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Chapter 5

Manhattan

Inside the high-tech home of the mighty Avengers, Janet Van Dyne stirred from a fitful sleep. She fumbled to her right, feeling about. Hank wasn't there. She was awake now, sitting up. For weeks, her husband had been all but living in the lab, either here or at home, spending every spare moment on some new project. Like most brilliant scientists, Henry Pym could become a trifle obsessed when working on some particularly fascinating or difficult problem, but this was different. It wasn't mere scientific curiosity driving him, but something almost frantic. He wouldn't talk to her about it, which was also strange. Jan was hardly the type to pry. The strange and the secretive was a way of life for her, but this had gone on too long. Hank was pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion.

Jan decided some spying was called for. It was a little cool to be flying around the mansion naked, so she slipped into her colorful crimson, yellow and purple costume. Walking towards the bedroom door, she shrunk to one five hundredth her normal size, gossamer thin wings sprouting from her back. The Wasp flew down to the lower levels of Avengers mansion, towards the laboratories.

Seconds later, she was at the biochemistry lab, grateful to find Hank wasn't working in quarantine. An airtight lockdown would mean shrinking to nearly molecular size, which risked falling into the quantum realm. These safeguards were easy enough to bypass…but Jan paused. This was an invasion of Hank's privacy; should she do this? She decided she had to go in. If what Hank was working on turned out to be nothing, or if it was something she had no business knowing, she would leave and simply keep it to herself.

Flitting quietly through the air duct, Jan alighted on the edge of a workstation. Hiding behind a stack of reports, she spied Hank, ragged and tired, on video conference with Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four. The conversation was serious.

"I'm out of ideas," Hank said, his voice a tired rasp. Suddenly, Jan wasn't sure if she remembered him coming to bed last night. Hank went on. "I was certain we were on the right track with that protein-based inhibitor, but now…I just don't know."

"Your inhibitor shows promise," Reed said. "It reduced white blood cell production by almost seventy percent—which slowed antibody response considerably. That's something we can work with."

"Work with? That'll just make him weaker and sicker. If we're lucky, it'll buy us a couple of weeks. Is that what I'm supposed to tell him?"

"If it buys us two weeks, it's something. I'm working on a nanite protocol. Shuri's people in Wakanda are designing a computer interface that will allow us to perform repair and maintenance on the cellular level."

"That's another temporary fix. We need a cure, not a band-aid."

"I agree. But any hope of a cure depends on additional doctors and—"

"Cap wants to keep this quiet."

"We must get him to change his mind. We need every available specialist, Henry, you know that. We also need the original data. The Super Soldier formula is key."

Super Soldier, Jan thought. They're talking about Steve. She listened, troubled by the weariness and anger in Hank's voice.

"Don't you think I've tried? Everywhere I turn, I get stonewalled. Bill Curtis, an old friend of mine, is Deputy Chief of the CDC. He told me the word has gone out: no one will cooperate with us. The best I could get was this pile of obsolete reports, with none of the necessary data. Half the pages are redacted anyway."

"All the more reason for Cap to open up about his problem. These organizations must understand the consequence of withholding this information."

"I'm telling you, the bastards would see him die before releasing their precious formula. I just got off the phone with the head of the NSA. Here's a direct quote: releasing that information is an unacceptable risk to national security. Pretty funny isn't it? Saving Captain America, a risk to national security?"

With an angry swipe, Hank scattered the pile of papers to the floor. Jan narrowly avoided the collision. She flew up to a nearby filing cabinet, safely out of sight.

"We must keep trying," Reed said. "I'll contact the President's science advisor, Michael Dyson. I graded his doctoral thesis at Princeton. Maybe he can help. Meanwhile there is one important thing you must do, Henry. You need to get some sleep."

"Yeah, I will."

"I mean it. You're doing no good right now. Get some sleep and come at it fresh in the morning."

Hank rubbed his face, blinking. "You're right. I'm done for the day. You should turn in as well."

"I am," Reed answered. "Goodnight, Henry."

The screen went blank and Hank Pym slumped back in his chair. For several seconds, he sat staring at the ceiling. Slowly, he got up and walked to the far end of the lab, to a large computer screen displaying the image of a DNA strand. As Hank began typing commands on the keyboard, Jan flew down behind him, returning to normal size.

"I thought you were turning in."

Hank spun around. "Jan, you scared the hell out of me." He paused, looking over to the now blank com-screen. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough."

"You shouldn't have heard any of it. You had no right to spy like that."

"Spare me. Be mad tomorrow if you want. Right now just tell me what's going on with Cap."

"I can't. He asked me to keep this confidential."

"Too bad. As chairwoman of this team, I need to know. Damn it Hank, Steve is my friend as much as he is yours. Now tell me, how bad is it?"

Hank stood up, trying to muster the energy for an argument. He dropped his head. "It's bad," he said, running a hand through his lank blonde hair. "If we don't find a cure in the next four, maybe five weeks…"

"My God. It's that serious?"

"Yes. That's why I have to get back to work."

"Hank, you're out on your feet. How long has it been since you slept? Come to bed, please"

Hank shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. He was near the breaking point. "You don't understand. He came to me. I can't fail him. I can't be the man who let Captain America die."

Jan put her arms around her husband, holding him tight. "Oh baby," she said, blinking away tears. She pulled Hank's head to her shoulder, rocking him. "You're so tired. Let me take you to bed. I'll make sure you get up early. Please darling, please."

Hank nodded, and Jan led him from the lab. Soon they were in their private quarters. Jan helped Hank peel off his clothing. She pulled back the sheets, kissing his forehead.

"Set the alarm for eight o'clock," Hank said. He was asleep before he hit the pillow.

Jan set the alarm for nine and crawled into bed beside him. For the first time since she was a girl, Janet Van Dyne fell asleep with a prayer on her lips.

Washington D.C.

In a large office complex across the river from the Washington Navy Yard, the lights were still burning despite the late hour. Though the halls were mostly empty, the activity never truly stopped in SHIELD headquarters. In his spacious office, the Director in Chief was pouring himself a drink, speaking with his head of Agent Assignments over a secure line. The call was on speaker.

"Gabe, this is Fury. What's the word, has she checked in?"

"Not yet, Colonel. We've sent agent Carter three Priority Alerts today, but there's been no reply. Her communicator trace shows her to be in Chicago. Do you want me to send someone to make contact?"

Fury thought for a moment. If Carter didn't want to be found, there was no way that trace was correct. "No, I'm sure she'll check in soon. Let me know the minute she does. Thanks Gabe."

Fury eased into his chair. His back was giving him fits today. He reached into his desk drawer and grabbed a handful of aspirin, washing them down with a swallow of scotch. Six days going and Carter had yet to check in. It could only mean one thing…

She knows.

It was inevitable. She was too good not to catch wind of it sooner or later. He hoped for later is all. The only question was how much she knew. Clearly, she knew about Cap's illness. Did she also know about Top Shelf? He'd buried all traces of that operation years ago, in the deepest hole he could dig, but if anyone could find it again, it was Sharon Carter. Her on-again off-again relationship with Cap had proven useful over the years. Usually. Other times it was a hell of a complication. This was one of those times, and it was threatening to get worse by a magnitude. Fury knocked back the rest of his drink and pressed a button on his desk console. On the far wall, a large monitor blinked on, followed by a computerized voice.

'Security check required. Please state your name, title, and pass-code.'

"Nicholas J. Fury, Director in Chief.. Howler, two nine, xkx, eleven."

'SHIELD database on-line, Director Fury.'

"Access my personal server and open file Delta Alpha One."

'This is a top-secret protected file. Retina scan required.'

Fury held still as a beam of light scanned across his face. The light focused on where his right eye should have been. Finding nothing but a blank patch of leather, the beam moved on, scanning his left eye. A file marked 'Captain America – ongoing investigation and findings' appeared on screen.

"When did I last access this file?"

'Yesterday. Ten thirty pm, eastern standard time.'

Fury smiled. He was aboard the Helicarrier yesterday. "Good one, Carter. Remind me to ask how you pulled it off someday."

Leaning back in his plush leather chair, Fury scrolled the data. He skipped the first part, knowing all too well the information it contained, and stopped at the recent entries. Reed Richards and Henry Pym were looking to gain access to the Super Soldier files. They were accustomed to their clout opening doors for them, but this time they were coming up against the limits of their fame and prestige. They were knocking on front doors that led nowhere. It was the back-alleys they needed to try. For a couple of certified geniuses, they were slow on the uptake.

Fury read the last entry with interest, news of Cap's mission yesterday in Scotland. He brought up a video feed, taken by the British SAS. The first images were of the initial strike. Cap was leading the way, in spectacular fashion. Fury had seen him in action many times over the years, but never got over the astonishing speed, power and skill the man possessed. The footage jumped to the aftermath of the raid; scenes of the British commandos rounding up the defeated Hydra forces, shots of the English hero Union Jack conferring with the SAS commander, everything routine at this point. Then something caught Fury's eye.

"Computer, freeze. Roll back a frame. One more… stop. Enlarge."

The image expanded. Almost lost in the background, Fury noticed Captain America leaning against a railing, resting his hand on his knee. He appeared winded.

"Enlarge again," Fury said. "Enhance."

What Fury saw was troubling. Cap looked more than winded; he appeared exhausted, and was wincing in pain. "Play video," he said.

The footage resumed. It was shaky, filmed with a handheld camera aboard a drilling platform on the North Sea. Cap came in and out of frame. After a few seconds, he straightened, the exhaustion faded, but not gone from his face. After a break in the video the next image was of the Hydra forces being led away in handcuffs, boarding a British battleship.

"End file," Fury said, getting up to pour another drink. What he saw on that video was wrong. Captain America's performance would have been impossible for even the finest Olympic athlete, but Cap was far more than a mere athlete. Fury had seen the man exert himself at levels like that for hours without becoming exhausted. Clearly, his illness was beginning to manifest.

Fury felt old. Hell, he was old…but he felt it now, acutely. Old and very tired. He removed his eye patch, giving his skin a chance to breathe, and dropped down onto the large couch next to the bar. This job had taken its toll over the years. Along with the eye, it had cost him a carbon fiber pin in his right shoulder, a surgically reconstructed left knee, one bad back and one good marriage. He wasn't complaining; this was the work he wanted to do, the job he wanted to have. But some days it wore on him heavier than others.

Things were going to get dicey now that Carter was involved. Maybe it was time to take a more direct hand. With luck, he could keep this situation from blowing up in SHIELD's face. The organization couldn't afford another public black eye so soon after the Mockingbird scandal. He needed someone who could keep pace with Carter. Fury pulled a cell phone from his pocket and placed a call. On the fourth ring, someone answered.

"…It's three in the morning. This better be good."

"It is. And it's closer to four."

"Colonel Fury?" answered Clay Quartermain, shaking the drowsiness from his voice. "I'm sorry sir. I didn't recognize your number."

"I didn't want you to. This is off the record. The special assignment you've been working on? We've lost containment. The news is out."

"Is it her?"

"It is. I'm sending you a package by special courier—it'll be there within the hour. I want you to deliver it to Agent Carter, along with this message. Tell her I'll back her play as far as I can, but no farther. Remind her what team she plays for."

"She knows what team that is, Colonel. She just follows her own playbook. It's what makes her valuable."

"It also makes her dangerous. I can't afford dangerous on this one. If it comes to it…will you be able to bring her in?"

There was a long pause. When Quartermain next spoke, his tone was subdued.

"You can count on me, sir."

"I always have. Good luck, Clay."

Fury hung up. He called for a SHIELD courier and minutes later, the package was on its way. Fury hit the couch to catch a few hours' sleep. His meeting in the morning with the Senate subcommittee on National Security was off, Stillwell would have to go in his place. There would be a price to pay for that, political fallout he would be dealing with for months—assuming he would still be in charge of SHIELD once this situation played out. It couldn't be helped. There was another meeting Fury needed to arrange, one that was a long time in coming. He needed to meet with the man recently confirmed as the President's National Security Advisor, the man who was now his boss. Oliver Holder.

There was a very good chance Fury would have to kill him.