Title: Resurrection, Reconstruction, and Redemption, 11/13
Authors: seanchai and elspethdixon
Rated: PG-13
Pairings: Steve/Tony. Various canon ships. Sharon/Winter Soldier, for your daily dosage of spy/assassin hotness.
Warnings: Denial fic. Blatant shipper fic. Captain America and Iron Man in a romantic relationship. One non-canonical het pairing. A dire lack of sex. Terrifying amounts of snuggling and angst.

Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. Also, some of the dialogue in chapter five was taken from Brian Michael Bendis's Civil War: The Confession. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.

Note: For a rundown of where this fic departs from current continuity, see the notes at the end of chapter one. Familiarity with the events of Captain America #25 and Civil War is encouraged.

Again, thank you to angelofharmony and tavella for the wonderful beta job.


Chapter Eleven

It was the combination of the explosion and someone slamming into him full force that jerked Tony back to the blinding brightness of the day, out of the rushing dark streams of data from the Extremis.

Steve was gone.

He was surrounded by a crowd of panicked people, all running from an unknown threat, and he couldn't see Steve anywhere.

Tony turned, setting his feet against the throng of people, trying to stay in one place and not get swept along. Steve had been there a moment ago; even through the Extremis, he had been aware of the hand on his arm, guiding him. And then something had happened -- there had been an explosion, that was all Tony knew -- and Steve was gone.

He must have lost Steve in the crush, gotten separated by the crowd. Tony's fingers tightened on the handle of his briefcase as he cast about, trying to find some clue as to what had happened, and where he was. He and Steve had been planning to take a water taxi across the river, from Pier 11 down by Battery City park, over to the Fulton Ferry landing in Brooklyn; Steve had thought that maybe going into a different borough would give them a little more breathing room, give them some time to regroup, without the Mandarin quite so close on their trail. Trains were too much of a risk, but water taxis were smaller, and didn't carry the innate danger of closed spaces.

But something had happened, and Steve was gone.

Tony reached out, grabbing onto the solid bulk of a lamppost and braced himself, scanning the crowd for fair hair and broad shoulders. Now that he wasn't being pulled along, he could see the FDR overpass, and beyond it, the rising spindles of the four masts of the Peking, and the smell of fish on the breeze, combined with the stronger scent of smoke and ash. They were right on the water, by the historic district of the South Street Seaport.

He felt the vibrations of the shockwave traveling through the pavement and the lamppost a split second before he heard the second explosion.

Beyond the overpass, the masts of the Peking were engulfed in flame, and the acrid smell of smoke intensified. Around him, the pitch of the terror-stricken crowd increased, as people began to shove each other, desperately trying to get away from whatever was causing these explosions, and the fire that had doubtlessly already spread to the wooden docks.

Steve was somewhere in the middle of all of that.

Or, Tony thought, a deep, pervasive chill settling into his bones, he'd been caught in that second blast.

He'd spent the past two weeks half-convinced that all of this was a dream, sure that he'd wake up any moment to find himself slumped over his desk or a lab bench, still trying to run a military organization he wasn't qualified to run, Steve still dead.

And now Steve was gone. Tony had lost him somewhere in the crowd, and he was gone, and he could be dead once again, for all Tony knew.

Tony let go of the lamppost and shoved his way back into the crowd. Steve had to be somewhere close by; he'd been right next to Tony only seconds ago. An Indian woman ran full tilt into him, knocking him back a step, and then a teenager in a Yankees cap stumbled against him, almost falling.

Tony grabbed the kid by the elbow, straightening him, and shoved him forward. "Get out of here; the fire's going to spread."

The kid ran. Tony staggered forward a step as yet another person ran into him from behind. It would be much easier to search from the air. In the armor, he could find Steve in moments.

"What's going on?"

Tony blinked. Peter had appeared in front of him, in costume. He must have dropped down from one of the buildings -- they were too low for him to swing from.

"Have you seen Steve?" he asked, trying not to sound frantic. He wasn't sure he entirely succeeded.

"What? No. He's supposed to be with you. We heard the explosions. Do you know what-"

"I don't know." Tony shifted his grip on his briefcase so that he was holding it against his chest. In this crowd, it would be too easy for it to get torn away. "The first explosion went off, and when I turned around, he was gone."

A small child of indeterminate gender toddled out of the crowd and seized hold of one of Peter's legs. "I want my Mommy!" it wailed.

Peter swung the kid up into his arms. "We'll find her, okay."

The kid sniffled and wiped its nose on Peter's shoulder, unfazed by his black mask. "I want my Mommy."

"What does your mommy look like?" Tony cut in, making an effort to keep his voice calm. He didn't want to scare the toddler.

As if on cue, a blonde woman burst out of the crowd, snatched the child out of Peter's arms, and shrieked, "Let go of my baby, you monster!"

"You're welcome," Tony called after her. Even when he was wearing the black costume, calling Peter a monster was ridiculous. And after everything Tony had done to make people stop hating and fearing superheroes… He should have known better than to think it would make any difference.

"Why does everyone hate me?" Peter asked plaintively.

Tourists parted like the Red Sea, and Luke Cage emerged from the chaos, dragging Iron Fist along by the wrist. "Spiderman," he said. "Damn, this is a mess. Where's Cap?"

Oh God, no one had seen Steve. "I'm not sure," Tony said, feeling a distant numbness settle over him like a blanket. "We got separated after the first explosion."

"Speaking of which, what the hell exploded?" Luke directed this question straight at Tony, his voice not quite accusatory.

Through the Extremis, Tony could hear the emergency response teams frantically scrambling to the scene. None of them had a clue what had happened. Neither did the Channel 5 news copter currently homing in on the smoke column like a vulture. "I have no idea," he admitted.

"The Peking." Carol's voice came from directly overhead, and Tony looked up to see her hovering about six feet above the crowd, blonde hair fluttering around her, smeared with ash. "And that tacky shopping mall." She turned to Tony. "It's the Mandarin. He's out on the water; we saw him as we flew in."


Where in the hell was Tony?

They had been making their way downtown, keeping to the waterfront, trying to avoid the more populous areas of midtown. Steve had had Tony by the arm, guiding him along while he was immersed deeply enough in the Extremis that, left to his own devices, he could have walked off a pier without noticing. Apparently, the situation in China had suddenly intensified, while in France, the Mole people were trying to petition for citizen status, with the full support of the Fantastic Four, and the French government was threatening to turn it into an international incident.

And then there had been an explosion out on the docks, and naturally, people had begun panicking and running from whatever had exploded. Steve had let go of Tony to steady an elderly man who had fallen into his path, to keep him from being trampled underfoot. He had turned around not fifteen seconds later to find Tony gone.

"Tony!" Steve shouted, already pushing his way through the crowd. Tony had to be here somewhere; he couldn't have gone far in the moments since Steve had let go of him.

The shockwave from the second explosion slammed into Steve, turning the chill, damp March day hot and dry.

The heat washed over him and faded, leaving him cold. If Tony had been anywhere near that…

"Tony!" Steve yelled again. His voice sounded odd, the explosion still ringing in his ears. He began to run in the direction of the explosion, the burning masts of the Peking standing out against the pale morning sky like a beacon.

All of the pedestrians on the waterfront were running the other way, tourists streaming out of the fish market and away from the water and shoving past him as if he were just an inanimate obstacle in their path. The air was already filling with smoke and ash, carried towards them by the breeze off the river.

The street was filled with terrified people, and none of them were Tony. Steve was seized once again by the sudden, superstitious fear that Tony was dead, that he'd been caught in the explosion.

Beneath the FDR overpass, things were even more chaotic than they'd been out on the street. Several people with scorched clothing and visible burns were curled up against the support columns, and more were staggering in from the seaport.

There was nothing Steve could do to help. Tony had all their communications equipment -- was their communications equipment -- so he couldn't even call 911. As he emerged from beneath the overpass, he could see the tourist trap shopping center off to the left burning, the flames already spreading to the historic district. To the right, the Peking was engulfed in flame; as Steve watched, one of the wooden masts broke with a loud snapping sound and tilted over towards the pier, breaking into pieces as it hit.

In contrast to the confusion on the other side of the overpass, it was strangely empty -- everyone who could had run away. There were several people sprawled limply on the ground in front of the shopping center, not moving, and more on the pier beside the Peking.

Steve started toward the closest victim -- a man with dark hair, lying facedown -- then stopped in his tracks. Over the roar of the fire, he could hear a familiar whining drone.

He turned to see the sleek, candy apple red shape of a SHIELD flying car bearing down on him.

The car came to a halt in front of Steve, hovering about five feet off the ground. The rear door swung open, and Sam stuck his head out. "Steve!" he called. "Get in!"

Sam was supposed to be in DC. "What are you doing here?" Steve asked.

"Sharon and Winter Soldier found Red Skull's lair," Sam said, voice filled with grim satisfaction. "We're going to go deal with him, once and for all."

The driver's side window slid down to reveal Sharon, with Bucky leaning over her shoulder. "We thought you deserved to be there when we took him down," she said.

"It will be a bonding experience," Bucky added, with completely inappropriate cheerfulness.

"We can't just leave," Steve said, gesturing at the inferno the Peking had become. He'd been waiting to come face-to-stolen-face with Red Skull for months; he could wait a little longer. There were people here who needed help now, and there had to be something he could do.

"The Avengers have it." Sam leaned further out of the car, and pointed out over the water.

Now that he looked, Steve could see Simon Williams silhouetted against the flames, lifting three people off the ship's burning deck. There was a flash of red and yellow in the corner of his vision, and he turned slightly to find Jessica Drew hauling an unconscious man out of the shopping center, another victim slung across her shoulders.

"Spiderwoman, Wonder Man, and we saw Spiderman on the other side of the FDR drive when we came in," Sharon said. "They've got it, Steve. We've got to move, or the Skull is going to be long gone before we can catch him. And then there'll just be more of this kind of thing, and more, until somebody puts him down."

Steve nodded, and Sam braced himself with one arm, and held a hand out to haul Steve into the car. Steve tossed his backpack and the portfolio holding his shield into the back seat first, before taking Sam's hand. Sam seized him by the wrist, and hauled Steve up.

Steve grabbed the edge of the doorframe for support, and pulled himself in, throwing himself into the seat. The car rocked, and Redwing, perched on the back of the rear seat, edged several steps sideways, fluffing his feathers and glaring at Steve.

Steve looked back over his shoulder at the street. Beyond the looming bulk of the overpass, the square was finally clearing of people. He still couldn't see Tony. "Is the communications network still up?" he asked. He tried to keep his voice calm, but obviously didn't succeed, because Sam gave him a sympathetic frown and toggled the switch on his headset.

"Hello?" he said into the mike. "What, no, just checking that the network's still up."

Steve leaned back into the seat, limp with relief. Wherever Tony was, he had to okay, or at least, still conscious, which admittedly covered a lot of territory with Tony. He'd been running a low -grade fever this morning, and they'd had to stop in one of the many small parks scattered around the city so that he could get his nose to stop bleeding. But if the network was still live, then so was Tony.

Sam was still talking. "Cap wanted to make sure-" he broke off, then said, "Yes, he's fine." He rolled his eyes, and Redwing made a derisive noise. "He's here with me." He broke off again, and swore. "The network just went dead. There's always a fifteen minute warning before-"

Steve was already halfway across the seat, lunging for the communicator. He yanked the headset off of Sam's head and held the earpiece to his own ear, shaking it. Only static.

"What the hell, Steve?" Sam snapped, rubbing at his ear. "That's not going to magically start working again just because you're touching it."

"Tony?" Steve said quietly into the mike, an icy knot settling into the pit of his stomach.

There was no response.


It figured that the psychopath of the week would blow up the one genuinely cool thing at a tourist trap, Peter thought, steadying a tourist before he fell and got trampled. Mostly, the South Street Seaport had a lot of kitschy stores, but the Peking was really cool: an old four-mast barque set up as a museum. It had been the best part of the one field trip his cheapskate school had sent them on in third grade.

And really, blowing up a shopping center was understandable; lots of victims, and a strike at the evils of capitalism all in one. But there couldn't have been but so many people on that ship, and as terrorist targets went, it didn't exactly make much of a statement, especially since it had been a German ship.

Maybe the Mandarin had just objected to the name.

"So, Mandy's out there in a boat?" he asked Ms. Marvel.

"No," she said, sounding more disgusted than anything else. "He's standing on the water."

"So he's what, Jesus now? Great." Peter made a face -- not that anyone could see it, through the mask. And he'd thought Doc Ock had delusions of grandeur.

"We've got to take care of this before we can deal with him," Luke said, nodding at the disaster scene. The people were finally starting to clear out, but the fires were burning as strongly as ever, and, left to their own, they were sure to spread.

"The fire department is coming," Tony said flatly. He'd been near to panic when Peter had first arrived, but now he was weirdly affectless. Maybe talking to computers -- cool as it sounded -- did something to people. Tony had started going all Machiavellian dark side around the time he'd gotten the Extremis add-ons.

"There's probably people on that ship." Danny indicated the Peking with a splinted forefinger. "You're a flyer," he said to Carol, "can you-"

"Simon's on it," she said. "Jessica's taking care of the people in the mall." She dropped the final few feet to the ground, boots thudding against the old cobblestones, and turned to Tony. "We need to take down the Mandarin before he blows something else up. He hit the ship with one of his damn rings. I don't know which one." She shook her head sharply. "I don't even know what they all do. Thank God you're here; I think you're the only one who's ever had any luck against him."

"Okay," Peter announced. "So, you two go fight kung fu Jesus, and we'll do damage control." He wasn't exactly sure what they could do against fires, unless they started up some kind of super-powered bucket chain, but there had to be something useful to do beyond being a brightly colored beacon for the fire department.

"There's about to be even more trouble. There's also a horde of ninjas heading up South Street. Somebody's going to have to take care of them."

Tony's eyes blacked out for an instant, then he said, "There are groups on Pearl Street and Front Street, too, all heading this way."

"I told everyone I hate ninjas, right?" Peter said. Everyone else ignored him.

Luke shrugged. "Ninjas ain't nothing we haven't handled before. You two go throw down with 'kung fu Jesus'; mini kung fu Jesus and I can take care of the ninjas."

Danny glared up at Luke. "You're not as funny as you think you are," he informed him.

"I can help fight the ninjas, too," Peter pointed out. Everyone continued to ignore him.

Tony sighed, shoulders suddenly sagging, and Ms. Marvel took a step towards him, hands out as if to catch him. "What?" she asked, frowning, and Peter had to admit, he didn't look all that steady on his feet.

"The Falcon just checked in," Tony said, shaking his head. "He and Steve are on their way to take down Red Skull. They've found his lair on the Upper East Side."

That meant that Cap was okay, at least for now. Which was good, because it meant that Tony hadn't sprung another sudden-but-inevitable-betrayal and thrown him in the river or anything like that.

Though to be honest, given the way Tony's voice had sounded when he'd first showed up, Peter had pretty much known that that hadn't happened.

"Damn." Luke frowned. "No way Red Skull doesn't have some kind of Nazi-army waiting. They gonna want backup too?"

"They're with Agent Carter and Winter Soldier," Tony said, eyes distant, head cocked to one side, as if talking over the Extremis required some extra level of attention. "I think they're treating it as some kind of family-outing. They-" He broke off suddenly, staggering. Ms. Marvel, still hovering, grabbed him by the elbow, hauling him upright.

"Are you all right?" she asked, not letting go of him.

Tony shook his head. "Satellite communications in the greater metropolitan area for New York City just went down completely," he said, shrugging out of Ms. Marvel's supporting grasp and straightening.

"How the hell did that happen?" Luke asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"I thought you were our communications?" Danny added.

"He's got to relay the communications through the satellites," Peter said to Danny. And for something to be screwing with the satellites, it had to be bad. Which meant that something big and bad was about to try and destroy the city. Again. You'd think that people would get tired of trying to destroy New York after a while, maybe go find new landmarks to smash. Or maybe go to the Midwest; there was a surprising dearth of supervillains in the Midwest, although that could be because they were scared off by those creepy Jesus-camp people.

"Something's interfering with the transmission," Tony added, raising one hand to rub at his forehead.

"I believe that would be Doctor Doom," a voice said from behind them. Peter whirled around, and the noise he made wasn't anything as un-manly as a squeak. A swirl of pink smoke parted to reveal Doctor Strange standing there, hands clasped behind his back. He looked smug, like he always did when he got to surprise or startle people. "Doom has managed to uncover the location of the artifact, and he's making his move now." Strange continued. He pointed to the west, expression solemn, and Peter turned. Shimmering in the distance, half-obscuring the skyline of New York, was a giant pink dome, directly over what Peter would bet his now-forfeited chance at tenure was Hell's Kitchen.

"Why is magic always pink?" he asked, rubbing at the back of his head. It was hot, this close to the fires, and his hair always got all sweaty and matted under the mask, and it kind of itched.

"Thankfully, I have discovered a ritual that will allow us to permanently prevent Doom from getting his hands on the spear," Strange said. "But I am going to need your help, Peter."

Peter grinned underneath his mask. The Sorcerer Supreme needed his help.

Strange inclined his head, a little smile playing across his lips. That kind of smile never meant anything good for anyone. "You're going to help me convince Daredevil to participate in a pagan blood ritual."

"Ooh, that should be fun. You know he's incredibly Catholic, right?" Peter said. It wasn't like everyone there didn't know exactly who Daredevil was.

"That's why you're coming," Strange said, "He likes you. His terrifyingly over-protective law partner also likes you, and he might not try to sue me for emotionally damaging Matt if you're there."

"Wouldn't it be medical malpractice? I mean, if you're drawing blood?" Peter asked.

"You'd better hurry," Tony said. "If Doom gets his hands on that thing, the Mandarin will be the least of our problems." He set his briefcase down on the cobblestones, and stepped back a pace. The case popped open, and bits of red and gold metal flew out, swirling around him and assembling themselves into the armor. He turned to Carol, the helmet now hiding his face. "Let's go."

The two of them took off for the water, and Peter and the others watched them go for a second, before Luke turned to Danny, and whacked him on the shoulder. "C'mon, mini kung fu Jesus, let's go kick some ninja ass."

Danny frowned, yellow mask crinkling over his eyebrows. "Stop calling me that."

"What?" Luke raised his eyebrows. "You were dead, and then you came back."

"I was not dead," Danny snapped through gritted teeth. "I was kidnapped by aliens."

"If you're ready, Peter?" Strange asked. "We're working with a time limit."

Peter nodded, and Strange did his swirly pink smoke thing and a second later, they were standing inches away from the vast, curving side of the pink bubble. It was faintly iridescent, and wavered between opacity and transparency.

Peter reached out and gave it a tentative poke with one finger. The thing might look like it was made of bubble gum, but it was hard as a rock, and touching it made his finger tingle and go numb. "Um… one question. How are we going to get inside the giant pink bubble?"

Strange closed his eyes and held both hands up, palms out. He murmured something under his breath, an invisible wind stirring his red cape. Peter had always thought capes were kind of silly, but he had to admit, that looked pretty cool.

Strange opened his again, and the bubble flickered, then winked out of existence.


"What the hell is that?" Sam pointed out the window, at the vast, shimmering pink dome that now covered half of midtown Manhattan.

"Magic," Sharon said grimly. She was still staring straight ahead through the windshield, expression intent.

"How can you be sure?" Bucky asked.

"Because it's giant, and pink, and sparkly," she said. She sounded irritated, but there was a smile playing over her lips now. "It's probably Doom."

"So, where are we going?" Steve asked. He addressed his question to Sharon, and very deliberately did not look at the dead communicator in his hands. They didn't have the resources to do anything about Doom; that was up to Strange. He needed to know what was happening with Red Skull.

"An apartment on the Upper East Side. 72nd Street, right by Central Park."

"That's only two blocks away from Avengers Mansion." The thought of Red Skull lurking so close to his home made Steve's skin crawl. Why did he have to taint everything Steve cared about?

"Lukin used to keep his boytoys there," Bucky volunteered, with a familiar smirk.

"It was probably a mistress," Sharon said, with an equally familiar long-suffering tone in her voice.

The idea of Lukin living so close to Avengers Mansion was only marginally better than the idea of Red Skull doing so.

"Does he know you're on to him?" Steve asked. He began unbuttoning his shirt -- he was already wearing his costume underneath it. Tony had mocked him over it this morning, but it saved him from having to strip down and change clothes in the backseat of a car, with Sam and Bucky both watching.

"Probably," Sam said. "The pigeons are keeping an eye on the place for me. He's got guards in position all around the block."

"That's why we've got to move now." Bucky reached inside his jacket and withdrew his domino mask, pressing it into place over his eyes. "Before he goes to ground again."

Steve kicked off his shoes, shucked off the jeans he was wearing over his leather pants, and pulled his red boots out of the backpack. His gloves and cowl had fallen down to the very bottom of the bag, underneath Tony's shapeless grey sweater. Tony was fine. Tony had to be fine.

"So, you look like you're pretty much back to a hundred percent again."

Steve pulled his gaze back up to meet Sam's eyes. He hadn't realized it at the time, but he must have looked pretty shell-shocked those first few days for people to keep making comments on it. "Did I look that bad?"

"It's wasn't all that obvious, but yeah."

Steve stared at the backpack between his feet. The rough, grey wool of Tony's sweater was visible through the unzipped opening, his gloves and cowl still tangled in its folds. He would have gotten over the shock of coming back on his own, eventually, but he knew that having Tony to lean on those first few nights had made all the difference.

Steve bent over and picked up his mask, just holding it for a moment.

The pink dome on the horizon vanished abruptly, and Sam's communicator emitted a loud burst of static.

Steve quickly slid the earpiece back into place and fiddled with the frequency until the static resolved itself into Tony's voice. "… interference… magic is affecting the satellites…" Steve closed his eyes, that icy knot in his stomach finally dissolving. There was another burst of static, and then it faded, Tony's voice suddenly coming through loud and clear, but with a slight echo. "The Mandarin has come calling. Communications will be down for the foreseeable future, until we've taken care of him."

Steve opened his eyes, and adjusted the communicator's mouthpiece. "Tony, are you all right?" He sounded all right, but with Tony, that didn't necessarily mean much.

"Fine," Tony's voice had lost the echoing quality; he must have switched to a narrow band frequency so that they could speak without half the SHIELD network overhearing. "Unless you count having the Mandarin on my doorstep. Carol and I are on our way to deal with him." He paused for a second, then, voice low, "Look, if we can't stop him…" he trailed off, the link carrying nothing but a faint crackle of static for a moment, then said, very softly, "I love you."

Steve's cowl fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers. "I… I…" he stammered. Oh God, Tony didn't expect to come back.

"What is it?" Sharon was looking back at him over her shoulder, eyebrows raised in concern.

"Good luck," Steve finally choked out. "Rogers out."


As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorites-listed, or otherwise commented on or encouraged us over the past ten chapters.