If it's of Marvel, I don't own it. R&R, please!

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Greenhouse landing bay

"Are you sure you're shober enough to fry?" Coulson scowled at the interior of the quinjet as he spoke, looking for alien bugs that might have survived the sterilization process. He wasn't certain which bothered him more: that alien bacteria might hitchhike across the globe on a SHIELD jet, or that the pilot of said jet might be too drunk to fly.

"I'll be fine, Dad," Garrett said stiffly. "Flying ish eashy; the autopilot can do that. I won't need the painkillers to wear off until we land, so I'm good."

Jemma's discordant humming caught his attention, and Coulson turned to see her stash the last of her medical records and samples. She was a little wobbly, but in good spirits. Their drunken karaoke battle was partially responsible for her good mood. That, and the 21 gauge needles she had used on John's ass for his 'recommended injection' of penicillin.

"One pain in the bum deserves another," she had hissed at him.

His own arms were still sore. Note to self, he thought, do not piss off the company medic.

"Keep in touch, Jemma," he ordered. "If you needs anyshing, don't heshitate to call."

"When you need the aspirin, it's on the kitchen counter next to the refrigerator," she nodded sagely, "the one with the orange juice in it."

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Sanctum Santorum

Strange shook his head. "Lady Speaker, I have fought Dormammu. By a curse of his own making, he is forbidden to come to Earth, lest he wither and die."

The tired woman sighed. "Silly boy: playing with magic like matches. Dormammu need not come to the planet to destroy it. He means to use Thanos for that, to shake the planet like a ripe fruit-tree, and eat what falls at his cloven feet. And when he finishes with Midgard," she turned tired eyes to Loki, "he'll travel on to Asgard, and Jotunheimr, and Alfheimr, and the rest, until all are dust. Thanos likewise courts Dormammu, for he fears this place." She put a shaking hand to her face and it came away red. "My time-our time-grows short."

"You should rest," Clea-now looking fully human again, patted her shoulder and urged the woman to drink again.

"I will, and soon," the woman sighed. "Mayhaps the girl-child will come with me, hey? Her own curse is hard to bear, and now she bears me, too. She has been a good friend; I shall remember her, at least, to the Queen of Paradise."

"Do not speak so," Clea urged. She thought for a moment. "Is your 'Paradise' the same as the humans' 'Heaven'?"

Speaker frowned. "I know not. Both have Queens, and receive the dead, but beyond that I cannot say. 'Tis too great a matter for me, and too late to learn now."

"If you would take your Hostess with you," Clea murmured discreetly, "let her learn the difference."

Hopeless black pupils looked at Clea, puzzled, before shaking her hostess' head. "You have good insight, Lady Clea, but I fear another Project will not give us leave for such study."

"What mean you?"

There was no answer. Speaks-between-Peoples surrendered her conscious control of the Hostess' body as it demanded sleep. Clea arranged the woman in a more comfortable position, and covered her with a light blanket.

"She's out, Doctor."

Strange nodded. "It is just as well."

"The tea Clea gave her was a barbiturate?" Loki quizzed him.

"No," Strange murmured. "The sweetener was. Dark honey, from the Firenzie home dimension," he explained. "It has the same effect as Thorazine, without any of the side effects, and it tastes much better." He frowned as he called up his earlier scans of Sauer's nervous system. "This worries me; I have never seen the like. What do you make of this, your Majesty?"

Loki frowned and stroked his chin. "I am not that familiar with the Midgardian nervous system. I see naught but an average brain, with a few extra neurons lighting up. Nothing of interest, truly."

A shadow dropped from the ceiling on a silver thread. "Thank you," Strange held out a hand to receive the glowing package. He expanded the images given him, and scowled.

Loki motioned to the skittering shadow. "Summoning spell?"

"Indeed. This one I call a 'web crawler'; these are the results of my patient's brain scans from this morn, when she was in SHIELD custody." Loki gave the human sorcerer an odd look, and Strange shrugged. "It is more effective than Google, and not subject to any human firewall. Now look here. Realize, the passage of time is measured in hours, and not years."

Loki coughed. "This bodes ill indeed."

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Stark Tower

Fandral entered the torn-up copy room with the cleaning supplies loaned to him. Strange, tinny music piped out of a Midguardian device which lay on a counter. To his surprise, the wench he had shagged was already there scrubbing...

And weeping. She caught her breath as he walked into the room. Fandral noticed that she trembled a bit, too.

"Dost fear me now?" He asked, puzzled, and reached a hand out to steady her. "Did I do thee harm?"

"What? No," she shook her head. "I...you startled me, is all."

"If harm you have not suffered, why do you weep? Was I," Fandral felt a knot of dread in his stomach, "was I your first? I should have been gentler..."

"No," she snorted, and laughed. "Not by many years, Fan. But I thought, after Miss Potts fired me..."

His face crinkled. "Stark's she-demon burned you? Why punish you when t'was I who took liberties?"

She smiled a little through her tears. "I was not burned, Fan-Fan. "Fired" means that Miss Potts dismissed me. I lost my job," she explained.

"Then why do you weep?" he pressed. "Surely this is not upset over a job lost," he tilted her chin up gently with one hand, and brushed a tear away with his thumb.

She sniffled and reached for a towel, her lower lip trembling. "No," she said hoarsely, "I was afraid I would never see you again."

His hand-solid like warm stone-tightened slightly on her jaw, and for a second Charity Able saw a cold glint in Fandral's eye. It was replaced with a winning smile a second later.

"I have duty this morn with my lord, Thor, but when thou and I are dismissed from our watches..."

"I get off at 4pm," she nodded eagerly, "and my place is not far."

"Good," Fandral nodded simply, and the look in his eyes made her shiver.

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Barrow, Alaska

Despite Dr. Stern's warning and the Baron's spells, the bodies of several SHIELD agents littered the inside of the base. Ivan Blonsky-the Abomination-was not a morning person. He was really pissed about being held in a cryo-freeze chamber for more than 5 years. Mordo finally had to suspend Blonsky between the ceiling and the floor to avoid being smashed into pudding.

Five full-course meals later, Blonsky found the patience to listen to Dr. Stern's story. He snorted derisively.

"The planet can go to hell," he growled. "I want Banner and Ross: that's all."

"Who is this 'Ross'?" Mordo asked, curiously.

"Retired General Thaddeus 'Thunderbolt' Ross, now our country's Secretary of State," Dr. Sterns explained. "He is also the chap that began our transformations."

"And he needs to pay," Blonsky growled.

"If revenge is all you wish," Mordo shrugged, "then revenge you shall have. 'Tis easy enough to arrange such a payment."

"Indeed it is, Baron." Dr. Sterns nodded. "But we must warn you, Ivan, that our old pal has some new friends. They may give you a bit of a tussle, before all is said and done."

The Abomination smiled. "Good. I want a real fight," he growled.

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The Greenhouse...

"Sho...whaz are we lookin' at here?" Ward peered at the curiously carved orange skin. "All I seez iz an orange somebody didn't eat." He started to poke at the peel, and Fitz snatched it out of his hands.

"Lightweight," the younger Scotsman chided him. "Gimme that afore ya gum it up. An' it's a pure shame ya cannae hold yer liquor, to boot." He belched for effect, and Ward gave him a dirty look.

"It's a map of Hawaii," Skye snapped, snatching the orange away from Fitz, "and thish thumbtack is shtuck in Mount Kilauea. So we haz to go to the Big Island, an' visit the big volcano, 'cause a ghost told us too..."

"How do you know it's Hawaii, Skye?" Coulson was sobering up rapidly.

"Shimple: I lived dere. My foshter-mom's house is in dis village by the...oh, no..." Skye's face wrinkled up in worry. "Oh, no!"

"Whatzitt?" Ward crinkled up his very drunk face.

"I shaw it on the news lasht night, the volcano is erupting again, and it might deshtroy her village," Skye wailed. "I has to get her out of there!"

"Relax, Skye. Local government will have evacuated the village by the time we get there," Coulson reassured her. "Does anybody have an idea who we're supposed to contact? The village at the volcano's base will be empty, and I doubt that many people will be on it when we get there."

"Maybe..." Fitz looked thoughtful, "maybe it's no someone on the mountain. Maybe it's someone in the mountain."

"Like a volcerolergist?" Ward snorted. "Jusht what we needs, another nerd."

"Hey!" Coulson started, but Skye cut him off.

"Pele lives in Mt. Kilauea!" she exclaimed.

Ward snorted. "Don' tell me you really believe thosh native fairy talesh..."

"Don't you remember? Loki shaid Fire Giants really exist. Where else would you find one, if not inside an active volcano?" The excitement cleared some of the alcohol from Skye's brain, and she sat up straighter.

"So, Pele in Mount Kilauea, and maybe Vulcan inside of Mount Vesuvius," Coulson said thoughtfully. "We could use some extra firepower. Sober up an' pack up, kids. We're goin' to Portland."

"Ah, boss, wha's in Portland?" Fitz asked, looking a little muddled.

"Audrey and my boys," Coulson nodded. "I'm dunk, not shtupid. If I goes to Hawaii, she goes to Hawaii!"

Ward nodded solemnly. "Makes shense to me. We had better picks up May, too," he nodded, "or shings could get bad."

"Shmart boy," Coulson nodded. "You'll go far."

"A-She, there is shomthing I has to show you before we go," Skye piped up.

Coulson followed the young hacker to an adjacent room. The remains of a bloody business suit were stuffed in a trash can and the scent of Sharpie marker lingered. A rough black-and-white mural-nearly Cubism, Coulson thought critically-decorated one wall.

"Huh," was all Coulson could muster. "Where's JARVIS when we need him?"

"In here, AC," said wobbly Skye, holding up a flash drive. "Well, sort of."

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "You swiped JARVIS out of Stark's mainframe?"

"AC: that would be shtealing! I asked JARVIS if it would comes along for the ride. It shaid yesh, an' gave me a little bitty shpark called 'Shunday's Child', right here in dish thumbtackdrive."

Coulson nodded. "Get pictures, get sober, and get your hacky hands on the plane."

"Ok, Boss," she saluted.

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Coming back from the Lemurian Star mission...

"You're quiet," Steve murmured to Tasha.

She leaned back a little in her quinjet seat and nodded. "Rough night, but nothing we couldn't handle. I'm tired," she admitted, "and the thought of another alien invasion doesn't thrill me." She flipped the flash drive over and over in her hand. "Hopefully this will help."

"What is it?" Steve asked, puzzled. "How can something so small justify risking the hostages?"

"Size isn't everything, Cap," she shook her head. "Diamonds are small, too. Remember?"

"Rocks vs. human life?" Cap smiled ruefully. "We could argue philosophy all night."

"So don't talk about rocks," she shrugged. "Of course, a plain rock, even a diamond, is still just a rock. Cut it right and it becomes a crown jewel. People have fought wars over crowns, you know."

Steve nodded. "A flag, before it is sewn together, is just a few pieces of cloth. Assembled, men will die for it." He let his head fall back, suddenly tired. "Hmmph. That's deep."

"Women too," Tasha prodded him, and he looked at her, puzzled. "Women die for them too."

"Yes, they do." Cap said wearily. "So the question is: which is worth more? Treasure or people?"

"Ideas or ideals?"

"What's the difference?"

"One letter in English," Tasha deadpanned.

Cap snorted. "Ideals are what you stand on...stand for. Ideas are just tools to help you do that, like the shock-bands in your braclets."

"They work great, by the way. Stark will be happy."

"Him and his toys." He paused for a moment. "So, the stick: does it hold ideas or ideals?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "The data is encrypted: protected by some kind of puzzle," she explained. "Fury wants a look at it, so it must be important."

"I wonder...what we were really sent out to save?"

"Hmmmm?"

"The people, or the stick?"

"Maybe Sitwell knows."

Steve craned his neck to look at the flustered SHIELD agent seated 2 rows behind them. His head nodded against his chest as he snoozed.

"Nah, let the guy sleep." Cap shrugged. "I think I will, too." He frowned thoughtfully. "You know, I'm going to stop in and see Peggy after we check in. She always had a better hold on this stuff."

Tasha nodded. "She has a lot of good insight. Is it hard? Seeing her, I mean."

Steve smiled sadly. "Every time is the first time. I'd have married her already, but for that. She wakes up, and it's the first time she's seen me since..." Steve stopped himself and swallowed his grief. "It just wouldn't be fair, asking her to handle that and a marriage: not in her condition."

"Did you talk to her about that?"

Steve nodded slowly. "Once. We talked about eloping." He smiled sadly. "I picked up the phone to call Leon, and she had a seizure. When she came out of it..."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Tasha." He looked out the window at the passing cloudbank. "You know, sometimes you remind me of her...from before..."

"Thanks, Steve."

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Stark Tower, Executive Level 99

"Stark Tower, Executive Suite, Helen Malick speaking, how can I...oh, hello Paul. What is it?" Squawk, hem haw. "We're out of what? Since when? Well, that can't be good. I've only been up here for 2 hours. Is there a protocol for this?" squawk squawk squawk "What do you mean: 'Ask JARVIS'? JARVIS is just a computer program! Ask JARVIS what exactly?" Grumble growl grumble "Don't talk to me like that, buster. I don't have to put up with it! It's up to you to handle your inventory! Don't blame me if you didn't order enough Banner brownies, or whatever else you're out of; check with the gal who used to run the office!" HEMHAWWHINE "I don't know; that was two secretaries ago! Now look: I have phones to answer and messages to pass along and emails to write. I can't do that and solve all of your kitchen drama at the same time. I can barely make cold cereal with milk. You're the executive chef: you fix this. Got it?"

Helen slammed the receiver down a little harder than she should have, and blew out an exasperated breath. "Drama queen," she muttered. "Why do artists always have to act like spoiled brats?"

The phone rang again.

"Stark Tower, Executive Suite, Helen Malick speaking, how can I..."

Static sounded in her ear.

"That's odd," she frowned at the receiver in her hand before hanging up. "I wonder if that was a prank. And who prank-calls Anthony Stark?" she mused.

"Tracing protocol was unable to ascertain the caller's identification, Miss Malick. My apologies, but I am experiencing some difficulties in maintaining signal strength since the system overload during the first conference."

The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and Malick jumped, looking for the very polite, concise speaker. "Who said that?" she finally squeaked.

"I am JARVIS: Mr. Stark's personal robotic assistant."

"Um...right. Look, I don't know where you are, but this isn't funny. I have a job to do, so scram, alright?"

"As you wish, Miss Malick."

TBC