Chapter 42: Double Teamed

It felt like a lifetime ago since President Ellis had seen Tony Stark, since being rescued from the clutches of the madman Aldritch Killian several years back. But he'd invited Tony to the White House for lunch not on a pleasure call, but for business. It had been five days since Steve Rogers' funeral, and they spent the first few minutes reminiscing over the memorial service and over the past. They took a walk around the grounds of the White House, which had just finished being rebuilt after HYDRA's remodel. The old White House building had been restored. Tony thanked Ellis for the construction of the Captain America Memorial on such short notice, only a week after the heroes' return to New York.

Tony had been mulling over his conversation with Bruce Banner after the funeral, and spent a lot of time thinking about it. Of all people, Bruce was the one he saw most eye-to-eye with. And as a co-creator of Ultron, it had been Bruce who had first suggested the idea to Tony that superheroes needed to be put in check. But restarting the Avengers? That would be huge. And almost impossible, considering who Tony personally was eyeballing for the team.

But there would be time for that later. Tony was meeting President Ellis in the State Dining Room of the White House for a working lunch. The President had been able to renovate a surprising amount of the White House's interior decorations after its remodeling at the hands of HYDRA. The dining room looked much as it had before Loki's invasion, with mahogany table and chairs offsetting the white room. The only thing that was noticeably missing was the large portrait of Abraham Lincoln that had stood over the dining room's fireplace.

Tony walked into the room to see President Ellis at the head of the dining table, which had two other occupants. One Tony recognized as Brigadier General Glenn Talbot, director of the Advanced Threat Containment Unit. The ATCU had originally been created to replace S.H.I.E.L.D., after its dissolution after the HYDRA uprising. The other woman Tony didn't recognize, a woman with vibrant green hair and matching lipstick.

"Mr. Stark," President Ellis said, standing up from his place at the table and moving to shake Tony's hand. "Glad to see you could make it."

"Pleasure's mine, Mister President," said Tony.

Ellis led him over to the table. "You've already met Brigadier General Talbot," he said, gesturing at Talbot. Talbot smiled without showing his teeth.

"This is Abigail Brand, the director of S.W.O.R.D.," said the President.

The green-haired woman stood up, extending her hand towards Tony's. "Sentient Weapon Observation Response Division," she said. "I've been following you for some time, Mr. Stark."

"Oh?" Tony asked. "A fan? Sorry I didn't bring my autograph pen."

Brand smirked. "Not exactly," she said. "Your bad guys just have a habit of ending up on my desk."

"There'll be plenty of time for talk over lunch," said President Ellis, leading both Tony and Brand back toward the table. "For now, let's eat."

Lunch was delicious. The appetizer was a Caprese salad with balsamic glaze, and the main course was roasted chicken with fingerling potatoes and sautéed asparagus. After that, the four of them had a walk in the White House gardens, which had only started to be replanted after being razed by HYDRA.

It was three o'clock by the time that President Ellis, sitting in the Oval Office alongside Tony, General Talbot, Director Brand, and a pair of Secret Servicemen, finally got down to business. "We've seen the world according to S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said, "and, Lord in heaven, we've seen the world according to HYDRA. Tony Stark, I am asking you to answer the call."

Tony, who was sitting on the couch opposite the President's desk, looked up with eyes wide. "Sir?" asked Tony.

"The Shredder and his associates will be arrested and put on trial," said Ellis. "Whatever remains of HYDRA within our borders will be officially shut down by morning. We're looking into peace accords with the Asgardians. And I am saying, right now, the world needs you."

Tony was taken aback. "Sir, I ..."

"Maybe even more than the day you first put on the suit," Ellis said.

There was a long pause as they all looked at Tony, waiting for his answer. Finally, he shook his head in disbelief and stood up. "I serve at the honor of my President."

Ellis raised his eyebrows. "I'm hearing a 'but'."

"But ..." Tony grinned. "I'm going to want to do it my way."

The next morning's headlines were breaking news. Stations had reported on Tony Stark meeting with President Ellis to talk about reshaping the country, but nobody had seen this news coming from Tony, the biggest promoter of the Sokovia Accords. Headlines in massive print on newspapers across the country all read the same things:

"USA NO LONGER ABIDING BY SOKOVIA ACCORDS"

"TONY STARK AKA IRON MAN IS AMERICA'S TOP COP"

"WHO WILL BE THE NEW AVENGERS?"

"Ow, ow, and ow," moaned Peter Parker.

He lay in bed in the infirmary at the New Avengers Facility, being tended to by Night Nurse. His leg had been badly sprained during the final battle of Wakanda, and his injuries hadn't been severe enough to warrant the use of the Regeneration Cradle. Still, Night Nurse took all of her patients very seriously, and had been working almost nonstop tending to the wounded heroes.

She had just replaced the bandages around Peter's sprained knee and left the room when in walked Tony Stark. Peter had been keeping up with the news on his phone about the U.S.'s withdrawal from the Sokovia Accords, and the announcement had almost broken the Internet. Twitter was blowing up nonstop. He was really surprised to see Tony here back at the compound. He'd figured Tony must be busy meeting with some important politicians or something.

"Mr. Parker," Tony said. "How's the leg?"

"It hurts a lot," Peter said, wincing. He eyed Tony suspiciously. "Am I in trouble?"

"Why would you be?" Tony asked.

"Am I?"

Tony frowned worriedly, as if thinking. "No."

"Why are you here?" Peter asked him.

"Came to make you an offer." Tony pulled up a chair and sat down next to Peter's bed. "Uniting to retake the world from the Masters of Evil was very inspiring, but at the same time it created a dire situation. We have a lot of work to do. So we're launching an initiative. I can't talk too much about it, but we have a lot of space since the Avengers basically dissolved. I want you."

Peter's eyes widened. "You do? Why?"

"What do you say?" asked Tony.

The fleeting moment of excitement and eagerness in Peter's mind was quickly replaced by the overthinking brain of a teenager. "I ... I'm not a team guy," he stammered. "I'm always screwing things up. I don't belong on a team."

"Can I ask you something?" asked Tony. "How is that working out for you? The 'not being a team guy' thing? Cause last I checked, that mindset got your Spider suit privileges revoked and I ended up with a jet full of valuables spread out all over the Coney Island beach."

Peter's eyes dropped. "Well ..."

"You know, every time I have fought alongside you, I have been amazed."

"Really?" Peter looked back up at Tony.

"Come with me on this," Tony told him. "If you don't like it, leave. But for me, give it a shot."

There was a long pause. Finally from the bed next to Peter's, Colossus groaned. "What you are waiting for?" the metal X-Man said, sitting in bed with his legs crossed and his arm in a sling. "Don't be a durak, little spider. When rich man offers you place on team, you say da!"

"But if I mess up?" Peter finally asked.

But for Tony, Colossus's advice to Peter was all the confirmation he needed. "Good man," he said, clapping a hand to Peter's thigh.

"Ow!" Peter shouted, wincing.

Tony grimaced. "Sorry."

"I can't believe I'm saying yes to this," said Peter. "Who can say no to you?"

"Good man," Tony said again as he stood up to leave.

"Well, honestly, I could really use the money," Peter told him. Hopefully he'd still have time to finish school, and college was getting more expensive every day. Superhero pay had to be good enough to pay for school, right?

"Oh, there's no more money," Tony said as he walked out the door.

Peter collapsed against his pillow as Colossus chuckled. "Ugh," he groaned. "That is so me it's not even funny."

New York City had changed, and Wanda missed the old one.

In the years following Loki's invasion of the city, water levels in the Hudson River and the East River had risen dramatically. The bridges connecting New York City to the mainland had collapsed, and the waters had filled with trash and turned to toxic sludge. Under Wilson Fisk's leadership a wall had been constructed around the entirety of New York City to keep the water out, and a fancy aquifer system installed upriver to prevent water levels from rising any further.

The new wall and lack of bridges meant that she'd had to take a ferry to get into the city, but she couldn't risk that. They'd be checking IDs and scanning for heroes. She couldn't risk being arrested. Not now that Pietro was back in her life.

She'd hoped they could get into the city somehow, and she could show him around. Like siblings did when they came to visit each other. She had been robbed of so much time with him, and was hoping to make up for lost minutes. But it seemed New York City would have to wait.

They sat on a bench on the edge of the Hudson, looking out over the brown sludgy river at the Manhattan skyline. They were in New Jersey, the state directly across the river from New York City. It was so mind-blowing to think that, over here, they were fully recognized as human beings and individuals. But, just across the river, in the city ruled by the Kingpin, they were menaces and threats to society, and would be treated as such.

Pietro, ever as peppy and full of life as she remembered him, was already talking about finding a hot dog stand or some other delightfully American dish to try. She had to remind herself that he'd never been to this country before. She had lived here for so long, she hardly gave it much thought anymore.

She was so absorbed in her thought looking out across the river at New York City that she was startled when an Iron Man suit flew out of the sky and landed on the sidewalk next to their bench. She jumped, as did Pietro and the other few people who were nearby.

The suit opened as if splitting down the middle, and out stepped Tony Stark. "Wanda," he said. "And, Percy, right? Or was it Princeton? I'm sorry, it's been so long."

"How did you know I was here?" asked Wanda.

Tony sat down on the bench next to the twins. "Because you're the only person I've ever met who has her favorite gargoyle on the Empire State Building."

Wanda was touched. Vision had told the heroes one night over dinner about her favorite gargoyle, one of the four metallic eagles' heads that adorned the Empire State Building. It was the one to the northwest corner of the skyscraper. She couldn't explain why it was her favorite, it just was. She'd named it and everything, though the name she'd take to the grave with her. She didn't know Tony had remembered.

"That, and Vision told me where you were headed."

Wanda rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Couldn't get in, huh?" Tony asked.

"The city's locked down," Pietro said. "Not the picture of American freedom I had been told."

"Yeah, well, America's funny like that," Tony said. "Everywhere you look, there's a nasty underlying element that nobody wants to talk about." He turned to Pietro. "Take me, for instance. A guy like me sitting here on a New Jersey bench unassuming, when really, I'm here to manipulate both of you into joining the new initiative."

Pietro's jaw dropped. "Me?" he asked.

"You do still do that super-speed thing, right?" Tony asked.

"Look, Tony," Wanda interrupted, throwing up her hands. "What if you and the others are wrong about me? What if I screw up again?"

Tony chuckled. "I am one hundred percent confident that you will screw up, Wanda. You'll jump to conclusions. You'll make mistakes. You're bound to fail spectacularly. At least once. Just hope that it's not by creating a dictator murder bot. Or in bed with two foreign supermodels. I have a long list."

Pietro sighed. "Real confidence building skills, Stark."

"I didn't ask you two to join the team because I want someone perfect," Tony told them. "I want someone who can do their best. Who can learn from their mistakes. Someone who makes me a better person just by being with them. So, tell me."

He turned to look at Wanda with an intense gaze. "Is that you, Wanda?"

"No," Bucky said, walking briskly through the living area of the compound.

Tony followed close behind. "I think you should consider it."

Bucky threw up his hands and let out an exasperated sigh as they entered the compound's conference room, a smaller room with a large TV screen on one wall and a long mahogany table in the middle of the floor. "I'm not telling you what to do—" Tony started.

He was using that tone of voice again, that slightly I-know-better-than-anyone tone that drove Bucky crazy. "Sure, you are," he said, cutting the billionaire off.

"No, I'm not," Tony protested. "I am making a suggestion. A suggestion that, honestly, I never would have made before. But the timing, and with your new arm—"

Bucky sat down at one of the chairs at the table, running his hand through his hair. He realized it was his vibranium hand, not his flesh one. The Wakandans had replaced his old vibranium arm for him at the end of the Avengers Civil War. It was much more high-tech than the previous arm had been, with gold inlaid within the vibranium and without the red star on the shoulder that had marked him as a HYDRA agent for much of his adult life. For a split second felt like tearing the whole arm off and throwing it through a window. "It's not my name," he said.

"No, you name is James Buchanan Barnes," Tony said. "Captain America is—"

"Captain America is dead, Stark," snapped Bucky, glaring daggers at the man in the suit before him. "He was a good man and a real hero. Too many things were taken from him. I won't take one more—"

"His name wasn't Captain America," Tony shot back. "His name was Steve Rogers." He leaned forward, hands on the table, his voice taking on a decidedly colder tone as he said, "And I don't mean to be unkind here, but it doesn't seem like you have much of a problem with taking things from people."

Bucky looked away. He knew exactly what Tony was talking about. December 16, 1991. The night Howard and Maria Stark were murdered. "That's not how it went exactly," he said softly.

"Maybe not." Tony stood up straight, and walked to the other end of the room, taking a few seconds to compose himself. "But my point remains." He turned back to face Bucky. "Captain America wasn't his name. It was his mantle. Now, it's his legacy. And he would have wanted you to have it.

The room fell silent, save for the anxious tap-tap-tap of Bucky's vibranium fingers on the tabletop. He knew what he was, what he had done. No excuses. No blaming it on HYDRA's brainwashing. He had been the one pulling those triggers, killing those people. Killing Tony's parents. And now their son was here in front of him asking him to take on the role of the greatest hero in the history of the world. It was like a serial killer owning the Holy Grail. He wasn't worthy of the title Captain America; the shield might as well be Mjolnir. Besides, how would the others see him? Every one of the New Avengers knew he had beaten the tar out of a lot of their teammates in Germany during their Civil War—and that he had brutally murdered Howard and Maria Stark. He'd earned their trust because Steve had vouched for him, but to be the next Cap? It didn't seem like an arrangement any of them would be okay with.

Tony broke the silence, pulling him out of his thoughts and back into the conversation. "Bottom line is this. You've fought next to the Avengers. You helped save the world." He slid a folded cloth across the table towards Bucky, and it took Bucky a moment to realize it was the flag from Steve's funeral, the flag that had been covering his friend's coffin.

He looked up at Tony, who met his gaze with a firm one. "Quit being an adjunct," Tony said. "Take the mantle."

The sound of the secretary's acrylic nails hitting the keys on the computer keyboard were getting on Norman Osborn's nerves.

Normally, he prided himself as a man of composure, with great patience. But having listened to the same noise repeatedly for the past almost forty-five minutes, he was almost at wit's end. "Any idea how much longer now?" he asked the secretary through gritted teeth.

She emitted a sigh that betrayed her annoyance, her eyebrows furrowing. "Same as the last four times you asked," she said without looking up from the computer screen. "Not much longer, Mister Osborn."

Norman had had enough. "This is ridiculous!" he shouted, slamming a clenched fist on the arm of the chair in the waiting room of the mayor's office at City Hall in New York City. "I made a great deal of effort to rearrange business plans in order to meet with Mayor Fisk, and I will not be stood up by a pompous plebeian like yourself!"

The door to the hallway swung open, and Wilson Fisk, professional as ever, strode confidently into the waiting room. "Mister Osborn, please be respectful of my staff," he said in a voice as cool as ice water.

Norman's tone was just as cold. "I was perfectly friendly when I arrived, Fisk, but that was almost two hours ago."

Kingpin sighed as he motioned towards the mayoral office doors. "Yes, well, after I told you I didn't want you seen here and you insisted, it took me a while to fit you in. So if you'll forgive the slight inconvenience I've caused you, I will find it in my heart to forgive the rather large headache you're causing me."

They walked into the dark office which was promptly illuminated as Kingpin flipped the light switch on. "Sit," he said, gesturing at the hand-stitched red leather chair across from the dark oak mayor's desk.

Norman obliged. "So I take it you're busy?" he asked.

"Not really," said Kingpin. "I like to take long dinners. A man in power should afford himself little luxuries, wouldn't you agree?" He paused, his eyebrows furrowed as if in thought, before he let out an "ah" of realization and a deep chuckle. "How thoughtless of me. I forgot you are no longer in power. So sorry to hear about what happened to your little company. A true tragedy."

"I am still the CEO of Oscorp, Wilson," Norman said, with an effort to maintain his composure. "We are just in a time of crisis following a brutal rebellion against a HYDRA-established order. Led by Captain America, I might add."

"Such a shame, Norman." Kingpin had circled around behind the chair in which Norman sat, and Norman now found both of Kingpin's massive hands on each of his shoulders. "All those people killed. And for what? Not to speak ill of the dead, but who benefits from these senseless acts of violence? Changing the subject, I heard through the grapevine you signed a multi-million dollar book deal. Congratulations. I'd introduce you to my biographer, but alas, some selfish bastards murdered her."

Lesser men might have been intimidated by Kingpin's show of physical strength, but Norman Osborn was not one to back down. "Is that why you agreed to meet with me, Wilson?" he asked. "Are we comparing sizes? Unlike so many who walk through those doors, I'm not here to grovel or to beg. I'm happy to talk at length about your little city here, all the political power you wield over all these city councilmen. But you would do well to remember I'm the CEO of a multi-national multi-million-dollar company. And if you want to get the tape measure out, I think we'd just about match up."

Kingpin clicked his tongue. "So humorless." He released Norman's shoulders and walked over to a large globe stand in the corner of the room. Pressing a button on top, he lifted the top half of the globe to reveal a collection of alcohol and liquor bottles held inside its refrigerated interior. "What are you drinking, Norman?"

Norman chuckled. "Bit early, isn't it?" he asked.

"Come on, Norman," Kingpin laughed. "This is New York. Nobody tells you what to do here."

"I thought you did," said Norman.

"And I'm telling you to have a drink," said Kingpin. He pulled out a bottle of gin and a bottle of tonic water, selecting a glass from inside the globe before shutting it. "That reminds me," he said. "Are your accommodations all right? You're staying at the new Oscorp Tower, aren't you? Or rather, maybe I should call it the old Avengers Tower. You made headlines buying that thing off of Tony Stark. How's the remodelling coming along?"

"You know so much, Wilson," said Norman. "I'd accuse you of spying on me if I didn't think it would hurt your feelings."

"It's my city, Norman," said the Kingpin. "Nothing happens here that I don't know about."

"Then I'm sure you already know what I'm about to say." Norman kept an eye on Kingpin, watching for his reaction. "The Avengers are back, and looking to move back into the city."

That got him; Kingpin's face distorted for the briefest instant with a flash of hot rage, and the glass he was holding shattered in his iron grip as he clenched his fist. Norman tried not to look to pleased with himself as he added a hint of concern to his voice. "I came to see you out of respect. I wanted to present to you an option to rid us both of this headache once and for all. And you can get all the credit."

"How generous." Kingpin slid into the high-backed leather chair behind his desk, which had been specially tailored to accommodate his large frame. Any idea of drinks was now gone; they were getting down to business. "And what do you get?"

"After they're dead, I get to keep the spoils," Norman said. "Tech like that, in the hands of Oscorp's best and brightest - well, we'd be unstoppable. Just the boost we need to get back on our feet after the big crash."

Kingpin leaned back in his chair, hands folded on his lap. "Let's hear your proposition."

"You may be familiar with Baxter Stockman," said Norman, leaning forward in his seat. "Former employee of your business partner, the Shredder. He's currently on loan to me from dear old Saki himself. Seems the Shredder needs some help developing some sort of mind control serum. While Oscorp's best and brightest work on that, Stockman's been hard at work for me. Four hundred of his M.O.U.S.E.R. robots ready and armed, with many more on the way. Not to mention a host of other, more ... questionable projects."

Kingpin arched an eyebrow. "Are four hundred of your proverbial terminators enough?"

"I've also enlisted some specialists to make up a special task force. Which I will lead, of course."

Kingpin shut his eye and rubbed his forehead. "Your methodology is nothing short of embarrassing. But if it gets the job done, who am I to say anything?" Now he leaned forward over his desk, too, so his face was only a few inches from Norman's. "With that in mind, this is still my city - I can't let you run the show lest I look weak. I'm reinstating an old police division that was supposed to deal with this problem years ago. They're called V.I.G.I.L.. They're my men on the force and they will run point on this, understood?"

Norman shrugged. "Of course, Wilson," he said.

Kingpin turned in his seat to face the window, staring out over the New York City skyline. "Ellis completely screwed us by dropping out of the Accords," he muttered. "And the Avengers' reformation means every super hero or vigilante who opposes us suddenly has a figurehead."

"That's why we find ourselves leaders of our own," said Norman.

Kingpin whirled on the businessman, raising a finger in his face threateningly. "You had better not screw this up, Norman."

"You push ahead with your mayoral duties as planned, Wilson." Norman stood up to leave, turning and walking out of Kingpin's office. "Leave the Avengers to me."

The Captain America memorial had been splendidly designed. The statue itself had been crafted by the world-renowned blind sculptress Alicia Masters, an acquaintance of the Fantastic Four that Reed Richards had personally recommended for the task. She had outdone herself. Cap had been carved so realistically from marble that it looked as if he might stand at any time, pick up his shield, and rally the heroes once more.

But he wouldn't. Tony knew that, deep down. But it was nice to get a chance to come and pay his respects, privately. He had only been able to do so for a few moments, under the eyes of a nation, during the memorial service and before the memorial was opened to the public. Now, a week later, the crowd had been replaced by a handful of curious onlookers. It just didn't feel right to turn Cap's memorial into a tourist site so soon, and the majority of the America public felt that way.

The inscription across the door to Steve's tomb read "FOR WHAT MAKES US GOOD MEN IS NOT THE GREATNESS OF OUR POWER, BUT THE GOODNESS OF OUR HEARTS." A more fitting line, Tony couldn't imagine. Except, maybe, "He was with us till the end of the line." Because he had been. For all of them. Even when he, Tony, had refused it. Scorned it, even.

"I should have been there for you, Steve," Tony said softly. "I would have, if I had listened when you sent me that letter." He pulled a small black cell phone out of his pocket and looked at it in his hand. After the Avengers Civil War, Steve had sent Tony a package containing a letter and a cell phone. In the letter, Steve had basically apologized for keeping the Starks' murder a secret from Tony, and that they couldn't agree on the Sokovia Accords. He'd ended the letter with: "So no matter what, I promise you, if you need us, if you need me, I'll be there."

Tony kept the letter in his office at the Avengers Compound, but he had kept the cell phone on his person at all times, ever since he'd gotten it. Just in case, he'd told himself. Just as a precaution. He wanted so badly to open the phone, call the other number on the end, and hear Steve's voice one last time.

"I should have been there, but I ignored you," Tony said. "Treated you like dirt and walked away. For that, I'm sorry. So, so sorry."

He felt himself choking up, and his vision began to blur as tears filled his eyes. He hadn't even been here five minutes, and he was already going to cry. Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he sniffled. "I hope you understand, Steve," he said through a sob. "I didn't remember how important you were to me. You must have been hurt by how I disregarded you. Sent you packing without so much as a hug or a handshake. That's the last time we ever really talked, together, one on one. Your last memory of me must be ... good God, how I must have hurt you."

Tears were rolling down his cheeks now as he sobbed into the arm of his suit to muffle the noise. "All you ever did was care for me," he cried, releasing his pent-up grief for a few minutes as his shoulders shook and his chest heaved as he let his feelings out.

Finally the sobs subsided enough for him to wipe the tears from his face with a handkerchief. "I'd like to think you'd tell me it's possible, what we're planning," he went on, sniffing as the last of his emotional outburst escaped and he composed himself. "I'm calling it the Initiative. At least one super-team in every U.S. state. All overseen by Phil Coulson himself. Big guy couldn't be happier training and supervising supers. I think you'd appreciate the pressure we're going to be under, creating new heroes and revamping old ones. I'm supposed to be giving a speech tomorrow night from the White House about how we're decentralizing the superhero community from a single coast and building it into a super-power for the twenty-first century."

Tony sighed and tilted his head back, looking up at the sculpture of Captain America. "Frankly, I'd give anything just to talk to you again. To erase the fact that, the last time we spoke, I treated you like a complete and total stranger. All I can hope is that you understand."

Looking up at the lifelike figure of his old friend, head bowed and hands grasping his shield, Tony couldn't help but think that, somehow, Steve did understand. He placed the cell phone at the base of the mausoleum and turned to leave.

He hadn't made it more than twenty feet before he spotted Bucky Barnes, dressed in a brown leather jacket and wearing an olive green baseball hat, walking into the cemetery towards him. He reached Barnes, shaking his hand and pulling him in to clap his shoulder. "Good to see you, Barnes," he said. "Paperwork all filled out?"

"Yeah," Bucky said. "It'll be a while before I feel comfortable showing my face in public again, but at least it's legal."

"Good man," said Tony. He turned back to look at the Captain America memorial. "He's been waiting for you to come."

The two men smiled at each other before Tony walked off and left Bucky to properly pay his respects. Bucky hadn't been able to attend the memorial service, because the Sokovia Accords had still been in effect and he hadn't wanted to be arrested just for trying to say goodbye to an old friend. But now, with the US no longer following the Accords and his recent pardon by President Ellis, he finally felt safe enough to come out and say goodbye to Steve.

The statue of Steve over the mausoleum looked so lifelike. It made him emotional just looking at it. "Hey, soldier," he said, smiling. "Look who's back?"

He waited for a few moments, taking it all in and processing all the feelings rushing through him. "Sorry I couldn't be here sooner," he sighed. "I was tied up in a bunch of boring legal hassles. Had to be certified sane before they'd allow me out on the street." He shrugged. "But, I've got a clean slate now. My record's wiped. You'd like that, I guess."

There was another long pause. Ever since he'd watched the memorial service, Bucky had been thinking of all the things he might say, if he'd been offered a speech at the ceremony. But now, here in front of the statue of his best friend, his mind was blank. He had so much to say, but no words to say them with. How do you thank someone who gave you a second chance?

"You saved my life, Steve," Bucky said finally. "My life and a whole lot more. I'm going to try so hard, so very hard, to be worthy of your sacrifice. I'll never forget you, Steve Rogers. Neither will anyone else who ever had the privilege of knowing you. You'll always be in our hearts."

He stepped back and saluted the statue of Steve Rogers before turning and leaving the cemetery.

"Sir, there's a bit of a situation."

Wilson Fisk did not have time for this. They were backstage at a press conference he was hosting as Mayor of New York City. Only sixty seconds until he had to be on the podium in front of a throng of reporters and journalists to announce his stance on superheroes following the abrupt withdrawal from the Sokovia Accords. He was looking at the speech he'd had written up, two pages in length, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over the words on the printed paper. "I can't memorize all this." He threw the papers at Wesley. "Get it up on a prompter for me."

"Already done, sir," said Wesley. "But we have a bit—"

"I heard you the first time," Fisk growled, stalking off. "I don't like situations. Did Osborn's men not show?"

"That's the problem," Wesley said nervously. "They did show."

Fisk walked into the lobby of the Mayor's office and was met with perhaps the most unpleasant sight imaginable. There were six figures in the lobby on the ground floor, all of different sizes and colors. And Fisk recognized every one.

The most recognizable was Abomination, a monstrous creature devoid of hair, with durable olive-green flesh and sharp spikes on his arms, elbows, back, and feet. He met Kingpin's gaze and smiled maliciously at the mayor. Sitting next to the Abomination was a figure in an off-white full-body suit, with the hood pulled up over a helmet with five red visual photoreceptors. Fisk had heard talk of an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. operative known as Ghost who could become intangible or invisible at will. This must be her.

Across from these two, Adrian Toomes was pacing in the middle of the lobby anxiously. He was notably missing his giant exo-suit wings. On the other side of the lobby was a beautiful woman with vivid blue skin, yellow eyes, red hair, and wearing a navy blue tactical suit that fit her curved form very well. This was Mystique, a shapeshifting mutant assassin who could change her form to look like anyone she wanted. She was standing between the terrorist Georges Batroc and Hyperion, a near-immortal member of a genetically-engineered race known as the Eternals. He was the only one that Fisk knew nothing about other than the name, but seeing the man standing in his lobby wearing a red bodysuit and yellow cape, he looked to be little more than a homemade costume for a boy who wanted to trick-or-treat as Superman.

If just one of these criminals had been seen by a reporter on their way in, it would be headlines for a week and nothing but bad publicity for Fisk. He could tear Norman's head off.

"Hiya, Wilson," growled Abomination, baring a mouthful of yellow fangs.

"You're kidding me," Fisk said. "This is Norman's team of specialists? If you morons wreck my city—"

A stressed newsperson poked her head through the door, trying not to look at any of the supervillains and instead directly at Fisk. "Mister Mayor? You're on right now," she squeaked before ducking back out the lobby doors.

"You not gonna finish that thought, chief?" asked Adrian Toomes, grinning broadly at Fisk.

Fisk wanted nothing more than to throw the idiot through a wall.

The crowd of reporters and journalists couldn't care less about what the city councilman had to say. They were here to hear from Fisk. Dozens of news outlets, local and national, had sent representatives to cover the story. Cameras awaited eagerly, pens were hovering above notepads, and voice recorders were primed and ready. They hardly heard the councilman introduce Mayor Fisk before they were applauding politely as Wilson Fisk stepped out of the lobby of the Mayor's office and walked up the steps to the lectern at the front and center of the podium.

He leaned forward into the microphone, cameras clicking and voice recorders active. "Thank you for that lovely introduction, Councilman Hernandez. And thank you all for coming. Like all of you, I was troubled to learn that President Ellis withdrew from the Sokovia Accords and allowed yet another team of costumed vigilantes to return." He shook his head worriedly. "The international terrorists calling themselves the Avengers are once again terrorizing our nation. But today I am proud to say that New York enters the next phase of its war on terror."

He stepped back from the microphone and cleared his throat. "The city has just purchased 400 M.O.U.S.E.R. units from brilliant scientist Baxter Stockman. They are already unloading into our beautiful city as we speak. But that is just Phase One of my ambitious plan. They will be working in cooperation with our own police department. And bridging the gap between law enforcement and vigilantism, I've commissioned a special task force to handle the Avengers. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome ..."

Fisk paused and squinted at the teleprompter built into the lectern. He muttered something under his breath, words missed by all reporters except the few closest to him. "Is he kidding me?" Fisk muttered, before looking up at the crowd of reporters and gesturing at the lobby doors behind him. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, the Thunderbolts!"

The doors of the lobby swung wide open and out stepped the supervillains. The crowd of journalists was shocked, to say the least. Murmurs and gasps went up from the crowd at the sight of the villains. Wasn't that Batroc, one of Interpol's most wanted criminals? And the Abomination? They hadn't seen him in years!

But Norman Osborn was prepared for this. There was the sound of repulsors in the sky and a flash of red and blue as the Iron Patriot suit landed in the center of the stage behind the lectern. There was a surprised cry from the crowd as everyone flinched reflexively. The suit of armor stood and walked to the lectern, and the faceplate retracted to show the smiling face of billionaire Norman Osborn.

"Hello, New York!" he said. "I am Norman Osborn, and you have my word we will defend this city and put an end to the Avengers' reign of terror. We will restore peace and order to this, the greatest city in the world!"

It was hard not to believe Osborn's words. Not to want to believe them. And, among all the killers and criminals on the stage right now, it was very refreshing to see the familiar red-and-blue motif of the American flag at the front and center of Fisk's new team. So the crowd began to clap, slowly at first, and then a bit louder.

The applause was just loud enough to mask the sound of Wilson Fisk leaning forward and muttering under his breath: "If you screw this up, Osborn, I'm going to kill you."

"Now, now, Wilson," Osborn said. "Let's be nice and go to war, shall we?"