Thank you for the reviews! I really am thankful for those of you who took the time to share your thoughts with me. Here's that next chapter, as requested. I'm currently keeping an every second day update schedule, which I forsee being able to maintain since the entirety of this story is prewritten. If you enjoy it, leave a review!

-Ana

. . .

Chapter 12

"Consider your super-soldier victorious, Director. Definitely a keeper." Realizing how that sounded, Mia added, "Very handy in negotiations—well, if he meant to apply reverse psychology. If not, you might want to consider it a bit of a bust."

"Paxton. "Again, Fury didn't even turn around at Mia's approach."You're lucky Stark's not here to comment on that statement," he said, trying to recalibrate the screens of his display panels. "Glad to see you've changed your mind."

"You might look a little more enthusiastic about it. It's not every day the world's best anarchical journalist jumps ship—especially when Captain America is trying to convince her not to."

"Rogers didn't want you to fight?" the Director asked, still working.

Mia rolled her eyes. "The guy's still stuck on the whole 'civilian' thing. Not to mention I think there's a faint, protective misogyny in there. A bit outdated, really—I mean, you don't see him questioning Widow's ability, do you?"

"Romanoff would kill him on the spot."

"Yeah, well. I think he forgets I was actually on the force at one point or another. I've had my share of training too—and other things." She twirled a tiny ball of energy sparks between her fingertips.

"Indeed." The Director didn't even acknowledge this display.

"So?" Mia crossed her arms. "Do I get an apology for your snooping into my background or not? Because that's really unprofessional, intelligence agency or not. Bad faith, you know?"

Fury turned slightly, giving her a one-eyed look of disbelief. "Really? After you knew oh so much about Phase 2—which had a level ten security clearance, I might add—you want me to apologize for snooping on your personal history?"

"Okay, fine. Maybe we are sort of even. Apologies for any inconveniences it may have caused you—though, you did in fact create the mess yourselves."

"Hill!" Fury sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come and take Paxton to the armory please, before my eardrums start hemorrhaging." He looked at Mia again, taking in her SHIELD issue clothing before handing her a keycard. "You'll find something more suitable to wear in locker 47-B. I never thought I'd see you in SHIELD gear, and the sooner I don't the better. It's like some sort of nightmare."

"Honestly Fury, I couldn't have put it better myself."

"The doctors assure me that you are stable, for the time being. Your unique energy signals are continuously fluctuating, but in a predictable manner that they assure me is 'normal' for your situation." Nick looked so dissatisfied with that term that Mia wanted to blast him right then and there.

Hill came up, looking slightly worse for wear with several gashes on her cheek and forehead. They had been cleaned and no doubt sanitized, but still looked far from comfortable—as did the nasty looking bruise on her left cheekbone. "I'll show you down," she said, just as cool as ever in the presence of her boss.

They left immediately, as Fury was pulled away to clear up some sort of security issue and Maria was in a hurry herself. Once out of the bridge, however, the senor agent sighed tiredly.

"God, what a day," she moaned. Mia was surprised—it wasn't like Hill to complain while on duty. But it was just them in the hall at the moment, so she let it slide.

"Rough day at work?" Mia joked, nudging her friend—then grimacing, because she'd forgotten not to use her injured arm.

"You could say that."

Upon arriving in the armory, Mia took in the sight of all the weapons wide eyed. She'd seen her share of firearms and explosives, but this was truly impressive—yes, even considering Phase 2. It was a bit of a wreck from the incursion, and smoke from the nearby totaled engine was still hanging in the room, but it was still quite the sight.

Maria led her to a remote corner of the smoky armory, coughing as she headed towards a row of large lockers built directly into the wall of a large alcove. Somehow, these looked more important than the ones around it, and had built in keycard readers. The entire alcove looked important, and sort of off-limits.

Mia did tense up a bit, though, at the sight of Romanoff with a man she recognized as agent Barton. She remembered hearing he'd been recovered from Loki's clutches, but had he really been cleared for duty so quickly? Mia felt that much less honored by the fact that regardless of skill, SHIELD was letting clearly unstable people out in the field—but then, what was the Hulk if not unstable? Not that they had any idea where he was now.

Widow and the archer known as Hawkeye were in a corner, sitting on a bench and apparently deep in conversation. They looked up warily as she and Hill passed by, the senor agent giving the two a respectful if not tight nod. Both just stared at Mia as if she were entirely out of place. At the moment, Mia felt like shouting 'I was a cop, fuckers!' at the top of her lungs—an impulse that remained barely checked.

Barely.

"Card." Mia handed Hill the card, noting how carefully Maria took it to avoid the sparks. Still, a few clung to the agent's sleeve and stung her.

"Ow!" she hissed, shaking off the hand as if stung. The sparks fell from the fabric and evaporated.

"Sorry," Mia apologized contritely, thinking yet again how remarkable it was that Steve was entirely unaffected by the sparks. She wondered now if it had something to do with the serum—then forced the idea from her mind. No doubt Steve would be angry with her for a while to come—he may not even want anything to do with her after this was all over. So much for that kiss, she thought ruefully. Guess I'll just have to make do with the one.

"Not a problem," Hill replied briskly. She turned and swiped the card while Mia felt and tried to ignore the weight of the stares coming from the opposite corner of the alcove.

Maria opened the large metal door with a clang. To Mia's surprise, inside the locker was hung a black bodysuit, clearly cut for a woman. It was tightly fitting, with the fabric made of some kind of shiny, sleek material with a honeycomb pattern that Mia didn't recognize. The sleeves were cut to latch around the thumbs into a form of half glove, with raised bands around the wrists. The neckline of the garment was high, like the SHIELD issue one she was wearing, but instead of a single grey zipper there were two, monochromatic diagonal zippers that ran parallel down from the left shoulder to the waistline.

Besides this, there were no apparent features or hidden compartments to the suit. It was a one-piece item, with combat boots to match.

"Am I the only one thinking footie pajamas right now?" Mia asked, looking at the suit with an unhidden disdain.

"Trust me," Maria told her. "There's more to this thing than meets the eye." She gave it a long, lingering look before turning to Mia.

"Well, I never thought I'd be saying this to you," Hill said, her eyebrows arched, "but suit up."

"Right. Thank you." Mia sighed and made to move around the agent—when she suddenly found herself in a somewhat awkward if not crushing hug.

"Be careful," Hill whispered in her ear. "This is delicate ground you're treading." Then she released her, giving the startled journalist a half smile before leaving the alcove without another word.

Well, shit, Mia thought, watching her friend leave. That's never a good sign.

"Hey." Mia jumped, surprised to see Widow on her right where Hill had been moments before. Damn the smoke for making things so difficult to observe—literally.

"Agent Romanoff." Mia turned to face the woman. To her surprise, the assassin didn't look as unforgiving as usual. In fact, her expression was something between pity and camaraderie.

"Paxton." She even sounded neutral—as opposed to her usual somewhat distrustful monotone. Romanoff looked slowly up at the suit in the locker. "Need a little help?"

As frightening as the idea of the Black Widow seeing her in her underwear was, Mia nevertheless found herself in a changing stall three minutes later with the assassin. Luckily, the booth was spacious, so things weren't quite as embarrassing as they could have been.

Still. She was in her underwear. With the Black Widow. An armed Black Widow.

But then, when wasn't the Black Widow armed? Her entire body was a weapon.

Mia just wanted out of there as quickly as possible.

As it was, Romanoff didn't seem to be in any kind of a hurry. She was prepping the suit while Mia was stripping cautiously behind her—partially afraid that if she accidentally bumped the assassin while unclothed, it might be the last move she ever made.

"You know," Romanoff said eventually, looking at Mia in the mirror as if nothing about the situation were indecent at all, "I know what you're going through right now."

Mia didn't exactly know what to say to this. Romanoff glanced down at the dark garment in her hands, almost sadly. "It wasn't too long ago I joined SHIELD, looking for a fresh start," Somehow, even now her voice sounded dangerous. Still, there was the alarming fact that she was being vulnerable—though admittedly not as vulnerable as Mia was at the moment.

"I won't bore you with details," the redhead went on, taking Mia's SHIELD issue uniform from her. "But my childhood was pretty warped too. I think we've both been used in ways we'd rather not relive." She looked up, green eyes meeting green ones. "I know what it's like to carry scars no one sees."

Mia stiffened. Damn her recent susceptibility to becoming paralyzed.

Romanoff sensed her discomfort, and turned away. "And," she continued, "given the circumstances, I think an alliance between the two of us is in order." She passed Mia the bodysuit, the material slippery in her hands.

"An alliance?" Mia said, disbelief apparent. She flicked a few stray strands of hair from her eyes, and began slipping the suit on feet first. "With me? Why?"

"Well, for starters, I think Captain Rogers will bust a seam if we all don't get along." Was that a hint of humor in her tone? Definitely. The woman was giving Mia a small, wry smile. "I sense teamwork means a great deal to him, given his background."

"No kidding." Now up to her waist in the skin tight outfit, Mia struggled to pull on an arm. "Not that he's exactly thrilled to have me as a part of that team, but…"

"Rogers is trying to protect you," Romanoff interjected. She crossed her arms and leaned back against a counter jutting out from the wall. "Something he's been doing for a while now. Not that I agree with him, because I've seen what you can do."

Cringing, Mia slipped the last arm on, and began on her numerous cross-body zippers.

"Anyone who can create a shield to deflect projectiles out of pure energy, like you did back in the lab, deserves to be a part of our team." Mia was surprised at this. "Yes, I saw what you did before I…" she cocked her head. "Before I took a tumble with Banner."

"Right." Mia tried to look busy with her zippers. Trying to hide her shame was the only thing that mattered at the moment.

"I've also read the Project Midas files."

Well, shit.

That's good to know," Mia replied. Very stiffly. "It seems like everybody knows what's in that file except me."

"Mia."

Since when did Black Widow call people by their first names? Off the top of her head, Mia could only remember three times: with Barton (that had been a slip-up during his absence, actually) Fury and Banner. Seeing as Widow didn't know Banner on a personal level, Mia assumed it was either an attempt to either get through to her or, like the agent had suggested, an alliance.

"What I do isn't kind. It isn't noble, and a lot of times it hasn't even been justice. I remember people telling me back in Russia that my abilities were 'gifts'. I know now, just like I did then, that that's not the case. But they're still skills." She peered at Mia meaningfully. "Skills that can be used for the right reason. I think that's something we can both do." She sized up the journalist's suit, brushing off her shoulders and checking a few seams. "And I think that we can work together as a team. Even if only based on the fact that neither of us is entirely comfortable with what we're able to do."

Mia actually snickered at this. "Sorry," she apologized. "It's not you. It's just that I really have no idea what I'm getting into here." She looked down at her new outfit ruefully. "The frightening thing is that that doesn't make me change my mind."

"Then nothing will." Romanoff smiled grimly again. "And hey: if Captain America trying to talk you out of it didn't work, I'm not sure anything will."

Both women laughed at this.

"There's something else." Romanoff took her by the wrist so suddenly that Mia had a slight panic attack. The agent failed to notice this, however, and simply pressed a button on her wrist. "This suit? It's fully automated."

As if in response to her words, the entire suit seemed to come alive, a strange vibration coming over Mia's skin. It made her want to scratch at her entire body in revulsion.

"It's just calibrating. After a few minutes, you won't feel a thing."

"This isn't SHIELD issue gear," Mia observed.

"No. It isn't." Confused by the agent's tone, Mia looked up and found herself staring through a hologram. Upon closer inspection, Mia realized it was being projected from her wrist—but that wasn't the alarming thing. The alarming thing was the logo being projected into the air.

"Wintech?" Mia breathed, horrified. The urge to scratch the suit off multiplied by a thousand - even more so when the suit changed colors to a bright gold. The same gold color, in fact, as her energy.

Romanoff bore a serious expression now, eye narrowed slightly—not at Mia, but at the suit. "This suit was the only thing of interest recovered from the Wintech building, after it went under. It's suspected to be the only direct link to Midas."

Mia felt like hurling. "Why? Why would they give it to me now?" she asked, horrified. "They know what this suit was built upon; the lives it cost—"

"They gave it to you because now is the time it's finally needed," Romanoff stated bluntly with a toss of her hair. "As a product of Project Midas it can only be worn by an individual with your unique biological makeup—a person with your skills. The onlyliving person, being you."

At first, Mia was tempted to take the suit off and do as Steve had told her: step away. It was getting too personal now, and she knew it.

The Avengers Initiative, the journalist recalled. If there was only one person who could wear the suit, there was only one person who could avenge the lives it had cost. That person was her—could only be her. It took Mia a moment to set this in line with her other reasons for fighting before she was ready.

"Thank you, agent Romanoff."

The redheaded assassin's eyes glinted. "You can call me Natasha. And…you're welcome." She took a step closer. "Now, let me show you what it does."

. . .

It didn't take a giant leap of imagination to guess where Stark had gone. So all the way to the holding level Steve wasn't even thinking about the conversation ahead—instead, about the confrontation behind.

What had gotten into Mia? He knew she was stubborn, hard headed even. He knew she didn't see boundaries when it came to calling people's bluff. He knew she had an abundance of reasons to want to take Loki down, regardless of the odds—but most of all, Steve knew Mia was smart. Why couldn't she see how out of her element she was and let the others take care of it? Let him take care of it?

Steve was a little—scratch that, a lot alarmed at how quickly he had become attached to Mia. They had a tremendous amount of common ground, yes…but there was something else. He had all but admitted it to her face when he had promised her a kiss in the near distant future. Steve cared about her, and didn't want any harm to come to the journalist in any way, shape or form. The entire situation with Loki had been horrendous enough, without her past and PTSD coming back to haunt her. Now she was ready to throw herself head first into a fight that was bigger than anything she had ever attempted—hell, Steve didn't even know how much manpower Loki had on his side.

Steve was upset, angry at her for not seeing reason. And now, he had to deal with her equally sarcastic male counterpart: Tony Stark.

Honestly, how had Howard's son become such a pain in the rear?

Still, Steve wasn't blind. He could see as clear as day the pain the man was feeling at the loss of agent Coulson. Clearly, Stark blamed himself—so Steve knew not to approach him with hostility, but compassion.

His mind still swarming with the image of Mia's hell-bent expression, the worry still heavy on his heart, Steve approached the causeway encasing the cage.

"Was he married?"

Tony stood on another adjoining ramp, staring at the empty space left by the lost cell. Hands behind his back, eyes glazed as he tried to distance himself emotionally from the loss. "No," he replied, snapping back to reality. "There was a cellist...I think."

"I'm sorry." Steve stared over his crossed arms at the metal ramp. Why couldn't Mia just listen? He knew it wasn't wise to have his head in two places at once, but he honestly couldn't help it.

"He seemed like a good man."

Tony shrugged stiffly. "He was an idiot," he said, gesturing dismissively.

"Why? For believing?" Mia's words hung in his ears. We owe it to people like Coulson—people who still believe in heroes—to be the best we can be, regardless of what haunts us or gives us nightmares.

"For taking on Loki alone." Tony drew away from the edge, snorting in disgust—or was it anger? "Shit, Mia would do the same thing if she could. Stupid. Stupid!" He kicked at the floor.

Actually, Steve didn't doubt that. He also agreed that yes, it was stupid. But he didn't say that aloud. "He was doing his job."

Tony scoffed. "Please. He was out of his league. He should have waited! He should have…"

"Sometimes there isn't a way out, Tony."

"Right. I've heard that before…you and Paxton really have a knack for saying the wrong things, ya know?"

"Is this the first time you've lost a soldier?"

"We are NOT soldiers!"Tony spat venomously, whirling on Steve in barely checked rage. Then he stiffened, and wilted slightly. "I'm not marching to Fury's fife," he explained.

"Neither am I. Neither is Mia—that much is damn sure. Fury's got the same blood on his hands that Loki does. But right now, we've got to put that behind us and get this done." Steve sighed tensely, gesturing in the direction of the bridge. "Mia's in there, reporting to Fury for battle."

Tony's face tensed. "She's doing what."

"I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen." Steve ran a hand through his hair worriedly.

Stark glared at him. "You little shit. You don't get it, do you? Try and talk Mia out of something, she just wants to do it more. God, you're dense."

"She usually listens to me."

"What, once? She's a woman, Cap. She thinks she knows better than you, guaranteed!"

"Well what was I supposed to do? Tie her up?!"

"Something! Anything!" Tony turned in a circle, clearly distraught. "Damn it, Rogers! She may have lied about her past, but that woman…" he trailed off. "You saw what she did to that guy in the turbine wing. If she loses it again, if she goes back into that place, she could kill us all." The billionaire leaned against the metal wall.

"So could Banner. So could Romanoff. So could you, or I. We're all volatile here, Stark."

"But this is different!" He stared at Steve, desperation in his eyes that unsettled the Captain immensely. "Mia is one of Pepper and my friends—one of our only friends. She found out about me in a bad way and despite that, we all became close. Over the years she's become like a sister to me—and that's a hard thing to do. Get close to Tony Stark? Pfft. Only one other woman has accomplished that—perhaps that's part of the reason they're friends."

"She does have a way with people." Steve thought back to how he'd felt in the Phase 2 area, when he'd first opened up to Mia. Like he could tell her anything, and she wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't use it against him. "It must help a lot in her line of work."

"Exactly. Mia's a journalist, not a soldier. Not an 'avenger'. She belongs at her desk, safe, away from all this!"

"What do you think I was trying to do!?" Steve exploded. "I want her safe too, Tony. I feel something with her that I didn't think I'd ever feel again; and I'm not too keen on giving that up when I've only just…" He paused, alarmed at his outburst. Tony looked a bit taken aback as well.

"We need to figure this out," Steve said, trying to change the subject. "Loki needs a power source. If we can put together a list—"

"He made it personal." Tony was staring at the bloodstain on the wall—the proof of Coulson's sacrifice.

"That's not the point."

"That is the point. That's Loki's point."Realization was dawning on Tony's face. "He hit us here, right where we live. Why?"

"To tear us apart."

"Yeah, 'divide and conquer' is great, but…" The genius began to pace. "That was before he knew about Mia. Now, he's got something to lose—and we've got something he wants. He knows he has to take us out to win, right? To take back his 'Intended'?"

Steve frowned at the term.

"That's what he wants. He wants to beat us, he wants to be seen doing it—especially by her—he wants an audience, and Mia's got a front row seat."

"Right. I caught his act in Stuttgart. Mia was watching the whole thing—and he knows," Steve realized. "I said her name, over the COM."

"Yeah. That was just previews. This is opening night. And Loki, he's a full-tilt diva, right?" Tony began gesturing grandly/ "He wants flowers, he wants parades. He wants a monument built to the sky with his name plastered—"

Steve gave Tony a meaningful raise of his eyebrows.

Tony's face froze in a totally pissed expression of understanding. "Son of a bitch."