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Chapter Text

'These are the days when Birds come back—

A very few—a Bird or two—

To take a backward look.'

— Emily Dickinson

Liz Toomes didn't return to New York out of some sort of innate calling. She wasn't followed by trumpets or a massive brass band signalling her arrival, saying hey — I’m here — I'm back. She didn't tell anyone; she didn’t see the point. Not really.

Especially considering that the only person Liz could tell was behind bars.

Her dad looked at her through the six inch plexiglass. He put a hand up against it. Liz put hers up against his to steady herself. It was cold like ice on the palm of her hand. She pressed harder.

"What are you doing here, kiddo?"

She hadn't slept for forty-two hours. That was how long it had taken to drive from Oregon to New York; that was how long Liz had spent behind the wheel of her family car, keeping one eye on the road and one eye behind her.

Alone, Liz had gotten all the way from her mom's condo in Meridian to the correctional facility her dad was in. Somewhere along that highway she'd developed some sort of glare that kept people from looking too closely at her. If looks could kill, Liz would be behind plexiglass too.

"Liz? I thought you were in college."

She was still in the decathlon group chat. Liz hadn't deleted herself out of it in some sort of symbolic gesture; in all truth she'd been in a sort-of fugue state throughout the trial, throughout Oregon. There hadn't been a point.

There hadn't been a point to anything, really.

That meant that when a massive metal ring had appeared in the skyline her phone had started to blow up. It meant that when Spider-Man was spotted launching himself into space Liz had already caught the next train back to Meridian, running out of her lecture with fifty other students.

It meant that by the time Flash video-chatted her, face half-caked in ash, Liz was cradling her mother's empty clothes herself.

It meant that when Spider-Man was declared missing, presumed dead, Liz had already blown halfway through Nebraska.

"Elizabeth."

She blinked. "I'm sorry, Dad, just — head in the clouds, you know? With everything that's happened in the last few days…"

"…I know," her dad replied. He shifted, adjusting the way the phone sat on his shoulder. "Liz, did you come all the way here from —"

"Yeah," Liz said. "I had to. I mean, I had to. I couldn't not be here."

"You should be with your mother." Her dad's face fell. "Oh, honey. She's not —"

"She is. If she wasn't, I'd probably still be in Oregon."

Her dad closed his eyes, looking more tired than she felt.

The last time she'd seen her dad had been the trial. Liz hadn't said anything to him during it, hadn't wanted to. He'd tried to reach out to her. Multiple times. But she'd always had her headphones in, always had been doing homework or something for her new school. He'd aged, that was for sure.

As Liz caught her reflection in the plexiglass, eye bags hanging low, face unwashed apart from some tinted moisturiser, she decided she couldn't really judge.

Liz cleared her throat. "What are we going to do?" Her voice ended squeakily and she cringed at how young she sounded. She was nearly twenty.

"Me?" Her dad leaned back, taking his hand off of the glass. He looked at the dirty ceiling of the booth and swore under his breath. "Kiddo, I can't do anything from behind here. What are you going to do, more like."

Then he looked back at her. His eyebrows narrowed.

Good.

She hadn't come to New York because of some destiny. But Liz had a reason for being in New York. And it wasn't just to reconnect with her father, no matter what she'd told the guard outside.

"What are you going to do, honey?"

His voice was suspicious, as if she'd accidentally let it slip that she was dating a boy he hadn't met or vetted.

It was like nothing had happened. They were still in their family home, the one she'd grown up in, and he was still her dad, her infuriating, insane dad that made her promise to have her phone on no matter what and to keep to a strict curfew.

Liz nearly laughed.

Instead, she sobered.

"What I have to," Liz said, finally, and hung up the phone.

The correctional facility was nowhere near the Met, but Liz didn't mind the silence on the subway ride over.

Even with four million people in it instead of eight, New York still was bustling. Busy. That suited Liz as she clambered off into the nearest station to the Museum.

She kept her head bent low. If any cameras caught her… well, she hadn't committed any crimes, but it made sense to lay low.

Liz reached the steps of the Met in record time. There was one painting she had come here to see. Portrait of a Soldier, artist unknown, the medium charcoal on a 16-inch-by-32 canvas.

It had been dated to 1942, but that was all the Met was sure on.

The piece was a sketch of a sergeant in the Second World War, eyes bright but face determined, an arm slung around a shorter man whose entire body was blacked out.

Liz had done a project on it in the seventh grade with help from her uncle Mason.

He'd been the first man on her dad's crew to be freed.

Apparently, he'd given up a lot of information for a deal. A lesser sentence.

Liz could see the reasoning behind taking it — Phineas Mason, also known as the 'Tinkerer', had a family too, a wife and a two year old son — but that didn't mean her heart didn't get a little heavier whenever she thought about Mason setting exactly what her father's crew did on public record.

"Liz," Mason said, slipping into the seat next to her.

Liz nodded. "Hey."

His hands shook as he passed her the manila envelope she'd asked for. Nicotine stained, bitten fingernails tapped out a message on the side of the plastic chair.

Mason shook his head. "We're having chicken pot pie for dinner tonight. Josie's making it. Your favourite."

"I, uh…" Liz shook the envelope, grimacing. "I got something to do."

"No, no — don't worry about it." He bounced his eyebrows. "You gonna tell me what you're doing with that?"

Before Liz could answer, Mason shook his head.

"No, I suppose not. You're a lot like your dad, you know."

"Another time, Uncle Mason," Liz said. "I'll swing by the next time you guys make it. Promise."

Mason looked at her as if he knew she'd probably break it again. Liz watched as he shuffled away, his jeans hinting at the metal on his ankle.

She rolled up the envelope carefully and stashed it in her handbag. Sighing, Liz turned in her seat to leave.

Before she could, a shadow fell over the other seat again.

Liz froze. She turned.

A woman was looking at her with amusement dancing in her eyes. Her short blonde hair jutted out from underneath a baseball cap.

"Are you waiting on someone?"

"I'm sorry?"

The woman tilted her head and sat down. "Never mind. So, Portrait of a Soldier. What are you thinking?"

She seemed genuinely interested.

Liz decided to indulge her.

"I'm thinking someone was in love with someone going to war. And they couldn't stay with them, so they decided to draw them. Keep them with them, you know? I mean, the attention to detail…" she trailed off. "It's as if the artist spent a long while looking at this soldier."

"Romantic." The woman's vision flickered over to the manila envelope sticking out of her bag and then back to her.

Liz pushed it further down, self conscious.

"I'm Nat."

"…Liz."

Nat smiled, though it didn't seem to reach her eyes. "Liz. Can I offer you some advice?"

"Go ahead," Liz replied, quick getaway forgotten.

She folded her hands over, staring at Portrait of a Soldier.

"I've seen a lot of things," Nat began, sounding serious. "Met a lot of interesting people over the years, including the guy that drew this. And he taught me that you should never be afraid to ask for help. Saw you sitting here, alone, and I thought — there's someone that might need to hear that."

"I'm not… lonely."

"I never said you were," Nat replied coolly. She stood, brushing off invisible lint from her suit skirt. "But I recognised the look on your face. It's one that used to show on my own every morning when I looked in the mirror." Nat produced a business card. "So if you ever need mine…"

Liz took it, feeling confused and slightly subdued.

"Thank you."

She flipped it over and frowned when she saw that Nat's credentials weren't on there; all there was was an abstract logo of two red triangles, interlocked.

It took her a second to recognise it, but in that second Nat had already crossed the floor of the Met and disappeared.

Not so much Black Swan as Widow, Liz thought faintly.

She pocketed the business card and shook her head.

On her way out of the Met, Liz swung by the gift shop and picked up a baseball cap herself to wear out.

Even if Nat wasn't actually Natasha Romanoff — even if she were some kind of impersonator — she still had the style down pat.

And if that style included protection from the cameras of New York? All the better for it, considering where she was about to go.

"Thanks," Liz said. She patted the top of the Uber driver's car. He sped off, leaving Liz alone in the warehouse district.

She shivered. It was nearly twilight and though New York wasn't the hottest place, it was certainly loud.

But not here.

Not when the already quiet district had been fully halved. Many of the warehouses were abandoned now; there wasn't enough manpower to support them. Or the businesses they were bought for.

Liz had only been here once before. Take Your Daughter To Work Day. She'd spent the day in one of her dad's offices — far away from what turned out to be arms dealing.

And that had been ages ago.

Now, Liz had to rely not on her memory of the place but on a map taken out of one of her father's drawers.

It had been the night Damage Control had taken over their house, searching for everything and anything connected to her dad. Her mom had cried. She hadn't; she'd been too shocked to do anything.

An agent from Damage Control had found a file of her old drawings from around the time of the Battle of New York — well, the first one, anyway.

He'd asked her if she wanted them.

Liz guessed he had felt sorry for her.

Luckily for her, now, he'd forgotten to look through them properly.

Hidden in them had been a map to an unlisted warehouse, dated a couple weeks after the invasion. Her dad's base of operations, freshly bought. Well, two freshly bought, but one was now rubble, courtesy of Spider-Man.

Hopefully the still standing one had what she wanted.

Liz emptied the contents of the folder into her hand. A keycard fell out into her palm. She slid it through the lock mechanism and tilted her head as the screen lit up.

Was it supposed to do that?

A pleasant voice cut through the night.

"Keycard identified. Fingerprint scan required."

Oh, no. "Please, please, please work," Liz chanted, rubbing her fingers together to warm them up. She splayed her hand across the glass screen and waited with bated breath. After a few seconds, it lit up with a green checkmark. Liz stepped back as the metal door swung open.

Everything was dusty. That was the first thing Liz noticed; the second was the experimental alien tech that littered the work benches across the building.

She approached the centre of the room with trepidation, kneeling down and opening the hatch below where her dad would have landed wearing the suit.

Of course, the original Vulture exo-skeleton had been taken when he'd been arrested. But the Toomes unofficial family motto was backup, backup, backup for a reason.

Liz lifted the metal briefcase out and put it on a workbench, popping it open. Inside was a more rudimentary version of the wings, but by all accounts they worked just as well. They looked lighter than the ones her dad had used, simpler.

Spider-Man was presumed dead. Even if he wasn't, there was no way he would be coming back, not since he went into space. And there was a half-chance of him being ash. Either way, it didn’t look good.

She didn't owe anything to Spider-Man. He'd destroyed her family, even if he hadn't meant to. Liz didn't even know if he knew who she was. She wasn't sure she'd want him to.

But he did good for Queens, good for New York. Now he was gone, all that good was stopped.

Someone had to step in. Someone had to fill his shoes.

Liz lifted the wings up and measured them against her back.

She had work to do.

It was time to get on with it.

Chapter Text

Irene Peter once said: "Just because everything is different doesn't mean anything has changed."

Now that she was back in her hotel room, Liz found herself agreeing.

The wings were spread out across the bed, taking up most of it. Last night she'd tried to catalogue every scratch before she'd collapsed onto the mattress herself.

The morning was already trickling through the blinds. She held up a hand to block out the sun. But as they shone on the metal, Liz found herself feeling — well, not much really.

She had figured that she'd be inspired or ready to start being a superhero.

And here she was instead, exhausted.

The adrenaline that had carried her cross-country had been wiped out. Her bones ached; her head complained; her legs groaned. She didn't feel like the Liz that had stolen an exo-suit last night.

The evidence of that Liz was carefully laid next to her, so she couldn't blame it on a dream.

Through nothing but cold, dark boredom, Liz switched on the TV.

Most of the programming was centred around what the media was calling the Snap; catchy title. TV specials, general scary interviews, tasteless advertisements— she wasn't looking for that. She didn't even know what channel she was looking for, not really. Liz flicked to NBC 4 — and her heart caught in her mouth.

The Queensboro Bridge was half up in smoke.

The image stretched across her screen was from high above, probably from a helicopter. Large columns of gas billowed out from cars strewn down the length of the bridge; shouts and sirens blared underneath the news reporter.

Even from the long distance, Liz could make out a figure, tall as an upturned pick-up truck, stomping around the bridge. He towered over a car and, considering, sunk what looked to be claws into the roof. Liz inhaled sharply.

The live footage cut to another angle as the man threw it across.

The vehicle smashed against one of the metal support beams.

Liz glanced at her bed.

Before she knew it, she had sped down the stairs of the hotel two at a time, metal briefcase in hand. Liz gave a short wave to the old man behind the counter as she speed-walked out; he blinked at her as she almost crashed into the revolving door.

And then Liz was away.

Ducking into the alley next to the hotel, she wasted no time in slinging the metal briefcase on top of a Dumpster. She clicked it open and all but snatched the metal wings inside, slamming it shut again.

For a moment, Liz stood stock still, getting used to the new weight on her shoulders. It was heavier than she thought it would be. She supposed that was expected.

It was built for someone else, after all.

With gritted teeth, she fumbled around for a button — something — to launch her into the air.

The large motors were snagged on the sleeves of her hoodie. Liz grunted as she tried to free them — and then yelped as one turned as she twisted her arm, lifting her right side up slightly. So that was how they worked.

Liz grunted as she returned to the ground and caught her reflection in one of the grimy alleyway mirrors. She didn’t want to get recognised; the best thing for her to do, Liz decided, was to pull up her hoodie and pray it didn't fall down.

There was no time left to lose now.

She turned and started to run. Slowly, Liz lifted her arms in an arc over her head. She was beginning to gain altitude, and quickly.

The city grew smaller under her as she pushed forward through the wind. The alleyway had opened up onto a semi-packed street. Dimly, she noticed people shouting — pointing upwards. It was only after she'd gotten high enough to be not able to distinguish them that Liz realised that they were probably pointing at her.

The same feeling of adrenaline started to trickle in as Liz approached the Bridge. Her head felt like it was thundering. The air pressure seemed to be flattening her brain into a pancake. She decided to drop — and immediately wished she hadn't.

Most of the people that were on the DC decathlon trip ended up scared of heights in some way. Flash had messaged her that they'd somehow unanimously agreed to postpone the Coney Island victory trip after she'd left — no one would go up that high. Especially after the Spider-Man incident.

Liz was immune. Or at least she'd thought.

Now, recovering from the short drop, she knew differently. She wasn't afraid of heights — Liz was afraid of falling.

And now there was no Spider-Man to catch her.

She regained her footing shakily and rose, looking around.

The wreckage was devastating up close. The cars around her looked like screwed up balls of paper. Over the din of machine screeching Liz could hear the voices of people — specifically, one kid's voice, screaming out louder than all the others. She turned.

Behind her, on the road, a little girl was reaching towards her mother — she looked unharmed but was clearly terrified. The mother was still strapped in the front seat, her seat belt stuck.

Dread began to surge in Liz's veins as she saw who was approaching them.

The figure, even taller than they had looked on the TV, had heard the noise too. Up close, Liz could see that his skin wasn't like regular skin. It was green-tinted and had hardened into tiny — scales? — that were glistening with some sort of oil or lubricant. Even though his back was turned to her, Liz already knew who it was.

Spider-Man had defeated Curt Connors last year. He'd gone by the Lizard, if she remembered correctly — had put together some sort of super soldier serum in the name of limb regrowth science and ended up with a reptilian body and brain. It had taken ages for Spider-Man to take him down.

The last thing that Liz had heard about him was that he had been carted away by the U.S. Government. Damage Control, the same people that had turned her dad to a life of arms dealing, had taken care of it all.

They had done a good job. The Pepsi-Cola sign that Spider-Man had smashed into looked nearly the same as it did before.

But what was Connors doing here? He was supposed to be in prison, under lock and key, not terrorising the Queensboro Bridge.

When she later thought back on it, Liz had no idea where exactly the voice inside her came out from.

"Hey."

He didn't turn around. Way too quiet, Liz thought, and cleared her throat. "Hey!"

Connors stopped dead in his tracks. He let go of the piece of rebar he was about to do god-knows-what with and turned with a nasty snarl. Liz visibly recoiled at his face — entirely reptilian but still reminding her of a pug, all squashed-in and hard to breathe. A thick layer of liquid dripped down his face — if he were anything but what he was she would have thought it was sweat, not slime.

She crossed her arms, noting how his beady eyes followed how her wings dropped beside her.

"Who… dares…"

"I dare," Liz replied, unable to stop herself. She braced herself for impact.

Connors snarled and swiped at her with his talons.

Liz raised an arm to block him; he yowled like a cat gone feral and clutched his forearm. Liz blinked as she saw a deep, ruddy cut slashed into his skin. Her eyes flickered to her wings speckled with blood.

The feathers were sharp enough to be knives.

Liz had thought her dad had only used the exo-skeleton for travel. He'd even said so in his deposition.

He'd lied on the stand.

Somehow, that felt more jarring to her than when she thought about what her dad done for their family. Adrian Toomes was a liar — he'd been great at it, especially to her and her mother. Why was she surprised by this?

She was broken out of her thoughts by Connors' enraged roar. In response, she leapt up into the air — and, boosted by the wings, managed to kick him in the chest.

In doing so, though, Liz lost her balance and had to flip backwards to get back on her feet; Connors took the opportunity to get his arms around her lower legs in a vice. Liz struggled, trying to keep herself horizontal with the thrust from her wings.

Then she straightened her elbows and curled herself into a tuck.

The feathers on Liz's wings straightened and plunged into Connors' sides.

He howled and let go of her, flattening his hands tight against the already sealing-wounds.

Liz groaned and got off up the asphalt, sparing a glance at the metal spread out behind her. Some of the knives were crumpled and bent at odd angles, heavily reducing how aerodynamic it was. She'd be slower, definitely. She had to be careful.

Connors looked at her with hatred and took a step toward her, breathing guttural. He was sure to attack her again — and this time Liz wasn’t ready. Luckily, though, she was saved by Connors suddenly looking up at the sky above them. Several police helicopters were hovering around them.

"This… isn’t over," Connors said to Liz, towering over her once again. Liz nodded. As the cops began to land, he started to run to the edge of the bridge, gaining momentum. Then he jumped off the edge, leaving Liz staring after him.

For a few seconds, she stood still. Then she took off towards the small girl and her mother, wings trailing on the floor behind her, still deployed.

The girl cowered. "Get away from me!"

Liz raised her hands in surrender. "Okay," she said, crouching down to her height. "That's fine. I'll stay away. Look." She took a small step backwards as the girl stared at her. "Is your mom okay?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"It's okay, honey," her mother reassured her. She'd rolled her window down. "I'm stuck. My seatbelt won't come undone."

A firm hand clapped down on Liz's shoulder. One of the cops — an officer — was looking at her with such intensity that at first Liz thought she had recognised her. Suddenly, she realised that the officer was trying to memorise her face, maybe to put out a sketch later.

She pulled her hood down further. Maybe Spidey'd had the right idea with wearing a mask.

"It's going to be alright," she reassured them. "Officer —"

"Santiago."

"Officer Santiago is going to take care of you, okay?" The girl looked at her doubtfully and Liz smiled tightly. "Trust me."

"What about my mom?"

Officer Santiago bent down next to Liz. "We're gonna take care of both of you," she corrected. Then she turned back to Liz. "We need to talk."

"What's up?" she asked in a hushed tone, standing. She made sure to keep her head down.

Santiago frowned. "You mean despite whatever this is?" She pointed disparagingly at the ruffled wings, still deployed. "Her mom is stuck. Badly. We're spread thin. It's going to be hours until we can get to her. I hate myself for asking this, but is there anything you can do?"

Liz did a double-take. "Me?" she asked, then blinked. "Yeah, I think so."

"Well, do it quickly, and then get out of here," Santiago advised.

She looked at one of the other cops and shook her head.

"Some people here are still against vigilantes and superheroes, despite the good press and the fact we're still not as equipped to fight people like the Lizard as some of you are. They'd jump at the chance to arrest you. Don't worry. I'll just say you got away."

Liz nodded at her, determined, before walking to the crumpled car. Stopping just before the door, she wrapped the end of her hoodie around her hand before reaching behind her and taking a loose feather.

The metal knife gleamed in her hand, splattered with Connors' blood.

"Lift your hands up," she said.

The mother swallowed, and raised her arms.

Liz reached into the car and pulled the belt tautly upwards until there was space for the feather. She slipped it underneath the polyester, making sure not to touch her dress. Then she pulled upwards with all her might, ripping the belt open and freeing her.

Liz got out of the way as the mother barrelled out of the car, skidding to a halt and hugging her kid tightly.

"Thank you," she impressed on them both.

Officer Santiago nodded. "It's our job." To Liz, she said, "Go."

Liz straightened out her wings, before looking back. "I —"

"Don't mention it."

She raised her arms, pushing upwards and cutting through the air. As soon as Liz was free of the police helicopters she let out a deep breath. She hadn't planned on confronting a supervillain straight away — Liz had thought she'd work her way up from street thugs or something. It was terrifying — and sort of exhilarating.

Liz made a sharp turn and cringed as the exo-skeleton groaned unhappily behind her. She needed to make some repairs. And soon, if Connors' promise was real.

She knew just who to go to.

Counting the houses down as she walked down the street, Liz kept her arms pinned to her chest.

She'd gone back to the hotel after the fight, though Liz hadn't had time to stop. She'd taken off the wings and stuffed them into her suitcase, dumping the contents onto her hotel floor. Liz didn't have time to check them over properly, but they looked way worse now that she'd taken them off.

Forest Hills was sort of like a suburb inside of a city. Lots of young families lived there. Even if she didn't already know that, the amount of crying babies would have clued her in.

Liz finally reached the right house. She checked her reflection in the glass of the window, lit dimly on the inside — the curtains were up but they simply softened the light. She looked like hell — even worse than yesterday, with the asphalt bruises and blood caked on her face.

She rang the doorbell and smiled as she heard a cat meowing. A familiar voice replied in fake understanding and got closer to the door. Liz straightened her back.

The door swung open.

Flash Thompson stood there, slack jawed, in a set of matching Spider-Man pajamas.

"Liz?"

Chapter Text

"'Certain sources are speculating that,'" the anchor on the television took a deep breath, moustache quivering above his lip, "'the vigilante we saw today is somehow related to the Falcon. A new Avenger to replace him. That's a crock of bull! All she is is a dangerous vigilante that —"

Flash reached over Liz and turned the television over to a rerun of Say Yes To The Dress. "God, I hate him."

"J. Jonah Jameson?" Liz shifted to see Flash better as he went back to the wings that were spread out on the table. "He kind of lost all credibility for me when he said that the only reason that the government isn't fixing the roads is that Spider-Man hadn’t destroyed them yet so they can't do a tax write-off."

He frowned. "So why were you watching him then?"

"Say Yes To The Dress doesn't have nanotech yet."

Flash huffed and Liz could see him hide a smile.

It was the first time she'd seen him in person in two years, but the only thing that really surprised Liz was the new height he'd gained. Back in her senior year, Flash had been one of the shorter people in the decathlon team — but he'd made up for that in his overcompensating for the competition. He'd shot up, now; he was a couple of inches taller than her in heels. It seemed he'd mellowed out too — though she knew already that that had been gradual.

They'd kept in touch, after all.

Flash had grown his hair out — he'd also grown out his facial hair into some sort of Tony Stark-esque goatee. He reminded Liz of a successful start-up billionaire, few and far between as they were — well, at least what she thought one would look like. This was sort of hampered by the cotton Spidey pajama shirt.

Right now, the sleeves were rolled up and his lower arms were deep in the machinery of the wings. He'd slicked his long hair back into a low bun and swapped out his lower half for a pair of Levi's. Flash had excused himself to change when he'd let her in; Liz was left to some leftovers in the fridge and to wash her face in the downstairs bathroom.

She picked at the box of chicken chow mein and frowned as Flash's cat bashed past her head to lick at the noodles.

"Modem, stop terrorising Liz," Flash said, without looking up.

Modem looked at him reproachfully, then looked at Liz reproachfully, then hopped down from the arm of the sofa where she was resting her head. Finally, she jumped up on Liz's chest and smelled her hand before settling down.

For a moment, there was silence — well, vocal silence; she could still hear the TV and the cat purring, but apart from that she and Flash were quiet.

Then Flash took his hands out of the wings and rubbed his eyes, frustrated. He groaned.

"There's no way I can fix this from here. You really did a number. They'll work, but I just don't have the resources here to make them behave how they did before you did — well," Flash said, flicking back to Jameson's channel in order to show Liz the still-repeating footage of her wiping out on the floor, "that."

"That's all I need, Flash," she assured him. Liz turned back to the TV — and then twisted around again. "Wait. 'From here'? What does that mean?"

Flash blinked at her. "Well, I can't just sign into Stark Tower with, like, a new vigilante's torn up wings stuffed under my shirt."

"Why would you have a pass for —" Realisation dawned on her face. "Your internship."

Nodding at her as if she were slightly slow, Flash then announced that he was going into the kitchen to fetch some tools from under the sink. Liz was left to think alone — again. J. Jonah snarled at her from the flatscreen across from her. She snarled back and switched it off.

Flash had started his internship the summer after she'd left, just before her first year of college. It was easy to remember; he'd called her to celebrate whilst she was deciding what to bring and what to keep. From what little he'd said to Liz about his work since — something about release forms — Dr. Richards (senior, not junior) had recruited him from a trusted recommendation. Flash thought that Spider-Man had something to do with it. Privately, Liz disagreed.

To her, a certain former Stark intern would have probably had more sway.

Her heart dropped, as it always did when she thought about anyone that had been lost in the Snap. Liz cleared her throat. "Isn't it called the Baxter Building now, anyway?"

Her reply was an incredulous laugh. "On the forms. But that place was built by Tony Stark. Even if his name wasn’t still on the front of the building people would still call it Stark Tower, or Avengers Tower, or whatever."

"True." Liz reclined further on the sofa as Modem pushed off her chest. "It's kind of a shame we can't just barge in. I mean, you could just say that you were doing top secret work for Richards. The guy's kind of a nut. No one would say a thing."

All clattering in the kitchen stopped. Concerned, Liz sat up.

"You're right."

"You know, two years ago I would have wanted to record that. Maybe save it for a special occasion."

Flash stuck out his middle finger. It was the only thing visible of him from where he was crouched behind the kitchen wall cut-out. The hand disappeared and Flash strode into the room. He fished something out — a keycard — from his coat on a rack. Then Flash shook his head, booted up the printer that was in the corner of the room and placed his Baxter ID on top of the scanner.

"Do you have an ID with you?" He asked Liz, cross legged on the floor. The printer spat out a paper copy of what was on the plastic.

"I think this is a felony," Liz said, but handed her driver's license over anyway. "What are you doing?"

"'Improve, adapt, overcome'," Flash said, laying her driver's license on the scanner. "I saw this in a movie once. Yo, there's a backup card and lanyard in the trunk next to you. Get it out for me?"

"As long as you promise to never quote Bear Grylls at me again." Liz tossed the lanyard over to him.

Flash caught it out of the air and deftly slid the plastic out. He placed it face down on the paper and cut the copy out to size. Next, he took out the piece with Liz's license on it and took out her photo, gluing it on top of his own. Finally, he ripped off a square of scotch tape, doubled it over, stuck the new ID front on top of the old one and replaced it in the plastic holder.

Liz watched this all happen with mild fascination. Her eyes widened as Flash held it out to her. "Won't that get detected?"

Flash scoffed. "The only security guard working tonight is Willie. He's not going to check either of us. This is only because if someone else sees you're without a badge indoors it'll be, like, flying monkeys in there. And that someone else is probably going to be a scientist with his head so full of equations that if he even stops to look at your card properly he might just explode from overload." He shuddered for effect. "I've seen it happen. Twice."

"Well, we wouldn't want that." Liz weaved her head through the lanyard ribbon. "Well, I'll go get my hoodie."

"Gross, Liz. It's covered in blood."

"Not my blood! Mostly." Liz crossed her arms. "It's a perfectly good hoodie apart from that. Comfy, and the blue brings out my eyes. Plus, like you can talk, Spidey-shirt."

He ignored her last comment. "Your eyes are brown. My mom's got some stuff in her wardrobe upstairs that you could change into."

"Still," Liz grumbled.

She pushed off the sofa and trudged upstairs to Flash's parents' room.

She'd only met his mom the once; Liz had been given an unpleasant impression of her after she'd missed three decathlon competitions in a row.

This had only been reinforced by the show she'd seen after one of their meets in the parking lot.

There had been a lot of shouting about Flash disappointing their expectations and disrespecting everything they — she and her husband — had done to get him into Midtown Sci.

The next day, Liz had discovered him crying in the library. If she were asked, Liz would've probably pointed to that moment when deciding when their friendship had started.

She'd never met Mr. Thompson.

Liz didn't really want to.

She ran her hands over the items in Mrs. Thompson's wardrobe. Soft. Sharp angles. Everything was bright and colourful — normally, Liz would lean towards that. But she needed something uninteresting to look at - something at the less intricate side of the spectrum.

She stopped at a suitable hanger and pulled it out. A dark jacket was draped over the plastic in Liz's hands. The half that was in the direct light shimmered. Sequins. Well, Liz wanted to not be noticed. What was better than wearing a jacket that would reflect any bright light, automatically making all eyes on that instead of her face?

She grabbed a hoodie to wear underneath and slipped into Flash's bathroom to change.

True to Flash's word, it was easy to get through security. The guard didn't even look at his badge, or the badge around Liz's own neck — he just waved them through.

The first thirty floors were apparently exclusively rented out to other companies; the internship that Flash had let him into the ten floors above that — bought outright by the company he was working for, the Future Foundation.

He'd once told her that all he did at work was fetch coffee and sometimes tidy up paperwork.

Watching the floors pass them by from inside the glass elevator, Liz thought there had to be more to it. There was so much here to do and to look at. Maybe that's why Flash had such high clearance — everyone needed coffee, even astrophysicists.

Was that Apollo 11?

Liz ducked her head as she suddenly became aware of the security camera above them.

"It's so busy," she commented to Flash. That was true. It was late, but there seemed to be a flurry of activity happening all around them.

It reminded her of the library the night before finals.

Flash shrugged. "They're nocturnal."

When the doors pushed open, Liz found herself looking down from a huge height.

The elevator opened up into a huge, windowed corridor with angled glass looking out into the evening. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Flash's face whiten slightly. She noticed how he kept his head straight and eyes level to where the corridor ended.

It was a short walk, but Liz linked her arm into his in solidarity.

They stepped out into a fairly cluttered room. The bare walls were lit up by fast-moving lines of text on holographic screens.

Confidence renewed, Flash broke away from her arm and walked over to one of the walls, leaving Liz alone in the centre of the room. She watched as he touched one of the documents, highlighted some of the words on it and — her eyes widened — plucked the hologram out of the screen and brought it across, placing it on a panel in the wall opposite.

A faint mechanical whirring started up, coming from behind the wall.

The metal surrounding the panel pushed forward with a satisfying hiss. Flash jumped back as it swung open.

A large, black, shiny container wheeled itself out on the metal tracks that were laid out on the floor. Armoured, tinted glass was set into the front showing a metal base inside. It was the perfect size for someone to lie down in. The window, Liz thought, could be used to look out.

Or a place for other people to look in.

She shuddered and crossed her arms, walking over to get a better view.

"Is that…"

"No." Flash took out the scrunchie in his hair and slung it onto his wrist, pulling on the elastic as he spoke. "Well, sort of, but not really."

"Wait, wasn’t the Cradle destroyed by Ultron breaking out of it," Liz pressed, "or Vision, or whatever? I thought — Helen Cho was devastated. She never touched the blueprints again. For the Cradle, at least." They'd studied it in their modern science class. She knew this for a fact.

He nodded.

"And we're all secretly totally grateful because Cho ended up working with Selvig and the Avengers anyway. Right." Flash ran his keycard down a track on the side of the container. "When she stopped her work with the Cradle, Cho gave her original notes to Richards — junior, not senior. Guy managed to get this up and working in three weeks. Doesn't print human tissue, but it's kinda the coolest 3D printer ever."

Liz realised his point and nodded. She gestured to the bag they'd stuffed the wings in. "You're going to have to help me get them in there."

A couple of moments later, they closed the lid of the proto-Cradle and watched the inside flood with adaptive gel.

The wings were covered from the primary metal feathers to the tips. Flash had reassured her that they wouldn't be damaged — it's adaptive, duh — but Liz was still anxious, even if there was nothing to worry about.

It wasn't like she could go to her dad and ask for a new set.

Her dad. Oh, God. She wondered if he'd seen her on TV.

If he'd recognised the design.

Who was Liz kidding? Of course he would've done. He'd been the one they were made for.

Above everything else, Liz wondered how he would feel about all of it. About how that the wings he'd used to fight the very person she was trying to replace had been appropriated by his kid in the name of vigilantism.

The scary thing was that she wasn't sure if he'd be proud or disappointed that she was currently standing in the old house of a different enemy, trying to fix something that helped him steal from said enemy.

It was tricky.

A photo negative of the wings popped up on one of the holographic screens that Flash had swung across. He winced.

"What's wrong?"

"Remember how I said you really did a number? Liz," he summarised, "you are the definition of an overachiever. If this were a real bird wing, I’d, like, amputate it. Lost cause."

"Thank God you're not a veterinarian, then," said Liz. "You're sure?"

"Sure. Sorry," he added as an afterthought. Flash paused just long enough for Liz to think back on her short vigilante career. "So I'm gonna have to rebuild them from the ground up."

Liz blinked as her brain reshuffled and rebooted. "…What?"

"I'm not doing anything else right now. Why not?" Flash shrugged. "It'll take a couple of hours."

"Flash Thompson, doing something nice for the sake of it?" Liz put her hand on her heart. "Why, I never."

"Ha, ha." Flash grabbed her by the shoulders and gently steered her away from the Cradle. "I'm friendly now. I can be altruistic. I can so be altruistic. And no," he snarked preemptively, "that wasn't on my Word-a-Day calendar."

"What was today's word, then?"

"'Halcyon.'"

"And that means…"

"No idea."

Liz huffed a laugh and went over to where the room opened out to the corridor.

Before she walked across the windowed walkway, she hesitated and pulled back. "…Flash?"

Flash looked up. He'd fished out a pair of reading glasses out from somewhere and had slicked his hair into a half-up ponytail, keeping it out of his face. "Yeah?"

"Thank you." She gave him a small smile, hoping he could see how sincere she was.

He shrugged. "Sure."

Liz turned to leave.

Just that moment, though, something flickering out of the corner of her eye changed her mind.

Ignoring Flash, she walked back to one of the holographic panels and pinched at the news video that had appeared on it. Liz threw her hands wide, watching as the clip expanded to flatscreen-size, suspended in mid air.

What had grabbed her attention had been a rerun of some phone footage showing her fight with Connors from earlier; now, though, it had switched to a live reporter in front of a nondescript building.

"—just in… I'm standing in front of the Wakandan Embassy where the super-villain Curt Connors has made yet another appearance in the span of two days… witnesses say that the Lizard broke in during a set of meetings between the new Queen and a member of her Wakandan Outreach Program… he escaped into the sewers, sustaining injuries from the Dora Milaje and the Queen, but not without taking her with him and a member of the guard…"

"You have to go," Flash said, eyes wide.

Liz nodded, a sense of foreboding gnawing at her bones.

Chapter Text

In all honesty, Liz didn't have a clue what she was looking for.

She walked down the metropolitan streets with her hood up. No one paid her much mind; they were all busy in their own lives and it wasn't like they hadn't seen weirder things.

This was New York. Even without flying billionaires and giant green rage monsters ripping through Harlem, there wasn't much that could surprise the people that were born and raised there. Keep calm, carry on.

Without the wings it was harder to get a better view of the city, to think strategically — where would Connors have gone?

The news had said the sewers, but New York was too large for that to be of any help. She had to start thinking like him. Where was safe for Connors?

Or, she thought, turning a corner, where wasn't? The Lizard was still part human, after everything — still part Curt Connors. And people liked routines. They liked routines so much that criminals liked to return to the scene of crimes to sort of relive them.

At least, that was what she'd learned from the True Crime podcast her college roommate had recommended to her.

Spider-Man, when they'd duked it out, had started the fight right where Connors had come out of the sewers, here in Manhattan. Liz remembered the massive cover up and the leaks that had immediately followed.

Police had discovered an underground lab filled to the brim of weird stuff and Damage Control had to come in. Though the location had never been scraped from the NYPD database — or, at least, that she'd seen — there were loads of videos online of their fight.

Under the dim light of a street lamp, Liz searched YouTube for footage.

The top hit was a shaky bystander cam of the beginning of the fight. She had to rewind, set it to half-speed and squint really hard, but soon enough Liz had a clearer idea of where to look. The camera had caught a subway sign. Renewed, she started her way towards the nearest entrance.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something small and green padding across the road.

Liz froze as she watched the tiny reptile, followed by another tiny reptile, followed by another tiny reptile reach a manhole not far from where she was standing. They weren't stopped by the metal. No. They crawled through the holes on the top of the cover and disappeared from view entirely.

If she wasn't mistaken, Connors had attracted reptiles like there was no tomorrow.

Taking a deep breath, Liz knelt down and pushed the slightly-ajar manhole open.

She did a quick prayer for her hands and general sanitation and turned around, climbing down the ladder.

As she descended, she discovered that the sewers were incredibly echoey. Liz didn't know what she had expected. She'd never been to them before — why would she ever have had a reason to — but strangely she didn't find herself wondering what it was like down there.

Liz hopped off the bottom rung and cringed as her feet hit the sewer ground. Blindly, she decided to head left; there was no map that she could use. She had to go with her gut down here.

Liz turned the flashlight on on her phone — it was still dim but it allowed her to see more than she would normally. Note to self, she thought, possibly invest in night vision goggles or something similar.

Not that she was planning on making a habit of skulking around underground. No. Liz preferred the open air.

Footsteps. Movement. On instinct, Liz froze and pressed herself against the grimy wall. The jacket would be ruined, but in the long run, that was unimportant in the face of Connors gutting her like a fish.

But nothing happened.

Confused, Liz leant forward to peer further into the middle distance. She must've imagined it.

She looked behind her to make sure — and immediately came face to face with a metal spear.

Her hands shot up in surrender. "I —"

"Ayo, at ease," a voice called from further away.

The woman holding the spear withdrew it from where it was pointed at Liz's neck.

"I don't think she's a harm to us. Plus," the person continued in a wry tone, "I mean, it would be a shame to mess her outfit up. I think the colonisers call it athleisure wear."

Then they stepped out of the shadows, and what Liz felt could only be described as a nice jump-scare.

Sure, intellectually she knew that the Wakandan Queen, Shuri, had been taken by Connors. But it had sort of been filed away in her head; like, sure they were in the same city but it would be very unlikely that they'd ever meet or something like that.

Just like all of the celebrities Liz knew lived in New York that she'd never ever come across. Steve Rogers could have been living in Miami for all that she knew.

Standing in front of her was unmistakable proof that she had been wrong assuming that.

Queen Shuri carried a certain sense of gravity as she stepped past Ayo and pushed Liz's surrender-gesture down firmly.

"Do you have a death wish?" she chastised. "What are you doing down here?"

Liz blanched. "What? Er, your majesty?"

"Oh, none of that. Shuri," she insisted, and frowned. "We do not need to be rescued. As is evident."

"Liz. I'm not here to rescue you. I'm doing another… thing."

If it were possible, Shuri — despite her surprisingly small stature — seemed to become more imposing. "Normally, people doing other things, if they come across people who need rescuing, they lie and say they're doing that instead to spare their feelings."

"You just said —" Liz was silenced by Ayo cocking an eyebrow when she began to speak.

Shuri waved her off. "Bah, I know what I said. You're the vigilante, aren't you? From the fight earlier? Don't even try to deny it. Ayo recognised you herself."

In her only response so far, Ayo nodded. "A very distinctive walk."

She sounded less easygoing than Shuri — a sharp blade for a voice, Liz thought, taking care of what was exactly needed to say and do.

"Did you build those wings yourself? We could swap notes," Shuri continued.

Liz swallowed. Her tongue was well and truly tied in the Queen's presence.

"Not myself, no," she admitted. "I'm more of a physicist, if anything. My friend Flash is kinda working on them at the Tower. Uh, Stark Tower. He follows you on Twitter."

"A man of good taste," Shuri commended. "Well, we were on our way out. Is there anything we can help you with before we go?"

Liz nodded, deep in thought.

"In fact, there might be. When Connors took you — sorry, I hate to bring this up — but when he did, did he leave you in a laboratory of some kind? Preferably," she added, "with some computers and sensitive data and maybe, like, a Pinterest moodboard of his master plan?"

Shuri said something to Ayo in Xhosa, who replied shortly in kind. She turned back to Liz. "We'll show you."

Turning on her heel, Ayo started to stride down the murky distance of the sewers with Shuri following her in complete confidence.

They soon reached an underground lab that had been stuffed into one of the old side rooms of the sewers.

The walls were lined with stacks of clunky monitors, some destroyed, some not. Several desks were pushed against the tile, and two plastic chairs with broken zip ties were strewn across the floor in the middle of the room.

Liz watched Shuri give the set the stink-eye and followed her to what looked like Connors' main desk.

She turned the computer that was on it on.

The monitor switched from a black display to a running presentation. Briefly, Liz wondered who would have the time to make a slideshow on what they was going to do to New York but she wasn't complaining.

She couldn't see herself as an interrogator.

"Look," Ayo said, suddenly reaching over and pressing a finger to the screen. The pixels warped and Liz could see Shuri cringe as she stopped the powerpoint. "That's you."

It was. Connors had put news footage from earlier in the day on there; he'd taken a screenshot of the moment that she'd driven her wings into his sides.

Mathematical equations were drawn on top in digital red markup pen.

Liz suddenly remembered that Connors had been a scientist and gritted her teeth. He must had been trying to find a weak spot.

Shuri frowned. "What's that?"

"What?"

"There." Shuri forewent her own disgust and touched the screen. "Where he's got your legs in a vice — Connors is sweating, clearly. And there he is, letting go. Was that his slime?"

Liz shuddered, thinking. "Yeah. I almost burned those jeans. Flash wouldn't let me. Said he'd wash them, later. We left them at Flash's…" she trailed off. "Oh, no."

"What?"

"I don't know how good a lizard's sense of smell is," Liz went on, "but I'm willing to bet Connors has some sort of way to track people. You're not able to put together contingencies for every possible outcome without tracking your main players. I think that's what he was doing here, with the diagram."

Liz rubbed her eyes, feeling suddenly tired. "So if he's tracking me… first place I went after the fight was Flash's place. Forest Hills. He'd go there first."

"And probably start stirring stuff up there, too," Shuri added.

"Exactly."

With a sudden flourish of her hand, she produced a wafer-thin holographic screen, displaying from her bracelet, and started to flick through news articles. "Kimoyo beads," she explained. "Very in right now."

Whilst she was searching through, Ayo turned to Liz. "Your technique in the video was shaky. Where did you learn?"

"I didn't."

"You don't know how to fight?" Ayo clucked. "Then what were you doing, going after Connors? Stupid. Brave, but stupid."

Liz hummed. "Human, then."

"Quite." Ayo looked away. "We will have to rectify your fighting soon."

"'We?'" It was like talking to Nat again; Liz felt she'd tripped up somewhere. "You and me, we?"

"Not myself, specifically. I am a busy woman. Though, there are Wakandan Outreach Centers across the United States. There's one in San Francisco."

She shook her head. "That's a long while away from New York."

"That's why we've got another one opening right here in the fall," Shuri interjected, still scrolling. "Well, not here in the sewers, obviously. In Harlem. That's what the meeting we were having was about — until it got disrupted. By him," she stopped, jabbing at the hologram.

"'Breaking news'," Shuri read aloud. "'Lizard spotted in Forest Hills, New York, breaking into house. Last seen tearing way across Queens Midtown Tunnel'."

"That was the way Flash and I got to the Tower," Liz remembered.

She took in the image of his destroyed front door and winced. "Poor Modem," she said, looking at the attached picture of Flash's neighbour holding the disgruntled cat. "Flash is going to kill me."

"With those wings?" Shuri asked. "I'd like to see him try."

Liz blushed. "He's got my wings."

"Oh. Yeah."

Thankfully, Ayo took over the conversation. "Where did you and the boy go after that?"

"Straight to the Tower," Liz answered promptly. "He'll go there next, probably. Flash is still there," she realised, terror dawning. "He's not safe."

"Not until you get there." Shuri grasped Liz's shoulder to steady her. Up close, her eyes were a startling, beautiful shade of brown. "Not until we get there."

"Don't you have a meeting to get back to?"

Shuri grinned and started to walk. "Mr. Cage has been waiting an hour. He can wait an hour more, if he's still there."

They soon reached the stepladder, suspended off the ground. It was a larger drop looking up than it had seemed when she had scaled down it.

Crossing her arms as she took in the high rung, Shuri looked to Ayo.

Ayo raised an eyebrow. "Yes, my Queen?"

"Give me a leg up, would you?"

Chapter Text

"I'm telling you, we have to get up there."

Willie Lumpkin, security guard, looked down at Liz from his desk with an impassive face. "I don't know what to tell you. You have a badge but your friends don't. Either they stay down here whilst you go up and help that nice intern Eugene or you all stay. Either way, I have to do my job."

"But —" she resisted the urge to start flailing around her arms in frustration. Bribery? Was that a good plan? Probably not, Liz thought dejectedly. "But we have to," she repeated. "We just — are you enjoying this?"

Shuri looked up from where she was stifling her laughter in her jacket collar. "No, of course not," she replied, rubbing her face into what Liz knew was a stoic mask. "This isn’t a laughing matter. You're very convincing, Liz."

"No, she's not," Ayo cut in under her breath.

Ignoring her, Liz leant forward onto the desk. Bribery it was. "I have a friend that's got a limited edition signed copy of Stark Naked: The Iron Man Autobiography. I can convince him to give it to you. Trust me, it's not something you'll want to —"

A loud bang suddenly shuddered through the reception area.

Pens jumped into the air; photo portraits smashed into the floor, glass flying everywhere; newspapers and magazines were flung to the side of the coffee tables and sagged the the ground as an afterthought.

Liz herself flinched at the loud noise and crouched low to the ground out of instinct.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ayo and Shuri straighten like cats frightened into striking.

Liz rose from her spot and met Willie's eyes as he did the same. He sighed.

"Just when you'd thought all the supervillains had got the memo that the Avengers weren't living here anymore. Wait." She could see the cogs turning in his brain as his moustache bunched up in thought. "Miss, step through."

"I'm not leaving them here," Liz argued.

The Queen of Wakanda and the member (that she'd learned on the cab ride over was actually the security chief, how cool was that) of the Dora Milaje had gotten her this far. It didn't make sense to leave them behind. Plus, she didn’t see Shuri or Ayo waiting patiently in a half-destroyed room for her to come back with — something.

Liz very suddenly realised she had no idea what exactly she was going to do once she got face to face with Connors again.

…There wasn't enough time to plan right now. Liz would improvise. At least that plan had served her well so far.

"You won't be," Willie said, waving her through. "Now that you’re behind me, you seem to be in a blind spot. It's the fact that I’m slightly to your left, you see? I can't see what you're doing."

"Now," he continued blithely, "I assume you're not passing your ID badge to the others so I can suddenly realise that your friends are actually wearing 'em and let them through. You wouldn't, would you?"

"Of course not," Liz replied, catching on. She slid across the fake badge to Shuri. "That would be immoral, sir."

"You're too good to beat the system," Willie continued. He waved Shuri through, then turned his head so he wouldn't see her give it to Ayo. "It's good to know Eugene has nice honest friends like you. I get worried about him some times."

Once they were all through, Liz turned back to Willie. "Thanks," she added on. "That could have cost you your job."

"What could have cost me my job?" He tapped his weather-beaten nose and winked. "Plausible deniability serves you well, kid, if you know how to apply it."

After thanking him again, Liz stepped into the elevator with Shuri and Ayo at her sides. The walls crept up next to them and passed them by.

She pulled her hood back over again. It was hard to remember how tight security was around this place since it seemed that everything was visible through the glass. But Liz knew there were surprises here. The proto-Cradle had been one of them, after all.

And if there was no traces — no accidentally-on-purpose left behind code wound throughout the building — of the AI that Tony Stark had essentially built the place around, Liz would eat her hat.

All the great scientists seemed to be paranoid. Stark definitely qualified. Why wouldn't he leave behind something to watch over his old team's headquarters? Especially since Stark Industries still owned the part of the building not connected to Flash's internship.

Though it wasn't like Stark could access whatever footage showed Liz's face anymore. Not since he was missing, presumed dead, likely ash. Just like Spider-Man. Just like half of everyone across the globe.

A pleasant Irish voice filtered through the speakers above their heads and announced that the elevator had reached the fiftieth floor. A screeching noise rattled through the glass doors as they slid open, breaking the spell that had washed over them.

Shuri cupped her ears and shouted a word that did not sound flattering in Xhosa. "Lizard?"

Liz frowned, half-deaf, having copied her movement. "What?"

"No, not 'Liz', Lizard!" The screeching died down and Shuri carefully removed her palms from her head. "He must be attacking the building. We have to hurry up. Ayo?"

"In front, my queen," Ayo finished for her, totally in sync with Shuri.

She took her spear from her back and adopted the position that Liz had first met her in — weapon pushed forward and ready to fight. They trekked across the glass bridge without any stops this time.

Liz thought that Shuri and Ayo weren't the kind of people that would've appreciated an arm-link. They had no reason to be afraid of heights.

Flash was still in the room with the Cradle. In the time that had passed since she'd rushed out of the Tower, he seemed to have made himself three cups of coffee. Liz watched, eyebrow raised, as his head hopped along to invisible music.

Flash clearly hadn't heard them come in, judging by the fact that his back was still turned to the double doors. That meant that he hadn't heard the screeching either — had no idea that Connors was on his way up, too.

Or that his house was probably completely trashed. She cringed.

Liz shot a hand out to keep Ayo from entering the room properly and startling him with her spear.

He was obviously handing sensitive equipment — the amount of care he was showing whilst tinkering with the wings was massive. "He can't hear us, he's got his earphones in. One second."

Liz fished out her phone from her pocket and shot him a short text message. Look behind you.

Flash's phone buzzed. He stopped his music in confusion and stood still, reading the message. Still holding the rod he'd been using to push around the wings inside the Cradle, he spun on his heel.

And promptly dropped it, shattering glass all over the floor.

"Shuri, Ayo," Liz greeted, "Flash Thompson."

"Oh my god," he said, and then removed his earphones. "Oh my god. What is happening?"

"Nice pajamas." Shuri gave him an assessing once-over. "Seriously. I think M'Baku has the same pair. Is your name Flash or Eugene? The security guard downstairs called you by the second one."

"I — Both." Flash smoothed down the felted Spider-Man pattern self-consciously. "Not that this isn't a nice surprise, Liz, your majesty, um, ma'am —" Ayo looked faintly amused — "but, seriously, what the hell is happening right now?"

"Lizard," Liz answered tersely. "Here. Now."

"What?" Suddenly, Flash looked horrified.

He rushed over to the other side of the cradle, making room for them to peer over the glass window.

"But your wings… I can rush them, but they'll look rushed. Have you ever seen the stand with the replica of the first Iron Man armour at the Smithsonian? 'Cause that's the level of presentation we're going with here."

Shuri pressed her hands to the capsule, still filled with swirling gel. "This is interesting," she commented. "Some sort of variant of Cho's Cradle?"

"Prototype, actually."

Shuri tilted her head. "Well, that makes sense. Much more rudimental than what we — well, I don't want to say just yet. Wakandan tech politics must be boring for Americans, anyway."

"Trust me, I have never been more interested in anything in my life."

With that, Flash pressed a button on the Cradle.

The gel flushed itself down, emptying through the metal grate under the wings. Liz hissed as she saw exactly what she'd done to them. The process had stripped it of all the lacquer and paint that it had had; now she could see every single missing part stark against the dull grey metal.

They'd all been replaced by white, sharp looking plastic — 3D-printed from what little information Flash had gleamed from what had been left. Around half was left from the original set. Those were the parts that had been fixable. She wondered just where the broken bits had gone. Dissolved, maybe?

Liz was jolted from her thoughts by another, louder screech behind them.

A split second passed before one of the glass walls on the walkway splintered inwards. Shards smashed and flew everywhere.

A single talon curled over the side of the floor.

Then another.

Green scales the colour of pondscum glinted in the strobe lights above them. Groaning, grunting, snarling, Connors hoisted himself up with two stocky arms and crawled onto the catwalk. He turned towards them, his tail smashing into whatever glass was left.

Flash screamed.

Ayo rushed forward, slamming her body into the double doors. They banged shut just as Connors reached them. A frustrated grunt echoed through the reinforced metal and the sound of nails on a chalkboard followed.

Dim with shock, Liz realised what he was trying to do: rip and tear his way inside the room and then, probably, inside them. She gulped.

Spurred into action, Liz yanked the cradle open and tried to pull her wings out. Hissing, she pulled her hand back — they were red hot. Was that a side effect of the printing? She didn't know — but to her, it made sense. Flash hadn't had the time to let it all cool down. They'd just shown up expecting them to be ready.

She shot him a thankful look as he bustled past her, hands wearing protective gloves.

"These are going to be warm," he warned her as he snatched them up.

Liz stifled a snort as Shuri quirked an eyebrow. She looked like she was thinking the exact same thing that she was — after all, the extreme physical reaction Liz had given them was evidence enough that she already knew just how warm it was.

Clicking the harness open, Flash lifted the wingspan with Shuri's help onto her back.

Immediately, the stench of cloying plastic rushed through her lungs and Liz had to resist the urge to cough. They didn't feel like an extension anymore. If anything, they felt like shackles pinning her down. The stripped metal itched and the plastic was the wrong weight.

Still. They were going to get her through this fight.

They had to.

With a final slash, the doors buckled open. Ayo was pushed down as Connors stepped into the room. She crashed to the floor and, quick as anything, drew her spear and used it to vault herself back up again. Positioning herself so that she was directly in between Connors and them, Ayo yelled a battle cry and ran straight at him like a whirlwind; she drove her spear right into his chest.

And then he batted her away like nothing.

This time, she stayed down.

Shuri cried out and rushed to her friend's side, distressed. Connors carried on, making a beeline for Liz. She took an involuntary step back, then yelped as he reached forwards. With a fistful of metal and plastic feathers, he lifted her up before she could fly.

His jaw shook as he worked it open. "Where… is he?"

Liz's brow crumpled in confusion. "…Who?"

His breathing became more guttural. "Puny… Spider-Man."

Connors' gnarled hands closed tighter around her wings. Out of the corner of her eye, Liz spotted Flash cringing away — though she wasn't sure whether it was out of annoyance from his hard work being destroyed or fear.

"Promised him… I'd pay him a visit… after I got out. Where… is he?"

Liz really didn't want to think what a 'visit' from the Lizard would be like.

"He's dead," she spat out, instead. "So you can go and visit someone else. Someplace else. Preferably —"

— And then she gasped, a sudden lance of pain shooting through her back. Liz twisted her neck around as far as she could, the sharp ache only growing bigger.

In the reflective surface of the Cradle, she could see that one of the plastic knives had twisted its way into her side somehow. It wasn't deep enough to be serious, but Flash's mom's hoodie was going to be ruined.

"Preferably?"

She turned back to look at him, channeling her best unimpressed-captain-of-the-mathletes face. "Preferably back in SuperMax."

Connors' nostrils flared. Liz took the opportunity to turn her arms inwards. The wings swivelled around, following her; Connors let go of her with an almighty shout. His palms were red where the knives had cut into the scales. Pressing his hands together to apply pressure, he glared at Liz.

As she pushed herself back off the ground with a sharp wheeze, Liz thought she should probably glare back. But it was like her body was shouting at her. Her eyes found it hard to focus on anything, let alone Connors' face when he had finally made up his mind.

"No… Spider-Man," he thought over, aloud. Connors tilted his head as Liz nodded. "You'll… do. Not now… but you'll do."

With those words, it seemed a starting pistol had gone off. The Lizard pushed his body into a full sprint. He crashed into the wall — the one covered with news holograms — and Liz watched, half horrified, as all of them greyed and fizzled out. The bare wall crumbled to dust as he launched himself off the side of the Tower.

Slow in the blaring alarms that Liz barely registered, Ayo rose from her spot on the ground and limped over to the hole. Sparks flew from the broken hologram monitors. Ayo used her spear to steady herself and peered down.

"He's running," she reported to Shuri, who walked over herself to see. "Into the sewers. He'll be going to the lab."

Flash, though, was more concerned with Liz. "Are you alright?" he asked, crouching down next to her. He tried to get her sitting up straight, putting his hand on her back as he did so — and drew his bloodied hand away just as quickly.

Liz struggled to breathe normally. "I'm fine," she said, but even as she did she felt her arms buckle. Damn it, Liz thought.

Before she fell to the cold tile, no palms to keep her propped up, Flash grabbed her.

"We need some help over here," he called to the other two. "Like, now."

Liz watched as Ayo and Shuri turned from the wall and realised what state she was in. Shuri rushed over to help — but Ayo spent a moment running her fingers across the broken cinderblock. Something in Liz's stomach lurched as the wind blew the dust away.

Because it looked like — it looked just like her mom had, after —

— Shuri slung Liz's arm around her neck.

"The Wakandan Embassy's not far from here," she grunted under her weight. "We have facilities that can help."

"Hospital might not be a good idea," Flash agreed. The three of them — plus Ayo at their back — stumbled across the room, stopping just as the glass-windowed walkway began. Or what was left of it — which was just the catwalk.

After Connors had broken in, there was little left. Cold winds blew from every which direction. One wrong step…

"…Oh, God. I can't do this." Flash took a shaky breath, mirroring Liz's own — albeit for a different reason. "I really can't."

"Heights?" Shuri asked.

He looked sheepish, but his skin was still clammy on Liz's own. That told her that it was a miracle he could emote at all, with what his mind was telling him he was facing. "Yeah."

Shuri gave him a tentative smile. "Drowning, for me," she said. "Everyone's got a fear. It's how you face it that's important. You just need to take the first step, Flash."

Flash nodded. "Okay." He grunted and planted a single foot down on the metal. "Is this the part where you tell me not to look down?"

"No," Liz interrupted, "this is the part where I tell you to hurry your ass up. Bleeding out here, ouch."

Finally in the elevator, Flash furrowed his brow as he pressed the button for the ground floor. "Hey, what's Ayo afraid of, again?"

"Nothing," Ayo replied before Shuri could. "I'm a member of the Dora Milaje."

"Going down," the pleasant voice called out again. Liz resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

The doors screeched shut.

Chapter Text

The Wakandan Embassy ended up being much nicer than any of the other embassies.

Liz thought this despite the fact she'd never been to many others — in fact, any others. But the moment she'd been hauled inside a rush of wonder had flooded over her. From the floor-to-ceiling glass walls to the plants everywhere to the tech that seemed to be if not in the walls, everything that surrounded Liz made her want to just stop.

And look. And take notes. Extensively.

But she couldn't. Along with all that wonder, Liz was carrying with her a lot of injuries.

Vaguely, she realised not all of them could have been from the fight before; she'd been roughed up a bit yesterday, too — but that didn't hurt as much as she hurt now.

Liz closed her heavy eyes and listened to Shuri bark commands.

As soon as Flash, Ayo and Liz had taken her inside Shuri had been off their group like a shot. There had been good reason for it, too. Shuri had parted the sea of Wakandan government representatives and interns like Moses or something. She was leading the charge.

If anyone stopped to question her they were glared at at best— and at worst, Liz thought, Shuri began plotting their ban from anything to do with Wakanda in her head.

This hadn't happened much, though. She was the Queen. And everyone knew it — respected her for it.

Liz wasn't going to lie. It was kind of hot.

Blearily, Liz opened her eyes again. Flash was murmuring something — something about staying alive and waking up. She had half a mind to wrestle herself out of the grip Ayo and he had had her in. Liz wasn't dead and she felt like she probably had a good chance of staying that way. At least here.

Just before she actually did that, thought, Liz suddenly remembered how scary it all was.

She didn't know how Spider-Man did it, facing up against monsters like Connors week after week. She tried to imagine Flash in her place. Injured, closing his eyes, probably looking like a scarecrow — yeah, she could see why he was panicking. Liz squeezed his hand just to see some of the worry lines fade away.

They didn't.

They made their last big turn into some sort of training room. Shuri splintered off from their group again and strode over to one of the white walls, pressing on it. With a hiss, a slab pushed forward and rotated itself around so it was laid flat, suspended above the ground. It looked cold. It felt like it too.

Ayo laid Liz on it, carefully, and stepped back.

Shuri pulled out a thin tray from the side of the slab and peered down. She clicked her tongue and stabbed at the screen on it with a stylus that she'd gotten from… somewhere. It was hard to pay attention with Flash forcing her to lie straight down on her back. Well, not forcing her — telling her, really — but Liz got the feeling that if she didn't there would be hell to pay.

"What's it looking like, doc?"

Shuri frowned. "You've done a lot of damage," she started, "but you're gonna be just fine, trust me."

She removed the tray fully and carried it over to one of the computers stationed across from them. Liz resisted the urge to shiver. The space Shuri had left at her side had allowed a small, cold breeze through to attack her side.

"Guess you were right," Liz aimed at Flash instead, slurring slightly. She swallowed. "I am an overachiever."

Flash huffed. Relief started to crawl back onto his face.

"Just don't do it again, okay?" he asked. "At least, until I can kit you out again."

Something like embarrassment felt like it was clogging her throat up. "I'm really sorry about breaking them," she said, trying to make it stop. "You worked really hard and I do recognise—"

"'You recognise my contribution'?" He parrotted back, smiling. "Straight out of that coaching book. Didn't know it would turn you into Captain America. Or the Falcon," Flash considered, tilting his head. "We really need to come up with a name for you before J. Jonah Jameson does."

Shuri coughed before Liz could reply. She strode back to the slab bed, sliding the tray back in. Clicking it shut, she pinned Flash with a glare. "We need to fight the Lizard first. Ayo, if you would show Flash to one of the labs?"

Ayo nodded, once. Flash gave Liz a slightly overwhelmed wave. And then they were gone.

That left her with Shuri. For all that she'd been loud earlier, the Queen was quiet as a mouse now. Even her feet were silent as she moved around Liz. She wondered whether it was the effect of years of training with the Dora Milaje or whether Wakanda had just… gotten rid of footsteps altogether.

She craned her neck to get a better view.

Noticing Liz watching her walk, Shuri popped her foot out to the side so she could see exactly what was on her feet.

"Totally sound absorbent," she said proudly, showing off the shoe. "Guess what I call them."

"What?"

"Sneak-ers."

Wheezing, Liz laughed. It felt good.

But it really, really hurt too.

Her voice was croakier than it had been in a while. It kind of reminded Liz of when she caught a really bad cold back in her high school junior year; her dad and mom had stayed up all night as she'd hacked and coughed.

Now, her dad was behind bars — and her mom was gone. Just gone. She'd never get that again.

Never.

Liz tried to focus on Shuri, but it was hard. Her eyes felt as if they were burning.

The silence had come back in full force as Shuri pressed her thumb onto the side of the slab. Liz guessed there was some kind of fingerprint scan there. It had done something to the slab — her back felt warmer, as if she was lying down in a house with underfloor heating. Liz felt herself begin to relax.

"So," Shuri said. She had sat down, having pulled out a wooden chair next to her so if Liz turned her head she would be at eye level. Liz did, taking in Shuri's careful poker face. "You and Flash?"

Liz blanched when she realised what she was getting at. "No, no no," she stated, reeling. "No no, no no no, no, no, no. No. We're just friends."

"Think I got that from the twelve 'no's," Shuri quipped, her eyes crinkling. "How did you two meet?"

"We went to high school together here in New York for a while. I moved, but we kept in touch," Liz answered. She tried to shift herself to look at Shuri better, but a precise hand pushed her back down again gently.

"Where?" The why had gone unsaid, but it hung in the air.

"Oregon," she said. "Far, far away from here. Had to go for both of our sakes, me and my mom." Liz hesitated. If she decided to tell her why they moved, it could get awkward between them.

But, then again, she didn't have a reason not to. "My dad's in prison."

Shuri's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah." Liz resisted the urge to fidget. "Exotic armsdealing," she elaborated, "which is a fun way of saying that after the Battle of New York he found a way to make money again after Tony Stark got him fired. Hocking alien grenades on the black market."

She paused, acutely aware of Shuri's eyes on her.

"It's his fault that Spider-Man took him down in the end, I know that, it's just… he's my dad. He's always been there for me. I can't bear to think about what he thinks of me now he's seen me on the news doing the same job that put him away."

Shuri hummed. "And… you blame Tony Stark for this? And Spider-Man, too?"

"No. I don't know," Liz confessed. "I've never met either one of them — well, I met Spider-Man, once. He saved me. Now he's gone. Stark too." And my mom. "Heroes save people — and all that's made me want to do is fight as well. Does that make me crazy?"

"Just like the rest of us." Shuri folded her hands on her lap. "Do you know why I'm wearing white?"

Liz shook her head mutely.

"My brother, T'Challa, died because of Thanos," she said. "White's a colour for mourning — and it's also a colour for rebirth. When we die, the people of Wakanda believe that we find their way to the Ancestral Plane and live in death alongside those that came before us. It's not the end. It's a stepping off point."

"That's beautiful," Liz said, softly.

Shuri smiled at her, then looked out of the window, wistful. Liz could almost imagine what she was thinking — wondering what her brother was doing right about now. She was busy doing the exact same thing.

If Shuri's beliefs were fact, Madeleine Allan was safe and with her family. Liz had believed that anyway. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was her mom.

"My brother died a king, the Black Panther," Shuri continued. "I have no doubt he's with my father, who died a Black Panther before him. Just as T'Challa is entering a new part of his life, I am too — but I have a choice. Do I stay in Wakanda, become the Black Panther and protect my homeland as I was never trained to do? Or do I continue my work which I love and give up my birthright?"

She bit her lip. "I was supposed to go back as soon as my brother was reported dead. I've been avoiding it, prolonging my work here. I think Ayo is starting to suspect something."

Fuelled by emotion, Liz reached over and grasped Shuri's hand. "I'm not in your position, Shuri. I never will be. But I would say — go for what your gut is telling you. Stick to it."

For a beat, Shuri looked confused. "My gut?"

"You know," Liz said. She shook their handhold so it jostled near Shuri's stomach. "Your gut."

She shook her head. "That's a very American saying."

"Hey, guess where I'm from?"

"Ha, ha. Anyway, what I'm getting at is you're at a crossroads too, Liz. Do you go back to Oregon or do you stay here? Do you —"

"I finish what I started. I fight Connors." Liz paused. "I'm sorry, I interrupted you."

"It's okay."

"No, really, I'm sorry. Uh, what are you doing?"

Shuri had stood up, still holding her hand.

"I'm giving you a jailbreak, genius," she said, pulling the tray back out and jabbing at something on the screen.

Liz shivered as the slab turned back cool.

"You should be fine now. If you were shot in the back or had your mind taken over by HYDRA we'd be in here at least a day," said Shuri.

"…Okay. Why?"

Shuri stopped. She squinted at Liz. "Do you want me to check your head whilst I'm doing your vitals? You're not at a crossroads anymore — you've just jumped right into the Rhino paddock. Unless you were asking why reprogramming a super sergeant took more than a day, in which case I'd like to see you do it."

Liz grinned. "I'm a physics major. I think I'll leave that job to you."

She grimaced as Shuri threaded her arm underneath the small of her back and hauled her to a sitting position.

Liz swung her legs around and frowned. She felt fine; a little achy, but alright all the same. If it weren't for the blood she was sure was caked all up her back Liz thought there would probably be no trace of the fight she'd had with Connors.

She leaned back into the crook of Shuri's arm. "So, how do you suppose we get out of here?"

Shuri just winked at her.

The temperature had dropped dramatically by the time Liz and Shuri managed to slip out the back and onto the street.

It was still dark; some time earlier they must've graduated from the late hours of the night to the early morning, but Liz didn't know when. Her watch was still in Oregon. Her phone was — oh, her phone was god knows where, and she knew that normally she would panic. In fact, she sort of was, inside, but any worry she did had was sort of drowned out by the sense of foreboding she felt looking down the open manhole.

"Royals first?" she tried, and had to smile when Shuri looked at her with a withering expression.

"I'm not going down there without someone to break my fall," she said, sounding affronted, but her eyes were sparkling. Shuri crossed her arms over her shirt. "And plus, aren't you supposed to be a superhero? I thought you'd be into volunteering for things. I mean, Captain America did it, and he's, like, the American superhero ideal."

"Well," Liz replied, placing a foot on the closest rung anyway, "I'm pretty sure he's still a war criminal, so."

They scaled their way back down to the sewers below, Shuri's kimoyo beads lighting up the dingy surroundings.

Once Liz reached the bottom she wiped her hands on her jeans — which needed a wash, seriously — and looked around her. There wasn't really any need. It was pitch black.

You couldn't see anything even if you wanted to.

Which was why, even though her mind was whirring with worries about rats, Liz's eyes refused to adjust to her surroundings. It wasn't until Shuri's face became visible she could see anything at all.

Shuri jumped off the ladder and landed next to her.

A square picture projected from her bracelet. It was an embarrassingly long time before Liz realised that it was a map. In her defence, the last time she'd been asleep had been the hotel room.

The way there was much shorter than it'd been the first time, but that didn't stop Liz's legs feeling like someone else had used them as a treadmill.

None of the lights were on when they reached Connors' lab, though Liz supposed that was because of some kind of auto-light sensor thing. Like the kind they'd had at the University of Oregon. There'd been times, back then, when all of the Physics majors — including Liz — had just sat there listening to a lecture when all of the lights had gone off because no-one had moved in a while.

Jesus. 'Back then'. Like she was reminiscing.

But Liz knew she kind of was.

The moment she saw the Lizard — hell, the moment her mother had died — that part of her life had been over.

Maybe that should have been terrifying to think about; maybe she shouldn't have done any of it. She'd never know, now.

For better or worse.

She moved her hand experimentally. The lights didn't switch on. Frowning, Liz stepped further in. A faint rumble started up. It sounded kind of like a growl. With growing fear, Liz realised it was one.

She gripped Shuri's arm. In surprise, it jerked, and the light from the beads danced across the room. They shone across raised, bumpy scales and into snake-like eyes that went slit-thin.

"…Run," hissed Connors.

Liz bolted.

Chapter Text

Hand in hand, Liz and Shuri ran down the underground.

It was hard to weave and duck their way through, what with the smell and the massive lizard monster hot on their heels. Liz refused to think about what would happen if Connors caught them. It wouldn't end well, that was for sure. She spurred onwards, grasping Shuri's hand as if it was a lifeline.

It took no time at all to reach the ladder. Thank God the manhole was still popped open; it would take too long to try and push it up.

And they needed all the time they could get.

Liz skidded to a halt just before she crashed into the metal rungs.

Wordlessly, she angled herself to boost Shuri up — and almost had to push her as a blood-freezing screech echoed down the corridors. Soon, Shuri had climbed through the hole. She knelt above the iron cover, looking down at Liz

Shuri outstretched her hand.

Using all the strength she had — which was, surprisingly, quite a bit — Liz grasped onto the highest bar and swung her legs up so she could climb. She hopped up another, and grasped Shuri's hand tightly, letting herself be lifted up.

Now on solid sidewalk, Liz almost kissed the sweet, sweet ground. But she knew Connors was right behind her. Even if it would take him a good amount of time before he managed to break through.

He certainly wasn't small enough to squeeze through the space, not like Liz and Shuri had. And the nearest opening that was big enough for him was half a city away.

She had the distinct feeling he didn't want to waste any time that could be spent getting out his anger.

On her.

Liz rubbed her eyes.

How long had she been awake? It had to have been too long to be safe, now.

The sun threatened to spill out over the horizon, pinky hues brushed across the sky. She turned to Shuri, ready to say something — she wasn't sure what, maybe to go back to the embassy whilst she took Connors on — but Shuri cut her off.

Her fingers traced intricate symbols into the sides of Liz's face as she pressed her lips against hers. They were soft, and Liz's own parted a little as she leaned in, getting more comfortable. Unsure what to do with her hands, Liz threaded them together over the small of Shuri's back; she closed her eyes as Shuri's hands abandoned her jaw and cradled her head. They broke apart, their foreheads still touching.

"Well," she said, at length.

Shuri chuckled. "Well."

"How long —"

"It just felt right," she replied, pulling back. She cocked an eyebrow. "Unless —"

"You have nothing to worry about," Liz assured her. A small smile crept across her face. "Maybe it was at… not the best time, but… I'm glad you did. We did. Uh, that. Kiss."

"I got it, dork," Shuri said. She reached behind Liz's neck, pulling what was left of Mrs. Thompson's tattered hood over her head. "Listen to me," she started, placing her hands on Liz's shoulders. This wasn't Shuri she was talking to anymore; this was the Queen of Wakanda. "I'm going to go back. To the embassy. Try to speed up Flash a little, see what he can do with your wings."

Liz nodded, then blinked. "Oh no, Flash," she said, resisting the urge to try and burrow her way into the sidewalk. "He told me to wait before I did anything stupid or crazy until he could fix my wings. I'm going to get the silent treatment. Badly."

Shuri laughed. "I'll tell him you're really sorry," she said, shrugging. "Besides, if I get him to hustle, you'll be able to do your 'stupid and crazy' things sooner."

Liz opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a loud noise. She turned on her heel. The pavement surrounding the metal cover was starting to crumble inwards.

"Go," she said instead. By the time that Liz turned to see if she had heard her, Shuri had already left.

She refocused on Connors.

Liz was at a major disadvantage when it came to their fight. Without her wings, it would be near impossible to defend herself against him or attack head-to-head. She had to outsmart him.

The sidewalk crumpled inwards and Connors' scaly arm clawed its way across what was left. There was no shred of humanity left in his eyes at all, though Liz had never seen any in the first place. She glanced around her surroundings. What could she use?

A beat-up wagon to her left caught her eye. The wing mirror hung off of it at an awkward angle, as if someone had fixed it wrong. If she could aim it at Connors' head, he'd be out. Cold. Liz wasn't strong enough to break it off with her bare hands. But if she found something to break it off… the manhole cover.

Connors' nostrils flared and he turned to Liz.

"How's… your back?" he asked, fake-concern heavy, a poor imitation of a good doctor. He was one, she remembered. Long before he was the Lizard. Long before he fought Spider-Man.

Long before he lost.

"Fine, thanks," she spat back. False bravado flowed through her veins. "What about your hands?"

In response, Connors showed her his palms. Infuriatingly, they were completely clear. It was like she'd never hurt him in the first place. "Good… as new."

"I take it that's not a surrender, then."

"No."

"Shame," Liz said, and broke off into a sprint towards him.

Taken aback, Connors could only watch as she skidded on her shoes between his legs — and full-on growled when she yanked the cover from the sidewalk as she went. It was heavier than it looked — way heavier.

Her arms threatened to buckle. Liz had to get back to that car soon.

Liz hefted the cover into a more comfortable position — between her armpit and her white-knuckled hand — and stumbled into a run. Before she could clear Connors, though, he blocked her with his leg. All the air jumped out of her lungs when she crashed into it. Liz slumped onto her knees.

Winded, she watched as Connors howled and grasped the back of his leg. A massive slash had been scratched through his scales, about as long as the cover. She looked down at the metal sandwiched between her arm and her side.

Maybe Steve Rogers had been onto something.

She stood up quickly — and immediately wished she hadn't. Her world swirled around her as she staggered to the car door. With a clunk, the side mirror dropped to the street. The glass in it shattered into shards and was spat out onto the asphalt. With little care, she set aside the manhole cover and picked up the metal wing mirror's shell. It was about as heavy as a brick.

Hopefully, it would hit as hard. Liz weighed it in her hands, before transferring it to one — and fastballing it at Connors' head.

Her aim was slightly off, but that didn't matter. The mirror shell hit him square in the abdomen. Connors bent over from the blow, the danger knocked out of him. He was almost folded in half. Gripping his torso, he attempted to stand up straight. Liz watched as he grunted, adjusting his position.

He began to limp forward, determined to end the fight. Liz swallowed. When was this guy going to go down? Spider-Man had always made it look so easy — do a couple flips, say something witty and then web them to the ground where they stood.

Connors took another thundering step.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks.

Slowly, Connors reached towards the street. Liz scuttled her feet back as his taloned fingers touched the glass shards near them. He picked one up with more caution than she'd ever seen him show. Lifting the tiny sliver of mirror up to his face, Liz saw the exact moment that Connors realised just what was staring back.

He dropped the mirror to the street — and slammed his hands through the car window next to him. His reflection broke into pieces.

Connors grabbed his scaly face. "What… did you do?"

"Me?" Liz blinked in shock. "I didn't do anything. You're the one that —"

"Spider-Man…" Connors shook his head, freeing it of cobwebs. "Where…"

"I already told you," Liz said, "dead. Gone. It's just me, now. And I'm ending it."

She reached towards the manhole cover that was leaning on the side of the car, grabbing it with both hands. Maybe it was bad form to incapacitate someone whilst they were going through something, but Liz couldn't really find it in herself to care.

Before she could go through with it, though, Connors lurched forward.

It took Liz a second before she realised that he wasn't going towards her on purpose. His scaly hand shot up and touched his arm. Blood was smattered on his fingers. His eyes widened.

Another bullet ripped through the air. This time, it fired through his arm, rather than grazing it.

Liz watched in horror as Connors fell to the floor. Not moving.

She hadn't wanted to kill him.

Liz wasn't a murderer.

But she had brought him here, had dragged him out here to beat him. So she had some part in it. Some part in the bullet, fired by —

Liz looked up.

Standing there, pistol still smoking, was Officer Santiago. Her face was grim. Her teeth were gritted.

Her hands were shaking.

She reached for her radio, but Liz put up a hand to say stop. She crouched down by Connors' neck. Liz squinted, and then rocked back on her heels. His pulse was still racing through his neck, though his eyes were still glossed over. Alive.

Officer Santiago cleared her throat, and Liz looked up. "He dead?"

Liz closed her eyes, rubbing them with her hand.

Sure, it would be more convenient to lie — but Liz couldn't do that, not to anyone. It was crushing enough when her mother had died, awful to feel as helpless as she had done. And it had been heart-wrenching looking down at Connors' stiff body. To let someone else think that they were a murderer?

"No," Liz said, finally.

All tension seemed to sap from Santiago's shoulders. She seemed to sink into herself, slightly, before remembering who she was — and what uniform she was wearing.

"Thank you," she said, pointedly. Sirens started to sound in the distance. Santiago's hand strayed to her belt, touching the cuffs on it. "I've got it from here. Trust me."

It was kind of funny, in a way.

Back in elementary school, they'd used to have assemblies about safety — about calling 911 and asking for the police if you were in trouble. They served to protect.

But that message had never really rang true to Liz.

For one, she listened to her parents. And her mom said never to trust cops. Her dad, too. That whatever they said, they weren't your friends — and like everyone else, they worked for money. Seeing as they were the people that enforced the law — emphasis on the force — that was dangerous.

Sure, Officer Santiago had let her go on the bridge. But what was to say she hadn't gotten reamed out by her captain for doing so? There was no way to know what had happened to her since then — what had driven her to drive around, looking for Connors?

Maybe it was the same thing that had driven Liz to the sewers with Shuri.

Shuri.

It was probably because of the kiss, but Liz felt a little lightheaded when she saw the Queen running down the street. Shuri stopped dead short of Connors' unconscious body.

Shuri brushed past Santiago, effectively creating a barrier between the Officer and Liz.

"Are you okay?" Shuri said. She took Connors' pulse and frowned, rustling around in her bag. She paused and looked at Liz. "Wingspan, I asked you a question."

It took a minute for Liz's brain to click into place. "Wingspan?"

"That's what they're calling you on the news," Shuri said, airily. She found what she was looking for — a white baton — and pressed the button on the side.

Immediately, it unraveled into a stretcher, big enough for Connors. Oh, Liz was so not lifting that.

"I think it suits you," she carried on.

"You would," Liz grumbled, without any real heat.

Shuri grinned at her, and it was enough to set the butterflies loose in Liz's stomach again.

Officer Santiago cleared her throat. "Excuse me, this is an active crime scene."

Shuri rolled her eyes for Liz, and then turned so that she was looking her dead in the eye.

"Excuse me," she said, and Santiago's eyes widened as she took in just who she was speaking to. "As a visiting royal with diplomatic immunity, I extend that immunity to myself, the vigilante and the doctor. Leave us."

She blinked, flabbergasted. "But I —"

Shuri glared at her.

Santiago turned on her heel.

Liz took the other end of the stretcher. "Why didn't you do that earlier?"

Shuri arched an eyebrow. "What, lie about being able to extend a diplomatic immunity towards two Americans breaking their own laws? I wasn't desperate enough to think of it."

"Desperate, huh?"

"Mind out of the gutter."

Liz sobered, smiling down at her feet.

"Okay," she said, more softly. "Thank you, Shuri."

With effort, they pushed Connors onto the stretcher. Liz watched in amazement as restraints wrapped around his arms and two vibranium sheets shot out from the sides, meeting in the middle over him. A triangle-patterned design flickered over the pod, showing them it was fully supported.

"For what?" Shuri asked, over the sirens that were dying down. Santiago must've told them to back down, Liz realised. "By the time I got to the embassy, you'd already taken down Connors — I didn't even have time to ask about your wings —"

"Shuri," Liz said, "I said thank you. I meant it. Your brother… he'd be proud of you."

Shuri's hand hovered over the interface for the pod. "You think?"

"I know."

A smile tugged at her lips as Shuri tapped at the holographic screen. An electric hum echoed down the empty street as Connors' pod rose into the air. All that it was missing was wings, Liz thought.

"What are you going to do with him?" said Liz. The device started to trundle down the asphalt.

"I don't know," she confessed. "I'm not the biggest fan of the American prison system — and he's proved it can't hold him anyway. It's going to be tricky."

Yeah, Liz thought. She wasn't the biggest fan of US prisons either, especially after her dad was sent to one.

"I wish there was a guidebook for this kind of thing," Liz said. Whatever guidebook there had been had been thrown out along with half of the population, she thought.

Shuri nodded. She slipped her hand into Liz's. Overhead, the sun had finally broke free of the hazy horizon, painting the buildings shades of pink and orange.

"Maybe it's time we make our own," Shuri said, and squeezed her hand tight.

"Saw you on the news, honey. Looked pretty bad."

Liz grimaced and adjusted her grip on the phone. "I guarantee you, it felt worse experiencing it. I've got bruises on bruises, Dad."

Adrian Toomes huffed. "You want me to talk to someone?"

She raised her eyebrows and laughed. "What, using ESP? Writing a personal ad — bone to pick with Lizard-man-scientist, apply at —"

"You forget," her dad cut in, tapping at the plexiglass, "I share a cafeteria with about sixty super-villains. I'm sure I could rustle up something, kiddo."

Liz smiled. "I think that might lend well to the smear campaign Jameson's running about me." She spared a glance to the plaque on the wall that told her about the recording of conversations. "Me and… the other litter-pickers of New York."

"'Litter-picker'?" her dad asked, incredulously.

"Yeah, you know…" Liz made a gesture. She wasn't sure what it meant. "…Taking out the trash."

The full-belly laugh that he gave her was enough to break the tension she was certain was about to brew.

"Jesus, kid," her dad said, after he'd died down. He sat back in the chair he was in, taking her in. "You look better."

Liz mulled that over for a second. There were probably a thousand things she could have put as the reason — Flash showing her his final design for the wings, Ayo teaching her how to actually dodge a punch, Shuri, well, Shuri — but there was only one that came to mind.

"I've had a little time to think things over," she said, pressing her hand to the glass. "Maybe… we should see if we can't petition for a reduced sentence. Get you out of here sooner, rather than later."

Her dad's jaw went slightly slack. "Wow," he said, at length. "What caused you to change your tune?"

Irrationally, Liz felt hot tears pricking at her eyes.

"I just… I need a dad, Dad. I've needed once since Oregon — no, since before you left for here." She swallowed. "I miss you. Mom did, too. She never admitted it, but… I could tell. And she could tell with me."

Her dad wasn't doing much better, seeing as though he was swiping at his own eyes. He leant forward, folded his hand over into a fist and rested his head on his forehead, phone still pressed against his ear.

"You're so much like her, you know?"

Liz bit her lip. "I know, Dad."

Her dad straightened up, resting his chin on his fist instead. He looked her dead in the eye. "You're serious about this, kiddo?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'd like that, Liz. I really would." Something else passed across his face. "Honey, I — I just wanted to say — you have my blessing, though you don't need it. To… 'litter-pick'."

"Wha — Oh." Her shoulders felt lighter, somehow. "Dad, I —"

"If it's what makes you happy," her dad continued, "then do it. Just do it. I'll be even happier if you manage to do more property damage to Stark Tower."

Oh, there it was. Liz snorted.

"Sure," she said, shrugging. "I mean, targeting the former Avengers headquarters will do wonders for my credibility."

Her dad just laughed.