary.
Steve's mouth narrowed to a line. You door. I shield. Fire if fired upon.
Barton nodded and moved to the bookcase's right while Steve moved to stand in front, positioning his shield and his body so that he was as protected as possible.
Barton looked to him for a nod, then pressed the switch. The bookcase slid aside and something hurtled out and slammed into his shield, screaming as it did and hitting him with such force that he actually was pushed back a step.
It was a girl, medium length brown hair with a dancer's build, lithe like a tiger and zero thought in her eyes which were red with tears and lips pulled back in a snarl that was both grief and rage. Without pause, she wailed on the shield with her fists, screaming at him.
"Rebecca!" Steve shouted. "Rebecca!" Then Barton was there, slipping his arms under hers and then locking his hands behind her neck. Rebecca slammed her foot down on Barton's, but he didn't let go.
"Good thing I wore the steel toes," Barton muttered and carefully dropped to his knees, forcing her to sit on the ground, legs splayed out in front of her. Steve also dropped to his knees and repeated her name over and over, hands on her legs to keep her from trying to kick him.
Gradually, something like sanity began to return to her eyes as she began to realize her position and the screams stopped pouring forth. Steve lifted his hands from her legs and held them up before her, showing her that he had no weapon. She drew several ragged breaths and then slumped on the ground. Barton released her, rising up to one knee and moving to put himself between her and the body on the floor.
"Rebecca, right?" Steve asked, "Your name is Rebecca?"
She nodded, tears on her cheeks, but her eyes bright and defiant. "Y-yeah . . . Rebecca Barnes. But everyone calls me Rikki" Steve nodded, though it felt like he'd just been punched in the gut. Barnes. Oh Lord.
"All right . . ah . . . Rikki. I know you're upset—"
"Upset?" Rikki bounced to her feet. "Yeah, I'm upset. I want to look the son of a bitch who did this in the eye and kick him so hard his grandpa is sterile." Brown eyes flashed fire.
"In this case, that might work," Barton muttered.
Steve nodded. "Well, he's not here, and there's some people downstairs who'll want to talk to you, so let's start there." He turned to the door. "Um, it's not pretty out there. You may not want to look." He picked up his shield and attached it to the hooks on the back of his uniform.
Rikki's defiant expression wavered and then hardened again. "Yeah. Is . . . Is there anyone else?"
Steve shook his head. "Just you."
She inhaled deeply and then raised her chin. "Okay." Without looking around, she walked towards the door.
"You okay, Cap?" Barton asked.
"Yeah. She just . . . she reminds of Bucky a bit. And the last name. Barnes."
"Yeah, that would do it." Barton touched his com as they entered into the main room. "Nat, Coulson. We found a survivor. Bringing her down now . . . You know those secret room things? Yeah, behind a bookcase —"
Steve couldn't have said what warned him. Maybe it was his hearing, maybe it was instinct honed on the battlefield, but whatever it was, he grabbed Barton and yanked him down and to the side as a bolt of energy flashed through the space where the archer had been and burned a hole in the carpet. Tucking and rolling, Steve came to his feet with his shield in a guard position.
"Hostile Contact! Unit Six One Two!" Barton was yelling. "Hostile Contact!"
Movement. Steve shifted, and there was a bright flash of energy against his shield and Steve raised his head. Above the entrance to the bedrooms was a a sort of loft. Plants lined the edges and crouching there was a man. Thin seemed to be the operative descriptor. Pale face with a shock of white blond hair that stood up from his head. His pupils were mere pinpricks while his wide grin looked more like something out of a comic book. He was clad in green tactical armor and one hand held some kind of pistol.
"Kron," Steve breathed.
"I am," the man agreed.
"At least Mike was right," Barton said, "mad dog."
Kron's face flashed over into rage. "He told you? He told you about me?" Then the smile returned. "But then, that won't matter." He settled his gaze on Steve. "Once you die, none of it will matter. Then there will only be the truth."
"Truth this," Barton muttered, loosing an arrow and Kron dodged, dropping to the floor. Steve stuck out his hand, keeping Barton from shooting again. Over the com, he could hear the terse chatter as Natasha led a team towards them and Coulson organized containment.
"What truth?" Steve asked, trying to buy time.
"Heads up, Cap," Natasha said into the com. "Twelve man to your position, 30 seconds, NYPD Swat in two minutes. Shield reinforcements in six."
"The truth of family." Kron spread his hand, indicating the bodies. "I have saved them. I know what they do." Pupils contracted even more. "I know what families do in the dark." He made a noise too twisted to be a giggle. "You . . . came back . . . then you gave . . . him that hammer. Now there's no hammer. NOW DIE!" He began shooting.
Steve's shield was already moving to block the shot before Kron had started yelling, even as he moved froward, hitting Kron shield first and sending him flying back before moving to the side to allow Barton to fire some arrows, but they only bounced off Kron's outfit.
"Coulson wants him alive," Barton muttered over the com at Steve's questioning look.
"Down!" Natasha barked as she rolled into the room, Shield agents behind her and Steve dropped to the carpet as they opened fire. Natasha rolled up to rest on her knees and her hands were full of gun.
But not just ordinary guns. These were Tony Stark created .45 semi-automatics with almost no recoil and had the weight of .38. In the hands of most people, they were simply deadly. Natasha Romanov was not most people and the room filled with a roar of gunfire.
"Cease fire!" someone shouted.
Kron giggled and Steve raised his head.
In the middle of the room, Kron crouched behind some kind of round energy shield projected from his left wrist. "Is that all?" He asked, rising, the shield flickering off.
"No," Natasha replied and dropped her guns as she charged.
And Kron went to meet her in a tangle of punches, blocks, and kicks before they broke apart, both tumbling in opposite directions. Almost immediately, Rikki bounded past Steve, dropping to the ground as one leg swept out fast enough to actually whistle through the air. Kron hopped over it, but Rikki wasn't done yet as she spun up onto her hands, foot connecting with his collarbone. Even as Kron staggered back, Rikki was already on her feet, hands snapping out in a series of jabs. She was fast and light on her feet, never stationary, always moving.
"Capoeira," Barton muttered. "Kid's got teeth."
Steve tossed aside his shield, then his helmet. His eyes were nothing more than slits as he drew back and slammed his fist into Kron's face. As though planned, Rikki danced away, moving to Kron's other side, and planted her foot in his kidney, shoving him towards Steve. who punched him again.
"They fight well together," Natasha noted, crossing her arms.
Barton clicked his bow, feeling the quiver whirr as he changed out his arrowheads. "She's an Amateur."
"We all had to start somewhere," Natasha replied. "And Steve needs someone at his side. Maybe that someone is her."
"Oh?"
"He's a soldier, Clint. Soldiers don't fight alone."
"What does that make the Avengers?" Barton grunted and nocked his arrow. As an ex-soldier himself, Natasha's comment hit home more than he liked.
"Point," Natasha admitted. "Someone to stop him?"
"Maybe. Would you believe her last name is Barnes?"
"Really." Natasha smiled. "Interesting."
Barton grunted again and drew, putting himself into that place that most snipers and marksmen couldn't go without drugs.
Time slowed.
Around him, everything seemed to go into extreme slow-motion. His breathing slowed and the bow in his hand seemed to have no weight. All his senses were alert, his focus narrowing to Kron.
To his target.
A grand equation, more sensed than seen, flowed around him. He knew exactly where everything in the room was, where to point his arrow to hit it, and if it was moving, where it would be.
There.
He opened his fingers, letting the arrow go.
Time sped up again.
Kron staggered towards Rikki, who shifted on her feet, ready to kick, when the arrow struck him in the chest and exploded into a gray, web like material that covered Kron from his shoulders down to his waist. A second shot bound his legs and he toppled to the floor.
"Ready position!" Natasha snapped, and the tension in the room dialed down to a sort of wary alertness. Nobody was stupid enough to relax, but he was less dangerous now.
"So here's how it works, Future Man," Barton said, walking up to Kron and crouching next to him. "You so much as twitch wrong and that skull of your will have more holes in it than the plot of the last Perry Rohdan movie." Barton grinned. "Now, there's all sorts of folks who are very interested in your whole family savior bit, but I'm not one of them. Sooo . . ." Barton produced a roll of duct tape and tore a strip off. "This is for—" he frowned. Kron was grinning. "What's so funny?"
"You, you shocking primitive."
"Clear!" Barton yelled, catapulting himself backwards, turning it into a roll and coming up with his bow drawn and aimed directly at the point between Kron's eyes, but the webbing had dissolved in a flash of lighting and Kron was charging him.
"Hold fire!" someone yelled and Barton clicked his bow to its second setting. The string retracted, The bow straightened and he gripped it and swung, striking Kron in the ribs.
"My ex-wife taught me two things, asshole," he growled. "One, never buy tequila in Ohio from anyone named Steve, and two, how to staff fight." in his hand, the bow finished changing to a bo. "And this bo staff was made by Tony Stark."
As though on cue, Iron Man crashed through the roof, followed by the Hulk.
"What can I say?" Iron Man said, deploying weapons. "I like being fashionably late."
"Hulk crush future man!" Hulk bellowed, and charged.
Kron ducked, slipping past Hulk's swing and throwing what appeared to be a oval shaped towel that wrapped itself around Hulk's neck and clamped onto his ears. Hulk roared in pain, trying at first to pull the thing off his ears, then off his throat even as he charged Kron again, only to collapse mere inches from Kron and revert back to Bruce who promptly and violently retched. "Vertigo pad," Kron smiled. "And to think the Knights worshipped you."
"Yeah, bored now," Iron Man said and there was a mad scramble as everyone sought cover, Steve and Barton dragging Banner to cover as the other Shield agents dived into the hallway right before the world filled with noise and light. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Rikki grab his shield and take cover behind it.
"Ah yes. The great and powerful Iron Man," Kron rose behind his glowing energy shield. "Like grandfather, like grandson."
"Dude. What the hell?" Iron Man demanded. "You are supposed to be a crispy charred corpse." A pause. "Wait. Grandson? What?"
Kron only snickered and threw some sort of disc at Iron Man. Iron Man tried to bat it away, but it attached itself to his gauntlet, there was a bright blue flash and Iron Man fell over backwards, unmoving.
"Barnes!" Steve barked, "Get to Iron Man! Make sure he's still alive." He, Natasha, and Barton formed a loose circle around Kron, Natasha clicking on her wrist tasers, but there was a still a hole.
"Ward?" Barton asked as a man stepped in to fill the hole, pulling off his jacket and tie. He was tall and broad, with short black hair. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in Bangkok?"
"Agent Sitwell added me to Tac last month." Ward put on brass knuckles.
"Ward? Grant Ward?" Kron looked like he'd just met a major celebrity. "Oh, you're one of the funones. So much truth spread at your hands."
The com beeped. "This is Commander Maria Hill. Authorization Delta Delta four six niner. All Shield Agents on scene at the Langford; You have a go for Dead or Alive. Repeat, Dead or Alive is now in effect for the Langford."
Ward moved, scooping up a table lamp and smashing it over Kron's head and then following it up with a one two to the face and a knee to the madman's stomach. He drew back to throw another punch and Kron leapt forward like a cobra striking prey and they all winced as they heard the sound of a shoulder being dislocated and an arm broken.
Barton and Natasha moved in next, but Kron grabbed the staff and used it to wrench Barton around like a club, throwing him into Natasha to send her stumbling away before laying into Barton and Steve felt his temper begin to boil.
As Barton fell, clutching his arm to his side, Steve and Natasha charged, but Kron ducked past them and ran for the door, his gun mowing down agents and his energy shield acting like a sharpened blade, slicing easily through body armor, and severing the occasional limb. By the time Steve and Natasha had arrested their forward momentum and turned around, Kron was out the door.
"Go!" yelled one of the standing agents. McKeever, Steve thought. "I've already called for medical. Get that goddamn son of a bitch!"
Natasha scooped up her guns and followed Steve out, Steve fervently wishing Thor was there, because they could seriously use his help.
In the hallway, an NYPD SWAT team was waiting for Kron. They were superbly trained, those men, outfitted with the best the police department could offer.
They were dead before they could get off a shot and Natasha yelled in fury and rage, actually pushing past Steve and following the madman into the stairwell. That was a mistake.
Since she was a young girl, Natasha Romanov had been trained to be a living weapon, spilling her blood as much as she had spilled that of others. Her beauty was matched only by a keen intellect and superb physical conditioning and for the past nine months she had worked out regularly against both Steve and Thor, pushing her already superb limits against opponents far faster and stronger than she was.
That experience was the only thing that saved her as Kron's fist came at her face and she moved her head, feeling the brush of his clothing as the wooden wall of the stairwell crunched under the impact and too late, she realized she had run into a trap, one set specifically for her. The stairwell impeded her agility and was too narrow for Steve to flank Kron and force him to split his attention.
She was effectively alone.
To her credit, her technique was perfect, and her attacks and defenses were flawless, but Kron was born of madness, soaking up hits that should have crippled him and returning them tenfold. She felt bones crack and blood vessels split.
"NATASHA!" Steve yelled, feet pounding down the stairs, but he was so, so far away. She was almost floating and then, the darkness.
Steve stood there, frozen. "You . . . you . . ."
Kron laughed. "Now you see, Captain, now you understand. Your family has only brought you pain. and you, the man out of time, brought them pain in return. Now, you are free. You are all free."
"No, I don't see," Steve replied. Red pounded at the edge of his vision. "I was always free, so were they. You're nothing but a murderer. A degenerate common garden variety killer. You're no savior, no voice of truth; you're just a child."
Kron's face twisted in rage and Steve made to move. They were far enough down the stairs that he could vault over the railing to the next set of stairs and then jump back behind Kron before he could require Steve as a target.
"INCOMING!" someone yelled.
Steve turned and then ducked as Rikki, riding his shield as though it was a snowboard, came rocketing down the stairs, flying over his head, and landing on Kron's face shield first to the sound of broken bone and cartilage. Even as Kron was falling backwards, Rikki was in the air, flipping and twisting to land on the railing, waving her arms slightly to maintain balance. Almost lightly, she hopped off the railing and landed on Kron's sternum.
"Shockin'—" Kron's curse was cut off as Rikki's foot snapped out, striking him him across the jaw. Steve saw the madman's eyes roll back in his head as he lapsed into unconsciousness.
As Steve knelt to tie Kron's hands and feet, Rikki walked a few steps away and then sank down against the wall, tears in her eyes.
"You okay, there?" Steve asked. The wire he was using to tie up Kron was rated for someone on Thor's level, so it was unlikely that Kron would be able to break free or zap his way out. Still, he was careful to tie Kron's forearms together so that even if he got out of the handcuffs, he'd wouldn't be able to use his arms. He did the same to Kron's ankles, shins, and thighs.
"I need three things," Rikki replied. "Video because I have no idea how I pulled that off, my boyfriend, and the number of a really, really good therapist." She swiped at her eyes, "and right now I would trade all of that to have my parents back."
"That's natural," Steve replied as a Shield med team stormed up the stairs towards Natasha.
"At least I took him down, right?" Rikki asked, her voice hovering just short of being ragged sobs. "That's probably the only reason I'll be able to sleep tonight. If I sleep."
Steve nodded. "Yeah, you will," he said quietly, thinking of Bucky, and the aftermath. "You'll sleep. It won't be easy, but you'll sleep."
"Yeah," Rikki agreed, but it was clear she didn't really believe him.
Rachel Leighton swore as the circuit sparked and she jerked her hand back, nearly dropping the soldering iron.
"Problem?" Cleo Nefertiti asked, leaning over Rachel's shoulder.
"I can't get the new memory to seat," Rachel said, pushing the magnifying goggles up onto her head and putting on her glasses before leaning closer to the small diamond shaped electronic device. "Gah! First time in months I get the chance to work on my own equipment, do some actual upgrades, and this happens." She wiped the iron's tip on the sponge and slipped it into the holder. "I'm going up top for a smoke." She reached over to the side of the lab bench and grabbed an oversized shirt which slipped neatly over the pink and black kevlar and leather suit she wore. "You wanna come?"
"Sure," Cleo said, and went to find her own shirt.
A few minutes later, they were on the roof of the building that was over their underground headquarters and Cleo set down a cigar box, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. She poured the whiskey while Rachel cut the cigars, and there was a comfortable silence as they perched on an HVAC unit, cigars in one hand and the alcohol in the other.
"It isn't just the gear, Rach," Cleo said at last. "Something's been eating at you for a month now, probably more, and you've been crabby since this morning. Is it that guy you met? Because Tanya and I . . ."
"No, its not that." Rachel looked at the cigar in her hand, studying the evenness of the burn. "Not
entirely. It's . . . I'm tired, Cleo. Tired of the life. Tired of . . ." She took a drag on the cigar followed by a gulp of whiskey because the words stuck in her throat. "I don't know if I want to be Diamondback anymore."
"And if you quit, then what?" Cleo asked.
"I don't know! Paint, maybe. See more musicals on Broadway, anything."
"Like meet a guy, settle down, have a few babies?"
"That's Tanya," Rachel retorted. "But yeah, having someone would be good."
"Sounds like that guy had an effect on you," Cleo smiled and refilled their whiskeys.
"There's a spark, yeah," Rachel admitted. "Okay, a big spark. But Steve's an oversized boy scout and Diamondback could be a deal breaker for him."
"If you get that far," Cleo clarified.
"Obviously, but it's something I need to think about now instead of later. Or should."
"Yeah, that's smart I guess." Cleo held up her glass, watching the light pass through the liquid. "It's Crossbones, isn't it?"
Rachel looked at her, then at the roof, and then nodded. "Ever since he showed up, forced Sidewinder out and took over, it hasn't been the same. The Serpent Society is changing and I've got this feeling between my shoulder blades like there's a knife already there."
Cleo looked at her, mouth in a thin line. "You're not alone. We're turning into some kind of Assassin's guild and I'm worried about what that means for the Society's future."
"So what do we do?" Rachel asked. "Something's gonna give, Cleo."
"I don't know, Rach, I really don't."
It was sunset.
Grant Ward shifted his arm in the sling, and stared out over the city. The discomfort was of no particular concern, both because he had been trained to ignore it, and because Shield had very efficient painkillers.
"Something wrong, Ward?" Jasper Sitwell asked, joining him.
"Kron knew my name, knew who I was. It means I'm in the history books and I don't know if I like that."
"Hm," Sitwell nodded. "On the other hand, Ward, history is written by the winners and that bodes well for us," He patted Ward on his good shoulder. "Get some sleep, Ward. Rest." With that, Sitwell walked away.
Ward looked out over the city, watching as a bird flew by and his eyes tracked it for a moment before returning to the forest of glass and steel below.
Sitwell was right; winners wrote the history book and Grant Ward was a winner. He watched the lights of the city began to come on and his smile was ugly and arrogant.
First, Hydra, then Shield, and then the world. It was good to be on the right side.
The side of the Secret Empire.
Author's Notes:
You know, I honestly think the Langford scene is the longest scene I've ever written. I feel almost like it's one of those scenes in a movie with no cuts, just the camera moving all over the place. Heck, it's practically a chapter all on its own.
While no one's asked, and its pretty self-evident, I want to state outright (For my fellow TV Tropes addicts, I'm invoking Word Of God: Fanfic Edition) that this fic largely ignores canon established in MCU Phase two (Iron Man 3 and onwards), especially given the events of Cap 2. While that doesn't rule out certain elements or characters popping up, I'm following my own road. Whee!
Suffice it to say, the hobo is a sculptor and his choice of medium violates multiple Health and Safety laws.
Rebecca "Rikki" Barnes was Steve's partner during the Heroes Reborn saga. Whether or not she will take on that role here remains to be seen. You are free to imagine me secretively smiling like Xelloss from Slayers if you so wish . . . oh who am I kidding? Yeah, she's gonna be Steve's partner.
Perry Rhodan is a series of science fiction type pulp novels that have been in production for a good sixty years with no sign of stopping. In this universe, there is also a series of movies a la James Bond. Some are good, some not so much, and the most recent one was so bad it made Manos: Hands of Fate look good. The sub-plot that blatantly ripped off the Ninja Turtles probably didn't help.
Recall that in the Avengers, Clint used his bow as a melee weapon twice. Once against Natasha on the Helicarrier, and again during the Chitauri attack when he was out of arrows. It not only makes sense to me that Tony would upgrade everyone's costumes and equipment, but the sheer pun of a bow that could become a bo staff would be something he would feel compelled to create.
A Marvel wiki noted that Diamondback/Rachel was seen smoking cigars on several occasions. Given Steve's pipe (chapter 4), which was actually comics canon way back in the day before smoking became unfashionable, it seems like a good complementary vice. Also, I love me a good old fashioned "Dating Catwoman" trope.
The Secret Empire was mentioned back in chapter 5. In the comics, it was responsible for Steve Rogers being disillusioned and taking on the role of Nomad, wearing what easily qualifies as the dumbest costume ever short of just about anything designed by Rob Liefeld.
I have so many ideas for this 'verse, you don't even know.
So many ideas . . .
