And here we are! Sorry for the late update (again), last night I forgot and today I had kind of a late start (the cold made it so I really, really didn't want to get out of my bed). So, we've made it this far. It's time for the overlap to end, things to begin falling into place. The moment we've all been waiting for is coming!
Warning: I'm not nice to Mary, at all. Most of the time I cannot help that. Ever since Sherlock 3.03 I just don't like her. Also, this time she and Magnussen were a very convenient way for me to set the playing field for what's coming.
There's some cameos and a bit of a crossover with James Bond here, more precisely, Craig's movies (I actually prefer Pierce Brosnan as Bond, but Craig's movies has a better storyline when put together).
On that same line, the song for this chapter is "Writing's on the Wall", and while I'm sure we all know and have heard the original version, this time I recommend Jackie Evancho's cover, it's beautiful and fits well with how I imagine Nightingale singing it.
Writing's on the Wall
Always a day comes when you must stop fleeing, and start fighting.
The first envelope came in mid January, the second at the end of the month, then in February there was one every week. They were all the same: several pictures and a printed letter with the same initials in the end CAM. There was no actual signature, but I wasn't stupid, I knew CAM stood for Charles Augustus Magnussen, and even without reading the messages, the photos painted enough of a picture. Still, I said nothing about them, just kept collecting them, until the first week of March, when my husband and I finally went to see Mycroft.
Sherlock and John were there too, and as I soon found out, they'd been in contact with the man as well. It had started as a case, Lady Smallwood had requested that Sherlock try and recover some material the media magnate (because Magnussen owned a well-known company that handled the media, mainly print) had in his power, related to her husband, and which he intended to use to blackmail her. The man had gone as far as trying to humiliate Sherlock, threatening to expose his past as a drug-addict, and when that failed, he'd made some comments about John's past in the army, particularly certain off-the-books missions. To which John had calmly explained to the man exactly what would happen to him if he attempted to do that: he'd get killed. It was one thing to blackmail artists, models, even nobles, but military? That was the height of stupidity.
I could tell that Mycroft's mind was working overtime, trying to deduce what John might have been involved in, in the past (he knew better than to outright ask, John was stressed out enough as it was). Though everyone's attention was diverted the moment I walked straight to the center and dropped half a dozen letters and thrice as many pictures.
"You too?!" John exclaimed. "What could he possibly have on you?"
"My true identity." I answered calmly.
"You don't seem worried at all." Cassia offered.
"I'm not." I nodded as I sat down. "Truth is that Magnussen has taken a few true facts and twisted them to fit his purposes... In other words, he put two and two together... and came up with 22 instead of four."
Everyone blinked, not quite getting it.
"Magnussen got a few pictures." I signaled to the pertinent ones. "From London and New York and was able to connect me with Asgard, particularly thanks to what I was wearing in London. He also, surprisingly enough, managed to connect me to pictures from across Europe during WWII, Oxford in the fifties, one from Chicago in the sixties (I hadn't even known that picture existed at all), and even a few from social events connected to Howard and SI in the sixties and early seventies... All in all, I have to admit it's some quite amazing investigate journalism..."
"And you still aren't worried." Sherlock pointed out.
"What was it he got wrong?" John inquired. "If he got all that right? What was the mistake?"
"He thinks I'm in hiding." I explained with a half-smirk. "He believes that I faked my death as Silbhé Salani in order to run away, either from Asgard or from SHIELD. That I'm here under an assumed identity to hide from them. He's threatening to take this information to SHIELD, and to Asgard... though I haven't the slightest idea what makes him think he could achieve that part..." I shook my head. "In any case, he made a huge mistake."
"But you are staying away from them on purpose." Sherlock reminded me. "You told me, the time travel..."
"Indeed, but you see, that was Magnussen's last mistake." I explained, my smile widening. "That stopped being an issue, exactly three days ago."
No one got it.
"Three days ago Loki and his family made a trip to Asia while trying to trace an unknown energy, only to disappear without leaving a trace." I explained to them. "Officially no one has any idea what happened, they've been listed as MIA. Unofficially..."
"They're now back in 1941..." John finished for me.
"Exactly." I nodded.
"In others words, the overlap has ended." My love summarized. "There's only us left now. Even if Asgard were to learn about us tomorrow, there would be no problem at all. There, effectively, is nothing for them to find odd anymore."
"Are you planning on telling them?" Cassia asked, curious.
"One day." Maverick nodded, thoughtfully. "Though right now our priorities are others."
"What will you do then?" Mycroft realized that was the important bit.
"I'm going to go see Mr. Magnussen, tell him how little I care for his blackmail." I answered calmly. "Perhaps once he understands who exactly he's threatening, the fact that I am not a refugee, or a runaway, but a princess of Asgard, and who exactly is my husband... well, some people haven't forgotten the kind of power my husband can wield, even if he is a 'white hat', for now at least."
"Do you really think that will be enough?" John asked in disbelief.
"Perhaps not." I admitted with a small sigh. "But being in the same room with him will allow me to get a better feel of the man, something that will help us decide how to deal with him for good. One things is for sure: we cannot allow him to continue as he has thus far: blackmailing artists and the like was one thing; that kind of people... well, their scandals are tabloid fodder, but most people forget about such things as soon as the next thing comes out. But politicians? Military? And now even visitors from other realms? He's walking on dangerous ground, and sooner or later the consequences are going to get out of his hands. You and the rest of our government have allowed him way too much leeway. It's time someone stops him."
"Are you aware of what he could do to you?" Mycroft asked quietly. "He could effectively destroy your reputation."
"And you think he will not do that, eventually, to all of us, when we're no longer useful to him?" I scoffed. "Men like him... you cannot give them what they want; because once you've done that once, they'll never stop taking from you. Well, if you think that your own reputation is more important than the welfare of this country, and possibly beyond that... I disagree."
"You think this goes beyond him..." Sherlock said suddenly, before Mycroft could interject.
"You think he's connected to Hydra." John added for good measure.
"It is a possibility." I shrugged. "I need to know for sure. And if he's indeed connected to Hydra... Then it's even more important that we deal with him soon."
I knew Mycroft didn't like it, but he wouldn't get in our way either, he knew better than to try it. And so plans were made for Serrure and I to meet Magnussen by the end of the week.
xXx
That day I was wearing a coral-pink gauzy floor-length dress with short sleeves and a black collar, black flats on my feet (I simply despised heels), hair pulled into a bun at the nape of a my neck, with a few curls escaping and framing my face. My husband wore a gray two piece suit with a sky-blue button up and no tie, tanned-leather shoes. I knew the image we gave off, of a perfectly normal, human couple... We also looked quite different from our younger selves, as the suit was more casual than what my match had usually worn back then and, in contrast, I was in a more elegant dress, rather than the long-skirt and peasant-blouse ensemble I'd favored in my youth (back when I'd actually been the age I looked).
Ms. Hawkins, Magnussen's personal secretary, met us just outside the elevator, on the top floor of Magnussen's building. She greeted me quite formally, informing me her boss would be 'delighted' to meet with me, but it was to be a private meeting, Meaning Serrure would have to wait behind, with Janine herself. I could only wonder at how clever the man thought he was, only to have made yet another mistake: dismissing my husband out of hand. Then again, even Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes hadn't realized at first who he really was... (did a change in clothing and hair-style really make someone look so different?).
I could sense a mix of chagrin, sadness and what could almost be called pity, coming from Ms. Hawkins as I moved down the hallway she'd indicated, and I realized it then: she knew what was going on, what Magnussen did, probably had a very good idea of what he was planning even right then, and she felt all that for me. For what she thought I was going to have to go through. It made me feel sad for her in turn. I was going to face Magnussen of my own will, and I knew I could do it; but I also knew that I could always back down, there were people who would help me, would protect me... Janine apparently didn't have that. On the plus side, my actions might just be enough to help her too.
"Oh, my Lady Kinross!" Magnussen greeted me dramatically. "It is such a pleasure to meet you. "Or would you prefer I call you Professor Salani?"
"I care not what you call me." I announced in a completely even tone, looking him straight in the eye, posture straight, allowing him just a glimpse of the real me.
I could see the moment it clicked in his head, the fact that he wouldn't be getting what he wanted.
"Such bad manners my lady..." He tried to go on, though I could sense his trepidation. "And here I thought we were on our way to being great, intimate friends..."
"If you think blackmail counts as the start of a friendship you're even more insane than I first believed you to be." I told him rather bluntly. "No, I'm not here to be your friend. And I'm certainly not here to try and convince you of anything, much less beg." I was dead honest as I spoke. "I came because I thought it was only fair. To help you realize what a huge mistake you've made. You chose the wrong person to try and blackmail Mr. Magnussen..." I glared at him. "You believe me to be a poor little girl, defenseless, afraid, perhaps even on the run? You have no idea. I am none of those things. I live the life I choose to live, and your threats mean nothing to me. But for the sake of full disclosure, lets look at your threats, shall we? Telling SHIELD who I am and where I am... SHIELD and I parted ways years ago, though I've been willing to give my help where it's needed. That remains unchanged. As for the other part... I seriously doubt you have the means to communicate with Asgard, but even if by some freaky miracle you did... what makes you think they don't know already exactly where I am?" That wasn't strictly true, but still. "Truth is Mr. Magnussen, I'm not a runaway, far from it. And I'm not scared of you, you made a huge mistake trying to blackmail me; and what's worse, you tried to use me as a pressure point for John Watson, and him in turn for Sherlock Holmes." I shook my head. "Did you really think you would get away with it? Best case scenario, for you at least, it works for a little while, perhaps as long as a few months; until someone, somewhere, decides we're all too much of a liability and they put a bullet in each of us. Worst case scenario, again, for you; this mad scheme of yours never gets used. As it's an utter failure... You know, that might even be the best case scenario for you, since it's less likely to get you killed and all!"
I was close to actually ranting by that point, and was considering telling him, straight out, exactly who I was just so he'd get an idea how much he'd screwed up, when my mobile phone rang quite unexpectedly. And it wasn't the generic tone that signaled most (unimportant) calls, but a string of piano notes, my daughter's personal ringtone. I knew she wouldn't be calling unless it was important, so I ignored Magnussen, turned my back on him and answered the phone.
I hadn't even fully pressed the mobile to my ear when my daughter's quite hysterical voice rang out, sharp and loud:
"She's going to shoot him!" She was really beyond hysterical. "You gotta hurry Mama! She's going to shoot Papa!"
At that moment I didn't process the fact that my daughter was talking in a language not English (therefore making it so Magnussen wouldn't be able to understand, apart from probably knowing it was something urgent); in any case, I didn't pay any attention to the man. The moment the first phrase had left my daughter's mouth I was off and running as fast as I could. Even before the rest of her words registered in my head I knew already who 'he' was (no idea who 'she' was supposed to be, but that mattered little).
I skidded around a corner, almost slamming into a wall, and even several feet from the action, my eyes immediately took in everything going on. Ms. Hawkins was crouching behind her desk, trembling in fright, and looking like she might pass out from a panic attack at any moment. My husband was standing, very still, holding both hands before him in a gesture that was obviously meant to be pacifying; judging by the feelings coming from the third person in the room, I immediately could tell it wasn't working.
I forced myself to a stop before I could be seen by anyone in the room, though I knew my love had sensed me already. I got the cliff-notes version of the situation in an instant. The person that was pointing a gun at him was none other than Mary Morstan... and if that weren't shocking enough, she'd gone there to kill Magnussen... and Sherlock! Apparently she knew about the attempts at blackmail and she truly believed that Sherlock would be there that night, wanting to investigate the man. Her intention when breaking in that night was to kill the consulting detective and Magnussen himself (apparently he knew her truth identity); she also had some delusion about John finally falling in love with her once Sherlock was gone! Like the detective was nothing more than an insect troubling her! It was insane!
And to think that I wanted to believe John was right, that Mary really wanted a second chance, that she was more like Natasha... rather than like Yelena.
All in all, not even five seconds had elapsed since I'd stopped in my tracks, and then the shot came. My reactions were automatic. I threw one hand out, calling on my magic to either create a shield or simply destroy the bullet, I didn't care which (I knew my Maverick was perfectly capable of handling it himself, but still, after Rose's hysterical call my protective instincts were pretty much in overdrive). The other I threw out as well, though in a different motion, and with a different thought in mind; I moved like one who'd just thrown a blade... and while my hand had been empty, that was no impediment for one with magic at her disposal, a small metal dagger materialized at my finger tips and flew from my hand, and straight into Ms. Morstan's chest. She was dead before she hit the floor.
Mary Morstan's death (or Alicia Giselle Reyna Addams... as her name turned out to be) will probably stay with me for many years yet, quite possibly the rest of my life. It wasn't the first time I'd fought someone, not even the first time I took a life... but it was the first time I killed a human being (even when we'd helped Kontar and Sharifa with the war, all those years prior, I had never killed anyone). It wasn't an accident, and it wasn't a thoughtless action, it was a decision I made. That woman was threatening my match's life, and the life of other people I cared deeply about, I acted then, didn't hesitate; and while her death hit deep inside me, changed me in ways I never expected to be changed, I will never regret the choice I made that day.
The police arrived minutes later. Apparently in between all the chaos Ms. Hawkins had managed to dial 999. The Yard was soon taking control of the situation, and then Sherlock and John were there. I was told I'd need to give a statement, but the fact that both my husband and Janine had told the police, quite clearly, that Mary had had them at gun-point, and John's later revelation that she was (had been) one of the infamous Black Widows, made for a pretty good case of self-defense, it was unlikely I'd ever be prosecuted. Once Mycroft arrived even the statement was unnecessary (I had no idea what he'd said, or done, but in that moment I was traumatized enough to decide I'd rather not ask).
Then, as if the evening wasn't shocking enough already... Charles Magnussen was found dead in his office. Single gunshot wound to the head. I obviously hadn't been carrying a gun (I really did not like guns); also, there was a hole in the windowpane...
"Sniper." John announced once he and Sherlock were allowed into the office.
He seemed to make some mental calculations before pointing to a balcony on a building about half a block away and on a diagonal from us and stating the sniper had made the shot from there.
"If he says it, it's the truth." Sherlock said simply when everyone turned towards him.
They were so used to him knowing things, but not John.
"How would you know?" Donovan asked with a hint of derision.
"Why wouldn't I?" John retorted with a roll of his eyes. "In case you've all forgotten it, I'm not only a doctor, I was also a soldier. I went to Afghanistan, and I wasn't the kind to stay on base. How do you think I got shot and almost killed in the first place?"
No one seemed to know what to say to that. I couldn't help but wonder if they'd really forgotten that; or perhaps they'd never thought about it. They were so used to John in his fluffy jumpers, his kind smiles, John the doctor, the blogger, Sherlock's sidekick... they'd never seen him as a soldier, as a Warrior...
Of course John was right. The Yard couldn't find anything conclusive, but Sherlock detected just enough to confirm that there had been, in fact a sniper.
Things reached a whole other level when we got a single call, from Sif of all people, letting us know who exactly had been the shooter: the Winter Soldier... who, by the way, was none other than believed-to-be-dead Sgt. James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes...
xXx
"Is this a joke?" Mycroft demanded. "Magnussen cannot possibly have been assassinated by a ghost, a myth!"
"No, he cannot." My love agreed calmly. "But then again, the Winter Soldier is neither. He's a real man, flesh and blood. He was once Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes..."
"One of the Howling Commandos?!" Cassia gasped in shock.
"Captain America's best friend." John nodded, grieved by the thought.
"How exactly is any of this possible?" Mycroft was obviously stressed out by the whole thing.
"There's a lot we still don't know, but, here goes." I decided to be the one to explain. "As you all know, early in 1945 there was a mission in the mountains. Captain America, a small group of his Commandos and Agent Sia Serrure, who's been relegated mostly to legend; the Valkyrie, she's called. Not that she minds much..."
"The Valkyrie's real?" Cassia interrupted, surprised.
"Very much so." My love nodded. "Back then she was believed to be my sister, Sia Serrure. Though in reality she's Lady Sif, Goddess of War, she traveled back in time with us and our son. She was the one most involved in direct combat, since I mostly helped Howard, and my wife chose to assist in the infirmary, or sometimes as an interpreter. She was always careful not to be too noticeable, which is probably why history has mostly forgotten her. There's also the fact that she went off-grid back in 1963... but we'll get to that."
"They boarded a train carrying Arnim Zola, intent on capturing him, as he was the Red Skull's second in command." I continued the story. "The mission was technically a success, though not without losses; one loss to be more specific. Something went wrong, we don't know what exactly, but Sgt. Barnes fell off the train. Sia tried to save him and almost fell with him. Very few people ever knew this, and of them even less are still alive now but... Sia and James were lovers. She took his loss as hard as Steve, Captain Rogers." I shook my head. "After the war she went to work with the SSR, first here in England, before eventually being transferred to the States. In 1962, after the mess that was the Cuban Missile Crisis, she resigned."
I could see in Mycroft's eyes that he knew I was leaving things out, but he wouldn't ask, not yet.
"She happened to be in Dallas when Kennedy was assassinated." I went on, thinking things over before adding. "I actually have no idea why, exactly. The point is, after that she went off the grid completely, as she took on the task of tracking down the Winter Soldier."
"He was the one who killed the American president." Sherlock realized. "He, and not that other man, the mutant, Erik Lehnsherr."
"That's correct." My husband nodded.
"Did she find the Soldier?" Mycroft wanted to get back to the important point.
"She did, sometime in the nineties, I think." I wasn't actually sure. "We don't know when exactly it was that she learned his true identity, but we're sure it must have influenced her choice to keep searching for him for decades. She did, indeed, find him eventually, but she couldn't free him."
"Free him?" Cassia asked, doubtful.
"Most of the time there is very little of Sgt. Barnes in the Winter Soldier." My Maverick said, very quietly. "According to Sif, he's been tortured and brainwashed in so many ways, for so long, it's actually a miracle that any part of him still remains. Still, there are times when he's little more than an automaton, dedicated solely to going after the chosen target. He always goes in, makes the hit, and leaves without trace. It's why most people consider him a ghost, or a myth, almost like a sort of bogeyman."
"At some point, Hydra got to him." I added. "We assume that, once they make their move, they'll try to use him. We plan on getting him out then."
"You do realize that, even if you do succeed, that'll only be the start of your troubles?" Sherlock asked us, very seriously. "Once it becomes known that the Winter Soldier exists, many deaths will be pinned on him, and it won't matter how many or how few he was actually responsible for. Governments and agencies... they will all be after his blood."
I had no response for that, none of us did. Truth was, we knew Sherlock was right. We also knew Hakon kept researching during his scant free time, trying to find something in the law that would allow him to help Barnes, but thus far he'd found nothing. It's not like there was precedent for a situation such as his... or at least I didn't think there was. Really, how many people had ever been turned into brainwashed assassins and sent to kill innocents across the globe in a lapse of seventy years? Particularly after they were believed to have died? No, I didn't imagine there were that many such cases.
"So Magnussen's case will stay as it is, then?" John commented eventually. "I mean, it's not like we can tell the Yard the Winter Soldier did it. They'll think we're nuts."
"I have a feeling that, soon enough, not even the Yard will care much for finding his killer..." Sherlock muttered quietly.
"Sherlock, what have you done?" Mycroft asked suddenly.
As it turned out, he'd done nothing, it was all Ms. Hawkin's doing. A last issue from Magnussen's newspaper had come out, and it revealed all the truth about the man: as an abuser, blackmailer, and everything else. No names were given, but there was enough information there that I had no doubt Sherlock was right, once people read that, no one would really care who'd killed him.
xXx
We took off for a quick trip to the States at the end of the month. It was something my love and I had been talking about since the end of the overlap. My promise to Howard, of going to Tony, telling him the truth as soon as it was possible. The time had come. I knew Loki still thought that it was safer for us to wait until the situation with Hydra was over (while there was no reason to believe they'd been in any way involved with the event that had thrown us back in time, he could not fully discount the possibility either); and yet every day I couldn't help but remember the little boy that Tony Stark had been, so sweet, so adorable... and the strong, hard man he'd become. I felt a need to go to him, to tell him the truth... and so eventually he'd given in.
We'd just appeared in Malibu (after briefly dropping by NY, only to find out they were living in California for the time being). It felt right, in a way; after all, it'd been in Malibu where we'd last seen the Starks, back when Tony had been a child... We were across the street, watching Happy open the door for Tony to step out, and then he was turning around a helping Pepper... a very pregnant Pepper Potts-Stark!
I was so completely taken by surprise by the development that it took me a couple of seconds to register the sound of my phone ringing: a single word came the moment I answered the call:
"Assassin!"
It was all we needed. My Maverick and I didn't even need to make a plan, I jumped from my spot to stand right before the Starks, hands raised and tracing in the air even before I had materialized fully. A shield appearing at my fingertips, just in time to block the three blades that had been thrown, one for each of the people behind me.
"Nightingale/Silbhé!" They exclaimed in obvious shock.
*She's dead.* My match whispered into our bond. *I tried to capture her and she committed suicide rather than allow it.*
*Someone really doesn't want to risk us knowing whatever it is she knew.* I offered.
*We need to get them out of here.* He told me. *This assassin might be dead, but there are no guarantees that another, or even more than one, aren't somewhere around... *
We didn't even need to talk about where to go, we both thought of the same place at the same time; once again, it was only fitting.
"No time for explanations." I told Happy and the Starks before a word could be said. "You cannot stay here. Hold on." I focused on Pepper. "I'm really sorry but this might make you a bit sick. I promise it's necessary."
The moment I was sure they were all holding onto each other, and I had a hand on each, I jumped in place and then we were gone. Loki siphoning magic into me so I would have any trouble taking three (or should it be four?) people along.
We came out of the teleportation in the middle of a kitchen. Pepper did look a bit green: but in the end it was Happy who was actually sick (thankfully he made it to the bathroom).
"What the hell just happened back there?" Tony demanded, even as he checked his wife over.
"Someone just tried to kill you." I deadpanned. "All three of you."
I washed some glasses and filled them with water from the tap, after running it through the pipes for a little while. The place was still furnished and with everything necessary but hadn't been used in years; which was obvious by the sheets covering the furniture and the layers of dust that were on everything.
"Where are we?" Pepper asked after taking the glass of water I offered.
"Chicago." I informed her. "I'm sorry by my lack of hospitality, but aside from tap water and perhaps some form of alcohol there's nothing here. We haven't lived here in years..."
"Why did you bring us here then?" Pepper wanted to know.
Happy didn't say anything, just listened.
"On the one hand, it was the first place I thought of when it became obvious I had to get you out of there." I answered honestly. "On the other hand..."
I broke off, whatever I had been about to say forgotten, as I sensed the change in Tony's mood. Instantly I went looking for him. Found him standing in a corner of the living room, holding in his hand a framed picture, he'd just used the cuff of his own shirt to clean the dust.
"What the hell is this?" He demanded, looking straight at me.
I didn't even need to see the picture, I knew instinctively which one it was: one that showed a three-year-old Tony Stark, in dark-blue bathing shorts with white stripes on the side, smiling widely, hands held as if displaying the amazing sand-castle beside him. I was in the picture too, kneeling on the other side of the castle, a white semi-transparent beach-wrap tied in imitation of a short dress, though allowing my lilac two-piece swimsuit to be seen. Most importantly, the photo had been taken at a point when I'd been distracted so the glamour was loose enough on me one couldn't be sure the age I was supposed to be. People who hadn't really known me would have bought that I was the age I claimed to be back then (in my fifties), perhaps with a few 'treatments' to help me; but someone who'd only known me in my youth...
"Oh..." Pepper breathed out in obvious surprise as she looked at the picture. "Tony you were such a sweet kid..."
"Thanks Pep, but this isn't about me." Tony stated seriously. "What I want to know is how the hell she's in this picture!"
Everyone's attention was on me then. And just in time for my Maverick to make an appearance, he was carrying drinks for everyone, and some pastries (Happy, Tony and especially Pepper were likely to need the sugar after recent events).
"Ana took that picture, the day of your third birthday." I told him honestly.
"Ana?" Pepper inquired, confused.
"Ana Jarvis, Edwin Jarvis's wife, the Stark's housekeeper and..." I began, before Tony cut me off.
"And the woman who raised me as if I were her own son." Tony finished for me.
"Yes." I nodded softly.
"I don't remember you." Tony announced.
"I know." I let out a breath. "We left the Christmas before your fourth birthday, believing it would be better that way..."
"What would be better that way?" Tony demanded, obviously on the edge with all the revelations coming his way.
And so we told him. Loki and I worked together and it took us hours, but we managed to tell them everything. From the moment we had landed in the middle of Norway, in 1941, to earlier that morning, when we'd made the decision of going to find them, to finally tell Tony the truth.
"The last time I saw Howard..." I had to breath deeply, to force myself to push aside the tears the memory still caused me. "He made me promise, that the moment I could, I would come find you, would tell you the truth. I... I didn't realize back then that he wasn't talking only about my time as Arianna Stark. I... when I told him about you, about your future, I never imagined, could have never expected him to... I just..."
"You were just trying to help." Pepper told me quietly, a kind touch on my arm. "You thought it would make things better."
"And instead it might all be my fault." I whispered, unable to hold my sob back.
"It's not your fault!" Tony snapped suddenly. "It's really not. I... it was his choice. How... Dad chose to be that way, probably because he considered the possibility and decided it was the only sure way I'd survive."
"What...?" I wasn't expecting that, none of us were.
"Just think about it." Tony stated, with an ease I knew he didn't really feel. "He heard that I'd be kidnapped, nearly killed multiple times. And he knew I'd survive... but what if the only reason I survived that, was because of everything I'd already gone through by then? To be fair, he was probably right. What chances would a pampered, rich boy have had of surviving three months in captivity in Afghanistan? My whole life I fought to make my father proud of me, and at the same time, kept trying to surpass him; it pushed me into creating Dummy, JARVIS, all the weapons I once built, and later destroyed. It was that same mindset which I pushed myself into when Yinsen gave me the nudge I needed to not give up in that cave, and then with the palladium poisoning. If Dad... if he'd given me the attention I wanted all along, how different would I have been?"
"You still would have been a good man." Pepper tried to insist, evidently shaken by the whole thing (both the assassination attempt and Tony's own rationalization of his past).
"I'm sorry Pepper, but we have to be honest here." Tony murmured softly, kissing her forehead. "There's no guarantee I'd have survived..." He kissed her eyelids, then her nose. "And if this is the reward, for everything that's happened. You, and this little one... if you're my blessing after all the trials... then it was all worth it. All of it." He turned back to me. "And thank you. For giving me something I never thought I'd get a chance to have, my family..."
And in that moment, as he smiled at me there was a light in his eyes, such as I hadn't seen since that last Christmas; a light I'd once feared he might have lost completely; only he hadn't. The cute, incredible child that Tony had been was still inside the brave amazing man that he'd become after so many years; he'd just needed a reason to let him out.
xXx
The attempted assassination had some consequences we could have never predicted, as less than 24 hours later we found ourselves at the Prentice Women's Hospital, with Pepper giving birth to her baby. With some clever talking I managed to be allowed into the delivery room, which was a good thing when it turned out that the baby was in distress. She wasn't breathing by the time she was born, though the doctors still never gave up. I just got close enough to place a single finger on her. Didn't even do much, just the slightest push, and the doctors handled the rest. She would still need to be in an incubator for a few days, but the danger soon passed.
And so Aylen Mariana Potts-Stark was born. According to Tony, the name Mariana was in honor of the three most important women in his life (aside from his wife, obviously): his mother: Maria, his Nana: Ana, and myself, Arianna. Aylen, on the other side, was a name meant to be only for the little girl; that part had actually been at Pepper's insistence, when Tony considered giving the baby her name (Virginia), or her mother's (Victoria); she thought the little girl was going to have a hard enough time with their family, she deserved to be her own person, and thus have a name that was just hers.
They asked me to be Aylen's godmother, I of course said yes. Bruce was to be the godfather and, according to Tony, that meant we were family, and so were our respective families. It was nice. And then the phone rang, it was Mycroft.
We could hardly believe how bad things had gotten in just a week that we'd been away. Still, after reminding our 'nephew' and his family of the danger Hydra represented (and the longer they all stayed out of sight the better), Loki and I were turning our focus to the friends we'd left back in England, and the mess they'd gotten into.
Surprisingly enough it wasn't Sherlock's fault, not this time. He'd been doing the right thing, and the situation had gotten entirely out of their hands (then again, the situation had been much bigger than any of them had known going in); and while measures were already being taken, Mycroft really wanted us (especially me and my healing) there, just in case.
xXx
Mycroft was angry... no, beyond angry, he was furious. Heads were going to roll (hopefully only figuratively). He couldn't believe that the people working for him were so completely useless! Because there was no other way they could explain how no one had so much as suspected there was a connection between Magnussen and Lord Moran, until the proof was staring them in their faces. Because apparently, 'mental vaults' and all, Charles Magnussen had still kept a few things in a deposit box, the details of which they'd found in the safe in his office, when they stripped the whole place down after the man's assassination.
The deposit box had proof of a few of his blackmails, including the very letters he'd tried to blackmail Lady Smallwood with. There they'd found his connection with Lord Moran, apparently it had been Magnussen who'd ordered the man to place that bomb. The poor sod hadn't even known the bomb was real, thought it to be just a stunt for Magnussen to gain the compliance of a few people he hadn't found pressure points on.
And that wasn't even the worst part. Sergei Moran was an idiot, he was also the uncle of former-military man Sebastian Moran (dishonorably discharged under suspicion of aiding a criminal organization in the Middle East), who'd been one of the snipers working for Jim Moriarty (the one on Lestrade).
Magnussen's own documents also included a few mentions of Moriarty; except he called the man 'Professor Moriarty', no one was 100% sure what that meant, but the implications sure weren't good (Jim's death was supposed to be the end of that particular problem!)
The Holmeses suspected that Magnussen had planned the bombing in order to take out those he couldn't control, so as to make sure all of Parliament would be comprised of people under his thumb. Allowing him to effectively rule from the shadows. He was connected to Hydra, and while that had at first brought up the question of why then Hydra had sent the Winter Soldier after him; it was John who realized Magnussen must have acted without authorization, perhaps ahead of schedule or something. Hydra had had him killed in an attempt to keep things from being discovered; they probably expected the authorities to be too busy trying to find the assassin to see everything else, they hadn't expected the intervention of people like Arianna Kinross (Lady Navar) or Sia Serrure (the legendary Valkyrie).
And that wasn't all. No, that would have made things too easy... Days later Mycroft found himself in a closed-door meeting with his wife, brothers (he counted John Watson as a brother too), the head of MI6 M, his secretary: Miss Moneypenny, the young Quartermaster, one of the famed 00s: James Bond and the believed-to-be-dead former M... She was believed to have died during the last confrontation with Silva in the Skyfall Estate, Bond's family home, in Scotland. Apparently not. Mycroft also noticed the acknowledgment in Bond's eyes as John and Sherlock entered... it really annoyed him not to know the reason behind that look. He hated not knowing things.
It was Sherlock who set the ball rolling, as he placed a heavy ring (titanium or some similar alloy) meant for a man in the middle of M's desk; it had a black engraving, of something that looked almost like a children's drawing of an octopus.
"Spectre..." Bond, Moneypenny and the former M (Olivia Mansfield, he later learned her name was) hissed practically at the same time.
"Where did you find that ring?" Mansfield asked, looking straight at Sherlock.
"On Charles Magnussen's finger." Sherlock answered, oddly calm. "He was wearing it at the time of his death."
"We found this on his safe deposit box." John added, placing a file beside the ring. "It details his connection with the Spectre Organization, with another one called Quantum and... and the fact that both are apparently strongly connected to Hydra."
Yes, things were definitely complicated.
By the end of the meeting there was still a lot Mycroft didn't fully understand. He didn't know how Mansfield had survived the attack on MI6's HQ, or the following disaster at the Skyfall Lodge; though after some loaded looks and half-sentences he was able to deduce that John had somehow been involved... and quite possibly Arianna as well.
Spectre (which was an acronym for Special Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion) was a global criminal organization that had been behind a number of events MI6 and other Intelligence Organizations had been forced to deal with over the last few decades (at least). Mansfield had been the first to pick up on the connection between several missions, after the events with Quantum, years prior; she'd researched it herself, until her near-death, when she'd enlisted the assistance of Bond, and eventually Moneypenny as well.
Perhaps the biggest surprise of all was when a new player got involved: former Agent Kathryn Eileen Salani-Adler. Mallory still remembered her, from the sole mission she'd gone on with MI6, back in the eighties. And despite having been retired for more than twenty years, there was no doubt that the woman still knew a few things, she was the one who found Dr. Madeleine Swann, the only one who could tell them what the code 'L'Americain' meant.
A few things had been relatively easy to handle. Like the cancellation of the Nine-Eyes project, and the attempt to discontinue the 00 program; or the infiltration of a Spectre meeting in Rome (though that one did end with a high-speed chase through the city); others weren't quite so easy. And so Bond was sent to Morocco, to the hotel L'Americain; where he eventually found a secret room in the suite Dr. Swann's father had always taken, it was filled with files, pictures, videos and everything that could be considered proof of Spectre's actions, power and influence... nothing on their connection to Hydra though. Still, Bond had packed everything and gotten it back to London, for Q and his people to go through it.
John and Sherlock, for their part, chose to pursue the only clue they'd found regarding the so-called 'Professor Moriarty': the Muirchertach estate by the Reichenbachfall... And that was where things went wrong, as they discovered when, after the two failed to report for two days, Mycroft sent in a team that found Dr. Watson on a ledge several feet down from the top of the falls, bruised, contused and with clear signs of hypothermia... with Sherlock nowhere to be found. It appeared that they had been expected, men who worked for this new Moriarty, they'd tried to kill John, and abducted Sherlock...
Mycroft was reaching the end of his rope by then, he'd never liked the idea of Sherlock going on such a dangerous mission in the first place, not after everything he'd already done during the months he took on the eradication of Moriarty's web... and yet he still hadn't expected things to go so wrong. He knew he'd to do something, but had no idea what.
Bond preparing to go to Africa, to track down what might be Spectre's Headquarters, he had suggested the possibility of Sherlock being there (not entirely impossible, considering they all knew there was a connection between Moriarty and Spectre). John was being quite vocal about people letting him out of the bloody hospital, and exactly what he was going to do to the people who thought they could take his husband and get away with it. And all Mycroft could think was that Bond was still in London, John was in Switzerland, and what if they didn't get to Sherlock in time? And what could he even do?
The answer came to his fingers, in a way, before it even registered in his mind, as he pulled out his phone and dialed a number:
"Arianna?" He called, very seriously. "We have an emergency. Sherlock has been abducted... John is in Switzerland, injured... Agent Bond offered to help but he's still here in London... There is reason to believe he might be in Africa, in the Spectre HQs in the Sahara, but we have no way of knowing until one of our own gets there."
The answer came soon enough, and while he'd been hopeful, it still surpassed his expectations.
"John can track down Sherlock." She informed him seriously. "We'll drop by London to pick Agent Bond, then to Switzerland to get John... and then wherever we might have to go next. Tell them we'll be there in twenty and twenty-five minutes, and they better be ready to go by then. If things are as bad as they seem there's no time to lose."
No one asked who Mycroft had just called, not even how that person expected to be picking up 007 and then be in Switzerland just five minutes later; whether that was because they suspected (the elder Holmes was almost sure at least Mansfield and Bond himself, aside from his family and Ms. Adler, knew about Arianna Kinross's gifts), or simply because they were used to things being secret (they worked in the Intelligence business, after all) he did not really care. All he cared about in that moment was his brother, Sherlock's safety, everything else was secondary.
xXx
It took my love and myself almost fifteen minutes to get in to see the Starks (though they were supposed to be staying in the penthouse with us, Tony and Pepper spent every minute they could in the hospital with little Aylen, which didn't really surprise me. I did feel a pang though, seeing Tony there... he looked so much like Howard back when Tony had just been born. I could almost cry, knowing that my love and I were the only ones who remembered that anymore, Tony would never have memories of his father's love. Even with everything we'd revealed, and the fact that I was quite sure he believed me... there were still no memories to be had.
Once inside we explained to Tony and Pepper the fact that we had to leave, I left them my keys to the penthouse and assured them they could call us if anything happened. Tony also promised he'd be right there the moment the time came to fight Hydra.
The moment that was done our clothes were changed (into nondescript black body-suits rather than our preferred fighting attires, as we had no intentions of announcing our true identities and power just yet). Then we dropped into a shadow and were off to London.
It took almost another ten minutes for us to get into MI6, until an announcement came through that we were expected. I actually had to blink when I saw Olivia Mansfield sitting in that room, considering that almost everyone believed the woman to be dead... I could still remember when John had phoned me, desperate, pleading for my help. I hadn't even thought about it, hadn't had the first idea of what was going on when I teleported straight into what seconds before had been a battlefield (got shot for my troubles too! Even if the bullet never touched me). I'd known some old friend from his army days had called John days earlier, asking him a favor, John had told me to call him if news came in about Sherlock, and then took off. I never expected it when I arrived to find the head of MI6 shot and bleeding out, the man responsible for the destruction of several important buildings on London, and the death of Intelligence personel in a number of countries (Mycroft had been spitting nails about the whole situation, worried to death that whoever had gotten into MI6's files might have found something on Sherlock... thankfully that hadn't been the case). Still, I was a healer first and foremost, didn't actually think to ask for an explanation before dropping to my knees beside the woman and getting to work. She also didn't ask how I was able to heal with just my will...
In any case, Olivia Mansfield was there, everyone was talking about James Bond's top-secret mission, and Sherlock was missing... we really didn't have time to wonder about the whys and hows of anything. We just told the agent to follow us and went straight back out they way we'd come; the moment we were sure we were off the cameras' reach, both Maverick and I reached for James Bond at the same time, and sank into the nearest shadow.
Picking up John was a piece of cake. His healing also didn't take long (his watch had some protective spells, which had helped him some), and then we were off again. Unknown to almost everyone the ring-tattoos Sherlock and John had, carried some spellwork, similar to what we'd done on the bands Darcy and Phil had: that, summed to the soulbond those two possessed, made tracking the missing consulting detective relatively easy (our magic did the rest).
The lack of guards in the premises made it obvious no one had been expecting us; they probably didn't think we'd be able to find them, or if we did, it still wouldn't happen so soon. Of course, Spectre had no idea of the kind of enemies they'd made the moment they put a hand on Sherlock Holmes (and I wasn't even talking about my love and I... no, the real danger was, and always would be John Watson. He'd do anything to protect his match).
We split, with James and Serrure doing a sweep of the facility and taking people down as they did, while John and I went straight for Sherlock. It didn't take long to find him, and yet the sight that met us there was such that I couldn't help but freeze in shock:
Sherlock was on a medical chair, restrained, a surgical drill ready and about to pierce straight into his skull; and an insane man was going on and on about how the 'Professor' would have to reward him, and how there would be nothing but a shell left of the 'great Sherlock Holmes' once he was done, his mind lost to his drills...
"You are, of course, incorrect." Sherlock announced, rather calmly for someone in his position.
"Oh, am I?" The man (whom I later learned was called Ernst Stavro Blofeld, and in MI6's Most Wanted List), asked with a creepy level of glee.
"Of course you are, you're an idiot." Sherlock scoffed. "Your greatest mistake of all was to underestimate your enemies."
"I think you overestimate yourself, Mr. Holmes, after all, I have you right here, tied down, about to lose everything that makes you Sherlock Holmes..." Blofeld stated with sickening delight.
"I wasn't talking about myself." Sherlock replied. "I was talking about my husband..."
"John Watson is dead." Blofeld snapped. "You insisting on pursuing this matter shows that, in the end, you're like any other man, Mr. Holmes, holding onto ridiculous hopes of being saved, even when faced with insurmountable odds..."
"No, he's not." Sherlock cut him off. "But you are..."
Whether that was some kind of cue, or the fact that the man had just reached for the drill's switch probably didn't really matter in the end; he was dead from a bullet through his head just a second later. John didn't even wait to confirm the kill, he just put the gun away and rushed to free his husband immediately.
"Are you alright?" John asked, checking the consulting detective over.
"Of course I'm alright John, no reason to panic." His husband informed him. "I knew you were coming after me so I had no reason to worry. I'm just fine. Everything's fine."
And then they were bursting into giggles... I imagined there was some kind of private joke, but had no idea what it might be.
All in all the mission was a tad anticlimatic, especially compared to most missions involving 007; something he seemed to take as some kind of affront.
"I didn't even get to blow up anything!" He actually pouted.
"I suppose this means you'll be bringing your equipment back in one piece this time, 007..." Q's voice came in a drawl through the comms.
"I make no promises Quentin." Bond quipped.
Just from listening to him during a few minutes I'd been able to tell that he'd no idea what the young Quartermaster's name actually was; which was probably why he used every opportunity to call the man by every name-starting-with-Q he could think of. Made me wonder what it was he expected to achieve exactly. If he eventually did discover the name, what then? I had no idea, and I suppose, in the end it wasn't really my business.
We stayed in that facility in the desert until a team of Special Ops. arrived to take over the duty of dismantling the place and making sure any information Spectre might have had was destroyed before it could be used against anyone.
"Do you really think they will give up the chance of having something on their enemies?" My husband asked, not quite believing things would happen as everyone claimed.
"No." Bond admitted honestly. "Which is why I have this." He showed us a very small thumb-drive. "Q made it, it had a special virus, I only needed a few seconds to plug it into the first computer I saw in the place and it destroyed all data-banks. There's nothing left."
"Why?" I didn't understand, didn't he work for MI6?
"Because I think, and some people agree with me, that there might have been some files in those drives that no one should have... not even MI6..." Bond admitted grimly.
"Won't you get in trouble over this?" John asked, sounding honestly worried. "You might have been the old M's favorite James, but Mallory is nothing like her."
"I know." James admitted, then shrugged. "It's alright. I'm awful at computers, so who will ever believe that I had anything do to with that?" Then, as if to reinforce the idea, he pulled the thumb-drive apart with his own nails before throwing the pieces out the window of the military jeep we were on, one at a time, straight onto the sand.
The trip back to London took longer than the one out; but in the end it was easier than explaining Special Ops. and a number of other military personal why we didn't need a flight out... It also gave us all time to rest, something we sorely needed.
xXx
Hours later I woke up from my nap to find we were still on the military plane, about a quarter of an hour from London. It soon became obvious that I wasn't the only one to decide a nap was a good idea. James was the only one not sleeping, instead bent over his mobile (I wasn't sure if he was playing a game, or perhaps talking to Q... he seemed to do the last one a lot).
As I sat there I allowed my mind to stray... and as it often had in the last several weeks, soon I was thinking about Mary Morstan (or Alicia Adams), about the fact that for the first time in either of my lives I had killed someone; the hardest part for me to deal with, though, was perhaps the fact that I didn't regret it. Even though I had truly hoped John would be right when he inferred that the woman might be truly trying to make a new, peaceful life for herself, away from the stigma of being a graduate of the Red Room... she had threatened my match's life, and the moment she'd done that her life was forfeit. I'd never allow anything to happen to him.
In my life (both my lives, actually) I had gone through a lot, and at different times I'd fancied myself a Warrior-Lady, and been sure I could never truly live up to such a title. Even when I'd learned to shoot a bow, throw knives, fight hand-to-hand, even the few times I ended having to fight for whatever the reason, never before Adams had I taken a life. I had injured, I'd aided friends in defeating and killing their enemies, but I'd never ended a life myself. It made me wonder if doing so would end up changing me more than I could stand, more than my love...
*Never...* Loki interrupted my line of thought. *I will never think less of you, my Nightingale. You're the most beautiful, courageous, wondrous creature and I'm blessed to have you as my match. Whatever might happen, I will always love you... Always...*
*Till the last star blinks out of the sky...* We finished in tandem...
And just like that, I felt the imperious need to sing, to get it all out: my feelings, my thoughts, my doubts, my resolutions. All of it... I didn't even have to think about it, I settled more comfortably into my husband's embrace, took a deep breath, closed my eyes and then I began singing:
"I've been here before
But always hit the floor
I've spent a lifetime running
And I always get away
But with you I'm feeling something
That makes me want to stay"
"I'm prepared for this
I never shoot to miss
But I feel a storm is coming
If I'm gonna make it through the day
And there's no more use in running
This is something I gotta face"
"If I risk it all
Could you break my fall?"
"How do I live? How do I breathe?
When you're not here I'm suffocating
I want to feel love run through my blood
Tell me is this where I give it all up?
For you I have to risk it all
'Cause the writing's on the wall"
"A million shards of glass
That haunt me from my past
As the stars begin to gather
And the light begins to fade
When all hope begins to shatter
Know that I won't be afraid"
"If I risk it all
Could you break my fall?"
"How do I live? How do I breathe?
When you're not here I'm suffocating
I want to feel love, run through my blood
Tell me is this where I give it all up?
For you I have to risk it all
'Cause the writing's on the wall"
"If I risk it all
Could you break my fall?"
"How do I live? How do I breathe?
When you're not here I'm suffocating
I want to feel love run through my blood
Tell me is this where I give it all up?
For you I have to risk it all
'Cause the writing's on the wall"
The song finally reached an end, and ever so slowly I opened my eyes, feeling more relaxed than I had ever since that day in Magnussen's building. I'd finally come to terms with my own actions, and the feelings those actions brought me. The fact that those decisions did not change who I was, all the opposite, they were a confirmation of my own self.
"You have quite a beautiful voice, ma'am." Agent Bond murmured softly.
I blinked, not having noticed before that all eyes were on me in that moment. They'd all woken at some point and were looking straight at me.
"She has the most perfect voice in all the universe." My Maverick announced calmly.
"You were thinking about what happened that night, weren't you?" John asked me softly. "What you had to do..." He let out a breath. "I'm sorry Ari..."
"It's not your fault John." I assured him with a small smile. "We both want to believe the best of people. We wanted to believe that she was trying to make a new life... but all bets were off the moment she aimed that gun at my husband."
I could sense the moment it all clicked in Bond's head.
"You killed Adams..." He breathed out in absolute shock. "But the reports..."
"Certain things were kept off the reports." Sherlock stated stoically. "And it'll stay that way."
"Of course." Bond seemed to have no problem with that. "I imagine some people would never leave her alone if they were to find out... you do realize at least the US and Turkey had a reward for her death?"
"We know." I nodded. "Mycroft made arrangements for the money to be placed in a new Charity Organization we just created: the Willow Foundation. Which will be focused on aiding young orphans who are in danger of going down the wrong path. Who knows? Perhaps we might prevent other girls of ever becoming like Alicia Adams..."
We couldn't save everyone in the world (or worlds), especially those who didn't want to be saved, we knew that, had learned it the hard way... didn't mean we would stop trying any time soon though. We would never stop trying...
xXx
The day we had been waiting for finally came and on the 4th of May of 2016 (exactly two months and a day after the end of the overlap) all hell broke loose... on a global scale.
It had actually started on the 1st. After an insane car chase that wrecked everything in more than half a dozen street-blocks in Washington D.C., and a shoot-out that ended with at least a handful of civilians dead and thrice (or more) as many injured, Director Fury was tracked to Captain Rogers' apartment, where he was shot by an unknown sniper, whom Rogers had tried and failed to keep up with. Fury had finally been declared dead just past one in the morning of the 2nd...
"He's not dead." I told Mycroft calmly.
He was the one who'd informed us of what wasn't on the news (which was, of course, a lot).
"What makes you so sure of that?" I suspected he shared my suspicions, but wasn't willing to admit it, due to lack of proof.
"Tell me Mycroft, what would happen if you died?" I asked in turn.
For a moment no one said a word, but John's eyes widened in understanding.
"Fury is not in your level, of course not." I went on.
"He only wishes he had that kind of power." My love muttered with a half smirk.
"The point is, I have no doubt he must have contingencies upon contingencies in the case of his death." I went on. "The man isn't stupid; arrogant, reckless, and with more trust issues than all of us combined... but certainly not stupid."
"If he were dead something else would have happened already." John finished for me.
"The witnesses' reports..." Cassia said quietly. "SHIELD tried to silence them, but we managed to acquire a copy. The description of the shooter fits the man you call the Winter Soldier..."
I couldn't help myself, I let out a string of curses in at least half a dozen different languages.
"I recognized all except the second to last language." Sherlock pointed out when I was done.
"You wouldn't have, that was quenya, the most archaic form of the elven language." My husband informed him. "Not from this world, and even in Alfheim it's only ever spoken during the most important ceremonies..." He turned to me. "Most wouldn't even think you can swear in it..."
"I'm creative like that." I quipped.
Curiously enough, neither of us realized then that Sherlock hadn't marked as unknown the last dialect I had used; another which wasn't of our world, it was khuzdul, and aside from the dwarves of Nidavellir only a handful or so of people could recognize it, much less speak it.
So in the end we all agreed that, all things considered, Fury probably wasn't dead. We didn't get much time to ponder on it though, as that was just the beginning. Hydra was on the move (hence my cursing a storm).
On the 2nd I'd gotten a secret coded message from Hakon: Captain America had just been declared a Rogue, he was being hunted down by SHIELD... I reckoned that probably didn't sit well with Peggy. And yet they weren't doing anything, which meant that either something else was going on, or they were waiting for something else to happen... and it did.
There was yet another car-chase and a shooting in the middle of Washington DC, and SHIELD couldn't keep it quiet, it was all over the news and the internet minutes after it began. We were all in Mycroft's office, watching the footage, my love was the first to recognize the figure in the worn military-styled fatigues... I picked up on it a second later: Sia had arrived...
"Who's that?" Sherlock asked, transfixed.
It really was fascinating to see, the way Sif and the Winter Shoulder exchanged blows, like a very complex, highly lethal dance.
"Sia Serrure." John answered for us.
"That's the Goddess of War?" Cassia was in awe.
We nodded vaguely, my attention more on the words my love wasn't saying out loud:
*You can see it, can't you?* He asked mentally.
*They're a match.* I said for all answer.
Yes, we could both see it, and there was something more, something that looked like a one-sided bond. I couldn't be sure, had never seen anything like that, but it was the best way I knew to describe it. My love agreed with me. Neither of us had the slightest idea how much that might help or hinder the situation.
Eventually either the transmissions were cut or the cameras destroyed, and we could no longer see what was going on. And so we spent the rest of the day fidgeting, waiting for the other shoe to drop (and we all knew it would, sooner or later).
It did happen, though not until the next day, early afternoon (the middle of the morning in DC). There was no footage, and in the end we didn't need to go looking for anything, as the recording was broadcasted through the web, popping up all over the world at the same time (a corner of my mind was flabbergasted by whoever had managed that, wanting to meet the hacker and find out how it was done exactly); somehow, the message ended being even more shocking than the method used to transmit it:
"Attention, all SHIELD agents. This is Steve Rogers. You've heard a lot about me over the last few days, some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it's time you know the truth. SHIELD is not what we thought it was, it's been taken over by HYDRA. Alexander Pierce is their leader. The STRIKE and Insight crew are HYDRA as well. I don't know how many more, but I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you. They almost have what they want: absolute control. They shot Nick Fury and it won't end there. If you launch those Helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way, unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot, but the price of freedom is high, it always has been, and it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not."
"And so it begins..." My love murmured quietly, nothing else really needed to be said.
And so it begins... So, what do you think of Nightingale's reaction to killing someone for the first time? Believable? I don't know if you ever noticed, but while she'd been in battles before, and might have even been in the thick of it, she hadn't killed anyone herself before Mary. I thought that was important for the character, part of her development. She's not like Loki and Rose, she doesn't have the mindset of a warrior (the whole your-life-or-theirs) and yet, she's willing to do anything for her loved ones. Also, remember that she was once a she-elf, and while she did know how to fight, elves, particularly female ones, have very little (if any) bloodlust. It's just not in their nature (and it certainly isn't in Nightingale's). The intent here was to take her to the very edge of her character, again, part of her development. Hope you like how it turned out. At least I did.
Next week: Out of the Shadows, into the Light... Hydra's coming! (Too late to turn back now).
P.S. On a more personal note, my second original novel (the first in English) just came out earlier this week. It's called Xochiyao, I publish under the same seudonym I use around here. It's available in both Amazon and Barnes and Noble in both paperback and digital formats. I hope at least some of you will be interested. I would be delighted to get some readers, and you're always welcome to PM me if you wish to talk about my novel, or even send me an e-mail. Thank you for everything and see you around!