A/N: Thus concludes the story. Many thanks to Victoria le Roux and Red Bess Rackham for the year(!) of brainstorming, beta reading, and hand-holding it took to get this monster published. Also many thanks to you readers! This wouldn't have happened without you. :)

That Radium Glow

Chapter 15

Samson's house was one of those sideways jobs with the front door set on one side and sprawling out to the other, clinging to its neighbor like a tree clinging to the face of a cliff. A set of narrow wooden stairs, stained dark, with an ornate rail that had been fashionable a few decades ago, ran out of the entryway and up to a second floor. That would be where the bedrooms were. The living room was to the left of the stairs, dimly lit by the curtained windows I'd seen from the front yard. The kitchen would be through the living room, I thought, deeper into the house.

I stole a quick look around, my hand still clamped tight on Banner's trembling shoulder. I saw a lot of furniture with curlicues and clawed feet that had once been exotic and opulent, but now just looked frumpy and a little bit dumpy with age. More importantly, there was no sign of a telephone. I bit my tongue to keep from swearing aloud.

"I'll admit I did not expect to hear from you, Agent Rogers," Samson was saying smoothly as he closed and locked the door behind us. He couldn't quite keep his eyes off Banner, watching him with the hungry gaze of a lion stalking a gazelle I'd seen once in a True-Life Adventure. I gritted my teeth at the thought.

"I didn't expect to be calling you," Rogers replied earnestly, and I laughed inwardly because it was the truth. "We picked him up real late last night; beat cop called in a disturbance at a drugstore on State. Truth be told, we don't really have the, um…facilities to hold him safely at the Federal Building."

"Indeed," Samson said. He fished around in his robe pocket and came up with a small bottle with a rubber stopper that looked like medicine. I felt Banner tense under my fingers. "If you'll just bring him to the kitchen, I'll give him his injection and you can be on your way. I'll return him to the hospital this afternoon, after he's had some time to rest."

I didn't move. "No!" Banner cried, twisting violently in my grasp. "Don't leave me! Not with him! I'm not crazy, I swear."

"Come now, Doctor," Samson chided him.

"We'd be happy to give you a hand with him-" Rogers started.

"Speak for yourself," I interrupted, and he shot me a warning look. I shut up and contented myself with glowering at him.

"As I was saying," Rogers continued, with an apologetic smile for Samson, "we'd be happy to help, but we need a private word with you first, Dr. Samson."

Samson's glittering eyes flickered between us and I felt my breath catch in my chest. If he suspected anything funny, it sure didn't show on his face. "I'm not sure that would be entirely appropriate," he said quickly, moving to take Banner's arm.

I couldn't tell if Banner legitimately panicked or if he was really getting into his role in our desperate pantomime. Suddenly, his heel stomped down on my toes. I yelped with pain and surprise, releasing his shoulder. Banner instantly lunged for the door, but I had him by his coat collar before he could get there.

"The hell do you think you're going?" I snarled at him. I hauled him roughly back to my side. It wasn't hard to inject a little weary frustration into my voice. "What's the plan, here, Rogers? I've had 'bout enough of this."

"As you can see," Samson said silkily, "I'm not sure it's wise to leave Dr. Banner unattended. Surely this can wait until tomorrow?"

I bit the inside of my lip. Our plan hinged on Banner being left alone while Rogers and I confronted Samson. Thinking fast, I dragged Banner by his collar over to the stairs. The bannister was solid wood, attached to the wall with tarnished mounts that looked pretty sturdy. Perfect.

"Gimme the keys, Rogers," I snapped, giving the railing an experimental shake. It held firm. Rogers finally caught on and tossed me his keys with a musical tinkle. I unshackled one of Banner's hands and cuffed him to one of the metal mounts. He shot me a pleading look that I pretended to ignore.

"This work for you?" I shot over my shoulder at Samson, while Banner pulled futilely at his bound hand. I watched him a little nervously out of the corner of one eye. We were all sunk if he dropped the handcuff key while he pretended to struggle. "He ain't going anywhere."

"Like I said over the telephone," Rogers added quickly, before Samson could protest, "It's a matter of national security. I'm sure you know Dr. Banner was, uh, involved in some sensitive work during the war. We need to speak with you about that. Urgently."

Samson looked between Banner, me, and Rogers. There was a suspicious glint in his eyes, but Rogers' earnest expression managed to reassure him. "This is highly unorthodox," he sniffed. He couldn't resist the prospect of getting Banner all to himself. "We can use my study. If you'll follow me."

My heart began to pound against my ribs. I didn't dare look at Rogers. We both hid behind desperately neutral faces while, with a last glance at Banner, Samson walked up the stairs. Rogers went after him, a few cautious steps behind. I followed Rogers, my hand on the butt of my sidearm.

Samson's study was the second door on the left, at the end of the hall. It was the kind of hall that should have had a long strip of rug running down the middle, a threadbare Persian rug that smelled like mothballs and old potpourri, to mask the mothballs. Instead our shoes tapped hollowly on bare wood. Rogers and I followed Samson inside. I released my gun, though I made sure my jacket was open for easy access to my holster. A glance to my side revealed Rogers was thinking the same thing.

The study itself was on the back of the house and quite dark, despite being comfortably furnished. Maybe there were trees outside blocking the heavily curtained windows. I hadn't noticed. A ponderous wooden desk that looked like it had been liberated from some European castle loomed in the center of the room. Samson switched on a desktop Tiffany lamp, revealing a leather blotter that matched the leather chair, and a silver-and-ebony pen set. The walls were all lined with bookshelves, the books themselves lined up rigidly in their dustjackets like soldiers on parade. The precision of it all made my skin crawl.

Rogers pulled the door shut behind us. Neither of us had moved more than a pace or two into the room, keeping our bodies and our guns between Samson and the exit. If Samson found this odd he didn't say. He dropped casually into his chair and looked up at us expectantly. "Now what was it you gentlemen wished to discuss with me?"

At a glance from Rogers, I asked: "You have a practice in Reno, right?"

Samson raised one dark eyebrow, apparently mystified by the question. "I do."

"So you're licensed to practice medicine, specifically psychiatry, in the state of Nevada?" Rogers asked.

"Naturally," Samson replied, his voice becoming frosty. "I fail to see what this has to do with national security, Agent Rogers."

"We'll get there," I assured him, just to be a heel.

"Where'd you serve during the war?" Rogers demanded, his voice equally cold.

Samson's pale eyes were calculating for a just moment too long before he answered. "I didn't," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "I rated 4F. Exempted on the grounds of my health."

I shot Rogers a triumphant glance. Bingo. We had him.

"Really," I drawled, keeping my voice deliberate despite the fierce pleasure surging into my heart. "So how is it that one Dr. Leonard Samson of Nevada, licensed psychiatrist, died on Iwo Jima?"

Samson went very still. "Surely I cannot be the only Leonard Samson in America," he countered dismissively.

"Yeah, but how many of them are psychiatrists from Reno?" I retorted. "The game's up, pal."

His eyes narrowed angrily. "Agent Rogers, what is this nonsense?" he protested. "I demand-"

"Answer me one thing, Loki," I interrupted. Samson's eyes darted to my face at the sound of his alias. "Was Doreen Green involved in all this? Or was she just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"I'm sure I've no idea what you're talking about," he said icily.

"What gave you the idea?" Rogers pressed him. "Reed Richards, maybe? Cancer's a painful way to die. Maybe he just got a little too free with his words one day on all that morphine? Maybe he told you one day, what he worked on in the war? Or his wife, maybe? Grieving because he shut her out of his death, she told you about his old friends, the ones he was so close to during the war?"

Samson looked between us and let out an incredulous laugh. "You cannot be serious!"

"You clearly had the system worked out by the time you tracked down Hank Pym," I said. "Easy prey, for a guy like you. All you had to do was switch his iodine pills with hallucinogens and wait. You knew his history. You knew he'd check himself into an asylum at the first signs of trouble because he had so much to lose: a good job and a pretty young wife."

"But then, you hit a snag," Rogers said. "Banner."

"Bruce Banner," I drawled. "Bruce Banner presented a problem. By now you knew enough to know without him, you didn't have squat. But how could you get to a guy with good health and no vices? Banner didn't drink regularly, so you couldn't just switch his pills. He didn't chase dames, and his fiancée was the daughter of a general, so trying to get to him through her wasn't really an option," I said. "But then," I added, stabbing a finger at him for emphasis, "but then you found out about his father. Jackpot."

"You found out that when he was a child, Banner's father had murdered his mother, and that Banner had witnessed the whole thing," Rogers explained. His words were carefully measured, but his voice was tight with disgust and suppressed anger. "That gave you all you needed."

Samson shifted slightly in his seat. There was something coiled and calculating about the motion that made the little hairs prickle against my collar. "Did it, now?" he asked coolly.

I pretended not to hear him. "You followed Banner to Chicago," I stated. "You set yourself up at the hospital, just like you had with Richards and with Pym, and waited for your chance. It came the night of Stark's gala, when you drugged and kidnapped Banner. You killed Doreen Green and staged her body to look like a killing only Banner could have done, a death straight out of his past. As a doctor, it would have been easy to get the extra blood you needed to make it look like she died when her head was smashed into the pavement, rather than when you stabbed her through the neck."

Anger for poor Doreen Green choked my words and I had to pause to take a deep breath. Rogers continued where I left off. "All you had to do was wait for the police to do their jobs," he growled, his lips pulling back a little from his teeth in disgust, as if personally affronted by Samson's usage of the legal system against us. "It'd be a sensational case: troubled scientist brutally murders pretty young girl, has no memory of the crime. Once they had Banner in custody and reviewed his history, you knew they'd bring in a psychiatrist. You'd already set yourself up to be in that position. All you had to do next was to get Banner certified as insane."

"Oh this is excellent work, gentlemen," Samson said, his voice oozing sarcasm. He clapped mockingly a few times. "Really, you ought to go to Hollywood. Your talents are wasted on the government. Please do go on."

"Insanity plea's always dicey, but you knew that going in," I said, ignoring his jibe. "The reward, getting Banner sentenced to life in an asylum, was worth risking him getting the chair for murder. You knew the government would lock him up and throw away the key. And then you'd be free to really go to work on him."

"As his doctor, you'd be able to dose him with whatever you wanted as often as you saw fit," Rogers continued matter-of-factly, though his eyes were hard. "It would be easy to testify that he was insane. Others would be able to corroborate his mental state, because you'd control who saw him and when. You'd cook up a convenient little narrative for the jury, a story about a man so shattered by his mother's murder that the only way he could cope was to become his father and recreate the crime with an unfortunate cigarette girl who just happened to cross his path on the wrong night."

"Just one girl," I cut in. "What was one more death to you?"

Samson refused to be baited. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. His eyes glittered, but his expression remained unreadable beyond a slight tightening of his jaw.

"You weren't expecting a couple of Feds to turn up, looking into an open and shut case," I said. "It made you nervous, couple of guys poking at things that you didn't want poked. You didn't think we'd catch on to you, not really. But you knew you'd been sloppy with Olavsson and there was always a risk that Agent Rogers, a veteran of the European war, would recognize your codename. So you sped things up." I punctuated my final remark with another stabbed finger. "And that was your mistake."

"Banner realized what you were doing to him," Rogers explained. "He realized that you were pumping him for classified information about his war work, specifically about an atom bomb design called Ultron. You knew we were getting suspicious, so you set fire to the records department, trying to buy yourself a little more time to get rid of us. You didn't know Banner would slip through your fingers in the process."

"I've yet to see one shred of evidence supporting these ridiculous allegations," Loki sniffed indignantly, but beads of sweat had begun to break out on his forehead. Even he couldn't hide that.

"How about a witness?" I asked rhetorically.

"Banner is willing to testify," Rogers said, drawing Loki's frigid gaze. It didn't seem to bother him. "You did a real number on him, but he's a lot more coherent now that you're not drugging him. I wonder what another psychiatrist will have to say when he examines him? Who knows what might come out at trial?"

"We've got the drugged pills," I said. "You can bet we'll trace them back to you, no matter how well you think you covered your tracks. Our medical examiner is the best in the business. We've got two bodies with the same wound, both linked to you, though I bet we'll never find the murder weapon. You're too smart for that."

"And we have proof of your stolen identity," Rogers finished. "Papers showing you are not the real Leonard Samson. I found his old practice with one telephone call. Our boys out west, when they get started? Who knows what they'll find."

"That's the trouble with hiding in plain sight," I added vindictively. "It's pretty damned obvious, once you're exposed."

"Have you quite finished?" Samson asked calmly, though not as calmly as before.

I shrugged, pleased that we'd finally rattled him. "More or less."

His face contorted into that smile with no warmth, that predatory smile that showed all his teeth, and the last traces of Leonard Samson melted away. "I'll admit, I'm impressed," Loki drawled. "How very clever of you to work it all out."

Rogers reached for his handcuffs and I reached for my gun, drawing a bead on Loki's chest. "Leonard Samson, also known as Loki," he said formally, "we're here to arrest you on the suspicion of the murders of Doreen Green and Henry Pym."

Loki didn't so much as blink. "I'm afraid that really does not work for me, Agent Rogers," he said. He checked his watch and yawned coolly, though I could see traces of tension crackling through the nonchalant gestures. "You see, I've no intention of being arrested."

I didn't even see him move. The lamp blinked out. Loki scrambled, dropping out of his seat into cover behind his desk. Rogers lunged after him. I tensed, desperately looking for a shot but unable to fire for fear of hitting Rogers in the sudden gloom.

There was the unmistakable chu-chunk of a shotgun being cocked. The scuffling behind the desk abruptly stopped. I froze. "That's quite enough, gentlemen," Loki's oiled voice said. "Hands up. The lamp, Agent Rogers, if you would be so kind?"

Floorboards creaked and a pair of man-sized shadows rose from behind the desk. I bit my lip. The lamp flickered back to life and my stomach jolted. Loki stood behind his desk, pressing a sawed-off into the nape of Rogers' neck.

"Shoot him, Barton," Rogers ordered, frighteningly calm for someone on the business end of a shotgun.

I hesitated. Shooting a man from a couple hundred yards was one thing, but shooting a man from across the room was something else. I wasn't sure if I could down Loki before he killed Rogers. Loki's icy eyes landed on me. "You will do nothing of the sort, Agent Barton. Put your gun on the floor, or I shall remove your partner's head."

Rogers met my eyes and shook his head slightly. I swallowed. I didn't have a choice. National security or not, I couldn't live with Captain America's blood on my hands, too. I spread my arms wide and slowly crouched down to set my pistol on the floor, cursing Loki furiously under my breath.

"Did you really think me foolish enough to fall for your little charade?" Loki asked, his voice dripping condescension. Rogers glanced questioningly over his shoulder. "Oh yes, I've known you were lying from the moment you telephoned, Agent Rogers."

"Can't blame us for trying," I shrugged as I straightened back up. I raised my hands above my head.

Loki smirked and pushed Rogers forward a little, taking care to keep the shotgun pointed at his head. He gestured towards me with the barrel. Slowly, with his hands obediently raised, Rogers moved back across the room to join me. His eyes blazed.

"Thank you for informing me of just how much you worked out," Loki told us arrogantly, with a humorless little chuckle that sent a chill down my spine. "Really, you've been most helpful."

As soon as Rogers was safely beside me, Loki stepped out from behind his desk. It provided good cover, but a less than favorable angle for holding a sawed-off on two angry Feds. Satisfied with his new position, he lowered the gun a little and began to speak.

"Now as I've no intention of leaving either of you alive, why don't I make a few corrections to your excellent narrative?" Loki smirked. Rogers was right, I thought sourly. He really did need to prove himself the smartest guy in the room. "You were largely correct in the details, of course. Reed Richards did present an unexpected opportunity for which I had not fully prepared. I had hoped to glean some sort of insight into his work before his death, but I did not anticipate the Aladdin's cave Dr. Richards would reveal. Yes, I killed him. To see a man such as him, a mind such as his, brought so very low by disease, it seemed a mercy to end what little life he had left."

Rogers' face darkened. I had a sudden vision of Tony Stark when I'd asked him about his friend Richards, killed slowly in the service of his country. I gritted my teeth against a stab of anger, remembering how he'd dulled his grief with one-liners and velvet scotch.

"Yes, I murdered Henry Pym as well," Loki continued. "Lord, he was a terrible bore. On and on and on about his damned wife. How guilty he felt for what he did to her. How much he hated himself for his weakness, for the deficiency in his character that always led him back to an asylum. It took months to get anything out of him. Killing him was a relief for both of us."

I thought of Janet Pym: brave and lonely in her parents' house, hiding her grief behind scarlet lipstick and illicit cigarettes, wondering about her husband's fate. My blood boiled and my hands clenched into fists behind my head. Rogers took a menacing little step forward, but he stopped short at a wave of the shotgun. His scowl deepened.

Loki paused a moment to savor our impotent rage before continuing. "You were right about the girl, what was her name? Miss Green?" he added offhandedly. This time I felt a pang of grief myself, mingling with the roiling rage in my stomach. Doreen Green, the girl from Gary, her too-short life snuffed out just on the cusp of her dangerous twenties. "She knew nothing, of course. She merely had the unfortunate luck to happen upon myself and Dr. Banner after he had been drugged. As you said, I needed a body. Preferably young and female. Miss Green fit the part to the letter."

"You're despicable," Rogers spat. I admired his linguistic restraint.

"Perhaps I am," Loki retorted, supremely unbothered by Rogers' accusation. "But unlike you, Agent Rogers, I shall be alive. Don't worry, you'll die heroes, attempting to save me from the clutches of that deranged man you tried so very hard to help. How unfortunate that Dr. Banner should wrest away my weapon and shoot you both as you tried to subdue him, before I could finally overpower him?" His eyes glittered evilly at us. "I doubt even Matthew Murdock will be able to save him from the electric chair, after the murder of two federal officers. Such a waste."

He hefted the shotgun and despite my rage, my mouth went dry with fear. Rogers tensed. My heart pounded wildly against my ribs, but even the roar of blood in my ears couldn't mask the unmistakable sound of sirens wailing in the distance. Banner had made the call.

"Guess we shouldn't have left Banner alone after all," I quipped, grinning at Loki.

Loki's eyes went wide as he suddenly realized his mistake. His throat bobbed frantically. The player had been outplayed.

"Just give it up," Rogers said evenly, lowering his hands a little. His eyes were locked on Loki. "There's no-"

Time slowed. Loki's finger tightened on the trigger. Rogers slammed into me from the right, toppling us both over. The shotgun roared. Something hot and wet splattered over my face. We hit the flood hard. I wriggled out from under Rogers' body and saw the blood spattering my clothes.

I looked down at my shaking hands, smeared red with blood. It wasn't mine. My breath caught in my throat. It wasn't mine. Not again. Not again.

"NO!" I screamed, my own voice distant and tinny in my ringing ears. "ROGERS!"

Barney's dead eyes looked up at me while the jungle burned around us. Cordite reeked in the air. I lay there half-trapped by dead weight, frozen, squeezing my eyes desperately shut to block out both the horror of both past and present. Some Marine I was. Not again. Not Rogers. Not Rogers, too. I couldn't stand it if another man died to save my life, not again. Not after Barney.

I wasn't worth it.

The chu-chunk of the shotgun being cleared and recocked cut through my hysteria. Instinct kicked in and my eyes flew open. Loki was standing over me, grimly triumphant. I fumbled around on the floor for my pistol, but I knew it was a lost cause. There would be no escape now. I looked up from the double barrel and dead into his icy eyes, daring him to pull the trigger again.

He pulled.

I flinched. Nothing happened. He pulled again. Nothing happened. The only sound was that of the unmistakable click of a round jammed in the chamber. Loki's eyes went wide. He threw the shotgun to the side and bolted for the door.

"Barton!" someone yelled beside my ear. A hand seized my shoulder and shook me roughly. "Barton! Snap out of it!"

I started and turned and incredibly, Steve Rogers, very much alive, was looking back at me. I felt my face crumple with relief. His jacket was torn and soaked with blood, more blood leaked from between his fingers where he clutched his side, but Steve Rogers was alive. Tears stung my eyes and my throat worked, but no words came out. Rogers kicked something at me with his foot. My pistol skittered across the floor and bumped into my outstretched hand. I stared at it blankly.

"Get after him!" Rogers cried.

I blinked. It was like a switch flipped in my head. I leapt to my feet and charged after Loki, my pistol clutched in my hand and hot, murderous rage surging in to drown the relief in my heart. He was just ahead of me. I skidded into the hallway. Shoes pounded hollowly ahead of me on wooden stairs. I had a glimpse of the top of his dark-haired head as he descended. I swore viciously. We couldn't lose him, not now, not after everything!

Bang! Bang bang! Three gunshots rang out in quick succession, lancing into my already painful ears. What the hell? I scrambled down the stairs, pistol up and at the ready. I wouldn't be caught off-guard again. I skidded onto the landing and my jaw dropped.

Bruce Banner stood silhouetted against the front door, clutching Stark's automatic with both hands. A curl of smoke wafted from the barrel. The body of the spy who called himself Loki sprawled at his feet, three wet holes drilled into his silk-covered chest.

"Jesus," I breathed.

Banner looked up at the sound of my voice. His dark eyes blazed with righteous anger, a terrifyingly controlled version of the rage I'd seen decades ago in a padded cell at Cook County. His hands did not shake as he lowered the gun to his side.

I swallowed and stepped over to Loki's body. He was still alive, the wily bastard, after three bullets to the chest. Only his eyes moved as I approached. He coughed once and a bloody bubble formed in the corner of his mouth. I picked up the handcuffs that had once bound Banner and roughly turned Loki onto his front with the toe of my shoe. He moaned in pain but I didn't care. I bound his hands behind his back and left him there to bleed.

"You hurt?" I directed at Banner.

He shook his head, his soft dark eyes riveted to Loki. Whatever fight had come into him had drained away. The gun slipped nervelessly from his fingers and clattered to the floor. He sank to the ground after it, as though his legs could no longer support him. Outside, the wail of sirens raced closer and closer.

"I-I heard a shot," Banner stammered, glancing up at me. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth in horror, sickened by his own actions. "I-I…didn't know what else to do."

"You did the right thing, Doc," I reassured him numbly. I tried to remember what it had felt like the first time I had pulled the trigger with a man in my sights, a war and a lifetime ago. I came up with nothing. "'S okay. You stopped him. You did the right thing."

Banner buried his face in his hands. I could see him shaking from across the room, but I didn't have any other words or even my flask to comfort him. My stomach twisted guiltily. He'd done what he needed to do, but if I'd been faster, he wouldn't have had to do it.

Wood creaked again and Rogers appeared, dragging himself down the stairs one shaky step at a time. I ran up to help him, taking his weight across one shoulder just as his knees buckled. I didn't need to ask why he wasn't waiting for the medics.

"Thanks," he wheezed, as I helped sit him down on the bottom step. He was heavier than he looked. He grimaced a little and adjusted the hand clamped to his side. "Loki?"

I gestured to the limp body on the floor with my chin. "Alive, more or less," I spat. Maybe it made me a bad cop and a worse Fed, but I didn't care much if he lived or died. "Good riddance."

Rogers chuckled and winced. I craned my neck to get a look at his side, but it was obscured by his hand and shreds of clothing. I could see blood, though, and plenty of it. I stripped out of my coat and balled it against the wound.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Rogers reassured me. He shooed my fingers away and gingerly pressed his hand over the fabric before sagging back onto the steps with a little grunt of pain. "Only winged me. Scout's honor."

"Just another day in the life of Captain America," I teased, and he chuckled again.

The wailing sirens had become almost deafening. Tires screeched outside the house. In another moment or two we would be inundated by cops and Feds. They'd cart Rogers away in an ambulance and take me and Banner downtown for the usual questioning. I sobered a little at the thought. No doubt Director Fury would want Rogers back, now that the job was done.

We'd done it. We'd solved the case; we found Bruce Banner, we proved him innocent, we had Loki in custody. Still, it was strange to think about wrapping up things without Rogers. Somehow in the last couple weeks I'd managed to forget that he was only on loan to us.

"Crazy-pills and nuclear spies, eh?" I mused, glancing over at him. "Washington's going to seem pretty damn boring after all this, isn't it, Rogers?"

Rogers smiled. "Didn't I tell you?" he asked. "I put in for a transfer to Chicago."

Agents Barton and Rogers will return next year in She Has Her Winter! Please review! :)