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C14: Countdown

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Since the day he'd willingly submitted his body to the agonizing process of gamma ray bombardment and serum injection, Steve had not once doubted his body's ability. He knew now exactly what he was capable of, and it was so much more than it had ever been, more than he had ever dreamed. He had never imagined possessing this kind of power: the strength and stamina and skill to take on the largest armies and mightiest warriors the universe could throw at him. Catapulted from a scrawny kid who could barely do a push-up to the pinnacle of human fitness, he had learned to trust his body in a way he had never been able to before. He could push himself farther, move faster, lift more, and stand up to the harshest elements imaginable. His body was his shield. It had never failed him.

Not until today. Not until sleepless nights, a horrible accident and a brutal struggle against an alien champion had all combined to test his every limit. Now he commanded his limbs to steady, yet they trembled. He commanded his mind to clear and still it remained trapped in a haze of color and light, uncooperative. He asked more of himself and came up with empty hands. He had nothing left to give.

The soldier had found his own limits, and it frightened him to realize how close they were. How very real and human.

He was sure that any rational man would have stopped pushing at about that point. That most men, having reached that moment of having absolutely nothing left to give, might have gracefully retreated and been the wiser for it.

Steve did not have that luxury. Lately it seemed he had no luxuries at all. He had touched his limit, and now he had no choice but to push past it and play a guessing game with his own survival.

Back on the transport—hours ago, lifetimes ago—he had told Bruce that it all came down to him. In that moment he had given Banner the responsibility to make the choice that Steve would soon be unable to, and whatever happened he had begged him to know that he would not blame him for it. The soldier had to finish the fight once it started. There was no other option. Steve had looked down at the concentrated serum, the huge vial of thick green liquid that the doctor had prepared for just such an eventuality, and agreed to let it kill him.

Bruce had looked so torn, so conflicted that the soldier had grasped his arm and made him swear he would go through with it.

The doctor looked miserable and sick with guilt, but he had made that promise.

He didn't disappoint.

The serum invaded the soldier's bloodstream like a virus and nothing Tony could curse or scream could change the fact that it was done. For better or for worse, the decision had been made.

All Steve could do was brace himself and ride out the pain.

Getting hit by a bolt of lightening might have been a gentler sensation. Something alien and strong was pushing it's way through his veins, up and through, cleansing, changing, burning what was there and creating something new from the pieces. The serum shot he'd been given earlier had been a boost, helpful and almost gentle, just strong enough to kick-start his metabolism. This one was a hundred times stronger and even if it was meant to be helpful in the long run, in the moment it was nothing more than searing, blinding pain.

Breathing had been difficult a few moments ago. Now each lungful of air was an act of great self-control, an uphill struggle during which he fought tooth and nail simply to pull enough oxygen in to keep from blacking out. At the apex of each released breath there was a split second of panic, a moment in which his lungs were empty and he honestly wasn't sure if he'd be able to fill them again. There was a struggle, and with sweat rolling down his face, he took another breath.

Tony's armored hands on his arms, bruising in their grip, were hot as brands. He was glad for them. They were all that still reminded him of reality, the only thing that kept him certain that he was still alive. He could still hear the brunette's voice, sense it rumbling up through his chest from where the side of Steve's forehead was pressed against the armor.

It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, but when his lungs started working on their own again and the blood rushing through his ears quieted down, Steve felt as if he'd aged a decade.

From there, feeling anything at all became a memory.

That strange disconnection he'd possessed earlier was back a hundred times over. He might as well have been controlling a puppet for all that he understood what his body was doing. He found himself sitting up on instinct, clarity pulsing at the edges of his vision like a bass drum. He felt no pain as Tony and Bruce helped him to his feet, even if he was now certain he could have easily stood on his own.

Tony's face was a crumpled mask of horror, and it was only at that moment that Steve realized his lover knew what Bruce had given the soldier. Maybe he didn't understand exactly what it would do to him or how, but he understood, as all of them did, that it had been a last resort.

It had to count, and it would, because Steve had a new fire within him. A new reason to continue and the only thing that ensured he could not fail. He had Tony.

His priority now was to make it through this fight, to win. To guarantee that his entire team survived.

Past that, he could plan nothing, imagine nothing, see nothing. There was no future after the moment that he emerged victorious and won the safety of the planet and people he loved. He didn't want to think too hard about what that meant.

Bruce and Tony were arguing in earnest now, but it was nothing more than a faint buzzing that rang in his ears as the soldier turned his head and surveyed their situation. He took in the gathered horde, near-crazed with lust for blood... The alien leader watching them like a hawk, the scarcely-winded warrior crouched across the field.

In the harsh light of new clarity, Steve understood what he had not before. He saw what had been right before his eyes, disguised by his own pain and heartbreak. The others had missed it too, because they were too focused on him to observe the obvious. He hated that his own incompetence had been the cause of such an oversight, but all he could do now was face it and fix it.

Win or lose, the Kree had no intention of leaving the earth in peace.

"Barton. Romanoff," Steve called out to the two assassins, who looked as startled to hear his voice as the others. They recovered and stepped forward quickly, ever the soldiers. "Listen carefully. As soon as the battle begins again, the invaders' attention will be fixed on me. That will be your only window of opportunity. There's enough C-4 on the transport to blow open a mountain. By the time the fight ends, I need those explosives rigged to that enemy ship."

It was hard to say whether Clint looked more shocked by Steve's commands or by the fact that the soldier was suddenly coherent enough to be commanding anyone at all. To her credit, Natasha was taking it all in stride with surprising composure. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising, really.

"Steve?" Bruce looked worried, questing eyes searching the soldier's expression as if he was afraid the blond had finally lost the last vestiges of his sanity under the pressure. Steve couldn't blame him; if he'd been an outsider, he probably would have been worried about that too.

But for now time was running short on them and he seemed to be the only one who understood that, so the soldier didn't spare the time to be gentle. An urgency had gripped him that was borne from more than the current circumstances... somewhere within him, his body's clock had begun to tick, a fatal countdown to the moment when even Banner and his science, even Tony and all the faith in the world would cease to hold him together. His instincts warned him that this moment was looming closer than ever, and it was imperative that he take full advantage of the time he had left.

"They have no intention of leaving," the soldier announced simply, his jaw set and his eyes cold with finality, "they never did."

Tony straightened up a little, and Clint's shock dissipated. Steve had only needed to scratch at the exterior of their own observations. The truth was close to the surface, waiting for them to see it. It hadn't taken much to steal way the blindfold distraction and anxiety had placed there.

"Why would they leave if they lose a single combat?" Steve pressed his point, eyes moving intently from one to another of his gathered team, "they have more than enough warriors to overpower us here, in the middle of nowhere, where they have us all in one place and off guard. And if they win, they've defeated us. The earth's last line of defense. Who else would dare to stand up to them?"

Silence reigned supreme for a long heartbeat as the team processed his words, weighed them for truth and then for options.

"The Captain is likely correct," Thor was the first to speak up in reluctant support of the prospect, his face grim with anticipation. "This was likely never a diplomatic counsel. The Kree have arrived with a war party. I fear that a simple defeat in open combat would not be enough to turn them away from their purpose. The true intent of this charade was to demoralize us by removing our leader." His eyes flickered apologetically towards Steve.

"We can rig that ship," Natasha spoke up in a voice that was quiet and unfailingly arresting at the same time, "but that's not our biggest problem here." She turned and fixed green eyes directly on the soldier, "what do you plan to do?"

The question meant more than the words. She wasn't asking if he would continue to fight; not a one of them doubted that he would. She was asking him how he planned to win.

"I'm going to call them on their own tricks," Steve said simply, forcing his features into a smile he didn't feel, "and buy you the time to do what you need to do."

Bruce had given up protesting, given up trying to stop the downhill slide, and this fact didn't escape the soldier's notice. He couldn't do anything about it, however, besides pray for silent forgiveness and hope that when the whole mess hit the fan Bruce would be able to forgive himself someday.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tony demanded, that old spark back in his eyes the same way it was back in Steve's chest, "what the hell are you thinking?"

In his state of detachment the only reason Steve noticed the vice-like grip Tony had taken on his arm was because it kept him from moving forward, kept him grounded. He looked down at the red and gold-armored hand like it was something he'd seen once in a dream, unrecognizable and still hauntingly familiar.

"Steve?" The voice was gentle this time, bringing the soldier's eyes up to meet bottomless brown ones, so full of love and fear and concern.

"I'm okay," Steve answered the unspoken question with the expected lie, and felt no guilt because he felt nothing. His lips moved but he didn't feel them; his side was bleeding in strange little rivers down beneath his shirt, wet and warm, but it didn't hurt. Okay seemed like a pretty simple way to describe it. Okay was the greatest lie he could tell.

"It was important to me," the soldier found himself saying, blankly looking down at the hand that held his arm instead of at the eyes that frowned at him in confusion. "It was—that you never asked about things. That you accepted me. Let me stay. And you always knew what I needed, and there was so much... And the parking spot. You gave me my own parking spot. You didn't have to do that. I've never had one, I mean—I should have said thank you."

He was rambling; he was foolish; he was clumsy and senseless, thoughts tumbling out in disjointed phrases and nonsensical shards of pure need. What he wanted most to say would not come out, even now when he had nothing left to lose and nothing left to give. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't feel this, wouldn't be able to feel the pain that would follow his unrequited confession. What harm could it possibly do to unzip his bleeding heart and show a little bit of the damage inside to the world? He could not possibly make things worse, so if there had ever been a time to grab Tony and kiss his boyfriend in front of everyone and tell him I love you goddammit it was right now.

But that wasn't what came out.

"Thank you, Tony," he said softly instead and meant I love you more than anything, and looked up to meet his lover's eyes for a moment. Only one. He couldn't afford more, couldn't afford to get lost even when he wanted nothing more.

Wide brown eyes heard the words, loud and clear.

Too soon, Steve forced himself to turn away, to shut down his heart to match his body, to disentangle himself from Tony's iron grip. He stepped numbly away, back out onto a field slick with his own blood.

The battle wasn't won yet.

The alien warriors quieted as the soldier returned to the battlefield, their din subsiding to a dull roar. It was almost peaceful compared to the deafening cacophony it had been before. They anticipated blood, and this was all that moved them to fix their attention on the battered American warrior.

Good, Steve surveyed his enemy, let's see how long I can keep your attention now.

"Captain," the words slithered out of Jar-Sing's mouth like reptiles, his anger poorly-hidden, "I trust you are fit to resume battle? Unless of course, you intend to surrender?"

A murmur of approval made it's way through the alien mob. They shifted in hope and suppressed animosity. It was clear they would like nothing more than to be unleashed upon the earth in all their thirst and greed.

"I have no intention of surrendering," Steve found that his voice carried more power now, reached farther. Even this new strength was odd to him; he felt it no more than he felt the weakness that had crippled him before. It was only a tool at his command.

"As you wish," Jar-Sing seemed pleased with that declaration. "Then shall we begin? Krusae has been patient for long enough."

"Not so fast," the soldier stopped him, flexing his nerveless fingers around the handle of his shield, "I've had some time to think things over, and I have a few amendments to make to this whole song and dance routine of yours."

Even from across the field Steve could practically hear the hiss of anger as Jar-Sing's eyes narrowed. The horde really did go quiet now, hanging on every word that passed between their leader and Captain America. The only sound came from the wind, and the restless shifting of bodies and armor.

"State your request," Jar-Sing ground out at last, every word the sound of fraying patience, "but do not press our courtesy, Captain. The combat has already begun. There is little you could say now to alter what must be finished."

"You're right about that," Steve nodded once, and his voice was even stronger now, "this fight needs to be finished."

He waited for his words to sink in, waited just a beat too long to test the edges of what these alien invaders were willing to permit. He couldn't understand their insistence to stand on diplomacy when it was so obvious that they had no intention of honoring it in the end, but for now, he could use it to his advantage. And from where he stood, it was really his only advantage.

"You demanded the earth's most dangerous warrior, and you chose me. If a leader is the most dangerous element of any force, then the playing field must be even. I demand that you, Jar-Sing, meet me in combat."

Steve had, admittedly, expected the same reaction from the Kree forces that he had witnessed in his own team earlier: outrage, indignation, fury. Cries of protest at the unfairness and manipulation of the situation.

He hadn't expected them to leap, screaming and cheering to their feet in near-violent support of the idea.

Jar-Sing's blue skin darkened a shade as he stood, still as a statue and tall in the whistling wind. The soldier could almost feel the fury rolling off of him from across the field in palpable waves. The screeches and roars of his own army, thirsty for the sight of any blood, even their leader's, buffeted at him from behind and the wind from before, leaving the powerful creature suddenly alone on a bloody field.

This had been a gamble, Steve knew, attempting to turn back such underhanded tactics on the creatures who had initiated them. If the Kree refused the new terms, there was nothing any of the Avengers could do about it. The fight between Steve and Krusae would have to continue, and in his current state the soldier was certain now that he stood very little chance of coming out of that contest alive. If he faced Krusae again, his only goal would be to stay alive long enough to allow the assassins to do their job.

If, however, Jar-Sing agreed to fight—older, slower, not as strong as his younger champion—Steve had calculated that his own chances of victory would rise by a wide margin. In that case he would aim to defeat the Kree leader fairly and quickly. He could offer Jar-Sing a chance to accept defeat gracefully, take his army, and return to his homeworld. It would be the honorable thing to do on both sides, the path of least resistance and the path of least bloodshed.

It was almost too much to hope for.

The gears were turning in the alien's mind; that much was obvious even with the distance that separated them. Jar-Sing was caught now between his own terms of combat and an invading army that clearly bore him no great love. It was an unenviable position, but Steve did not withdraw his demand. He waited, and met those angry yellow eyes unflinchingly.

When the alien leader's decision was made, a long, thin hand snapped up to quiet the screaming army at his back, and for all their obvious malice towards him it worked instantaneously. That eerie silence fell again, and Jar-Sing spoke.

"Captain, you speak with a wisdom that does justice to your rank. I cannot refuse your challenge."

This time, no sign from Jar-Sing was enough to quiet the screams of his army. They erupted into chaos, and it seemed like nothing short of a miracle that they did not simply rush the field in their fervor.

Tick tock, Steve's body warned him, marching slowly closer to a perilous edge. Time was running out.

Jar-Sing appeared to be true to his word. He took his time about it but he shrugged the long, ceremonial cloak from his thin shoulders and passed it away to a waiting soldier, revealing the more traditional armor beneath. Two more of his warriors quickly appeared with his weapons, and he strapped a tall, narrow shield to his left arm before taking up a hook-ended blade in his right. It was shorter than the spear Krusae had favored, but it still stood nearly as tall as the soldier.

Steve didn't waste time on further pleasantries, but as he walked slowly forward he found that he was no longer strong enough to resist a brief look back.

Minus Clint and Natasha, both of whom had wisely traded places with the pilots from the transport to make their absence less obvious, the team stood where he had left them. Thor as grim as death, Bruce looking little better.

Only Tony met his eyes directly, and without his helmet the billionaire's pale features beamed with undisguised pride.

The serum must not have been completely effective, Steve realized, because the soldier felt something at that expression. It was deep within in his chest in the deepest part of his heart, and faint, but there was definitely a spark.

For a long, irrational moment, Steve wished he could believe that everything would turn out alright in the end. He wished that he didn't know what kind of precipice he was sliding towards; wished he could imagine a light at the end of this tunnel. He imagined a reality in which he fought this battle and returned to Tony's arms, and the billionaire forgave himself for what he'd done and Steve forgave himself for handing his heart over to a man who would never give it back.

He had promised Tony he would win, and he'd promised he'd come back. But he hadn't been able to promise he would stay. He knew now that he wouldn't have been able to make that promise. He knew exactly what was waiting for him at the end of all of this, and it was just Tony's arms and Steve's closing eyes, and then darkness.

The soldier was just glad that Tony hadn't understood any of that, hadn't seen it in his eyes or heard it in his desperation. It was easier this way.

Maybe someday Tony would forgive himself. Maybe he would be whole again.

At least one of them could be.

Like Krusae, Jar-Sing gave nothing away when he finally made his first move. No pleasantries or side-stepping. Just a brutal, direct attack that the soldier was quickly coming to associate with the Kree race. He was far better prepared for the onslaught this time, his body not mired down in agony and his mind free of the worst of the haze.

Most blessedly of all, he felt nothing.

Steve did not feel the earth-shaking force that crashed down onto his shield, or the sting of rocks as he rolled backwards out of the way. He only knew that his body withstood it, and that he was able to retaliate with all of his former strength. He didn't stop to question the how of it, the semantics of what was happening to his body or how long it could possibly last. He pressed his advantage and attacked.

The tall, thin alien was deceptively strong for his build, and quick as a tiger. But after fighting Krusae in a state far less stable than the one in which he now found himself, Steve found himself ready for it. This opponent was still smaller, weaker, slower by a fraction of a second every time. It made the difference.

Jar-Sing fought like a dancer, executing constant patterns of fluid movement and graceful evasions as if he did not distinguish one action from the next but instead played them out in sequence, one step bleeding smoothly into another. But he had been a leader too long and the part of him that had been a great warrior was rusty and dim with disuse.

Steve had the advantage of training on his side, the advantage of having been a soldier in an unconventional war. His was the element of surprise, of pressing an attack one step further when Jar-Sing thought he must surely be ready to retreat. Best of all, he had the advantage of feeling no pain when that blade skittered across his ribs, tearing fabric and flesh with it. He felt no pain when his shield was blocked and a crushing blow was dealt to the side of his face, drawing a new torrent of blood from already-mangled lips. When Jar-Sing pinned him to the earth and shattered his left shoulder, he felt nothing at all.

Even when the Kree warrior turned to dirty tactics and landed two well-aimed consecutive hits to the ugly, oozing wound on Steve's abdomen, a sign of weakness that had been all-too-apparent from the beginning... the serum held. His body did not register the pain it was surely experiencing, and science overrode biology to allow the soldier to remain standing. To remain fighting.

The soldier's apparent invulnerability was finally starting to wear on the alien leader, showing now in moments of hesitation and harsh breath, in glimpses of rage and trepidation in those eerie yellow eyes. Jar-Sing bled heavily from a gash on his back, opened moments before by the soldier's shield, and it was real and it was a weakness. It was all the soldier needed.

It didn't take him long to realize that for the first time in this whole fiasco, he might finally have the upper hand.

Tick, tock.

Neither party was willing to back down, not while so much hung in the balance. Jar-Sing had clearly expected less fight from a battered human already drained to his last reserves and pummeled half-senseless by his strongest warrior, and his doubt continued to open windows of opportunity for Steve to attack. A lowered guard here, and Steve landed a powerful hammer-fist to the thinly armored torso. An overreach there and Steve held the alien arm pinned, delivering a crushing hit to the head.

Everything had narrowed down to this, down to now.

When Jar-Sing made his fatal misstep, Steve seized the opportunity like it was the last one he would ever have. For all he knew, it might be.

There was no more margin for error, or for doubt or despair. He knew now with one hundred percent certainty that he was stronger than this new menace, stronger by far than these strange beasts so intent on destruction. Because these invaders were fighting for power and greed and selfishness. He was fighting for his home. For his family. For everything that he loved.

And as true as that was and as right as it sounded, that wasn't even all that drove him now. It wasn't the strongest pulse of his weakened heart. That title had been stolen long ago by a man in an iron suit. It wasn't just freedom or America or justice anymore. It was Tony.

How his love for one man had come to outweigh his commitment to an entire world, Steve might never understand.

Jar-Sing's arm descended, again and again in a series of punishing strikes that would, if Steve had not already lost all feeling, quickly numbed the limb that supported his shield. The soldier shifted; he broke the pattern into which they had fallen and refused to give an inch more ground to his adversary, bravely bracing himself beneath each new blow. When Jar-Sing fell back, it was only half-a-step. It was enough.

Steve did not allow the alien to regroup and try a new tactic; did not allow him the time to recover. He threw all his weight into pushing back against him, dealing a stunning blow to his enemy's torso. He surged forward, plying every last once of his strength into the rush.

The balance broke. The two warriors toppled to the ground, and Captain America had the upper hand, one knee pinning Jar-Sing's sword arm to the earth. The alien weapon lay a foot away from outstretched blue fingers, out of reach.

The air around them stilled, and they breathed into it, harsh and hollow.

"You are defeated. Yield," Steve rasped out, pressing the sharp edge of his shield hard against Jar-Sing's pulsing throat, "yield!"

"I will not. You'll have to kill me, Captain," Jar-Sing smiled up at the human, all bloody teeth and rasping breath, "you must end me here, in front of my army, and face their anger. It is the only way to die with honor."

Steve pulled back in disgust, rising off the prone creature and stepping away. He was having trouble focusing, forming words or response. He was silent instead, fighting the ebbing tides of his own mind.

It felt like years that he had been fighting without rest or comfort, but it was unlikely many minutes had passed. He hoped to god that Clint and Natasha had been given enough time.

"This is not the end," Jar-Sing pushed himself partially up, his blue-skinned chest heaving unevenly. "Intergalactic custom dictates we allow you a fair chance to defend your planet, but there are ways around such outdated rules," he spat at the soldier's back, uncowed by his own defeat, "we will wipe the planet of earthlings and leave none alive to tell the tale of this day."

It all made a little more sense to the soldier now, in a twisted sort of way. Even if it seemed sick that there were universally accepted customs on an intergalactic level for invading and conquering weaker realms, a race already at war would not welcome further attention from stronger, more morally conscientious realms. They would do what they could to avoid their wrath, even if it meant staging an elaborate war council on a small planet like Earth.

Is there an intergalactic U.N.? Steve wondered distantly, thinking that he should probably ask Thor about it later because it might be useful information for S.H.I.E.L.D. to have in a crisis.

Except that for him, there probably wouldn't be a later. He almost regretted that.

The alien levered himself to his feet, unsteady and unarmed. Steve turned and allowed it, watching in apathy.

"We admire your prowess in battle, Captain," the alien growled low in his throat, "you have overcome your human limitations and held yourself as a true warrior. You share the spirit of the Kree. Long will we speak your name in veneration, but we cannot allow you to stand in the way of our victory."

"This is your last chance," Steve ignored him and insisted, hyper-aware of the strange tingling sensation beginning in the very tips of his fingers. It was the surest sign that this was almost over, that the serum had nearly run it's course through his veins. "Take your army and go. Leave the Earth while you still can. You can make it out of this alive."

Time ran short. The hourglass was almost empty.

Jar-Sing laughed, a high, nearly-hysterical sound that the soldier associated with loss of control on all fronts. Green blood was dripping down the alien's chin. "Your threats are empty, Captain! You are outnumbered. Lay down your arms, and I promise—your deaths will be quick." That old coldness returned to the alien's eyes, and the smile fell away, "and this, earthling... is your last chance."

Steve looked down for a moment, a half-smile forming at the edges of his torn lips as he thought back on how predictable this all was; how expected and overdone. How many times had he heard such words from the mouths of tyrants? How many despots and rulers and been just as driven by their own lust for power? Time didn't matter. People didn't change.

The soldier felt inexplicably lighter when he lifted his eyes again. He could tell that his confidence unsettled Jar-Sing.

"Well. You can't say we didn't warn you."

And that was it. He didn't need to signal the assassins who were doubtless watching him. They had done their job and they had taken their cue . And now, they did not hesitate.

Somehow, Steve kept his feet as the world imploded around him. The last time he had heard anything so loud, been so blinded by flashes of light and pillars of fire spiraling into the air, he had been deep behind enemy lines in Nazi Germany, rigging a munitions plant to blow higher than the Empire State building.

This was bigger. This was louder, and brighter and a thousand times more welcome a sight. It was the symbol of a fight ended, a victory attained. It was the sign he had been waiting for that told him he had done enough, fought hard enough, and could finally let go.

Jar-Sing, still alive, was screeching in rage, his face a twisted mask of fury as he watched his ship careen up into the sky in pieces, watched the greater part of his invasion force be destroyed in a series of teeth-rattling explosions that were still shaking the ground. Any of his warriors that had been far enough away to escape the initial blast were in a similar state of panic and outrage, running, fighting, screaming, adding to the cacophony.

Steve stood as if rooted to the earth and looked on, a distant spectator.

The Avengers were suddenly there with him. They were around him, defending him, their energy finally unleashed upon an enemy they had been longing to fight for hours. For reasons he could not fathom the soldier simply stood numbly in their midst as the battle raged around him, short-lived as it was. He could do nothing else.

Thor decimated what few warriors had escaped the initial blast while Clint fired ceaselessly at those who tried to run. The Hulk had made his appearance and cleared wide paths through the remnants with massive, sweeping fists. The earth shook with his rage. Thunder and lightening crashed across a quickly-darkened sky. Smaller explosions were sounding in the distance as the wreckage of the alien ship stood in flames.

The roar of the massive green beast came beating in through Steve's awareness like a far-away drum, hollow and meaningless. He couldn't associate it with anything or anyone.

A red and gold blur blocked his field of vision for a moment, facing down a spidery blue creature Steve could no longer recognize. The struggle between the two colored shadows was brief. The blue form fell, his neck-snapped, to the cold earth.

Names were gone. Colors slipped away next. Even his own colors; even his own name.

Who was he? Why was he standing, silent and unmoving, while chaos raged on around him?

He couldn't remember.

Tick, tock. The clock stopped.

So did Steve's heart.

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Well, we've reached the denouement of the production. Was that update fast enough for you?

You can expect anywhere between two and four new chapters to come before this story is complete, and then hopefully not too long after, a sequel will be coming to a fanfiction site near you.

I have a LiveJournal and a Tumblr. Links are on my profile. Go get em.

I also forgot to mention it in the last chapter, where I should have mentioned it... but the line where Jar-Sing states that Captain America is the most dangerous Avenger of all because he inspires them is taken directly from the comics.

Just in case you were wondering. I didn't make it up, it just inspired me.

Thank you to the following reviewers for stopping in and leaving such lovely words of encouragement: GrimmXEchelon, Tacpebs, Juliakaze, fangirl29, Aliko Kinav, GRock87, igotproblems, Guest, Rebal, Harlie Rayne, and e. g. finch.

I would just like to point out to the world in general that I have more awesome reviewers than they do. I'm not saying they're fanatical, just that they have great taste, they're very smart, and they're better than other people.

Thank you also to:

Margaret: Well your enthusiasm was certainly contagious. :) And Tony is far from finished reacting to the situation, I can tell you that much. But you're right, he's caught for the moment in that unenviable place between guilt and anger, where the things he feels about himself are almost unbearable to hear from someone else, primarily because he knows they're true. Steve did pull a bit of a fast one there, didn't he? I know it's hard to imagine him willingly going back to a relationship like this, but I personally found it harder to imagine him leaving it. I think that regardless of what harm might come to himself, he knows that Tony needs him, and he wants to help Tony fix what he's broken. Tony's not the only dysfunctional one, here. Thank you so much for your very thorough feedback, I love every word. Here's more for you!

Anonymous2004: Any chance I can take you up on that for my next story? I'm already on pins and needles about it so a general feedbacker would be a pretty welcome addition for me. And thank you for suspending your doubt about the subject matter and giving this a chance. I had my qualms about tackling this myself, it's such a dark and controversial subject... but really, that's why I relate to it. Thank you so very much!

Fleur: (Part 1) Thank you! And can you believe I STILL haven't seen it? They tanked it out of theaters in the town where I live the day I went to see if it was still playing. Just my luck. I figure I'll see if I can find it playing anywhere else nearby before its completely gone. That would really suck, and would mark the first superhero movie I didn't see in theaters! Gotta keep my record golden. :) (Part 2) Were you really crying? Oh my gosh, I can't even imagine... I'm so glad you enjoyed this scene, it was absolutely brutal to write, and even looking back at it I can't say that I'm completely satisfied with it. And I did find your description funny, thank you for that. XD

K.T. Tag: I think if you could see the way I react in real life to your reviews you might think less of me as an author, haha. I get all giddy and smiley and ridiculous. It's quite undignified. I always love your reviews: this time I loved that you picked up on Steve's self-doubt and the way it is still rooted in childhood fears ( thread I was planning to explored in the next story), and especially Bruce's understated part in all of this, and the fact that he's not impervious to the part he's playing in Steve's self-destruction. Please, don't ever apologize, and stalk away! I love having loyal readers, it always encourages me to write more and write better. I don't have anything original that is complete, but if you'd like to hear about the novel I'm working on feel free to PM me. Thank you!

PumpkinSpiceLatte: Ah, thank you! That's exactly what I love so much about Captain America, and it comes into play even more in the next few chapters. And yes, Steve has a golden heart but he is still human and is making mistakes and trying to deal with them in imperfect ways. Oh, Tony is not getting off that easily, believe me. No-one is going to let him get away with what he's done, including himself. It will be touched on in the last several chapters, but the next story I am planning is really going to highlight the idea of the aftermath and consequences of everything that happened in this story, and how deep the damage really runs (of course with a nasty little plot twist thrown in for kicks!). I love these characters to death but they have a lot of suffering left to go, that's for certain. Thank you so much for reading between the lines, and I can't wait to hear from you again!