The Seventh Avenger (The Rewrite)

by Lilith1717

Lydia Hathaway never asked to be kidnapped by an unknown organisation. She also never asked to be experimented on and granted elemental abilities before she was finally rescued. After a year of torment and pain, Lydia returns home and tries to return back into her old life. But it seems that Nick Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D have other plans for her.

5. Chapter 4: Hulk Out

The combined sounds of an angry voice cursing and shouting in a thick, Portuguese dialect and multiple feet clanging against metal echoing throughout the bottle factory that I had come to earlier in the day suggests that Bruce isn't the only person that is waiting for me in here. It's unlikely that the workers would be here – it's far too late in the evening for that – and considering the fact that I had left the soldiers a bruised and slightly bloody unconscious mess back out in the street, I doubt that they were responsible for all the ruckus either. That left this mystery third party unknown, and I tread both carefully and as silently as a cat as I make my way through the front entrance, alert and ready for anything.

There's no sign of Bruce anywhere at the front entrance of the factory, but the continued bangs and shouts flowing from deeper into the factory inform me that he is definitely here. The closer I stalk towards the sounds, the easier it is for me to discern that there are at least three separate voices calling out to one another, and a curse falls from my lips once I recognise who they belong to; the three men that had attacked Bruce back in the square. They must have recovered quickly and followed after Bruce while I had been busy dealing with the persistent soldiers.

And, judging from the anger dripping from their tones, they were more than ready for round two.

Damn it.

I click my fingers, feeling the familiar buzz of electricity sparking between my fingers, before I hurry along, my step quicker than it had been before.

Much like the entrance to the factory, the locker room was also deserted with no sign of Bruce or the men anywhere. I weave past lockers and small benches as I make my way to the door on the other side of the room, believing it would lead me to more of the factory. But when I reach down to twist the handle and pull the door back, it doesn't budge. Huffing in frustration, I step back from the door before lifting my leg and snapping it forward with as much power as necessary. It flies open with a creak and a bang, bits of wood flying everywhere as the now broken handle swings back and forth, hanging on to the ruined door by a thread.

Barely giving it a second thought as I lower my foot to the ground, I push forward and find myself standing on what appears to be the first floor of the working space. Machines of all shapes and sizes fill most of the ground base with some of them filled to the brim with rows of empty glass bottles, waiting to be filled with fizzy drinks. Metal walkways hang in the air above my head and there is almost a metallic taste in the air, the stench of oil and rust overpowering my senses as I breathe evenly through my nose. The lights flicker and threaten to give out completely, but are bright enough to help guide me through the machines without accidentally walking straight into one.

My pace is slow and my steps are cautious, the electricity still humming and cracking in my hands as I walk, adding an extra charge to the adrenaline already pumping through my veins. My feet barely make a sound against the concrete, making it impossible to miss the sound of a gleeful laugh and a loud crash from somewhere above me. Halting in my tracks, I crane my head back and am met with the sight of the men from the square taunting and jeering at a frantic Bruce who is curled up in a small ball on the ground between them.

As if sensing my gaze, the former scientist turns his head down towards me and my stomach lurches at the sight of a green tint to his face. Only then do I register the frenzied beeping of his watch, and my own heartbeat quickens to match it as I realise what it is that's about to happen.

"Bruce!"

"Lydia, get out of here! I can't – !"

He cuts off with a groan, the small bald man delivering a hard blow to Bruce's stomach with his foot once and then again, causing Bruce to curl even more protectively on himself.

An angry snarl works its way up my throat and I bend my knees, all prepared to jump and fly up there myself and give the bald man a taste of his own medicine, but my feet never leave the ground. Instead, I find myself freezing on the spot when one of the other two men that had been hovering above Bruce suddenly drops to the ground like dead weight, heavy and still and likely unconscious.

My eyes narrow at the confusing sight and I once again move to fly up there but have yet another change of plans when I feel the air currents shift behind me, something small and fast whizzing through the air towards me. At the last possible seconds, I whirl around and raise my hands up with my fingers splayed to create an invisible air barrier in front of me. To my surprise – and horror – a tranquiliser dart bounces off the invisible wall and lands on the ground with a gentle clatter.

They're here.

Glancing up just in time to see the soldier responsible for firing the dart move back from one of the many windows of the factory, my stomach plummets to my feet when I fail to recognise him; he hadn't been one that I had dealt with in the square. There are more of them than we had originally thought.

"Bruce! They're here!" I scream, already turning on my heels, every instinct in my body screaming to take Bruce and run. "We have to – !"

But a deafening and ferocious roar cuts me off before I can finish my warning, leaving me to cover my ears with my hands. Grimacing, I crane my head back to cast my gaze back to the landing, expecting to see Bruce still curled up on the ground before the other two men.

Instead, the towering, frightening green Other Guy stands in his place.

He's even bigger than I had imagined, easily towering over the once gleeful but now terrified bullies in front of him, the large muscle on his chest and arms giving him a bulky figure that easily tears the red hoodie Bruce had been wearing in two. His pants remain ( though ripped in some places ) and his legs have turned as thick as tree trunks. His hands are clenched into angry fists by his side, and I can tell from him that they can easily wrap around a human torso if they desire. Veins stretch and almost threaten to pop free beneath his taut, chartreuse green skin, which matches the colour and intensity of his feral eyes. The only thing that reminds me that it is Bruce inside is the mop of dark hair that messily sits on the Other Guy's head, thick and as black as midnight even in this form.

I can't help but shake where I stand, my knees as wobbly as jelly, eyeing the bared teeth of the creature before me. Compared to the footage, the Other Guy is even more horrifying than I had imagined.

Before I can even think of moving, the Other Guy suddenly lurches forward and wraps a hand around the bald man, who lets out a squeal of terror as he is crushed in the tight grip. As quick as lightning – and paying no attention to the man's cries of pain – the Other Guy throws him hard and fast through the air until the man crashes through an office window and bursts through the opposite wall, landing in a heap on the ground.

And he doesn't get back up again.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, feeling bile rise in the back of my throat. I think I'm going to be sick.

The last man flinches and takes off towards the stairs, not sparing a second glance at his fallen friend. I half expect the Other Guy to reach out after him, but he only lets out yet another deafening roar, before jumping high in the air from the second floor, arms raised in the air as he soars back down, down, down –

Directly in front of me.

The ground shakes with the impact of his landing, almost enough to knock me off my feet. A muffled shriek bursts from my lips but is muffled by the hand still pressed across my mouth, and I stumble back, my free arm flailing out to the side blindly as if looking for something to ground me back to reality, because surely this – this creature in front of me was just a figment of my imagination. It couldn't be real – it couldn't.

That's what my brain tries to fool me into believing, anyway. It's an entirely different experience seeing the Other Guy up close and personal without the barrier of a computer screen separating the past from the present. Even though I had seen this being obliterate almost everything in its path during a murderous rage, I had been a safe observer on the other side of the screen.

But watching the way that the Other Guy – Bruce, slowly pulls himself upright with bared teeth and low growls emitting from the back of his throat, I have never in my life felt more vulnerable.

Every fibre of my being is screaming for me to either turn and run or lift my arms up to defend myself, adrenaline pumping through my veins and preparing me for either flight or fight, but I find it within myself to hold my ground, reasoning that he hasn't made a move – yet. Being the first to break away from this tense spell might have disastrous consequences; I need to let him realise that I am not a threat first. If he so much as makes a move to attack, then I will be ready to defend myself, but I would much rather avoid a fight if I can.

The Other Guy narrows his eyes into slits and leans forward, causing me to instinctively lean back and suck in a sharp, nervous breath. This doesn't go unnoticed by him and to my utter surprise, he slowly rears back (though not doing so without a warning snarl that is). My nails dig into the soft and sensitive flesh of my palms as I fight the urge to do something, my heart thumping painfully against my chest as the blood rushes in my ears –

The Other Guy roars so loud and suddenly that I shriek and jump back, electricity cracking in the palms of my hands. But it seems that I have nothing to worry about, as he has seemingly lost all interest in me. Looking at something beyond my shoulder, he leaps over the top of me and lands on the other side with an earth-shaking thump before tearing off deeper into the factory, smashing machinery and equipment as he goes.

"Bruce, stop!"

My desperate plea of a scream falls only on deaf ears, however, and is easily lost in the sound of multiple feet clanging against the metal stairs of the walkway above me. With a start, I realise that the soldiers have made their way into the factory and are chasing after the rogue being. Knowing that they didn't stand a chance against him, I take off after them.

The chaos that follows is nothing but a blur of screams, crashes and the Other Guy bellowing out at the top of his lungs, machinery smashing into one another with heavy thuds and earth-shattering crashes that bounce off the factory walls. The soldiers scream at one another, but whatever orders are given are easily lost in all the other sounds, making it impossible for me to be able to predict their next moves. Still, I press on, following the yells and the path of broken machinery, blood rushing in my ears with the adrenaline.

Ear-splitting screeches suddenly erupt from above me, and I come to a screeching halt in my tracks and crane my neck back just in time to see two figures – soldiers – flying as useless as a ragdoll above me. Instinctively, I turn and thrust my hands in their direction, taking hold of the air to slow their deathly descent and lower them to the ground at a speed that will only give them small cuts and bruises. Their screams turn into panicked whimpers, but I don't stop to assure them that everything is OK.

"We got a bogey of some kind!" One soldier manages to screech over the top of all the chaos, reverting my attention back to the problem at hand. Upon hearing the deafening gunfire that soon follows, I wave my hands in front of me to create a barrier of pure air in the hopes of protecting myself from any bullets that may stray from their intended target; better to be safe than sorry.

I skid around the corner and discover that the next row of machines has all been knocked to the side, creating a larger and wider path for me to trail down. Most of the machines – tanks of some sort – have been damaged and emit foul-smelling smoke through the damaged cracks. It's potent enough to cause me to gag. Lifting the collar of my shirt up to cover the lower half of my face to try and prevent myself from vomiting, I press onward and soon stumble upon a soldier leaning motionless against one of the damaged machines. The slight rise and fall of his chest is the only indication that he is alive.

My heart drops to my stomach as I drop to my knees and raise two fingers to press lightly at his neck, searching for a pulse. A tidal wave of relief washes over me when I can feel it steadily thrumming beneath my fingers, informing me that while likely hurt, he is alive, Not wanting to leave him out here in the middle of the open where there is every chance that he could be caught in the crossfire of the Other Guy dealing with the soldiers, I straighten up and reach down to grab him under the arms. With great difficulty I manage to drag him backwards and towards a restroom that I had passed on the way, small grunts of exertion slipping past my lips before I can stop them.

When I step back out onto the factory's main floor, my blue orbs are flooded with light as the machinery suddenly switches on, the crashing and clanking intensifying. Bottles slam against one another and fall to the ground with a smash where they shatter on impact, and certain pieces of machinery whir to life and blare out ear-splitting alarms, flashes of red illuminating everything within sight. My skull throbs as the new noises cause sharp flares of pain to ignite within my head, and I resist the very strong urge to wrap my arms protectively around my head and curl up in a small ball on the spot to try and block out the barrage of noises. I've got a job to do – I intend to finish it.

So, pushing through the pain with a tiny wince, I only press on and turn around a corner of machinery, only to come to a screeching halt at the sight of a gun being pointed at the space between my suddenly wide eyes.

Instinctively, I raise my hands up in a silent surrender, watching as the very shocked soldier before me recoils back at the sight. Lowering his weapon – thank God – he raises a hand to cup around the corner of his mouth, doing his best to scream over the top of the alarms, "Ma'am! I am going to need you to exit the building! This is military business! You shouldn't be here – "

"Neither should you unless you want to die!" I screech back, causing him to cut off and blink owlishly with surprise. Using his stunned stupor to my advantage, I reach up in a flash and grasp at his shoulders, sending an electric volt through his body. Not strong enough to kill him, but to knock him out instead. He convulses and groans before slumping forward and into my ready arms before I once again start to drag him away from the machinery and into the restroom. Once he's safely secured along with his still unconscious friend, I bolt right out and take off in a sprint, hoping that whatever direction I am running in will lead me to Bruce.

Right. Right. Left. Right. Down some stairs. More rows. More machinery. C'mon, Lydia, c'mon –

"There he is! Shoot him!"

I scream at the sudden outburst of gunfire mere meters away from where I come to an abrupt halt, and if it wasn't for the air barrier still surrounding my form, I would have immediately ducked for cover. Instead, I slip past two filter tanks and break out into a walkway directly behind two soldiers, pointlessly firing their weapons at a very pissed-off-looking Other Guy growling at the other end of the makeshift corridor.

And when I say pissed, I mean pissed.

He lets out a roar that shocks me to my core as the bullets harmlessly bounce off his tough, green skin before suddenly turning around and breaking into a sprint, leaving the two soldiers to fire their bullets after him. When he disappears behind some tanks, they move off after him splitting up so that they can corner him from both ends.

Lowering my hands from my ears, I follow the two, moving as silently as a cat behind them – they are completely oblivious that I am trailing behind them, sticking to the shadows and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. The sounds of boots clanging against metal above me catch my attention, and I tilt my head up to see yet another group of soldiers have joined the fray, led by none other than the blonde one that had been asking me questions back in the square during our scuffle. Fully recovered, he moves with precision and determination, eyes fixed on something further in the factory with a hungry glint in his eye; most likely, he's staring at Bruce.

"Grenade!"

I snap my head forward at the warning call just in time to see one of the two soldiers in front of me toss the small yet dangerous object towards the towering figure in the distance. As expected, the explosion that rocks the building does nothing to the Other Guy except cause a bright light to flash in front of him, illuminating his terrifying silhouette. The soldiers yell in surprise and jump back, likely having not seen how big their intended target is with the lack of constant light in the factory.

Fumbling with their weapons as they desperately try to reload them, the two men barely have enough time to glance up and scream as the furious Other Guy sends a massive piece of machinery their way.

In a flash, I raise my arms and fling my hands forward towards the two soldiers, catching them with the wind and sending them up high into the air away from the incoming machinery that would have easily crushed them where they stood. Still in its path myself, however, I bend my knees and push off from the ground, soaring up through the air and then hovering at their same level, their scared whimpers as they flail about like ragdolls echoing in my ears. Paying them no attention, I only watch as the machinery passes underneath us and comes to a crashing halt at the end of the makeshift aisle where I had come from moments before, smashing into another machine with a bone-shattering crash.

With the immediate threat having passed with the Other Guy already turning around and walking in the other direction, I lower my hands and watch as the two soldiers consequently descend back down to the floor at a gentle pace, my own form following suit behind them. I land with bent knees as the soldiers lay on their backs before releasing my hold on them and following the Other Guy once more.

I keep my distance and hang back from him a bit, not wanting to suddenly startle him and make myself a new target for him to throw things at. I keep my hands up and raised, ready for anything, when a spray of bullets suddenly flies down from above and hits him in the back. Looking up and seeing that it is the blonde soldier targeting the Other Guy, face scrunched up with concentration, I let out a breathless huff of frustration before once again pushing off the ground and flying up, swinging a leg out to knock the gun out from his hand and sending it flying somewhere behind him.

He swears and swings an arm out at me the moment that my feet touch the walkway, though I manage to duck and step back just in time, arms raised to block him if he decides to repeat the action. He aims for my stomach but doesn't hit it as I lower my forearm to block his hit before then using it to knock his hand back and out of the way. Using this new opening, I drive my knee harshly into his upper thigh, causing him to grunt and stumble. Allowing him no time to breathe, I rush forward and raise my leg to place my foot on the other thigh and use it to push up and send my knee into his chin, hard and fast. He howls as I twist around and land in a crouch, straightening up just in time for him to grab me by the shoulders. Before I can react, he lifts me into the air before slamming me back onto the walkway, yelping as pain sears up my left shoulder.

"Don't get up!" He hisses from above me before straightening up and moving after his gun on the walkway.

"Urgh! Not – bloody – likely," I seethe in struggling pants, pushing the pain in my shoulder down and rolling onto my stomach.

Pushing myself up, I see that the soldier has his gun raised and aimed directly at the Other Guy beneath him, but he doesn't shoot. He only stares, face pale and lips parted as the Other Guy bares his teeth at the soldier. Rooted in place, the unknown soldier slowly lowers his gun, almost as if he suddenly can't bring himself to shoot this creature in front of him, which is both fascinating and horrifying at the same time.

Seeing this as an advantage, with an angry roar, the Other Guy quickly reaches for the nearest piece of machinery beside him. Knowing full well who his new target is – and just how close I am to them – I push myself up fully and turn to run, not seeing him throw the machinery but hearing the blonde soldier let out a scream of horror.

There's a crash and I am immediately thrown off my feet as the walkway crumbles and breaks beneath my feet, heat from the explosion behind me licking at my back in a dangerous fashion. I freefall through the air, stomach plummeting towards my feet as the ground rushes closer and closer towards me, but it only takes my instincts a split second to kick in, and I wave my arms out to steady myself in the air. Snapping my palms to the side, I send myself soaring upwards away from the fire, the soldier (dead or alive, I don't know), the debris and white-hot metal, eyes searching for the elusive Other Guy below.

It doesn't take me long to find him. My eyes latch on to his hulking figure as sends yet another large piece of machinery towards the factory wall. It smashes through it with a crash, leaving a gap large enough for the Other Guy to rush out through, disappearing on the dark streets of Rocinha.

"Hell," I breathe, hands threading nervously through my hair at this unexpected predicament, as I left hovering in the air above the wreckage of the factory by myself. Clint had been right – it really hadn't taken long for things to turn sideways at all.

And I had promised him that if it did turn south, even in the smallest of ways, I would step back and call him to tell him what was going on. He would book the next flight to Rocinha when I tell him just how badly things have turned, begging me to stay put until he got there. That, or try and convince me that taking this assignment was a mistake and that I needed to come home.

But it wasn't just him now that I've made a promise to. It's Fury when I told him I would take this assignment, and it's Bruce. Bruce, whom I had promised that I would try to help in any way that I could. Bruce who has transformed into the Other Guy after having fought doing so for so long, who would wake up God knows where with no clue what has happened. Scared, guilty, and alone.

If it really was me that had led Ross here, then the least I can do is take off after him and be there for Bruce when he wakes up. I owe him that much.

Clint is going to absolutely murder me.

Cursing, I turn and fly as fast as I can, the machinery and walkways that remains becoming nothing but blurs as I speed past them, soon reaching the floor that Bruce had changed on. My feet land deftly on the ground, and it takes me all of two seconds to find my bag in the far corner of the ledge, likely tossed aside by the three idiots who had made the mistake of provoking Bruce in the first place. Bruce's bag is nowhere in sight, and the sound of multiple approaching footsteps heading my way prevents me from staying behind to search for it. Slinging my bag over my shoulders, I push up from the ground once more and make my way back to the other side of the factory, flying through the massive hole now on the side of the factory wall. I only land on the ground once more when I'm sure that there aren't any soldiers following me. Taking off in a sprint, I follow the path of crushed trees, frightened pedestrians and damaged business, hoping – and knowing – that it would lead me to Bruce in the end.

---

5 DAYS LATER

If I had known that I would be both hiking and flying from Brazil to Guatemala in just under a week, then I would have packed and worn more appropriate shoes.

South America is a place that I have always wanted to come visit, although trekking through the humid jungles in search of a massive green rage monster on the loose is definitely not how I had pictured my time spent here on this beautiful continent. Shrugging my backpack off my shoulders, I allow it to fall to the ground beside my feet with a heavy thud. It isn't long before I crouch down beside it, rummaging through it to find my water bottle and bring it to my lips, taking small sips as I turn to admire every corner of the green and lively jungle around me.

After the incident in the bottle factory three nights ago, I have been alternating between flying and walking through some of the many gorgeous countries that South America has to offer; Brazil; Columbia; Panama; Costa Rica and Honduras; before finally arriving in Guatemala late last night. All in the hope of finding a startled Bruce waiting for me at the end of this journey.

It hadn't taken me long to initially track down the big, looming, Other Guy after flying out of the factory after him. His green, hulking figure easily bled into the dark green shades of the jungle trees on the outskirts of Rocinha, but the gut-churning growls breaking from his chest and the way that the ground shook beneath the stomp of his feet certainly didn't. With no sign of him calming down anytime soon I had stayed back, opting to keep my distance instead of approaching the unpredictable figure and risking putting myself in his direct, angry path. It would be best if I waited for Bruce to remerge from within instead.

Only, I didn't think it would take almost four days.

That, and the Other Guy barely seems to rest. Hours upon hours he has kept on the move as if trying to put as much distance between himself and Rocinha as humanely possible. My much frailer and weaker human body was not capable of going so long without rest, so there have been times when I have forced myself to stop trailing after him once reaching the brink of exhaustion and find some hostel or motel to stay in for the night. Then early the next morning, my search for him would begin all over again.

Very much like it had today. Only this time, finding him has proven to be trickier.

Usually, the Other Guy would leave relatively obvious clues for me to find and pick up the trail – broken trees, large footprints – but I've barely found anything this morning. It makes me anxious and think that perhaps I should have woken earlier to try and find him. Because without any way for me to track him, there is no way in hell that I would be able to find him in this jungle, and my promise to help him and finish the mission would result only in failure.

Failure definitely isn't an option.

Sighing, I screw the lid back on the water bottle before shoving it back into my bag. Grunting, I straighten and hoist the bag onto my shoulders before taking off into the jungle once more.

The jungle is relatively quiet as I walk upon a little makeshift path, pushing back branches and weaving through trees, sweat dripping down the back of my neck like dew and my hair frizzy from the humidity. The urge to pull the water bottle back out and pour the contents over the top of my head is strong, but I resist it, knowing perfectly well that I need that water bottle to last. Birds chirp and flutter high above the trees, the sound of running water leading me to believe that there is a stream or waterfall of some sort nearby. A colourful bird swoops down to the ground a little further up the trail and immediately catches my attention, and I become so intrigued by it that I almost don't notice the human footprint imprinted in the mud right in front of me.

Almost.

Quickly crouching down beside it, I gently place two of my fingertips into the print to see whether or not it is fresh. To my utter relief, my hand sinks into the mud with ease, informing me that it is fresh; made recently too.

There would only be one other person out here in the middle of the jungle right now (besides myself, of course).

Bruce.

He's turned back.

I stand up and quicken my pace, eyes trained on nothing but the ground in front of me and searching for more prints. They stick out like a sore thumb and the more that I see, the more that I quicken my pace, trailing through the thick jungle tree trunks and tropical ferns, the sound of running water getting louder as I start to run. The trees disperse up ahead, the ground turns harder, the water gets louder, and I burst through the ferns –

Almost tripping over an unconscious Bruce lying in the middle of a clearing.

Yelping, I manage to leap through the air and over his body at the last possible second, stumbling slightly as my feet land back on the uneven ground. Once I've regained my footing, I turn back to see that Bruce is lying flat on his stomach, face pressed to the ground and shivering almost uncontrollably. His shoes and shirt are gone, and his grey pants are ripped in dozens of places, hanging limply from his body. Crouching down beside him, I place my hands on his shoulders and almost recoil back at the feeling of his freezing skin beneath my fingers. I give his body a gentle but urgent shake.

"Bruce. Bruce, it's me. It's Lydia."

A small groan and slight stir are his only response but otherwise, he remains entirely still.

"C'mon, Doctor. You've gotta get up now. We can't stay here – we're practically in the middle of nowhere, and I don't want you to die of hypothermia on me. So, get up."

Slowly, after a few more final coaxes and shakes, Bruce stirs once more and shifts on the ground before lifting his head up, eyes blinking slowly open. Dazed and groggy, he squints as he looks up at me. "Ly – Lydia?" He questions weakly.

"That's right, it's me. C'mon – we need to get you up."

He nods, pushing himself up to his hands and knees, steadying himself as he tries to get up. He gently places a hand on my shoulder which I offer him gladly, wrapping a hand around his arm to help try and lift him up. The other goes around his waist, not wanting him to fall unexpectedly and take me down with him. He mutters a small thank you, before he finally straightens, placing his shaking legs on the ground.

"Can you walk by yourself?"

"I think so. Just – I may need a minute. Just to – just to catch my breath."

"Take all the time you need."

For a few moments, the two of us stand there momentarily, silent and still, waiting for Bruce to catch his breath. Subtlety, I splay my hand against his side and allow my powers to spread through to the tips of my fingertips, regulating his body temperature and bringing it up once more. Only when he stops shivering do I cease the usage of my powers and give him the time to process his troubled thoughts likely running rampant through his mind.

After a while, a bitter, humourless laugh of disbelief falls from his lips. "One hundred and fifty-eight days. One hundred and fifty-eight days without any incident, without the Other Guy making an appearance. And now this happens."

"It wasn't your fault, Bruce. You were provoked unexpectedly, and it didn't help that the soldiers were in Rocinha either."

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. The last proper conversation we had had with one another during all of the chaos of escaping the soldiers was when he accused me of leading the soldiers straight to him. My words would likely remind him of this now. I don't want to believe that it is true, but it doesn't matter; Bruce does. And it's highly likely that he will still blame me for everything that happened. Without any solid proof, there isn't anything for me to help persuade him otherwise.

But it seems that this is the furthest thing from his mind right now. Staring at me, his eyes as wide as saucers, he questions, "We're – we're not in Rocinha?"

I bite my lip. "We're in Guatemala. We haven't been in Rocinha for almost five days now."

"Five days?!" When I nod my head to confirm, he turns away, threading his dirt-covered hands through his already tangled hair, tugging harshly at the ends. Shaking his head, he mutters, "I can't go on like this. I can't. I can't endanger anyone else. I need – I need –"

"You need a cure," I gently finish.

"Easier said than done."

"Well, I'm willing to stick around and help."

Bruce drops his hands back down to stare at me in surprise, likely not having expected that at all. After having been on the run for the past few years, forced to work alone and keep to himself, I wouldn't be surprised if this was one of the first instances where someone who knows about his condition is willing to help him. The very concept is probably very foreign to him, to say the least.

Yet, I mean every word. "Your associate – the one that you talk to online. He suggested a possible cure with the flower. Could he have another one for you to try?"

Bruce hesitates.

"Bruce," I implore.

He concedes with a sigh. "Two days before you found me, I sent a blood sample to him to see if he could use it to try and find a cure. He said he had something, but that he needed more data to be able to produce any concrete ideas."

"You sent him your blood?" I tug at my lip with my teeth. The idea of Bruce's blood being sent through the mail troubles me, to say the least. We already know that whatever Ross wants it for, it can't be good. What happens if it somehow ends up in even worse hands? The result would surely be chaotic – there's no telling of the extent of what could be done with Bruce's blood. Truthfully, I don't want to find out.

Bruce must be able to sense my concern, as he shrugs his shoulder. "I have no one else, and I haven't for the past few years. The amount I sent him was only small as well, but without the rest of the data, it's probably useless."

"Where's the rest of the data?"

"Back in Willowdale, Virginia."

"So we go and get it then."

"It's not that simple," Bruce says. "It's back in my lab at the university, on Betty's computer. I'm not going to be able to just walk through the front doors like nothing's happened. I wouldn't be surprised if Ross has people watching the place."

I grunt with annoyance – I seriously am starting to really hate Ross right now. Beginning to pace in front of Bruce with my hands on my hips, I say, "OK. OK, so we don't have a whole lot to go from. But I think that getting the data is probably our best bet."

"I told you, it –"

"Is in some lab that Ross may be watching, I know," I interject. "I know that it's not going to be easy, but without the data, you're stuck like this forever."

"… thanks for the reminder," Bruce darkly mutters.

"So, here's my suggestion. Do you have any friends in Willowdale that you can definitely trust?"

Bruce pauses monetarily, considering an answer to my question before he eventually gives a strong nod of his head. "Yes. There is."

"OK. So, we head to Willowdale and stay with this friend if they're willing to have us, and we figure out our next move in getting the data there. I doubt that we're gonna solve an answer to this solution here in the middle of the jungle."

A faraway look passes over Bruce's face, eyes glazing over as he gets lost in whatever memory-filled haze flashing behind his eyes at the mention of Willowdale, his home. Somewhere he hasn't been able to step foot in for God knows how long, forced to leave everything – and everyone he loves – behind. The very thought of returning home after all this time is probably a mixture of excitement and fear, pulling harshly at him like a game of tug of war.

I had been the same way after being rescued from the facility. The taste of freedom and the promise of getting my life back had been sweet enough to excite me to the core, but the underlying fear within had slowly poisoned that excitement from the inside out. I had been terrified that with my new abilities everyone I know and love would hate me. See me in a new light. Call me a monster. Not be able to recognise me underneath all the experiments and torture inflicted on me by the callous scientists in the facility. It had worn me out to the brink of exhaustion, so in a sense, I can relate to the conflict that is likely running rampant in Bruce right now.

It's best not to move, subject 2-0-7.

"You do realise that by helping me, you'll likely be putting yourself directly in Ross' path," Bruce warns, snapping me out of my thoughts. Glancing back at him, I find that he has returned to his semi-normal state, eyes focused but the corners of his mouth turned down into a troubled frown.

"There's every chance that you would be putting yourself into trouble that you might not be able to get out of."

Those two teeny, tiny sentences are enough to cause a wave of unease and hesitancy to flood through me. Fury had warned me that there was a chance that Ross would be interested in both me and my abilities if he were to find out about them. If he is so hellbent on capturing Bruce, then who's to say that he wouldn't want to take me as well if he were to find out just what I am capable of?

My hands involuntarily clench into fists by my side. Under no circumstances would I become someone else's lab rat again. Ever.

But I had made a promise to Bruce. And it is a promise that I intend to keep.

I shrug, hoping that it is enough to conceal my unease. "I get certain leeway as a SHIELD agent," I explain, which is true. As an agent of SHIELD, the organisation does provide me with some degree of freedom and protection from other governing bodies. If the government wishes to continue to use SHIELD's intelligence and resources, then it can't touch SHIELD's agents, unless in extreme circumstances. I just hope it would be enough to protect me from Ross if things turn south.

"I said I would help you, Bruce. And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

It takes a while for Bruce to respond – he is likely waiting for me to take the words back or burst into laughter, saying that there was no hope of helping him. But when I do nothing but stare at him with a determined glint in my hard eyes, he finally allows himself to realise that I was, in fact, being truthful.

"OK," he softly says. "We better get going then."

For the next half an hour we trek through the jungle from the way that we came, knowing that a small town that I had spent the night in would be waiting for us there, where would be able to work out a way to get back to the States. As we move, I fill Bruce in on what went down in the bottle factory and how we ended up in Guatemala. Bruce listens silently as I recount our tale, but it isn't until I'm finished that he almost silently asks, "I didn't – I didn't kill anyone, did I?"

The apprehension in his voice tugs painfully at my sympathetic heart. "No. You didn't."

"But I hurt people, didn't I?"

Knowing that there was no point lying to him (he already knew the answer to his question, he just wanted confirmation from me), I remain silent.

Anguish flickers across his drained features and he turns as white as paper. It makes me quickly insist, "Bruce, you shouldn't hold yourself accountable for what happened. It – it wasn't you. The Other Guy is like this whole other different person."

Bruce shakes his head. "Ross doesn't exactly see it like that."

"Ross is a power-hungry idiot who's too stubborn to realise what it is that he's trying to control," I snap as we finally break through the trees and ferns and begin to walk on a dirt road. My anger isn't directed at the man beside me but rather at the angry General who has gotten us into this mess in the first place. "So, in my mind, his opinion shouldn't – and doesn't – count in this situation."

Before Bruce has the chance to reply, a white truck turns down the corner, and the sight of it causes Bruce and I to jump up and wave our arms in the air, trying to get the driver's attention. The truck thankfully slows before coming to a halt altogether, and Bruce and I waste no time rushing towards it, peering through the wound-down window and staring at the confused man in the driver's seat.

"Você pode por favour ajundar-nos?" Bruce desperately asks in Portuguese. "Can you please help us?"

The man shoots Bruce a confused look before he replies, "Yo no hablo portugués."

"He doesn't speak Portuguese," I translate to a disappointed Bruce. "He's speaking Spanish."

"I – I don't speak it."

"Lucky for us, I can," I say, before turning back to the driver who is waiting patiently for one of us to speak to him. "Nos podria ayudar?"

"Voy a la siguiente ciudad. Puedo illevarte alli sit u quireres?"

"He's heading into town," I translate for Bruce. "He can take us there if we want."

"Gracias," Bruce replies, causing the man to smile and open the passenger door. I let Bruce climb in first, sitting between myself and the driver, the three of us bunched up shoulder to shoulder. The man shrugs his jacket off and places it around a grateful Bruce's shoulders, before putting the car into gear and driving forward once more.

"So you can speak Spanish and Portuguese?" Bruce asks me. When I nod, he asks, "Are there any others that you can speak?"

"French, Italian, a tiny bit of Greek and I'm in the process of learning some German at the moment."

Bruce blinks. "That's – that's impressive."

"I need it for my job. With SHIELD, you can end up anywhere in the world, so it's good to know a couple of languages or at least understand the basics. It's definitely easier to blend in that way. I was taught some Italian in Junior High and college, and Spanish in high school. Everything else I learnt during my time at the SHIELD academy."

"A dónde vas?" The man suddenly asks.

"Where are we going?" I translate for Bruce.

That faraway look returns to his face in an instant. "Home," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "We're going home."