Steve stood next to Natasha, watching her fingers fly over the keys of a computer, and clamped down tightly on his envy. He had been working with her for months now to improve his computer skills, something she assured him was worthwhile. He was young enough to pick up on how the computer functioned, and he'd learned quickly that taking his frustration out on a delicate mouse meant replacing it. He'd flown planes in the past; he could handle complicated machines. What made him uncomfortable was the nagging suspicion that this machine, unlike a plane, was smarter than him.

"What are we looking for?" he asked, wanting to feel as though the humans were in charge of this investigation. Natasha turned a brief smile to him and slapped the ENTER key; a series of files opened on the screen, each more complicated than the last, and Steve felt a headache brewing from looking at the glowing square.

"Purchases," she said. "Thefts. Stark hasn't replied to their demands yet. We're hoping there's some supplies they needed right away."

Steve skimmed the topmost file. "University surplus sales?"

"You'd be shocked what they sell at those. We're narrowing the search to cash-only."

"What kind of supplies?" Steve had no idea what went into a lab, much less what Lynn might need to do her work. Natasha offered him a list, which he skimmed. He didn't recognize half of the terms.

"JARVIS is running comparisons for us," she said. "It should be quick."

"What if there's no record of the sale?" Steve asked. Natasha shot him a brief, considering look. This had not been her idea.

"Got it," he said. His fingertips slid across the list, as though touching the words would make them more relatable. "What else are we doing?"

"You'll have to talk to Stark," she said. He felt her keen awareness of the monitoring present in the room and nodded. Now was not the time.

"Alright," he said. He set the list down and tapped her shoulder; she nodded at him and continued typing.

"Stark's in the conference with Jane," Natasha said over her shoulder. Steve left and headed in that direction.


"I didn't think you ate," Barton said as he stepped in close and set his cafeteria tray down. "Thought that was too pedestrian for you."

"It is not strictly necessary, although I have learned to enjoy some of Midgard's offerings," Loki said. The trickster, of course, had no such tray. He was instead eating an apple, a large bite taken from the side while the trickster poured over the notes gifted to him by Tony and Bruce, held up in one hand. Thor sat across from him, also eating - from a tray, Barton noted to himself. Thor didn't seem to care about how the peasants ate, so long as the food was edible.

"Ho, Barton," Thor said with a friendly smile. He was rolling a long string of spaghetti noodles around his fork; a bit of sauce clung to his beard, just below his mouth, and Barton knew the thunderer couldn't have cared less how he appeared.

In truth, the brothers were a study in opposites: where Loki exuded pathos and a certain amount of distance in all of his interactions, Thor barreled forward into every situation and came out swinging. Clint thought that the two of them must be awful to face in tandem, and said as much. Loki's mouth twisted into an amused smile, though he did not look up from his papers; Thor brimmed at the tangential praise.

"It is true," Thor said, "there is naught we cannot achieve when we band together."

"Truly, the world's delight," Loki drawled. As unsubtle reminders went, Clint could only snort at the comment.

"Found anything useful?" he asked, and took a bite of pre-made baked garlic bread. The trickster laid the papers flat against the table, turned them upside-down, and slid them across to rest in front of Clint's tray.

"You are welcome to look, Agent Barton," the trickster said. His voice wasn't quite a rasp, but his temper was seething. He was tired of being asked that question.

"No offense," Barton said. "Just curious."

Thor reached for the papers and held them in front of his face, scanning the calculations. Clint could see a small smear of spaghetti sauce and grease across the back of the papers from his fingers. Thor considered the numbered lines and creased his brow.

"My brother sees patterns where I cannot," Thor said. Loki reached for the papers with a stricken look.

"You are dirtying them, you great oaf." Loki wiped absently at the stains. "Your Jane sees patterns as well, more easily than most mortals I should say. She is nearly so useful as -"

"Don't say it," Clint said quietly. Both Asgardians looked at him, Thor in confusion and Loki with no emotion at all. "Just don't. It's still sore around here."

"I do wonder why Selvig continues to refuse to come," Loki said. "You would think he would want to ensure his surrogate daughter's safety."

"Stop it," Clint said, feeling dangerously close to lunging across the table. Thor had turned back to his food, apparently allowing his brother to fight his own battles now. "I am asking nicely."

"That was not a request, Agent Barton, but a command. Would you care to rephrase your statement?"

"Please stop it, thank you kindly, or I will punch you in the mouth."

"Do you see, brother?" Loki said to Thor. "They can as yet be trained."

"That's enough, Loki," Thor said wearily. "I do not believe you help yourself by making enemies of these mortals."

"This mortal has a name," Clint said. Thor looked to him and nodded.

"Clint," Thor corrected. "You remember it was he who made an effort to reach out to you."

"Yes, misguided though it was. Your spider is quite safe, Agent Barton. I have no interest in promises any longer."

"That's not why I'm here," Clint said, and ate a healthy bite of spaghetti to savor the sudden silence at his statement. Thor seemed warily grateful; Loki only looked suspicious.

"Is that so?" he asked. "Then you must be part of the detail which Director Fury seems so convinced is unspoken. Isn't it just amazing, how anywhere I go a myriad of SHIELD agents is sure to follow."

"Sounds annoying," Clint said. Thor laughed; Loki blinked and tilted his head.

"You will not be baited, will you?" he asked. Clint took another bite of his food and smiled, serene with certainty. Thor's loud guffaw interrupted the other conversations surrounding them, and suddenly the air was filled with deep, baritone mirth. His laughter began with a sort of keening desperation, a release of pent-up tension which culminated into honest laughter after several seconds. Loki watched with annoyance, then some slight warmth, and finally, finally, a small smile.

"You will choke, brother," the trickster said. "Breathe, before I am blamed for your death."

Thor calmed himself, and held his fork out toward Clint. Clint raised his own and clinked the tines, relatively certain that whatever ailments he might have, Thor would be safe from them.

"Well done, Barton," Thor said with a bright, shining smile. "There are few who can resist rising to my brother's bait."

"It is not that he does not rise," Loki said with some consternation. "It is that he ignores his anger."

"Is that not the same?" Thor asked.

"It's not," Barton said. "It pisses him off way more than just not reacting at all."

"A sort of revenge, Barton? I had thought you better evolved." Loki spoke this last while once again perusing the documents, almost desperately casual. Clint didn't miss that the trickster left off the formal title, the part of his name which retained distance. When the archer let the moment come and go, Loki glanced at him over the top of the papers and raised both eyebrows, surprised.

Clint took another bite of his spaghetti and sipped his tea. He plucked the orange on his tray up in two fingers and rolled it across the table. Loki caught the fruit with one palm.

"A fruit you can skin," Clint said. "It helps."

Loki curled one nail against the orange peel and began stripping the fruit of its flesh, and Barton was certain he saw satisfaction in the action.


Lynn fought against the urge to pace until her thoughts built up to the point of distraction. When she returned to awareness she found herself circling the small room, Wade watching her from the cot. She realized quickly that the battle was already lost, and leaned herself against the bench top. Her leg began jittering moments later.

God, she's driving me nuts. Tell her to stay the fuck still.

"Language," Wade said. Then, to Lynn: "I need a nickname. Something awesome. Captain Fantastico the Marvelous. You have to call me that now."

"I am not calling you that," she said.

She doesn't sound angry.

"Progress," he said. "But you need to think of something."

"Why?" Lynn pushed away from the counter and started pacing again. The circles under her eyes gave her face a skeletal quality. She had lost weight already, eating only once a day and sharing the food with him. It had only been two days.

You should be a gentleman and not make her share.

"I have needs," he said.

She thinks you're talking to her.

"So do I," she said. "They don't include weird nicknames. Isn't 'Deadpool' weird enough?"

"Don't knock it. That name has history. It's important."

And she doesn't use it anyway.

"Look," she said, "I'm done. Help me think of a way out of here."

Do you think it's weird that they don't have mics in here?

"Gift horse, mouth. Sure, babe. Point me where you want me and fire, I'll kill whoever you want."

"That's not helpful." Lynn was crouching, rummaging through one of the cabinets. She seemed distracted. "What can you survive?"

"Nothing you're thinking of," he said. He didn't like the look in her eyes.

"You don't know that," Lynn said. She was pulling out bottles, setting them on the counter. He didn't like the bright marks on the side, the reds and yellows which meant danger. She pulled out a thick glass bottle of chloroform.

Let's get dangerous.

"I am the wrong number that wakes you at three AM," he said. "Capes are rad."

"Wade, focus," Lynn said. "This is important. It's you we're protecting."

I am the hair in the lens of your projector.

"She won't appreciate that." Wade stepped closer, eying the various chemicals as though they might leap at him and chew his face. "I know that one," he said, pointing at the chloroform. Lynn rolled her eyes.

"It's not like the movies."

"What, it won't knock me out that fast?"

Immersion ruined.

"No, it works fast," she said. "It causes other damage though."

Which doesn't matter.

"She knows that," he said. His voice had that pitch again.

"I won't hurt you," she said. She pressed her palms against the edge of the counter and leaned, looking over what she had collected. "I won't do that."

"That will make your work more difficult," Afzal said from the side. Both turned; neither had seen him enter. He was alone, and moved quietly.

The change in Lynn's demeanor was dramatic; she was no longer nervous. She straightened her spine, and her expression hardened.

I think she's angry.

She stalked to the barrier and crossed her arms. Afzal watched her with his hands folded behind his back.

"Let us out," Lynn said.

Oh shit.

"And what will you do if we don't, Miss Creed?" Afzal asked. He looked like the cat that ate the cream.

"Nothing," she said. Both men looked at her, one in surprise, the other in consideration. "I'm replaceable; it's not worth a fight, is it? You'll kill me and find someone else."

She wants him to kill her.

"What?" Wade said. "Why would she want that?"

She has connections.

"Mr. Stark is not so fond of you as we thought," Afzal said. "He has not responded to our requests." He sounded disappointed.

"He never would have," she said. "You don't have a golden ticket here. He'll never pay."

"Stingy bastard," Wade said. Afzal flipped the cover; his finger touched the blue button. Lynn looked like she'd won something.

She said she wouldn't hurt you.

"Yeah, she did," Wade said.

Will the next one say the same thing?

"Now wait a second," Wade said, his voice pitching again. "Wait a damn second. You can't kill her."

"No?" Afzal said. He licked his lips. He had small white teeth.

"No, goddammit," Wade said. Lynn hadn't turned to look at him. "We like her. She's nice. We'll keep her."

Afzal's finger hovered. "The Ridley strain has arrived. It is behind you, inside the cooler."

Wade could see Lynn's shoulders tense, but she still didn't turn around. Afzal smiled at her.

"There is also a cart. Anything you need sterilized, you set on the cart. We will take care of it for you."

"Media needs to be done fast," she said. "Otherwise it gets contaminated."

Afzal nodded. He was watching her alone - he had yet to give Wade more than a second glance.

Rude.

"Fucking rude, dude," he said. "Eye contact: not just for creepy sociopaths."

No respectable psychologist uses that word anymore.

"Good thing I don't care." Afzal still hadn't given him more than a cursory glance. Wade picked up the stool next to the bench and threw it at the barrier; it bounced back and clattered to the floor while Lynn skittered to the side to avoid being hurt. Wade raised his arms and shouted.

"Look at me now, bitch!"

"Wade," Lynn said. He flipped her off.

"Can it, babe. This is between me and rat-face." He sucked air through his front teeth - a tiny squeak of air.

I bet he can't even hear that.

"He hears it alright." Wade raised his fingers in a gun and pointed his index finger at Lynn. "Listen up, dipshit. Little miss here gets my vote. You know what that means? It means I'll kill myself a geek if you get anyone else in here."

Lynn was rubbing her forehead; Afzal managed to crack a scowl. Wade grinned and winked, even though Afzal couldn't see at least one of those gestures.

"Got'im this time, didn't we? That's right, dumbass, welcome to hell."

Where you're the boss and the railway bulls are blind.

"I call it Poolville," he said.

"Population two," Lynn said. He couldn't help it; he stared.

Is this progress or scary?

"Let'er play along." He approached the Plexiglass, and Afzal glared across the clear plastic at the both of them.

He didn't anticipate a united front.

"Who would? We are the hollow men, our whimper sure sounds like a bang."

That's not how it goes.

"He knows how it goes," Wade said. He clapped his hands together, then showed both of his open palms to the glass. "You see these? I killed a man with these hands. Did you dipshits do your research? I never put my weapons down."

"Wade," Lynn said. "That's enough."

It wasn't enough - he was just getting started.

You'll take it too far.

"Shit, wouldn't want them to do anything rash." He wished he felt drunk. "I miss beer."

"More than one meal a day," Lynn said.

"Decent pillows," Wade said.

"Blankets."

"Porn." Lynn made a face. "We've discussed my needs."

"I miss music," she said. "Your constant talking just isn't the same."

"You saying I can't sing?" He burst into Crazy.

Like an angel.

"Oh god, stop," Lynn said.

"Enough," said Afzal. "Enough!"

"I'm the best radio," Wade said.

"ENOUGH!"

"Uh oh, babe, I think we made him mad."

"I don't think so," Lynn said. She had crossed her arms again and resumed her earlier glare. She was enjoying this, and Afzal knew it.

I think he's taking it personally.

"Whaddaya say, Affy?" Wade offered a pinkie to the barrier. "Swear on it, now."

Afzal had worked himself up to a panting fury. He snarled at them from across the barrier, and Lynn and Wade both laughed in his face.

"You have nothing," Lynn said, and she sounded as drunk as Wade wanted to feel. "You lose."

"Make my strain," Afzal said, "or all of your friends die."

And he left.

She seems happy.

"Well that was a slap and a tickle," Wade said. "Why did we just get all your friends killed?"

"We didn't." Lynn was practically glowing. "He didn't threaten them until he had nothing left."

"What's that mean?"

Lynn had approached the cooler at the back of the room. She stared down at it.

Is it a lady's head?

"What's that mean, babe?"

She crouched, popped the sides, and lifted the lid. She froze when she saw the contents, and let the lid drop immediately. She covered her mouth and shook. Wade approached and reached for the lid; she grabbed his wrist to stop him. It was the first time she'd touched him since he attacked her the day before.

"What's that mean?" he asked again.

"It means Heimdall heard me," she said. She let his wrist go and stood, backed away, and grabbed the counter to steady herself. Wade opened the cooler.

Inside, a set of wet, festering lungs glistened in the fresh air.


"It's been over a week," Tony was saying when Steve entered. "When do we call it?"

"You were gone for months," Jane said. She was carrying a notebook in both hands, chewing at the end of her pen. Tony looked back at Steve and waved him over.

"This is getting us nowhere fast, Cap," Tony said. "We need another strategy."

"How would you have found you?" Steve asked.

"It would take time, which we have run out of. Do you think she's still alive?"

Steve didn't answer. Tony had history with these people, and he wasn't going to disrespect that by offering bad theories. It was Jane's silent pleading stare which forced him to overcome his reservations.

"I don't know," he said. "It's been seven days and we haven't seen another abduction. It was three days before we got any kind of demands. It seems like they're biding their time."

"Yeah, time is - son of a bitch," Tony said, and his fingers began flying across JARVIS' phantom keys. "Son of a bitch. Bruce. Brucey boy! I need some quantum in my physics! JARVIS, get him on the line."

"What are you looking at?" Jane said. Tony grabbed her arm and pulled her closer; she made a small noise of surprise, and paused when she saw what he was doing.

"It's a vector," she muttered. "A state vector. Why didn't I see it? Tony, no, change this value here -"

"What does that mean?" Steve asked. He knew Jane was probably lost to the calculations, but Tony was a talker.

"It means we can't find them because they're not here," Tony said, his voice rushed in his excitement at solving a puzzle. "The z axis isn't space, it's time, that's why Heimdall couldn't pin it down."

"It's moving different from us," Jane said. She pressed her finger to the screen, and JARVIS opened the world map. "The location is set, but the time is sped up or slowed down -"

"That's possible?" Steve felt the information spinning uncontrollably around him, and sat down to keep his head still.

"A time pocket," Bruce's voice suddenly said from the screens. His face wasn't there; he sounded tired, recently woken from sleep. "Jane, can you replicate a pocket universe with this data?"

"Working on it."

"We need the grinch," Tony said to Steve. "Can you bring him? Once we have a target, he can mojo his way there. We'll be in and out before you can say 'God bless America.'"

"How long should it take?" Steve asked.

"Better jiffy it up, Cap. We're halfway home."