Disclaimer: Nope
The reason that Cassie ultimately ends up in Lagos on a fateful day when the whole world really gets down to changing is a surprisingly simple one. A HYDRA agent who used to work on Steve's STRIKE team named Brock Rumlow resurfaces. This by itself wouldn't warrant Cassie's presence on a mission, but what Rumlow shows us buying is a potential biochemical weapon.
Biochemical is kind of a buzz word when it comes to getting Cassie to show up someplace.
This is a concept that makes Steve twitchy, which, Cassie assumes, is because germs have historically gotten much closer to killing him than most bullets or explosives ever have. Her fiance has lived a strange life. Cassie, for her part, has been nearly killed by far more projectile weapons than by germs.
It really is anybody's guess as to weather inoculations or genetics were responsible for that.
Fortunately for everyone involved (excepting the criminal elements of the world intending to cause global havoc with weaponized smallpox and the like) Cassie happens to be, quite literally, blessed with the supernatural ability to suppress diseases. It's a skill she doesn't use on mass very often, but she has game in the field when need be. Apparently, that 'when' is now.
So when the news comes in Cassie boards a flight with Steve, Natasha, Sam, and Wanda along with all of their assorted gear. Nat flies the jet, Barton being on vacation with his sister-in-law and her family with Banner along for the trip at the time. Steve and Sam spend the duration of the fight time going over gear and strategy and Wanda occupies herself with a sudoku puzzle. Apparently, complex number puzzles keep her own mind occupied enough to block out the thoughts of others.
For her part, Cassie spends the flight occupied with her own quiet prep. This involves working through the newest music sample downloaded to her phone curtesy of the Nine Muses. She has to admit, the selections are getting weirder. Despite her father's propensity for shiny clothing, Cassie could personally live with a little less Abba in her life.
And in her ears.
When Steve shoots a questioning glance her direction Cassie pulls a face at him in response. "ABBA," she says by way of explanation. "Big music group from a few decades ago. It's one of those weird music genres where it's not really that good but it gets in your head forever anyway. Investigate if you dare, but having just listened to the full soundtrack I refuse to watch Mama Mia!"
"I think I'll be able to live with that somehow," Steve says, still looking a little non-plussed. "How much spandex was involved?"
"More than your forties stage show," Cassie tells him. "And about ten times as many sequins."
Steve's expression changes to one that tells her he's forming a mental image of what exactly that means. "Okay. Let's assume I've grasped the concept. We'll avoid that and anything to do with disco balls."
"As someone who can read your thoughts I can assure you that you have in fact, accurately pictured what was involved," Wanda contributes. "At least it is accurate from what I could gather from films I watched as a child. Also, please stop picturing nightmares of shiny clothing and catchy lyrics? I would like something else being broadcast in to my mental space if it is at all possible."
Cassie deliberately changes her phone music to the new Hamilton soundtrack. It's been playing on and off in her head for about a month now ever since she had heard it for the first time. Steve's listened to a few of the songs with her in their kitchen with an expression of focus generally associated with combat missions, but she's not sure what his conclusions have been.
The change seems to be a relief for Wanda anyway, who relaxes deeper in to her seat when the lyrics first switch.
The flight is over more quickly than might be expected considering it involves traversing approximately half the globe. Cassie has never had the same problems with air travel that Percy does, but she still remembers the days when it routinely took a week or more just to get herself and three friends across the continental United States. The contrast is definitely surreal despite a decade long adjustment period.
They part ways at a small out of the way airstrip for their individual tactical positions. For Wanda, Natasha, and Cassie this means stations at small caffes and in markets scattered through Lagos with proximity to the targeted Lab. Sam goes on overwatch from the rooftops with the assistance of the new drone Tony had recently programmed in to his flight suit. Steve stays close by him prepared for the When-Things-Go-Wrong moment.
That moment arrives in rather spectacular fashion after a fair amount of time spent waiting around trying to look casual and a bit of tense (though trying for light hearted) banter. A group of heavily armed mercenaries rams a garbage truck straight through the front gates of the Institute for Infectious diseases. This prompts the team to convey themselves to the site pst-haste, particularly once the Institute security staff starts getting murdered.
Their transport methods vary according to ability, personality, and convenience. Wanda uses her powers to manipulate her own molecular density and propels herself over the compound walls at high speeds. Cassie herself absorbs some sunlight and sun-skips right in, all the while hearing Natasha commandeer a motorcycle. Steve takes the opportunity to indulge in his habit of dropping in to dangerous situations from on high by having Sam fly him over the conflict and launch him straight in.
Actually the order of that paragraph is somewhat misleading. Steve arrives on scene first and handily takes out three member of Team Bad Guy through the relatively simple expedient of smashing a car window, using his shield, and then kicking that same car directly in to one of the mercs. Cassie arrives just on time to witness that last move as Steve makes his tactical assessment in to the com.
"Body armor, AR-15s, I make seven hostiles."
The whooshing sounds of air moving quickly followed by some metallic clanging and a quick chatter of gun fire precede Sam's response. "I make five."
"Sam?" Wanda calls and Cassie turns just in time to see her teammate use her telekinetic powers to immobilize and launch one more enemy straight in to the air.
"Four," Sam reports flatly as he dispatches the unfortunate individual. "Rumlowe is on the third floor."
Cassie narrows her vision in on the row of windows marking the floor in question and manages to isolate her focus on their target. "I got him. He's trying to move further in to the lab."
They've gravitated together in the middle of the exterior courtyard, each taking up combat positions. "Wanda, just like we practiced," Steve instructs, moving in to position for a trick Cassie knows will launch him directly through the window closest to their target.
"What about the gas?" Wanda queries. A not unreasonable question considering Cassie's abilities are telling her that the aerosolized compound filling the hallway is definitely the nasty, kill you in seconds, liquifies your eyeballs, choke on your own vomit kind. Steve can hold his breath for up to four minutes if he's at rest, but not while in the midst of hand to hand combat.
"Get it out," Steve instructs crisply building up a jog towards the best launch point.
"Once it's out of the room I can alter the chemical structure," Cassie says as Wanda launches her fiance straight in to a cloud of air borne poison. "It'll render it inert but you gotta get it out of there fast. Hold it in a tight cycle. We can't have any of that compound settling on civilians and we are dead center in a population zone right now."
Wanda nods her acknowledgement as the coms fill with the sound of Steve's shield banging off of walls, floors, and the opposition. A red glow spreads from Wanda's hands, stretching in to the building and emerging dragging a cloud of nasty looking yellow brown particles like an ethereal red fishing line. She thrusts her hands up and the cloud condenses in to a whirling tornado-like funnel.
Cassie extends her own hands and her particular brand of power adds golden tendrils in to the maelstrom. It weaves it's way between the red strands of Wanda's power and in to the poisonous concentration as Cassie focuses her senses on the way that the particles are constructed. It takes a precious twelve seconds of full concentration to slide her brain in to the molecular formation and pick it apart. The process is like untangling headphones not taking a hammer to a broken speaker and if she isn't careful there's a decent chance she could make the compound even more dangerous than it already is.
By the time the cloud is destroyed Sam and Wanda have become occupied with watching her back and Natasha has joined the fray to keep after Rumlowe who has managed to leave the Institute in, as Steve reports, a military vehicle heading North. Presumably, they are heading for the same airstrip the Avengers had used to enter the country. They crash in to the local market and Sam uses his wings to follow and get a preliminary handle on the situation.
"I've got four and they're splitting up."
Natasha has already managed to reclaim her motorcycle and is heading Sam's direction to help. "I've got the two on the left."
Cassie takes a single breath to refocus and shoots a glance at Wanda. "Let's get in there." The other girl nods and takes off. Cassie lets the sun once again take her in and out of space. Given the instantaneous nature of this method, she arrives first and directly on top of one of Natasha's opponents, eliminating the man from the situation almost by accident as her elbow makes contact with a nerve cluster in his neck.
She rolls through the recovery and pops up next to Natasha who has just finished eliminating the other man using an impressively acrobatic leg maneuver. "Nothing eliminates the fun from a combat situation like making it a fair fight," she muses sarcastically.
Cassie is about to form a response when Steve's next report cuts her off. "They've ditched their gear. This is a shell game now. One of them has the payload." This chilling statement is well punctuated by the sound of an explosion very close to Steve's com link. This is further followed by the voice of a pissed off and rather deranged sounding Brock Rumlowe.
"He doesn't have it," Sam reports of his own target. "I'm empty."
"This guy's clear too," Cassie confirms. "We miscounted initially."
"I have followed the thoughts of everyone in the van," Wanda pipes up. "At least two more men are making their way towards the South-East corner of the market."
This is all Cassie and Natasha need to hear to get moving again and the trip through the market is enough to make Cassie retroactively thankful to Chiron for insisting on parkour training. It ends with a standoff against two mercenaries. Natasha has a gun on one of them and Cassie has an arrow drawn and locked on to the other. Unfortunately, the man she's aiming at is holding a chemical weapon vile in his hand and is threatening to drop it. His friend has a gun aimed directly at Natasha's head.
"Drop it!" he orders. "Or I'll drop this."
Cassie is doing a quick calculation in to weather she can make her shot and still catch the vile when the Red Wing drone solves the problem by showing up and firing off two quick shots. Nat fires one more and Cassie makes a quick lunge forwards, catching the tube before it can hit the ground. "Payload secure," Nat says to the drone camera. "Thanks Sam."
"Don't thank me," Sam says cheerfully.
Nat makes a face. "I'm not thanking that thing."
"His name is Red Wing."
"I would be worried about how you've named your robot," Cassie says. "Only Tony names all of his too and actually brought one of them to life. You having a drone for a pet is I guess not the weirdest thing to ever happen in the robot arena for our friend group."
Steve is still engaged in fighting Rumlowe but seems to be holding up pretty well given the grunting and clanging sounds coming over the line. In fact, given the conversation they're having and that Steve has just demanded to know who the buyer is, the fight has evidently reached the interrogation stage. Not bad results for ten minutes or less of combat time.
But Rumlowe's next words make Cassie's blood go cold. "When you gotta go, you gotta go. And you're coming with me."
She doesn't think before she makes her next move. Honestly she doesn't. Not even for a second. She doesn't decide to go, but she blinks and when she opens her eyes again it is to find the scene in front of her obscured by a massive fire ball Wanda seems to be holding together with the last scraps of her energy and will power. Cassie throws her own containment magic in to the mix, collapsing the explosive in and in and in, like a star exploding in to a black hole.
Cassie feels the power shift, intensifying ten-fold as Wanda's strength gives out and Cassie does the only thing she can think to do, aiding in Wanda's final effort. Together they launch the explosive upwards. It's like doubling the strength behind the longest javelin toss of all time as their combined powers clash together around and through the ball of fire. Cassie feels her vision swim as the energy of the explosion slams against her walls, making her mind feel like it's being used as a pinball machine.
And the explosion is still rising, hurtling up and up and up until it hangs against the sky like a miniaturized second sun.
Then the rubber band of her control snaps. Wanda lets out a desperate gasp as her arms drop, and the energy holding the explosion together breaks. The ball explodes in a water balloon of light and fire, scattering debris gods only know how far.
None of the buildings fall.
This is Cassie's first thought as her knees buckle, jarring against the ground. She feels the pain of it in a dull and distant way she's sure will sharpen later. Wanda looks shocked, pale, and terrified. Steve is staring between the two of them and the market, clearly wondering what element of this to try to handle first. The vile they'd come so far for is a cold and malicious weight in Cassie's pocket...
But no buildings fell.
People had a chance to get out of the way. The debris should have been in small enough pieces to avoid damage. They kept the weapon from getting to it's intended buyer.
Cassie thinks of all of this and optimistically wonders if maybe the public fall out from this little excursion won't be so bad.
What can she say?
She's trying to be a more hopeful sort of person these days.
Cue the sardonic, hysterical laughter.
Her vision blurs slightly for the length of a heartbeat and by the time it clears she's already back on her feet and moving. Debris will have scattered outwards and hit god knows how many people. It's also entirely likely given the panicked chaos of the market that several things are on fire that shouldn't be. A quick glance around shows people and vehicles colliding with each other.
Cassie starts forwards and makes it exactly two steps before someone catches at her elbow and she whirls around. "What?" she bites out. "Time is linear, passing, and right now, it's blood."
Steve adjusts his weight backwards a fraction but doesn't let go of her arm. "People will be on their way here now," he says. "Officials. We have to debrief and deal with them and then pull out of here as quickly as possible."
"You have to debrief," Cassie corrects. "I'm the medic and there are people out there who are injured and dying. My chief responsibility in this situation is to them not the government."
She makes to move away again but Steve still hasn't let go so all she can do is take a step and then rock back. She turns her gaze on him, eyes narrowed. "Steve," she says, voice low and measured. "Let. Me. Go."
He does but refuses to move out of her way. "And my responsibility now is to this team which you're on."
"Hippocratic Oath," Cassie snaps back. "Sorry but I take that seriously. It doesn't go away because the situation is going to be politically and logistically inconvenient. Now," she adjusts her equipment bag over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm going to tell you that I love you and wish you all the luck in the world with dealing with rigid government officials, and I'm going to go do my job. You can return the sentiment and resolve our first ever couples-fight by giving me a kiss goodbye and getting out of my way, or I will zap right around you and do my job anyway and we'll resolve this later when we get home."
What follows that statement is a very peculiar sort of insulated semi-silence. Cassie can see Steve's brain turning over everything she's said as quickly as his super-soldier brain is capable of and settles herself to wait for exactly two breaths for him to get used to the facts. The options she's given him boil down to 'get out of my way or watch me go around you' and that can't be sitting very well. He gives a short nod and for a second Cassie thinks it's going to be option two.
Then he leans down and plants a swift kiss on the top of her head. "Two hours. Stay on coms." His gaze is serious as he says, "we are talking about this later."
Cassie holds his eyes and then nods her agreement. It's a bit of a compromise and altogether a decent conclusion to this scenario. "Two hours." Because that doesn't seem like a good enough ending, Cassie pops up on to her toes and kisses his cheek. "I love you, and good luck."
His fingers brush once over a small, stinging cut near her temple. "I love you too." Then he turns away and begins gathering Nat, Sam, and Wanda around him. "Alright everyone inside now. Police are probably five minutes out given the traffic. We've got that long to regroup and get the story straight."
Cassie takes that as her cue and wades in to the center of the panic to begin treating the injured and coordinating emergency medical efforts. She is, quite obviously, the first on scene and therefore she is the one responsible. She steels herself and folds herself in to the patterns of a chief battlefield medical officer. The first time she ever did this sort of job she had been fourteen. She's gained a lot of experience since then.
She's able to hear the questions the others are getting through her com link and manages to divert enough of her focus to listening that she already has her answers worked out by the time her two hours are up. Those two hours barely let her make a dent in the chaos of the market, but she does manage to stabilize and treat some twenty-odd people herself and funnel several more to the right emergency service members for assistance. It's slower going because she has virtually no magic left in the tank, so all of the trauma work she's doing relies on training and nothing else.
The questions are straight forward and Cassie's answers are as succinct as they can possibly be. It turns out that invoking Top Secret status on your source information has a heck of a way of shortening an investigative interview. In the end, most of what Cassie provides is a quick narrative giving her perspective on the events of the day with specific focus on her individual part in them.
The interview/debrief is nowhere near as arduous as Cassie knows it could have been. However, she's incredibly glad for the truncated length. She's been on her feet for hours and she's completely exhausted. There aren't good enough shoes in the world to compensate for rushing around at nearly top speed for actual hours on end. She's also not eaten since getting on the jet this morning.
Steve, despite the fact that they had a brief spat earlier, is waiting for her to get out of the interview holding out a juice box and a granola bar. "Wanda's been keeping an eye on you," he says by way of explanation. "Apparently, you're hungry."
"Add that to the list of things I'm not used to yet," Cassie says as she takes the offered rations. "Being friends with a mind reader and living in a building run by an omniscient AI. Everything else I think I've adjusted to."
Steve's mouth twitches in to something that might almost be called a smile and tips his head up the hallway. "Nat's got the jet up on the roof," he says. "Sam and Wanda are already on board."
Cassie takes a moment to examine her fiance and the thing that pops out at her most is the fact that he looks about as tired as she feels. His neck and shoulder are still holding all of their tension and he's still wearing his armor. The shield is held loosely at his side and Cassie thinks it probably says something about his current mentality that he still subconsciously seems to feel like he needs. The fingers of his free hand are tapping a staccato rhythm against his thigh. He's clearly itching to be gone and Cassie thinks she may have pushed it about as far as is kind and possible.
"Let's go then," she says, finishing the last of the granola bar and scrunching the wrapper up in her fist. "I'll finish the juice on the way."
A bit of the tension eases out of him at her agreement and Cassie realizes that he'd been worried that she would refuse to leave. He swaps the shield in to his other hand as they make their way to the roof access stairs and his right hand moves to hover near the small of her back. "We'll raid a vending machine on the way," he promises. "I don't think we have any food on the plane."
Cassie gasps in mock shock and horror. "How can this be true?. You, Bucky, and Pietro all use that plane."
"We've got MREs in case we get desperate."
They pass a vending machine half a hallway later and stop as promised. What follows is a moment of silent staring. "So..." Cassie says, drawing the word out like taffy. "I don't suppose you've got any change on you?"
"Nope," Steve says, popping the 'p'. "In a surprise twist in the gender binaries attached to clothes, you are the one with the pockets."
Cassie shakes her head disparagingly. "And guys wonder why women carry hand bags. Design us some clothes with roomy cargo pockets and then we won't have to. Until then, deal with the six pound purse and be warned that they come with weapons training." She says this as she approaches the machine, eyeing the racks speculatively. She gives the machine an experimental shake and a few of the candy bars rattle in their holders. "I can pick it," she offers. "But it's probably easier if you just pick it up and tip it."
Steve gestures her to the side and locks his arms around the sides. "We'll put this down under the unexpected benefits of super strength," he says over the muffles rustles and thumpings of snacks releasing from their holders. "I have to say I doubt that the SSR saw this coming."
He sets the machine upright again and Cassie crouches down to rummage and retrieve their ill-gotten meal. "You never know," she points out. "I still don't know who invented the vending machine. It could have been Howard Stark. Knowing Tony, it seems like the kind of thing his dad might have gone for making."
"Actually it was a guy named Percival Everitt," Steve tells her as he takes the package of Oreos she hands him. "1883. They were for train stations. They used to be for envelopes and note paper so people could write and send letters before they got on board. They didn't have food in them until 1887." Cassie lifts an eyebrow in question and Steve shrugs. "I had them growing up," he explains. "And then I looked up a lot of things when I got out of the ice."
They're to the rooftop access door before they talk again. Cassie reaches out and gently catches at Steve's sleeve. "Are you upset?" she asks quietly. "About earlier? Because if you are, I mean, we do have to talk about it. The way we work together in the field is maybe something we need rules for. We've been taking flyers on it so far, but maybe that's not working so well, and maybe it can't."
Steve slowly releases the push bar along with a deep breath that sounds more tired than it does anything else. "I'm not upset," he says. "I wasn't upset before either. I was just... in the wrong mode to deal with it at that moment. Most of the time when we're in the field either you're fighting too or I have a bigger combat team to coordinate with. Too much was out of my control already, then I made a call and you made an audible- and it was a good one and one you needed to make. But it threw me when I was already off balance and I didn't react well."
Cassie considers that and then gives a slow nod. "I think maybe we both forget that I'm a battlefield medic," she says. "Fighting is something I am capable of. It's not my primary function. Maybe next time we're in the field together we need to keep that more clearly defined somehow. I know things have to be a bit more fluid in battle situations. I'll do what I have to in order to defend myself and others, but maybe I can try to refocus my scope a bit."
Steve reaches out and tips her chin up slightly with two fingers, planting a chaste kiss on her lips before leaning up and placing another on her forehead just between her eyes. Cassie leans in to it and lifts a hand to brush her palms warmly along his forearm, recognizing this moment as a called for truce if they had needed one. "In the Navy a ship's doctor can overrule the Captain whenever called for," he says. "Maybe we can do something like that. Navy rules."
"Percy would like that," Cassie smiles. "Come on," she backs away slightly. "Let's go home."
They board the Quinjet and Nat and Sam take turns at the controls on the flight home. The person Cassie is most worried about is Wanda. The girl sits silent and pale in her seat, barely picking at the food they've managed to collect for her. Instead, she holds her hands out in front of her, projecting bubble after bubble of red containment energy.
Cassie makes a mental not to contact Dr. Green, Bucky's psychologist, to see if he'd be able to help with a telepath with displaced guilt. In fact, both Maximoffs should probably see a psychologist for long time untreated childhood PTSD. Cassie should probably see a psychologist for untreated childhood trauma. Fuck, their whole team should probably just go in for a course of group therapy and call it a day.
Pondering this is more tiring than Cassie had been betting on and somehow in the midst of this muddle of thoughts she seems to fall in to a kind of doze. In fact, she doesn't realize she's fallen asleep at all until Steve is very lightly shaking her awake. Consciousness comes back to her with the snap of a contracting rubber band and she jolts upright.
"We back?"
"Yeah, we just landed at the Upstate place." Steve waits for her to stand up first which maybe he has to given that her head had apparently lolled sideways on to his shoulder in her sleep. The corners of her mouth twitch up for a second. "You've got little creases," he says, gesturing to her left cheek. "I didn't know you could get those from body armor."
Cassie makes a face at him and then reaches down to retrieve her bag from under the seat. "Good thing we have our own landing pad," she says. "If anybody got a picture of this we'd probably get a couple million theories saying I'm dying of a hideous and little known skin disease by tomorrow morning."
"That'd change the news cycle," Sam comments.
"True," Cassie agrees. "Actually Steve, let's go out and find the nearest rabid hoard of paparazzi. If we can convince them I have Shingles for five minutes you can do an anti-vac stump."
"I can fake that with make up," Nat pipes in. "Also chickenpox and scabies."
The eye roll from Steve is almost audible. "I'll bear that in mind," he says. Now everyone get inside and for gods sake go to bed. We'll fill in details with the rest of the team tomorrow."
Nat turns sharply. "I'm telling Clint tonight."
Steve nods. "I figured you would Nat. Reyna and Bucky will probably know by tonight too. Anyone can tell whoever they want tonight, but I still want everyone to get together over it tomorrow. We're going to have international fall out from this and I want everyone on the same page."
"Team breakfast," Sam says with a grin. "What a throwback." He points at Cassie in mock threat. "No magic zapping on to the table."
"Don't worry," Cassie says tiredly as they reach the hallway where they'll all part ways for the night. "My only mode of transport tomorrow is going to be walking. I need some time to recharge. You're still in charge of pancakes though."
"Done."
"Bucky'll do the bacon," Steve decides as they scan through in to their apartment with the help of FRIDAY. "He never let me make it back in the thirties. Apparently mine is not crispy enough."
Cassie smiles as she starts to get changed. "See, this is the stuff that doesn't get put in to history books. Some day the two of you are going to have to sit down, maybe with Peggy if she's having a good day, and just dish on everyone and everything thirties and forties. You met Patton and Churchill. Write up a version with none of the military historical details and just do all the humanizing minutia that keeps getting left out to make historical figures seem like more than they were."
There's a pause and Cassie angles her head to see Steves' face. He's got his head cocked like he's seriously considering the idea. "There's something to that," he decides. "My legend got so damn sanitized along with the rest of the war. The way most stories spin it none of us swore, got injured, or had sex ever. According to most of history we just existed in pristine uniforms beating the Nazis with the power of wholesome ingenuity and the sparkling morality of our dreams."
"Bucky and Peggy would keep you honest and make sure the dirt was equal opportunity," Cassie says, warming to the idea as she sees he is. "You could get our not-a-nurse-neighbor-Kate involved to help. She's Peggy's niece right? I doubt she got the sanitized version of history, and according to SHIELD medical files Gabe Jones' grandson is a Level 6 working on Coulson's new team. His name's Antoine Triplett."
"Not-a-nurse-our-neighbor-not-named-Kate is named Sharon," Steve clarifies as he steps in to the running shower. "And she's Peggy's Great Niece. Peg's brother is Sharon's grandad. Generational separation. I knew Jones had a grandson that worked for SHIELD, but I didn't meet him before we took down the agency. I'm glad he lived through it and didn't turn out to be part of HYDRA."
Cassie peels off the last bit of her armor and rolls her neck to loosen the muscles. "You should invite him for a beer or something some time," she suggests. "I'm sure Fury's got his eye on him. The guy must have stories, ones you were you know, frozen for."
She can hear the sound of the shampoo bottle opening. "I'll talk to Peg first," he says with decision. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's been having the kid over for lunch twice a month since he started pre-school. I'd rather not involve Fury unless I have to."
"When's the last time you talked to her?" Cassie asks. "I chatted with her on the phone for a few minutes two weeks ago about wedding stuff. That's how we decided on the flowers. She had some great color suggestions. Have you seen her since then?"
"I went last Monday," he says over the sound of the water. "She was in and out a lot. She seemed to be doing pretty well in about twenty minute bursts. Told me a few stories about what she and Edwin Jarvis got up to right after the war. I could probably include some of those. I'll ask better questions about it when I go next week."
Cassie grins to herself in the mirror because she knows Steve's decided to do some version of telling his story even if Steve doesn't know he has yet. Then the shower door slides open and Steve pokes his head out. "You coming in? This shower is ridiculous."
Steve says this with messy hair, glistening skin, looking gorgeous and smelling amazing. It is all together impossible for Cassie to deny an offer like that. Instead of even trying to, she strips off the rest of her clothes and in to the spray and Steve's waiting arms.
"Water conservation is incredibly important."
That lovely shower is something that she holds on to because it's about the last truly pleasant experience she has for a little while.
The day starts to go down hill very shortly after the team debriefing pancake breakfast. The bacon is perfectly crispy being just on the ideal verge of burned. The pancakes have just enough sugar in them to be sweet but not sickly. Natasha shows up with homemade orange juice made possible courtesy of Meg's new greenhouses and a little bit of godly powers coming in to assist.
Steve goes to seek out Wanda to talk to her about the events of the day before and Cassie makes her way across the complex to her office to work for a few hours. She treats a few minor injuries amongst the trainees and then puts in a call to Dr. Green to leave a very cryptic message with his discrete and ambiguous sounding office assistant. Next she debates calling Chiron. The centaur has about three thousand years worth of experience talking heroes through their trauma. It's entirely possible he'd be able to help.
She has her mind just about made up and is actually reaching for her phone when FRIDAY comes on over the speaker. "Sorry to interrupt your work Dr. Morgenstern," it says. "A General Thaddeus Ross is in the main conference room waiting to speak to the Avengers. The team is currently in the process of gathering."
Cassie drops her phone back in to her jeans pocket and shrugs off her lab coat, hanging it over the back of her office chair. "Okay, thanks FRIDAY. Please tell the others that I'm on my way, and mark that I'm out of the office on the computer system. Call my brother and let him know he's in charge for the next few hours. Unless Ross wants to talk to him too, then anyone who needs to will have to be referred to one of the NPs. I think that's Anna and Carlo today."
"Yes Dr. Morgenstern."
Thinking that time might be a factor, Cassie commandeers one of the gulf carts to get back over to the block of buildings with the private conference space the team will be in. Despite that measure, the rest of the team has already arrived before she has. Most of them happen to be glaring at a man who presents the exact physical image of the Modern Major Asshole.
The man has a reddish hue in his greying face which inclines Cassie towards the diagnosis of some kind of heart disease, probably being treated via daily oral medication. His hair is streaked salt and pepper in a way that looks almost too purposeful to have come purely from aging and his eyes are an unnaturally pale shade of blue and have receded slightly backwards in to the flesh of his face. He's wearing the kind of smile that is so obviously artificial that you normally only saw it's like on the mouths of politicians during an election year. It's decorated with a nearly comically full black mustache.
Cassie recognizes the name and the face from the files she was given to read on the experiments that ultimately led to the creation of the Hulk. A quick glance around shows her that Bruce isn't in the room. She spares a moment to feel grateful for that. The last thing they need right now is a visit from The Other Guy if a man like Ross is making personal house calls.
She catches Steve's glance and takes the empty seat his eyes flick to next to him. Clearly it's been left open for her and the cue isn't difficult to interpret. It doesn't escape her notice that their very seating arrangements are playing at politics and presentation. She wonders if Reyna managed to maneuver things like this on purpose. If she did, then Cassie's impressed because the calls would have had to have been made in the five minute time window between Ross entering the apartment and arriving in the conference room.
Reyna herself is seated to Bucky's left. Bucky is to the left of Steve who is anchoring one end of the table. Cassie's allotted space is across from Bucky on Steve's other side. Tony is at the opposite end of the table from Steve between Vision and Rhodey. Thor is crammed in to the office chair next to Vision with hammer in hand and Sam is to Rhodeys other side. Pietro is beside his sister with Natasha close by. Clint is away with Bruce, and Meg and Jane are both carefully out of the room.
Once they're seated their little lecture begins.
"Five years ago I had a heart attack," Ross says, going for a soft open complete with mimed golf swing. "Right in the middle of my back swing. Turns out it was the best round of my life because after thirteen hours of surgery and a triple bypass, I found something that thirty years in the army never taught me..."
It takes everything Cassie has not to mutter something along the lines of 'human decency? Oh wait, you still don't have that do you?'
"Perspective. Te world owes the Avengers an un payable debt. You've fought for us, protected us, risked your lives. But while a great many people see you as heroes there are some who would prefer the word vigilantes."
"And what word would you use Mr. Secretary?" asks Natasha with the polite innocence of inquiry reserved for those she trusts less than she could throw a mid-sized SUV.
Ross apparently doesn't pick up on the tone because he answers the question seriously. "How about dangerous? What would you call a group of U.S based enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders, who inflict their will wherever they choose, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind, and who," he levels a sidelong look at Cassie. "Conceal the full scope of their abilities." He proceeds to pull up video footage of wreckage from each of their major battle sights including Lagos.
"That's enough," Steve says coldly.
Ross stops the video. "For the last few years you've operated with almost no supervision, and that's something that the governments of the world can no longer tolerate." This is clearly the critical point of his presentation and he backs it up by announcing the 'solution', a document the size of a small dictionary cheaply and unfairly entitled the Sokovia Accords.
"Aproved by one hundred and forty seven countries it states that the Avengers will no longer be a private organization. Instead they'll operate under the supervision of the United Nations panel only when and if that panel deems it necessary." He says all this while pacing around the room, circling them like a shark waiting for first blood to drip in to the water. A classic intimidation tactic. The man is trying to own the room and by extension everyone in it.
"The Avengers were created to make the world a safer place," Steve points out. "I feel we've done that."
"Tell me Captain," Ross replies. "Did you know what abilities your fiance had at her fingertips before yesterday? I've seen the footage from Sokovia. Where are the individuals who helped then. The one resurrecting skeletons and the two who caused a localized hurricane are of particular interest. The girl with the mass verbal hypnosis can't be found or identified either. Where is Dr. Banner right now? If I'd misplaced a few megaton nukes, you can bet there'd be consequences. Compromise and reassurance are how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground."
Rhodes leans forwards, tapping his fingers against the accords. "So there are contingencies?"
"Three days from now the UN mets in Vienna to ratify the Accords," Ross replies. "I'll leave you to talk it over."
Steve seems to have already started a private conversation with Tony as Ross makes his way to the door.
"And if we come to a decision you don't like?" Nat asks.
Ross stops and circles back to the table. "Then you'll retire."
It's flat and cold and not a little bit threatening in terms of exit lines.
They all sit in silence until FRIDAY assures them that the man has left the building. Then everyone gets up and shifts. Tony, Steve, and Vision as the fastest readers present poor over the document and being scanning through it at hyper speed. Wanda and Pietro begin a rapid dialogue in Sokovian that Cassie can't follow and Sam and Rhodes put their heads together, probably discussing the militant legality of such a document based on their combined knowledge.
Cassie turns to Reyna. "One hundred and forty seven countries," she says. "One hundred and forty seven countries can't agree to something like this in under twenty-four hours at all. Much less do it so quietly that we don't hear about it until now. Hades, one country at a time can't do that."
"Not unless the governments of the world are significantly more efficient than the senate of New Rome," Reyna confirms. "Which, having coordinated with the U.S government for press, is something I doubt very much."
Stark has backed away from the accords, instead shoving them in to Steve's hands. "FRIDAY, first call Pepper and get her over here with Katy. Tell her code Mauve. Then call every lawyer I have on retainer and get them out here. I've made it through exactly twelve pages of this and I already have a headache from trying to translate Legalese."
"Initially I don't have a problem with some government oversight," Rhodes offers. "I basically had that job looking after Tony for the military back when SE was still doing service contracts. Maybe we can negotiate some kind of lesser liaison position instead of whatever that dead tree over there signs us up for. Ross might be more open to it then we think. He's got a Congressional Medal of Honor. If one hundred and forty seven countries want to sign this thing I don't think we can just brush it off."
Steve is frowning at the papers. "Bucky and I both got those posthumously," he points out. "Plus silver and bronze stars, and the Distinguished Service Cross. I don't think the medals are what they're looking for in an overseer."
"Plus we don't have long enough to negotiate," Reyna points out. "Three days is not enough time to go thirty rounds on something like this, and that's about how much it would take. My view of this is that they pitched it this way on purpose. They didn't want time to have our input or let us make changes. From a negotiating standpoint, they want us backed in to a corner with no way out except to do what they want."
"Which is what exactly?" Pietro asks, fingers drumming so quickly along his thigh that the digits are blurring together. "I understand the idea of the U.N deciding how we are involved. Saying that does not take two hundred pages of small print."
Vision is the one to answer. He's about halfway through the document already, kindly holding both his place and Steve's as he fans through the pages. "Monitoring for a start," he says. "Along with the registration of all enhanced individuals complete with an assessment of their abilities. They also discuss designations and measures that could be taken to ensure the safe containment of those individuals whom they designate as dangerous or unstable."
"So just about everyone in this room," Cassie summarizes. "Except for maybe Rhodey, Reyna, and Sam. And technically Reyna is still dangerous. She's just also stable."
"I wouldn't say that's how I'm feeling at the moment," Reyna says contemplatively. "In fact, at the moment I feel pretty excessively agitated."
Wanda spins a loop of energy between her fingers like she's doing Cats Cradle. "That is a remarkably good general assessment of the current mood within this room."
Sam leans forwards. "Speaking as one of the stable people, how long until they lojack us like common criminals?"
"About three days," Vision declares, still looking through the papers. "However, I agree with Colonel Rhodes that the general idea of oversight bears some merit. In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Ironman the number of enhanced individuals has increased exponentially. The number of world ending events has risen at a commensurate rate."
"It hasn't," Cassie disagrees. "The number that are announced and covered on TV, yeah that's gone up. The number that take place is the same as it has been since I was thirteen. Between two and six events a year, and between three and five hundred enhanced individuals if you count children with Greco-Roman, Norse, or Egyptian godly heritage. Add a dozen Avengers and attacks like Loki and Ultron and the numbers don't change that much."
Vision tips his head like he's running the numbers before giving a small nod. "I concede the mathematical point," he decides. "I was not working with full data. Do forgive me Doctor. Still, strength invites challenge, challenge incites conflict, and conflict breads catastrophe. As a united force, we are very strong indeed."
"He is afraid," Wanda says quietly. "Secretary Ross. He is afraid of us. Of what our freedom may mean. He sees us as weapons not people. And he does not like weapons that he cannot control."
Shockingly, Nat manages a small smile. "'Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering'," she quotes, doing a remarkable impression of Yoda.
"Every war since the dawn of time has had collateral damage," Thor says, weighing in for the first time. "You all may do as they like. Each warrior has command over their own soul. I myself am pledged to uphold the laws of Asgard and my responsibilities as Prince of the realm. I will go where my presence is called for. I am a god. A piece of paper gives no mortal body power over me." He stands from his chair. "I have contemplated taking Jane and the unborn child to Asgard but waited because this is Jane's home and we believed this realm safe. Should that prove not to be true, I will not hesitate to remove them to a place of greater security."
A beat of silence follows this pronouncement before Stark speaks. "Congratulations on that I guess."
A smile splits Thor's face. "Thank you. It has been quite a long time since I had the idea of fatherhood to look forward to."
What follows that is a short but heartfelt round of congratulatory hugs and back slapping. It causes a little bit of cognitive dissonance, but it also feels healthier than any other part of their afternoon. It's a normalized group social interaction, and that's something they need.
"I will pass your well wishes along to Jane," Thor promises. "We thought it better she not attend this meeting when we did not know what it concerned. Now it seems that choice was a good one."
"I agree," Cassie says fervently. "Did you guys see the way Ross looked at me? The guy doesn't even know what half-bloods are yet and he already wants to put us on a list just for existing. I doubt he'd behave all that rationally if he knew the Norse god of thunder and his Extremis altered girlfriend were expecting."
Bucky shifts and then speaks for the first time since Ross walked in to the conference room. "Registering people for how they're born," he looks at Steve. "Seems to me that last time we noticed that happening we put together a team and airdropped in to Germany."
Steve doesn't respond immediately, and that pause as well as the fact that his left hand is suddenly gripping hers under the table is enough to make Cassie turn her head to look at him. He's looking at the screen of his phone not the text of the accords and he looks- gods he looks so, so, so unbelievably tired. He lifts his head at the descending silence and sighs heavily at seeing everyone's eyes on him. Then he sits back, straightens his shoulders, takes on one more weight from the universe.
"Peggy Carter died last night."
Cassie presses her free palm over her mouth for a moment and then tightens her grip on his hand, leaning her head against his shoulder. Maybe it doesn't help him, but the contact helps her. Bucky stands and comes around behind Steve to grip his shoulder. More than a few people are covertly wiping their eyes and are displaying the pallor of the shock that comes with loss.
Tony has his shoulders hunched over and his face is buried in his hands. He doesn't lift it to speak so his voice comes out muffled. "Her funeral, it'll be in London?"
Steve opens his mouth to speak but has to stop and swallow before he can try to speak. He tries again before giving up and the lost expression on his face is almost worse than an overt display of grief. Bucky's hand tightens on his shoulder and then James Barnes plays the part he always has, protecting Steve Rogers from everything he can.
"Yeah," he answers. "Her grandniece Sharon sent the details. Two days from now."
"Right before theses things are supposed to be signed," Pietro says, eyeing the stack of papers with marked distaste.
Tony's head shoots up and Cassie doesn't think she's imagining the glassiness of his eyes or the reddened tissue around them. "Screw the damn signing," he spits out. "Peggy Carter was at my mom and dads funeral and she took care of me for three months afterwards. Tomorrow morning anyone who wants to go to London is getting on a jet with me and we're paying our respects."
Steve stares at him and then nods like something in the other man's face means he's passed some sort of test. "We'll do it quietly," he decides. "It's about her not us. No speaking from any of us. We'll go, we'll listen, and we'll remember her."
One by one the entire roster of the Avengers nods. The anxiety of the room has been displaced. Instead, grief fills the air like an ever expanding balloon, filling the empt spaces like winter wind that gets to your skin no matter how many layers of clothes you wear.
Reyna is the one to move. She crosses to a sideboard and pours a single finger of whiskey in to each glass and passes them around. "The Romans invented the idea of making toasts," she says. "They used to believe that putting a piece of charred bread in to the wine improved the flavor. That's where the word comes from. It became a suspicion that drinking a blessing without putting the bread in would bring bad luck."
Cassie gives her friend a small smile and takes her own glass in hand.
She raises it before her. Light from the window catches the amber liquid in the glass and makes it sparkle with golden tones. Sunshine in liquid contained in crystal.
"To a defender of those who deserved it, a protector of all, a kind woman, and a human who truly lived up to her legend."
Natasha lifts her glass. "To the first Director."
They all sip once and then Steve lifts his glass again. His voice is soft and raw, emptied out and filled back up again with pain and grief.
"To Peggy."
A/N: So what did you think? I know it's been a while and I'm SO SORRY. My only excuse is that my job ended up taking more time out of my summer than I thought it would. I also had to be really careful in this chapter to set up my changes for CACW. More to come so buckle in and prepare to leave cannon far behind us. Any thoughts you guys have are ones I'd love to hear. Reviews and suggestions make it fun! Review for me! xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox