19 Small parts

-S-

Aanya was a good girl.

She was very proud of it.

When Mommy put her to bed, she could tell that Mommy was sad about Daddy having to go to work, so she was quiet. She fell asleep after a few minutes of fidgeting.

When she woke up, the whole house was shaking! Was it an earthquake? She hid under her bed.

Her mommy came in, calling her name. "Under here, mommy!"

"What are you doing?"

"They said if there's an earthquake, we should hide!" Duh. Didn't mommies pay attention in class?

"This isn't a-" Mommy paused. "Never mind. Scoot over."

And then she got under the bed, and held Aanya in her arms. "Do you want to play a game?"

"What kind of game?" Aanya yawned.

"Who can be the quietest."

"Okay!"

The next thing she remembered, after the sound of Mommy's breathing, the feel of her heartbeat, was Daddy calling her name, and her Mommy's name. She wriggled out of Mommy's arms, and went to meet him, and he grabbed her and squeezed her very, very hard. His face was wet. She couldn't remember the last time she saw him crying.

And then Mommy and Daddy said each other's names, and then they ran to each other and they were hugging and - ew - kissing. Aanya looked away.

Wait, where was the rest of their house?

-/-

Aliens fight "Hulk"? - New Delhi Times

-/-

Both "Scarlet" and "White Queen" had been deployed onto one of SHIELD's cheerier combat arenas. Broken cover, poor lighting, minimal combat training, and paintball guns.

The difference in their approaches was interesting to Caitlyn. Frost's defensive ability kept her from harm, but made her extremely visible. She also couldn't go into what she sardonically called "de Beers mode" and use her other abilities at the same time, like her psychic lance, or the ability to sense emotion. By contrast, Maxime's defensive field only deflected projectiles, not blunted them entirely, and she could still use her other abilities, like her telekinesis, or that strange accuracy-enhancing trick she did.

"You think it's something she does to her reflexes and eyes, or...?" Agent Johnson asked, a few feet away. Caitlyn ignored them, making a note to check whether the girls' abilities were determined by their personalities, or vice versa.

"Don't know." The male agent leaned against the window of the observation booth, his forearm horizontal over his head.

Had Wanda been a stuttering wallflower before? She had said something about a missing brother - perhaps they had had a codependent relationship.

Cait snuck a peek at the male agent's rather well-toned arm muscles.

"What's the pool say?" Johnson continued.

The other agent - Tony, his name was Tony - smirked. "Probability manipulation."

"Oh, yeah, that's it. She's got psychic control over an abstract concept. That makes sense." Beat. "Then why the red flashes?"

"You mean the 'diamond' reflections."

"No, I mean the way her eyes glow red when she's using her powers."

"Very funny."

Below, Frost had made a risky maneuver, jumping over a rock to get inside Maxime's deflection field and closing to point-blank range. She had swept the other woman's feet out from under her, and when she hit the ground, there was a paintball marker pointed at her head.

Interesting. Had HYDRA influenced the American to be more aggressive, or had they tailored her psionic mutations to her personality?

"No, seriously! Just like Frost's eyes go white! How can you not see that?"

"Pardon me," the scientist broke in. "You said you're seeing light when Maxime uses her powers?"

"Uh, yeah. Is...is that a problem?"

"No, it's just that ...well, we were forwarded a report from Miss Simmons, who had it forwarded to her from XCOM."

Johnson shrugged. "...So?"

"In some cases, they found that people with psionic abilities of their own were able to see light when others used their abilities."

The other woman's lips pursed. "Sooo...you want me to hop in one of those tanks, don't you?"

Caitlyn nearly nodded her head off. "Yes. Yes, please."

"Say," chimed in the male agent. "Aren't you claustrophobic?"

"Shut it, Tony!"

-/-

Gun Sales at Record highs: "We had to build a new range." - Fox News

-/-

Svetlana was pretty good at being unobtrusive.

She had gotten a degree in Political Science from a Western university, sponsored by the man who would hire her as his aide, on his rise through the ranks. It behoved them both to let people think she was the wink-sink-nudge-nudge sort of aide, not the sort who actually aided.

For example; when the new Minister for Special Projects asked for a meeting with the Minister of Defense, she had gone along, and stood discreetly at the back, pretending to check her Facebook. In reality, she was making notes.

Lukin offered the requisite drink, which her boss refused. The light spots where his predecessor's paintings and photographs had hung were still on the walls. Pictures a message?

"I wish," said the Defense Minister, "that we could meet under better circumstances."

Lukin sighed. "So do I." He sat down behind his desk, and gestured to his own unhung pictures. "A shame about what happened to Vasily. Pardon the mess."

"It is all right."

The younger man ran a hand over his face. In shirtsleeves, slightly rumpled, bags under eyes. Deliberate? "To business. We are both very busy men." Flattery? "I have received a request from the Council, regarding data on certain classified experiments, and it falls under your purview."

"Does it?" Her boss did that puzzled head-cock that reminded her of a dog.

Lukin slid a file across the desk. The other Minister took it, and began to read. Svetlana studied the billionaire's face. Why is he here? He doesn't need the job. A patriot? Dangerous.

The older man scoffed. "Psychic research? There's a reason this was abandoned decades ago, Aleksander!"

"But XCOM feels they may be able to use this information to assist in their own program, which has met with somewhat more success. In particular, they expect the information on mental conditioning could help protect their soldiers from the alien...compulsions, shall we call them?"

"Indeed." The older man cleared his throat. "But...there is some overlap with another project. I believe it was called 'Cold Shou-'"

"That won't be part of the information," Lukin said sharply.

Interesting.

"What I mean to say is, that was outside the scope of the request. We can't give away all of our secrets, of course."

"Of course." Her boss looked at his watch, and stood. "But like you said, we are busy men. I see no problem with their request. Just send the paperwork to my office."

Lukin rose as well. "To the lovely Svetlana here?"

"Ah, no. To my secretary."

Lukin escorted the Minister for Defense to the door. "Do they have any leads?"

"Eh?"

"On Vasily's murder."

"None that I know of."

"Ah." He pursed his lips. "A pity."

The older Minister left first, and Svetlana started to follow, before Lukin's arm shot out. "A moment, please."

Doesn't look like a man who can handle himself. May be deliberate; he was in the military. But he would never hurt someone so close to the Minister of Defense...would he?

Play the dumb assistant. Or plaything. Or both. "Sir?"

The oligarch smiled before removing his hand. "I just wanted to say...I'm glad you were paying attention."

Oh.

Uh-oh.

-/-

Lukin appointed Special Projects Minister: Experts Worried about conflict of interest - Russia Today

-/-

Pyotr stood in an alley that, admittedly, wasn't much dirtier than the men's restroom inside, and looked over the file.

Corporal Petrov was in his 20s, very recently divorced, and had exemplary marks across the board. Which lead to the question of why the FSB was playing messenger instead of him officially being assigned to some classified duty, but after that video with the snakemen, maybe it was best their protectors left no paper trail.

He put the phone away, and blew a cloud of smoke into the air.

Right now, his partner would be "tripping" all over their subject, blowing a boozy breath into his face. She'd "notice" the crew cut, maybe trace a line over his jaw or cheekbones, look deeply into his eyes, and whisper something into his ear. Then, pulling on his arm, she'd lead him away from his friends, toward the back door, and they'd be emerging right about…

Pyotr took a long drag.

Now.

The fire door, alarm long since disabled, was pushed open, slamming against the dumpster. Petrov had eyes only for the leggy blonde in the puffy jacket.

Then he saw Pyotr, and stiffened. Strange how they could always tell with him and not Belova.

The young soldier turned around, only to find Yelena brandishing a gun that she had apparently pulled out of thin air. He sagged, and raised his hands.

"Just take my wallet. Please."

"We're not here for your money," said Belova.

The soldier looked at her.

"We're with Security," she clarified.

Petrov was good at hiding the tension, but his fingers still curled. "What does the FSB want with me?"

"To deliver a message. A job offer," Pyotr said

Petrov turned. "I already have one."

"Think of it more as a reassignment."

"To where?"

"Do you remember Moscow?"

"How could I ever-" His eyes grew wide. "Oh no."

Belova smiled. "Oh yes." She gestured at the remarkably unremarkable sedan. "Get in. Back seat."

The younger man paused, halfway into the car. "When I asked if they had any job applications, I was joking."

"Well," said Pyotr, "You'll just have to mind your tongue in the future."

-/-

World birthrates increasing - Pravda

-/-

Loretta Cobb came out the back door of Isabel's diner.

"Bill!" she shouted. "Bill Cobb, where are ya?"

It was funny, but for guys in golden armor, those fancy Asgardian guards could come out of nowhere. For example, the one currently putting his hand over Loretta's mouth.

"Mmph?"

He pointed behind her. There was a ladder to the roof, but they usually kept that covered and locked, but - ah.

She looked up. There, sitting on the roof, taking no notice of anything that wasn't the book between them or each other, were her son and the Emissary.

Loretta's eyes crinkled.

Once upon a time, she had sat next to Bill's father in exactly the same way, leaning in just a little closer than she needed, brushing against him just a little more than necessary.

There was a tight feeling in her chest at the memory, just for an instant.

Of course, Kelda was a lot older and more experienced than she looked. As she reached out to turn the page, her hand bumped against his.

She looked at Loretta, and winked.

Bill's mother sighed, turned to face the guard. "Lord knows he hasn't had much in his life since his pa died," she said, her voice pitched low, to not carry. "I figure I can strap on an apron for a half-hour."

The guard titled his head, and spread his arm toward the door, like a butler.

"Oh, la-dee-dah."

-/-

Urbanites Fleeing Cities - Albuquerque Sun

-/-

The problem with helping to save humanity was that you couldn't tell anyone.

Especially your parents.

Jeong tried to hold them off, he really did. He told them that he was working on something important, and when that failed, something really important, which was about as precise as he could get. He hadn't even heard of most of the American stereotypes for Asian parents before XCOM hired him, and it was bitterly ironic that he was the only one there who even came close.

"Why can't you be a doctor, like your brother?" he mocked, as he moved a ring a few fractions of a millimeter. "He's a real doctor. Because engineering doesn't count, apparently."

He saved his work. "Jo, toss it to the table, please?"

There was a soft chime, and the device rendered slowly, in motes of light. It wasn't like it couldn't be done faster, but she liked her theatrics, did Jocasta.

Jeong took a drink from his water bottle. Or he would've, if he hadn't finished it three hours ago.

"Great."

He tossed it toward the garbage, only for it to bounce off the tim and hit the floor, where it was picked up by a man with an unusual beard, who dropped it in.

"Chief Stark! I, uh -"

"You look like a man trying to burn off some steam. Tried the gym?"

Jeong shook his head.

"Mmmh." Stark looked around the room. "Where is everyone?"

"Movie night," Singh volunteered, brushing past Tony. He walked up to the holotable, stared at the schematic on it.

The Korean went "It's just a rough Idea-"

"Since when do we have movie night?" Tony interrupted.

"Irene's idea. Actually, it was SHIELD's idea. She just passed it along."

"What are they watching?"

"Uh...Sherlock Holmes?"

"That's a good one. So, a chainsword?"

"What?" Jeong said.

"This. It's a chainsword, right?"

"What? Wait, no, not exactly. More like a-a-a...hair clipper. High-Frequency vibrating blades."

"Isn't that still experimental?" Singh said. He ran his fingers through the diagram.

"So are powered armor and psychics," Tony said. "I take it the cutting edge is concealed in the hilt?"

"Right," Jeong said, "Until it's activated, at which point it unreels and a magnetic field keeps it stiff."

"Were you planning to run it off of suit power?" Tony asked. "'Cause I don't think the induction or the couplers could push enough power, especially if you're going to be changing your grip all the time."

The Korean's face warmed up. "I didn't...I didn't think.-"

"-Of asking SHIELD if Vanko could lend you one of her repulsor nodes to power it? Good plan. Maybe it can channel electricity too."

"Tony," Singh cut in. "Are you trying to trick him into building you an electric lightsaber?"

"Oh, not me." Tony grinned. "The good men and women of XCOM. now, if he has any extras, I could use a really cool letter ope-"

Something pinged in his office.

"Speaking of which. Excuse me."

And he vanished into his office and closed the door behind him, leaving Jeong standing outside with a grinning Singh on the other side of the holotable.

"What?"

Singh's grin got wider. "Sempai noticed you!"

Jeong blinked. "I don't get it."

-/-

16 Cutest Panic Rooms - Buzzfeed

-/-

Reese pulled off his surgical mask, and stared at himself in the mirror.

Bloodshot eyes, check. Bags and dark circles, check. Haven't shaved in two days, check.

"Dr. Benton," he murmured. "You've come down with a serious case of being completely exhausted."

He closed his eyes. It wasn't sleep, wasn't even close, but just for a second or two it got him away from the fluorescent light. Couldn't do anything about the smell, though. Or the wet coughs outside the bathroom.

Maybe he could take a nap in the broom closet.

His phone rang.

"Hi, Dad. No, I'm on break. Masks and scrubs, eye protection. I don't know, it might've gotten out of the country ahead of it. Pretty likely, actually, given the incubation period. We're..." Reese rubbed his eyes. "Fine, all fine. No suspicious coughing. If it does get to the States -"

He gave a shrug his father would never see.

"-You'll know before we d -"

"Benton!" Sophie called from the doorway.

"Duty calls. Bye."

He splashed some cold water on his face, scrubbed up, and had gloves on and mask up by the time he reached the patient.

The thing about this particular strain of the flue was the sudden onset. You could be incubating for who-knows-how-long. Then you get a case of the sniffles. Then, practically overnight, your head started spinning. If you were really lucky, you didn't get the vomiting and fever before you started blacking out.

"What happened?" Well, aside from the whole "shinbone sticking out of her leg" thing, which was pretty obvious.

"She was driving herself to the hospital, when she swerved into a restaurant. The person who called it in said she was out cold."

Well, at least it wasn't like those third degree Burns he had seen yesterday. Just a nice, straightforward fracture.

"Heart rate's falling," called one of the nurses.

Well, of course!

"Contact her next of kin," Reese barked. "See if she has any issues."

Sophie coughed.

The American looked up sharply. His girlfriend met his eyes, just for a second, and a jolt of fear worked its way up his spine.

What Would Dad Do?

He'd use the fear. Focus it. The faster he finished, the faster he'd be able to deal with...the next problem.

He took a deep breath. Distantly, there were the sounds of yet another bus pulling in, and more of that coughing that never went away.

He could really use a cup of coffee.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen. Let's get stuck in."

-/-

Thousands Sick from Australian Flu; Officials Baffled - Sydney Morning Herald

-/-

Derek logged into his work and tide waited for no man, and he might as well save a little of the former.

He kept an eye on Junior as he raced across the playground towards, feet kicking up sand.

"Dad! Daaad!"

Derek pretended that he hadn't noticed his son's approach. "DJ?"

"Look what I can do!"

And then he did a handstand.

"That's great, buddy!"

DJ beamed at him, and broke for the swings.

He had his mother's eyes.

Derek checked his watch.

"Which one's yours, Lieutenant?"

Derek's brow furrowed, and he looked left. There was a man standing next to his park bench. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair. Smiling, for some reason.

"I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Nope, I was in the Army."

"So how do you -"

"Nice phone you have."

Derek's eyes automatically flicked down, and he found his phone's screen was displaying his discharge papers. How -

The stranger sat next to him.

"Y'know, I've got a son of my own," he said, seriously. "I'd do just about anything to keep him safe."

Could he get to his ankle holster?

The stranger's hand rested on his shoulder.

"Right now, we're just two guys talking on a park bench. Just two dads having a chat. Now, if something bad were to happen, well, my friend on the third floor might just...overreact."

There was one window open on the third floor. Derek caught a tiny point of red light.

Like the laser on a gun.

Of course, if they had wanted to threaten him, he'd have a gun in his ribs. Which, by process of elimination, left -

DJ finished tying his shoelace, waved at his dad, and scurried off.

"What do you want from me?" Derek asked. His voice sounded flat and numb, even to himself.

"Relax, Hanson." The stranger was smiling again. "All I want you to do is open a door."

-/-

So.

Who was Wade Wilson?

Vega stood on the other side of the door to Aldrich Killian's home office, with his boss on the other side, snatches of their client's phone conversation drifting through the door.

And snatches of Wilson's humming.

"...the optics of the name."

They knew he was Canadian, had served in their armed forces. A lot of it wasn't available to even their collective connections; all they got was something about "Department H", which didn't officially exist.

"...Deathlok, it's not exactly family friendly..."

Well, it wasn't exactly like black-ops backgrounds were unusual in private security. Or...mental issues, after someone got Sectioned out of the regular forces. But they usually didn't end up running the detail on a billionaire. Or being the only survivor of a terrorist attack.

Then again, most terrorists didn't carry lasers.

"...long-term perception..."

Also, his clothes. Working for Killian was bad enough. But Wilson dressed in the normal bodyguard black suit, sure, with a red and black sports shirt under it. And then there was the document tube he wore at all times. And the humming.

Vega's fingers twitched.

Always with the humming.

"...liberty of getting a focus group..."

Well, not always. Just at random. Just enough to be irritating.

Vega said "hey, Wilson-"

"Look," the Canadian said, without looking. "I know there's been a lot of talk about me, and you should know two things. One, I like chimichangas, and two, I don't mix business and pleasure. I don't get involved with co-workers, sorry."

Wait, what? What?

"I wasn't-that's not-"

Was that a smile on Wilson's lips? "No matter how hot they are."

Vega decided to stick to silence.

"...was Sentinel."

-/-

Alien-Shock?:Harry Styles checks into psych ward. - Mail Online

-H-

Caitlyn is played by Molly Quinn.

The Man in the Park is played by David Boreanaz.