A/N Hey guys, wow, late update much? My bad...
Side note – Don't know why this counts as a note, but are there any New Zealanders reading this story? I don't seem to meet a lot of NZ FF writers and I was merely curious if anyone lived near me and writes... or something like that
I own nothing!
My eyes flickered between the two matching doors, confusion beginning to grow in the grey orbs. Two options, and two different ways I could go... "Left... or right." I mused aloud, narrowing my eyes as they scoped out the white washed doors.
The decision shouldn't have been as hard as I was making it out to be but every time I moved towards one or the other, my brain screamed at me. "How is picking a door harder than most of the life decisions I've made..." I trailed off, biting my lips in thought—and slight pain. Sparing my raw wrists a quick look, I brushed off the pain and the voices in my head, before moving to the door on the left.
Leaning in, I placed my ear to the door, listening in. Silence rang out from inside the room and I gingerly cocked my gun as quietly as I could, turning the handle with butterflies swarming in my gut. The door opened easily and silently under my hand and I pushed it open, head peeking around the edge.
My hair fell around my shoulders as I looked around the room from my perch. The room before me was a mirror image of the one I had managed to escape from only minutes ago, with a rusted chair and a pile of crates in the corner. Humming under my breath in annoyance, I backed out, closing it behind me.
Sparing the area around me another look, I moved to the next door. Again, I listened, readied my weapon, then barged in. Sighing, I lowered my gun, eyes rising to the ceiling. "Honestly, Southwick, find a new interior decorator!"
The room was once again, a similar design. Chair, crate, white walls. Shaking my head, I turned to leave, internally cursing my stupid tendency to check every room and every nook and cranny. The door closed quietly and I continued down the short hallway, so close to the end. There was a single door, so at least I wasn't about to go through the whole 'choosing one' fiasco again.
From the distance, it almost resembled the elevators in Stark Tower, with gleaming silver doors and impeccable craftsmanship. The closer I got, the more I began to connect the dots, becoming even more confident in my belief that it was, in fact, an elevator.
With a relieved smile, I hurried to activate it. With a gut wrenching jerk I realised it needed a hand print. "Shit!" I cursed loudly, biting my lip as I looked back down the hallway. I knew Southwick would be one to activate it... but he would need another person in case he was unable.
Narrowing my eyes I hurried back to the room I had been held in, eyes scanning the ground. When the grey coloured orbs landed on the beaten body of the Blonde guard, I rushed forward, praying for forgiveness as I stole the dagger than had been nestled in his hand. Closing my eyes, I threw my weight behind the first swing, the blade cutting through muscle and flesh. My hand jerked to a stop when I came in contact with bone, stopping my hit short.
Bile rose in my throat and I irritably pushed it back, determination blazing in my eyes. Come on, how hard is it to cut off someone's hand without vomiting? The question sounded sarcastic even to my own mental ears and I scoffed, looking away from the bloody mess in front of me.
The dagger wasn't going to cut it; I needed something stronger and sharper. Something that could cut through... Moving to my feet I hurried over to the crates, rooting through the twisted blades and warped knives until I found something that looked to have some swing behind it. I hefted it up, thanking anyone that was listening that its weight would be what I needed.
Looking down at the twisted mess of flesh, I lifted the axe like blade as high as my arms could mange before bringing it down with a strange sense of finality.
Steve's heart jumped to his throat when the single word escaped his enemy's lips. The single word was like the nail in his coffin, and he felt the blood rush from his face with the implication.
Guns rose, cocked and aimed at him and his loyal squad bringing more dread with it. Beginning to lift his shield, he prayed it would protect him for as long as needed. Turning to look to his side, his blue eyes caught a flash of red hair... and hopefully it would protect others for as long as he needed.
"Natasha..." He whispered, worry lines creasing his forehead. The curly red head turned, almost as though she had heard the barely audible whisper. Smiling, her eyes softened in what seemed like a goodbye.
He heard the first bullet fly, and closed his eyes, diving for the woman and covering her with the shield he had trusted for most of his life. Frowning, he waited for more, but only heard the bullet hit the wall behind them, none flying after them.
"Steve, what..?" Natasha was quiet with her words as she looked around the edging of the red and blue patriotic shield. Her eyes caught sight of the mini army all looking behind them, guns slowly lowering in confusion. "They're lowering their weapons."
"What?" He blurted out before he could stop himself, practically dropping his shield in shock. When the large group in front of him parted, revealing a steel pair of doors they had been hiding, he realised why they had stopped.
It looked like an elevator, and judging by the confused expressions, it had just announced its arrival. Blinking, Steve watched the doors slide open gracefully and a disgusted looking Phoebe come prancing out.
Almost as soon as her feet touched the concrete floor she stopped, eyes flying around, taking in the side she was on and the guns now pointing at her. She almost looked nervous for a few seconds before she turned to the man next to her, flinging something at him and causing him to catch it out of habit.
A shriek left the man's mouth as he realised he was holding a severed hand, flinging it off to the floor between the two groups. All eyes watched the useless limb slide across the floor before it came to a stop, all movement leaving it. Phoebe's hands slid into her pockets almost calmly as she eyed the hand, almost waiting for everything to go to hell.
Steve lifted his head, watching as Phoebe started moving forward cautiously, as if waiting for someone to tackle her or stop her. When nothing happened after a few steps, she became more confident, taking advantage of everyone's shock and moving back to her true side.
"You guys alright?" The question was murmured out of the corner of her lips when she reached her team. Heads moved up and down, nodding in return as they took in the blood on her features and the bruises and raw skin everywhere else.
"I should be asking you that..." Steve muttered, looking away when guilt started to gnaw at his gut. He should've have paid more attention to what was happening, should have realised that the crime lord they were fighting would have his own men in SHIELD... it would've been inevitable yet he didn't even notice it and now his teammate had been kidnapped and hurt... tortured...
"Why?" Phoebe looked adorably confused, small nose scrunching as she looked at her squad.
Before the caramel headed girl could receive an answer, their enemy seemed to snap out of their reverie. And as they snapped out of it, as did their guns, lifting up to aim at the men and two women.
"Seems you got out quicker than I had anticipated..." Miles looked thoughtful as he watched Phoebe move in position, lifting her hands as if she could fight off the bullets with her bare hands. Miles didn't doubt that she could, not for a second.
Phoebe studied him for a few seconds, "So you knew I'd get out?" She wondered aloud, voice seeming quiet in the cavernous room. Her grey eyes were flying around the room, watching and waiting.
Miles felt the same admiration bloom in his chest that he used to feel when the same woman worked for him. She didn't even realise it but she was the perfect agent. Lithe, quick, intelligent. He could go on for a few hours if he needed too, or if he felt that he needed to explain his little... obsession.
"I never doubted you." It was the truth, and he knew they anyone would hear it ring in his voice. "It's why I didn't bother leaving all the guards down there... It would be a waste." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling to himself.
He had hoped that he would be able to keep the woman after this, convince her to come back... join his cause again. He had definitely expected that the Archers death would've broken her, but she had just come back from her grief with more anger and sarcasm. It was admirable.
"Nice to know where your priorities lie." She muttered, glaring at him venomously. He almost felt hurt at the anger directed at him. Almost.
"Come now, Phoebe." This was the last time he would try to convert her and if, after the battle that was mere minutes away from beginning, she didn't survive he would grieve. But he'd feel no regret. "Don't you remember how you bloomed under my lead? I didn't give you a collar and keep a hold of the leash... I let you free!"
"Free to murder perfectly innocent people."
His patience was wearing thin extremely quickly. Admiration was just that... He adored her and how naturally her sass and skill came but anger was almost constantly accompanying the feeling. She was infuriating beyond comprehension sometimes.
"Phoebe..." He sighed, closing his eyes to calm himself. "Those men were never innocent. I would not force you to kill anyone; you were the one to accept the jobs." He cocked his head, trying to push back the sudden flush of anger.
"Because I needed the money. I needed the damn protection for my child." Suddenly grey eyes became fiery, even more so than before. "The child you murdered."
"I didn't kill her—"
"No, but you set her up to be killed and you didn't even care!" The woman exploded, cheeks flushing. "You looked me in the eyes afterwards and offered your sympathies for my loss, when you were the one to murder her! How could you lie to my face like that?" Tears were pooling in molten silver eyes before her hands curled around her middle and she backed away.
"I didn't shoot her." Southwick was slower this time with his words, waiting to be interrupted. "Yes, I put her in that room. Yes, I knew someone would die... But did I think that Fury would tell them to shoot a child? No. Even I'm not that much of a monster."
Phoebe shook her head in disbelief, a hysterical laugh bursting from her lips. "Monster?" She muttered, looking at him with wild eyes. "You are the monster in this story Miles. You, not SHIELD, not Fury. You." With those words, the look in her eyes was final. She wasn't going to be swayed back to his side and now he knew it.
With another sad sigh, he shook his head. "Think what you will Phoebe, I was offering you a way out. But, if you want to stay on the losing side, it's your choice." He shrugged, turning to walk towards the elevator, saying over his shoulder. "Have at it guys."
When the doors close, guns spun to face them. Phoebe felt her eyes widen, fear blooming in her chest before an ear splitting roar broke her concentration. The group of men barely had time to face the wall before it was shattering before them like glass, spitting rubble in every direction.
The large creature, acid green skin and all came barrelling through, hitting most of them head on. Bodies went flying as the Hulk entered, mouth opening in a loud roar. While the enemy screamed at the top of their lungs, struggling to get away from the man, the Avengers just chuckled.
"Only Bruce." Tony said aloud before gesturing for the others to join in the fray.
I hope that was okay... I really hope so. Reviews are always appreciated, in fact, I kind of crave them. Like an addiction. Do tell me if you're from good ol' NZ too!
I hope you liked how I tried to portray Miles... with a small sense of insanity... kind of.
Taila