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Chapter 20

Steve slumped at the table, eyes half shut, as he slowly chewed on his shawarma — which, it turned out, was roasted chicken stuffed inside pita bread with some kind of sauce. It wasn't half-bad, although he was so tired and hungry at this point that he probably would have eaten anything that was handed to him. He shifted his weight slightly, and his boots scraped the broken glass under their table.

No one else even looked up at the sound. They were as exhausted as he was. Tony Stark was uncharacteristically silent, looking out the window with total disinterest as the crews outside labored to clean up the rubble. Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were staring at each other — or no, staring just past each other, with glazed expressions on their faces. Barton had one foot propped up on Romanoff's chair, but she didn't even seem to care. Bruce Banner was giving his full concentration to eating his fries two at a time, while Thor was devouring his shawarma in gigantic bites like it was the last food on Earth.

It felt so much like one of the Howling Commandos' post-blitz bar crawls that Steve almost had to pinch himself to remind himself that it wasn't. They'd been fighting aliens, not Nazis, and they were the Avengers, not the Allies.

The Avengers.

Everyone had started off on the wrong foot with each other. Wounded egos, misunderstandings, petty squabbling. Steve was ashamed to think of the part he had played in it. He understood now that Loki's scepter had been affecting their minds, but it hadn't really created their conflicts, only enhanced them. He wished... he wished they all could have seen him as he really was. Not this broken version of Steve Rogers, who still questioned whether there was a place in this world for someone like him. A man out of time.

And then he wondered why he cared what they thought of him. Would he even see any of them again? Nick Fury obviously intended that. But Stark didn't seem to be fully on board with it. Thor had stated in no uncertain terms that he was leaving for Asgard, with Loki and the Tesseract. They had already arranged to regroup in Central Park later that day to see him off. Steve would be glad to see the Tesseract go, but he wished Thor could stay. It was the first time he had ever fought side-by-side with someone more powerful than himself, and it had been a comfort he didn't know he wanted. As for Banner, there was something about his brilliant mind and self-effacing personality that was vaguely reminiscent of Dr. Erskine. He found himself wanting to know more.

He wanted something. For the first time since waking up from the ice, he truly wanted something.

He wanted to be an Avenger.

"Is the Asgardian blood on your mother's side, or your father's?" Thor said.

His voice, deep and booming (could Thor speak quietly?), jerked them all from their full-bellied somnolence, and the five of them lifted their heads and looked at him questioningly. For some reason, Thor was looking at Steve expectantly.

"What?" Steve said blankly, praying he hadn't missed something important in his exhausted state.

"Which side of your family claims the Asgardian bloodline?" Thor said.

A frown wandered across Steve's face. "I'm not Asgardian." All the other Avengers looked equally mystified by this turn in the conversation.

"Then why do you wear our symbols?" Thor demanded. Foolishly, Steve looked down at the star on his chest.

"Not that," Thor clarified. "That." He pointed at Steve's shield, resting against the wall. "Your Viking shield. And your helmet, with the wings on the side." He gestured meaningfully. "The winged helm is the symbol of the Asgardian royal family. I have one, of course, although I only use it for ceremonies. It's forbidden for commoners to wear it."

"Punishable by death?" Stark said, suddenly perking up. He turned back to where the restaurant owners were sweeping up broken glass and waved to get their attention. "Hey, can we get an axe, please?" he called. "One large axe to go, Table 4. We'll do it outside, I promise."

"There were half-breeds among the Vikings," Thor said matter-of-factly. "The bloodlines are diluted now, but it must have bred true in you."

"My ancestors were Irish," Steve said.

Thor belched quietly into his fist. "Vikings raided Ireland."

"Hey, Thor, I don't know how things are done on Asgard," Barton said lazily, "but here on planet Earth it's considered an insult to question someone's parentage."

"I meant no disrespect," Thor said, having the decency to look contrite.

"I wasn't offended," Steve said. Actually, it had sounded more like a compliment. "But I'm just plain human. If you had seen me how I used to be, you would believe it." He'd had no idea his winged helm had anything to do with the Norse. He had always assumed his USO costume's designer had intended to evoke images of Hermes, the Greek god of athleticism. He was just grateful they hadn't put wings on his shoes, too.

"I watched you take hits no mortal could survive," Thor said.

"He's an experiment," Stark cut in, gesturing at Steve. "Enhanced. My father helped create him."

"Midgard is experimenting with magic?" Thor asked, sounding surprised.

"Not magic, Fabio," Stark said. "Science. As in, he's a lab rat."

"Science, magic... they are one and the same," Thor said. "How do you think my people became so strong, all those eons ago?"

Banner stared at Thor, fries paused halfway to his mouth. "You mean... Your people experimented-?"

"And no magic — or science — can turn a rat into a warrior," continued Thor loudly, talking over Banner. "There must be materials there to work with." He scrutinized Steve for a moment, and then his face broke out into a wide, toothy grin. "You have heart, Rogers. We'll stay the execution for now. You can keep your winged helm. I give you my permission."

"That's real sweet, Thor," Romanoff said.

Thor grinned wider. "Thank you."

Just then a large black van pulled up to the curb outside, and Maria Hill stepped out of the driver's side door and stood in the shattered doorway. Her eyes swept over the six of them slumped around the table, and a smile touched her lips.

"Look what the cat dragged in," she said.

"Ha, ha, ha," Barton said dully.

"This is your ride, S.H.I.E.L.D. people," Hill said, hooking a thumb toward the van. "Fury wants you at Headquarters for a full debriefing... and for showers," she added, wrinkling her nose as she looked from Barton to Romanoff to Steve. "You guys are filthy."

Slowly, painfully, the three of them got up from the table to gather up their gear. When Steve bent down to pick up his shield, his knuckles accidentally brushed against the side of Thor's hammer. He was startled when a blue glow glimmered across the hammer, and for one brief moment, Steve thought he saw some kind of symbol appear on the surface of the metal: three interlocking loops, glowing with a life of their own. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Magic, he thought. Or was it science?

"Hey, Cap," Stark said as they were shuffling out the door. Barton and Romanoff kept going, but Steve turned back to look at him. Stark was leaning back in his chair, regarding him with a tilted head and an inscrutable expression. "See you around, old man."

Steve suppressed his instinctive annoyance and, for the first time, stopped to wonder if maybe Stark's cruel comments weren't meant to be cruel. Was this actually how he normally interacted with everyone, not just Steve? After all, Stark had been teasing Banner and poking him — actually poking him — since the first moment they met, too. He'd even dared to make a joke about Fury's missing eye. Was Stark aiming to get a rise out of people with all that snark, as Steve had first assumed, or was he just trying to connect with them in his own unfathomable way? He decided to test it out.

"I'm 27," Steve said coolly. "If I'm an old man, what does that make you?" He quirked an eyebrow at Stark, looking pointedly at the strands of gray in his hair.

Banner snorted into his drink. Thor took another enormous bite of shawarma, looking on with interest. Steve waited, a little uncertain, half-expecting Stark to explode with a fresh round of name-calling.

"Hey," Stark said, suddenly standing up and pushing his chair back, scraping it through the broken glass. He came around the table toward Steve, wincing a little as he favored his right knee. "Ouch. Hey, I just got this brilliant idea. I'm gonna commission a new comic book. I think I'll call it 'Iron Man and His Avengers.'" He put one arm around Steve and spread his other arm out in a sweeping gesture, envisioning the title. "I'll have them draw you in as my sidekick, 'Stevie the Boy Wonder.' You can be dressed up like a Boy Scout. What do you think?"

"Maybe I can be smashing an alien in the face with my shield, while you take down the mothership single-handedly," Steve said seriously.

Stark's eyes lit up. "Oh, now he'll play," he said in a tone of approval, turning to exchange a glance at Banner, who smiled broadly. He turned back to Steve. "Good golly, Mr. Rogers, I was starting to think you didn't know how to take a joke." He thumped Steve's shoulder, and then backed up and clasped his hands together in a business-like way. "Okay, great meeting. Let's do this again sometime. I'll have my people call your people. Bye-bye now." He plunked himself down in his chair again and picked up the remnants of his shawarma in what was obviously a dismissal. Banner shot Steve an amused look, and then wadded up his napkin and threw it at Stark's head as Steve left.

When he got outside, Barton and Romanoff were already sitting on the bench along one side of the back of the van. Steve sat down on the bench opposite them and Hill slammed the door shut, hopped into the driver's seat and started the engine.

As soon as the van went into motion, Romanoff swung her feet to the side, putting them up on the seat and turning her back to Barton. Without the slightest trace of inhibition, she leaned back against his side, letting her head tip back onto his shoulder, and closed her eyes. She wriggled around a bit, getting more comfortable, and then her face slowly smoothed as her body relaxed, looking for all the world like she would be asleep against Barton within minutes.

Barton glanced at Romanoff impassively, and then carefully, so as not to disturb her, pulled a knife out of the sheath at his belt and started casually picking gravel out of the soles of one of his boots.

Embarrassed, Steve tried not to stare at them, but since they were sitting right across from him it was hard not to. He tried looking out the windows, but they were tinted, and everything outside was a depressing, ruined mess anyway. What was going on between those two? Were they a couple? They must be. They looked so comfortable with each other. And Romanoff had been so single-minded about getting Barton back from Loki's thrall. There was obviously a history there.

It took forever to get back to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Manhattan facility. Hill was forced to take a few detours to avoid rubble still blocking the roads. Growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation, Steve decided he might as well close his eyes, too, not least of all to avoid having to look at Barton and Romanoff. He turned to the side like Romanoff, putting his back against the wall of the van and his feet up on the seat. Immediately, he regretted it. His suit was so form-fitting, and the chafing... Suppressing a groan, he quickly put his feet down and sat up straight again. Barton gave him a strange look.

Steve sighed, letting his shoulders sag. If they wanted him to be Captain America again, this was not going to fly. It just wasn't.

"Hey, Barton," he said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn't disturb Romanoff.

"Yeah?" Barton glanced up from wiping the dust off the blade onto his pants.

"Is your suit comfortable?"

If Barton was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. "Yeah," he said. "Fits like a glove. Moves every way I do." His eyes swept up and down Steve's uniform. "Looking for a change?"

"I miss my old suit," he said, unable to keep the defeat out of his voice. "I guess it got given away to a museum. This one isn't as comfortable, and besides, it's just a little..." His voice trailed off.

"Ludicrously tight and bright?" Barton supplied, a broad grin spreading across his face.

Steve looked down at his boots, but couldn't stop a smile from creeping across his face. Why did Barton's words feel like good-natured ribbing, when Stark's digs about "spangles" had stung? He had felt inclined to like Barton from the moment he'd met him properly for the first time. Why? Was it because Barton, like Bucky, was a more-than-capable sniper with an appealingly laid-back attitude? His regret over Bucky mingled with his newfound appreciation for Barton, and the two emotions made a strange concoction deep down inside. Not entirely unpleasant, either.

"You took the words out of my mouth," Steve admitted.

"Well, why didn't you just get a copy of the old one made?" Barton said reasonably.

"I didn't get any say," Steve said. "Coulson brought me this."

"Coulson?" Barton said. "Oh." His smile faded, and they were both quiet for a moment, remembering.

"Did you ever go into his office?" Barton asked finally. Steve shook his head. "He had framed comic books all over the walls," Barton continued. "You look like you stepped right off the pages of one. Probably fulfilled a life-long ambition of his, you putting that on for him." He tucked his knife back into its sheath. "But if you go into Fabrication at Headquarters, they can make you a uniform however you want. I can show you where it is sometime."

"Thanks," Steve said gratefully.

"Get one with darker colors," Romanoff murmured without opening her eyes, surprising them both; they thought she was already asleep. "That one's no good for stealth missions."

"Am I going to get stealth missions?" Steve asked. He was starting to notice that Romanoff was considerably more in the loop than he was.

"You'll go wherever Fury sends you," she said matter-of-factly.

Would he? Steve was still not very happy with the revelation that Fury had gone along with the Council's plan to use the Tesseract to build weapons... and the very existence of that shadowy Council didn't fill him with confidence, either. They hadn't exactly shown the best judgement in deciding to send a nuclear missile to Manhattan. Did he really want to continue to work for these people?

Almost as if she read his mind, Romanoff opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him, red curls spilling down Barton's shoulder. "Fury's not so bad," she said. "Sure, he's a paranoid SOB, but his heart's in the right place. And he knows how to tell the Council where to stick it." She paused for a moment. "He really needs someone like you, Rogers, and I'm not talking about your muscles. S.H.I.E.L.D. needs you. You can pull us back from the ledge when we take things too far. Sometimes we do that."

There was an unexpected pain behind her eyes as she said that. As if she knew more than she wanted to about taking things too far. Not for the first time, Steve wondered what her story was. How had she ended up at S.H.I.E.L.D. after working for the KGB? And why did Fury trust her? As a spy, Romanoff was good at manipulation. Almost too good. But even though he knew there was a good chance Romanoff was under instruction from Fury to keep him loyal to the organization, Steve couldn't help but be swayed by her words. Maybe he could make a difference in S.H.I.E.L.D. Colonel Phillips had been a tough nut to crack, too — Fury reminded him of Phillips in more ways than one — but Steve had been able to talk him down from some of his excesses, back in the day. Maybe he could do that here, too.

Maybe the more relevant question was, was he ready for more missions? He'd thought, with all his experience in war and all the advantages that came along with the serum, that he could handle anything. But then he'd fought aliens. He'd fought a god. And for the first time since his experiment, he had felt absurdly in over his head. There was so much he still didn't know about this new world he'd woken up in.

"The way you two fight," he said suddenly. "Your fighting style. What do you call that? I've never seen anything like it."

"Mixed martial arts," Barton said. "Basically you pick and choose from all the disciplines, whatever suits the terrain or situation best. Jiu-jitsu, taekwondo, muay thai, krav maga. Anything and everything."

Reluctantly, Steve admitted: "I didn't understand half of what you just said." He was so tired of the strange looks people gave him when he didn't understand things that seemed so simple or obvious to them. And Stark had openly mocked him for it. But he had no idea how he could be expected to do any better than he was. How would they feel if they were suddenly dropped into the year 2080 with no warning whatsoever?

But Barton didn't give him a strange look at all. "Yeah, I guess some of that stuff hadn't come to America yet, back in the day."

"What did they train you in?" Romanoff asked.

"Honestly, I didn't get that much training at all," Steve admitted. He had gone from being a performing monkey in a costume to a combat role without any warning — and without permission, although he'd been amused to discover that that fact did not appear in the history books about him. He had gone through boot camp prior to his selection as the Project Rebirth candidate, true, but they hadn't shown more than the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Most of it had been wasted on him, anyway — at that point, he hadn't been able to get the drop on anyone. He'd learned more about how to throw a good punch from watching Bucky rescuing him from his many tussles in back alleyways. And once he'd been thrown into combat, he had simply improvised as he went.

"You fight like a boxer," Romanoff observed. "Pretty straightforward and simple. I'm not saying it doesn't work for you," she added quickly, looking over at him. "You have us all beat for speed and strength and endurance, and you're doing things with that shield that shouldn't even be possible. But if you're wondering if you could be better if you learned some new things..." She studied him seriously. "I think you could be."

"Well, why didn't Fury set me to learning all that in the first place?" he asked, feeling a little annoyed.

"I don't think he intended to put you out in the field this fast," Romanoff said. "I think he was waiting for you to ask."

Steve mulled this over for a moment. "I think I just did," he said.

Romanoff smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners despite her weariness. "I'll talk to Fury, get it set up for you."

They were both being so understanding that Steve took a risk and asked, "Do you think he'd let me use you both as teachers?" It wasn't just because they were good fighters, although they obviously were. For the first time since he'd woken up, he felt as though he was developing a real rapport with someone, and he hated to let it slip through his fingers. He hadn't realized until now how much he had depended on his friendships with Bucky and the rest of the Commandos.

"Rogers," Romanoff said lazily, closing her eyes and tipping her head back on Barton's shoulder once more, "I think after our performance on this little mission, Fury would give us the whole store if we asked nicely enough. Might as well strike while the iron's hot."

"If you both wanted," Steve added hastily.

Barton grinned, his face creasing deeply and his blue eyes glinting. "Sounds like fun."

The van came to a stop, and a few moments later Agent Hill opened the back doors and let the three of them out. They had pulled up to the curb in front of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Manhattan Headquarters. There were piles of broken masonry all over the sidewalk, and a team of jumpsuited workmen were busily shoveling the rubble into bins for removal.

"Fury wants to debrief you all before he speaks to the Council again," Hill explained as they picked their way through the debris, heading for the front door, "so clean up as quick as you can and then meet in the conference room by his office."

They did just that — joined in the conference room by Banner, as well as Thor and Stark, after they had accompanied Loki and the Tesseract to secure locations — and they were all put through a rigorous debriefing. The others were tired enough to get a little short-tempered with the whole tedious process, but Steve got a bit of a second wind and powered through to the best of his ability. He had once actually enjoyed debriefings, although that had less to do with taking pleasure in dictating reports and more to do with the person who had usually debriefed him. Well, usually it had been both Colonel Phillips and Peggy taking his reports, but it had been so easy to forget that Phillips was even in the room.

At last, they were finished and the room rapidly cleared, although Fury lingered in the room finishing up a phone call, and Steve waited patiently until he hung up and gave Steve an expectant look.

"Something else?" Fury asked.

"You told me there was a nuclear deterrent," Steve said with some heat. He'd been bursting to say it, but had forced him to keep it until after the debriefing. "You said everyone had them and no one used them."

Fury was quiet for a long moment. "I was wrong about that," he said at last.

"Wrong?" Steve stared at him. "Manhattan was almost destroyed because somebody sitting at a desk got an itchy trigger finger, and ignored the communications coming to them from the men on the ground. I almost lost a member of my team in the vacuum of space getting rid of that thing!"

"I thought you hated Stark," Fury said with a maddening casualness.

Steve took a calming breath. "I never said that."

"And what do you mean by your team?" Fury continued, sounding vaguely irritated. "Last I checked, the Avengers were my team."

"I may work for you," Steve said coolly, "but Stark and Banner and Thor don't. Consider this our declaration of independence: If a situation like this comes up again, we'll handle it together."

Fury gave him a too-knowing look. "With who in charge? You or Stark? 'Cuz he doesn't like to follow orders, and I'm starting to suspect that you don't either."

Steve was taken aback for a moment.

Fury laughed quietly. "That's what I thought. You're setting yourself up for a world of pain, Rogers." He got up from his seat. "Tell you what," he said, stretching his arms out with a weary groan. "You forgive me for being wrong about the nuclear missiles, and I'll forget that you stole one of my jets and two of my agents and went AWOL right in the middle of Armageddon." He took a sip of coffee.

"You wanted me to do that," Steve pointed out.

"Oh, and now you're a mind reader, too?" Fury put his coffee mug down on the table with a clank. "You try a trick like that again, Rogers, and I just may withhold your holiday bonus." He waved Steve away in an obvious dismissal. "You'd better go see the Tesseract off. I had your bike brought here from your apartment; Hill can show you where it's parked. The rest of them are probably on their way to Central Park already."

Steve had fully expected Fury to kick up a fuss about Thor's insistence on taking the Tesseract to Asgard, but to his surprise Fury had accepted the idea without much resistance. Fury wasn't the type to put on a show of contrition, but maybe he had enough humility to recognize that the Tesseract was too great a power for S.H.I.E.L.D. to handle responsibly. He squared his shoulders and strode out of the room to where Maria Hill was waiting for him.

Maybe Fury wasn't as rigid as he seemed.

Sharon wearily climbed the stairs up to the surveillance center they'd set up in the apartment below Rogers', lugging up two heavy bags full of groceries to restock the fridge for herself and the other agents assigned to watch him. So much for taking a break. With Rogers heading out of the country, Hill had told her she could take a few days off. Next thing Sharon knew, there were aliens pouring down out of a hole in the sky above New York City.

Her fingers ached from pulling triggers. Her ears rang from the gunshots and explosions. Her feet throbbed from rushing around, trying to clear up Chitauri weapons before the wrong people picked them up. Her throat was scratchy from shouting so many orders. Finally, in the aftermath of the battle, someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. had come to spell her. She'd gone home and cleaned up, but instead of going to bed, here she was, coming to relieve Agent Goodman. Rogers was obviously back in New York City, and the moment he was released from the watchful eyes of Romanoff and Barton, he would be back in Sharon's care again.

Sharon entered the apartment and started unloading the groceries. Agent Goodman sauntered into the kitchen.

"Did you see this? Our boy is on TV," he said, gesturing toward the screen in the living room.

Intrigued despite her exhaustion, Sharon finished putting away the food and sat down on the couch to watch.

They were talking about Rogers. Every single channel had a talking head going on about the Avengers, and showing various shaky cellphone videos of them fighting in the streets. Sharon leaned forward as the footage showed Rogers taking down Chitauri like so many toy soldiers. And she had to admit... it was pretty impressive stuff. It was one thing to know that he was stronger and faster than normal. It was something else to watch it.

Goodman helped himself to a prepackaged sandwich and then sauntered out the door with a wave. Alone in the apartment, Sharon kicked off her shoes and settled back on the couch. Her eyes were getting bleary, and yet she couldn't tear away her eyes from the screen. The analyst being interviewed now was flummoxed by Captain America's presence. He kept comparing old photos of Steve Rogers with the footage from New York and Stuttgard, amazed at the similarities and speculating about clones and copycats and plastic surgery. Sharon had to laugh. The real explanation wasn't much more believable than any of those, come to think of it. She wondered when or whether S.H.I.E.L.D. would provide it to the public. So far no official statements had been released.

Her phone rang. Sharon looked down and saw that it was a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. number. Cursing herself for not sleeping while she could, she answered it.

"Agent 13? This is Agent Romanoff," the voice on the other end said. "I'm passing Rogers back off to you. He just left Central Park on his motorcycle and he said he was going straight home. He'll be there in 10 or 15 minutes."

Sharon sat bolt upright on the couch. "OK, I'm on it," she said quickly.

"Have fun babysitting," Romanoff said with a lilt, and hung up.

Struck by a spontaneous urge, Sharon darted into the bedroom and shuffled through the disguises in the closet, quickly settling on a short dark wig and a long jacket. Shoving her feet back into her sneakers, she dashed into the kitchen and feverishly threw some groceries back into the bags, one for each arm. As quickly and quietly as possible, she slipped out the front door and went down the stairwell to the next landing.

She knew she shouldn't be doing this — Fury's instructions to remain invisible had been very clear — but she was so tired of watching Rogers on screens and following him from safe distances. Everyone in New York City was talking about him and hoping to catch a glimpse of him on the streets. Would it really hurt for her to make eye contact with him, just this once? She was well-disguised.

She'd gotten there just in time. She could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Sharon waited until they were just around the corner, and then started walking up slowly with her groceries.

Rogers caught up to her just as she reached her landing. He was dressed in civvies again, with hair neatly combed. But he looked exhausted, walking with slow methodical steps instead of his usual swift stride. He glanced over at her as she dug around awkwardly in her pocket for her keys, trying not to drop the bags.

"Here, let me help you," he offered, taking the key out of her hand and fitting it into the lock. He opened the door for her, but she only took half a step in, resting the heavy bags against the doorjam.

"Looks like our building is still in one piece," she said conversationally.

Rogers nodded. "Guess we lucked out. Everything two blocks west of here is smashed."

"Could have been worse. Apparently New York has more defenders than we thought," Sharon said. "That's what they're saying on the news, anyway."

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at one corner of his lips, but he held his silence, not taking the obvious opportunity to take credit for anything. His eyes were actually bloodshot, she noticed, now that he was so close to her. And his expression was going slightly glazed.

"You okay?" she asked, cocking her head at him.

He seemed to wake up a little bit. "Yeah, I'm just tired," he said. "I'm gonna go to bed now."

He paused, and then said it again, slowly, like a revelation: "I'm really tired." A sudden smile flashed across his face. "I'm gonna sleep well tonight."

She was so relieved for his sake that it almost hurt her. "Well... goodnight then," she said.

"Goodnight."

He went up the stairs to his apartment, and she went into hers. Setting the bags down in the kitchen again, she glanced at the video feed of his living room, where the personnel files from S.H.I.E.L.D. were clearly visible, lying on the coffee table. Her Aunt Peggy's was right on top. Rogers appeared in the frame, walking through the living room. He didn't pause, or even look toward the stack of papers, but went straight into his bedroom and closed the door.

Sharon smiled, and went into her own bedroom, where she took off her disguise and then flopped onto the bed. Pulling out her phone, she typed a quick message to Fury.

I take back everything I said. Give Rogers more missions. He needs them.

"So did he do it?" Agent Sitwell asked curiously, folding his arms and perching on the edge of Fury's desk. "Did Rogers take the Avengers off your hands?"

Fury leaned back in his chair, gave Sitwell a knowing look, and held out his hand expectantly. Sitwell smiled wryly as he pulled a crisp $10 bill out of his wallet and handed it over. Fury accepted it and tucked it into his pocket.

"I don't know what you're going to do with all your spare time now, sir," Sitwell said, shaking his head in mock sympathy.

"I do," Fury said, his smile fading as he looked out the window at the shattered streets below. "I have work to do. We need a quantum surge in threat analysis."

"I completely agree, sir," Sitwell said firmly. "In fact, I have some ideas I'd like to run past you. Remember those plans I worked up last year? The satellite network? The next-generation helicarriers?"

"I remember."

"Now, sir, I know you had some concerns about-" Sitwell started.

"We don't have the luxury of concerns anymore," Fury interrupted with a weary resignation. "The next time something like this happens, I want to be ahead of the curve. At all costs."

Sitwell nodded, a determined look in his dark eyes. "Then I'll pull the plans out of mothballs. Some of the designs are a little dated now, but maybe we can get Stark to take a look at them, make some suggestions. Barton nearly took down our helicarrier with a bow and arrow and a handful of thugs. I think we do better than that."

Fury nodded curtly. "Good. Maybe if I can get more eyes up in the skies-" He adjusted his eyepatch with a grim set to his jaw. "-it will give us a little more insight."

TO BE CONTINUED

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