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Chapter 2
The Return

Bay of Mackellar, North Pole,
Fourteen years ago…

Holder wiped his sleeve across his face, sopping up hot coffee as he glared toward the cockpit. He considered shouting, but it would take a megaphone to overcome the McDonald Douglas's twin-turbine engines, and the gale force winds that were buffeting the plane like a kite in a thunderstorm. With a grunt, he unsnapped the safety harness and got to his feet, struggling to keep his balance as he turned to the agents in his command.

"I'm going to check this out."

Jones and Kelly nodded and Holder made his way forward. He was a tall, lean man, with slightly thinning brown hair, neatly combed. Everything about Oliver Holder was neat, meticulous to a fine point. The slight crease in his trousers offended the man deeply, never mind that this flight was stretching into its tenth hour. The spreading coffee stain on his coat did not improve his disposition, and he opened the cockpit door in a huff.

"What's the situation, Captain? Feels like the plane's about to rip in two."

"Just a hell of a squall—nothing she can't handle," the pilot said, patting the instrument panel of his DC 40 transport. "Storm will ease up once we drop below 10,000 feet. I'm taking her there now."

"When do we land?"

"'Bout twenty minutes—should go smooth enough," the pilot said, looking back at Holder. "All the same, you might want to hold off on the coffee."

"You think?"

"Army doesn't pay me to think, Agent Holder. That's what the CIA's for."

Holder headed back to the passenger area, the turbulence having eased considerably. He stopped to speak with the final member of his team, who was sitting away from the others. The man was wholly unremarkable, his face a blank puzzle. In his lap was a large black leather bag. The only excitement visible in his demeanor was in how he clutched that bag: the knuckles of his hands were bone white.

"We're landing soon," Holder said. "Are you ready?"

The man looked up, his eyes leached of color by his thick-lensed glasses. "I have prepared for this moment my entire professional life."

"Let's not count our chickens just yet. This could be another false alarm."

"No. It's him, I am certain of it."

"A leap of faith, Doctor?"

The man did not answer, but kept staring forward. Holder returned to his seat and his waiting men.

"Let's go over this again. I want names and particulars."

Agent Jones keyed his laptop, scrolling to the proper file.

"Science Station Brown/Engelmann, American operated research base, global warming. It's a big facility, but currently being manned by a six-person skeleton crew. Orin Danvers, graduate student, does the cooking and odd jobs. Doctors Adrian Kline, William Purvis, and Astrid Solberg, research assistants. They're the ones who actually found the body—"

"The what?"

Jones flinched under Holder's icy glare. "I meant to say 'item'. They're the ones who found the item in question."

"Reportedly, found. Isn't that what you meant to say, agent Jones?"

"Yes sir, that's correct. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Be precise. Continue."

"Next is Ossi Ombati, technician, keeps the place running. He's the one who made the initial radio report about the…item in question."

"American?"

"No. Kenyan, on a student visa."

Holder sat quietly for a moment, thinking. "Go on."

"Last up is the head honcho, Doctor Hanna Carrington. Nobel laureate."

Holder took the laptop out of agent Jones's hands, closed it, and handed it back to him. "I don't give a damn if she's won the Nobel, the Oscar, or the Irish Sweepstakes," he said deliberately. "Once this plane touches down, CIA will be in charge of this enterprise. Those people will be fully debriefed, the facility shut down, and the item in question will be taken into our custody. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Jones answered.

"Crystal," agent Kelly added.

"Good. I chose you men because of your excellent records and because you follow orders. I expect you to follow mine to the letter. This situation could be a matter of the highest national security, so be prepared. Check your weapons, and remember—the cold here can make the firing pin stick. Keep your firearms in their thermal holster, inside your jacket…until I order otherwise."

The men went through their weapons check while Holder sat, deep in thought. Minutes later, as the plane rolled to a stop, the co-pilot stuck his head into the cabin.

"Mr. Holder, you might want to see this. We have company."

Holder raced to the cockpit, telling his men to be on the ready.

"Thought I knew every make of bird there was," the captain said, pointing out across the runway. "But I'll be damned if I know what those are."

Out in the pitch-blackness of the arctic night, two large helicopters sat next to the main building. The DC 40's running lights provided some illumination, but the blowing snow made it hard to see any markings.

"No way they belong to those science geeks," the co-pilot said. "Those choppers are specially outfitted to fly in sub-zero temperatures, must have cost a fortune. By the look, I'd say they're military."

Just then a call came over the radio.

"Attention, Army bird US-niner, niner, eight-oh-dash seven…would you be so kind as to put agent Holder of the CIA on the line?"

The pilot and co-pilot looked at one another, then back to Holder. Holder reached for the receiver, taking a moment to compose himself before asking: "Who is this?"

"Hi, Agent Holder. This is Deputy Director of field operations, Nick Fury, special agent of SHIELD. Welcome to my party."

. . .

Inside the main building, Holder and his men were escorted to the dining hall, where SHIELD had set up its command post. Unlike the CIA men, the SHIELD operatives stood out, wearing high-tech jumpsuits and carrying sidearms that looked like Star Wars props. Holder had been hearing about these people over the past few years. Founded in the early eighties, SHIELD was a specialized intelligence group, concerned mainly with the phenomenon of super powered humans. As more and more of these super-freaks kept popping up, SHIELD's role was expanding. He'd heard of them all right, Buck Rogers wanabes, small-time players in the trade. This Fury was in for a rude awakening. With Lerner at his side, Holder approached the command site. His anger was at a fine, cool edge.

"Are you Fury?"

"That's what the name tag says," the dark-haired man answered, thumbing through a stack of files. Fury was heavier built than Holder, though not quite as tall. Both carried the same formidable presence of men who traded in life and death. Holder noticed Fury's smile dim as he spotted Lerner standing quietly by his side.

"Under National Security protocols, I'm taking charge of this situation," Holder said. "I want you and your people out of here. Don't make me ask a second time."

"Hey, Holder, relax a little, you'll live longer."

"I hope you're this funny when I bring you up on charges. My orders come straight from the Director of Central Intelligence, co-signed by the head's of NSA and Justice. That makes this my show, do you read me?"

"Is that so? Well my orders come straight from the President of the United States, how do you like them apples? Or haven't you figured out how I knew you were on that plane? This is SHIELD's gig now. If you don't believe me, talk to your boss." Fury tossed Holder a phone. "He's been holding for you."

The conversation was short and to the point. Holder handed the phone back to Fury, his face crimson.

"I'm…relinquishing command to you, Fury. I was told I can stay on in an advisory capacity. If you are agreeable."

"I'm agreeable," Fury said, standing. "Don't let it get you down, we're all professionals here. Get your men and meet me in the main lab. We'll have a look at what brought us here in the first place."

. . .

As Fury and Holder were having their meeting, the junior agents were talking in the kitchen area. A smiling SHIELD agent, who could have passed as a GQ model, was playing host.

"You sure I can't get you agency boys anything? Coffee, hot chocolate, tea?"

"No," Jones said, like a man steeled for interrogation.

"I'll take a coffee," Kelly said. Jones shot him a look. "What? I'm cold."

"Here you go," the SHIELD agent said, handing him a steaming mug. "There's cream and sugar on the table. I'm Quartermain, by the way. Clay Quartermain."

"Kelly," the CIA man answered, shaking hands.

"What are you doing?" Jones said through grit teeth. "Don't give him your name."

"Lighten up, will you. Jesus, you're worse than Holder. They're Americans, man. What, should I swallow my poison tooth now?"

"No shit?" Quartermain asked, delighted. "You guys still have those?"

"Um…I'm actually not allowed to talk about that." Kelly took a sip, and cleared his throat. "So, are those things for real?"

Quartermain un-holstered his sidearm. "Kirby 2.0. One clip holds ten rounds of pulse-bolts, equivalent to a rocket propelled grenade, and forty rounds of plasma energy beams, which can pacify a man, or a rhino, depending on the setting. Standard issue for SHIELD agents"

"Wow, you people are set up. Those 'copters outside are like nothing I've ever seen. Big suckers."

Quartermain grinned. "You should see the new one they're building for us."

This time it was agent Jones who cleared his throat. He looked over his shoulder and quietly asked, "So, how's the pay?" Before Quartermain could answer, the call came to assemble in the laboratory.

. . .

Minutes later, the SHIELD and CIA operatives, along with the six members of the science station, gathered in the lab.

"Okay, listen up," Fury said. "Agent Holder and I are going in to examine the… item. I shouldn't need to say this, but I'm going to. This is a top-secret situation. You will not speak to anyone about what you've seen or heard here, until or if you get SHIELD clearance. There will be absolutely no recording devices of any kind allowed. Am I understood?"

There was a murmur of assent.

"Good. Dr. Carrington, you're with us."

"I need Dr. Kline. She made the discovery, and she knows cryogenics better than anyone here."

"Fine."

"One last thing," Carrington said, drawing herself up so that all the room could hear. "I want to go on record as objecting to your presence. This is a private facility and the government has no right to interfere with our work."

"Duly noted, Doc. Now let's go."

"Wait!" called a voice from behind. "I must be allowed to go with you."

Fury turned to see the man with the black bag. Something about him put an itch in Fury's spine. He'd been in the spy game long enough to spot a spook who was trouble. "I don't believe I caught your name, mister...?"

"Lerner," he answered. "Doctor H.L. Lerner."

"Just what are you a doctor of, H.L.? What exactly do you do at CIA?"

"I hold PhD's in several scientific disciplines. As to the nature of my work, that is confidential. I don't answer to you, Colonel Fury."

"Oh? Well today you do." Fury turned to Quartermain. "Keep him out of my hair."

Quartermain stepped in front of Lerner. With that, Fury and his party moved into the containment area, separated from the main lab by a set of heavy plastic flaps. When the group walked in, the drop in temperature was noticeable.

"We call this area the cooler," said Dr. Kline. "We keep it at 20 degrees Fahrenheit, in order to safely work on the ice samples. Among the things we do here at B/E is carve blocks of ice from the ice shelf, and the nearby icebergs, for sample testing. That's how we found the body."

"The item, Dr. Kline," Holder said.

"Bite me, agent-man. I'm not one of your fascist flunkies. I'm a medical doctor and I know a human body when I see one. To be precise, it's a cadaver."

"Now look…"

"Knock it off," Fury interrupted. "This isn't a debating society. We've got work to do. Dr. Kline, where is the body?"

"In here."

They followed Kline into a subsection of the cooler. There were several tables holding large blocks of ice. On the center table, covered by a large plastic sheet, was something resembling a human figure. Carrington spoke next.

"My people didn't notice anything unusual at first. The samples we take are very large and the ice here is not at all opaque. However, once we brought the sample into the lab, we noticed something…unusual, frozen inside."

She pulled back the plastic sheet. On the slab lay the figure of a man, mostly free of ice, but frozen stiff. Well over six feet in height, the man possessed a powerful physique. He wore the remnants of a mask, and a stylized military uniform, dirty and tattered. The uniforms' red white and blue design was nearly unmistakable. The large concave metal disc strapped to his left arm completed the picture.

"It's him," Holder said, his tone hushed. "Captain America."

"Well," Dr. Kline replied, sarcastically, though no less amazed, "it sure isn't Santa Claus."

Fury stepped forward. "What's this?" he said, pointing at a set of wire leads attached to the body.

"Sensors," Carrington answered. "For research data…and to make certain the man was dead, I suppose."

"This wasn't proof enough?" Fury said, tapping the frozen body, making a hard 'clack'. Carrington said nothing. Fury took a device the size of an iPhone from his jacket, and attached two wire clips to the metal disc. He switched the apparatus on, and a quiet static sound emitted.

"And what is that?" Carrington asked.

"Analyzer. It sends a small electric charge into the metal and tests the composition. Captain America's shield was a unique alloy of vibranium and steel. Never been duplicated. If that's what we have here, the analyzer will let us know."

Seconds later the device made a series of beeps. Fury removed the leads and read the findings.

"I'll be damned. It's him all right. People, you're looking at a page of American history here."

Holder snapped into high gear. "We have to get this body out of here immediately, Fury. These people need to be taken into federal custody, and fully debriefed."

"Now wait one minute," Carrington said. "We have rights! You can't just—"

"Pipe down," Fury shouted. "Doctor, nobody is going to lock you or you people away. But this is a matter of national security, so a little patience, please. And Holder? While I appreciate the free advice, I'm making the decisions here. Got it?"

Holder bit his lip angrily and looked away. Fury went on. "Dr. Carrington, the body looks so well preserved, almost life-like…how is that possible? Captain America disappeared over half a century ago."

"Yes, it's remarkable. I did a Wikipedia search. The Captain fell into the North Atlantic off the coast of Norway, in late December, 1944. Records show the water temperature was approximately 20 degrees Fahrenheit. Factoring in air temperature, it would be analogous to say, ninety below zero, freezing him instantly. In cases of laboratory-induced cryogenics, such preservation of body tissue is normal, but the real expert is Dr. Kline. She can—"

"He moved," Kline cried out. "The body, I mean, it, it moved. His eye just twitched."

"Get hold of yourself, Doctor," Holder said, checking the body. "This is no time for hysterics."

"God, you are an ass-hole. I am not hysterical. I've probably dissected more bodies than you've shot, and I'm telling you, his right eye just twitched."

As Holder and Kline argued, Dr. Carrington checked the monitoring equipment next to the table, her eyes growing wide.

"What is it?" Fury asked.

Carrington looked up, amazed. "This can't be right. His core body temperature is eighty-nine degrees…and rising."

At that instant the previously lifeless right hand of Captain America shot up, clutching Dr. Carrington's wrist, who screamed bloody murder.

. . .

"The healthcare covers vision and dental," Clay Quartermain explained to the CIA agents. "But the real kicker is SHIELD's retirement benefits. You get a matching—"

Quartermain's sales pitch was cut short as shouting came from the other room. Everyone turned, seeing Agent Holder fly through the plastic sheeted doorway, landing in a sprawling heap thirty feet outside the containment area.

"Holy shit! Draw your weapons, stun only," Quartermain shouted. "Follow me, two-by-two cover."

They headed towards the cooler, but stopped in their tracks as the mythic figure of Captain America, impossibly, came through the doorway. Cap took two faltering steps then dropped to one knee. Fury appeared behind him, shouting to his men.

"Hold your fire! We have to restrain him, without injuring him."

Fury put his arm around Cap's shoulders, partly to help him up, partly to hold him back, a futile gesture in either case. Fury hurtled down the same path Holder traveled, plowing into Quartermain and his men, scattering them like ten-pins. Cap was on his feet and on the advance. Jones and Kelly charged him next, one going high, the other low. It was like hitting a brick wall. Jones got the worst of it, taking a blow from Cap's shield, sending him crashing into an instrument panel, his jaw fractured. Kelly grasped Cap's right leg, and was dragged along as Cap advanced. Fury blinked back to consciousness and staggered to his feet.

"Cap…please, we're trying to help you."

Captain America grew faint again. He teetered, his eyes glazed and searching for focus.

"Where…am I?"

"You're on an American research base. You're among friendlies, soldier, do you copy that?"

For a moment Fury thought he was reaching him, but the moment was lost. Kelly scrambled to his feet, throwing a chokehold around Cap's neck. Cap pried the man's arm loose and flung him into Fury. Both men slammed into a row of filing cabinets and fell, unconscious. Cap headed out into the complex, flattening three more SHIELD agents on the way. Standing in the shadows watching the scene play out was Dr. Lerner, still clutching his bag. His mouth was agape, a perfect 'O' of amazement, his eyes shining behind his spectacles like those of a zealot, beholding the holiest of icons.

. . .

Fury came out of the darkness, staring into the face of Doctor Carrington, who was anxiously babbling something to him.

"Slow down, Doc, and help me to my feet."

"There's no time! He's heading for the exit. If he makes it outside in his weakened condition, in this sub-zero temperature, the shock will surely kill him."

Fury switched on his communicator, kicking his less injured men awake as he spoke.

"Carter, this is Fury. Don't ask questions, just listen. Captain America is headed your—"

"What? Say again?"

"Listen! He's alive and he's heading your way. He's disoriented, confused. If he gets outside, the cold will kill him. I'm sending back up, but right now, you're it. Do not let him get outside."

. . .

In the main corridor of the science station, Cap was trying to sort through the confused jumble in his mind, feeling drugged, unreal to his own senses. He shuddered, a deep, aching cold racking his bones. His vision was gray and blurred and his ears buzzed like a poorly tuned radio. He had to steady himself against the wall. Sheer instinct was driving him on. The last thing he remembered was…nothing. His mind was a total blank…except…yes, he and Buck—they were on a mission to raid one of Schmidt's secret bases. Another Nazi super weapon; one that could turn the tide of the war.

Squaring himself, Captain America pushed forward.

. . .

"All right you goldbricks, let's move," Fury shouted. He turned to Carrington, handing her a small black case. "This holds a hypodermic, loaded with 15 cc's of Propofol. You may need to sedate him."

"That could be dangerous, given his condition. It's an enormous amount of anesthetic."

"He's an enormous amount of man. He just demolished nine professional bad-asses like we were the Girl Scouts. I need you to be ready. Let's move, people!"

. . .

In the north end of the complex, Captain America turned a corner and saw the exit. He quickened his pace, but a woman stepped from the shadows, pointing a weapon and blocking the way. Cap raised his shield, slowing his advance as the woman spoke.

"Captain, my name is Sharon Carter. I'm an American agent." She holstered her weapon and raised her hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm here to help."

"Out…of my way," Cap said, his voice growing stronger. "Don't want to hurt…a woman."

"Captain, we're on the same side."

Her accent was perfect, but he had run into that before. He continued to advance, the exit near. The woman dropped at the last instant, throwing a leg sweep. She was fast, catching a piece of him. He turned his fall into a tuck-and-roll, popping up in a defensive crouch as a kick flew at his chin. She was very fast, catching a piece of him again, along with her follow-ups: a strike to the solar plexus and a chop to the nerve cluster at the side of the neck. He was surprised; few outside the Orient knew these techniques. The woman stepped back, her hands loose, but ready.

"Captain, please, I don't want to hurt you."

"Don't worry. You didn't."

He stepped forward with all the speed he could muster, landing a right hook as lightly as he dared—she was too good to play games with in his present condition. The woman fell, out before she hit the ground. Damned Nazi's, he thought. Even the beautiful ones are deadly bastards. There was no time to waste; he had to reconnoiter with Buck and find that weapon. As he neared the exit, someone tackled him from behind.

"Cap, no," Fury yelled, locking him in a full nelson. "You can't go outside, it'll kill you! Listen to me!"

Captain America began applying pressure to the hold, and Fury felt the bones in his arms grind. Four more agents piled on, but Cap dragged them forward. Carrington was standing off to the side, and Fury shouted at her.

"Doc, the trank!"

"I don't know what it will do to him!"

Cap was moving faster, his hand on the door. "Goddamn it, Doc," Fury bellowed, his tendons about to pop. "Trank him!"

Carrington rushed forward, and Captain America's world went black again.

. . .

The Danvers kid met Quartermain at the kitchen doorway, holding a tray loaded with food and beverages, and grinning ear to ear.

"I fixed up the quickest stuff I had. Tomato soup, two grilled cheese sandwiches, crackers and some Jell-O. Didn't know what he'd want to drink, so I gave him one of everything. If he doesn't like that stuff, ask him what he wants. I'll make anything we got."

"Kid, the man hasn't eaten in half a century. I'm sure he won't be too picky."

Quartermain made his way back to Doctor Carrington's private office, stepping over piles of debris yet to be cleared. He passed the infirmary, filled with agents seeking attention. No one was seriously injured. Jones had it the worst, with his fractured jaw. Quartermain was nursing two cracked ribs and a hell of a shiner—of which he was taking perverse pride. 'I just got a black eye from Captain America' he told himself. It still didn't seem possible. He knocked on the door and stepped inside.

"Colonel Fury? I've got some food for Cap," he said, all the while thinking: that is Captain America sitting in that chair'.

Unreal.

Clay set the food on the desk, and left, thinking: that was Captain America I just saw in there.

Un-freaking-real.

"How is he?" said a voice from behind. It was Carter. Clay stopped and put on a thoughtful air.

"Well, he just spent sixty-odd years frozen in a block of ice—and he just found out that most everyone and everything he knew is dead and gone. To top it off, he had us beating on him for all his troubles. I'd say he's doing as well as can be expected."

"It's just so unfair," Carter said softly. "For a man who did so much for his country, for the entire world, to have something like this happen. It's tragic. It's unfair."

"Wow," Quartermain said. "13; the toughest, deadliest, agent in the game, and I've finally found your one weakness: your heart. I actually didn't know you had one. Don't worry, it'll be our little secret."

Carter met his smile with a stony gaze. "Clay, do you remember asking me to that State Department reception last year, and I told you no, because I didn't want to affect our working relationship?"

"Yes…"

"I lied. It was because you're an ass," Carter said, walking away.

. . .

Inside the office, Cap picked at his food. Taking another drink of coffee, he pushed away the tray.

"Half a century," he mused. "Frozen like a piece of meat in the icebox…and I only have your word on this?"

Fury handed over a stack of newspapers and magazines, the most current reading material the station had. Taking out his wallet, he passed Cap a twenty dollar bill. Cap looked the items over, and then eyed Fury, warily.

"You can find counterfeit swag like this on any street corner in New York. Or Berlin."

"It's genuine, I swear. Tell me what more I can do to convince you. This is no Nazi trick."

Cap sighed, and dropped the items onto a side table. "I believe you."

"You do?" Fury said, surprised. "I mean, that's great, but—"

"You have two Negro men on your team. The Nazis wouldn't have dreamed of that in a million years. So, we won the war?"

Fury nodded.

"Would have liked to have been there for that." A look of fresh concern crossed Cap's features. "What about my mission? We were in Norway tracking a renegade Nazi commander…"

"Johan Schmidt," Fury said, his mouth puckering as if tasting something sour. "The infamous Red Skull."

Cap nodded. "His people developed an atomic bomb, the target was New York. Did…did we stop it?"

Fury smiled "You got 'em, Cap, the bomb and the Skull. Schmidt went out like his former boss, the Fuhrer. In flames."

"I didn't think any fire could possibly take out Schmidt. He was more dangerous than any bomb. You're certain we got him?"

"I'm certain. You saved a million people that night, maybe won the whole damned war. But there's something more I have to tell you…"

"No, I remember it now. All of it," Cap said, slumping back in his chair. "Buck never made it off that bomber. I saw him as it burst into flames."

Fury picked up a file and began to read. "Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, United States Army, Special Forces. Killed in action, December 31st 1944. Awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, for service above and beyond the call of duty." Fury set the file down, and spoke quietly. "He was a hero. You both were."

"That and a nickel will buy you a cup of coffee," Cap said, bitterly. He looked up at Fury. "I suppose a cup of coffee costs more than a nickel these days?"

"A bit," Fury said. "A lot's changed, but not everything. To the American public, Captain America is just about the definition of heroism and honor. They'll want to throw you a ticker tape parade."

"Keep talking like that and I'll jump back into the ice," Cap said, wearily. He reached up, undoing the snaps holding his mask in place. "You said a moment ago that I won the war. That's bunk. It took all of us. The real credit goes to men like Buck, who paid the full price."

"You paid a price too, Cap."

"Belay that 'Cap' business," he said, removing his mask and setting it on the table. "I don't feel much like playing the hero right now. My name is Steve."

"I know. Steven Rogers, from Brooklyn Heights. Not far from where I grew up. It's good to meet you Steve."

"Nick…I wish I could say the same."

Fury smiled grimly. "Let me have the doctor take a look at you, please. It's a miracle you're even alive. Let's not push it."

"Okay, but only after he looks at you."

"I'm fine," Fury said, blotting his swollen right, blood trickling from the corner. "Just aggravated an old injury. I'll get the Doc—who's a woman, by the way. Remind me to tell you about feminism later."

"Speaking of, who was that woman I fought? She was good."

"That was Carter. We call her Agent 13."

Cap looked puzzled. "Why thirteen?"

"Because she's one tougher than the Dirty Dozen."

"The dirty-who?"

Fury laughed. "I don't even know where to start. Some things you'll have to learn as you go. And you will, soldier."

. . .

As Carrington examined Cap, Fury stood outside the door, watching the clean up. The place looked almost new again. His people were good. For ten years, quietly and under the radar, Fury had helped build SHIELD (Super-Human, Intelligence, Espionage and Logistics Division) into the most efficient organization in the spy business. Their budget was taking a quantum leap next year, giving them the deepest pockets of any intelligence organization in the world. SHIELD had a mandate to protect the nation against all threats, specifically those involving meta-humans, people blessed (or cursed, as the case may be) with extraordinary powers. They accomplished this by coordinating with the 'good guys' and triangulating against the 'bad guys' of the superhuman community. There were getting to be a lot of both types, and Fury was working hard to keep his people ahead of the curve.

And smack-dab into the middle of it all comes Captain America, the nation's first and unquestionably greatest superhero. Just what his miraculous return would mean in the overall scenario, Fury didn't know. But he had to figure it out in the next twenty minutes, before his call to the President.

Fury looked to his left, seeing Holder, his arm in a sling, making his way over. Motioning his men to stand back, Holder walked up, nodding curtly.

"Fury. I'd like to see him."

"Doc's with him. After that, he needs some rest."

Holder's jaw tightened. "Do you really think this is going to stand? You come on so hard, just because you've caught the President's eye. SHIELD is a shiny new toy, that's all. CIA is the top dog in this yard, and we're not going anywhere."

"That's right, you're standing still," Fury said, jutting his face inches from Holders. "It's SHIELD that's moving forward. It's a real shame we can't boast CIA's spotless record; Bay of Pigs, Kennedy, death squads. Yeah, you guys are the shit, Holder. I guess we'll just have to get by on competence."

Holder glared, clenching his good fist. Then he relaxed, and smiled.

"I will see him. Hell, he's practically government property. Do you really think SHIELD can keep him all to itself?"

Fury Grabbed Holder by his jacket, slamming him against the wall.

"That man is not government property! And it'll be a cold day in hell before I let you sink your claws into him."

Holders' men jumped to his defense, pulling their sidearms and taking aim at Fury. Carter stepped around the corner, instantly drawing down on the CIA men.

"Drop them," she warned. "Or I drop you."

Jones and Kelly held their ground. Three other SHIELD agents raced to Carter's side and the situation teetered on the edge of mayhem. And then the office door opened, and Captain America stepped forward. His mask was once again in place and his shield was securely strapped to his left arm. This was not the disoriented and faltering figure from earlier. He now stood ramrod straight, his gait swift and certain. He stopped directly in front of Kelly. At nearly six foot five, he towered over Kelly, who suddenly found his revolver pointed at the legendary hero. Cap's eyes narrowed, and his expression was stony as he spoke.

"I'm going to say this once. Holster that weapon. That goes for everyone," he said, casting a look around the hallway. One by one, they all complied. The last holdout was Carter, who reluctantly dropped her weapon to her side, unholstered.

Cap walked over to Fury and Holder.

"Let me straighten you gentlemen out on a few things. First, I don't need a nursemaid to fight my battles." Cap looked at Fury, who released his grip on Holder. Satisfied, he turned his attention to the CIA man.

"Second, I make my own decisions about who I talk to. You're not on my list."

"With respect," Holder said, straightening his jacket, "I don't think that's your call to make."

"But it's yours? I don't see any stripes on you, Holder. Are you US army?"

"No, but—"

"Then this conversation's over. The war ended six decades ago. I think I've earned my discharge."

"That war ended, but the fight goes on, Captain. I'd like to talk to you about the organization I represent…"

"I think I can guess. You represent people who want to lock me away in a lab somewhere, so they can figure out how to make more like me. Am I getting warm?"

Doctor Lerner stepped forward. "Captain, science has been working to unlock the secret of the serum for decades, with no success. We now have a chance to examine the original test subject. You must allow us this opportunity."

"They tried that in my day. I saw the numbers, though the army tried to keep them from me. Eight hundred men were administered the serum after me. Four hundred and nine of them died. Another three hundred or so were left ill or disabled. The rest had no reaction whatsoever. Correct?"
Lerner adjusted his spectacles. "Four hundred and eleven men eventually died. Otherwise, your numbers are essentially accurate."

"How many have died since then?"

"Many thousands, I estimate. Would you care to know how many were from hostile nations, looking to develop their own version of the perfect warrior?"

Cap walked over to agent Carter and snatched the gun from her hand, so quickly that the motion could not be seen. He turned, his eyes burning as he scanned the room.

"Is this all you've accomplished? Bigger guns, better ways to kill people? Is this what we fought and died for?"

Cap squeezed, and the weapon's casing cracked, the gun crumpling in his grip. He dropped the twisted remains to the floor and turned to Lerner.

"There is nothing perfect about war, Doctor. It's hell and misery. I was never comfortable with the government's plan to create an army of 'Super Soldiers'. It smacked a little too much of the ideology we were fighting against. Well, my country needed me, so I answered the call. The job's done, and my tour of duty is over."

Holder stepped forward. "I can't believe Captain America is talking this way. Where is your loyalty, your love of country?"

"Love of country? I died for my country!"

Holder flinched and quickly regrouped. "That was a poor choice of words, Captain. We all recognize the great sacrifice you made."

"Not just my sacrifice. We swore an oath to protect America from all enemies, foreign and domestic," Cap said, pointedly. "So, yes, I'd die for my country…but I'd rather live for her instead. I think she may need me."

The room fell silent. Cap turned to Fury.

"The day I first put this uniform on, I knew my life would never really be mine again. I accepted that. But this is a chance for me to start fresh, with no strings attached. Is that a problem for you?"

"No."

"Good. I noticed you have aircraft parked outside. If you have room, I'd appreciate a lift."

"Where can we take you, Cap?"

"I'd...like to go home. I just don't know where that is anymore."

"Maybe we can help you find it," Fury said. "And Cap? Thanks for helping me figure out what to say to the President."

Cap nodded, and headed to Dr. Carrington's office. The assembled people paid him respect by giving him privacy. As Fury made his call to the White House, Holder and his men slipped out of the building, their aircraft lifting off soon after. An hour later, the SHIELD team was headed back to the United States, bringing with them one very special passenger. After several days of rest and debriefing, the word went out to a stunned world...

Captain America had returned.