Sooo. Another long chapter. 4800, more or less. To be honest, when I was editing this chapter, came across as a bit of a filler, with some necessary events thrown in, but that may just be me being over critical. I do that sometimes. Also, I think when I was writing it I just wanted to get away from the sheer amount of exposition in the last two chapters :S
A few housekeeping things:
An advanced apology to Nicci-Sama and any others with an advanced knowledge of a) the Helicarrier or b) and air-craft carriers in general. Much of what's written with regards to layout of the Helicarrier is mostly speculation from a basic knowledge of how things work and a whole lot of manipulation to make things fit good.
Once again, I reiterate that in my storyline, the majority of events in Iron Man 3 did not occur, though there are some elements that were explored in the movie that I have held onto- Tony's vast collection of new Iron Man suits etc. This means that he still has his arc reactor.
Furthermore, I regret to inform you that from now on in, updates will be reduced to fortnightly. This is largely due to university, which has resumed this week, and will take up a great deal of my time for the next 13 weeks. Whilst I still have a backlog of chapters (it's why I'm able to update so regularly) and I am still writing on a recreation basis, it will take far longer to produce a single chapter now than it did during my three month holiday. This is a preventative measure to ensure that you don't go two months without an update- which has happened. So I thank you for your patience, it'll work out for you better in the long run; trust me.
Onwards!
Cinna
Part One: Great Expectations
Chapter Fourteen: The Dud
Bruce doesn't trust the newcomers.
Tony doesn't blame him.
Their powers seem positively limitless if one is to believe Hermione's story, but many of them possess the frightening possibility of being heavily abused. He hasn't forgotten about her claimed ability to read minds; it's not something anyone's forgotten, if his team members wary behaviour around her the last two days is anything to go by (except Thor, but who knew with Thor; the guy was built like a brick shithouse and didn't seem concerned about much else than Jane and possessing the last pop-tarts in the box… though maybe that was a bit of an unfair judgement. He liked beer too).
He kind of suspects she's done it already, to be honest. There were times when her gaze seemed so much more intense than it should have been; where he's felt trapped and torn by her eyes and maybe it's just his imagination but he kind of doubts it. Not when she seemed to be aware of his arc reactor, but claimed to have no knowledge of him or his history.
So yes; he doesn't trust them that much either- even if she seemed to be telling her friend the same story she'd told SHIELD (and yeah, he'd been listening- they had all been fucking listening, and he felt not a shred of guilt when Hermione said it was likely they were being eavesdropped on).
And why hasn't he told Fury or anybody else about the whole mind-reading thing? He doesn't fucking know; just like it was with Loki (who thank the Lord and all that is holy, hasn't returned, or wrought havoc on any place, as far as he's aware). He suspects it's a manly pride thing. Or laziness. Or a mix of both. He's not really into the whole introspection thing.
They watch Harry stand gingerly. His teeth clench at the strain on his new bones- actual new bones, and boy hadn't that been creepy as fuck, watching Hermione disappear his bones (rubbery, limp flesh that he never ever wants to see again) and grow them back inside his body.
Grossest.
Thing.
Ever.
He'd told her as much too, turning his back on the procedure (if you can call a wave of a stick and the act of shoving some vile sludge down a helpless man's throat a procedure) whilst Bruce poked and prodded and jiggled at Harry's flesh in fascination. Hermione had just snorted and said it was better than living with irreparable, shattered limbs the rest of his life (Tony thought that was a debatable argument).
Practical girl though, that Hermione. And loyal.
Both very good reasons not to trust her- not until they knew if her loyalty would one day extend to SHIELD.
Or the Avengers.
Or Tony.
So yeah, don't trust the witch-er, magic folk. Bad idea when they're invested in nobody but themselves.
Watching Harry walk forwards- aided by Queenie, but confident- is strange on all accounts. Magic blows his mind; people like those two shouldn't exist.
The expression on Steve's face reflects his sentiment, but he appears determined to overcome it. Bruce looks unnerved but fascinated as he pushes forward a wheelchair for Harry to sit in. Hermione had warned them that his bones wouldn't be able to handle the strain for long periods of time- it was better to allow them to harden over about a week.
Harry eyes the contraption with something very close to disgust (although actually, that probably is disgust, now that he thinks about it).
"I'm not going around in that." There's a note of finality in his voice that brooks no argument.
Hermione finds one anyway, "Don't be such a prat Harry. You are sitting in that chair, and the men are going to push it for you and you are going to be thankful or so help me I will vanish the bones from your legs again."
Harry stares her down, but he looks nervous, "Er…" he caves, "You'd use skel-e-grow afterwards right?"
"Skel-e-grow?" she asks, voice all sweet innocence and naivety, "No, I'm fresh out."
He sits down quickly.
He looks unhappy about it, but there's a mild look of terror on his face that suggests Hermione has a tendency to follow through with her threats.
Tony makes a note to never disobey her unless she's been incapacitated first. Or she's 'lost' her wand.
"So where are we exactly?" Harry asks grumpily. Steve has been pushing his chair for the last ten minutes, apparently content to deal with a cantankerous wizard. They've been trying to avoid answering him that question with the expectation of seeing his face when they physically answer it. Hermione shivers with suspense beside him and Tony suspects that her friend is getting cluey.
"This is the training room," Tony drawls, deliberately avoiding the actual question. He's found that over the years he's quite good at it, "It's gonna be your new home away from home while they get you two up to scratch." Lies, probably. Tony somehow doubts Fury is going to take them on as agents any time soon; though he hadn't missed the speculative gleam in his eye when regarding the pair. The man thinks they'll be useful for something at least.
Harry sighs, eyeing the gym equipment doubtfully, "It doesn't look very homey to me."
"Oh, that's only 'cause you haven't met Mom yet."
"Mum?" he shifts in his chair uncomfortably, watching Tony with a slight frown on his face. Tony nods. Bruce and Steve share a look.
"Oh yeah, Greenbean. Mom loves the newbies; and I have a feeling you and Queenie are gonna be Mom's new favourites. You can share tea and biscuits after your training." Hermione is staring at him as though she knows exactly what he's talking about but is letting him play along anyway. Bruce hides his laugh behind a cough. Harry is definitely suspicious.
They wheel him out before he can ask any more questions.
"This is the cafeteria!" he swings the door open theatrically. Some of the agents eye them curiously, most ignore his theatrics, "I suggest you don't eat the bubble and squeak… or the scrambled eggs… or actually, any of their food. In fact, just make your own- you have magic, I'm sure you can manage that."
"Actually," Hermione says quietly as they leave, Steve wheeling an increasingly cranky Harry down the corridor, "We can't create food. It's one of the laws of magic."
Tony eyes the wand peeking out from under her sling critically, "So no end to world hunger?"
Hermione shakes her head, "No end to world hunger."
He shrugs, "Nice to see you can't do everything then." She gives him a wry smile.
They're coming up to the pièce de résistance,and Hermione's amusement seems to be growing with every step; she stands behind Harry and Steve so the man doesn't get cluey. Bruce slows down to walk in step with them.
"You think he'll be impressed?" he asks lowly, eyeing the patchy mess of Harry's hair- the surgeons had shaved various sections for the craniotomy (since fixed and healed), but hadn't deemed it necessary to get rid of all his hair. They'd made a group decision (spearheaded by Hermione, who definitely has a wicked streak in her) to not say anything about it to Harry. Payback, as it were, for the long days and nights of baby-sitting duty.
Hermione smirks, nodding slowly, "I can assure you, he will. Harry has developed a rather… perverse love of heights," Tony raises an eyebrow. It's an interesting choice of words for the brunette to choose and makes the guy sound a bit like a pervert or something. But then again, he had a love of all things fast, so he couldn't really say anything. Maybe it's just a woman's perspective.
"I'm just hoping he doesn't ask for his broom." Hermione adds as he muses on the possible perversities of speed and height. He does a double take.
"Broom? What's Greenbean gonna want a broom for?" Harry perks up his question, which admittedly, wasn't all that quiet.
"Broom? What am I going to need my broom for? Do you even have it?" he echoes and bless him but the guy sounds hopeful. For a broom. Hermione glares at Tony.
"Oh, I was just telling Tony and Bruce about the intricacies of quidditch. I may have been bragging about how you were the youngest seeker in a century at school." She sounds as innocent as can be, but there's a threat hidden somewhere in her voice, if one looks hard enough. Harry looks mollified. Bruce nods as though her words mean something. Tony wrestles with his poker face.
"Do we have a broom, Hermione?" Harry asks, craning his neck to speak to his friend. She smiles at him.
"Well I've got an old Firebolt in my bag; 2001 vintage." His eyes look melancholic at the statement, and he wonders what the significance of this statement is, "And I'd imagine you've stashed some kind of death-trap away in your own years ago." Harry nods like this all makes perfect sense and turns back around, apparently satisfied.
"When will you let me use it?" he calls behind him.
"When you can walk for longer than ten minutes." She replies coolly, not a moment's hesitation. Tony suspects this is a regular occurrence, because Harry sounds resigned.
That kid is so whipped.
The doors of their destination draw close up ahead. Tony manoeuvres himself in front of Greenbean and the Boy Scout, eager to be the one to open them. They're at a low enough altitude that the oxygen masks aren't necessary; the Helicarrier halfway through a descent to pick up supplies. Tony expects to leave that night- there are business matters that Pepper says he has to attend to, or she'll raid his alcohol supply again. It's a serious threat. Harry and Hermione are likely to remain on the Helicarrier until Fury decides they're trust-worthy enough to let loose on the public.
"Now," he quips to the wizard, hand resting over the open doors button (it's big and red and oh so shiny), "I think it's time you checked out the balcony."
He presses the button. The doors slide open silently. Steve pushes Harry outside.
"Holy shit." Says Harry.
Tony thinks it's an appropriate reaction.
Where they've brought him is technically, a balcony. It's a small patch of deck, high above the runway and part of the building that extends above the bridge (where Fury had specifically banned them). A caged ladder climbs up the wall to the side; maintenance for the weather instruments, radars and sensors crammed right on the top of the carrier. It's a tiny patch of brushed metal, salt-caked railings and blustering winds, but possesses an excellent view of the Helicarrier in all its manufactured glory. Two of the four massive rotors are visible from this vantage point, their deafening roar a constant thrum in the background at this height.
The Captain pushes him right up to the edge of the balcony, so he can haul himself up with the railings. He leans over the sturdy metal, green eyes roving eagerly over the impressive feat of engineering.
"I know what you mean about the touch of the extraordinary, 'Mione," Queenie hides a grin behind her hand.
Far below, a plane starts up; a high-pitched whine mixed with the whirring of the rotor blades. Men move away, not quite small enough to be ants from their height, but small enough. Any of their words are drowned out by the sheer noise.
The jet streaks away a moment later. Harry watches it disappear on the horizon, an expression of what can only be longing spread across his face.
"Hermione, give me my broom," he says in a strangled voice. Queenie shakes her head grimly.
"There is no way on God's Good Earth I am giving you your broom, Harry Potter. You've only just healed and are most certainly not up to the strain."
Harry head turns back to her; his strange shaped eyes flutter, eyebrows lifting, all pleading and childish. Hermione is impressively immoveable, but Steve looks like he wants to give in and he doesn't even know what they're talking about (seriously, what's the kid want to do? Extreme cleaning?).
"No." she reinstate firmly, obviously used to this ploy. Tony's reminded of a stressed mother steam-rolling their bratty child at the supermarket check-out.
His lower lip juts out, trembling.
Steve backs away slightly- he's gonna cave and he knows it.
"Please Hermione," he whispers and Jesus it's like a work of art, shiny green eyes, pouting lips, that ridiculous head of hair and a face only just scraping out of childhood. Steve breaks, but at least realises that he doesn't actually have any say in the matter. He sets his big baby blues on Hermione. The witch remains resolute; it's an impressive feat of will.
The two man-children continue their visual assault. Bruce looks like he's about to start crying with suppressed laughter, and Tony doesn't think he's too far off.
Hermione draws her wand.
"Harry James Potter, do not tempt me to use my wand on you," her sharp eyes pounce on Idiot II, "The same goes for you Captain Rogers."
Harry meekly sits back down; Steve tries to look as innocent as possible. Bruce hides his laughter with a coughing fit and Tony decides it's better to act as if nothing had ever happened; he hasn't forgotten the blue hair.
Hermione turns cheery, almost as though a switch has been flipped. She conjures some coats, handing one to each of them (the wind makes it pretty bloody cold up here). Steve refuses his and Tony nicks the thing before the witch can banish it. Bruce rolls his eyes in exasperation, tugging the chunky zipper up on his own.
"I thought we could stay here until we hit the water," she says casually, shrugging on her own windbreaker awkwardly; the left sleeve hangs down uselessly. It's a lurid purple and the hood pushes the front of her frizzy hair out in front of her face.
"If we're doing that, can I get some food?" most of Harry's attention is given to their descent, but he's aware enough to ask for things, "I don't think I've had anything to eat for about two weeks."
Hermione grimaces in remembrance and waves her wand again. A bowl of soup appears in Harry's lap. The wizard sends her a thankful glance and tucks into his first meal in a long time. He eats slowly and carefully, like he's done this before.
Tony raises an unimpressed eyebrow, "I thought you said you couldn't create food," he says accusingly. Hermione's returning smile is only just this side of wicked.
"We can't. But there's no law stopping me from summoning food." A woman after his own heart.
"The cafeteria?"
"Oh yes. The leftover surprise I think they like to call it, right?" Harry chokes on his soup. Tony laughs at the unashamed look of mischief in her eyes.
"The infamous leftover soup. I always marvel at the kitchen staff's ingenuity." Harry eyes his meal suspiciously, but hunger wins out because he doesn't consider it for long. Hermione summons more food for them (chicken and rice for the big kids)- which is definitely not of SHIELD cafeteria make and they sit on the metal floor to watch the Helicarrier approach the water through the galvanised steel and glass railings.
The entire structure shudders as it hits the water, the huge turbines slowing to a stop in seconds. Seawater surges up onto the bow of the carrier, washing over the runway in a gentle, lazy wave. The rotors disappear into the turgid ocean and the Helicarrier looks once again like a normal aircraft carrier.
A delayed hush falls over the carrier, the displaced ocean-water draining away rapidly, leaving behind a runway that glitters in the noon-day sun. Hermione removes her coat, basking in the light. A slight smile lifts her lips (chapped and dry from prolonged exposure to the cold, artificial air of the Helicarrier), eyes shut to the warmth. The shadows on her face retreat, like an oversaturated photograph. They hide in the extreme edges and planes.
She actually looks very pretty in that moment.
(But her hair is still a fright)
"I miss times like these," Steve remarks into the peace. Below comes the sound of men's shouting and orders. He leans against the brushed steel wall casually.
"Mmm," Bruce comments, finishing his meal, "It's nice."
They don't often get this sort of downtime. Too busy being billionaires, or scientists, or poster-boy super-soldiers or agents. Not that the serenity lasts long- klaxons sound, filling the air with their ear-grating dissonance. Hermione grimaces, sighs again and the tranquillity is lost. They stand reluctantly; Hermione vanishes their coats and plates and heads back inside. They follow.
"Can I have my wand?" Harry asks when indoors. The witch pauses, turns halfway to study him over her shoulder. The pair seem to be holding a silent conversation, filled with minute gestures; the flick of a brow, a twitch of fingers, quirks of the mouth.
"It's in Tony's workshop," she answers finally, turning back around. They follow; Tony's rather impressed by how quickly she's learnt the schematics of the place- and maybe, just a little concerned.
No one stops them in their trek to his playground. There are however, more than a few curious eyes placed on Harry and Hermione. Their status and abilities have been kept to a strictly confidential basis on Fury's orders. Their mere existence has the Director spooked, Tony suspects. No one could miss the threat they must pose; even just as 'people of interest'. If the wrong people were to find out about their powers… well Tony can just imagine the sheer-bloody mass of paperwork Fury would have to fill out were the pair to be kidnapped. To the SHIELD operatives who don't know who they are, the gag-orders make their physical appearances (bandages, faces that look a fright, casual clothes… wheelchair) and presence (because they're clearly not agents) on the Helicarrier a bit of a mystery. And SHIELD agents love nothing more than a good mystery to sink their teeth into.
Tony doesn't miss the way one of the agent's eyes widen at seeing Harry- evidently recognising him from his debut as the Falling Man. He urges them on a bit faster after that, but not before taking note of his name.
"Now," he states grandly when they reach his lab, "This is my home away from home." He keys in his access code and the door slides open. Inside is less of a disaster zone than the day before yesterday, though he is still finding odd bits of screws and metal around the place.
"That's... er… there's a lot of electronics in here," Harry offers intelligently, eyeing the equipment with something akin to nervousness. He stands on wobbly legs and staggers over to the main desk (Hermione looks on disapprovingly). The wizard surveys the mess of parts- electronic and mechanic- and tablets and computer screens (many of which have flickered on automatically) that cover most of its surface. He touches a napkin that lies under some junk; lines of code have been scrawled into the soft paper.
Tony ignores the wizard in favour of rifling through his smaller desk for Harry's things. The strip of wood feels beautiful but inconsequential in his hand. Harry eyes the thing doubtfully.
"That's not my wand," he says slowly, turning to send Queenie a confused glance.
The witch rolls her eyes, "Of course it's not. Doubtless, yours is still sitting in some Godforsaken pit of a Deatheaters den- as mine will be. They must have been stolen."
"Oh." He swallows, profoundly sad by the news and takes the wand from Tony's proffered hand.
And is promptly blown back as if by some invisible and soundless explosion.
The wizard hits the corner of the desk with a sickening thud as the lights above explode in a tinkle of glass in plastic casings.
For a (literally) heart-stopping moment, the arc-reactor in his chest flickers, like a dying light and oh God no please no he doesn't have a spare one with him, please, please, please he can't die here like this it's so stupidly mundane PLEASE –
And then the reactor- his heart- is stabilising, and his terrified gasps return to normal.
He surveys the damage in the aftermath.
The computer screens are dead and blank. Smoke rises from one of them; acrid and unpleasant. Steve and Bruce are braced against the desks, looking shocked and breathless. Hermione is groaning on the floor, breathing heavily.
"Holy Crap!" Bruce exclaims, looking around the suddenly darkened room- it's the closest Tony's heard to him swearing, "What the hell was that?"
"B-bad reaction to the wand," Queenie groans, sitting up slowly. Steve helps her up and she rubs at her back, grimacing, "Should have realised the Git would steal a dud wand." She pulls out her own wand, eyeing it speculatively, "I wonder why mine didn't react badly," she ponders quietly, slightly suspicious.
Harry moans and Hermione starts, worry crossing her features, "Harry?" she cries, stumbling slightly to reach him. He's lying sprawled on the floor.
"Holy fuck," he swears in pain, "What the shit was that?" Tony is reminded of a minute prior.
"The wand," Hermione gasps, flopping down next to her friend. She kicks said item away from him with her foot, "The wand doesn't like you."
"Well that's just smashing." Harry stares up at the ceiling; he makes no move to get up.
"The wand doesn't like him?" Tony scowls, "What are you saying- your sticks are sentient?" he taps at his chest experimentally. The arc-reactor makes a dull tong sound, but it doesn't look like it's going to act up again… maybe. He'll replace it when he gets back just in case.
The witch shrugs, "Not quite; wands are a conduit- a focus for our magic. They have to be attuned to our magical signature for them to work properly."
"What, like a calibration?" she shrugs again.
"I guess so, yeah- except they can't be altered once made."
Captain Boy Scout rolls his eyes, "Never mind that- what just happened?" Tony considers the ruins of his workshop (many of his electronics are fried) and the exhausted wizard lying on his floor.
"I'm guessing, Harry's magic reacted badly to the wand and blew up- in a form pretty similar to an EM field."
Steve stares at him blankly, and Harry looks about the same, "Electro-magnetic fields don't go well with technology- they tend to short things out and fry the circuits in electronics," Bruce adds helpfully. Harry turns guilty and pushes himself into a sitting position.
"Er- sorry about that."
"No worries," Tony tries to sound as flippant as possible after his scare with the reactor, "Happens all the time…" he frowns thoughtfully at the little stick- it looks so innocuous, "well, explosions at least." He looks around the room, a thought suddenly occurring to him, "Hopefully it's only affected this room."
Footsteps sound audibly down the hallway- heavy treads on metal floors and shit he spoke too soon.
'Stark!" Fury barks- Tony's mildly surprised he can even hear the closet pirate outside the lab; he'd sort of figured the thing was soundproofed (no one had ever complained about his music at 3am at least), "Stark what the fuck was that?" and that question is getting kind of old now. Fury bangs irately at his door (the electrical mechanism on it must have blown too). Tony slides it open as languorously as possible- he doesn't miss the vein ticking gloriously at Fury's temple.
"Director," he purrs, "We were just testing the lights."
Fury doesn't even merit his genius with an answer- Tony takes it as progress. He barges in without so much as a by-your-leave (though technically, Tony supposes, the lab isn't actually his); Thor, Clint and Natasha follow. His lab suddenly feels very crowded.
The newcomers stare with varying levels of surprise at Greenbean, who's now leaning heavily against a desk. Hermione stands, confident and defiant beside him.
"Er… hello," Harry says to Tony's surprised team mates. It seems to be his default greeting. Thor beams at him and he smiles nervously back.
"Should he be walking?" Natasha asks Queenie, essentially ignoring the wizard (after their initial clash, the two had gone off like a house on fire, only with less burning and dead people).
Hermione smiles warmly, "Technically he hasn't been," she nods to the empty wheelchair, forgotten in the drama, "He's been wheeling." Natasha nods, apparently satisfied.
"What was that?" Fury demands again, mildly infuriated with not being answered, "We just lost a quarter of the carrier's power, and more than a few of our computers are blown," he glares pointedly at Tony, "Funny thing is, your lab was at the epicentre of the blackout." Fury doesn't sound like this is funny at all. More like the opposite of 'funny' actually.
Hermione steps forward, shamefaced, "That was my fault; we gave Harry back his wand, but he had an adverse reaction to it." The Director stares at the witch, looking half-intent on tearing into her mind.
"An adverse reaction that took out a quarter of the Helicarrier's electronics?" she shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the skirt of her dress again.
"Yes?" her voice is very quiet, self-chastising.
"If we were in the air, the starboard-aft turbine could have gone out."
"Sorry?" she cringes.
"I want them off," he scowls, prima-donna-esque, "If this is what magic does, I don't want the two of you on the Helicarrier."
Harry looks like he's been punched in the gut. Hermione stares, brown eyes borderline hostile, "Then what are you going to do with us?" she asks, cold and removed. The transformation is shocking. Her hand is only moments away from reaching for her wand, and Tony's got half an idea of what she's thinking of doing. Fury's scowl grows darker. A lesser man would have burst into tears by now.
"I would not do that Miss Granger. SHIELD is not an enemy you want to have." Her partner stiffens, a snarl moments away from slipping from his lips.
"Hey!" he chastises, angry and defensive, "Leave off her- it's not her fault- that was my uncontrolled magic that broke your ship. It wasn't planned."
Fury turns to him coolly (well as coolly as the Director can be cool… so really not at all), dark eye studying the wizard, "Be that as it may, Mister Potter," Harry gets a funny look on his face at the address, "We cannot afford to have either of you on the Helicarrier if your magic reacts adversely to our technology."
"Only when uncontrolled!" the guy is definitely defensive, but Hermione just looks wary. Fury just shakes his head.
"Uncontrolled or not, you and Granger are wild cards that I can ill-afford to have- not on the Helicarrier. One slip up like today and we could fall from the sky."
Tony's half tempted to point out that today's little mishap had only reached one turbine- leaving more than enough power to keep them up in the air. Shit, even Loki hadn't managed to bring the Helicarrier down.
"What are you going to do with us then?" Queenie demands again. There's a cold ruthlessness creeping into her eyes and pulling down the corners of her mouth, "Drug us like you did Harry?" said wizard jumps, an expression of outrage fleeting across his face before he reigns it in, "Hide us away in a compound of yours where no one can ever find us?" she smiles then, and it's all savagery and calculation and something very close to grief, "Because I'd like to see you try."
Her voice quavers slightly at the end of it, shaky and unstable. Harry places a calming hand on the arm creeping back up to her sling. Fury says nothing more, but his hand is only moments away from pulling out his own weapon. The rest of them watch the exchange warily, on edge.
"We don't want to be enemies," the wizard says slowly, giving his friend a weighted look, "We're just trying to look after our own." Tony can see that; everyone can fucking see that, even Birdbrain.
"We understand," he carries on; voice only slightly unsure, "That it's too risky to keep us on the Helicarrier. And I'm sorry for the explosion- I really am… but the alternative is putting us away in another of your facilities or letting us go.
"So we ask again. What are you going to do with us?"
Tony can just see the thought process in Fury's mind. Keeping them on board is fraught with danger, but at least he has finer control over their movements here. Sending them to another facility means they can't explode anything on the carrier and thus endanger the lives of hundreds of people. But it bears the risk of exposure to parties Fury would rather not have knowing off the pair's presence, and it stinks of false imprisonment, which is likely to only breed malcontent with the travellers. Letting them go then was a viable option- it would keep their relationship a positive one, but led to an even higher threat of their exposure; not to mention the difficulties for SHIELD to keep tabs on them. And there was no guarantee that they were the last ones to come through that veil thing.
It was a dilemma, but it was also one Tony thinks could very easily be fixed.
"Well," his stupid mouth says into the tense silence before he manages to think it through any further, "Why don't they come stay with us?"
You might be interested to know that this is the furthest I've ever gotten with a story. Normally I go into a writing frenzy for about ten chapters or so, then it peters of as a brand new story line comes to mind and I go into another frenzy of writing and never touch the previous ones again. It's infinitely annoying, but can't be helped I've found. Even writing down a clear and concise plan of events doesn't work; in fact, it kills the creative juices quicker than newfound inspiration does I've found. The crux of being such an organic writer. Forward planning (scene by scene at least) kills my creativity.
Which is of course such a comfort for my readers out there, I know. But rest assured this baby's still going strong!