The empty ferry docked. Fury glanced around and wandered off the boat and up the dock as casually as possible, unable to blend into the safety of a crowd. Every sense prickled. His arm throbbed with every thudding heartbeat and he could feel the bandaging growing wet. Fucking Strom. His eye jumped back and forth, searching every shadow, his ears alert for the barest scurry which he knew would very soon do nothing for him as the hustle and bustle of the city that never sleeps overtook every helpful sound.
He fought to keep his pace steady. With the pier to one side and a lot full of parked buses to his right, it was an ideal targeting location. Everything depended on his abilities to throw SHIELD off his scent, and the fact that he had been tracked in Newark of all places told him SHIELD was in full deployment in the area. They knew he was on the move. The question remained – were they safe? In the end, that was all that mattered. Were his team safe?
What I wouldn't give to have Coulson to watch over them right now. He skirted the Chinese consulate, hoping to avoid being caught on their cameras. He turned right on 44th street, picking up his pace to a jog past the parking structure and mini-storage. As he passed 11th Avenue, traffic picked up and he slowed to a walk again.
Fury wove in and out of the trickle of people. This would've been so much easier when school was letting out. Not that a giant-ass black man disappears well in a sea of kids, but they're less likely to shoot, and at the moment, I'll take that.
He took a left on 10th Avenue to stay near restaurants, hoping to use what crowds there were for cover. Had to fucking do this on a Monday, didn't you, you bastards? He jogged a little faster to fall in step with a group coming out of a health club. If he was lucky, he'd be able to take advantage of the theater crowds heading for restaurants and bars for most of the remaining distance to Stark Tower. The challenge would be getting close enough to the building to find a way in. And I have enough faith in Stark to have that place locked down like a motherfucking impenetrable fortress.
Traffic picked up to a steady stream, and Fury breathed a little more freely as he wove his way in and out of laughing groups and harried third shift workers, all blithely ignorant to the danger that could be following him. His ears waited for the sound of gunfire or a voice suddenly behind him.
His head grew light as he jogged up 8th Avenue to 45th again to pass the cluster of theaters. He glanced around as he entered Times Square. It was tempting to grab a cab. The likelihood that he'd be found was low, as was his energy. The slow bleed of the last almost sixteen hours had taken its toll and as he moved now he bled faster, but there was nothing he could do about it. And he wasn't going to put an innocent cab driver at risk just to move a little faster.
Turning north on 6th Avenue, he hurried up a few blocks, hoping to throw them off where he was headed. He tried to move quickly but casually, knowing a large black man with an eyepatch wasn't going to go unnoticed in the posh parts of Manhattan. The fact that he was actually concealing a gun in his pocket didn't make the situation any better.
With Saks on the left side of the street, he passed the doorway of an apartment building.
"Director Fury, what are you doing here?"
He spun around, his finger leaping to the trigger of his SIG Sauer. His arm throbbed. "Identify, Agent."
"Agent Mosley, sir," the man said immediately. "ID number 601417592. How can I be of service, sir?"
Fury slowly moved closer, sighing deeply. "I gotta train my agents better."
"Sir?" He frowned, glancing back and forth.
"Never identify yourself when on assignment." He stepped right up to the man, fighting to keep his head from spinning off into space. "And never call out a superior."
Mosley's face fell. He made a grab for Fury's injured arm.
Pain searing through his bicep, Fury knocked his hand away. "Unless of course that man is your assignment."
With a soft pop, the man fell. He glanced around, knowing he had seconds. Grabbing the agent's gun and ID, he hurried down the street, disappearing around the corner down Madison Avenue.
Traffic was jammed in every direction. Great, just what I need. Everything at a standstill, so I'm the dumb-ass lone duck who decides to fly. His head spun, making his stagger.
Disapproving glares and hisses of "drunks" followed him, but he kept moving as straight as he could. He nearly lost his balance as the noise of backed-up traffic suddenly opened up to the foreign sound of a soft hum of smooth sailing on Park Avenue. And this is worse. Giving himself a shake, he hurried down the street, jogging through the Park Avenue tunnel. Time was now of the essence, and if Mosley had managed to radio in, it didn't matter what he did – SHIELD would know where he was going.
Fury's head swam, but he forced himself forward. Hearing the rattle of a truck below, he vaulted the guard wall and managed to land on the tail end of the UPS truck and jump off again, rolling as he hit the ground. Blood now freely flowing from his gunshot wound, he dragged himself to his feet and raced down 45th Street to the maintenance entrance of Stark Tower.
To his surprise, the door slid open as he closed the distance. He threw himself inside as the world went black.
"What is that?" Thor said, pointing at the map.
Steve shook himself and leaned closer. "Someone's coming through the Park Avenue tunnel fast."
Tony launched out of his chair. "Jarvis, give me any visual."
A screen popped up behind Steve and Thor.
"They're moving fast but not steady," Steve said.
Natasha and Clint leaped to their feet.
"Give me a still," Clint said. He squinted at it. "It's Fury. Get him in here."
"He's bleeding from his arm," Steve said.
"Wait, are we sure?" Tony said. "I'm not opening the door until we're sure."
"It's Fury," Natasha said.
"Arri, Michael..." Tony spun around. "Sound them out."
They grabbed each other's hands and closed their eyes, throwing their consciousness down the tower.
"There's so much going on," Arriana said. "I'm just feeling everything all at once."
Michael dove from vision to vision, searching for the person they were looking for. "Where are they? Someone talk to me."
"They're on Park Avenue... nope, jumped down to 45th Street," Tony said.
"That's Fury and he's hurt," Natasha hissed. "Open a damn door."
"No!" Tony barked. "He's on 45th heading toward Lexington. In a... looks like a Yankee's sweatshirt. Hood up."
Michael flipped through person after person, looking for their target. "Got him! Arri, follow."
She gripped his mind and he tossed her toward the person he was watching.
"There's too much fear and anxiety." She growled out a cry.
"We're running out of time," Clint said.
"Feel it now, detka," Natasha shot.
"Everyone stop feeling upset!" Arriana screeched. The air cleared and she flew forward into the mind of their target. "It's him!" she shouted. "Open the door. He's dying."
"Jarvis, open the maintenance entry door in time with approach," Tony barked. They watched the figure throw himself through the door. "Close it now!"
The door slammed shut.
The room fell silent. Only their collective panting hushed through the air.
"We need to move," Clint said. "Stark, do you have a field kit closer than our floors?"
"The infirmary," Tony said. "Stay here, Pepper." She nodded and took his drink from him.
Natasha and Clint were already moving toward the elevators.
"Triplets, pull back," Natasha called. "We need to go."
Loki gripped them, reaching into their shared mind and helping to pull them back to themselves. They glanced back at him with a slight nod as they launched to their feet. He leaped over the couch to follow.
They all raced into the elevator. Michael sat on Loki's lap to camouflage his presence. Arriana stood near, hoping no one would notice Michael was sitting higher than usual.
"Emergency descent, Jarvis," Tony said, dropping onto the bench and grabbing the edge. "Hang on."
The elevator rapidly began moving down. In half a second it picked up speed, and then with a jolt it fell.
Everyone reached for a wall. Thor caught Clint who had pushed Natasha onto the bench. Arriana lurched forward before she could catch herself. Steve caught her, pulling her against him.
They fell.
"When does this end, Stark?" Steve called over their thundering heartbeats.
"It's sixty seconds from drop," Tony panted. "Jarvis, countdown."
"Thirty-seven seconds remaining," Jarvis said.
"Jesus Christ," Natasha hissed.
"It'll settle out in a few seconds," Tony said.
"Thirty seconds remaining."
Slowly they shook themselves one by one as they acclimated to the fall, though the weightlessness made it difficult to move. Steve leaned back against the wall, unthinkingly keeping Arriana against him.
"Twenty seconds remaining."
Their ears started popping.
"Ten seconds remaining."
"Everybody hang on," Tony said.
They had seconds to brace themselves. Steve tightened his arms around Arriana.
Like reigns pulling up on a runaway horse, the elevator suddenly slowed. Steve slid to the floor with a thud, holding Arriana safely on top of him. They looked up into each other's eyes for one moment before everything came to rest. Arriana's heart pounded in her throat.
"Pognali, detka," Natasha said, fighting to her feet past Clint and Thor. (let's go, baby)
Loki pushed Michael to his feet. It tore at his heart to watch Arriana force herself away from Steve, but she obediently took Michael's hand and raced out of the elevator after the others.
Steve shook himself, pounding his fist on the floor, and raced after them.
Loki stayed where he was. "Hold the elevator here, Jarvis," he said quietly. "And have another ready, just in case."
"Yes, sir."
Tony led the way through the maze of halls. "Jarvis, clear the path."
Doors opened as they ran.
"I can feel him," Arriana said. "He's still alive, just unconscious."
The final airlock opened to the maintenance entry. Fury lay face down on the floor, the shoulder and arm of his sweatshirt stained dark with blood.
Clint pushed him onto his back and Natasha yanked the sweatshirt open.
"It's not a fatal wound," Natasha said. "It's got to be blood loss."
"We need to get him to a hospital, he needs a transfusion." Clint reached for the entry door.
"Don't open that door!" Tony said. "I have blood."
"You what?"
"Questions later," Steve barked. "Thor."
With a nod, Thor stepped around Natasha, bent, and lifted Fury with ease. "Lead the way. I can move at speed."
Steve leaped back. "Stark."
Tony jogged back into the labyrinth with Thor on his heels and everyone else behind.
A surge of emotion jolted through them.
"Hang on, Arri," Michael said, grabbing her by the hand. "He'll be okay."
"I'm trying," she said, her voice shaking. "I can't..." Her breath caught. "Not Fury too."
Natasha spun around as they ran. "Vy soldat. Bez slez." (You are a soldier. No tears.)
Pain tore through their bodies for a moment and then disappeared.
Arriana's eyes went cold, and with it, the air around them. "Da, mem." (Yes, ma'am)
"Khoroshaya devushka." (Good girl)
They raced through hall after hall back to the elevators. Steve glanced behind them to see doors closing and robots waking up and moving to where they had just been. It was then he noticed the blood dripping from Fury's shoulder.
"He's still bleeding fast," Steve said.
"Jarvis, get a second elevator ready," Tony said.
"Done, sir."
Tony almost stopped short. "G-good." He turned the corner. "Straight ahead."
"Thor, Barton, Romanoff, Stark in one," Steve shouted, "the rest in two."
Hearing the called orders, Loki slipped into the second elevator and tucked himself out of the way.
"Put him down, Thor," Natasha ordered as soon as they were in the elevator. She pressed down on Fury's wound, leaning her full body weight against the bleed.
Arriana and Michael shifted in front of Loki as Steve got in the elevator.
As soon as the doors closed, he said, "I know he's here."
"I mean no harm, Captain," came the disembodied voice.
"Thank you for getting the elevators ready," was all he said in return.
The elevators gained speed as they rose.
"Where are we going when we get to the right level?" Clint asked.
"Take a right out of the elevator and then a left out of the entry," Tony said. "Jarvis, get OR 1 ready and get a bed to the entry."
"Preparations ongoing, sir. Pirated files show a blood type of O positive."
"Do we have any live?"
"Yes, sir," Jarvis said. "I have three units of O positive in refrigeration, ready for use. More can be made available within the next four hours, sir."
"How much do you need?" Tony asked, looking between Clint and Natasha.
"Well, he's out, so we're likely at about 40% loss," Clint said.
"We don't usually run the transfusions, Stark," Natasha said. "We stop the bleed and get them to doctors."
Tony snapped his fingers. "Jarvis, get Lizzy and Banner to the infirmary now."
"Yes, sir."
"Forgot we have a doctor."
The elevator slowed rapidly and the doors slid open. Natasha shifted slightly to the side, pinching Fury's shoulder between her hands, and Thor picked him up. A hospital bed sat just outside the doors and as soon as Thor set him down, Natasha climbed onto the bed, putting her full weight on the wound again.
Thor began pushing the bed with Clint steering as they followed Tony.
"Do we have everything ready?" Steve called as they raced out of their elevator.
"Banner's on the way, Cap," Tony called back.
Michael and Arriana ran at top speed to catch up with them.
"Does Lizzy know?" Michael asked.
"I let them both know."
"What did you say?"
"Jarvis let them know we need them now on the infirmary. That Fury's here."
The two rolled their eyes. Michael grabbed Arrriana's shoulder and slid into their shared brain.
Lizzy, where are you? He asked.
In the elevator. What's going on?
Fury's here. He has a bleeding wound on his left shoulder or arm. I couldn't tell; there was too much blood. He's unconscious.
Bruce is with me.
We're heading for OR 1.
Thanks. Lizzy gave her head a slight shake. "Bruce, Fury has a bleeding wound on his left shoulder or arm. He's unconscious. They're taking him to OR 1."
"Jarvis, do we have live blood?" Bruce asked.
"Yes, sir. Three units are immediately available. Would you like me to thaw more?"
"No. Three should be plenty. What type is he?"
"According to SHIELD records, he is O positive."
Bruce let a sigh slip out. "Thank god. He shouldn't have trouble with a transfusion." The doors opened. "Where's OR 1?"
"This way." Lizzy ran out of the entry and down the corridor with Bruce on her heels.
She pushed the door of the OR open. The bed with Fury, and Natasha still keeping pressure on the wound, was in place. Clint was starting oxygen, Michael was hooking up the blood pressure cuff, and Arriana was at the cabinets gathering things onto a tray.
"Who has training?" Bruce asked as soon as he was in the room. He rolled up his sleeves, stopping at the sink to scrub in.