Sorry for the extremely belated update. I had writer's block, then realized the only way to get what I want out of this story is to edit it a little bit. In case you just came to this chapter, I recommend re-reading the previous one, specifically the first few, which feature the most changes.

Anyways, the effort to go through all that left me a little tired, and I wasn't in the mood to write an action scene. Instead, be prepared for some good old-fashioned real-world pragmatism. At least, that's what I'm calling it, and I'll stick to it.

Next chapter, we'll be seeing our old green friend again :)

Please read and review!

~~~~EDIT: 1/31/2015 - I heavily edited the ending of this chapter, giving it a darker edge and throwing in the little plot point I forgot to write in the first run-around.~~~~

Chapter Eleven

Quid Pro Quo

"So let me get this straight," Peter said as he handed cash to the hotdog vendor. He turned to me with a quizzical look. "A robbery at a high security bank where seemingly nothing is stolen, yet a giant man with metal arms was spotted roaming the streets, fighting Falcon and causing major damage - over nothing?"

It was a little after noon, long enough for me to have almost forgotten my encounter with MJ and the Dorian guy. I still didn't know how I was going to deal with that, although now it seemed I didn't have much of a choice.

"It's not nothing," I hissed, glancing around. I couldn't help it, I was paranoid. Like at any moment, Goliath would show up to kick my ass. I had to be careful. "It's something, I just don't know what. Important enough not to tell the media, that's for sure."
"Do you have it?" he asked, turning away from the vendor. I followed him, keeping up on my shorter legs. "The whatever-it-is?"

"No. A, erm, a contact of mine has it."

"A contact." Peter threw me a wry look, dodging a bike messenger that had zoomed up from behind. He shouldn't have been able to move that fast, couldn't have reacted in time. But it was just another sign that his Spidey Sense was very much a real thing. "Right. Sure. You, the ever-charming Falcon, has managed to keep contacts. Man, I don't even have contacts! Unless you count Boris the hotdog vendor; he gives Spidey freebies every time he shows up. I kind of figured you'd avoid that kind of, erm, relationship."

"Shut up," I muttered, but couldn't help smiling a little. He kind of had a point. "It's not for a lack of trying. He's just...persistent."

"You mean he likes you?" Peter sounded so nonchalant that I almost couldn't believe it. Then I remembered that this guy was dating a cheerleader and another girl crushing on him (that is, Gwen). And maybe Mary Jane, but that girl didn't do commitments.

"I don't really think 'like' is the word I'd use," I muttered, perhaps more to myself than Peter. I stuffed my hands into the pocket of my hoodie, feeling a little disgruntled with the idea that Smoke's intentions were less than pure. "He's one of those guys, you know? A total Casanova. He's left me alone, though, after I almost killed him."

Peter almost choked on his hotdog, then forced it down in a swallow that sounded rather painful. "Urgh...let's avoid upping the charges to felonies, okay? Vigilantism and rampant property damage are bad enough as it is, I don't want to feel like the police actually have a good reason to get us arrested or anything."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said wryly. Peter didn't have to remind me. It was an unspoken rule of ours that killing people – even if they really, really deserve it – was forbidden. Because, you know, we're the good guys. We have morals.

And also because I wasn't sure if I could live with myself after the fact. Taking someone's life isn't something that's treatable; once they're gone, they're gone. No amount of community service or jail time would ever change the fact that the crime was done. Completely irreversible.

"Maybe you should get in contact with your contact," Peter advised, just as a string of police cars suddenly appeared around the corner, chasing a rogue bank truck hijacked by thieves. He eyed the scene, started to edge towards an alleyway, "See if you can reason with him. I, uh, gotta go before they destroy Fifth Avenue."

"I'll try, see ya," I sighed, now alone on the streets. A few seconds later Spider-Man swooped by, followed by pointing and cheers.

With nothing better to do, I decided I might as well get this Smoke-business over with.

OoOoO

Either Falcon was getting better at finding Smoke, or he was losing his touch.

She confronted him in an attic of a brownstone, where apparently the thief was stealing the old, forgotten pieces of someone's life that they stored away here. Falcon wasn't sure if there was anything here of any real value, but then again, she wasn't a thief.

Smoke didn't get a chance to speak before she threw him into a wall. "What the hell did you steal?!"
He slumped to the ground, coughing and spluttering in shock, having not enough time to phase through the attack. Rubbing the back of his head, Smoke grimaced and said, "First of all, we stole it – you helped, remember? Don't tell me you were surprised when you went to the police and they tried to arrest you."

Falcon wanted to throttle him. "It's not the police that are after me!"

Smoke blinked at her, realization making his eyes go wide. "Wait, you don't mean...I-I thought you took care of that cyborg freak! I thought you had it handled."

"Had it handled?" Falcon snapped, throwing up her arms in frustration. She stomped her foot for emphasis, and the floor shook in response. Dust fell from the ceiling as she said, "He almost killed me! I might have had a chance if someone didn't ditch me in the middle of a fight, but nooo, I had to fight Goliath alone!"

"Goliath?" Smoke asked, confused. "You gave him a name?"

"No, that's what he's called, I saw it on his arm," a hand went to her head and Falcon turned away. Blood pounded through her ears, making her head throb, and she was shaking all over. Every single movement had to be delicate, like if she put too much weight into the action, she might break something. Not herself, but the floor, the wall, the glass windows that vibrated in tune to her thoughts. Smoke, apparently recalling the last time she lost her cool, glanced around cautiously, going a shade transparent in case things started to explode.

But Falcon managed to push it down again. The vibrating windows quieted. She took a deep breath before saying, "So, tell me, what's that orb-thing? Did you already sell it?"

"No, no," Smoke shook his head, getting up and dusting himself off. Considering he had just been thrown into a wall, he looked pretty good. "My client decided not to show up at the last moment, so now I have a hunk of metal hanging around at my place and no idea how to sell it. I don't know what it is, I just know they call it the Key."

"The Key?" Falcon threw him a look. "A key to what?"

"Hey, I don't ask the questions, dove," Smoke just shrugged. While he was, in fact, a very good thief, his curiosity left something to be desired. Then again, maybe his employers didn't appreciate him knowing too much. "I just get paid, all right? If you really want to know, I suggest speaking to the guy who wants to buy it."

"You're going to tell me his name?" Falcon took a step forward, eager. Too eager, perhaps. She saw a smirk grow on his face and tried to regain her dignity. "Oh, right, I forgot. You're a professional."

"Bingo," Smoke winked at her in his ever-charming way and Falcon was glad she had the helmet on to hide her blush. A furious, red blush that went to her ears and made Falcon want to punch something. Specifically, his face. Stupid boys, stupid hormones. Why did all the cute ones have to work for the bad guys? "You know me too well, dove,"

Not that she was interested. Nope. No way. Falcon had priorities, and personal relationships weren't one of them.

But she couldn't help but feel a little bit embarrassed when she said, "Don't call me that."

Taking a second to recover, she went on to say, "Show me where the Key is."

"What?" Smoke gave her a look that clearly said he thought she was crazy. She was, after all, asking to invade his privacy. "No. Not going to happen."

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I not clear?" Falcon tilted her head, voice innocently saccharine. Unfortunately, his privacy was not her priority at the moment. "Did I forget to mention the giant homicidal cyborg that is still on the hunt for the Key who will no doubt find you and rip you to shreds? Or do I have to remind you, once again, that this is way more important than whatever payday you're hoping to get?"
There was an extended moment of silence when Smoke just glared at her, jaw set with gritted teeth. Then he huffed and muttered, "Fine. But –!" he held up a finger and pointed it at her, "This stays between us, got it? No blabbing to your web-slinging bestie."

"Don't worry about it," Falcon replied in smooth tones. She had no intention whatsoever to tell Spider-Man that she had gotten herself caught up with the antics of a self-absorbed thief. "Just show me the Key."

So they left the brownstone before the owners could find out what was making all that noise up there. Falcon followed the flickers of shadow and mist that signaled Smoke's movement, as he teleported from one shadow to the next. A convenient skill, for a thief, helpful during the daytime, making him practically untraceable at night.

Falcon was almost jealous. Almost.

He led her to Brooklyn, to a studio apartment along the bay. The building seemed fairly new - perhaps it had been renovated recently, but must have been strapped for clients because, as far as Falcon could tell, not a lot of people lived there.

Then again, it was New York, and the city wasn't known for its reasonable living costs.

"This is where you live?" Falcon asked as she ducked inside through a window. The place was sparsely decorated, only some furniture lying around, and in the dark, it seemed rather musty and old. "Kind of...quaint."

"I've got a lot of different safe houses, dove," Smoke replied, flicking the light switch and bathing the area in a nice, white glow. "This is just one I keep the best stuff in."

Best stuff was right. Across every surface there seemed to be some priceless artifact resting there. Things from jewelry to ancient vases to intricately carved boxes (and was that a Fabergé egg?) littered throughout the apartment, leaving barely a single space uncovered. Even the walls were laden with various paintings and masks, probably from museums. Was that a Monet? Just how much money was here, in irreplaceable items of wealth?

"...Wow," was all she could say. "I didn't know you stole this much stuff."

"Some of its stolen," Smoke said, looking pretty smug. He seemed pleased to have managed to impress her. "Some of it I earned doing jobs. You're welcome to take a look."

Falcon cast a suspicious glance at him, but took up the offer anyways. How often was one allowed to get this close to a Ming vase, to touch it? She couldn't believe how easy it seemed, how impossible it was that she was standing in the same room as something as precious as these artifacts. They were worth more than all the money her mother ever earned, probably more than anything Falcon would make in her lifetime.

It was kind of depressing, actually.

Smoke was scrounging around, looking for the Key in the mess of his apartment. Apparently, organization was not a skill he exercised regularly. "What's the matter?"

"Hm, what?" Falcon shook her head, not paying attention.

"You're being really quiet," Smoke paused, giving her a strange look. "You're not going to break anything, are you?"

"What? No, why would I?" Falcon asked, and she couldn't help to keep the resentment from creeping into her voice. "This stuff is worth millions. It's priceless, really. One-of-a-kind works of art. More than I'll ever get to see in my entire life. Why would I destroy that?"

"Uh, I dunno, never mind, then," Smoke was wise in choosing not to give her a sarcastic reply. He went back to searching without another word. A few minutes later, she heard him call: "Ah, here it is!"

Smoke popped back up, black rock in hand. "See? Not a scratch, and that Goliath guy is nowhere to be see–"

CRASH!

The wall exploded with such force that it knocked both of them off their feet. Falcon had sensed the intrusion only a second before and had just taken a step back before the room seemed to shake around her.

She hit a table and fell, gold jewelry and trinkets falling on top of her. Falcon scrambled to get back up again, her ears ringing with sudden fear. The lights had cut out, leaving the entire room black as ink. What was that? What's going on?

The smoke cleared. From the light in the hallway, Falcon could make out the silhouette of a gigantic man, arms shining with metallic light. Goliath.

Falcon expected him to have a weapon, but there was nothing in his arms; did Goliath just break down the wall with his own fists?

Somehow, that didn't surprise her.

Before she could even react, the man charged, knocking down the nearest shelf and sending its contents flying. It was preamble to the rampage as Goliath uttered a strange, guttural roar, before charging into the room and bulldozing over everything that stood in his way.

Strangely, Goliath didn't come at her. Falcon got up, virtually untouched, and watched in speechlessness as the cyborg ran around in seemingly aimless circles, smashing holes into the walls and no doubt giving the neighbors something to complain about. He even brushed right past her, inches away, and didn't give her a second glance.

Which was rather odd, considering he had been trying to kill her a moment before.

Instead, Goliath seemed to be targeting Smoke; it didn't mean much, since the thief just phased through whatever attack the cyborg threw at him. With each missed swing, Goliath seemed to be getting angrier and angrier, in turn breaking more things, to hurt Smoke in the only way he could.

But Falcon was fine with this change. In fact, she was rather amused as Smoke scrambled around, trying to save his treasure before Goliath could destroy it. The Key had gotten lost in the midst of the chaos; it appeared no one knew where it was. But she wasn't stupid; it was obvious that was the reason Goliath was here; she understood now, even though she wasn't entirely clear on how Goliath managed to track them down. The man didn't seem to be the detective type.

"Falcon, what are you doing?" Smoke cried as the Terminator charged through him again and utterly obliterated an entire dinner table and everything on it. "Stop him!"

"Oh, I'm sorry?" Falcon looked up from examining her nails, standing in the middle of the carnage untouched and unconcerned. "Didn't I tell you? I've done my quota of service for the day. You're on your own. Ciao!"

"What? No, stop!" Smoke appeared in front of her, grabbing her shoulders so she couldn't turn and leave. "Fine! I'll get rid of that stupid orb, just stop him from tearing this whole place down!"

"And will you take me to Bruce?" Falcon asked.

His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled a breath he didn't want to make. Then Smoke groaned, hanging his head, and said, "Ugh, you drive a hard bargain, dove. Fine, I'll take you to him, but only if you stop that-that giant from breaking all my stuff!"

"Good," Falcon pushed him off her, taking strides towards the behemoth running amok through the apartment. "Oi! Big guy, over here! This what you want?"

She held up the orb that had been burst free of its hiding place in a cabinet; something Goliath didn't notice in his rampage. As soon as she spoke, the man came to an abrupt stop, turned, and stared at her through that skull-faced mask. Falcon smiled, raising the orb in the air, "You want it?"

Goliath stiffened, preparing to make a grab for it.

"Then come and get it!" she shouted, then jumped out the window and took flight.

Falcon didn't know how long it would take for Goliath to catch up with her, but she certainly didn't expect it to be in midair.

Somehow Goliath got the right amount of lift and velocity jumping after her. Falcon gasped when two metal hands wrapped around her ankles, yanking her down.

Her wings could not adjust for the weight. Falcon looked down, saw the fast approaching ground. No matter how much she kicked, she could not get rid of Goliath. "Dude, let go! You're wrecking my flight pattern!"

She thrust her wings down, trying to slow their descent, but it did little good. Goliath, with all his hardware, had to weigh at least half a ton, if not more. Falcon's wings could not support a full grown man, much less a girl and her giant-sized baggage.

KR-AACK!

They hit the ground with an asphalt-shattering explosion. Falcon's back took the brunt of the fall – Goliath somehow landing on his feet – but she didn't get the chance to recover before Goliath threw her into the closest brick wall.

The wall broke under impact. Falcon couldn't remember much aside from pain and the smell of mortar dust in the air. Her head was spinning, ears ringing, radar completely askew.

She tried to get back up, her back aching – wings withdrawing instinctively, but her arms trembled, and she fell back on her elbows. Man, that was a hard fall.

Then Falcon looked up, saw the hole in the wall. She seemed to be in some backroom of a costume shop, with masks and props lying about. But all that hardly registered when a heavy footstep shook the ground and she saw Goliath's looming form emerge from the dust, blocking the light from the street as he filled up the entire hole.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. It galvanized her and Falcon shot to her feet – there was no way she was going to let this giant beat her down, take the Orb, and run away with it.

Goliath took another step inside. His arm went to his back, pulling out what looked like a mini-gun. He never got the chance to shoot it, however, because a giant spider suddenly attacked him from the left.

Its felt-covered legs and synthetic body obstructed Goliath's view as it wrapped around his head, distracting him long enough for Falcon to remove the gun from his grasp – which, too, was weakened in his attempt to remove the Halloween decor.

The gun went flying into the depths of the storeroom, to be found the next day by some very alarmed storekeepers. Meanwhile, Falcon was currently making her way out of the storeroom, to the selling floor and towards the front door. Alarms went off as she passed through invisible laser motion sensors. Knowing that the cops would be here soon, Falcon wanted to get this done as quickly as possible – hopefully, by the time those black-and-white cruisers showed up, Goliath would be primed for arrest.

But that would be unlikely. Just as Falcon rested her hand on the door handle, having already unlocked it with a waved of her hand, a plastic skull soared past her head and smashed into the glass in front of her.

Falcon ducked when a crystal ball followed – it would have taken her head off had she not sensed it a split second before. This time the glass shattered and Falcon threw herself out before the incoming coffin could take her out.

It careened out the doors, and she hit the ground and ducked her head as it sailed over, hitting a car on the other side of the street.

Now with two alarms filling the air, Falcon was starting to get annoyed. She was barely making any ground, and Goliath was causing way more collateral damage than she intended. This was not how it was supposed to go.

She got back up, only to be sprayed in water when the flying cashier register took out a nearby fire hydrant and let loose a gush of freezing water.

Mother of pearl, again?! Falcon was nearly knocked down again by the sudden drop in temperature. Why was it that every time she fought with this guy, she always ended up wet? He really needed better aim.

Almost too cold to move, Falcon ducked into a nearby alley while Goliath emerged from the store, scanning the area. The street was now soaked, perhaps to be turned to ice by morning. Bills and coins were scattered across the area, surrounding the busted machine, while the car was sporting a new hood ornament and complaining about it.

Falcon's heart hammered in her chest as she watched the Goliath look around. She clutched the Orb to her chest, hoping there wasn't some telepathic connection between the two, because that would be a problem she didn't know how to fix.

...it was taking Goliath a lot longer than usual to reach her, and for a second Falcon couldn't figure it out. She was too cold to move and was hoping her adrenalin might kick in and get over it, but that hadn't happened. So she was stuck here, waiting and wondering what was preventing the cyborg from finding her in this very obvious hiding spot.

What had changed? Somehow Goliath had traced the Orb all the way to Smoke's (one of many, apparently) hide out. And the last time they fought, even though Falcon hadn't had the Orb with her at the time, Goliath thought she had, and pursued her.

Until it had started to rain.

Falcon looked down at herself, the proverbial light bulb suddenly flicking on above her head. Of course! Whatever connection Goliath had with the Orb – whether it might be a sight or sound or radio wave she couldn't perceive - was being interrupted by the presence of water.

Falcon smiled to herself. Now she had a plan.

Rolling her shoulders, she got some feeling back into her arms before unsheathing her wings again.

Goliath's head snapped in the direction of the noise just as Falcon shot into the air. Keeping hold of the Orb was no problem – it was small enough she only needed one hand, and it didn't alter the wind dynamics too much.

She took off, flying over the Meatpacking District and going straight for the Hudson River. Falcon wasn't sure how much of Goliath was metal, but she was making a bet that his lungs weren't, and that his heavy metal arms wouldn't do him a lot of good when trying to swim.

Falcon thought she was making good headway. It took less than a minute to reach her destination, the river glittering icy cold below. The streets were unusually vacant, although the rise of police activity and various explosions may have had something to do with that.

A searing heat exploded in her shoulder. It was so powerful that Falcon suddenly couldn't breathe and her vision went white with pain.

When she opened her eyes again, she was sprawled across the wooden boards of a loading dock. The sounds of waves filled her ears, and scant lighting revealed that the Key had fallen out of her hand, having rolled some meters away.

Falcon blinked, lifting her head and tried to get up, but as soon as she tried moving her right arm, another bought of agony ripped through her body and Falcon collapsed, gasping for breath and shaking so violently that she couldn't see.

Taking in deep, heavy inhales, Falcon looked over her shoulder; saw an odd shape sticking out of her wings. A long strip of metal, sliding right through the feathers and fabric and into the skin underneath.

She almost couldn't comprehend what she was seeing. A knife as long as her hand had embedded itself into her shoulder – how? Did Goliath throw it? From three hundred feet away?

All things considering, he had probably been aiming for her spine, so it was good thing he missed.

Heavy footsteps shook the wooden dock, and Falcon looked up (hissing when her shoulder protested to the movement) as Goliath strolled in, almost like he was taking a leisurely walk as he bent down and picked up the fallen Key. Then he turned to Falcon, red eyes glowing in cruel light.

She closed her eyes before reaching over and yanking the blade out – Falcon had no choice. The knife prevented the wing from sheathing and completely immobilized her arm. With it out of the way, her wings could capsize and she could move freely across the ground.

Gripping the bloody knife – her blood – in her fist, Falcon slowly got her feet. She felt lopsided, one arm rendered entirely useless and the other, her non-dominant hand on top of it all, wielding a weapon she didn't know how to use.

Goliath stopped at the sight of the injured girl awkwardly holding up the same knife used to impale her. He tilted his head, as if somehow intrigued by the sight, a rare moment of seeming humanity that almost gave Falcon pause. But she refused to be deceived, and in her own desire to end the fight, blinded by anger and pain and exhaustion, she launched herself at the cyborg, knife leading the attack.

He knocked the weapon aside as casually as swatting a fly. Falcon only realized after the fact that her speed had been dramatically reduced thanks to the wound in her shoulder and she was so consumed by it that she couldn't dodge the next blow.

It landed on her uninjured shoulder, knocking Falcon across the dock with such a resounding crash that she didn't know if she could pick herself up again. The pain was so great she felt like she might be sick. Anything to get away from the anguish, if only she could think clearly, just get back up again...

Feeling claustrophobic within her own helmet, Falcon yanked it off, sucking in the cold, sharp air, relishing the sting in her lungs. Good god, that felt good.

Once more, Falcon stood, and faced the giant, wiping at her own mouth and blinking through the physical torment to narrow down on her enemy.

When she threw herself at him once more, this time she had a goal in mind. Weaving around the first strike he made, Falcon reached up for his mask.

Her fingers grazed against the edge, and she thought she could make it, but she overestimated how much strength her legs still had, and she watched, almost in slow motion, as her hand fell away, too far away.

Goliath saw the opportunity and took it. With Falcon looking in the wrong direction, he snatched her by the throat.

Falcon didn't get a chance to cry out before Goliath's cold fingers were squeezing her trachea. Her hands flew up, wrapping around his wrist and trying to pay his hand off.

But the metal was much stronger than she was, and Falcon was already at a disadvantage with her gimp arm. Moving it took all the strength she had and it barely had any effect on the cyborg's arm. The pain alone drained her of the energy she needed to fight.

All of the air had been cut off from her lungs. Falcon chocked, her legs kicking uselessly in the air. A pressure built inside her head the longer she couldn't breathe. It pounded in time to her heart beat, faster and faster as her system started to go into panic mode and ration what oxygen she had left to spare.

Stop, it hurts, stop. Can't breathe. Need to breathe. Stop, please stop, just stop.

But Goliath didn't stop. Falcon could feel her struggles getting weaker by the second. It was getting difficult to see. There were pins and needles on her arms and legs. White and red spots flickered in front of her eyes, pressure pushing on her eyes. Feeling was starting to drain away from her arms. At least her shoulder didn't hurt anymore...

Let go. Let go of me. Let go let go let go.

LET GO OF ME.

And then her vision went red.

Glass breaking. Metal crunching, ripping apart. Wooden boards breaking, turning upward.

The hand disappeared and Falcon choked as the air returned to her lungs.

She dropped to her knees. Arms dropped limply to her side, hitting the dock with a soft slap. Sharp, cold wind buffeted Falcon from all sides, nearly knocking her over.

As though she had just been branded with a hot poker, the pain in her shoulder returned. Falcon seized, clutched her arm – shouldn't the wound have started healing by now?

When she opened her eyes again, Falcon immediately forgot about her shoulder. How did this happen?

It looked as though a hurricane had just passed through. The dock was ripped apart, pieces of wood scattered across the water. All the glass on the boats and nearby buildings had disintegrated. Streetlamps were knocked down, bent like straws, and what lights remained flickered uncertainly, as if expecting another storm to hit.

Falcon looked down. The only part untouched was the dock she rested on. In front of her was her helmet, a few feet away the Key.

The Key.

Falcon scrambled over to it, her limbs wobbling as she tried to support herself. Picking up the Key, she pushed herself to her feet. Turning to the river, Falcon took a deep breath, steeling herself before winding her arm back, and sending that Key into the middle of the Hudson, where it would never be found again.

Falcon couldn't see that far into the darkness, but she knew she had hit her mark when she heard a distant splash as the Key hit water and was whisked away by the current.

Then her knees gave out.

And another set of arms caught her.

"Easy there, dove," came an all-too-familiar voice. "That was a pretty wild move you just pulled back there. Are you okay?"

Falcon was surprised, but it was a momentary feeling. Of course Smoke would follow her. He'd want to know the outcome, perhaps retrieve the Key and sell it to his client. Well, it was too late for that. Breathing labored, she replied without looking up, "Kn-knife... to the shoulder. I... I'll be fine. "

"Knife?" there was a rising tension and Falcon tried to stand back up again, but her legs were sluggish to respond. She felt something brush against her shoulder and Falcon flinched, feeling a new warm stickiness spreading across her back. She could sense Smoke recoiling, grabbing her arm to keep her from moving too much, perhaps to get a better look. "Holy hell, what happened to you?"

She grimaced, pulling her arm back stiffly. "It's...just a flesh wound."

"Doesn't look like a flesh wound," Smoke said, much to her annoyance. Couldn't he just leave her be? She didn't see it, but Smoke had removed his own shirt (deciding to keep his jacket on, a wise move considering the cold air) and balled it up. With a warning touch to her arm, Smoke pressed the cloth to her shoulder. When she let out a hiss a breath, he muttered, "Sorry."

It took Falcon several seconds to recover. There were several long, shaky inhales before she could finally say, "It'll heal."

"Does it usually take this long?"

Falcon refused to look at him, but her voice betrayed her uncertainty. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Smoke sounded angry, far angrier than Falcon had ever heard him, but it was an accurate demonstration of his current emotional state. When she didn't respond, Smoke grabbed her arm (the uninjured one) and shook gently, "Mia! Talk to me!"

"I...I don't -" Falcon turned her head, startled by the touch. She looked at him over her shoulder – not angry, as might be warranted by the aggressive touch, but worried. Scared. Her ears hadn't even registered the name he used. "I don't know. I don't go to hospitals when I'm hurt. I just hide and-and wait it out..."

"That works for you?" Smoke asked, disbelieving.

"Well, I'm not dead yet, am I?"

"Don't hold your breath," Smoke replied, scowling. Apparently sarcasm was not the appropriate answer. "This isn't going to work. You'll need stitches."

"What?" Falcon yelped, jolting as though she never heard the word before. The very idea was preposterous; she had no medical training, and going to the hospital was not an option. Too many questions, a compromising outfit; the police would most certainly get involved even if she didn't look like a vigilante.

Smoke didn't need to explain it to her, but he did anyways. "The cut is too deep. You'll bleed out before you'll heal."

"I'm not going to the hospital." Her tone did not allow for any argument.

But Smoke was full of surprises. A wry smile flicked across his lips. "Well, it's a good thing I know someone who can help."

"Someone?" Falcon swayed on her feet. The blood loss was starting to take its toll and she was finding it difficult to keep her head up. She didn't even realize she was now leaning almost her entire weight into Smoke, who made no comment on the matter. "Someone who?"

"He's a doctor. You can trust him." Smoke replied, looking down at her, his smirk turning to one of concern. "Can you walk?"

"Uhh..." Falcon blinked and when she next opened her eyes again, she was being carried in Smoke's arms, one supporting her back and the other cradling her knees. She looked around – they were already on the street – startled by the sudden change, and considered fighting out of his arms before slumping in defeat. There was no point, and like this she could not hurt herself further, as humiliating at it was. "Huh. I guess not."

"It's all right, dove," Smoke chuckled, his shoulders shaking a little as she rested her head against him. "I don't mind rescuing a damsel in distress."

"You're so lucky I'm dying right now," Falcon muttered. "Or I'd kill you for that."

"Let's not get hasty."

Falcon did her best to remain conscious, but it an Olympic-level effort and one that she knew she wasn't going to win by a long shot. Still, she took in the destruction she wrought, wondering once more how it all passed by without her having any memory of it. It happened again, didn't it? Falcon was in the right state of mind to really analyze things, but she was sure that she had once more lost control.

Well, it was a problem to be dealt with later. Right now, she had to focus on living long enough to see it.

Then Falcon spotted something out of the corner of her eye and she raised a hand, smacking Smoke's chest and getting him to pause long enough for her to get a better look. "Wait, what's that?"

"What's what?" Smoke turned in the direction she was looking at, giving Falcon a better view.

Where the street ended and the river began was short wall of cement before a drop off to the water beyond. But the wall had been shattered, and below them, on the rocky shore of the Hudson, laid the broken form of Goliath – arms gone, leaving only metal stumps that sparked and fizzled in the presence of water. His clothes were in tatters and there was a new series of scars on his face –

Not his face.

Someone else's.

No way. No way. I must be dreaming, it's gotta be blood loss –

But Falcon knew she wasn't seeing things. Smoke said something else, but it went over her head, just jumbled words her ears didn't understand. She was far too focused on the sight before her to comprehend anything else.

Because Goliath's face wasn't that of some random ugly mook who volunteered to be equipped with metal arms, heavy firearms, and a weird-ass job in a bank vault.

It was that of Franklin Koppel, the security guard who died several weeks ago. The one who's grave she stood on and the family who cursed her name.

And he was still breathing.

Falcon's heart skipped a beat. Then she fainted.