In fact, it isn't Fury who comes for Steve next—it's Clint and he sounds almost as humorless as Steve feels.
"Get down to the bridge, Cap," he says through the door. "Natasha wants you."
Steve picks himself up off the floor, where's he's been doing pushups for God knows how long and wipes his forehead. "Okay. I'll be right there."
Ten minutes pass and he's on his way, almost at a run but not quite, eager to be doing something even useful. Honestly, at this point he'd be happy running coffee (he thinks that's the phrase) for Tony.
Well, maybe not, but he needs to get his mind off of everything: the threat of Doom, their current flight to Wakanda (Lord, he'd almost forgotten the whole point of being on the Helicarrier on the first place), and most of all, Loki.
Loki, the enigmatic Asgardian with his talk about "breaking" Steve…and who made him feel like he wanted to be broken.
Steve almost snorts aloud. Pathetic. That's what thoughts like that are. I'm weak, too weak, and it hurts everyone. Even Loki.
Somehow he doesn't especially blame Loki—well, he supposes that's part of being a good soldier. Focus on the task at hand. If everyone sits around and thinks about how it isn't their fault, nothing happens.
But Loki's absolution in his mind is really more than that, isn't it? He doesn't blame Loki, the one person he can and probably should blame. After all, Steve was the one to yell, to mock Loki's past when his is hardly spotless. In that respect, yes, Loki is not at fault.
Steve turns a corner, one hallway away from the bridge. He doesn't have time for figuring out blame. He's a soldier, albeit one not as good as he should be, but still a soldier—stuck in a very muddled war.
Well, the most important thing in a war is the enemy: Loki. It has to be him, doesn't it? Doom is only an add-on, a human tool (isn't that how Loki sees humans? The thought stings for some reason).
One day long ago, it started with Loki. Somewhere in that fuzzy time before now.
Now. Now, when lines blur and Steve wavers on the edge of a pit of self doubt so deep he can't see the bottom, now, when he doesn't know which way is up.
Now. He has to think about now. I have to do something. I have to help.
The bridge is no more crowded than usual, but somewhat louder. Nobody's shouting, no, it's not that. It's a collective noise, an impressive panoply of whispers and murmurs and hisses that speak of urgency. Steve realizes that something is very wrong.
Seeing Natasha's red ponytail, he makes his way through the sea of consoles to her. He tries to ignore the stares he's getting, because—even out of uniform—Captain America is distinguishable and far too famous for his own good.
But is that all it is? Did they hear about…did Tony tell them…?
Enough.
He catches sight of a familiar face—Agent Hill—at one of the main consoles looking at some sort of map.
"Something wrong with the Helicarrier?" asks Steve as he approaches, taking a shot in the dark.
"Actually, Captain, we're ahead of schedule. That's the problem," Agent Hill mutters by way of response.
Standing there at the control panel next to Tony, Natasha looks impossibly grim. She sees Steve. Her expression doesn't change.
"Captain," she calls, businesslike. "Fury wants you to get checked out. Banner is waiting at medical bay. His orders, not mine." Steve knows she means Fury, not like she technically gives orders anyway.
Tony, beside her with his hands flying across the screens, doesn't look at Steve. He doesn't even seem drunk anymore—he looks utterly in his element, there, surrounded by computers and machinery whose function Steve cannot even guess at.
Ignoring Natasha, Steve makes his way over to them. "I'm fine. What's happening?"
"Go and let Banner check you, Captain," Natasha snaps without meeting his eyes. She leans over Tony. "Stark, what are you doing?"
"Saving your pretty little ass, Red," mumbles Tony but without any of his usual verve. Natasha pinches some nerve at the back of his neck and Tony flinches, hands splayed over the console. "I'm just trying to figure out what he's hiding, dammit!"
"Doom?" Steve asks to no avail. He's about to take the spare seat next to Natasha when she turns on him.
"Go. To. Bruce," she says in a perfectly level tone. "We need you able."
Steve wants to protest, but the deadly glare she's leveling on him halts any words he might have had. "Fine," he says, forcing the word out. I need to do something, anything. He catches sight of Fury in the conference room above the bridge and begins to make his way towards the elevator.
Of course, Natasha isn't going to let him get away that easily so he ends up being half-dragged to the door of the medical bay. "We have a situation with the Black Panther. Clint is telling Thor and I'm helping Tony. Not so much helping as babysitting and I don't need to do the same for you, so just let Bruce check you over."
Nodding, he makes as if to enter the door. She's not done. "Room 5M, he said. One of the multi-purpose operating rooms." Natasha gives him a gentle (for her) shove towards the door. "We need you back soon so just get this done with."
"See you later," he says, a little resentfully, with a strained smile afterward to soften his tone.
In Room 5M, Steve discovers that apparently superheroes have their own medical charts. It's not even the first time he's had a checkup since he came to the 21st century, not even the first time in this particular room.
So when he sees Bruce filling out an electronic form, he's surprised. "What's that?"
"An extremely important medical form," says Bruce, raising his eyebrows in a way which reminds Steve of a less exaggerated Tony.
"Do we always have them filled out?"
"To some extent. This is a special one, technically, considering the situation."
"Oh," says Steve uncomfortably, shifting on the cold operating table. "They have forms for that?" He is rankled by the idea, somehow.
"Yes, 'they' do. Not the first time it's happened." Bruce's voice softens marginally. "Things are a lot more open now, Captain. This stuff isn't overlooked."
Steve isn't quite sure what the man is saying but dislikes the implications. "Oh. I see."
"Yes. I'd hope that you do."
Steve cocks an eyebrow. He's not sure whether Bruce is deliberately being cryptic—in that dark, measured way he doles out his words—or if it's another phrase he just hasn't heard before. Either way, he prefers not to ask.
"Is it difficult?" Steve asks with some exasperation, a myriad of probing questions (accompanied with some physical contact which is equally uncomfortable for both of them) later.
"Is what difficult?" Bruce pulls his gloves off finger by finger
"Working as a doctor," says Steve, realizing a little late that maybe redirecting his minor annoyance onto Bruce is not a good idea. Bruce's gloves swish into the trash bin. "Never mind. Forget it." He studies a squared pattern on the floor.
"It's okay." Bruce's tone suggests it's not. "You can acknowledge that it exists, you know. It happened a long time ago. The Hulk is who he is."
"Time doesn't mean it gets better," says Steve without looking up.
He can feel Bruce's shrewd gaze on him. "I suppose you'd think that."
Shrugging, Steve meets Bruce's eyes. He's surprised, pleasantly so, at the lack of pity. Somehow, that frees his tongue. "So then it isn't hard seeing people hurt and not being able to do anything about it?"
Something in Bruce's face shuts down. He crosses the room in short steps.
"Do you expect me to say it's easy?" Bruce pauses, hands splayed over the white countertop. "You of all people would know that."
That stings. They're certainly not talking about doctors any more.
"But if you're talking about most patients, well, no, it's not hard. I have to have a more intimate emotional attachment to them—no offense intended, Captain, but our little checkup is not what I mean by intimate," says Bruce, voice carefully bland, typing something a little jerkily into a thin desktop computer.
Steve winces and sits up, his spine making faint popping noises. He still gets a bit worried when that happens. It sounds like something is breaking inside of him and, way back pre-surgery, that was something to fear.
"Am I done then…Dr. Banner?"
"Yeah, go on, Natasha will have my head if I don't release her Captain soon," says Bruce, his voice returning to its normal dry tone. "She knows where to find me if she needs me."
Steve nods. "Thank you." He tries not to walk too quickly as he leaves.
En route to the bridge, Steve hears a tremendous bellow and turns to see Thor striding down the hallway, Mjolnir in hand. "Loki!" he bellows.
Taking the few steps between them at a sprint, Steve blocks the god. "What are you doing?" Thor tries to shove him aside and Steve nearly trips into the wall. "Wait a second, Thor. Thor."
"I will not wait. I have waited long enough. Loki has caused enormous damage to your people and I deeply apologize for his actions." Thor pauses as if preparing to unleash a stream of invective, nostrils flaring. "But I cannot allow him to remain here any longer."
A few footsteps in the distance. Clint jogs out from behind the great mass who is Thor, panting.
"He doesn't know about…that," he mouths, gesticulating a little wildly at Steve before tugging at Thor's bicep. "We need Loki," he says pleadingly. "Thor, he already told Steve some information and he could always say more."
Steve narrows his eyes. For Clint to be in favor of keeping Loki around…well, he makes a mental note to ask Natasha how Clint is holding up later.
"And you are in favor of this?" Thor rumbles, glaring at Steve.
"We need him." Steve feels as if his throat is constricting but he forces the words out. If Thor found out, well, he doesn't know what the god would do. It certainly wouldn't be good. "We need to keep him here, at least for a little while longer. And no offense intended, Thor, but this might be a better place to keep him until the Allfather is prepared. Remember what happened last time."
Thor looks equal measures hurt and thoughtful. "So you suggest I tell the Allfather?"
Damn it. But really, isn't this what he wants? To send Loki back where he belongs, hopefully a prison which will be better prepared to handle him this time? Steve hesitates. "But we still need him now…?"
Clint takes over. "Thor, the prison is fine. I think Tony has some ideas on how to fix it up even better now. You can trust him." Thor sends a questioning look towards Steve.
As far as Steve knows, Tony's ideas are purely theoretical at the moment. But he wants to believe that Clint's right, so he nods. Thor's death grip on Mjolnir slackens visibly.
"I will give you more time," the god announces. "But I will alert the Allfather as soon as possible."
"Great, uh—I mean, okay," amends Clint hurriedly. "Tell him to take his time, will you? Now you can go on to the conference room and tell Fury. We'll meet you there."
Thor nods, unquestioning. "Yes," he says thoughtfully. "I am sure he too will see the logic behind waiting a little while."
Making a vaguely agreeable noise, Clint shoos him off. "Go on. We're supposed to have a meeting anyway."
"How…much does Thor know?" asks Steve when Thor is out of earshot, a little scared of the answer. Clint sighs, a strangled puff of air, as if the weight of the world has just dropped onto his shoulders.
"Not much. Just that Loki destroyed Fury's machinery and trapped you with him, but he gave you some information. Thor's under the impression that Loki used some sort of 'torture magic' on you against your will, which isn't really a lie." Clint sketches out a few phrases with skeptical air quotes and makes a face.
Steve feels a familiar twinge of guilt. "What's this about the Black Panther?"
"You don't know yet?"
"What happened?"
"He sent us a message. Basically told us to go away. Tony's trying to scan the base, or something like that. Not sure what he's looking for," Clint says as they begin to walk. "But we'll find out."
The unspoken words "from Loki" hang between them.
"I hope so," Steve says and walks a little faster.