IMPORTANT: this is set over the course of Civil War so, of course, expect Civil War spoilers.

ACT II: WHEN IN WONDERLAND

CHAPTER I

Incoming message: unknown sender

"Athena. I need your skillset."

Who are you?

"Nobody important. But these files are encoded, and beyond my own abilities."

Files attached: identified as part of the HYDRA dump performed by Black Widow. Several layers of encryption detected.

"You will not read them."

And why's that, my dude?

"You will not want to. Simply strip them to their final layer, and I shall do the rest. I will know if you go further."

Is that a threat?

"I will leave that to your own determination. It will take several months in order to –"

I'll have it finished by the end of the week. Do you have a name, sir-madam-variations-thereupon? I make a point of learning my clients' names. User reviews are pretty valuable, nowadays.

"This is not a joke, Athena."

Got it, got it. But give me your name. I promise I won't do a background check – I never do, it helps to keep my hands clean.

"I know. That is why I came to you. My name is Zemo."

%

A few months later

A little to the north of NYC, in a cluster of homes, manors and with gardens so large that the neighbors weren't even within shouting distance, was a house that looked like the architectural equivalent of a jigsaw puzzle made out of a dozen different photos. There were higgledy-piggledy chimneys and two back doors and a big, circular window at the front of the attic that looked uncannily like the eye of a Cyclops, glaring down on anybody callous enough to go past the spiky iron fence. As a matter of fact, those who actually managed to do so were invited, since the house's security systems would make the Pentagon's look like an elastic band around a Tupperware box.

The kids of the upper-class community were convinced that the lone woman who resided within it was a witch. She was a billionaire, their mothers gossiped over their glasses of wine; an heiress, and a reclusive one at that. She was from New Orleans, and everyone knew voodoo witches came from New Orleans. The children gave the witch's house a wide berth, and its owner was not complaining about that. Meanwhile, the mothers continued to gossip – about offshore tax evasion gone wrong, sex scandals, an illegitimate child – because what self-respecting young lady would live on her own in the middle of nowhere? On this particular morning, the sounds of the highway just visible from the attic window muffled by the copse trees it dwelled in, the house was shrouded in the silence made up of the sounds of nature, and no sounds came from the building within to disturb it –

KABOOM!

- Barely a sound came from the building within to –

"BOLLOCKS!"

- The house was relatively quiet –

TzzzBANG!

"MERDÉ!"

Oh, never mind.

Inside the house, which made even less sense than its exterior, Alvie Kennings balanced precariously on a teetering pile of books as she fished around in the wires dangling from the hole she had smashed in her ceiling, welding goggles down and over her eyes to protect them from the sparks. The floorboards were shaking to full volume 70s pop rock, and she was just waiting for one of the neighbors to lodge a sound complaint.

"Do not," she ordered the wiring, "catch fire on me again. Or it's into the trash with you, ya cheap load a'crap."

She removed a nondescript tool from where it had been stuck in the knot of her ponytail, did something very fiddly and undoubtedly quite clever with it, and hopped off of her pile with the grace and poise of a ballerina with concrete blocks on her feet.

"Check it, Athena," she said, fingers crossed.

Alpha hardware installation appears to be successful. Testing recommended.

"I gotta finish programming the damn thing first," she muttered, returning the tool to her hair. "Also… fix that ceiling hole… Mute music."

"Music muted," said the temporary synthetic voice that ran her houseware systems until she completed her more long-term programme, cutting David Bowie off mid-lyric.

Recommendation: get Eva to do it.

"She's shorter than I am. I'll have to wait for Bucky to get back," she said to the words in her head, "if and when. Not that I'll have any idea once he does set foot on sweet New York soil, since that damned Mouse woman refused to help me." She sniffed disapprovingly, taking off her goggles and rubbing at the lines they had left pressed into her forehead. "Anything else I gotta do?"

Meeting with Secretary of State in DC at 1100, Avengers HQ.

Alvie yelped. "Since when?" she asked, sliding down the banister of the main flight of stairs and leap-frogging the post at the last moment. Waiting at the bottom was her baseball bat, iron-tipped, lethal, and the nicest, most considerate present anyone had ever bought her. She grabbed it as she went past.

Meeting arranged between General Ross, Anthony Edward Stark and Athena today at 0943.

"Gah!" Alvie explained, pelting out of the house towards her garage, the doors unlocking and locking themselves as soon as they registered her presence coming and going. The garage doors too opened on her arrival, and she climbed through the window into the driver's seat of a postbox red Karmann Ghia, and tore down her driveway in a billowing cloud of exhaust fumes and gravel kicked up by the tires.

As she reached the highway, Alvie began to panic as she realised that going to visit Ross would mean revealing her identity, not least because Stark would be there as well. But according to the message he had left, while being face-to-face the meeting would also be off the record, which had intrigued Alvie just as much as it had reassured her. What would the shiny new secretary want with her that needed to be under the table? And what did her former employer and ex-boyfriend have to do with it?

The drive to the HQ took about half an hour since it was within state boundaries, with Athena wiping the data from every speed camera that picked her up as she zoomed past. The computer in Alvie's head directed her to a glossy and important-seeming building that looked little different from the other glossy and important-seeming buildings she had visited in the past, and men in black combat gear with worryingly large guns watched her as she parked, her wheels bumping up onto the kerb outside the entrance.

"You can't park here, ma'am."

"Too late," she said, clambering out and sliding on a pair of sunglasses. She liked them for their big plastic roses that adorned the frames, and fondly recalled a time when she had placed them on the face of one of the world's premier assassins. She skipped inside and dangled herself over the desk, her glasses slipping down her nose as she peered at the receptionist behind it. Like everyone else there, she had the Avenger "A" logo emblazoned across her uniform. "I have an appointment," she said.

"Who with?"

"Head honcho man from the Capitol. Not Ellis, the other one. Whossisface. Ross."

"Someone'll take you right along, ma'am. Can I take your name?"

"No."

"Oh… in that case, you'll have to leave your weapon here."

"It's not a weapon," Al said solemnly, "it's a fashion accessory."

The receptionist didn't push it.

Another Avenger drone collected her and escorted her to a sort of communal living area, wherein there were two figures stood waiting around a flashy glass conference table with a large screen that separated it from the rest of the open plan room. The shorter of the two turned around, and his jaw dropped as he recognized her.

"Kennings?!"

Alvie's heart did something funny, then immediately filled with lead. She turned around and saw the one and only Tony Stark gawping at her. "Oh," she said without enthusiasm, "hey."

"Don't," he said, "do not tell me you're Athena."

"What, so you're allowed a superhero alter-ego but I'm not?" she asked, folding her arms. "And I guess that's considered fair in whatever fairyland it is you reside in. Created any more monsters recently?"

Tony's eyes narrowed. "Still running away from your problems?" he asked with equal hostility, and Alvie flushed. "You could've at least left me a note."

"Like you woulda read it, Stark. Why am I here?"

"Because we could use an asset like you, miss…?" the other man tailed off.

"Kennings." They would have her by facial recognition and Stark's memory at this point, anyway.

"Miss Kennings."

FACIAL RECOGNITION ACTIVATED

General Thaddeus E. Ross

US Secretary of State

Affiliations: Hammer Industries, Stark Industries, SHIELD, ATCU…

He was tall, and had a moustache Alvie could only describe as offensively excessive. "General Ross," he said, holding out his hand. "Please, call me Thaddeus."

"I don't think I'll be doing that," said Alvie, who had never been good at keeping her thoughts to herself.

"As you wish. Take a seat, Miss Kennings. I have some things I wish to discuss."

Figured that, thought Alvie. This guy ain't exactly got people skills.

Does anyone in here, though? This is crazy HQ.

Fair point. But speaking of… where are all the other Avengers?

"Sokovia," said Ross, steepling his fingers. "New York. London. New Mexico. Washington. As of a couple of weeks ago, Wakanda. And as of an hour or two ago, Vienna."

"What about 'em?"

Ross' bushy eyebrows lowered. "Think of the common denominator, Miss Kennings."

She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip. "Bad places for a vacation?"

"Ma'am, if you're not taking this seriously –"

"Superheroes," she said, cutting him off. "And collateral damage." A lot of collateral damage.

"Conflict has escalated into something beyond that which we can control. We've transferred some information to Athena," Ross began, and Alvie held up a hand.

The Sokovia Accords

A series of legislation regarding the registration and regulation of Enhanced and legal, privatised vigilante activity. UN-approved, the Accords aim to restrict the activities of so-called "superheroes" in order to minimise world terror threats that have escalated in recent years to an unprecedented level…

I do not want to be on this. I do not want people to know my face. If HYDRA hear that I'm Athena, then… she gulped. "I refuse," she said, rolling the baseball bat back and forth beneath the sole of her shoe.

"They're non-optional," Ross replied, and Alvie gripped the conference table with her slender, solder-blistered fingers. "But we can overlook certain individuals whose status as Enhanced is debatable, in return for their cooperation with the state in other matters."

"He's talking about you," Tony cut in.

Really? Thanks, asshole. I had no idea.

Just focus on what he's offering you, Kennings.

"What do you mean, Enhanced?" she asked. "I'm just an information broker."

"With a computer fully integrated into her brain, Miss Kennings, which, according to our records, you have publicly mentioned no less than fourteen times. Subtlety is not your strong point when it comes to demonstrating your assets."

"Right. So I'm a superhero now," she said scathingly, trying her best to appear casual by leaning back in her chair and putting her feet up on the table. Good thing I remembered underwear with this skirt, today. "And what kind of cooperation are you seeking from me?"

"No doubt you've heard of the explosion today in –"

"Nope," said Alvie, "I don't watch the news."

Ross glanced at Stark, who lifted a shoulder. "Well," he said, "all you need to know that it was an act of extremism, Miss Kennings. Of terror. And one which involved the Enhanced community most heavily."

Well, that explains why Stark's here. But where's the rest of the freakshow?

"We know who is behind it," Ross continued, "at least… we're quietly confident. We have footage that pins him at the scene. And we need to locate him before he does this again. And to do that, we need someone of your skillset. We live in an age of technological omniscience, and that there is someone so aware of the entire grid that they have collected a reputation as being at one with it is an asset we cannot afford to lose."

"This sounds awfully like a bounty hunt to me," said Alvie. "You want mercenaries, sir. You want the ATCU and every god damn superhero you can put a collar on to do this. Not an information broker."

"We're thinking laterally," was all Ross said.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"All you need to know," Tony told her, "is that you're the best person for this job. The Avengers're too… involved. We need a third party, someone external to the Accords to do this. Keep it clean."

"And if I refuse?" Alvie asked. "I get consulted, Mr Ross. People come to me for information. They don't… hire me."

"Then we put you on the Accords," said Ross.

Right. Shoulda realised that, huh?

And Accords is pretty much synonymous with death sentence, what with the bastards on my tail. Not to mention that I'd be this guy's lapdog.

I miss my cherié. He would know what to do. This is his world, not mine.

Well, he's gone cold. So it's like the good ole days, Kennings. Just me and me.

"You're blackmailing me," she said to Ross, then turned to Tony. "And you're just… letting him do this? What does he have on you?"

"Nothing," Tony replied. "I want this. I've flown too close to the sun."

"Not like you to admit that," she said. "You let me leave you before even so much as acknowledging your hubris. Christ, Tony. Is whatever you've done really so bad that you're willing to be put on a leash?"

"I created an AI that nearly tore this world and the people I love apart," Tony snapped. "The exact thing you warned me would happen. I'm not some dumb kid anymore, Alvie, and neither are you. People like us, we have to be held responsible."

"I'm not like you."

"No, Miss Kennings," said Ross, "and that's what we're offering you. Your freedom, our trust, and the knowledge that you helped catch the world's currently most wanted terrorist before a lynch mob finds him."

Alvie stared down at her hands, still braced on the desk. She thought of the three people she had killed, of how terrified she was of doing that again, and almost understood why Tony was there. "Fine," she said, "fine. I'll do it. You got a deal, or whatever it is people say."

This time, when Ross held out his hand Alvie shook it. His skin was cold, and slightly clammy. "And remember, Miss Kennings. Go back on your word and the world will know your name. You'll be completely under the jurisdiction of the state, which means your position as an impartial unit would be compromised, to say the least."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, "I got that. So who is this guy with a price on his head?"

"For your consideration," Tony said, chucking an old-fashioned brown paper file across the table. Alvie opened it curiously, and it took every fibre of self-control not to lose it right there.

On the very first page of the file was a photo of Bucky.

A/N and we are back! Civil War was basically a dream come true for me, fic-wise, since it's so easy to incorporate Alvie into it without affecting canon in any way. My main problem was that, for obvious reasons, her and Bucky were obviously not going to be spending much time together this act, to which my solution was, like with OMAMM, alternate between the OC and the other character. Which means Bucky chapters! Lots of Bucky chapters! What else... I think (or at least hope) that my writing's got a bit better since Act One, and although it's about the same size in terms of word count this act is on a way larger scale - more characters, bigger plot, longer chapters etc. Over the hiatus, watching this fic continue to gain support was awesome and lovely and wonderful, and I love all of you.

Additionally, I now have a fancast for Alvie: Natalie Morales (the Parks & Rec actress, not the news lady). Aside from that, all I can think to say is that updates will probably be regular-ish, and will of course contain spoilers for Civil War, as I said above. I hope you like it!