Chapter 8

Back in the lab, Tony was poring over SHIELD's secure files—particularly the ones pertaining to something called 'Phase 2'.

"Look at this," Tony was saying, appalled. "I haven't seen encryption this heavy since the Oscorp files Mia brought me. JARVIS is having a hell of a time getting through this."

Beside him was Banner, who had been uncomfortable with examining SHIELD's files, but had been willing to help find the ones belonging to Mia Paxton. He was squinting, scrolling down a list of names.

"I'm not seeing any files marked 'Paxton' in this listing, Stark," Banner said flatly. He could feel the beginnings of a tension headache in his temples.

Tony frowned. "That's odd. This is the entire SHIELD database, including their registrar of current consultants. She should be on this list. Unless…" His eyes widened with realization. "Oh. Banner, scroll up to the S-T section."

Confused, Banner did as he'd been asked.

"We're not on this list either," Tony stated, and took the screen. He briskly entered in a strand of command prompts, and then typed in his own name. A look of triumph crossed his face. "Bingo," he said, gesturing to the screen.

Banner leaned in closely. "What's the 'Superhero Registration Act'?" he questioned.

"No idea," Tony stated. "Some sort of roster, apparently. But no matter. The important thing is this." He tapped on the file marked PAXTON, AMELIA N.

A few minutes passed in silence as both men read the screen's contents, page after page. Eventually, they began to speak.

"Oh my…"

"What the hell?"

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Look at this! Oh my god, Mia was hiding something. I knew it!"

"But…she died! It was in the news!"

"What the…oh shit. Shit, this is not good."

"I can't believe this. I mean I knew that she…but…fuck, Mia, seriously?" Tony finished this in a shocked whisper. "No wonder you do what you do…"

It took a few moments before each scientist had had enough—and Banner unsurprisingly gave up first, leaning back against the wall in horror.

"I should have known," he said dully, as Tony finished reading Mia's files.

"Well, that's SHIELD for you," Tony replied, shaking his head.

Banner gave a silent nod. "Mia and I were talking about that very thing…well it's not even Mia though, is it?" He looked at Stark, bewildered.

"I have to admit that even I didn't see this coming," Tony confessed. He shook his head, flicking aside the files to check on JARVIS' progress.

It was at that precise moment that Director Fury came striding into the room, apparently on the warpath.

"What are you doing, Mister Stark?" Fury demanded coldly.

"Uh, kind of wondering the same thing about you," Tony replied, equally harsh.

"You're supposed to be locating the Tesseract."

"We are," Banner interjected. "The model's locked, and we're sweeping for the signature now. When we get a hit"—he pointed behind the director to a set of screens—"we'll have the location within half a mile."

"Yeah then you get your cube back. No muss, no fuss." Tony paused to take a look at the screen, still loading new data as JARVIS finished processing it. "What is Phase 2?"

A harsh bang resonated through the room, as a large machine gun hit the metal of a desk. "Phase 2 is SHIELD uses the Cube to make weapons," Rogers announced, still looking royally pissed. Beside him, Mia stood, arms crossed against her chest and a vaguely defiant look on her face. "Sorry, computer was moving a little slow for me."

"Ah if it isn't the Capsicle and his little girlfriend, here to save the day," Tony said, just dripping with sarcasm. "Fitting when you think about it; considering who she is."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Steve asked, angrily.

"For Christ's sake Tony, I'm not his girlfriend!" added an exasperated Mia. Steve gave her a sideways look, but said nothing.

"Rogers, Paxton. We gathered everything related to the Tesseract. This does not mean that we're making…"

"I'm sorry, Nick. What were you lying?" Tony turned the screen to face the others, now showing a diagram of various weapons.

"Oh come on, Fury," Mia deadpanned. "I've known about Phase 2 for months. Do you really think this is news? Surprising, considering this used to be an intelligence organization."

"And how exactly did you find out?" Fury demanded irritably. Steve scowled at his tone, and stepped ever-so-slightly further in front of Mia, glaring at the journalist.

"Well, I didn't hack into the Triskelion, if you're wondering. Let's just say that SHIELD security isn't what it used to be." Mia cast a cautious eye at Steve before glancing past him at the screen. "Hey, is that a missile?"

"I was wrong, Director. The world hasn't changed a bit," Steve said, his disgust apparent.

"Did you know about this?" Banner asked Romanoff, as the agent entered the lab flanked by none other than the god of thunder himself.

"You want to think about removing yourself from this environment, Doctor?" Romanoff asked, casting wary eyes at Banner as if he might spontaneously combust at any moment.

"I was in Calcutta," Banner countered with a slight but bitter laugh. "I was pretty well removed."

"Loki is manipulating you," the redheaded agent pressed, moving in on the scientist.

"And you've been doing what, exactly?"

"You didn't come here because I bat my eyelashes at you."

"Yes, and I'm not leaving because you suddenly get a little twitchy. I'd like to know," Banner pressed, "why SHIELD is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction."

"And why," Mia added, "it hasn't been addressed in any public or political form. All nuclear projects are currently under strict governmental control."

"You'd know, wouldn't you?" Tony seemed intent on firing as many snarky comments at her as possible.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mia said angrily, stepping around Steve. The Captain immediately threw an arm out to stop her from advancing. "Are you questioning my methods, Stark?"

"Ooh, we're back to Stark now. I'm so hurt," Tony said, pouting and casting a hand over his heart. "No. I'm hurt by the fact that you've been lying to me for as long as I've known you—which, I'd like to add, has been years."

"What are you trying to say?" Fury asked.

"Oh, you have nothing to say to me about this," Tony said, holding up a silencing hand at the director. "This is beyond your withholding information." He turned back to Mia. "I trusted you. Pepper trusted you. Does Jane even know about this?"

"Know about what?" Steve demanded. "Stop being so damn cryptic, Stark." He was keeping a close eye on Mia, and it bothered her. It felt like he thought she couldn't handle herself—something Mia would seriously resent, if he kept it up much longer.

"About who she really is!" Tony burst out, glaring daggers at the journalist. "Not Mia Paxton; Mia Paxton was my friend. Mia Paxton wouldn't have done this—but then again, there's no such person, is there?"

Mia's stomach curdled.

"What do you mean?" Thor asked, plainly confused. "Jane has told me much about Lady Mia, they are close friends."

"So you haven't told her then. Fantastic."

"Stark, you are out-of-line."

"Am I, Nick? I don't think I am."

"Paxton agreed to work with us on a strictly professional level. Understanding Loki's motives are of utmost priority; I think we can all agree—"

"And there we go with the lying again." Tony shook his head. "Do you ever tell the truth? Ever?" Seeing Fury wasn't going to reply, Tony went on. "You've got her under surveillance, Nick. That's why she's here—on the helicarrier, she's not a threat, and she's out of danger. Or so, I assume, was the thought."

"I can understand why Mia needs to be kept out of danger, but why is she a threat?" Steve suddenly asked. Romanoff cast accusatory eyes at Mia. It felt as if the room was turning against her. Keep calm Mia. Don't let them in…

"Because she's…how would you put it? The 'First Girl'?" Tony said.

Romanoff rolled her eyes at the title, Thor looked even more bewildered.

"The 'First Girl'?" Steve repeated doubtfully.

"That's right." Tony threw his hands up. "For those of us too dim to see the light like Capsicle here, I'll put it plainly. Allow me to present to the audience the long presumed dead, Miss Bridget Winters."

"Winters?" Steve still looked a bit confused. Oh god, Mia didn't want to see his face when he finally pieced it together—

"She's the freaking President's daughter, Cap. Try and keep up." Tony could be verbally brutal when angry. Each of his words cut Mia deeply.

There it was. The realization, the disappointment. Mia didn't usually mind being disappointing—she'd been doing that her entire life—but something about the look on Steve's face injured her in a way she hadn't been in a long time.

And it hurt, just as much as it had the first.

. . .

Bridget was sixteen when she discovered what her father was really doing for a living.

As the President of the United States, he had plenty of secrets—more than Bridget ever cared to know.

She knew without trying that her father was having an affair and her mother was racking up bills in an effort to console herself. She knew that 9/11 actually was an inside job, like many conspiracy theorists thought—though that hadn't been her father's doing, but his predecessors. She knew that the war overseas was an effort to establish American bases in otherwise non-American territory. And she knew that the financial crisis currently gripping the nation was a blatant attempt to gain the Congress' approval on a program that would lead to the termination of America's crippling dependence on China.

But what she didn't understand was that the President—her father—was using her inherent gift as a blueprint.

"A giant leap in the march towards greatness," was how he'd put it, in the first draft of what he called 'Project Midas'. Bridget had come across the document while searching the Oval Office late one night for her father's lucky pen.

What had started as an attempt to write her Yale admissions essay turned into a covert investigation. Bridget had swiped the original, using her magic to create a second copy so as not to arouse suspicion. It had taken her weeks to understand the gist of the document, which was mostly written in a combination of Masonic shorthand and scientific mumbo-jumbo interspersed with English. While her father had been cryptic enough in his explanations, she had been able to understand that it was some sort of scientific experiment, an enhancement program.

Bridget knew that her father was a scientist at heart. What she hadn't realized was that he was still active in his previous profession—she'd thought he'd given it up after being elected into office. It was clear that that wasn't the case, after all.

In his files, her father kept referencing the Erskine Procedure, and something called the Super-Soldier Program. There were also references to a project "being conducted in NY, filed under Genesis (Oscorp), which is showing promising results thus far."

After a few trips to the library, Bridget had discovered that the Program in question was directly linked with one person in particular: Captain America. Bridget knew his story like the back of her hand—his exhibit at the Smithsonian was her little sister's favorite; they went every time. She knew that he had been in some sort of enhancement program as well, with the result being a nearly perfect 'human condition'.

Apparently, her father viewed him as more than just a national hero—he was the epitome of scientific success in the genetic enhancement field. Consequently, 'Project Midas' was dedicated to none other than Steve Rogers.

It sounded horrifying, the project; like something out of Frankenstein. Patients were injected with various metallic substances, in a liquid form, and were then exposed to different variations of light: ranging from ultraviolet to radioactive levels. It was eerily similar to the steps involved in the Erskine Procedure, Bridget noted, with one major exception: the outcome.

It took her several months, an endless amount of snooping, and a hack into her father's personal computer before she fully understood. In less heavily encoded documents, she found reference to 'specimen B', which appeared to be their prototype. 'Specimen B' appeared to inherently possess the traits they hoped to induce in their 'patients', and was a sort of goal to work towards, like Steve Rogers was to those hoping to replicate the serum.

It got worse. Bridget managed to clone her father's laptop, and was able to watch him type his reports word for word. Apparently what was being disguised as the dissolution of the four year term was actually a private agreement between her father and several major corporations—including Oscorp—for the further development of Project Midas. She was appalled by the horrific disregard for the actual politics of the situation. By the people, for the people, her father had used to say—now, it appeared he had cast aside all of his ideals in an effort to further his cause.

Finally, she caught a break. Bridget was observing from her cloned laptop one night in the safety of her room. She watched him type out the report of a rather discouraging day at the laboratory—she'd yet to discover where said laboratory was—when her father typed, "Bridget continues to do well, demonstrating perfect control of matter, with no obvious side effects. Project Midas will continue to strive towards replicating that ability."

Bridget was confused—that is, until her father realized his mistake, backspaced her name and replaced it with 'specimen B'.

'Project Midas' wasn't an attempt to recreate the Super-Soldier serum, or anything like it. It was an attempt to create other people with her abilities—forcibly, under the protection of the American government and the eye of the President himself.

It was this revelation that broke Bridget.

She stopped using her powers, unable to live with herself. People were being tortured because of HER.

Knowing that confronting her father was far too dangerous, Bridget decided to run away. She knew from her father's notes that within the walls of the White House, she was under constant monitoring—all of her biological systems were being tracked, recorded, and used as a part of Project Midas. But they were deleted each night from the servers—meaning, Project Midas needed new data each day to sustain. Without her, the Project would die—and she meant to starve it.

The night Bridget broke out was a full moon. It was dark outside, though—soon to be made darker still by the fact that Bridget had hacked her way into the security system to disable the outdoor lighting and defenses. It was risky, but she didn't exactly have guilt about putting her father in danger anymore. The only person she was truly concerned about was her sister.

Clemency was ten years younger than Bridget, and was her complete opposite. Clem was ordinary, weak even. She had been sickly as an infant and that had never really changed as she grew. Clemency Winters was a quiet child at six— small, and thin, and pale most of the time, with long blond hair usually down her back in a thin braid.

Since Clem had been born, Bridget was her protector. She had done all she could to help take care of her, especially when sick. It nearly tore Bridget's heart in two to leave her behind now, even with the weight of all of her father's experiment on her shoulders. Leaving Clemency weighed more, and her conscience was the only thing that drove her to go anyway.

That night, the night she escaped, Bridget had made the worst possible mistake she could have—she ran in to her sister while breaking out.

The frail blond had fallen to the floor with hardly a bump, hair falling into her face.

"Clem?" Bridget had gasped in shock. "What are you doing up?"

"Getting water," Clem replied quietly, blue eyes wide as saucers at the sight of her older sister dressed all in black with a backpack on. "Where—where are you going?" she whispered in panic.

Bridget quickly helped her sister to her feet, doing her routine check for broken bones. Clem had extremely brittle bones that could crack easily, even from something as simple as a tumble. Seeing the girl was fine, Bridget brought Clemency out of the hallway, into the alcove and shadow of a doorway. "Clem," she began, but found words wouldn't come.

"You're running away, aren't you?" Clem asked, understanding crossing her face. She didn't sound surprised though, which in turn surprised Bridget.

"You don't seem surprised."

"Of course not," Clem said plainly. "Dad treats you horribly, even though you've never done anything to hurt anyone." The girl's face tensed in a way that was too old for her features. "It's wrong, Iggy," she declared. "You can't help your gift."

Bridget felt a horrible, gut wrenching pang of guilt at this statement. Of course, Clemency couldn't know what her father was doing. It had been difficult enough for Bridget to figure out as an extremely gifted sixteen year old.

"I know," she muttered. "But that doesn't change things. Dad sees me as…" A lot of things, she thought. A 'specimen', most importantly. "…A monster," she finished. "I can't live like that. And I can't keep my secret if I'm always in the camera."

Clemency sighed, with a lot more decorum than the average six year old. "We knew this day wouldn't come, didn't we?"

"Yeah." Bridget said nothing, letting the silence hang between them like the teddy bear hanging from Clem's tiny fist. "I'm sorry," she added finally.

"Its…its okay," Clemency said. Always a trooper. But Bridget could see in her eyes that it wasn't okay. It wasn't okay at all.

"I have to go," Bridget said suddenly, knowing that her hacking device was on a timer—she had a certain timeframe to get out of the building, and she had to meet it or she might never get out.

"Okay." Clem wrapped her arms around Bridget's legs, at the knees. "Be safe out there."

Bridget bit her lip to keep herself from crying. And then…it hit her.

She straightened up, resolute. "We will be," she said firmly.

Clem looked up at her, confused. "What?"

"You think I'd leave you here by yourself, with them?" Bridget scoffed quietly. "No way. I'm taking you with me."

Clem's big blue eyes suddenly swarmed with tears. "Really?" she asked breathlessly.

"You bet, dolly." Bridget bent down and scooped her sister up, Clem's frail form not taking up too much space in her arms, teddy included.

"Okay." Clem's response was barely a whisper in Bridget's ear—and yet it broke her heart. God, she loved her sister. How could she ever have considered leaving her behind?

Together, the two girls made their way out of the building just as the security system went down, bathing them in darkness.

"Don't worry, Clem," Bridget soothed, having heard her sister's sharp intake of breath as the lights went out. Shouts began to ring out in the distance, and Bridget quickened her pace, desperate to put more space between them and the guards she knew were stationed not far off.

She knew the agents in the House would immediately rush to her parent's quarters, so she cut outside as quickly as possible, the cold winter air hitting her face like a sting. Clem was tucked against her tightly— the thin nightgown she was wearing wasn't much of a protection from the elements. It was only October, but very cold.

She saw flashlight beams crisscrossing as reflections in the windows opposite. Bridget hunched in on herself, trying to shield the bright white of Clemency's nightgown from the lights.

They had almost made it onto the rear lawn when they rounded the last corner of the house.

"Hey!" a sharp shout cut through the alarms now blaring inside the House, and a beam landed on the girls. "Over here!"

Bridget swore under her breath, then regretted it as Clem had undoubtedly heard. She wrapped her arm more firmly around her sister. "Hold tight, Clem. We're almost—"

Her sentence was cut off when she ran smack into another guard, this one having just rounded the connecting corner at the same moment. With a sharp crack Bridget's forehead collided with his chin, a spurt of blood that wasn't her own dripping down into her eyes.

The next moment, Bridget was sprawled face first on the ground with a mouthful of frosted, rotting leaves. Clem was in the arms of the guard and not hers. The tiny blond was struggling, trying to get back to her sister. "Iggy!"

"Clem." Bridget dragged herself to her feet, vision swimming. The guard was backing towards the house, radioing frantically for reinforcements.

"Iggy!"

"Clem."

She blinked and swiped at her eyes, trying to focus. She could see Clem now, her nightgown pale and ghostly in the moonlight. She was kicking her legs, making Bridget fear that she would break something.

She could see Clem's expression now: it wasn't of fear, but worry. "Iggy, go! Run!" she yelled frantically. She guard tried to cover her mouth, but she bit him. He pulled his hand away with a yelp. "RUN!" Clem managed to yell once more, before the guard pressed something to her face. Clem immediately went still in his arms.

"CLEM!" Bridget screamed. She could see her father's personal agents swarming out the back door—they would be on her in a matter of seconds, if she didn't go.

So, with no other alternative, Bridget did as her sister had wanted.

She ran.

One week later, Bridget Amelia Winters was officially pronounced dead, murdered by foreign assassins during an attack on the White House.

The funeral was beautiful. Bridget watched on TV, in a café miles and miles away from where her empty casket was lowered into the ground. Clem wore white. Pretty, like a china doll, and just as frail. She didn't cry.

Bridget did.

Two months later, Mia H. Paxton applied for police training.

Three years later, her partner was murdered—actually murdered. It was the first time Mia cried since that night.

Four years later, and she'd met Jane.

It had been nine years, six months, and twenty six days since that night, and Mia never forgot what Bridget had done. She never forgot the look in Clem's eyes when Bridget had failed her.

. . .

That was why it killed her now, she realized. Steve had those same, blue eyes—she could have sworn they were even the same shade of blue. It broke Mia in a special way that nothing Tony would ever say could. She couldn't breathe.

"Mia?" Steve asked, disbelievingly. Iggy?

Tears pricked at Mia's eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."