Hello, one and all! I have returned...and we're in the home stretch! Yes, just three chapters away till we're done with this story! Not that I hate this story (far from it) but I will be happy that I won't have to do anymore work on it...aside from fixing up spelling mistakes and a few bits here and there. Then onto second season...which is gonna be a whole 'nother bag of suck. Ah well, I live for my work...and the kudos. Very big on the kudos.

Anyhoo, let's kick into it, shall we?

This Hostage Earth

"What are you thinking about?" I softly whispered. There wasn't an immediate answer, though the arms around my stomach tightened briefly as a pair of velvet-soft lips pressed in a tender kiss to the spot just behind my ear.

"Hmmm…how fortunate I am to have you as my girlfriend." The owner of said lips gave a deceptively sleepy sounding reply, before a chin rested on my shoulder and sighed in happy contentment. I smiled, feeling the same way, as my eyes drifted to the new black gloves on my hands.

The day following our–ahem—moment of elevator madness, T'Challa and I sat down with his team of scientists and engineers (via video-link) and explained what had happened to my magi-staff. At that point T'Challa took over and began to outline a design that would best suit my tastes. Originally, I thought I would just be getting a very basic model. What I didn't bank on—but really should have—was Chantè and my boyfriend putting in their personal two-cents.

Chantè, once she was over her bout of enthusiasm, listed some of the features that were available to me such as detachable claw-tips that contained tracking chips; or even a highly potent sedative. She also offered up a few other options which I found to be completely over-the-top-crazy—the look on my face told her as much.

In the end, I settled for the option that T'Challa gave: claw-tips with tracking chips that could connect with JARVIS, and a bit of extra padding around the knuckles. Privately, I wouldn't be all that surprised if he had another tracking node hidden in the glove, if only to keep an eye on me. After we all agreed with the final design, the next lot of fun was the calibration and movement testing that strangely resembled motion capture, though it did make sense in a way: my arms have been rebuilt from scratch (just about), so they may move in a different way from before.

Also, vibranium packs one hell of a punch on its own, so finding out how hand I can punch is a biggie, lest I accidentally hurt somebody very badly, or even kill them.

Looking back, I'm really glad they asked to do those tests.

Once my arms—from the tips of my fingers to my shoulders—were dotted and a punching bag fitted with all the gadgets needed to read and measure my hits was produced, I started bouncing on the balls of my feet as I waited for the scientists to get ready on their end. T'Challa gave me an amused—and slightly bemused—smile as he watched me bounce, but I pointedly ignored him…after I poked my tongue out at him. Finally the scientists were ready, and I was given the starting signal and began punching. A few light jabs to get me going, then I let loose a killer left.

That 'killer' left registered at a staggering 2, 900 psi—nearly doubled that of a professional heavy-weight boxer. I could hardly believe my own eyes, even though I could see the results for myself.

T'Challa stood nearby with his jaw near to the ground, staring at me in stunned silence. In fact, everyone was staring at me silently…till Chantè broke it with a low, impressed whistle. "Day-um, girl," She spoke, "Girly-girl got power," That was enough to make me laugh, even as the others gave her flat looks, to which she ignored. "That is a powerful left you have." She commented to me, "Do you want to try your right?"

"Hell, yeah," I breathed out and got ready to go again.

After nearly half an hour of repeating the same actions over and over, someone finally called it: I really was punching with more strength than I ever had before, enough for it to be called super-strength. I had to say I was impressed—true, I wasn't hitting (yes, I know, very punny ha-ha) with the same power like T'Challa or Captain America, or Thor in a very rare chance, but at least I had something to work with.

Once we all came to grips that my strength had increased a fair bit, the scientists had decided that they had enough data to work off, and set to work on making my new gloves. Chantè also had to leave—she had more lessons as part of her Dora Milaje training, today's lesson being world politics.

After everyone else had disappeared, T'Challa decided that he wanted to test out my new power for himself. Since we were already in his private lab/gym, and I was dressed in sportswear, I saw no reason why we shouldn't. It wasn't until we were a few minutes in, just feeling each other out (minds OUT of the gutters, thank you very much) that I realized two things. Once: I could now keep up with my boyfriend, and that he wouldn't be able to hold back like he did before. Two: in part of what happened in the elevator, a whole new world was opened for me. True, we both agreed that we wouldn't move that fast again until we were both ready (and married), but there wasn't anything wrong with teasing him just a little, right?

My first opportunity came when T'Challa managed to lock one of my arms behind my back and pin me to his form. He was probably about to chastise me for being distracted, but he never got the chance; letting my inner vixen out to play, I pressed into his body, pushing my tush against his hips and wiggling a bit as my free hand reached behind him and grabbed his backside with a squeeze. Instead of a reprimand, all that T'Challa could say was a squeak (yes, he squeaked!), allowing me to take advantage and free my pinned arm, hip-throw him jujitsu style to the mat. I stood a little ways away, my arms raised in a guarded stance, even as T'Challa was slowly getting himself together.

He was able to roll himself onto his front and get to his elbows and knees, his breathing labored as he turned his head to look up at me. "You cheated." He tried to accuse me, tried being the key word.

"No, I just used my natural talents." I responded with a sassy smirk. T'Challa tried to scowl, but soon he was smirking—his eyes taking on a challenging gleam.

"I will make you regret that, Rose." He promised as he rose to his full height. Not all that scared of his words (or right in my mind), I sashayed over to stand in front of him, reached up to tangle my fingers in the front of his shirt and yanked him down closer to my face. His breathing became more erratic as I slowly drifted my mouth closer to his ear, and he let loose an aroused gasp as I swiped my tongue along the shell of his ear, and then I whispered four words that spelled out a whole lot of trouble and fun.

"Bring it, big boy."

######

'Bring it' he did, quite a few times at least. My little challenge—though it might as well have been classified as a declaration of war—brought out the devious panther he kept back, so it was only natural that I let my inner vixen out to have some fun. Though we never got close to what happened in the elevator, there were a few close calls.

For the next few days we fought/teased the other, sometimes employing dirty tactics in our efforts to out-do the other. It started with T'Challa woke up one morning and spotted me doing some yoga stretches…in tight shorts and a very loose fitting t-shirt...without anything underneath. Let's just say that some poses shouldn't be done in front of your boyfriend, especially when he's as easy to…uh, excite as I am.

To be fair, I wasn't trying to tease him with that happened (seriously, next time I am wearing a damn bra!), but at least now I know what gets his 'coffee perked' in the morning. It bit me in the butt later on; in retaliation, T'Challa showed up for our boxing session in nothing but shorts. It really didn't help when he started working up a sweat either, or when he had me pinned to the ground with his whole sweaty and heaving body. I won't give details, but let's just say that we found a line that we shouldn't cross…unless we really wanted a repeat of the 'elevator incident'.

Having said all of that—not all of our time was trying to tease the hell out of each other: a few times we'd come across an unguarded moment and gently kiss the other. The gesture was returned and followed by a playful little scoff of mock annoyance. We'd laugh about it, and then get back to what we were doing. Other times, I'd get a bit playful and then completely blindside T'Challa by tenderly kissing him and cuddling up to him, and sometimes it would be T'Challa who'd be playful then cuddly.

Once or twice, we'd forgo training and just end up cuddling on the mat: although those moments didn't last long…neither would the training before we went back to cuddling all over again.

This particular day was interesting, mostly because my gloves were finished and had been shipped over. I was surprised at how quickly they were made, but that disappeared when I put the new gloves on and nearly scratched myself with the claws. It took a few minutes of practice before I got a handle on how to flex my hands a certain was, thereby releasing and sheathing the claw-tips. T'Challa watched as I made my claws pop in and out for a while before announcing that I would start using them in our sparring sessions, beginning with this one this morning. The sudden flare of panic must have shown on my face, and T'Challa promised that we'd take it easy till I became more comfortable the more I used them.

And got comfortable I did…to the point of becoming 'frisky playful'.

I'm not quite sure how the opportunity came about, but it started when T'Challa reached to arm-lock me, when I grabbed his arm in both hands and used the inertia to help toss him over my shoulder. He landed on his back with a solid 'oomph!' when I vaulted over his head and landed straddling his hips.

He barely caught his second wind before I popped out my claws, catching his attention in a flash. I flashed him a teasing, wicked smile before sliding my hands—the back of my hands grazing his body—under his grey singlet till I reached a point in the middle of his chest and gripped the fabric between my fingers, turned my hands slightly and, with a sharp tug, ripped his singlet open.

T'Challa had just propped himself onto his elbows when I turned the garment into rags, the sudden action causing his breathing to become ragged and heated. Pulling my hands free of the material, I let my inner vixen out as I slowly slid my (retracted-claw) fingertips against his body.

"Mmrowr," I purred approvingly as my hands moved along his navel, passed his chest, to curl around his shoulders. Anything T'Challa had to say was lost when I playfully nipped at his bottom lip before slanting my mouth against his with an exaggerated moan, my tongue sliding against his in a rather provocative manner.

Trapped between very turned on and laughing at my craziness, T'Challa quickly settled for staying as he was while kissing me back, though he was smiling as he did. We made out for a little while longer before I pulled away enough to breathe again. Through the soft hazy cloud, our eyes found each other's and just watched each other.

Once I could see properly again, I brushed my lips against his cheek as I lent forward to his ear, my breasts pressed snugly against his chest. If T'Challa was expecting me to say something serious, he was surprised by what I did do. When it was close enough, I nuzzled his earlobe with my nose before gently kissing the area.

"Mrow-row," I huskily whispered into his ear; his entire body tensing for a moment in confusion before he slumped back to the ground with a helpless laugh.

"You are impossible sometimes." He declared with a wide grin threatening to split his face. Internally happy to high heavens, I merely responded with a confused 'mrow' and head-tilt. Finally catching onto my mood, T'Challa shook his head slightly, chuckled as he meowed back in his deep baritone voice. Pleased that he was playing along, I buried my face into the crook of his neck, purring and meowing in delight, especially when he began to muzzle me in reply, purring as well.

After playing for a few more minutes, T'Challa rolled onto his side, and turned me so that my back was pressed against his chest. Giving one last contented 'meow', I snuggled into my boyfriend as he spooned me, all playful thoughts gone as we savored the closeness of the moment, our breathing and bodies calming down…which brings us to the now current events.

Laying in his arms, and listening to his evened breathing, I felt myself relaxing into a not-quite-sleepy state, thinking that this was just the perfect way to spend the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, the rest of the world decided to disagree.

I could feel T'Challa shift just before sighing heavily, pressing a kiss to my shoulder as he reluctantly pulled his arms from around me, in spite of my protesting mewl.

"As much as it pains me to leave this moment, I unfortunately must." He groaned as he raised himself to his knees. I sat up as well, pouting dejectedly even though I knew and understood why he had to go.

Before everything went to Hell in an Ultron-shaped basket, Thor had asked Tony for his help in getting back to Asgard. Now that everything was more or less calmed down, Tony was making good on his word, and had spent every available chance trying to figure out how to achieve the impossible. At some point a few days ago, Tony had hit a roadblock and—swallowing his considerable pride and ego—asked T'Challa for his help, since T'Challa had studied Asgardian magic before and therefore knew what to look for.

Before he disappeared for the first pow-wow, I warned T'Challa that my brother was likely to become science-crazy and go on a bender; if a current project is challenging enough, Tony tends to get rather nutty about it—and getting Thor back to his home was definitely a challenge that Tony couldn't ever resist.

"How about I tag along this time, just in case you need another set of brains…or restraints?" I offered.

"I believe I can manage your brother, though maybe you could stay nearby just in case?" He answered. Seeing the sense in his words, I simply nodded in agreement and accepted his helping hand in getting to my feet. Once I was up straight, it was my boyfriend's turn to surprise me by pulling my body flush against his, his hands sliding down my back to cup underneath my backside and pulled me up higher against his body.

Squealing in slight shock, I looped my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me out of his labs. Laughing at my pout, T'Challa began pressing butterfly-soft kisses to my lips, cheeks and neck. Around my face was fine enough, but my neck was really sensitive—something T'Challa took shameless advantage of, delighting in my squeals of protest with pleased (and all too smug) mewls.

Halfway during the elevator ride up, I finally managed to pry T'Challa from his playful attacks on my neck and press my mouth against his with a chastising mewl, hoping either would be enough to stop him. Taking the hint and pity on me, T'Challa warmly laughed into our kiss as he gently responded to my ministrations. Leaning my head back a little to catch my second wind, I rested my forehead against his, my nose to his, and just held him. T'Challa sighed happily, his warm breath ghosting over my face as he closed his eyes and held me in his arms. He then buried his face into the crook of my neck and inhaled deeply.

"I love you, Rose." He murmured. Keeping a lid on my squeals of delight, I moved my arm so that I could curl my fingers through his short, dark hair and lightly scratched at his scalp, hearing and feeling his rumbling purr resonate around his chest.

"I love you too, T'Challa." I whispered back.

######

Once the elevator reached the King's Suite, T'Challa carried me through the doors and into his bedroom and gently deposited me onto the giant bed. He graciously offered me the first shower but I declined and just about pushed him into the bathroom. As much as I love him, he absolutely reeks of sweat after a training session. Taking the hint, T'Challa pressed a swift kiss to my mouth before shutting the door between us.

Exhaling, I turned away from the door—and the sound of rushing water—as I ran my hands through my hair before letting them rest behind my neck. Now that my mind was temporarily free of the distracting force that is my boyfriend, I let my mind and eyes wonder a little, absent-minded as I began noticing the changes in here. Now in a near mirror image to the walk-in wardrobe on the left-side of the massive bed, I now had my own wardrobe on the right-hand side of the room; the desk alongside the bedroom door had been elongated into a right-angled shape, effectively giving both T'Challa and I our own desk-space.

A part of me wondered if all of these changes were because Diego was predicting a future event in regards to my relationship with T'Challa, whilst another part of me thought that this might have been the result of my boyfriend's input.

Either one, it was somewhat a weird tingly feeling when I took in that the extra-king-sized bed now had a semi-sheer curtains around the entire frame, providing a whole new level of privacy and intimacy. Not quite ready for that much of a step in our relationship, I was super glad and relieved when T'Challa agreed to leave the curtains open while we slept. Mind you, as impressive as all the changes were: what really made me happy (weirdly enough) was that the annoying step was finally gone. Yes! I pretty much squealed in joy and delight and then promptly threw myself into my boyfriend's arms.

Chuckling at my own silliness, I strode over to my wardrobe with the thought to try and find something to wear. A while ago, Hawkeye made the comment that I was the only person on the team that didn't have a uniform—the Hulk excluded because…well, it's the Hulk: he doesn't do uniforms.

Getting back to the point, ever since Hawkeye put the fact into my head, I decided to see what I had that might suit my needs. Of course, the first thing I had to include was the vibranium armor: either Tony or T'Challa (maybe even both) would tie me up in bubble-wrap and lock me up in a padded room if I left that out.

By the time that T'Challa finished his shower, dried and got dressed in his Black Panther uniform, I had only managed to settle on the armor, my gloves, a pair of denim jeans ad my hiking boots—the shirt was giving me a lot of trouble, for some reason.

"You know, you could always just wear your armor as it is." T'Challa offered helpfully, "There is no real need for any additional clothing."

"Maybe," I shrugged, putting down another rejected shirt in favor for my towel. "But wearing the armor just as it is feels like I'm running around absolutely butt-naked."…there wasn't an adverb in any language of the world to truly describe how much I regretted saying those words, and in such a manner, plus the effort T'Challa was making to conceal his smirk was not making the matter any better.

My cheeks felt like they were burning with embarrassment as I ducked my head and fled into the bathroom, though I really doubt a shower would be enough to help me now. After I was scrubbed nearly red (and smelling strongly of vanilla as a result), I dried myself off and wrapped the towel around my body. T'Challa graciously had his back to me when I came out, having laid out my uniform, which now included a shirt that I know I didn't have before.

"All teasing aside, I know how bothered you feel about the lightness of your armor, so I had one of my aides get you something." He explained over his shoulder, "It is a combat shirt, similar to what military personnel wear." Grateful for his forethought, I thanked him kindly. He merely nodded in response and, keeping his back to me, left the room so that I could get dressed in peace.

"Now, why is it that you won't let me buy something nice for you, or your staff?" I inquired as I walked out of the bedroom, pulling the shirt down into place. Chuckling, T'Challa rose from his chair at the dining table and approached me with a hairbrush in his hand.

"Because I like buying nice things for you," He answered, gesturing that I turn around. "And you couldn't afford to give my staff what they need." Seeing his teasing smirk, I smiled and complied with his wish, and did all I could to not melt as he began to firstly comb his fingers through my hair—in case of tangles—before gently pulling the brush through afterwards.

You would never think of it, especially when you look at the big, burly mountain of darkly exotic muscles, that T'Challa had recently developed a fascination for brushing his fingers through my ebony locks before bed, or in the morning, or really any chance that he could find.

His task complete, T'Challa gently pulled my hair back and slipped a tie into place. Once my hair was fixed in the way he knew that I preferred, T'Challa wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against his chest, burying his nose into my neck and inhaling deeply before purring. Unable to help myself, I gave a soft coo in adoration and tilted my head up and towards him so that he could see my happy pout. "You're just a big softy sometimes." I lightly teased him.

"Sometimes," He shrugged nonchalantly, and then his expression turned into a blood-racing, heart-stopping predatory grin. "Other times, I can be quite hard." The fiend even grounded his hips into my backside, making me yelp loudly. Why, that!

"OH-kay: way too much information, right there!" The pair of us turned our heads to the door to see Chantè standing there, both of her hands covering her eyes. Despite feeling a tad embarrassed, I couldn't stop myself from giggling at her reaction, T'Challa chuckling his deep tone.

"Yes, ha, ha, the both of you can laugh." She groused, "Now, hurry your butts over the Avengers Mansion already—Iron Man has been calling us for the past ten minutes, asking to know what is taking so long."

######

A short car ride later, and a brief greeting and chat to Mr. Foxworthy, T'Challa and I parted ways: him to find my brother (and pull him back to reality if need be), and me to find whoever else may be around. It took a while but eventually I found the Hulk and Hawkeye in the backyard, tossing a ball between them as Voltaire bonded to and from each of them in an effort to get the toy.

"Having fun, you three?" I asked. Hawkeye turned, and raised his hand in greeting, but his brief lapse in concentration resulted in the Hulk getting him in the side of his head with the ball, and then promptly bowled over by Voltaire. Those of us left standing erupted into raucous laughter as Voltaire sat on the back of the purple archer, proudly holding the ball in his mouth, much to the protest of the poor human pinned beneath him.

Once I was over my giggle fit (Hulk not so much), I managed to beckon my dog off of Hawkeye, to said archer's relief. "Nice of you to finally show up, Starky," Clint remarked as he staggered to his feet, "We were starting to think T'Challa was never going to let you out again."

"He could've tried, but we have an understanding." I shrugged in response, "So far it's working well." I wasn't going to tell Hawkeye—of all people—the exact details of our understanding, brother-figure or not, since he'd mostly likely get all squeamish. Clearly, cutesy and all things romance aren't—or ever will be—things that Clint associates himself with.

Instead, I asked what's been going on around here since I was last about. If I listened to only the Hulk, nothing even remotely interesting has happened. Clint at least informed me that Hank had been clearing his stuff out of the Mansion, and that Janet wasn't taking it too well.

"You know what her problem is, right?" He asked rhetorically as we began to move inside.

"She's trying to turn him into somebody he can't be?" I guessed, though it was pretty much a sure thing. Even the Hulk was nodding in agreement, for heaven's sake, and he doesn't do gossip!

"Exactly," Clint grunted in affirmation, "It's like she can't accept the fact that Hank wants out. Can't say I blame him for wanting to leave, but Wasp isn't doing herself any favors by clinging onto him."

"No, she isn't." I shrugged, "I guess all we can ask is that she'll eventually come to terms and let Hank go." Having said that: Janet can be really stubborn about certain things, especially if it's something—or someone—she wants badly enough. She sort of reminds me of a little kid that won't let go of a toy, even when they toy is beyond repair.

: At least a kid will eventually let go. : I dryly told myself. Pushing all thoughts of Wasp and her possessiveness to a side, I asked if Clint and Hulk wanted to run through a training room sessions with me. Hulk was game (as always), but Hawkeye looked a tad unsure.

"No offense, Starky, but isn't it a bit too soon for you to come back?" He inquired in a genuine voice, "I mean you were pretty much…well."

"Blown to itty-bitty bits, or close to it?" I helpfully supplied. Though he wasn't at all happy with my choice of words, Clint nodded in agreement, even as he looked a bit apologetic in bringing the subject up to begin with. I couldn't really blame him for being so concerned about me—though there have been some moments when it got on my nerves. Besides, Tony was the same way whenever I was hurt, so it's pretty much a 'brother' sort of thing that I'm used to.

"T'Challa has been setting me up with a psychiatrist in the embassy." I shrugged, "Despite everything that's happened to me these past months, I'm dealing with it fairly well."

"What do you mean by 'fairly well'?"

"Well…there was a bit of concern when I started clucking at T'Challa, and when I tried to sit on him." I answered in my most straight face. Hawkeye just looked at me oddly, but when the Hulk burst out laughing he caught onto the joke and lightly punched me I the shoulder, the pair of us grinning as well.

"Seriously though, the psychiatrist says I'm doing okay." I told Clint as we got into the elevator and headed into the sub-levels, "They just want to have a session with me after every Avenger mission that I go on, just to make sure that I'm dealing with everything in a way that I can handle." At this point, the Hulk gave a loud snort.

"Bet Panther helps." He grunted smugly. Hawkeye looked at the green giant before turning to me and simply raised an eyebrow.

"No, you really don't want to know." I informed him honestly. As Hawkeye once said, he can take only so much 'cutesy-ness' before he throws up. That and I really don't feel like having to deal with all of his innuendos for all the more—ahem—mature shenanigans that have occurred thus far.

The elevator came to a stop, and let us out—Hawkeye and I were nearly thrown to the ground when Voltaire barged between us and made a beeline for the Meeting Hall, having caught Panther's scent. Hulk, as always, found some humor in the event, even as he helped us to our feet (a bit more roughly in Clint's case) before we headed to the training room.

Of course, the universe decided to say otherwise.

We barely made it to the door before my I.D card beeped into life and my boyfriend's voice came out. "Rose, I think you need to help your brother." Exchanging a look with the other two, I turned from the large door and quickly walked to the Meeting Hall, conscious that Hawkeye and Hulk were following not too far behind. When I got there, I made a beeline for Tony, briefly nodding to Thor and Cap before coming to a stop in front of my brother and studied him. He looked completely frozen: his face molded into an uncomprehending, slack-jawed, utter disbelieving stare…ooh-kay then.

"Tony? Hello, Earth to Tony!" I called loudly, waving my hand in front of his face. Not even that seemed to snap him out of his numbness. Wow, whatever he just witnessed must've been big.

"Uh, T'Challa, what happened to my brother?" I carefully questioned, though if someone were to listen closely enough, they could hear my silent question of 'did you say something you shouldn't have?' to him. Not that T'Challa ever would, but I still had to check…if only for my sanity's sake.

"Yeah: Tony looks like you've just asked Starky to move in with you, or something." Clint put in jokingly. My eyebrows nearly shot into my hairline as I looked at my boyfriend, but T'Challa merely shook his head in reply.

"Despite your occasionally hilarious joviality, Clint," He remarked dryly, "I have not even considered the question as of lately." I don't think the others noticed it, but I could see the minuscule look of longing and hope in his eyes.

"Actually, it's sort of my fault, Briar." Cap admitted, pulling my attention away from T'Challa. "Tony and T'Challa were presenting a machine to get Thor back home, and I told him that I saw something like that back in my day, and it worked then, too."…okay, now I understand Tony being frozen. The sheer weight of what Steve just said left me speechless, till I began gibbering slightly.

"Arf!" Voltaire's sudden (and very loud) bark snapped me back into reality with a jump and a startled squeal, much to the amusement of the others. The bonus was that Tony was broken out of his numbed state as well.

"Hang on—wait, what, where?!" Tony demanded as he shook the cobwebs from his brain. It was taking me a bit longer to get a grip, even as T'Challa sidled up behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs rubbing circles into my skin in a comforting way.

Even with the kind gesture, something tells me that today was going to be one of those days…fun.

######

After Tony and I got past our brain-freezes, and Wasp was called to join us, Steve launched into his tale. "Bucky and I had infiltrated a HYDRA base in Norway. Rumor was that the Red Skull had some sort of doomsday weapon there, but what we found was beyond anything we'd ever seen."

"The absolute worst of humanity's depravity?" I weakly offered.

"No; they were monsters not from Earth," He explained, and then described some of what he had seen in more detail. When he mentioned the monstrous-looking dog, I felt a cold chill go down my spine. T'Challa noticed my actions, and correctly assumed that it was caused by the memory of Maleketh and his beasts: those things gave me nightmare creeps, even after so long. Wordlessly, he moved his hands from my shoulders to around my stomach and pulled me into his chest, his chin resting comfortingly on top of my head. Now that I was effectively surrounded by his strength and warmth, the scary memories of mad dead dark elves and hell hounds didn't seem all that important now.

Mind you, the smug look Hawkeye was shooting me was not really aiding with anything. I was somewhat mollified when Voltaire pushed past Clint, with an almost deliberate shove of his shoulder, before my loyal canine sat at my feet and leaned his large head against me. Hawkeye's little glare clearly said that he knew my dog did that on purpose, but he wasn't going to make a big thing of it…yet.

"The Skull had a machine—similar to yours, Tony—and he was pulling those creatures through it into our world." Steve continued, not noticing the actions of my dog. "He was enslaving them, putting collars on the creatures—he was creating an army to take over our world." Despite one of the creatures sounding like a hell-hound, my heart tore a bit at the cruelty that had been inflicted on them. The comforting squeeze around my waist, and the soft whine, let on that I wasn't the only one to feel so.

"And if Bucky and I hadn't stopped him…" Steve wound up his tale, and no one really wanted to think about the 'what if' scenario.

"But you did, Captain," Thor assured our friend, "And from your tale, it would seem that this 'Red Skull' did indeed open a portal to the Asgardian realms. The creatures you described—they are familiar to me." Oh, joy and fantastic.

A sinking feeling began to make itself known in the pit of my stomach, probably because the likelihood of somehow running into the creatures when we got Thor home may be starting to rise. While everyone had been rapt with Cap's tale of adventure, Tony had been busy typing away at the console before him. I feel like I should be worried; should I be worried?

"Hang on I've got satellite images coming in on the HYDRA base." He announced to the rest of the team as an image flickered onto the holo-screen. I'm not sure about everyone else, but to me it just looked like an empty building, though for some reason it was mostly red…what is that energy?

"JARVIS, scan the energy coming from that location." T'Challa ordered of the AI. Ah, so that's why—the following diagram showed the entire area was pretty much brimming with some sort of energy.

"This spot! This is what I was talking about!" Tony declared, "This is a point where two planes are overlapping, like a…dimensional fault line."

"Fancy." Wasp commented.

"So what are we looking at?" Hawkeye inquired, the crease in the corner of his mouth all but declaring that he wasn't all that impressed.

"Ley lines: veins of magic that run through our world, connecting it to others." T'Challa explained.

I couldn't help the quirk in my smile. "Or in Tony's world, paths of other-dimensional energy the reveal weak points between the dimensions." I added playfully. Tony's rebuke was to stick his tongue out at me, and I returned the gesture. Our childish antics were stopped when T'Challa covered my mouth with his hand, to everyone else's amusement.

"In either case, there are eight of these portals, not counting Earth." T'Challa finished explaining. Something my boyfriend had said must have made sense to Thor, if his nodding in agreement was a major clue. He didn't notice (or pretended not to) when T'Challa quickly pulled his hand from my mouth after I started nibbling on the skin of his fingers. The innocent smile I sent my boyfriend meant diddly to him, as the heated glow in his eyes loudly proclaimed.

"One for each realm," He supplied when looked to and brought mine and Panther's attention to him, "It is said the nine realms are interconnected by Yggdrasil—the Tree of Life."

"Hmpf. Big tree," Hulk commented blandly, though Tony was looking more and more excited by the moment, so much so that the talk of magic didn't provoke his usual 'there's no such thing as magic' argument. Now he just looked like a little boy let loose in the world's biggest toy-and-candy-store.

"Call it whatever you want, this is how we're going to get you home." My brother declared—right before JARVIS interrupted to announce that there were dimensional energy flares in progress. Well, we almost had two weeks of no activity, so I guess it was about time the Earth needed saving...again.

"Something's affecting the energy at each of those locations," Tony informed the team before tilting his head in confusion, "Except one that's in an active volcano." Odd, I wonder why nothing was going on there. Thor, on the other hand, looked decidedly determined at the image before turning with a dramatic swish of his red cape. Oh, this could be interesting.

"Thor, wait." Steve called out, hopefully stopping the Asgardian before he flew off and got himself into big trouble.

"Nay; if the threat is Asgardian, I will not allow it to put Midgard in jeopardy again."

"Well, as kind and generous as the offer is, Thor." I calmly pointed out, "But Earth is our home too: we humans have the bigger need to deal with the problem, too."

"Besides that, you're on a team now." Tony tacked on, "Seven locations, seven Avengers."

"Eight!" "Aroo!"

"Okay, okay: eight and a giant dog." My brother grudgingly amended, "But you get the point, right? Whatever's going on, we deal with it together." Our Asgardian friend looked at each of us intently before allowing a proud and respectful smile to pass over his face.

######

Following Tony's statement about the number of locations and team members, the plan was to split the Avengers into individual teams and go to each location, mostly to recon the sites in question before doing anything.

It was then decided that Wasp would take the ley line in Siberia, and take Quinjet 1 to get there; Captain America would take Quinjet 2 to someplace in Germany; Hulk would leap his way to Canada; Thor would take the original site in Norway; Iron Man would fly to the ley line in some Australian cavern; Hawkeye would take his Sky-Cycle to Argentina; Black Panther would take the location of some gloomy gruesome graveyard.

When Tony mentioned that T'Challa was being sent to some giant graveyard, I felt myself blanch and gag slightly: I do NOT do graveyards of any sort. Chuckling a little, T'Challa suggested that I go with Hawkeye, if only to keep an eye on the hot-headed archer. Clint gave my boyfriend a dry look, but said nothing. When the question of who Voltaire would go with, my furry buddy sat beside T'Challa—his answer pretty clear, to everyone's amusement.

While everyone else was making their own preparations before leaving, T'Challa somehow got me alone and proceeded to hug me tight. Letting the warmth of his body comfort me, I threaded my arms around his neck and held him close.

"You will be careful, won't you?" He quietly asked me in the silence. Softly humming in affirmation, I turned slightly to press little kisses against the skin of his cheek. As my lips grazed against his own, T'Challa gave a soft groan and kissed me back with as much intensity as a gossamer-covered anvil. Taking full and shameless advantage of my little gasp, he began caressing my tongue with his own, even as he moved his hand from my waist to cup the back of my head.

Through my soft moans of pleasure, and a head full of cobwebs and haze, came a loud and intention cough.

"Uh, do you two want to, I dunno, breathe at some point?" Clint asked in a completely teasing tone. I couldn't help but smile, though it threatened to turn into a giggle when T'Challa pulled away a tiny bit to speak.

"Hawkeye, cool it." My boyfriend reprimanded in a husky, sing-song voice.

"Chilled," The archer answered easily—but by now I really was laughing.

"And you two said you didn't like Mel Brooks' Men in Tights?" I rhetorically asked them both. Neither of them dignified that with a response, all though I could tell that Clint at least wanted to, even if it was to poke fun at my choice in favorite movies. After one last tongue-free kiss, I pulled myself out of Panther's arms and turned to follow Hawkeye.

THWACK!

"T'Challa!" I squealed, turning to scold him—Hawkeye was too busy laughing to defend my honor—as my hand drifted to my now smarting backside. The offender in question just shrugged and gave an all-too-smug grin. Rather than indulging myself in calling him a few choice words, I simply sashayed over to him and—

"ROSE?!"

"Fair's fair, sweetie." I grinned naughtily as T'Challa looked rather shocked at my near M-rated move whilst Clint started howling with laughter into his knees. Still giggling like a loon, Hawkeye weakly grabbed me by my upper-arm and proceeded to drag me away from my shell-shocked (and probably very turned on) boyfriend, and past everyone else who looked at us in confusion. Once we go onto the Sky-Cycle and took to the air, Clint had more or less calmed down enough to concentrate on flying us to Argentina, though he did have a good chuckle every so often.

After an hour or so of flying—with a few breaks on land to stretch our legs—Clint had finally calmed down from his massive giggle fits, and started to ask questions to fill the silence—we still had nearly an hour and a half left till we reached our target, and we had just passed Panama. Mostly the questions were about random things, sometimes he'd ask about my relationship with T'Challa. One of those personal questions, however, had me well and truly stumped.

"Come again, Clint?" I asked in a near squeaky tone.

"Are you and T'Challa ever gonna move in together?" He repeated in an earnest tone, "Not the second this mission is over, mind you, but further down the track?" I don't know what stuns me the most: that Hawkeye even brought that up, or that he actually seems okay with the notion of me moving in with T'Challa (I shudder to think what my brother's reaction will be when this gets back to him!).

"Isn't that—wouldn't it be too soon?" I weakly asked him, "I mean T'Challa and I have only been together since June. Three months doesn't seem like a long enough time to get to know a guy, let alone more in with him."

"True, that is the case with most people." He nodded in agreement. I had just taken a breath of relief when I became suspicious of him. The way he just said that was a big clue that there was something else he wanted to add.

"But…" I slowly prodded. Clint didn't say anything for a few more minutes—either to think his next words over, or maybe he's doing this on purpose to raise my nervousness to an unbearable level.

"But," He speaks! "You and T'Challa pretty much know everything about each other, to the point that it's like you two have been dating for 3 years, not 3 months."

"Well…okay, you may have a point about that." I mumbled uncertainly.

"Plus there's the fact that you're over at his place five nights out of seven, and the nights you're home at the Mansion you two talk over webcam till late at night. If not that, then the first person you really ever talk to—or even see—if T'Challa when he comes over—for a private breakfast with just you, I might add. Sure, Voltaire is there too, but you get what I mean."

…I really, really hate to admit it, but Clint may be right about all of that. I could try and kid myself and say that the reason I spend the night at his place so often is because of late night training sessions, but I had to face it; I was over at the embassy so often that I may as well move in.

: Well, aren't you a gloomy little sod? : My inner voice suddenly observed in a near disgusted tone. : Anyone would think you're cutting off a limb, not deciding on moving in with your man or not! : Hey, I am not! I'm just trying to be practical here.

: Oh, really? Tell, how is that? : One word—propriety. T'Challa is a king after all: there may be something that says 'moving in is NOT advisable unless you're married' or something like that.

: ….Huh, good point actually. Mind you, they've been pretty relaxed about that sort of stuff. : The voice pointed out. Hmm, agreed. Of course, there's a niggling thought at the back of my mind which was unfortunately a negative one. What if I do move in with T'Challa, but we then get on each other's nerves? I mean I'm no slob, but I do tend to just dump the occasional bit of clothing on the floor and leave it there for a while. And I also tend to keep odd hours, since I'm an inventor of odd bits and ends. And of course, there's Voltaire to consider too—if it hasn't been obvious, we're a package deal…and I do tend to treat him more like a human than a dog and a few occasions.

"Starky? Starky, you still with me back there?" Clint's voice cut through my doubts and brought me back into the land of focused people.

"Sorry, I was just thinking." I apologized to him.

"If it's about you and T'Challa, save it for later." He advised, "We're 10 minutes out from the energy site; be a good time to come up with a plan or something." Ah, yes. That would definitely be a good idea, and now would really be a good time to focus as well.

"Might I make a suggestion? How about we stop around here and go in on foot?" I offered helpfully, "We don't know what's causing these energy surges, so it'd be safer to walk and spot any trouble before it sees us, than fly over and get shot down."

"Sounds good enough to me," Hawkeye concurred, his head turning as he looked for a large enough space for us to land. "One question though. What will happen if we get there and it's bad news? The others are pretty much scattered all over the world—they won't be able to help us, or the other way around."

"Then we adapt, as always." I responded, "Scout's creed, isn't it?"

"Not sure; I was never in the Scouts." He answered, landing the Sky-Cycle with ease, turning off the engine and helped me off the machine.

"Neither was I, but we can still appreciate their lessons." I spoke, my eyes roving the area in case the worst should happen right now. "Whelp, let's start walking." Since there wasn't much else to do, might as well get moving.

The next ten minutes were tense, silent. I took the lead, guiding the pair of us over fallen tree limbs, past giant trees and sometimes over mini ravines, and carefully skirted around the absolutely fracking massive snakes that were likely to give me nightmares for months now. Hawkeye followed, his bow and an arrow notched into place for the ready. Finally, after wandering around so many trees—enough to make me start going crazy—we came around to a clearing. While it was a nice change from all of these dang trees, what really caught my attention was the mossed-over tree stump, and the egg-shaped glowing rock perched on top.

"That's it?" Hawkeye complained, completely ignoring the fact that he scared the friggin' jeebies out of me. "We came all this way for a lousy rock?" Muttering under my breath of all the ways I was going to hurt him, I dropped down from our perch and started to cross the green grass, Hawkeye following me soon afterwards.

"I mean it couldn't have been a machine or a person even." He continued to complain, "Nope, all we get is a stinkin' rock!" Cue the random jet of bright yellow acid-like substance that has us diving for cover.

"I could kill you sometimes, Hawk." I called to him as I popped out my claws.

"Oh, come on! How's this 'my' fault?" I heard him complain—again with the complaining! Doesn't he do anything but complain?! If he complains one more time, I'm gonna give him something to really complain about!

"You jinxed us: you wanted something spectacular, and now we have somebody shooting acid at us." I dryly retorted, ducking out of the way when as another stream of acid hit the tree to my left. Anything Hawkeye had to say was lost when the thing shooting at us walked into the clearing: a person dressed in a red and silver outfit, a matching silver gun in their hand.

"I was hoping that it was you coming here." The being declared loudly, "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for the chance to get back at you, Hawkeye." Despite the fact that this crazy schmuck was trying to shoot us with hot burning acid, I couldn't help but wonder what it was that Hawkeye did to this guy…and just who the heck was the guy anyway?

Clint had the same questions I did, and began calling out random names—Paste pot Pete? What the hell kinda name is that for a bad guy?!—in the hopes of putting said name to this guy's face…mask, helmet thing. However, with each wrong answer, the nameless adversary just got more annoyed that neither of us (mostly Clint though) didn't seem to know his name.

"How could you not know who I am? You punched me in the face!" Our friend accused indignantly.

"Yeah, that's really not helping." Clint pointed out. It really didn't, what with the amount of bad guys we go up against on a near daily basis, so it's no wonder that we occasionally forget a few faces here and there. And so the fight continued, Hawkeye and I running about trying to get close enough to what's-his-name, but he was a damn good shot with that acid gun of his—we couldn't get close to him or the egg-rock thing he was protecting.

But before I could began to question the importance of said egg-rock thing, my I.D card beeped into life and Thor's voice reached out.

"Avengers, I believe I have found the source of the disturbances detected by Iron Man's computer." Five bucks says it's the rock after all. "It is a Norn Stone, an artifact of Asgardian magic created by Asgards most powerful sorceress." Suddenly there was a burst of static and the card went dead.

"My card's down." I shouted to Hawkeye as I ran to another safe spot, out-running the stream of acid nearly hitting my feet.

"Mine too." Hawkeye yelled back, "What the Hell's a Norn Stone?"

"This is just a guess, but I think it's that little glowing rock you said we had nothing to worry about." I sassed at him. I couldn't see or hear Hawkeye's reaction, but I knew that he was shooting me a dirty look—I was so very tempted to laugh, but the shooting acid thing kinda put a pretty big dampener on gloating at him for being wrong…again.

I lost track of how long we played the dangerous cat and mouse (or mice in our case) game when the stone started to glow brighter than before, and pulses of its energy radiated around us.

"What's going on?" The acid shooter questioned: clearly not certain of what was now happening around us.

"Isn't this your plan, genius?" Hawkeye retorted. The tree limb beneath our feet began to glow and right afterwards thousands of tiny golden lights hot out from the cracks within the limbs. Something moved in the corner of my eye—Holy Hell, is that an elf?!

And if that wasn't enough, a little golden pixie/fairy thing flitted about my head before shooting off.

"Okay, it's official—we have entered a Disney-themed Twilight Zone." I announced to my friend. Hawkeye made to reply, but instead tackled me out of the path of an acid-stream.

"How about we put an end to this?" He offered. Seeing as I was spluttering on a mouthful of grass, Hawkeye took a 'patooie!' as a 'yes, please' and proceeded to drag me to a new cover of a curtain of draping leaves. How the acid guy didn't see us moving, I don't know—then again, the elves and fairy things…

While I pulled out a blade of grass from between my teeth, Hawkeye raised his bow, the head of his chosen arrow only just poking out from the curtain and he waited patiently as he waited for his target. By the time I brushed the last bit of dirt from my face, Hawkeye had out bad guy pinned by his own hand to the tree he stood on, and his body from the neck down covered in a high-density polyurethane foaming agent.

"Well, that worked out rather well." I commented in a bright tone.

"Uh-huh, right." Clint replied in a bland tone. Our I.D cards began beeping—I guess whoever was blocking our comm-links has been dealt with, to my relief. Hawkeye dug into his pocket and pulled out his card.

"Hey, does anyone know how to stop whatever this is?" He immediately asked anyone, "There's an elf here giving me a dirty look."…Say what now? Leaning to my right, I did indeed see an elf kneeling on the branch beside my friend, with said dirty look aimed right at him. Though it became a confused look with the elf saw me, and I shyly waved at him. Well, what else was I supposed to do?! Dress in a grass skirt and do the hula?

My vision suddenly filled with a golden light, which actually turned out to be a little fairy that seemed oddly fascinated with me...said fairy is now hugging my nose.

Before we descended into a whole new level of our Disney-themed Hell, our cards beeped into life and Thor's urgent voice rang out loudly. "Avengers, no matter the cost, you must destroy the stone! The fate of the world depends on it!"

It seemed like the next second stretched into an eternity as what was just said fixed itself in my mind. Destroying the stone may save Earth, but what about us? The amount of power emitting from that stone was quite possibly pulling another realm towards us—if we severed the connection, what of the back-lash from doing so? It might just be enough to kill us at worse.

The sudden lump in my throat and stomach felt like someone poured lead into me, and I was scared like crazy; more scared than Gamma World; facing Justin Hammer; even more scared than facing N'Jadaka in Wakanda. I don't think I could go through with what Thor had ordered us to do.

A light ringing echoed in my ear as a golden fairy flew off my nose and then away in fright. Watching the small innocent creature fly away, a calming peace settled over me. Sure, I wasn't fond of dying a second time, but if it meant sparing Earth and the rest of the Asgardian realms the worse fate, then so be it. Time restored itself as Hawkeye drew his bow back and let his arrow fly at the glowing Norn stone. As the arrow raced to its final target, Hawkeye leapt over to my side and enveloped me in his arms, turning so that his back was to the stone, like he was going to protect me from the backlash.

Clutching at Clint's arms, I curled into his chest as we heard the arrowhead make impact with the Norn Stone, its shattering ringing throughout the clearing. The air was quiet for a few precious seconds before a sound similar to the loudest thunder boom nearly deafened us, as a bright light radiated everywhere and nearly blinding us.

Then came the really, horrible sensation of being pulled in every direction.

Fighting the urge to claw at our own skins, Clint and I held onto each other even tighter, even as we finally lost consciousness.

######

"All magical activity has subsided. Threat level: zero. Connection to Iron Man armor—lost. Connection to Vibranium tracking node—lost. Connection to Avengers I.D cards—lost. Avengers bio-signature—not found."

Whelp, here we are again. I have to say, I'm getting pretty stoked that we're near the end. It's only take me how long to get here? Yeah, I'm trying not to do that again...if I can help it. Also, that bit in the training session? I can totally picture T'Challa doing something that adorable...and now I have the mental image of Chadwick Boseman meowing stuck in my head.

Anyway, kudos to those who spotted the Lion King reference in this thing, and I hope you guys enjoyed it. Bye bye till next week!