With careful hands, the laptop was rotated in a circle, the camera panning and redirecting the view to the recipient on the other end of the video chat. The dark-colored crib, set far away from the window with its patterned top sheet and bumpers, flitted by, followed by the changing table. A small dresser was along the opposite wall, a lamp with Mickey Mouse at the base perched atop it. The rocking chair was in one corner, and had cushions similar to the light green of the walls. The corner close to the closet had a small fan pushed into it, plugged in and ready to go. The closet itself had been cleared of the items it had been housing prior to the room's redecoration, and was instead being slowly filled with tiny clothes and a few toys. The laptop circled once more, and then it was carried back into the office next door, the owner of the device placing it back on the desk with aplomb.
"And that was the baby's room," Holly pronounced, one hand going to her belly as she sat down in the chair before it. Once she settled, she flicked her fingers in the air and smirked at the camera. "There, showed you, as promised."
In the video chat screen, the woman on the other end shot her a similar grin, the resemblance between them all the more accentuated.
"Thank you for being so gracious," Heather, Holly's sister, retorted. She'd been prodding her to show off the progress being made in the house for the upcoming arrival, but she'd been fobbed off with excuses for awhile. Now that the last piece of furniture had arrived and put together (the dresser, which was much easier to assemble than the blasted crib had been), Holly was willing to let her see it all.
Holly snickered at her, and lifted a shoulder demurely. "I try."
Heather sat back in her chair, pleased to see the final result. The sisters let the conversation turn away from the state of the nursery, instead returning to the main objective of the pair catching up. The elder Martin sister was in the midst of giving her students their final projects for the year, everything gearing up to the summer. That year, she was intent on taking some time off, ready to devote her days to actively enjoying herself and her family. Jake was doing well, it seemed—well enough to hear him laughing in the background as he played with their boys, both of them old enough to run and dart away as he pretended to be a monster coming after them. Asking after the progress of Holly's novel, she was doubly pleased to hear about how the editors had determined that only a few minor tweaks were needed before they started looking at marketing options. A book tour was out of the question, but there was no reason why Holly wouldn't be able to start spreading the word through social media, once the designs and date to sell were picked. Inevitably, though, the cycle brought them back to the subject of the younger Martin sister's pregnancy (Heather knew, from experience, that she was probably a little tired of talking about it, of being treated like a human incubator, but she couldn't help herself).
"So, the end of the second trimester," the older woman stated, noting the progress of the younger aloud. The news of her little sister's pregnancy was quite stunning when their parents had sent on their reveal gift, but now that it had settled, it was exciting. Though they did not speak in person often, she had been keeping in touch via texts and emails, trying to keep herself in the loop for Holly's sake. Looking at her now, though, she would be better able to gauge the reality of the situation. "You're almost in the homestretch, Holl. How are you feeling?"
Her head tipped from left to right, and a small grin decorated her lips.
"Pretty good. You know, a little achy, a little uncomfortable, and sometimes it feels like he's camped out on my bladder, but well, you know."
"Uh-huh." Brown eyes, a few shades lighter than her sister's, raked over her face. Brows inclined, and Heather asked, "So how are you feeling, really?"
The smile on Holly's face wavered, and after a few seconds, she dropped her head into her hands.
"...I'm freaking out. I'm gonna be a mom in a little over three months. I'm going to be responsible for a tiny human life. A little baby whose father risks his neck on an almost daily basis." She inhaled sharply, her hands falling into her lap and revealing the contorted anxiety of her expression. "Not to mention, I've left the television remote in the fridge no less than three times without any memory of when I put it there." And then there were the awful mood swings, the almost-constant state of hunger she was in, no matter how much she'd already eaten, which tied into the cravings that were still throwing her for a loop—mustard on chocolate cookies should've made her gag (Steve nearly did when he caught her ingesting some, and he'd eaten some truly nasty things in the past), but it was good, for some reason. Combined with the stress of her job and the continued editing of her book, it was all bearing down on her. "I'm losing my friggin' mind. How I'm able to file anything at work and yet still do that is beyond me. How can I do that with a baby? Holy crap, I'm terrified."
Her sister nodded sagely even as Holly let her forehead flop down to the desktop, a slow whine crawling out of her throat. A tiny creak came from the hall beyond the door, but neither paid it any mind.
"I bet," Heather said, commiseration in her tone. Waiting a few moments, she eventually asked, "Feels good to admit to it, huh?"
Despite herself, Holly felt her lips curl up slightly. The ignored weight on her shoulders felt a bit lighter than before, she couldn't deny it.
"A little," she admitted, shaking her head. Combing her fingers back through her hair, she muttered, "I don't know how Mom did this three times. Or you, twice."
The older sister shrugged, an inelegant gesture.
"It's hard to describe; each time is different. But I was scared to death before Cole was born," she professed, tilting her head to the right. Shooting a glance upward, she cupped a palm in the air. "Don't even get me started on pregnancy brain."
Both of them shared a rueful smile at that.
"Remember when you realized you'd bought six jars of mayo after having him, because you thought you kept running out?" Holly recalled, struggling to hold down the laughter. "And then the repeat with Ryan?"
"With Ryan, it was Sriracha sauce." Momentarily distracted, Heather mused aloud, "Why the hell did I think I never had enough? I barely use it as it is." Violently, she shook her head, pulling herself back to the present moment. Pinning her gaze onto her younger sibling, she leaned back in her chair. "Anyway, not the point I was trying to make. What I'm trying to say is, despite all that, things will change when he's there and you're holding him. You'll change."
She eyed her little sister's dubious glance, the tense set of her body. And, even though the camera on the computer was not at its highest settings, there still was a small spark of hope in her features. Under the outright fear, that was.
"As scary as it is, you're not alone, Holly. You've got Steve, and the both of you have us. All of us. Even all the way out here," she concluded, gentling her voice the tiniest fraction. A few seconds passed, and Holly's chin dipped, a small nod bouncing her head.
"I know, I know all of that. It's just..." she trailed off, risking another look at her sister. Blowing out a short breath, she murmured, "Sometimes I need the reminder. Family has to be good for something, right?"
"Yep. We'll watch out for you all," Heather promised staunchly. She'd read the speculation in the media about her soon-to-be-born nephew, had found the tasteless and crass words bandied within the genuine well-wishes, and was nearly ready to go hunting on her sister's behalf. Fortunately, Jake had talked her out of doing so, but she still was adamant about standing with her family. A thought occurred to her, and her jaw ticked. "I'll definitely do so, if for no other reason than to have the chance to give the kid his first noisy toys. Consider it payback for your husband's influence on my eldest."
Holly scoffed aloud, eyebrows quirking and ill humor forgotten for the moment. "It's not like Steve told him to throw stuff around the house!"
Heather pretended to consider her argument for a minute or two, tapping her finger against her chin, before clicking her tongue.
"Nope, not gonna fly. Too many plates have been chipped and broken," she decreed, an evil smile coming to her lips. "There is this real nice plush dog that sings the ABC's and Old MacDonald on interminable loops that I think will do nicely."
"Oh, damn," groaned the younger sister, pinching the bridge of her nose and blowing a sharp breath out of her mouth. From there, the siblings moved off the topic, eventually saying their farewells and departing to engage in their separate evening routines. Meandering downstairs, she made dinner, calling Steve up from the basement when it was ready. He'd actually only had a half day at the base, filing reports and conferring with Maria over the upcoming trials. The last several hours had been devoted to a painting he'd been working on for awhile, splotches liberally coating his hands and forcing him to wash up first. Claiming their spots at the table, they chewed in silence for several minutes, each one having much on their minds.
"So...tomorrow," Holly commented lightly, tentatively bringing up the subject when she couldn't stand the silence any longer. The next day was the beginning of the scheduled try-outs for the potential new recruits. Three weeks had passed quickly, the choices made and the candidates either already bunking at the base for the night or on their way. Over the course of three days, the applicants would be put through simulations, exams and interviews, a process meant to determine their placement and their worth of being considered. As such, Steve would be performing several of the evaluations himself, with the help of Hill, Hawley, Fury, and others. Privately, she speculated whether or not they knew about the word circulating around the base, about the agents conspiring to actively set up seating areas for the outdoor simulations and watch as the candidates duked it out. Or if he knew that she herself would be doing so on her lunch break, eager to watch the action unfold.
"Yeah, tomorrow," Steve replied. His fingers fidgeted with his fork, his eyes focusing as he pushed food around his plate. "It'll be...interesting, to have everyone all in one place."
It would be the first time in months that the primary team, as a whole, would be together, minus a few obvious exceptions. The first time since the fallout in December. To have Tony Stark willingly return to the base after all that had happened was nothing short of 'interesting.' Holly snorted low as she pondered it.
"That's one way to look at it," she mumbled. Glancing at her husband, she chanced a small grin and wondered, "You think you'll need back-up? I still have the bat, and the Taser, if you do."
Truthfully, she hoped that it wouldn't come to blows, physical or otherwise, when Stark arrived, but she could not rule out the possibility. Her heart thumped as she thought about the residual anger that was in him in January, and how much of it would still be there when he eventually interacted with Steve. Joviality aside, it made her a little anxious. A low chuckle vibrated in Steve's throat as he pondered the point, and his eyes brightened considerably at the suggestion.
"I think we'll make it through," he told her, lifting a shoulder as his gaze darkened again. "So long as Bucky doesn't approach Stark, it should be fine."
Her nose wrinkled. It would be impossible for the potential candidates to avoid any of the team, as they all would be either guiding them through simulations or evaluating them. Barnes staying out of Tony's way was improbable, at best.
She shot him a deadpan look. "...I'm still bringing the Taser with me, just in case."
He snickered at that, though the humor did not quite reach his eyes. "Whatever makes you feel better, dear."
Regarding him for a moment, she tipped her palm out on top of the table, her fingers wiggling at him. Comprehending what she was silently asking for, he slid his hand into hers. Squeezing once, her dark gaze swept over him for a moment before she directed her attention back to her plate. The last bites of her meal were finished, and she squeezed his hand a final time before rising from her chair.
"You're lucky to have me around, ready to defend your honor," she pointed out, raising her chin with facetious pride and prodding his bicep as she passed. She patted her belly as she placed her fork and plate in the sink. "Even when pregnant."
A real smile came to Steve's lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at her.
"Very lucky," he concurred, gathering up his dishes and bringing them over to wash. As he went about the task of cleaning up, she moseyed out to the living room, switching on one of the "dress shows" that got on her husband's nerves and indulging herself. As the girl onscreen was describing how she'd met her fiance, Holly's eyelids began to droop, and she nestled into the cushions of the couch. She'd just rest her eyes, listen to what was going on for a bit, and then get back up again. Tucking a pillow under her head, she was asleep in seconds flat. As her breathing became steady, Steve came into the room, his chore finished and his gaze darting from the television to his snoozing wife. Shaking his head, he sat down on the arm of the sofa and exhaled softly. Reaching out, he tucked some loose strands of her hair behind her ear before drifting to rest on her shoulder. His features twisted contemplatively, his palm absorbing her heat as he thought. Though he hadn't let on, he had overheard the fears she expressed to her sister through the office door, her voice catching him as he was making his way downstairs with some discovered art supplies from their closet. His heart had constricted at the thought when he'd sneaked away, not wanting to be caught out. Doubt may have racked her, but it didn't do so for him; he knew her, knew her potential in other facets of life. That she would be a good mother was something he knew was true, in his gut. She'd already taken such good care of him, and she would do so much more for their son. Steve brushed his fingers across her sleeve, and sighed.
"Don't be afraid," he whispered to his dozing wife, bending and pressing a featherlight kiss into her hair before he went back down into the basement. It was a reminder not just for her, but for himself as well. They would be alright; they would find a way to make it work, together. There was no need to fear the future. The present was enough to worry about, for the moment.
xXxXxXx
The morning of the trials dawned, and the air around the base crackled and fizzed. The new arrivals were all on site, the agents eager to catch a glimpse of the chosen few who were to be vetted for team placement. However, the most they were able to see were flashes of people being shuffled between rooms, the Avengers themselves acting as blocks to give the new people privacy. Rumors were flying as to the prospectives' identities; some where speculating that they had been rejects from the old days, when the Avengers Initiative was first introduced, while others maintained that they were all Inhumans meant to weed out the weaker members. A few were positing that, with Representative Hawley coming in, the United Nations had made all the selections, and the team would be forced to put up with the choices. Power was shifting, shifting away from the top brass, and there was nothing they could do about it. For his part, the captain ignored the rumors, though he was not about to deny the measure of truth some of them had. Instead, he walked onto the base with his head held high, a parting kiss given to his wife before heading over to the training facility.
"Now that we've got a full list of applicants, let's check 'em out," Steve said, having suited up prior to meeting with Hill, Fury, and Hawley. The four were perched high up, watching as the applicants filed one by one into the room below, followed by the team members selected to engage as leaders in the trials. Through the windowed walls, they could see the assembly of the simulation field, several vehicles in need of repair and other obstacles set up for the participants to work around when they were sent out. The base director walked over to the railing of the upper walkway, peering down into the training room below. Her ever-ready tablet came to hand, and she started tapping through it as she spoke.
"First is Scott Lang, former VistaCorp employee and cat burglar. Graduated with a master's in engineering. Criminal record reflects more altruism than what appears on the surface; Everheart's interview certainly did him no favors, but the truth is on the page," Maria noted wryly. Proffering her tablet, she waited as the representative and the other director flanked the captain as he scrolled through the digital documentation. "Served his time in San Quentin, was released early for good behavior. Hank Pym spoke highly of him; evidently, he helped him out with retrieving some misappropriated property, and thereby gifted him with his specially-designed suit."
Risking a glance over the railing, the trio sized up the fellow. He was chatting with Sam, his posture loose as he tipped his head from side to side. He had not switched out for the suit in question, was instead in his civilian wear. Black hair was tousled and he yawned widely, as though he'd rolled out of bed minutes before he was required to meet up with the others.
"Who endorsed him?" Fury asked, bringing Rogers out of his private musings.
Maria allowed herself a small smile. "Wilson and the Vision. Turns out he made quite an impression with both of them when he turned up here last summer. Barton was fortunate enough to catch a flight out with the guy; apparently, he's the definition of awkwardness. And speaking of Hawkeye, his and Romanoff's applicant is up next."
Next on the docket was Kate Bishop, one of Clint's personal proteges. She'd never been a proper SHIELD agent, but she had been a contracted operative from time to time...which was amazing, given her family's standing as prominent business owners. Barton had taken to training her personally when she sought him out for asylum seven months ago, a personal tragedy pushing her out of her home and out of herself (which, in turn, prevented him from going crazy with boredom out in the sticks, or at least that was Hill's conjecture). Her proficiency in hand-to-hand combat surpassed only by her skill with a bow. If given the chance, she could very well take up the title the archer had abandoned months previously—it was why the fellow had come across the country with her, to put her through the trials and to see if she could take up his mantle.
The next applicant was another woman, an Emily Guerrero. She had been up for consideration the year beforehand, but due to her abilities bearing similarities to Wanda's, it was ultimately decided that they would bench her for the time being. Now, though, she was ready to make a bid again, with Crystal and the Swordsman both advocating her right to try. Another casualty of the Inhuman wave, the native Bronx resident had spent the better portion of the last year honing her abilities. Her skills ran towards telepathy and brainwave manipulation, but she was skilled in martial arts (she'd achieved black belt status at a remarkably young age, and had maintained her prowess). The pair of young ladies were eyeing one another across the training room, brown eyes meeting hazel and widening significantly.
The side door opened again, and in spilled Bucky, Natasha at his side and smirking up at him. Steve felt a form of pride sweep through him as he stepped onto the mat, guided by the redhead towards her best friend. He let Maria speak over him, give Hawley the abridged version of his status and resultant efforts towards redemption. Rather, he focused for a moment as Clint flicked a glance between the looming man with dark hair and the female Avenger. It was doubtful that Natasha had told Barton about the shift in her relationship with Bucky, but it seemed that Hawkeye was able to put two and two together on his own, if the smug grin he sported was anything to go by. Inwardly, he was just thankful that Clint had chosen not to pick a fight over his friend's honor; he had no desire to jump into that fray. It would make Wanda and Pietro's bid a waste, then. Moving onto the fifth applicant, who was Union Jack and Finesse's choice, he had to take a second look at the tablet. The codename was listed, but the subsequent information was still a bit baffling.
"Chapman's bid is supplemented by both Hawley and you?" Steve inquired, spiking an eyebrow at Fury. The other man merely nodded, a fast look shot to the representative. Turning to face her, Rogers could see the confident, nearly smug set of her face as she met his gaze.
"For good reason," she intoned, looking beyond him over the railing for a second. Following her line of sight, the captain felt his brow furrow as a new occupant entered the training facility. It was a younger fellow, followed by appeared to be two female bodyguards. The ladies were imposing, yet with a hushed command, removed themselves to rest along the far wall and remain unobtrusive. The young man stood tall, back straight and his bearing formidable. Dark eyes glanced over the others, the expression on his face a cross between stoicism and a form of quiet friendliness. He was already in his gear, black armor like a second skin and scored with what appeared to be tribal markings. In his hand was a helmet and mask combination, ready to be donned at a moment's notice. His movements were languid, fluid as he stepped onto the mat, greeting the gathered applicants and team members politely, nods and and respectful glances passed around (the one called Scott looked about ready to wet himself when his turn at introductions came). When his profile turned to face the upper walkway fully, Steve inhaled sharply; he recognized the man. To his right, Hawley bowed her head, a previously-devised signal to invite the fellow up to meet with them. Carefully, he picked his way across the floor, striding up the steps with alacrity.
"May I present T'Challa, Prince of Wakanda, Captain Rogers," the representative introduced him as he approached. Stopping a few feet before them, the younger man inclined his head to each. With a small curve coming to her mouth, Hawley continued, "His father has been one of your most avid supporters on the world stage."
Tongue-tied, it was all Steve could do to return the genuflection and nod respectfully at him. Gently, the prince grinned at them all, his serious facade eased back slightly.
"It is a pleasure to meet you all," he said, accent rolling over his words, the cadence mesmerizing and soothing all at once. "I have been an admirer of yours as well, and I wish to contribute to your cause."
He extended his hand, a goodwill gesture of the nobility to the layman. Steve accepted it, giving it a swift shake and meeting him halfway.
"Your Highness," he greeted him. Tipping his head to where the applicants were still waiting, he murmured, "Thank you for coming. Provided you can keep up with the other candidates, we'll be glad to give you the opportunity to try."
"Thank you, Captain," the royal replied. His polite grin turned a touch more feral, and his dark eyes held a deeper promise than they had mere seconds ago. In his form, it was plain to see that he was ready, and willing, to meet the challenge presented to him. "And believe me, I can do more than keep up."
A final nod and greeting was directed at Hill and Fury before the prince excused himself, the strength in his step echoing around him as he went back down to the training room. Rogers watched him go, hands resting along the buckle of his belt and a sharp exhale blown out his nose.
"This can't be good internally for Wakanda," he muttered to Hawley, who gave him a blank stare. It was deliberate, he knew that much, but still he would say his piece. "He's the heir; this position will put him in danger."
"This could be a public relations nightmare," Maria supplied, remembering her time as Stark's assistant. After doing that, plus fielding and performing relations for the Avengers, she knew what she was talking about.
Fury snorted, his eyebrow inclining a fraction. "From what I understand, fighting out here is a lot tamer in comparison to the jungles there. I've seen the kid in action; trust me, he's worth a shot, no matter the politics." A brief flash of memory flitted over his vision as he recalled the session the king had invited him to. T'Challa had been trained from childhood in combat, and it was clear when he easily felled men twice his height and size. Shrugging, the director went on, "Furthermore, his father is supporting it fully; he can handle the public relations aspect."
With Hawley's concurrent nod, there wasn't much else to do but let the point slide. Arguing it would get them nowhere. Motioning for Maria to pick up where she'd left off with the recruit roster, Steve settled a hip against the railing and waited.
"And last is Stark's bid, but...they're late," Maria reported, glowering at her tablet for a moment. "With everything, including showing up. We have only a codename, height, weight, and listed enhanced abilities." Off the ring of frowns surrounding her, she cupped a hand in the air. "Something's screwy with the drive he sent us; it codes and rewrites every time it's plugged into the server, and only shows that much information."
Fury and Rogers shared a loaded glance in the silence that followed, both of them not liking the sound of that.
"We probably shouldn't admit his choice, even with Rhodey's endorsement," Hawley intimated, wary of the billionaire's machinations. Stark Tech was incredibly difficult to corrupt or manipulate, so the fact that he handed over an inherently damaged piece was suspect, at least. The captain's lips thinned, and he focused on a distant point, thinking on the options presented to them furiously.
"Probably not, but if we don't, we're one short of requirement and we'll have to extend this to another time," the base director countered, grimacing. It would be incredibly difficult to conduct try-outs in a timely fashion, if they had to delay. It was something they really couldn't afford to have happen. About to suggest going ahead with only the five, to at least get preliminaries out of the way, Fury was stemmed by the captain's calling voice, his hand waving up one of the milling team members. Colonel Rhodes snapped his head up, dipping his chin as he agreed to meet them upstairs, and the director let the chance to speak pass by. In a few short minutes, the colonel was with them, hands in pockets and eyebrows inclining as Rogers asked him if he'd heard from Stark. Sighing audibly, Rhodey canted his head.
"They're on their way. I tried to talk them out of it, but, well..." he paused, a sardonic grin decorating his otherwise grim countenance for a moment. "Tony likes to make an entrance."
The captain brought his hand to his mouth, covering it for a few seconds as his thumb tapped along his jaw. Arriving at a conclusion, he let the palm drop and faced Fury.
"We should have faith in Stark." A skeptical glance was shot at him, and he stood his ground. "We should try, at least."
A heartbeat of quiet, then two, passed.
"Naive optimism doesn't really have a place here, Captain," Fury contradicted him lightly. "Not after all that's happened."
"I'm not going to give him a reason be unheard, certainly not due to a time delay. At least this is a controlled setting, and won't bring any real harm to anyone while it's going on," Steve murmured, the others humming in begrudging agreement. Casting a look at Maria, he continued, "Keep having the techs look into those file. It's rewriting code internally, so there has to be a way to come back at it internally. What's the potential recruit's codename?"
Rhodey cleared his throat, meeting the captain's gaze squarely and answering before Hill could.
"Spider-Man."
The blond man breathed out slowly, a decision reached. "Okay. Keep an eye out for them, Rhodes. We'll start the trials as soon as they arrive."
Nodding, Rhodey conceded to the stipulation, listening with half an ear as Rogers commanded via comms that the others suit up and get into position for the first simulation. He stayed put while they all made their way to the dressing and locker rooms, a hand scrubbing over his face as the voices of his teammates faded. He knew, he knew, that bringing the kid in would be more trouble than it was worth. Initially, he had turned Stark down, even after seeing the boy's prowess in a training simulation at the Tower. However, Stark was equally determined to have him participate, and had basically proclaimed that he would find a way to bring him out, with or without his help. What's more, the boy was just as eager, was wholeheartedly willing to do whatever he could to be a part of it all. Between the two of them, Rhodey had sensed that they would certainly go ahead without his approval; asking him for endorsement was more of a courtesy to the rules set up than anything else. In the end, the colonel had granted his approval, resolving inwardly to do what he could to protect them both. The least he could do was watch out for the kid, make sure that he was safe as Tony threw him into the deep end. Once again, he was sticking his neck out for his friend, giving him the chance to prove his worth beyond the surface appearances.
"Tony, you owe me hugely for this..." he grumbled to himself, exiting the room to put on his armor, his gut sinking in dread and anticipation.
xXxXxXx
The outdoor simulation space was nearly set up by the time Tony managed to make his way onto the base's property lines. The night before, he had secured Peter and driven them both up to Albany, the boy's aunt having been told they would be attending a tech conference. It had taken some doing, a bit of schmoozing on the billionaire's part, to obtain permission for the kid to come with him, but when both the school principal and May Parker looked into the falsified credentials of the conference (Peter had shown his genius, constructing the website and creating the contact information for it; everything rerouted to the Tower, wherein several of the AI's Tony had constructed were able to field questions, if they had to), they had granted the boy leave. Unfortunately, they had not gotten on the road until late, as some last-minute modifications were made to Parker's uniform.
The new suit was a work of art, Tony mused to himself as he drove. Glimpsing the decked-out teenager fidgeting in the passenger seat, he nodded in agreement with himself. Maintaining the red and blue theme that Peter favored, he was able to manipulate titanium into the weave for better protection and durability, disguised as a webbing design across the chest and limbs. The spider at the center of the chest provided additional protection, as well as driving the point of his adopted persona home. The webbing extended up into the face mask, threaded as well with fibers that would distort any x-ray technologies and keep the young man's identity a secret (just in case the Vision would look deeper and find out the truth that way). The bulky canisters from before were reformed, smaller versions that blended seamlessly into the join between glove and arm plating, secured tightly and maintaining a higher level of webbing accuracy. Inwardly, Tony reasserted that Peter was going to knock 'em dead. Provided that they didn't give the game away first.
Barreling up the frontage road, Stark detoured when he spotted the landed quinjet and other assorted vehicles spread across the wide, open field. The reawakening grass churned and spun out under the wheels as he directed the car in that direction, knowing that the other recruits would no doubt be gathered there already. As one, they ringed together as the sports car approached, ducking and dodging as it swept and twisted between obstacles. Peter was hanging on for dear life as Tony followed through with several spin-out turns, and he gratefully bailed when the tech genius sprang the locks on the door and told him to go for it. He trusted the teenager to keep his head down, his mouth shut, and to stay right on Rhodey's heels for the first simulation. He also trusted the kid to catch himself and get himself to safety after leaping from a car, and so he sped off to the base's garage, leaving the recruits behind in a cloud of dust.
Parking, Tony was somewhat surprised to find the garage virtually empty. He figured that most of the agent on-site would be angling to find the best seating available for the upcoming trials, and so he made his way indoors without an escort. The lobby, the stairwells, even a good portion of the long halls were deserted, and when a set of operatives rushed by him, muttering about how they could only find a couple of good spots to watch on the roof, he was proven right. As per the directions he was given the night before, he made his way towards the upper offices, his clearance reinstated as he went through the security points.
And, as he turned a corner, he was met by the one person he truly wished he did not have to interact with in any capacity that day.
"Stark, you're here," Rogers stated, his baritone voice grinding on the billionaire's nerves already. Gritting his teeth, he pivoted on his heel, the grin he managed contorting into a twisted grimace.
"Well, better late than never. That's your motto, right, Cap?" he retorted, the dig earning him a personal point when Steve blinked and pink burned the tips of his ears. Canting his head back towards the field, he went on, "My guy's ready and primed. I sent him out to get his assignment."
Steve nodded at that, though his expression remained impassive. Tipping his palm forward, he allowed Stark to precede him on the journey to the observation room.
"Care to explain why his files are corrupted, while we have the time?" the captain asked, his tone barely polite as they walked. Stark continued to face forward, the corner of his mouth quirking. It was good to know another part of his plan was working.
"Dunno. Glitch in the system?" he guessed aloud, the insincere lilt to his voice highly suspicious. As the captain narrowed his gaze at the billionaire, Stark merely shrugged. "I'll look into it after the first trials are done."
"When it's too late to pull him out?" the blond man surmised sarcastically, the brightness in his gaze dulling further. Eyeing him carefully, he mumbled, "Tony..."
The sentence went unfinished, mainly because Stark shrugged him off and kept moving towards the designated meeting area. Entering the observation room, Stark took stock of his surroundings. Fury and Hawley were already seated, awaiting the countdown on the clock to run out and for the simulation to start. Two other team members were there as well, excused from acting as leaders in the simulation. Wanda Maximoff flashed a glance over him, her green eyes wide as she met the simmering wall of frustration he was secreting inside, and she leaned against the Vision's shoulder. The android looked between the pair of them, remaining silent. Several screens had been mounted on the walls one dedicated to each individual recruit and operated by some micro-drones of his creation. They would tape and observe each applicant in the preliminary fighting, to be examined later on at the examination board's leisure. The one on the bottom row, to the right, caught his attention, and he froze in his steps. He clenched his jaw for a few seconds, before turning a dark, brittle look onto Rogers.
"Ah, so I guessed right: the assassin is up for consideration as well," he said, all but spitting out the title he applied to Barnes. Speculation about the applicants was one thing, but to see the proof before his eyes was another altogether, and it turned his stomach. The grin he turned onto his would-be friend was more of a snarl. "Thought you were forbidden on grounds of favoritism to put in a bid."
More pink tinged the captain's face, but he did not cower before the billionaire. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and maintained his usual stiff posture.
"I was. He was nominated by the Maximoffs," he replied, nodding as Tony scoffed audibly. Raising a shoulder, he explained, "He and Pietro have formed a rapport over the last couple of months. Wanda, too."
Stark snorted at that. "Figures. They all have a lot in common, after all."
Across the room, Wanda flinched visibly, and her eyes flickered scarlet for a second.
"Enough," came a low voice, and he looked up into the Vision's steady gaze. The electric blue irises of the android had constricted, and his mouth was set grimly. Though he did sympathize with Stark in regards to the situation surrounding his parents' deaths, the Vision had since been exposed to other viewpoints, having seen for himself the effort the ex-assassin had put into changing his life and repenting his deeds. As well as that, he felt an unusual stirring inside, one that told him that he would not stand for Wanda to be insulted in such a way, no matter how truthful the words were. Combined with the stern looks being directed at him by Fury and Hawley, Stark clicked his tongue, sensing himself to be outnumbered for the moment and not wishing to push it.
"Fine, fine. Just...start the show whenever you're all ready," he said, striding away from the confrontation. His attention turned to the camera flickering to life in the left corner, the one assigned to Peter. He wasn't about to jeopardized the whole operation just because of the unpleasant developments. There was too much at stake. "I'll be over here, minding my own business."
Blue eyes focused on him for another long moment, before Steve shook his head ruefully and turned his attention back onto the screens. The timer was ticking down, the recruits divvied up into teams, and the future just about ready to be determined.
xXxXxXx
Two teams, two sides, neither right nor wrong. They simply were.
Bucky drew in a deep breath, the Kevlar and armor strapped to him tightening slightly. It was here, another moment, another time to prove his worth. To prove he was more than he was made to be. His mind was clear, his purpose before him. He had promised Natasha he would not hold back, and he would hold true to that promise, even with her being on the opposing side.
The goal of the first exercise was to measure each recruit's battle prowess, with them working together to bring the opposing team into submission. It was to go until every single member of the other side surrendered, or until the timer ran out. An hour was allotted for the fight at max, so it was speculated that surrender would happen first. Well, it wouldn't come from him. Not that time. He glanced over at his compatriots, sizing them up. Wilson and the one called Hawkeye were to act as co-leaders, steering the remaining members in the right direction as the simulation commenced. Ant-Man, or Scott as he was called, was bouncing on the balls of his feet, barely containing himself as the counter kept ticking down. One of the two girls, Emily (codenamed as Synapse), shot him a curious look, a smile curving her mouth as she flicked her gaze towards the other team. Directly across the field from him was Natasha, co-leader of the other side. Dropping his gaze to his boots for a second, he managed to keep his placid facade, his breathing controlled as the last few seconds flashed on the board positioned on the base's roof.
The counter ran down, and as the large zero spread across the digital board, the recruits sprang into action. Loud cries and whoops broke out, echoing around them (they'd all been ignoring the audience of agents that had cropped up to watch the display, but it was hard to do so now). Breaking into a full run, the two sides met in the middle. The Black Widow jumped, planting her foot on his knee for leverage before crooking an elbow around his throat. Not having it, Bucky moved with her, driving his other elbow backwards into her side to slacken her hold. Legs and hips twisted, curling around him in a way that he did not find pleasant. In a trice, though, she was off him, Synapse slipping in beneath the radar and catching her with a right hook. Though he wanted to make sure Natasha was alright, he knew better than risk the exposure. Later, when they retreated to her quarters, he would check her over for any wounds or ailments. Thoroughly. Just like last night.
His moment of freedom was short-lived, as scratching claws came at him mere seconds after the Black Widow was driven away. It did not seem human at first, and he was hard-pressed to fend off the lithe, darting creature. In the back of his mind, he knew that it was merely the uniformed Prince of Wakanda, but he was locked into his fight-or-flight mode, unable to reason with it. The pair wrestled with one another, his punches rebounding almost harmlessly off the fellow's armor. Still, he did manage to dislodge him, pushing him sharply into a broken luggage cart and escaping.
Barely shaking off the panther-like man, he rolled underneath one of the wrecked cars, taking refuge there for a moment. It did not last long, as shots of white film attached themselves to his ankles, hauling him backwards and back into the fray. Face to face with the late arrival, the guy in blue and red—Spider-Man, as he had been introduced by the colonel—he rolled his eyes. Cocking his fist, he fired out from the shoulder, intent on at least knocking the guy back long enough to get away to steadier ground. His metal fist was caught, and moreover, held easily, the grip around his appendage making the sensors snap loudly in his brain.
"Oh, wow! This is your actual arm?" the voice within the mask crooned, taking him aback. It wasn't so much the question that pulled Bucky up short, nor was it the solid grip bending his arm out at the wrist for examination. It was the tone, the incredibly youthful tone coming from the guy before him. Barnes felt his eyes widened as he was jerked forward, two gloved hands turning his palm up and the white eye coverings descending closer. The excitement tripled as the guy continued to stare (or so he supposed he was doing behind the mask). "What are the composite materials?"
"I..." the ex-assassin stammered, unable to formulate a response. Curiosity, he could understand, but at this level, and in a battle simulation? Something was off by a few degrees, and he stared right back at him. Jerking his head up, the red-and-blue suited peer looked around them, as though he suddenly remembered where he was.
"Right, right, we're supposed to be fighting," the guy responded anxiously. Hooking a thumb back towards the combatants around them, he lifted a shoulder. "Um, still kinda new to the whole thing. But maybe afterward we can talk? Because that is seriously cool."
Nonplussed, and incredibly off-kilter, Bucky gaped at him. "What?"
"Sorry, gotta swing," the guy said, the strange film pouring out from his wrist and attaching to the overhead wing of a nearby quinjet. "Talk later though, 'kay?"
The red-and-blue menace was off, far away by the time Barnes had collected his faculties. Nothing like that had ever occurred to him before, as far as he could remember. That guy, that really young-sounding guy was just so...he shook his head. What had just happened?
A low growl tore through the air, ending his contemplation as the Black Panther returned for another round.
xXxXxXx
Across the field, behind one of the dismembered Jeeps, Clint Barton was crouched and steadying his breathing. After so long a time spent away from his element, it was a somewhat heady experience to be thrown back into the fray. In a way, it felt like coming home, slinging on the quiver of his high-tech arrows, his collapsible bow springing wide as he opened it. Though it was hard to be away from Laura and the kids, much harder than it had been in the past, a part of him was glad to be plying his true trade, even if it was just a simulation and he was a little rusty.
It would explain why his protege was laying into him hard, coming at him with every move possible. Kate was a tough cookie, and she was determined to prove her worth. She wanted his mantle, wanted to be Hawkeye in his place, and had been at his mercy for months to do so. While the board had provided him the opportunity to let her try, he wasn't about to hand it over all that easily. Consequently, she was pulling no punches with him. And she punched hard, he mused, rubbing lightly at the sore spot along his jaw.
Risking a peek over the edge of the Jeep, he spotted the rest of his team engaged with combatants of the opposing side, holding their own. However, he'd lost his target, and was harrumphing silently when three rapid thumps rattled off the frame beside him. Detonator arrows, calibrated to only pop and disorient, were about to go off, and he scrambled away with barely a second to spare. Suddenly, a body slammed atop his, dragging him into a full roll. Bows clashed and jabbed at one another, Kate's hazel eyes shining with triumph at catching him off-guard. She stayed close, doing her best to make sure he could not get a single shot off. Forced to reach for his boot extensions, he shoved her off long enough to string one up. Firing, the arrow breezed by her ear harmlessly. Not even flinching, she pressed her advantage again, knocking him back down to the ground and kicking his bow away.
"Gotta be aware of your surroundings, Barton," the young woman rumbled proudly, standing tall and flicking her braid over her shoulder. Harsh breaths poured out of them, and her smile turned feral. Surrender was imminent; all she had to do was wait.
The older archer snickered at that, ignoring her frown and glancing down at her booted feet pointedly. Following his gaze, her eyes widened as she realized that a retractable wire had been attached to the arrow he'd fired into the outcropping of crates thirty feet away, the end of it looped around her ankle when she accidentally stepped into it. As he thumbed the sensor on his boot, he smirked as the younger woman was jerked backward, dragging along in the dirt as the wire hauled her back towards the trap he'd set up.
"Be aware of yours, Katie," he called after her, grinning and getting off of the ground. As he brushed himself off, he sensed another presence behind him. However, he did not turn to face her. Instead, he let her come to him.
"Could've gone a little easier on her," Natasha told him as she came up on his left, not entirely sincere about it. That earned her a look, a brief flash of incredulity decorating his features. The redhead shrugged at her friend, and he chuckled.
"Like you could've with Barnes?" he retorted, watching as her muted delight drained away. He may have been out of the game for nearly a year, but he wasn't blind. Not about her, not about the woman who had been his partner for so many endeavors and missions. He'd witnessed her brutal attack upon the guy, and the force he'd put into meeting her head-on. Privately, he wondered if it was possibly a form of foreplay for her to do so, but he knew better than to ask that question. Rather, he just reasserted the speakable truth. "C'mon, I know you. You kick people's asses twice as hard if you like them."
Having seemingly scored a point, Hawkeye was prepared to launch into another attack. However, the Black Widow had beaten him to it, her leg pivoting and sweeping out, catching him in the side and knocking him to the ground. Before he had a chance to get up, she'd fallen on him.
"Which explains why you're eating dirt now, right?" she whispered in his ear, smirking as she pressed his face harder into the ground. He may have scored a point, but he was not going to win the battle.
"Mmph!" was the grunted response, before the fellow twisted and turned to push her off of him. When she sprang away, her grin grew wider as she caught him spitting grass and gravel out of his mouth. Well, at least before he glared at her, his feet pounding into the ground as he started to chase her across the field. If he could catch her, he would pay her back in full for her actions.
xXxXxXx
Meanwhile, Scott Lang was dodging and diving away from the continual thorn in his side. For all the good it had done him earlier, his shrinking and fighting with the War Machine had borne no fruit. Well, besides the fruit of frustration. He could not catch a break with the guy, the mechanized armor seemingly too solid for him to work his way into. Even summoning the ants did him no favors; after all, the colonel hardly ever touched the ground, so it would be impossible to recruit his friends into helping him sever internal wires. Tapping at the pad on his wrist, he contemplated an idea. If he did some reverse calculations, redid the calibrations, he could, theoretically, enhance himself to a larger size. However, it had the potential to kill him if he happened to get it even slightly off. When he felt the burning breeze of boosters brush his neck, though, he figured it was worth a shot. It worked in the lab once, could work again. YOLO, and all that. People still said YOLO, right? He didn't have the time to ask.
Tapping along the pad, he began to run towards the War Machine as he made another pass. Inhaling deeply, he took up the suit trigger, pushing himself harder.
"Please don't rip me to shreds, please don't rip me into shreds...if I die, tell my daughter I'm sorry I didn't get her that pony she wanted!" he yelled out over the comms, begging the powers that were to spare his life and for his temporary teammates to follow his last wishes. Pressing the trigger, he felt his body expand, careen out until he towered over the base. Reaching out, he managed to catch the colonel around the ankle. Finally, finally, he got him.
"What the—" the colonel's tinny voice rattled out, but he had little time to say anything else. His body was jerked up and down, and all around as Scott celebrated his victory.
"Hot damn, it worked!" his deep voice rumbled out, the minor tremors of his shuffling feet making the ground shake. With one toss, he rocketed the colonel downward forcing him to land in an embankment of crates and carts, and he pumped a massive fist in the air.
The victory was short-lived, however. A mass of webbing, a false step, and the rock of the ground as he fell had bumped his ego back down a few notches. It was made worse by the guy in red and blue gloating about the superiority of spiders to ants over the comms, and Scott groaned as he reverted to his normal size.
Well, at least it worked for a few minutes, right?
xXxXxXx
The pleased expression on Tony's face after Spider-Man's deft handling of the Ant-Man was almost unbearable in its smugness, but on the whole, it was preferable to the moroseness he'd sported upon arrival. To himself, Steve had supposed he'd rather the billionaire be happy; his choice, it seemed, was a good one, lacking in credentials as he was. Still, the simulation was not finished, and so he kept an eye on the cameras, watching as Wilson turned next upon the smaller guy. Though his reflexes were beyond those of a typical human being, he still managed to be caught by the Falcon's boot as he swooped down from the sky. Shoved into some shipping containers, the other fellow seemed to have cracked his head pretty hard on the fall, disorienting him for a few seconds.
"C'mon, Underoos, get up," Stark crowed under his breath, watching avidly as the monitor panned to where the young man was cornered. Backed up between two blocks of shipping crates, the Spider-Man was being assaulted by the Falcon, web-shots flinging out as he slid down to the ground. Grinding his teeth, Tony tapped his fingers impatiently along the side of his leg. The boy had to get off the ground, get himself out of there, but the Falcon was unwilling to allow him by. "Get up."
A string of webbing smeared over the flying Avenger's goggles, causing him to drop down blindly. The younger fellow, though, was directly below him, and stood to be crushed under the other's weight (along with some collapsing crates) as he fell. There had been too many close calls for the boy that day, and this last one had pushed him to the breaking point. At once, the tech genius cried out again, his voice gaining volume as he growled at the screen.
"Get out of there, Peter!"
A deathly silence fell in the room after his final pronouncement, and Tony felt the blood drain from his face. It was entirely unintentional, a slip of the tongue brought on by concern and pride. However, those two things were out of his mind when he chanced a glance to the left, when he caught the drop of Rogers' jaw.
"Peter? As in Peter Parker?" the captain gasped, eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline. Behind him, Hawley shot a confused look to Fury, who merely grimaced in response. The marked lack of denial from the billionaire made the blond man's face blanch. The young kid, who had done the photography for his wedding, was the Spider-Man? He was the one who had been rumored to be swinging around Queens, performing random acts of heroism? (The reports in the city had been forwarded, but were to be addressed at a later date.) It boggled the mind, and deeply upset him. "He's your bid?! He's a kid!"
"A kid? How old is that young man?" Hawley interjected, her face creasing in concern. Alarms were sounding in her head at the implications being made. From their spot at the back of the room, Wanda shared a worried glance with the Vision, silent questions passing with no answers. No answers, save for the one the captain spat out.
"He's fifteen."
"Sixteen in June," Stark riposted, not giving an inch despite being caught out. The representative shot a look of horror at him, turning to glance at Fury. The team could suffer great damage for endangering a minor, no matter how advanced he was with his abilities, and they could not afford that. The field director of SHIELD tipped his chin, and immediately gestured the two Avengers at the back of the room forward.
"Shut down the demonstration, now," he told them, hooking his thumb out in the direction of the field. Tony barked out a noise of denial, his face screwing up in indignation.
"What? No! He's fine, look," he said, pointing at the camera monitors to show how Parker had regained his footing, his hand-to-hand bout with Sam resuming as he flipped over the Falcon. However, the others in the room glowered at him, not willing to let the new development slide.
"No. Stop the fight, and bring everyone inside," Steve commanded, his voice barely restraining the rise of shocked anger inside him. At once, Wanda and the Vision nodded, the pair of them clambering out of the chamber and onto the field. Peering at the screens, they could see the activity of the trials had stopped, the combatants gathered as the Scarlet Witch and the android beckoned them to meet in the center of the impromptu arena. The comms were turned off for a moment, but it was clear to the cameras that the others were told why they had stopped. Heads turned to stare at the young man in blue and red, the slump of his shoulders visible as the stunned expressions of the others were directed at him. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached up and removed his mask, his hair spiking as he revealed himself. Stark's gaze fell to his feet, and Steve huffed. It was true; the teenager was there, was the billionaire's bid for team membership.
But why? Why Peter?
As those assembled made their way off the field, the thunder in his blue eyes pinned Stark to his spot, though he met the storm fully. He would not back down, raising his chin defiantly and keeping his face a stoic mask. Clenching fists at his sides for a moment, Steve drew himself up to his full height, veritably towering over the other man as he tapped into the comm link in his ear, using JJ to override and connect with the channels again.
"Team meeting in the training room, five minutes." A chorus of agreement hit his ears, and the camera feed cut off in time to show the participants edging their way back towards the facility. Gritting his teeth, the captain jabbed a finger in the billionaire's direction. "And you better not be late, Stark. So help me God."
The cloud of fury and disappointment remained even as he strode away, leaving the billionaire behind to wallow in it. For a moment, the older man merely stared at his retreating back, his defiance and stiff spine keeping him from giving way even that much. When the room had emptied, and all that was left were the chairs and the dark screens of the monitors, he exhaled. His shoulders drooped minutely, and he let out a low groan. It was an honest mistake, and now it was going to cost Peter a great chance for the future.
"Damn it," he breathed, hands tucking into pockets as he started to plod down to the training room, ready to meet his fate once more.
A/N:...To be continued next week. If the actions sequences sucked, I'm sorry. I'm just doing my best here. A lot going on in the chapter, and I hope it wasn't terribly confusing.
First prelims, and it comes out that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. Oh boy, they are in trouble...
Not much to say about this chapter, other than that it kicked my butt and I hope you all like it.
I mentally adjusted the ages of Synapse and Kate Bishop to be around their early twenties to make them viable candidates.
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Sriracha sauce, Marvel comics, etc.).
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!