I'm insanely pleased I got this finished all this evening. So, its another short chapter, but its still two chapters in the same day! I hope everyone enjoys!
Perhaps someone slept that night. Steve Rogers did not. Like any weary soldier, he remained awake, musing on all that has come to pass and all that yet will. He stands now, one hand flat upon the glass windows before him. The entirety of a city spreads itself before him, so many lights below that the stars and the moon seem pale and wasted in comparison. Sometimes he wonders what his purpose is, being here, in this time and place. Tonight is one of those times.
"Soldier," the voice cuts through the room with the abrupt tone of a man who is used to being heard.
"Director," Steve acknowledges with a tilt of his head. He has no need to turn to face the speaker, watching his reflection in the glass instead. He knows the one-eyed man with a familiarity that has yet to breed trust. He doesn't believe their relationship will ever come to be described as warm.
"Now," begins the man, "What's this I hear about you taking your team on some kind of extra-terrestrial romp?" His voice carries a grating sarcasm and displeasure that transmits his opinion of this fiasco.
"I wasn't aware that the Avengers were my team," Steve says, still without turning. His voice carries surprise. He certainly has never framed this motley band as being under his orders.
"Uh huh," Fury's tone inclines toward disbelief, "Even Tony Stark waits for your call. How do you figure they aren't your team?"
It's a pointed question, and Steve understands the implication. The twists of fate that threw them together have framed him as the responsible one of the group. He is, by all accounts, their leader. As such, their fates will ultimately rest on the calls he makes, and one leader to another, Fury is putting this call into question.
Steve sighs as he turns. His shoulders straighten. "What else can we do?" he asks. His voice carries a certain compulsion to it. Behind the words runs the loyalty of brothers at arms, the integrity of all that is noble in the human race. His words are quiet and sound simple from the surface. It is somewhere beneath them that the weight of meaning and feeling lie.
"So you're going for Thor, then?" Fury's expression betrays nothing but a general wariness and distrust of the world. He's not beyond the emotional call to aid that the Captain feels, but he treads with less eager steps.
"For Thor," Steve agrees, "And for the fact that it's the right thing to do."
"The right thing to do," Fury echoes as the corners of lips edge into a bitter smile. "How many wars and conflicts are justified as being the 'right thing to do'? Who makes that call, Captain? Do you?" He pauses, his stony expression searching Steve's very soul. "Do you get to decide the fate of humanity?"
Steve stands very still. He fights the desire to let his gaze fall, to be chastened by such a man. He reminds himself of the gall of this man, of the subterfuge and the lies and the trickery that underscore his actions. He is "The Spy," to borrow Tony's words.
"We should all have a say in the fate of humanity," he says finally, "But since the majority of the world still doesn't have any idea of the scale of the playing field, then yes, I suppose I do. For now, anyway."
It's almost imperceptible, but Steve watches Fury's jaw tighten. "Alright then," he says, seeming to admit surrender. Steve waits for the catch. "I can let you take a small platoon of…"
"With all due respect, Director," Steve interrupts, "I'm more comfortable without SHIELD involvement."
Fury stares at him for a long moment. "So, you intend to represent Earth, but don't intend to take any forces besides your small team?"
"Yes, Sir," Steve nods tightly, "I believe you would agree we work better that way." He holds the old man's gaze, "I'd rather not put lives at risk which don't need to be."
Fury watches him quietly. "And, Soldier?" he prompts, with compassion in his tone.
"And," Steve swallows hard, "If things go wrong, I'd rather we have as much firepower here as possible."
"So you accept that this could be a trap?"
Steve nods slowly. "We have discussed it, Sir, and we're prepared to deal with that possibility."
Fury nods his own head slowly. "I'd say eventuality, myself," he begins, "But I guess its better to have some hope."
A short laugh escapes Steve's chest. "Hope?" he murmurs, turning once again to look out over the still-broken city below, "I guess you could call it that."
The room in which Steve stands is fairly simple. It's one of several rooms outfitted with a long bar and comfortable couches. High above the city, Tony affectionately calls these his "party suites." It's almost ironic then, that Steve finds himself in one when his feelings are so much less than celebratory in nature. The blue and pink scone lights behind the bar illuminate an empty space for many long minutes after Fury leaves. It isn't really empty though, and for that, the slip of a creature who remains is truly sorry.
"It is hope, you know," she says quietly. Her blue eyes meet his in the reflection she makes upon the glass window before him.
If Steve is to be honest, he really likes the way the pink lights catch in her hair. He liked it the other night at the bar (and doesn't that just feel like an eternity ago!) and he likes it equally well now. He thinks, with more than passing fancy, that she looks like a fairy or a pixie. He remembers the German version of the fairy tales. Fairies bite.
She draws a little closer, hesitancy defining her movements. "When we were in Greece," she says as the room draws close and quiet around her, "I heard the loveliest story. It was about a woman who opened a box, and out of it came all the most terrible things in the world came out of it. Disease and sadness and suffering and war and all the things that plagued humankind. And hope. Last of all, in the bottom of the box, was hope. The last gift of cruel gods."
"Pandora," Steve says, the name falling from his lips despite his resolve to never say another word to the creature. "Her name was Pandora. And curiosity was her sin."
"Curiosity is natural," she replies without a trace of guile, "The gods were wrong."
Steve turns finally, anguish in his heart as he looks down at the tiny blonde who stands just a few feet away from him. She looks ready to cry, "I'm sorry," she whispers, "I know I shouldn't have been here. I shouldn't have listened. It was rude and…"
Steve shakes his head, looks as if he is about to say something, then stops. He has no words for Bryn. She's something out of place here. She reminds him of women from his era. So quiet and prepossessing, she fades into the background behind her vivacious and colourful companion. But Steve has never been able to help himself from noticing her.
She swallows hard. "I shouldn't even have come here at all," she says with sorrow in her eyes, "But I wanted you to know…" she bites her lips, looks down and away. "I just wanted you to know."
Steve feels his heart contract painfully. There was almost something here, he can tell. Almost something that might have been wonderful. It's in the glances they've shared, the secret smiles, the snippets of conversations. If she were any other girl… if she were a girl – but she isn't. She's an alien creature; immortal and impossible and potentially belonging to the enemy, whoever that is exactly. But she wants him to know, and that's so much more than he has had in what feels like forever.
"Thank you," he says finally, struggling to find something that he could say, "And I wish things were different."
"I know," she replies, her blue eyes shining as she blinks with careful intent, "I do too."
She leaves the room without looking back, and if Steve hears the crumpled sob that escapes her lips as she flees, he is too much a gentleman to ever comment on it.
It isn't the first time that he wishes he could be as brave and as stupid as Jane Foster, and simply forget that there are some walls too high to scale, some deserts too wide to cross, and some hurts that simply cannot be borne.
When the day finally breaks, it stains the sky red and Steve is haunted by old rhymes that make him wonder again at the wisdom in this. There is, however, no going back now. He sets his steps with purpose and clears his conscience as best as he can as he shrugs himself into the stars and stripes.
With heavy footsteps, he reconstructs himself from the bottom up, and by the time the elevator doors open, he is standing as tall and as strong as he ever has. There are no traces of hesitancy or fear or anguish in his expression. He strides out onto the platform above the city, blue eyes drinking in the preparations being made and the figures that populate this narrow band of skyline.
Warily, his eyes drift to the tall, dark figure that stands nearest to the edge. He'd say the figure is studying the city beneath him, but there is nothing studious in his gaze. If Loki were easy to understand, he'd expect to see the wrath of a villain confounded. But there's no trace of sentiment to be read from the pale planes of Loki's face and no betrayal of emotion in the set of his shoulders. He is a readable as a statue made of marble. And that does not bring Steve any comfort whatsoever.
Jane is a study in contrasts. She flits around the platform with the energy of a hummingbird, her brown curls catching in the pull of the wind. She directs an already-suited Tony into positioning some strange tangled mass of metal, and bounces between that and Loki's still figure with tangible excitement. He understands that they, this strangely mismatched pair, are somehow capable of opening a bridge across space; that the metallic mass Tony has constructed is capable of maintaining that bridge. It is their only path of retreat, should things go wrong and their only way home, should Loki somehow not make it through to the end. From what he understands, Loki does not expect to make it through.
Natasha taps him on the shoulder, giving a sharp nod towards the pair. "They say they're ready," she says, her fingers busy in the work of feeling out the extra clips she's secreted about her person. Just behind her, Clint shakes out his bow, his gaze already hardened in his far-seeing way.
"And we are too?" Steve asks, his eyes searching the space around them for Bruce.
"We are too," says the man in question just behind him. Steve turns to look at Bruce, who gives him a half-hearted smile. A small device twists its way through Bruce's fingers, and he looks down at the small object with an expression of mild surprise, as if he had half-forgotten its existence. "Here," he says suddenly, "You should carry this. The other guy won't get any use from it."
Steve accepts the token, eyes sweeping across the dial and the fine needle that wavers slightly. "What is it?" he asks, knowing that it must have a purpose.
Bruce shifts slightly, "I thought it measured the strength of a magic user," he begins, "But apparently it actually measures the raw magic available to the user." He shrugs, "I'm still a bit fuzzy on the distinction."
Steve rolls it between his fingers, tucking it into a pocket. "Might come in handy," he acknowledges.
Bruce gives him a funny sort of half-smile before walking out into the clear morning air. He shades his eyes and looks out over the city. "Feel like we're always up high," he observes to no one in particular.
"Captain?" Tony asks, "We going any time today?"
Steve turns back towards the place where the bridge will form, and finds himself very suddenly pierced by a vividly green gaze. The idle thought, that he would still rather send his shield hurtling into Loki's chest than follow him through space, crosses his mind. As quickly as it enters, it is dismissed. Jane has placed one of her tiny hands onto Loki's forearm, pulling his attention down towards herself. Her lips move, though the words are pulled away by the wind. Loki smiles bitterly as a shadow crosses his eyes. "Are you ready, Captain?" he asks without lifting his gaze.
"Let's get going," Steve replies.
I couldn't help myself - I absolutely had to give Fury a cameo. I just couldn't see him not having an opinion on all this! And for those of you who have wondered where things are going for Steve and Bryn - hopefully this brings some closure to that line. Sometimes the what-ifs and what-might-have-beens are more beautiful than the things that actually are. And sometimes people do what they must to protect their hearts. It's a contrast to Jane and Loki, anyway, who took the leap (whether they had intended to or not).