Notes: Well, now that we've sufficiently shaken up the Red Room, it's time to do a little checking in with everybody. What are they up to when they're NOT busting up creeps? (Or… in Logan's case….)

Chapter 21: "Fly Right"

December 13th

Phil Coulson's Tahiti Office

"Miss Potts, thank you for joining me," Coulson said with a professional smile as he gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Please. Make yourself comfortable."

Pepper gave him a nervous little smile as she took her seat and straightened up, her hands on her knees. "I'm not really sure what I can do for you or your organization," Pepper said. "I'm not a scientist or a fighter — clearly you could see that from how long I lasted in those horrible Games. Not my best idea, that's for sure."

"That doesn't mean we can't find something for you to do," Coulson replied as he sat down himself and folded his hands in front of him. "It's my understanding that you have quite the talent for … well. Organizing. Keeping things running smoothly, and just as importantly — getting Tony Stark to take breaks to wash up, eat, and sleep."

Pepper raised her eyebrows slightly at that, surprised that the little list was considered a package of skills. "Well I'm not sure that I'm qualified …"

"Miss Potts," Coulson let out a sigh. "Can I call you Pepper?" She nodded after a moment and Coulson continued. "Pepper, if you can get Tony Stark to do anything other than what comes from his own mind, then you have a useable skill," Coulson pointed out. "And if you can get Tony to do that much, I'm sure you can enforce breaks with Mr. Banner as well."

Pepper glanced down at her hands for a moment before Coulson continued. "You'd be an asset, Pepper. Really. And not just for Tony's sake. Some of the detail work regarding how well these kids are progressing — inventory of the inventions happening here — and a laundry list of other things … they all need someone that has a gift for keeping track of things, and I think that's exactly up your alley."

Pepper's eyes widened, and she leaned forward, her hands folded tightly in front of herself as she thought over what he was saying. "I… I think I could do that," she said with a little nod.

"It's a lot of minutia," Coulson warned. "You'll have plenty to keep track of, and in a business like this, even the little details can be crucial to mission success or failure."

But Pepper was already nodding. "If it means I can help…"

Coulson smiled gently at her. "You're already helping, Pepper, if you know it or not. But if you want more to do, I could absolutely use the help, for my own sanity if nothing else."

Pepper matched his smile with a shy one of her own. "Then… let me at those files," she decided with a determined little nod.

December 15th

District Seven

The Capitol docs had once again done a fine job of healing Logan up right back to perfect condition in a matter of a few days before they kicked him back to Seven with a warning to take care of himself, sure to tell him too that the quick healing drugs were not something that was meant to be used all the time and they had no idea what might happen if they were forced to keep doing that with him.

However, on his arrival to his home district, he was just … angry. Creed had taken a cheap shot, sucker punching him while he was drunk, of all things — taken every advantage that there was for him to take — and it just had Logan ready to hunt him down and work him over.

Which was exactly what he did. From the day he arrived back in Seven, he and Creed had been doing a back and forth brawl that was quickly driving up tensions with the Sentinels in Seven. The two men knew they weren't supposed to engage each other but they did it anyhow — most of the time careful to avoid anything that might not be something that could be hidden. Both of them were about fourteen shades of black and blue from the neck down by the time the cage fight was scheduled to start later that night, but the two of them simply weren't going to make it that long.

Logan had been hunting for the past three days, and he'd taken down a moose. It wasn't something that he'd planned on doing, but since Heather had opened the floodgates to the kids at the orphanage, he had a few more mouths to feed than he'd planned on.

He had the moose skinned, butchered and loaded on a sled that he was pulling like a horse through the snow. This was one part of the hunt that he'd wished he had help for. It was bitterly cold and the snow was deep, so dragging the meat through wolf country wasn't exactly the safest thing he could have done, but ... he still felt like it needed doing.

The little victor had just gotten back to his house a bit before noon and he had loaded the meat into the freezer when he heard Creed — outside and calling out a whole string of curses and threats that had grown old to listen to. He ignored him at first, busy cleaning up after his kill and watching him turn six different shades of red out the window while he warmed up with a cup of coffee.

The Sentinels had made it clear that they'd lay blame on whoever was the clear instigator in any fights between them, and Logan was almost enjoying just watching Creed try to bait him out. But he knew that eventually he'd end up having to deal with him anyhow.

He kicked himself up away from the cabinetry when he'd finished his coffee and made his way over to slip his flannel shirt back on before he stepped out of the house. He took his time walking down to the street, all while Creed called him every name in the book and the worst kinds of coward. But the last dozen yards or so, Creed had stopped talking as the two of them just darted toward each other — both of them fully prepared to throw down and more or less in good enough shape to do it.

The brawl had drawn a crowd before it had even gotten started, and naturally, cooler heads had done the smart thing and gone to get the Sentinels before something bad happened. Before it was over, though, it had taken six men to pull the two fighters apart.

"Logan!" Mac hissed in his ear. "Logan, this isn't like you!"

"Just look the other way, Mac," Logan growled out. "Get your buddies and take a walk. I'll make it quick, and this idiot won't bother anyone again." Mac just stared at him in disbelief, then reasserted his grip on him and pushed him back bodily so the other two could put him in cuffs.

By the time they'd gotten both men cuffed and in custody, all of the Sentinels there were half out of breath from trying to wrestle the two of them back. The two Seven victors were still glaring at each other hard when a radio chirped, and one of the men nearest the street answered the call.

"Ten-four, do you want both of them?" An unnatural hush fell over the gathered crowd, though neither Creed or Logan dropped the glares toward each other. The tall Sentinel looked between the two handcuffed victors before he relayed the message.

"Take Creed to the square. Dugan wants Logan in his office ASAP."

Creed immediately started to complain loudly until the same Sentinel cut him short. "What makes you think he's getting off easy?"

He fell silent as the Sentinels divided up, with half of them dragging Creed toward the square and the other half escorting Logan to the head Sentinel's office.

The little victor glanced over his shoulder as Mac pulled him along by the arm as both officers speculated as to what was going to happen next and what kind of trouble their favorite victor was in. At least for a while.

"Get it together, Hudson," the older man said to Mac before he jostled Logan to make sure he had his full attention. "Between you and me? You're just giving that son of a bitch what he deserves. But you can't do this crap, kid. Even if you win this one, you lose. Big time. The whole district will feel it if you let this get out of hand."

Logan glared up at him for a moment, but it really had no fire, as he knew that the man was speaking the truth. But before he could try and argue the point, both men slowed and then stiffened completely when they stepped into the Sentinels' headquarters.

The Sentinels that hadn't responded to the fight were all lining the walls and standing outside the Head Sentinel's office,where several black-suited, rather intimidating-looking men were standing guard. SHIELD agents.

"What did you do?" Mac whispered over Logan's shoulder, wide-eyed and suddenly scared for his friend.

"No idea," Logan rumbled quietly as he took in each unfamiliar face even as the Sentinel behind the desk rushed them toward Dugan's office. Mac and his partner dragged Logan in, nearly pulling him off the ground in their rush to get him where they wanted him. But they stopped dead in their tracks on seeing the head Gamemaker staring out the window.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Fury said without turning to look at them. "I can take it from here."

Mac gave Logan a very concerned look that clearly read 'you better find me when you get out' before he and his partner slipped from the room and closed the door behind him. Logan drew in a breath and straightened up a hair as he waited for the other shoe to drop. Things were far further out of hand if Fury was there in person.

"You've been busy," Fury said as he finally turned to face the battered, half bloodied young man. "Most people that win this thing — they go to their new homes. Settle down. Try to put all that violence and bloodshed behind them. But you — it's almost like it flipped a switch isn't it? Like you need to fight and kill now." Logan just watched him with a glare, unblinking as he tracked the man with only his eyes. "We don't know what to do with you. Going back to work. Fighting in the streets. And balancing it off by feeding the starving children in your free time."

"You gonna tell me why you're here, or you just want to stand there and read back my schedule for me?" Logan half growled, though Fury smirked in response as he leaned against Dugan's desk and crossed his arms over his chest — openly assessing the young man still in cuffs in front of him.

"You do know who I am, don't you?" Fury asked, a bit too cocky for Logan's liking.

"You do know I don't give a damn, right?"

Fury just let out a sigh before he got down to business. "You need to keep your head down. You're drawing the wrong kind of attention, and it's going to bite you and everyone else in the ass." He got a bit closer for a moment just to make his point at a near whisper. "Thanos is watching you — and he doesn't believe your little brawl with Creed is just over some little dead girl."

"Two."

"Excuse me?" Fury said with a frown as Logan slowly turned his head Fury's way, glaring as venomously as he could manage.

"Two little dead girls."

At that, Fury looked entirely unamused. "You need to stop. I'm telling you for your own good — and the good of everyone in this district — if you don't stop you will be punished. Both of you. No more fights with Creed — or anyone else." He leaned forward to make sure Logan heard him. "It's not just you that you need to worry about."

Logan just barked out a laugh at that. "Yeah? My friends are all dead — on my head. No family but the old man, and he's on the way out. What're they gonna do? Kill me?"

"What about your cousin and his little wife?" Fury challenged at a whisper. "Think I didn't know that your mother was a Hudson out of District Two?"

Logan's glare slipped a bit. "Distant relative."

"You think that matters?" Fury asked. "If not them, what about all the kids you're taking care of in the orphanage? You think that's going to be allowed to stand — your hunting for them?"

Logan's anger slipped a bit further as Fury watched him. "You have a tour to get ready for, and I need you to not be beat to hell when it happens. Behave. Clean up your act. Your prep team will be here a little before New Years. No. More. Fighting. Am I clear?"

Logan just nodded silently, though he didn't take his gaze off of Fury for a moment as the Gamemaker leaned in close. "Don't let him drag you down, Logan. Trust me on this. You'll get your chance where no one will stop you. Just not yet."

Logan turned his head Fury's way as the enigmatic man just smirked at him. "What the hell does that mean?" Logan blurted out, though the answer was not quiet and hushed as it had been moments before.

"It means that the next time I hear about you and Victor Creed, it needs to be to the tune of how well the two of you are getting along. Tolerating each other at the very least. Show the Capitol that the two most recognizable victors from the outer districts weren't raised by wolves. I'll leave the rest to your prep team. I don't have time to explain this to you. You should know already..." He tapped his ear and then gestured to the room around him before he raised one finger to his lips then clasped a heavy hand on Logan's shoulder — his message clear. The walls had ears. Even here.

Logan met his gaze and nodded once before Fury swept out, leaving him to wait for Dugan to finish the dressing down. He could hear the Head Sentinel talking up Fury on the way out, trying to make sure that he knew whatever was going on would be stopped one way or another. He barely looked up when Dugan returned to his office and took a seat at his desk. He took his time studying the young man as he stood there, clothes torn, bloodied and still in handcuffs.

"Is there going to be more trouble from you?" Dugan asked through narrowed eyes as he fiddled with his mustache.

"I'm not gonna start anything," Logan promised.

"But you'll defend yourself if Creed does, is that it?" Dugan asked. Logan just tipped his head a bit, and Dugan had to let out a weary sigh. "Can't fault you for that, I suppose. But I'm going to be as clear as I can for your thick skull, so listen good, boy. If I catch you starting any kind of trouble at all — with anyone — I'll start you off with twenty lashes and add ten more every time you so much as look at anyone cross eyed."

Logan locked his jaw and just glared at him for a while until he just nodded once. Dugan just glared back until he hit a button on the desk that called for Mac and his partner to return. "Cut him loose, but make sure he gets to where he should be," Dugan said. "Next time though, no mercy. You got that Hudson? You'll be handing out the punishment instead of covering for him, and you can damn well bet that you better do it right."

Mac just looked deathly serious and nodded his head before he hauled Logan out of the office with a deep frown in place. His partner fell back once they were a few blocks from the station to give his partner a bit of privacy as Mac uncuffed Logan.

"This is serious, Logan," Mac said as he watched the street around him.

"I know."

"Do you really?" Mac half hissed before he got close and continued in a whisper, "Fury doesn't come out to talk to people. Ever. Especially this close to the tour. What did he want?"

"To tell me to lay off." Logan met Mac's gaze but gave nothing away.

"You are going to listen, right? Please, Logan. Tell me you're going to listen. I don't want to have to be the one to hand out your freakin' punishments."

"Yeah, I'll listen, Mac," Logan said. "I swear. I'll be good." The Sentinel let out a heavy sigh of relief as he again started to pull him down the road by the arm.

"You better," Mac said before he let out a sigh and his shoulders relaxed the slightest. "Hey. Heather's been worried about you for all the time you've been out in the woods. You gotta ease up on the long-distance hunts. She's convinced the wolves are going to get to you."

Logan just made a derisive noise that got a little smile out of Mac. "I'll tell her you're okay," Mac swore. "And prepared to feed the army. You know the gossip's going to have got there before I will."

December 23rd

TAHITI Complex

It had taken a lot of doing, but Clint had managed to sneak some alcohol into the Tahiti complex.

He'd run a solo mission, just a quick thing down to One to kill some woman who had managed to escape Wade's onslaught during the breakup of the Red Room in that district — she'd seen Cassie's face, and the Tahiti higher-ups weren't going to let that stand. It was a simple enough job, and One was practically in the Capitol's pocket. Wasn't hard to find a bottle of wine and get himself a little five-fingered discount.

He really wasn't sure what wine he was supposed to get. The hoity-toity types in Two seemed to have rules about what type and when and how and all that kind of thing when it came to wine… but he really had no idea about anything except that it came in a nice bottle and it had alcohol in it. Most he'd ever had was some whiskey that he and the other boys in SAFE would swipe from Sentinels and Sentinel-wannabes who annoyed them.

So — that wasn't the hard part. The hard part was getting the wine into Tahiti without being caught.

He brought it in with his quiver for the most part, but of course, he had to check his weapon past the briefing rooms, because for some reason they were real picky about weapons in the Tahiti wing — something about safety protocols, though Clint was pretty sure it was more about control and not letting the kids had access to something to shoot Essex between the eyes when he was being annoying as usual.

So he stuffed the bottle in his body armor and slipped off to the showers and hoped that Bobbi wouldn't mind that he'd stuck it with the shampoo for a while, since he had to shove his uniform in the laundry chute. From there, it was just a matter of wrapping it up in a towel and just running with it, stashing the bottle in a vent.

He really hoped Bobbi didn't mind that it was pretty well dusty, since the dirt and dust from the vent stuck fast to the wet bottle.

A couple days later, he put on a fresh shirt and clean jeans and swung by the vents near the showers to grab the bottle and stuff it in with some of the food 'Ro had helped him get from the kitchens before he headed down to the flight simulator to meet up with Bobbi.

He'd been a little worried maybe he'd overprepared with the wine — but when he walked in and saw Bobbi, he suddenly felt woefully underdressed and definitely out of his league. Barton, you dummy, he thought to himself as he just managed to keep from outright gaping as the very, very pretty blonde in a dress just grinning at him. Showing up in jeans with shampoo-scented wine.

"You — uh — you look great," he managed to get out.

"And you're adorable," she replied, still grinning his way. "What's the big plan?"

"Right." He straightened up a bit and set down the little box of food so he could open it and pulled out the wine and other contents. "I brought contraband."

She grinned a bit wider at that. "Barton, I'm shocked," she said with mock surprise. "Are you trying to get me liquored up?"

"Not really," he assured her, though he was wearing a smirk. "I dunno anything about wine, so I don't even know if this would do the trick."

She picked up the bottle and looked at the label for a moment. "It's a semi-sweet. Fitting." She looked up to meet his gaze for a moment. "And it would do the trick."

"Well, then, you just have as much as you like and try not to get me liquored up in the process," he said with a sideways grin. "I also brought food if you don't want just straight drinking. You know. Lest I be accused of taking advantage."

"I don't think I'd accuse you of that," she said before she handed the bottle back to him. "Do your worst. It'll be fun."

"I'll try and do my best you mean," he corrected her as he leaned back and just watched her for a second before reaching into the box for some food.

"Either way, still sounds like fun," she replied with a crooked smile. "Hope you don't mind that I overdressed a bit. I have a ton of these in my closet, and I think it's criminal to wear them just once. For all the work the stylists put into them, you'd think they'd want them to be worn more."

"Yeah, I don't really get that. But I don't really get any of that stuff," Clint admitted, leaning back a bit further with a shrug.

"You're really better off not getting it," she said with an almost weary look.

"But you look great," Clint offered, trying for a smile. "I know enough to know that at least. I'm stupid, not blind."

"Well, and you fill out those jeans nicely too. I appreciate that."

"I may even do a strut for you later if you ask real nice," he said with a smirk. "Hallway's a decent catwalk."

"Sounds like some fair to good entertainment." She dug around to find the corkscrew and took a swig before she handed the bottle over to him.

"That's what I grew up doing — entertaining people," Clint said as he took the bottle and took a drink himself, raising his eyebrows. "That ... is nothing like whiskey or beer."

"No, nothing at all. It's pretty sweet," she said, nodding. "So how did you entertain people? I think I'd remember you in Two if that's what your gig was."

He handed her the bottle and shrugged. "Well. Sort of a fighting club thing, really. People came and bet on it." He gave her a crooked grin with his head tipped to one side. "Usually bet on me, actually. I made Buck a lot of money."

"That guy's a grade A jerk," she said with her nose scrunched up "What in the world made you join up with him? There were better trainers, you know. That actually trained."

"Yeah, you need money to get better trainers," Clint said with a shrug.

"We need to shut that guy down," she said.

"No arguments there," Clint said as he took another drink and handed it back. "Guy shouldn't be anywhere near kids, but that's where half of us end up anyway."

"He shouldn't be anywhere near people," she said dryly.

"There was a lot of that in Two, though," Clint said. He gave her a little look for a second as he added, "Not all of us got in the prestigious academies."

"True, and that's a shame," she agreed. "But that guy — he did go to one and got tossed. Then he couldn't make the grade with the Sentinels. A more psychological person might say that he's taking out his inadequacies on the kids that get stuck with him."

"You've been hanging out with Charlie," Clint teased her.

"Henry," she corrected. "But Charles agrees. You should hear the two of them discuss people. It's like a foreign language."

"Yeah, happens when the eggheads get together. You ever see Banner and Stark working? Because I swear, it's like a mind-meld."

"They call them the Science Bros," She said with a grin before she took a good drink again. "Morons with microscopes. It's worse when Pym gets in the middle too."

"Well, they need the microscopes," Clint said with a little smirk.

She just laughed at his little jab for a moment. "You're trouble, you know that?"

"I've been told that. By … oh, everyone," Clint said, the smirk widening a bit as he leaned toward her. "More fun that way."

"Oh, for sure," she agreed, "but we'll just have to see how much you're capable of. I mean, you brought booze and all the great little things to nibble on … halfway through a bottle of wine and you haven't even tried to kiss me yet." She shook her head and shrugged one shoulder to her ear. "Not nearly as much trouble as you like to think you are."

"Oh, well, I was trying to be less trouble, more gentleman," Clint said, leaning forward a bit. "But…" He took a breath and darted in to very quickly give her a gentle kiss and then leaned back and grinned.

"Still more gentlemanly than most," she said before she set the bottle down and returned the kiss a bit more aggressively — and far more involved.