Present Day
Steve Rogers matched T'Challa's step through the halls of the Wakandan palace. Their footsteps echoed hollowly down the pristine, marble-lined walls, as they swiftly strode to the cryo chamber. The passage turned a corner, and through the door they saw their destination. The king of Wakanda halted before the cryofreezing chamber, turning to Steve.
"I did not ask before, but need drives me now." His cultured voice was calm, but determined. "What brings you here?"
Steve had been hoping against hope that T'Challa would be content to let Bucky and he go, no questions asked. Because this story was not going to be, well, easy to explain. After all, Taryn had been mysteriously absent ever since the Avengers' battle against Ultron. And for years before—actually, until S.H.I.E.L.D.'s fall—Taryn had been virtually inexistent, at least according to the world at large. But even having been the seventh member of a world-renowned team did not necessarily grant her Wakandan recognition. In fact, as far as Steve could tell, Wakanda didn't seem to care about anything in the world at large, besides the illegal sale of vibranium.
Steve tried to figure out the best way to explain everything. "Well," he began. "Do you know of a Spectre?"
Recognition sparked immediately in the king's eyes. "Taryn."
Steve blinked.
T'Challa eyed him intently. "She is in trouble?"
Steve nodded blankly. "She needs to see Bucky."
T'Challa considered this. Then he nodded. "I trust you, captain." Moving forward, he entered a series of numbers into the keypad. "And I will help you." he took a step back, nodding to the frosted glass. "I already have."
The door slowly slid open, white mist pouring out. There was a brief stillness, and Bucky stepped out. Steve gaped.
"Your arm." he exclaimed, gesturing to Bucky's left side, where formerly an ugly stump had been.
Bucky grinned lopsidedly, waving his shining left hand. Steve stared. T'Challa, an expression of pride flickering around his eyes, gently laid a hand on Bucky's shoulder.
"You may thank my sister for this. Pure vibranium.." T'Challa smiled.
Steve nodded his thanks, and T'Challa stepped away. "I am sure your errand is urgent, and I hope you find Taryn well."
Bucky stiffened. "Who?" There was an artificial lightness to his tone, but underneath ran a current of surprise.
"Taryn Steele." Steve turned to him quizzically. "You know her."
"No, I don't." Bucky answered promptly, almost reflexively. "Is there a reason I should?"
Steve frowned. "Cut it out, Buck. I know you know her." he strode to the door, then turned abruptly,, confused, realizing there were no following footsteps. Bucky's jaw was tightened.
Steve frowned, perplexed. "June 6, 1954." he supplied, in an effort to jog Bucky's memory.
Bucky's breath caught. "That date. How did you know that date?" his voice was harsh, his hands trembled.
Steve scrutinized his friend, a cold concern creeping in him. "Bucky, don't you remember Taryn?"
Bucky froze, turning deathly pale.
Steve was flung off his feet by Bucky's tackle, landing heavily upon the polished floor, his cellphone clattering to the ground away from him. Bucky's fist smashed into the stone inches from Steve's face.
"No!" Bucky roared, barely coherent. He pounded his fist into the ground. "No!" Again the rock splinters flew. "I am not held to my promise." he spat, face nearly touching Steve's. "She did not keep hers."
Steve panted. Hold on, Bucky thought-
Steve gripped Bucky's arm. "You idiot, Taryn's alive!"
Bucky paused, completely rigid. "She's alive." he whispered. Steve glimpsed the look on his face, and ceased his struggle to rise. That look of pure hope-
T'Challa strode forward, and Steve, gently pushing Bucky backwards, stood. T'Challa handed him his suddenly buzzing cellphone. Steve glanced at it, then stopped. His head whipped around to the wonder-struck man kneeling upon the ground.
"Buck, we've got to go."
His clipped tone broke through Bucky's daze, and he stood instantly. "Steve, what's wrong?"
"Avengers distress call." Steve answered brusquely, beginning to drag Bucky to the door. "I'll explain on the way."
What on earth could have driven everyone—Tony, Natasha, Sam, Wanda, Clint, Taryn—to all post distress signals? What had happened?
Three days after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.
This was so not happening again.
Ever.
Tony Stark would see to that.
He was in his lab now, feverishly inputting his latest tech into a small rectangular device. The metal object was about the size of a pocket drive, with a single round depression in the center.
It had been three straight days since his self-imposed exile from the outside world. Seventy-two hours. He was pretty sure the only thing keeping him from collapsing was the fact that his bloodstream was, by now, pure caffeine.
But that thought did not bother him in the least—he was much too preoccupied with another. Tony gently laid the device onto the workbench, and swiveled around, facing the empty center of the room.
"Jarvis, play that clip again."
The Al's voice sounded almost worried. Was that even possible? He had made the thing and he didn't even know.
"What are you now, Baymax? Show me the clip."
Did Jarvis just sigh?
The lights dimmed, and a holographic image appeared before him. A lump formed in his throat.
There they were. The three Helicarriers lambasting each other out of the sky. Tony had first seen this clip on his way back from—what, he had no idea. His mind had been immediately hijacked by the news, ablaze with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets.
Like the fact that it was Hydra.
And Nick Fury was dead.
The first Helicarrier on the projected footage crumbled, its wreckage falling into the Potomac. Then the second dissolved, and the third.
And out of the third dropped a Star-Spangled Man With A Plan.
The tiny red, white, and blue figure plummeted straight into the icy waters, disappearing from view. Tony caught his breath, waiting. One minute passed. Destruction filled the sky, flames and smoke like an evil rain. Two minutes. The new waves surged over cracked and burning shores. Three minutes. No body resurfaced.
The lights brightened, the image slowly fading, but Tony remained stolid, staring.
When he'd seen that, seen Captain America's death plastered all over the news boards, his heart had skipped several beats, vision greying.
That's when he'd realized just what the sometimes-annoying, always-overbearing, up-tight Puritan was to him.
A friend.
A quick call to Natasha, who had apparently been wrapped up in this mess, gave him the glorifying hope that Steve was, in fact, not dead.
So Tony, being, well, Tony, had reacted to this news by immediately locking himself up into his one safe haven, the one place where noise, and annoying music could drown out himself, overpower the blinding scream of his own thoughts. He'd even barred Pepper and Bruce from entrance, going so far as to cut off all communication, so intent was he on devoting himself to an effort of this never happening again.
Jarvis was speaking, dragging Tony out of his daze.
"Sir, Agent Romanoff is demanding admittance."
Tony blinked. Some hazy, habitual part of his mind remembered the first, and last time he'd refused to let Natasha go wherever she wanted, and promptly initiated the emergency "Give the Black Widow what she wants" protocol.
"Send her in, J." he said automatically.
The door behind him opened, and Tony started. Wait, send her in? Did he want her in?
All such thoughts were cut off by her voice.
"Bruce said I'd find you here."
Tony hurriedly brushed some soot from his eyes, and swiveled to face her. Of course it was soot. What else could it be.
Mata Hari raised her eyebrow. "Watching the footage again?" It wasn't a question.
Tony wondered when he'd stopped minding the fact that she was always in his business. Brushing his greasy forehead with an equally dirty hand, he pushed himself back toward the bench. "Yeah, um, I'm still offended that you had a party and you didn't invite me."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Because a guy flying in a shiny metal suit would have aided out covert mission how?"
Tony stood up, trembling. He drew a screen from the ceiling, his fingers rapidly flying across the translucent surface; then shoved it toward Romanoff.
It showed a single image, a frame of the video he had just watched. Tony leaned over, and expanded it, zooming in on the patriotic figure that hurtled to his death.
Tony stepped back.
Natasha stared at the picture a moment, and sighed. "You were on the list." she stated simply.
He raised an eyebrow. "List. As in, the invitation list?"
"Hydra's hit list." she looked to him, pulling some document up, and sending the screen to Tony. He gazed at it, his eyes running over the columned names. He saw his own, and then started to recognize more. Romanoff gestured to it.
"They were going to take out potential threats, a thousand lives besides." Her voice was cool, betraying no emotion. An unamused smile quirked her lips. "I guessed that the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. commemorated my last birthday on earth, so I took my own advice." She lightly sat on the edge of his bench, pushing her hair behind her ear.
Tony barked a short laugh, pushing the screen away, and reached for the object of the past seventy-two hours' unrelenting labor. He held it to her; and she took it, eying him curiously.
"Next time, 'whatever you want with whomever you want' better not just include you and Captain Lay-On-The-Wire." he said.
She held it dubiously up. "What is it?"
"Avenger's Panic Button." he laconically answered, falling back in his chair. Exhaustion was slowly creeping up on him, despite his best efforts. "You press it, it's linked to the other Avengers' electronic devices, they come help. The signal is guarded, completely untraceable, and instantaneous, so you can send it without blowing a cover, but we will still arrive in time to save you."
Romanoff was nodding, and Tony allowed himself to sink deeper into his chair. Then she turned to him, and—oh, no. She looked concerned. When an assassin is concerned for you, you're in deep trouble.
"Tony, it's not your fault."
Tony swallowed. Great. She knew. She guessed the sudden, urgent need for this device. His face worked, and he stood.
"Yes, it is." he hissed. "It's my fault. I should have been there, but I wasn't, and now Capsicle's sorry carcase is lying in a hospital." he paused, and tried to stop himself, but the words spilled from his weary, aching mind. "I would have cut the wire."
Natasha eyed him. "Steve doesn't blame you."
Tony laughed tiredly, wilting back into his seat. "Maybe not, but he'd probably not blame me even if I was the one who beat his stupid self." He buried his face in his hands.
He felt a soft touch on his shoulder, a gentle, soothing massage. "Panic Button, hm?" Mirth lurked in her tone. "You know what Steve will call it."
Tony abruptly raised his head. "No! It is 'Panic Button', not, 'Avengers' Emergency Contacting Device.'"
He didn't really mind, though. Steve could call it whatever he pleased, provided he used it next time. Because of course there would be a next time. They were, after all, Earth's Mightiest Heroes.
Twenty-four hours before the Alien invasion of New York
Phil Coulson double-checked the address on the piece of grubby paper he held against the steering wheel of his unmarked black van. He then glanced up at the darkened building he had inauspiciously parked beside. With a sigh, he slipped his sunglasses on, and exited the vehicle into the deserted street, one of many in intercity New York. He crossed over the filthy street, and opened the door of the storied apartment.
Obnoxious music assaulted his tense ears, and he wondered anew why Taryn had ever chosen this place for a home, however temporary it might be. Ok, technically he knew. All that about this being her cover for 'busting' the illegal arms dealing ring. But that made the place no less unsavory.
Phil walked sedately down the hall, scanning door numbers and ignoring the slight consternation a suit-clad man caused in this obviously crime-ridden locale. Locating the correct room, he, imperceptibly picking the lock prior, opened the door, and entered, carefully securing it behind him. His eyes scanned the musty, bare-save for a lone bed, dresser, and rickety wooden chair—interior, the unobtrusive device in his hand doing the same. When both visual and reliable readings came off clean, Phil moved over to the chair. Gingerly dusting it off with the edge of his suit jacket sleeve, he sat down to wait.
He had not long. Soon, footsteps approached the door, a hand fumbled at the knob, the door opened, and Taryn backed in, her arms laden and a pencil in her mouth. She turned around, and her eyes widened, the pencil falling from her lax jaw.
Phil grinned. He couldn't help it. "Don't you ever knock?"
"The door was open." Taryn recollected herself and came further in, the door, seemingly of its own accord, closing behind her. She deposited her burden about the room, then turned, straightening.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. pulling me out?"
Phil nodded." We had a situation. The Tesseract's been stolen."
A mask fell over her features. "Barton?"
"Compromised." Phil whispered.
Taryn nodded, mechanically reaching into her pocket and drawing forth a slip of paper.
"I just collected the last of the names." she handed it to Phil. "Who took the cube?"
Phil ran his eyes down the list. "Extra-terrestrial invader. The Tesseract opened a portal at the base. Claims to be Loki of Asgard." he said. Then an aside- "Good work, though we'll probably need to put this little operation on hold."
"You're utilizing the Avengers Initiative?"
Phil looked up, meeting her cool gaze. "Yes."
"Are you supposed to be here?"
Phil shifted. "Officially, I'm recruiting Stark. I'm not here at all."
Taryn turned to him. "You know, the director is right. I am a liability, and I would not be of use."
Phil rolled his eyes. "Whatever the director says, you would be the most valuable asset to the Initiative."
Taryn arched an eyebrow. "Even more than Captain America?" her tone was teasing, and Phil's heart fell. She was dismissing the topic, she wouldn't come.
"Even if he signed the trading cards." Phil said sincerely.
Taryn smiled. "All the luck in the world when you tackle Stark."
Phil nodded, accepting her well-wishes, and turned to go. He paused inside the door, swiveling about to face her.
"Please." he said softly. "It's a Level Seven." He smiled, and left.
A/N: Feel free to drop a review! I love feedback!