A/N: Spoiler Alert! This story was inspired by Captain America: Civil War.
Many thanks to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta.
Namaste,
Sunny
"When you can't run anymore, you walk, and if you can't walk, you crawl. And when you can't crawl, you find someone to carry you. The important thing is to keep moving forward. Firefly, "The Message", S1, Ep14
Captain America
Civil War
I Still Believe
Keep Moving Forward
Stark Tower
Security Desk
The deliveryman reclaimed his e-reader, saved the security guard's signature, and left the building. Not two minutes later Dummy came to pick up the packages. The guard stacked the boxes wrapped in plain brown paper on the shelf in the back, and patted the robot on the hand-like extension. "There you go, pal. Have a good day."
Dummy squeezed his appendages together in its version of a wave, turned, and trundled back down the hall to the freight lift. It got in, and the lift rose smoothly to the sixty-fourth floor. The doors opened, and it rolled out, coming to a stop next to an area that had been cleared of all debris.
Friday appeared next to Dummy. "Thanks, little buddy." She leaned down to look it in the "eye". "I can count on your discretion, right?" The robot's arm moved up and down, and Friday took that as agreement. She smiled. "Good. Now run on back to the lab before the boss wonders what you're up to."
When Dummy had gone, Friday activated one of the unfinished new Iron Legion to be her hands and feet. She walked around the packages, reading the labels, stopping when she got to the one she wanted. "There. Start with that one. Lay everything out neatly on the unused bio-beds."
Because its voice programming hadn't been installed, the robot went to work without acknowledging her request. Friday smirked at some of the items, musing aloud, "Hmm… I wonder…" A shrug twitched one shoulder as she moved over to the only working bio-bed. "Guess I'll find out eventually. We'll be done soon, won't we, boys?"
As expected, the robots didn't respond. They just kept working.
The Clancy Home
Vancouver, BC
In all the time that Taylor had been a part of the family, Julia had never had a reason to be angry with the boy. Not until she saw the news report on the hostage situation in Seattle, and spied him in the crowd.
Taylor stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth open. Obviously, he didn't expect her to find out, or if she did, to be so pissed. "We agreed not to tell anyone about your abilities."
He closed his mouth and stood. "I've told no one, Julia." One hand motioned at the dark television. "But when I saw what was happening, I couldn't allow those men to kill innocent people. One of them was a small child."
His tone pleaded with her to understand, and Julia relented. "Fair enough." She held out her hand, and he took it. "You're certain no one saw you?"
"Perhaps some of the crowd before and after, but they would not have seen me at super-speed. On the videos, I would've appeared as an odd blur, or a trick of the light."
Taylor picked up an empty bottle, and headed for the kitchen with Julia at his side. Whatever he was cooking smelled heavenly, and best of all, she didn't have to cook. "Let's hope so, or the government could come knocking at our door."
"That won't happen."
He voice held such conviction that Julia almost believed him. Almost. "I hope you're right. So, what's for dinner?"
Wakanda
As T'Challa neared the palace, the sound of fighting got louder. He let himself into an unoccupied storage building, and tossed his bag on a counter. The beard had kept him from being recognized so far, but he needed more.
From the side pockets of the bag, the monarch removed everything he would need to pass unnoticed within the ranks of those fighting.
~~O~~
T'Challa checked his look in the mirror, satisfied that no one would look at him twice during the fighting. Then again, they weren't worthy of being called warriors if their attention could be diverted so easily. The "war paint" he applied was, as the Americans called it, old school, but not unheard of in battle. It was usually worn by the older warriors, though some of the younger embraced it as a way to honor those who had died defending Wakanda and its people.
The only clothing he brought was inappropriate for the task before him. On the way, he'd committed theft by misappropriating suitable accouterments and footwear, as well as weapons.
"The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle passed from warrior to warrior. I know that my country is in good hands with the one who has taken my place. Wakanda will prevail over this new threat as it has those from the past." T'Challa placed a helmet on his head. "The time has come to join the fight once again, Father. You were the greatest of all who have ever ruled over our country. The current and future Black Panthers promise to make you proud."
Leaving behind the items he didn't need, T'Challa let himself out of the storage building. Using the growing darkness for cover, he crept through the streets until he found a contingent of Dora Milaje and soldiers from the military. He came up behind the last, acting as if he belonged, and so he did, but they did not know, nor would they. His was the perfect disguise.
Virtuosity Warehouse
Vancouver, B.C.
The parking lot was nearly empty at this time of night. To make her parents happy, Layia parked her Prius as close to the building as possible so she wouldn't have far to walk. She let herself in with her key card, and had just pressed the button for the elevator when Taylor arrived.
On the drive to work, she had pondered speaking to him about what happened the previous night. Not the seizures, but the rest of it. How he caught her before she hit the floor, and their fall into the sand pile. She came to the obvious conclusion of letting him bring it up, if he remembered. And if he said nothing, well, then neither would she.
"Hey," she said when he came to stand with her.
"Good evening, Layia."
Taylor was always so polite. Layia sensed that it was part of his core personality, and not cultivated once he moved to Canada. He was also smart, to go by the school books he brought with him every night, funny, compassionate, caring. All those things she looked for in a friend, or even a boyfriend. Her thoughts screeched to a halt. Whoa there! Slow down, girl! You do not want another relationship so soon after Manny. Taylor seems like he needs a friend, so be a friend. Offer to help him study. Start with small talk. "Feeling okay tonight?"
He thought it over. "Tired. Had some strange dreams, just like always. I will be fine by tomorrow."
"Good." Layia tucked in the end of her hijab, using the reflective surface of the elevator door to secure it tightly so there were no more mishaps like last night. She noticed him watching, and they both grinned sheepishly. Oh, yeah. They were gonna have The Talk tonight. "It's taking too long. Let's use the stairs."
The Virtuosity warehouse was situated on a sort of hill, so that the loading dock, while at ground level, was a full floor below the main structure. Delivery trucks came in by a different road than those who worked or visited the offices.
Taylor opened the stairwell door for her then went down the stairs ahead of her. To some, it would've been seen as rude, but with him, it was so he could catch her if she fell.
On the landing, he stopped to wait for her, glancing casually around the area. When Layia caught up, he quietly muttered, "There's a camera in that corner."
Scratching her ear to hide her face, she responded, "Yeah. So?"
"We must talk later, in a place where the cameras cannot see."
To cover their covert conversation, out loud, Layia offered, "Brought your books again."
He easily moved into the new conversation. "Yes. I am not doing well in a couple of my classes, requiring more intense studying."
"My GPA was decent. I could help out. You know, if you want."
He sighed with genuine relief, and smiled. "That would be appreciated. Thank you."
"No prob. We're a team, at least until my training's over. Gotta watch each other's backs." Layia held out a fist, and Taylor tapped it with his. Pursing her lips to hold in a smile, she murmured, "You realize this means we're besties now. We're gonna have to spend time together in non-work-related pursuits."
He nodded sagely, and with a glint of humor. "That works for me. The only friends I had until now are my family."
They reached the fulfillment area, stopping first at the break room to put their food in the refrigerator. At the desk they shared for training, Layia tucked her purse and tote bag under the desk near her feet while Taylor just dropped his book bag on the floor out of the way. He'd just booted up the computer and logged in when the supervisor, Mike, came out of his office.
"I need to speak to you, Layia." Mike's expression gave nothing away of what he was thinking, and that worried Layia just a little. Taylor too, to go by his quick glance at her, and back to Mike. He saw their little byplay, and smiled tiredly. "Sorry. It's been a long day. The morning shift supervisor had a fender bender on the way in, and I had to cover for her." Taylor pulled a chair out, and Mike settled into it with a grunt. "Layia, we'd like to offer you a different position with Virtuosity. Instead of the call center, how'd you like to work in fulfillment with Taylor?"
~~O~~
They waited until Mike had gone back to his office to share grins and fist bumps. The girl went a step further by spinning her chair and waving her hands in the air. "Yes! I don't have to talk to stupid people on the phone!"
Taylor laughed at Layia's antics. She'd mentioned the first day that she would rather work here than upstairs. To tell the truth, it got a little boring having no one to talk to except security, and they only came around once an hour or so. "You might want to rethink that statement, now that you're working with me."
She slapped him playfully. "Just because you're having trouble in one of your classes doesn't mean you're not smart." The computer finished its boot-up. "Whoops. Time to go to work."
He got busy sending the robots to collect items to be sent out. "We should go out to breakfast to celebrate your promotion and our new status as best friends."
Tapping at the computer, Layia gave him a quick smile. "Look at me, rocking a promotion after being on the job less than a week. Breakfast sounds great. My car or yours?"
"Yours. I don't drive."
"Oh."
Layia showed surprise at his statement of fact by raising her eyebrows. Hers were black, nicely shaped, and not too thick, giving him a clue as to the color of her hair. Taylor was curious, but to ask to see her hair would be unforgivably intrusive.
On their days off, he'd looked up the significance of the hijab. The garment is a veil traditionally worn by some Muslim women in the presence of adult males outside of their immediate family, which usually covers the head and chest. Hers covered her neck, and hung down in front and back, though he could see small patches of dark skin above the neckline of her top. For some women, the covering was usually a solid, neutral color. Tonight, Layia's was bright blue with purple and pink geometric designs, and appeared to be made of silk. It matched her dark purple top, and blue jeans.
They worked in near silence for a couple of hours, until Taylor was certain they were as alone as they could be. He stood and stretched. "Let's take a break. Meet back here in fifteen minutes."
He knew Layia would go to her secret place for prayer, stop at the ladies' room, and maybe pick up a snack on the way back. Before she returned, he had to get everything set up so they could talk without being seen or heard. The aisle where they had their mishap the night before was the best. All he had to do was wait for her to come back, and make some excuse for them to be there at the same time. She was still in training. He could use that.
Out of sight of the cameras, Taylor ran to the men's room. He stopped for a snack, and was back at his desk in less than five minutes. Layia returned a few minutes later. Using his phone, he sent her a message.
*Are you ready for our private talk?*
**Where?**
*Same place as last night.*
**Go together, or separately?**
*Either way. You are still in training, so it would not look odd for us to be away from our desks at the same time.*
**When it slows down?**
*Yes. It should do so in another hour.*
**Coolness. One more question. Want some pistachio baklava? Ammi made it.**
*Ammi?*
**My mother, doofus.**
*(smiley face) In that case, I'd love some.*
Wakanda
On the outskirts of the capital city, a woman soaked washcloth in cool water, and applied it to the forehead of her husband in an attempt to bring down his fever. The woman set the bowl and towel aside, and went to the kitchen to make ginger tea.
She returned, sitting on the side of the bed. "Sit up, my husband, and drink this. It will help reduce the fever."
The man did as he was told, sipping slowly. He handed the empty cup to the woman with a small smile, and laid down again. "Thank you for taking such good care of me, my love. I feel much better just knowing you're here."
The woman tucked the sheet up around his chest. "You'll be well soon. I will call the doctor while you rest."
At the door, she turned to look back at her husband, already asleep again. Despite their mutual words of encouragement, his fever continued to rise. She went to the front room to call the doctor.
The Palace
With Wanda's assistance, Steve and Scott sailed up to the roof of the palace, landing surefooted near the highest support strut. In front of them was a curved staircase-like structure. A skywalk connected two towers, one taller than the other. The building itself was round, the spiral image repeated, curving off to their right, and again on the far side of the shorter tower.
"What's our strategy, Cap?" This was the first real war Scott had ever been involved in, and at this moment, he wished he was back in prison. Not the raft, but the normal prison, where your only problems were keeping the prison gangs from stealing your food, and getting beat up every other day. But then, he'd been in a minimum security prison full of white collar criminals and other non-violent perpetrators not considered a risk for violence. Didn't stop the in-fighting though. "I don't want to kill anyone."
"Neither do I, but they may not give us a choice."
In their headsets, the men heard Clint laughing derisively, ending on a grunt. "Your only other choice is to talk 'em into a coma, Cap. Keep in mind that these are the people who tried to kill the doc's family, and may have done the same to her."
From his hiding place behind what looked like a high-tech HVAC system, Scott sent Steve a glance of sympathy. He got back a steely blue gaze that promised dire consequences if anything had happened to Kaya. Scott wouldn't want to be that person or person when Steve caught up to them.
He saw movement from the corner of his eye. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he thought he saw T'Challa in his Black Panther costume. It couldn't be him though, because he died in New York.
"We're supposed to be on radio silence, Barton."
"The bad guys can't hear me, and you and Lang are up there all by your lonesome."
Steve made a sound of impatience and frustration. "Just get to the security office. We need eyes and ears now that we don't have a hotline to Hrolf's plans."
They heard a grunt and a thump in quick succession. "Que te den!" More noises followed. "Joder! I'm getting too old for this job."
Scott had heard the same comment from Clint on more than a few occasions, and knew enough Spanish to understand his meaning. On the other hand, Steve shot him a puzzled glance. Shrugging sheepishly, Scott didn't bother to translate. He was sure their esteemed leader got the gist.
"Hear that, Cap? Clint's taking dirty again. Where's your outrage?" Natasha's voice was filled with sarcasm.
Hanging his head, Steve muttered under his breath, "T'es rien qu'un petit connard, Barton."
Bucky's familiar laughter came over the headsets. "Don't know understand, Stevie, but it sounds impressive."
"O-oh! O-oh! I know what it means!" was Natasha's eager reply.
"Someone's coming. Radio silence. Two clicks, safe to talk," Steve's voice dropped to a harsh whisper.
Scott's muscles tensed as he prepared for battle. Steve, damn him, actually appeared relaxed. Somehow, it just didn't seem fair.
~~O~~
The group separated, and Clint made his way from shadow to shadow until he reached his destination. He crouched behind a low wall, a pair of night vision goggles over his eyes as he scanned the exterior for cameras, and found one that was perfectly placed in a corner where it could be reached from the window to the left.
First order of business was to take out the camera, then the window alarm so he could enter without being caught. Clint unslung the bow, nocked an arrow that he made himself, and slowly stood, making sure to stay in the shadows. While not in the class of his recurve bow, in the hands of Everett Ross since his incarceration on the Raft, the bow would do the trick.
He aimed, and when the camera turned in his direction, he released the string. The arrow was equipped with a special lens of its own. Anyone monitoring the feed would see just what he or she expected: a view of the grounds on that side of the palace.
The arrow hit the lens of the camera, sticking in place just as it was designed. Clint slung the bow over his head, the string crossing his chest from left to right, as he made a crouching run to the wall. As he neared, he picked up speed, and came upright to get a running start. He leapt into the air, grabbing onto the handholds provided by the African designs etched into the walls of the structure.
Within a few minutes, he'd climbed up to the window. Holding on with his right arm, Clint used the thin blade of a knife to jimmy the window open. Easy to do when it wasn't locked in the first place.
Shaking his head, he muttered, "Someone's gonna be in trouble when the woman in charge finds out about the security breech. No one will care once we stop the coup. Ha!"
Clint slowly raised the window, looking left and right. The hallway was empty. According to blueprints Cameron had dug up-he didn't ask how-the security office was to the right about thirty yards, and down a short, dead end hallway.
He sidled up to the corner, and took a quick peek. Two men stood guard. They were too far away to sneak up on, so Clint had to come up with another plan, and soon, or the rest of the team could be walking into a firefight they had no hope of winning.
Going into a crouch, Clint spun into the hallway on one knee. Using both hands he flung a disk at each man, catching them in the upper chest just below the collar bones. Electricity crackled, the men gritted their teeth as they shook, and fell to the floor in undignified heaps. "Two down, and who knows how many more. Easy-peasy."
After retrieving his bow and quiver, Clint took a small electronic device from a pocket. He pressed a button on the side, and a hidden compartment opened, giving him access to a set of controls. He tapped out the sequence that would pick the lock, and allow him entry.
Within seconds, the door clicked open barely an inch. Enough to be noticeable by the room's occupants.
Two men stepped into the hall, weapons drawn, and before they knew what hit them, they were unconscious and lying on the floor with their comrades. Clint dragged all four into the security office and locked the door. Taking zip ties and gags from other pockets, he proceeded to tie the men up, and gag them so they couldn't call for help, should they regain consciousness before they were done.
Clint had a seat in front of a bank of monitors, cracked his knuckles, wiggled his fingers, and went to work, muttering under his breath, "After this, Cap, I better be your favorite asshole."
Stark Tower
Residential Floor
Common Area
As was his habit, Vision monitored the building, though Tony said it wasn't necessary. After Clint's subterfuge when he came to the compound for Wanda, Vision felt it was the best way to spend his time after lights out. Here, that term didn't really apply because Tony often worked late into the night, and even the morning. The worry he felt over Pepper's condition and the events at the base in Siberia haunted his dreams. On the nights when Tony did sleep, Vision frequently heard him calling out, the words incomprehensible for the most part. At other times, they were quite clear, and depressing.
He concentrated on the lab where Tony was working until he heard light footsteps whispering over the carpet. His feet touched the floor, and he turned to see a female shape silhouetted by the lights near the lifts. All weight was on one foot, and the other knee bent. As she moved toward him, hips lazily shifting side to side, he saw that she was wearing pink flannel pajamas, fuzzy socks, and a robe that fluttered against the back of her calves. The woman stepped into a patch of light, red hair falling over one shoulder, green eyes sparkling, and a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "Hello, Vision."
Wakanda
Using her powers of hypnosis, Wanda snuck in through a side door, making her way to the throne room where she planned on changing Hrolf's way of thinking, and that of his followers. She'd looked into Kaya's mind, and found the truth. Playing on his paranoia would end this coup without too much more bloodshed… hopefully.
Everything that Hrolf's mother had told him about his connection to the Wakandan royal family were lies. At the time of his birth, there were no male members of the family who could've been his father. It was Kaya's opinion that the woman had lied to keep from being ostracized by her family and the village when she became pregnant out of wedlock.
Sending a ribbon of psionic mist through the palace, Wanda encountered Hrolf's mind. She could see the madness within, his desire to make real all the lies told to him by his mother. She'd even given him the first name Edwin, which meant "rich friend". The mother's name, Amina, meant "trustworthy". By telling her only child a lifetime of untruths, she'd proven herself decidedly untrustworthy.
So intent on sorting out the leader's past was Wanda that she didn't hear someone coming up behind her until it was too late. The barrel of a rifle poked her between the shoulders. "You are not of the Dora Milaje, nor are you Wakandan. Who are you?"
Turning slowly to face him with hands in the air, Wanda pushed down the fear, replacing it with calm assurance. Now that they were face to face, she grinned unpleasantly. "I'm your worst enemy."
TBC
Que te den! - Up Yours!
Joder - ****
T'es rien qu'un petit connard. - You really are an asshole.
Ammi - Mother
