"What are we going to do about Ross?" asks Sharon, drawing back a chair and collapsing into it. Steve gives her a small smile. He wishes he had the energy to offer a solution, but he doesn't. His mind's all dregs and muck.
"Great question," comments Peter Quill. "We could send him to Xandar. Or bring him to Thanos."
"Remove his spine. He is vexing," declares Drax.
"I am not sure," T'Challa admits, taking a seat next to Gamora. "But those are not options."
"Killjoy," accuses Rocket. Gamora rolls her eyes. They have a small group—only Steve, Sam, the Guardians, and T'Challa. Plus Sharon.
Work, brain.
"Have you been in communication with anyone at all?" Steve questions Sharon.
"Not yet." Sharon shakes her head and sips a glass of water. "I could just tell them we're currently staying as guests of Wakanda. However—"
"Attempting to murder someone, even a genocidal prisoner, on Wakandan territory is not your place," T'Challa tells her. "They need to know that Wakanda will not stand for that."
"I had no idea they were even considering that," Sharon insists.
"I believe you," T'Challa affirms, raising a cup of coffee to his lips. "But Wakanda cannot stand for repeated intrusions by your government. However—"
"The rest of the world isn't going to buy that," Steve finishes. "Not when they hear the name 'Loki' and remember all the people they lost."
"And there is the little matter of Thanos," puts in Quill as Rocket downs his second cup of coffee. Steve winces. "Like, the matter of, we better act soon."
"That we can't discuss now. Not until everyone else is assembled," T'Challa snaps.
"Can't you just assassinate Ross and say he got lost in the wilderness?" Rocket suggests.
"No!" Steve, Sam, and Sharon all shout.
"Humans," grumbles the raccoon, filling in his third cup of coffee. Gamora's eyebrows rise.
"Weak," agrees Drax.
"I'm human," protests Quill. His friends exchange a glance and and shrug. Rocket snickers.
"Look, there are people I can contact, but they're not really a part of the government in the US anymore. They're ex-SHIELD agents. And some superhumans, in a way," says Sharon.
"Who?" Steve asks, watching her. There's so much he doesn't know about her.
Will you ever have time to learn?
"If I told you, you'd never believe me," Sharon answers, and she doesn't give any more details. Steve nods and climbs to his feet to brew himself a cup of coffee. It won't affect him, but he's exhausted. Not physically. In every other sense.
In the world Steve grew up in, heroes fought, heroes won, heroes sometimes sacrificed their lives for noble causes. Heroes did not wilt from exhaustion.
He's superhuman in every way, and yet when Steve thinks of trying to wrangle a solution to the diplomatic mess the Avengers have found themselves in, at Wakanda's expense, when he thinks of the threat looming with Thanos, whose love for death means murder for everyone and everything, including the people Steve loves, he doesn't want to fight. He knows he has to, and the notion of not fighting—it's impossible. He won't consider it.
But he's tired of fighting. And he never though he would feel this way. What's wrong with me?
"We can try to strike a deal with Ross," Sharon says. "My job's probably gone by now."
"Sorry." Steve winces.
"Don't be. Aunt Peggy would be proud." She offers him a small smile.
"That man would strike a deal?" T'Challa raises his eyebrows. Steve takes a sip of coffee. It's black, bitter, strong. It burns.
"Maybe. If we go to eradicate the threat of Thanos with Vision in tow. There's no need to mention Barnes. Say Thor's going back to Asgard to bury his father—"
"Do they do burials in Asgard?" wonders Quill.
"—tell them that Loki's going too, as a prisoner. That he won't escape from."
"That didn't work out last time," Steve comments, rubbing his chin. His brain's sluggish.
"Well, Thor doesn't answer to any government agency, as much as they'd like to pretend he does. I know we humans like to pretend we have some measure of control on these extraterrestrial beings, enhanced people, the like, but we don't. And I think the government needs to accept that. Of course they won't spin it to the public that way, but it's a start." Sharon blows out her breath. "Tell them unauthorized executions are not allowed in Wakanda. They can't necessarily fault you for arresting Ross, and that sniper."
"If I agree to send them back, to pardon them," T'Challa muses. "They might have to agree to stay out of Wakanda and Wakanda's business as a term." He meets Steve's eyes. "And that includes the Avengers."
"You know," Sam adds. "If you go to the press… their option of 'not agreeing' to these terms might be somewhat limited."
"Who do we know who has the ability to influence the press?" asks T'Challa. "Stark?"
"More like his ex," Sam says. "Pepper."
"Hey," says a voice from the doorway. Loki cranes his neck to see Gamora standing there. Still clad in black, red tips to her dark hair. She hasn't changed much, but her eyes—they're less burdened.
Loki cringes as he remembers one of the first days he was with Thanos, when he asked Gamora for help.
Help yourself, she told him.
It was probably the best advice she could have given him. If he hadn't capitulated, convinced Thanos—he might still be trapped there, screaming and screaming. Or dead, an offering to Thanos's mistress.
But where did the pretenses stop, and the emulation begin?
Mother…
"How're you feeling?" Gamora asks as she steps in. Thor wakes from where he's been sleeping in the chair.
You fool, Loki thinks. But he's grateful. "It's healing," he tells her. "It'll be fine."
"Sorry about your father," Gamora mutters. Thor nods.
He's no love lost to me, Loki remembers telling her once, snarling really.
The trick's on Loki, now, and it's too late. Father will never see…
"I'm glad to see you made it out, too," he says. "I could tell you wanted out."
Gamora's eyes widen. "I hid it well."
"True," he admits. "Nebula?"
"My sister is… she fought with Ronan. To use the Power Stone to destroy Xandar. We fought and she fled." Gamora bites her lip.
"She tried to kill you, didn't she?" Loki asks. His stomach twists. Which one am I?
Why would it even matter?
"She's still my sister. If only because of the horrors Thanos put us through." Gamora shakes her head. "I don't think she was working with Ronan out of bloodlust, at least not for Xandar. She wanted to take Thanos down."
"Could she be an ally?" Thor asks.
"I've no idea where to reach her." Gamora frowns.
"The Collector might," Loki suggests.
"The Orb blew up his collection."
"I'm not sure that matters. He still has the Aether."
"From what I've heard," Thor begins carefully. "We are to return to Asgard for my father's—for his—funeral. If you and the Guardians were to visit this Collector while we—"
"We'll see." Gamora sighs.
"I'm surprised they're even considering letting me go," Loki comments.
"Don't push your luck," Thor grouses.
Loki scowls.
"I know what you mean," Gamora says. "It's like—we get to help, now. Because it's the right thing. I felt like that on Xandar. Even after everything—and—but without us, what chance would they have? We know Thanos. Me better than you, but you know him still."
We'll never fully erase anything.
We can't erase a single thing. But we can maybe mold something different. Loki hopes. He watches his brother and his throat constricts. He doesn't want to let him down, but he will. He always does.
"You know, I heard you had been captured, and then killed. It was convincing even enough for Thanos to believe it," Gamora tells him. "You're invaluable. Even if the rest of the Avengers don't want to work with you."
He can't imagine that they would. Except perhaps Natasha, and Bruce. Is Bucky an Avenger? "You know," Loki says, glancing to Thor. "On Svartalfheim. I really, truly thought I was dying."
"But you didn't," Thor states.
"Something—I think with my—true nature—" Loki grimaces. He still hates looking at his pale skin and thinking about the icy blue stirring under there. "—saved me. And then I took advantage." He studies the threads on the blanket. The corners fray, unraveling the artwork slowly over time.
Thor nods. Do you believe me? Loki's not sure. He can't blame Thor. He wishes he could.
"We need to discuss with the rest of the Avengers," Thor tells Gamora. "But if you can find this sister of yours—and she will agree to help you—we could use a third person who knows this place."
"Natasha and Bucky know it too," Loki interrupts. "Albeit less well."
"We could set a number of days. A week, maybe, for you to try and find her, while we're on Asgard. And we can take the Avengers with us, as many as we can," Thor tells Loki.
"You're going to let me come back to Asgard?" Loki's nose wrinkles. "You can't."
Thor's jaw drops. "Yes, I can."
"Thor. I'm sorry to break the news to you, but you are king now. I'm a traitor. You can't—"
"I don't give a damn!" Thor shouts. His nostrils flare. "You're my brother. You're the only family, and Loki—"
"You're an idiot if you think I'm worth—"
"You're worth—"
"Couldn't you just disguise yourself?" asks Gamora.
"Oh." Loki's jaw snaps shut. "I suppose."
"That would do," Thor agrees.
Everyone save for Loki gathers in the conference room. With no seats available, Natasha drops to the floor. Bucky and Sam settle next to her. Wanda perches on Vision's lap and Natasha raises her eyebrows at her.
Wanda ignores her.
"Get out, kid," Tony orders Peter Parker.
"I took down a sniper; can't—can't I stay?"
"Yes," says Steve. Tony glares. If looks could kill, Steve would be obliterated.
"I'll start," Thor says, glancing at Gamora. He explains their idea.
"So instead of waiting for Thanos to come to us, we're going to him?" Tony asks.
"That's what it seems like," T'Challa confirms.
Natasha glances at Bucky, whose face drains. His fingers feel cold against her hand.
"If we have a distraction, I think we have a chance," Gamora says, glancing at the rest of the Guardians and at T'Challa.
"What kind of distraction?" asks Vision.
"You'll do," Peter Quill says, nodding at Bruce. Natasha's heart freezes. Her fingertips ache.
"No," Bruce says flatly.
"Thanos is very interested… and disturbed by your capabilities," Gamora informs him.
"Which I can't control," Bruce shoots back. His face grows red. Wanda takes a step back. "I could just as easily—if he manipulates me the wrong way, I could turn on you and you and all of you. That's my worst nightmare; don't you understand? I brought down a helicarrier—"
"You stopped Loki," Thor offers. "There's a chance you can—"
"I'm not willing to take that risk," Bruce snaps, pacing, his hands interlocked behind his head.
"You know what she showed me?" Tony interrupts, nodding to Wanda. "She showed me all of you, dead."
Wanda shrugs.
What? Natasha frowns.
"That's what led me to—all of this. It's to keep you all safe. And, you know, other people too. But I understand maybe better than you would think, Bruce," Tony says, clutching the back of Rhodey's chair. "You want to keep people safe. But in trying to do that, I kind of went—a lot of bad things happened. If anything, I put people more in danger than—well. I ruined my relationship with Pepper."
"Do you have a point where you're going with this?" Bruce asks.
"Yeah. I do. You can try and protect people, but it's not a guarantee. We need you, Bruce. We need the Hulk, too."
"Do you think the Mind Stone could help?" asks Vision.
"Not while it's in your head fuelling your brain," Peter Quill responds.
"There's nothing that can help." Bruce shakes his head. "I want to help you guys, I want to be an Avenger, but I can't—"
"What if we tried to work on it?" T'Challa interrupts.
"How would you do that without leveling Wakanda?" Bruce retorts.
"We have her," T'Challa says, nodding to Wanda. "We have Asgardians. We have controlled spaces."
"I can call Eric Selvig," puts in Jane. "He might have some ideas as well."
"He doesn't work with biology," Bruce snaps.
"Look," Scott says. "I get it. You think you're a failure and a monster and whatnot, but you're not really. If you don't try, and we all go anyways, and we all get killed—okay, maybe you won't miss me, but aren't there some people in this room whom you're gonna miss, big-time?"
Bruce's eyes meet Natasha's. Her throat throbs.
She wants to tell him he can do this, but she doesn't know that he can. "Please try, Bruce," she requests. That's all she can ask for.
It's all she has the right to ask.
He nods. "I'll try." Bruce sinks into the chair he vacated. "Dammit."
"We're going to try and find some more people—children of Thanos—who might be willing to help," Gamora continues. "He has enemies. Lots of them. Thor will bury his father—"
"And recruit the Warriors Three," Thor adds.
"Why are you even helping us?" Clint asks. "You." He nods at Gamora. "You don't exactly—"
"Because Thanos tortured me. Because I know what he's capable of, and I can't let that—I can't let it happen. When I left Thanos I had no plans except getting the hell away and staying away. And then I ran into these guys."
"Excuse me," Rocket corrects. "We ran into you. Or Groot did."
"I almost put a knife in you," Drax remembers. Natasha shakes her head. And she thought the Avengers had a messed up crew.
"Yeah, but they showed me what was possible, what Thanos wouldn't let—Thanos loves death. He personifies it, is madly, madly in love with death. I have life now, with my friends. I want to preserve that, for everybody."
There's more to life than just surviving.
The Avengers gave Natasha a home, a family really, something that SHIELD hadn't done. SHIELD was switching sides. The Avengers were her resurrection.
We could be friends, Natasha thinks as she watches Gamora.
Scott claps. T'Challa watches Gamora with glowing eyes.
The rest of the meeting dissolves into planning. Bucky bites his lip and doesn't speak, and Natasha's heart sinks.
"Want to talk?" she asks, grasping his elbow. He lets her pull him out of the room, down the hall and into a stairwell. "You're having the same thoughts as Bruce, aren't you?"
He nods and drops down on one of the stairs. The light, from a window several floors above, falls gray onto his face. "I don't know what to do."
"If you're so worried, Thor or Loki can use Gungnir—" Is Loki coming? Natasha wonders. He has to be. Although Thor didn't mention it. "You don't have to worry."
"Yeah, but when I took the Gauntlet that time, I wasn't me. I was the Winter Soldier. So if I can accomplish more—"
"But what do you want?" Natasha interrupts, peering at him. He looks like he's trying to make himself smaller, but he can't. They all take up space.
Anguish twisting his features, he lifts his head to face her. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt Steve, or Sam, or Tony. I don't want to hurt you."
You really care. Natasha has to remind herself of it constantly. Maybe it's like a lifesaving medicine for her, and she'll never be whole, never be able to believe, without doubting, that someone loves her.
"But if I have my mind, and I'm useless in the fight, then everyone gets hurt anyways." Bucky hits his knee.
"Not necessarily," Natasha says. "We've got a pretty good roster even without you."
Bucky's lips curve into a smile. "True. But I want to do my part. I want to help. If Tony will let me."
"He doesn't have a whole lot of choice," Natasha admits. "So yes, he'll let you."
"I can't—I can't hurt another innocent person, Natasha. I don't want to be a monster, but I also don't want to be useless."
"You wouldn't be," Natasha says, because she needs to believe it too. "You were a pretty great soldier before you feel from that train, according to Steve."
Bucky narrows his eyes. "How any stories has he told you?"
"A fair amount." Natasha tosses her hair.
Bucky leans forward and covers her lips with his. Natasha pulls back and clutches the sides of his face. "You'll never be useless."
The door to the stairwell bangs open, and Clint stops. "Oh."
"Hey, Clint," Natasha says casually. Lord knows she walked in on him and Laura making out more than once.
"Hey," Clint says, folding his arms. "Um, you, Bucky. I wanted to—apologize."
"What for?" Bucky asks, taken aback.
"Assuming you killed Nat," Clint says.
Natasha scowls, but she's not surprised. Life hasn't taught either of them to expect the best.
"I wouldn't have expected anything else," Bucky says.
Because he could have done it, if Loki or the Kree or anyone really manipulated his mind the right way. What a terrible burden, Natasha thinks, and it's one she bears too.
"Well, I'm still sorry," Cling states.
"Thanks," Bucky mutters, as if uncomfortable with the idea that Clint could think him a good person.
But you are one. Or at least, like all of us, you're capable of it.
