A/N: Sorry this is late. So sorry. Really, I don't want to keep giving excuses. Still trying to stay on schedule. On the bright side, it's longer than usual. :) Thanks again for all the support and reviews!
"Coulson, report."
"Banner has been located but his stability is still at risk. It is recommended we do not go in for retrieval yet. The Odinsons are still unaware of their situation. Barton is verging on becoming a vigilante. Again. Sir, we really need to something about that man-"
"Hill?"
"Stark has been relatively quiet since Gulmira. Understandably, of course. Romanoff's whereabouts and actions are, at the very least, sketchy, but nonthreatening. Rogers, on the other hand…"
"Spit it out, Hill."
"Rogers may have been compromised."
Steve was running. He could run. He was running barefoot in New York chasing after the guy who shot his, his, creator? He would have jumped into the water, but his lungs were still new and fresh and just wanted to breathebreathebreathe and he was still scared to dive in deep waters and have that breath stolen away, to have his lungs scream and cry and him struggling to the surface and still not able to breathe. He may be big and strong but he was still that kid from Brooklyn. The one who tried not to cry when his mother died. The one who got into scraps against kids who were bigger than him, outnumbered him. The one whose best friend pulled him out of those fights, the friend who was missing, was found, missing again, wouldn't talk.
Steve wondered if this is how a normal body was supposed to feel, when you're high on air and your muscles are more than capable of supporting you. Did their minds race like his? Or was it just the adrenaline? Steve didn't know. When the man jumped in the water, he didn't know what to do next. He didn't want to go back, not without Erskine. Erskine was smart, he didn't trust the serum to the feds. If Erskine didn't trust them, Steve wouldn't. He'd do his research. He'd lie low.
He'd run.
"How's it going, Pepper?" Natasha glanced at her watch and down the hall again. She couldn't be caught in Stane's office. He didn't trust her; she didn't trust him; it'd be suspicious. She leaned on the door, appearing to be bored and waiting for an appointment (which just so happened to appear on Stane's electronic calendar).
"Oh my god, Nat-" Pepper's panicked voice crackled in her ear.
"Is it done?" She cut off the other woman. They didn't have time for this.
"Almost…"
A steady stream of footsteps thundered down the empty hall. "Well, either make up a story or make the computer download faster because Stane's coming." Natasha rounded the corner of the hallway, keeping the office in her line of sight. She watched him enter and heard the scared thumping of a heart. Pepper's? No, hers.
She couldn't remember the last time she felt fear. It was so irrational, especially now. She wasn't the one in danger. She barely knew Tony Stark and his PA, Pepper Potts. Barely anything that wasn't on file, anyway. Maybe she was just out of practice. Maybe she was weak. Or maybe, just maybe (damn you, Stark) she cared.
He hit on her the first, the third, the three-hundredth (no, he would never go to public relations meetings, forced or not, that frequently) time he saw her. Ogling, handing out his best lines, lines that made most other women swoon, or at the very least, blush (if not flattered, then at least indignant).
Natasha Romanoff was not most women. And contrary to belief, she did not, at those points in time, hate Tony Stark. She was indifferent towards him. She didn't rage or seethe. She cast him cool glances and words because Stark was a genius but couldn't be bothered with any other affairs, life, and thoughts that didn't strictly deal with engineering. She dealt with him because she had to. Because it was her job. (Because it was better than her past.)
The Tony Stark that had walked into her office the other day was different. Like the man he could've been all these years if he wasn't bogged down by his insecurities, his drink, the vicious media. And when he pulled her away from Stane and into the homey dive, she knew. Knew where her loyalty lay. Drinking a milkshake and talking with people who would become more than strangers she was sharing a table with revealed her loyalties.
She didn't know quite why, but her loyalties laid with them.
She heard the quick clicks of Pepper's heels and followed, ignoring the glares of Obadiah Stane. Pepper looked worried and was going as fast as she could without raising suspicion. Before she could ask, Pepper pointed out a man, hair thinning and wearing a black suit. "That's Phil Coulson. He's an agent of something called SHIELD. Let's walk with him." She waved at the man. "Hey, Agent Coulson!" He looked up.
"Do you want to schedule that meeting, Ms. Potts?" Meeting? Oh right, the meeting Pepper told him she would book after referring to Tony's schedule. The thing she never got around to. Right.
"Yeah, sure. Right now."
"So what time would…"
"No, meeting starts right now. Come with me."
Natasha noticed his slight surprise and hesitation, noted the grace with which he followed the two rushing women. She wondered at the smile that reached his eyes.
"Okay, Ms. Potts." And I thought Tony Stark was impulsive.
Tony fell off his couch when he heard a buzz, like a buzzer, like someone was actually trying to communicate with him in person, knew where he lived, but didn't know about Jarvis. He rubbed at his sleep-deprived eyes and yelled, "Jarvis? What time is it and who keeps making that incessant noise?"
"It is around six in the evening and I believe it is Mr. Rogers ringing the doorbell."
"Believe? What are you talking about Jarv? Either he is or he isn't and I gave you the files of people you can buzz in."
"Exactly, sir. He resembles Mr. Rogers in almost all ways, such as speech and hair color, but for a few things…"
"Jarv?"
"Just go look for yourself, sir. The door is armed and prepared to shoot anyway." Tony shrugged. Can't argue with that logic. Besides, I made it myself.
Tony trudged towards the door, shouting, "I'm coming, I'm coming, hold your damn horses!" The buzzing slowed until it came to a stop. Praise the forces that be. Tony needed coffee.
He opened to door and was greeted by the live-giving scent of what he craved. He grabbed the source of the smell and chugged, ignoring the burn because giving up alcohol was hard and oh god how he needed some coffee. He noticed the empty hands and was about to apologize for chugging their coffee when he did a double take. The hands were large. And a good several inches from where they were placed just the other day. He looked up, up, at the sheepish face of a very familiar, very different Steven Grant Rogers.
"I thought you lived here," the now-much-bigger Steve said.
"And I thought you were smaller," Tony said, allowing the man inside, eyes still wide and still having that weird, floaty, holy-hell-I'm-dreaming-aren't-I feeling that may or may not have to do with his lack of sleep and sudden rush of caffeine. He looked out into his driveway. Empty. He closed the door and went into the kitchen.
"Don't you live on the far side of town?" he called into the living room, where Steve had perched on the edge of a couch.
"Yup."
"There aren't any nearby public transportation stops." He poured a cup of coffee for the waiter, black like the cup he had chugged down, trying to maintain a calm tone.
"That's true."
Tony strode over to the stiff man and handed him the mug. "So how the hell did you get here?" Steve sipped at his coffee, purposefully putting off his answer. "Steve?"
"I ran."
Tony dropped into the seat next to him. Damn, the guy was like a rock, Tony noted as Steve remained the absolute picture of poise and balance, sipping at his coffee. "So… what the hell happened?"
"Government experiment. Main scientist shot. I don't trust them. So I came to you."
That was blunt. "If you don't trust them, then why did you go through with the experiment?"
"Well, I only trusted the main scientist, Dr. Erskine, who was told and thus told me that his serum could be used to improve the lives of thousands of people, including soldiers and veterans." He left the "like Bucky" out. He didn't know that Tony knew about Bucky.
"He didn't know that a group called Hydra was looking for him, for the serum, to use it for some sort of world-dominating scheme. He didn't know that the feds were planning on only using it on a select group of soldiers, veterans and other soldiers, other people, be damned." Steve's voice lowered to a whisper. "We both thought we were doing something great. Now he's dead and I just ran away."
Tony rubbed the now broad shoulder of Steve. "Hey, we'll figure this out. In fact, I know a guy. His name's Agent. Agent Coulson of SHIELD. He's seems nice enough. And is part of an organization sketchy enough to help you with this."
A smile tugged at Steve's lips. "His name's Agent?"
"Yeah. Agent Coulson. I think Pepper gave me his card. I think she put up on the fridge. You wanna check?" He pointed towards a doorway. "Just through there and to the right. Help yourself to whatever's in there. I think you deserve it after that marathon you ran." Steve gently elbowed him before following his directions. Before he left Tony's line of sight, however, he turned around and said, "Thanks, Tony."
Tony smiled. He lay his head back against the sofa, caffeine preventing him from sleep and he might have wished he was less impulsive at that moment because his eyes were just screaming for some rest. The doorbell buzzed again.
"Urgh, who is it now, Jarv?"
"Mr. Stane, sir." Tony's eyes shot wide open. He couldn't let him in. No, last time he did that, wait, no, Tony, that was the dream. Tony shook his head. Dream or not be damned, he did not want to answer that door.
"Tony? You expecting someone?" Steve called from the kitchen.
"No, not exactly."
"You want me to get it?"
"No!" Tony fought down the surge of panic. Steve couldn't open that door. It was Stane. Stane would hurt him.
Steve looked at him inquisitively from the doorway, mouth full of a peanut butter sandwich. "I mean, you're the guest, Steve. I'll get it."
Tony walked towards the door. Please be different from last time. Pleasepleaseplease…
He opened the door and it was different. He wasn't even on the couch.
His eyes rolled over to watch Steve fall to the ground, not in paralysis but in pain. He was too strong for the sound, too strong to be paralyzed from it, but he was still weak enough to feel the pain, the bone-shattering pain. His view tumbled as Stane rolled him over to the side of the hallway.
"Wasn't expecting anyone but you, Tony. But I guess, now I have leverage." He brought the paralyzing device closer to Steve's head. Steve writhed in the pain, body flailing as it failed to find an escape from the stimulus. "Now, I know it hurts, Tony, but just roll those pretty eyes in the direction of your little arc reactor, I know you have one, you would've wanted to tinker with it some more since Afghanistan." Tony forced his eyes in the direction of the kitchen. He'd been playing with it before he fell asleep on the couch, clutched it while he answered the door to Steve, set it down next to the coffee maker when he went to get Steve a mug.
Stane turned off the device. Steve was still. Tony wished he could move.
Stane hovered over Tony, holding the arc reactor, glowing pretty shade of blue in his hand. "So much power," he whispered. "In such a little container. Like bottled lightning." He grinned down at Tony. "You captured lightning, Tony."
Loki ignored the worried shouts of his mother as he stormed out of the house. His heart shook with the thunder that rumbled above his head and the guilt he felt at leaving his mother like that. They had argued again, about something he couldn't quite remember. Probably the usual. His father had probably started it. It probably revolved around Thor. Always Thor. The golden son. And he was second. Silver.
"Loki!" Even think of the devil…
Thor ran towards his brother. "What?" He kept walking.
Thor caught up, the honesty and earnestness just pouring off him in waves and Loki thought it would make him puke. "Father didn't mean it. He- he doesn't think of what he says." He reached out to the raven-haired teen.
Loki spun and snarled at Thor, seeing red and black instead of gold and lightning blue. "Doesn't think of what he says? Doesn't that mean that what he's saying is what he means? That you're first-born and best and theirs-" He didn't notice the way his and Thor's hair began to float upwards, strand by strand, like the physics demonstration with the balloon. "And I'm second, a delinquent, picked off the street. That I'm the charity case and I should be grateful?" You little sonofabitch, come back here, I said. "Grateful that I get to live in shadows and dust and never know what it's like to be just like Thor, the golden boy, oh Loki why can't you be more like your brother?" He choked on the last word. It was starting to rain.
"Brother?" he continued. "You're no brother of mine. And I am proud to say that I am no Odinson." The thunder rumbled again and the stray wonder of where lightning was passed through his mind.
"Loki…" Thor reached out towards him again. Pathetic fool, having no use of words. Loki slapped his hand away.
There was a flash of blue, a spinning into galaxies, into starry oblivion, and then, nothing.
