The MCU fandom - and indeed, all of Hollywood - faced a huge loss recently. Chadwick Boseman was a great man, but most importantly, he was a good one. His portrayal of T'Challa made an impact that will reverberate across the whole MCU for ages to come.
In light of these events, it feels even more appropriate to have Wakanda involved in the upcoming storyline.
I've attempted to be as respectful as I possibly could in this chapter. T'Challa doesn't appear much in this fic - but I've penned down a small tribute to him in the upcoming chapters. It's not much - just a gentle piece with his family, in Shuri's POV.
Rest in power, King. You'll be missed.
A/N: I'm reiterating a lot of events from the movies in this chapter, so major portions of it will seem rather repetitive.
Can't help it, because these are issues that MCU has chosen not to address in favor of furthering the plot. Which is fine - they have limited time, and if they'd gone through every single emotional situation that the events call for, we'd be sitting in the movie hall for weeks.
But in this chapter, I've poked and prodded at a lot of gaping wounds. There's a lot of lies, misunderstandings and secrets have been brushed under the rug, and I'm peeling it all back and exposing it out there for the world to see.
An abscess needs to be lanced before it can heal.
A/N: I'll be posting fortnightly from now on, in order to maintain a regular pace of submissions and avoid month-long hiatuses. Thanks.
Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
- The Solitary Reaper; William Wordsworth
June 19th, 2025
Royal Hospital
Birnin Zana
Ramonda doesn't think she'll ever get used to the weight of loneliness.
It had crept upon her with the death of T'Chaka, collateral damage in the machinations of a vengeful man. An ever-present wound that she tucked away in a dark corner of her mind while she prepared for her son's coronation. She'd gotten a fleeting glimpse of it when N'Jadaka had seemingly killed T'Challa.
But her true, final plunge into its abyssal embrace had only occurred after losing both of her children to Thanos.
Somehow, her losses always seem to be tied up with the pain and grief of outsiders.
And yet, here she is, in a last, desperate attempt to bridge the splinters of her kingdom, lending an ear to the same foreigner who had ushered in an age of painful change upon Wakanda.
"Do you know the one thing that can destroy an empire, Your Majesty?"
Ramonda stares at the familiar sight of Steve Rogers - wrinkled yet unbroken by age - sitting beside his unconscious best friend, burdened with wisdom beyond his years.
She'd seen the vision many times in the immediate aftermath of the Avengers' Civil War, when T'Challa, in an attempt to restore his lost honor, had decided to shelter international fugitives.
She suspects that is when her son had truly lost the Tribal Council's respect. Perhaps even their loyalty.
"Enlighten me."
"Secrets," the old Captain says. "Secrets destroy empires from within. I once had a secret so devastating, it brought down the Avengers and doomed the universe."
"And which secret is it that's tearing apart my country, Captain?"
He smiles sadly. "The same, I'm afraid." He looks over to James Barnes, who's breathing steadily despite the myriad of medical apparatus surrounding him. "I didn't realize how far-reaching the consequences would be."
He takes a deep breath. "There's only one person who can save your son's rule. Only one person whose actions might bring your daughter home."
"His name is Phil Coulson."
June 20th, 2025
Royal Palace
Niganda
Phil has never been superstitious.
But even he's starting to see a recurring pattern in the series of unfortunate events that have dogged S.H.I.E.L.D.'s footsteps ever since he'd been ordered to assign Collins to the Circle mission.
He still doesn't know what happened to send both so utterly off-the-rails.
His comm buzzes. "Coulson, " Daisy's voice comes through, grim and tense. Ignoring the mass of the servants huddling in the pantry, he finishes cuffing the unconscious guard to the pitted wall and straightens, steeling himself to face the next round of trouble. "I think you better get down here. "
"On my way."
The Treehouse agents nod respectfully as he strides past, their borderline-reverence in stark contrast with the mistrustful looks the Wakandans send his way. T'Challa had agreed to join forces in order to take down M'Butu and his recently-Enhanced members of the royal guard, much to the disapproval of his Tribal Council of Elders.
He suspects they'd only capitulated to appease the growing suspicions of the outside world.
The peace between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Wakanda is more fragile than it's ever been; he has no choice but to walk the almost invisible line between diplomat and Director if he wants to prevent an all-out war.
As Phil heads deeper into the palace, the evidence of the recent renovation becomes more visibly jarring. Scarred grey stone walls of the servant quarters give way to ostentatiously-detailed pillars and marbled floors of the throne room, harshly echoing the disparity between the rich and the poor in Niganda.
The Dora Milaje have formed a tightly wound circle in the center of the hall, facing outwards with their spears drawn against Daisy and half-a-dozen frustrated agents, who, thankfully, haven't reached for their own weapons yet. From within the circle emerges the unmistakable sounds of harsh pummeling, followed by pained grunts.
He makes his way through to Okoye, who, after a brief moment of hesitation, nods and lets him through.
Phil wishes he could say he was surprised at coming up on the Black Panther whaling on an overweight, helpless M'Butu, but he'd be lying. The Prime Minister is trying to staunch the bleeding from the claw marks marring his face while at the same time stave off an enraged, snarling T'Challa, and succeeding at neither.
Phil suppresses a sigh. "Your Majesty," he says sotto voce, " - much as I agree with the sentiment, I feel the need to remind you that he does need his teeth to talk."
T'Challa pauses then, clawed fist raised and trembling. While the Black Panther outfit offers little to no possibility of reading his face, Phil can still imagine the plethora of expressions his features must be morphing into, before finally settling on a resigned acceptance.
Another sharp, savage knock to the head and M'Butu is unconscious.
The king rises, ignores the blood dripping off his claws. It seems to be enough of a gesture because almost immediately, the circle breaks as the guards rush forth, and cart off the former Prime Minister's unconscious body none too gently.
Phil stays still, his face expressionless as T'Challa strides towards the throne, carved out of fine oak and encrusted with precious stones and jewels.
He stares at it, breathing deeply, then with a sudden move, smashes the throne into splinters.
Trial Chamber
Fort Hahn,
Birnin Zana
She feels a powerful sense of deja vu, strapped to her chair with power-dampening cuffs, her feet restrained in a similar manner. The table is round, instead of rectangular, and the people are unfamiliar - Wakandan Tribal of Elders instead of prosecutors - but the circumstances are too similar to not remind her of the last time Isabelle had done this; almost a decade ago now, being forced to answer for a much longer list of crimes.
Tony had been the one on the other end of the table at the time, still as a statue, eyes boring holes into her as she admitted to crime after crime, holding nothing back after decades of being forced to keep her mouth and her heart shut under HYDRA's reign. It had been freeing at the time, even if it had broken their relationship in ways that she never could quite put back together.
Now, T'Challa faces her, with Queen Mother Ramonda beside him, their eyes scrutinizing but unreadable. She's the only Elder who hasn't demanded a single answer yet.
Coulson sits somewhere behind her, accompanied by other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents - and she'd rather face a horde of Chitauri than look at him.
"I was following orders," she reiterates. "Paine was my mission, not the Circle."
"Ah, but whose orders - S.H.I.E.L.D…. or HYDRA?"
She exhales quietly. "That's not me. That has never been me."
"Your actions suggest otherwise. You readily admit to not pursuing Erich Paine despite knowing where he was. You attacked a member of the Hatut Zeraze - the Wakandan Security Forces - ultimately preventing him from detaining Paine. Sergeant Barnes is in a coma due to injuries sustained in the crash."
Isabelle closes her eyes, doesn't answer. Barnes' coma is the only thing preventing them from condemning her already because they're still waiting on his testimony, which certainly won't be in her favor. She has no idea how long that will take but knows that wherever she goes from here will be much worse.
She has no love for Barnes, and can't really regret fighting him… but the way she'd done it - high on a dubious euphoriant, completely out of her mind with the conflicting emotions of rage and ecstasy. Some part of her wonders if Paine had planned for this, but then she dismisses it. It'd been an obvious trap, but a trap meant to engineer his own escape, nothing more.
One of her lawyers kicks her in the shin. "My client mistakenly assumed Sergeant Barnes was once again under the control of HYDRA and took actions accordingly."
"Then where did she obtain the syringe of concentrated red sand?"
Isabelle hadn't told anyone about the footage, not even her own lawyers. That pain is hers and hers alone, now that Tony's gone. It's the only thing she has left of her family.
"Do you deny that you attempted to gain unauthorized access to encrypted information kept in Wakandan servers?"
"Yes. I gained access using my authorization codes to obtain information encrypted into S.H.I.E.L.D. servers in a primarily S.H.I.E.L.D. facility."
There's a pause when the Elders confer. "We will revisit the charges of espionage at a later time."
"We've recovered all the footage from the Circle. There's a ten-minute blackout after Isabelle Collins left the chamber, where not our best scientists could account for her movements. Were you with Erich Paine during that time?"
"No."
"Did he give you the syringe?"
She hesitates. Her lawyers tense. "Not directly."
There's an eager pause, and she knows that she has all but sealed her fate.
"Did you make a deal with him?"
"I did not."
"Perhaps you knew him from your HYDRA days. Perhaps you never abandoned your roots."
She takes a deep breath. "The only roots I had in HYDRA were of the triple agent variety."
"Once again, your actions suggest otherwise. Do you have any explanation for them?"
There's another, breathless pause. Ramonda leans forward slightly, her dark eyes gleaming with an unexplainable emotion.
"None whatsoever."
"We caught M'Butu," Coulson tells her in an underside when the court adjourns for the day. She has a few minutes with S.H.I.E.L.D. and her lawyers before the guards escort her back to her cell. "He's officially in our custody."
Isabelle releases a breath she hadn't known she was holding.
It's not good news; far from it. Good news would be if they actually got Paine. But S.H.I.E.L.D. custody meant the Tribal Council would be forced to cooperate and compromise in interrogations.
"He claims he never funded Paine; it was actually the other way round - Paine bribed him a massive amount in exchange for political asylum and promised him a portion of his future… exploits. Which turned out to be a trap, because the discovery of large quantities of red sand among the populace finally allowed T'Challa to depose him."
She isn't able to suppress the flinch in time at the mention of the red sand. His eyes sharpen. "You want to tell me something, Collins?"
"No, sir," she says, looking at him squarely. Her answer hasn't changed in the past couple of weeks, and it certainly isn't going to change now, even though she's way past pushing the limits of this privilege he's given her.
But, for the first time since she saw him emerging from the smoke around the Statue of Liberty two years ago, he doesn't back down. "You know the only way out for you is to admit what really happened out there."
"There's nothing to tell." It's the best lie she has ever told. "I let him go. Went after Barnes. It's all true."
"Are you HYDRA?"
It feels like getting hit by a train - the realization that he's not the only one to break this. HYDRA is the straw that broke the camel's back. There's a suspicion in his eyes… is it true? Have you been lying this whole time? What else have you lied about?
She says nothing, lets him come to his own conclusions.
His face goes blank.
Back when she'd been exposed during the Uprising, a major part of her had been glad that he was dead. Because Coulson represented everything S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to be. Protection, mercy, acceptance. He was incorruptible. And she was glad she didn't have to face him after what she'd done.
But now she's here, they're both alive, and she is breaking him in a way no one thought possible. "There's an easy way out of this for you." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.
Coulson scoffs, looks away. "If only it were that simple. This is exactly what I warned you it'd be - global. Disavowing your actions won't make a damn bit of difference at this point."
"Then why are you here?"
"… I wish I knew."
June 20th, 2025
The Royal Gardens
Wakanda
It is late evening when Phil gets the summons.
He trails Okoye faithfully - accustomed as he has become to the public spaces of the city after having made many professional calls during the Decimation, he is intimately aware that this is not his world, and most of the Wakandans are still suspicious of foreigners, as evidenced by recent events.
The gardens still take his breath away. Spring has run its course, leaving behind exquisite blooms that he can't name, and yet effuse a heady scent combined with the faint smell of damp earth that immediately set him at ease. His feet clap on stepping stones hidden in the grass as Okoye leads him through the meandering walkways to a small stone patio.
Okoye shifts to the side and Phil stills as his eyes fall upon the immediately recognizable silhouette seated on the circular park bench. The dying light of the Wakandan sunset glances off a cylindrical headdress, softly illuminating the lacy trims of the rounded shoulder mantle framing a straight back.
He takes the few final steps. "Your Majesty," he murmurs, heart lifting slightly at the sight of Ramonda's familiar smile.
If there is one good thing that came out of the Decimation, it's this… a true friendship with the Queen Mother of Wakanda, who'd been burdened with the thankless task of keeping peace in her country while dealing with the grief of losing both her children to Thanos' madness.
Their similar burdens had drawn them to each other when Phil had first approached the Tribal of Elders seven years ago, seeking an alliance in an attempt to rebuild a shattered world. He readily admits that her wisdom had saved him many times, and even Ramonda had claimed that Phil had been the spark in an otherwise dismal existence.
The Queen Mother looks over his shoulder. "Thank you, Okoye. Leave us, please."
She gestures to him, and he takes a seat beside her. A sigh escapes his mouth as he does so - the scent of the garden combined with Ramonda's presence producing a sense of nostalgia that drains some of the tension from his shoulders. "How are the S.P.E.A.R. agents?"
"Undergoing extensive treatment to remove the effects of multiple surgeries and leftover addiction," she replies softly. "The enthrallment, however, will take much longer to heal. Shuri's expertise is needed to restore their minds to them. For now, they're being cryogenically preserved."
"And Sergeant Barnes?"
"Unsurprisingly resilient," is the answer. "The healers assure me he will awaken in a day or two."
Some of the tension returns, setting on his back and neck with a vengeance, and he resists the urge to groan. It's not that he doesn't want Barnes to get better - quite the opposite, really, because if he dies, Collins and S.H.I.E.L.D. will be in a much deeper pickle than they're in now - but him waking up causes no fewer problems. "Will he be able to answer questions? We can make arrangements in the hospital wing to keep him comfortable…"
"That won't be necessary," she interrupts gently. "He will stand the trial. That man's sense of loyalty is strong."
Yes, Phil thinks bleakly. Loyalty to Steve Rogers, that had indirectly resulted in three Helicarriers crashing down onto the Potomac, killing hundreds. Loyalty to Sam Wilson, enough that he worked his way into an enemy-appropriated vessel to extract him when Wilson had been one of the key members responsible for the enemy appropriating the vessel in the first place.
He can't help but see the parallels. The fall of the Insight Carriers had almost destroyed S.H.I.E.L.D., and he'd had to rebuild it from the ground up. And now, the fall of the Circle may very well have finished the job.
"His answer might not be what you expect," Ramonda breaks the silence suddenly.
He exhales. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, I think I know exactly what to expect from him."
She hums, undeterred. "Why are you so determined to prove that she's guilty?"
He inhales sharply, opens his mouth to immediately, vehemently deny it. But then their eyes meet, and hers are gentle, nonjudgmental but firmly certain.
Phil looks away. The accusation hits him harder than he expected. He hadn't thought… he had made it a point to be as unbiased as possible when it came to Collins, giving her every chance to prove herself, making excuses for her to his disgruntled team, treating her more fairly than he did others.
But then, that's the problem, isn't it?
He had treated her differently. Less like fragile glass and more like a delicate explosive. Because he'd been subconsciously expecting her to blow, and knowing her as well as he does - or thinks he does - he'd tried not to ignite the situation.
It wasn't kindness.
It was suspicion.
"Everything in me tells me that she is," he says slowly. "That she's always been."
"But can you honestly say that you can tell the difference between intuition and prejudice?"
"What makes you think she's not guilty?" he demands, a tad too harshly, but she doesn't seem to mind.
Ramonda shrugs. "I don't have a history with her, Philip. Perhaps that is what helps me keep an open mind."
"The evidence is right there. She isn't even denying any of it!"
"And that doesn't strike you as strange?" Her eyes are sharp, piercing the gloom like the shrewd eyes of a cat. T'Challa didn't inherit them, but Shuri did. "That she's not even protesting her innocence, content to accept whatever punishment my son doles out?"
Her words prompt a small spark of hope to rise within him, which he squashes ruthlessly. "HYDRA agents are known to display an affinity towards subterfuge and manipulation," he mutters. "She might just be looking for a sympathetic angle."
"Then Agent Collins doesn't seem to be trying very hard." Her gaze is probing, as though she's trying to figure out a different approach.
He realizes suddenly that he welcomes her scrutiny - he wants to be wrong about Collins, about all of it. Being right would devastate him.
"Think of her as a stranger," Ramonda orders. "What would you do?"
He exhales and looks away, gaze landing on the plum-hued shadows draped gently on the tall, regal plants. Tries to imagine it - a universe where he doesn't know Isabelle Collins, doesn't share a long, troubled history with her.
The answer comes to him almost immediately.
The missing time.
It's the only thing that doesn't make sense. The footage was wiped, unrecoverable - he'd assumed Collins herself must've done it. But maybe… maybe there might be something there. The missing link to the puzzle. "It still might not end well."
"But at least you'll know."
He meets and holds her gaze for a long moment. "Why do this? Why help her?"
Her smile widens. "Philip… it's you who I'm helping. This matter troubles you, and you're a genuine friend - I have so few of those - so I couldn't see you in pain."
"There has to be more to that. You know what you're risking, Your Majesty."
"I risk nothing because I know nothing." Her eyes twinkle in mischief. "I'm not required to report any plans because you haven't shared them with me."
He shakes his head fiercely. "You know what I mean."
Despite his… prejudice, he is all too aware of what's happening here, in Wakanda. Collins is just the spark that ignited a powder keg of tension that's steadily been growing between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Tribal Council since the latter started ousting Phil's agents from the Circle. Phil knows why this is the tipping point, why the Elders are so desperate to prove Collins' guilt, to crush S.H.I.E.L.D.
Even for a Queen Mother, the situation is fraught with danger.
Her smile doesn't waver, but she looks away, starlight shining in her eyes. "Perhaps I'm just a mother who misses her daughter, and wants this resolved so she can come home." She sighs. "Or perhaps I want to prevent my son's spirit from being extinguished by those who think they know better."
He stays silent, waits for her to continue.
"Most believe T'Challa was the first king to reach out," she says suddenly, her voice pitched lower. "Most would be wrong. There have been other kumkans - Black Panthers themselves - who have sought to help the outside world."
"And all of them were rebuffed," Phil says gently. "Just like what the UN did."
"No, Phil. It's not what the outsiders do that stops us, it's what we do to ourselves." Her smile has slipped away to a troubled expression he'd observed during her regency often. "Perhaps it's because we still insist on calling it the 'outside world'. Most of us are raised to believe that they're separate, other… lesser, even. Every time we reach out, there are those of us who try to pull us back."
Phil exhales long and slow.
"My son was raised to believe that he would one day inherit the throne. He was taught responsibility, humility, grace. He understands and accepts much, but there are some concepts that he has never known - dissent."
"That's not something that can be taught, Your Majesty."
"No, it has to be experienced," Ramonda sighs. "It took my husband a very long time to come to terms with the fact that not everyone will love him. And T'Challa… well, he has a tendency to lash out when he's hurting."
He knows what she's hinting at. Fury had gotten him the redacted reports of the media-dubbed Avenger's Civil War. He knows what went down.
Lagos. The Sokovia Accords - Vienna, Berlin, Leipzig.
T'Challa had reacted badly - it's common knowledge. He was chastised by the UN, but they let him off easy because he'd been the one to hand over Helmut Zemo - the real culprit behind the attacks - into their custody.
The king had mentioned that he'd traced Zemo to Siberia but refused to elaborate.
Phil looks at her. Her distress seems genuine, but he's also known her long enough to realize that she'd used it as a weapon to subtly guide the conversation to the Civil War, forcing him to recall the events in a new light. Why?
There are two threads in this conversation, separate yet linked together. Both are tied with the Circle. One involves the internal politics slowly tearing Wakanda apart - the clear estrangement between T'Challa, the rightful king, and the Tribal Elders, who had collectively assumed the throne during the Decimation.
The other - has to do with Isabelle Collins' guilt.
The missing link in her testimony.
She nods then, exhales heavily, and straightens. "It is late," she says softly, eyes on the silver orb glowing in the heavens. "I hope you feel better now, Philip. I dislike seeing you in distress."
He stands, holds out a hand. She takes it and rises. "Your wisdom, as always, is deeply appreciated, Your Majesty," he murmurs. "I'm grateful."
"Go prove yourself wrong, my friend."
June 21st, 2025
The Circle
The Alkama Fields
"Isn't this technically an instance of 'a man who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client'?" Phil asks, grass and broken glass crunching underneath his feet as he makes his way over to the Circle.
"I wasn't patterned after the skipper's neurological make-up, so no," F.R.I.D.A.Y. explains in his comm. "Even if I was, my experiences have ensured that I've evolved completely differently."
"Why am I here again?" Sam Wilson steps beside him, the faintest tinge of annoyance threading his voice.
"I'm pretty sure we missed something in the preliminary investigation," Phil says, sparing him a glance. In the moonlight, Wilson looks exhausted, drawn-out, with deep purple circles beneath his shadowed eyes. "You're a neutral witness," is all he says though. "Neither Wakandan nor S.H.I.E.L.D. Your word carries weight, especially after recent events."
Wilson grunts. "Yeah, never ends well when you rely too much on artificial intelligence."
"You know, Princess Shuri has an A.I.," F.R.I.D.A.Y. replies crossly.
"It's not a Stark A.I."
"Enough," Phil says quietly. "Let's agree to be professionals."
He hadn't been enthused either when Tony had first introduced him to the A.I.; not after ULTRON, and especially not after his experiences with A.I.D.A. But F.R.I.D.A.Y. had proven time and again that she could be trusted, and when Fitz had pointed out just how many digital shackles she had, he was pretty much convinced.
Still, Phil can understand where Wilson's coming from. There's a reason self-aware artificial intelligence is very much banned by the Sokovia Accords. But despite his wariness, he'd decided to take a leap of faith and link their comm units to her, allowing her access even to the data gathered by his prosthetic hand.
Because at the end of the day, F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s core code is to protect the Stark family above all else.
Even if there's a risk she could take that directive to its extremes.
"So who were you patterned after?"
"Boss Lady."
Phil blinks, then tilts his head back. "I can see it," he nods.
"Besides, I'm not planning on representing the skipper in court, D.C. I just want to prove her innocence."
"If she's innocent," Wilson mutters.
"She is ."
"What are you hoping to find?" Phil asks quickly.
"Anything that'll explain the alarming spike in her heart rate when she went to confront Paine in the operating room."
Phil's one of the very few people allowed unredacted access to Collins' medical files. And even if he hadn't been, watching Daisy struggle with her powers had taught him more than enough about Inhuman abilities and how they're intrinsically tied to emotions.
Peggy Carter and Janet Van Dyne's training had made sure that Collins had a much higher emotional threshold than most. For her heart rate to even register with F.R.I.D.A.Y., who's no doubt aware of the contents of those files, suggests that Paine must've struck one hell of a nerve.
His eyes sweep over the colossal wreck of the Circle. Moonlight glints off the crumpled hull, sweeping over the huge, broken beams and the long coils of ripped off wires, some of which are still sparking. It had come down hard, but the Wakandans had managed to maneuver it onto an empty patch of land, and the brunt of the impact had been absorbed by the vibranium reinforcement.
They're certain she will fly again.
Phil certainly hopes so, because he doesn't want to shoulder the costs of the damage should the Tribal Council gain the upper hand in this political tug of war between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Wakanda.
They stride through a large hole in the paneling of the north-eastern section of the facility, where the rescue teams had cut through to get to the cryo chamber.
Torchlights reveal a macabre sight. Some of the tanks have been ripped from the walls, leaving behind hollow cavities and the smell of cryo fluid mixed with the now-faint stench of death and decay - the scientists have taken the tanks holding the corpses as well as the live occupants to unfreeze back in the sterile atmosphere of the labs.
Phil's gotten rather used to the sound of engines humming beneath his feet, so the silence that surrounds them as they head deeper into the facility is eerie. Despite his scientists' claim to the contrary, he can't help but feel that this is a dead ship, with nothing but ghosts haunting his halls. Wilson seems to feel something similar, his fingers hovering over his holstered pistols.
They're in the hydroponics section when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. It's a nondescript door, the type that might lead to storage closets, but this one is locked with a heavy encryption that immediately raises alarm bells. F.R.I.D.A.Y. cracks it in no time, though - which means it's not Shuri's work, reducing the list of suspects to just one - Paine.
They slip in, pistols armed and ready, but they needn't have bothered - it's empty. About the size of Phil's tiny office back in the Lighthouse, it has no windows, not even a tiny slit to let light shine through. The torchlight reveals that it's bare, except for a metallic contraption positioned in front of a wall-mounted screen.
A chill runs down his spine.
It looks a lot like a salmon ladder, but there are only two pairs of rungs, at head and waist levels respectively. Handcuffs mar the vertical rails of the contraption, and there's a headgear with bolts, and he can almost imagine a victim strapped in this thing, forced to look at the screen with eyes held open by clasps.
Unable to sleep. Unable to even blink.
"The hell is it?" Wilson whispers, eyes wide.
"Faustus device," Phil says, his voice equally low. "HYDRA brainwashing instrument. Broke a lot of loyal S.H.I.E.L.D. agents back in the day."
"Ready to comply ." Horror flashes across his features, replaced swiftly by rage and loathing. "Man, what a bunch of sick fucks."
"Indeed," Phil swallows harshly as they back out of the room, makes a mental note to have his team - and only his team; he's not letting the Wakandans near this thing - dismantle it. It might be able to help the enthralled agents.
Unnerved beyond comparison, and wondering what other horrors awaited him, Phil quickly makes his way down to the eastern section, Wilson watching his back. Salvage teams haven't been able to clear the route to be able to safely pass through, but they manage to duck underneath mangled beams and squeeze through malfunctioning doors until they finally reach their destination.
The operating room is surprisingly mediocre, despite the advanced machines littering the space. He'd expected something equally horrifying as the Faustus machine, but no… to his untrained eye, they all just look like regular-fare medical tools, though he will have Simmons take a look, just in case.
"Over here," Wilson calls, nodding towards a broken screen. Shatter pattern suggests someone had shoved a fist through it.
Wilson disassembles it; holds up a hard drive with a grunt of satisfaction. Phil scans it with the prosthetic and brings up the footage.
Afterward, they're silent. Phil's eyes squeezed shut as the missing pieces fall into place, transforming the incomprehensible puzzle into a clear picture that makes bile rise to his throat.
It all makes sense.
His mind can't help but come up with the image of Isabelle Collins watching the video of her parents' murder. He wonders how she's still sane.
Wilson is pale, paler than he's ever seen him. The pads of his fingers are white as they clutch the frame of the broken screen. "Did she know?" He whispers. "Before?"
"Yes. "
"Did Stark… did Tony know?"
A short silence, noticeable enough to raise the hairs on Phil's neck. "He was the one who showed her."
Wilson nods, eyes widening as though he's just realizing something monumental. "He found out in Siberia, didn't he? Barnes lost an arm and Cap the shield."
The longest silence so far, a silence so frigid it makes Phil wonder whether there's truly nothing of Isabelle Collins in F.R.I.D.A.Y. "Captain Rogers did not lose his shield. He left it behind."
His stomach drops.
"What are you talking about?" Wilson asks. "Cap would never abandon the shield."
Phil feels a sick sensation churning in his gut. The airman isn't getting it, but Phil has connected the dots now; dots that go back decades, almost a century. The legendary friendship of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was always destined to doom entire generations of Stark. "He knew," he murmurs quietly. "Rogers knew… about the assassination."
"What?" Wilson says, takes a step back. His expression morphs from confusion to bewilderment, finally settling on a frankly massive amount of denial. "No, I… no. That can't be. Cap wouldn't do that."
"He admitted as much, " F.R.I.D.A.Y. says, ruthless and cold, her words slashing through Wilson like scythes. "He's known since the HYDRA Uprising. And he didn't tell Boss."
Phil has never been ashamed of being a Captain America fanboy. But Rogers' reckless actions against the Sokovia Accords had chipped away at a lot of the childhood awe, leaving him with an impression of a flawed man very much out of his time and element.
So the disappointment isn't as fierce as it is for Wilson, and suddenly Phil recognizes that he's looking into a mirror of his past self, slowly crumbling with this devastating knowledge, like a high-rise in an earthquake.
It takes him a very long while to croak out - "Is that why Collins didn't join the fight - a conflict of interest?"
Phil stares at him. "You wanted a pregnant woman involved with a potentially hostile situation?" he blurts before F.R.I.D.A.Y. can reply.
Wilson blinks. "Collins has a kid? Wait… Rhodes has a kid?"
Phil blinks, his sense of bewilderment slowly morphing into outrage. How is it that - despite not having any contact for a decade - he knows more about Isabelle Collins than her own former team? He knew things were bad - Tony had implied as much - but this is… horrifying. How did the Avengers even last as long as they did?
F.R.I.D.A.Y. beats him to it this time, her voice quietly vindictive as she carves out her own revenge on 'Team Cap'. " The baby was prematurely stillborn. Previously undetected benign neoplasm in her genetic makeup. The progressive damage makes her unable to carry a child to term."
Wilson jerks like his strings have been cut. "Oh, man. I… I can't even imagine. They just… never caught a break, did they? All of them. Tony, Rhodey… Izzy." He swallows harshly. "God, I accused her of bailing on us."
"I wouldn't assume that she'd have been on your side if I were you," Phil says coolly. But his indignation has fizzled out at the look on the other man's face.
Wilson doesn't look like a savior, which is what the Wakandans were hailing him as, even as they vilified Collins. He doesn't even look like an Avenger.
He just looks… beaten. Broken.
Phil can't watch any longer, so he shoves aside his emotions, focusing on the goal. The footage is good, but he needs more, he needs something better. His eyes land on the vents. On a sudden hunch, he activates the scanner.
"Traces of red sand confirmed, " F.R.I.D.A.Y. says quietly.
Wilson shudders deeply. "I don't think the ventilation controls were protected with Shuri's firewalls," he says hoarsely, visibly pulling himself out of his distress. "Collins' S.H.I.E.L.D. codes could've easily allowed Paine to access them remotely."
"Which means he was never actually here," Phil says. "He shows her the video, then sandblasts her to lower her inhibitions into attacking Barnes." He nods towards the intercom. "Probably had a little chat to compromise her further. F.R.I.D.A.Y., trace the signal for the vent controls; maybe there's another access node or something that'll give us further leads."
"You got it, D.C."
"Will it be enough?" Wilson asks in a low voice.
"To catch Paine? Doubt it."
He exhales quietly. "But it might just be enough for Collins."
June 22nd, 2025
Wakandan Fields
Sam doesn't know where he's going. He only knows that he wants to get away - away from the Circle's ruins, away from the Palace, just... away.
It's only after the night begins to shatter into dawn that he realizes that he's not just wandering aimlessly; his feet are forcibly directing him to somewhere specific - much like the sun, which trembles at the horizon, before reluctantly being yanked to wakefulness by the pink-orange clouds preceding it.
Dust puffs beneath his boots as they stride down well-worn tracks across the wide, open pastures. The once-abandoned ranch is remote, set against a winding creek. There aren't any animals besides the two huge dogs - the farmhouse might've been restored, but the farm itself isn't worked.
A perfect spot for retirement.
His target is relaxing on the porch swing, the aforementioned dogs snoozing at his feet. They spring up when Sam comes around the fence, growling. They've never liked him, and the feeling's mutual; he's always been more of a bird guy.
The target lights up when he walks up the stairs but stays seated. "Sam!" He cries, startled but pleased.
Sam stares and is suddenly hyper-aware of the weight of the shield on his left arm, so he just simply drops it.
The vibranium leaves a deep groove on the wooden floor, prompting the dogs to bark in surprise. The other man stares after it, eyebrows falling into a familiar frown, then looks up at him. "Sam?"
Sam swallows around a throat thick with hot shame and fury. "Hey, Cap."
Steve is silent for a long time after Sam has yelled himself hoarse.
The dogs are gone, shooed away when the barking became too aggressive. Sam's glad, but he wishes they could've taken the damn shield with them, because it's just... sitting there, the colors winking at him accusingly.
"Sam..." Steve begins.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam demands. "You honestly thought so little of me that you believed I'd blame Barnes for it?"
The other man shakes his head. "I knew you wouldn't. I knew you would take it... better than Tony did." His thumb brushes his wedding ring almost absently.
"'Cause they weren't my parents, Cap!"
"I didn't mean it like that. I just meant... god, Sam," he sighs heavily. "The reason I never told you..." he seems to steel himself, and the next few words just come bursting out of his mouth as though he's been holding it all back for decades," - is because you've never, ever called me Steve. It's only ever been Cap to you."
That pulls Sam up short. "What?"
Steve sighs, sounding much much older than even his aged appearance would imply. "Back when I was a skinny nobody, I wanted to fight. I took on bullies twice my size - not because it was the right thing to do or whatever the history books say these days - but because I was just so angry. Bucky was the only thing that kept me from getting killed.
"And then they took him."
Steve shakes his head. "I broke into the HYDRA base not because of honor or justice or truth. I broke in to save Bucky. " There's a pause. "It didn't matter, though. I lost him anyway."
Sam closes his eyes, the searing image of Riley falling painted behind his eyelids. "And it broke something in you."
Steve has never talked about any of this. After the Civil War, even within the confines of Wakanda, he'd kept mum about everything. Sam hadn't wanted to push - Steve had seemed so very lost after Barnes had gone back into the ice - but he should have.
Instead, Sam had drawn his own conclusions based on what his eyes were telling him - the absence of an arm, a shield - and had hated Tony Stark since then, for ripping away their homes, their families, their trust.
"When I found him again... he was all I could think about," Steve says. "That's who I've always been. I've never been able to see the bigger picture, not when Bucky was in trouble... I would've let the world burn to save him."
Sam falls into the swing - besides his mentor, his hero - and buries his head in his hands. He's glad the older man doesn't offer comfort - he doesn't think he can take any right now.
"But you, Sam... you've always believed in the ideal. You've always fought for it. And you thought I did too; it's why you followed me."
"Guess I was wrong," Sam mumbles.
Steve sighs heavily. "Yeah, you were. Because I never wanted to be Captain America. I didn't have a choice - Red Skull, the Chitauri, Thanos. They kept coming, so I had to keep going. And... your faith in that ideal kept me going."
Sam turns around, letting the other man see the despair in his eyes, the utter lack of faith.
"I couldn't shatter that," he continues hoarsely, " - because I knew that if I did - if I ever saw the same look in your eyes that I'm seeing now?" He swallows. "I knew I would never be able to go on."
Sam stares at him for a long, long moment. He doesn't know what he's feeling - it's all mixed inside him, roiling like a twister. "So -," he says, " - you... made me your anchor and your accomplice at the same time?" His voice breaks, so he clears his throat. "Wow. Just... what the hell am I supposed to do with that?"
But Steve, as always, has the answer ready. "Be the ideal. Be the Captain America the world deserves. Out of all of us, Sam... you're the most selfless. You'll truly fight for what you believe, and you won't compromise for one man."
Sam stands up so fast the swing would've hit the back of the porch if Steve hadn't dug in his feet. "You think I can take this?!" He shouts, kicking at the shield. The clang just serves to inflame his rage. "Now? After what I know you did with it?! You think I want Stark's blood on my hands?"
"No," Steve says sharply, suddenly looking so much like the old Cap, like his Cap, that his vision whites out for a second. "No, Thanos broke that shield, the one Howard made for me during the war, the one I used - " he swallows roughly, " - to hurt Tony. And good riddance."
"But that one," he indicates the weapon lying at Sam's feet. "That has never, ever harmed any Stark - I swear to you."
Sam trembles with the effort to keep himself from lashing out, then turns away, breath exploding out of him in a rush. He'd once been a counselor; he knows how to keep himself removed from stories that would've otherwise appalled him.
Why can't he do it now?
The answer rushes through his mind - all the people who have gotten hurt, who have died, because he believed unwaveringly in one man above all else - Vision, Rhodey, Izzy, Natasha... Tony. "Do you regret it?" The words are out of his mouth before he even thinks them - he finds he doesn't want to take them back.
"Saving Bucky? No. But hurting Tony?"
Sam turns, just in time to watch the breaking dawn throw the grief and shame painted across Steve's face in sharp relief. His aged, wrinkled fingers tremble as they brush across his gold wedding ring, shining brightly in the sunlight.
"Every single day."
June 22nd, 2025
Isolation Cell
Collins goes still as a statue. "No," she says firmly, immediately catching on to why Daisy's here.
Daisy suppresses a sigh. It's not as if she'd expected any different. She can't quite help the swell of pity for the other woman though. Collins' choices had been her own, but the hand she'd been dealt hadn't been pleasant.
Daisy has never been able to tell if the official story about Collins being coerced into hailing HYDRA were true or not, or something Stark Industries cooked up, but that footage had to be grueling nonetheless.
She can't say she'd have reacted any better had she had even a single moment alone with Daniel Whitehall.
Which is why she knows exactly how Collins will react to her next words. "Coulson wants to use the footage as evidence in your trial; insist that you were compromised."
"Not if I don't allow it."
Daisy's jaw ticks. She really shouldn't lose her temper - but Collins has always managed to somehow get under her skin without even trying.
All the more reason she's probably the very worst person for this.
"It's an in-camera hearing," she says tightly. "No one outside the courtroom will know about the video."
Every inch of Collins radiates barely restrained hostility, and her eyes flash - Daisy's sure they'd have been burning a bright blue if not for the dampeners. "I don't care. It's not happening."
This is why Coulson had sent her in instead of coming himself; Collins' narrow-mindedness would never let her even consider the fact that it's not just her in the sinking ship.
"Listen to me, Collins," Daisy takes, taking a step forward. The power-dampeners prickle against her skin, making her ache for the ever-present hum of ambient vibrations. "T'Challa's not running the show here. The Tribal Council is."
"... what are you talking about?"
"They were the ones who ordered the Circle to be stripped of foreign elements, against the King's orders. Whatever happened to S.P.E.A.R., happened because of them."
She exhales. "You're a patsy, Collins. The Elders are gonna throw all the blame on your head so they don't have to explain to the world why Wakanda tried to illegally appropriate S.H.I.E.L.D. resources, or the origins of the red sand, or why they didn't bother sharing the truth about this mysterious mineral that they've found, again !"
Collins is taken aback for a second before she stills. She doesn't look like she's breathing at all, her eyes unfocused as she truly, finally understands the stakes. "The trial - it's a smokescreen," she whispers.
" Yes! " Daisy throws up her arms. "They want to put you, and by extension S.H.I.E.L.D ., in the spotlight so Wakanda can come off it! The world will rip you apart while the Elders walk away with pats on their backs!"
The other woman exhales slowly. Her fingers clench into fists. "I'm not afraid of prison. Or death."
Daisy yanks at the reins of her restraint. She'd detected just the faintest seed of hesitation in the other woman's voice. If she'd had her way, she'd never have put even Collins through this because she knows what she's asking; forcing her to choose between the past and the future.
But without her cooperation, S.H.I.E.L.D. will sink.
And the world with it.
"What about disgrace?" she says softly. "Because it's not just our lives, our names on the line... they're willing to throw mud on everyone even remotely associated with you. Pepper Potts, James Rhodes... Morgan Stark."
The blood drains from her face, but Daisy barrels on. "Even your brother's memory won't be sacred after they're done painting you as a loyal HYDRA agent. Is that where you want the Stark legacy to end up?"
There's a long silence, and Daisy almost doesn't want to look at the other woman's face, but she owes her this, even if it is discomfiting. Even a high-functioning sociopath like Collins had to have some connections, or Daisy wouldn't even be here.
Collins' eyes are closed, and a barrage of unidentified emotions cross her face before it finally settles into the cool, eerily blank mask. She opens her eyes.
"What do you want me to do?"
July 3rd, 2025
Wakandan Grounds
Sunlight burns bright red against her closed eyelids, and her heart lurches just as it's always done recently whenever her eyes land on any shade of red, but she powers through it somehow, choosing to revel instead in the feel of the heat and fresh air on her face.
The trial had gone smoothly; far better than they'd expected. S.I.'s lawyers hadn't shied away from milking the footage of her parents' murder for all it was worth, but at least they'd done so respectfully. They had completely turned the trial around to highlight the various offenses committed by the Elders themselves, a hypocritical position if there ever was one.
Isabelle still has to pay a hefty fine, and she's persona non grata in Wakanda for a very long time to come. The worst sentence is a six-month suspension from S.H.I.E.L.D.; she tries not to think too much about the immense amount of free time she's gonna have on her hands.
The trial had still left a sick feeling in her heart though, as though she's done something incredibly, terribly wrong. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, so she'd ensured that F.R.I.D.A.Y. had erased the footage from S.H.I.E.L.D. servers as soon as it was over then rushed to her cell and vomited until she was an aching, teary-eyed mess.
"Hey," a familiar voice says, and she shields her eyes with a hand as she turns towards Sam Wilson. "Congratulations on the... well, not goin' to prison, I guess." His words might be construed as harsh, but there's a sincerity to his voice.
She eyes the shiny new badge on his uniform. "Congratulations on the promotion."
He nods, for the first time in a long time, looking somewhat at ease. But there's something else beneath the surface, something that she can't quite place a finger on. "Liaisin' between S.H.I.E.L.D. and S.P.E.A.R. should be interesting if nothin' else."
"You've got your work cut out for you."
He shrugs. "Got a whole lot of practice mindin' them on the Circle. Either way, I got you to thank for gettin' us out of there."
"I didn't do it for you." She makes her voice as gentle as she can make it because it's the truth.
"I know. I owe you one anyway." He takes a deep breath then, and his eyes lock onto hers, which is when she recognizes that buried emotion - regret. "Izzy, I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For the Civil War. For how I treated you at the Circle. For... for Rhodes," he blurts, sounding as though he'd changed his reply at the last second.
She shakes her head. "Rhodey never blamed you," she murmurs. "And I don't either." It's true. The only one she'd ever truly blamed was herself.
"Still... I owed you that apology and a hell of a lot more. I can't imagine what..."
"Sam..." she cuts in before he can cause any more damage. He means well, but...the last month has been hell, she's raw and exposed, and she really doesn't want to do this. "It was a decade ago. Let it go."
"You haven't," he points out abruptly, taking a half-step forward. She resists the urge to retreat in the other direction. "You've been through a lot. You ever need anyone to talk to..."
"I don't," she says, her voice cool. "No offense, but you can't get me anything I want."
He nods, then, undeterred but backing off regardless. "Offer's on the table." He smiles. "Take care of yourself, Izzy."
She nods in reply, not trusting herself to speak, watching him as he walks towards a silhouette near the fields. Sunlight frames the figure and glints off of something metal, and she recognizes with a jerk that it's Barnes.
Isabelle hasn't seen him since the Circle, since her rage had almost killed him. He moves into the light, and even at this distance, she can spot his icy blue eyes.
Her breath stutters in her chest when her eyes lock onto hers, and there's a moment when the world stills, and it's just the two of them; two victims, bound by a horrific tragedy.
He nods, then, a slight thing that could be easily misconstrued as nothing more than the product of an overactive imagination. She doesn't know what it means, and she finds herself frozen until he breaks eye contact, turns around, and walks away with Wilson, deeper into the city.
She's so affected by it she doesn't notice someone approaching from behind.
"Agent Collins," Phil Coulson says and she whirls around. "You're a sight for sore eyes."
Coulson's presence chases the earlier chill away. She doesn't smile, but it's a near thing. "Too much screen time will do that to you."
"Hilarious," he deadpans. "I took the liberty of extracting your personal effects from the Hatut Zeraze." And he holds them up for inspection.
The glow from the arc reactor is long gone; it's useless now. But when she plucks the familiar translucent band from his fingers and slips it on, the omni-tool powers up, connecting to her comm instantly.
"Glad to have you back, skipper."
"Did the Wakandan Design Group treat you nicely, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"
"Short of taking a hammer to the 'tool, they tried their level best to break in. Boss' encryption proved a little too hard for them."
She smiles, unsurprised. "I'd like you to run a full diagnostic, nevertheless; incinerate any nasty surprises they might have left in."
"You got it."
Coulson's eyes twinkle. "From what I can tell, the scientists were more interested in the arc reactor. They were very disappointed to learn you used the older palladium model to replace the Circle's core instead of the clean energy one."
She gives him a look as she pockets the frame. "Starkium is proprietary tech; Pepper would lynch me if I just handed it over."
An expression had crossed his face for an instant when she'd mentioned her father. The warmth of his presence fades for a moment as she instinctively realizes that he must've been the one to find the footage of her parents' assassination. They fall silent as they walk towards the Quinjet, sunlight glinting dully on its matte surface.
"I owe you one," he says, apropos of nothing and she startles; those were supposed to be her words, even though some part of her wouldn't have meant them. "You went above and beyond on this mission, got everyone home safe without compromising S.H.I.E.L.D. or Wakanda."
"We didn't get Paine," she points out bitterly.
"We got a whole lot else," he insists as they climb aboard the ramp. "Staved off a war between two countries before it ever started - not that I wanted to get involved in the first place, mind you. Got the Circle and most of its members back."
The plane hums beneath her feet, and she securely straps herself into the pilot's seat and goes through pre-flight before taking off.
"Got some assurances from the Elders too," Coulson says as she pushes the Jet to cross the borders; eager to leave this country, " - in return for our silence on their complicity in a lot of illegal matters."
The cloud cover breaks, revealing the airborne Zephyr, with its dorsal landing bay open for the Quinjet. She guides it in neatly, powers down. "What'd they promise you?"
Coulson waits until they're walking into the command bridge to start ticking off on his fingers. "Information on this mysterious mineral. More open-communication, though I'm expecting them to find a way around that. Hunting down the red sand dealers together - " and then he points to the control station where Isabelle can see Johnson operating a holotable, " - Daisy's already started analysis. C'mon, let's take a look."
Johnson spares them a single distracted glance, then brings up a series of holograms depicting documents and the like. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. and I've been combing through the info you extracted from the Circle. Didn't find much other than audio files on a lot of icky experiments. We're talking vivisection, surgical implants, transhumanism, autopsies."
"You didn't find anything on Paine himself?" Isabelle asks.
Johnson grins sharply. "Now, I didn't say that."
"Do you remember what M'Butu said about being bribed by Paine?" Her fingers fly across the screen. "Assuming that he wasn't lying, well... it got me thinking. Paine was on the run, right? So where the hell did he get that kind of money?"
Coulson's eyes narrow. "Good question. You found something?"
"Turns out he was being paid as a corporate employee by shell companies to hide the money. Trail went cold."
She looks up to the ceiling then with a smile, a common tic when outsiders assume that the A.I. resides in the ceiling. "But then F.R.I.D.A.Y. decrypted the medical operation files, found out that Paine used Shuri's miracle treatment to experiment on himself and cure - get this - a rare, but terminal neurodegenerative disease. "
Coulson blinks. "He was dying?"
"Yeah. I'm assuming it's why he got desperate, almost sloppy with his experiments, even with Barnes. Wasn't thinking straight."
"The treatment worked, though, didn't it?" Isabelle asks quietly.
Johnson nods. "Unfortunately for us. But it gave me an idea." She taps at the holo.
"If Paine was paid as an employee, he's got to get perks, right? Gym membership bill waivers, dental... medical insurance." She grins wickedly. "I tracked down those payments. He tried to cash it in for the surgery, but it didn't cover the expenses, which is why he took over the Circle, tried to figure it out himself."
"You tracked down the benefactor using the insurance."
In reply, Johnson flicks her fingers over the interface decisively, bringing up the bust of a vaguely familiar silver-haired, blue-eyed man. "Money traces back to one Henry Lawson, tycoon, and CEO of Lawson Worldwide."
Isabelle's eyes narrow until all she can see is the bust, slowly rotating over the holotable. There's something about him that nags at her mind and she dives through her memory until she recalls the contents of an official document. "Wait, isn't he the guy who funded the first outpost on Mars?"
Johnson nods. "Lowell City, deployed by the ESA satellites. He managed to improve on Manswell's designs." She looks over to Coulson. "You don't look so good."
Isabelle turns sharply, alarmed to find the Director almost horrifically pale. "Lawson can't be behind this; you must've gotten something wrong," he whispers.
"When have you ever known me to be wrong about stuff like this?"
"You know this guy?" Isabelle asks, feeling a chill run through as she places the dread behind his eyes. Coulson's not usually this expressive.
He swallows. "Henry Lawson made his name during the Decimation, funding gene therapy and viable embryo preservation techniques in order to stave off long-term extinction of the human race," he says, sounding as though he's reading off a textbook. "He contributed a lot of money and resources to various departments - energy, military, biotech."
"So he could've totally funded Paine on the side," Johnson shrugs. "Not the first time we've had to take down a corrupt businessman."
"We're not doing anything of the sort." Coulson takes a step forward, his eyes cold and stern. "This is not a boat you're gonna be rocking, Agent Johnson…that's an order."
Isabelle slips in between them, forces him to meet her eyes. "What's going on?" she asks quietly. She knows instantly that he recognizes her tone; it's the same tone she uses whenever she's not going to budge on an issue until he concedes. Despite all the years, there are some things that will never change about their relationship. "What do you know?"
He glares at her for a long moment, then turns away, running a hand down his face. "Lawson isn't just Paine's benefactor, Izzy."
"He's S.H.I.E.L.D.'s."
MCU Context:
Tribal Council of Elders: Composed of the elders of Wakandan tribes; they advise the king on royal matters. Ramonda is one of them, as is M'Baku. I figured they took over when Thanos Decimated T'Challa and Shuri. My headcanon is that they're conservative and promote isolation not because they're power-hungry, but because they're terrified of change.
F.R.I.D.A.Y.: Tony once mentioned that he pictures his A.I. as a redhead, way back in Captain America: Civil War. I like to think he based all the A.I.'s after real people. J.A.R.V.I.S., of course, was based on his deceased, beloved butler Edwin Jarvis. In this fic, J.O.C.A.S.T.A. and ULTRON were based on my OC. There's a very good reason for this.
Also, she calls Coulson 'DC'. Short, for, of course, Director Coulson.
Isabelle's Pregnancy and Subsequent Miscarriage: I alluded to this during the whole Peter Parker - accused murderer of heroes fiasco. Another layer of tragedy and grief contributing to her PTSD and survivor's guilt.
Starkium: I once read that Tony Stark's New Element was officially named Starkium. He was working on a patent for Badassium instead but that didn't work out well. Such a shame.
Sam Wilson: Out of all the MCU characters, Sam Wilson is the hardest to write.
Mostly because there's so very little that we know about him. MCU barely provided a backstory for his character, and while Anthony Mackie is a wonderful actor, his performance always seemed a little... two-dimensional - which, I suppose, is rather an oblique testament to his acting skills - his character itself is so.
At worst, I've thought of Falcon as nothing more than a sycophant, following Steve Rogers like a puppy. I do what he does, just slower indeed. Then came the Civil War, and my impression wasn't changed much then either.
I felt a twinge of... something when Rhodey got shot down because of him and Sam immediately, immediately dove after him, instead of running after Cap. He tried to save Rhodey. That one act... suddenly made him a tiny bit interesting.
Another tidbit of his personality shone through because of Anthony Mackie. In an interview, Mackie said that Sam felt betrayed by the actions of Tony Stark and T'Challa. He doesn't trust them anymore, and he isn't all that comfortable in Wakanda. I took these scraps, then another one when I remembered Riley, Sam's flying partner who was shot down and then was never mentioned again, and made something concrete out of it. It's not much, but it's honestly the best I could do, and I'm damn proud of it.
It's just my opinion. If you feel I'm wrong, then that's your opinion. Live and let live!
Steve Rogers: Pretty sure it's obvious by now that I'm hardcore Team Iron Man. Yes, I support the idea of the Accords. No, I do not like the current rules stated in them because they're oppressive and discriminatory. No, I don't think Thaddeus Ross had any business presenting them to the Avengers. Yes, I'm pissed that Steve Rogers kept the truth of his parents' murder from Tony.
But the thing is... I understand why Rogers did it. Which was a problem back when I was hating all things Captain America. I don't condone his actions, I abhor his lack of regret for what he did, and my favorite moment in Endgame was when Tony tore him a new one. But I understood.
So I could either continue to hate a fictional character and poison my soul - or I could make something productive out of it. Turns out, resentment is corrosive and I hate it.
I wrote Rogers that regret because MCU wasn't going to. I wrote him a gnawing guilt that will haunt him for the rest of his days. I will also write him as beautiful as a redemption arc as I can.
Steve Rogers has barely appeared in my fic, and won't appear a lot either, but he'll be there till the end. He'll live a very, very long life... courtesy of the super-soldier serum, and will play a huge role later on.
This isn't for him, or for anyone else... it's for me alone.
Also, I love the idea of him retiring in Wakanda, undisturbed. Since in this fic, I'm keeping it under wraps that time travel was invented and used to bring back the Stones, it'd be a whole lot difficult to explain Steve Rogers' new, wizened look. Where else would he be safe except in Wakanda?
Mass Effect Context:
Henry Lawson: Mass Effect fans know exactly who this man is. His role in the games played well into the storyline I was creating with the red sand, Erich Paine, and his eugenics research. I wanted to explore more about Lawson's backstory that what was displayed on-screen. Lawson Worldwide, is, of course, a figment of my own imagination.
I hope you're all as tickled as I was at the huge revelation near the end.