"Okay, hold on, scrolling….alright, next it calls for two teaspoons of crushed garlic. Steve, where the hell are the teaspoons?"

Steve looks over his shoulder, vegetable knife pausing over the half-cut green onion. "Teaspoons or tablespoons?"

"Teaspoons. Although we'll probably need both eventually."

"Ah, check the top row of cabinets, third from my left."

I set my hands on my hips and stare up at the mentioned cabinet. "Why…never mind. Clint, can you reach that?"

"Sure thing." Clint stops shredding cheese to reach up and pluck the spoons down, setting them in front of me and I grin before beginning to rummage in the fridge for the garlic cloves.

The team and I had a rare day off, and we were trying something new. We were cooking. Some Italian lasagna type dish, with cheese, sauce, noodles, etc.

"Aha!" I dig the cloves out of the fridge and grab the mortar and pestle out from under my dad's hands. "Thank you."

I ignore his indignant protests as I crush the garlic, humming a tune under my breath. "Bruce, is that butter mixture almost ready?"

He nods. "Here you go."

I accept the small bowl and pour my garlic powder into it, whisking it lightly. "Garlic butter is almost done."

"How long do you think we'll have leftovers?"

I look at Bruce with a question on my eyebrows. "Well, if we make it for the seven of us, including Thor, Steve, and your portions, about a day or two. If we make it for the girls and us, about four days, maybe. Why?"

He shrugs and returns to adjust the stove to make it boil water. "I was just thinking about how Betty and the girls are in New Zealand for that partnership with that lab until Sunday, I was wondering if we were going to have any left."

"We should," I shrug, "if our three big eaters don't devour it all."

Bruce grins. "It's not my fault."

"I would blame the Other Guy if you ever let him out." I give him an imploring look.

He looks indignant. "Hey, you-"

A cool but slightly rushed British tone interrupts the sounds of cooking in the room. "Sir, ma'am, I feel that I must bring to your attention an altercation happening downstairs."

My dad sighs. "Jarvis, if it's another girlfriend, I told you, twist the truth and divert her."

"No, sir, anything of that sort." Jarvis pauses, an almost-sigh filling the empty space. "It's an alert Romeo Mike Hotel."

I stiffen as soon as the last words leave the speakers, quickly whirling to meet my dad's eyes.

"Jarvis," he says clearly and calmly as he sets down the tomato seed covered knife, "how long do we have?"

"Approximately five minutes."

"Are we going to use Plan A or B?"

"A." he nods at me before quickly turning and leaving the room, leaving me staring at a group of five other extremely confused and surprised superheroes.

"Taylor, what the-"

"Do you trust me? Us?"

"You and Tony?" Steve frowns. "Yes, of course, but-"

"Then can you please, please just go wait in the back of the living room? Sit on the couches, I don't really care, just stay quiet and don't ask questions?" I have to almost beg. "Please."

Steve nods, still looking confused as the groups shuffles into the next room.

My dad rushes back into the room. "It's all set up."

"Even the-"

"Yes. Go get ready, T-minus 3 minutes."

I nod and rush out of the room, sprinting to my room and dressing in a tank top that showed my shoulder scars and pair of light business slacks and a pair of slacks, slipping a few sharp items into various folds.

I check my watch, one minute left, as I race back out to the living room. I meet my dad, who is dressed in a sharp, dark suit with a determined, dark gleam in his eyes.

"Ready."

"Good."

We both nod as I slip into the shadows behind my dad, watching my watch as all goes silent.

"Ten seconds until the elevator reaches this floor, sir."

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One…

The elevator dings open, shattering the silence as a man in uniform steps out, flanked by two muscular men in black on each side.

"General Ross, to what do I owe the displeasure?"

.

Natasha POV

"General Ross, to what do I owe the displeasure?"

I can feel Bruce stiffen somewhere behind me as I gaze steadily at the beady-eyed man with a bushy mustache that just entered the room.

He and Tony are looking at each other with equal measures of disgust and displeasure.

"Mr. Stark, or should I say Merchant of Death?"

"I think you're mistaken, General." Tony has a nonchalant, businesslike tone to his voice, but I can tell there's something more going on.

And I haven't seen Taylor since she ran to her room.

"I don't think I am, Stark. Sell any death lately?" Ross raises his eyebrows. "Or have you gone soft and gained a halo?"

Tony stays silent.

"Now, step aside Stark, we both know what I'm here for."

"What," Tony questions calmly, "or who?"

"You make friends with monsters now, Stark?"

"No," Tony snaps, "because the only monster here is you."

"Gone senile in your old age?" Ross questions smugly. "I hunt monsters, Stark, not associate with them."

Tony laughs humorlessly. "I'm not the senile one here. Now," he clears his throat, "about your target."

"Yes?" Ross leans forward expectantly, an excited gleam in his eyes.

Tony leans forward as well, almost nose to nose with Ross. "When a snowball survives in hell."

Ross huffs and leans back. "Stark, you don't understand-"

"Oh, I understand perfectly, Ross." Tony clasps his hands behind his back, a dark gleam in his eyes. "You know, you may have been right about the Merchant of Death, Monster Hunter. There are some things you never outgrow. Or get rid of. I have a few old…tools…lying around."

"Do you, now? And what are you going to do with them?"

"I think it very honorable to use them to protect what is mine."

Ross scoffs. "Your big guns don't scare me, Stark. You could never do it anyways."

"Couldn't I?" Tony raises a dangerous eyebrow. "Jarvis, I need stage 3."

Panels on the wall to the side of Stark, Ross, and the soldiers open to show five guns, each big, mean, and powerful.

Tony walks slowly in front of them, seemingly fighting to make a decision. "So many weapons, so little time…"

"Stark, hurry the hell up, will you?"

"Fine." Tony shrugs. "Rush me, why don't you?"

He plucks the fourth gun, a big 50-caliber pistol, up off its platform. He grips it in one hand, aims it at the first soldier on the left, and pulls back the safety.

"Stark-"

"You said I couldn't do it." Tony whispers, and pulls the trigger.

The shot reverberates around the room, and the team gasps despite our vows of silence as red blooms on the soldier's chest and he falls with a thud and a wet gurgle.

Ross and Tony don't even blink, just stare unblinking at each other.

"You are still capable, Mr. Stark." Ross admits quietly. "But you think I'm afraid of a little blood?"

"Nope." Tony shakes his head. "But I know what you are afraid of."

"Really?" Ross leans back, amused. "Humor me then."

"Elizabeth Marissa Ross." Tony states simply, and Ross' eyes darken as he leans forward.

"You can't touch her, Stark, you know nothing about her."

"Do I?" Tony raises an eyebrow. "Her favorite color is the color is cerulean blue, her favorite drink is the grasshopper, and her favorite element is Sodium bicarbonate."

"That's common knowledge, Stark."

His eyebrows raise higher. "For her fourth birthday, you got her an EZ-brain Kid Science kit."

Ross clenches his jaw. "You still don't even know where she is."

Tony smirks darkly. "3412 Minestrone Street, New Zealand. At the Winston Institute of Ecological Sciences. She should be leaving in about," he checks his watch, "twelve minutes and forty two seconds. Shall we get her on the phone?"

"Stark-"

"Alright then." Tony whips out a phone, not his own, dialing a familiar number as putting it on speaker as it rings.

"Dad?" Bruce stiffens again as Betty's voice comes over the line, sounding fearful and worried at the same time.

Ross must've heard it too, because he leans forward sharply. "Betty?"

"Dad! I'm…I'm scared."

"Betty, what's going on, are you okay?"

"My computer just exploded, it almost caught some explosive chemicals on fire. The lab equipment all went dark, and my cell phone isn't working. I'm on a payphone outside. Dad, what is going on, what's happening?"

Ross looks panicked now, his eye's boring into Tony's head. "Stark, stop this!"

"Stop hunting my people."

"Fine…" Ross pants. "Fine, okay, just stop this."

Tony snaps the phone shut, once again clasping his hands behind his back. "I have terms."

"Terms?" Ross scoffs, regaining his bravado. "Stark, there are no terms necessary."

"There are." Tony nods. "You will not be in the same country as any of the Avengers again. I will never see your face ever again. Quite simply, you will leave us alone."

"Are you out of your mind? I can do this my own way, Stark, I don't need-"

Tony's posture shifted; he now looked confident like he did in front of the press, except the look in his eyes was that of pure, furious murder. "I suggest you agree, Ross...wouldn't want more collateral damage, would we?"

Ross puffs out his chest and tries to look confident, but the distress and fear are crystal clear in his eyes. "You're bluffing, Stark, what more could you do that you haven't already done?"

Tony's smile is a dark, twisted, humorless one. "Not me."

His whisper is the last thing heard before the room plunges into complete darkness. Everyone stiffens and nobody moves.

Suddenly there's a grunt from across the room, near the elevator, followed by a wet slicing sound, a groan, and a slight ruffling sound.

Then the light come back on, at full force, to reveal almost the same scene that disappeared when they went off, except for the fact that the soldier on the back right, behind the one that got shot is tense, with a very pale face and glazed eyes.

His knees give way and he tips forward, face meeting the floor. Everyone's eyes widen as we stare at his back and the combat knife hilt poking from between his shoulder blades.

And standing behind him is...Taylor.

Clint stiffens next to me, and I can tell the same thought just ran through our heads.

This is Taylor, obviously, but at the same time...it just isn't.

Her face is different. She's normally pretty, anyone can confirm that - especially Clint. But now her face holds the same look that a lioness holds as it stares down a zebra; entrancingly beautiful, powerful, and oh-so-deadly.

Her smile is sickly sweet; her voice melodic and slightly haunting, meant to send shivers down anyone's spine. "Ross."

"Ah," Ross slowly turns to face her, understanding flooding his face. "If it isn't the Prodigy of Death herself. I should've known."

Taylor nods. "Monster Hunter. I would say it's a pleasure to see you, but..." she waves a hand towards the two bodies slumped on the floor and the growing pool of blood around her feet.

"See, Ross?" Tony calls, as if he were pointing out a picture. "You should really agree to my - our - terms. We haven't forgotten a thing."

Ross glances between Tony, Taylor, and the bodies nervously. "You can't do this, you're Avengers, heroes, and good guys don't kill."

Tony and Taylor adopt matching dark, sadistic grins. "Who said we were ever good?"

Taylor flicks her wrist and pulls a blade out of...somewhere, a six inch long serrated killing machine.

Ross takes one look and begins stammering his agreement. "Okay! Okay, y-you've made your p-point. I'll follow your t-terms. I'm leaving."

He quickly gathers his other two soldiers, the alive ones, and re-enters the elevator.

And, just like that, it's over as soon as it had begun.

Taylor sighs and looks at the blood cooling on the floor.

We all expect her to yell, scream, something, but all she does is sigh like this was a huge waste of time, glance, at her dad, and walk over to one of the bodies.

"Well," The rest of us stand slowly from the couch, "that was utterly terrifying."

Tony shrugs. "Sorry."

I raise an eyebrow. "You don't sound very sorry."

He just shrugs again, watching Taylor as she bends over the body with the knife.

"Comrades, what dark sorcery has taken over our friends?" Thor asks loudly, gripping his hammer.

"Whoa, buddy." Tony puts his hands up. "No magic involved. Calm down."

"Then, please, Stark, explain what just happened." Steve requests dryly.

Tony sighs and leans against the bar. "Well, just to be clear, that was us. Not alter-egos or anything."

"That just makes me wonder more." Bruce sighs.

"Alright, okay." Tony runs a hand through his hair, ignoring the flacks of dried blood. "Everyone knows we once made a sold weapons?"

We all nod.

"And I'm talking big weapons, weapons of mass destruction. That practice eventually earned us the nicknames of Merchant," he waves towards himself then Taylor, "and Prodigy of Death. Given that we were literally making death, those titles were actually right on the head. Now, that business was not…not a pleasant place. We saw blood, gore, explosions…Hey Cap?"

"Yes?"

"You're right, I'm not a soldier. But I saw about a much as you did, we both did, as civilians."

Steve just looks ashamed.

"And that's not easy to get rid of." Tony shrugs. "Not even after six years. We are dark people. Okay?" Tony laughs humorlessly. "There's the truth. We don't have shining halos and snowy white wings. We've got maybe as much red on our ledgers as Spidey and Hawk."

We all stay silent, shocked at this newest side of our friends.

"Go on." Tony pushes. "Do want you need to, want to. Kick us of the team, call us a disgrace, come on, we can obviously take it."

The five of us look at each other in shock.

"Are you out of your mind?"

Tony blinks at Clint. "What?"

"I said, are you out of your mind? We aren't kicking you off the team, or calling you disgraces, we aren't doing anything like that."

Tony's jaw hits the floor and Taylor freezes, still over by the bodies and the cooling blood. "I…"

"The team is used to dripping ledgers by now." I continue, stepping forward. "Every single one of us has one, and we knew that even before Ross stepped foot in this tower. Plus, I'm pretty sure Clint would turn into a mushy lump of teenage girl if he and Taylor got separated."

"Hey!" Clint protests. "I would not."

"You would." Tony butts in.

"Anyways," Steve interrupts before that can continue into a push-pull argument, "We're aren't mad, but we are confused, and we would really like an explanation and whether or not we'll be accessories to murder."

Tony nods. "So anyways, back to my main story line. Merchant, Prodigy, death, missiles, yadda, yadda, yadda. We never really grew out of that. You've all seen us in board rooms and executive meetings?"

We all nod, remembering the times we've seen them command those even richer than them.

"Well, that…power, that…"

"Command?" Steve offers.

"Right, command. That's only a small sliver of what we're capable of, and this was a much better example."

"So…that darker side, the scary sides, that was the Merchant and Prodigy of Death, not you two?" Bruce asks, slightly confused.

"One and the same, really."

"Anyways," I push them back to the main explanation, "what about them?"

"Not dead." Taylor speaks up for the first time. "Just knocked out."

"What?" Steve looks confused, as do the rest of us. "But…we saw them…"

"Die?" Taylor raises an eyebrow. "Get stabbed and shot?"

"Yeah."

Taylor stands and walks over to the guy she supposedly stabbed in the back. "Trick knife, sort of a switchblade. I nerve pinched him. Should be out for another hour and a half, thereabouts." She pick up the knife hilt, showing not a bloody knife but thin air.

It was just a hilt, no blade. Until, that is, Taylor presses a button on the side and a blade, four inches long and shining steel, slings out with a sharp springing sound.

Clint whistles low next to me, and I have to admit I'm slightly impressed too.

Taylor chuckles at our faces. "I have more if you want them."

Steve looks at the first man, face down on the floor over by Tony. "And him?"

"Tranquilizing darts." Taylor walks over and nudges the guy onto his back with a foot. She leans down and plucks something from his shirt, and I squint to see a tiny dart, only about three inches long, and tipped with a few drops of red liquid.

"If they never got shot, stabbed, or otherwise mortally wounded," I look at the ground, "then what's with the blood?"

"Corn syrup, corn starch, and strawberry syrup." Taylor dips a finger in the liquid near one of the bodies and licks it. "It's actually pretty good. Works at parties too."

"So who are they?" I ask. "Are we going to have to smuggle them out and to wherever they live?"

Taylor leans back, amused eyes shining. "No, nothing like that." She points to the first man. "Randy Dawson," and the two the second man, "and Carl Houser. Actor friends of ours, help us prepare for conferences and stuff after missions."

I nod slowly.

"Now," Tony claps, "can someone help us get them to some spare rooms so they can get some rest?"

Steve hurries to help Tony, grabbing Randy's feet and lifting him with Tony at his head while Clint and I help Taylor with Carl.

After we get them in a couple of rooms, we all return to the living room, letting Tony and Taylor detour for a minute to change out of their clothes because they were covered in a sticky, dried sugar concoction.

Taylor returns to the living room through the kitchen, a sheepish look on her face. "Um, guys…I think the food burned."

Bruce makes a whining sound. "There go my leftovers."

"We could always go for takeout from that one place on the south end of Central Park." I suggest, watching as everybody nods thankfully.

Bruce still looks slightly unsure, though.

"Come on, big guy." Taylor coaxes. "Betty won't know the difference."

"She might." Bruce protests. "And we can't tell her why we had to get takeout."

"True," Tony admits, "we can't tell her Daddy dearest stopped by. She hasn't seen us like…that…yet. But we can, however, tell her that we are horrible cooks and what we made was inedible."

Bruce blinks. "That's insulting all of us...okay, let's do it."

Taylor cheers, running past us to the other elevator, avoiding the red sugar crusted section of the floor. "I call shotgun!"

"Oh no you don't!" Tony retorts, chasing after his daughter with a laugh.

"Hey, wait up!" Bruce calls, jogging towards the elevator with rest of us in tow. I share a glance with the mild-mannered scientist, and I see relief and immense gratefulness in his chocolate brown eyes.

I grin slightly and follow our team into the elevator.

If I let myself reflect on what just happened, I can find that it's simple, really.

Tony likes to flaunt our roster in the face of our enemies. He's done it to Loki, but he's also done it reassure us, like he did for Bruce after one of his major Hulk-outs.

So what if that roster's changed just a bit?

We have five of the smartest people on earth, geniuses, all of them; occasionally the Merchant of Death and the Prodigy of Death, sometimes the Hulk, and two of the brightest and friendliest females to walk the earth. We have two master assassins; a demigod, the Norse god of Thunder; and the one and only super soldier, a man who has survived time itself.

We're still a team, no matter how much red stains all of our ledgers.

Nothing has changed that so far, and nothing can change that now.

Not even Monster Hunters.