The first thing that I quickly discern about the quiet Bruce Banner before me is that despite everything that he has been through over the past few years, he is both surprisingly and extremely patient.

In the past hour or so that I have spent explaining to him how I worked my way here to his little Rocinha home, he has been nothing but attentive and silent, not interrupting me once to ask any questions even though he must have dozens at this point. If our roles had been reversed and it was me who had to endure listening to someone talk non-stop for as long as I have, I would have easily grown agitated and butted in where I pleased.

But not Bruce. He just stands on the other side of the room – putting as much distance between us as possible, I note – listening and still, almost statue-like, as he takes everything in.

And I do my best not to leave any details out. I tell him that I know about the lab accident, and how it changed him ( though not quite understanding the specific science behind it all ), and that he's been on the run from a relentless Thaddeus Ross ever since. His face pales considerably at the mention of the general, and I can't help but think that even after evading him all this time, Bruce is still terrified of him, to some degree. That, or he is wary of what it is Ross is capable of.

I explain how SHIELD had stumbled across his case, and that they had even managed to keep Ross off his scent in some instances over the past two years. I tell him that my boss has sent me here to help him deal with whatever it is that the accident did to him or help him in any other way that he may need. I don't share my belief that it is more than likely that Fury has an ulterior motive in sending me here, knowing that Bruce wouldn't be happy with that in the slightest.

By the time the last word of my lengthy explanation trails from the tip of my tongue, the sun has started to set over Rocinha, the orange haze of the sky above streaking warm hues across the living room. Outside, the nightlife of the favela is abuzz, vehicles rushing by, bikes whirring past, chatter filling the air and faint music floating from somewhere down the road. It starkly contrasts the tense atmosphere inside Bruce's humble abode, and it's thick enough to be cut with a knife. Despite my assurances that I don't mean him any harm, I can tell by the nervous tap of his foot and the cautious flicker in his eyes that Bruce isn't quite convinced that my intentions are all that good.

I decide not to break the rigid silence, allowing instead for Bruce to take a moment to himself and process everything. My finger taps patiently against the edge of my knee as I wait for him to say something, and he is quick not to disappoint. Running a hand down his worn face, he tiredly questions, "Why did you come here?"

"I told you. My boss – "

"I understand that you were sent here. But you still haven't explained why."

Leaning back in the chair, I calmly explain, "Fury sent me here to help you. He wasn't clear on the specifics but he somehow knew that you may need some help. With evading Ross, with dealing with… you know. I'm not sure. He wasn't really specific on the matter."

"I've been hiding from Ross for two years now – I think that I can take care of myself."

"Mhm. Tell me, when was the last time that you ate a solid meal? Or stayed in one place longer than a couple of months?"

Silence is his only response.

"Or didn't have to look over your shoulder wherever it is that you wound up?"

Once again, he doesn't answer. But the way that his eyes flicker down towards the ground, unable to hold my steel gaze, sticks out like a sore thumb. He's not fooling me anytime soon.

A twinge of sympathy tugs at my heart, and I allow my features to soften. "It's ok to need some help, Doctor. I think you've spent enough time being isolated and alone."

A sigh slips past his lips, and he moves to lean against the corner of the rocky, wooden kitchen table, his demeanour somewhat more relaxed. But the shake in his hands and the way that his body is still angled towards the front door informs me that he is still prepared to bolt at any given minute. Still, it's progress, and I'll take my victories wherever I can get them.

"You think I want to be alone?" He murmurs, still not quite meeting my gaze. "I had a life before the accident. People that I cared about – that cared about me. But I can't go back. I can't be around them. It's too dangerous."

"Because of what went wrong with the experiment." It's a statement, not a question, and I watch as he flinches in response. There is no point in playing dumb and pretending that I don't know – to some extent – what happened in the lab that day three years ago. I know that the gamma explosion somehow changed him when it should have killed him. I just don't know how.

"What exactly did happen that day, Bruce?"

Unsurprisingly, he remains silent. At his obvious hesitance, I insist, "I need to know – I want to understand."

Once again he doesn't answer, and he continues to stand and think quietly to himself for a long while after the last plea falls from my lips. I can understand his behaviour. I too wouldn't necessarily be so trusting of someone who had unexpectedly just barged their way into my life demanding answers either, especially when the subject is a touchy one. I have told him repeatedly in the past hour that I am in no way, shape or form a threat to him, but it seems that three years of nothing but paranoia and self-isolation have left their mark on him.

Just when I think that he really isn't going to respond to my question, he inhales sharply before letting out a defeated sigh. "Three years ago, I was a professor at Culver University when my former colleague and … and …. friend, Betty Ross, approached me. Her father, Thaddeus had told her about a new military experiment that he wanted the two of us to work together on."

A noise of surprise works its way up my throat at the tiny revelation that Betty and Thaddeus are related, but I bite down harshly on my lip to keep it at bay, afraid that it would deter Bruce from continuing his story. When digging into both Betty and Thaddeus, I hadn't connected the dots and considered that there was a possibility that the two of them were related – people share the same last name without being related all the time, and Ross isn't that uncommon of a surname. Either way, I can't help but feel that the relationship between the two somehow complicates this whole situation more than it already is.

"The experiment was to see whether or not there was a way that humans could become immune to gamma radiation," Bruce continues, oblivious to my surprise. After months of hypothesises, research, interviews and hard work, we finally decided to test our work. Ross wanted a soldier handpicked from the military to undergo the experiment, but I insisted that I would be the one tested on."

"Why not just have the guy from the military do it instead?"

"It was a dangerous experiment, Lydia. If it went wrong … well. You've already seen the consequences. At the time, I wanted it to be me. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if the research proved irrelevant or miscalculated, and we accidently ended up killing someone. So, I volunteered, leaving no room for argument."

At the time, I wanted it to be me. I can't help but think how differently things might have turned out if Ross had gotten his way and it had been a soldier who had ultimately sat in the chair rather than Bruce. Despite his noble intentions, the look on his face now suggests that Bruce must have thought about it at least once or twice himself whenever thinking about what went wrong that day.

"I injected a serum that was designed to protect me from the blast but it didn't help. When I got in that chair, I was exposed to the gamma radiation and everything was quick to go to hell. It was too much exposure, and I don't know how it did what it has done to me. I should have died. But now … now I turn into this – this thing, whenever I get angry, or my pulse reaches two hundred beats a minute."

I can't help but raise a brow. Two hundred beats per minute. That's exceptionally high, especially for a human. It would likely mean that his transformations are triggered by intense feelings of fear, anger and or excitement. Any sort of physical activity might also be a contributing factor. I make silent notes on this, storing them in the back of my mind to relay to Fury at a later time.

"After the accident, once I had turned back into my normal self, I went to the hospital to see Betty. I … I accidentally – I didn't mean – she had been too close – "

"It wasn't your fault, Bruce. And if Betty had enough sense, she wouldn't have blamed you for what happened either."

He swallows thickly, his adam's apple bobbing prominently in his throat with the movement. Speaking in a voice thick with emotion and his dark eyes staring blankly at the ground in front of him, he gives a small shake of his head. "I don't know. I didn't – I didn't get to talk to her. Her father, Ross, was there and he wouldn't let me see her; he ordered me to leave."

And at this, a bitter streak flashes across his solemn features. It's a startling contrast to the fear and unease that has been plastered on his face since he first started sharing his tale. "On my way out, I heard him talking on the phone to someone, requesting a warrant for my arrest. He wanted to experiment on me – find out what the hell had happened to me, and see if he could replicate it. He wanted to use me as a weapon of mass destruction. So, I ran, keeping him away from … "

"From the other guy."

"Yeah. The … the other guy … "

"So, you've been on the run ever since."

"Correct."

"Have you tried looking for a possible cure?"

"Since the day I left."

"And judging by the fact that you're still in hiding, said attempts of finding a cure haven't been some of success."

The solemn look returns in a heartbeat, and it's gut-wrenching to see. "No. I actually just failed an attempt before you showed up." He finishes with a nod to the corner of the room, where I notice for the first time a table crammed with some low-quality – almost homemade-looking – lab equipment. Beside the setup lay the remains of what would have once been a beautiful flower, the once white petals now crumpled and already turning a dull shade of brown.

"An acquaintance of mine thought it would work."

At this I turn back to face him, a brow already half raised towards my hairline. "Acquaintance?"

"A friend," Bruce clarifies. "Sort of. He knows about my condition, and he's been helping me try to find a cure for months now."

"Is he here in Rocinha?"

He shakes his head. "No. Well, at least, I don't think so. I've never actually met him."

The pieces of the puzzle immediately click into place. "A cyber friend then."

"Something like that."

And then, for the first time in what seems like a long time, a much-needed silence descends upon us, allowing both Bruce and I to take some time to ourselves and ponder over everything that we have shared with one another during the past hour. I'm grateful for it, in a way. It gives my racing mind time to properly process every disbelieving detail that he has reluctantly shared with me and to be quite honest, I would probably break into a confused and babbling mess if it wasn't for this quiet little piece of time.

As a SHIELD agent and during my time in the facility, I've seen some pretty chilling and unforgettable things – stuff that could only possibly be real in nightmares and people's worst fears. For the longest time, I considered myself to be the craziest thing that this world had to offer, after what was done to me. But this unassuming man standing before me, nervously twiddling his thumbs, takes the cake on this. This … his 'other guy' is something else entirely.

"So you see, I don't know why it is that you're here," Bruce softly continues, drawing my attention to him once more. "If you're really here to help me like you claim you are, then I don't know how you can. It's been a long time coming, but I guess I need to finally wake up and realise that there is no cure; there's no fixing me."

Telling him not to give up hope so quickly seems futile. He's been trying to find a cure for the past few years and hasn't come up with any miracle yet. Still, I find myself not wanting him to admit defeat just yet, and instead find myself offering, "But what if there was a way that you could control it?"

Bruce shakes his head. "All it takes is for me to get angry even for just a split second, and a switch goes off. I go away, and the other guy replaces me, putting everyone around me in danger. As long as I am around you or anyone else for that matter, then I'm a threat. A threat that can't be hurt or killed, in case you were wondering either."

"I'm not here to kill you, Bruce," I exclaim, horrified at the mere thought alone. The thought of intentionally hurting this man, who has lost so much and spent so much of his time alone due to circumstances beyond his control makes me feel sick to my stomach. Killing him is not and never will be the answer. That I can feel in my bones.

"I'm not going to hurt you. And I wouldn't stress about you hurting me either. I'm more than capable of defending myself."

His dark eyes flicker up at me at this, and I'm surprised to find curiosity laced within them. Titling his head to the side as he studies me, he quietly remarks, "Does you saying that have anything to do with what you did at the door earlier?"

I stiffen. I had hoped that he would have forgotten all about that after having spent so long talking to me, or was too caught up in the panic of me barging into his home to notice. Clearly, I had been wrong.

"Because I remember trying to shove the door in your face. But you held up your hand and it was as if a huge gust of wind blew it back open…"

My bottom lip catches between my teeth thoughtfully. My abilities weren't something that I went sharing around with the rest of the world, and Fury had warned me to try and keep a low profile on them when working this case. But was to ensure that Ross didn't discover them, not Bruce. Bruce, who had reluctantly shared snippets of his past and the accident that I know perfectly well that he would have preferred to keep to himself if I hadn't pressured him to spill the beans on what had happened.

What was that old saying? Returning the favour …

I swallow thickly, surprised that I was about to do this. "What if I told you that was exactly what happened?"

"I'd say that's impossible but I turn into a giant, green rage monster whenever my heart beats too fast, so … " He trails off with a shrug. "I'd believe anything at this point."

"Even if I told you I can control the elements?"

He blinks. " … well, almost anything … "

Holding back a sigh, I slowly lift a hand in the air before giving a simple click of my fingers. I keep my eyes on Bruce's face which is immediately illuminated by the orange glow of the fire now dancing around my hand, the light clearly illustrating the look of complete and utter surprise that slams onto his face.

He immediately straightens up and moves closer towards me, the scientist within taking over as he peers both curiously and wonderstruck at the flames. "Impossible," he breathes.

"I guess you're not the only crazy thing around here, huh Doctor?"

Bruce continues to stare at the fire until I extinguish the flames and lower my hand back to my side once more. I half expect him to skit backwards at the newfound proximity – he's only standing a few feet away now – but he remains rooted in place, eyes as wide as saucers as he stares with the utmost astonishment.

"You – you can control fire," he states almost dumbly.

"The elements," I correct. "Earth, Wind, Fire, Water and their subcomponents as well."

"How is that even possible?"

It's best not to move, subject 207. Fighting won't do you any good.

Aching, throbbing, burning pain –

"Please – please stop – "

My name … my name is Lydia Hathaway.

Screams bouncing off the walls –

Again.

"Please – just kill me, no more – "

My name is –

A hand landing gently on my shoulder startles me from my memory-filled trance, and I instinctively jerk away from the touch and practically fling myself upwards. Blinking, my heart beats rapidly and almost painfully against my chest as I am brought back down to reality by the sound of someone calling for me. The grey, dull walls and the endless screams soon fade away and I find myself standing upright beside Bruce's worn sofa, the former scientist in question standing beside me, his arm stretched out as if trying to calm a frantic animal. The sight causes me to step back, not wanting a repeat of what happened the last time someone caught me in this state.

Lydia, are you alright? Lyd…

The temperature in the room drops as my heightened emotions cause my powers to slip ever so slightly and I desperately regain control –

"Is everything OK?" Bruce asks.

I inhale both sharply and deeply in an attempt to soothe my still-racing heart and quickened breath. Only bringing myself to give a jerk of my head in response, I reach out to grab the edge of the sofa to try and further ground myself in the reality I find myself in.

You're safe, you're safe. You're here in Rocinha, in Bruce Banner's apartment. You're not – you're not back there.

"Do you want some water?"

I once again nod my head, and Bruce is quick to dash towards the kitchen, cupboard doors creaking and thudding together as he searches for a glass. I keep a firm grip on the arm of the sofa the entire time that it is gone, and when he comes back minutes later to hand me a glass full of water, I lift my hand and find that my knuckles as taut white against my skin.

The liquid is cool against the back of my throat, and once the glass is empty I find my voice again. Popping the glass down and flexing my still aching knuckles, I stonily reveal, "Two years ago, I was captured and forced to undergo human experimentation by a group of scientists that have managed to remain hidden for God knows how long. Each day, they injected me with some form of chemical substance that, coupled with the experiments, eventually led to me being able to control the elements."

He frowns. "Sorry to hear that. What was the chemical?"

"I don't know."

"And the experiments?"

Silence is my only response.

He takes the hint. "I'm sorry."

My tongue darts out to dampen my quickly drying lips. "Don't be. It was a long time ago – not worth dwelling on."

Despite my best efforts to sound as nonchalant as possible, it seems that Bruce isn't entirely convinced by my act. Still, he thankfully doesn't push, and instead only asks, "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"Mhm. And how old were you when you were captured?"

"Nineteen."

Bruce asks no more questions, but the corners of his mouth turn down with a newfound sadness, and it's not hard for me to know what it is that he's thinking right now; she was just a kid. A phrase that I have heard spoken about me more times than I can count in the last year alone.

Swallowing thickly, I add, "I guess we're both products of someone else's chaos."

I hadn't really thought of this parallel between the two of us until just now, after revealing a fraction of the truth behind my abilities to Bruce. On some level, I can empathise with the man before me, having been made into something that I never wanted to be. I never asked to be captured and I never asked for these abilities. Bruce never asked for the accident, and he certainly never asked for the other guy to be created either. We were both victims in our own scenarios and to some degree we would have to deal with the repercussions for the rest of our lives.

Maybe that's why I had been as adamant as I had in helping him after seeing the footage. On some level, I relate to him in a way that probably no one else can. And something tells me by the look on his face that he understands this as well.

A sudden and loud scratching noise comes from the front door, causing me to immediately whirl towards the sound, hands raised and ready for anything. But Bruce, confusingly more at ease than me, only crosses the room towards the door and pulls it open, revealing a small, brown and raggedy dog waiting for him on the other side.

I immediately relax and watch as a true and genuine smile graces Bruce's lips, as he bends down to affectionately pat the dog on the sides of his head. The dog in question tilts his head back to grant the scientist more room, his tongue sticking out and tail wagging as Bruce combs his hands through the tangled fur.

"Don't worry, he won't bite," Bruce assures me.

"Sorry. Occupational habit."

"What, being wary of everything and everyone? Trust me, I know the feeling."

Somehow, I don't doubt this. "What's his name?" I ask, eagerly reaching out as the dog walks over to me, my own fingers gently stroking its surprisingly soft ears.

"He doesn't really have one."

I smile as the dog collapses at my feet, rolling over onto his back to expose his belly, which I waste no time in leaning down and rubbing. "I think Buddy suits him."

"Buddy?"

"Yeah – he's your bud, isn't he?" I say, practically cooing the last part to Buddy beneath me. I have always had a soft spot for animals, strays especially – a trait that many people have claimed I got from Clint. Continuing to stroke an appreciative Buddy, I add in a much sadder afterthought, "It must be terrible, being on the run. I can only imagine how lonely everything would feel."

"You have no idea," Bruce mutters. "But there's nothing that can done about it."

"I don't think that's entirely true," I argue, giving Buddy one last final scratch before straightening up. "For the past three years, you've been trying to figure everything out on your own, stuck with limited time and resources to help you find anything concrete. I'm willing to help in whatever way I can, and more importantly, so is SHIELD. Or Fury, at least. We're not going to force you into doing anything you don't want to do either, but don't you want all of this to be over? Don't you want to get your life back?"

Bruce's face pales at my words, his lips pressed in a tight, little line. It's no small thing that I'm offering to him right now – it's literally his life that's on the line. And while I couldn't guarantee that I could give him his life back the way that it was, I was more than willing to at least try. A helping hand; something that he probably hasn't had a whole lot of in the past three years. But if he wanted his life back, then he was going to have to meet me halfway and have a little faith. His gut instinct might be to take off and find somewhere new where nobody has even heard of a Bruce Banner, but he would just be subjecting himself to the same, lonely torment he has already had to endure for too long.

I sigh. "Look, you don't have to make a decision right away. But maybe just sleep on it, yeah? Give yourself some time to think everything over before you go and make any decisions."

To my surprise, he doesn't hesitate to nod his head and agree. Smiling, I add. "Right. When was the last time anyone cooked for you?"

It was decided after some home-made soup ( Bruce's poorly stocked kitchen didn't exactly leave me with many options to whip him up something a little fancier ) and cleaning up afterwards that I would stay at Bruce's for the night, rather than walking almost two miles to the nearest hotel. If Bruce wasn't entirely sold on the idea of a stranger spending the night in his little hideaway then he doesn't voice it out loud, and instead only offers to make up the couch for me. There was a mutual agreement that we would talk things over the following morning with clearer heads and rested minds, and that Bruce would decide whether or not he wanted my help. Whatever his decision, I would ultimately respect it, even if Fury kicked up a storm about it.

Speaking of Fury, I had messaged him while Bruce had been setting the table to inform him that I had found Bruce. Finally expecting some long-awaited answers about what exactly it is that he wants with Bruce anyway, I had been more than a little frustrated when the short and blunt 'Good' had blown up on my screen. Part of me isn't surprised – Nick Fury was quite possibly the most secretive and untrusting man on the planet. There are some things that he would take to his grave and others that he would only share with a select few people. Still, he had promised me answers and I expect to get them at some point. If he was simply just playing mind games with me, then he had better quit sooner rather than later, otherwise I wouldn't be the least bit cooperative.

Even though the day has well and truly bled into the night, the city is loud with life. Having spent half of my life living out in the country on the Barton farm, the loud and intrusive noises of the city have me lying awake long after Bruce and I had decided to turn in for the night. Even now, after two hours of miserably failing to fall into a slumber, sleep evades me. Rolling over on the couch in my sixth attempt to try and find the perfect sleeping position in the past two minutes, I sigh and kick the blankets off my leg.

Buddy, sitting at the end of the couch, lets out a small whine as I pull myself upright to sit properly on the couch, prompting me to lean down and give hi a few gentle pets on the back of his head. His tail thumps happily against the ground and continues to do so for the next few minutes as I apply the loving ministrations with one hand, using the other to rub at my droopy eyes.

A flash of light emitting from the side pocket of my bag several moments later is enough to pull me from my exhausted stupor, and an eerie feeling is quick to settle over me for reasons that I can't quite pinpoint. Perhaps it was because I couldn't think of a good reason as to why someone would be messaging me at this time of night – I know from past experiences that messages sent this late would only bring bad news – or maybe it was because I was still on edge from my conversation with Bruce today. Either way, I still lean over and pull the small device out, unlocking the screen and opening the message that, sure enough, brought nothing but trouble;

NICK FURY, 11:18 pm

Hathaway, your position has been compromised. Ross is coming for Banner now. T-minus half an hour max.

The air is knocked out of me in an instant, and the phone slips from my hand and lands on the floor with a crash.

Shit!

"Bruce!" I half scream, jumping to my feet and turning to see the former scientist bolt upright in his bed, hair messy and eyes squinting and bloodshot as he tries to properly wake up.

Dazed and confused – and probably still half asleep – he can only call out both groggily and equally as frantic, "What? What is it?! What's wrong?!"

"Ross is here – we have to get you out of the city!"

Panic streaks across his face, and he bolts from the bed faster than blinking before springing into action. Reaching for a red hoodie hanging on the back of one of the chairs in the kitchen, he is quick to shove it over his head. "Grab your things – we're leaving in five minutes!"

Nodding, I fling my hand out and watch as my backpack sails through the air before I catch it with ease and tear off towards the small bathroom. It takes me all of a minute to peel the pyjamas off my body and replace them with more suitable clothing, and by the time I emerge from the cramped space, Bruce is already dressed and shoving as many things as he can in his own backpack, his hands shaking with a likely mixture of adrenaline and anxiety.

My heart breaks at the sight. How many times has he been forced to do this? Wake up in the middle of the night and pack the necessities, leaving the rest of his belongings behind? Forced to relocate somewhere new, leaving what little life he had managed to build for himself in the past? Though his hands are riddled with nerves, his movements are swift and sharp as he moves around the room with ease, from practice; he's done this far too many times.

"Is there anything I can do?!"

"I've got most of it – just, under the sink, there's a rope. Grab it, and tie the end of it around the handle of the cabinet under the window!"

Finding the request strange but knowing that time is of the essence here, I swallow any questions I have and comply with his wishes. The rope itself is several feet long and surprisingly thick; a good tug at it with my hands confirms that it isn't likely to break it easily. Tugging on the handle of the cabinet for good measure and finding it secure, my fingers begin to nimbly loop the rope around and around the metal hoop, releasing it after one last final jerk of my hand. A quick flick of my wrist sends the table sliding across the floor until it stops with a thud against the closed cabinet. Bruce lets out a cry of shock at the sight.

"It'll keep it still if we're climbing down it," I say, having put two and two together whilst assembling the rope. Rushing back into the living room, I bend down to retrieve my fallen phone, and move to shove it into the pocket of my coat when I hear it; a small, barely audible tiny thump against the front door.

With Buddy standing in the middle of the room watching Bruce and I move to and fro, I know that there is no chance that he is responsible for the noise. Unease settles over me in a thick blanket, causing me to reach up and splay my hand towards the door. Using my abilities to read any and all shifts in the air beyond the door, my stomach drops with dread when I feel several bodies on the other side, two of them pressing their hands against the door as if they are trying to stick something there.

T-minus thirty minutes my ass!

Swearing under my breath, I turn to warn Bruce of the looming threat. To my surprise, he has already begun to climb up onto the kitchen sink and I watch as he pushes the window open and tosses the end of the rope through it. Securing the clips of his bag around his chest, he murmurs, "We're gonna climb out of here. Follow straight after me – "

"There's no time!" I hiss, hand still splayed and feeling the movements of the bodies shift in the air outside. Feeling as the two by the door begin to back away and knowing what was sure to follow next, I swing my own backpack over my shoulders and rush towards a confused Bruce. He opens his mouth to say something, but it is soon turned into a scream of surprise as I push off the ground, propel myself through the air and knock into Bruce, hurling us straight out the window.

The yell is easily drowned out by the sound of the door being blown off its hinges not even seconds later.

I latch onto Bruce's lapels as we free-fall through the air and I begin to slow our dangerous descent down, but one of Bruce's elbows accidentally catches me in the cheek. Yelping as the limb makes contact, I momentarily lose control and we go spinning towards the side of the building instead. Gasping, I jerk us to the side, causing us to flail safely through an open window three floors below us, where we land in a heap on the floor.

Immediately rolling away from Bruce and clutching my throbbing cheek, I am dimly aware of his apologising profoundly next to me before the sound of a woman gasping cuts through our chaotic mess.

Everything comes to a brief standstill, with Bruce and I freezing where we lay on the floor, eyes wide and locked with one another. As a torrent of Portuguese fills the air, we simultaneously tilt our heads up to see a young woman standing above us, her thick, dark hair hanging damply at the back of her neck and dressed in nothing but a towel. Drops of water trickle down the arms and legs of her bronze skin and collect in a puddle beneath her feet, but she pays it no attention and only continues to ramble, speaking too quickly for me to understand what she is saying.

Bruce softly calls her name – how he knows her I'm not sure – before lurching upwards and clasping a hand over her mouth, whispering urgently to her under his breath. It takes a moment for her to settle, but she eventually nods, the action prompting Bruce to slowly remove his hand from her mouth. Letting out a breath and momentarily forgetting about my cheek, I pull myself to my feet.

Gunfire suddenly fills the night air around us and the three of us flinch, knowing exactly where it is coming from. Men yell among themselves until everything suddenly falls quiet, and I find myself holding my breath as I hear a particular voice call out, "Target is on the ground!"

"Can you fly us out of here?" Bruce whispers.

"Too noticeable. They'll likely have eyes everywhere, and we'd stick out like sore thumbs; it would be easy for them to track us. We go on foot for now, and once we're out of the city I'll do it."

He chews at his bottom lip, clearly not liking the idea of going on foot at all. But with it being the only option we have right now, he doesn't argue and only gives a firm nod of his head before turning to the confused woman still standing beside us. "Obrigado," he breathes, bending down to plant a quick peck on her cheek before walking over to the door.

Hot on his heels, I push my way past him and motion for him to stay back, before turning the knob and pulling the door open just a crack, my blue orbs watching as a group of soldiers descend the same steps I had clambered up earlier to reach Bruce's house, before taking off down the street.

"They're heading east," I whisper, throwing the hood of my jacket over my head. "We'll start heading west and slowly make our way up North once we've put some distance between us. You ready?"

"Sure," he mutters, mimicking my actions and pulling his own hood over his head. Satisfied, I push the door fully open and jump back as something big and brown brushes past my legs. I raise my fist, ready for a fight, but there is no need. It takes my brain a few seconds to realise that Buddy has made his way down from Bruce's apartment and made his way into this one, and I lower my fist at the realisation but don't immediately relax; the looming threat of the soldiers running rampant in Rocinha still hangs over us like a dark storm cloud.

"Por favor, cuide dele," Bruce pleads with the woman, before giving Buddy one last final scratch behind his ears. And then, without another word, we hurry out into the dark streets of Rocinha, leaving Bruce's friend, dog and temporary home behind.

For fifteen minutes we jog silently through the still-busy streets, dodging people and small motorbikes as we go. I let Bruce lead the way due to being unfamiliar with this side of the city, while also trying to keep an eye out for any soldiers, knowing perfectly well that there is every chance that they might have doubled back. My eyes dart from face to face, relief flooding me like a tidal wave when only civilian faces greet me in return, and I find it easier to breathe. I know that it's not me that the soldiers are after, but anxiety still bubbles beneath my surface at the thought of Bruce being captured. I've only known the kind and reserved man for a few hours, but the thought of him being taken and strapped down somewhere makes me feel physically sick to my stomach. After everything that he has been through over the past few years, he doesn't deserve that kind of ending.

So focused on my task, I react immediately to the sound of something smashing behind me. Whirling around and feeling the familiar crack of electricity in my hand, I am relieved to see that the noise has just been someone knocking over a crate of Coke bottles across the street. Sighing, I go to continue moving forward, but I find myself crashing into a still and rigid Bruce, who makes a startled noise and stumbles forward slightly.

I immediately kill the electricity in my hand. "Why'd you stop?"

"Because they found us," Bruce replies, voice full of terror and face pale with grief.

My eyes widen as they follow his terrified gaze to see a middle-aged, built and blonde soldier staring at the two of us further down the street, and slowly raising the gun in his hand.

"Run!" I order, and Bruce doesn't need telling twice. Before the soldier even has time to react, the two of us turn to the left and begin to run as fast as we can down the steep slope of the street, the soldier and his friends yelling and following right behind us.

We are forced to run single file down the narrow streets, with Bruce once again leading the way. Occasionally, I have to fling my hands forward and create huge gusts of wind strong enough to quickly move people ahead of us out of our path or knock crates to the side, not wanting to be slowed down. Quick glances over my shoulder every now and again inform me that the soldiers were managing to keep up with us, though they weren't close to catching up to us quite yet. Still, not wanting to risk it anytime soon, I fling my arm back and watch as multiple crates fly over the top of our heads and make a thick and tall barrier in the street behind us. It wouldn't stop them permanently but it would at the very least slow them down.

We turn down another street that is wider than the last, and people manage to see Bruce and I coming and jump out of our way before I even think of using my powers. They gasp with surprise and shoot the two of us confused looks, but I pay them little to no mind and instead focus on my breathing and the ground beneath my feet –

My body slams into something hard and I go flying through the air, hearing a pained grunt from beside me as I hit the ground hard and fast. I swear as the rough cobblestones dig into my side, but I push the pain down and glance through my messy locks to see that the thing that I had run into was a person. Or a man, to be more specific.

Rolling onto my stomach, I can't contain a groan as pain flares up my arm from where I had awkwardly smacked it against the ground, and I watch as the man turns and looks up at me through his own dark locks, a harsh glare on his face. Though threatening, the glare does little to intimidate me as I suddenly find myself captivated by the man's shining, blue eyes.

Strands of his shoulder-length dark hair fall from the loose bun at the base of his neck and he reaches up to push them out of his face. I swear I catch a flash of metal with the action. "Watch where you're going," he snaps in English, starting to push himself off the ground.

"Sorry!" I exclaim. Letting out one last final groan, I mirror his actions and move forward to offer my help, when the blonde soldier from before turns round the corner further up the street. My mouth parts in horror, something that doesn't go unnoticed by the man whose anger fades and is replaced with curiosity. Knowing that the soldier is just seconds away from catching up to me, I shoot the man one last apologetic glance before turning and taking off in a sprint once more.

Panic starts to eat its way through me with Bruce no longer in my sight, but I silently reprimand myself and try to stay calm. I was only down for a minute – he couldn't have gotten that far. With my arms pumping by my side as I fly down the street, I once again send a wave of crates and boxes backwards and into the unsuspecting soldier behind me. The cry of surprise that echoes throughout the street informs me that he hadn't managed to dodge them in time.

As I round yet another corner, I spot Bruce halfway up the street and quickly catch up to him. Heavy pants fall from his lips as he runs.

"How – how far – away – are – they?" He wheezes.

"Not far enough! Just keep going!"

We spin around another corner and find ourselves on a roof of a house, and are met with rows of clotheslines with colourful sheets hanging from them. The two of us push through them frantically, Bruce's hood getting caught in the commotion of it all and easily making him more recognisable if we ran into any more soldiers on the way. I turn to yell at him to put it back on –

My foot meets empty air, and a scream tears from my throat as I plummet towards the street below.

Instinctively, I reach out and grab the flailing Bruce beside me and channel energy beneath my feet, causing us to surge upwards towards the roof of the house across the gap we had so carelessly missed. My stomach continues to sickeningly plummet to my feet until we are back on secure ground once more, and I let out a gasp of relief at the feeling of stability. Bruce opens his mouth, possibly to either thank me or let out a gasp of his own, but it never comes. A scream from behind us rings through the air, and we turn just in time to see a soldier falling straight through the very same gap we had fallen through moments before, his screams turning into shrieks as he lands with a heavy crash and sickening crack on the ground below.

"C'mon!" I yell, tugging Bruce by his hand and spinning him around to resume running once again.

Roof along roof we leap and run, trying to tread as lightly as possible so we don't fall through the rickety tin and land in the rooms below. A quick glance over my shoulder informs me that yet another soldier is chasing after us –

"Jump!"

Bruce's warning catches me just in time, and I manage to lift my legs to safely hurdle jump over the edge of a small balcony. Another large gap between rooftops looms in front of us and at the sight, I once again grab Bruce by the back of his hoodie, and propel us off the ground, the two of us soaring gracefully through the air. Our landing is softer than our first, and I feel a sense of relief in knowing that this gap is far too big for the soldier to jump across; trying would be suicide.

Sure enough, the soldier comes to a screeching halt at the edge of the building, his face twisted in a harsh glare. In a flash, he draws his gun and aims it directly at us. Bruce cries out but I reach up and shove him safely to the side just as the soldier pulls the trigger.

A click of my finger. That's all it takes for an invisible wall of impenetrable air to form in front of me in a fraction of a second, causing the tranquillizer dart fired my way to bounce harmlessly off it and land with a gentle click on the ground in front of my feet. Bruce inhales sharply with surprise, and the soldier on the other roof stares at me with confusion and disbelief streaked across his features, but I pay him no attention. Barley giving him a second glance, I turn on my heel and run past Bruce, calling for him to keep up.

After running for several minutes without any other encounters with the soldiers, Bruce and I stumble into a packed and crowded square. Bruce, absolutely exhausted, half collapses against a large crate of fizzy drinks, his chest heaving up and down with the exertion of trying to sufficiently supply his likely burning lungs with the oxygen they desperately need. I'm seconds away from asking him if he's alright when I hear something beeping like crazy. When Bruce raises his wrist to his face and I see the small watch wrapped around it, I realise that it is a monitor of sorts – likely to help him keep track of his heart rate.

And it's going off like crazy. Which means –

"Now I turn into this – this thing, whenever I get angry or my pulse reaches up to two hundred beats per minute."

Shit.

"No! N – not here!" Bruce exclaims, borderline hyperventilating as he struggles to catch his breath.

"Breathe," I encourage, voice soothing and relaxed despite how my nerves are suddenly buzzing like livewire. In no way, shape or form did I want to encounter the other guy here in this square filled with dozens of other people. It would be like a being stuck in a pen with a raging bull and, quite frankly, after witnessing the accident in the lab, I don't want to meet the other guy at all.

"Put your hands on your head and breathe," I encourage, slowing and deepening my own breathing in the hopes that he will be able to match it. He doesn't disappoint. "That's it – in and out, Doctor. You're doing great. Just in, hold and out."

We continue this slow, and gentle cycle until the beeping around his wrist starts to slow down, and he is able to suck in air with a much greater ease. Eventually, his shoulders heave up and down at a normal pace, and he is able to lower his hands to his sides, his face tinged pink. Letting out one last final breath, he apologises. "That – that could have ended badly."

"But it didn't. And that's what's important."

Bruce says nothing, possibly disregarding my words altogether though I take no offence. With the life that he has been forced to live in the past few years, a more pessimistic and bleaker outlook on things has taken hold of him, and he probably doesn't give himself enough credit where deserved. The other guy may have been only seconds away from emerging from the frantic scientist, but Bruce had managed to take control back before anything could happen; it was still a win.

"Alright," I breathe, running a hand through my loose waves. "OK. So, there's at least six of them after us – at least, six that we've seen. No sign of Ross – that's good, right? That he hasn't shown up yet?"

"Doesn't mean that he won't."

"Then we keep moving. We stick with our plan, and as soon as we lose them, I'll fly us out of the city."

Bruce starts to nod his head but suddenly pauses, his eyes not meeting my stare. "How … how did you know that they were in the city in the first place?" He asks lowly.

"My boss tipped me off – he somehow found out. I'm not sure how."

"Found out?" Bruce asks, an edge to his tone that hadn't been there moments before. It causes my brows to furrow in confusion, and I tilt my head questioningly as he finally drags his gaze from the cobblestone street to look at me with something dark lining the features of his face; a bitterness that is strong enough to make me step back.

"Or lead them straight to here?" He seethes, and I swear that I can detect a hint of green in his eyes.

I step back, and my heart sinks as I realise what it is that he is accusing me of. Even worse, that there might actually be some truth to his words. All that digging around and asking questions, tracing leads and unearthing buried secrets from the past … there is every chance that Fury's interest in Bruce and my search for him has alerted Ross. All he would have to do is wait for one – or both – of us to lead him straight to his intended target. And if that were really the case, then I had inadvertently brought the soldiers knocking on Bruce's door.

There was every chance they were here because of me.

They have found Bruce, because of me.

Swallowing thickly and raising my hands out in a silent offering, I reason, "We don't have time to sit here and try to figure out what went wrong; they could be here any second. Just let me get you out of the city – "

The rest of my words die in the back of my throat as a figure dressed head to toe in black comes tearing around the corner. It takes a moment for my brain to register the gun in his hand, and the blonde hair falling in his worn face.

The soldier.

Crap.

"Move!"

The gun is fired as soon as we make a break, and a small whizzing noise next to my ear alerts me to the fact that I just narrowly got missed by a tranquiliser dart. Not bothering to look back, I follow Bruce down the curve of the street when he suddenly stumbles in place. I turn to see what he's looking at and my heart lurches at the sight of none other than Thaddeus Ross, white hair, moustache and all stepping out of the back of a green van, a smirk on his face as he stares at the horrified Bruce before him.

I shift, and Ross' eyes flicker to my tense figure beside Bruce and I watch as they narrow in suspicion. Before I have time to question what this means, Bruce snaps out of his stunned stupor and takes off down a dark street so thin that the van can't manoeuvre through, leaving me to follow closely behind.

We leap downstairs and rush through alleys like mice trying to work their way through a maze until we break out into a packed street. Seizing the opportunity to sort out our bearings, we weave into the dense crowd trying our best to blend in and simultaneously keep our eyes peeled for any signs of Ross or the soldier.

A small thump to my left grabs my attention, and I immediately turn to see Bruce standing above a small, bald man who has started to scream at him in his natural Portuguese tongue. Bruce winces at the venom dripping from the words and retreats back as three other men come to flank the smaller one pulling himself to his feet.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Bruce mutters.

"Friends of yours?"

"Hardly."

The first man rushes forward, fist raised and already swinging as he aims it at Bruce who surprisingly ducks under the onslaught with ease. Leaping into action, I grab the guy by the collar of his bold shirt and fling him sideways through the air while sidestepping the punch aimed at my head from his friend. I grab the hand and twist it, causing him to curl inwards on himself and yell. With my free hand, I deliver a harsh and quick throat jab to his jugular, before sweeping down in a circle and kicking his legs out from underneath him. He moans as his back hits the ground hard, but I pay him no attention as I spot the group of soldiers entering the street from the same alley Bruce and I had emerged from moments before.

This is getting out of hand. We can't run forever – sooner or later we are going to have to deal with these soldiers. And judging by how quickly they are making their way towards us, I have a feeling that it is going to be sooner.

Like, right now.

I rip my bag from my shoulders and all but shove it into Bruce's chest, an angry snarl curling my lip. "Take this and go. I'll deal with them."

"I don't think – "

"Meet me at the bottle factory – the one you work at." When he hesitates, I snap, "Don't argue with me, just go!"

Reluctantly, he complies.

I watch him until he disappears from sight, before turning my attention to the small band of soldiers. To my delight, they've separated into small groups as they look through shop windows for any sign of Bruce and I, earning a few quizzical stares here and there from a number of civilians. Perfect. Smaller groups will make it easier to take them out. With my heart racing with adrenaline and the blood now pumping excitedly through my veins, I make a move towards the first soldier who made the stupid mistake of going alone.

I use my arm to knock the gun from a now shocked soldier, who can only blink stupidly at me, too late to react. I leap through the air and wrap my legs around his neck before flinging myself backwards, pulling him with me. I loosen my grip as we fall and gracefully land upright, leaving him to tumble forward and land in a heap on his back. Clicking my fingers, I allow electricity to crack and pulsate in my hands before I reach down and grab his shoulders, shocking him to the point that he passes out.

Great. One down, only five more to go.

The next two soldiers see me coming and one manages to fire a show my way. I easily dodge the dart before reaching out and dragging it back with the wind, flinging it hard and fast until it buries into the side of the neck of the soldier who had fired in the first place. He drops to the ground like dead weight, informing me that whatever it is that is in these darts is strong enough to knock someone out on impact. Jesus.

By now, we have an audience of civilians circled around us, some gasping and screaming, holding their phones and cameras high in the air. No one gets in between myself and the next wave of soldiers, leaving me to deal with them myself.

Another soldier – having clearly picked up that his gun is useless against me – swings it towards my face. I lean forward and wrench it out of his grasp, ignoring the sharp pain that flares up my wrists at the sudden impact. Tossing it to the side, I block the high punch sent my way and retaliate with my own, which he also blocks. With his torso left unguarded, I jerk my knee up into his groin, and then again in his face as he kneels over. Pulling my arms free, I turn on the spot and catch my foot against the side of his face, knocking him out instantaneously.

I rush to meet the next two halfway, moving towards the one who stops to aim his un my way, I reach forward and grab it by the barrel before pulling it to the side, and promptly delivering a swift kick to his shin. Wrapping my leg around his, I tug his out from underneath him and leap back as he falls to the ground. With my hands still wrapped around the gun I go down with him, loosening my hold as I go.

I fly over the top of him and roll until I am standing up. The other soldier manages to catch me by surprise and lands three quick hits to my gut, strong enough to knock the air from my lungs. I sputter and heave, a sharp and stabbing pain flaring where he made contact, but force myself to push the pain aside. If I stop now, then there's no waking away from this.

C'mon Lydia. C'mon!

He wraps his arms around me, entrapping me in his tight grip. Thinking quickly, I allow fire to burn in my hands which happen to be pressed right against the soldier's thighs. A raw and almost animalistic screech tears from his throat and he immediately lets me go, his hands clutching at the scorched and blistered skin beneath the burnt holes in his combat gear. I can't help but wince with guilt as the smell of burnt flesh invades my senses, but I only use the earth component of my powers to break and lift a small slab of cobblestone and dirt from the ground, watching as it briefly hovers in the air before smashing it into his face.

"Sorry," I mutter to his now unconscious form at my feet, before turning towards the newly recovered soldier from before. He raises a hand but already tired of this fight, I only give a flick of my wrist and catch him with the air. He squeaks – yes, squeaks – before I fling my hand to the side, watching as he consequently goes flying through the air and into the side of a building. Releasing my hold on him, I allow him to sink to the ground for a second time tonight. This time, he doesn't get back up.

"Impressive."

Whirling on the spot with raised fists, I come face to face with the blonde soldier that has been chasing after us relentlessly for the past half an hour; it appears my wind trick from earlier hadn't slowed him down as much as I hoped.

His hands flex by his side, but he doesn't move otherwise; he just stares.

"How did you do all of that? Who are you?"

It takes everything within me to bite back a smirk. "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare – "

"You think you're funny, don't you?"

"Eh," I shrug, returning to my normal dialect. "I have my moments."

"I'm only going to ask this one more time; who are you?"

"No one important."

"I beg to differ."

As quick as a snake, he strikes. He swings his arm out but at the last possible moment, I drop down and punch him hard in the side of his thigh. He jerks and grunts but recovers quickly. Before I can pull back, he grabs my face with both of his hands and holds it in place, before lurching his knee up into my nose.

There's a sickening crack and an explosion of pain, before something hot and sticky dribbles down my face. Black dots dance here and there in my vision, and tears form in my eyes as I drop back to the ground. My hand instantly reaches up to clutch at my throbbing nose, but I am forced to roll out of the way to avoid being stomped on by the soldier, not knowing whether it is broken or not.

I snap my palms his way and watch as a strong gust of wind sends him flying across the street, putting enough distance between us so that I can properly recover. My hands gently prod at my tender nose, and I am immensely relieved to find that it is straight and not crooked – not broken, thank God.

Still hurts like absolute hell though. Asshole.

With a surge of newfound anger and determination, I spit out the blood that has managed to leak into my mouth and stagger upright, my eyes narrowed into angry slits as the soldier runs back towards me. He immediately tries to land a hit but I dodge his outstretched arm just in time and grab him by the arm to swing him away from me. He stumbles and I use this to my advantage to deliver a hard kick to his lower back, sending him sprawling to his knees. Not allowing him any time to recover, I march forward and grab a fist full of his hair and wrench his hand back, drawing back my arm before slamming a clenched fist into his face.

Once. Twice. A third time. He catches my wrist when I attempt a fourth and twists it, causing me to fall with it and consequently loosen my grip on his hair. He backhands me across the face and it's only my quick thinking of turning my head to the side that he lands on my cheek and not my already damaged nose. I spin back out of his grasp, hands flailing as I recover my balance. He aims a kick and I step to the side. He aims another and I am able to both dodge and knock the one he is left standing with my own – he crashes to the ground, and I stand over the top of him, keeping him pinned there with an invisible air barrier, not knowing how much more I can take.

He struggles and screams, trying with all of his might to break free from the invisible hold that proves too strong for him, and I watch, waiting until he stills and sends a harsh glare my way, blood tricking from a cut on his head.

"Are you controlling the air?" He demands, voice incredulous.

"No offence, but would you just shut up with all the questions?" I snap, before reaching down to electrify him, only removing my hands when the spasms die down and he lays still. Standing back, I raise an arm to wipe away the blood still trailing from my nose and suck in a deep, and long breath. Shaking my head, I take off in the direction that Bruce had, leaving the mess of soldiers behind me.