Jane keeps this revelation to herself. SHIELD apportioned her quarters on the starboard side of the vessel, and while she's a bit wary of the yellow caution tape plastered over various doorways en route to her room, she's relieved to be out of the infirmary. The IVs, the monitors—she doesn't want to think about the potential repercussions of her shaky mental state. She has no desire to fracture the delicate alliance between herself and them, not when there are so many questions that need answering.

It's much easier to dive into work. Tony and Dr. Banner prove to be excellent colleagues in a lab, (of course, she's not surprised, but it reaffirms their impressive reputation), and they make good company when Jane is sure she might get lost in the sea of her own thoughts and anxiety. Tony especially makes good on his word to study the physicist's dissertation overnight, and by the next morning over coffee, even she is struggling to follow his barrage of questions. It's a pleasant distraction.

The only times she truly dreads now is sitting in on the Avenger-ish briefings with Fury. She deflects, shrugs, or smiles almost without thought, anything to take the attention off of her. A natural showman, it's easy for Tony to step into the role of leader, but everyone in the room knows that it's her research that has led them to this point, and Tony takes no credit.

"What you're saying," Fury grits, interrupting her thoughts during one such meeting, "is that you have nothing."

Tony stands and leans over the table, palms down. "I think we've been pretty tolerant looking into your 'operation weather disaster'—"

The briefing devolves into an angry verbal sparring match between the veteran Avengers and SHIELD's director with Jane mutely observing the whole interaction. Her head is starting to ache again, and the room feels stifling.

She escapes to the hallway without notice. Scorch marks and the familiar yellow caution tape mark several doorways around her.

Curious, Jane brushes her hand along one of the battered doors, perhaps in a subconscious hope to escape. She doesn't know.

"I wouldn't do that."

Jane spins, face to face with the young commander she saw on the helicarrier bridge.

"Hi. I...was just looking," Jane murmurs. If the woman cares about her excuse, she gives no indication either way. She crosses her arms and eyes Jane with a gaze that has withered countless subordinates.

"So you're the physicist."

Jane nods, waiting to be taken handcuffs back to the infirmary, or worse. Instead, the woman leans her shoulder against the wall.

"You can call me Maria," the commander says, her shrewd glare making Jane feel exposed. While Maria's tone is curt, Jane suspects it is the closest thing to 'friendly' this woman can drum up.

Jane stumbles through an appropriate response, but the commander doesn't seem interested in conversing.

"If you're looking for a quick escape," she notes casually, her gaze darting to the ruined door, "you'll fall thirty thousand feet. I wouldn't recommend it."

Not sure if that was an attempt at a joke or just stating a fact, Jane lamely stammers, "this ship isn't finished?"

"Not fully repaired."

"From what?" And then, feeling like a complete dolt, Jane recalls that this vessel must have been on the vanguard of the attack against Loki and the alien invaders.

As if reading her mind, Maria smiles. "Truth be told, most of the damage is from the Hulk, which makes your 'hostage' attempt all the more amusing. The crew still talks about it."

Jane can feel the color rise on her cheeks. "Yeah, well—"

"It took guts." With that, Maria turns on her heel and disappears down the hall. Jane stands with her mouth open. Did a SHIELD commander just applaud her? Despite everything, Jane allows herself to smile.

{}{}{}{}{}

"Jane? Dr. Foster?"

The physicist's head snaps up as she looks blankly at the speaker. Dr. Banner regards her questioningly.

"Sorry—what did you ask?" she mumbles. "I have a nasty headache. It's just hard to focus."

Dr. Banner and Tony exchange a look she can't interpret, but she doesn't care at the moment. The pounding in her temples is almost unbearable.

"The data you collected, does it show a time pattern?"

She has to struggle to think, even though she knows the numbers by heart. "No predictability."

"Well, there goes that idea," Tony gripes, motioning aside the holoscreen with a football game going on. He leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. "Any other suggestions?"

Dr. Banner pauses. "Maybe...that's it."

Tony leans forward. "Go on."

"The unpredictability. We know this event is repetitive, as we've been monitoring anywhere from zero to five plus significant temperature shifts in a seventy-two hour period. Whatever the source, there is no control over the timing and our readings are mediocre at best thanks to interference. If we wait it out, get as close as we can to the general area with more accurate sensors—"

"Then maybe we can get a visual—who or what is causing the shift," Tony finishes. He's smiling.

"Exactly." Dr. Banner stops. "Can your suit handle the cold?"

"Of course."

J.A.R.V.I.S. interjects. "Actually, sir—"

"It's fine!" Tony insists. "I'll take a bath in anti-freeze and we'll call it good." He glances over at Jane like he means to say something, but thinks better of it. She wants to tell them that it is pointless, and she's certain he can read it on her every fiber. She spent months at ground zero for the temperature shifts and saw nothing. A growing part of her is desperate for some excuse to leave SHIELD to deal with this issue and leave her to go far away—maybe to Tahiti (it stands to reason Stark has a spare hut for a poor scientist). Or even the to the tropical haven Darcy enjoyed in her video chat. Wherever that was.

"I'm going to my room for a bit," Jane says, too prideful to let one of them suggest it. Excusing herself, Jane makes her way out of the lab. Only steps later, the hallway swims, and then goes to black.

{}{}{}{}{}

She wakes up in the infirmary, once again attached to an IV. Hearing her panicked gasp, Dr. Banner rushes to her side.

"Jane, it's me. You're not under any restraint. That's right, breathe." He waits a beat. Her breathing steadies.

"Good. Do you remember collapsing yesterday?"

Yesterday? She has been unconscious since then? The physicist nods her head.

"Do you still feel the migraine?"

It's hard to speak, but after a moment, "No," Jane finally answers.

"Good. I have you on some stiff painkillers at the moment."

"I would kill from some coffee," she croaks out.

"I'll add it to the IV," he tells her, the corner of his mouth lifting. Jane can already feel herself relaxing.

"You gave us quite a scare," Dr. Banner continues as he sits on the end of her mattress. "Has this kind of thing happened before—blacking out?"

Yes, Jane wants to scream. But it hits too close to home, too close to this newly guarded secret that her greatest strength and the means of her livelihood—her mind—might not be entirely sound. So instead, she shrugs.

Astute enough to discern her reserved body language, Dr. Banner sighs. "I still don't have any definitive answers regarding your blood work, but I'd like to do some further scans, if that's okay with you."

No! She regards him levelly. She has to be calm. Rational. "I would prefer you didn't," she says. "I'm really fine. I just had a blood sugar crash or something."

She hates that disappointed look he gives her. After a long moment, he tells her, "as you wish, but I strongly advise against it."

"I know. Thank you all the same for your care." Jane sits up more and checks the clock on the wall.

"Has Tony left yet?" she asks.

"Yes, he should be radioing back to us any time now. I'm expected on the bridge."

"I want to be there, too."

{}{}{}{}{}

Despite the technological advances on the helicarrier, the open comm line crackles in a way that reminds Jane of a record player. Unbidden, she recalls a time in New Mexico with Darcy and Erik, drinking cheap wine and sitting in fold-up chairs outside her trailer while Elton John crooned Rocket Man in the background on her ancient taped-together Pioneer player. When life was simpler. Happy.

Can I ever have that back? she wonders.

Just then, Tony Stark's voice echos throughout the bridge. "Helicarrier 64, over."

Maria taps the screen on her console. "We read you. How's the weather down there?"

There's a scratchy silence for a moment before, "well, what do you know, SHIELD does have a sense of humor. It's paradise, guys. Wish you were here."

Back to business, the commander frowns. "Readings?"

"Within normal perimeters. I'm not seeing anything out of the ordinary." He pauses. "Is Dr. Foster there?"

All eyes turn on her as she squeaks out, "yes."

"How could you stand Nome?" he begins conversationally. "Watching paint dry is more interesting. Come to New York. I'll have a segment of the tower outfitted with a telescope—"

His voice trails off as she is lost in her thoughts. How Tony? she thinks, because I'm insane. But that has more layers of meaning than she care to think about, so she tries to focus on the matter at hand. Tony's salesmanship is still going on over the com, something about he could guarantee the clarity of an image despite the light pollution, and then suddenly—

"Hold on. The temperature's shifting. Damn. J.A.R.V.I.S., are you getting this?"

"Stark, what's going on?" Maria orders.

"Helica—" Whatever Stark is saying is lost in the poor connection.

"Repeat that, we didn't read."

And then, perfectly clear, they hear Tony drawl, "hello, ugly…"

Jane's hands are clenching the fabric of her hoodie. She can't help but feel partially responsible for any harm that may befall Stark, given that this thing—whatever it is—is her discovery. The tension is palpable on the bridge. She locks gazes with Dr. Banner, and she's knows the thought on his mind.

"Stark, report." Silence. Maria licks her lips and tries again, staring ahead. "Report."

There is nothing but static. She looks over at one of the technicians. "Is he still on radar?"

"No, ma'am."

Cursing under her breath, the woman leans forward on the console, staring intently at the screen. For all her hardness, Jane sees that the commander, as much as anyone in the room, is willing Iron Man to return unscathed.

And then suddenly—

"Open the damn door, now!" comes Stark's static filled order. Suddenly, all around her, the room jump-starts to life again.

A technician presses a button on the console. There's a slight vibration of the helicarrier steel floor under Jane's feet.

"Get Fury down to cargo bay four," the commander orders. "Roberts, you have the helm."

Jane stays close to Dr. Banner as they move with a crowd of agents and soldiers to the cargo bay. Given her petite stature, she is forgotten behind the wall of bodies until Dr. Banner graciously takes her arm and guides her through. Unsurprisingly, he is given a wide berth.

Making eye contact, Tony Stark rises on wobbly legs despite still being in his suit. His helmet is on the ground, the famous red markings dented, slashed and covered in ice.

He locks gazes with Fury and shakes his robotic hand at him.

"You owe me."

With that, the Iron Man steps aside, and Jane gasps.