Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For what seems like the one-hundredth time since I first woke up in the bare room, I wrench my hand-cuffed hands hard and fast from where they are forced to rest on the arms of the chair that I am currently in to try and break them. My feeble efforts are in vain, however, as the movement only causes pain to flare along my wrists where the metal digs into my skin. Cursing, a huff of annoyance seeps past my thin lips as I drop my hands in defeat, ignoring the pain that is left behind.

Prominent, throbbing, stinging pain.

Something that I have been forced to grow accustomed to in the past ten months.

Growing up in a family full of SHIELD agents had greatly influenced my decision in becoming an agent myself. Once I was old enough and an attempted astrophysics degree didn’t end up working out, I enrolled into the SHIELD academy and quickly worked my way through the vigorous training program. Every assignment, every drill, every single piece of hell that my tutors threw at me I completed with an equal ferocity which lead to promising and incredible results. I graduated from the academy at the age of nineteen and was awarded a level seven clearance. Though not unheard of for agents to reach this level at such a young age, it is uncommon. My ties with the founder of SHIELD and the Director at the time increased the chances of this happening, but I still worked hard to get where I had been. According to my uncle, Clint Barton, it is something that hasn’t happened since my mother was my age. A gifted and skilled agent, she had been someone to quickly move up through the ranks of SHIELD and to gain the reputation of being one of the best SHIELD agents of her generation.

 Not that it had helped her in the long run. A bullet to the head in Russia during a mission had left me an orphan at twelve years old, with no father to take care of me.

The topic of who my father is had always been a touchy subject for Stacey Hathaway. Whenever I tried to discuss it with her, my mother would either blatantly tell me to drop the subject or she would avoid answering the question altogether. Her secretiveness on the matter and overall distant personality had effectively put a tight stain on our relationship, and even after her death, I have yet to truly forgive her for her lack of openness with me all those years. Perhaps if she had even let slip even the smallest titbit of information about his identity, then things could have been different.

With no knowledge as to who my father was, the only other person that could have taken me in was Clint. He and his then-pregnant wife Laura had been more than happy to do so, so I packed up my belongings, said goodbye to my friends and life in San Francisco before leaving it all behind to move into Clint’s hidden farmhouse. Soon baby Cooper was born followed by Lila a couple of years later. I was finally getting the loving family that I had always been denied these years, and I was fast on my way to becoming one of SHIELD’s best agents.

Every single mission that SHIELD sent my way, I completed with ease. Sometimes they would be solo, other times I would help Nat and Clint with theirs-every now and again I would also complete tasks with my then-boyfriend Grant Ward. Whatever the case, and whether or not I did it with others or alone, I always succeeded. Never once failing. 

It was because of this, that Alexander Pierce thought that I was best suited for a task in Greece. He had insisted that it was me who completed the mission and I hadn't fought him on the matter. I mean, the head of SHIELD insisting that you single-handedly complete a mission? You'd be idiotic to say no. So I had gladly accepted, before heading off to Greece to do the job. 

My assignment had been simple: find the target who had infiltrated SHIELD and had stolen valuable files, take the files back and arrest the target before calling Phil Coulson for extraction. It was certainly easier compared to some of my past missions, and I had quickly completed it almost effortlessly. But the night that I was supposed to meet Coulson at the airport after I had handed over the target, I had been jumped. When I was walking out of the hotel and towards by car, eight men-eight trained men- appeared out of nowhere and attacked me. I tried my best to fight and I managed to injure two of them- but it wasn't enough. They easily overtook me and knocked me out cold, before dragging me into my own personal hell.

This absolute shithole. Where I’ve been held against my will for the past ten months.

Dangerous guards. Illegal experiments. Dozens if not hundreds of captives like me stuck in this four-walled prison with too many locked doors to count. Harsh punishments. Cruel and vindictive guards that weren’t afraid of using corporal punishment as a means to keep control of us prisoners. Agonising screams bouncing off the walls late into the night, resonating in my skull and resulting in unwanted nightmares. An unknown organisation behind this all. No way out.

This. This is hell.

The door to the small room suddenly creaks open, causing me to crane my neck towards it at the sound. I can’t help but bare my teeth in anger when I see who it is that greets me on the other side. It’s whom everyone in here knows as The Man simply because no one knows who he really is or where he comes from. He’s the one in charge of this place and had been in my cell to greet me when I first woke up in this place.

After brief bickering between the two of us, he had informed me that I was to become part of his human experiment program and that I had been chosen specifically due to a special set of genes that I have- he believes them to be valuable and important to his research. When I had asked for clarification he refused to elaborate, leading me to believe that he had been lying. If I really had a special set of genes, then wouldn’t I be the first to know it?

He now says nothing to me as he shuts the door behind him, before crossing the room at a leisurely pace and settling into the chair on the opposite side of the table that I am forced to sit at. He’s dressed in the same grey, pressed suit that he always wears, the colour almost matching his hair. His face is lined with age, and his thick lips are surprisingly tugged into an amused smirk as his gunmetal blue irises stare at me, framed by thick, gold-rimmed glasses that make him look older than he actually is.

He leans back into this chair, which groans under the weight of his plump body, and entwines his fat fingers together before placing them on the table between us. “Do you know why you’re here, Lydia?” He asks in the soft tone he always speaks in, his voice as smooth as velvet as the words flow from his mouth.

I chew at the inside of my bottom lip, casting my eyes around the room that we are sitting in. There is nothing out of place within these four walls, and I can’t think of something that I have done that would result in me locked in this unfamiliar room with a Man that I have scarcely seen since our first meeting. I can’t help but drum my fingers impatiently against the armrest at the thought.

 “Haven’t got a clue,” I sneer. “So why don’t you enlighten me with that piece of information?”

For a fleeting moment, I could have sworn that I can detect a hint of relief in the flecks of icy eyes, but he lets out a dry chuckle and ducks his head before I can be sure. “I see your temper has managed to stay with you after all this time-”

“Well, what did you expect? I’ve been kidnapped, held captive, repeatedly tortured for your own sick experiments and-” I cut off, wrenching my arm up from the chair to jingle the handcuffs for emphasis. “I’ve been handcuffed all this time. What, were you expecting me to be grateful?”

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head with disappointment. “Sick experiments? We’ve been trying to make you strong-”

“I am- was, a level seven agent of SHIELD.” My lip curls into a snarl. Whoever these people are they know exactly who and what SHIELD is- they knew before they brought me here. How they know I have no clue despite the lengths that I have gone to try and discern the truth. “I was strong.

“You are in this room because you’ve been able to control the elements for two months now. Do you know what that means?”

It hadn’t taken me long to figure out what it was that they were trying to achieve with their experiments on me. As well as injecting me with some sort of purple serum that to this day I still don’t know what it is, they would place me in an electric chair where I was forced to endure multiple shocks that left my body a buzzing, trembling mess once I was finally released, the aftershocks lasting well into the night. They locked me in some form of a chamber that would leave me desperately gasping as the oxygen levels were made to drop or shrieking in pain as the pressure increased. I was held down in water to the point where I almost drowned on multiple occasions and locked in freezing cold rooms overnight. I had been buried alive and set on fire, scars littering the skin of my hands and arms where they had burned me while holding me down, ignoring my desperate and agonizing pleas for them to stop.

They were trying to teach me to control the elements. And only recently- after eight months of torture- I’ve been able to do just that.

Suddenly, I could control electricity and could produce some from my body, as well as feel the energy of it buzzing all around me in appliances, machines- and while I haven’t seen the blue sky in almost over a year, I can always tell whenever there was a lightning storm, the electrical charges in the air too strong for me not to notice. I can control the oxygen pressure and create winds that sent objects flying fast and high in the air, as well as create air bubbles around my head that would provide me with fresh oxygen. I can create waves and breathe underwater, as well as draw moisture from the air to keep me cool on hot days and change the temperature of the usually freezing showers that us captives were subjected to here. Only recently I discovered that I am cryokinetic. My ability to manipulate water has also given me the ability to control its component of ice.

I can grow plants from the tips of my fingers, and I learnt to dig myself out of my graves without needing to use my hands to do so. Fire no longer blisters my skin and I can create some out of thin air. But the best part had to be that I can use wind currents and the air to levitate myself off the ground, soaring as fast and as high into the sky as I wanted.

I. Can freaking. Fly.

Once my abilities strengthened I had planned on using them to overthrow my captors and escape. But the people that run this place are far cleverer than I give them credit for, as they had similar thoughts that I would try something like this. My guards were tripled. I was injected with a needle that would weaken my abilities to the point where they don’t exist once my training was done for the day and the number of guards ordered to watch me tripled overnight, their weapons stronger and more capable of killing me. Outnumbered, they had promised to put a bullet in my head if I even looked at them the wrong way, making escaping even harder than it had been before.

And the handcuffs. They were charged with electricity that would send a harsh jolt through my body every time I tried to break them off. With the inhibition drug coursing through my veins, my body couldn’t withstand the strong electrical charge.

“That you’ve gone to all this trouble just because you wanted your own little Avatar?” I now say, voice dry of any emotion. “Someone’s clearly been fanboying hard over The Last Airbender.”

“Hilarious.”

I shrug. “I like to think so. But in all honesty, I have no idea why you dragged me out of my cell in the middle of the night for this little chat. Though, I have my suspicions.”

“Oh? Do tell then.”

“When you’ve been stuck in here for over a year now, you tend to notice things. Every time someone in this place is able to master their abilities, they tend to disappear. You don’t kill them, obviously- that would just be a waste of your time- but they don’t stick around in this place. I guess you ship them off to a place where you have better use for them, making more room for more captives and more experiments.”

“Clever girl.”

“It’s called being observant, not clever.” I roll my eyes. “That, or your little band of psychos have just decided to move on to some new place. It would explain why those other captives who haven’t been able to complete the experiments are slowly being shipped out.”

He raises a bushy brow. “Others?”

“Wanda and Pietro, for starters,” I reply, my heart clenching like a tight vice at the thought of the twins. They had arrived a few months after I have, and the three of us had quickly gotten along even though they had willingly volunteered to come to this place. Why the hell anyone would do such a thing is beyond me, but they had been unwilling to share details on the matter. I had managed to gain snippets of information from them over the months though- something about wanting to be strong so that they could take down those responsible for the death of someone they loved.

“And… and the girl,” I add, a small frown tugging at the corners of my lips. The girl. I know vaguely who it is that I’m talking about. But try as I might, I can’t get my mind to conjure up a name for this mystery woman, whose face I can’t even picture properly. I can see an outline; pale skin and blonde hair, but the more that I try to think of her features, the blurrier they become. It’s like desperately trying to grasp at some smoke; no matter how hard I try, I can’t get a firm grasp on it. She keeps slipping through my fingers before I can get a good look.

“The girl?” The Man demands.

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut and wincing as the back of it begins to throb.

The sound of a heavy sigh filling the momentary silence of the room causes me to open them once more, and I am surprised to see there is a look of disappointment on The Man’s face. “Yes, this is all true, Miss Hathaway. But this won’t be happening to you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because we’re going to kill you.”

After all this torture, torment and pain, I sort of saw this one coming. Each day could have been my last- I had grown to accept that my death at the end of all this was inevitable. But that doesn’t stop my heart from skipping a beat and my stomach dropping to my feet at the six words callous words he had just spoken.

A death sentence at just twenty years old. My crime? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He squints at me. “You don't seem surprised.”

 Not wanting him to see how badly his words have affected me, I do my best to swallow the fear and offer him a blank look, praying that my voice wouldn’t quaver when I replied. “Well, I wasn’t brought here by choice. We both know that there was no way that you were going to let me go when all I would do is bring SHIELD back here to kick your ass.”

“Not only that, but you haven’t been the most cooperative,” The Man says, a slight hint of humour in his tone. “Mr Davis is still in the coma, by the way.”

“Poor him,” I deadpan, feeling no remorse for hurting that man. He had been a guard that had decided to get a little too hands-on one day. If I was being quite honest, then I’m glad he’s in a coma. Not only does it keep him away from me, but also from the other young girls that are trapped here in this facility as well.”

“Miss Henderson lost three teeth.”

“She'll live.”

"They managed to sew Johnson's finger back on." 

"Good for him."

“And Mr Low is unable to have any kids in the near future.”

“That moron had it coming. You don't try and handle a job that way, OK? Not my fault the idiot's groin got in the way of my foot.”

He smiles tightly. “Either way Ms Hathaway. Tomorrow, we're evacuating all of the people in this facility to another, seeing as we have some unwanted parties on our tail. Everyone except you. You will remain here alone and will be blown up with the rest of the building. If anyone does find you...well. There won't exactly be much left for them to find."

I flinch at his words. Tomorrow? No! “I think you're being a little hasty,” I try to reason shakily. “I mean, blowing up the building?”

“We wouldn't want to leave a scent for SHIELD to come and find us, now would we?” he explains calmly. “We don't need you anymore Lydia. Now that we know that the experiments worked on you, we can now apply them to someone more willing. We believe that we now have enough data to replicate what we have done to you, even if our test subjects don't have the same set of genes." 

“How do you know the experiments will work on the others?”

“It will work. We have some of the best scientists in the world in here. Try all you want, but nothing is going to change our minds. You're dying tomorrow.”

*****

Hushed whispers and frantic footsteps are what woke me from my slumber that following morning. Dazed, I groggily pull myself upright on my pathetic excuse of a bed and rub the sleep from my eyes as I try to get my bearings. A quick glance at the light streaming from beneath the gap of the bottom of the floor and my cell door informs me that it is well and truly past the time that the guards usually come and drag us out of our cells for our training, so why hadn’t anyone come for me?

You’re dying tomorrow.

My eyes fly open as The Man’s words ring and echo in my mind like the chime of a bell, and I bolt to my feet at the reminder of my pending death sentence.

If anyone does find you… well. There won’t exactly be much left for them to find.

I dash towards the door at neck-breaking speed, and practically through myself against it as a sudden wave of desperation crashes over me. “Hey!” I scream with an angry thud against the door, praying that someone would hear my plea. “Hey! Let me out!”

But it’s no use. If there is anyone left behind that can hear me, then they don’t care enough to let me out of this cage. As it had been for the past year, I have been left terrified and alone, forced to rely only on myself to get out of this mess.

For several minutes, I continue to throw myself against the door in a desperate attempt to try and knock it down. When shoving it doesn’t work, I try ramming against it with my shoulders and even try backing up as much as I can in the small confines of my cell, hoping that a running start might increase my odds. But after dozens of failed attempts, it doesn’t take me too long to figure out that brute force isn’t going to work; the door is too thick. Letting out a scream of frustration, I slam my shackled hands against the door without even thinking of the electrical consequence that would follow.

But to my complete astonishment, it never comes. At least, not to the excruciating extent that it usually does. A slight electrical volt thrums through my wrists, but it isn’t harsh enough to be considered painful. It’s really nothing more than a dull and slightly uncomfortable annoyance.

Tilting my head down as I stare quizzically at the metal entrapment, I slam my hands against the door once more to ensure that this isn’t just a trick of my imagination. I brace myself for the charge just in case, but it’s just as it had been before; the volt was there, but it’s not powerful. The only logical explanation could be that the power inhibiting drug that the guards callously inject in my body on a daily basis has started to wear off. Which means…

I can use my powers.

Taking a deep breath, I click my fingers together, hoping that a spark of fire would ignite between them. I am met with nothing but disappointment, however and I swear under my breath. Determined not to give up that easily though, I click my fingers once more and let out an excited gasp as the smallest of flames flickers between them for a brief moment, before then dancing out of existence.

Come on! Focus!

Inhaling deeply, I slowly count to five in an effort to calm my racing pulse, knowing that getting worked up won’t help matters. With blood still rushing in my ears and my fingers shaking slightly, I give them one last click, pouring every ounce of power that I can muster into the small action. And like a flick of some invisible switch, I feel the familiar sense of my elemental powers surge through my veins. My whole body buzzes with the almost overwhelming energy, and sure enough, my hands are suddenly engulfed with bright, roaring flames of a powerful fire that takes my breath away.

Letting out a small noise of delight, I allow the fire to travel up towards the metal surrounding my wrists. It doesn’t take long for the flames to melt the chain connecting the two pieces together, with small electrical sparks going off as the flames damage the circuits hidden beneath their surface, My powers allow me to walk away unscarred by the burning heat, and I’m free seconds later, the broken pieces of metal landing on the ground with a clatter on the ground.

A small huff escapes past my lips as I step back from the door, wringing my hands by my side as I try to keep a strong grasp on the power flowing through my veins. I raise my hands, palms flat and facing forward as I draw them back, ready to thrust them forward-

I shriek with surprise as a piercing alarm suddenly echoes throughout the facility, both loud and shrill enough to cause a high-pitched ring in my ears that borderlines painful. I instinctively reach up to slam my hands over them in a fruitless effort to try and drown out the horrible noise, but I hear it all the same. My head starts to achingly throb with the force of it, and inside all I can think is one thing;

If an alarm has started to go off, then it means that this building is even closer to blowing up than it had been moments before.

I have to get out of this place. Now.

Grasping on to that power in the same manner that I had before, I draw my hands away from my ears and snap my palms forward. The huge gust of wind that follows is powerful enough to send the door flying off its hinges, landing with a heavy crash that gets drowned out in the sound of the alarm still going off.

"Six minutes to self-destruct.”

The relief of finally having a way out of my cell is short-lived and is quickly replaced with a feeling of heart-clenching, stomach-dropping panic at the sound of the thick, German-accented voice that blares throughout the room and reveals that I have just under six minutes to work my way free from this building. Without a second thought or glance back at the room that I had been forced to call my own over the past twelve months, I tear through the now empty door frame and down the hall, going as fast as my legs can carry me.

The impending countdown continues to play from the speakers in the facility and along with the alarm, which only causes my already racing heart to beat faster with an underlying fear of not making it out of this place alive. I can practically feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I weave up and down numerous corridors, feeling very much like a mouse trying to work its way through a maze. I don’t dare slow down, knowing that every little second from this moment forward will count in so many ways; if I hesitate for even just one of these seconds in the remaining five and a half minutes that I have left to find a way out, then it could very much mean game over.

I have survived this long in this hell; I don’t intend on dying after all this time.

"4 minutes until self-destruct.”

Come on! Come on, come on COME ON!

“No sign of her anywhere, but we’ll find her Sir!”

I stumble and almost fall head over heels at the eerily familiar, male voice that screams over the still shrieking alarm in the next hallway over. Not bothering to try to work out who the voice belongs to - it was most likely a guard - I clench my fists and try not to let his words scare me too much. If there was someone else in this building looking for me, then it means that it’s someone with who I wouldn’t want to cross paths. They must have left someone behind to ensure that I didn’t escape.

I click my palms and instantly feel electricity crack between my hands. I sure as hell am not letting them succeed. Resuming my fast and even pace, I raise my hands and turn around the corner.

A man just taller than me stands in the middle of the corridor with his back facing me. He hurries down the hall but I am quicker than him, and successfully sneak up behind him without alerting him to my presence with the alarm concealing my frantic footsteps against the ground. With a frustrated yell, I reach forward and place my hands on the back of his shoulders, sending a jolt of electricity that causes him to convulse where he stands. It isn’t powerful enough to kill him, but it’s enough to knock him down and keep him from attacking me.

He lets out pained groans as he continues to shake, and only once I draw my hands back from him does he drop to his knees, still shaking. Grabbing a fistful of his black shirt, I jerk him backwards with my fist raised, ready to slam it into his face as he lifts his head-

My hand drops in shock and the electricity coursing through my hands fizzle out of existence immediately at the sight of none other than my uncle blinking his glassy blue orbs up at me in confusion, his lips parted and complete and utter shock written all over his face,

That and, well, pain.

"Three minutes and twenty-six seconds until self-destruct.”

“Clint?” I whisper, my voice cracking with disbelief.

He tries to mumble something – he really does – but all that comes out is garbled nonsense. The remnants of the shock are still causing him too much pain to do anything but groan. 

The alarm, the emotionless countdown – everything fades away as I stare down at my uncle, drinking in every detail in his features which haven’t changed too drastically over the past twelve months. My now shaking hands reach out to gently grasp the side of his tired face to make sure that it’s really him, and I sob slips from my throat when my fingers gently land on either side of his face. It’s him. It’s really him. This isn’t a figment of my imagination. This isn’t some cruel trick that my mind has decided to play on me; this is real. After all this torment, after all this pain and suffering for nearly a year now, thinking that I would never see any of my loved ones again, the person that I had missed the most kneels before me.

After almost a year, he’s found me.

And I’ve just electrocuted the absolute crap out of him.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out in between sobs, tasting salt in my mouth from the tears that freely roll down my face. His own wet my fingers and his as he reaches up to grasp at one of my hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t – I didn’t know it was you-”

“It’s ok,” he finally wheezes, voice still strained. “It’s ok, it’s ok-”

“Clint-”

“I’ve got you, Kiddo,” he promises, tugging me down to engulf me in a bone-crushing hug, clinging to me as if his life depends on it. I return the gesture with equal enthusiasm to the point where I almost struggle to breathe. It’s the first kind, and loving gesture that I have received from another human since I was first brought to this horrid hell, and that thought alone is enough to make me cry even harder.

“I’m sorry – I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner,” Clint mourns. “I tried-”

“It’s alright. It’s alright,” I cry into the crook of his shoulder. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so damn much.”

“Two minutes and forty seconds until self-destruct.”

And with those several words, our bittersweet reunion is brought to a screeching halt as reality comes crashing down once more. I want nothing more than to enjoy this moment with him, but doing so would sign our death warrants. So, forcing my turmoil of emotions down as best as I can, I urgently ask him in a thick voice, “Can you stand?”

He answers by trying to pull himself to his feet, and I am quick to help him. “This building is going to blow, so we need to get out of here now. Can you run?”

He nods his head, thankfully less shaky than he had been moments prior. Like me, he seems to have bottled his emotions temporarily to deal with the situation at hand, as the features of his face have schooled into a more serious mask. “Is there anyone else in the building?”

 “They evacuated everyone but me-”

“One minute and fifty-five seconds until self-destruct.”

 I grip Clint’s arm like a tight vice. “Run.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. Like a bullet firing from a gun, he takes off, and I am hot on his heels straight after.

My legs begin to feel as heavy as lead as I race after him, not used to all this exercise and stretch after all this time. Still, I push them harder in order to keep up with Clint, refusing to pause for even a second. Having no clue where the exit is, I follow him blindly but trusting him with every ounce of my being as I allow him to lead me down corridor after corridor. With my arms pumping by my side and my breath coming out short and ragged, I will myself to keep going further and further, practically tasting the freedom that I have agonisingly craved on the tip of my tongue.

“One minute until self-destruct.”

I almost cry with relief when we turn around the last corner and I see the outside world awaiting us on the other side of the door. As we near the exit, I take in the snow-covered ground and the trees in the distance, though nothing can prepare me for my first breath of fresh air in over twelve months. I gasp at the feeling of it, but swear seconds later when my bare feet come into contact with the freezing snow, its iciness causes my feet to feel as if they are being stabbed with thousands of tiny needles. The sensation is enough to cause me to jump a mile in the air and I almost stop in my tracks, but Clint only grabs my arms and continues to drag me forward, yelling words of encouragement in my ear as we go.

We continue to run until the alarm and the countdown fade into nothingness, yet we still press on. There is no telling how far a minimum safe distance would be from the explosion.

Almost half a mile out, we feel it. The ground shakes beneath our feet so violently that it causes us to tumble to the ground with a string of curses flying from our mouths. Scrambling in the snow so that we put our weight on our backs, we finally look back in the direction from which we came. All I can see in the distance is flames and smoke which rises high into the sky and is all that is left of the facility, the remaining trees alight as the snow melts beneath the intense heat. It seems as if we are a safe enough distance, but with a quick wave of our hand, I create a protective air barrier just to be sure.

My head falls back onto the ground, and my hair is instantly drenched from the snow. Clint mirrors my actions and for several moments we lay there, our chests violently rising and falling as we try to catch our breath, processing the ordeal that we had just been through. My own mind is filled with nothing but jumbled thoughts about Clint rescuing me, the Man’s callous threat, my death sentence and everything else that has happened to me since I was first kidnapped.

But the thought that swims to the surface of all the others, and ultimately stands out the most?

I’m free.

It is time to go home.

Chapter Text

To be out of the facility for the first time in months – to feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, the strain of the sunlight stinging my eyes, the freezing snow crunching between my feet and taste the fresh air on my tongue – feels too surreal for me. No longer do I find myself surrounded by dull, grey walls that reek of blood, tears and pain, or enemies that wish to only inflict pain on me in the worst ways possible. The freedom that I have been denied since I was first taken by this mysterious group is finally within my reach, yet my brain can’t seem to fully comprehend this yet.

I’m free. I’m free.

I can finally go home.

Violent coughs rack my body as the air surrounding Clint and I fills with the smoke left from the explosion. They’re violent enough to cause my body to jerk against the ground, which is painful enough as it is. The experiments that I have been forced to endure daily in the facility has left lingering, aching effects on my body, and I can’t help but think that they will remain long after I return home.

With the pain comes exhaustion, the adrenaline that had vigorously pumped through my veins during our escape dispersing into nothingness now that there were no signs of imminent danger. I take my time to draw in long breaths once my coughing has died down and try to relax for the first time in months, but it appears that Clint has other ideas.

“C’mon,” he coughs, before slowly pulling himself up from the ground. The back of his uniform is white with snow, and his face is flushed from the sudden chill in the air, but he looks more determined than he ever has before.

“There’s a chopper waiting for us about five miles out from here. We gotta go.”

I don’t immediately jump at his words, choosing to close my crystal blue orbs and pretend that he hadn’t said anything. Surely we can spare just a few more moments. Just a few…

The snow and dirt beneath his feet crunch as Clint moves to stand beside me, and his towering presence causes a shadow to cast over my closed lids. Letting out a barely audible sigh, I blink my eyes open once more to meet his firm yet understanding gaze as he stares down at me. While I would like a few moments to catch my breath, it seems that my uncle has other ideas.

“I know you’re tired, Lyd, but you have to get up and keep going for just a little longer, OK? We don’t want to be here if someone comes back to check the wreckage.”

And just like that, fear grips me in a tight vice once more. The last thing that I want is to be found and dragged to some new facility or shot dead where I lay when I was so close to going home with Clint, so I pull myself up to my feet, flinging out a hand as to steady myself and keep me from tumbling over and onto the ground once more. Clint offers a helping hand, but I only wave it away, determined to stand on my own.

He shoots me an encouraging smile once I give a small nod of my head. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Despite our eagerness to get as far away from the remains of the building as possible, Clint doesn’t push me to go at a pace that is uncomfortable. I still slip and curse more times than I can count and the exhaustion continues to weigh me down, but welcoming promises of safety and whispers of encouragement from Clint who never strays from beside me is enough to keep me going. He always grabs me before I can trip and land on my face, and I thank him each time he does it. For several minutes we move along, though once the remains of the facility are long behind us, I feel the need to remark, “This doesn’t look like Greece.”

Clint snorts. “We’re just outside of Annecy, France. We, uh, we didn’t think to look here. But whoever these guys are, they got a bit sloppy with covering their tracks. We found a trail that lead us right to you.”

“Just in time. Whoever these people are… they knew you were on their tail. That’s why they moved everyone and everything to a new facility.”

“Except you.”

“Let’s just say I wasn’t the most cooperative,” I reveal, a bitter yet pleased smirk growing on my face as recall all the hell that I put my captors through. They may have made the past few months torturous, but I hadn’t gone done without a fight. “I guess they just couldn’t handle my charming personality for much longer.”

A knowing smile threatens to split his face in two, but it disperses before it ever has the chance to properly form. Instead, a tinge of sadness clouds his features, and he turns to look at me with his blue orbs, which were a few shades darker than my own, before he comes to a sudden stop. He looks at me as if he is taking in every detail, and I almost want to shrink back under his piercing gaze. It’s no secret that I have drastically changed since the last time that we saw one another. My hair is duller and a lot longer than I like with dead ends that are in desperate need of a cut. The muscle and lean build that I had worked so hard to maintain during my time as an agent is long gone after having not eaten properly since I was first brought to the facility, and I know that I look – and am – underweight. I could feel it whenever my hands brush over my torso and feel my ribs sticking out, or whenever I had looked in a mirror and saw how gaunt my face appeared.

And of course, there were the scars left behind from the brutal soldiers and the experiments. More bruises of all shapes and purple hues than I can count. Small scars, slashed in my skin – a few on my face, several across my limbs and far too many on my back – from sharp weapons or wounds that never properly healed, bumps and cuts that I had only recently accrued for lashing out against my captors in the past few days.

But the worst? Burn scars. Back when my body hadn’t been immune to the fire that was forced against my skin during the experiments, it had been pure and utter agony, screaming as I was forced to watch my skin slowly burn to a crisp from the heat of the flames. The remnants of this remain in the form of raised and rough skin with a shiny yet smooth texture, a few shades darker than my usually pale complexion. Both of my entire hands are covered in them.

It’s all that Clint can stare at now. His mouth presses into a thin lime the more that he looks, and he starts to visibly shake with what I assume is anger. With his features harder than ever, he finally draws his gaze from my body to lock with mine once more, a dark glint of fury detectable in every corner of his face.

"What the hell did they do to you?”

I flinch at the anger lacing his tone, but I relax as I remember that it isn’t me that he’s angry with. Suddenly feeling more dejected than relieved, I sombrely reveal, “They experimented on me.”

The truth spills from my lips at a hasty speed over the next few minutes as I relay the events of the past twelve months to my uncle without going into too much detail. Simply thinking about the experiments is enough to make me feel sick to my stomach, and judging from how quickly the colour drains from Clint’s face as I explain everything, it seems that they have the same effect on him. He’s as white as paper by the time that I am finished, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as his hands clench into tight fists by his side.

Upon revealing what it was that these people were trying to get me to achieve, he draws in a sharp breath. “Did – did they work?”

Without breaking eye contact, I raise my hand at the question and give a small and simple click of my fingers. Within seconds, my hands are engulfed in bright, orange flames.

Gobsmacked, Clint’s jaw drops.

I allow the flames to dance and tangle around my fingers for a moment longer so that he has enough time to process the sight – judging from the look on his face, there must have been a part of him that had doubted that I was able to pull off such a feat – before I let the fire die and lower my hand back to my side. “It took them a while. But yeah. They worked.”

Several different expressions flicker across Clint’s face like a sideshow, and his eyes never wander from my hand as they do. His reaction is just how I suspected it would be; I had a similar one myself when I first discovered the things that I can do today. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life. It comes from the stories and legends stretching back so far that there is no real truth to be found in them or something that you would in a television show or some action-packed movie. A man in a flying suit of armour is the craziest thing that this world has seen – until now, that is.

Fury’s going to have an absolute field day with this.

A small noise emits from the back of Clint’s throat, but it’s too quick for me to decipher whether it’s a dry cough, a whimper or a wince. Judging from the sorrowful look that he is currently sending my way, however, I quickly deduce that it must be one of the latter options.

“Clint - ”

“You’re just a kid,” he half-whispers, almost breaking my heart in two right then and there. “Your twenty years old. Twenty. And they did all that crap to you.”

Whatever words of reassurance had been hovering on the tip of my tongue fizzle out of existence as the reality of his words settle in. He’s right; no twenty-year-old should ever have to go through everything that I have been put through in the past year. All the torment and pain – it’s enough to kill somebody, both literally and symbolically. It’s a miracle that I made it out alive in the end, but the sad truth is that not so many other captives had been as lucky as I am today. And a whole lot of them had been younger than I am as well.

“I should have found you s-sooner,” Clint continues, voice cracking as he tries to hold everything together. “I should have looked harder. I should have - ”

I cut him off by reaching out with the same hand I had used to demonstrate my power and gently grasp his shoulder. He immediately reaches up to cover it with his own, squeezing it so tightly that his knuckles appear taut white against his skin, but remains quiet and listens to what I have to say.

 “It’s not your fault, Clint. These people – as much as I hate to give them any sort of credit, were good at covering up their tracks. It’s been over a year, and you never gave up on me, OK? You’re here now, and that’s all that really matters. You’re here now.”

He slowly nods his head, but I can tell from the way that he stubbornly presses his lips together that my words don’t sink in the slightest. I know my uncle, the man who has raised me since I was a child – no matter what I say, he will continue to feel guilty for not finding me sooner for a very long time. It’s not his burden to bear but unfortunately, he’ll continue to carry that weight on his shoulders long after we return to our peaceful little farmhouse in the country; it’s frustrating, but he has always had the tendency to let things weigh heavily on his shoulders when he really shouldn’t, especially when it comes to the people that he cares about. It’s just the type of person that he is.

Knowing that standing here and arguing with him on the matter until we’re both blue in the face is pointless, I tell him that we can talk more about all this once we’re safely in the helicopter, thousands of miles away from here. It’s enough to snap Clint out of his depressive and guilt-ridden state, and we continue our journey forward once more.

Fifteen minutes later, we finally reach a clearing the size of a football field in the middle of the white woods. My legs have begun to feel as heavy as lead and my breathing is more ragged than I would like it to be, but the sight of a large helicopter sitting in the middle of the field – looking almost out of place with its gleaming dark metal contrasting starkly against the colourless snow – is enough to keep my spirits high. Finding a new surge of energy, I will my legs to carry me forward faster, the promise of freedom within my reach closer than it has been in a year.

It seems that Clint also shares my enthusiasm, as a relieved sigh falls from his lips, and he reaches to wrap an arm around my shoulder and pull me tight to his side. “You did it, Lyd,” he assures me, an almost proud-like lilt to his tone. Pressing a chaste kiss to the side of my head, he adds, “You made it. You’re going home.”

Home. I get to go home.

The door to the chopper suddenly opens, and almost half a dozen SHIELD agents pour out and approach us in a rush. Dressed in dark, combat gear similar to Clint’s, each of them carries guns in the hands as they move swiftly through the snow, eyes peeled for any danger that could have potentially followed Clint and I to this small clearing. I shrink back as they finally reach us and waste no time in invading our personal space, a few of them asking Clint questions while others check over me, their voices booming in the winter air. One of them even tries to pry me from Clint’s side, claiming that he wanted to do a medical check, but my iron-like grip on Clint is unrelenting, and I refuse to go anywhere without him.

Clint notices and is quick to move so that his body is angled in front of me. “Give her some space,” he says, something in his tone suggesting to our fellow agents that what he’s saying isn’t up for discussion. “Let me get her on board first.”

They hesitate, but eventually give in to his wishes and nod their heads, stepping aside to allow us access to the chopper. With shaky legs, I let Clint half carry me forward and help me climb up into the aircraft where I am quickly led to one of the free seats. The moment my back presses against the back of the seat, I sag with relief and close my eyes to try and drown out the sound of the buzzing agents and calm down, allowing myself to relax for what seems like the first time in forever.

My moment of brief peace is interrupted, however, as pressure in the form of a firm hand suddenly landing on my shoulder that Clint isn’t leaning against causes me to jolt upright with surprise.

Enemy.

A warning snarl with a hint of fear tears from my mouth, and my fist swings up and slams into my attacker’s face faster than blinking.

The chopper erupts into chaos as cries of pain and confusion echo throughout the small space as the sickening sound of a nose breaking fills the air and the man who had touched me reels backwards. A strong pair of arms grab me in a tight hold before I can even think of lowering my hand, and a worried voice in my ear orders me to stand down. I don’t fight, however, too horrified at the sight of the man who I have punched wearing a now bloody SHIELD shirt as other agents crowd around him, trying to assess the damage.

A SHIELD agent. A friendly.

Not my enemy.

Blood rushes so loudly in my ear that I can barely hear what the voice – who I now recognise as Clint’s – hurriedly mutters in my ear. He tries to drag me back away from the agents, but I fight him and suddenly try to move forward, wanting to see just how bad the damage is myself.

I have just harmed one of my fellow SHIELD agents. Someone who has done nothing to hurt me, but has suffered for simply trying to help me instead.

“I didn’t – I didn’t mean - ” I start to say, choking on the words as the man’s tears start to mix with the blood gushing from his nose. “I didn’t know – I’m sorry - ”

Before I can utter a string of apologies that have already started to form on the tip of my tongue, something sharp unexpectedly pricks my neck, and I lose all control of my legs instantaneously. Falling back into Clint who still holds me, my heavy lids give in to the black dots that begin to cloud my vision, and the world slips away entirely soon after.

**********

After spending countless hours subdued and exhausted in the uncomfortable beds in the infirmary back in the facility each night after my experiments, it’s safe to say that I officially hate hospitals.

Two days have passed since I was first brought to the secure SHIELD hospital back in the states, and it’s safe to say that I have become stir crazy. With an IV stuck in my arm providing me with all the nutrients that I have desperately needed this past year, the doctor’s have placed me on a strict, bed rest order until further notice. Every attempt that I have made so far to try and escape my little hospital room has been shut down by the friendly yet unyielding staff here at the hospital, who quickly usher me back to my bed, ignoring my desperate pleas or insistences that I am fine.

They don’t get it. After being trapped for as long as I have, I want out.

My itch to leave my hospital room isn’t just fuelled by my desire to wander as freely as I like. A huge part of me wants nothing more than to leave and try to find the SHIELD agent that I had attacked back on the chopper before the tranquiliser dart had rendered me unconscious, and apologise profusely to him. It hadn’t been Clint’s call, but rather one of the other agents who was Clint’s second during this mission. He had insisted that it was the best move to make, as there was no telling what I would do or who I would possibly attack in the state that I was in. Either way, I don’t blame him. If I had been in his shoes, then I would have probably made the same call to ensure that no other noses were broken.

According to Clint, the agent who had been on the receiving end of my punch holds nothing against me for my actions, claiming that he had been in the wrong for grabbing me in such a manner after everything that I had been through. My uncle’s words offer me no reassurance, however, as nothing but guilt has churned uncomfortably in my chest whenever my mind has jumped to the incident. All the man wanted to do was check me over and make sure that I hadn’t obtained any serious injuries that needed immediate treatment during our escape from the facility. Instead, he got a broken jaw.

I sigh and throw my head back on the soft pillow behind me, my eyes casting to the blank television screen above my head. I can faintly make out my reflection on the screen, which isn’t something that I have seen since arriving at the facility. The place had no mirrors – at least, not in the areas that I had been in – to prevent me and my fellow captives from using the glass as weapons to hurt either ourselves or our captors. It’s why when I had first seen my reflection after a long, hot shower here in the hospital that I barely recognised myself staring back at me in the mirror.

My face, which had once been full and soft, with ivory skin clear of any markings, was covered with several new scars. Some were from slashes from weapons – a cut across my brow, a slice on the underside of my jaw and a faint line near my hairline – while others were from blows that I received from the guards whenever I had ‘stepped out of line’. Because apparently protecting yourself and choosing to fight back from your oppressors is such a crime these days. 

The burn scars I had already expected, although it doesn’t make it any easier to look at them. Like my face, my torso and limbs were also covered in a jigsaw of scars, each reminding me what it is that I had been put through; forever ingrained in my memory, I could remember what each one is caused by.

Except for the mystery bullet scar on the back of my shoulder and the several raised slashes on my back. Now thosehad been a real head-scratcher when the doctors here had first pointed them out to me because try as I might, I could not remember or offer an explanation as to how they got there. Whenever I thought that I got close to the memory, it would slip out of my grasp; like trying to catch smoke with my hands. While I am incredibly frustrated at my lack of memory, my doctors told me not to stress too much. They had gently informed me that after everything that I had been through, my mind may have blocked out some far too painful memories that might eventually return with time.

Other than the scars, I had been told that there doesn’t appear to be anything else physically wrong with me. Emotionally and psychologically, however… well. That was something else entirely different.

I had been given the spiel of how difficult the following few months will be more than difficult as I try to assimilate back into what my life had been before my capture. I had been warned that I may experience symptoms of PTSD such as flashbacks, agitation, nightmares and even emotional detachment. As a result, my sleeping could become unbalanced and I may wish to isolate myself from everyone that I love.

My face had paled with every symptom listed and I felt like bursting into tears, but Clint’s hand wrapped around my own and offering comforting squeezes where needed prevented this from happening.

“You're going to see a therapist,” he had quietly whispered to me. Too thrown at the news, I hadn’t objected.

A gentle knock suddenly sounds from the door, and I turn my gaze from the television towards the sound instead. With the door already open, I am instantly met with the surprising sight of Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD, and Phil Coulson, SHIELD’s most legendary and loyal agent, standing in the doorway.

I instinctively sit up straighter, “It’s good to see you, Boss,” I direct to Fury, before giving sending a small nod Coulson’s way. “You too, Coulson.”

The two men move further into the room, Fury’s dark trench coat flowing out behind him as he moves to stand at the end of my bed, Coulson flanking him. “It’s good to have you back, Lydia,” Coulson greets, his tone as genuine as the bright smile on his face.

Never one for small talk, Fury decides to skip straight to the point. “We understand that you’re exhausted and most likely have no desire to rehash the past year, but you know protocol better than anyone, Hathaway. We need you to tell us everything about what happened to you during your time in captivity.”

“I thought Clint already told you the basics.”

“You and I both know that it’s not the same thing.”

My fingers idly pick at the white sheets, suddenly feeling more nervous than I had been seconds ago. “Where’s Clint? Shouldn’t we wait until he gets back?”

“He left to pick up Laura and the children from the airport,” Coulson replies. “He won’t be back for another hour, at least.”

“And unfortunately, we do have other places where we need to be,” Fury says, “We need to get this done as soon as possible. I can always speak to Barton about his part later.”

I tug hard on my bottom lip with my teeth, not liking this at all. If Clint had already told Fury everything that I had told him, then they must know about the experiments. Of course, Fury would want all the juicy details on that part of my disappearance; he could never resist the urge of involving himself in the business of people with certain abilities. Tony Stark was a prime example of this if the rumours of him floating around SHIELD before I had been taken were true. But I’m not a girl in a flying suit of armour. The power isn’t from the suit; it’s within me. I am the power, and I truly don’t know how Fury will take it.

Clearly sensing my hesitance, Coulson raises his hands up as if he is surrendering to something. “We’re just here to talk. I promise.”

My eyes flicker over his face, searching for any signs that would indicate that he’s lying. When I find none, I reluctantly allow myself to relax and give a small nod of my head, and for the next half an hour, I explain what was done to me and answer any of their questions as best as I can.

No, I don’t know why they chose me.

No, I don’t know who these people are.

No, I didn’t hear any names of people that interrogated or tortured me.

Yes, I wasn’t the only captive in the facility; there were dozens more.

No, I don’t know where their new facility is.

Yes, the experiments that they did on me worked.

The lack of surprise on their faces at this last answer tells me that they already knew it. It probably would have been one of the first things that Clint told them, but still, they decide to play dumb for whatever reason; likely to see whether or not it was true for themselves. 

“And what exactly did these experiments make you able to do?” Fury asks, an almost eager glint in his eye.

Huffing and without breaking eye contact, I raise my hands and click my fingers, watching as step back in surprise as orange flames ignite out of nowhere.

Wide-eyed, Coulson leans forward, the glow of the flames casting an orange shine over his pale skin. “You can control fire?”

“Not just fire; the elements,” I correct. “The core four – earth, air, fire and water, as well as some subcomponents. Ice. Wind, a little electricity and plants. I can control some aspects of weather and temperature as well, but I haven’t figured out all of them properly yet.”

“So you can’t properly control them.”

My heart immediately sinks at Fury’s blunt statement and cast my eyes down to my hands, allowing the fire to die out. This. This is exactly why I hadn’t wanted to explain anything to Fury. I knew perfectly well that when I first woke up and spoke to him that he would immediately become suspicious of both me and my abilities. He has always had a knack for monitoring gifted and powerful people such as Stark to ensure that they don’t become threats to SHIELD and the public in general. My ability to manipulate the elements now makes me part of this group, even though Fury has known me since I was a child and knows that I would never intentionally do something to hurt someone.

I had known this was coming. But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for the look of mistrust and caution on Fury’s face as he looks at me now. As if I was some sort of monster.

Swallowing the lump that has formed in the back of my throat at his question, I tightly correct him, "You mean am I a threat."

"You and I both know what I mean. But that doesn't change my question."

“I’ve been able to maintain some control over the past few months, and I haven’t hurt anybody with them. I wouldn’t use them for anything bad either – I joined SHIELD because I want to help protect people, not hurt them.”

Coming to my aid, Coulson interjects, “If I may, Director, You and I both know that Lydia – Agent Hathaway, is a dedicated SHIELD agent and has been since she first joined our program at the Academy. I don’t see these abilities as a threat; I see them as a potential for nothing but good things in her hands, sir. They would certainly help with her fieldwork when – or if, I should say – she would like to continue working at SHIELD.”

“Which I do,” I quickly add. “You know, once I’m better and everything.”

Silence follows our pleas as Fury’s dark eye flickers back and forth between Coulson and I, slowly letting our words sink in. I find myself holding my breath in anticipation and my heart begins to race inside my chest in an almost painful manner as we await Fury’s final say on the matter. I earnestly stare at the man who has the power to make my life a living hell if he wants, trying to properly convey to him that I meant what I said with every fibre of my being; I truly have no desire to inflict harm on anyone, and I never will. Surely Fury knows this. Surely.  

After what seems like an eternity, Fury lets out a long, worn sigh, and crosses his arms over his chest. “As long as you can maintain control of them, then I don’t see why things can’t be the same as they were before, Hathaway. I’m putting my faith in you here.”

I let out my breath in a sigh of relief, but on the inside, the fluttering nerves still remain as the hidden meaning behind Fury’s words doesn’t go unnoticed. He may say that he trusts me, but there will still always be a seed of doubt planted firmly in the back of his mind about this new version of me. Never one for trusting people, he will likely be forever cautious with me now. And as someone who has known the man all my life and proved in more than one way that I am nothing but dedicated to both SHIELD and its cause, that hurts. It cuts deeply, and it saddens me to think that he believes I am capable of turning on everything that I stand for.

Yet, I’m not entirely surprised that this was the outcome. Back in the facility when I used to dream of returning home, every little scenario in my head always involved how those closest to me would react to my new abilities. None of them had been great, and Fury’s reaction to them now has brought my imagination to life, and the back of my eyes sting as a realisation hits me hard like a slap in the face;

Nothing would ever be the same again

ONE YEAR LATER

Dirt and loose pebbles fly out from the back of my car as I trail down the gravel road at a pace that wouldn’t have Clint scolding me for, the sky hues of warm yellows and blood oranges as the sun sets over the fields in the distance. With the window down, a cool breeze filters through the vehicle and blows wisps of my blonde hair in my face, though I eagerly push them away so that I have a free sight of the farm house that I have called home for the past several years. A warmth blossoms in my chest at seeing the chipped, white paint and Laura’s flower pots on the windowsills and all the other familiar sights after having been gone for three months; I haven’t realised just how much I have missed it until now.

I guide the car to a gentle stop on the front lawn, not surprised to find that Clint and Laura’s cars are nowhere to be found. It’s late afternoon on a Tuesday; Laura would just be finishing up work, and Clint would be with the kids at Coopers baseball match, which should also just be wrapping up. Though disappointed that I will have to wait a little longer to see them after all this time, I know that they wouldn’t be too far behind me.

Turning off the engine and pulling at the handbrake, I grab my filled to the brim duffel bag from the seat beside me and awkwardly sling it over my shoulder. Grunting as I struggle with the weight of it, I push the car door open and kick it shut behind me once I’m out, before trudging up towards the porch steps.

As expected, the house is deathly quiet aside from the sound of the clock ticking on the wall in the front entrance of the house. Everything is exactly how I remembered it, although a large pile of Lego sits on the floor at the bottom of the stairs; Cooper must have been playing with it this morning before going to school. Careful not to tread on it, I simply nudge it to the side with the toe of my boot before ascending the stairs two at a time, heading towards my bedroom.

My bedroom hasn't changed much in all the years that I've lived here. The pale blue walls are still the same ones that I painted myself when I first moved here, and my double bed that creaks whenever you so much as twitch on it is still pressed up against the back wall, the huge window above it overlooking the front yard. Books that I have collected and poured over through the years still spill and overflow from the bookshelf that Clint had made for me when I was a child, and my six-string leans against it, waiting for the day that I would pick it up and play again. Photos of my friends and I adorn the walls and the edge of the vanity mirror in the corner, and with them are photos I’ve taken with the few family members that I have left after all this time.

A small sigh slips past my lips. It’s good to be home.

Kicking off my shoes, I surge forward and heave the bag on the end of my bed, my shoulder screaming with relief once it’s free once more. I waste no time in rummaging through all the clothes, weapons and toiletries until I find my folder of freshly written notes on my findings these past few months.

After I had taken some time to recover after Clint first found me in France, I had immediately dedicated every waking moment to try and track down the secret organisation that had caused all this mess in the first place. SHIELD had initially helped with my global-wide search, but whoever these people are, they are good at hiding themselves from the rest of the world. Leads and tips lead to nothing but dead ends, and every trail we followed always went cold. It had only taken Fury four months to officially call off the search, but I was – and still am, determined to get the answers I have so desperately wanted these past two years. About the people, the other captives, the experiments – me. So, I’ve never stopped looking, and always take notes whenever I can; even when each and every search has so far only led me to disappointment.

The sound of the front door suddenly barging open on the floor below drags me out of my troubled thoughts, and I turn towards the sound with a tilted head. Judging from the sound of heavy boots against the polished floors and excited laughter too high pitched to belong to an adult, it appears to be Clint and the children. Excitement suddenly grips me tightly, and I toss the already forgotten notes onto my bed to surge forward and out of the room.

They don’t hear me as I clamber down the stairs, and they also don’t see me when I pause in the doorway of the kitchen. Lila and Coper Barton sit at the kitchen table happily babbling to one another as Clint rummages in the fridge, no doubt looking for an afternoon snack for the both of them.

 I can’t help but smile fondly at them all, my heart swelling as I look at my little family. When I had first moved in after my mother’s death, I was neither happy nor comfortable. I had been worried that I wouldn’t fit in due to Clint and Laura already having Cooper and another baby on the way, and a small, little scared voice had whispered in the back of my mind that Clint would do exactly as my mother had over the past few years and neglect me. Twelve-year-old me had no idea what to expect, but after the bleak family she had before joining the Barton clan, she couldn’t help but dread what lay ahead of her.

But twelve-year-old me had been completely and utterly wrong. The kids had allowed me into their family as easy as breathing, and Laura has been nothing but loving and welcoming, assuring me over the years that she wouldn’t have had it any other way. She had been a gentle and caring mother figure that I had severely lacked for the first half of my life, and I am forever grateful for both that and her.

And as for Clint? He had been the same loving, dorky and caring uncle that he has been since day one. In losing my mother I found myself a family, viewing Clint and Laura more as parental figures than my own mother.

Lila happens to glance away from her older brother and towards the doorway where I still stand as if somehow sensing my presence. The moment that her dark, round eyes land on me. A small gasp passes her lips and her whole face lights up with excitement.

"Lyddy!” She squeals, the noise coughing Clint, Cooper and myself to each jump with surprise. She pays the first two no attention, however, as she jumps off the chair and launches herself towards me, prompting me to drop down into a crouch and stretch my arms out wide.

“Hello, Cheeky,” I happily greet as she practically barrels into me, almost sending the two of us toppling over. I throw an arm out to grasp at the doorway and return her eager embrace with the other, looking over her shoulder and immediately making eye contact with a very surprised Clint. I hadn’t told him that I was coming home today and had suspected that he wouldn’t appreciate me showing up out of the blue, but the way that a grin spreads from ear to ear on his face informs me that he is more than happy to see me standing before him after all this time.

Briefly returning the grin, I pull back from my little cousin to properly look at her. “How have you been, hm? I reckon that you’ve gotten taller.”

“I’ve grown! This much!” She declares before she then flings her arms above her head as high as she possibly can reach.

Chuckling, I stand up and gently ruffle the top of her head. “Yeah, but I’m still taller.”

“That’s 'cause you’re older, silly!”

“Lydia, guess what!” Cooper interjects, rushing forward. “Our team made it into the semi-finales! Do you want to come and watch us play soon!”

“That’s awesome, Coops! Of course I will – are you still enjoying baseball?”

Clint snorts, nudging the fridge door shut with two juice boxes in his hands. “Like it? He loves it. He practices pretty much every day, don’t you, Coops?”

Cooper nods his head, a toothy smile plastered to his face as he gingerly reaches up to take one of the juice boxes from Clint's hand, who offers the other to Lila.

"Anything?" he asks quietly so that his kids can't hear us over the sound of them attempting to rip the plastic from around the straws.

          The smile on my face slips ever so slightly as I understand the hidden meaning behind his words, and I give a subtle shake of my head as his words remind me once more of yet another failure. I watch as disappointment flashes across his face, before he then turns to Lila and Cooper, who are happily sipping away at their apple juice.

“Coops, Lila, why don’t you go and finish those outside, yeah? Maybe have a bit of a play on the swings as well for a bit.”

With everything that we had to endure as spies, Clint and I have always tried our very best to keep Lila and Cooper out of the loop as much as possible. They are far too young to know and realise what exactly our job entitles; not to mention that it’s not exactly the type of job that you should be discussing with children anyway. They were kept so in the dark, in fact, that they didn’t even know that their mother had also worked for the same people that Clint and I do. They were curious about what we do, of course, but so far we have managed to avoid going into heavy detail about SHIELD. However long this lasts though – before our simple answers weren’t enough to satisfy their curiosity as they got older – remains to be seen.

But it seems that we don’t have to worry about it today, as the mention of the swings has both children nodding their head. With a final wave, Cooper is quick to rush to the back door with Lila hot on his heels, though she pauses briefly and turns back to look at me, her brown doe eyes wide with hope. “Will you come out and play too, Lyddy?”

“Of course. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes, OK?”

Satisfied, she brightly smiles before rushing after Cooper, the back door swinging shut with a gentle thud.

The minute that the two of us are alone in the kitchen, a troubled frown seeps onto Clint's face. "What went wrong?"

"Another dead end. By the time that I arrived at the warehouse, there was nothing there for me to find. Either it's been empty for a long time or my source wasn't reliable."

"Where was it again?"

"Belgium," I explain, moving to take a seat at the table, with Clint moving to join me. “I was so sure that this could be it. With how quickly they had to evacuate that day, I thought that they would need somewhere close by to gather up everything before moving on again. But it’s just another damn dead end.”

Clint easily picks up on the defeat in my tone and is quick to respond with a small but optimistic smile. “At least it’s another lead that you can cross off your list though. Who was your source anyway?”

"Guy called David Lieberman, or Micro as some people know him. He's a national security agency analyst. I don't know him personally, but I pulled some strings with SHIELD and got him to see if he could find something useful. Evidently, this proved not to be true," I grumble, tapping my fingers on the table in irritation. "Now I'm back to square one."

"Just because there was nothing there doesn't mean that they weren't there at some stage. Maybe you should get this guy to check again?"

"Before I took off, Micro told me that this was it. This was all that he could find and all he would find. He has a family to take care of: he's worried that if he keeps on snooping, then these guys may target him next."

Not that I could blame him though. When we had last spoken over the phone, Micro had sounded rather guilty about refusing to search for any more leads, but he had been firm in his decision. He has a wife, two kids – the last thing that he wants is to put them in harm’s way. After seeing what these people were capable of for almost a year, I had respected his decision and thanked him for agreeing to help in the first place, trying my best to keep the disappointment from my tone as I had.

"There wasn't anything for me to gather Intel on anyway," I continue quietly. "They've disappeared off the grid once again."

"We'll get them eventually Lyd," Clint affirms, an ounce of anger in his voice as he spoke. He is just as frustrated as I am that the people who have hurt me are still out there somewhere, doing the exact same torturous and inhumane things to them that had been done to me. It’s enough to make me feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it. “We just have to keep trying.”

A non-committal hum slips past my lips. I know that he is trying to cheer me up, but there’s a huge part of me that doesn’t believe in what it is that he’s promising. I can’t help but think that if we were going to find these people, then we would have done so sooner. We have been searching for a year now, and there’s been nothing. No news, no sightings, no concrete leads – nothing. These people were too smart to leave breadcrumbs for us to follow and the more time that passes, the more and more that I think we’ll never find them. It’s just a tiring and endless cycle of hard work met with only disappointment, and I honestly don’t know how much more I can take. A perfectionist at heart, there’s only so much failure that I can handle.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and seconds later, the sound of footsteps heading our ways bounces off the farmhouse walls. My brows furrow at the noise, noting that they seem too heavy and slow to belong to Laura, but Clint remains oblivious. A loving smile splits his lips – as it always does whenever he’s in Laura’s presence – and he slowly begins to pull himself to his feet to greet her.

“Hey, Honey. You’ll never guess who showed up tod-”

He abruptly cuts himself short when the person who the footsteps belong to stop in the kitchen entrance, and when he sees that it’s not his wife, his mouth parts and a red tinge of embarrassment spreads across his cheeks.

I immediately bolt to my feet, surprise clouding every single one of my features. “What are you doing here?”

Before me, none other than Nick Fury smiles tightly at the more than blunt question. “Long time no see, Hathaway,” he greets, his one good eyes fixed solely on me. “We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

Nick Fury truly has a gift for knowing something before everyone else finds out.

I had told no one that I planned on returning home after all these months – I hadn't even initially planned it at all if I were to be completely honest. One moment I had been sulking back to my car in defeat, preparing to leave the empty warehouse in Belgium behind me and move on to find the next possible lead. The next, I was back in my motel room hastily packing my bags, feeling more than ever that home was where I needed to be right now.

It had been a last-second decision, yet he still managed to figure it out.

Whatever it was that he had travelled all this way to talk about, he wanted to do so away from prying eyes and eager ears. So, we quickly moved to the front porch, forcing Clint to usher the younger members of the Barton clan back inside, promising to push them on the swing in the morning before school. With the kids distracted with television and books, Fury and I stand and sit respectively on the porch, a sense of anticipation filling the night air between us.

The sun has well and truly set by now, and crickets chirp and owls hoot in the inky blackness of the night sky, the air surprisingly warm and pleasant for this time of year. With my back pressed gently against the back of the bench I currently sit on, I can make out the dark outline of the two sheds down the road and hear the odd car drive down the highway in the far distance, their headlights like bright beacons in the night sky. I keep thinking that one of them might be Laura returning from a long day at work, but none of the vehicles have yet to make the turn down the long and windy driveway.

With my arms crossed lazily over my chest, I regard the Director of SHIELD leaving casually against one of the white pillars holding up the roof above us before me. He almost bleeds seamlessly into the dark night with his clothes – I swear to God, I've never seen the man dressed in anything but his black uniform and signature leather trench coat – but the orange haze from the front light above us is enough to illuminate his silent presence.

Drumming my fingers against the side of my arm and deciding to be the first to break the prolonged silence, I ask, "Are you here with an assignment?"

"I take it that your recent search didn't end as well as you hoped."

A spark of annoyance ignites within me at his decision to ignore my question altogether, and what exactly it is that his words imply. "Have you been spying on me?"

"Of course not."

"Then how the hell did you know that I would be home today?"

His lips purse as he is caught out on his lie. "… think of it as keeping tabs on you and your endeavours."

I hold back a bitter laugh. "That's invasive."

"It's a precaution. You went missing on us once already, Hathaway. I'd rather avoid that misfortune happening again."

Now it's my turn to purse my lips. Despite how genuine he sounds – or is trying to sound, at least – there's a part of me that doubts that what he's saying is the entire truth. This is Fury, after; the world's best spy, the least trusting person on the face of planet Earth. The man always has ulterior lies which he tries his best to conceal with more agreeable lies, and can be ruthless at times in achieving what his mind is set on. He may claim that spying on me was him acting in my best interest, but in reality, I can't help but think that in some way, he got some benefit out of doing so as well.

However, it seems that he has no interest in allowing me to fish for the truth, as he drops this conversation altogether and settles for a new one. Pushing away from the pillar and clasping his hands behind his back, he starts to slowly pace up and down the length of the porch. His footsteps are heavy and his one good eye is cast out towards the empty fields beyond the porch. "So. Another dead end?"

"Pretty much."

"You got some other leads to work on?"

"A few."

He slowly nods his head as he comes to a sudden stop. With his back facing towards me, it's impossible to get a read of his face and decipher what it is that is running through his mind at the moment, but he makes it abundantly clear when he says, "All these months with no real evidence or clue as to where to look or who to look for… you ever think about just giving up?"

Irritation irks me at his words, and I have to clamp down hard on my tongue to avoid anything too brash slipping from my mouth in response. A part of me has never really forgiven him for calling off the search for my captors when he had. With countless people and resources at the tips of his fingers – he was the Director of an intelligence organisation, his sources are practically unlimited - he has the means to continue trying to hunt down these people. But he had abruptly decided to stop one day without offering me any real explanation past the whole 'we're not finding anything' spiel. It's no secret that Fury is relentless – he is more than capable of achieving whatever he puts his mind to, and he doesn't care how he does it. Never one to give up either, his sudden surrender had thrown me.

And it had stung more than I would like to admit as well. A loyal agent since I first enrolled into the academy, who had risked her life in more ways than one for the organisation and its cause, and this is what I get in return.

"I probably should," I eventually bite out, trying – and failing – to keep the bitterness out of my tone. "But then again, who is going to try and help the hundreds of other captives – kids, that they took with them that day that Clint found me?"

The realisation that there are still other people who had been taken like me and are still likely being held against their wills and tortured for some scientist's sick glory is probably the only thing that has kept me going after all these months of disappointment. I had once been one of these kids, and I can still remember the countless nights that I had to lay awake in my tiny cell, hoping and wishing that someone would miraculously come and rescue me, taking me far from all the sweat, blood and tears and bring me home instead.

That hope, fortunately, had become a reality for me. I was lucky enough to have a very determined uncle, after all. But to everyone else stuck in that hellhole, it remains nothing but a fading fantasy, any hope of being found and brought home slowly slipping from their fingers with every day that passes. If I can save them in the way that I was saved, then I will try to do so with every fibre of my being.

"Is that why you're here, Sir?" I question. "To try and convince me to finally stop?"

"I'd have better chances of winning the lottery, Hathaway. But no, it's not why I'm here."

"Let me guess; an assignment."

It's a statement, not a question, but he confirms it with a jerk of his head. "I need you to find someone for me."

"Who?"

"Bruce Banner." '

My brows instinctively furrow, and my head tilts to the side at the sound of the foreign name. Fury says it as if it holds some great significance but to me, it doesn't ring any bells. Whoever this Bruce Banner is, I've never heard of him before in my life. "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"He's a former professor at Culver University, and a scientist that specializes in nuclear physics and biochemistry," Fury reveals. "He was pretty damn good at his job too. But unfortunately, he's spent the last two and a half years as a wanted fugitive; and he's still on the run."

"So you want me to bring him in for questioning."

"Not exactly."

I remain silent, allowing him to have the chance to elaborate on what he means by this, but it never comes. He only stares off into the distance, leaving me to only guess whatever it is that he's keeping from me. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the long and dramatic silence, I give a small sigh instead. "What aren't you telling me?"

He turns around, expression grave as always. "Almost three years ago, Bruce Banner was conducting experiments at Culver under the supervision of Thaddeus Ross, who happens to be the Lieutenant General of the United States Army. During the testing phase of the project they were running, there was an explosion, and Banner was accidentally exposed to an immense amount of gamma radiation."

"So, you're sending me off to look for a ghost?"

"What do you mean?"

"Gamma radiation is hazardous to any living organism. If this Banner guy really was caught in the middle of a gamma ray explosion, and a big one at that, then he shouldn't be on the run; he should be dead."

Much to my bewilderment, Fury only offers a wide smile, and I swear that I can detect a hint of excitement in it. "You're right; it should have killed him. But it didn't. It changed him."

Leaving me to stew in my own puzzlement, he reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls something small out of it. Before I can lean forward to get a closer look at the object, he tosses it towards me. I recoil back and raise a hand just in time to catch the object which is sleek to the touch. Opening my palm, I discover a small, grey USB waiting for me. Frowning and fiddling at it with the pads of my fingers, I ask, "What's this?"

"That's everything that we have on Banner," Fury says. "Files, surveillance footage, known locations – including his last one – and old contacts of his. This right here is going to help you find him, and make you understand what happened to him as well."

"Why not just save me the effort of having to search through all this and tell me what happened yourself?"

"Because you wouldn't believe me if I told you, Hathaway. Not without proof, at least."

Taking his word for it – but still finding this whole situation puzzling at the same time – I hesitantly pocket the USB in the back of my jeans, knowing that I wouldn't be able to resist looking at it later to discover whether there is any proof to the Director's words. But at the heart of all these confusing circumstances, there's still one question that wouldn't be provided with whatever it is that waits for me on the small device; why the hell am I tracking Banner down in the first place?"

"You know, you still haven't made it really clear as to why I'm being sent to go after this guy. If I'm not bringing him in for questioning, then what exactly is it that I'm meant to be doing?"

"It's a need-to-know basis."

I shoot him an unimpressed look. It's the higher-ups at SHIELD like him that have always taught the younger recruits and new agents to approach an assignment from every angle, knowing what it is that you're getting yourself into to better prepare for whatever the assignment may bring. It's the best way to get the job done without getting yourself killed, but here he stands, wanting me to willingly accept the assignment without telling me the details himself, but rather relying on a little computer appliance to fill in the blanks.

That, and he won't even tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do with Banner once I find him.

"I don't mean to sound rude here, Sir, but I'd like to know what exactly it is that I'm getting myself into here," I reply as calmly as possible.

"And you will; eventually," Fury assures me. "There's a right time and a place, Hathaway, but that time and place isn't right here or right now. Rest assured, you'll have your questions answered in the end. But for the time being, I just need you to find Banner, help him with any mess that he's currently stuck in, and pick up the phone when I call."

The unamused expression remains on my face long after his last reassurances flow from his lips, and I'm not at all comforted by his words in the slightest. He seems to realise this, as he lets out a heavy sigh and holds up his hands, almost in a silent surrender. "I know it's not ideal, but trust me when I say that it will all eventually make sense, alright? Time is of the essence here though. Like I said, that USB has his most recent whereabouts, but considering how there are some unwanted parties on his tail, I don't how much longer he'll stay there."

"Unwanted parties?"

"Thaddeus Ross – the general that was having Banner do the experiments in the first place? He's been trying to find him non-stop since the day he took off. He's determined to bring him in and will stop at nothing to do so."

"Should I be concerned?"

"Only if he manages to catch up to you. And if he does and I were you, I would be limiting the usage of your powers in front of him," Fury warns, and I can't help but stiffen where I sit. "Ross has been known to be quite power hungry, and has a bit of a fixation when it comes to people with certain abilities."

A shiver runs involuntarily down my spine with his words, and for the first time, it suddenly dawns on me what exactly this mission will mean for me if things go south. If Ross wanted Banner because of some sort of ability that he has (judging from Fury's warning and cryptic words, I assume that this is correct) then there's no telling what he will want from me if I manage to cross paths with him and he sees what it is that I'm capable of. I've managed to stay out of the limelight ever since returning home with my new elemental abilities, and I would very much like it to remain that way. Taking this mission might jeopardize this, however.

"If that's the case, then why not send someone else?" I question. "Someone who can keep a low profile – like Nat?"

"She's currently preoccupied with an assignment for me in Tokyo," Fury reveals. He opens his mouth as if to further elaborate just what kind of work he has Nat doing, but he is cut off by the sound of tyres slowly rolling across some gravel. The two of us simultaneously turn towards the sound and are greeted with the sight of two headlights in the distance as a car travels down the dark driveway; Laura is finally home.

A bright smile almost splits my face in half at the thought of seeing my Aunt after so long and I pull myself off the bench, sensing that my conversation with Fury will quickly come to a close. My suspicions are right as he hastily asks, "What's it going to be, Hathaway? You willing to do this or not?"

I refrain from scoffing. "Do I really get a choice, Boss?"

The corners of his mouth flicker up in amusement, though I can detect some relief in there as well. "How soon can you leave?"

"Give me a day to go over everything on the USB and figure some stuff out."

He nods, happy with this answer. "If you need any assistance, then ask either myself, Hill or Coulson; no one else. I need this assignment kept under wraps as much as possible, understood?"

I pointedly tilt my head towards the front door of the farmhouse where somewhere beyond Clint waits for me. He wouldn't like me taking off so suddenly after briefly coming home, and he would demand answers; answers which I would happily give. There's very little I would keep from my uncle, who has practically raised me my entire life and who has become my best friend in many ways, and Fury knows this. In the past, if I ever needed help with an assignment that was given to me, then Clint was always someone I would go to first for help. If I really was accepting this one, then it wouldn't be different to any of the others.

Taking the hint, Fury makes a small noise which is somewhere between a frustrated groan and an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Barton too."

My smile turns into an evil grin which he glares at, but I am saved from a lecture about the importance of secrecy by Laura slowly walking up the porch steps. Her light brown orbs flicker between Fury and I with surprise; we were the last two people that she would have expected to be on her front porch that night, I'm sure. I can't help but notice there's a warmth in them though when her eyes land on me and my grin softens back into a gentle smile.

"Hey, you two," she greets almost uncertainly, liking picking up on the underlying tension between the two of us. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine, Agent," Fury nonchalantly says before I can get a word out. "Just business, as per usual."

She shoots me a questioning look but I only offer her a shrug – despite Fury's warnings, I would also be informing her of all this later. She and Clint were a joint package, after all, and the former agent of SHIELD has proved many times that I can also rely on her if I ever needed to.

Understanding the hidden meaning behind the gesture, she lets it go for the time being and turns back to Fury. "It's good to see you, Nick. But I'm not an agent anymore," Laura reminds him not unkindly.

"Sorry – old habit," he says with a rare and genuine smile. Never one for small talk, Fury decides then and there that his time here at the Barton farmhouse is done. Nodding his head towards both Laura and I, he moves past Laura towards the porch steps that she had just walked up, and begins to descend them two at a time. Stopping on the last one, he turns to shoot me one final look. "Good luck, Hathaway. And remember - "

"Don't worry, I'll call," I promise.

Satisfied, he gives a small jerk of his head before taking off once more, trench coat flaring out behind him dramatically. Laura and I silently watch him go until he disappears once more into the night, not a trace of him left behind.

Laura lets out a slow breath. "Well, that was unexpected," she remarks, before turning to shoot me a warm smile. "Hey, honey. How have you been?"

"I've seen better days – but I'm happy to be home," I reply, before moving forward to pull my aunt into a tight hug. She welcomes the gesture and reciprocates it with a hug of her own, her dark, loose curls lightly tickling the side of my face.

"Another dead end?" She asks as we pull away. I only offer a sad smile, not particularly wanting to delve into the details of yet another failure once more. Her mouth turns down in displeasure. "I'm sorry, Lyd."

"It's fine," I brush off, hands dropping to casually slip into the back pocket of my jeans. My fingers brush over the small USB still in the left one. "Looks like I got back home just in the nick of time anyway."

"Yeah – what was all that about?"

"It's a long story – I'll explain it to you and Clint once we're inside."

And with that, we move into the warm house, closing the front door behind us. There sound of multiple light feet slapping against the floorboards trails down the hall as Cooper and Lila rush excitedly into the entrance where we stand, the two children happy to have their mother home after the long day. A chorus of greetings and laughter fills the air as Clint appears as well, a soft tenderness that he seems to reserve for only Laura at times on his face as he leans down to peck her lips. Lila and Cooper make noises of protest at the sight, making Clint plant more over her scrunched-up face.

I hang back by the door, a warmth blossoming in my chest at seeing my whole family together once again after all this time. It helps ease the feelings of failure from yet another dead end and unease from my chat with Fury and ultimately has a welcoming calming effect on me. Yeah. It had definitely been the right time to come home.

As if sensing my gaze, a grinning Clint lifts his head and his crystal blue orbs land on my silent presence by the door. He tilts his head in a questioning manner but only wave him off with my hand. "Fury's gone," I reveal. "I would have thought that you would say goodbye to him. You know, with him being your honey and all…"

His face flushes as red as a tomato. "I thought it was Laura!"

"Sure you did."

"What's this about?" Laura turns to ask.

"Your husband was shamelessly flirting with Fury tonight," I'm quick to tease, biting my lip to hide an evil grin as Clint is left a sputtering mess at my words. "I think you might have some competition, Laura."

Laura tips her head back to allow a bubble of laughter to seep past her lips, while Clint waves a finger in my general direction trying his best to fight an embarrassed grin of his own. "You're a shit stirrer, Hathaway. You know that?"

"She's a what, Dad?" Cooper pipes up.

"Nothing," Laura is quick to reply, any and all traces of humour on her face fading as she shoots a sheepish Clint a look of both amusement and exasperation, not noticing how I hide a snicker at his expense behind my hand.

Yeah. It's good to be home.

The rest of the evening passes in peaceful bliss. Lila, Cooper and I spend some time together out in the yard before I eventually head in to help Laura with the dinner. As we flutter about with ease and in perfect synchrony with one another, I relay the reason behind Fury's visit with both her and Clint between chopping vegetables and slicing meat. The small USB sitting in the bottom of my pocket starts to feel heavier with every mention of it, but I resist the urge to duck upstairs and plug it into the laptop just yet; I want to spend time with my family. Especially when there's no telling when I'll have to leave to find Bruce.

Dinner is filled with laughs and cheer, the atmosphere warm and the food tasting delicious – Laura has always been the best cook I've ever known – and the five of us chat about our days and reminisce about simpler times and fond memories. Once we are full to the brim with food, Laura ushers the kids to bed while Clint and I clean up in the kitchen.

Soon after, I clamber up the rickety stairs and collapse on my bed, dragging my laptop with me. Sitting in front of it now with a pen in my hands poised over a notebook balanced on my lap, I plug the USB in and proceed to open each of the links and files that the small device contains.

Three hours. It takes me three hours to read through every new article and classified files presented on the screen before me, and I have to say, the content that I'm reading seems like something plucked straight out of a horror story. Or the beginning of one, at the very least.

Explosion Incident at Culver University: Two Dead, Three Critically Injured. Images of the wreck of what was once a laboratory, but resembles nothing of the sort in the black and white stills that flash across the screen. Newspaper clippings about some green monster and even green sasquatch sightings from all over the states. Something about laboratory equipment and information being uncovered from the sight. A militia request for the usage of Stark Industries weapons was approved. Manhunts travelling all over the world, ranging from populated cities to more recluse areas. Images of Bruce fill the screen – a man likely in his late thirties to early forties, with shaggy brown hair and a tan face with gold-brimmed glasses. A list of his known relatives – both parents deceased, a younger cousin alive and studying law – and a woman known as Betty Ross keeps popping up here and there as well. Apparently, Bruce tried to get in contact with her several months after the accident.

Raising a brow, I quickly scribbled the name down with the rest of my notes, but making sure to underline it; I might need to contact her regarding information on the elusive Bruce.

But the worst of the lot is easily the last, classified file; the security footage from the day of the explosion at the lab, three years prior. Wanting answers more than ever, I drag the mouse over the file and eagerly click away.

It's strange seeing the laboratory put together and in one piece after digging through the photos of the aftermath of the accident. Equipment is spread out everywhere, and there are two separate spaces divided by a protective glass. A tall woman with flowing dark hair and wearing a white lab coat stands on one side of the glass, and I immediately recognise her from the photos that I had sorted through before; it's Betty Ross. She must have been working with Bruce on this project.

She smiles at a figure sitting in the middle of a white chair of some kind, and I quickly realise that the figure is Bruce. While there is a nervous tint to her smile, Bruce seems entirely at ease and even relaxed, offering her a brief wink before the chair whirs to life and begins to tip back. It's almost scary to see him so calm when I know that in a few moments, all hell will break loose somehow.

Sitting as still as a statue, he stares straight ahead as a smaller, white machine passes over his eyes. There's a green flash and Bruce's scream of agony echoes through the air, before the lab and everyone in it disappears momentarily in a blinding, light.

For a moment, nothing but smoke and shouting fill the screen, but it's too hazy for me to be able to make anything properly out. Narrowing my eyes, I lean forward to inspect the screen but immediately recoil back when a huge, green and bulky figure appears through the smoke with a thunderous roar that chills me to the bone.

What the hell?

My jaw hangs open like a snake as I watch the figure pull the remains of the chair from the ground as easy as picking up a small child, before throwing it carelessly through the air. The screams of shock and pain that follow in its wake inform me that it's hit people and sure enough, when the smoke clears, nothing but crumpled, bloody bodies remain; including Betty Ross.

I watch in horror as the green, hulk-like figure stomps through the debris until it comes to a stop over the bodies, towering over Betty's lifeless form. Whether or not it wants to finish the job off or help her I don't know, but I never find out. A man with thinning, white hair dressed in military clothing that is stained with blood suddenly appears out of nowhere and throws himself over Betty, covering her body with his own. He screams wordlessly and holds up a hand as if to try and ward the figure off. To my surprise, it actually works. With one last raw it tears from the room by crashing into the wall below the security camera, consequently knocking it off the wall. It falls to the ground and the screen goes black on impact, leaving my silent and more than stunned from staring at the blank screen in front of me, unable to draw my eyes away.

Holy. Shit.

Jesus Christ.

What the hell did I just watch?

Fury had certainly been right about one thing; there's no way that I would have believed him without any proof.

I don't know how long it is that I sit in front of the laptop trying to process everything – minutes? An hour? – but it's long enough for someone to knock gently on my bedroom door. Finally dragging my attention away from the screen, I see Clint's face peering at me through the crack. "Hey," he softly greets, likely trying not to disturb the sleeping children down the hall. "Just about to turn in, but I wanted to check on how you're doing. Find anything yet?"

Wordlessly, I drag the mouse over the screen to restart the video, pausing it before it can start to play. Flipping the laptop around, I beckoned him to come deeper into the room. "Come see for yourself."

He frowns, but nevertheless moves forward without complaint, stopping just short of my bed and bending down to peer at the screen. I lean to press the space bar for him before retreating back, keeping my eyes glued to his face for the entirety of the clip to try and gauge his reaction. His features scrunch up with concentration but it isn't long before other emotions sweep over him in tidal waves. Confusion, horror and then, finally, shock, his eyes as round as saucers and threatening to pop out of his head as the screams and crashes filter from the laptop's low-quality speakers.

He blinks once, twice and then a third time, mouth parted like mine had been moments before when I first watched it. It isn't until I reach forward and push the laptop screen down that he finally weakly comments, "That – that thing is Banner?" When I nod my head, he lets out a small squeak. "How?!"

Finding my voice for the first time in a while, I reply, "I don't know the exact scientifics behind it, but he somehow managed to survive the exposure to the gamma radiation. How it turned him into this though – " I cut off with a confused huff, throwing my palms upwards.

"Fury wants you to find this thing?"

"No – he wants me to find Banner," I correct, flipping through the notebook still balanced on my lap, eyes scouring my neat scribbles until I find what it is that I'm looking for. "According to what I've read so far, it's Fury's belief that Banner isn't stuck as this… whatever it is, forever. Rather, he can change between both it and his human form, though how and why he reverts back into it he doesn't know. There's a whole lot of blanks that need to be filled in here…"

"Maybe he should find someone else to do them," Clint says darkly. When I throw him an incredulous look at this, he continues, "You just watched the video; you know how dangerous this assignment can be. It could go sideways at any minute – "

"And if it does, then I will be more than prepared to protect myself," I firmly interrupt. I hate what those bastard scientists did to me, I really do. I never asked for my abilities, and there's a part of me that will probably always resent them and the constant reminder of what I've been through. But I would be lying if I said that there wasn't a part of me that feels grateful for them, in a sense. They've made me able to protect myself and help others in ways that I never dreamed of before. And Clint knows this too.

But it seems now, he isn't entirely convinced. Running a hand down his tired face, he offers, "I can come with you?"

I start shaking my head before he even finishes speaking. "You've got some time off. You need to be here with your family as long as you can before Fury drags you back in with another mission."

"Well, you're my family too," Clint fires back. "And I'm not gonna lie; the thought of you taking off to find this guy worries me, alright?"

His voice cracks on the last word and it's almost as if an invisible barrier falls down at the word. All the worry that he has been trying so hard to conceal since I first told him that Fury had come all this way for an assignment seeps onto his face for me to see, and I watch as his shoulders deflate, almost in defeat. It's enough to tug painfully on my heart, so I move further onto the bed and tap the free space left behind for him to sit on.

He moves without complaint and it isn't long until he settles on the mattress beside me, leaning on the edge so that his elbows rest on the top of his thighs. His fingers fiddle together almost uncertainly, and it isn't until my eyes drop down to my lap that I realise that I'm doing the same; one of many habits that I have picked up from him over the years, it seems.

For a few moments, we sit in complete silence, left to quietly stew in our own troubled thoughts to try and get them together before we could talk reasonably. But I can't help but think that our thoughts revolve around similar troubles and conflicted emotions. I know that his words and concerns stem from a place of worry for me, and the last thing that he wants is to see me hurt. It's been his duty to raise me and keep me safe since I was twelve years old, but if I were, to be honest, he's been a father to me longer than that – practically since the moment I was born, really – so he can't help but feel the need to try and protect me now. He knows what I am capable of and that I can protect myself if need be. But there will always be that whisper of a voice in the back of his head that will feed to him seeds of memories of me as a helpless child in need of someone to look after her.

I love him for it. I really do. With my cold and distant relationship with my mother and no biological father to count on, a caring and nurturing parental figure has been what I needed all these years. But he must realise that I am a grown adult now; I'm old enough to make my own decisions, including this one.

"I wouldn't have taken this assignment if I thought that it was beyond my capabilities," I quietly admit, finally breaking the silence between us. "I know that you're worried and I appreciate the concern, I really do. But this is my choice, OK? If things turn south even just a little bit, I'll step back and call you. I promise."

Clint just shakes his head, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly flicking upwards. "Jesus," he murmurs, no real bite to his tone. "I forget just how stubborn you can be at times; just like your mother was."

My mouth automatically presses into a thin line at the mention of her. She might have clothed me and kept a roof over my head for the first twelve years of my life but other than that, I have nothing really nice to say about the woman.

He lets out a weary sigh before leaning back, hands clasped firmly together in his lap. "I take it that you're going to leave straight away if you get a lead," he says.

I duck my head, causing my loose, blonde waves to fall in front of my face and conceal the victorious smile that threatens to spread across my face. "Pretty much," I admit. "There's a part of me that doesn't want to leave so soon. But the quicker I leave, the sooner I will be able to track him down. Besides that, this Ross guy – the one who's been chasing him for the past few years – wants Banner. Badly. I have to find Bruce before he has the chance to beat me to it and do God knows what to him."

It doesn't take a genius to put together the pieces of the puzzle here. If Ross was really as power-hungry as Fury claims, then it's safe to say that he would love to get his hands on Bruce now that he can turn into that green thing. I can't help but think that it's all connected to the army as well, with Ross being the Lieutenant-General. Whatever the case, the sick pile of dread sitting uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach tells me that it isn't good.

"Do you even know where to look?"

"Rocinha, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. According to Fury's notes, he works in the local bottle factory there."

Clint just nods his head, a faraway look on his face that suggests to me that he is only partially listening to this conversation, if not at all. I follow his gaze and I am surprised to see that he is looking at my six-string placed almost unforgotten in the corner of my room, dust coating the dark case like a second skin. I haven't touched it in the two years since I was first taken in Greece, albeit not necessarily just by choice. I've been pretty occupied with chasing down any leads that I can get my hands on, after all.

"I can't remember the last time that you played," he mutters almost sadly.

Since well and truly before Greece, but I don't voice these words out loud to him, fearing that I will upset him more. It hasn't just been me that it has been hard on in the past year; it's Clint too. He hasn't ever really forgiven himself for not finding me sooner, and I know that there is a part of him that never will. The guilt has continued to stew uncomfortably inside of him after this year, and it doesn't help that things hadn't miraculously turned back to normal when I first returned home as well. He had to deal with a traumatized me who had struggled to find proper control over my abilities. Back in the facility, I could only use them for a certain period of time, thanks to the depressant drug the guards had so eagerly injected into my arm after every experiment session. Back home, I had my powers twenty-four seven and there had been more than a few accidents where they had spiralled beyond my control.

Including the incident with Cooper…

I squeeze my eyes shut and give a small shake of my head, refusing to allow my brain to waltz down memory lane; especially as one as painful as that. It wouldn't help present circumstances in the slightest.

"For whatever reason, Fury wants me to handle this assignment," I instead try to reasonably point out. "I don't know why, but it's not like I can turn it down – he's my boss, after all. But I'm going to try and get back home as soon as I can, alright? But I have to do this assignment. I have to find Bruce – whatever it takes."

He finally turns to look at me at this, a sad smile tugging on the corners of his lips. "Yeah. I know Lyd," he acknowledges quietly. "That's what I'm so worried about."

36 HOURS LATER

The only bottle factory in Rocinha looms in front of me where I stand across the street, my hair pulled up and tied away from my neck as a sticky heat coats the air, making my clothes sit uncomfortably against my skin. The building itself is large though run-down, with multiple amounts of the windows panes missing their glass, and graffiti splattered across the white bricks in colourful patterns. Readjusting the strap of my duffel bag so that it no longer digs uncomfortably into my shoulder, I stifle a yawn as I continue to look at the building. It has been the third plane ride for me in a matter of two days, so the jetlag is slowly starting to catch up with me.

Drowning out the noises of bustling pedestrians, cars honking, bike engines revving and the faint sound of music with cheery, jazz undertones that trails softly through the air, I look both ways before darting across the street, weaving through the slow traffic with ease.

I avoid heading towards the main door, knowing that the place is probably locked for the night, but doesn't take me long to find the entrance, or a back one at least – one rickety, little door that is thankfully unlocked on the other side of the building. Pushing past it, I find myself standing in an empty locker room with blue lockers and dirt-covered, cream walls. Half of the lockers hang open and there is a stale scent of body odour hanging in the air, and it takes everything within me not to gag at the smell. It's enough to make my eyes water, however, but I press on not particularly wanting to stop now.

I take all of three steps before a door on the other side of the room swings open, and a short man with greying hair steps forward, his crinkled, dark eyes glaring at me. Judging from the old, blue suit he wears, he might be in charge of the factory. Or, at the very least, one of the higher-ups that work here.

"Ey!" He exclaims with a disapproving wave of his finger. "Fechamos há duas horas. Você não deveria estar aqui!"

We closed two hours ago. You're not supposed to be here.

I suddenly feel very thankful that Portuguese was one of the few languages that I decided to learn during my SHIELD academy days. Though not fluent, I understand and can speak the basics.

I hold up a hand to signal him to wait just a moment before I reach into my coat pocket with the other to pull out a now crumpled piece of paper. Unfolding it, I hold it up to show him a photo of Bruce Banner that I had found and printed off the Culver University page. It's more than likely that since going into hiding, Banner has been using different aliases to cover his tracks, so I don't bother to ask the man if this is Bruce. Instead, I explain, "He's my primo. Meu primo – estou à procura do meu primo. I'm looking for my cousin."

The man steps closer at my words until he's just mere feet away from me. He leans forward and pulls the gold-rimmed spectacles down on his nose as his eyes narrow while he looks at the picture. It doesn't take long for his eyes to light up with recognition, and a wide grin spreads across his face and threatens to split his face in two. "Yes!" He exclaims in heavily accented English. "Yes, he is the best worker here! He lives … " he then trails off in a torrent of Portuguese at a pace that has me blinking owlishly at him.

"Mais devager!" I plead. "Mais devager, por favour."

After what feels like an eternity, I am finally able to comprehend the directions that the man is giving me, and I thank him before leaving both him and the bottle shop behind. The journey is mostly uphill, unfortunately, and makes me sweat even more. The streets are vibrant with life, however, and it is enough to spur me onwards. People crowd the streets and talk cheerfully to one another, while some set up stalls and trade goods, the clothing colourful and the smell of the food mouth-watering. The music that flows from the instruments plucked carefully by the artists that have parked themselves in the middle of one of the streets thrums through my veins, and I can't help but stop and watch as a small group of people come together to dance, with laughter on their tongue as they swing their limbs in time with the music.

But with the beauty comes the poverty, and unfortunately, Rocinha is filled with it. The people – especially some of the smaller children – could do with a bit more meat on their bones, and there are beggars lying around every corner. The shanties stacked almost carelessly on one another reach almost eleven stories high and fall apart in some places, and the streets are almost considered overcrowded with people. It's truly saddening to see, but I can easily understand why Bruce would choose to come here; it's easy to blend in and hide with so many other forgotten, lost souls.

It takes me just over an hour to climb the steep, everlasting hill and climb a few more stairs before I reach Bruce's small home. A sigh of both relief and exhaustion seeps past my lips as I reach up to thud a fist against the door, the bag on my shoulders feeling heavier than ever.

I'm left to stand in silence for almost a minute before the door opens a crack, and a pair of dark eyes peer through the small gap. They narrow when they land on my exhausted, sweaty form. "Who are you?" He asks warily, not daring to open the door the whole way. "What do you want?"

"Are you Bruce Banner?"

"I don't know who you're talking about," the man is quick to say, panic lacing his tone as he attempts to shut the door in my face. As quick as a flash, I raise my hand and splay it out, a huge gust of wind spiralling in front of me and causing the door to swing backwards, almost taking the man with it. With no barrier between the two of us now, I am delighted to see that it is in fact Bruce that I have been talking to. His dark locks are a lot longer than they have been in any photo or video clip I have seen him in, and his skin has a brown, tropical glow to it, though he looks far from healthy. He's quite lanky, wearing clothes that look almost two sizes too big for him, and he is in desperate need of a shave.

Nevertheless, I can still see traces of the man he once was in him now. And thankfully, he's not big and green either.

"How – ?"

"Dr Banner, my name is Lydia Hathaway. I'm not here to hurt you, I promise. I'm here to help you."

He steps back, fingers clenching and unclenching by his side in a nervous fashion, his eyes darting from each and every corner of the room as if trying to find a way to escape. "How – how did you find me?"

"It's a long story and I'm happy to sit down and explain it to you, but I need to assure you first, that I am in no way, shape or form associated with General Thaddeus Ross – "

His face turns as white as a paper at the mention of Ross, a bone-chilling fear taking hold of his face. "You know about Ross?"

"I know almost everything – including the lab accident at Culver University almost two years ago." He flinches at this. "Bruce, I promise that I'm not here to hurt you or bring you in. I need you to believe me when I say that after seeing everything that happened that day of the accident, I'm here to help you in whatever way I can."

"You can't help me – "

"We won't know unless we try, Doctor."

He shakes his head, his dark locks swaying to and fro with the movement. "No. No, despite whatever it is that you believe, I can't be helped. You need to leave. Now."

I can't help but let out a huff of annoyance at this. Feeling like I could drop at any minute due to my extreme fatigue, my clam façade slips ever so slightly and cracks of irritation begin to seep through to my surface. "Look, I get why it is that you don't trust me, alright? But I'm not just about to turn around after coming all this way without at least explaining myself and why it is that I'm here. I'm tired, I'm hot and I want to sit down for five minutes and get this damn bag off my shoulders. If you give me just an hour of your time, I can do all this and tell you everything at the same time. And I will tell you everything, so it's honestly a win-win situation for both of us here."

A silence follows my annoyed spiel, and the firmness in both my tone and words leaves no room for discussion with Bruce. I meant what I said; I won't be leaving anytime soon until I have told him everything that I have to. Still, I let him believe that he has the choice here as I leave him to ponder cautiously at my words, his hands continuing their nervous gestures by his sides.

A minute passes. Then another. Just as I'm about to run out of patience and once again reiterate my words of assurance, he reluctantly negotiates, "Half an hour. That's all you're getting."

"Done deal." With a slow nod of his head, he slowly steps to the side, allowing me entrance into his small home. It's pretty small with the bedroom, kitchen and living room all meshed together, and plates of tin keeping the walls up, but the few potted plants scattered here and there give it a rather homey feel. I make a small noise of relief as I drop the bag from my shoulders with a thud, and immediately make a beeline to the worn sofa in the far corner of the room,

No sooner have I sunk down into the rough yet welcoming furniture, Bruce stands before me with a fierce, untrusting look on his face. "Tell me everything you know.” 

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you. My boss – ”

“I understand that you were sent here. But you still haven’t explained the why.”

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

“I’ve been hiding from Ross for two years now – I think that I can take care of myself.”

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

Silence is his only response.

“Or didn’t have to look over your shoulder wherever it is that you wound up?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What exactly did happen that day, Bruce?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“From the other guy.”

“Yeah. The … the other guy … ”

“So, you’ve been on the run ever since.”

“Correct.”

“Have you tried looking for a possible cure?”

“Since the day I left.”

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

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

“An acquaintance of mine thought it would work.”

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

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

“Is he here in Rocinha?”

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

The pieces of the puzzle immediately click into place. “A cyber-friend then.”

“Something like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not here to kill you, Bruce,” I exclaim, horrified at the mere thought alone. The thought of intentionally hurting this man, who has lost so much and spent so much of his time alone due to circumstances beyond his control makes me feel sick to my stomach. He's innocent, having done nothing wrong but being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Killing him is not and never will be the answer. That I can feel in my bones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Even if I told you I can control the elements?”

He blinks. “ … well, almost anything … ”

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

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

“I guess you’re not the only crazy thing around here, huh Doctor?”

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

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

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

“How is that even possible?”

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

Aching, throbbing, burning pain –

"Please – please stop – ”

My name … my name is Lydia Hathaway.

Screams bouncing off the walls –

Again.

“Please – just kill me, no more – ”

Again.

My name is –

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

Lydia, are you alright? Lyd…

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

“Is everything OK?” Bruce asks.

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

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

“Do you want some water?”

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

“And the experiments?”

Silence is my only response.

He takes the hint. “I’m sorry.”

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

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

“Twenty-one.”

“Mhm. And how old were you when you were captured?”

“Nineteen.”

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

Swallowing thickly, I add, “I guess we’re both products of someone else’s chaos.”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, he won’t bite,” Bruce assures me.

“Sorry. Occupational habit.”

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

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

“He doesn’t really have one.”

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

“Buddy?”

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

"You have no idea,” Bruce mutters. “But there’s nothing that can be done about it.”

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

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

NICK FURY, 11:18 pm

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

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

Shit!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there anything I can do?!”

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

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

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

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

T-minus thirty minutes my ass!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you fly us out of here?” Bruce whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I immediately kill the electricity in my hand. “Why’d you stop?”'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How – how far – away – are – they?” He wheezes.

"Not far enough! Just keep going!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jump!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

“But it didn’t. And that’s what’s important.”

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

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

 “Doesn’t mean that he won’t.”

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

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

“My boss tipped me off – he somehow found out. I’m not sure how.”

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

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

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

There was every chance they were here because of me.

They have found Bruce, because of me.

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

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

The soldier.

Crap.

“Move!”

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

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

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

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

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Bruce mutters.

“Friends of yours?”

 “Hardly.”

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

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

Like, right now.

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

“I don’t think – ”

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

Reluctantly, he complies.

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

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

 Great. One down, only five more to go.

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

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

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

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

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

C’mon Lydia. C’mon!

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

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

“Impressive.”

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

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

“How did you do all of that? Who are you?”

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

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

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

“I’m only going to ask this one more time; who are you?”

“No one important.”

“I beg to differ.”

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

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

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

Still hurts like absolute hell though. Asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

Damn it.

I click my fingers, feeling the familiar buzz of electricity sparking between my fingers, before I hurry along, my pace quicker than before.

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

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

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

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

“Bruce!”

“Lydia, get out of here! I can’t – !”

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

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

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

They’re here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he doesn’t get back up again.

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

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

Directly in front of me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bruce, stop!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There he is! Shoot him!”

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

And when I say pissed, I mean pissed.

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

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

"Grenade!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clint is going to absolutely murder me.

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

          3 AND A HALF DAYS LATER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Failure definitely isn’t an option.

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

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

Almost.  

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

There would only be one other person out here in the middle of the jungle right now.

Bruce.

He’s turned back.

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

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

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

“Bruce. Bruce, it’s me. It’s Lydia.”

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

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

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

“That’s right, it’s me. C’mon – we need to get you up.”

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

“Can you walk by yourself?”

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

“Take all the time you need.”

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

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

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

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

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

I bite my lip. “We’re in Guatemala. We haven’t been in Rocinha for almost four days now.”

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

“You need a cure,” I gently finish.

“Easier said than done.”

“Well, I’m willing to stick around and help.”

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

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

Bruce hesitates.

“Bruce,” I urge.

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

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

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

 “Where’s the rest of the data?”

“Back in Willowdale, Virginia.”

“So we go and get it then.”

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

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

“I told you, it –”

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

“… thanks for the reminder,” Bruce darkly mutters.

“So, here’s my suggestion. Do you have any friends in Willowdale that you can definitely trust?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said I would help you, Bruce. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

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

“OK,” he softly says. “We better get going then.”

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

The apprehension in his voice tugs painfully at my sympathetic heart. “No. You didn’t.”

“But I hurt people, didn’t I?”

I know that there is no point in lying. He already knows the answer to his question, he just wants confirmation from me. Yet, I still remain silent.

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

Bruce shakes his head. “Ross doesn’t exactly see it like that.”

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

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

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

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

“He doesn’t speak Portuguese,” I translate to a disappointed Bruce. “He’s speaking Spanish.”

“I – I don’t speak it.”

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

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

“He’s heading into town,” I translate for Bruce. “He can take us there if we want.”

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

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

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

Bruce blinks. “That’s – that’s impressive.”

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

“A dónde vas?” The man suddenly asks.

“Where are we going?” I translate for Bruce.

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

Chapter Text

The sound of an alarm clock blaring throughout the motel room wakes me from my deep slumber. I weakly raise my arm up to blindly tap at the small yet annoying machine to turn it off, groaning in a mixture of relief and exhaustion as I roll onto my back and blink my sleepy eyes up at the roof. The sun blaring through the gaps in the dust-covered curtains leads me to believe that it is sometime in the late morning. A quick glance to the empty bed to my right informs me that Bruce is already up and about, though where exactly I don’t know.

After a week and a half of walking, flying and catching buses whenever we could, we finally arrived in Willowdale, Virginia, late last night. It had been far too late to go and find Bruce’s friend who could help us, so we had decided to find the nearest motel go sleep in just for the night. Bruce hadn’t been too fond of the idea when I had first suggested it, but I managed to convince him that it was for one night only, and it sure as hell would beat sleeping on the streets, which posed a greater risk itself. Out there, we were exposed. Vulnerable. In a motel, at least, we were safe and sleeping on something a lot more comfortable than the hard ground or a sharp bench.

Once our room was booked, we briefly discussed a game plan for the morning, before passing out the moment that our heads hit the pillow. Before passing out, we had managed to decide that we would sneak into the old lab when everyone was on their lunch break, download the data, and then get the hell out of dodge, heading to the friend of Bruce’s who would hopefully help us and lay low until we figure out our next move.

Lifting my head to glance at the blurry numbers flashing on the screen of the alarm clock, I learn that it’s half past eleven in the morning. According to Bruce, all the staff break for lunch around one o’clock, meaning that the lab would likely – and hopefully – be empty then. I had insisted on getting to the university earlier than that, however, just so that we can get a good scope of the area and make sure that we don’t miss our window of opportunity. Sighing, and oh so badly wanting to stay in bed as long as I can, I push my lazy urges down and pull myself upright.

It doesn’t take me long to shower and dry my hair, and when I exit the bathroom I am greeted with the sight of Bruce sitting on the edge of his bed, two Styrofoam cups in his hands. He glances up at me from underneath his tattered, grey cap, and stands up to offer me one,

“Here. Wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I, um, just stuck with your regular hot chocolate.”

“Thanks.” I eagerly accept the drink and bring it up to my lips to sip. It’s a tad on the cold side and there’s not nearly enough chocolate flavour in it, but I drink it nonetheless. Motel drinks have never been that great anyway.

“How’d you sleep?”

He shrugs. “This, uh, this is the first time in a long time that I’ve stayed in a motel, so um, not that great. Couldn’t really sleep without thinking that Ross or someone was just gonna barge in and find us at any moment…”

I hum, taking another sip of the drink. Living on the run for the past few years has left him with a great sense of paranoia that I doubt is hard to shake. Looking over his shoulder wherever he went has become second nature at this point – it would take a lot for him to shake it off.

“Well, hopefully after today, we’re one step closer to making that change.”

A flicker of a brief and tiny smile spreads across his lips at my optimism, but before he can say anything my phone starts to vibrate and ring from where it is nestled in the back pocket of my jeans. Reaching back to pull it out, I feel my face fall as I am greeted with the sight of Clint’s name flashing across the screen.

Noting my sudden change in behaviour, Bruce asks, “Everything all good?”

There’s an edge to his tone and when I look at him there is a wariness in his face that hadn’t been there moments before, and it takes me a moment to realise where this wariness comes from. The last time he had seen me use this, Fury had messaged to tell me that Ross had somehow managed to find Bruce and was moments away from catching up to us. My sour reaction just then had possibly told him that the fears that had kept him up all night long the previous night were mere seconds away from becoming true.

Paranoia – it’s really hard to make it go away.

“Nothing – I mean, it’s my uncle,” I assure him. “I – I don’t think he’s happy with me. I was meant to call him a while ago but sort of forgot to with everything that happened.”

Oh, he’s going to me more than not happy – furious or livid would be a more accurate description of my uncle still waiting on the other side of the ringing phone. I can just picture his glowering face now.

“Oh.” Bruce blinks. “Well, I have to go and check us out – I’ll do it now so that you can talk.”

Facing my angry uncle was the last thing that I wanted to do right now, but deep down, I know that if I don’t do it sooner rather than later then the next incoming phone call would be ten times worse. Chances are, he wouldn’t be as forgiving and the scolding that I know full well that I’m about to receive will only hurt that much more. So, thanking Bruce, I wait until he has shuffled out through the creaky, chipped motel room door, before answering the call and bringing the phone up to my ear. “Hey, Clint.”

“Oh, hey Lyd,” my uncle greets cheerfully, but I can see right through the false tone. I can practically hear him clenching his jaw on the other end of the line and picture the deadly glare that is more than likely etched to his face. “How’re things?”

“…great.”

“Really? Well, that’s good to hear. I just wasn’t sure whether or not to call you, or to come find you, seeing as I’ve spent the past week worrying that you were dead.”

I bite back a sigh as the false, cheerful persona fades away and his anger starts to bleed through. I knew that it was coming. And I know that it stems from a place of concern, worry and love. I just didn’t expect it to be so white-hot, threatening to burn me where I stand in its path.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I rush out before he gets the chance to continue, not particularly wanting to be on the receiving ends of one of his lectures right now. “I was going to call you, I promise. Things just got hairy for a little bit –”

"You should have called then! You said you would!”

“As I said, I was going to,” I grit out through my teeth, trying my best to remain calm. It would only make matters worse if the two of us were both angry and unwilling to listen to what the other had to say. “But to be fair, I haven’t exactly had the best reception hiking in the middle of the jungle for the past couple of days!”

Now this catches Clint by surprise. His anger subsides momentarily to be replaced with stunned confusion instead, he requests, “Come again?”

This time I can’t conceal the sigh, and I run a hand down my tired face. He’s not going to like what I have to say to him – chances are he won’t take it very well either. But I owe him the truth, especially with how worried he has been over the past week. I feel terrible, I truly do. But I also need him to understand that unfortunately, due to circumstances out of my control, it wasn’t possible at the time to get in contact with him.

“OK. Look, there was an incident back in Rocinha –”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“What happened?”

“Thaddeus Ross, that guy who’s been tracking Bruce since he took off a couple of years ago, found him. He sent a few soldiers in, and we ran. They managed to catch up to us though, and … and it was too much for Bruce. He changed, took out some of the soldiers and then he took off. I caught up with him in Guatemala last week, and we’ve been working our way back to the States since.”

A brief, silent spell follows my explanation, and I pin it on Clint listening to my words and taking everything in, mulling over each detail to himself. After a few moments, he says, “While I’m glad that you’re back in States, I have to ask …”

“Why drag Bruce back to the very country that he fled from?” I finish for him. “And where Ross is? Because Bruce has an associate somewhere here. We need to get the data from the experiment in his old lab and send it to said associate so that they may be able to find a cure.”

“Is that even possible?”

“To be honest? I don’t know. The accident changed him in a way that I think there’s no going back from. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to try and help him find one.”

"And what does Fury think about all this?”

I purse my lips. “That’s – that’s a good question.”

“… you haven’t told him, have you?”

"Nope.” 

Clint sighs. “Lyd…”

“Fury sent me after this guy without actually clarifying what it was that he wanted me to do,” I snap, hoping that my uncle knows that my newfound anger is not directed at him, but rather my cryptic boss who seems to enjoy keeping secrets from those that work for him a little too much at times.

“His exact orders were to help Bruce with any mess that he’s in and wait for him to call. So, I’m going to do exactly that. If he wanted something different, then he should have told me.”

“He’d still want to know what’s going on. And that you’re planning on trying to find a cure for Banner.”

I hold my tongue at this, begrudgingly admitting to myself that my uncle is right. As a SHIELD agent, it is my duty to report the findings and proceedings of my assignment to the person who had given it to me in the first place. It is a basic protocol that we are taught from the very first day at the SHIELD academy and it is a protocol that I have strived to maintain since my very first mission. But something in my gut urged me to put down the phone every time that I picked it up in the past few days to inform my boss of everything that is happening between Bruce and I. The feeling was so strong that I listened to it every time.   

I hadn’t been avoiding Clint these past few weeks. But that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been avoiding Fury.

I can’t exactly pinpoint the reason why I haven’t called him. I don’t know if it’s because I am afraid to tell him just how south the mission has gone, or if there is a part of me that is wary of what exactly it is that he wants with Bruce. I’ve seen how Fury treats people with certain abilities or dangerous skillsets before firsthand. Hell, I’ve been on the receiving end of that treatment, be it ever so subtle. Maybe I don’t want the same thing to happen to Bruce. Maybe I want to protect him from further being treated like a monster when there is a chance that we can reverse what has happened to him. And maybe I’m cautious of whether or not Fury even wants Bruce to be cured in the first place.

Either way, I’m not calling him. Not yet. Not until I get a clearer picture of whether or not there really is a cure out there for Bruce.

“I’ll call him later,” I eventually reply, the half-lie rolling easily off my tongue. “Right now, I just want to focus on getting this data, alright?”

“How long is that going to take then? All of it, actually. Helping Banner, finding a cure – how long do you think it’ll take?”

My heart sinks at the questions, knowing that I’m only going to be able to give him an answer that he’s not going to like. “Clint, I honestly don’t know. All I know is that Bruce needs my help, and I’m not going to leave him until he’s OK.”

“Will he be? I mean, do you really think that he’ll be OK after everything?”

I hesitate, not really having an answer to the question myself. Would Bruce be alright? To put it bluntly, he has a serious condition that causes him to lash out and lose control which sometimes ends with people getting hurt. And every time this happens, and he reverts back to Bruce, he is left with an intense feeling of guilt of everything that he has done as the Other Guy.

And when I say intense guilt, I mean intense. I’ve come to understand that he is a quiet man by nature, but ever since I found him in Guatemala and informed him of his actions as the Other Guy, he has been even quitter, if that is even possible. For the past week, he only really talks whenever I start a conversation with him and usually keeps his answers relatively short. This morning had been a massive improvement, but there was still the haunted look in his dark, brown eyes that never really seems to go away.

And the nightmares. Every night, I lay awake, forced to hear him muttering apologies in his sleep and begging the people that he hurt for forgiveness.

Begging Betty for forgiveness the most.

Let’s not forget what it was like for him before I had come along and barged my way through his front door either. He’s spent the past few years isolated and alone, forced to survive and remain hidden away by himself with his only companion being a dog and a stranger that he has never met before in person. It’s enough to drive someone insane.

He has been through so, so much, physically, emotionally and psychologically, and there’s a chance that he may not ever be able to properly move past it, even with a cure.

“I don’t know,” is my eventual soft and honest reply. “He’s been through a lot, and I don’t exactly think that a cure is going to magically fix everything. I mean, physically? Yeah, sure. But mentally…”

"Not so much.”

“No. Or, at least not straight away. He may pull through this – and I hope to God that he does – but it may take some time, and it’s certainly not going to be a walk in the park. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to help him. I have to. I promised him that I would.”

“I understand that you want to help him – I do, OK? But you were only meant to be gone a few days, and then everything turned to shit. This is dangerous, Lyd.”

“And all the other missions that Fury, Hill and Coulson have sent me on weren’t?”

“Those missions had you dealing with people that had guns – not a massive, green creature that could hurt you with a simple flick of its hand,” Clint snaps back. “I get that Bruce is a good guy and didn’t ask for this to happen to him, but have you even considered that when he’s changed that he has no control?”

I’m shaking my head before he has even finished speaking, my mind racing back to the night in the factory. The chaos that had unfolded had been a whirlwind and parts of what I remember blur together, but there is one part that immediately jumps out at me, as clear as crystal, with my uncle’s words. When Bruce had changed, he jumped from the walkway and landed right in front of me. And, unlike many of the other soldiers in the factory, I had managed to walk away unharmed.

“I don’t think that he would hurt me. When he changed back in Rocinha when the soldiers cornered us in the bottle factory, we crossed paths. He could have easily attacked me right then and there, but he didn’t. He almost recognised me, if anything. I think on some subconscious level, Bruce had been there.”

Possibly. Unlikely – I don’t know for sure. It’s a comforting thought, knowing that whenever the Other Guy emerged that Bruce was at least somewhere beneath the raging surface, reminding his alter ego that I was a friend rather than foe. Keeping me safe, even if he didn’t realise it. Of course, there is every chance that I am simply imagining it all, my mind conjuring up false scenarios and feeble hope to offer myself some sort of comfort from the frightening experience that had been meeting the Other Guy. Perhaps it only boils down to luck for why I had managed to make it out of that factory alive and in one piece.

Either way, I sure as hell am not going to go and voice any doubts that I may have on the matter to Clint. Not when he is silent on the other end of the line once more, and possibly considering what it is that I’m trying to say.

Feeling the fight and frustration slowly leave my body the longer that I continue to pace the small motel room, I bite back a sigh and make a beeline for one of the beds, silently sinking down into the soft mattress and threading a nervous hand through my blonde waves.

I know that I am being stubborn. Infuriatingly so. But beneath that stubbornness and unwillingness to comply with what Clint is asking, I understand on some level where my uncle is coming from. Ever since he took me in when I was twelve, he has felt responsible for me. Not just in the parental aspect, but also in SHIELD as well; he had been my S.O. during my time at the Academy. He had raised me into the young woman that I am today, but I can’t help but think that there is a part of him that will always see me as the young girl who had shown up on his doorstep with a grief-stricken heart and a chip on her shoulder thanks to the mother that had left her behind, especially with everything that happened to me before he found me in the facility in France.

I am forever grateful for what he did. But I am twenty-one years old: an adult. As much as I love him for his concern (knowing that it stems from a place of love), he needs to respect the choices that I make for myself.

Knowing that he only wants what is best for me, I decide to swallow the remaining of my anger and save the rest of this argument for another day. “Clint? You still there?”

“Still here, Kiddo,” he assures me tiredly, before letting out a long, drawn sigh that is laced with defeat. “I’m sorry. You know that I’m only trying to look out for you, right?”

 “I know.”

“And that I want you to be safe.”

“I promise that I’m trying to be.”

He grumbles. “OK then. If you feel like you need to finish this, then help Bruce. But can you please keep me updated this time? No more wandering around in the middle of nowhere without at least giving me the heads up first.”

“Done deal.” A gentle knock at the motel room door suddenly echoes throughout the room, and I pull myself upright, knowing that it is more than likely Bruce waiting for me on the other side. “I should probably go. Bruce and I have somewhere that we need to be, but I promise that I will call or, at the very least, message you once we have a clearer picture of where we’re going to wound up, alright?”

“Thanks, Lyd. If you need help, I’m only a phone call away, alright? Watch your sixth.”

“Will do,” I promise, before promptly hanging up the call and pocketing the phone in the back of my jeans. Grabbing my packed bag from the foot of my bed, I march forward and open the door to reveal an awkward Bruce waiting on the other side.

“Hey – you ready to go?”  

“Yeah. The uh, the guy at the front desk said that we could leave our bags here while we’re out if we wanted, so long as we come back to get them before three.”

"Easy done. If all the staff still break for lunch at one like you said, then we should be back here well and truly before then. Thanks for sorting it.”

He offers me a small ghost of a smile, and I watch as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his grey shirt. Nodding his head back towards the motel room behind me, he hesitatingly asks, “Did, uh, did everything go OK with your phone call?”

“Mhm. It was just my uncle, Clint. Like I said before, he wasn’t all that thrilled that I haven’t kept in touch with him over the past few days, but it’s nothing that I couldn’t handle.”

“I hope that you’re not getting into any sort of trouble for agreeing to help me.”

“What, with Clint? He’s fine. He’s just a little overprotective is all.”

“I suppose that makes sense. With your job, and everything.”

That, and the fact that I was kidnapped, tortured and experimented on for a year, I think to myself, though I don’t dare to voice the words out loud. Bruce is an awkward and unsure man as it is; my bluntness would only make him more so. Instead, I sling my bag over my shoulder and offer him a simple shrug. “Well, we’ve got more pressing things to worry about right now. Let’s go break into a college.”

*********

The grass rubbing against my bare shoulder scratches my skin as I shift to make myself more comfortable, rays of bright, warm light raining down from the sun above heating my skin which is soothed by a cool breeze in the air. My eyes are closed, but my other senses provide me with a detailed imaginary of my surroundings. University students chatter away with one another about classes, dates and deadlines, each of their voices getting drowned out by one another so that the sound of them talking is nothing but white noise in the background. Some though, a louder and more rambunctious group of men not that far from Bruce and I, cheer and call out for one another, the ground shaking beneath the stampede of their running feet. Their eager shouts inform me that they are likely throwing something around. A football or frisbee perhaps.

The sound of car horns and bustling traffic also filters through the air, the road not far from where Bruce and I are sitting. Or, more accurately, where he’s sitting. I am currently lounging back on the cross beside him, my legs stretched out and crossed over one another and my arms folded beneath my head. Sunglasses perched on the end of my nose, I let out a content sigh and decide to bask in the warmth of the sun just a little bit longer.

We have been sitting on the green lawn of Culver University for almost an hour now, waiting patiently for the staff to go on break so that we would be able to sneak through the lab. Bruce had begun to pick at his fingers and fidget with more blades of grass that I could count five minutes into our wait, likely paranoid about sitting still out in the open where it is near impossible for him to blend in with the ground. Wanting to help ease his worries, I had done my best to appear relaxed, hence my lazy position on the lawn beside him.

“Having fun down there?” He now asks.

“Absolutely.”

Bruce snorts.

“I’m just basking it all in. It’s a perfect day, and this is the first time in weeks that we have the chance to sit down and catch our breaths for a moment.”

“Aren’t we meant to be waiting for Betty?”

“Yeah, but the task itself doesn’t exactly require gruelling effort.” Nonetheless, I pull myself upright upon hearing the nervous tone underlying his words, bending my knees and resting my elbows on them. “Just try to relax, Bruce. Everything will be fine. We can sit here peacefully and still look for Betty at the same time.”

A quick glance at him from behind my glasses informs me that he finds the idea of relaxing impossible. In fact, ever since we had ventured out of the motel room and onto the streets of Willowdale he has been on edge. I blame it on his fear that someone might recognise him, which prompts me to further add, “None of these students know who you are, OK? And all the professors are still inside, so we don’t have to worry about them for the time being either.”

He hums, unconvinced, the fear and doubt still plaguing the worn features of his face. His worry has my heart clenching with a deep sympathy for him, and blood-boiling anger for the man responsible for Bruce feeling this way.

There have been no sightings of Ross since we left Rocinha, yet I feel his presence overshadowing us all the same. He had somehow managed to catch wind of Bruce’s whereabouts, and if truly was relentless as Fury and the reports claim he is, then he would stop at nothing now that he has managed to catch up with Bruce after all these years. All I can do is hope that the bastard has absolutely no clue as to where we are now, and that we are able to send the data from the accident off to Bruce’s associate sooner rather than later. The quicker we do so, then the quicker we will find out if there really is a cure for Bruce.

He now sighs with defeat and leans back so that he rests all of his weight on his elbows behind him. He tries to contort his face into a carefree grin, but it turns out as a grimace instead. Still, progress is progress, and I shoot him an encouraging smile all the same.

“It feels weird to be back,” he murmurs, the tension in his shoulders never easing. “I mean, everything is the same, but also different at the same time. I guess this whole scene is pretty familiar for you though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean college. Classes, studies, football rallies …” he trails off at the sound of a chuckle working its way past my lip, and he tilts his head in a curious fashion. “What? What did I say?”

“Sorry. It’s just, uh, I never really did the whole college thing. Or I did for like, a little bit, but I didn’t get the full experience out of it.”

“You didn’t study?”

“I did for a bit, yeah. But I graduated high school a couple of years early, so it’s not like I could drink and go to parties all the time. No one really wanted to party with a sixteen-year-old.”

“What did you study?”

“Majored in Astrophysics for half a semester. I started training at the SHIELD academy around the same time though, and it just became too much trying to do both. SHIELD was what I really wanted to do, so I gave up on the whole college thing. I always thought that I may go back once my training was complete, but then I was taken in Greece, so …” I trail off with a shrug, glad that my glasses are obscuring part of my face from him. I tilt my chin down so that my loose hair will cover the rest. I taste bile in the back of my throat at the memories that start to creep their way up from the furthest corners of my mind.

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

Aching, burning, prominent, stinging pain –

“So say we do get you a cure,” I bite out quickly, shoving the memories back down and ignoring the growing sting behind my eyes. “What happens then? I mean, would you come back here to teach?”

Bruce lets out a bitter laugh. “Somehow, I don’t see Ross letting me get my old job back.”

A flash of anger irks me at his words. “Too bad. That bastard doesn’t get a say. If you want your old job back, then you’ll get your old job back.”

“I don’t think it’s quite that simple.”

“I’ll make it that simple – Ross has no authority when it comes to SHIELD. They’ll help you if you ask.”

"You really think that they’re gonna do much for me if I’m cured?”

"They will if I’m the one asking them to do it.”

He tilts his head curiously at me, eyes narrowing, and lips caught between his teeth momentarily. “Why’s that?”

"Let’s just say that when it comes to SHIELD and its Director, I have a little bit of leeway regarding certain things.”

"If you don’t mind me asking, what makes you so special to them?”

“My family founded the organisation.”

Surprise laces his features at my revelation and he opens his mouth to likely ask for more details on this, but the words never come out. His brown eyes lock on something beyond me and his face turns as pale as paper. Frowning, I turn to look at whatever it is that has so abruptly captured his attention and when my eyes land on what – or, more accurately, who – he is looking at, my mouth parts to form the perfect ‘o’.

Betty Ross.

I’ve seen photos and video clips of the legendary scientist but staring at the young woman across the quad, I conclude that Betty is even prettier in person. Her long, dark chocolate brown hair tumbles down the back of her green sundress, with stylishly cut bangs framing her face. She’s thin and tall – the same height as Bruce in the heels she wears – and her blue eyes shine as her lips pull into a warm and gentle smile, lighting up her pale face as she moves along the footpath at a leisurely pace.

She’s moving away from the entrance – this is our chance.

“Bruce, we should –”

Turning back around, I am surprised to see that Bruce is no longer sitting beside me but has lurched himself upright and eagerly moves to follow after Betty.

I immediately follow suit and jog after the lovestruck man, dodging past students and weaving between professors until I catch up with him, glad to see that he is keeping a safe distance between himself and Betty in case she happens to turn around and spot him.

“Bruce?”

He ignores me. Or, perhaps, his mind is trapped elsewhere, possibly lingering on past memories shared with Betty as he follows her, baseball cap low over his face but eyes staring intently after her.

Sighing, I press on.

We trail behind her for another five minutes before she finally comes to a stop and plonks herself down on a bench, placing her bag beside her and pulling out her phone to check her messages. Bruce and I hover beside a tree fifteen yards away, with Bruce peeking around the trunk to watch her. Knowing that Betty has absolutely no clue as to who I am, I casually lean against the tree with my arms crossed, eyes darting between the former lovers with an aching sadness and pity. The first time that they’ve been remotely close to one another in years, and she has no clue that he is merely a few yards away.

“We don’t have to get the drive today, you know,” I gently say. “If you want – I mean, you can always go and talk to her –”

“I can’t,” he hoarsely whispers. He rubs his eyes. “It’s too dangerous, for both of us. I can’t drag her into this mess.”

“But you miss her. Don’t you think that she misses you too? Or that she wonders whatever happened to you and where you might be now?”

“I tried to make contact with her once,” he bleakly reveal, catching me by surprise. “It was a few months after the lab. I wanted to tell her about my change, and that I was sorry for hurting her. But her father found out and intercepted the message before she could ever get it, so I ran.”

“Did you ever try again?”

“No. I figured that Ross would be watching her. So I never got to say – I never told her –”

When he fails to finish his sentence, too caught up in the swell of emotion likely building inside of him, I reach over to gently squeeze his shoulder in a comforting manner, moving my head to try and level myself with his gaze. It doesn’t work, however. He only has eyes for Betty.

Still, I try my best to reason, “You can’t blame yourself, Bruce. Ross forced you to run. But he’s not here now; she is. Go for it.”

He pauses, as if almost considering my words, but before he can say anything and before I can try to convince him even more, Bruce suddenly lets out a startled yelp and ducks back behind the tree, the sudden noise and movement causing me to flinch.

“What?” I question anxiously, turning around to try and find the threat. “Did someone recognise you? Is Ross here?”

“…no. She just looked over in our direction.”

I let out a breath that I didn’t even realise that I was holding in the first place and lean back against the tree while my racing heart continues to help pump the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Shaking my head – and resisting the urge to slap at the back of Bruce’s cap – I inhale sharply and unclench my hands. Swearing, I shift so that I can risk taking a look around the tree, eyes immediately darting back towards an oblivious Betty still sitting on the bench.

She smiles as a tall man with short, raven black hair causally walks towards her, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pressed pants and a shy grin across his face. Placing her phone back in her bag, Betty stands up and waits until the man reaches her.

“Is she still looking?” Bruce whispers. “Did – did she see me?”

My throat constricts and prevents me from answering as I watch the man pull her in close and gives her a peck on the cheek. A pang of sadness rocks through my body for the scientist still hiding behind the tree, as I realise that while Bruce may still be hung up on Betty, it appears that she has decided to move on.

“No,” is my small reply. When the happy couple pulls one another closer for a full-fledged kiss, I turn my gaze away. Unfortunately, I swivel around to find that Bruce has emerged from the tree and is looking directly at Betty and the unknown man, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I’m sorry.”

He swallows thickly, not tearing his eyes from the now laughing couple. “She has a life. I shouldn’t be the reason that she held back from anything. Or … anyone.”

“Still,” is all I can think to say. “It can’t be easy. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Of course he is. Seeing Betty with this guy has likely shattered any hope that he may have had for reconnecting with her, and possibly starting where they had left off once he had managed to find a cure for himself. It’s easy for me to see that she was the one thing that had kept him going after all this time and to see her like this … well. It had to hurt.

After we stare at the couple for a moment longer, Bruce finally gives a shake of his head. “Come on,” he murmurs, the sadness easy to detect in his tone. “We’ve … we’ve been waiting for her to leave so that we can get into the lab. Now’s our chance.”

“Bruce, I –”

“Let’s go.”

He turns on his heels at the abrupt finality in his words and moves to walk back towards the building from which we had originally watched Betty emerge, not looking back at her as he moves.

Sighing and hating the fact that he was trying to hide just how much he was hurting (but respecting his choice nonetheless), I break into a light jog to follow after him.

“Right,” I say as I fall into step beside him. “So, we sneak into the lab, find Betty’s computer and log on to it?”

“Exactly.”

"Do you know her password?”

“I think so. She’s always used the same password for everything.”

“OK, good. So we then download the data onto our USB and then we make our way to a public library where we can send the data to your friend.”

“Yeah, Mr Blue.”

My brows furrow. “Huh?”

“Mr Blue – it’s the alias that I use for this guy,” Bruce explains.

 “What’s yours then?”

“Mr Green.”

I can’t contain a snort at this. “Ha. Funny.”

“Guess it is a little on the nose, isn’t it?” Bruce says, the corners of his mouth flickering up. And despite the fact that the ghost of a smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, I am glad that after unexpectedly encountering Betty and her boyfriend, we have managed to lighten the mood, even if just a little bit.

“Does Mr Blue happen to turn into a large, muscled blue guy with severe anger issues?” I ask as we climb up the front steps of the University.

He chuckles, reaching forward to hold open the front door for me. “Not that I know of.”

I thank him, before patiently waiting for three students to make their way through the now open door first before I duck through the doorway, a louder buzz of chatter filling the air as even more students stream throughout the wide halls and numerous classrooms. I make it all three steps before I come to a screeching halt, however, causing Bruce to accidently run into my back.

“Lydia? What’s wro …?”

When he suddenly trails off, I realise that he has spotted the security guard checking student and teacher badges before allowing them to walk through a metal detector machine on the other side of the long hall. Students line up in front of the guard, and I watch with a sinking feeling in my gut as he reprimands a young group of men trying to cut through the lone line, warning them to step back into place or else.

I curse under my breath. Without a student card, there is absolutely no way that we are getting past this guard and sneaking into the lab. God damnit.

“We can’t get through,” Bruce exclaims.

“I could try and fly up to a window or something? I suggest, but I shake my head before he has the chance to even consider it. “Scratch that. Me flying up to a window in broad daylight is just going to drag more unwanted attention to us.”

“We could come back later? When it’s dark?”

“Window alarms,” I reply, reaching up to run a hand through my hair and grip harshly on the ends. “We’re gonna have to think of something else.”

“Stan might be able to help us.”

“The friend you can trust?”

Bruce nods. “He owns a pizza shop a couple of blocks from here. It’s usually closed on Monday nights, but he lives in the apartment above it. He should be home.”

“Then let’s go,” I reply, grabbing Bruce’s sleeve and pulling him back towards the entrance of the University once more.

**********

The walk from Culver University to Stanley’s Pizza Parlour is rather pleasant, the weather taking an even warmer turn as the afternoon rolls into dusk, the sun shining hues of orange across the sky. The streets are relatively quiet, the dinner rush having not started yet, making it easy for Bruce and I to blend it with the few civilians wandering the streets, none of them paying us the slightest attention. It takes half an hour to reach the pizza parlour which is a nice little building with green walls and booths built into them, red and white chequered tablecloths placed carefully on the square tables throughout the rest of the space. A counter has been built in the far corner where the employees likely take the customer orders before rushing past the silver door behind them which undoubtedly leads into the kitchen out back.

It’s from this door that a small, elderly man wearing a green apron and white shirt emerges, not looking up from the towel in his hand. If he had done so, then he would have noticed Bruce and I pressed up against the windows, peering into the parlour through the front window.

He’s very short, with a white moustache and snow-coloured tuffs od hair sticking out from the back and sides of his head, leaving his front and top bald and gleaming beneath the light.

Inhaling sharply, Bruce knocks a fist against the door.

“Sorry, but we’re closed on Mondays,” the man – who I assume is Stan – calls out, a thick Italian accent lacing his words. “Come back tomorrow when we’re open.”

“Stan,” Bruce calls out, voice thick with emotion.

Stan stills, the towel slipping from his fingers and falling silently to the floor below, but he makes no move to retrieve it. Instead, he slowly lifts his head up until he is finally staring at us through the window, his dark brown eyes crinkling with disbelief when they land on an unsure Bruce. Gasping, he rushes over to the door (as quickly as his old age will allow him) and fiddles with the lock before flinging the door open and pulling Bruce down into a bear-crushing hug.

“I knew it! I knew you would come back!” Stan cries, clinging to Bruce even harder when the latter returns the hug with equally fierce enthusiasm. “I knew you would!”

“It’s good to see you too Stan,” Bruce laughs, a genuinely joyful smile plastered to his face, a sight that I haven’t seen in the weeks that I’ve known him. It’s enough to make a warmth blossom in my chest.

Stan pulls back from Bruce and lifts his hands to clasp the younger man’s face between them, really studying the face he holds. Though it’s only been a few years since they have last seen one another, I bet that Stan sees nothing but differences lining the features of Bruce’s face. How tired he seems. How much thinner he is. Purple shadows under his eyes. A sadness permanently etched in the depths of his eyes.

“Where have you been? Why did you run? Does betty know that you’re back?”

“It’s a really, really long story, Stan. One that I’m happy to explain to you. But first,” he steps back, gesturing towards my silent form beside him. “There’s someone that I want you to meet.”

 I smile. “Lydia Hathaway, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Stan beams and extends a hand my way as Bruce explains, “She’s been helping me for the past few weeks. Lydia, this is Stanley. I’ve known him for years now – we can trust him.”

“Helping him, eh?” Stan asks, giving my hand a firm shake. “Helping him stay out of trouble, I hope.”

My smile turns tight, his words serving as a reminder of what Bruce and I have been through over the past few weeks. “Something like that.”

Bruce reaches up to scratch at the back of his head. “Stan, I’m sorry that we’ve barged in on you like this –”

“Oh, you know you are welcome here any time, Bruce,” Stan promptly cuts Bruce off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “That will never change. And anyone who is friends with Bruce, is a friend of mine also. You are welcome here as well, Miss Hathaway.”

“Call me Lydia.”

He smiles, before he then moves to close the front door behind us, locking it once more and drawing the curtain closed. “Come out the back – I was just about to make some pizza. You must be hungry, and I want to hear all about what has happened to you in the past few years, Bruce.”

Chapter Text

I have had some pretty damn good pizza throughout my life, but after having just one bite of Stan’s House Special, I can’t help but feel as if I am eating heaven on a plate. Stan didn’t hold back on the food and served both Bruce and I more food than we can possibly eat, likely taking note of just how skinny Bruce and the hungry look in our eyes. He watched the two of us wolf down his feast, listening intently as Bruce explained everything that had happened to him in the past few years.

Well. Almost everything. There was only so much Stan could know without placing him in danger, and somehow, I doubt that he would believe that the quiet, unassuming man in front of him now turns into a giant, green monster whenever he loses his cool.

“Stan, I give you my word that whatever you’ve heard about me isn’t true,” Bruce now finishes, a hint of desperation in his tone as he tries to convince his friend of his innocence.

It appears that he has nothing to worry about, however, as Stan only gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “Oh, I never believed it! I always knew that you were a good man, Bruce. There’s nothing that can convince me otherwise. It’s why I liked you and Betty so much. I mean, you know how I always felt about the two of you.”

I visibly see Bruce stiffen in his chair beside mine at the mention of Betty’s name, his mind likely recalling the scene that we had witnessed between Betty and her partner at the campus earlier today.

“She’s with someone?” He quietly asks Stan.

Stan shifts awkwardly in his chair, his mouth tugging down into a sympathetic frown. “Yes. He’s – he’s a head shrink. They say that he’s one of the best.” A beat. Then; “Have you talked to her?”

“She doesn’t know that we’re here,” I explain, wiping at the corner of my mouth with a napkin. Damn, that pizza was so good. “But she has something important that we need to get of her. A file, to be exact.”

“Why would you need one of her files?”

“To help me be a free man again,” Bruce says, causing Stan’s eyes to widen at the words. “Betty can’t know that we’re here – it’s too dangerous. I’m not a fan of sneaking around behind her back, but the only way that we can get what we need without drawing any unwanted attention is if we sneak into her lab and download the file ourselves.”

“Easier said than done though, with all those security guards crawling around campus. The only way that we can get into the building is by showing them a security guard.”

Stan leans forward in his seat. “I want to help the two of you – although, I’m not sure if I can help with sneaking into this lab – but if there’s anything else I can do, then tell me and I’ll do so.”

“Would you mind letting us stay here for a night or two?” Bruce asks.

“Of course! You can sleep in the spare rooms upstairs. You’re both welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“We won’t bother you for too long, we just need a place to lay low until we get the file,” I say, before adding as an afterthought, “We still have to go and get our bags from the motel as well.”

“Stay as long as you need – but I still feel as if there is more that I can do to help you! Surely there is a way for the two of you to get into the building without that student card. I mean, my workers occasionally go in for deliveries, maybe they can get what you’re after…”

Bruce grimaces. “I don’t want to involve anyone else if we can help it. It’s too risky. Besides, I…”

But whatever Bruce says next is lost to me, as my eyes trail over to the red and white striped uniforms that are hanging up in the corner, the logo for Stan’s restraint printed proudly across the back of the jacket. A light bulb goes off above my head as I stare at the red hat. “Actually, Stan,” I interrupt, a small smile creeping onto my face. “I think that there is a way for you to help us after all.”

**********

“I feel stupid.”

“You look fine.”

“I don’t care how I look. I feel stupid.”

 “I take it that this is the first time that you’ve done something like this?”

Bruce hums. “Uh, judging from how relaxed you are though, this clearly isn’t unfamiliar territory for you.” 

Jerking at the bike lock for the bike that Stan had lent me to ensure that it is secured in place, I pull myself upright and adjust the bright, red Stanley’s pizza cap on my head. Even in the late morning, Culver University is flourishing with students, laughter and chatter drifting in the warm summer air around us. The heat makes the uniform cling to me a little uncomfortably (the bike ride over hadn’t helped with this), and I flap the ends of my oversized shirt to try and create a cool breeze for my sticky skin.

“I’m a spy,” I explain. “Blending in and using different aliases is something that I sometimes have to do. Just pretend that you’re a spy, and it’ll make it more fun.”

“I’m already pretending to be a pizza delivery guy,” Bruce dryly mutters, reaching into the basket at the front of his bike to pull out the stack of pizza boxes, the smell of the hot food causing my mouth to water.

“Which, you have to admit, is a pretty damn good idea,” is my cheerful response as we start to make our way up the footpath. “We can get in like Stan said all his other workers do, get what we need and then leave without anyone suspecting a thing. And, we’ll have spare pizza to eat afterwards. I’d say that’s a win for us.”

“That’s only if the security guard believes the lie,” Bruce replies, clearly still sceptical of the plan.  The way that he keeps wringing his free hand beside him is also a clear indication of just how nervous he is, likely worrying about the repercussions of us getting caught. It’s completely understandable. While the plan was a good one, it wasn’t entirely foolproof. But if Bruce wants to ensure that we walk away free with the file, then he is going to have to calm down. Freaking out and nervous behaviour is only going to draw unwanted attention to the two of us.

“Then we work our charms until he has no choice but to let us into the building. Or, I’ll knock him out if I can get close enough,” is my light reply, my attempt to try and ease some of the worry radiating from him in massive waves. But when he only offers me a half-hearted smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, I sigh. “Relax, Bruce. This is going to work. Just sit back, and I’ll do all the talking if need be.”

He nods, but the grim expression remains on his face all the same as we finally reach the steps leading up to the building. We take them two at a time before we reach the entrance. Inhaling deeply, I puss the door open and hold it there with my hand, allowing Bruce to enter the building first. I quickly follow suit, letting the door swing shut behind us.

No going back now.

The security guard that is on duty today is different to the one that had been working yesterday. With surprisingly no students in sight (the majority of them were likely in classes right now), the curly-haired, olive-skinned man leans back in his chair, his dark eyes flicking over the newspaper he holds in his large hands. I can feel Bruce’s nervous energy from beside him, and all I can do is hope that the guard currently in front of us is more agreeable than the guard yesterday had been.

Bruce is first to stop in front of the guard’s booth, clearing his throat to alert the man of our presence. “H-hey pal,” he tries to say in an easy-going tone, though even I can detect the slight shake to it. “Um, we, er –”

“We’ve got a delivery for room five,” I quickly finish.

The guard – whose name tag reads Lou – finally tears his gaze from the paper in front of him to Bruce and I, his face scrunching up with scepticism. “It takes two guys to deliver some pizza?” He drawls.

I jerk my thumb Bruce’s way, offering Lou a frown. “New guy here keeps mucking up all the orders, so they sent me to babysit him.”

“Uh-huh. What room number?”

“Room five.”

Lou’s dark eyes flicker between Bruce and I, studying us curiously. I keep my expression neutral, and I hope to God that he interprets the nervous look seemingly permanently glued to Bruce’s face due to my recent words, and not the fact that we are trying to break into the lab. After a long, few drawn-out moments, he finally gives a shake of his head. “I don’t think that you’ll find anyone up there.”

Bruce swallows thickly at this and doesn’t say anything, clearly lost for words. Thinking quickly, I shake my head with dismay. “Ah, man. We’re gonna catch hell from our boss if we don’t collect. Can you at least let us try?”

Lou’s brows crease as he considers my words, and the look of pure scepticism doesn’t disperse from his face, so, thinking quickly, I reach over to pluck the top box from Bruce’s pile of pizzas before turning to hold it out towards the stubborn guard. “Look, I just realised that we have an extra medium. Why don’t you take it? On the house.”

Ever so slowly, the sceptical guard pulls himself from his seat to tower over the two of us, his 6’5 frame easily towering over Bruce and I. It’s when he crosses his thick arms over his broad chest that I keep the smile on my face but hide my free hand behind my back, allowing electricity to crack between my slim fingers. Maybe the idea of knocking him out wasn’t so far-fetched after all…

A moment. A beat of silence. Bruce fidgets nervously where he stands, while Lou and I stare one another down. Then;

A smile splits Lou’s face in half, and he gladly accepts the box from my hand, opening it to peer inside. Satisfied with what he sees, he gives us a nod of his head and jerks his head towards the stairs to our right.

I exhale in relief, though for an entirely different reason than what he may think it is for. Thankful that I didn’t have to take a more violent approach, I extinguish the electricity and pull the hand forward to bump my first against his. “You are the man,” I say, watching as Bruce awkwardly bumps his hand against Lou’s when it is offered to him.

“God bless you, brothers!” Is Lou’s happy response before he then settles back down in his chair, a content smile on his face. Bruce and I only respond with a wave before we then take off before Lou can change his mind, leaving him to eat his pizza in peace.

The two of us dare not say as word until we have clambered up the stairs and Lou has disappeared from our sights entirely. Once he’s sure that we are well and truly out of earshot, Bruce heaves a sigh of relief. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“’O ye, of little faith’,” I say, stepping back to allow Bruce to lead me towards an elevator at the end of the hall. “We won’t have to worry now. I think that he’s going to be occupied for a while.”

“I uh, I have to say, you handled things quite well back there. Is … is it easy for you? To pretend to be someone else?”

 “I mean, like I said before, it’s part of my job, so, I kind of have to be good at it. It’s all about confidence though. If you’re confident in whatever story that you’re trying to tell, then it makes it harder for people to distrust you.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed in thought as we reach the elevator, and he pushes at the buttons. “Confidence. Right,” he mutters to himself, causing the corners of my mouth to flicker up ever so slightly before the doors open and the two of us clamber into the small space.

The first part of the trip is filled with a comfortable silence, aside from cheerful music gently emitting from the speakers in the corner of the elevator above us, and despite the calm, I can’t help but keep a close eye on Bruce beside me. Despite the fact that we have managed to work our way past security, he still seems nervous. He’s no longer wringing his hand in an obvious way, but instead, has now resorted to tapping his free fingers against the side of his leg while the hand holding the pizza boxes grips them so tightly, that his knuckles appear taut against his pale skin.

He's still on edge – and something tells me it has nothing to do with the security guard we have left behind us multiple floors below.

“How are you holding up?” I ask, effectively breaking the silence.

He startles, my words having possibly dragged him back from wherever his mind had taken him, and he almost shrinks in on himself. “It’s just…strange, being back here is all. I’ve spent the past couple of years thinking that I would never have the chance to step foot in this place ever again. But, here I am, heading up to my old lab in the same elevator that I used to take every morning.”

It’s easy for me to picture the scene he’s describing; Bruce, likely in a pristine white lab coat, fuller and carefree with a coffee in his hand as he presses the buttons on the elevator. Greeting the other professors, students or even the guard on watch every morning without fail. His hair messy and his glasses askew as he scrambles around his lab, scribbling away and using his equipment as easy as breathing. Maybe Betty was there working alongside him, offering him a peck on his flustered cheek whenever the opportunity arose.

Compared to his life now? On the run, looking over his shoulder everywhere he went? Yeah. It’s pretty understandable that he may find the whole situation surreal.

The same thing happened to me when I was first brought home from the facility. Never in a million years after everything that I had been through and survived did I think that I would be sleeping in my childhood bedroom and eating dinner with my loved ones again. It had taken a long time to adjust, so I can understand on some level what it is that Bruce is feeling right now.

“Well, you do realise that if Mr Blue can figure out a cure, you could be doing this every day again? You could go back to being a regular man and get your old life back.”

“To some extent.”

“To some extent,” I agree. “I mean, you’d have to ensure that Ross understands that you are no longer a threat, and that he can’t extract the Other Guy from you and turn him into a weapon.”

Bruce lets out a humourless, bark of laughter. “Easier said than done.”

“Well, I’ll be there to help you should you need it,” I assure him. “But there’s no reason that you couldn’t get your old job back and – well. You could always try and get Betty back as well.”

“She’s with someone else, Lydia.”

“And had circumstances been different, then there’s every chance that she may not be,” I fire back, though not in any aggressive kind of way. When Bruce remains silent at this and the doors open, we step out into the corridor and I continue, “If she knew what had happened and why you had taken off then there’s every chance that she may take you back. Besides; you’re a scientist. Women dig smart, friendly guys. Or, they should anyway.”

The last part doesn’t quite have as much effect as I hoped it would, but he does shoot me a flash of a grateful smile as he leads me further down the corridor.

We make a right turn and then a left – thankfully passing no one else as we move – until Bruce finally comes to a slow and staggering halt. I turn to question Bruce on the sudden pause of movement only to find that he stands frozen in place, dark eyes fixed on a large, glass-walled room to our left. It’s filled with rows of computers on desks and shelves topped with small machinery and equipment of all shapes and sizes. Notice boards hang from the walls with slips of paper, sticky notes and messy scribbles or neat handwriting covering them from top to bottom. There are framed photos on desks and even a lanky man with dark hair and broad-brimmed glasses seated in the corner of the room, hunched over in his seat as his fingers tap away at the keyboard in front of him. It looked like a regular office space to me, but the look on Bruce’s face says that it’s something else entirely.

His face has paled considerably, and there are small beads of sweat starting to slide down his forehead as he stares at the office, rigid and clearly anxious. His breath comes in quickly and falls out sharply, a look of pure panic seemingly glued to his face that only intensifies the longer he stares.

I know the beginning of a panic attack when I see one, and I immediately step forward into his line of view and try to stand as tall as I can to block his view from the lab. “Bruce? You’re OK. You’re safe. You’re with me and you’re safe. I promise.”  

His breathing only goes more ragged, and I instinctively reach up my hands to try and offer them to him –

He flinches back as if I have burned him, gasping and raising his hands to protect his face, effectively dropping the pizza boxes in the process. The look of terror in his eyes is strong enough to cause me to step back, the sight before me resembling a cornered rabbit, frantic and panicked as it tries to find a way out. It’s enough to confuse me as I try to think of the cause of Bruce’s sudden fear. He had been fine until we had seen the office –

The office.

I swivel to look through the glass, my blue eyes skimming over every object in the room in hopes of finding something that would explain Bruce’s erratic behaviour, but there isn’t anything for me to find. Nothing glaringly obvious, anyway. Cursing quietly under my breath, I turn back around to face the scientist.

Holding my hands up, palms facing forward to show him that I mean him no harm, I speak quietly and calmly. “Bruce, it’s me. It’s Lydia. I don’t know what just happened, but I want you to know that you’re safe here with me. OK? We’re safe. You’re safe.”

It takes a few more moments of gentle coaxing on my part until my words start to sink in. Eventually, Bruce lowers his arms back to his side and inhales at a much slower and steadier pace, closing his eyes. He mutters something almost silently under his breath – his lips moving too quickly for me to be able to discern what exactly it is that he’s saying – and it isn’t until I gently ask him if he’s OK that he opens his eyes to send me an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That – that used to be the lab. They’ve – they’ve changed it but I – it was like… I was – it, it was like I was there again.”

There. I know what he means by this; not physically there in the lab but trapped in his own mind as the memory of what had happened to him that day ran rampant behind his eyes. Seeing what had once been the lab had sent him down in a spiral, bringing back all the horrible memories and feelings associated with his experiment that had gone wrong.

“I understand,” I assure him gently. “That’s nothing to be sorry for – you can’t help it. Are you OK now though?”

“Yeah. I – I kept control of my heart –”

“I’m not asking whether you prevented the Other Guy from making an untimely appearance, Bruce. I’m asking if you’re OK.”

He looks mildly surprised at the words as if he has never been asked if he’s OK before. Which, in hindsight, probably hasn’t happened to him for a long time now – possibly since before the accident. When he picks up on the sincerity lacing my tone, however, he eventually jerks his head. “I am now. Thank you.”

"Look. I totally understand all of this being difficult and painful for you. You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. You can always wait out here, and I can go in and transfer the data onto the USB –”

He’s shaking his head before I have even finished that suggestion. “I uh, I appreciate the concern, Lydia. But I’ll be fine.”

I immediately go to argue that he may still need a moment or two to process the inner turmoil he is likely going through right now, but the look of sheer determination that slowly starts to creep onto his face causes the words to die in my throat. Judging by this expression, I can’t help but think that even if I do attempt to try and convince him to stay put, he’s going to walk into the office regardless. So, I only offer him a small smile of encouragement.

“You sure?” When he gives one last final nod, I bend down to retrieve the pizza boxes that he had dropped. Thankfully, the pizza remains safely packed away in the still-intact boxes. Straightening back up, I gesture for him to move forward. “Alrighty. After you then.”

Bruce leads the way, trekking slowly and with care as we step into the lab, eyes skimming over every object in sight. I can’t help but watch him carefully. Even though he says that he is OK now, I can’t help but think that another panic attack could potentially occur, and I want to be ready to help him if it does.

But, it doesn’t. His face remains pale his eyes nervous, but we weave our way through the desks and equipment for ten minutes without any incident.

Bruce’s eyes scan every computer and desk that we pass, and it isn’t until we’ve inspected what feels like the one-hundredth computer (which in fact, is only the twelfth) that Bruce turns to me with a glum look. “I have no clue which one is hers. These computers are different from all the ones that we used to use.”

I huff. “Figures. It would make sense that they would go for the technology upgrade if all of the last computers were damaged or destroyed.”

Bruce lets out a defeated sigh before glancing around, his eyes quick to land on the man still seated at his desk in the far corner of the room. He’s so engrossed with whatever it is that is on the screen in front of him that he hasn’t noticed Bruce and I quietly weaving our way through the lab.

Bruce jerks his chin towards him. “He might know which one it is.”

I’m already turning around and walking the man’s way before Bruce can finish speaking. It’s worth a shot.

The man doesn’t see us coming and doesn’t look away from the screen until Bruce and I come to a halt on the other side of the desk. He glances up at us, reaching away from the keyboard to push his glasses back up his nose while his eyes widen in surprise. “Can I help you?”

I put on the cheeriest smile I can muster. “Hi! We were wondering which one of these computers belongs to Betty Ross? I’m her cousin and she asked me to download a movie file from it.”

“Why do you have the pizza boxes then?”

Shit.

My smile doesn’t slip in the slightest at his words, my mind already forming an excuse in my head. “My partner and I were already delivering some pizza in this building when she called me and asked,” I say, the lie rolling off my tongue as easy as breathing. “She told me where the lab was and it wasn’t until we were here that I remembered that I forgot to ask which one it was.”

The man nods his head, looking down as he considers my words when Bruce suddenly speaks up from beside me;

 “Hey, Grace, is that an extra pizza that we have?"

Immediately catching on to the silent suggestion, I quickly reach up and grab the top pizza from the pile in Bruce’s hands. “You’re right; so we do. Here, man,” I say, leaning down and placing the pizza box on the corner of the man’s desk, watching as his eyes widen in surprise. “It’s all yours.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Reaching for the box, he points towards a computer two rows away, second from the end. “That’s Dr Ross’ computer there. Let me know if you need any help in finding that file.”

“Cheers, man,” is my bright reply, Bruce and I wasting no time in turning on our heels and moving towards the computer the guy had pointed out.

Bruce pulls the chair out from the front of the desk and offers it to me, but I have already reached for the one placed in front of the desk beside Betty’s, and motion for him to take the one he offers. He promptly sits down and swishes to the side to make room for me, before he plugs in the drive and turns on the computer. We wait patiently – or, I do anyway. Bruce’s knees bounce up and down a thousand miles a minute – for the machine to boot, but it isn’t long before the lock screen appears, demanding a password before it can allow us any further.

“You don’t happen to know the password, do you?”

Bruce nods, fingers inching forward towards the keyboard. “She uses the same password for everything. I don’t see why she wouldn’t do the same for her computer,” he mutters, tapping away at the keyboard before hitting the enter key. To my relief, the lock screen disappears and is instantly replaced with the desktop.

“Annnddd we’re in,” I mutter, watching as Bruce then opens a folder called ‘Campus Research Data Base.’

“Hopefully, this will make finding the data easier,” Bruce says, before typing ‘Gamma Pulse’ into the search bar. The screen is briefly filled with blurred words as the computer searches through thousands of files, each disappearing by the second.  Expecting an easy victory, the disappointment that crashes over Bruce and I as ‘NO MATCH FOUND’ flashes across the middle of a very empty screen hits the two of us like a tidal wave.

“What the hell?” I breathe as Bruce shakes his head, clearly just as confused as I am.

“No, no, no. It – it should be here…”

 “Try typing in something else related to the project.”

He wastes no time typing his own name in the search bar, and when the same unwanted result occurs, he tries typing in Betty’s name. Options come up under this, but when Bruce curses and slams a frustrated fist down on the desk in frustration, I gather that none of the files in front of us is the one that we’re after either. Which can only mean one thing.

“They must’ve deleted the file. Tried to cover their tracks, hide what happened.”

Bruce rakes an anxious hand through his dark locks. “Without the data, Mr Blue might not be able to do anything.”

“Ask him first before we jump to that conclusion,” I say, not liking where this conversation is heading. “There could be something else that he could do instead. Maybe since you spoke to him last, he’s thought of something else that can help you that doesn’t require the data.”

It’s a feeble attempt of trying to keep his mind from going down the road of disappointment, but it’s all I have to offer him at this point in time. Hadn’t we travelled all this way knowing and thinking that the data from the failed experiment was the only thing that could save Bruce from the Other guy? But it seems that my words are enough to spur Bruce on, as he only types away at the screen once more.

I raise a brow as ‘ECRYPTNET’ flashes across the screen, turning to shoot Bruce a curious look. Without taking his eyes from the screen but clearly picking up on obvious confusion, he lowly mutters as he submits his login in detail, “This is how I talk to Mr Blue.”

Sure enough, a message pops up from the screen; ‘Mr Green! How goes the search?’

Bruce sighs as he quickly types out his own response, and I peer over his shoulder to see what it is that he’s saying;

‘The data is gone. Is there anything else that you can do?’

Bruce and I hold our breaths as he sends the reply, his fingers nervously drumming against the desk while we wait for a response. Even I feel nervous, impatiently bouncing my leg up and down, a thousand different thoughts racing through my head. I can’t help but wonder where exactly we would go from here if there wasn’t anything that Mr Blue could do. We had come all this way, with one goal on our mind; get the data to Mr Blue. Find a cure. If we couldn’t, then there’s every chance that Bruce will remain this way forever –

 As a new message flashes across the screen, Bruce and I practically lurch forward, our eyes peering at the screen. As our eyes flicker over the words in front of us, we slowly deflate in our seats and the brief smiles on our faces disperse entirely;

‘Without it, I’m afraid I cannot help.’

My heart sinks as disappointment washes over me like a tidal wave. So, that’s it? There’s nothing that we can do?

Bruce inhales a shaky breath beside me, and a horror washes over me as I imagine what it is that he’s feeling right now. When I had found him in Rocinha, he had a sad acceptance of the life he had been living, believing that he would spend the rest of his life hiding and on the run, fleeing from place to place to keep out of Ross’ power-hungry grasp, the General likely trying to hunt him down as we sit in this lab right now. Never staying anywhere long enough to call it home. Spending everyday worried that he may hurt someone. That had been his life when I had found him.

And then, I had barged into his home, demanding that he let me help him. I had promised that I would do everything that I could to help cure him, instilling a new hope within him that was strong enough to bring him back to Willowdale, a place that he likely thought that he would never step foot in again. We had spoken about what parts of his old life he could get back if he wanted, and it had all been ripped away with just a few little words from the one person who could help us.

Guilt and sympathy clench me in a tight vice, and I tentatively reach a hand to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets out another shaky breath and lifts his head to give a tired smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. They’re filled with a haunted sorrow, and it makes my heart break for him even more. The quiet moment doesn’t last too long, however, as another message flashes across the screen;

'So what now?’

Bruce rubs a tired hand down his face, before he reaches forward to type his response into the computer. A response that leaves an pit of unease in my stomach;

‘I’ve got to keep moving.’

**********

After our disappointing end to our search in the lab, Bruce and I don’t hesitate to hightail it out of Culver University, not wanting to risk staying too long and getting recognised by any of Bruce’s old colleagues or students. Instead, we had walked to the nearest park so that we could find somewhere nice and quiet to eat the remaining pizza, hoping that the food and warmth from the setting sun would help us cope with the disappointment we had met back at Culver.

Spread out across the grass with the pizza between us, the two of us ate in silence, too lost in our own thoughts to talk. My eyes keep flickering to Bruce, studying him carefully to see how he appears to be dealing with everything. There was a sadness seemingly now permanently etched to his face, and it prevents me from asking him if he is alright, knowing full well that he is anything but OK right now.

We arrived back at Stan’s in the early evening to find that the restaurant was flat out busy. Every chair and table was filled, with Stan and his staff running about trying to keep a handle on things.  Having worked in hospitality briefly before joining SHIELD, I offer my services to a grateful Stan, allowing Bruce to have the space that he may need to process everything that had happened this afternoon. Having seen the looks on our faces when we had first walked back into the restaurant, Stan had assured Bruce that the spare rooms were still there for us to use as long as we wanted, and that if he needed anything from Stan then he should just ask. Bruce had only given a small nod his head and murmured a small ‘thank you’ before slowly making his way upstairs.

Hours pass, and the work is tiring but manages to keep my mind of the failures from today. Eventually, the customers trail out of the shop and the workers go home, leaving Stan and I to close up the shop. I stack the classes that had been freshly cleaned in the dishwasher on the shelf near the front counter when the front door of the restaurant opens, followed quickly by the sound of a male and female laughing. I turn at the sound, a greeting forming on the tip of my tongue, but it fizzles out of existence when I see who it is that has just walked in.

Betty Ross, and her head shrink boyfriend.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Oh, God. If Bruce comes down…

Stan, standing on the other side of the counter is just as stunned by his new customers, and glances at me nervously from the corner of his eyes. He licks his lips nervously before he then works a false, bright smile on his face as he calls out to the bubbly couple, “Ah, we’re pretty much closed kids.”  

“Aww, c’mon, Stan! It’s Friday night!” Betty protests with a bright smile as she tugs her boyfriend forward, moving closer to the front counter. Oblivious to our unease and despite Stan’s protests, the couple happily seat themselves in the counter chairs, shrugging off their coats.

“I don’t really have anything left … only Margarita, really.”

“Oh, I got to have a Mister Pink, please!”

“She worked through dinner again, of course,” The man beside Betty chuckles, a look of adoration on his face as he looks at Betty. I can’t help but wonder if Bruce had looked at her like that before the accident.

Stan casts me one final glance before then looking out through the door that leads to the back of the shop, clearly thinking of what would happen if Bruce were to walk out into the main restaurant where Betty may see him. But, when I offer the old chef no solution, he throws his hands up in defeat. “Lydia, would you mind helping out in serving these two kids here?”

I simply nod before stacking the last glass and making my way towards the small group, hating the way that Betty shoots me a curious but warm smile.

“I didn’t realise you were hiring more staff, Stan,” she says, a kind smile tugging at her lips.

“Oh. Uh, Betty, this is my niece’s friend, Lydia. She’s, uh, helping me out for a couple of days. Lydia, this is Betty Ross, an old-time customer of mine.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I reply, extending my arm to shake her hand.

“I’m Samson,” the male sitting beside her adds. He’s wearing a neat, blue shirt that matches his eyes and his dark hair is styled neatly atop of his head, a cheerful smile working its way on his thin lips that matches the cheerful look on his face. “Are you from Willowdale?”

“Oh, no. No, just passing through.”

“You’re a friend of Bella’s then?” Betty asks, and it takes me a moment to realise that she must be referring to Stan’s niece. Or at least, I hope she is. When I nod, she smiles and turns to Stan. “Stan, is she still studying…?”

The rest of their conversation falls on deaf ears, as I move through preparing their order in an almost clockwork fashion, my mind focusing on the fact that Bruce could walk in on our small party at any given moment, and not realise that Betty was here until it was too late. He had excused himself earlier in the evening, but he was bound to re-emerge at some point, and I hope to God for his sake, that it’s after Betty and Samson leave. I don’t know how much more loss he could take in one day. I have to excuse myself, somehow, and god find him to warn him before it’s too late –

“Oh my God.”

At Betty’s gasp of shock behind me, I whirl around to see that Betty has pulled herself to her feet, her face pale and jaw slack, leaving her mouth hanging open in the perfect ‘o’ shape. Staring at something beyond a very confused Samson towards the back of the shop, I turn my head to see what it is that she’s looking at, though it doesn’t take a genius to guess what it is. There’s only one thing – or person, I should say – in this shop that can make her look as if she has just seen some old ghost.

Sure enough, a startled and wide-eyed Bruce stands in the doorway leading out towards the restaurant kitchen, frozen like a deer in headlights as he locks eyes with Betty.

There’s a sadness to it, really. This is the first time that the two of them have seen each other for years, and it is far from the happy reunion that they had both hoped for. But it appears as if they don’t get a say in the matter, as they are forced to stare at one another now, both too lost for words and anything but blank stares and sad eyes, a thousand words and memories flashing between just the two of them.

 I’m seconds away from breaking the silence, but the words die in the back of my throat at the sight of the bag in Bruce’s hands. The bulkiness of it indicates that it is full to the brim with his belongings. I can’t help but narrow my eyes at the sight, concluding that he was on his way somewhere. He had likely been coming down to bid Stan and I farewell.

“Bruce,” Betty whispers, breaking the tense spell. Startled by the sound of her voice, Bruce flinches before turning to flee through the kitchen, disappearing entirely from sight.

“Shit!” I exclaim, before slamming a hand over my mouth when I realise my mistake. Sure enough, Betty whirls on me with narrowed eyes of confusion, sparing me a suspicious look before she takes off after Bruce, calling out after his retreating figure.

The room explodes into chaos. Samson pulls himself to his feet and calls after her, but Betty either ignores him or doesn’t hear him as she swings past the kitchen door, telling Stan not to go anywhere as she passes him. Stan only offers her a helpless look before she disappears, leaving a confused Samson to fire a million questions a minute at the restaurant owner, demanding to know ‘What on earth is going on?’ and ‘Who was that?’ while Stan does his best to try and calm him down. I ignore the two men and instead place the last of the glasses down and quickly undo my apron, tossing it carelessly on the bench beside me. If Bruce was leaving, then so was I. I’ll be damned if I let him run off without finding out if there really was some other way that I could help him get rid of the Other Guy.

Racing around the counter and past Samson and Stan – who are borderline yelling at each at this point – I make a beeline for the kitchen doors. I’m within arm’s reach when they swing open, however, and I immediately jump back to ensure that they don’t hit me. However, I find myself retreating backwards with my hands raised up as Betty marches her way back into the restaurant, features flaring with anger and confusion as her eyes zero in on my guilty form standing before her.

“You,” she snaps, raising an accusing finger my way. Her clothes stick to her skin and her hair is drenched, hanging loose and clumped together behind her head, informing me that it is likely raining outside.

“You knew who he was!” She continues, before turning her angry gaze to a saddened Stan. “And you! Tell me if I think I saw what I just saw!”

“Betty…”

“Yes. That was Bruce Banner that you just saw,” I say evenly, lowering my hands and looking her straight in the eye. There was no point in denying anything. She wasn’t stupid. She knows what she has seen.

But it still seems that my words surprise, her as she gasps. Tears well in her eyes  and mix with the drops of rain on her cheeks as they trail down her pale skin, and she shakes her head in disbelief. “After all this time, he – he’s finally back?” She whispers.

“He needed to,” I inform her, conscious of the fact that the longer that I stand here explaining everything to her, the further away that Bruce gets. If I want to catch up with him, then I have to leave and do so now. “He’s been wanting to come back for a long time now, but he couldn’t.”

“How do you know?! How do you know him? Who are you?!”

“My name is Lydia Hathaway. I’ve been trying to help Bruce for a few weeks now. And unless I leave right now to go after him, then chances are that neither of us is ever going to see him again. Because he’s leaving and this time, he won’t come back.”

***********

“I just can’t believe it,” Betty whispers quietly under her breath from where she sits beside me, her fingers gripping the steering wheel in front of her so tightly that her knuckles appear taut against her pale skin.

It’s been half an hour since Bruce fled the diner and I had confirmed to Betty that Bruce was back in Willowdale. Almost immediately after I had warned her that if he left now then he would likely never come back, she had demanded that she come along with me to help find him, leaving no room for discussion.

At first, I had protested. If we found him, I didn’t want to pressure Bruce into a situation that would force him to reunite with her in a way that was similar to the one back at Stan’s. A part of me doesn’t even know whether or not Bruce is ready to face after all these years either. But then, I had looked at things realistically. Betty had a car, and she knew this town far better than I did. She knew Bruce far better than I did and might have more of an idea as to which direction he is heading in. Allowing her to tag along would be the best chance of finding Bruce, so, I quickly gave in.

I grabbed my belongings and thanked Stan for his hospitality, promising to give him a call sometime the next day to let him know whether or not we found his friend. Samson had been quick to suggest that he tag along with us as well, but Betty had both quickly and kindly turned the offer down, explaining that she didn’t want Bruce to feel too overwhelmed with so many different people around him. So, she had simply promised to call Samson to let him know how things went. While I don’t voice anything out loud, I can’t help but feel that the real reason that she didn’t want Samson helping us look for Bruce is because she doesn’t want the two of them meeting just yet.

After forty minutes of driving through the streets searching for Bruce, our hopes of finding him start to quickly diminish. To distract us from these unwanted thoughts, however, I had spent the time explaining to Betty why Bruce and I were in Willowdale. Of course, what I said was simply a version of the truth rather than it as a whole. I couldn’t exactly tell her about S.H.I.E.L.D., and I felt that it was Bruce’s place to tell her about the Other Guy rather than mine.

“Why didn’t he tell me he was back?” She demands, but there’s no animosity in her voice. Instead, there’s surprise, and confusion…and even a little bit of hurt.

Looking out the window, searching for any lone figures on the street, I quietly explain, “He saw you had a life. He saw you with Samson, and he didn’t want to ruin what happiness you have no by showing up in your life again after all these years. He thought you had moved on.”

"But I didn’t,” she admits quietly, turning the car down a street and driving us over a bridge. “He was the first man that I ever loved. I couldn’t forget about him no matter how hard I tried. He was always there.”

I hum in agreement. Though I had never experienced a love like that before, I can understand that what Bruce and Betty had shared with one another was something that would be impossible to get over. It doesn’t mean that she didn’t love Samson. But it also doesn’t mean that forgot about Bruce after all these years either.

“Why did he run?”

“It’s not up to me to tell you that. Bruce will hopefully explain everything if – when, we find him. It’s too complicated for me to explain properly anyway,” I reply, my eyes suddenly narrowing on a figure walking on the side of the bridge in the distance. Judging from the build and height as they walk, holding up a thumb to passing cars that ignore him, I assume that it is a man.

Hope ignites within me at the sight of the bag slung across his shoulders. “Speed up a little,” I say to Betty, nodding my head towards the figure.

She inhales sharply and steps on the gas, driving the car right up to the figure before slamming on the brakes. The figure turns around as the headlights shine directly on his face, and I can’t help but sag with relief at the sight of Bruce standing before the vehicle.

“It’s him!” Betty exclaims, before undoing her seatbelt and moving out of the car that she leaves running. I do the same and step out of the car, holding my hand up to create an invisible air above the car to stop the rainwater from saturating us. But Betty bolts from the side of the car as a desperate sob racks through her body, rushing forward towards Bruce who has just enough time to spare her a look of complete and utter surprise before she throws herself at him.

She slams into him hard enough to make him stumble, but he regains his balance and is quick to wrap her in an equally tight embrace, squeezing his eyes shut before he buries his face into the crook of her neck. Rain continues to pelt down from above and saturate them to the bone, but neither of them cares. They only cling together as if their lives depended on it, murmuring soothing words and assurance in one another’s ears.

I can’t help but watch them with the smallest of smiles on my face, relief crashing over me like a tidal wave. Saying nothing and allowing them to have their quiet moment for just a little while longer, I wave my fingers and allow the barrier to extend over the two of them, preventing them from getting soaked even more.

Seconds pass. Then minutes. There’s no one else currently on this bridge but the longer that we stand out here, the more likely it is that someone will come along and discover our small party, drawing some unwanted attention to us. Bringing my spare fingers to my mouth, I whistle loudly, the sudden shrill noise causing the two of them to part from one another and turn to look at me still standing beside Betty’s car.

 “C’mon! You guys are soaking wet!”

Bruce nods, and with his arms still clasped around a wet and shivering Betty, he starts to lead her back over to the car. As the two of them draw closer, I can’t help but notice the way that Betty’s mouth hangs open in surprise as she stares at me. But before I get the chance to ask her if everything is alright, she raises a shaky hand and points a finger towards my arm above my head, still creating the air barrier above us.

Ah. Well. That explains the look on her face then.

“H-how, how are y-you doing tha-t?” She asks, teeth chattering almost uncontrollably.

Bruce and I exchange a look, and I hope that he can easily read the silent question on my face as I tilt my head to the side; can I trust her? It seems the message is understood, however, as Bruce only offers a firm and single nod of his head, pulling Betty closer towards him in an attempt to keep her warm.

Sighing, I turn back to Betty and explain, “Look. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything, but not out here in the middle of the rain. Let’s get somewhere warm and dry first, alright?”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t agreed on or voiced by our small party of three, yet Betty seems to realise that going back to Stan’s isn’t an option now that she and Bruce have reunited. Ten minutes after we find Bruce walking alone on the bridge, she guides her car to a gentle stop outside her house. It’s two storeyed, with a front porch and tall windows, white with blue trimming and just from looking at the cosy and welcoming exterior, I know that it suits Betty perfectly.

For the entirety of the car ride to her place, I sit silently in the back and listen to Bruce as he tries his best to explain to Betty why it is that he went on the run without going into too much detail. Sure; fleeing the States and leaving everything behind because he has something dangerous that the government wants to get their hands on is believable. Hell, even Betty buys it, even if she does sense that perhaps there is more to his story than Bruce is letting on.

But Bruce being able to turn into giant, green rage monster every time he gets angry? I found it hard to believe at first, and I can control the elements for God’s sake. Betty’s head would likely explode at the truth which would only freak her out, so Bruce keeps a few details to himself, sparing his ex any more confusion for the night.

What he does tell her though, is that her father is part of the reason why he left in the first place, although Betty isn’t surprised by this. Apparently this is something that she has known from the beginning, having confronted her father about it when she had first woken up in the hospital after the accident. The two of them haven’t really been on speaking terms ever since, and Betty had made it perfectly clear that she blamed her father for Bruce’s disappearance; something that she can never truly forgive him for.

Now, the three of us exit the car – Bruce and I with our bags in tow – and make a mad dash to the front porch, teeth chattering and bodies shivering as Betty unlocks the door, hurrying inside and urging us to quickly follow behind her.

The house is just as grand on the inside as it was on the out, and I can’t help but think that it is far too large for just a single person to live in. Betty had said to us during the ride over that there was enough spare rooms for Bruce and I to each have our own for the night, and after the less than ideal conditions that Bruce and I have had to endure over the past few weeks, it sounds like heaven.

Betty quickly directs the two of us to the couch in the living room, before declaring that she would get some dry blankets for us. As she leaves, I can’t help but notice the way that Bruce violently shivers beside me, clearly chilled to the bone. He had been walking out in the freezing cold and rain for at least half an hour before we have found her. Eyeing the fireplace in the corner of the room with a few logs stacked within it just waiting to be burned, I raise and hand and click my fingers. Fire engulfs them within seconds and I twist them until a small ball hovers above my palm. With a flick of my hand, it soars forward through the air and hits the logs gently, igniting them in an instant.

Bruce, still shivering and now wide-eyed at what I had just done, nods his head. “T-Thanks.”

“No problem.”

It is at this time that Betty returns to the room. In her hands there is a pile of blankets and on top of those is a small box of matches. Her dark eyes immediately fall to the crackling flames and small noise of surprise falls from her lips.

“I was… I was going to light the fire for you,” she weakly whispers.

Sending her a wry smile, I raise the same hand that I had created fire in only moments prior and once more allow fire to dance between my fingers. The orange flames dance in the reflection of Betty’s eyes, and I simply reply, “Got it covered,” before letting the fire die once more.

Stunned, Betty stares at me, the look of utter surprise and perplexity on her face almost comical. She jerks forward and hands Bruce and I a blanket each, her eyes never trailing from the hand that I had used to show her my abilities. Silently, she sinks down onto the cream-coloured couch beside Bruce, who raises a hand to comfortingly grasp her shoulder.

“How?!” She breathes.

The smile slips from my face at this. “I can control the elements. I was experimented on and this is the result.”

She glances at Bruce over the corner of her eye, who only gives her a small nod of confirmation.

“Did a company do this to you?”

“Yes. But I don’t know who they are.”

“How did they do it? I mean, people throughout generations have theorised that humans of high intellect could do such things, but there’s never been any proof until now.” An excited spreads across her face, the curious scientist in forgetting about the initial shock and realising on the potential instead. “Did – was there drugs that you took? Or some other methods they used –?”

It is best not to move, Subject 207. It won’t do you any good.

Aching, throbbing, stinging, pain –

“Please stop –”

My name is Lydia Hathaway.

Screams echoing off the walls –

“Again.”

“Betty,” Bruce quietly warns.

It’s his voice that pulls me from the memories that had swam to the surface of mind, ugly and unwanted as they forced me to endure flashes from my painful past. Fingers digging harshly into the palms of my hands – when had I started to clench them? – I quickly release them, flexing them out and forcing myself to remind myself that I am. I am safe, and I am no longer there.

At the warning underlying his words, the excitement quickly dies from Betty’s face as she looks at me fully. My obvious distress must show on my face, as her shoulders sag and she sends me an apologetic frown. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

“It’s OK,” is my feeble response. It is far from OK, but it is not her fault. She hadn’t known. “I just don’t like talking about it that much.”

Pity takes a hold of her face as a silence threatens to descend on us at my words, though it’s prevented as Bruce leans forward and says, “Betty, we came back to Willowdale for a reason. The data from the Gamma experiment that we did – do you still have it? Or does someone else?”

Rather than answering, Betty pulls herself to her feet and walks across the room to a bookshop filled to the brim with books, photos, and other belongings. One of these belongings is a small and old silver jewellery box with delicate flowers engraved on the sides, and I watch curiously as Betty plucks it from where it sits on the shelf before turning and bringing it back over towards Bruce and I. She offers it to me, and I take it from her fingers, the box cool against my fingers. Gingerly, I lift the lid up and am greeted with the sight of a small, white USB stick which I am quick to pry from the box.

“It’s the data,” Betty explains as I hand it to an eager Bruce, who stares down at it as it weighs lightly in his own palms.

“I got in there and got it before they went in and carted it all away. A small part of me hoped it might have different results and tell us something about what we were intending to do someday.”

Keeping his eyes fixed on the USB stick, Bruce asks, “Do you mind if we borrow it for a few days? We need it for what we’re doing. Once we’re done, we can send it back in the mail or come and give it back to you once we’re finished –”

“Bruce, it’s fine. The data us yours just as it is mine. You can have it for as long as you want.”

“Does your father know that you have it?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“You have to be sure,” I inform her gently, the face of her determined father flashing behind my eyes. Though it is Bruce that he is after for the time being, I can’t help but feel that if Ross were to discover the existence of the USB, then he would stop at nothing to get his hands on it. 

“If he finds out that you have it, then he could cause a lot of damage.”

“What do you mean by that?” Betty asks. When Bruce and I remain silent and avert our eyes to look anywhere but at her, her voice takes a sharp turn as she exclaims, “I just don’t’ understand why we can’t go in there together and explain everything to him –”

“I can’t,” Bruce interrupts. “I overheard him telling soldiers that he wants to dissect it from me and use the – whatever the experiment did to me as a weapon.”

“And if he does that, then a lot of innocent people are likely to get hurt,” I further add. “Betty, you have to make sure that your father never gets his hands on this research. Bruce told you in the car that what happened to him has caused side effects and trust me when I say that they can be dangerous.”

A silence descends on us as she purses her lips, no doubt considering our warnings and the severity of the situation that we are describing to her. What we have given her isn’t much to go with. Part of me wouldn’t be surprised if she demands further answers and full explanation about what exactly the side effects are. But to my surprise, it never comes. Instead, she eventually give a firm nod of her head. “OK. I haven’t told anyone but the two of you that I have it, and I promise that it won’t go any further.”

I let out a breath that I didn’t even realise I was holding, and even Bruce exhales with relief, sagging back against the couch cushions. “Thank you,” he murmurs, running a hand down his tired face.

“Of course,” Betty warmly assures. “Now, you both look like you’re in need of a good night’s sleep –”

“Here, here,” I mumble.

“– so Bruce, why don’t you show Lydia where one of the spare room upstairs is? I’ll fetch you some dry clothes and I can make you a warm drink as well if you like,” she offers kindly, yet firmly, leaving no room for argument. It is as if she is worried that if she doesn’t get us upstairs, then we won’t stay. And something tells me that after having just seen Bruce for the first time in years, she’s not willing to let him go anytime soon.

It's why I promptly stand up as quickly as I can before Bruce has enough time to even protest. Which, knowing him, he probably would try. Stretching my arms over the top of my head and groaning with delight as my back and shoulders pop, I can’t help but feel grateful for Betty’s kindness. It has been such a long and harrowing couple of weeks, and I was looking forward to the possibility of being able to fall into a deep slumber without a care in the world. I very much doubt that Ross and his soldiers would come barging in during the middle of the night, as I don’t think that he would believe that Bruce would be here. Not after all of his previous attempts at contacting Betty had been met with failure, as well as Ross having already discovered him in the past few weeks.

We were safe. For the time being, we could relax.

“Thank you so much,” I say, before nudging Bruce with my foot. He jumps at the gesture but quickly pulls himself upright, offering Betty a sheepish yet tired smile as he moves past her, leading the way to the stairs.

I follow close behind him while Betty moves into the kitchen likely to put the kettle on, and it isn’t until we are well and truly halfway up the stairs and she is out of earshot that I declare to Bruce, “I like her.”

“Everyone likes Betty. It’s – it’s hard not to.”

“She has a motherly nature, which I’m thinking she must get from her mother, seeing as her father is a royal pain in the ass.”

“Truthfully, I couldn’t tell you. Betty’s mother died before I even met her.”

"Oh,” I falter, a pang of sympathy for Betty sitting heavily in my chest. “How did she die?”

“Cancer. Betty was twelve.”

I frown. Poor Betty. It’s bad enough to have to lose a parent at such a young age. But to lose a parent only to be left with one that she didn’t necessarily get along with? That would be hard. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of isolation, especially if said parent was the only family that you had left.

As if sensing my thoughts, Bruce quietly points out as we move down the corridor of the second floor, “She did have her father. Despite everything that has happened over the years, Betty and her father do love each other very much. He truly does care for her.”

I only offer a hum in response, the memory of the video file of the lab accident that I had watched before leaving for Bruce flashing behind my eyes. I remember the way that Ross had thrown himself over Betty’s body when Bruce had first turned into the Other Guy. The sheer panic and raw terror that had been written plainly on the General’s face as he had risked his life to protect his only daughter is the most human that I have seen him, so it is very easy for me to believe what it is that Bruce is saying about Ross.

He's still a massive prick though.

Eventually, we reach the end of the hall and Bruce pushes open a door to reveal the spare bedroom on the other side. It’s a small room with a double bed in the middle with grey and white sheets. Beside it is a small bedside table with a lamp and a little clock placed on top, the latter informing me that it is almost midnight. There’s a window on the other side of the room though the blue curtains are drawn closed, hiding the room away from the rest of the outside world. There’s a small set of drawers in the corner of the room which Betty’s guests likely put their clothes in whenever they stay over.

I can’t help but smile. Small. Cosy. Clean and fresh. After sleeping in run-down motel rooms for the past few weeks, this right here is heaven.

Stepping into the room, I waste no time in hauling my duffel on the bed before turning back towards Bruce who still stands in the doorway. “Thanks Bruce. Go and get some sleep, OK? It’s been a long day, and if we’re gonna leave again tomorrow –”

“Lydia.”

I freeze at the tone he uses to say my name, and I watch as he shifts nervously from one foot to the other, causing me to narrow my eyes. Something is clearly on his mind, and it must be significant enough if he is nervous about whatever it is that he’s about to say. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out though.

“You don’t want me to come with you, do you?”

Bruce cringes. “I know that your boss asked you to help – and trust me, you’ve been a tremendous help these last few weeks – but I don’t know what’s going to happen or how much longer it’s going to take, how dangerous it’s going to get –”

“I can handle it, Bruce.”

“I can’t ask you to come with me.”

“What if I said that I want to?”

Bruce lowers his head. “I…”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I know that you think that I’m only helping you because I’ve been ordered to, but it’s more than that,” I reveal quietly, trying to level myself with his gaze. “I know what it is like to not be in control of your own body. This…”

I trail off, lifting a hand and allowing a small, blazing flame to flicker between my fingers. “This didn’t come easy, and it has taken me a long time to try and get a hold on it. Some days, I don’t feel in control either. So, I know that fear. I know, to some extent, what it is that you go through every time you change, and every time you come back worrying about the damage you’ve done. I’ve done some damage myself.”

“It wasn’t your fault Lyd.”

My eyes squeeze shut on their own accord, Clint’s voice and the memory associated with it coming to the forefront of my mind. A plant, once lovely and lively, shrivelled up and grey. Electricity cracking. A small, unsure voice calling for me. A high-pitched scream –

“The point is,” I say, eyes snapping open and the memory vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “I want to help you because I have been where you have been before. And if there’s a chance that we can find a way for you to get control of your life again, then I want to be there to help you take it.”

Because I never got a say. Because there is nothing that I can do to undo what the scientists in the facility did to me. There is no erasing this part of me. But for Bruce, there could be.

“We are so, so close to getting a cure, Bruce, and I want it to work for you. I know that you’ve been alone for a long time now, but this is something that you can let me help you with. So, if you think that you’re taking off by yourself in the morning, then you have another thing coming. We’re gonna find this cure, and we’re going to do so together. Capeesh?”

Bruce blinks once, twice, and finally a third time once I have finished my rant, and I stand there firmly but silently, allowing him to take in everything that I had just said. Whether it be the strength in which I speak or the determination that shows on my face, Bruce quickly realises that every word I had spoken is the truth, and he finally gives a small and hesitant nod of his head.

“Alright. Capeesh. We leave tomorrow together. We find the cure together.”

I grin. “Now we’re talking. But for now, let’s just shower and get some sleep. We can discuss our next move in the morning, OK?”

He offers me a tired yet genuine smile, a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Hopefully my words have made him realise that for the first time in a long time, he’s not alone. As I said to him just then, I am more than determined to stick with him to the end. I will see that he gets this cure no matter what it takes.

“OK. Goodnight Lydia,” he quietly bids, before he then reaches down and pulls the bedroom door shut between us.

Smiling, I turn and collect a pair of pyjamas from my backpack and quickly change into them, shoving my clothes unceremoniously when my pyjamas had once been. I go to make a move to grab my toothbrush and hairbrush when there is a faint knock on the door. It’s halfway open by the time I turn around, and I am greeted with the sight of Betty standing in the doorway, a steaming mug of something likely warm and delicious in her hands.

“Hi,” she kindly greets. “I thought that I would bring you some hot chocolate before you turn in.”

With my mouth practically beginning to water, I quickly nod my head and eagerly dart forward to retrieve it from her hands. I knew I liked her. Graciously accepting the mug with a small ‘thank you’ falling from my lips, I bring it to my lips, sipping at the creamy, smooth liquid within it. My insides immediately warm, and I make a small noise of delight as the tastebuds on my tongue explode. Cheap motel drinks could never compare to this.

“Oh my god, this is heaven.”

“I take it that someone likes hot chocolate then?”

“Uh, it’s only one of the best drinks to have ever been created.”

Betty chuckles as I take another sip. “I’m glad you like it. I also wanted to see if you have any clothes that you needed to be washed? I don’t know much about being on the run, but I gather that it can be hard to find a decent washing machine and dryer while doing so.”

“You have no idea. Thank you. Not just for offering, but for also giving us the data and allowing us to stay as well.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I’m just glad that you’re safe,” she says, reaching up to fiddle with the golden necklace that hangs from around her neck. I am standing too far away from her to be able to see the fine details of the jewellery, though it is big enough for me to see the shape of a small, golden heart hanging from the chain.

“That’s a pretty necklace. Did… uh, did Samson give it to you?”

She visibly stiffens at the name, her face flushing crimson as her mouth twists into an awkward line. “Yes,” she confirms in a voice barely above a whisper, as if she only wants me to hear the answer and not a certain someone who is in the next room over and might overhear what it is that we are discussing.

“It’s pretty,” I acknowledge, ensuring that I speak at a volume that matches hers to help ease the nerves that she is clearly experiencing. “Have you guys been together long?”

 Glancing over her shoulder, she silently moves deeper into the room and shuts the door with a gentle click behind her. Once it’s closed, she replies in a slightly louder tone, “Almost a year now. But we’re taking things slow. I mean, he’s the first man that I’ve been with since…” she trails off, unable to finish the sentence. Not that it matters though. What she was about to say is blindingly obvious.

"Since Bruce,” I finish for her.

Her eyes glisten. “Yes. Since Bruce.”

“Who you still have feelings for.” When her eyes widen at the blunt statement, I offer her a shrug. “Sorry. It’s just, you said in the car that you never go over him, so I just sort of figure that there is definitely something still there.”

She doesn’t immediately reply to this, but instead stands in silence and diverts her gaze to the floorboards, as if she will find an answer there. Watching her, I allow her to the time to ponder on my words as I know that there is no easy response to this. Technically, her relationship with Bruce had ended because he had unexpectedly gone on the run. No harsh words or actions involved; their relationship had a tragic ending simply because fate willed it so. Had it been the soldier that Ross had wanted strapped to the chair in the lab that day that everything had gone wrong, then there is a strong possibility that Bruce and Betty would still be together.

Judging from the snippets that Bruce had told me over the past few weeks, their love story hadn’t simply been just a fling either; it had been real. Something that could have led to the two of them living the rest of their lives together. Considering that Bruce has loved Betty after all this time, I can’t help but wonder if there is any lingering feelings on Betty’s behalf as well.

“I don’t know,” she admits in a whisper. “I loved him. I truly did. There was a time where I thought that the two of us were going to build a life together. But then he left and Samson showed up and – and he’s wonderful. I understand that Bruce had to leave, I really do, but –”

Noticing the panic that has begun to seep into her voice, I immediately raise a hand. “Hey, it’s OK. I’m not judging. I’m not trying to make you choose between the two of them either. I was just curious is all.”

A stray tear leaks from her startling blue eyes, and she lets out a watery chuckle as she reaches up to quickly wipe it away. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to start crying.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s a shitty situation that you’re in, so you have every right to be upset. Again, I’m not asking you to choose between them. Whatever you decide to do in the end if your choice, and your choice alone.”

She sniffs and nods, once more reaching to wipe at her eyes to prevent anymore tears from spilling. “What about you? Is there anyone special waiting for you back home?”

I snort in amusement and only take another sip of my drink. “Ha. That’s funny.”

 "No one at all?”

“Not at the moment. I’ve had boyfriends before. My recent one was a fellow colleague of mine and it was the longest relationship I’ve been in, but…” I trail off with a shrug of my shoulders. “Sometimes things just don’t work out.”

“And you haven’t met anyone since?”

“I’ve been kind of busy of late. Helping Bruce and dealing with other things.”

Like tracking down the organisation that tore me apart day in and day out for their own sick and twisted agendas. Though with every day that passes, it seems more and more unlikely that I will never be able to catch up with them and make them pay for what they have done.

“So, go out. Find someone new. Go dancing – it’s a great way to meet new people.”

“Maybe so. But, I think that I’d rather take the right partner dancing than someone who may not have any significance in my life further down the track.”

“So, you just have to find your right partner. The one that you’re waiting for.

“Exactly.”

**********

After waking up to find croissants, coffee and orange juice awaiting Bruce and I in the kitchen, Bruce and I solemnly packed up our belongings before leaving for the train station, a stubborn and persistent Betty informing us that she would be tagging along to see us off.

The walk so far has been an uneventful one. I trail behind the two scientists to allow both Betty and Bruce some more time together, trying not to overhear the quiet murmurs shared between the two of them. For all we know, this is the last time that they may ever see one another. But if Bruce’s associate could procure him a cure, then maybe there is a chance that the two of them would have more moments like this to share with one another in the future.

After ten minutes of walking, I am surprised to see that we are back at Culver university. When I question Betty about this, however, she merely shrugs her shoulders and informs me that it is on the way to the station.

I nod, reaching up to adjust the cap on my head. But while I am at ease, it seems that Bruce isn’t thrilled about being back at Culver once more. If anything, he seems more on edge and nervous.

Betty also picks up on this, as she guides him to a gentle stop on the green lawn of the university grounds. “Is everything OK?”

After a brief scan of the general area, Bruce turns back to face her and does his best to shoot her an assuring smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I think so.”

She nods, tugging at her bottom lip thoughtfully as he eyes trail down to look at Bruce’s waist. Before Bruce can ask her what’s wrong, she reaches and untucks Bruce’s blue shirt from his grey pants. Bruce makes a startled noise and his face flushes crimson as her fingers brush over his skin, though he is quick to duck his head so that Betty can’t see it.

She, however, doesn’t seem faze by their sudden proximity. “It’s better this way,” she explains, before reaching up to remove his cap from his head. I choke back a snort at the flustered expression written plainly on Bruce’s face as he glances back up, and I turn my head away, feeling inclined to give them a private moment. My eyes quickly land on a row of hedges on the other side of the lawn as Bruce mutters something nervously to Betty –

There.

I narrow my eyes as I see something flash behind the edges, which looks an awful lot like something ducking down behind the green bushes before I have time to register their movement. I keep my eyes trained on the greenery, waiting patiently to ascertain whether the movement had been real or simply my imagination. But to my absolute dismay, I spot a man dressed in military gear make a mad dash from the hedges to the pillars of the building behind him, a deadly gun held in his hands.

 A soldier.

A soldier who happens to be here at Culver at the same time that Bruce is?

They’re here. Which means that Ross wouldn’t be far behind.

We’ve got to leave. Now.

“Bruce,” I say, turning my attention back to both him and Betty, the two of them staring at me in confusion as they take note of the stricken look on my face.

“We have to leave. Right now. They’re here – we have to go right now!”

While Betty’s look of confusion only deepens, Bruce blanches at my words, knowing perfectly well who it is that I am talking about. Swallowing thickly, he turns and grabs Betty by the shoulders. “Betty, listen to me. You have to get as far away from me as possible.”

“What? Bruce –?”

“Don’t argue with me, just go. Lydia, you stay with her and protect her, no matter what.”

Now it’s my turn to protest. “Just wait –”

“If I change, I need you to protect her,” he affirms.

I don’t like the idea leaving Bruce to fend off the soldiers seconds away from attacking. Not only because I don’t want them to hurt Bruce, but because I don’t want them to force him to change. After seeing the damage that the confrontation between Bruce and the soldiers back in Rocinha had causes, I know that any confrontation here would escalate, and this time, more civilian lives are at stake. The campus grounds are crawling with students and professors alike that are at risk of getting caught in the crossfire.  

Including Betty beside me. The woman that Bruce is pleading with me to protect. I couldn’t fail him, not with the look of desperation on his face as he begs me to keep her safe from him.

Huffing in frustration, I curly nod my head and watch as he takes off running without saying another word. Betty eventually whirls back around to face me, mouth parted and questions ready on her tongue, but there’s a heavy crash the echoes throughout the air before she gets he chance.

Instinctively, I reach for Betty and yank her down, watching as three army trucks that have driven through two cars which have been destroyed. The trucks drive straight past us and move off in the same direction that Bruce had taken off in, while a new group of soldiers appear from the building that I had seen the first one hide behind.

“No!” Betty exclaims, before she tears herself from my grasp and takes off running after Bruce and the soldiers.

“Betty, stop!” I scream, instincts kicking in and causing me to immediately begin running after her.

As I follow her, more soldiers continue to appear out of nowhere, with some yelling orders to one another, each of them carrying guns and all sorts of other weapons in their hands. They haven’t noticed me yet, thought I glance at them and immediately focus on one in particular. One who is running slightly ahead of the group, wearing a familiar smirk on his face. I groan as I realise that it’s the God damn blond soldier from Rocinha. It appears he is just as enthusiastic about joining the manhunt for Bruce back here in the Stated as he was in Brazil.

I rush past professors and students strewn across the lawn, every one of them wearing looks of astonishment as they watch the armed troops and trucks. As I pass them, I slow to warn them, “You people need to get out of here, now!”

But my pleas fall on deaf ears, as they continue to yell among themselves and ignore me altogether. Regrettably, I run past them, hoping that they would have enough sense to leave if – or when the fighting starts.

I rush past them, trees, and more buildings, trailing behind the soldiers and the vehicles that head towards the library. With Bruce nowhere in sight, I reason that he must be somewhere in the building or has managed to evade the soldiers a little longer. When Betty, a few yards ahead realises that she can’t see Bruce either, she finally comes to a halt which allows me to catch up to her.

"Betty!” I yell, coming to a skidding halt beside her, angrily grabbing her shoulders to turn her towards me. “What the hell were you thinking?! Bruce told you to run for a reason!”

“He needs our help, Lydia! I’m not going to let them take him!”

“I get that you want to help him but look around!” I scream, waving my arms towards the soldiers and the trucks now a fair way ahead of us, closing in on the library. Bruce must definitely be in there then.

“This is dangerous, and while I hate to admit it, Bruce is dangerous!”

“How?!”

“Trust me when I say there’s a strong chance that you’re going to get an answer to your question sometime soon. But the point it, Bruce has asked me to protect you, so that’s what I’m going to do. But we need to get somewhere safe when the fighting starts –”

"Fighting?” She breathes. Shock written plainly across her delicate features, she opens her mouth to say something else when something over my shoulder catches her eye. Turning, I am greeted with the sight of a large, military command vehicle that is slowly moving to join all the others that have begun to surround the library.

“I know that vehicle,” she murmurs, before – to my absolute frustration – she begins to run full speed towards it, leaving me gaping after her.

“Betty!” I scream, tearing off after her as she reaches the vehicle with her arms raised in the air, causing the vehicle to come to a screeching halt mere feet away from her.

“I know that you’re in there!” She yells loudly, causing me to pause and shoot her a confused look. Who the hell does she know that’s in there?

When there’s no response, a desperate plea falls from her lips. “General, please!”

Realisation hits me like a slap in the face as I realise who it is sitting in the vehicle and ignoring his only daughter’s desperate pleas.

“DAD!” She screams so loudly and unexpectedly, it causes me to jump a mile in the air. But her final scream seems to work, as the sound of a door opening on the other side of the vehicle echoes throughout the air. Not even several seconds later, a very pissed Thaddeus Ross appears from around the vehicle, before marching directly towards Betty and I.

“Dad, please don’t do this –”

“You can’t see this clearly enough,” Ross snaps, jerking a finger towards the library. “That man is a criminal!”

“Because you made him one,” I reply coolly.

His head snaps towards me at my words, and he looks at me with recognition and annoyance. “You.”

“Me. Lydia Hathaway. I would say that I’m pleased to meet you, asshat, but I’m really not.”

“I know who you are,” he snaps. “You’ve caused me and my men enough trouble over these past few weeks. It’s only because you’re a S.H.I.E.L.D agent that you’re not behind bars yourself?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D?” Betty asks, confused.

But I ignore her altogether, only glaring at the furious general before me. “That’s good that you know who I am, because you then know what kind of power I have at S.H.I.E.L.D. I swear to God, if you hurt or kill Bruce, I will do everything within my power at S.H.I.E.L.D to expose you for who you really are, and what you’ve done.”

His face turns red from anger, as he takes a small step forward, knocking aside Betty’s outstretched hand as she tries to stop him. “Are you threatening me, agent?” he asks in a low, dangerous tone, clearly trying to intimidate me.

“I’m making a promise,” I hiss. “A promise you better hope I don’t have to keep.”

He opens his mouth to snap something in a reply, when a soldier from a group that happens to be walking besides us suddenly stops to point to the overpass in the library. “There he is!”

Ross and I immediately lose interest in one another, and we simultaneously swivel on the spot to look where he is pointing. We were a little far away, but sure enough, I can just make out a panicked figure running in the overpass. From here, I can see that he doesn’t have his bag strapped to his back – he must have ditched it after leaving Betty and I. I can only hope that he has successfully hidden the USB with the data on it, because if he’s caught with it on him, then it’s game over. Ross would not only have access to the Other Guy, but he would be able to attempt to replicate what was done to Bruce as well.

"Target is in the overpass!” I hear someone say from the hand-held transceiver hanging from the holster around Ross’ waist. “We have a visual, he’s locked in!”

In a flash, Ross whips the transceiver to his mouth. “Do not engage! I repeat, do not engage!”

Betty and I watch helplessly as Bruce looks frantically from one end of the overpass to the other, before coming to a complete standstill in the middle. Swarms of soldiers run along the open ground in front of the building, while others appear on the roofs of neighbouring buildings. Every single one of them has guns in their hands and to my dismay, they are all pointed directly at Bruce.

I whirl on Ross, anger bubbling throughout my veins as I snap, “You know you can’t kill him with guns! You’ve seen what happens if his heart beats too fast! You’re about to unless him in his worst form, which means a lot of you men are about to get hurt or killed. Call them off. Now.”

“This doesn’t concern you, agent. Know your place.”

"Call them off! These men are going to die!”

Ignoring my plea altogether, he keeps his stern gaze locked with mine as he brings the transceiver up to his mouth and barks, “Put two canisters in with him!”

Calling him something that would have my mother rolling over in her grave – and earning a reproachful glare from Ros in turn – I turn and watch as two soldiers in front of the building and fire two metal tubes through the air. They shatter through the glass of the overpass and begin to emit gas as they hit the ground, prompting Bruce to quickly tug off his blue shirt and hold it to his mouth in an attempt to prevent the gas from seeping into his lungs.

“No!” Betty screams, tears starting to stream down her face before she takes off running towards the library. It only take me a split second to react and follow after her.

“Get them back here!”

I make it a few yards before hand grabs at my shoulder, alerting me that the soldiers have caught up. I slow down to let the hand get a tighter grip on my shoulder before I then reach back, grab the arm and bend down. Using all the strength I can muster, I flip the soldier over my body so that he lands on his back with a painful grunt on the ground in front of me. I barely have enough time to straighten before I am yanked backwards from behind, watching as two other soldiers move past us and run after Betty.

The soldier attempts to drag me back and further away from Betty, so I use one of my hands to grab his arm and the other to wrap around his neck. Then, I kick my legs up as high in the air as I can, allowing the top half of my back to lean against the soldier’s chest while the bottom half of me is suspended in the air. Tucking my knees in, I kick my legs out and allow gravity to bring them crashing back towards the ground, bringing myself and the surprised soldier with them. I land in a crouch and twist my body as the soldier loses his grip on me and hurtles towards the ground. I land with a huff on my back but recover quickly, hands pressed beside my head and legs bent over my face, kicking them upright and flipping upright once more, just in time to witness Betty being tackled to the ground by one of the soldiers.

Thrusting my hands forward, I create a strong gust of wind that send the soldier off Betty and flying through the air. Once he’s clear and Betty begins to pull herself upright, I dart forward and don’t come to a stop until I’m towering over her shaking form. She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face and mixing with the dirt that is smudged there from where her face had hit the ground. “Lydia –”

“We gotta go, this is going to get ugly very fast.” I grab her hand and pull her up before tugging her away from the building. “We have to –”

I am cut off by a deafening, earth-shaking roar, causing Betty to wrench us to a stop.

Before anyone can move, the now cloudy overpass bursts apart in an explosion of debris and shattering glass, hitting the surprised soldiers on the lawn beneath, their shrieks of pain and shock easily lost in the sounds of large pieces of building debris crashing to the ground. Once such piece comes flying straight towards Betty and I, and acting quickly, I create a second gust of wind with a flick of my wrist that sends it to the left instead.

It lands on the ground with a heavy crash at the same time the Other Guy bursts free from the ruined overpass.

He lands heavy on the ground that rattles the earth beneath my feet, and his angry, green frame slowly pulls itself to his feet and clenches its massive fists as it glares at the soldiers before him. It bares its teeth, a growl emitting from the back of its throat, before it steps forward and wrenches its arms back as a terrifying roar echoes from it it’s throat.

“Oh my God,” Betty breathes beside me. “Bruce?!”  

Chapter Text

A look of pure horror seeps across Betty’s face the longer that she stares at the raging green figure on the other end of the lawn, and I can see the gears slowly ticking away inside her head. How noises of both shock and fear fall from her lips as she realises that The Other Guy is her former lover. Anyone in her shoes would be startled, to say the least. The sounds of gunshots and the screams of the soldiers fill the air wouldn’t help ease her shock or confusion either.

They’re enough for me to reach for Betty and quickly pull her behind me, my blue eyes narrowed as they land on the guns that are being fired the Other Guy’s way. With a quick and subtle snap of my wrists, a sudden and powerful gust of wind sends the small bullets being fired off course and harmlessly into nearby trees.

The soldiers momentarily pause in their onslaught, a brief ceasefire taking place as they stare down at the weapons in their hands with confusion. I know that it is only a matter of time before they started firing again, however, decreasing the chances of them walking away in one piece from all of this.

Someone needs to stop them. Now. If Ross was too arrogant to do so, then it would have to be me.

I immediately grab Betty by the wrist and start to pull her further away from the chaotic scene continuing to unfold before us. I keep a firm grasp on her wrist, refusing to allow her to have the opportunity to take off once more. But this time, she doesn’t struggle and allows me to tug her backwards, a dazed expression clouding her features. She doesn’t so much as protest as I drag her back towards her father, who is probably the last person that she wants to be anywhere near right now. But, if I am about to intervene and try and put a stop to the fighting, I need her as far away as possible.

Ross pays us no attention as we approach him. Instead, he only keeps his sea-blue eyes fixed on the Other Guy and the soldiers before us, a pleased smirk tainting his lips. The sight causes my blood to boil with rage, and it takes everything within me to resist marching right up to him and punching it right off his moronic face. Knowing that this would only further increase the chaos, I keep my cool and gently hand Betty off towards a young soldier.

“I need to go and help these guys,” I inform her. “I need you to stay here and keep out of trouble while I do so. I’ll come back for you when this is all over, OK?”

She barely nods her head, leading me to doubt whether or not she has truly heard and understood my order. It’s enough to cause me to turn to the solider beside her. “Watch her.”

It isn’t until he agrees that I turn on my heel and sprint straight back towards the fray, briefly hearing Ross call out from behind me, “Where are the fifty cals?! Move your asses!”

The sound of engines roaring from somewhere behind me informs me that more vehicles have entered the university grounds – which meant there were more soldiers and even more weapons. Culver University is fast on the way to becoming a war zone with Ross issuing more orders, and I know that he will only continue to do so until he finally captured the Other Guy, or if the latter managed to escape.

Hopefully, it would be the latter and it would happen soon. Before anyone else could get hurt.

Two war vehicles roar past me and zoom directly towards the towering green creature, the men positioned on top of them wielding machine guns that they aim towards the Other Guy. It’s enough to cause my stomach to drop with dread, and for me to increase my speed as I dart across the lawn.

I watch, horrified, as the Other Guy rams into the side of one of the vehicles. He does so hard enough that it tips on its wheels and goes flying through the air. The soldiers who had been on standing on the top of the vehicles scream as the ground rushes towards them, realising that they won’t have time to escape. I jerk my hands forward and use strong, gusts of winds to push them out of the vehicle and through the air as it lands on the ground with a heavy and earth-shattering crash, the soldiers landing harmlessly beside the toppled vehicle. Only when they start to pull themselves to their feet do I turn my attention to the Other Guy once more.

Instead of ramming into the second vehicle as he had for the first, the Other Guy simply snatches it from the ground, lifting with pure ease – as if it weighed nothing more than a feather. He swings it high above his head and his angry roar rips through the air. Knowing that he is mere seconds away from tossing it, with another jerk of my and I send the men in this vehicle flying through the air and away from the Other Guy. They land stunned but safe on the grass just as the Other Guy sends it flying across the lawn.

Meanwhile, soldiers and generals run and scream together from all directions. There are so many voices that I can’t discern what a single one of them is saying, though I slow down my already fast pace when I spot a wounded soldier laying on the ground near the Other Guy.

 His leg is bent at an odd angle, leading me to believe that it is broken, and there is a deep gash on his forehead. It causes blood to spill down half of his face. In his shaking hands, he holds a pistol that he feebly aims at the Other Guy, who finally notices the soldier – and the pistol – beside him. He bares his teeth and steps closer, raising his large, angry fists high in the air –

I fling my hand out towards the man and create a powerful gust of wind the sends him flying through the air towards me, just as the Other Guy slams his hands down. He misses the soldier by a hair’s breadth.

I guide him to a gentle stop on the ground in front of me before I bend down and help him to his feet. Ensuring that he isn’t in a position that will require him to put any pressure on his injured leg, I swing one of his arms over my shoulder and weave mine around his waist, ordering him to put his weight on me if needed. His whimpers fill the small space between us as we start to hurry back in the direction that I had originally come from. The other soldiers would have to wait.

We’re about ten yards away from Ross, Betty and the two other soldiers who are flanking Betty in a protective manner, when an explosion somewhere behind us suddenly rocks the earth. It’s strong enough to almost cause myself and the soldier I am currently supporting to topple over, but miraculously, I manage to keep myself upright. A quick glance over my soldier greets allows my eyes to see two vehicles on fire and, much to my surprise, what appears to be a remnant of an engine beside them.

Things were quickly getting out of hand. It was only a matter of time before someone – likely an innocent civilian – was killed. Huffing, I turn my gaze back forward and quicken my pace, practically dragging the solider at this point.

 After what seems like an eternity later, the two of us reach the small group that I had left behind. Each of them are completely transfixed on the scene unfolding before them, but at the sight of the wounded soldier leaning against me, the two soldiers step away from Betty and quickly yet carefully, pry him from my arms. My muscles scream with relief as the weight is taken off me, and I almost miss the small ‘thank you’ that is mumbled my way before the solider is then carried back to the large tank further up the hill.

Betty quickly hurries to my side once they are gone, but her father pays no attention to us. In fact, Ross’ smirk only widens as he watches the Other Guy pick up a vehicle and hurl it towards another one. The soldiers in the latter barely have enough time to vacate it before it is crushed by the first.

Raising his com up to his lips, Ross barks into the small device, “Blonsky! You’re up!”

At his order, the blonde soldier that had led the chase for Bruce and I back in Rocinha breaks away from one of the many small groups of soldiers crowding around the grounds. He holds a gun in his hand as he strides towards the Other Guy, his confident pace matching the confident grin ghosting his lips. As if he truly believes he’s going to win this fight.

What a moron.

He raises his hand and fires a shot that hits the Other Guy squarely in the back, but much like previous bullets, this one only increases the Other Guy’s anger. He snarls before then reaching down and tearing a chunk of metal from the vehicle in his hand, the horrendous, screeching noise that consequently echoes through the grounds causing the hairs on my back of my neck to stand up on end. To my surprise, the Other Guy doesn’t hurl this piece at the soldier – Blonsky, as Ross had called him. Instead, he only uses it as a shield, blocking more bullets as Blonsky continues to fire at him.

When he runs out of ammo, Blonsky simply throws his weapon to the side, continuing to stride towards the creature in front of him. “Do you remember me?!”

The Other Guy roars at Blonsky’s words and raises the slab of metal higher in the air, undoubtedly getting ready to slam it down on the cocky soldier before him.

“Ross –” I begin to protest.

“Not yet!” He snarls.

Before the Other Guy can fulfil his intentions, Blonsky suddenly breaks into a sprint, moving at an incredibly fast speed. Far faster than he had been moving in Rocinha – he’s almost a blur now – before he then leaps into the air, soaring well and truly higher than anyone I have ever seen do so before. He lands one boot on a surprised Other Guy’s chest before pushing off and landing on a nearby sculpture beside the Other Guy.

The latter bellows with a mixture of confusion and rage, which only grows louder as Blonsky whips out yet another pistol and fires at the Other Guy once more. This only pisses him off even more, and he swings the metal slab towards Blonsky, Betty gasping beside me as she watches –

- but Blonsky only leaps from the sculpture and flips through the air, firing multiple shots before landing gracefully on the ground with both of his feet.

I pause. Jumping from the height that he just had should have caused Blonsky to break his ankles the second that his feet touched the ground. Not to mention that the leap he had done from the ground to the Other Guy’s chest should have been impossible for him to do – not even an extremely fit and athletic person could pull that off. And the speed at which he moves… something doesn’t quite add up here. He hadn’t been like this when I had fought him in Rocinha.

I watch as he continues to fire at the Other Guy until he once again runs out of bullets and throws the gun to the side, leaving him utterly defenceless. With a snap of his teeth, the Other Guy swings the metal towards Blonsky, who yet again, manoeuvres safely out of the way. He moves so fast, that I barely see him move.  When he straightens and sees the Other Guy preparing to swing at him once more, he jumps and flips through the air, high over and above the Other Guy’s head, landing on his feet on the other side of the Other Guy.

My mouth drops open. What. The actual. Hell. That shouldn’t be possible. It’s like he’s some form of super soldier –

Super soldier.

I still at the two familiar words, having heard them more times than I can possibly remember over the years. They had come from the stories that my great-grandmother had told me as a child. Stories involving risky experiments and skilled men. Stories of a soldier that had been stronger, faster and, overall, more advanced than any other that had ever existed. My great-grandmother would tell me them before I went to sleep at night. They had been the stories of legend. Of a time well before I was born.

As I watch Blonsky move right now though, I can’t help but think that perhaps they weren’t just stories.

I whirl around to face Ross at the thought, grounding out between my teeth, “Margaret Carter. Do you know who she is?”

He only spares me a glance from the corner of his eyes, before he returns his attention back towards Blonsky, who is still attempting to bear the Other Guy.

“I know who she is.”

“Then you know that she was a British Officer that served with the SSR during the Second World War,” I add. “When I was younger, she used to tell me stories about the war. There was one man – she never told me his name – that was injected with a serum that turned him into what was known as a super soldier. A soldier faster, stronger – better than any other.”

A tick appears in the side of his jaw. Clearly, I have struck a nerve. But he remains silent, which allows me to snap, “You did something similar with Blonsky, didn’t you? You somehow recreated the serum.” I give a bitter shake of my head. “You just don’t know when to stop, do you, Ross?”

At this, he snaps. Whirling to face me, I am met with nothing but livid fury etched to his features. “One more word out of you Agent and not only will I remove you from the premises, but I will arrest you myself –”

“Good luck with that, Asshat. You said it yourself, you can’t touch me.”

He clenches his teeth so harshly I am convinced that they are going to break. Still, now that I have started by angry tangent, I can’t seem to stop.

“You blame Bruce to cover your own mistake, and then you hunt him down like an animal, hoping to use whatever it is that is inside of him as a weapon. Jesus, you should have just done the experiment on the military guy instead. That way…”

But the rest of the words die in my throat, something that I hadn’t noticed before suddenly clicking in my head.

Did you somehow recreate the serum?

From what I can remember from the stories shared with me when I was a child, the serum that created the super soldier had been destroyed and the scientist killed before he could recreate anymore. It had virtually been impossible at the time to recreate the serum, as the scientist response for creating it in the first place had taken the secrets of it to his grave. But that was almost seventy years ago now. Things had changed – technology, resources, finances. Science had changed. For Ross to recreate it, he would need some of the best scientists specialised in biochemistry and cellular biology.

Like Bruce and Betty.

Oh my God.

It makes sense – why Ross had been adamant in ensuring that a military officer had underwent the experiment. Why he was so eager to get his hands on what was inside of Bruce.

He had tried to recreate the serum. Only it backfired, and Bruce is paying the price for it doing so.

“You bastard.”

Betty flinches at the venom dripping from my words, but I pay her little attention as I glare at her angry father before me, my fists clenching angrily by my side.

“You used Betty and Bruce to recreate the serum.”  

The anger fades and the general blanches. It’s enough as confirmation for me.

Betty whirls around to face her father in an instant, and the general looks as if he might be sick when he sees the distrust mixed with disbelief written plainly on his daughter’s face. It tells me that she truly had no idea what it was that her father was really getting her and Bruce to test that day in the lab.

“Is this true?” She whispers.

It is one hundred per cent true. But it seems that Ross is not entirely ready to admit the truth out loud, however, as he flippantly snaps, “I don’t have time to listen to the false ramblings of a self-deluded idiot.”

I see red at the words, and I feel my hands heat up as fire burns beneath my skin, waiting to be uncoiled and unleashed on the infuriating man before me. A simple flick of my wrist; that’s all it would take to wipe that smirk permanently off his face. But Fury’s previous words of caution float from the furthest corners of my mind and I force myself to remember what the consequences may be if I do expose my abilities to rise.

So, I swallow the anger as best as I can, but still glare heatedly at Ross. “I’m not the idiot here, Ross. That would be you, for thinking that you could play around with something as dangerous as this.”

“It seems to be doing alright so far,” he sneers, before turning back to where Blonsky is still dodging and firing at Bruce. Bringing the comm up to his mouth yet again, he barks, “Lead him towards the cannons!”

The familiar roar of two engines from somewhere to the left of us has our small group turning to witness two more vehicles tearing across the grounds, moving quickly towards where Blonsky is trying to take down the Other Guy. But upon closer inspection of the two vehicles, I discover that these ones are entirely different to the previous ones that the Other Guy has destroyed. To my surprise and horror, on top of these vehicles are Stark Sonic Cannons. Non-lethal and long-range acoustic weapons. They can’t be used to kill someone, but they can cause a lot of pain and one hell of a headache afterwards.

They come to a screeching halt not far from the fighting figures, and a soldier from each of the vehicle jumps out and scampers up the vehicle, only stopping when they’re standing directly behind each of the cannons. Their hands firmly grasp the machine, preparing to use it, and we’re not the only ones who notice this. Upon seeing the cannons, Blonsky swivels and dives out of the way, only managing to get out of range before the soldiers activate the weapon.

Betty, Ross and I are all too far away to fall victim to the unbearable sound that the cannons are emitting, but the Other Guy is. Standing directly in the sound wave path, his bellows of anger quickly turn to ones of pain instead. The metal pieces in his hand fall to the ground with a crash, and he is quick to follow behind, clutching at his head in complete and utter agony, trapped and unable to move.

Betty screams. She pleads with her father, but it only falls on deaf ears.

I don’t realise that I’m running straight towards him until Ross calls out for someone to stop me.

I’m too focused on the sight of the helpless Other Guy across the lawn that I don’t notice Blonsky rushing towards me until it’s too late.

I cry out as he tackles into me and we hit the ground hard, rolling as our limbs tangle together until I am able to push him off from me. Coming to a stop, I pull myself to my feet, Blonsky doing the same in front of me. He once again rushes towards me before diving down and sweeping his leg into a circle, trying to knock my feet out from underneath me. I jump at the last possible second however and leap backwards. But he recovers faster than I thought possible and sends a fist flying straight into my gut.

A simple hit that should have winded me.

Instead, I go flying back several feet, letting out a shout as I hit the ground. Hard.

Pain explodes where his fist made contact with the side of my ribs, leaving me gasping for air. Blinking away the tears in my eyes, I scramble up, knowing that if I stay down, I am as good as done. Blonsky advances towards me, a smirk tugging at his lips as he launches forward. This time, he tries to land a punch on my cheek, but I quickly block it with my arm, before then leaping to the side to avoid a kick to my gut.

An anger replaces his smugness in a heartbeat. “Stop running away and fight!” He hisses, sending yet another to my face. Only this time, he makes contact.  

My head whips to the side and I immediately taste blood in my mouth he hit me that hard, Goddamn it. I turn to spit it out, anger coursing through my veins. If he really is some sort of super soldier that Ross has managed to cook up, then he’s going to be a lot harder to take down. But the anger coursing through my veins at both him and the General that had created him is enough to fuel the fire threatening to spread throughout my veins. Fine; if he wanted a fight, then I’ll damn well give him one.

I turn back around just in time to see his fist swinging towards my face once again, though this time, I dodge my head to the side and reach up to grab his fist. Without even thinking, I send a jolt of electricity through my hand and into his, watching as he swears and immediately pulls his hand from my grasp. He draws further back before reaching down to pull another gun from his belt. He aims it at my face but I lift my hand and wrap it around the barrel, wrenching it to the side and away from my face before he has the chance to fire it.

He jerks to the side with the gun, leaving him vulnerable and unguarded. I immediately release my grip on the gun as quickly as I had grabbed it, before swinging my leg up and high, catching him in the face. His head goes flying back and he staggers away. Moving after him, I wrench the gun from his hand and use it to backhand him across the face, before snapping my free hand forward and creating a gust of wind that sends him flying backwards.

He lands on his back hard, and shouts incoherently in frustration. A murderous expression taints his face as he rushes back at me, just as I finish unloading the gun. Tossing the weapon to the side, I rush forward to meet him halfway. Leaping up and snapping my palms to my side to create a small gust of wind for extra leverage, I push off his leg and swing the rest of my body around him, my legs curling around his neck. Clasping my hands together, I begin to repetitively slam my elbows onto the top of his skull. Once. Thrice. Several rimes. I manage to get more than a few hits him before he reaches up, fingers digging harshly into my soldiers. Before I have time to react, he hurls me up and above his head, flipping me over until I land on the ground in front of him, the impact causing the wind to be knocked out of me.

 Gasping for air that my burning lungs desperately need but can’t seem to get, I watch as Blonsky’s shadow looms over me. I barely have enough time to see the glint of metal in his hand as he raises it up and above his head –

Knife.

I raise my hands at the last possible second, fingers weaving around his and pushing his hand away before he has the chance to bury the tip of the knife into my skull.

The next few moments consist of a power struggle between the two of us; Blonsky pushing forward while I push back. Had I been anyone else, the knife would be long embedded in my brains by now. With the super soldier serum flowing through his veins and providing him with additional strength, this fight could end right here and now. Only my manipulation of the wind currents, giving me the upper hand in this situation, prevents this from happening.

I gasp, my face scrunching into a tight grimace as I exert all the strength I can muster. But as my muscles begin to scream in protest, Blonsky manages to lower it an inch, the tip of it piercing the soft and sensitive skin just above my right brow. It tears open as easy as paper, causing blood to spill from the wound and dribble down the side of my face.

Blinking through the red that now clouds my vision, I look up to see Blonsky staring back at me, his lips pulled back into a delighted sneer. “I’d thought with your gifts you’d give me a real fight,” he half snarls, his hot breath fanning across my face. “But you’re just as pathetic as Banner.”

A frustrated growl emits from the back of my throat. With blood still sliding down my face, I swing my leg up and across his face, digging my boot into his nose with a satisfying crack.

His howl echoes through the air, blood immediately spurting from his nostrils and dribbling down his chin – likely broken. Good. He immediately drops the knife straight into my hands to reach up and grasp at his nose, gloved fingers prodding the now ruined area. Using this to my advantage, I reach up and clasp either side of his face with my hands and send one last volt of electricity through his skin. Only this time, I make it three times as stronger than the one I had administered before.

He convulses in between my hands and I don’t relent until his eyes roll to the back of his head and his arms fall limp by his side. Killing the voltage, I let out a groan and shove him to the side, watching as he falls to the ground with a thud. Panting, I roll away from him and onto my stomach before slowly pushing myself up. Once I have straightened, I turn to see a very confused and astonished Ross staring at both myself and the unconscious soldier on the ground beside me.

With blood trickling down my face, I use the sleeve of the jacket to wipe it from my face. A bitter chuckle falls from my lips. “I guess… I guess your super soldier, wasn’t all that…that super. Was he, Ross?”

I am exhausted and bruised, my chest heaving with every quick breath I take. But smugness settles in and satisfaction spreads the longer that I look at a silent, and likely fuming, Ross before me. When he doesn’t respond, I give one last chuckle before bending down to rest my hands on my knees and do my best to control my breathing. Knowing that Blonsky wasn’t going to be waking up anytime soon, I divert my attention towards the Other Guy.

Much to my relief, he is slowly pushing himself to his knees, grabbing at the piece of metal that he had tossed to the side moments before. Still roaring in pain but determination shining on his face, he manages to slowly rip the metal in half before struggling to pull himself upright so that he is standing. Turning towards the vehicles, he places one of the slabs of metal in front of him to block the sound waves coming from one of the sonic cannons. Then, before anyone has time to react, the Other Guy tosses the other slab of metal towards the vehicle he faces.

With a subtle wave of my hands, I create two gusts of wind that flings the soldiers from both inside and on top of the vehicle out of the way, all of them screaming in terror as they land gently on the ground. The second they do so, the metal that the other guy had tossed slices the vehicle in half. As it cuts through the engine, the vehicle is lost to a fiery explosion, both it and the destroyed cannon engulfed by flames in an instant.

The job half done, the Other Guy turns to the other cannon. Mustering all the strength that he can, he lets out a ferocious road before pushing off from the ground and leaping towards it, the metal in his hands raised. He’s so high up that it is impossible for the sonic waves to reach him, and he begins to bring the slab of metal slamming back down –

I remove the soldiers from the second vehicle in a similar manner that I had done so for the previous group. They hit the ground and immediately scramble back as the Other Guy lands on top of the vehicle – crushing most of it – and driving the sharp, jagged metal straight through the middle of it.

I can’t help but grin, but it quickly vanishes at the angry curse from behind me. I don’t have to turn around to know who had spoken. But I do whirl around with my teeth bared as Ross furiously cries out, “Where’s the gunship?!”

"Gunship?!” I seethe, stalking back towards him, fury etched to the features of my face. Betty quickly moves out of my way but her father remains rooted in place, even when I come to a stop directly in front of him. He easily towers over me, but I make up for our height with the anger coursing through my veins.

“Are you joking or are you naturally this stupid?! Bullets bounce right off his skin!”

“One more word, Hathaway –”

"You’re just going to piss him off even more. Call your men off, now!”

He opens his mouth, likely to argue back, but the sound of a machine gun firing has him swallowing his words. The two of us put a momentary pause on our brief spat to turn at the sound, and I’m surprised to see that Blonsky is up and about, having recovered from the ordeal that I had put him through minutes prior. He now moves forward, firing at the Other Guy, the bullets bouncing off his skin.

 I turn to shoot Ross a pointed look that screams ‘I told you so’, to which he only rolls his eyes.

Like Ross, Blonsky clearly doesn’t realise – or care – that bullets have no effect against the Other Guy. He keeps firing as he presses forward, only stopping when he runs out of bullets. He tosses the useless weapon to the side and keeps moving until he stops directly in front of the Other Guy. The sight of the much smaller soldier standing before the larger, green creature could be considered comical, but it only sends shivers down my spine. If I was Blonsky and I was standing before the Other Guy while he looks at me the way he is looking at the soldier, I would be pissing myself.

Blonsky tilts his head to the side. “Is that it?!”

“Blonsky, pull back,” Ross orders quietly into his radio. When Blonsky doesn’t move away from the Other Guy, he swears. “Blonsky! Pull back now!”

 At the second order, Blonsky only rips the small communication device from his ear. Throwing it away, he once again looks up to the Other Guy and demands, “Is that all you got?!”

The Other Guy’s leg kicks out and slams into Blonsky before anyone has time to react.

The super soldier flies through the air before landing on the ground and rolling inhumanely fast towards a tree, where he hits it so fast and hard that you can hear the sounds of every bone in his body breaking as he slams into the trunk. For a second, he is still. But then he slides down the trunk and on his side, a bloody, mangled mess with his limbs twisted at impossible angles.

Betty gasps. Ross is silent. One of the soldiers behind us retches, his companion swearing. I almost join the first, bile rising up to my throat as I stare at the remnants of the soldier before us.

If Blonsky wasn’t dead, then he sure as hell is going to wish that he was.

“Fall back!” Ross orders, not even giving Blonsky a second glance. I don’t necessarily like him, but something about the way that Ross simply turns away from Blonsky and starts to retreat with the rest of his soldiers has me feeling sorry for the super soldier. Cast to the side, now considered useless – it makes my anger for the general burn even brighter.

But I don’t call him out on it. Regardless of what I say, he won’t listen. Instead, I only swallow the bile in the back of my throat before moving toward a shaking Betty. At the sight of her pale skin and wide eyes as she stares at Blonsky, I gently place a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you hurt?” I ask her, my words drawing her attention away from the body. When she gives a weak, shake of her head, I gently start to guide her back away from the retreating soldiers, vehicles, and the Other Guy.

“C’mon. I’ll get you out here, and then I’ll come back for Bruce.”

At the mention of her former lover, she stops in her tracks and insists that we wait. As if sensing her gaze, the Other Guy finally turns away from all the soldiers, flames, and chaos to look our way. When his glowing emerald eyes lock with Betty’s blue orbs, the hard glare on his face vanishes and something akin to recognition takes its place. It’s enough for Betty. Before I can stop her, she starts to slowly move towards the Other Guy.

I know that trying to drag her back would prove to be futile. She is too stubborn and would put up one hell of a fight. Plus, I don’t want to take the risk of angering the Other Guy off even more. As he approaches Betty slowly, I can’t help but think that there is some part of him that is at least curious about the dark-haired woman in front of him. So, this time, I follow quietly after her. I give her plenty of space to ensure that I am not intruding, whilst maintaining a close enough distance that if things went sideways, I could get her out of harm’s way.

Betty eventually comes to a halt several yards away from the Other Guy, myself roughly four yards behind her. She looks up at the Other Guy in awe, muttering something so quietly that I can’t hear what it is that she is saying.

The sound of a chopper filling the air breaks the peaceful spell in an instant. Looking up, I see that the gunship that Ross had demanded for before has finally arrived, flying in from the south-east. My stomach drops at the sight. Before I can scream for Betty to move, the helicopter starts firing towards the Other Guy.

Betty’s screams are lost in the sound of gunshots and I immediately throw a hand in the air to create a protective air shield around her, but it appears I have nothing to worry about. The Other Guy springs into motion, rushing forward and pulling Betty close towards him, shielding her body from the bullets with his own and the slab of metal still in his hand. It’s enough to cause me to freeze in shock.

So I have no one else to blame when a stray bullet fired from the chopper hits me right in the shoulder.

A wordless scream tears from my throat as I fall to my knees, my shoulder feeling as if it had been kicked by a horse. It doesn’t take much longer for the pain to kick in, tears freely sliding down my face as my penetrated flesh burns. I can feel blood already beginning to gush from the wound, prompting me to lift up the hand of my opposite arm and press it tightly against the wound, whimpering as pain flares beneath my palm. Knowing that I could get hit by another bullet any second, I grit my teeth and splay my fingers of my free hand to create a protective air bubble around myself.

“Do not fire!”

Ross’ panicked scream filters throughout the air and he runs forward, having realised that his daughter is in danger. His arms wave frantically in the air as he tries to get the attention of the pilot. But his attempts are in vain, however, as the sound of gunshots and the blades of the chopper are far too loud for the general’s pleas to be heard – I can barely him myself.

A roar cuts through the air and when I look back to the source, I see the Other Guy fling the slab of metal towards the swirling blades of the helicopter. The sharp, jagged metal slices through the blades as easily as a knife through butter, causing the pilot to lose control. It spirals through the air, falling closer and closer towards the ground.

It lands with heavy crash that shakes the earth, and it explodes on impact.

Fire hurtles towards Betty, the Other Guy and myself. Not particularly wanting to find out if the Other Guy is fireproof – Betty sure as hell isn’t – I drop the protective bubble and throw my hands, both clean and bloodstained up and towards the oncoming flames.

I use my powers to draw the fire away from the Other Guy and Betty and towards me instead, using my pyrokinetic abilities to absorb it. The flames begin to sputter out in a steady stream, and I don’t until the fire is completely gone and all that remains is smoke.

Once the fire has been extinguished, I drop my hands in exhaustion. Panting, I watch as the Other Guy pulls himself upright, a limp and frail Betty in his arms. Apprehension slams into me as hard as a bus as I stare at her, not knowing whether she is just unconscious or dead. I had promised Bruce that I would keep her safe, but I have managed to do the complete opposite.

Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.

The Other Guy looks down at the still body in his hands before he looks up at me and, to my utter amazement and shock, gives a small nod of its head. As if to say that yes, she was alive. Relief spreads throughout my body, and I can’t help but sag where I kneel, closing my eyes.

"Betty!”

Ross’ scream tears through the air and I weakly turn my head to see him staring at his daughter’s limp body in horror. Despite all his faults and ugly traits, the raw panic on his face tells that he truly does love his daughter. But it isn’t enough. Not when he is the reason that she has been placed in danger in the first place.

The Other Guy seems to realise this, as when he also locks eyes with the general, his features harden. An angry snarl slips past his green lips as he pulls them back to bare his teeth. Ross doesn’t react though – he’s too busy looking at Betty, who looks very much like a tiny doll in the Other Guy’s massive hands.

The Other Guy casts the general one last dirty look before turning around and disappearing in a cloud of smoke, taking Betty along with him.

As they vanish from sight, I stumble upright, my legs shaking as I stand. I once again press my shoulder against the wound to help stem the blood flow, a sob catching in the back of my throat as a sharp jab of pain flares beneath my fingers. I go to move after the green, hulking creature but upon feeling a pair of eyes staring at me, I freeze. I turn and come face to face with Ross, who I staring at me with wonder and confusion.

It takes me a moment to realise why it is that he is staring at me like that and when I do, I immediately blanch. He’s just seen me use my powers to save his daughter. He’s seen what I can do. Fury had warned me not to show my powers in front of the power-hungry Ross to ensure that he doesn’t try to use my powers for his own agenda, much like he has tried to do so with the Other Guy.

He takes a step towards me, and I immediately take a step back. His raise his hand, his palm flat and facing me. “Wait!”

It’s too late though. I’m already bending my knees and pushing off from the ground, flying away from him and the rest of the soldiers and the university the moment that he raises his hand.

Chapter Text

The harsh gleam of the lights blaring from the roof causes me to squint my eyes half shut, and for the already existing headache echoing throughout my skull to throb even harsher. I can barely see two feet in front of me, but I have spent enough time in this chamber to know that there is a glass wall somewhere in front of me, acting as both a barrier and a window for the scientists likely observing me from the other side. A one-way window, that is. They are more than happy to silently watch my suffering for their own sick pleasures and curiosities, but I am not granted access to them. It has been that way ever since I was first placed in the freezing chamber that reeks of nothing but pain and despair.

“Good morning subject 2-0-7,” greets a voice, speaking with a thick, Swiss accent. It is the same voice that always greets me, it’s somewhat cheerful tone contrasting against the almost robotic feel underlying it. “How are you feeling today?”

My lips curl back into a snarl. Always the same words, the same routine. Subject 2-0-7. A name given to me not by choice; a name I resent, the very sound of it igniting a burning anger within me.

“My name,” I hiss. “Is not Subject 2-0-7. My name is Lydia Hathaway. You’d think that after all this time, you pricks would finally start calling me by my name.”

“Perhaps out there in the world you were Lydia Hathaway,” the owner of the familiar voice croons, the amusement in his tone causing me to wrench my hands angrily against the handcuffs restraining them to the chair I sit in. “But in here that girl no longer exists. In here, in this very room, you are only subject 2-0-7. Nothing more, and nothing less. Your only purpose is to fulfil our requirements of the experiments that we are conducting.”

“Gee. Lucky me.”

“My, my. So sarcastic today, 2-0-7.”

“What can I say? You bastards bring out the worse in me.”

Yes. I have heard that you have not been the most cooperative with our guards. Poor little kaputte Puppe. Is there anything we can do to change this?”

"Yeah. Undo the cuffs and let me go.”

A heavy sigh echoes throughout the chamber. “You do not yet realise that we are only trying to help you unlock your true potential. But, in time, you hopefully will. And you will thank us for it.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“It is best not to move, subject 2-0-7,” is the voice’s only reply, the all too familiar words chilling me to the core. I know them well enough to realise that the small talk is over. They are only seconds away from inflicting their daily routine of torture and even though I have been forced to endure it for six months now, it is something that I still can’t brace myself for.

Aching, stinging, blinding, prominent pain –

I shake my head, all the sarcasm and anger dispersing in an instant, only to be replaced with an unadulterated terror that has me shrinking back in my chair. “Please, don’t –

“Proceed.”

As if being struck by lightning, my eyes snap open as I lurch upright, as gasp involuntarily slipping past my lip as the memories disappear from my mind as quickly as they had appeared in the first place. For a moment, I am blinded by something bright and high above me and for a fleeting yet terrifying second, I think that I am back in the chamber, strapped down to that awful chair. But as my fingers dig into the soft dirt beneath them and frantically pull at the strands of grass, I am able to discern reality from memory.

My name is Lydia Hathaway. I am on the lying on the ground – somewhere. I made it out. I made it out.

It takes my eyes a few additional moments to adjust to the light pouring down from above, which I quickly discern is the sun. Once they do adjust and I am able to clearly mark my surroundings, I find myself in a small clearing, high trees and thick thistles surrounding me on every side. In the distance, cars honk and traffic whirs, contrasting starkly against the peaceful chirps of the birds in the trees high above me.

Upon registering something hot and sticky on the side my face, I raise a stiff hand up to gently wipe at whatever it is that coats my skin. Drawing my hand away, I am startled to find that my palm and fingers are covered in blood, some of it fresh and some of it old. The sight causes me to both blanch and flinch, though the movement of the latter causes a bolt of pain to course through my left shoulder. Hissing, I turn my head down to look for the source of the pain –

– only to cry out at the sight of a bullet sized hole in both my blood-stained shirt and skin.

Everything that had occurred earlier comes rushing back to me at the sight. Ross cornering us at Culver. Betty seeing Bruce change into the Other Guy. My fight with Blonsky, leading to the cut above my brow. The revelation that Ross had lied to both Bruce and his daughter to get them to recreate the super soldier serum and that Blonsky had taken it. The sound of gunfire and screaming, a burning pain as a bullet tears through my skin –

Oh.

Shit.

I’ve been shot.

Bile rises to the back of my throat at this realisation, and I place my head in my blood-covered hands to try and hold back the urge of vomiting all over myself. As I breathe in slowly through my nose I reach down with the hand that isn’t covered in blood to gently press against the wound. When I draw my hand back, I am pleased to see that there isn’t as much fresh blood as I feared there would be. If I am still alive and somewhat functioning, then it means that the bullet has missed any vital organs. If that’s the case, I am one lucky son of a bitch. But the blood on my hand informs me that I have still lost a significant amount of blood and that there is every chance that the bullet is still inside of me.

I need to get the bullet out and have the wound cleaned and stitched up sooner rather than later, otherwise I am going to be in serious trouble. Going to the hospital is far too risky, however, especially if I went to one here in Willowdale. Ross had seen me get shot in the shoulder and if he was looking for me, a hospital might be the first place he looks. There’s every chance that he and his men had taken off after Bruce and Betty but if they had lost them, then I was Ross’ best chance at tracking them down. He had also seen me use my powers, much to my dismay; he’s coming after me either way.

I could always head to a smaller doctor’s clinic but doing so is just going to draw unwanted attention my way. It wasn’t every day that someone in Willowdale stumbled into a clinic with a bullet wound and covered in an alarmingly large amount of blood. As much as I hate to give the angry general any credit, he’s not stupid. If he was looking into the hospitals, then he would likely be looking into smaller clinics as well. If I did seek professional medical help, then it is also only going to get the police involved which is the last thing that I want.

Which means that my only other option is to dig the bullet out myself. My shoulder burns even hotter at the thought. 

The question is though, where am I going to do it? It needs to be a place with a first aid kid. Stan may have one. He had also allowed Bruce and I to hide in the top of his shop, so I suspect that he would be more than willing to help us out again. But the hope that had been quick to flare within me slowly fades as I take note of the sun in the sky. There is every chance that Stan and his staff were probably halfway through a lunch rush. The restaurant would be filled to the brim with customers who would undoubtedly noticed my bloody and battered state. Even if I came through the back way, his staff would still see me.

Frowning at the thought, I quickly realise that I actually don’t know what time it is, where I am. I can dimly recall flying without any real sense of direction after Ross had seen the extent of my powers back at Culver. I had wanted to put as much distance between myself and the angry General as much as humanely possible. But I can only dimly recall a few minutes in the air before black dots had begun to overtake my vision. I think – I think that I had flown over a park? That would explain my surroundings. I don’t even remember landing on the ground. I had truly been out of it, the combination of blood loss, exhaustion and the draining effects of my powers proving too much for my body to handle.

Thinking quickly, I reach down with my uninjured arm to pull my phone from the back of my pocket and gently lift my head. I swear at the sight of the cracked screen before me, likely a result of my fault with Blonsky. But pressing the home button informs me that while it is cracked, it is not entirely broken as the screen flares with light. The numbers at the top of the screen inform me that only forty-five minutes has passed since the fighting first broke out at Culver, which means that I have been out for at least ten to fifteen minutes.

And that Stan’s would one hundred per cent be filled with customers.

There was still one other option though; Betty’s house.

Betty wouldn’t have gone back home, as the Other Guy had taken off in the complete opposite direction when he had first fled from Ross and the soldiers back at Culver. I have no doubt that he would have wanted to put as much distance between him and Ross as possible. No, her house would likely be empty and may contain a first aid kit in there somewhere.

But there was a chance that Ross was there now, searching the premises to see if there was anything that he could find there that would lead him to either Bruce, Betty or myself. Thankfully, there is nothing for him to find so if he was there – or had been already – then it is likely that he wouldn’t be there long.

With that thought in mind, I inhale sharply and slowly push myself to my feet, a pained groan falling from my lips as pain flares along my shoulder with the movement. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me, but I only grit my teeth in determination and silently reason with myself that I need to move. If I didn’t, then I am only going to bleed out here in this clearing and die.

This thought alone is enough to push me to slowly move forward, sweat glistening on my forehead and trailing down my skin in hot trails, mixing the blood already covering my face. With my breath coming out laboured and my shoulder feeling like it is on fire, I move forward in a dazed state, stumbling and groaning through the trees until I find a path, almost walking straight into a young couple who had been walking in the opposite direction.

We freeze, and they take one look at me before the two of them break into screams, the young woman jumping about a mile in the air. The man on the other hand, shrieks and raises a hand to point at me, his face stricken with terror. “Zombie!”

I shoot him a glare, though thinking about it logically, with blood covering half of my face and clothes, I probably do look like an undead creature. The moans and stumbling probably didn’t help matters either. So an easy mistake to make, but a stupid one all the same.

“I’m not a zombie,” I pant, watching as relief washes over his face. “I’m – I’m very much alive.”

“Don’t look it,” is his faint reply.

Don’t feel like it either. “Where – where exactly am I?”

“… the park?!”

It takes everything within me to suppress an eye roll at this. “Which park?”

“Erm, Doveton Street Park?”

It isn’t much, but at least it’s a start. Nodding thankfully, I step to the side with the intention of moving around them, but the sight of the woman flinching at my first step causes me to pause. It’s then that I truly note the terrified expression written clearly across her face, as if she expects me to attack them at any given moment. Or collapse in a heap before them. It’s enough to cause me to raise the hand that isn’t pressed against the bullet wound in my shoulder to show her that I mean them no harm.

“I’m not – I’m not going to hurt you,” I assure her as gently as I can.

But it seems that my words offer her no comfort, as her lips begin to tremble. “You’re that girl from Culver, aren’t you?”

A sharp panic hits me like a slap to the face at her words. If she recognises me, there is every chance that Ross has already put out an alert to find me, meaning that it was going to be harder for me to remain discreet in the walk back to Betty’s.

But I do my best to push the panic down. It has been less than half an hour since I first fled Culver and while Ross may have told his soldiers to keep an eye out for me, it is very unlikely that he has managed to alert the wider public. Especially if his men are also dealing with the aftermath of the fighting as well. There could be some other logical explanation for why this woman is able to recognise me.

So, trying my best to reel the panic in, I ask, “Were you there?”

It’s not her that answers, but her companion beside her. Shaking his head, he informs me, “No. But our friend was. He sent is a video of the green thing and – and everything else.”

Everything else. Meaning that there is a chance that they had seen my face in the video. If their friend had sent them the video, then there is a high possibility that they had sent it to others as well, meaning that I would definitely be more recognisable. Then again, the fact that I look like I just came out of a slaughterhouse could also grab people’s attention.

I need to cover up, and I need to do so quickly.

Noticing that the man is wearing a hoodie, I jerk my chin his way. “Have you… got something u-underneath that?”

His eyes widen in surprise, his hands automatically reaching to grab the hem of the grey, worn material. “Uh, yeah? Just a shirt. Why –?”

“Give it to me.”

Guilt settles in the pit of my stomach as they flinch at the more than blunt words that fall from my lips. The last thing that I want is to scare them or demand their hoodie, but I need it. Now.

Sighing, I nod down towards my blood-soaked shirt. “Look, I’ve been shot –”

“Call 911,” The woman shakily orders her friend, though he appears to find the news too sickening as his face turns an ugly shade of green, and he makes no move to do as she asks.

Gritting my teeth, I continue, “I need to… get out of here without being – seen. And without – without drawing too m-much attention. So please. Can you just give me your hoodie?”

It seems that taking the friendlier approach doesn’t seem to work, as the two of them only continue to stare wide-eyed and afraid, very much resembling two deer that are caught in the lights of an oncoming truck. It’s enough to make me let out an annoyed huff. Time is of the essence here as the longer that I stand here trying to plead with them, the more likely it is that I am going to bleed out or be discovered by Ross.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Raising my free hand once more, I give a small click of my fingers and allow them to be engulfed with a bright, orange flame. They squeak and gasp in surprise, their eyes trailing after the fire that dances between my slim digits.

“I am going to ask this one more time,” I say through grit teeth, trying my hardest to sound firm and for the words to come out without breaking. “Give me. The hoodie. Please.”

This time, they are quickly to comply.

**********

The walk back to Betty’s is as comfortable as I expected it to be.

Not comfortable in the slightest.

By some miracle, I make it back to the quaint little house without falling face first onto the pavement and without losing too much more of my blood. There were a few times where I had stumbled and been forced to come to a brief stop to catch my breath, but I continue to push on, finding the will to keep moving forward. My body screams at me to rest and my heart thumps loudly in my ears like a drum with every step that I take, but I don’t stop. Instead, I remind myself that the sooner I get to Betty’s and get this wound taken care of, the sooner that I can rest.

The hoodie is far too big and hands very loosely from my aching body though it’s worked to my advantage. It conceals the blood easily, and the hood is large enough so that it is easy for me to keep my head down and go unnoticed by those strolling on the paths beside me. The heat of the late spring air causes beads of sweat to trickle down my skin and for the space beneath the hoodie to swelter, but I don’t dare remove it. Gritting my teeth, I only push forward, keeping my head down and my pace even, counting down the blocks to Betty’s house.

I have to supress a cry of relief as I turn down the street that Betty’s house is on. But the relief is short-lived and immediately replaced with panic at the sight of three army vehicles parked out front of the house.

At the sight of soldiers streaming in and out of the house I immediately turn on my heel and begin walking back in the direction from which I had originally came. Murmuring an almost-silent string of curses and insults Ross’ way, I make a beeline for the next street over. If I can’t walk through the front door, then I would wait out back until Ross and his soldiers left.

Ideal? Hell no. But what other choice do I really have?

Knowing perfectly well that I wouldn’t have the strength to vault over the top of Betty’s back fence, I simply flick out the hand that isn’t pressed to my shoulder and gently float up and over the top of it. Thankfully, the corner of Betty’s backyard is covered with thick foliage so I am immediately covered once my feet sink into the soft green grass on the other side. Peeking through the small gaps in the leaves, I keep low and move through the bushes, working my way until I am crouched beside the house, small and hidden. Upon hearing two voices speaking to one another from the front porch, inch closer their way. I know that it is a big risk, as there is every chance that moving closer will only expose my hiding place and to be quite frank, I don’t think that I would have it in me to be able to fight my way out. But if there is a chance that I could overhear any plans they were making or if they happened to know where Bruce and Betty other, I have to take it. But as I crawl closer and peer through the gaps in the leaves, my stomach drops at the sight of a solemn Samson sitting on a porch chair with Ross towering above him.

“You did the right thing by calling,” Ross says.

I have to slap a hand over my mouth to prevent an angry growl from tearing past my lips. Biting down on my fingers, my blood boils with a new-found rage that for once isn’t directed at the angry general, but at the head shrink sitting before him.

Samson had been the one to tip Ross off about Bruce. It had been Samson that had directed Ross to the university in the first place, leading to all the chaos and fighting at Culver. That made Samson partly responsible for everything that has happened – including Bruce’s transformation, Betty’s near-death experience and the bullet that is still embedded in my skin. It burns even hotter at the thought.

“Do you have any idea where they’re going?” Ross asks. “Or where the blonde woman – Lydia – went? Because if Betty’s with them then she’s going to be in incredible danger and will continue to be so until we find them?”

“From whom?” Samson snaps, and I’m surprised to detect anger underlying his words. It seems that I wasn’t the only person that Ross has pissed off. “They protected her. It was you who almost killed her,” he adds, his words revealing to me that he must have been at Culver and witness some of the fighting and aftermath.

"I give you my word, her safety is my main concern at this point –”

That, as well as my head on a plate and the faulty gamma radiation concoction flowing through Bruce’s veins right now.

“– so I need to know where it is that they’re going.”

“You know, it’s a point of professional pride in me that I can always tell when someone’s lying. Which, you are. I don’t know where he’s going, or the other woman, for that matter. But I know that Betty will help them if she can.”

There’s a brief pause on Ross’ behalf and I am very tempted to straighten up and peek over the edge of the bushes to see the look on his face. But not wanting to draw any attention to my hiding place, I only remain silent and crouched in the bush, waiting for the General’s response.

It takes a moment. Then; “Then she’s aiding a fugitive, and I can’t help either one of them.”

Knowing perfectly well that he is lying, I bite down harder on my fingers as the temptation to straighten up and hurl abuse at him only continues to grow. But it appears that I have nothing to worry about, as Samson cuts me to the chase. Snapping bitterly, he snarls, “You know, I used to wonder why it was that she never talked about you. And now? Now I can see why.”

Seemingly understanding that he isn’t going to get anywhere with Betty’s angry boyfriend, Ross mutters something incoherently under his breath. Without uttering another word, I hear the sound of his heavy boots slamming against the wooden beams of the porch as he turns on his heel and walks down the front steps of the house, an angry stride to his steps. Betty and their strained relationship are obviously a touchy subject for Ross then. My anger for Samson subsides slightly as the sting of Samson’s words regarding this have left him having the last word with Ross.

Slightly.

I don’t dare move from my hiding place until well and truly after the vehicles that Ross and his soldiers pile into tear off down the street, and even then I wait another two minutes just for good measure. During this time, Samson remains on the porch, watching Ross go, until he lets out a low sigh and retreats into the house, the front door closing with a soft click. Once he’s inside, I painfully pull myself upright before moving out of the bushes and around to the front porch and up the steps. I pant with every movement and my vision blurs a little as the pain flares beneath my fingers, but my determination and anger propels me forward. Not bothering to knock or announce my presence, I reach down and jerk the doorknob, before flinging the door open and stalking angrily inside.

Samson hasn’t made it very far, as he has only moved halfway down the hallway. But as I use my foot so slam the door closed behind me, he turns around, dark eyes practically bulging out of his head as I pull the hood down and reveal my bloodstained face to him.

“Lydia?! What the hell –?!”

“You’ve got about two minutes to explain to me why the hell you did you what you did,” I snarl, trying my best ensure the words come out angrily and evenly. “Talk fast.”

At first, confusion seeps onto his face. But Samson is a clever guy, so it doesn’t take him too much longer fo figure out what it is that I am referring to. Guilt seeps onto his face like spilt coffee on paper. “I’m sorry. I called Ross –”

“No shit.”

“I called him when I came by and saw the three of you leaving this morning.”

“You’re the reason that he – he showed up at Culver,” I snap weakly, hoping that I sound as angry as I feel. “You’re – you’re the reason they caught up to us and caused Bruce to change. You almost got Betty killed!”

“I know! And I realise my mistake – I never, never should have called Ross, but I was…”

“What? Jealous?” I hiss, ignoring the way that my head begins to slowly spin. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you were jealous. You have – you have absolutely no idea what Ross is capable of. What he’s after – you’ve just created more…”

As the world starts to spin, I cut off and fling my hand out just in time to grab a hold of the railing of the stairs beside me, though it’s not long after that I crash into them altogether. Samson makes a noise mixed with both concern and fear and moves to step towards me as my knees begin to buckle under my weight.

 “You’ve just… interfered with s-something… next time you get j-jealous, take it up with your girlfriend and… not her – not her father…”

Black dots begin to appear in my vision and like a puppet’s strings that have been cut, I collapse on the ground, no longer having the strength to hold myself up. Samson rushes forward now, asking me something that I can’t quite decipher over the ringing in my ears.

Not good.

I lightly swear as a wave of exhaustion crashes over me like a tidal wave – lashing out at Samson as I just had took more out of me than I thought possible. The shouting, the arguing and the fact that I had been shot doesn’t help matters. I need to get stitched up and I need to do so quickly.

But it appears that my body has other things in mind as my head only lolls down, my arms slackening until they fall beside me. I feel fresh blood begin to seep out of the wound now that there is no pressure to keep the bleeding at bay and a flicker of panic flares beneath the exhaustion.

“I’ve – I’m shot,” I try to warn the worrying head shrink beside me, though I can’t tell if the words come out as comprehensible as I intend. I am dimly away of Samson talking hastily beside me, though I can’t properly discern what it is that he is saying. All I can do is close my eyes as the wave of exhaustion increases and the world falls away altogether.

**********

The first thing that I quickly discover when I wake up is that I am no longer slumped against the side of Betty’s staircase.

Shooting up at this, I immediately curse as my skull explodes with pian and the room begins to spin. Groaning, I squeeze my eyes shut and press the palms of my hands to my face, praying that the dizziness will subside.

 I don’t know how long that I sit wherever the hell it is that I am, but I refuse to draw my hands back until the dizziness passes. Only then do I dare to resurface, lowering my hands and blinking my crystal blue eyes to discover that I am sitting up on top of Betty’s table in her dining room.

How the hell did I get up here?

A frown tugs at the corner of my lips and I glance down to find that I am no longer wearing the dirty-bloodstained hoodie or shirt that had been covering my body before I had passed out. Instead, I find myself in a grey shirt that is a little bit too big for my body, stopping just above my mid-thigh.

The second thing that I discover is that pain that I had felt from where I had been shot earlier has gone from an intense, burning sensation to a mild ache instead. Gingerly, I reach up towards the neckline of the unfamiliar shirt and pull it down, looking and finding that the blood has been cleaned from my skin and that a fresh bandage has been taped over where the bullet had torn through my flesh.

“I got it out for you.”

At the sound of the masculine voice floating over from the doorway, I turn to see that Samson stands in the entrance of the kitchen, the sleeves of his blue shirt rolled up to his elbows. There are blotches of blood on the edges of them, and the starting realisation that those blotches of blood were mine causes my blue eyes to widen.

“I also patched up the cut on your head as well,” he adds, gesturing towards his own forehead. Cautiously, I reach up to gently prod at the area above my brow where Blonsky had cut into the sensitive skin, but it isn’t the ragged edge of a cut that my fingers come into contact with, but rather the soft padding of a bandage instead.

Samson … Samson had patched me up?

If he notices my surprise, then he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he only pulls out something from his back pocket. Peering at it, I see that it’s a small pill bottle, but I am too far away to see the writing on the side.

“Iron supplement tablets,” he elaborates, before tossing it in the air towards me. I reach up with my good arm and catch it with ease. “Betty needed them a couple months back. Considering the amount of blood that you’ve list, I figured that you would need a couple yourself.”

“Thanks,” I reply hoarsely, only then noticing the burning in the back of my throat; I desperately need a drink. But it appears that Samson thinks the same, as he starts to move towards the kitchen sink, grabbing a glass from Betty’s cupboard as he goes.

“I thought that you were a head shrink, not a doctor.”

“The correct term is psychiatrist,” he replies not unkindly as he starts to fill the glass with water. “But, uh, I’ve picked up on some other talents over the years.”

Of course you have, I think silently to myself. I only remain quiet though, waiting patiently until he brings the glass of water over to me. Murmuring a small thanks, I pry it from his hands and pop the correct number of pills in my mouth before bringing the glass up to my lips. I drink all of it in three, greedy gulps, exhaling sharply as I lower the glass once more. Samson offers to take it, and I nod in thanks as he does so.

“How long have I been out for?”

"Two hours. You were pretty out of it when you came here as well.”

“Well that’s what getting shot will do to you.”

“Do you remember much?”

“I still remember that you told Ross where to find us.”

He winces, not looking at me as he places the glass in the sink. “I made a mistake,” he admits. “But I only called him because I was worried about Betty. And now…” He trails off, reaching up to tug at his short, dark strands in frustration. Its then that I notice there is a slight shake to them, though whether it is from the adrenaline he likely would have been coursing through his veins as he patched me up, or the stress from the situation as a whole, I didn’t know.

“And now she’s gone,” I finish for him.

“Do you know where they are?”

“If I did, then I would be heading there now.” I purse my lips. It may be unwise for me to give away any details to him. But after hearing his conversation with Ross on the front porch and the noting the regret that now lines his features, I reason that he’s not likely to go running back to Ross the first chance that he gets.

It is why it is easy for me to tell him, “The last time I saw them, they were heading away from the campus. They’re probably well and truly out of Willowdale by now.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

If only I knew the answer to that question myself. This morning I had woken up with a clear mind and a set of goals that could have easily been accomplished three hours ago. Leave Willowdale with Bruce; Find Mr Blue; Get the cure. Simple. But now that everything has gone to hell, there are obvious kinks in the plan.

The first and most crucial thing that I have to do is track down Bruce and Betty. Bruce has everything on Mr Blue so there is little for me to use to find him myself. Not only that, but there is no point in me going and finding a cure when I there was no one to give it to.

But searching for the two scientists was the last thing that I can do right now. I can’t just take off in the state that I am currently in. I need to rest first and get some strength back. Not to mention that I don’t even know where to begin looking for them. Bruce may have taken off in one direction, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t heading in an entirely different one now. He could be anywhere. There was no telling how far he has gotten either, or whether he was Bruce or the Other Guy. Or if Betty was still even with him, let alone alive and unharmed.

I shake my head at this, casting the negative thought to the furthest corner of my mind. Panicking and thinking of any worse case scenarios aren’t going to do me any good. I need to think sensibly and rationally here.

“I’m going to rest,” I finally answer. “I’m in no condition to be hurrying off after them while worrying about avoiding Ross at the same time.”

Samson tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. “And then?” he presses.

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. I’ll see if I can find them. It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll see if I can work out where it is that they are. I know some of Bruce’s tactics and hiding patterns. It’s not much to go from, but it’s better than nothing.” 

"I could come with you –”

“Nope,” I immediately cut off, not even considering the possibility. When he opens his mouth to undoubtedly protest, I add, “You’re only going to slow me down. If I go alone, I’ll be able to find them quicker. Not only that, but if Ross finds out that you’ve taken off, then he’ll come looking for you because he’ll think that you know where they are. And in doing so, you’re also going to lead him directly to me.”

He sags in defeat at this, and I’m a little surprised that he had given up as easily as he had. A part of me had expected him to fight tooth and nail against me until I caved in and agreed to him tagging along. But all I can hope is that he could see where I was coming from; he would only complicate things further, which could end badly for Bruce, Betty and myself.

“He wants you almost as bad as he wants Banner,” he pipes up, curiosity lacing his words. “Why is that?”

Because I was an idiot and did the complete opposite of what Fury had told me to do, and now I was going to pay the price for it. I don’t voice this out loud to him, however, and instead only offer a shrug. “He probably thinks that I know where Bruce took her. Or he wants me in for questioning – I don’t know. But you have to promise me that you won’t tell him where I am. Because if you do, that’s it; game over. I’m the best person to find the two of them and I won’t be able to do so with Ross on my tail.”

The majority of my words consist of nothing but lies and, as horrible as it sounds, I hope that they manipulate Samson enough to make him think that Betty is lost without me. It’s an ugly thing for me to do, but it needs to be done to ensure my freedom. If Samson truly loved and cared for Betty as much as I think he does, then he would hopefully conceal me from Ross.

I have to refrain from letting out a sigh of relief as he finally nods his head. “OK. OK, I won’t tell him that I saw you. But where are you going to stay?”

“Here. Even if it’s only for one night. Betty isn’t coming back any time soon and considering that Ross has already checked the place out, I doubt he’ll be back either. I also don’t think he’ll think that I’d come back here.”

“So, what do I do?”

“Go home. Don’t come back here, and don’t do anything stupid like trying to find Betty on your own. Bruce has been hiding from the government for years now, so you’ve got a minuscule chance of finding him. Ross is probably going to be keeping an eye on you in case Betty tries to contact you. So, if you want to help her, go home. Go back to work. Stick to your usual routine. Do not do anything out of the ordinary.”

“You can’t just expect to do nothing.”

“If you want to help Betty, then doing nothing is her best chance. You already screwed up things enough once. Don’t do it a second time.”

He flinches at this, and it’s enough to make me almost regret the words. I don’t apologise though, nor do I allow my face to soften or take back the words. He had made a mistake that had nearly cost Betty’s life. There is no telling what else he may do – purposefully or accidentally – if he became anymore involved in the situation.

Still, there is a small part of me that does empathise with him, which is why I find myself gently adding, “If anything comes up, then you’ll be the first to know. I’ll find a way to tell she’s safe without Ross knowing.”

He only nods solemnly at this, before pushing himself away from the sink and moving towards the hallway. I watch as he goes, and it isn’t until he disappears out of my sight that I gently ease off the dining room table and hobble after him. My movements are somewhat jerky, and I hold my injured arm close to my chest as I turn around the corner just in time to see him pull open the front door.

"Hey, Samson!” I call out, watching as he pauses at the sound of my voice and turns his head to face me. Swallowing the anger down, I add, “I appreciate what you did.”

He offers a faint smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I may have patched you up, but I’m not some miracle doctor. You’ll need to get that wound checked out soon. Until you do, make sure that you keep changing the dressings and replace them with clean ones. The last thing that you want is for the wound to get infected.”

“Duly noted.”

“Please just make sure that she’s safe,” he pleads. And then, with a simple turn of his wrist, he vanishes past the open front door and into the sunny late afternoon, letting the door close shut behind him.

**********

"Rumours continue to swirl about a violent clash between forces of the US military and an unknown adversary on the campus of Culver University today…”

The words spilling from the lips of the reporter on the television in front of me has me glancing up from the map in my hands and towards the device instead. For the past hour and a half, I have sat on Betty’s couch after changing into sweats and finding something to eat. I had stumbled upon the map while rummaging through her kitchen drawers and had wasted no time in hurrying over to the lounge and pouring over it, putting the television on for background noise only paying no attention to it whatsoever. Until now, that is.

Sure enough, I am greeted with the all too familiar sight of the wreckage and fight at the university today. I watch as injured soldiers and countless of citizens are carted off into ambulances while the police surround the wrecked vehicles and buildings, doing their best to keep the curious crowds at bay. Firefighters converse with the officers, and reporters and other news outlets stream about the campus, speaking about the wreckage before them.

"Sophomores Jack McGee and Jim Wilson witnessed some of the battle,” my reporter now adds, before the camera turns to two men who both wear looks of bewilderment and excitement on their young faces.

“It was so big!” The first one with brown, curly hair exclaims. “Yeah, it was like this huge – this huge Hulk!”

I tilt my head to the side, considering. Hmm. Sure as hell sounds more menacing then ‘the Other Guy’.

“McGee, who happens to be a reported for the campus paper captured this video on his cell phone,” the reported adds, before the apparent video that this student filmed today was playing on the screen.

McGee has managed to capture some of the action, mainly consisting of explosions as vehicles land on the ground with heavy clashes. You could see glimpses of the Hulk throughout the footage, but the clip itself shows little to nothing as to what really happened. My stomach drops at the sight of myself appearing once and twice, however, I am not looking at the camera. All that can be seen is my body from behind as I stand and absorb the fire from the explosion of the helicopter.

"While this elusive Hulk is such a big mystery, the other question of the day is who the girl that was able to put the fire out with her own two hands, is.”

“I didn’t see her face, but she couldn’t just control fire!” The sophomore from before exclaims. “I mean, she made it rain and she like, threw these guys in the air with just a twist of her hand! And she took down the soldiers like she was one herself!”

Oh. Oh dear God. Fury is going to kill me when he sees this.

The sudden and unexpected sound of my phone ringing from where I had placed it on the coffee table in front of me causes me to jump with fright. But the sound also causes my stomach to drop with dread as I realise, deep down, who it is that will be calling. The idea of speaking to either Fury or Clint at the moment instils enough fear within me that I can’t help but contemplate letting the phone ring out and send the caller to voicemail.

But I know that there is only so much time that I could avoid them for; I’d have to talk to them eventually. So, without bothering to look and see which of the two it is that is calling, I promptly pick up the phone and answer the call. Bringing it up to my ear, I swallow thickly before calling out tentatively, “Hello?”

"You’ve been dodging me, Hathaway.”

It takes everything within me not to wince at the calm words of none other than Nick Fury on the other end of the line. “With all due respect, Sir, I’ve been busy.”

"Believe me, I know.”

“… I take it that you’ve seen the seven o’clock news then?”

"Oh, everyone’s seen the news. I wouldn’t be surprised if the agents that we currently have deployed in the Middle East haven’t heard about the ‘girl who was able to put out the fire with her own two hands’.”

This time, I do wince, dread continuing to pile in the pit of my stomach. “Director, I can explain –”

"No need, Agent,” he cuts me off. “You don’t have to explain yourself at all.”

“…I don’t?”

“Not one bit.”

I freeze with uncertainty at this, blinking once, twice and then a third time, feeling as if this is very much a trap of some sorts. This is not how I expected the conversation to go in the slightest. Perhaps he is just toying with me and is waiting for me to let my guard down before he unleashed his anger, scolding me for going against his direct orders? Then again, he had never ordered me to conceal my abilities from Ross. He had only advised me against doing so to prevent Ross from using my abilities to his own agenda.

So, why the hell is he calling then?

I ask him as such, to which he replies, “I was just calling to make sure that you were alive. After all, there’s no point in me sharing what I’m about to tell you if you’re dead. And you’ve proved to me today that you’re more than capable.”

“Capable of what?”

"Joining the Avengers Initiative.”

“The what?”

He lets out a huff of frustration at my confusion, but he nevertheless repeats slowly, “The Avengers Initiative.”

If he thinks that the words are supposed to resonate with me, then he is highly mistaken, as they only cause for my confusion to grow. But I remain silent as he elaborates, “What I am about to tell you is something highly classified. Only I, Agents Hill, Coulson, Romanoff and Barton know what it is. Whether or not you’re interested in joining, I need full guarantee that whatever we discuss right now won’t be shared with anyone else.”

“You have my word.”

“There’s this idea,” he says. “Called the Avengers Initiative. It’s an idea to bring together a group of remarkable people to see if they can become something more. To see if they can work together when we need them to. To fight the battles that we never can. ‘We’ being the ordinary people of the world.”

“What makes the people that you choose remarkable?”

“Certain abilities or skills that they have that no one else does,” he explains. “Your elemental abilities, for example. Coulson and I have been talking of possibly recruiting you since you first came home last year, but nothing was one hundred per cent certain until we saw the extent of what you and Banner can do today.”

And just like that, something clicks. “That’s why you sent me after Bruce. You want to recruit him as well.”

“It’s like I said, Hathaway; you’d find out when it was the right time.”

"You mean when you decided if you wanted to include me in this little team of yours.”

"There’s nothing ‘little’ about it,” Fury says, a flare of annoyance underlying his words. “The people that we’re thinking of recruiting – well. You’ve seen what they’re capable of doing.”

"You mean Bruce.”

“We’ve been keeping a close eye on Banner for a while now. But what we saw today was something that we have never seen before. Yes, we’re thinking of possibly recruiting him, but we don’t know whether or not he’s suitable or stable enough to join.”

“So you sent me after him so that I could tell you that myself,” I conclude. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but Bruce may not be the Hulk for much longer –”

“The what?”

“Bruce’s not so friendly self. They’re calling him the Hulk on the news. Sounds like a keeper to me. But he’s looking for a cure to get rid of the Hulk. I’ve been helping him for the past few weeks now.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end of the line as Fury takes in my words. It’s a silence that has me drumming my fingers nervously on the edge of the couch. Ross wanted the Hulk for power and, to some extent, it sounds like Fury does as well. The question is, how far is Fury willing to go to ensure he gets his hands on Bruce? Would he allow him to find the cure and return to his normal, peaceful life, or would he lock him up, study and dissect the Hulk for his own personal gains?

Eventually, Fury replies, “Well, I can’t say that’s the response that I was hoping to hear. But so be it. We can find a way to make it work without Banner.”

I let out a breath that I didn’t even realise I was holding in the first place. It wasn’t the response that I thought I would hear, but I’m glad it’s the one that Fury had given. I don’t know what I would have done if it had been something else entirely.

“That rules out Banner. But what about you, Hathaway? Are you willing to join?”

I shift slightly on the couch and tug at the bottom of my hair with my free hand. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly how I feel about this. It certainly sounds interesting. With its purpose of keeping the world safe from threats, it sounds as if the Avengers Initiative has a genuinely good purpose. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel as if I need more information about it before I decide whether or not it is a cause that I want to join.

“How long have you been working on this idea?”

"Since the 90s, but it’s been on the backburn for the past decade or so. It’s only been in the past twelve months that we’ve decided to dust it off and bring it to the light.”

"Who else have you asked to recruit?”

“Romanoff and Barton,” he reveals, causing me to raise a brow in surprise. He had asked Nat and Clint? It makes sense, as the two of them were SHIELD’s best agents, Clint with his deadly aim and Nat with her killer combat skills. It isn’t surprising that that Fury asked them; what’s surprising is that they kept it from me.

As if reading my mind, Fury adds, “Both were under strict orders to keep this to themselves. We’ve also asked Tony Stark –”

“You asked Iron Man?!”

“We asked, but he hasn’t exactly given us a direct yes or no as to whether he’ll join,” Fury mutters, a hint of annoyance lacing his tone. Clearly Stark is a bit of a touchy subject for him then. “After seeing how his suit could handle a force such as Obadiah Stane, we approached him.”

“Anyone else?”

"Well, I’ve asked you, but I’m still waiting on an answer.”

A barely audible sigh escapes past my lips before I can stop it. Reaching up to run a hand down my tired face, I reply, “Look, I understand you want an answer, but I’ve got a lot to deal with here in Willowdale first. Bruce has taken off with Ross’ daughter and I’ve got no clue as to where the hell they went. Ross is trying to track us down and I’ve taken a hit. I need to sort this shit out before I decide to join any secret boy bands.”

"But you’ll consider it, at least? We could use someone with your skillset.”

“There’s no need for the flattery, I already said I would consider it.”

“Fair enough,” Fury says. “If it helps, our satellites got a glimpse of him heading north about three hours ago.” Hope swells within me at the words and continues to grow as he adds, “He was last seen in some area of Pennsylvanian woods. It’s not much of a lead, but –”

“Trust me when I say it’s better than anything I have – which is nothing,” I reply, glancing down at the map before me. “Thank you. You’ve just helped me narrow down my search for him. Now I don’t have to start from scratch.”

“Where is it that you think that he’s heading?”

I can’t go on like this. I can’t endanger anyone else!

The familiar words ring through my mind like a bell, and my heart clenches involuntarily. Even though I don’t know an exact location, I know that there is only once place that Bruce would head too once he was himself again. Maybe he would bring Betty along with him, maybe he wouldn’t. But I know that he’s about to go and finish what the two of us had taken off to do in the first place.

“He’ll go wherever there is a cure,” I admit quietly, the sound of the Hulk roaring on the television one final time ringing true before the footage ends altogether. “And I won’t be far behind.”

Chapter Text

Falling asleep that night had been easier than breathing. As soon as I had retreated to the spare room in the floor above and settled my head on the pillow, I had been out like a light. My sleep had been deep and dreamless, and much needed. I slept four hours later than I originally intended, wanting to get up as early as possible to begin my second search for Bruce. But, in the end, I don’t reprimand myself. I needed the rest and it was a rather welcome pleasant sleep.

If only the same could be said for waking up.

Every movement, even the smallest and simplest of ones, sent pain of some sort ricocheting throughout my body, leaving me a slow and groaning mess. A throbbing headache. Lines of fire spread out across my shoulder, Bruises from the hits that had made contact scattered across my skin, the muscles underneath aching. It took me a while to find a bottle of painkillers under Betty’s bathroom sink, and while they helped dull the ache, there is still pain and discomfort present.

Showering takes twice as long as it normally would, as does dressing myself. Unfortunately my belongings had been lost at Culver, likely having been blown up and destroyed in the chaos or snatched up by the soldiers or some civilian. Not that it mattered much – they would only find clothes.

I managed to find a pair of loose sweats and a loose shirt of Betty’s to change in to, and a duffel bag in the back of her closet. It is in this that I shove a few handfuls of extra clothes from Betty’s drawers, reasoning that she wouldn’t mind. In the duffel bag I also shove the map that I had been looking at the previous night. Fury had sent me the exact coordinates of where Bruce had last shown up on SHIELD’s satellites yesterday, and I intend on heading there first, hoping that there would be enough of a trail for me to track.

Though it is best for me to keep out of the public eye as much as possible, I know that I am going to have to rely on public transport for the majority of my journey. I was in no condition to fly for long periods of time and doing so in daylight would only draw unwanted attention to me, which I can’t have seeing as how Ross is also looking for me. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t make things slightly harder for him. I tie my hair up in bun at the back of my head, half of it concealed by the cap I pulled from Betty’s top drawer. I chuck a hoodie on and flick the hood up for good measure, the loose fabric making it harder for people to discern my body shape and note other distinct physical features as well.

Samson has kept true to his word so far by not showing up this morning as I had worried he would. But with a small part of me believing that the stubborn psychiatrist wouldn’t just simply comply with my orders and remain behind in Willowdale, I am eager to clear out before he has the chance to follow me. With no one else left in the house, I also do my best to place every object that I had used during my short stay back to where I had originally found them. With the chance of Ross possibly returning here to check that there really isn’t anything in this house that can pinpoint where Bruce, Betty and myself were heading, I don’t want to leave him any clues or signs that would inform him that someone had been here.

Although, it is rather satisfying to think about how infuriated the angry General would be if he learned that I had been hidden here right under his very nose for the past eighteen hours. Still, I’m not ballsy enough to risk it.

After completing one final sweep of the kitchen to ensure that everything is in order, I make my way back to the living room where my bag and phone awaits. And, according to the screen on the small device, I have a new message.

Thinking that it is Fury with more information, I immediately lurch forward and waste no time in pulling the message up. But to my surprise, it isn’t a message from Fury that greets me, but rather an unknown number. Still, my fingers don’t hesitate to press the correct buttons and within seconds, the lengthy message is displayed on the screen in front of me;

UNKNOWN, 11:48am;

We’re safe. Heading to Grayburn College in New York City to meet with Mr Blue. Will be there by tomorrow. Don’t try to contact us on this number, as we will have gotten rid of the phone. I understand if you don’t want to join us, but after our conversation the other night, I hope that you do.

He hasn’t signed off or mentioned any names, but it is undoubtedly Bruce that has sent this message; the context of the words themselves is enough proof of that. Relief washes over me at the sight of the words and continues to grow the longer that my eyes trace over them. He and Betty were fine. Bruce hasn’t gone into too much detail about their current state, but the fact that he was able to message me now means that he is still breathing. They’re alive and well enough to send a message, and I’d take that for now.

But beneath the relief, a feeling of unease stirs. While I am happy that I now have an idea of where to head now, I know that it sure as hell isn’t going to be easy getting there. Not only because of my need to maintain a low profile in order to dodge Ross, but also because I have no idea where Grayburn college is. I have only been to Manhattan a handful of times for work and while I loved it, I would well and truly be a fish out of water there. The many streets and districts were all like a giant maze to me, and the surveillance in the city would be off the charts, making it easier for Ross to find me.

If I want to get to Grayburn and do so undetected, then I am going to need some help.

My fingers press the buttons of my phone before I can properly consider what it is that I’m about to do. Or, more accurately, who it is that I am about to call. We haven’t exactly been on the best of terms since we had first met one another, yet I know that if I asked for her help, she would offer it. Not necessarily because of the goodness of her hear, but more so because she owed me a favour. Or a few now that I think about it.

She picks up after only a few rings, her snarky bite echoing across the line. “What?!”

“Hey. It’s me.”

There’s a beat of silence on her behalf and for a second, I think that she doesn’t recognise the sound of my voice. Then; “How the hell did you get this number?!”

“I have my ways.”

"You’ve been spying on me, haven’t you?”

“I’m a spy. It’s what I do best.”

"Screw you. I’m hanging up now.”

“Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

“We’re not friends.”

“Sure we are.”

"Drinking ourselves blind at some dodgy little bar one time doesn’t make us friends.”

“Well, that answers your fist question because it was at that dodgy bar that you have me your number. Considering the state you were in though at the time, I highly doubt you remember.”

“You weren’t that much better.”

“And yet, I can remember the night.”

An annoyed huff falls from her lips, making it all too easy for me to picture just how much she is seething on the other end of the call. The clinking of glass in the background indicates that she has already started drinking today, though I hadn’t exactly expected any less from her.

“What the hell do you want, Hathaway?”

“Remember those couple of favours that you owe me?” I ask, balancing the phone between my ear and good shoulder as I reach down towards my bag. “Well, I’m calling one of them in.”

"You gotta be shitting me. What do you want?”

“I don’t have enough time to explain everything to you right now. But I’m on my way to New York.”

“Lucky me,” she deadpans.

I can’t help but snort, straightening up and slinging the strap of my bag over my good shoulder. “I’ll text you with the details later. But first, I need to make sure that you keep this to yourself. I can’t have the wrong people finding out where I am, so the fewer people that know about this, the better.”

“What kind of shit have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“The usual kind,” I reply, though I know that this is far from the truth. Angry, green rage monsters? Decades-old serums? Super soldiers? This is on a whole other level, even for me. But not that she needs to know this. Not yet.

“Look, can you just promise me that you won’t tell anyone that I’m coming?”

There’s a brief pause on her behalf as she mulls over my words. But time is of the essence here, and I am quick to open my mouth to remind her that she owes me for everything that I have done for her. The least she could do is adhere to my simple request of keeping this between the two of us. It’s not just for my sake either – it’s also for hers. If Ross were to find out that she is helping me, then I don’t doubt that he would cause trouble and this time, I don’t think that I would be able to help her. Not if Ross is looking to bury me as well.

“Alright,” she finally relents before I have the chance to say anything. “What do you need me to do?”

     28 HOURS LATER

One of the things that you get taught at the SHIELD academy is that it is important to avoid surveillance cameras where possible. Not only does it make it harder for certain people to find you, but it can prevent your target from seeing you coming as well. That, and it ensures that you maintain a low profile. But doing this is easier said than done, considering the world is continuously expanding and using this type of technology more often. It is bad enough in shopping centres and small towns, but Manhattan is ten times worse.

As I now walk down the bustling streets, head low and hidden beneath my cap and sunglasses, I have hyper aware of the two thousand cameras that are installed throughout the city streets. That doesn’t even include the ones in public housing areas, shopping centres, small corner stores and the subway. Two. Thousand.

But, I remind myself, the hundreds of thousands of other people walking in the streets around me provide enough cover to ease my nerves. Though not entirely full proof, it is better than being completely out in the open without any form of cover to hide behind.

Seeing as Bruce had said that he and Betty would be in New York by today, I had decided to spend the rest of the day at Betty’s, cautious and still. Every noise had me almost bolting straight out of the door, thinking that Ross had returned. But thankfully, the angry General remained far away and as each hour slipped by, my unease settled more and more.

It wasn’t until it was close to midnight that I had packed my belongings and made my way to the bus station. The middle-aged woman behind the front desk had barely spared me a second glance as I had handed over the cash, and she in turn handed me a one-way ticket to Manhattan. Not that I was complaining though. If Ross truly has put a ABP on me, then the least people that took notice of me, the better.

The bus itself had been relatively quiet with only a few other passengers brave enough to take the overnight bus. It had been easy for me to slink halfway up the back and settle in with my overnight bag beside me. As soon as the bus had pulled out of the station I had fallen asleep, not once stirring until the early hours of this morning with Manhattan looming in the distance.

To say that I had been a tad excited at the sight of city growing closer and closer as the bus approached was an understatement. Though I have only been to the city a few times before, there is just something about the place that I have always loved. If I was ever brave enough to venture further from the farmhouse back in Iowa, New York is probably where I would live. But there are things of personal matters that I need to deal with first before I can truly consider it.

Still, I can’t fight the small smile that now spreads across my face. But it quickly disperses as the bus comes to a halt behind a line of other vehicles further down the freeway, police officers peering into the vehicles and asking the drivers questions.

I immediately shrink back down in my seat, swearing quietly under my breath. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is that they are looking for. I don’t doubt for a second that if those cops were to search the bus – which, they eventually would – that I would be dragged away and questioned. Or worse.

I swallow thickly. I have to get off this bus, and I have to do so quickly.

 It’s not just me that notices the scene unfolding further up the road. The bus had been utterly silent up until now, but an excited buzz fills the air as the other passengers scramble to their feet and inch closer towards the front of the bus to get a better view of the officers up ahead. Even the driver is too curious to be bothered to tell the passengers to return to their seats, his eyes wide as he stares at the flashing lights of the parked cop cars.

Using their distraction to my advantage, I deftly open the window beside me. Taking one final glance at the passengers to ensure that no one is paying attention to what it is that I am doing, I sling my bag over my good shoulder and slip through the open gap. Pain explodes along where Samson had stitched me up, and I bite down hard enough on my lip to draw blood to prevent a strangled cry of pain slipping past my lips.

As I land on the ground with a gentle thud, I feel the bewildered stares from the people waiting in the surrounding cars, but I barely pass them a second glance. Hoping that they would just assume that I am an impatient passenger rather than a potential fugitive on the run, I readjust my bag and begin to move through the cars and towards the docks that we had passed further back.

It doesn’t take me long to find a woman with a boat who is happy to take me across the harbour for a handful of cash. Luckily for me, she is able to drop me off on relatively close to my first destination of the day; Hell’s Kitchen harbour.

It only takes me fifteen minutes once I have parted ways with the kind woman with the boat to reach JOSIE’s bar in the middle of the district. Keeping my head down low, I rush across the street when it is safe to do so before venturing inside.

With no bell hanging above the door to alert my presence, the few people scattered throughout the bar don’t notice my almost silent entrance. There’s a group of people playing pool in the far corner, and a handful up by the bar, having already started their drinking for the day. The bartender, who I assume is Josie, only briefly glances at me as the door swings shut behind me, but she quickly returns her attention to a conversation that she is having with a patron.

My crystal blue eyes quickly scan the dark room, the smell of stale beer causing my nose to scrunch before I spot who it is that I am meant to be meeting with today. She sits upright in a booth in the corner of the bar away from the other patrons, her back towards me. Still, it is easy for me to discern that it is her. The dark and striking colour of her hair is enough of a giveaway.

She doesn’t hear the sounds of my footsteps echoing throughout the room as I approach, and the way that she tosses her head back has me believing that she has already started drinking for the day. Sure enough, as I come to a stop beside the booth, I am greeted with the sight of her lowering a now empty glass from her mouth. Turning to look at me as I reach up to remove the sunglasses from my eyes, her mouth twists into a frown of displeasure.

“And here I was hoping that you wouldn’t actually show.”

I snort at the sarcasm dripping from her tone. “Good to see you too, Jones. Isn’t it a bit early for you to be drinking?”

“Who are you, my mother?”

Shaking my head, I allow my bag to drop from my shoulder and land on the ground with a soft thud, before I slide into the opposite side of the booth. Settling back, I tuck my sunglasses into my pocket but don’t dare to remove the cap from my head, not wanting the other customers and workers to be able to see me properly. Now that I am sitting across from her though, Jessica Jones can see my face as clear as day. Judging from the grimace that seeps onto her pale face, what she sees isn’t all that pretty.

“You look like shit.”

“Way to point out the obvious,” I retort, knowing that she isn’t wrong. Though I had managed to fall into a deep slumber on the bus the night before, I doubt that it had been enough to remove the dark, purple shadows still plaguing the sensitive skin beneath my eyes. I also probably looked a lot paler than usual, though blood loss and constant, agonising pain would do that for you. Not to mention that I haven’t really had anything to eat for the day and I am currently guarding my injured arm, attempting to keep it as still as possible.

“The past few weeks haven’t been all that easy,” I mutter.

“Oh, I know. So, tell me. What brings the girl who was able to put the fire out with her own two hands to my neighbourhood?” She questions with mock enthusiasm, much to my chagrin.

“You wanna say that any louder?”

“Oh, relax. Everyone in here is too drunk or busy to care.”

Her words have me casting my eyes to the other customers and, sure enough, none of them are paying the two of us any attention. Relaxing, I send a glare her way. “You saw what happened in Willowdale, then?”

“Everyone saw what happened. You’d have to be blind or living under a rock to miss that shit. I bet Trish was impressed.”

“She doesn’t know that I’m here?”

“Nope. She’s still in rehab at the moment. Haven’t spoken to her for a few weeks now.”  

It would be virtually impossible for me to miss the bitter streak underlying her words at the revelation. Though she loved her adoptive sister dearly, it is clear that Trish’s previous self-destructive ways are still a touchy subject for Jess. Possibly because it had almost driven a permanent wedge between both her and Trish a few years prior.

“It’s probably best for her not to know anyway,” I reply, not bothering to grill Jess about how she is handling this situation. She has – and probably never will be – one for heart-to-hearts, especially for people she doesn’t particularly care for, which happens to include me. It’s been that way for a long time and will likely continue on in this manner as well.

“I can’t have the wrong people finding out I’m here, so the less people that know, the better. Not just for my sake, but for yours as well.”

She shrugs off my warning and rolls her round eyes. “Nothing that you couldn’t get me out of again.”

"This time, it’s different.”

“Which leads me to ask once again, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Work.”

“Wanna be a little more specific?”

“Wanna be a little less nosy?”

She scoffs. “You dragged my ass all the way down here, demanding my help. The least you could do is tell me what shit it is that I’m getting dragged into.”

“Like you had a choice,” I huff, blue eyes narrowing into angry slits. “Don’t forget that it was me who kept SHIELD from finding out about you and your abilities. I didn’t have to lie and tell them that Dorothy’s claims were false. If it wasn’t for me, then you’d be registered on SHIELD’s index and you’d have an agent tailing you for the rest of your life.”

“Gee, what do you want? A medal?” She taunts, causing me to bare my teeth. A tight-lipped smile seeps on to her face at the sight and she leans over the table to further add, “Need I remind you that you didn’t have to tell your bosses that there wasn’t anything to find. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

I raise a sceptical brow. “Yeah. Right. Tell me, aren’t you meant to be at work right now? The last I checked you were working in some café.”

Rather than answer me straight away, she waves at Josie at the bar. The bartender in turn starts to move about, seemingly already knowing what Jess wants without her having to say anything. A cold smirk takes a hold of her face as she turns back around and informs me, “I’m kind of in between jobs right now.”

“I figured as much. What happened this time?”

“Let’s just say that gestures were made, hard words were spoken and I gladly walked out the door without looking back.”

Despite my efforts, the corners of my mouth flick up in amusement at this. It’s enough to make a small yet genuine warmth seep its way into her smirk. “In other words, you told them to stick it and flipped them off while you were on your way out.”

At that moment, Josie waddles over and places a glass of whiskey on the table in front of the green-eyed woman before me. Jess lifts the glass in thanks before dryly responding, “Boy, you know me so well,” and throwing her head back to down the drink in one gulp. My stomach churns at the sight.

She slams the glass down on the table and wipes at her mouth with the sleeve of her trademark leather jacket. She asks Josie for another, the middle-aged woman grumbling a response. She takes one look my way and jerks her head as she asks, “You want anything?”

The growing pit in my stomach aches at the thought, and it’s enough to remind me that I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday. “Are you serving any food?”

“Sure are.”

“Burger and fries?”

Josie nods. “You got it.”

“Make that two,” Jess calls out before Josie heads back to the bar. Once alone again, she fixes me a steely gaze. “You’re buying.”

I roll my eyes, knowing that there is no point in arguing with her. Instead, I lean forward and say, “I called you down here because I need your help. You’re one of the few people that I know and…trust, on this city. If there’s anyone who’s gonna help me and won’t tell anyone about it, then it’s you.”

One of her perfectly shaped brows arches up at this. “You’re in some really deep shit this time,” she concludes. “Aren’t you?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“And you’re so sure that I won’t tell anyone? Or turn you in? It would save me a lot of trouble. I could just go back home, open another bottle of whiskey and pretend that this shitty day never happened.”

Despite the threat, I don’t feel the least bit panicked. Nor do I feel the need to leave this bar and get the hell away from her before she can following through with what it is that she is pretending to consider. She may be able to hide behind her snark and sarcastic attitude with other people, but I have always been able to see through Jess. Right now, she doesn’t mean half of the bullshit that is coming out of her mouth. She wouldn’t go to the cops. She wouldn’t turn me in to Ross if she found out that he was looking for me. So, all I have to do is sit here and calmly wait until she is ready to drop the act.

It appears that I don’t have to wait long. I watch as she shifts almost uncomfortably in her seat the longer that I stare at her, and the smirk slowly dissipates and is replaced with an angry scowl in just a matter of moments. Seconds later, she quietly swears under her breath.

“Alright. Jesus. Fine. What the hell do you want me to do?”

I let the satisfied grin split my face at the easy surrender, ignoring the curses she sends my way at this. “You’ve gathered by now that I’m in trouble. I can get myself out of it, but I have to get to a certain place as quickly as possible to do so. As I said before, yo’re the only one in this city who I can trust and who knows their way around. You know back streets and quieter routes. I need to be discreet and, as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think that I would last an hour out there by myself. Someone is going to inevitably recognise me or and then the army’s gonna come and bring me in for questioning. That, or try to drag me to a place where I’ll never see the sun again.”

“That’s a tad bit overboard, don’t you think?”

Silence is my only response.

She tries – and fails – to hold the shock from her face. “Shit. You aren’t kidding. Are you?”

I shake my head. “So, I need you to take me somewhere and I need you to do so now.”

“Where?”

“Grayburn College. I’m meant to be meeting someone there later today.”

She thinks to herself for a moment, her eyes darting up to the roof as if she’ll find the answer there. It’s not long after that she gives a slow, deliberate nod of her head and informs me, “Yeah. I know it. It’s up in Harlem. It’ll take us about an hour at least.”

“So you’ll take me?”

“I thought I didn’t have much of a choice,” she retorts just as Josie places another glass of whiskey down. As she scurries off, Jess nods down to the drink. She wastes no time in picking it up. “This one’s on you as well. I may owe you a favour or two, but you owe me a drink at least.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“And you’re telling me exactly what it is that is going on while we walk there, Ice Queen.” When I frown at the all too familiar – and unwanted – nickname, she shoots me a pointed look. “Can you still control ice?”

“Can you still fly?” I fire back.

A tick appears in the side of her jaw, all traces of humour vanishing with the question. “We’ve been through this. It’s not flying.”

“Oh, yeah? What is it then?”

“It’s jumping… and then falling really, really slowly.”

“Whatever you say, Jones,” I reply with a shake of my head as she yet again downs the drink in one go and slams the now empty glass back on the table. “Whatever you say.”

Chapter Text

Grayburn College, located in central Harlem, is not all that un-similar to Culver University.

Students hurry along footpaths and neatly trimmed grass as they move towards the tall, stone buildings with books either in their hands or filled to the brim of their backpacks. They stream in and out the glorious front entrance, dodging those students huddled together on the grass, anxiously discussing notes or assignments due sometime soon. Cars rumble and bike bells chime through the air with the other countless sounds of the city, adding an almost frantic buzz to the otherwise domestic scene before me, but the students and professors pay no attention to it.

It's almost like a sense of déjà vu, sitting here on a bench in my sunglasses and hat, observing the mundane college life before me. It’s not all that different from how I had sat outside of Culver only two days ago. However, I have to say that my company then had far been better than the company I find myself in now.

As if on cue, Jess lets out a frustrated noise somewhere between a huff and a groan, shifting on the bench beside me. Our trek from Josie’s to Grayburn hadn’t taken long at all, and she had made sure to make our journey as unnoticeable as possible. We had barely spoken, only making small talk here and there where appropriate. Not that I had minded. Sometimes, her bark could be ten times worse than her bite.

When we had reached Grayburn almost twenty minutes ago, I had expected her to walk off with a snarky comment about not bothering her again. But too my astonishment, she had only plonked herself down beside me on the bench and has sat in silence since.

But that now changes, as she throws her head back and lets out a sigh. “How much longer is this mystery person going to be?”

I glance at her from the corner of my eye, just in time to see her gulp a large mouthful of the hot coffee that she had insisted on buying on our way here. I can smell the strong, bitter scent of the drink from where I sit beside her, and my nose scrunches as I get a whiff of the faint scent of vodka. It’s enough to make me blink in surprise. The idea of her spiking her drink this early in the day doesn’t faze me. What does take me by surprise is how she had slipped alcohol in her drink without me noticing. She must have done so very quickly, or perhaps I had been too focused on our surroundings and hoping that a certain, angry general didn’t show up to notice.

She turns to face me. “Because I’ve got a life to get back to and a whole bottle of whiskey waiting for me at home.”

“So go drink it,” I half snap. “I only asked you to take me to Grayburn. You sticking around wasn’t part of the deal.”

"See, I would. But you still haven’t answered any of my questions.”

“You haven’t asked any.”

“Whatever. I’m sure if I did, you’d be all cryptic about what is going on here, and it would really piss me off.”

“Ever heard the expression ‘curiosity killed the cat’?”

“Aren’t cats supposed to have, like, a hundred lives?”

I shoot her a look of pure incredulity. “Nine. It’s nine lives, not a hundred.”

“Same shit.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at this, a sigh filled with exhaustion and exasperation slipping past my lips. “God, I forgot how annoying you are.”

“Same could be said for you,” she retorts. “Maybe if you just answered my questions, I would leave. But you’d rather sit here and be your usual stubborn-ass self and make both of us suffer.”

“I told you, I’m here for work.”

“Yeah, you’re going to need to be a little more specific than that if you want to get rid of me.”

This time, I don’t bother to reign in the heated glare that I shoot her way. The sunglasses I’m wearing cause her hair and clothes to appear a few shades darker than they actually are, but they do nothing to conceal the smirk beginning to form on her face at my obvious frustration. It only stirs me even more, but that’s not surprising. Jessica Jones has always had a knack for bringing the worse parts out of me. It’s an art that she truly excels at.

“Why the hell do you care?” I snap.

We’ve crossed paths a handful of times in the years since I first became a SHIELD agents, and every time she has expressed no desire to involve herself in any of my affairs. Not because she’s doing so out of respect, believing that it’s none of her business, but more because she’s just never cared enough to ask. We’ve kept each other at arm’s length and never fully allowed ourselves to trust one another, and honestly? It’s probably for the best.

As if reading my mind, she elaborates, “Look, I get it. You trust me about as much as I trust you which, let’s be honest here, isn’t that much. But I’d like to point out that if you’re in some kind of trouble then by helping you, I am as well. So I’d like to know what exactly the hell it is that I’m now involved in.”

“You’re not that involved,” I grumble.

But there’s a small part of me that sees the truth in what she is saying. To some extent, me asking for her help has inadvertently made her an accomplice to my plans, even if she really was doing the bare minimum. If Ross were to find out though he wouldn’t care. If he thought for a second that she could lead him to either Bruce and myself, he would come for her in an instant. That, I don’t doubt. And if he were to find out about her abilities… well. She would become another target for him to exploit as well.

It had been a risk that I had been willing to take. A risk that she can’t fully comprehend with her lack of knowledge about the situation, but a risk for her, nevertheless. I purse my lips. As much as I hate to admit it – and I never would to her – she’s right. She does have a right to know what it is that she’s gotten herself into here.

“I can’t tell you everything,” I finally relent. “A lot of what has happened isn’t exactly my stuff to tell. And some parts are classified –” She blows a raspberry at this, and once again, my frustration swells in response. “I’m serious. This is dangerous shit, Jones.”

“I mean, I kinda guessed that already,” she muses, sipping at her coffee. “You’re always involved in dangerous shit.”

I can’t help but snort at this. Ain’t that the truth. “You can’t tell anyone either.”

“I know how to keep my trap shut, Hathaway. Enough with the suspense already, and just tell me why you’re here.”

I sigh, quietly mulling over the events of the past week. I sort through everything that has happened, all the conversations I’ve had and the secrets that have come to light, trying my best to decipher which parts I can tell her, and which parts I can’t. She’s surprisingly patient as she waits for me, dark eyes scanning each and every person that moves across the footpath in front of us. Watching, as always. She’s one of the most observant people that I know, that can watch people without them realising. She’d make a hell of a spy if she had a better attitude and work ethic.

“OK,” I say. “Last week, my boss sent me on an assignment to track down someone and try to help them get out of a tough spot with the government –”

“What did this person do?”

“Classified.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Go on.”

"After I found him, the military caught up with us, so, we ran. We came back to the states to try and figure out a way out to…clear his name.”

“So that explains why the military was all over the news yesterday,” she concludes. “They were at that campus, in Virginia, or something. You were there – I saw you on the news. You and that green thing – what the hell was that?”

“Classified,” is my quick reply, earning yet another glare from her in turn. “Anyway. This guy that I’m helping was there, but we got split up. We’re supposed to meet here at some point today to regroup and try and figure out what to do next. There’s this general – he’s an asshole, really, but he’s ruthless. He’ll stop at nothing to get my guy, and if he does, then he’ll throw him away and make sure he never sees the light of day again.”

Jess hums. “Sounds like a dick,” she agrees. “But I’m sure it’s nothing that your superiors couldn’t help you with.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think that Ross – this general – would back down so easily if he can help it. I’m telling you, the guy is a lunatic. He will literally stop at nothing to get this guy –”

“So, you’ve decided to take matters into your own hands?”

"Yeah. Pretty much.”

“And how’s that going for you so far?”

Instinctively, I reach up and gingerly prod at the shoulder that Samson had patched up for me yesterday. My fingers have barely grazed the gauze when pain flares up beneath them, and I have to clench my teeth hard to prevent a small hiss from slipping past my lips. But Jess picks up on my discomfort as easy as breathing, and she tilts her head to the side as she studies me.

"What?” She demands.

I grit my teeth. I’m tempted not to tell her a damn thing. If she knows just how badly things had turned out yesterday, then I don’t doubt for a second that she would proceed to smugly call me out on my own stupidity, and I really don’t want to grant her any satisfaction if I can help it. But it appears that I don’t get a say in whether or not she can know the truth, as she suddenly reaches out and attempts to poke at my injured shoulder.

I manage to flinch back and out of her reach in time. “Jesus,” I exclaim. As she swings her arm towards me again, I slap it away with my good one. When she doesn’t relent, however, I snap, “Knock it off!”

“You walked into the bar earlier looking half dead,” she says, ignoring my protests altogether. “I knew something was off with you then, but I didn’t ask. But I’ll bite; what’s wrong with you?”

I press my lips firmly together, once again shrinking out of her reach. It’s enough to earn me a pointed look from Jess. “You’ve got about ten seconds to show me your arm or tell me what the hell is wrong, before I reach over and make you show me.”

She would do it – we both know it. And, strength wise, there would be nothing I could do to stop her. That’s the thing about Jess. She’s always so snarky and hostile, never allowing people to get physically close to her, because she knows just what she is capable of. She knows it. I know it. Despite how small she is, she’s by far the strongest person I know. She could lay me out flat if she wanted to.

She’s also far too stubborn to let this go. A trait that we both seem to share. So, I admit through clenched teeth, “I got shot.”

I half expect her eyes to widen with shock, or for a startled gasp to slip past her lips. But to my surprise, she only shakes her head before bringing the cup in her hand up to her mouth once more. “Idiot,” she mutters, before sipping the steaming hot liquid. “Honestly, one of these days you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Wow. For a second there, it almost sounds like you care.”

"You wish,” she retorts, before finally crushing the styrofoam cup in between her gloved fingers. “You always go looking for trouble or get yourself involved in dangerous shit like this –”

"That’s because it’s my job. Kinda don’t always have a choice in the matter –”

“Either way, sooner or later your luck is going to run out and everything is going to catch up to you. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up being buried in the ground right next to all the other dead morons who gave a shit. Sometimes it’s just better to let things go.”

It’s not out of harshness that she says these words, but rather, just pure honesty. But the words still hit their mark, and I can’t help but bite down on my bottom lip to prevent a frustrated huff from slipping out. A part of me can understand what she is saying. The situation that I now find myself in with Bruce, Ross and everything else connected to the two is definitely one of my more dangerous assignments that I have accepted from Fury previously. Even Clint had said so when he had called me back in Willowdale, and when we had spoken in my room that night that Fury had asked me to take this job as well. Ross is already after me, and, now that he has seen what I’m capable of, there’s every chance that he wants to exploit me and my abilities in the same manner that he wants to for Bruce. I’ve always kept a low-profile on my assignments for this very reason, and the one time I slip up…

She’s right, as much as I had to admit it. I’m already in trouble and at the rate I’m going, there’s every chance that I’ll find myself in deeper shit sometime down the track. The smart thing to do would be to turn around and head straight back home. I could easily leave Bruce to figure out a way to find a cure himself and ask Fury to send other SHIELD agents that won’t interest Ross. And yet…

“I’m not like you. I can’t just turn a blind eye and pretend that nothing is happening.”

“Well, maybe you should.”

“And what? Work at a café, keep my head down and ignore problems until they go away?” The words earn a bitter, knowing smile from Jess that doesn’t quite meet her hazel eyes. I’ve hit a mark, but I only press on, “I’d rather risk my life and give a shit than not help someone that needs it.”

“That’s your mistake then,” she says, before throwing the crushed cup into a trash can on the other side of the sidewalk. I watch it land perfectly in the centre, lips pressing tightly together in a thin line at her words.

“That’s not the way I see it.”

“Yeah? Tell that to your shoulder.”

The wound throbs even more painfully at the snarky response, and it takes everything within me not to reach up and rub at it to try and soothe it. I clench my fists in my hands to try and fight the urge. It hurts, that’s for sure, and deep down, I know that Jess is right; as a SHIELD agent, I walk a fine line between danger and safety. This isn’t the first time that I’ve been injured on an assignment, and I know for a fact that it probably won’t be the last either.

But without SHIELD, where does that leave me? I’d still have my abilities, just less of a better way to use them. If using them as a SHIELD agent helps save a lot of lives as well, then I would gladly risk my neck for this job. At least one good thing could come out of what those scientists did back to me back in the lab.

“So you’re telling me that you’ve never thought once about using your abilities for something more?” I press, earning an eye roll from Jess. It isn’t enough to deter me, however, as I only add, “C’mon, Jess. You have super strength, you can move faster than anyone I know, and you can fly –”

“It’s not flying.”

“– and you’re telling me that you have never thought about using them once for something bigger than yourself?”

Silence is her only response.

“That’s what I thought.”

"Shut up. God. You sound just like Trish.

At the mention of her adoptive sister, my animosity dissipates, and I feel the features of my face soften. Jess had mentioned earlier that she was in rehab currently and while she hadn’t explicitly said anything then, the flicker of sadness that threatens to seep across her features tells me that she misses her sister. Greatly.

It’s enough to prompt me to gently say, “She’ll be OK. It might not seem like it now, but she will be.”

She says nothing – though I hadn’t expected her to anyway – and the features of her face school into the stone-cold mask that she wears every day, not letting one crack reveal the emotions she feels beneath it. Instead, she only stares straight ahead, likely silently mulling over my words. I don’t push her, and I don’t make any other comments and instead only return my gaze to the people strolling around us. When my eyes land on a couple hurrying towards one of the buildings across the quad, my heart leaps in my chest.

Dressed in fresh, clean clothes and with baseball hats planted firmly on their heads, they keep their eyes down as the move past the other students and professors who don’t spare them second glances. But the sight of them is enough to make me pull myself upright.

"What are you doing?” Jess asks.

“My guy is here. I gotta go.”

She mutters something which I believe to be ‘thank God’ under her breath, and she also pulls herself to her feet, readjusting her dark, leather jacket as she does. “Well. I would say this has been fun, but we both know that would be a lie.”

A smirk spreads across my lips before I can stop it. “What do you mean? I was having the best time.”

Her own lips twitch, as if they want to spread in response, but she must have better self-control than I do, as they eventually settle back into place. “You good from here?”

“Yeah. I am. Thank you. I appreciate the help.”

She hums. “Whatever. Do me a favour? Lose my number.”

I snort. She glares. And that’s that. She turns to move back the way that we came earlier and I silently watch her go. It isn’t until she’s a couple feet away that I find myself calling out to her, “Jones!” When she turns around, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed in frustration, I say before she gets the chance to bite my head off, “One person.”

“What?”

“Save one person. Just one. Then decide if giving a shit is worth it or not.”

She frowns, and I brace myself for the snarky retort. For blunt words and a scoff that would immediately brush my words off before they have the chance to hit home.

But it never comes. She only gives a small jerk of her chin – the only indication that she has heard me – before she turns on her heels and walks away, disappearing from my sight as she blends in seamlessly with the bustling college students around us.

The moment that she is gone, I turn around as well but, unlike her, I make a mad dash across the quad, tearing off after Betty and Bruce.

I catch up with them in an instant, slowing down just enough to match their brisk pace as I linger behind them and then I clear my throat. They jump about a mile in the air and immediately come to a screeching halt, myself following suit to ensure that I don’t run straight into their backs. Whirling around, eyes wide and mouths parted, they freeze at the sight of me standing before them, clad in my cap, sunglasses, and with my hair pulled back from my face.

"Fancy running in to you here,” I croon, reaching up to pull mine from my face. The moment that they recognise my features, they visibly relax. “You heading to the pep rally after the four o’clock lecture as well?”

Bruce offers me a shaky smile. “Lydia,” he greets. “When did you get here?”

“’Bout an hour ago or so. What the hell happened to you guys?”

For ten minutes, we share what has happened to us since we last saw each other at Culver University the other day. After spending the night in a cave in the middle of the Pennsylvanian woods, once Bruce had returned to himself. Betty had managed to scrounge up some cash and get them a motel and some fresh clothes. From there, they had sold Betty’s necklace and used the cash to get a car and head to New York where they intended on finding Mr Blue.

“You sent him an email to tell him you were coming?” I say, unease settling in the pit of my stomach when Bruce had nodded in confirmation. “Bruce, they could have tracked that!”

“I’ve been using that email for years now, and they haven’t found me through it. So it should be safe.”

Still, the unease remains. “OK. Well, what about the data?”

Betty blanches at the words. It’s enough to make my brows raise. “What?”

Bruce sheepishly reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. “I…I kinda ate it…”

I blink. Once. Twice. And then my face twists into disgust before I can stop it. “Blurgh! Gross.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Betty muses.

“I mean, I get why you did it. But there’s definitely an ick factor,” I grimace. “OK. You swallowed it – now we just got a figure a way to get it out of you.”

I didn’t think it was possible for Betty to turn even paler, but she does at my words. But before I get the chance to ask her what is wrong, Bruce drops his hand to reach inside of his pocket and – too both my surprise and disgust – he pulls the USB containing the data from the experiment out, holding it in the air between us.

I stare at the small device. A moment passes. Then another. Then; “I don’t want to know what end that came out of you, so how about we just get it to Mr Blue straight away and pretend this never happened, OK?”

Despite her obvious disgust, Betty manages a small chuckle. Even Bruce cracks a small smile, but ultimately agrees and the three of us take off.

According to Bruce, Mr Blue was Doctor Samuel Sterns, a professor who teaches cellular biology here at Grayburn college. It is easy enough to ask some of the other students and staff what his schedule is, and we don’t have to wait too long for him to appear out the front of the university.

He’s a short man, with small, beady eyes and chocolate brown hair that stands up high on his head, making him appear taller than he actually is. It’s messy and sticks out all over the place, the smaller parts scratching against the top of his large ears. He carries a small briefcase in his hands as he hurries down the front steps, leading me to believe that the was heading home for the day. But he never gets the chance as Betty steps forward and directly into his path, causing the thin man to come to a screeching halt.

“Excuse, Dr. Sterns?”

He eyes her cautiously, warily. As if he is unsure of himself. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to startle you, but my name is Dr. Elizabeth Ross –”

The wariness is gone in an instant, leaving excitement to take its place. “Dr. Ross?” He exclaims, looking very much like a child who has just woken up and received the best Christmas present. Then again, they both work in cellular biology, so perhaps Sterns is a fan of hers.

Betty offers him a polite smile. “There’s someone that I would like you to meet,” She says, before stepping to the side to reveal my cautious self and a sheepish Bruce standing behind her. When he makes no move to step forward, I give him a nudge with my good shoulder, causing him to stumble just that little bit closer towards Betty and Sterns, who only watches Bruce with a curious look.

“It’s Mr Blue, isn’t it?” Bruce asks almost shyly.

Much like how he reacted to meeting Betty, surprise once again takes a hold of the professor, causing his eyes to widen to the point where I am afraid that they might pop out of his head.

"Mr Green?” He whispers in disbelief.

The use of their aliases out here in the open only causes the pit of unease inside of me to grow, and I find myself stepping forward before anyone can say anything else. “Doctor Sterns, is there somewhere that we can talk in private? Your office or something?”

“Well, there’s – there’s the lab upstairs,” he says a little faintly, not taking his eyes off from Bruce as he speaks. “I share it with a couple of colleagues of mine, but… they’d all be gone for the day –”

"Sounds great. Let’s go.”

*****

“I gotta tell you, I – I’ve been wondering if you were even real.”

Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his chair under Sterns gaze, who sits across from the three of us in his lab, equipment, notes and workspaces all around us. Computers were stacked on every bit of free surface, and there’s a blackboard at the back of the room with scribbles and chemical formulas scrawled across it in chalk. The more curious side of me wants to get up, walk over and take a closer look at the notes, but Stern’s voice drags my focus from the board and back to him instead.

“And if you were real, what would it look like? A person with that much – power, lurking in him,” he trails off with a shake of his head. “Nothing could surprise me more than this unassuming man shaking my hand.”

As Bruce once again twists uncomfortably, I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. “You told Bruce that you would be able to help him. Can you still do that?”

"Well, we’re not strolling into the park for a picnic here. I certainly want to help, and I will try. But, even if everything goes perfectly, if we induce an episode and get the dosage exactly right… is that going to be a lasting cure? Or just some antidote that supresses that specific flare up?” He pauses to imitate flipping a coin up in the air and catching it in his hands before looking down and shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know!”

At our blank gazes, he sighs. “What I’m saying is, is that if we overshot this by even the smallest integer, we’re dealing with concentrations with extraordinary levels of toxicity, so –”

“You mean it could kill him,” I state, the pieces of his eccentric rambling fitting together enough for me to reach this conclusion. Bruce seems unfazed by my words, but Betty gives a small gasp from where she sits on his other side.

“Kill him? Uh, Yeah,” Sterns says with a nervous chuckle. “I should say so.”

I close my eyes, feeling disappointment flare up. Goddamn it.

"You should know, there’s a flip side to this if things go wrong,” Bruce says, his words causing me to snap my head to face him faster than blinking. I had expected some hesitancy at the news that there is a risk of him not surviving whatever the hell it is that Sterns thinks he can do to cure him, but I find nothing but hard determination on his face, and it’s enough to make my stomach sink.

“If we miss on the low side, if we induce me and if it fails, this will be very dangerous for you.”

Sterns laughs again, but this time, it isn’t out of nerves.

“Look, I’ve always been more curious than cautious,” he informs us. “And that’s served me pretty well so far.”

It’s enough for Bruce, as he nods his head. “OK. Let’s do this then.”

“What, now?” I say caught completely off guard by the words.

"Bruce…” Betty begins to plead.

But where his words bring us caution and fear, they bring nothing but excitement for Sterns, who immediately jumps to his feet, and starts to make his way out the door. “Alright, then! Follow me,” he calls over his shoulder. “We can’t do it in here, we’ll have to go next door, oh, and I’ve have to move…”

The rest of his words die off as he leaves the room, too busy rambling to himself to notice that Bruce, Betty and I have made no move to stand up and follow him yet. There is now a sudden tension in the room that is thick enough to cut with a knife, and neither three of us are ready to break the silence that has descended upon us as a result.

A minute passes. Then another. I can only sit there in disbelief. I knew that finding Bruce a cure had been the end goal here, but I hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. And the fact that there is a possibility that he could die if it doesn’t work, something that he doesn’t seem all that cautious about is enough to make my stomach sink with dread. I know that he is desperate for a way out, but he shouldn’t have to risk his life to do so.

I open my mouth to say this to him, but Betty breaks the silence before I get the chance to do so. “Bruce…”

“Betty, I don’t see what other choice I have.”

“But you heard what he said!” Betty exclaims. “This could kill you, regardless of whether or not it works!”

“She’s right, Bruce,” I gently intervene. “I think you should at least consider whether or not you want to risk that.”

But he’s shaking his head before I even get the chance to finish. “No, I’m done waiting,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for two years, and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. If there is a chance that this will cure me, then I have to take it. No matter the cost.”

“I know. I understand that, believe me, I do. I know that the Hulk –”

“The what?”

“The Hulk. It’s what the media are calling you at the moment,” I shrug. “Anyway. I know that you don’t want to turn back into the Hulk again if you can help it. All I’m saying is, at least consider if there is any other possible way to get a cure that doesn’t necessarily end with you dead.”

But even as I say the words, I can see from the look on his face that there is no getting through to Bruce. He’s tired. He’s exhausted. He’s fed up, and he wants out. After spending the last two years with no way to control his body whenever he gets angry, and after having hurt people in his Hulk form… I can understand why it is that he’s leaping on this opportunity without pausing to consider all the facts. It’s the first real bit of hope that he has had in a long time; of course he doesn’t want to let it slip past him. He doesn’t care if there is a chance that he won’t walk away from this in the end. If there’s even the smallest chance that this could work, he will take it.

And, despite my urges and belief that he really should at least think about this, I back down. At the end of the day, it is his decision to make. I told him that I would help him in whatever way I could when I first found him, and I know what it is like having no control in not only yourself, but your choices as well. So, if this is what he wants, then I won’t stop him.

Bruce must sense my surrender, as he breathes a small ‘thank you’ under his breath. But a teary-eyed Betty beside him is not backing down as easily.

“I can’t lose you again,” she whispers now, voice thick and eyes glassy.

Bruce’s face softens. “Betty…”

“You were gone for two years. Do you know how many times during those two years that I thought you were dead? That you had died from gamma poisoning and that I would never see you again? And now you’re back and I can’t – I just can’t –”

Bruce is quick to hush her, and he turns his body around to face her entirely. He whispers quiet reassurances under his breath, and it’s enough to make me silently pull myself to my feet and walk across the room, pretending to be fully engrossed with Sterns’ note. From here I can hear them talking quietly, but I can’t make out the words. Turning my back on them, I cross my arms over my chest and grant them just that little bit more of privacy, not wanting to intrude on something that I shouldn’t.

All this time, I have only been thinking about how Bruce has suffered from being apart from Betty. I had never fully considered just how badly the separation had affected her as well. The last time that she had seen was just before the explosion in the lab. She never saw him when she woke up in the hospital, she never knew where he was during the years that he was on the run. Like she said, she had worried constantly for him. If she had loved him that much, then it would have been torture. Unbearably painful to endure.

I tug thoughtfully on my bottom lip. The same had happened to me, in a sense. When I had been kidnapped, I often thought about how my partner at the time, Ward, would be affected. How he would be searching for me with Clint and Nat, whether or not he had been out of his mind wondering what had happened to me. But, considering the fact that he broke up with me almost immediately after my return home, I would say not.

It's enough to turn my heart to ice, and a pang of jealously to hit me at the sounds of the two former lovers conversing almost silent behind me. Things with Ward may not have worked out, but I truly hoped that I would find someone who loved me like the world would end if I went missing. And who would stop at nothing to get me back.

It’s the sound of gentle footsteps that pulls me from my thoughts, and when I turn on the spot, I see Bruce and Betty approaching me, hands entwined and both with wet cheeks. I pretend not to notice, however. What had just happened between them was exactly that; between them. So instead, I fix Bruce with a steely gaze. “So, we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.

“Alright then. Let’s go get this cure.”

We walk out of the office and move down the hall, following the sounds of swearing and yelling coming from one of the rooms. It’s enough for my confidence to waver slightly but I refrain from making a snarky comment of letting my features show what I really think, least I scare Bruce and Betty. But as we push past the final door and walk into the laboratory, I can’t help but raise my eyebrows at the sight in front of me.

In the middle of the room is a black, leather chair that looks like something that you’d find in a dental facility. Though, I’m guessing that the leather restraints on the arms and legs of the chair in front of me are an addition and definitely not what you would expect to see when you go to the dentist. Well, at least none of the ones that I’ve been to anyway.

Surrounding the chair in a semicircular shape are large pieces of machinery and equipment built in all shapes, sizes, and colours, some of which I have never seen before or know the name of. It’s beyond my level of understanding of science, and I can’t help but think that it looks like something that you would find in a sci-fi movie. But, Betty and Bruce seem to recognise half the equipment, as they both nod and murmur things to themselves under their breaths while I just continue to stare.

Sterns, still muttering frantically to himself, quickly presses some buttons on each piece of machinery. A sudden chorus of whirring noises fills the air as a result, and every piece of lab equipment flickers to life, thrumming as they power up. Sterns grabs a large tube filled with a lilac-coloured liquid and places it in one of the machines before turning around and facing the three of us.

“OK! Mr Banner, shirt off and on the table, if you please” he says to Bruce with a tap on the chair.

Bruce inhales deeply, before prying himself away from a reluctant Betty to remove his jacket. As his fingers tug his shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested in the cool lab air, he turns to me and sees, “If things go south… if, if I get angry –”

“I won’t let anything happen. I promise.”

It’s enough to satisfy Bruce, as he only nods and complies to Sterns’ wishes. Once he is settled, the scientist goes about inserting some needles and tubes into Bruce’s arms. He flinches every time, but quickly relaxes once Betty runs a soothing hand over his head. She whispers something quietly to him as Sterns begins to place Bruce’s limbs in the restraints, pulling on them tightly to ensure that they aren’t loose.

"These will protect you from yourself if you have a strong reaction,” he explains to Bruce. “You can tell me later if you have a strong one.”

I bite back a scoff. There is no way in hell that these things would keep Bruce still and restrained should he turn, and I turn to shoot him a knowing look, only to find that he is doing the same. It’s enough to bring a small smile to my face, despite my heart racing painfully fast inside of my chest.

But the smile is wiped from my face as Sterns moves away and starts fiddling with the machinery, his groan of frustration filling the room.

“Oh, come on!” He exclaims, before proceeding to hit the side of the machine. “Stupid graduate students!”

My already wavering confidence continues to slip at the words and, judging from the looks on Betty and Bruce’s faces, they are having similar thoughts. It’s enough to prompt Bruce to repeat, “If things go south –”

“I know, Bruce.”

“I mean it,” he pushes. “I don’t care what you have to do – just make sure that I don’t hurt anyone.”

The desperation that laces not only his voice but his features as well, once again leads me to promising that I would step in and intervene if needed. Despite the reassurance that I provide, however, I actually don’t know if I would be able to restrain him as much as he wants me to. My abilities were one thing, but the Hulk? I bite my lip. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.

The beeping noises suddenly ceases, and Sterns gives a small whoop if delight before he then hurries to some other machinery, frantically hitting some buttons. “This will be a somewhat novel sensation,” he warns Bruce.

“What –?” Betty starts to ask, but she cuts off as Bruce’s face scrunches up, a hiss eliciting from his lips. Frowning, I turn down to see his dark blood beginning to flow through the tubes still connected to his body. It flows through the tubes and through the machines in a swirl of crimson.

“The dialysis machine will mix the antidote with your blood,” Sterns says to a still squirming Bruce, either oblivious or too caught up in everything to notice Bruce’s discomfort. “Except the antidote will only work once we’ve achieved a full reaction.”

Betty continues muttering soothing words under her breath, never once faulting in her hand careful hand ministrations either. It’s enough to make Bruce relax ever so slightly.

“And we are comprehensive,” Sterns informs us happily, before then handing me a mouth guard. He nods his head down at Bruce, silently telling me to put it in his mouth. Bruce opens his mouth, allowing me to quickly comply with Sterns’ order, while the professor places some electrodes on Bruce’s head. As I draw my hand back and away from Bruce, Sterns comes back into view, this time, with an electric convulsive shocker in his hand.

“You ready?” I ask Bruce quietly. With the mouth guard in his mouth, all he can do is give me a brief nod of his head. It’s enough to make me step back, pulling a reluctant Betty along with me. The moment that we are clear and no longer touching Bruce, Sterns lowers the shocker. With the press of a switch, electricity fires and with the help of electrodes, flows directly into Bruce.

He reacts instantaneously. He bucks up against the restraints, dark eyes squeezing shut as a cry half muffled from the mouth guard elicits from the back of his throat. Betty whimpers at the sight and even I have to admit, it’s hard to watch. But before I have time to wonder if Bruce is OK, his eyes snap open, and I freeze at the sight. It’s not the warm brown hues that greet us, but rather, a vibrant green.

My hands instinctively clench into fists. “Here we go.”

Betty and I watch helplessly as his veins and skin begin to turn the shame shade of green as his eyes, and he spits the mouth guard out of his mouth. Cracks and pops quickly fill the air, and it takes me a moment to realise that it is the sound of his bones, tendons and muscles reshaping themselves into the much bigger ones that belong to the Hulk. I swear at the sounds, but the sound is easily drowned by Bruce groaning, which takes a deeper tone as his bones jut out, move and strain against his skin, getting larger and larger by the second.

“Oh my God!” Sterns exclaims, awe completely taken a hold of his face as he stares at the changing Bruce before him. Blindly, he reaches out for a lever sticking out from the machine that contains the antidote, but Betty is quick to grab his arm and stop him before he gets the chance.

“Wait! There’s more!”

At this point, the Bruce that I have come to know over the past few weeks is nowhere to be found on the chair. The Hulk has almost fully taken over, and with this comes his strength. Before anyone of us can react, he wrenches his hands and legs against the restraints, almost breaking free from them in the process.

It’s enough to make me lurch into action. Faster than blinking, I swirl my hands around in front of me before pushing one forward and the other back, palms flat and facing the thrashing Hulk on the chair. Gritting my teeth, I conjure up the strongest wind barrier that I can muster to try and hold him down, biting back a moan as pain consequently flares up along the length of my injured shoulder. But it works. The Hulk tries to push himself up, but quickly finds that he can’t move, my hold against him too strong.

But with this, comes a growing agitation. Roaring, the Hulk uses every ounce of his strength to try and push his body up – and it’s enough to make me falter. Heart racing in my chest, I push back at him, but I find that it’s not as easy as the first time. He’s growing stronger by the second, and I don’t know how much longer I can restrain him at this point.

“Do it!” Betty screams to a stunned Sterns. But the professor doesn’t take in a word of what she is saying. He only stares at the Hulk with a disbelieved grin on his face, fascinated by the strange and angry creature in front of him.

“Sterns!” I bark, trying to snap him back to reality. “Hurry up! I don’t think that I can hold him for much longer!”

But it’s like talking to a brick wall. He only continues to stare, and I have the urge to reach forward and shake some sense into him. But doing so would mean releasing my hold on one very angry Hulk who would undoubtedly jump at the first chance of freedom and bolt.

But my words of warning register with Betty loud and clear and, before I have time to react, she spurs into action. Lurching forward, she vaults herself over the table and onto the thrashing Hulk, placing her hands on his shoulders and doing her best to level her gaze with his.

My jaw falls open in an instant. “What the hell are you doing?!”

She ignores me, however, and instead only starts to talk in a gentle, soothing tone to the Hulk before me. “Bruce? Just stay with me, OK? Just stay with me. Just stay with me…”

"Sterns, do it now!” I once again try to order the professor. When he still doesn’t listen, I snap. Patience wearing thin, a snarl falls from my lips and I raise my leg to kick him in the back of his. He falls to the ground with a thud, but it’s enough to shake him out of his stunned stupor.

"Do it now!” I scream so loudly that it makes my ears ring. But it works, as Sterns only nods his head at my words and pulls himself upright. With a determined cry he leaps forward and grabs the lever, yanking it down without so much as an ounce of hesitation.  

I don’t let my guard drop, however, and continue to maintain my hold on the barrier, watching as the lilac liquid slowly drains from the test tube and mixes with Bruce’s blood as it slowly makes its way into his body.

At first, nothing happens. It’s enough to make me panic and I immediately jump to the worst conclusion; it hadn’t worked. But the stern, more patient and rational voice in my head orders me to wait before I give in to the panic. It had only just entered his system. It may just need to take a moment to kick in and work.

And that’s exactly what happens.

The Hulk lets out one last roar which quickly turns into a groan, his green eyes squeezing shut. When he reopens them a few moments later, they are no longer the unnatural lime green that they had been before, but rather the familiar dark orbs that belong to Bruce. The relief that hits me at the sight is so overwhelming that my knees threaten to buckle where I stand.  

“Bruce,” I exhale, watching as the Hulk starts to slowly shrink back down to Bruce’s regular size. This time though, it isn’t the sound of bones cracking or pained groans that fill the air, and I welcome the silence greatly.

“It’s – it’s working,” Betty breathes from where she still sits on top of him, watching in awe as his skin returns to its normal healthy pink colour, the veins slowly turning back into the blue that they should have been.  

"He’s stabilizing!” Sterns informs us.

At this point, there is no traces of the Hulk left. Only Bruce remains. A smile threatens to seep across my face at the sight, but it is short-lived as I notice that he has fallen unconscious, chest barley rising and falling where he lays.

Bile rises to the back of my throat, and Sterns’ words of caution ring in my ears as I stare at the pale man before me. Sure, it had been a risk that he had been willing to take, but had it really cost him his life in the process?

The Hulk no longer a threat, I instantly drop my hands and barrier holding him down. Hurrying forward, I reach out to gently grab at his arm, giving the limb a small and desperate shake as I peer down at him. “Bruce? Can you hear me?”

“Please,” Betty whimpers, tears streaming down her cheeks and landing on Bruce in delicate splats as she reaches forward to gently cup his face in her hands.

The moment that her fingers find their place against his cheeks, he blinks his eyes open.

It’s enough to make me sag with relief. Sterns lets out a cry mixed with both relief and shock, still likely recovering from what he had just witnessed. And Betty? She only lets out a wet laugh, leaning forward to place a kiss against his forehead. “You did it!” She whispers against his skin, her tears turning from those of sadness to joy instead. “You’re OK! You did it!”

“It’s over?” He whispers.

“It’s over,” I confirm a wide smile on my face.

We did it.

Bruce is cured.

Chapter Text

"That was the most extraordinary thing that I have ever seen in my entire life!”

The excited exclamation bursts from Stern’s mouth as he paces along the length of the rug before us, his excitement practically radiating from him as he continues to move. Bruce, Betty and I, all huddled together on the couch in front of him watch him as he moves, our heads moving backwards and forwards like spectators at a tennis match. 

The moment that Bruce had woken up and realised that the Hulk was no more, Sterns had been quick to run some quick tests to ensure that everything was OK. I had practically been bouncing on the balls of my feet, anxiously waiting for Sterns to give us the all clear and judging from the way that Betty had nervously wrung her hands while we had been waiting, she was just as anxious about whether or not Bruce was OK.

The man in question, though shaken, was nothing but happy, a big, toothy smile splitting Bruce’s face in two. I can’t read minds, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it was that he had been thinking; the Hulk was gone. The Hulk was gone, and he was free to live his life as just Bruce. Or, at least, he hoped he could.

But the lab work came back clean. Everything was fine, Sterns had assured us, barely able to get the words out thanks to the overwhelming sense of excitement that he was feeling. It had made him giddy, and it had remained even after he had guided us back to the room he had originally sat us down in. It had remained as he had assured Bruce that it appears that he was OK, and it had remained as he paced along before us, rambling half to himself as he reflects on what it is that he had seen back in that lab of his.

But whereas he feels excitement, the rest of us are impatient, wanting answers and wanting them now.

“OK, you know what? Stop, please,” Betty snaps. It’s enough to make me arch a brow in surprise, but to be fair to her, she had been an anxious mess for the past twenty-minutes. As she had said to Bruce, she had just gotten him back. If there is even the slightest chance that this would no longer be the case, then she would want to know immediately.

“We need to go back and talk about what just happened in there!”

Sterns ceases his pacing to stop and turn to us, the eager smile still etched to his face. “Right! Right, of course! Absolutely, OK –”

“Sterns,” I say calmly, trying to steer him back on track.

"Right. Sorry! The gamma pulse came from the amygdala. Now, I think that Doctor Ross’ primer lets the cells absorb the energy temporarily and then it abates it. That’s why you didn’t die of radiation sickness years ago!”

Too tired – and relieved – to answer, Bruce only offers the professor a small nod of his head.

“Now, maybe we’ve neutralised those cells permanently, or maybe we have just suppressed the event. I’m inclined to think the latter, but it’s hard to know because none of our other test subjects survived, but of course, they weren’t getting the primer! But –”

And just like that, my stomach drops with dread.

Test subjects?

Bruce immediately straightens, likely having picked up on the small detail that Sterns has inadvertently revealed. All traces of tiredness vanish from his face as he leans forward, and in its place is a nervousness I haven’t seen from him before. “Wait, wait, wait,” he interrupts. “What did you just say?”

“I said that they weren’t getting the myrostatin primer –”

“No, that’s not what he meant,” I say, mirroring Bruce’s actions and leaning forward where I sit as well. “He meant before that.”

"Test subjects?” Bruce asks a confused Sterns. “What test subjects?”

Sterns blinks, before a grin spreads across his face. “Come with me,” he says, beckoning for us to follow him as he moves towards the doorway. Silently, our small little trio hurry after him, too nervous about what it is that we are about to stumble upon to say anything to one another.

He leads the three of us down the hall and further past the lab where Bruce had been strapped down only fifteen minutes prior. We don’t stop until we reach the last door which he eagerly holds open for the three of us. But the moment that Bruce, Betty and I cross the threshold, we halt in our tracks and our eyes widen in what can only be described as terror.

The room is lined with dozens of glass cabinets, each filled with an array of objects. Some contain test tubes, chemicals, microscopes and beakers, but these aren’t what have caused us to stop and stare. It’s the sight of blood bags filled to the brim with a dark, crimson blood that fills the majority of these cabinets, every single one of them labelled with a batch number, the strength and a single name;

MR GREEN.

Bruce’s blood.

I swear, slowly walking up to one of the cabinets and peering at the blood, the realisation of what Sterns has done hitting me as hard and as fast as a freight train.

“We started on rats and mice, but it completely fried them,” Sterns happily explains, completely oblivious to our troubled states. “So we had to go bigger, but we still don’t know which is more toxic; the gamma, or your blood?”

"What do you mean my blood?”

"Bruce… this is all you,” I explain, my words eliciting a gasp from him in turn. When I turn to look at him, I see that he has gone deathly pale as he also stares at the blood stored in the glass cabinets. Behind him, Betty raises a hand to her mouth to stifle the gasp that slips out.

“Miss Hathaway is right!” Sterns exclaims, moving away from the door and deeper into the lab. “You didn’t send me much to work with, so I had to concentrate it and make more!”

His words cause something to snap inside of Bruce, and a thunderous expression takes a hold of the features of his face. It starkly contrasts the usual nervousness or uncertainty that I have associated with him over the past few weeks, and it’s enough to make me flinch in shock. But Bruce doesn’t notice. He only pulls himself away from the cabinet and marches after Sterns. Betty and I briefly exchange a worried glance before we hurry after him.

Both Sterns and Bruce have gathered around a bench across the other side of the room, Sterns babbling almost incoherently on one side, while Bruce moves to stand on the side closest to the window. As Betty and I hurry towards them, it becomes easier for us to discern exactly what Sterns is saying;

“With a little more trial and error, there’s no end to what we can do! This – this is potentially Olympian! This gamma technology has limitless applications, we’ll unlock hundreds of cures, make humans pervious to disease –!”

“No,” Bruce is quick to interrupt with a shake of his head. “No, we have to destroy it.”

“Wait, what?”

“All of it,” Betty adds.

“Tonight,” I agree.

At the sound of my voice, Bruce turns to me. “I need you to incinerate it. Can you do that?”

My fingers twitch in response, seconds away from clicking and allowing fire to engulf them and doing just that. “Won’t be a problem.”

“What?!” Sterns shrieks. “We can’t destroy it! We have to use it! I mean, we could get the Nobel prize for this!”

"You don’t understand the power of this thing!” Bruce snaps. “It’s too dangerous; it can’t be controlled!”

“But we have the antidote now!”

"They don’t want the antidote, they want to make it a weapon!” I argue, walking around the corner to stand next to Bruce, a glare on my face as I stare down Sterns across from us. He’s playing with fire, messing with something that he truly doesn’t understand. Ross and that soldier of his had done the same thing and look where that had got them in the end. Not that Ross has learnt his lesson though. And if he got word on what it is that Sterns has done here…

My stomach twists at the thought. As Bruce said, this thing is too powerful to be controlled, which means that a lot more people are likely going to get hurt. Unless we can prevent that from happening.

"And if we let it go, then we will never get it back!” Bruce adds. “You just don’t understand how powerful this thing is, and how desperately people want it!”

To my absolute fury, Sterns only rolls his eyes. “Look, I hate the government just as much as anyone, but you’re being a little paranoid, don’t you think?”

My lips inch back into a silent snarl. But before I get the chance to reprimand him, there’s a crash and then a grunt of pain from Bruce beside me. I whirl around in an instant, managing to catch him as he slumps forward, body limp and heavy in my arms. I struggle with the sudden and unexpected weight, but I manage to crane my neck to look behind him. Too my horror, I discover that the window behind him has a hole in it, and there is a dart containing God knows what lodged between his shoulder blades.

Sterns yelps and Betty rushes forward, immediately coming to my aid and helping me with Bruce, who is becoming limper and heavier by the second. Whatever it is that is in that dart, it’s strong, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he passes out within the next thirty seconds. I hastily reach behind him and pry the dart out, both my mind and heart racing as I realise who it is that has likely fired a dart.

A soldier.

Ross is here.

Panicking, I try to usher Bruce down to the ground. “Betty, I need you to take him. I have to destroy the blood –”

“Get out!”

Betty and I simultaneously whip out heads to the entrance, and our mouths part in disbelief at the sight of none other than Blonsky stalking towards us.

I stare, stunned. The last that we had seen him, he had been lying motionless and broken on Culver University grounds, half dead and injured beyond recognition. But now? He’s pale and a little sweaty, but otherwise fine. Surely it is the serum that has somehow pieced him back together again –

He moves, striking as quick as a snake. Before I have time to react, he launches himself forward and pulls me from Bruce. As if I weigh nothing more than a ragdoll, he throws me through the air, sending me flying into one of the glass cabinets. I yelp as the glass shatters on impact and one of the shelves dig painfully in my back, before I fall to the ground face first, the equipment and broken shards falling around me. Groaning and dazed, I lift my head up just in time to see Blonsky yank Betty away from Bruce in the same manner that he had for me, before throwing her to the side where she lands on the floor with a heavy thud.

"What the hell?!” Sterns screams, scurrying back away from the raging soldier as he pounces on a dazed Bruce now slumped on the ground. He wastes no time in grabbing Bruce’s face and roughly shaking his head, an ugly sneer on his face.

"Where is it?” He snaps, shaking Bruce even harder now. When he doesn’t see whatever it is that he’s after, he raises a hand before slapping Bruce across the face – hard. It’s enough to make Bruce cry out in pain but Blonsky doesn’t relent. “C’mon! Where is it?” he screams, spit flying from his mouth before he delivers another slap.

Snarling, I push myself up from the ground, hissing as I feel glass dig into the sensitive skin of my palms. “Blonsky, enough!”

At the sound of my voice, Blonsky turns and shoots me a harsh glare, pulling a gun from its holster. Instinct has me snapping my palms up and around myself to create a barrier that no bullet would be able to penetrate, but it’s not me he aims for. Instead, he slams the butt of the gun down hard and fast, a sickening crack echoing throughout the air as it makes contact with Bruce’s skull.

He loses consciousness on impact.

It’s enough to make me surge forward. Too focused on the still and lolling Bruce before him, Blonsky doesn’t seem me coming until it’s too late. He turns just as I finish a spin kick, my foot slamming hard and fast into the side of his face. He grunts and stumbles back, thankfully not managing to trod on Bruce as he moves.

I hurry after him and swing a fist towards his face. But he recovers quicker than I anticipate and dodges to the side at the last moment, before quickly blocking the three sharp jabs that I aim for his throat with my non-injured arm. Snarling, I aim yet another kick for his face, but he moves faster than blinking. He stops and grabs my leg before I can drive it home and, with an impossible strength, he pulls and flings me through the air. The world blurs as I fly and land with a heavy crash into yet another glass cabinet before falling to the ground in a sea of glass shards, groaning and wincing as they cut into my skin. The shoulder that’d had the bullet tear through it screams in agony, and I desperately reach up to clutch at it with my good hand.

But there’s no time to recover. Gasping as I glance up, I see Blonsky already stalking towards me from the other side of the room, a look of utter fury etched to his features. With that damn serum in his veins, there is no way that I can beat him hand to hand. He’s too strong and fast, and if I continue to engage with him, then there is only one way this will end. So, with a snap of my hands, I create strong enough gust of wind that sends the super soldier flying off his feet and pins him to wall beside the broken window.

He swears, but I don’t relinquish my hold. Fingers splaying, I only shakily pull myself up to my feet, face twisting into a silent snarl as I behold the struggling soldier before me. “Last time I saw you, you were practically dead.” 

He laughs, not an ounce of humour to be found in the sound. “It’ll take more than that to kill me.”

“Yeah, well, that super soldier serum in your veins probably helped kept you alive. Am I right?”

He blinks in surprise, likely not having known that I knew about the serum. Keeping my hand splayed before me, I turn at the sound of a pained whimper from somewhere behind me. I almost sag in relief at the sight of Betty slowly pulling herself up to her feet, before clutching at the hand that Blonsky had grabbed her by.

"Is it broken?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “N-no. It’s OK. I’m OK.”

“Good. Can you check Bruce for me?”

She hurriedly crosses the room and drops down to the floor beside her former lover, his name falling in soft murmurs from her lips as she tries to gently shake him awake. Movement out of the corner of my eye tells me that Sterns is still in the room and is slowly peeking at us from around one of glass cabinets that remains intact. I don’t bother to ask him if he’s OK – he had cleared from the fight as soon as it had started. Instead, I turn my attention to Blonsky still pinned to the wall before me.

“Alright, Blonsky. Where’s Ross?”

I don’t expect an answer. But too my surprise, the blonde super soldier snaps, “He’s down in the lobby with the rest of the soldiers. They’ll be up here any minute.”

I frown. Ross had likely sent him up here for another round with Bruce; you’d think he would have learned after what happened last time. “How’d you find us?” When he doesn’t respond, I glare and push my hand forward, increasing the pressure keeping him pinned to the wall.

He grunts at the new force but gets the picture. He spits, “We intercepted Banner’s email. Found his laptop when we searched his place back in Rocinha.”

I silently curse. I’d had a bad feeling about Bruce sending the email, but there is nothing that can done now. I open my mouth to ask another question, but before I can get a word out, Blonsky beats me to it;

“Why don’t you drop the little air act, and give me a proper fight?”

And then, it clicks. “That’s why you’ve been chasing us? You want a damn challenge?” I tsk and shake my head. “Oh, man. If that’s why you signed up to this manhunt and became Ross’ little guinea pig, then you’re a bloody idiot with too much time on your hands.”

“And you’re a coward,” he sneers. “Go on. Drop the abilities. Let’s go a few rounds, then see who lands on top this time.”

“No thanks. I’ll pass.”

“Too scared?”

“Too smart, actually. Like I said that super soldier serum flowing through your veins right now gives you the upper hand here. That’s not a fair fight and we both know it.”

“You don’t have the balls,” he taunts.

The grin I shoot his way is almost feral. “Same thing your wife said when you asked if the kids were yours.”

Betty gasps. Sterns lets out a muffled sound that closely resembles a giggle. And Blonsky? His face flushes a crimson red and his features pull back into a dark scowl that causes my grin to widen at the sight of it. But before I can have any more fun, there’s a crash and then soldiers suddenly flood the room. They bark out orders as they stride forward towards a fallen Bruce and worried Betty beside him, a few even approaching a freaked-out Sterns who squeaks and immediately raises his hands.

“Drop your hands, Miss Hathaway,” A female soldier with tanned skin and dark hair pulled tightly away from her face commands as she marches forward. Her steady tone and stride ooze confidence, but I can tell that she is unsure by the way that her eyes flicker warily between Blonsky and I.

“My name is Major Kathleen Sparr,” she introduces, coming to a stop mere feet away from me. “This doesn’t have to get ugly –”

Before she has the chance to finish her sentence, I drop my hands back to my side and release my hold on Blonsky. He makes a small noise of surprise before dropping back down to the ground, lips curled back into a snarl that he directs towards me. Kathleen raises a brow at my sudden and quick compliance, but I only offer her a shrug.

Straightening up, Blonsky moves to lurch forward –

"Stand down, Blonsky,” Kathleen barks at him. “You went against direct orders and in the process, almost jeopardized this whole mission. There will be consequences for this later, but until then, stand down and stay where you are.”

The look that Blonsky shoots her at this is filthy, but nevertheless, he stiffens and complies with her wishes.

Now that he is no longer a threat, I turn back around to see soldiers still surrounding Betty, who has pulled Bruce half into her lap. She ignores the quiet orders from the soldiers to let go of him and only continues to stroke a hand through his dark curls, tears welling in her round eyes. The sigh of this is enough to make my heart lurch and turn towards the Major still standing beside me.

"He’s no longer a threat you know. We’ve found a cure.”

“Regardless, I still have orders to follow,” Kathleen replies not unkindly. “And my orders are to bring Banner into custody and to take Miss Ross home.”

“And me?” I ask, not knowing whether or not I would like the answer. But I have to know. I have to know what exactly it is that Ross intends to do with me now that he knows what I am capable of.

“The General never gave me instructions on what to do with you, Miss Hathaway. It’s my understanding that your Director has intervened and explained to Ross that you were merely helping Banner on his orders.” My eyes widen at her words. Fury had spoken to Ross? But before I can ask her for more details, she informs me, “As far as I am aware, you are free to go. Nothing and no one would be able to stop you if you wanted to leave right now.”

I’m shaking my head before she is even finished speaking, turning my head back to face Bruce and Betty, the latter finally listening to the soldiers and allowing them to pry Bruce from her grip.

“No. I’m not leaving yet,” I say quietly. “I’ll stay for as long as Ross allows me.”

"Why bother?” Kathleen asks. “Banner’s not going to be here for very long. Like I said, Ross is carting him off into custody. And we still have to talk to Sterns about some of the things that we found in the room down the hall –”

Like a bolt of lightning hitting me, I jolt, the sudden movement causing Kathleen to jump in surprise. With my confrontation with Blonsky, I had completely forgotten about the need to destroy everything in this lab so that Ross couldn’t get his hands on it. If I was to burn it right now, then I have no doubt that Ross would have me arrested, and there wouldn’t be much I could do to help Bruce if I was locked away behind bars. But maybe I could convince the Major that Ross cannot, under any circumstances, get a hold of the work that Sterns has done here. She may not believe me, and disregard anything I tell her. But if I can plant a seed of doubt about her boss in her mind, then maybe I can by enough time for me to contact Fury so that he can pull some strings and ensure that nothing is in this lab falls into Ross’ hands.

“You have to destroy it. The data, Bruce’s blood – everything. You have to destroy it before Ross can touch it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve seen in the past couple of weeks what Bruce is capable of. The amount of damage he can accidently cause while he’s the Hulk. If Ross gets his hand on it again –”

It’s here that Kathleen’s brows furrow. “Again? What do you mean?”

Not bothering to keep my voice down, as the more soldiers that know Ross is a manipulative, lying asshole the better, I hiss, “Don’t you think that it’s a bit off that Ross would put so much gruelling effort, time, resources and men just to track down one man?”

“But – but he was angry about what Banner had done to his daughter!”

"You mean that day in the lab? Why was Ross even there in the first place? Why was he so invested in a gamma radiation experiment?” When Kathleen remains silent, and I see the first flicker of doubt washing over her features, I lean in close to whisper, “You might want to sit ad think about what kind of person that you’re working for, Major. Ross isn’t who you think he is. He doesn’t give a damn about Bruce. All Ross cares about is the power inside of him and he will stop at nothing to try and get that power and use it to his own advantage. You think Bruce was bad, in his Hulk form? I can guarantee you that anything that Ross comes up with will be ten times worse. Unless someone like you can stop it.”

And with that, I walk away and move towards where Betty now stands, leaving the Major to mull over my words. I pass Blonsky on the way and only him a brief smirk when I notice the harsh glare etched to his features as he watches me move, but otherwise, I don’t pay him attention. All I can think about is my conversation with Kathleen. I know that it is a long shot, a feeble attempt at keeping everything from Ross. But hopefully, it will buy me enough time to get on the phone to Fury so that he can sort this shit out.

Not long after my abrupt departure from the Major, some of the soldiers cart in a stretched and handcuff a now conscious but still Bruce to it. There’s an icepack strapped to his head for the large lump that had quickly formed in the middle of his forehead after Blonsky had hit him with the butt of the gun, and he’s a little groggy, but otherwise, OK. With the flux of soldiers surrounding him, it is impossible for me to be able to get close enough to assure him that everything would be alright. That I would not let him rot away in a prison cell for the rest of his life, used as some kind of lab rat like Ross wants him to.

Betty also receives treatment for a sprained wrist – thanks to Blonsky – and Kathleen even orders for some of the soldiers to look at the bullet wound on my shoulder as well. They fix up what Samson and I couldn’t and provide me with pain medication, and I can’t help but sag with relief once I feel it start to settle in. I murmur small thanks to both the soldiers and Kathleen, who offers me a quick and small smile in return. Hope flares within me at the sight. Perhaps she had taken what I had said about Ross into consideration. Good.

Now, as the soldiers begin to cart Bruce out of the building, Betty and I follow silently behind them, leaving Kathleen, Blonsky and a handful of other soldiers behind to question a very confused Sterns. As we walk, I gently reach over and give Betty’s good hand a gentle and reassuring squeeze, murmuring to her that it would be alright. I wasn’t going to let her father have Bruce for too long.  

She only sniffs in response, squeezing my hand as if her life depends on it.

As we step out onto the front steps of the science building of Grayburn college, I am surprised to see that it is now dark outside. A quick glance at Betty’s watch informs me that it is almost ten in the evening – had we really been inside for that long?

I’m dragged out of my thoughts, however, as we finish our descent and notice Ross approaching us from a chopper parked on the lawn. There is nothing but relief as he stares at Betty beside me, but I in turn receive nothing but daggers. The look he provides Bruce is one of pure lividness, but Bruce matches it with a heated glare of his own.

Ross motions for the soldiers carrying Bruce in the stretcher to stop beside him. Leaning down so that his head is level with Bruce’s, he quietly threatens, “If you took it from me, then I’m going to put you in a hole for the rest of your life.”

“You do that Ross, and I’ll bury you in a deeper one,” I vehemently declare, watching as the angry General stiffens at the sound of my voice. It’s only when he straightens back up and looks at me that I coolly continue, “The only different is though, is that you’ll spend the rest of your miserable existence rotting in it, while Bruce gets to live out the rest of his life.”

As the soldiers begin to cart Bruce over towards the chopper, Betty and I start to move after them. But the moment that I am within arm’s reach, Ross grabs me by the arm and pulls me back. His hand doesn’t stay too long, however, as I wrench it free and snarl at the angry General before me.

"Don’t touch me.”

“You’re not coming with us.”

“The hell I’m not!”

“You may be a SHIELD agent, Hathaway, but that does not mean you have the right or the authority to question or disobey my orders.”

I let out a bitter chuckle, not an ounce of humour to be heard in the sound. “Right. ‘Cause you’re all about order Ross, aren’t you?”

A tick appears in the side of his jaw. “Enough –”

“You, are a moron,” I seethe, ignoring him altogether. “You don’t give a rat’s ass about order or control. You’re just a greedy, arrogant fool who’s too stupid to realise that he’s in way over his head. And everything that has happened over the past few days? All the people that have been hurt? That’s on you, Ross. You and your stupid greed and need for power. Power, which you’re never going to get now.”

Tension hangs thick in the air as the last of my words trail off, and anger burns so brightly through my veins that I feel as if I am about to combust on the spot. And Ross? He just glares at me, but I can tell by the way that he clenches his hands into angry fists by his side that I’ve hit a nerve. It’s a long time before he speaks, but when he does, he says dangerously low, “You need to leave. Now. You’re not coming with us.”

“I heard you the first time, Asshole,” I snap, before turning around and facing Betty, who has been listening to the two of us with a scowl that she fixates on her father in front of her. But when she turns to me, her features soften.

“I’m sorry that you have to get dragged into all of this, Betty.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m just glad that we cured him.”

“Yeah, well… it’s not over just yet. We still have to get Bruce out, but I promise you, I will get him out.”

“And I’ll be there to help you,” she firmly promises. “Do you need any money for a cab or anything?”

“No, that’s OK. I think I’m going to go and get a drink before I head home. And I’ve got a few phone calls to make as well.” A beat. Then; “You go with Bruce and stay for him as long as they allow. Tell him that I’m sorry that it came to this, but that I promise this won’t be the last that he sees of me.”

I’m not sure who reaches for who, but in the next moment, we find ourselves wrapped in a light hug. If not for our injuries, I would have held on tighter, something telling me that Betty would have done the same. “Thank you for bringing him back to me,” she whispers in my ear.

I smile and say nothing, prompting Ross to grunt impatiently from where he stands behind me, “Let’s go, Betty.”

At his word, we both whirl around to face him, harsh glares settling on our faces. I open my mouth, but before I can even muster a snarky response, Betty beats me to it;

“I will never forgive you for what you’ve done to him.”

Ross flinches. “He’s a fugitive –”

“You made him a fugitive,” Betty snaps, voice as cool as ice. “To cover your failures and to protect your career. Don’t ever speak to me as your daughter again.”

“It’s only because you’re my daughter that you’re not in handcuffs too,” Ross argues back.

“And the ‘Father of the Year’ award goes to…” I say, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Ross snarls. But Betty only offers me a tearful smile. Giving my hand one last final squeeze in thanks, she allows Ross to guide her over towards the helicopter where Bruce and the handful of other soldiers wait. I watch as they walk up the ramp of the chopper and strap themselves in before the aircraft whirls for life. I keep my eyes trained on Betty and Bruce – who is now handcuffed but sitting upright directly across from Betty, a small smile on his face despite the dire circumstances – and I keep staring at them until the ramp closes and the chopper flies off into the air, leaving me a few other soldiers behind.

It's when the chopper is nothing more than a small dot in the sky that all hell breaks loose.

There’s a crash and a scream, and I whirl around to see two soldiers flying out from a now broken window of Stern’s laboratory a couple of stories up, the soldiers on the ground with me screaming in surprise as glass rains down on then. As the two soldiers scream and descend closer to the ground, I fling my arms out and slow them down with a strong gust of wind that sends them sprawling on the soft grass of the lawn, rather than smacking against the building across the quad.

Gunshots fill the air, and I look up to see the laboratory above flashing, smoke billowing out through the broken window.

“Delta four to leader! They took out two of our guys, two of our guys!” A soldier on the ground closer to the building screams. “Blonsky and the Major are still inside!”

They? Who was ‘they?’ I open my mouth to call out to the soldier, but before I can demand to know what the hell is going on, the wall of Stern’s laboratory explodes in a cloud of debris, bricks and dust. A quick wave of my hands sends stray pieces flying harmlessly over both my and the soldiers’ heads, and glancing up through the smoke, I stare dumbfounded at the sight of a huge, broad orange like creature leaping through the large gap in the building and landing on the street with a loud thud that shakes the earth. Before I can get a proper look at what the hell it is, it takes off down a side ally, roaring loudly as it goes.

I stare at it, mouth agape and eyes wide. Whatever it was that I had just seen it almost looked like… like…

Like a damn Hulk. But bigger if that were even possible.

But it shouldn’t be possible. Bruce is cured and is already on the chopper halfway out of the city. And his other, meaner form sure as hell isn’t orange. But there can’t be another Hulk. It would be impossible to create another –

I freeze. Unless you have the data from the original experiment and Bruce’s blood.

Oh. Oh shit.

With a click of my fingers, fore engulfs my hands, and I bend my knees before pushing off the ground and flying up through the air and towards the large gap in the building. The soldiers down below shout and run about in a chaotic manner, with some racing off after whatever the hell it had been that had burst out of the building. But I don’t follow them, not yet. I need to see what has happened inside first and try to figure out what the hell had happened up here after we left.

I soar through the hole and land on two feet in the middle of the what remains of the laboratory. Equipment is broken and scatted throughout the torn room. There is blood spilt all over the floor and the lights built into the ceiling above me keep flickering. Kathleen Sparr is sprawled on the ground over in the corner of the room. Whether she is alive or dead, I can’t tell. Extinguishing the fire in my hands, I move to go over and check on her, but movement out of the corner of my eye causes me to halt in my tracks.

Sterns leans against the wall on the far side of the room, his face pale and covered in dust and blood from a nasty looking cut on his forehead. He’s awake however, muttering things to himself quietly under his breath. But at the sight of the person standing before him, gun in their hand and raised towards the scientist before them, my hands drop to my side in shock.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

Natasha Romanoff’s lips spread into a smirk at my surprised outburst. The gun in her hand doesn’t waver as she tilts her head, considering me. “Is that any way to greet a friend, Lydia?” she teases. Her long, auburn curls have been swept up in a ponytail, the ends of them brushing against the back of her dark Black Widow suit.

“I thought you’d be glad to see me – it’s been a while.”

I blink and extinguish the fire in my hands, my mind struggling to make sense of the scene in front of me. The destroyed lab. Sterns, bleeding and still muttering to himself. Nat standing in front of him with a gun aimed at his face. Nat, who I thought was meant to be on the other side of the world right now.

“Aren’t you meant to be in Tokyo? For a mission?”

She shrugs. “Things changed. Fury called me in, cutting the mission a little short. He thought you’d need some help when Ross showed up, so he sent me here to help.”

My lips press into a tight line. “A little warning would have been nice.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“I’m not talking about that. If Fury knew Ross was coming, why the hell didn’t he tell me?”

Despite my growing frustration, the small smirk remains on my friend’s plump lips. “Fury met with Ross yesterday and told him that it would be in everyone’s best interest if Ross stopped the manhunt for Doctor Banner. He thought he’d gotten through to Ross, but then Banner slipped up by sending that email. By the time he found out Ross was coming, it was too late.”

“He managed to call you though, didn’t he?”

Nat sighs. “Let’s worry about Fury and his tendencies to keep secrets later and deal with the problem at hand, Lyd.”

I grumble incoherently. If we were in more ideal circumstances, I would demand answers. I would push this as far as I could, even if that meant ringing my boss and giving him a piece of my mind for failing to communicate properly again. But Nat’s right. There are more pressing issues to deal with right now – like whatever the hell it is that had burst through the lab a couple of minutes ago. My frustration with Fury would have to wait a little longer.

“Fine. Let’s start with the obvious then,” I say, gesturing towards the muttering professor before her. “Why the hell are you aiming at him, and not the thing that just bust through the wall?”

The smirk fades. “That thing was gone by the time I got up here. When I came in, Sterns attacked me.”

My face scrunches in disbelief. “Sterns tried to attack you? Like… this Sterns? Samuel Sterns?”

“Do you see any other Sterns in the room?”

“Alright, smartass,” I snap. “But – Nat, he’s smaller than you for Christ’s sake. How the hell did you manage to let him attack you?”

“I didn’t let him attack me –”

“Samuel Sterns?”

At the sound of the lilted voice, Nat and I turn to see that Sterns has straightened where he previously lay crumpled on the ground. His eyes are glassy and there’s a trace of a smile hovering over his lips. He’s speaking to us, I think, but he’s not looking at us. He’s likely a little dazed from being thrown around so much by both Nat and whatever that orange thing had been.

“I – I think perhaps I was Samuel Sterns,” he continues slowly. “But now… now I shall become much more…”

My brows furrow. “Huh?”

“For I am changed now,” Sterns says, continuing on as if I hadn’t spoken. His face is pale as he finally tilts it up to look at Nat and I before him, and he doesn’t seem at all fazed by the gun still pointing at him in Nat’s hand. “I see my future unfolding. A design defined by power and influence. A future that begins this very instant.”

I slowly nod, as if I understand a word of what he is saying. Then, from the corner of my mouth, I mutter to Nat, “How hard did you hit him?”

“That’s the thing: I didn’t,” Nat replies. When I raise a brow, she explains, “He was already talking like this when I found him. I tried to speak to him, but he lunged at me. All I did was shove him back. Whatever the orange thing was, it must have gotten to him first and hit him hard enough to make him… well, like this.”

I hum, showing her that I’m listening. But I’m not entirely convinced by her words. There’s something about the way he’s behaving and his strange choice of words that makes my skin crawl. Something’s not quite right here. Cautiously, I bend down to inspect the professor more closely, hands clenched at my side and ready to swing if he tried to lunge at me like he had Nat. But Sterns doesn’t move. He just sits there and watches as I crouch before him, eyes sweeping over his form to see if there’s anything out of place.

I’m just about to give up when my eyes land on the bleeding wound on Sterns’ head. They narrow as I notice something in the wound that definitely isn’t blood. It looks almost… green. Like something had been spilled onto it and is now mixing with his crimson red blood.

“You see it, don’t you?” Sterns whispers. “You see what his blood did to me. It made me – Godlike.”

You see what his blood did to me?

I close my eyes, dread coiling tightly in the pit of my stomach as I realise what has happened. That orange thing had smashed every cabinet containing Bruce’s blood. Some of it must have spilled into Sterns’ open wound, mixing both his blood with Bruce’s gamma infected strain.

 Bruce’s gamma infected blood, that currently coats the floor of the lab, the broken bits of machinery – it’s everywhere.

I swear and turn to look back at Nat. “Is anyone else meant to be coming up here?”

"I called for an extraction team just before you came in. Why?”

“Tell them they’re gonna need hazmat suits – don’t let anyone touch the blood, including yourself,” I warn, my eyes darting towards Kathleen Sparr and the other unconscious soldiers across the room. “They need to be checked – make sure that they don’t have any open wounds and if they do –”

“Lyd, what’s going on?”

“The blood - it’s Bruce’s blood, Nat. Don’t touch it.”

Her face pales, suddenly understanding the gravity of the situation. Her grip on the gun tightens, but she nevertheless reaches up with her spare hand to tap the comm tucked in her ear. She speaks lowly yet firmly as she explains the situation to whoever is on the other end of the line, urging them to properly gear up before coming anywhere near the lab.  

That eerie smile creeps back onto Sterns face. It’s all teeth and twisted glee, no true warmth to be found in it. “Like myself, Soldier Emil Blonsky has had a biological upgrade. Mine seems to have worked better than his… Abomination.”

I had expected as much – but Sterns’ words still manage to knock the breath out of me. “You turned Blonsky into that thing.”

“I did. And while flawed… he’s beautiful.”

My lips curl back in a silent snarl.

“What the hell is he talking about?” Nat asks.

I rake a hand through my blonde waves, fingers digging into my scalp with frustration. “That thing – the Abomination or whatever Sterns called it – is a soldier. Emil Blonsky. He’s been tracking Bruce and I since we left Rocinha.”

Nat’s eyes widen a fraction, the only sign of surprise she allows herself to show. “You’re saying that thing is a person? Like… like how Banner is when he turns?”

“This guy is worse,” I spit. And he is. His competitive streak, his hunger for power – there’s no one worse this could’ve happened to. If this Abomination is anything like his human counterpart, then he’s going to be angrier, more violent and more destructive than the Hulk, and that says something. And now that the Hulk is possibly gone, who the hell is going to be able to stop it?

As if sensing my dread, Nat offers, “I can call for a chopper – it would be here in minutes –”

But I’m shaking my head before she finishes. “That’s not going to be enough! If this Abomination is anything like the Hulk, then guns aren’t going to do shit! The only thing that would be powerful enough to stop it is the Hulk. And that option is currently on a chopper on its way to DC right now!”

Nat purses her lips. “The Hulk might not be the only option. There might be something else.”

“Like what?”

“You.”

I jolt to my feet. “What?” I bark. I half expect her to be joking, but when I see just how serious Nat looks, I feel my jaw slacken. “Me? You’re joking.”

“Not really, no.”

“I don’t stand a chance against that thing!”

“Well, right now, you’re all we’ve got,” Nat argues. She lowers her gun, likely deciding that Sterns is no longer a threat. “If Banner’s not an option, then you’re the next best thing. You can take it down, or at least hold it back until someone else can figure out what to do. If this Blonsky is as bad as you say he is, then he’s probably out there laying waste to Harlem trying to see how powerful he is. By the time we send a team out here, it’s going to be too late.”

I hear what she’s saying, I do. But I truly don’t know if my powers are going to be enough against this thing. I could keep it busy and distracted, sure. But how long would I be able to do so? If I use my powers for long periods of time then they drain me, and something tells me that this thing isn’t going to go down quickly or quietly. And seeing me again is likely going to piss it off, meaning that it will grow bigger and stronger.

“Hm,” Sterns suddenly pipes up. “If my calculations are correct, then there’s a 77% chance that you won’t make it back alive if you choose to fight, Miss Hathaway.”

Nat and I simultaneously turn to shoot the professor harsh glares. My heart skips a beat at his words. “Thanks, Sterns,” I sneer, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

77%. Those aren’t great odds at all. But if I don’t go out and fight – if I don’t try – then how many other people would die? What are the chances of them surviving if do nothing? Blonsky doesn’t give a shit about them. He’s ruthless, dangerous and couldn’t care less if he harmed civilians in his hunger for power. If he really is out there tearing the city apart, then someone needs to stop him, and they need to do so now.

I straighten. “You good here?” I ask Nat.

My question causes her lips to spread into a pleased smile. “I’m fine. Like I said, an extraction team is on their way up. I’ve also been given strict orders to bring Sterns in and anything related to Doctor Banner as well. Whatever Sterns did to Blonsky won’t be done again.”

“Good.” Though it will probably be studied underneath SHIELD’s watchful eye, I know that the data is in safer hands at SHIELD than it is in Ross’. Fury’s seen firsthand what this thing can do. How uncontrollable the Hulk really is. If he gets too curious, too greedy or has any ideas about using this research to create something… well. I would be there to remind him why such a thing would be horrendously bad.

 “Go,” Nat urges, reaching up to gently push me towards the gap in the building. “Find Blonsky. I’ve got things covered here.”

"Good to see you, Nat. Despite the circumstances. If I survive this, we should go out for drinks.”

Her lips twitch. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Grinning, I turn on my heel and sprint towards the gap. With a determined jump, I leap through the air and snap my arms by my side. Soaring high through the sky, I fly in the direction of the screams.

*****

The scene before me is nothing short of a nightmare.

Blonsky – or the Abomination, as Sterns so eloquently put it – is tearing Harlem apart. He grabs vehicles and crushes them with his bare hands and hurls the broken pieces through the air. They slam into buildings and pedestrians, knocking them down as they flee. Police officers valiantly try to keep him at bay, but their efforts are futile. The bullets bounce off the orange monster before them, its grotesque, broad frame remaining undamaged. Bones and horns jut out from strange parts of its body, the many layers of muscle giving the Abomination a lethal appearance.

Its roars and laughter echo throughout the chaotic street, seamlessly blending with the screams of the terrified civilians who abandon their cars in the middle of the street in a panic. A group of soldiers in an army vehicle yell orders to one another as the vehicle reverses, desperately trying to put some distance between them and the raging creature before them. But the Abomination is too quick for them and catches them in an instant. It slams its foot on a taxi, the driver screaming as the vehicle is lifted high in the air while the Abomination laughs.

“Give me a real fight!” He roars at the terrified soldiers before him. He lifts the taxi higher, seconds away from slamming it down –

But he never gets the chance. I fly hard and fast, slamming on the ground in between the soldiers and the Abomination, flinging my hands up and sending the taxi flying from the Abomination’s hand. The vehicle sails through the air and lands safely behind it, the taxi driver wasting no time in scrambling out of the vehicle and taking off down the street.

The Abomination growls at the sight of me. “Hathaway!”

“Surprise, Blonsky!” I yell, grinning as fire and air lick at my fingertips. “Miss me?”

Abomination roars. He swings his arm, his target me –

But I’m faster. I snap my right palm forward, creating a powerful gust of wind that sends him hurtling back down the street. He lands with a thunderous boom against a pile of vehicles, but I don’t relent. My left palm follows, sending a stream of powerful, white-hot fire his way and pinning him to the wreckage.

“Get out of here!” I shout over my shoulder to the soldiers. Snapping out of their stupors, they scramble out of the vehicle and begin to rush back down the street. But as the last soldier hits the ground, I call, “Hey! You!”

The soldier jolts, freezing midstep.

“Yeah, you! You got a way to contact Thaddeus Ross?”

The soldier nods, before reaching for his ear. He pulls a comm out of it, quickly wiping it clean on his shirt before stepping forward and hooking it in my ear, his hand shaking. “T-This is a direct line to the General.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Anyone that’s in a ten block radius is in danger. Get as many people as you can out.”

“What are you going to do?”

I turn my head to look at the Abomination down the street. He starts to rise, my flames barely slowing him down. It causes me to stop the steady flow of flames, knowing that I need to conserve as much of my power as I can. Something tells me that I’m going to need it.

I swallow, ignore the dread begin to pile in my stomach. “I’m going to hold him off for as long as I can.”

I must sound more confident than I feel, as the soldier only nods. Casting one final glance at the snarling Abomination down the street, he turns on his heels and takes off after the other soldiers, ordering for the terrified civilians to follow him.

Once he’s gone, I turn my attention back to the Abomination. The moment that we make eye contact, he raises a fist to slam it against his chest and lets out a guttural bellow that shakes the air – a clear attempt to try and scare me. But I only stand my ground, fingers twitching.

“Alright,” I murmur, feeling that familiar surge of power within me. “Let’s go.”

The Abomination charges. Within seconds, he’s back in front of me and lifts an arm to swing at my head. But I push off from the ground and fly high out of his reach, thrusting both hands forward, allowing another steady stream of fire to flow from my fingertips and hit him square in the face.

The Abomination snarls and lifts a gnarled hand to try and block the fire, but I only grit my teeth and push forward, the heat of the flames causing sweat to coat my skin. It’s only when I hear him laughing that I stop, flying to the side as he hurtles a car my way. It sails harmlessly past me, but with a quick flourish of my hands, I send it flying back towards him. It slams into the Abomination before he has time to react, knocking him back a few steps.

But I don’t relent. Another wave of my hands sends another car slamming into him. Then another. A third, fourth and fifth. I launch every car in sight, hitting him from all sides and as fast as I can. It knocks him around, and he struggles to keep up with the storm of metal and glass. He roars and grabs at the vehicles, tearing them apart and throwing them my way, but the onslaught of cars flying at him keeps him from hitting his mark.

But eventually, the cars run out. There’s no longer any within close range that would hit him fast enough. He sees his opening and leaps, arms stretching out to grab me –

I drop to the ground and land in a crouch, fingers splaying and feeling the roots beneath the earth. Gritting my teeth, I will them to swell and snap upwards, the thickening strands bursting through the street and wrapping around Abomination the moment that he hits the ground. They slither around his body like serpents, and he growls as they pin his arms to his sides. I don’t stop until they have wrapped around him more times than I can count. It’s only when I’m confident that they will keep him at bay for a short that I reach up and tap the comm placed securely in my ear.

“This is Hathaway. Are you there, Ross?”

There’s a faint crackling. Then, Ross responds in a gravelly irritated tone, “Yes. I’m here.”

“Great. I know that you’re a world-class Dick, but I’m willing to look past that to deal with our Blonsky problem. You aware that he’s currently tearing Harlem apart?”

“Affirmative. We’ve lost visual – where’s Blonsky now?”

I eye the struggling creature before me, the sound of some of the roots snapping setting my nerves ablaze. “He’s contained, but we need a plan. Now.”

"I’ve called back to base and told ‘em to send everything they’ve got and hit Harlem –”

The rest of Ross’ words are drowned out by a triumphant bellow. The last of the root snaps away and Abomination quickly lunges, too fast for me to stop. His muscled arm whips and slams into me before I can react.

I fly faster than possible through the air, crashing through the glass window of a laundromat and slam into a row of machines. The impact knocks the wind from my lungs and I land on the floor with a heavy crash, pain flaring along every inch of my body.

I gasp, lungs burning and tears already forming in my eyes. And the Abomination? He just looms in the shattered window and laughs, leering at my battered state before him. “Is that all you’ve got?” he taunts, his voice distorted from whatever he’s become.

It takes a few moments for me to catch my breath. Eyes watering, I grit my teeth and refuse to allow any tears to fall. Instead, I push myself up, a little shaky on my legs.

“In…your…dreams, ugly,” I gasp.

His hand darts out and clamps around my torso. I yelp as he pulls me out and back onto the street, his large and disfigured fingers entrapping me and digging in harshly, bruising my flesh. “We’ll see who gets called ugly when the soldiers find your broken corpse in the middle of the street,” he growls. “Don’t worry – we’ll make it slow.”

A pained scream elicits from the back of my throat as he starts to squeeze, the pressure on my body agonising. The sickening sound of some of my ribs cracking fills the air, and the tears fall unwanted and uncontrollable Abomination – quite literally – squeezes the life out of me. My lungs burn and cave with the pressure and the lack of oxygen, panic spreading in my veins –

All thoughts fly out of my head, leaving instinct to take over. Electricity crackles throughout the entirety of my body, strong and sharp enough to make Abomination roar in both pain and surprise. He releases his hold on me in an instant, and I drop to the ground with a choked sob. But there’s no time to pause. No time to think. With a weak snap of my palms, another gust of air throws him down the street once more, a thunderous boom echoing as he slams onto the road.

The moment that he is no longer within my vicinity, I stumble. I inhale sharply, the motion causing a stabbing pain knife at my ribs. One is broken. Or three. But I don’t have time to stop. Not when Abomination is already pulling himself to his feet down the street.

He breaks into a sprint, barrelling straight for me. But I lift a foot and slam it on the ground. Ice quickly spreads along the road, moving straight for Abomination. He doesn’t notice it until it’s directly beneath his feet and by then, it’s too late. He slips and lands on his back, but I lift my arms. With one hand, I extend the ice further. With the other, I push him down along it. With a curve of my hands, the ice arches upwards, Blonsky slipping along its surface. He sails high in the air but with a thrust of my hands, he slams straight down into the earth.

But he recovers quickly. He laughs – that low, smug rasp – as he rolls onto his knees and pushes himself upright. “Had enough yet?” he calls out.

I only grin, exhaustion weighing heavy on my shoulders. “Nah – I could do this all day!” I cheerfully respond. Then, in a much quieter tone but with the grin still on my face, I reach and tap the comm. “OK - definitely can’t do this all day. Please tell me you’ve thought of something.”

"Banner has a plan.”

“Great! What is it?”

There’s a beat of silence. Abomination starts to move my way, his gait mocking.

I take a few steps back and try to catch my breath. Pain flares sharp with every move, and makes me hiss. “Sometime today would be great, Ross!”

“He wants to use the Hulk.”

“Right. What’s plan B?”

There’s a faint shuffling from the other end of the comm. Then, it’s not Ross’ voice that floods my ear, but Bruce’s instead:

"I can stop him.”

“Bruce, you don’t even know if you’ll change!” I snap, inching back as the Abomination draws closer. “Sterns said it himself – we don’t know if what he did was temporary or not!”

"Lydia, I at least have to try!” Bruce argues, desperation clinging to every word.

With every step back I take, I sag further with defeat. Deep down, I know that the only thing powerful enough to stop Abomination is the Hulk. I’m bruised, battered and bone-tired – I can’t keep doing this forever. And if bullets aren’t going to do anything, then we would need muscle to beat muscle. The Hulk was our best shot – but that’s only if he was still around and able to come out.

“Well, whatever you’re gonna do, do it now. I can’t hold him off forever.”

"Once I’m down there, leave the fighting between me and Blonsky,” Bruce firmly says. “Keep civilians clear and hold him off for a little longer – I’ll be there soon.

“Copy that,” I say, lowering my hand. With a newfound determination, I draw short in my tracks, eyeing the Abomination before me.

“Sure you wanna keep doing this?” I call out to him. He’s only fifty yards away now, the ground shaking with every stomping step that he takes. “’Cause if you need to take a breather, that’s totally fine –”

He responds by throwing a fire hydrant at me.

I jerk to the side, the red piece of metal soaring through the air. With a flick of my wrist, I create a sharp gust of wind that sends it flying back and into his face. His roar splits the air, but I’m not done yet. Water sprays from the ground where the fire hydrant had once been, and with a quick manoeuvre of my fingers, I send the water hurtling hard and fast into Abomination’s face. It’s not strong enough to stop him, but it slows him down, distracting him long enough for me to send a trail of ice his way once more. It spreads across the ground in seconds and once it reaches him, I don’t slow the ascent. Instead, I let it spread over his body, encasing him in a tight cage of ice.

“Yeah, you just take a minute,” I pant. It’s not enough to stop him, but it can keep him at bay long enough for me to catch my breath, or wait until Bruce gets here –

There’s a crack and suddenly, the ice explodes. Abomination emerges from the ice with savage roar, which only deepens when I send the ice back and into his face. The snarl on his lips tells me that he’s getting fed up with my tricks, which is both great, and not so great. Great, because it means that I’m getting to him. Not so great, because it means that he’s only getting angrier. And if he’s anything like the Hulk –

A deafening and long roar explodes behind me. I spin on the spot and my breath hitches at the sight of none other than the Hulk standing at the other end of the street, teeth bared as he glares at the Abomination before him.

Forgetting me entirely, the Abomination lets out a laugh, glee dripping from his tone as he calls out, “Hulk!”

The real fight is only just about to begin.

Chapter Text

The ground shakes as both the Hulk and Abomination charge at one another. Their menacing growls reverberate through the air, smothering the screams of the civilians, who are quick to scurry down side-alleys to escape the ensuing brawl. Not that the two creatures pay them any attention. They’re too fixed on one another, picking up their pace before they leap through the air, hands clenched and rage unleashed –

They slam into one another with a thunderous boom, the glass windows of the nearby shops shattering on impact. It’s too easy for the much bigger Abomination to force the smaller Hulk back. As they land on the ground, Abomination grabs Hulk and hurls him down the street.

He hits the ground hard and fast and keeps on rolling, smashing into overturned and burning cars. When he disappears out of my sight, I shoot up and fly to the nearest roof, hissing as pain flares with every movement. I land on the roof with a gentle thud, and hobble to the side of the building, blue eyes sweeping over the wrecked street below.

I watch as Hulk slowly pushes himself to his hands and knees, albeit clumsily. When he manages to stand on his two feet, he stumbles and falls back to his knee. The way that he shakes his head – dazed and off-balanced – tells me just how hard that hit had really been.

“No, no, no!” I mutter frantically, eyes darting towards a laughing Abomination, who draws closer and closer to the recovering Hulk. “Bruce, get up!”

As if he has somehow heard me, the Hulk takes a deep, heaving breath. Growling, he pushes himself upright once more and turns to face the still laughing Abomination.

"Come on!” Abomination calls out, the words nothing but a taunt.  

To my surprise, Hulk doesn’t immediately charge at his larger opponent. Instead, he turns towards an abandoned cop car that is miraculously intact beside him. Before I can guess what he is thinking, Hulk raises his fists and lunges forward, slamming his hands down on the vehicle with a deafening crash. He does so again. And again, and again, until the car is torn in half. With a snarl, Hulk lifts both halves of the vehicle in his hands and smashes them together, before then hurtling down the street and towards Abomination.

Abomination lurches towards the Hulk, but the Hulk shoves him back and knocks Abomination hard in the gut with the broken vehicle. Chunks of metal fly throughout the air on impact, but Hulk doesn’t relent. He takes another swing at Abomination, hitting him square in the face with a sickening crack. Punch after punch the Hulk lands on the struggling Abomination, the broken remnants of the vehicle splintering with each brutal strike. Hulk manages to pin Abomination beneath him and – with the broken car no more – seizes Abomination by the throat. Raising his fist, Hulk slams it into Abomination’s face so hard, Abomination’s head snaps back.

I can’t help but wince, watching as Abomination turns to spit a tooth out of his mouth. Glaring, he snarls up at Hulk, “Is that all you’ve got?”

Hulk bellows. He raises his fist again, but the blow never lands. Moving quicker than lightning, Abomination bends his legs and snaps them into Hulk’s gut. There’s no time for Hulk to react. The kick is strong enough to send him flying through the air and crashing straight through the fifth floor of an apartment complex.

“Shit!” I curse. There are likely people inside of that building – people that are now possibly injured. Without a second thought, I launch into the air. As the Abomination races for the building, I quicken my flight and soar into the hulk-sized gap. Smoke clouds the air, thick enough to make my eyes water. Screams ricochet off the broken walls and broken furniture is strewn across the floor. With a wave of my hands, I create a gust of wind that sends every fleck of smoke flying out into the air –

 - and straight into the Abominations face.

I jolt, my pulse spiking: he must have climbed up the damn wall. I clench my fists, ready for round two, but it seems that I have nothing to worry about for now. Abomination is too busy coughing, reaching a thick, gnarled hand to try and clear the smoke from his face.

“Oops,” I deadpan. “Was that in your eyes? My bad.”

Abomination roars. This close, the sound is strong enough to rattle my bones. He pulls an arm back and slams it forward –

But with a quick sweep of my hand, I create an impenetrable air barrier between us. His large knuckles slam into it, stopping mere inches away from my face.

He snarls, but before he has the chance to strike again, the sound of spinning chopper blades fills the air. Seconds later, the helicopter that Bruce, Ross and Betty had boarded earlier flies over the roof across the street. Sure enough, I can just make out Betty’s pale face as she peers out the window and watches the horrors unfolding before her.

The door of the chopper opens as it banks, and I spot Ross and another soldier standing behind a mounted gatling gun. Ross shouts something to the soldier, who subsequently unleashes a stream of bullets towards the Abomination still clinging to the side of the building.

As expected, the many bullets bounce off his tough skin. The ones that don’t hit their intended mark bounce harmlessly off my shield. Forgetting about me entirely, Abomination turns to roar at the relentless Ross.

"Ross!” Abomination screams, before he then begins to climb up the side of the building, disappearing from my sight. The chopper is quick to fly up after him, taking its bullets with it.

The moment that both Abomination and gunfire disappear, I drop the barrier and turn towards the screams echoing behind me. Without a second thought, I take off, moving as fast as my cracked ribs will allow me.

I don’t have to go far. The moment that I round the corner, the sight of a mother and father frantically hovering over their son half trapped beneath broken debris greets me. The boy – who couldn’t be more than eight years old – screams at the top of his lungs, his parents desperately trying to reassure him and lift the debris off him. But it’s too heavy for them, and their screams of frustration and worry fill my ears.

Gritting my teeth through the pain, I quicken my pace and move towards the small group. “I can help him!” I call out, not entirely convinced that they can hear me over their own cries. Reaching up, I grip them by the shoulders and try to pull them out of the way. “Calm down, I can help!”

They plead and cry, but nevertheless allow me to pull them back and away for their son. Once they’re clear and I’m certain that I’m not going to accidentally hit them, I snap my palms forward. A powerful gust of wind sends the debris flying from the boy and landing with a crash down the hall.

The moment he’s free, his parents push past me and help their son up. They cling to him tightly, sobbing and checking over him to make sure that he’s unharmed. My own eyes sweep over his trembling form. He’s bruised and battered, but otherwise, he’s OK. I tell his parents to make sure that they take him to the hospital for a proper check, before tearing off through the wrecked floor.

I dart past what I believe was once a kitchen, before leaping through the Hulk-sized hole and landing in another living room. Screams pierce the air from a closed door on the other side of the room. A pile of broken furniture piles against it, pinning it shut. Loud thumps echo from behind it, and the door shakes with the force of being hit. There’s smoke billowing out from the cracks in between the door and the wall: there’s a fire on the other side, and someone trapped.

A sweep of my hands sends the broken furniture sliding across the floor, and I rush forward, swinging the door open. An onslaught of smoke suddenly hits me and chokes me. Sputtering, I move to the side to allow an elderly couple to come barrelling out. Behind them, flames dance and flicker along the back wall – I can feel the heat of them from here. My eyes water thanks to the sting of the smoke, but I step forward and fling my hands forward. Within seconds, the fire is extinguished and the window is flung open, the smoke spilling out from the room and into the open air.

Once the air is clean, I wipe my eyes and turn back to the couple behind me. Deep coughs wrack their body, but they otherwise appear unharmed. Still, I ask, “Are you alright?”

The woman inhales a shuddering breath and blinks her glassy eyes up at me. She opens her mouth –

But screams at something behind me.

I whirl, half expecting to see Abomination leering at us through the open window. But to my surprise, it’s not him I see, but Hulk. He’s nothing but a green blur as he snarls and leaps up the side of the building next to this one, chasing after the fading sounds of gunfire and chopper blades.

“Get to a hospital!” I shout to the elderly couple. Before they have the chance to reply, I sprint to the window. With a skill and grace that has taken me years to master, I dive head first through the open window, the couple screaming behind me. I flip through the air but with a snap of my palms to my side, I right myself and soar upward, chasing after Hulk.

I fly over the building and see the helicopter still flying after Abomination. Gunfire snaps through the air as the soldier aims for the speedy Abomination, but his efforts are in vain. The bullets bounce off Abomination’s tough skin, causing him to laugh as he sprints forward, leaping from roof to roof. Hulk rushes after him, Abomination too focused on Ross in the chopper to realise Hulk is hot on his heels.

Abomination suddenly veers, heading straight for the hovering chopper. Knowing exactly what he is about to do, Hulk also changes his course, arms pumping as he charges closer. But he’s not quite quick enough, and there isn’t enough time for the chopper to fly out of reach. With a ferocious bellow, Abomination leaps through the air and straight for the flying craft, hands outstretched as he aims for the door –

But Hulk leaps right after him. His green fingers grab the back of Abomination’s foot and pull the orange beast down. Abomination roars, his hands missing their intended mark and grabbing the landing skids instead.

The chopper begins to fly uncontrollably through the air, the weight of the struggling Abomination and Hulk teetering it off balance. I soar after the chopper, a hand extended towards it to try and slow its chaotic descent. But Abomination isn’t making it easy. He tugs at the skids while simultaneously kicking at Hulk, his jerky movements causing the chopper to swing this way and that. I manage to send it out of the path of rooftops and buildings, but Abomination and Hulk aren’t as lucky. They swing into the corners of rooftops and billboard signs, which smash and creak beneath their weight. The two of them are relentless, however, neither of them loosening their grip.

I know that keeping the chopper in the air is likely going to cause more damage. With the uncontrollable Abomination and Hulk clinging to it, there’s no telling how quickly things can spiral out of control. My eyes sweep across the streets of Harlem, frantically searching for somewhere safe to put it down without causing more harm. My gaze quickly lands on an abandoned and half-demolished building site, which is free from any workers at this time of night. Or I hope that it is.

With a grunt, I give a fast sweep of my arms, creating an even stronger wind current. Gritting my teeth, I move my arms through the air, pulling the chopper along with the wind and closer towards the crumbling building. It’s fast, it’s messy: but it’s all that I can do. As the chopper draws closer to its destination, Hulk releases his hold on Abomination and lands on the ground with a crash. Abomination laughs, not realising how close the ground is –

A jerk of my hand sends him flying through the air. His orange body smashes through layers of stone, disappearing from sight with a heavy boom. There isn’t any time for me to watch and see if it had been enough to knock him out. With another jerk of my other hand, I set the chopper slowly on the ground. The moment it’s down, I release my hold on it, and watch as it skids along the ground before eventually coming to a halt on top of a pile of rubble.

A shaky breath slips past my lips. I lower myself through the air until my feet are back on solid ground, and I hobble over towards a still groaning Hulk on the other side of the structure. He’s on his hands and knees, his dark locks swaying as he shakes his head from side to side. I hadn’t seen him land on the ground, but it must have been a hard landing if he’s sitting dazed before me now. At the sound of my approaching footsteps, he lifts his head, green eyes narrowed as a growl rips from his chest –

“Whoa, Big Guy!” I exclaim, pulling up short and raising my arms. The movement causes pain to flare along my side, but I clamp my lips shut to stifle a hiss. The last thing I want to do is set him off. “Same side here. Remember me?”

Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting. But Hulk softening his features and giving a small grunt sure as hell hadn’t even crossed my mind as a possibility. It’s enough to catch me entirely off guard, and I stare, a little dumbfounded, as he pulls himself to his feet.

“…you good?” I ask faintly.

Hulk grunts, before turning to look at the chopper. I follow suit, and my stomach drops at the sight of sparks of electricity emitting from the rotor hub: it must have taken damage during the crash-landing. My breath catches in my throat, and I start forward, thoughts of Betty, Ross and the other soldiers at the forefront of my mind –

– only to come to a screeching halt as Abomination suddenly leaps onto the top of the chopper, his ferocious roar tearing through the air as he glares at Hulk and I.

I snarl and shake my head. “How the hell are you not dead?”

Abomination just grins, before lifting a deformed finger to wipe some green blood from the corner his mouth. He then raises his hands and clenches them, determination written all over his face.

I swear. “He just doesn’t know when to quit, does he?” I can’t help but muse to Hulk still beside me. He answers with a loud, unmistakable growl. No surprise there.   

“Right – you finish this, and I’ll get Betty and the others off the chopper.”

Hulk only roars. He charges straight for Abomination, who’s fists are raised and ready for round two. But I don’t stop and stand to watch the two titans brawl. Instead, I only weave around them and dart towards the chopper across the structure as fast as my injuries allow.

The ground shakes and roars, grunts and harsh hits echo throughout the air as I hurry towards the damaged chopper. The temptation to stop and look back is strong, but the sight of a teary Betty peering from the broken door of the chopper keeps me moving forward.

She struggles to free herself, face pale and cheeks damp as she desperately tries to pull herself out from under a fallen soldier – dead or alive, I don’t know – and she lets out a small cry of relief when she sees me hobbling towards her. “Lydia!”

“I’m here – are you alright?!”

She nods, but a choked sob sounds from her throat. It has me gritting my teeth and quickening my pace, hissing through pain. “I’m coming! Is there anyone seriously injured?!”

“I – I don’t know! Everyone except Dad is unconscious, and we’re trapped and the door’s the only way out –!”

“Just stay there! I’ll get you out!” I promise. By now I’ve reached the bottom of the debris, and I move to snap my palms by my side. But before I can fly up towards the chopper, a pained shriek fills the air. It’s sudden and loud enough to rattle my bones. Turning, my gut churns at the sight before me.

Abomination has Hulk pinned to the wall on the other side of the structure, his orange arm pressed against a struggling Hulk’s green throat. “You don’t deserve this power!” Abomination roars. In one, fluid movement, he raises his elbow and drives the spike on the end of it right into Hulk’s chest like a knife through butter.

“NO!” Betty screams out, the sound lost in the sound of Hulk’s agonising shriek.

Abomination laughs, leering at Hulk beneath him. “Now watch them die!”

I lift my hands, power brimming beneath my fingers. I take a step forward, with every intention of helping Hulk –

"Lydia!”

Betty’s cry pierces through the air, and I whirl around to see her pointing to fuel leaking from the chopper. I gasp at the sight, recalling – and now watching – the sparks emitting from the damaged chopper blades. They fly through the air and some of them land in the fuel –

Like a lit match, fire erupts. It spreads as quickly and as easily as breathing over the chopper and Betty screams –

I thrust my hands forward and use my hands to draw the fire away from the chopper and towards me instead. Swearing, I force my hands to absorb the steady stream, the heat of the white-hot flames causing sweat to trickle down my forehead. But I don’t stop until every lick of flames have disappeared, and the chopper and its occupants are left unharmed. Only then do I lower my hands, shoulders sagging with both relief and exhaustion.

But it’s short-lived. Betty, who wasn’t bothering to hide her sobs anymore, notices something behind me. Her blue eyes widen with horror, and her shout of warning is too late: something hard knocks into my side like a hammer, and I go flying through the air. Too shocked to respond, I slam into the ground across the other side of the structure, my body cracking and snapping in too many ways to count.

My mouth parts, but no scream or cry falls from my lips – the pain is too agonising. Too sharp. Too prominent. Tears stream freely down my cheeks, but I don’t reach up to wipe them – I can’t. All I can do is lie there, desperately trying to remember how to breathe and to work through the pain and the ringing in my ears. A shadow looms over me, and I look up to see Abomination standing above me. He laughs and unclenches his fist – the same one that had just hit me. Understanding that I am no longer a threat, he only offers me a callous snarl before turning and moving towards Hulk.

I gasp, chest heaving and caving too fast. I turn my head to the side, afraid that I might vomit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. That – that had hurt in ways that I can’t describe. It still hurts. God. I close my eyes, forcing myself to stay calm and figure out the damage. Think, Lydia, think.

Stabbing pain. Left side: if my ribs were only fractured before, then they’re definitely broken now. The intense pain on my upper left arm… likely a fractured or broken humerus. Gritting my teeth, I try to move my arm –

– a scream tears from my throat. Yep. Definitely broken.

I groan, blinking up at the dark sky. The ringing in my ears fades with every second that passes, and it isn’t long until I hear the sounds of Hulk and Abomination fighting somewhere nearby. The ground shakes, the heavy thuds of their feet rippling through the ground and thrumming against my wet cheek. Somewhere further, Betty is still screaming. She’s trapped with her father and the rest of the soldiers. Hulk is too busy holding off the relentless Abomination. I’ve put one fire out, but there’s every chance that another could start any time soon.

I want nothing more than to just lie here in the ruins of the abandoned building and wait until the fight is over. Exhaustion weighs on me in a heavy blanket. And the pain? I don’t think I’m going to get far. I just need to rest, just for a moment…

Betty screams again, louder – more desperate.

I close my eyes.

Get up, my little soldier. Get up.

I clench my teeth at the familiar words. Before I can second-guess, I lurch upwards in one, swift movement. My head spins and bile rises to the back of my throat, but I force myself to roll over. I push myself up with my good arm, keeping the other close to my body. Gasping, I don’t stop until I am standing upright once more. Blinking through the tears, I see Abomination and Hulk fighting in the opposite corner, giving me a clear shot at the chopper. Swallowing, I hobble forward, trying to keep my breathing steady.

As I limp towards the chopper, I raise my undamaged arm and fling it towards the chopper door. A strong, gust of wind sends it flying through the air and landing on the ground with a clatter. But it’s all Betty needs. She’s out of the chopper within seconds, turning back around to help her dazed father out.

I come to a stop in front of the pile of rubble, watching as they climb down. There’s a cut oozing crimson across Ross’ head, but he appears fine otherwise. Still, I ask, “Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head as they finally drop to the ground beside me. “Right. Let’s get you out of here,” I say, breath hitching. Betty shoots me a look of concern, but I wave her off. I need to get them out of here first. Glancing at Ross, I half-wheeze, “No more super soldiers, Ross. Otherwise Blonsky’s going to be the best-case scenario.”

To my surprise, he nods. “Agreed.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but a dark chuckle sounds from somewhere behind us. Knowing who it belongs to, I turn on the spot and hold my good arm out in front of Betty and her father.

Abomination laughs even harder at the futile gesture. It’s then that I notice a chain with two concrete pillars anchored at each of its ends in his hands. My stomach drops at the sound of them knocking together. One hit from them would kill an ordinary human in an instant. They’ve already done a number on Hulk. He’s on the ground behind Abomination, battered and struggling to pull himself up. There would be no help from him.

“Stay behind me,” I order both Betty and Ross. Power surges between the fingers of my good hand as Abomination starts to swing the chain high above his head. I would redirect it or create   a protective barrier. Either way, I wouldn’t let it hit us.

“General! Hathaway! Any last words?!” Abomination taunts, giving one final swing over his head –

 With a determined roar, Hulk surges upright. He lifts his clenched fists before slamming them down on the ground hard enough to make it shake and crack. It causes Abomination to lose his footing and his grip on the chain. The pillars surge up and the chain trails behind it. It isn’t long until gravity takes over and the pillars surge back down and land on the ground with a crash. The chains follow suit and tangle around Abomination’s neck. He rears back, trying to pull them off, but Hulk is quicker. He rushes forward and grabs them in his large, green hands. With a ferocious bellow, he pulls at the chains, causing them to tighten around Abomination’s neck.

A power struggle erupts. The next few moments drag out, and Ross, Betty and I can only stare at the two titans before us. Abomination desperately tries to break free from Hulk’s grasp and reaches up to try and pry the chains from his neck. But Hulk is relentless, and only twists the chain tighter. Borderline panicking now, Abomination tries to pull himself away from Hulk, but the green titan only roars and pulls make harsher, preventing Abomination from escaping.

Eventually, Abomination slows. His movements become slower, weaker. He drops to his knees, struggling to breathe, but Hulk doesn’t stop. He only twists the chain tighter as Abomination stops moving altogether –

"Stop!”

The tearful cry flows from behind me, and I know that it is from Betty’s mouth it has fallen from. She steps around my arm and stands beside me. Her cheeks are wet and her hair is a mess, but she stands her ground as she stares up at Hulk, who freezes at the sound of her voice. His green eyes find her in an instant, and upon seeing the desperation written plainly on her face, he loosens his hold.

“Betty –” Ross protests.

“Shut up,” I snap. Like Betty, I understand. Bruce already carries enough remorse for his actions as the Hulk. If he turned back and found out that he had killed Blonsky, despite all the destruction he has caused, Bruce would never forgive himself.

Ross, wisely, complies to my wishes.

Cries suddenly pierce the air and seconds later, a swarm of soldiers and cops appear throughout the abandoned building. Sirens also echo throughout the air, and to my surprise, a handful of civilians crowd behind the soldiers and cops, peering over their shoulders to look at the carnage that has been caused by Hulk and Abomination in front of them. The cops and soldiers draw their guns and aim them directly at Hulk and Abomination. They eye Hulk warily and some of the guns tremble in their hold. Snarling at the sight, Hulk draws a hand back and slams it into Abomination’s face, knocking him out instantly.

Then, with a disgusted look that he reserves for the General who has come to stand on the other side of me, Hulk draws his foot back and kicks the unconscious Abomination forward. The orange beast lands at Ross’ feet with a crash, and Ross only looks at it with something akin to guilt and shame across his features. Good.

Despite the orders from the soldiers to fall back, Betty cautiously moves forward. I follow close behind, breath laboured and teeth clenched. She doesn’t stop until she comes to a stop right in front of Hulk, who stares down at her with his head tilted.

“It’s OK,” she rasps, her gentle assurance almost lost in the sound of the bellowing soldiers.

But Hulk hears her. He hears her and ever so gently, raises a pointed, green finger to wipe a stray tear from Betty’s face. She can only watch, mouth parted in astonishment.

Hulk hums, slowly and deeply – as if he is trying to offer his own assurances to the raven-haired woman before him. He draws his hand away, and his green eyes find me behind Betty. I stare up at him and can easily discern the hidden message in the look that he’s sending me.

Despite our efforts over the past few weeks, Bruce isn’t cured. Whatever Sterns had done to him had likely suppressed one of his anger flare-ups rather than cure him. He is still stuck with this other side of him, and he may be for the rest of his life. There would be no return to his life before the accident. There would be no more secrecy – too many people have seen what has happened here today. And with that would come other people like Ross who may want to try and utilise the Hulk as a weapon.

Which means that he has to take off. Again.  

And this time, I couldn’t follow after him.

Stay here, he seems to tell me with that final look. I give a small jerk of my head to tell him that I understand. “You better let me know that you’re OK soon though,” I say gently. “Otherwise, I’ll have to hunt your ass down all over again.”

Hulk huffs, the sound almost a laugh. It brings a smile to my face despite the pain I feel. Before I can bid him a proper farewell, our small group is suddenly illuminated by a white, circular light. The three of us look up and see that a chopper is hovering high above the air above us. At the sight of it, Hulk snarls. With a final glance at Betty, myself, Ross, and the terrified civilians, he turns and takes off. With a mighty leap, he soars through the air and over the edge of the abandoned structure, disappearing from sight. The chopper gives pursuit, and also vanishes over the rooftops.

When Hulk is no longer in sight, I reach forward and gently grip Betty’s shoulder with my good hand. She allows me to gently turn her around and guide her back towards her father, who is still looking at the unconscious Abomination before him. He glances up at us as we stop beside him, however. His blue eyes rake over Betty’s trembling form and there’s nothing but guilt and love in them.

But it’s not enough to erase my anger. It doesn’t make up for the fact that everything that has happened over the past few weeks – the destruction, chaos and lives lost – is his fault. It’s enough to make me fix him with a cool glare. “You’re not going to go after Bruce. He kept you alive tonight. You owe him.”

My tone leaves no room for argument. He only shakes his head. “No,” he says, voice rough. “I’m done.”

“Good. And you owe me as well,” I say. His brows raise a fraction. “I saved your life and I saved Betty’s life. Twice. I saved you – and now you owe me.”

His lips twitch, almost as if he is fighting a snarl. I may have saved him, but he still doesn’t like me very much. “What do you want?”

“Nothing – at the moment. But there’ll be a time when I come to collect, Ross. You can count on it.”

I don’t usually go around and collect favours from the people that I have saved. In fact, this would be a first for me. But if there is anything that I have learned over the past few weeks, it’s that Ross is ruthless. Unpredictable. Dangerous in a whole other way. He may have learned his lesson with mixing with super soldiers and gamma experiments for now, but who knows what else may pop up in the future. Having him owe me a favour may prove useful later.

“You should get to a hospital,” he states flatly, eyeing the way that I still hold my broken arm close to my side. “You’re not looking too great.”

My lips pull back into a tight grin. “Still better looking than you,” I manage to quip. It causes his cheeks to flush crimson, a sharp contrast to his grey stash. But I don’t bother to wait for an angry retort or another callous threat. Instead, I turn to his daughter. “Are you OK?”

She shakes her head and sniffs.

I squeeze her shoulder. “I know,” I whisper, fighting a wince. The pain is brutal and causes me to shake where I stand, but I want to offer her some semblance of comfort before I take off. “But he’ll be OK. When I hear from him, I’ll let you know.” A beat. Then: “But I think – and hope – that he’s going to let you know himself.”

The words cause a small and hopeful smile to flicker on her face. It’s a welcome sight after all the chaos over the past few hours. “Take care of yourself, Lydia.”

“You too,” I reply. Giving her one last squeeze, I drop my hand and begin to shuffle towards the main entrance. Soldiers swarm forward, a few of them shooting me cautious glances and wide-eyed stares as they pass, but they don’t hover for too long. Instead, they start to crowd around Abomination, who is thankfully still unconscious.

Ahead of me, cops try to keep the curious civilians at bay. But a red-headed figure suddenly breaks through the crowd and strides past the cops. One tries to stop her, but she only nods towards me. “I’m with her. She owes me a drink.”

I stop, and a wet chuckle emits from my lips as she stalks towards me. “Might have to take a rain-check on that.”

Nat hums, green eyes bright as she stares at me. Despite my battered state, I swear I can detect almost a flicker of pride on her face. “You alright?”

“No. Not really.”

“Hm. Clint’s going to kill you.”

“I’ll just tell him it was your idea.”

She smirks. I grin. But the smile is wiped from my face when I shift a little too quickly and pain flares along my side. Her eyes narrow with concern. “I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“Yep. Hospital sounds good.”

Chapter Text

It’s best not to move, Subject 2-0-7. Fighting won’t do you any good.

Aching, throbbing, stinging pain –

Please - please stop -

My name… my name is Lydia Hathaway.

Screams echoing off the dull, grey walls –

Just kill me, no more – please -

Again.

My name is –

A ragged gasp tears from my mouth as my eyes snap open. Heart hammering against my chest, I lurch up from where I lay in the bed, my eyes frantically trying to adjust to the morning light streaming through the gap between the window and the curtain. Fingers cracking with electricity, my head turns from side to side as I try to get a proper bearing on my surroundings.

Room – I’m in a room. In a bed. There’s light, there’s no pain. I’m safe. I’m not – I’m not back there –

The remnants of the nightmare slip away like smoke in the wind. My breathing slows with every second that passes and the nightmare fades, each breath steadier than the last. Killing the buzz of electricity in my slightly shaking hands, I reach up and thread my fingers through the strands of my hair, digging harshly into my scalp to try and further ground myself. Squeezing my eyes shut, I purse my lips and breathe out slowly, fighting against the rising nausea that churns in my gut.

It's not the first nightmare that I’ve had about my time in the facility, and I know that it won’t be my last. But it’s been over a year now, and they don’t seem to be getting any better. There are still nights where I wake up in a cold sweat and have to figure out the difference between past and present, reality and inside my head. There are still nights where I force myself to stay awake, desperately trying to keep the nightmares at bay, until I have no choice but to give in to the exhaustion. It feels like I haven’t made any progress at all.

I let out a shaky sigh. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, I discover that it’s seven thirty in the morning. Which means –

Sure enough, there’s a sharp knock on the door. “Hey, Hathaway,” Nat calls through the door. “You up?”

I rub a hand down my face. “Yeah. I’m awake.”

“Breakfast is ready. Move fast – your uncle’s not going to leave much.”

Despite the lingering heaviness from the nightmare, I manage a tired grin. “Alright, alright. I’m coming down.”

Several minutes later, I head down stairs and make my way into the kitchen. There’s music trailing softly from the stereo in the corner, and the bright light streaming through the window over the sink promises a warm and sunny day. The smell of fresh fruit and pancakes fills the air. My stomach rumbles with hunger as the sweet scents flood my senses. There’s a flurry of movement as the two other SHIELD agents work around each other. Clint stands by the table, frypan and spatula in hand as he flips the golden brown cakes onto a plate, and Nat glides around the table as she sets cutlery and plates upon it.

Clint tears his eyes away from his handiwork to shoot me a smile. “Morning, Kiddo,” he greets. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine.” The lie rolls easily off my tongue as I make a beeline for the fridge. “Juice?”

“You read my mind.”

I hum along to the music – some old song I can’t remember – and reach the fridge. My eyes find the whiteboard stuck on the door, and a small smile graces my lips as I read the note scrawled across it:

     Wassup, bitches?

     Sorry I can’t be there to see you all off before your assignments, but duty calls. Remember to drop the spare keys off in my office, and if you could pretty please take my bins out for me this Thursday, I will love you forever.

     Food’s in the fridge (try not to eat it all Barton!) and alcohol’s in the cupboard. Have fun, good luck, and stay alive.

     Love, the Tech Guru and Hacker Extraordinaire xo.

The Tech Guru and Hacker Extraordinaire. Otherwise known as Ava Quill. An agent of SHIELD who works in the tech department – and who also happens to be my best friend.

We had been roommates at the SHIELD academy after Clint and Fury had brought her into the fold, and our friendship had lasted long after we had graduated top of our classes. Over time, her friendship with Nat and Clint grew too. Whenever the three of us came to D.C for work, she always let us stay at her house.

Each room contains a memory. Late night baking contests in the kitchen. Drinking games in the dining room. The bathroom where we’d crowd around the mirror, talking about everything and anything while getting ready for the night. The backyard where Clint, Nat and I would spar if we were all here. Sleepovers in bedrooms, tucked under the covers with bowls of popcorn and a movie playing on Ava’s laptop. The dance parties in the halls.

An ache blooms in my chest as I take note of the looped y’s and the hearts over the ‘i’s. I haven’t seen Ava in forever. Not since well before I had left for Rocinha three months ago to track down Bruce. I’d hoped that I would have seen her this week, but she had been sent to Seattle for an assignment. She had been kind enough to let the three of us stay here at her house, but still. It’s not the same without her here.

Nat bumps her hip against mine as she passes me, dragging me out of my thoughts. “You all good?” she asks, reaching to grab some glasses from a cupboard.

“Yep.” I tug the fridge open. “Apple or orange?”

The kitchen is a flurry again as we add the final touches before settling at the table: Nat sitting at the head, and Clint and I on either side of her. We waste no time in digging into the food that Clint has prepared for us. We pile our plates with pancakes, fruit and syrup, sipping at our juice in between bites.

With his mouth full of food, Clint asks, “Wh’ ‘ime are y’ headin’ off?”

I snort. “Wanna try that again?”

“Remember to chew before you inhale, Barton,” Nat deadpans. Her words earn a playful eye roll from Clint. He makes a point to chew his food extra slowly, before dramatically swallowing his mouthful. Once finished, he offers Nat a toothy grin, showing her his now empty mouth. The ex-widow only shakes her head, but her lips threaten to twitch upwards.

Clint chuckles, before turning back to me. “I asked what time you heading off?” he corrects.

I stab at a pancake on my plate. “Meeting’s at nine-thirty, so we probably want to leave just after nine, in case there’s traffic. You happy with that?” I ask Nat. She nods, before reaching forward to pluck a berry from my plate, hers long-eaten. I slide the plate closer, allowing her to take more if she likes.

Clint looks at me over the rim of his glass. “First official mission in a while. How’re you feeling?”

"Fine,” I shrug, before extending my left arm. The skin on the upper limb is paler than the rest of my body, thanks to the cast that had been wrapped securely around it for the past eight weeks. It’s a little stiff to move, but the doctors had assured me that this is to be expected. It may take some time for it to feel as strong as it had before.

“Now that the cast is off, I should be good to go,” I say, too busy focusing on the arm in question to notice the look of concern that flashes across Clint’s face.

“Yeah, well… try to take it easy,” he cautions. “The last thing you wanna do is aggravate it while it’s healing. Try to avoid throwing any punches.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be that kind of a mission,” Nat pipes up.

“Oh, yeah? How do you know?”

“Don’t know. Just a feeling.”

I quirk a brow up. “Just a feeling, or because Fury has already given you the lowdown?”

Nat smirks. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that Fury has kept me in the dark about something, would it?”

There’s an underlying bite to my tone, and the way that Nat freezes in her seat tells me that she picks up on it as well. Even though it has been eight weeks since the fiasco in Harlem, I still hadn’t quite forgiven Fury for not giving me the heads up about Ross and Blonsky. Had he done so, then maybe things could have been different. Maybe I could have destroyed the lab before they had arrived. Maybe Blonsky wouldn’t have been transformed into Abomination, and maybe a lot of lives could have been saved.

Clint glances at the two of us with his cutlery half-raised. But before the tension can become too thick and choke us, he clears his throat. “Did the letter Banner sent tell you where he was heading?”

I tear my gaze from the now silent redhead beside me. “No,” I reply to Clint. “Bruce didn’t want to run the risk of someone else reading it, so he didn’t say.”

The letter had arrived three weeks after Hulk and Abomination had brawled in the middle of Harlem. I had returned home with a hefty medical bill, a few broken ribs and humerus, with no idea where Bruce had headed after that night. I didn’t know if he was in the States or if he was still looking for a cure. All I did know was that Ross was too preoccupied with managing the fallout of his manhunt for Bruce to continue it. But still, I had worried.

Then, Clint had walked through the door after returning from a mission, a letter addressed to me in his hand. It had been delivered to the Triskelion in D.C, with no return address. Fury had passed it on to Clint to give to me. I had torn open the envelope without a second thought and pulled out the double-sided letter. A letter I’d read so many times that the words have been permanently imprinted in my brain:

     Lydia,

     I can’t tell you of my current whereabouts. There’s every chance that Ross could intercept this letter, and I’d rather not give him any new leads to work on. But I wanted to let you know that I’m OK. Well, as OK as I can be, given that I turn into an angry green-rage monster whenever I lose my temper.

     After everything that happened while we were in Harlem, I’m starting to realise that there may not be a cure for me after all. I may be stuck living with gamma poisoning for the rest of my life, so maybe it’s time I try to figure out a way to control the Hulk, rather than keep searching for a cure that doesn’t exist.

     I know that you were sent to find me for your work, but I’m still sorry that you were dragged into this mess, Lydia. I’m even more sorry that you got hurt trying to help me. That was something I never wanted to happen, and I’m sorry that it did.

     But in a way, I’m grateful that you were sent. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t alone. There was someone to talk to about what I was going through and who could understand it, in a way. I know that you have your own ghosts to deal with, but you still decided to help me. Before you found me in Rocinha, I was alone and was starting to think that there was no way out. But you gave me hope. For that, I am grateful.

     You’re an extraordinary young woman, Lydia. I don’t know what exactly your work entails, but please try to take care of yourself. Thank you for everything – I couldn’t have done any of it without you.

     Bruce.

     P.S. If you wouldn’t mind doing me a favour, could you check in with Betty for me? After we sold her mother’s necklace, I managed to track it down and buy it back. Hopefully, she got it.

Betty had. I had called her a couple of hours after reading the letter, and she had told me that she’d received one too. Sure enough, her mother’s necklace had been inside. She’d told me she had gone back to Willowdale and Samson. I had decided not to tell her that it was Samson who had told Ross where to find Bruce that day at Culver. She had already been through an emotional rollercoaster, and I didn’t want to add to the turmoil she was going through. After my chat with him in the kitchen when he’d patched me up, I had a feeling that he realised his mistake, and wouldn’t lie to her again.

And so, life moved on, as it always does. I’d spent the last few months home, spending as much time as I could with Clint, Laura and the kids while recovering. Then three days ago, Nick Fury had phoned and told me that he had a new assignment for Nat and I.

“Fair enough,” Clint says, dragging me out of my thoughts. “Ross hasn’t gone looking for him since Harlem?”

“No. He’s kept his word so far.”

“Fury’s been keeping an eye on him too,” Nat adds, sipping at her juice. “From what he’s heard, Ross is too busy trying to pin the blame on Sterns.”

My lips pull into a silent snarl. I had hoped that Ross would face some repercussions for his actions. After all, Blonsky would never have turned into Abomination if Ross hadn’t sent him after Bruce in the first place. But the General is smarter than I gave him credit for. He had somehow managed to twist the whole story around for everyone else, minus a handful of SHIELD agents – including myself. He had blamed Sterns’ experiments for everything that had happened, and narrowly avoided going to prison himself.

And Sterns? I have no idea what happened to him. I have asked Fury multiple times, but he is keeping a tight lid on the information. He’s been taken care of, Hathaway, he’d said. That’s all you need to know.

He had been more than happy to tell me what had happened to Blonsky. The former soldier was taken into custody and placed under lock down, with a special drug administered to slow his pulse. Slow enough to be safe and prevent him from transforming back into Abomination. Rumours at the Triskelion placed Blonsky in the Vault: a cryocell located in Alaska. Rumours which I know to be true. He wouldn’t be getting out anytime soon.

Nat finishes her mouthful. “For now, I don’t think Banner has much to worry about. Unless he goes green anytime soon, Ross has no trail to follow.”

Clint snorts. “So the secret to government evasion is anger management and emotional repression?”

I smile into my glass as I bring it to my lips. “I mean, it’s worked for Bruce, hasn’t it? Maybe we should all take a page from his book.”

“What, you gonna turn into a giant green rage monster on us or something?”

Nat doesn’t miss a beat. “She has been looking a little green around the edges lately…”

I lower the glass and wipe my mouth with my sleeve. “SHIELD agent turned Hulk with elemental abilities. Sounds like Fury’s worst nightmare.”

Clint snickers and even Nat allows a tiny smile. For several minutes, we finish the last of our breakfast, talking about old missions and memories, teasing remarks and laughter bubbling in between. Once our plates are empty and our bellies full, Clint leans back in his chair, hands braced behind his head. “Did you make a decision about joining the team yet?”

My smile slips a little. It’s been weeks since Fury first told me about his real intentions behind sending me after Bruce: to see if Bruce was suitable to be considered for the team of trained and gifted individuals that Fury has been wanting to build. Apparently, Fury wanted me on this team as well – a point he reiterated after seeing me fight in Harlem. Too exhausted to give him a proper answer, I told him that I would consider it. Weeks later, I still haven’t made a decision.

I feel Nat staring at me curiously as I slowly reply, “Not yet, no.”

Clint’s brows briefly arch upwards, the only sign of surprise he shows. But, likely sensing my unease, he doesn’t push further on the matter. Instead, he shrugs. “Fair enough. Can’t say I’ve made up my mind either. Looks like it’s up to you to represent, Nat.”

The redhead scrunches her nose at this. “Or you two could pick already. We’re not getting any younger.”

“I got a wife and kids to think about, Nat.”

"Well, your niece doesn’t.”

They both turn their attention back to me. I meet their stares head on and cross my arms over my chest as I lean back in my chair. “It’s not that simple.”

“I think it is,” Nat replies.

“It really isn’t. I’m a spy. Not – not some kind of hero. I wouldn’t know the first thing about being one.”

“I think your actions in Harlem prove otherwise.”

I tug thoughtfully on my bottom lip. I had been reluctant to fight in Harlem and had only done so because Nat had pushed me. Despite Sterns’ statistics, I had managed to make it back alive. Battered, but alive. And yeah – the knowledge that I had helped stop Abomination from wreaking more havoc on Harlem felt good. But that was the first time I had ever fought something like that. I don’t really know if I was that willing to go up against something like it again. Not when I had needed help taking Abomination down in the first place.

“Blonsky handed my ass to me until Bruce showed up,” I argue.

“Give yourself more credit, Lyd,” Clint says gently. “I’ve seen the footage. You were holding your own pretty well. You held him off long enough for Banner to change, and if you hadn’t, then more people would’ve been killed.”

"Don’t forget that the media is already calling you a hero too,” Nat adds.

I suppress a groan. Exposing myself and my abilities across Rocinha, Willowdale and Harlem had not only placed me on Ross’ radar, but the rest of the world as well. In the days that had followed after my team-up with the Hulk, the media had been a frenzy. The emergence of more individuals with god-like abilities – Bruce, myself, Blonsky – had sparked an uproar around the world. We were placed in the same category as Tony Stark’s Ironman, and thus, we were subjected to a high dose of scrutiny, speculation and interest. My name and face had been all over the television and in the news since Harlem: something I have yet to properly come to terms with. Only months ago, I was just another SHIELD agent. Now, I can’t go a day without hearing my name or seeing my face plastered on the six o’clock news, or in the papers. It’s jarring, to say the least.

And, to some extent, Nat is right. Most the media stations had labelled my actions as heroic, despite the fact that it had really been the Hulk that had taken down Abomination. But there were a few that called my actions reckless and dangerous. It’s a debate that hangs over my head like a rain cloud each day, and no matter what I do, I can’t distract myself from it for too long.

“Yes, but the tabloids are also saying that I’m an alien from another planet,” I dryly respond, earning a snort from Clint. “And that I’m apparently in a love triangle with Brody Jenner and Leonardo DiCaprio.”

Clint snickers, and Nat sighs. “Your point?”

"You shouldn’t believe everything the media tells you.”

“Damn,” Clint says, trying – and failing – to restrain a smile. “So you’re telling me that you’re not actually lined up to be the next Bachelorette?”

“I will literally punch you in the face.”

Clint hoots with laughter, tipping his head back as the sound bounces around the kitchen. I shake my head in exasperation, watching as a smirk takes a hold of Nat’s face. While Clint continues to laugh at his own joke, she leans closer and says, “Fury wouldn’t have asked you to join the team if he didn’t think you were capable.”

A long, drawn sigh slips past my lips, but it’s easily drowned out by the sound of Clint’s laughter. Pushing myself up and out of the chair, I start to gather my crockery and simply reply, “C’mon. We’re gonna have to leave soon if we want to make it to this meeting on time.”

Nat moves to do the same, but Clint simply claps his hands, looking at me with a grin. “Say hi to Fury for me,” he teases. “And Leonardo, if you swing by his yacht afterwards –”

Quicker than lightning, I dart forward to grab the maple syrup bottle from the table. Flicking the lid open, I practically pounce on Clint and squeeze the bottle, watching as the golden, sticky liquid pours out and onto his head. His laughs turns to shouted protests, and he tries to push me away. I swat his arms to the side however, squeezing the bottle tighter and watching more of the syrup drip out and onto him. “Who’s laughing now?” I taunt, a wicked grin spread across my face.

Nat stands behind us, watching as the two of us struggle. She shakes her head, but a fond, ghost of a smile dances across her lips as the chaos unfolds. “Children,” she sighs. “I work with children.”

*****

The Triskelion, located on Theodore Roosevelt Island, is just as impressive as I remember.

Situated on the Potomac River, it sits tall at fifty-six floors, filled with offices, control rooms, training gyms and meeting rooms. The complex building structure takes up most of the island, its tall glass windows offering the perfect view of the city in the horizon. Below the building are even more levels, housing hangars for quinjets, helicarriers and all sorts of other tech and weapons that the engineering and IT departments have created over the years. I’ve never been to many floors below the surface level, but Ava has. She described it like Candyland for herself and the other techies she works with - so many toys to play with.

Its endless corridors are like a maze, but Nat and I stride down them with ease. It may have been some time since I was last here, but I grew up in these halls. I drew pictures on the floor in my great-grandmother’s office, surrounded by old relics and SHIELD reports. I watched Clint and Laura spar in the gyms. I ate in the cafeteria with my cousin, Sharon, while our mothers met with Fury and other higher ups about new assignments and dangerous missions. I used to sit in the quinjets with Coulson, who had sometimes kept me entertained when I had been upset and demanded my mother.

In a sense, it was like a second home. I know every hallway and every shortcut, which is why we reach Fury’s office in record-timing.

The room itself is surrounded glass walls, allowing us an easy view to the room inside. Four black, leather lounge chairs are placed in the centre of the room, and there’s a glass coffee table in between them. Fury’s desk sits in the corner, large and oak, the space filled with papers and a computer. On the wall to its right is a large screen which usually serves like a second computer, allowing Fury to access files and maps. The windows on the opposite side of the room give Fury the perfect view of the Potomac below.

And standing at the doorway, chatting with Fury from inside the office, is Alexander Pierce.

Nat and I slow our pace, but it appears that we have nothing to worry about. As we come to a complete halt, Pierce turns to face us, surprise etched on his face when he sees us standing before him. Still, he manages to nod in greeting. “Agents.”

“Secretary,” Nat politely replies.

Pierce smiles, but it isn’t long before his ocean-blue eyes settle on me. “Agent Hathaway,” he greets, voice warm. “I saw you fight in Harlem. Well done.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Fury’s team could use someone like you on it.”

I open my mouth, unsure of what to say, but Fury saves me from having to quickly think of a response. “There won’t be a team unless the World Security Council get their act together, Secretary.”

My brows raise a fraction at the more than blunt words, but if Pierce is bothered by Fury’s obvious disdain, then he doesn’t let it show. He only waves a hand and says, “You know how the council works, Nick. They spend too much time debating and planning before they actually give you an answer that you want.”

Fury huffs. “Yeah, well. Maybe time’s what we’re running out of.”

“You think there’s something coming?”

“I just like to be prepared, Pierce. You taught me that.”

To my surprise, Pierce chuckles. “I’ve taught you a lot of things over the years, Nick, but paranoia wasn’t one of them. Still; preparation’s never wasted.” He pauses to look down at the gleaming Rolex on his wrist, brows pinching together. “I’ve got a ten o’clock to get to. But I’ll make sure I read over the files you sent through before the end of the day,” he assures Fury, who nods in thanks. Pierce looks up to shoot Nat and I a charming smile. “Good to see you, Agents. Keep up the good work.”

"Will do, Sir,” I say, watching as Pierce turns on his heels and walks down the corridor, disappearing around the corner.

Once the Secretary is out of sight, Fury lets out a frustrated sigh, before holding the door open for Nat and I. “Romanoff, Hathaway – come on in.”

One by one we file into the office and Fury directs us towards the lounge suite. Nat and I settle on the chair facing the screen, while Fury plonks down directly across from us. Dressed in his dark clothes and signature leather jacket, he practically blends into the sleek leather. “Thank you for coming,” he says.

“Well, Boss, you call and we have to show,” I point out, leaning back and crossing my arms over my chest. “Dem’s the rules.”

Nat coughs, and Fury looks at me as if he doesn’t know whether to smirk or reprimand me for the more than flippant response. Fixing his good eye on me, he says, “I’ve got an assignment for you both. An important one.”

“What do you want us to do?” Nat asks.

“It’ll involve some undercover work in Malibu. Might take several weeks, depending on how things play out.”

“What are we talking about here?” I ask. “Clean-up? Recon?”

"Nothing like that, Hathaway.”

“Then what?”

Fury sighs at my obvious impatience. “It involves the two of you becoming personal assistants for Pepper Potts and Tony Stark.”

Out of all the things that he could have said, that had certainly not been what I was expecting. We were going to be personal assistants to Tony Stark? The Ironman? My eyes widen almost comically at the bombshell, and even Nat stills beside me. If Fury really had given her the heads up about the mission, then it seems like he clearly left this part out. Unless she was putting on one hell of a show, it seems that my red-headed friend is just as surprised as I am.

"Why?” I demand.

"I’ve kept a close eye on Stark and his affairs since he first announced to the world that he was Ironman, against our advice,” Fury says, a slight edge to his tone. Stark must be a bit of a touchy subject for him then. “My sources tell me that Stark is stepping down from CEO at Stark Industries, and that Pepper Potts will be taking his place. He plans on making that announcement tomorrow.”

“Why’s that?” Nat asks.

“Because Stark is dying.”

My eyes are almost popping out of my head at this point. “Dying? How?!”

“That’s the problem – I don’t know,” Fury admits. “I’ve got a feeling that it may have something to do with the arc reactor implanted in his chest, but my sources are struggling to confirm this. Stark’s keeping tight-lipped on the whole thing. And he’s been acting out like a damn teenager. The World Security Council are starting to think that he’s not appropriate for the team, and I’m starting to think that they’ve got a point.”

With a start, I remember that Fury had already approached Stark about joining the Avengers. But according to Fury, Stark hadn’t given him a proper answer. Now it appears that he might not get the chance.

"You two will pose as the assistants. Romanoff, you’ll be assigned to Potts. Hathaway, you’ll be assigned to Stark. You have two objectives. The first is to assess Stark and whether he is suitable for the Avengers. The second is to figure out how he’s dying. Hathaway, you’re going to have to try and get close to him to find out how. Not even Potts knows about the ticking time bomb in his chest. Once you figure out how he’s dying, you report back to me and we figure out if we can help him or not.”

“Would Stark even accept our help?” I ask. From what I have heard of the genius billionaire, he can be arrogant and abrasive. Almost too arrogant to accept help from others. And if his meeting with Fury had gone as sour as Fury has previously hinted at, then would Stark even want to accept help from SHIELD?

“If he’s dying, then I think he’d do anything to live to see another day,” Nat says.

Fury nods. “I’ve already sent the files to Quill’s. Hathaway, your alias is Laura Rushman, cousin of Natalie Rushman – Romanoff here,” he explains. “You two are from Stark’s legal department, with years of experience as secretaries. We’ve pulled all the necessary strings to ensure that you’ll both be selected for the roles. You start in two days.”

A thought suddenly strikes me, and I find myself clearing my throat. “Just a second, Fury. How the hell am I going to pose as Laura Rushman when my face has been all over the news for the past few months?” I ask. “A guy like Stark will recognise me in an instant.”

“Afraid of what Jenner and DiCaprio may think?” Nat teases. I flip her off in response.

Fury glares. “Y’all done?” he says, causing Nat and I to sober instantly. “Good. To answer your question, Hathaway, in your file you’ll find a photostatic veil –”

“A what?”

His nostrils flare at the interruption. “At photostatic veil,” he repeats. “You wear it on your face, and it’ll change your features. As long as you’re wearing it whenever you’re with Stark, then he won’t be able to recognise you.”

"And if it slips?”

“Make sure it doesn’t.”

I huff a laugh. One things for certain. This mission was definitely going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

The Willow Glen residential facility is yet another building in D.C that I am all too familiar with. With its brick walls, tall windows and well-kept garden, it creates an almost cosy atmosphere, which is why I had helped choose it in the first place. The staff were nice and it wasn’t too far from the Triskelion, so every time I’m in the city for work, I make sure to stop by. Having just finished my meeting with Fury and Nat, I had dropped the redhead back off at Ava’s house before making my way here.

I stroll up to the entrance with a confident familiarity, and punch in the code without a second thought. There’s a buzz before the doors slide open, allowing me to walk into the building. I turn to make sure that the doors close behind me before I make my way to the front desk.

The walls are adorned with colourful paintings and photos of the residents doing various activities. I glance at each of them as I pass, a smile tugging at my lips at the sight of a familiar face in a few of the pictures. As I arrive at the front desk and reach for the sign-in book, Janet, the usual receptionist, looks up from the computer and offers me a warm, toothy smile. Her loose, red curls fall into her face, and she brushes them back as she says by-way of greeting, “She’ll be excited to see you today.”

The words cause my lips to twitch up into a smile as I scribble my name across the page.

"Does she know that you’re coming?”

“No. I was in town for work, so I thought I’d surprise her,” I reply, setting the pen back down beside the book. “Is she in her room?”

“As far as I know, yes. She’s had a good day today – you’ve come at a good time.”

The words are meant to offer me reassurance, but the meaning behind them causes my heart to sink. It takes everything within me to keep my smile from faltering, and I reply, “Guess I shouldn’t keep her waiting then.”

Saying farewell to Janet, I start to make my way down the hall and weave through the facility. There’s the shared lounges, the dining room and activities room. I pass rows of resident bedrooms the deeper I walk into the facility, some occupied, others empty. Nurses and residents that I have known for a year now greet me as I pass, their tones polite and smiles bright. I offer them smiles of my own before I finally reach room 19 in the Golden Meadow wing of the facility. The room that has belonged to my great-grandmother since just after I was kidnapped two years ago.

Sure enough, Margaret Carter sits in her armchair by the window. The large furniture practically swallows her smaller frame, but the way that she holds herself tells me that she’s utterly relaxed. She gazes out the window, the curtains drawn back and providing her with a perfect view of the garden just outside. Bright flowers create a colourful canvas for her, and the warmth from the sun casts the retired founder of SHIELD in a golden glow. The grey strands of her long hair gleam beneath it, and she’s dressed neatly in a white jumper and navy pants. Despite the years and the disease that has taken its toll on her for some time now, there’s an elegance about her that no one can take. I hope I look just as good as she does if I ever reach eighty-nine years of age.

I remove the cap from my head and straighten my hair before gently rapping my knuckles against the doorframe. Gran startles at the knock, and twists in her seat. When her brown eyes – which have never lost their warmth or their rich shade over the years – land on me standing in the doorway, they widen with delight.

"Lyddy?” she breathes, as if not quite believing that I’m in front of her.

“Hey, Gran.”

A smile splits her face in two at the sound of my voice, and an excited laugh bubbles from her chest. She starts to push herself out of the chair, but I’m already across the room by the time she stands upright. I barely give her a chance to fully rise before I wrap her in a gentle yet firm hug.

I take care not to squeeze her too hard, and instead grip the back of her shirt with my hands. “I’ve missed you,” I say, chest tight and voice thick with emotion.

Her frailer arms wrap around me just as eagerly, her chin digging into my shoulder. “I’ve missed you too, my little soldier,” she says, the familiar nickname causing a warmth to ignite in my chest.

She pulls back and reaches up to press a kiss to my cheek before looking up at me. Her jasmine perfume tickles my nose, the scent bringing back fond memories shared between the two of us. I don’t get long to dwell on them, however, as she reaches down and grasps my hand, tugging me towards the chair opposite hers.

“Come sit.”

I allow her to guide me over to the chair, but I refuse to sit down until she’s safely back in hers. Her movements are slower, but she still holds an air of confidence as she eases back down onto the piece of furniture, her worn hands resting on the long arms. I mirror her actions and place my cap in my lap once I’m settled across from her.

My eyes briefly scan her room, finding that it hasn’t changed much since the last time I was here. Almost every square inch of the walls are covered by photos. Some from her SHIELD days, others from before her time in the war. There are photos of her with her brother when they were both kids, dressed neatly in clothes from a time long since passed. The odd one or two of her parents are here as well. There are many of my grandmother, mother and myself even. Birthday celebrations, graduation, weddings – if there’s a photo, then it’s up on the wall. The sight of all these familiar faces makes me smile, and hope that it has been helping Gran with her memory.

“How have you been?” I ask.

“I’m afraid not much has changed, dear,” Gran says, her accent bleeding through with every word. As a child, I had loved the sound of it, and I still do now. “Retirement life seems to grow quieter with every year that passes.”

“What? Winning a few rounds of Bingo not exciting enough for you?”

“Cheek,” she says, the word causing me to grin. At the sight, her smile turns playful. “I must say, when it comes to bingo, some of the other residents are ruthless. I ran an intelligence agency, and yet, I’ve never felt fear quite like I have when Caroline Fletcher gets into one of her tiffs if she doesn’t win a game.”

I cackle, but beneath the amusement, a quiet relief rises. Some days, Gran can’t remember what she used to do for work. She doesn’t remember her role in the war or how she joined the SSR. She doesn’t remember that she founded SHIELD and became one of the best Directors the organisation has ever had. The fact that she mentions it now tells me that Janet is right: I have come on a good day.

As my laughter dies, Gran regards me fondly. “But how are you, my darling? Keeping busy, I imagine?”

I shrug. “Not really. I had some time off after everything that happened in Harlem, so things have been a little quiet lately.”

“What happened in Harlem?”

I stiffen. I had phoned her not long after everything with Bruce and Ross had gone down to tell her what had happened. That had been weeks ago, but it’s still all over the news. Any other person would know: she should know.

But I don’t say this to her. Instead, I keep my smile and wave her off, not wanting to confuse her even more. “Just a mission that went sideways for a bit. Nothing too serious.”

Gran hums, satisfied. It’s enough to make me relax again. There’s pride brimming in her features as she says, “I’m sure your superiors would be proud, darling.”

"Pierce told me I did good, so I guess that counts.”

“Pierce?”

“Alexander Pierce. Remember him?” I prompt. When her blank stare remains after a few moments, I have to refrain from frowning. “He’s one of the higher-ups at SHIELD.”

Gran just smiles, pleasantly confused. It tugs at my heartstrings, but I say nothing as she asks, “And when’s your next mission?”

“Tomorrow, actually. Nat and I are going to be working together on this one.” Fiddling with the cap still in my lap, I reveal, “We’ve been assigned to help out Tony Stark.”

Gran’s face brightens at the mention of the name, just as I hoped. During her time in the war, she had met the legendary Howard Stark. A genius inventor whose work had helped shape the twentieth century. He and Gran had worked closely together for many decades and had maintained a tight bond that had lasted until Howard’s death in the ‘90s. Together, the two of them had not only founded SHIELD, but had believed in one another when no one else would. For Gran, this had been especially important, as no one had wanted to see a woman succeed during that time. It’s perhaps why despite having already forgotten a lot of other details over the years, the memory of her friendship with Howard Stark remains.

“Well, you make sure that you tell young Tony that his Aunt Peggy says hello.”

My brows shoot up in surprise. “I didn’t realise you knew him.”

“I did when he was a young boy. The last time I saw him was at his parents’ funeral.” Sadness takes hold of Gran’s features, and I know that it’s not just reserved for Tony Stark. It’s for the friends she lost as well. “Twenty-one is far too young to lose both your parents.”

I hum, knowing all too well what she means. My relationship with my mother had been complicated, but that didn’t mean that losing her at the ripe age of twelve hadn’t affected me. It had been hard for Gran too. Having already lost her daughter – my grandmother – several years prior, the death of Stacey Hathaway had added a whole new layer to the grief she was still reeling from. Their deaths had brought the two of us closer, however, so I suppose there is that.

“What are you helping Tony with?”

“I’m not sure of all the details. There’s a file at Ava’s for me to read. That’ll give me a better understanding of what we’re in for.”

The first words out of my mouth are a lie. I know full well why Nat and I are being sent to Malibu, but the last thing that I want is cause Gran to panic at the revelation that Tony is dying. She loves the Starks, and always will. I don’t doubt for a second that the news would cause her heart to break. Better to protect her by lying than hurt her with the truth.

But it seems that I have underestimated her. Seeing right through my lie, Gran shoots me a look that tells me she doesn’t believe me for a second. I meet her stare head on, keeping my face blank, however. It’s no secret that I am stubborn – a trait that I have inherited from her.

“Would you like to try that again?” She says.

The edge to her tone tells me that she’s not backing down anytime soon. Sighing, I sink back further into my chair. “OK, fine,” I say, drawing the words out longer than necessary. It gives me enough time to think of a quick solution, and when I do, the words roll easily off my tongue. “Fury wants us to see if Stark is the right fit for a team that he’s putting together.”

Gran’s eyes brighten at the words, and her shoulders ease. The words are true, which is probably what makes them easier to believe. Or maybe they’ve sparked her interest enough that she’s willing to let the lie slide. Either way, they distract Gran. She tilts her head curiously. “What kind of team?”

“A special kind.”

My flippant response earns me a small glare, and I raise my hands defensively. “OK. OK,” I sigh.

Fury explicitly told me that the Avengers initiative was to be kept under wraps. The last thing he wants is for word to get out about the team, especially if the council don’t approve it in the end. But Gran is the founder of SHIELD, and one of the best former espionage agents that the world had to offer – she knows how to keep a secret. And, as heartbreaking as it is for me to admit, there’s a good chance that she won’t remember this visit today.

I swallow the lump that has lodged in the back of my throat. Pushing the thought aside, I admit, “A team of people with special abilities. Fury wants to turn us into…heroes, I guess.”

The words taste strange on my tongue. I had spoken them so candidly to Nat and Clint this morning, but there’s something about speaking the expectation out loud to Gran feels heavier. I can’t pinpoint it exactly, but my stomach churns with unease as I wait for her response.

As expected, she reads me like an open book. “You don’t think that’s you, do you?” She asks softly.

Wordlessly, I shake my head.

“Why not?”

The words make me squirm in my seat, and my fingers start to flip the cap back and forth. “It’s for a lot of reasons, really.”

“Tell me all of them.”

With my leg beginning to bouncing nervously, I joke, “How much time you got?”

“For you darling, I have all the time in the world.”

Her words hit me harder than she intended. They cut deep, slashing at my heart the longer that I stare at her face. Worn, wrinkled, and yet, still as beautiful as the young Peggy Carter smiling at us from the pictures on the wall. I have all the time in the world. But that’s not exactly true, is it?

Maybe that’s why it’s easier for me to admit the truth. Knowing what little time we may have left. Or maybe because I think Nat and Clint are too close to the whole thing. Of course they’d tell me joining a team that they are also being considered for would be a good idea. But Gran? Her distance from the situation means that she can provide me an open and honest answer, even if it’s not something that I want to hear. There’s also a security net of knowing that my words won’t be repeated to anyone else.

Either way, there has always been something about Gran that makes me open up like I never had with anyone else. For reasons I can’t pinpoint, admitting the internal shame I carry with me every day to her is far easier than for others.

Tongue darting out to dampen my quickly drying lips, I tentatively start, “Well, there was the whole thing with Cooper.”

“Who?”

My stomach lurches. Yet another person that Gran has met and should remember. “My cousin, Gran.” At her blank stare, I elaborate, “Clint’s son?”

“Oh. Of course,” she says, but there is something in my tone that tells me she’s not fully convinced. My heart breaks that little bit more at the small detail. “What happened with him again?”

“Lydia? Are you OK?”

I cringe, the memory rushing to the forefront of my mind despite my best efforts to keep it at bay. The dead plant. The crackle of electricity. The small hand reaching for mine. The screams –

“I lost control,” I grit out through my teeth. My fingers grip the cap in between them so harshly that my knuckles appear taut beneath my skin. “And I hurt him.”  

Gran remains silent, even after the last syllable has rolled off my tongue. She’s possibly trying to remember the event, or maybe she’s just mulling over the information. Either way, it gives me room to keep going. And now that the words are coming out, they don’t seem to want to stop.

“It took me a long time to get a hold of my abilities. And even now, sometimes I slip up. Who’s to say that it won’t happen again?” I start to sweep the cap back and forth again. “And this assignment – the one in Harlem – I went up against an enhanced individual. I couldn’t beat him, not alone. If I can’t even do that…” I trail off with a shrug, a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes tainting my lips. It prevents the rest of the words from slipping out.

But Gran has them ready for me. “You don’t feel good enough.”

I cringe at the words, harsh and true, but manage a small nod of my head.

Gran hums, but she senses more, as she asks, “What else?”

I hesitate.

“Lyddy.”

That damn nickname. It unravels me, and before I can stop myself, I lift my hand. With a click of my fingers, fire ignites between them, the red-hot flames dancing harmlessly around my scarred digits. Despite the heat, they remain safe. Keeping my eyes transfixed on the flame, I admit, “The people that took me and twisted me into… this… wanted to use me as a weapon. If I join this team then it’s the same isn’t? And if it is… then it feels like I’m letting them win in a way.”

There it is. Out in the open for the first time ever. The secret that’s been eating away at me these past few months, preventing me from giving Fury the answer that he wants. I had been far too cautious and reluctant to share it with anyone else. I didn’t want to risk concern from an already protective Clint, or disappointment from Nat. But saying the words out loud does help ease some of the weight I’ve been carrying on my shoulders – I can’t deny that.  

A silence settles over us and lasts for several moments. The flames reflect brightly in Gran’s eyes as she watches them. The more time that passes and she doesn’t say anything, the more I worry that she’s having one of her spells. I extinguish the flames with a single thought and lean forward, prepared to gently redirect her –

“Do you remember what I once told you about passing the SHIELD training?”

I blink. “Erm… remind me?”

Her face is serious as she recalls, “You came to me, worried that you were going to fail. I told you that it wasn’t possible because you’re a Carter and a Hathaway, and perseverance is in our blood.” Her features soften as she leans forward to gently take my hand. “My little soldier, it’s not about being good enough,” she says. “It’s about trying your hardest, even if you feel like you have nothing to give.”

The words trigger a memory. Of a front porch at sunset and salty tears, Gran’s hands gently smoothing my hair away from my face. Afraid that my voice will betray the whirlwind of emotions this memory brings, I only manage a tiny nod.

Gran smiles, her thumb gently sweeping back and forth along my knuckles. “What happened with Connor was a mistake,” she soothes, and I frown at the use of an incorrect name. I don’t have it within myself to correct her, however, prompting her to continue, “When did this even happen?”

“… nine months ago…”

“Mm. When you first came home and had to learn to control your abilities. And have you had a slip up since?”

I have when my emotions run too high. Sometimes the temperature drops. Ice spreads along a window, or plants bloom and shrivel within seconds. It gets better with every day that passes though, and I can’t pinpoint exactly when this happened last. “Yes.”

“And was anyone hurt?”

“No – but that doesn’t mean that I won’t hurt someone again.”

She gives my fingers a tight squeeze. “I always thought that you were far too hard on yourself,” Gran tells me sadly. “You carry far more than you have to, Lyddy. You have since you were a little girl.”

It’s time you learn Hathaways keep their problems to themselves.

 I flinch at the sound of the all too familiar voice in my head, the words burned into my memory despite my best efforts to forget them. If Gran notices my obvious discomfort, then she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she continues, “You need to start having more faith in yourself. Not just in your ability to control your powers, but also in your ability to use them. You say that you couldn’t beat this enhanced individual without help? Well, isn’t that the whole point of a team?”

 Her words ease that small knot in my chest, and I find myself relaxing as they settle over us. She’s right. Sure, I had needed Bruce’s help in dealing with Blonsky. But hadn’t he needed my help in taking down soldiers, finding a cure and evading Ross? The more I think about it, the more I realise how wrong I had been in believing this point in the first place. As always, Gran helps me see reason.

“And if anyone makes you doubt your place in this team, then you simply ignore them,” Gran continues firmly. “You know your value. Anyone else’s opinion doesn’t matter.”

 A wet laugh echoes from my throat. “You’re pretty good at this advice stuff, you know.”

Gran smiles. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Your grandmother made sure of that.”

The fleeting joy is tainted by something more bittersweet at the words, and the reminder of the woman who is no longer in our lives. I miss her – every day I miss her. And something tells me by the way that Gran’s eyes now glisten with unshed tears that she feels the same.

"And for the last bit?” I gently prompt.

Gratitude shines through her smile at the distraction. “As for the last bit –”

A knock on the door cuts Gran off, and we both turn to see a young nurse standing in the doorway. Clad in navy blue scrubs and with a medicine cup filled with two tablets, he offers us an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Peggy. Your meds are due.”

Gran beckons him in. Once he’s by her side, I turn my head to look out the window, giving her as much privacy as I can. He does his checks, she takes the tablets and he thanks her. He smiles at me before he leaves, and once he’s gone, I clear my throat and look at her again. “You were saying?”

She blinks. “What?”

My heart lurches. “We were talking about Fury’s team,” I say. The words come out slow, giving her ample time to try and remember. Her grey brows furrow, and a wave of disappointment washes over me at the sight. “You were giving me some advice, Gran.”

“I was? Oh,” she laughs, the sound starkly contrasting against the stabbing pain in my heart. “Well, that doesn’t sound too good. What advice was I giving?”

A burning sensation begins to spread behind my eyes. Whatever it is that Gran had been about to tell me regarding my doubts stemming from my time in the facility, it is lost now. I could try and jog her memory, but I know from previous experiences that it would be no use. I bite my lip, hoping that the disappointment doesn’t read on my face. “You were telling me the best way to knock someone out from behind.”  

Gran’s smile widens, as any talk revolving her more exciting times as an espionage agent always brightens her day. “I would have thought that uncle of yours would have given you a few tips by now.”

There’s a fondness in her tone at the mention of Clint. Though not related by blood, thanks to him and my mother having different mothers, Gran had always viewed him as family. This had only deepened when Clint had taken me in after my mother had passed. It helps ease the burden of disappointment still coursing through me, and I manage a small smile.

“How is Clint?”

“He’s fine. He got himself into a bit of a sticky situation this morning, but he’ll live.”

Not picking up in the double meaning behind my tone, Gran launches into a long and detailed explanation of how to best get the jump on a target. I sit there and listen attentively, asking questions and pushing ideas. But throughout the entirety of our conversation, I can’t help but wonder what it is that she had been about to tell me. That, and how she already seems to be getting worse since I last saw her.  

For you darling, I have all the time in the world.

But how much time would that be?

*****

“You’re awfully quiet.”

I drag my gaze from the window and the ocean beyond it to look at Nat instead. She sits behind the wheel of the rental car we’ve hired, sunglasses on and her auburn curls styled to perfection. The black dress pants and white blouse are far from her usual sleek black suit, but she wouldn’t be needing it as Natalie Rushman – the soon to be assistant of Pepper Potts. With my own white blouse, black pants and matching heels, I look exactly the same. The only difference is the blazer covering my arms.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she adds.

I prop an elbow up on the windowsill and rest my head gently on the palm of my hand. The cool air streaming from the aircon in front of me keeps the Malibu heat at bay. “Just thinking about the mission,” I offer. “I watched a recording of Stark’s hearing from the other week.”

“The one in D.C?” When I nod, Nat adds, “And?”

“This mission isn’t going to be boring, that’s for sure.”

The recording hadn’t contained the entire hearing, but it had showed me enough. Two weeks ago, Stark had been summoned before the Senate Armed Forces Committee and ordered to hand over the Iron Man suit. Serious concerns have arisen about his use of the suit, it’s capabilities to be turned into a weapon, and how other countries have started to try and develop replicas. Anyone else in his shoes would’ve taken the matter seriously. But Stark? He had been flippant, taunting, brash and, well, arrogant. He took shit from no one on the committee and had no qualms about embarrassing them whenever the opportunity arose. He’s a complex man, that’s for sure. Something tells me that he’s going to keep me on my toes for however long this mission takes.

“Are any of our missions ever boring?”

“Touché,” I mutter, lips briefly twitching upwards.

“You worried you won’t be able to handle him?”

“I’ve handled worse. Just might take me some time to figure him out is all.” I sigh, hooking my loose waves behind my ears. “You reckon he’s gonna be a right fit for the team?”

"With the way he’s behaving, the World Security Council might not want him,” Nat says, matter-of-factly. “He’s gonna have to get his act together if he wants to join.”

“Hmm.” My fingers start to drum a silent beat against my leg as I think. From what Fury had said, it seems that Stark has absolutely zero interest in joining the team. And somehow, I highly doubt that he would start behaving if Fury threatened to retract his offer of joining the team. Stark doesn’t seem like the type to cave too easily.

“Let’s just worry about trying to figure out how to save his life. Save the profile fit for later,” Nat says. “Otherwise there won’t be a profile to fill.”

“Ahh, Nat. My little ray of sunshine. So blunt today.”

“And yet, you love me all the same,” she quips, earning a snort from me, before she draws the car to a stop in front of a tall, wrought-iron gate. She rolls down her window and announces our arrival into the intercom. Moments later, the gates part and she moves the car forward once more. ​​​​​​

The Stark residence – or, more appropriately, the Stark mansion – sits atop of a cliff, giving its occupants the perfect view of the sprawling Pacific. The buildings are tall, sleek and white, with large windows spanning from floor to roof. It is by far one of the most glorious homes that I’ve ever seen, and I can’t help but stare at it with a parted mouth and wide eyes.

“Holy shit.”

Nat shoots me an amused glance from the corner of her green eyes. She guides the car to a gentle stop at the curve of the driveway, putting the car in park before killing the engine. “We’re about to work for a billionaire. You didn’t think he’d be slumming it like the rest of us, did you?”

“I’m telling Clint you called the farm a slum.”

 “I will tase you with my widow bites before you get the chance.”

I roll my eyes, the playful lilt in her tone telling me she’s only joking. “I knew he was rich. But still, I wasn’t expecting something so…” I trail off, waving a hand towards the mansion in question. There isn’t a proper word to adequately explain the building before us.

“Yeah, well, wait until you see inside,” Nat says, unbuckling her seatbelt. She twists in her seat and reaches for the documents sitting in the back of the car. She hands me one and says, “We’re just going in to get them to sign the transfer papers. We’ll be in and out before you know it.”

“Let’s do this then,” I reply, before opening the car door and climbing out of the vehicle. Nat does the same on the other side. I close the door and glance at myself in the reflection of the glass window. But it’s not my face that greets me. It’s the face of Laura Rushman. Chestnut brown eyes that are downturned, a rounder, softer face with a beauty spot just above the corner of her thinner lips. It is to be my new face for the next how knows many weeks, and it’s still taking some getting used to.

“How’s the veil?” Nat asks, as she comes to join me on the other side.

“It itches.”

She snorts, before gently nudging me towards the house. All too soon, we reach the entrance. The tall, glass doors give us the perfect view of the interior of the house, and I have to refrain from allowing my jaw to drop at the sight before us. Already I can tell that inside the house is just as sleek and glorious as the outside.

“Hello,” comes a clear, British voice from somewhere around Nat and I. “You must be Natalie and Laura Rushman.

I blink, eyes searching for the source of the sound. A frown taints my lips when I can’t find anything, but then the voice speaks again. “I apologise for any confusion. I am JARVIS, Mr Stark’s User Interface computer system. That is why you are unable to locate me.”

My brows quirk up, half impressed and surprised. “Well, that explains things.”

“I have just informed Miss Potts of your arrival. She wishes to ask me if you would like anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Nat says while I shake my head. Her tone is bubbly and warm, starkly contrasting her usual deadpan and wry remarks. If we weren’t on a mission, I would tease her about it.

“Miss Potts won’t be too long. She will come and take you to Mr Stark. I have unlocked the door – you may let yourselves in if you wish.”

“Thanks, JARVIS. Nice to meet you, by the way,” I say.

“The pleasure is all mine,” JARVIS responds, before a silence descends on us. I reach for the door and hold it open for Nat, allowing her to breeze past first. I follow behind, closing it shut with a gentle click behind us. I have all of fifteen seconds to admire the white walls, marble floors and expensive furniture, before the sharp clicking of heels against the floor sounds from down the corridor. Moments later, Pepper Potts appears before us.

 She’s taller than Nat and I, with the cream coloured heels on her feet adding to her height. Her shoulder-length, straight ginger hair is loose, with thick bangs falling into her stunning blue eyes. There’s a splash of freckles across her nose, and she has pale skin. She’s slim and proper, dressed smartly in a beige-coloured dress. Her teeth are white and neatly on display upon the warm smile that she sends our way.

"You must be Natalie and Laura?” When we nod, she continues, “It’s lovely to meet you both. I’m Pepper Potts, Tony’s former assistant. If you follow me, I’ll take you to Tony and we can get your paperwork signed.” She glances between the two of us, turning somewhat sheepish. “I’m sorry to have to ask, but…who is who?”

“I’m Laura and this is Natalie –”

"I’m Natalie and this is Laura –”

Pepper chuckles at the simultaneous replies. “Well, I can already tell that you’re cousins.”

“Great minds think alike,” Nat offers warmly.

“Sorry – it happens more often than people think,” I add.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second – my cousin and I used to do it all the time when we were younger,” Pepper replies. She leads us down a wide hallway, minimalistic paintings and snapshots of landscapes hanging from the walls. There are a few awards here and there as well, all of them addressed to Tony Stark. My eyes trail over each of them curiously as we follow Pepper deeper into the house.

“You’re free to go anywhere you must or like in the house,” Pepper says. “Natalie, Tony’s workshop may be the only place that you won’t have access to for the time being, as I don’t believe that he’s put you in the system. I doubt you would need to go down there anyway – you’ll be at Stark Industries with me most of the time.”

“Not a problem, Ma’am.”

"Laura, you should have access. And feel free to treat Tony however he treats you as well. He can be quite… blunt, at times, but you don’t have to take whatever he says. In fact, I think you would both feel more comfortable if you take a more… laid back approach.”

Well, that works fine for me. It would definitely be easier to try and get closer to Tony and figure out how he’s dying.

“Did you find that more helpful?” I ask.

To my surprise, a light blush creeps its way up her face. “I – I was Mr Stark’s assistant for a long time. So, I suppose yes, it made things easier. You’ll also find that he may ask you to do tasks that a personal assistant wouldn’t normally do –”

“Like what?”

“Like… making women leave in the morning,” Pepper answers, voice clipped with the sentence. It softens again though as she explains, “Or making him meals, or possibly helping him with some of his… er, projects. Don’t worry too much though. I’ve told him to be on his best behaviour.

“Much appreciated.”

“Miss Potts, is there anything that you require Laura and I to do today once the documents are signed?” Nat asks.

 “Nothing comes to mind, no. Tony may have some other ideas for Laura, but we’ll soon find out. You both are still set to officially start tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

 “Great,” Pepper says as she leads us down a corridor. “Oh. Before I forget though, there’s the case of Monaco. Tony, his bodyguard and I are all flying to Monaco to watch the Grand Prix in three days. You’ll most likely be required to come with us. Do you both have passports?”

“It won’t be a problem, Miss Potts,” I reply.

“Just call me Pepper,” Pepper insists with a smile. As she leads us down a long corridor, the sound of two male voices bickering with one another echoes off the walls.

“What the hell was that?!”

“It’s called mixed martial arts, it’s been around for… three weeks.”

"It’s called dirty boxing, there’s nothing new about it!”

Pepper lets out a barely audible sigh at the sound of the voices. We reach the end of the corridor, and she leads us into the room – a home gym. Weights are distributed on the racks throughout the room, and the odd punching bag hangs from the roof here and there. On the opposite side of the room is a massive balcony, that holds a breathtaking view of the palm trees and the ocean stretching on for miles. Towards the far right of the room, two men donned in gloves and protective head gear circle each other in a boxing ring. At the sound of us approaching, they stop and turn to glance at us.

I can easily recognise Tony Stark with his dark hair and eyes, and stubble lining his sharp jaw. The other man I don’t know. He’s middle-aged and bulky, his dark eyes narrowed with suspicion as he looks at Nat and I. From the way he’s staring at us, I reason that this must be the bodyguard that Pepper had mentioned.

“Tony, your new personal assistant is here!” Pepper announces, not breaking stride. She leads Nat and I over to a small table with some pens on it. “You need to sign the transfer papers.”

As we come to a halt, Nat hands Pepper her documents. I opt to turn and look at Stark and am startled to find that he’s already staring intently at me. That is, until his friend knocks him on the head, dragging Tony’s attention back to him.

“Rule number one! Never take your eyes off your oppo –”

Faster than blinking, Tony suddenly roundhouse kicks the man in the gut. He goes stumbling back, a noise mixed between surprise and anger tearing from his throat. Tony just snickers, a mischievous grin working its way on his face.

“That’s it! I’m done!” He announces happily, before turning his attention back to me. Behind him, his bodyguard removes his helmet and slams it on the ground, exhaustion weighing heavy on his face.

“What’s your name, lady?” Tony asks, pointing at me.

“Laura Rushman.”

"Hmm,” he says, before his eyes then find Nat. His grin turns into a smirk. “Aaaaannddd you are?”

“Rushman, Natalie Rushman.”

Tony flings an arm around, indicating the boxing ring. “Front and centre! Come on into the church!”

Pepper looks up from the papers in her hand to shoot Tony a look of pure disbelief. “You’re not serious!”

“If it pleases the court… which, it does.”

“It’s no problem,” Nat says to Pepper with a reassuring smile. She slowly starts to make her way towards the ring, with Tony watching her every step that she takes.

"I’m sorry. He’s very eccentric,” Pepper apologises, watching as Nat slips her heels off before stepping into the ring. Tony doesn’t even bother to try and hide the fact that he’s ogling her, and I have to bite back a grin. Nat would eat him alive in a heartbeat. If only he knew that it wasn’t really Natalie Rushman he was staring at like that, but one of the world’s deadliest assassins instead.

Pepper clears her throat, and I steal a glance at her from the corner of my eyes. To my surprise, she has a look of disappointment tinged with anger lining her features as she stares at Nat and Tony. The look is almost… jealous. And the way that she had blushed when speaking about Tony earlier…

“Hap, can you give her a lesson?” I hear Tony ask. It drags my attention back to the ring, and I see that he is squeezing through the barriers, leaving the guy – Hap? – to make his way to Nat now standing in the centre of the ring.

Can you give her a lesson? I can’t help but snort. Yeah, right.

Tony’s eyes briefly scan over me as he approaches Pepper, but it’s her that he asks, “So… who are they?”

“They’re both transfers from legal, and Natalie is potentially a very expensive sexual harassment lawsuit if you keep ogling her like that –”

 “I need a new assistant, boss.”

“Which is why you have Laura here,” Pepper says almost sweetly, gesturing towards me standing beside her.

Tony glances at me, studying me from head to toe. It’s enough to make me quirk a brow up in a silent question and challenge, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him. To my surprise, he just grins. “How do I spell your name, Laura?”

“R-u-s-h-m-a-n.”

He promptly plops himself down on a chair beside the table and taps at it with his fingers. To my amazement, a small screen appears on the glass surface and Tony continues to tap away at it, typing in my supposed last name.

“You ever boxed before?” I hear Hap ask Nat. Turning around, I see that they are now facing each other, hands on hips.

"I have, yes.”

“What, like Tae Bo? Booty Boot Camp? Crunch? Something like that?” Hap replies, tone smug. The polite smile on Nat’s face slips at the taunts, and something dangerous clouds her features. Too caught up in his own rant, Hap doesn’t notice. I bite down on my cheek to prevent a smirk from forming on my lips. I have a feeling that Nat is going to make him regret those comments.

“Oh, wow!” Tony exclaims. “Laura, I have to say you are quite the impressive individual. You speak French, Italian, Greek and some German?”

It’s only half of it, but we had to retract a few languages from the list to make our cover story more believable. When I nod, he continues to read out loud from the screen, “Top student in every one of your classes… graduated high school a couple of years early… wow, Princeton? Not to mention that you’ve done some work over in Australia – tell me, what’s vegemite like?”

I blink.  “Salty.”

“Hmm.” He keeps swiping away at my digital file. “Quite an impressive resume for someone on the young side. How’d you do it?”

"Copious amounts of coffee and a dangerous lack of self-preservation.”

Now it’s his turn to blink. He looks up at me from beneath his incredibly long lashes and clicks a finger before pointing it at me. “I like you. You’re hired. Your sister can stay too.”

“Oh, Nat isn’t my sister. She’s my cousin.”

“That makes more sense. I mean, the hair? Pale blond and auburn, and the eyes… green and brown…” he taps again at the screen, and that smirk returns to his face. “Oh, wow. She modelled in Tokyo?”

My brows furrow, and instinctively lean forward to look down at the screen. Sure enough, there are photos of Nat modelling a lingerie set, looking as gorgeous as ever.

Aren’t you meant to be in Tokyo? For a mission?

I turn around, shooting her a look that screams ‘that’s what your mission in Tokyo was?’ When our eyes lock – as she has completely started ignoring Hap now – she only offers me a shrug, a coy smile threatening to spread her lips.

 “Lesson number one, never take your eyes of your opponent –” Hap begins to say, raising a hand towards Nat.

But it never reaches its destination. With a speed and skill that has taken her years to master, Nat whirls around and grabs his wrist, twisting it sharply. Hap makes a small noise of surprise and pain, but the sound is cut off as Nat flips, swinging her legs up and around his neck. She flips him over, Hap slamming hard on his back with Nat’s legs wrapped firmly around him.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim, before anxiously covering my mouth with my hands.

But it appears I have nothing to worry about, as my shout is easily drowned out by the scream from Pepper and hoot from Tony. The two of them bolt to their feet and rush towards the ring, myself right on their tail.

While Pepper appears anxious, Tony seems delighted. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He shouts, watching as Nat quickly unhooks her leg from around Hap and stands up, straightening her blouse.  The bodyguard in question only lies on the mat, gasping for air.

“Happy! Are you alright?” Pepper asks.

Hap – or Happy – waves her off, still on the ground. “I – I just slipped –”

“You did?” Tony retorts.

“Yeah...”

“Looks like a TKO to me!”

During this exchange, I stare at Nat wide-eyed as she steps out of the ring and puts her heels back on, but with the others watching her, all she can offer me is a shrug. She nods her head towards the documents on the table, and I begrudgingly turn back to grab them, before approaching a still highly amused Tony before me.

I clear my throat, and when his eyes lock with mine, I say, “I need your impression –”

“You have a quiet reserve, seem intelligent,” he starts, earning a smile from me. “I don’t know, maybe you have an old soul –?”

“I meant your fingerprint,” I correct, waving the documents in my hand.

"Oh. Right.” He dips his thumb into the attached compartment with the ink, and once it’s entirely covered, he firmly presses it against the correct spot on the document. While we take care of this, Nat asks Pepper, “Will that be all, Miss Potts?”

“Yes, thank you Natalie…”

“And do you require anything from me, Mr. Stark?” I ask the billionaire before me as he pulls his hand away and wipes his thumb on his gym shirt.

“Well, first off, let’s put a stop to that.” At my confused look, he elaborates, “Tony, not ‘Mr. Stark’. Pointless really, considering we’re going to be around each other all the time. Oh, and don’t bother coming in tomorrow. Just meet us at the airport on Thursday.”

 “The airport. For Monaco?” When he nods, I add, “Are you sure? You don’t want –”

“Won’t need you for anything until then, so, enjoy your last day of freedom. Working hours are from eight to seven on any given day of the week. Capiche?”

“Capiche. Thank you, Tony. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

And with that, Nat and I make our way out of the mansion. JARVIS guides us towards the front door and back outside. We remain silent the entire time, and it isn’t until Nat is tearing down the highway again and we are completely out of earshot that I whirl on her.

“What the shit, Nat?! Why’d you go all freaking widow on his bodyguard? His bodyguard, of all people?!”

“Relax,” she coos, keeping her eyes on the road. “No harm done –”

“Yeah, except maybe to his ego,” I retort. Her lips twitch up in a smirk in response. “Either way, you could have exposed us.”

“In case you don’t remember, Stark found the whole thing hilarious. He’s not going to suspect us.”

“Oh yeah? What about the bodyguard?”

She shrugs. “We’ll figure something out. But for now, look on the bright side.”

“What bright side?”

She turns to me, grinning. “We’re going to Monaco.”

Chapter Text

 Monaco is one of the most breathtaking places that I have ever been to.

With the absolutely stunning view of the ocean that surrounds half the country, the elegant Mediterranean houses, the small cafes that dot the streets here and there, the pristine beaches and expensive yachts, and the beautiful cliffs sitting tall and proud over the glorious city, it had taken me only seconds to fall in love with it. Even now, as I lean against the balcony rail outside of our hotel room and drink in the stretch of the ocean and the glittering lights, I love it. Its elegance and charm grows on me with every second that we’re here.

A cool, summer breeze nips at my bare skin, where the short sleeves of my pyjama shirt and shorts don’t cover. It causes my hairs on my arms to stick on end. I would retreat into my shared room with Nat to retrieve a jumper, but I don’t want to wake her. She’d been rather jet-lagged after the flight and needed a good night’s sleep. She’s a light sleeper at the best of times – it had been a miracle when I had managed to tip-toe out here without waking her – so, I stay where I am. I should probably be in there with her. Exhaustion weighs heavily on my shoulders, and I know that tomorrow is going to be a big one.

But I can’t sleep. I want to. But I can’t.

The doctors told me that it was normal. To be expected. A leftover impact from my time in the facility. Part of the healing process that didn’t come with an expiry date. I’d been trapped for a year in a never-ending cycle of torment and pain, and my nervous system is still trying to revert back to its normal level of functioning. There’s a chance that it never will. But I hope that’s not the case. My mind may be alive and rampant, refusing to switch off, but my body needs a break. I don’t want to be stuck in this depressing imbalance for the rest of my life.

Nightmares. More sleepless nights. Maybe I’m due for another appointment with Doctor Tahlia – head psychologist at SHIELD. Every SHIELD agent gets free access to the psych services they provide due to the high levels of stress, injury and exposure to horrors that seem to come straight out of the things nightmares are made of. Within a week of returning home, Clint had booked me in to see Tahlia. But as the year progressed, our appointments became more spread out. I’d thrown myself back into my work to try and distract myself from that hole inside of my chest, and whenever I wasn’t working, I had been trying to find the people that took me.

I sigh, running a hand down my face. The photostatic veil attached to my face is soft under the pads of my fingers. It feels like it’s almost real skin. I’d nearly walked out of the room without putting it on but had stopped to grab it at the last second. You never know who could be watching. Better to be safe than sorry.

My hand falls back to the rail, eyes scanning the ocean, which is pitch black at this time of night, matching the hollowness that had followed me out of the facility. Maybe I was due for another appointment. In all honesty, I’m surprised that Tahlia hasn’t called or emailed to politely push me into booking another session. Then again, there’s every chance that Fury has been keeping her updated with my missions.

“Boo.”

I swear, jolting out of my skin. I whirl on the spot, heart hammering in my chest. “Jesus!”

“Nope, just me,” Tony greets. He’s clad in a faded Metallica shirt and grey pants. His feet are bare and there’s a fluffy, white robe thrown over his shoulders – one of the ones that the hotel provided. His lips are curved in an amused grin at my startled reaction, and it only widens when I shoot him a glare. “This balcony taken?”

Still recovering from the fright – and feeling incredibly lucky that I had grabbed the veil before venturing out here – I retort, “Shouldn’t you be asleep right now?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

My mouth opens, but I find I don’t have an argument. “Touché.”

He hums. “So, circling back – got room for one more?”

I blink. There’s more than enough room out here for the two of us. Honestly, I’m just surprised that he’s asking to join me. Any other boss may have requested I head back inside and leave them be, but not Tony. He’s just staring at me expectantly, waiting for a response.

Despite the plentiful room, I shuffle sideways, arms sliding along the railing. “Knock yourself out.”

He hums with what I assume is gratitude as he moves towards me. Mirroring my stance, his own arms brace against the railing, back hunched a little as he leans forward. The contrast between the casualness of his clothes and the luxury of the robe almost makes me snort, but I remain silent. Somehow, I can’t imagine snorting at your boss is something a personal assistant should do.

For several moments, the space between us is filled with silence, though it’s not uncomfortable. Tony keeps his tired, brown eyes fixed on the ocean, the light breeze in the air ruffling his short, dark hair. The strands sway back from his face, and the stubble lining his jaw seems darker in the night air. That, and the purple shadows under his eyes. He’s clearly tired. The question is whether it’s from the twelve hour flight or a symptom of whatever it is that’s supposedly killing him. A personal assistant wouldn’t pry. They’d just ask him if there was anything that he needs. But Pepper’s words jump to the forefront of my mind.

I think you would both feel more comfortable of you take a more… laid-back approach.

I bite my lip. Fury had told me that I needed to get close to Tony in order to try and figure out what the hell is going on with him. And if taking the more laid-back approach was the way to go about it… then, why not?

"Couldn’t sleep?”

The words are casual, inquiring – intended to get the conversation flowing. He doesn’t disappoint. Kind of. “Yeah, well. That’s what twelve hours on a private jet will do to you.” He turns to look at me. “You?”

“Probably the same. But I don’t have the best sleep patterns at the best of times. Insomnia’s a bitch.”

He snorts, and I take the sound as something positive. So far, so good. I eye the white Metallica logo on his shirt. He notices and tucks his chin in to glance down at the shirt as well. “What? You don’t like?”

"No, I do. Personally more of an ACDC fan myself, but I dabble with Metallica occasionally,” I admit. Laura Rushman may be a façade, but right now, this is all me. I’d grown up listening to those bands thanks to Clint’s inclination for rock music and had fallen in love with them just as he had.

Tony’s eyes glint with approval at the words, and he waggles a finger in my direction. “See, I knew I had a good feeling about you. If you’re a fan of AC/DC, you would’ve loved what I did at the opening of the Stark Expo this year. I was in the suit, and I –”

“I know, I saw.” At the questioning look this earns me, I feign sheepishness. “I… may have done a little research of my own when I first applied for the position…”

“You did your homework.”

"Can you blame me? It’s not every day you become the personal assistant to Iron Man.”

He hums, as if to say, ‘fair enough’. “So. What’d you find?” At my questioning look, he elaborates, “When you did your research. What’d you find?”

That you’re apparently dying, but you won’t tell anyone. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them before they can flow out, unbidden. Tapping my scarred fingers together and momentarily thinking on the matter, I straighten, hands gripping the rail. “Tony Stark. Genius. Billionaire. Playboy. Philanthropist.”

He cocks his head. “That actually has a nice ring to it –”

“Hero,” I interject, the one word effectively cutting him off. I’m far gentler with the next lot of words. “After the death of your parents, you became CEO of Stark Industries which, at the time, was the largest weapons manufacturer in the world. But after a trip gone wrong in Afghanistan, you shut down your weapons production, and became Iron Man. And now, you’re trying to convince the government that being Iron Man is in their best interests, rather than your own.”

Tony blows out a raspberry, but it comes out sounding more like a huff. “Wow. OK, yeah. You did your research.”

I bite back a grin. “Like I said. I prefer to know what I’m getting into.”

His lips tug up into a tentative smile as his dark brows knit together. “Alright then. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure that my file pretty much explains everything you need to know –”

“Nuh-uh,” he cuts me off with a wave of his finger. “You got to psycho-analyse me –”

“Is that what that was?”

"So it only seems fair that I get to do the same,” he chirps.

I let out an exasperated sigh, rolling my eyes as I give a shake of my head. But beneath the exasperation, there’s a sense of guilt. Whatever it is that he knows and whatever it is that I tell him, it will most likely be drenched in lies. But that’s how it has to be, if I want to finish this mission. “OK then. Tell me what you know.”

"Uh, you already know what I know. So, tell me something different.”

"Huh?”

“Tell me something that the file doesn’t cover.” When he frowns at this, he holds his hands up defensively. “For all I know, you’re like, a secret axe murderer –”

I snort.

“ – so tell me something to prove otherwise.”

I turn away from him, eyes scanning the glittering lights of the city instead. As if they may hold an answer that I can provide him. It would be easy for me to conjure up a lie. Pluck some random little detail out of the void and present it to him like it’s the truth. It would be so easy – I’ve done it that many times in the past that it would be like second-nature for me. But that flicker of guilt seems to lurch within me at the thought. I don’t know why but lying to him just doesn’t seem right.

So, I settle with one of Lydia Hathaway’s truths. Something that won’t jeopardise the mission. “I grew up on a farm with my uncle and his family.”

Tony frowns. “Parents?”

“Mom’s dead. And whoever my father is, he didn’t care enough to stick around.”

Tony winces. “Yikes. And I thought I had it rough with my old man.”

“You didn’t get along?”

“Something like that.”

Something tells me that’s all he’ll say on the matter. But for now, I’ll take it. It’s progress, I think. I know that it’s going to take some time for him to fully trust me enough to share the secret behind his slow demise, but it’s progress, nevertheless. And if I push too hard, then there’s every chance that I will undo it all. So, I don’t push. I don’t pry. I just stay silent, allowing him to steer the conversation from here.

“Sorry ‘bout your Mom though.”

I shrug. “It happened a long time ago. It was a car accident,” I say, the last part a lie. But it’s all I can say to him right now.

“That how you got those?”

I turn to him. His eyes are cast downwards towards the rail, and when I follow his gaze, I find that it’s my scarred hands that he’s staring at. Where fire had scorched my skin for twelve months in the facility. They’re not as bad as they had been when I had first come home, but they would never be the same again. They’d taint my skin forever, serving as a constant reminder of everything that I had endured.

As such, I jerk my hands off the railing and cross them over my chest. Not because of Tony’s gawking – I’m used to it from others by now – but because if I look at them for any longer, then the memories are sure to resurface. Guilt flickers across the billionaire’s face as his misinterprets the action for something else. “Sorry.”

“It’s OK,” I say, before a silence descends upon us. It’s not entirely uncomfortable, and the two of us turn to look at the sprawling city before us. The glittering lights reflecting on the ocean, the ever-expanding cliffs… it truly is a beautiful place. I would come back here in a heartbeat if I could, and not just for the Grand Prix either. For a holiday. Maybe I could convince Ava to come here with me sometime soon.

“You excited for the race tomorrow?” I ask.

"Oh yeah,” Tony exclaims with an air of bravado, pushing away from the railing before slightly rocking back and forth. “Nah, it’s gonna be great. First vacation in two years… and I got my own car too…”

I tilt my head. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself rather than me. And despite the big and easy grin on his face, it doesn’t quite meet the haunted look in his chocolate brown eyes.

“…you don’t seem all that excited,” I gently note.

"Pft,” Tony dismisses my concern with a wave of his hand. “What? Me? Nah, I’m – I’m great. Just a bit tired… jet-lag, and, handing over companies, and all that.”

Likely a deflection from the truth. But I don’t call him out on his lie. Doing so too soon would only unravel the groundwork I’ve laid out here. Instead, I smile. “Well, that’s true. It’s not every day you hand over a multi-billion-dollar company. Pepper seems like she’ll be great though.”

A fondness I never would have associated with the billionaire seeps onto his features at the mention of his former assistant. Or friend, I should say. I know that I have only seen them together for a short period of time, but between the exasperation, teasing and fine-line between chaotic brilliance and steadfast determination, there is undoubtedly a spark between him and Pepper. A spark, I can’t help but suspect, that may have the potential to blossom into something more.

"So, now that you’re no longer CEO, what’s next for you?” I ask.

Like a light flickering off, the fondness vanishes from Tony’s face and is replaced with something far darker. His Adam’s apple bobs up in his throat as he swallows thickly, eyes firmly locked on the horizon. “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” he mutters.

I suppress a wince. I hadn’t meant for my words to sting, but they’ve clearly hit a mark. Considering that he’s dying, he probably has no idea what’s next for him, let alone if he’ll live long enough to plan anything solid. My words have likely just reminded him of that, and the realisation causes my heart to skip a beat.

“Tony, I –”

“Everything all right, boss?”

At the sound of the new voice, Tony and I turn around. Happy stands in the doorway of the room adjacent to mine and Nat’s. Like Tony, he’s dressed casually in a pair of trousers and a grey shirt, starkly contrasting the suit that he had been wearing only hours beforehand. His stocky frame fills the doorway and his hand hovers over the sliding door handle, brown eyes narrowed with suspicion as they flicker between Tony and I.

I inwardly groan. Thanks to Nat’s little stunt with Happy the other day, the already distrustful bodyguard has decided that he doesn’t like us. Or trust us. He’d kept a close eye on Nat and I from the moment we met them all at the airport, and he’d watched us just as closely for the entire flight. Every time I so much as shifted a muscle in my seat, I’d felt his eyes dart over to me. As if he was afraid I was going to suddenly lurch up and attack everyone.

Tony straightens, a frown on his face. “How’d you get a key to my room?”

“I’m your bodyguard. It’s my job to have a key to your room.”

“Pretty sure that’s not written anywhere in the job description…”

"Can never be too careful, boss.”

Tony snorts, shaking his head. Knowing that the moment has passed, I clear my throat. “I’m going to turn in anyway. Big day tomorrow after all.” I offer Tony a small smile and give Happy a little wave before disappearing back into my room. The moment the door is shut and I’ve drawn the curtain, I rip the veil from its place. It hangs limp in my hand as I run a tired hand over my true face.

"So, now that you’re no longer CEO, what’s next for you?”

"That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

Sighing, I slowly inch back to my bed, trying hard not to wake Nat, who is curled up under the blankets in her bed on the other side of the room. I thankfully make it back in mine without disturbing her, and when I’m settled, I find myself staring up at the roof. Tonight had been progress. It probably would have been better had Happy not interrupted Tony and I, but I’ll try again tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll be able to get him alone at some point while we watch the Grand Prix.

*****

The streets of Monaco are packed. Almost everyone is heading towards the casinos and restaurants in the centre of the city, where they could dine classy while watching the race. Those that weren’t fortunate enough to do so were stacked on roofs and balconies of their apartments, where they would be able to watch the race from the luxury of their own home. Still, there are people everywhere – on the footpaths and roads – but Happy manages to skilfully weave the car around everyone as he heads for the Hotel de Paris.

"You know, if you press yourself any closer to the window, you’re going to fall through it,” Nat teases me in a whisper from where she sits beside me. Her red curls are loose, and they match the pink fabric of the dress that she’s wearing.

“Sorry,” I reply, not bothering to tear my gaze from the window. “It’s just so…”

“Exquisite?” Pepper pipes up from the other side of Nat. Her hair is pulled back in a high pony-tail, revealing the pretty features of her face. When I nod, she smiles. “I remember thinking that when we came here a couple of years back. Although somebody took an extra six hours to arrive at the airport, so we lost time to properly enjoy the stay,” she says, sending a glare towards the back of the passenger seat where Tony is currently sitting.

Tony lets out a pained groan. “C’mon, Potts. You’re killing me here. We can do that today. Isn’t that the whole point? While we’re here? To have fun?”

“Well, I suppose. But…”

“Nuh uh!” Tony protests, holding up a hand without turning to look back at her. “No! Pep, we’re on vacation here, OK? Vacation. The first one we’ve taken in two years. And I, for one, am going to enjoy it,” he declares with a huff. I hear Pepper give a barely audible sigh at his spiel, but otherwise, she doesn’t argue with him. She just settles back in her seat, pulling the car into silence once more.

It's not long after that we arrive at the casino, and Happy guides the car to the curb before gently slowing it to a stop. My eyes scan the large crowd outside, and I’m a little taken aback by the amount of people that have gathered around the casino entrance, barriers and security keeping them from swarming the car. Some of the crowd are holding up Iron Man posters as they scream for Tony, waving at him through the window. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, hero and celebrity indeed.

“Ready?” Nat asks, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress as Tony, Happy and Pepper all open their car doors.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply. I grab my sunglasses from the top of my head and shove them on my face, careful not to disrupt the veil. Once they’re in place, I open the door and step out of the vehicle, ready to face the screaming crowd.

I close the door with a thud before straightening the skirt of my white dress as the press begin to take photos of our small group. My sunglasses protect my eyes from the array of bright flashes, but it isn’t long until they’re all directed Tony’s way. He only greets them with a peace sign and a bored expression before he struts his way up the front steps of the casino, leaving the rest of us to follow after him.

The casino is just as elegant on the inside as it is on the outside, with its cream walls, well-furnished rooms, high windows and colourful bars. It’s not as crowded as outside, but there are still a lot of people within the space, dressed in sharp suits and gorgeous dresses. At the sight of Tony walking through the halls, people seem to instinctively move out of his way, allowing him – and therefore, us – to breeze past.

“FYI, it’s Europe, so whatever happens in the next twenty minutes, just go with it,” Tony says to us, as he leads us into one of the many rooms.

Pepper’s eyes widen. “Go with what?” she demands.

But before Tony gets the chance, a photographer appears before us, pleading for a picture. Tony sighs, but ultimately stops short, pulling Pepper beside him for a photo. Nat and I hurry out of the way – wherever Happy is, I don’t know – but we still stand within earshot of our two ‘bosses’. They’re smiling as the photographer takes dozens of photos, but through their gritted teeth, an argument ensues.

“When did this happen?”

“What? You made me do it.”

"I made you do what?”

“You quit. Look, right there. Stop acting constipated. Don’t flare your nostrils.”

“You are so predictable,” Pepper seethes, as the photographer takes his final photo.

“That’s the amazing thing,” Tony replies, stepping away to join Nat and I. He doesn’t bother to hide the sly grin, or the way that his eyes rake over Nat. “You look fantastic by the way. But that’s unprofessional.”

Nat offers him a bright smile. It’s an unusual sight on her usually stoic face, but I don’t have long to dwell on it, as Tony asks me, “What’s on the docket?”

Having remembered his schedule for the day ahead, I promptly inform him, “You have a dinner at 9:30.”

“Great!” I’ll be there at 11,” he replies, before nodding his head at a table in the corner of the room. “Is this us?”

“I mean, it can be –”

“Great. Make it us.”

I barely have enough time to nod my head before he turns on his heel and makes a beeline for the bar. I turn to find the closest worker to request the table, but Nat takes Tony’s place and gently grasps my arm. “I’ll handle it,” she murmurs, watching as Pepper trails after Tony. “You should stick by Stark as much as possible. Try to find out how it is that he’s dying.”

I hum, eyeing the pair who now stand at the bar. They’re speaking to a tall, blonde woman wearing a blue dress and white pumps. Her make-up is flawless, and her hair has been curled to perfection. I can’t help but frown, feeling like I’ve seen her somewhere before. Perhaps on TV, or something…

The man beside her I instantly recognise: Justin Hammer. Owner and CEO of Hammer Industries, a weapons manufacturer company that is supposedly meant to rival Stark Industries. He had been at the Senate hearing that Tony had attended a few weeks prior and hadn’t bothered to hide his awkward disdain for Tony. He’s shorter in real life and has thick, brown hair and blue eyes framed by thick-rimmed glasses. He’s dressed smartly in a grey suit, and despite the confident manner in which he tries to hold himself, I can’t help but think that he’s squirming as he chats to a disinterested Tony as if they’re old friends.

"You’ll be OK here?” I ask Nat.

“Considering our usual line of work, I think that I can manage charming one of the staff.”

“Smart-ass,” I retort, but the corners of my mouth flicker upwards. She slaps my arm in both a playful manner, and to urge me along after Tony, before she moves towards a waiter just behind us. Squaring my shoulders and adopting an air of confidence, I begin to stride forward, heels clacking against the floor.  

I don’t make it very far, however. I’ve barely taken all of five steps before I’m grabbed by the arm and pulled to the side. Instinct causes me to clench my hand, ready to swing, but at the sight of Happy glaring down at me stops me altogether.

 I arch a brow at the sight of the glare on his face. “Can I help you?”

“What are you doing?”

My brows knit together. “I’m going to see if Tony needs anything –”

“No, I mean, what are you doing –”

“… isn’t that what I just said?”

“I’m on to you,” he half snaps. “You and your very attractive cousin –”

"You think Nat’s attractive?”

“Not the point,” Happy dismisses, cheeks turning crimson. He hasn’t let go of my arm at this point, and his fingers are starting to dig in hard enough to cause some level of discomfort. Thankfully, when I pointedly glance down at his hand, he releases me and straightens the blazer of his suit. “Look, I’m on to you, OK? There’s no way that you just happen to become Tony and Pep’s assistants in just a couple of days –”

“I mean, it kind of did just happen…”

“– and you’re both way too smart and seemingly perfect at freakin’ everything!” He hisses, the words more accusing than they are unkind. “And don’t think I don’t remember the stunt your cousin pulled on me the other day –”

“You mean when she kicked your ass in the ring?” I ask, a little too innocently.

“What? She did – I did not – I let her, do you… do you really think that I would be Iron Man’s bodyguard if I couldn’t handle a personal assistant?!”

“Don’t take it personally. If you read her file, it says that she’s done a lot of sports, including in mixed martial arts,” I say. Thank God it had. I don’t know if any other reason we gave would be believable enough. And it’s not entirely a lie either. Nat has had extensive training in mixed martial arts. Only, she was trained as a former Red Room assassin, rather than just as a hobby she picked up. But Happy doesn’t need to know that.

Happy still eyes me suspiciously. “But that doesn’t explain how you got the job so quickly. Normally it takes weeks for this kind of thing to happen –”

“True, but we weren’t external applicants,” I calmly explain. For a bodyguard, he sure as hell is thorough. It’s equally admirable as it is frustrating for my current predicament. The last thing I need is for him to plant any seeds of doubt in Tony’s mind about Nat and I. “Pepper and Tony both needed new assistants as soon as possible, so when they asked us if we would consider transferring out of legal, we agreed. We wouldn’t have done so if we didn’t think we could handle the job, or if we didn’t have faith in Pepper running the company.”

Happy’s face slowly starts to loosen itself from the scowl that seems to be permanently etched to his face every time he looks at me. Beneath my frustration from his continuous suspicion, there’s also understanding. It’s clear that he’s dedicated to his job and is protective of both Tony and Pepper. Not only because it’s his job, but because they’re his friends as well. So, I do understand where he is coming from, and it’s enough to make me feel slightly guilty as the lies flow from my lips. But like him, I have a job to do. And like him, I’m ultimately acting in Tony’s best interest. Figure out how he’s dying, and then help him try to find a way to reverse it.

“I assure you, I’m only looking out for Tony’s best interest,” I say. “Pepper too.”

I hold my breath, waiting for his response. He stares at me for longer, scrutinizing every detail of my face to try and figure out if there is anything that would indicate that I’m lying. Anyone else might have squirmed under the intense gaze but after years of training, I remain still. Somehow, I think that doing otherwise would only further raise his suspicions, and that’s something that I really can’t afford right now.

After what seems like an eternity, he finally mutters, “Tony’s by the bathrooms, talking to that reporter. That Hammer guy is with them as well.”

I bite my lip, preventing a smile from breaking through. My words may have been lies, but my next ones are sincere. “You’re a good bodyguard, Happy. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

A look of surprise flashes across his face, but I only turn away and walk towards Tony.

It takes me a little while to find him, but eventually, I spot Tony sitting at one of the tables a few feet away from the bathrooms. He’s sitting at a table with Hammer and the woman – a reporter, Happy had said – and there’s a painfully bored look on his face as he listens to whatever it is that Hammer is droning on about. As if sensing me approaching, his eyes dart up from the table to lock with mine, a secret message hidden in them: Get me out of here, right now.

Easy.

“Mr Stark,” I warmly greet as I reach the table. The sound of my voice causes all three heads to snap my way, but I only keep my eyes on my billionaire ‘boss’. “I’ve just come to remind you of lunch you scheduled.”

“Great!” Tony exclaims too brightly, wasting no time in rising to his feet. “Hammer, never a pleasure –”

“Oh! This – this must be your new assistant,” Hammer says, flashing me an awkward smile. At his words, his reporter friend’s eyes zero in on me hungrily, like a snake watching its prey. “Justin Hammer, pleased to meet you.”

I offer him a polite smile. “Laura Rushman.”

“And, uh, this here is Christine Everhart, from Vanity Fair,” Justin introduces, the blonde reporter – Christine – offering me a dazzling smile with a razor sharp edge to it. “She’s – uh, she’s doing a report on me and my company, Hammer Industries.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Christine greets, something in her tone suggesting otherwise. Her hand inches in to her purse and, seconds later, she pulls a recording device from it. “I know my editor would kill me if I didn’t grab a quote for a possible future story…”

 I raise a brow. “Doesn’t seem like an interesting story to me.”

Her smile tightens. “Well, despite what you may think, it would make an interesting story. Especially considering you’ll have such big shoes to fill after Pepper. I don’t know whether anyone could be as good as she was.”

“Oh. You know Pepper?”

"I had the pleasure of meeting her last year. Tony and I know each other from way back, don’t we?”

“Roughly,” he mutters, and just like that it clicks. Ah. There’s some history here then.

Well. If she wants to play it like that.

“Well, I’m no Pepper Potts, but I think I’m more than capable enough to handle the job,” I reply sweetly. “And I’m sure any of your stories would be interesting. I did especially like the one you did on Tony last year. You did quite the spread on him, from what I’ve heard. Shame that it didn’t really stick like some people hoped.”

Her icy eyes flash with anger as a blush spreads up her neck and along her face. The hidden meaning behind my words seems to fly over Hammer’s head, as he only keeps the awkward smile on his face as his eyes dart between Christine and I. Tony, on the other hand, knew exactly what I meant, and it seems that he’s more than happy to play along.

“And then you wrote that wonderful story afterwards,” he says with a smirk.

Christine is as red as tomato now, all traces of politeness gone. “Thank you,” she says tightly.

 The smirk on Tony’s face widens, and he moves to join me on the other side of the table. At the sight of his retreating figure, Hammer blurts out, “Um, the Expo!”

“What about my expo?”

"Well, I was hoping…that I could present something at it,” Hammer explains sheepishly.

"If you invent something that actually works, then I’ll get you a slot,” Tony cheerfully replies, before turning to face me. “So, you were looking for me. About that thing that requires us to be anywhere but here?”

It would be impossible for me not to match his smile. “Yes, your lunch schedule.”

“Great!” He takes me by the arm and practically drags me away from the table, leaving an angry Christine and embarrassed Hammer behind. He doesn’t say anything until we’ve made it back at the table that Nat has acquired for us. The moment that we reach it, he snickers. “Man, the look on their faces!”

I snort, the two of us settling down in the chairs. Within seconds, a waiter appears to take our orders. I order a wine while Tony orders a scotch and he’s still chuckling long after the waiter has disappeared to retrieve our drinks. “God, I wish someone had filmed that.” He shoots me an appreciative look. “Thanks for showing up back there. One more moment with Justin Hammer, and I would have lost one too many braincells.”

“You really don’t like him, do you?”

“What’s there to like?” He retorts as the waiter reappears and places our drinks down in front of us. Tony wastes no time in reaching for his and taking a large sip. “He’s exactly the kind of guy my Dad would’ve liked.”

I purse my lips. “Maybe not.”

“Trust me. In the few years that I actually spent with my old man, I knew exactly what he wanted in a son. And it wasn’t me.”

My fingers tap the edge of the wine glass, his words stirring something in me. Unfortunately, that’s a feeling I’m all too familiar with. Stacey Hathaway may have been the best SHIELD agent of her generation, but as far as mothers go, she was far from the best. I’m just lucky that I had Laura and Clint to look up to. There’s no telling where I would be today if it wasn’t for them.

 But I don’t say this to Tony. Instead, only take a sip of the sweet wine, savouring the taste of it on my tongue before murmuring, “I think you doubt yourself too much.”

“’Doubt helps one improve,’” Tony says. “Read that somewhere. Think it was in one of those magazines that Pepper reads sometimes – the ones you find in the grocery store –”

“Look, I don’t know what things were like between you and your father, and I’m not asking you to tell me if you don’t want either. But I think you need to give yourself some credit. You are... infinitely better than Hammer. Anyone can see that.”

He blinks and for half a moment, I fear that I may have overstepped a boundary. The longer that he sits and says nothing, the more this is reinforced in my head. I open my mouth – to apologise, to take back the words, I’m not sure – but I never get the chance.

“There you are!” Pepper’s bubbly voice sounds from behind me. When I twist in my seat, I see her approaching us, a smile on her face. “I thought maybe we should order lunch so that we’re eating by the time the race starts? It’s not long now.”

Disappointment floods within me at her appearance, but I do my best to offer her a smile. “Sounds good to me.”

"Diddo,” Tony says, finding his voice again. He grabs his drink and brings it to his mouth, knocking it back in one go. He doesn’t even grimace at the rich flavour of the scotch. He just slams the now empty glass back on the table. “I gotta use the restroom to clean myself up a little – order for me, OK?” he says to Pepper as he pushes himself to his feet.

“But what do you want?”

“Lobster. Actually, no. Don’t get me lobster. Get me… the most expensive thing on the menu,” he says, without breaking a stride. Pepper and I turn to watch him go, troubled frowns on our faces as he disappears into the crowd.

Once he’s gone, Pepper settles in the free seat next to mine. “Is everything OK?” she asks.

“Tony was just annoyed about running into Justin Hammer and Christine Everhart.”

At the mention of the reporter, Pepper’s entire body stiffens and she brings her lips tightly together. It leads me to ask, “I take it you’re not her biggest fan either?”

Pepper remains silent, far too polite to say otherwise.

“I don’t blame you. That was the first time I’ve met her, and that is more than enough for me.”

Pepper’s lips twitch, as if she may smile. But she eventually just clears her throat, and hands me one of the menus to flick through.

Fifteen minutes pass. The waiter comes and takes our order and serves Pepper a glass of wine, but Tony doesn’t return. As the minutes tick by and he still doesn’t reappear, my fingers start to nervously tap against the edge of the table and I glance over my shoulder, searching for him. He may be with Happy or Nat, or perhaps he is just talking to another business associate. God knows there’s plenty of them here. It’s likely where he is. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong –

“Oh my God!”

I jump at Pepper’s harsh exclamation and turn to look at her. Her jaw hangs open with something akin to horror in her eyes, and I follow their gaze and tilt my head up to look at the television hanging from the opposite wall. The sight of Tony, now donning a blue race suit that matches the blue race car he is ambling towards causes a noise of surprise to emit from the back of my throat.

He flashes the camera a cocky grin. “What’s the point of owning a race car if you don’t drive it?” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Blowing the camera a kiss, he reaches for a matching helmet before climbing into the vehicle.

“Using the restroom my ass!” I snap. The words fly out before I can stop them. But when I turn to shoot Pepper an apologetic look, the expression on her face tells me that she shares the same sentiment. She turns in her seat, looking for something – or someone – I don’t know. But eventually, she spots who it is she’s looking for and beckons them over.

Moments later, a frazzled Nat appears, her own eyes wide as she looks at the screen. Whether she’s really thrown by this new development or is putting on a show to maintain our lie, I don’t know. It’s a little scary that I don’t.

"Natalie, did you know about this?”

“No, I did not, Miss Potts.”

“This – this cannot happen –”

“I understand, Miss Potts – how can I be of help?”

“Where’s Happy?”

“He was waiting outside, last time I saw him.”

“Get him please. I need Happy.”

“Right away, Ma’am,” Nat says, before dashing towards the entrance.

“I don’t think there’s going to be much that you can do,” I inform Pepper, my eyes returning to the screen. “The race will have already started by the time Nat gets Happy.”

“Oh my God,” Pepper mutters, pressing a hand to her forehead. It ruffles her bangs, but she’s too anxious to care. “He can’t get in any more trouble – he just can’t –”

 “I understand. But unless you can get in contact with either Tony or one of the pit-crew members down on the track in the next forty seconds, then there’s not much we can do but let him race,” I say. Wanting to ease her obvious distress, I smoothly add, “Tony flies a titanium suit thousands of miles in the sky. He can handle a race car. He’ll race, and then we can scold him afterwards.”

Pepper lets out a watery chuckle at my words. “You say scold him, and I picture some eight-year-old getting told off. Then again, it’s Tony we’re talking about. Sometimes it does feel like I am telling off a child…”

 I hum, noting her underlying affection. “Miss Potts –”

“Pepper.”

“Pepper,” I amend. “I hope you don’t get offended when I ask this, but… you seem rather, fond, of Tony?”

Her cheeks turn the same colour as her hair at the implication behind the words. Clearing her throat, she reaches for her drink and brings it up to her lips. “Well, we’ve known each other for a long time,” she says, half-hiding behind the glass as she takes a massive mouthful of her drink.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you –”

“You didn’t,” she says, wiping at the corner of her mouth. “It’s just, um…” she trails off, searching for the right words to say. “It’s just…”

But whatever it ‘just’ is, I never learn. Her eyes find the television just as the cars tear forward, the tyres screeching along the track. Our conversation already forgotten, she groans at the reminder of the current predicament that we find ourselves in.

“I’m seriously going to kill him for this,” she mutters, hiding her face in her hands. “This – this is just going to end terribly. I can feel it.”

 I say nothing. Somehow, I don’t think that any words of assurance that I can provide will have much effect on the anxious Pepper beside me. Instead, I keep my eyes on the television, tracking the blue Stark car that seamlessly weaves past the other. It’s a blur on the road. Tony drives it almost effortlessly, as if he’s driven a race car a million times before. The crowd screams him on, shouting words of encouragement and chanting his name over and over again, waving their Iron Man posters high in the sky every time he passes them.

Several minutes pass. The longer that Tony races without any incident, the more Pepper seems to relax. She sips at her wine, the tension easing from her shoulders. The waiter returns with our food, and we start to dig in. But it isn’t long after that we find ourselves staring at the screen in a mixture of confusion and terror.

“What on earth…?” Pepper breathes.

I glance up from my plate and instinctively find the screen. My mouth parts as we watch a tall man, wearing a safety helmet and an orange vest suit – one of the pit crew members – leaping over the barrier and stalking up the middle of the race track. The members of the watching crowd cease their cheers and stand up, half leaning over the barriers to watch this man. I even lean forward in my seat, my eyes tracking his every move.

“Who is that?” Pepper asks.

My eyes narrow as the man rips off his helmet and tosses it to the side. Tanned skin. Shoulder length black hair, tinged with grey shades. Middle-aged. A beard, and tattoos inked into his skin, though they’re too small on the screen for me to make out. Broad-shouldered. Confident stride.

“I don’t know,” I lowly reply, watching as the man begins to rip the front of his orange vest suit apart. To my surprise, a gleaming arc reactor shines brightly from the centre of his chest, similar to the one implanted in Tony’s chest. The piece of technology that not only keeps him alive, but also helps to power his Ironman suit. Tony had assured everyone at the senate hearing that this technology was years away from being properly developed by anyone but him. Yet, here we are, in Monaco, looking at a man who has an arc reactor of his own.

I stand upright as I watch the man’s top suddenly catch alight. It burns away, nothing more than embers in the wind as he continues to stride forward. Beneath it, some sort of mechanical harness sits. It’s not a body suit like the Iron Man one, as it only covers the chest and extends down to the arms, tendrils of wire hanging from its ends, like whips. To my surprise, electricity crackles down them. I feel my own flare within my body in response.

“Oh my God,” Pepper breathes, watching as a car suddenly tears around the corner of the race track. Moving far too quickly, it heads straight towards the man with the suit.

“He’s not going to have time to brake!” I exclaim, panicked. Sure enough, the car is only a mere handful of feet away from the man –

But the man only lifts one of his whips and slams it down on the car. It’s torn apart instantly. There’s a flash, electricity and machine colliding, and then fire that cleaves the car in half, sending the broken pieces – and its driver – halfway down the track.

People on the screen and within the casino scream as the car hurtles down the track before it finally crashes against the barriers. People rush forward to help the driver, but the mystery man? He just laughs and continues moving forward, already searching for his next victim.

“Oh my God!” Pepper half-shrieks, her face pale. “Tony’s in there!”

I’m already reaching for my bag. “Then we’re getting him out!”

“Hey!”

I turn, relief crashing over me at the sight of Happy standing in the doorway. He’s got a red and silver case in his hand which he waves pointedly. What’s in it, I have no clue, but Pepper seems to understand perfectly. She bolts upright and rushes towards him with me hot on her heels.

“We need to go!”

“I know, get to the car!” Happy replies, ushering the two of us towards the entrance.

“Where’s Nat?” I ask, hurrying down the steps two at a time.

“I don’t know – said she had to make a phone call!” Happy replies, racing forward. I don’t have time to dwell on who it is that she might be calling, as Happy throws the back door of the car open. He doesn’t wait to close it behind us. He just slides into the driver’s seat. I let Pepper crawl through first before I throw myself in after her. I barely have time to close it shut behind me before the car roars to life, and Happy floors it, sending us flying forward.

I am thrown against the window, and I yelp as my head slams against it – hard. My vision swims with tears as my head throbs, and I’m dimly aware of Happy calling out an apology, but I ignore him. I blindly reach for my seatbelt to secure myself in my seat, before reaching for my phone. Blinking through the tears, I quickly type out a message to Nat:

     LYDIA 3:25PM:

     Nat, where the hell are you?! I’m with Pepper and Happy, we’re going to get Stark.

“Hang on!” Happy yells.

My heart leaps, and I look up from my phone. “What do you mean hang –?”

We all scream as Happy drives straight past the barriers. There’s a loud bang, the car jerks, and then we find ourselves on the very same streets where the Grand Prix is taking place. With a determined grunt and swing of his hands, Happy retakes control of the car, and swerves it in place before driving in the complete opposite direction of the other racers.

“Careful!” Pepper screeches, hanging on to her seat for dear life. We turn around a corner, narrowly missing a race car which has to swerve to avoid hitting us head on.

"I know, I know!” Happy screams, the words ringing in my ears.

My phone vibrates where I clutch it like a lifeline in my hand. With a few presses of my thumbs, I read the text that Nat responded with:

     NAT: 3:27PM:

      Fury messaged, he wanted an update. Stay safe, and don’t blow your cover.

"Where are the keys?” Pepper yells. I look up to see that she is fumbling with the red and silver case wedged between us in the back seat – Happy must have passed it over when I wasn’t looking.

“They’re in my pocket!” Happy replies, before taking one of his hands off the wheel to reach into the pocket of his suit jacket. He glances down, taking his eyes off the road for a handful of seconds. But at the sight of a car hurtling straight towards us, I call out in warning. Pepper screams, but Happy has just enough time to grab the steering wheel and jerk it to the side, avoiding a crash that would have likely killed us all.

“Thanks!” He yells.

I don’t answer. Instead, I steel myself with a breath before lurching forward. My hand darts into the pocket of his suit jacket before he has time to react. The moment I feel my hands close around a key, I pull it out and hand it to Pepper. “Just drive and keep us alive!” I call out to Happy.

He complies. The next two minutes consist of me acting as a second pair of eyes for Happy as we weave around the track, dodging race cars and having far too many close calls for my liking. As we round another corner, we all gasp at the scene in front of us. At least four cars – including Tony’s – have fallen victim to the mystery man’s whips. What’s left of them are scattered across the track or piled up against the barriers, the racers hobbling out of the way and moving to safety as fast as their injured states allow them. The mystery man only stands in the middle of the wreckage with his back towards us, head tipped back as he laughs. The reason? He has Tony trapped and cornered against the barrier.

“Shit!” Happy exclaims, flooring the car once more.

“What are you doing?!” I shriek.

“Trust me!”

My brain only takes another two seconds to realise what he has planned. But by then, it’s too late. He slams a fist against the horn, blaring it long and hard. It grabs Tony’s attention, and he quickly rolls out of the way and to safety. But for the man, it’s too late. He barely has enough time to turn around before the car slams into him.

Pepper screams. The car jolts. The man goes flying back. I swear as Happy pins the mystery man against the barrier, not hard enough to kill him. But hard enough to trap.

Swearing again as the man slumps forward – dead or unconscious, I really don’t know – but with him momentarily out of the picture, I lurch into action. Heart slamming against my chest from the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I unbuckle my seatbelt and fumble with the door. It takes me a moment to fling it open. But once I do, I stumble out of the car and move towards a pissed-off Tony.

“Are you alright?” I ask, reaching down to help him to his feet.

“Peachy,” he snaps back, a glare on his face. But it’s not me that it’s reserved for – it’s for Happy.

“Were you heading for me, or for him?!” He demands, yelling the words so that they can be heard over Pepper’s deep gasps.

“I was heading for him!”

“Really?! ‘Cause I can’t tell!”

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” Pepper suddenly screams, causing all three of us to jump. Her eyes are wild and her face is flushed as she glares at Tony, absolute murder written on her face.

But Tony is just as angry. “BETTER SECURITY!”

“GET IN THE CAR!!”

“I WAS ATTACKED! WE NEED BETTER SECURITY!”

“Guys, can we just get in the car?” I plead, but it’s no use. Between their yelling, the screams of the crowd, and the roaring of the flames, they can’t hear me.

“You’re a CEO, which means we need better security measures!” Tony snarls. Shaking his head, he grabs my arm and starts to pull me back towards the car. “God, how embarrassing!” he mutters, reaching for the door. “First vacation in two years –”

A blinding light suddenly cuts through the air, followed by a terrible tearing noise. All four of us scream as Tony and I leap back, turning our heads to see the man has woken up. Bloodstains his teeth as he laughs at us, a borderline manic glint in his eye as he looks our way and raises his arm again –

I know Nat said not to blow my cover, but instinct causes me to raise my hands, seconds away from snapping my wrists and creating a gust of wind to send the whips flying back –

But I don’t get the chance. Something hard and heavy knocks into me, and I land on the ground with a thud. But it’s better than the alternative, as Ivan’s whip slams down on the track where I had been just moments before.

A body presses against mine, but once we’re out of danger, it pulls itself off me. Startled, I look up through my blonde waves and see Tony peering down at me anxiously. “You good?” When I manage a nod, he orders, “Stay there!” before leaping to his feet.

Pepper screams as Happy rams the car into Ivan again, distracting him from bringing the whip down again. It gives me the chance to scream, “Tony!”

The billionaire turns to look at me, watching as I pull myself to my feet. I may not be able to fight, but that doesn’t mean he can’t. “Use the whips against him! They’re attached to his hands, but if he can’t use them or the suit –”

“Then he’s practically defenceless,” Tony finishes.

Pepper’s scream cuts through the air, drawing our attention to her as the man slams the whip down on the car, slicing it in half. I gasp as it misses Pepper by a hair’s breadth, and it’s enough to spur Tony into action. As the man pulls the whip back, readying to use it again, Tony screams, “Pep! Throw me the case!”

Happy pulls the car back as she does just that. The second the case lands on the ground with a clatter, Tony stomps on it. I watch, utterly perplexed as it begins to shift and expand, and I quickly realise that this isn’t just a suitcase – it’s an Iron Man suit. One of his newer ones. It automatically spreads across Tony, moving almost too quickly for me to keep up. Soon, it covers him entirely, the silver mask being the last piece to fall in place.

The moment it slams down and covers his face, Tony lifts up a hand and fires a repulsor blast at the man. But he simply leaps to the side and raises a hand, slamming the end of the whip against Tony’s face. The titanium-clad billionaire stumbles back from the force of it, but before he has time to react, the man sends the other whip flying. It coils around Tony’s neck and if it wasn’t for the suit, he would be dead by now.

Not bothering to try and pry the whip away from his neck, Tony only stalks forward. With each step that he takes, he grabs and twists the whip further around him, preventing the man from pulling them back to strike again. Just as I’d said, the man is soon defenceless without his whips, and takes only three punches to the man’s gut to knock the breath out of him. With a determined grunt, Tony hurls the man over his shoulder and flips him down on the ground. Before he can recover, Tony leans over and wrenches the arc reactor from the harness, killing the power immediately.

The watching crowd cheers, and a bunch of security guards and police rush from around the corner, finally arriving on the scene. I reach up and gingerly prod at my still throbbing head, the pain increasing tenfold now that I don’t have a threat to focus on. Pepper and Happy begin to slowly climb out of the car, but Tony pays us no attention. He only stares down at the arc reactor in his hand, not even moving when the guards drag the man away. Blood dribbles from his mouth and he hangs limp in their arms, but he still lets out a string of mirthless laughs.

“You’ll lose, Stark!” He laughs, accent thick. “You’ll – you’ll lose!”

I frown, watching him go. You’ll lose, Stark – lose what?

Tony just crushes the arc reactor in his hand.

Chapter Text

“How’s that head of yours doing?”

I suppress a groan, fingers tightening their grip on the cold compress pressed against the side of my head. After hitting it on the racetrack hours ago and being endlessly questioned by the authorities, my brain has succumbed to a nasty headache. It throbs with a pain that demands to be felt, but a couple of aspirins and a cold compress helps dull it. Somewhat.

After the mystery man had been dragged away by the authorities, Tony, Pepper, Happy and I were checked over by paramedics. Thankfully, we’d walked away with nothing but a few scrapes, bruises and a headache. But there was no time for us to rest and recover. Nat had joined us and we were whisked down to the police station where we’d given our statements. Now, Nat and I sit in an empty office, glasses of water and untouched candy bars from a vending machine strewn between us, courtesy of an officer who’d left the room twenty minutes prior. Tony was out there somewhere, talking to them. Wherever Happy and Pepper are, I don’t know. Perhaps they’d gone to get some real food.

My eyes flutter open to look at Nat. She’s still picture perfect, with her dress and pressed curls. Me on the other hand? Messy hair. Smeared make-up. Crumpled dress. I bet Christine Everhart was having an absolute field day watching as the man attacked us. That’ll give her an interesting story for sure.

“It hurts,” I say.

“What do you need?”

“To crawl into a dark room and die.”

She snorts, concern and amusement twinkling in those stunning green eyes of hers. Legs crossed and hands folded neatly on the table, she says, “I think we might be here a while longer.”

My face twists into a grimace. If I have to sit in this room for much longer, there’s a chance that I may go insane. Being cooped up coupled with the headache is making me stir-crazy, irritation brewing.

Squeezing my eyes shut again, I let out a small half before mumbling, “You jinxed us.”

“How?”

“You got me all excited about coming here, saying that this would be the perfect time to relax.” I peel an eye open to shoot her a pointed look. “Does this look relaxing to you?”

Nat shrugs. “It could be worse. We could be stuck doing stats all day.”

“Blurgh. Now those are something I don’t miss doing.” I steal a glance at the door, hoping someone would waltz in and tell us that we could leave. When it remains closed, I sag back in my chair with defeat. “Do you know where Pepper and Happy went?”

“They’re across the street, getting some lunch,” Nat explains. “Pepper’s still in shock, so Happy thought she should eat something.”

My heart twists in dread as I recall just how close the two of them had come close to not walking away from that race track today. The man’s whips had missed Pepper by centimetres. If his aim had been even just a little closer, then there’s every chance that she wouldn’t be in the restaurant grabbing something to eat right now.

“They shouldn’t be in situations like this.”

“Neither should you. Well, this version of you anyway,” she amends. “Laura Rushman doesn’t dive headfirst into danger.”

“Yeah, well. Where her boss goes, Laura Rushman follows,” I glumly reply, shifting the compress so that it’s cool side is pressed to my head. “Even if it’s in the middle of a racetrack in Monaco to confront some lunatic with electric whips.”

At this, all coy and teasing remarks disappear. Natalie Rushman disappears and Natasha Romanoff takes her place as she leans back, face serious. “Speaking of lunatics, Fury sent through some intel on the way over here. The guy on the race track is Ivan Vanko. His father, Anton, used to work with Howard Stark: Stark’s father.”

My mind races, trying to discern if I’d read anything about Anton Vanko when I’d read through the briefing Fury had supplied. When nothing comes up, it searches further back, focusing on memories of Gran talking about her old SHIELD colleagues. She’d worked closely with Howard Stark and was good friends with him – surely she would’ve known Anton Vanko. But when my mind draws a blank, I offer Nat a shrug. “Never heard of him.”

“Neither had I, until today,” Nat says. “He and Howard had a falling out back in the ‘60s. Right before Anton got deported.”

I quirk a brow. “A little too coincidental, don’t you think?”

Nat hums in agreement, folding her arms over her chest. “It would explain the motive. His father gets fired, shamed and deported. Years later, the son comes looking for revenge only to find Howard’s dead. So who better to go after than Howard’s son?”

The fingers of my free hand tap idly against the edge of the table. The logic tracks. And if Anton did work with Howard Stark, then it could explain how his son had access to arc reactor technology. Something that can inadvertently place Tony in even more hot water with the Senate. “God. Fury’s gonna have a field day with this,” I mutter.

“Oh, he’s already pissed,” Nat says matter-of-factly. “But with Stark, not with you. You did well, not blowing your cover out on the track today,” she says, and I swear I can detect a hint of pride in her tone. “It must’ve been hard not to use your abilities.”

I purse my lips, silently and wholeheartedly agreeing with her. Every instinct in my body had screamed at me to use them. To create a gust of wind to knock the madman off his feet. To grip Ivan’s whip and draw the crackling electricity from the weapon, rendering it almost useless. To stomp on the earth and create an enclosure of stone, plants and dirt to separate Ivan from the rest of us. But I couldn’t. I had to stand by and watch Ivan deliver blow after blow, coming dangerously close to hurting not just me or Tony, but Pepper and Happy as well. Innocent civilians who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, who’d consequently come too close to death for comfort.

“It was. But we have to maintain the lie if we want this mission to succeed.”

It’s the truth, but my voice wavers as an unexpected guilt hits me right in the chest. It’s startling the way it piles up, my mind flashing back to the conversation with Tony on the balcony last night. I’ve had to lie for countless missions in the past. It comes with being a SHIELD agent and I’ve had to do it so much that it almost comes as second nature to me. I’d made my peace with it. I knew when I signed up as a SHIELD agent that lying was essential to the job. But this is the first time that I can’t help but feel…dirty. Like I know that I’m doing something wrong. But I can’t explain why.

I can feel Nat watching me carefully from across the table. Analysing me, more accurately. I do my best to school my features into a look of nonchalance, before reaching forward to pluck a chocolate bar from the pile in front of us. Tearing the wrapper open with my teeth, I chomp down on the treat, savouring the sweet taste that hits my tongue.

“You don’t seem all that convinced,” Nat notes.

I shrug, feigning indifference. “It is wha’ it ‘s,” I say with my mouth half full.

“Right. And it has nothing to do with your conversation with Stark last night?”

I jerk, the compress and chocolate almost slipping from my hands. It’s a miracle that I manage to swallow my mouthful without choking on it. “I thought you were asleep!”

“You thought wrong,” she says, lips twitching but never properly forming a smile. “I heard you with Stark on the balcony, and when you came back in. And I heard you not sleeping all night either.”

I freeze, heart leaping to my throat. I somehow manage not to choke on the chocolate in my mouth, making a point to swallow it while feeling very much like a child that has been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Which is ridiculous, because I haven’t done anything wrong. But the way that Nat stares at me with perfectly arched brows makes me feel otherwise.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Jet lag messes with my sleep schedule.”

“And here I was thinking it was the nightmares that you’ve been having.”

Goddamnit. Nothing gets by Nat, I swear. I could lie. I could deflect. I could come up with some bullshit excuse or flippant response, but deep down, I know there’s no point. If she’s noticed them, then there’s no chance she’ll be letting them go anytime soon. Sighing, I drop the act and shrug. “I always have nightmares, Nat.”

“Yes. But you haven’t had them this frequently for a while.” A beat. Then: “What’s causing them to flare?”

I hesitate. She shoots me a pointed look, silently telling me that she won’t drop this until I give her an answer that she wants. Eyes fluttering shut, as if they’ll somehow hide me from her piercing stare, I admit, “Fury asking me to join the Avengers.”

If she’s surprised by the truth, then she doesn’t let it show. She only asks, “Why?”

I squirm in my seat. It’s one thing to talk to Gran about this – it’s another with Nat. It’s not that I don’t trust her. In all honesty, I would consider her one of my closest friends. It’s just… the facility has messed me up, and not just in a ‘hey, let’s torture you and give you elemental powers’ kind of way. Its ramifications run far deeper than that.

I don’t trust as easily as I once did, and I keep most things related to my time in the facility close to my chest. And, as selfish as it sounds, I know that if I tell Gran these things she likely won’t remember them. The feeling of freedom that comes with that is as relieving as it is devastating. But it is what it is. I can’t change that, no matter how much I want to.

Nat is also too close to all of this. She agreed to join the team because she believes what it stands for, and she knows that I do too. It’s why, I fear, she may not understand the reasoning behind my hesitating in agreeing to join.

As if reading my thoughts, she gently implores, “You can tell me.”

I suppress a sigh, opening my eyes and tilting my head to meet her gaze. She’s too stubborn to let this go. At least if the truth’s out, I don’t have to worry about its weight on my shoulders any more. “Because how can someone like me join a team like that?”

The words taste ugly as they roll of my tongue, and they hang heavy in the air between us. I find myself bracing for the impact, tensing in my seat. They cause Nat’s lips to turn down into a frown as she slowly shakes her head. “Explain it to me.”

“The people that took me wanted to use me as a weapon for their own agendas. Isn’t Fury asking me to do the same, but for him?”

“I think there’s a difference between a secret facility and the Director of SHIELD.”

“And I know that. I do. But I still can’t help but feel if I agree…then I’m doing exactly what it is that the people who took me wanted. I’m stepping into the role that they wanted for me. I can’t – I can’t do that, Nat,” I admit, voice cracking. “I can’t become what they wanted. Because if I do…”

Then it feels like I’m letting them win in a way. They’re the same words that I’d spoken to Gran days prior. But unlike then, I can’t bring myself to admit them out loud now. I’m too tired. Too mentally exhausted. I don’t need them to weigh me down any longer and saying them out loud will do just that. But it seems that I have nothing to worry about. The look on Nat’s face tells me that she understands perfectly.

A silence falls between us as Nat considers my words. I watch her anxiously, head throbbing harder as my apprehension grows. I take another bite of the chocolate bar despite the butterflies in my stomach. It gives me something to do and distracts me from all the possibilities of how things will play out from here.

Several more moments pass. I work my way through my chocolate, waiting. Eventually, Nat says, “I was trained by the KGB to be an assassin.”

I pause mid-chew, staring. It’s not new information – I’ve known about Nat’s history for a long time, and I’ve never judged her for it. I welcomed her with open arms when Clint had first brought her to the farmhouse to meet myself, Laura and the kids, and have developed a close relationship with her both professionally and personally since. So it’s not necessarily the truth behind her words that startles me. It’s the fact that I don’t know where she’s going with this.

My silence allows her to continue, “I had a specific skill set, and back then, I didn’t care how they used it – or how I used it. The KGB took me and moulded me into their perfect killer. Everything I’m capable of today is because they taught me how.” She turns her head, staring out the window. There’s a faint smile on her face that doesn’t meet her eyes as she adds, “They wanted to use me as a weapon, and that’s what I became. That didn’t change when I joined SHIELD, and it’s not going to change even if this team ever sorts itself out.”

My heart sinks. Her words are a reflection of my own, and I feel ridiculously stupid for not considering her experience. Though not identical, there are similarities between what we have both been through. We both know what it’s like to be torn apart for someone else’s agenda and built into something else entirely, and that creates a different level of understanding. I’m starting to think that I have a lot more common ground with my prospective team mates than I originally thought.

She turns back to me, features uncharacteristically soft. “So I get it. I get the doubt and I get the fear, and the need to have some semblance of control. But I think that you’re looking at this wrong.”

I automatically bristle, my more defensive side kicking in. But, desperate for an answer that Gran had been so close to giving me earlier in the day, I inhale sharply instead. “How should I be seeing it then?”

“The people that took you are the reason that you have your abilities. But you’re the one who can decide what to do with them.”

Nat says the words so calmly that I can only blink at her in surprise. Leaning forward in her seat, she pushes, “Your autonomy was stripped away from you the moment they put you in that place. But you’ve got it back now. It’s not about proving them right – it’s about proving them wrong. They wanted you to hurt people with your powers? Save people with them instead. They wanted to turn you into a weapon? Become something else entirely. Something that being on this team can give you. Something that, despite what you may think, you already are.”

My mouth parts, but the implication behind her words leaves me speechless. I stare at her like a gaping fish, frozen, her words hitting their mark precisely. I’d never really thought of my dilemma in this way before, but the way that she’s so eloquently presented it… I feel foolish for not thinking of it sooner. Now, I realise my mistake. I shouldn’t have avoided speaking to Nat about this. She’s the person that I should have spoken to all along, because she’s been exactly where I am. We’re the two sides of the same coin. Torn apart like cotton candy by our oppressors until we’re not sure of how much of our real selves are left.  

Using my silence to her advantage, she quietly adds, “You’re more than what they made you, Lyd. That’s more than I can say for some of us.”

My features twist, understanding what she means by this. It seems that I’m not the only possible-Avenger-to-be that is dealing with feelings of doubt and self-hatred. Knowing how much that vicious cycle can hurt, my heart breaks for Nat, who couldn’t be further from the truth. My mouth parts, ready to tell her otherwise –

“Wow. Seems like someone died in here.”

Our heads snap towards the door and see Tony standing on the threshold. He’s no longer wearing the blue Stark race suit and is dressed more casually in jeans and a leather jacket. The faint glow of his arc reactor in his chest shines through the dark top, and his dark eyes narrow as they flicker between Nat and I. “Seriously. Why the long faces?” he questions, striding into the room with a level of confidence reserved only for him.

Nat offers him a grim smile. “Laura isn’t looking forward to the plane ride home with her headache,” she smoothly lies, her face betraying nothing.

“Huh,” Tony replies as he comes to a stop beside me. To surprise, he lifts a hand to gently clasp my shoulder. “Don’t worry. Couple aspirins, handy flight attendant and a nice, quiet environment… you’ll be fine.”

That sounds like heaven right about now. I shoot him a look that is both exhausted and appreciative. “Thanks.”

“Have either of you seen Pepper?”

Nat and I simultaneously shake our heads, but it’s her that says, “She’s with Happy across the street, getting some lunch. Did you want to go and meet her?”

“No,” Tony says with a small shake of his head, a frown working its way on his face. “No, something tells me that she doesn’t want to talk to me at the moment. I’ll send a message to Happy and tell him to meet us at the airport. We’ve only got one more thing to take care of here, and then we can go.”

I raise a brow. “‘We’ve’?”

“I need your help,” he admits. “You can say no if you’re not comfortable, but –”

“What do you need?”

“The guy who attacked us – I need to talk to him,” Tony explains. “Unsurprisingly, he’s not cooperating with the police. I bribed some of the guards here and they’re letting me go in and speak to him. But they’re not sure he speaks English.”

“So how does this involve me?”

“Said in your file you speak, like, a gazillion languages. He’s bound to speak one of them.”

Ah. Pieces of the puzzle fitting together, I conclude, “You want me to go in there with you.”

Tony kisses his teeth. “Bingo. But we’re gonna have to do it soon. These guys are getting frustrated, so we need to do this when they’re nice and happy so they’ll let us have more time with him.”

“If he’s not cooperating with the authorities, then what makes you think that he’ll talk to us?”

“Guy tried to kill me. Clearly, he’s got something to say,” Tony says with a shrug. “If you’re OK to do this, then we gotta go. Like, now.”

“Go,” Nat says to me, jerking her head to the door. “I’ll go find Happy and Miss Potts. We’ll meet you both at the airport.”

“Sounds like a date,” Tony says with a devilish wink and smirk. I don’t bother to suppress my eye roll as I drop the compress on the table and slowly pull myself to my feet. Shooting Nat a look that promises her that this conversation isn’t over, I follow Tony out of the office and into the hallway outside.

It isn’t long until a bald, short man dressed in a crisp police uniform pounces on us. “Monsieur Stark,” he greets, abeilt bluntly. Yikes. Tony wasn’t kidding when he said that the officers were growing annoyed. “Nous sommes prêts maintenant.”  

“They’re ready for us now,” I translate for Tony. He offers the officer a curt nod, which is enough to satisfy the man. He whirls on his heels and takes off down the hallway, leaving Tony and I to fall in step behind him.

“Nous avons passé ses empreintes,” the officer barks, not bothering to turn and see if we’re still following behind him. “Nous n’avons rien, pas même un nom.”

“They ran his prints, but nothing came up – not even a name,” I say. The truth behind the man’s identity threatens to roll off the tip of my tongue. The officers may not have any clue as to who Ivan Vanko is, but I do. A few words from me are all it would take for them to figure the rest out. But to do so means to blow my cover which, I can’t afford. So I say nothing.

“Doesn’t matter. Which cell is his?”

“Peu importe. Quelle est sa cellule?”

Without breaking stride, the officer raises an arm and points to the furthest cell down the corridor. “Là-bas. Nous ne sommes pas encore sûr s’il parle anglais. Il n’a pas dit un mot depuis son arrivée.”

“He hasn’t spoken a word since they brought him in. And you’re right – they don’t know if he speaks English or not.”

Tony flashes me a grin. “Lucky we have you then, hm?”

“Je vais traduire.”

At this the officer turns to shoot me a stone-cold glare. “Je vous déconseille ça,” he icily replies.

Tony frowns and glances between us when I offer a challenging quirk of my brow. “What’s he saying?”

“That’s not advised,” I say, before offering the officer a tight-lipped smile. “Je peux me débrouiller seule.”   

The officer huffs and turns back around. The moment he turns away, I drop the smile and mutter darkly, “Petite merde.”

Tony cackles, knowing enough French to realise what I’ve said. I bite my lip to prevent laughter of my own bubbling to the surface as the officer turns to shoot me a withering look. But he doesn’t call me out on the insult. Instead, he stops as we reach the cell door. “Très bien alors,” he spits. “Mais seulement cinq minutes. Cinq.”

“They’re only going to give us five minutes in there with him,” I say to Tony who nods. Serious once more, I reply, “Cinq minutes c’est tout ce qu’il nous faut.”

As the officer reaches and fumbles to grab the correct key on the metal loop hanging from his belt, Tony leans in closer and mutters, “When we get in, try and stay as close to the door as possible.”

I frown. “Why?”

Tony hesitates.

“Just say it.”

He sighs almost dramatically, but his face is serious as he elaborates, “Stay close to the door in case he tries to go for you. If he makes a move, I’ll buy you enough time to hit the door and get the guards in.”

The apprehension that flickers across my face is nothing but a front. It’s how someone would expect Laura Rushman to react to such callous words, but beneath the façade, I’m not fazed. If Ivan tried anything, then I would be able to hold my own. But Tony doesn’t know this. He just sees the simmering fear and assures me, “You’ll be fine. If anything, he’ll be gunning for me.”

“It amazes me how calmly you say that,” I faintly reply.

He shrugs. “Eh. You get used to it after a while.” When the officer finally pushes the door open, he adds, “Last chance. If you wanna back out, now’s the time.”

And miss out on learning what the hell happened on that race track today? Not a chance. “Let’s do this.”

Admiration flickers across Tony’s face, but it disappears before it can properly take hold. Not that I would’ve been able to dwell on it. The officer ushers us inside the holding cell, before slamming the door shut behind us.

The room is larger than I thought, with four, smooth steel walls, windowless and nothing but a small bench placed in the centre of the room. Ivan sits on it, his back to us. He’s only wearing a pair of bright, orange shorts, leaving his tanned and tatted skin on display for Tony and I to look at. His back is covered with the intricate ink designs, but I’m too far away to make out the details. If not for Tony’s warning, I would step closer. Instead, I hover by the door, keeping my eyes fixed on Ivan as Tony slowly moves towards him. Ivan doesn’t bother to turn around and face him. He only keeps his eyes straight ahead, greying hair falling in his face due to the angle he holds his head.

“Pretty decent tech,” Tony remarks, hands in his pockets as he treads forward. Like me, his eyes watch Ivan like a hawk. “Cycles per second were a little low though,” he adds when Ivan doesn’t so much as twitch at the sound of his voice. “You could have doubled up your rotations. You focused the repulsor energy through ionized plasma channels. It’s effective, but not very efficient.”

He finishes as he reaches the bench. The hairs on the back of my neck stand upright at the sight of him standing so close to Ivan, but Tony doesn’t seem fazed. I realise why a moment later, when Ivan gestures for Tony to take a seat on the free space of bench beside him. He’s bound in tight, metal shackles, making it near impossible for him to move his hands. Still, my fingers twitch by my side, ready to send a gust of wind their way if he tried anything.

Tony accepts the invitation, and unceremoniously drops down into the seat. “But it’s a passable knock off,” he says, before shaking his head. “I don’t get it. A little fine tuning and you could have had a solid pay check. You could have sold it to North Korea. China. Iran. Or even gone straight to the black market. You look like you have friends in pretty low places.”

Ivan chuckles, the sound deep. “And you look like you have friends in high ones,” he muses, accent thick. At Tony’s confused look, Ivan twists in his seat and sends a knowing look my way. I can’t help but blink in surprise – how the hell had he known I was here?

“Eyes on me, scar-face. She’s not the one talking here,” Tony half snaps.

Ivan’s lips twitch into a wide grin at the protective words. For a fleeting moment, I feel like he’s going to launch himself at me. But instead, he complies with Tony’s wishes and turns to face the billionaire sitting beside him. “You come from a family of butchers and thieves. And now, like all guilty men, you try to rewrite your own history. And you forget all the lives that the Stark family has destroyed.”

Like his father’s. I keep this little detail to myself, however.

“Speaking of thieves, where did you get this design?”

“From my father. Anton Vanko.”

Looks like Fury’s intel was correct.

“Never heard of him.”  

“My father is the reason that you are alive.”

My eyes narrow in confusion, as do Tony’s. “The reason I’m alive is because you had a shot, you took it, and you missed.”

Ivan hums. “Did I?” he says, the words causing the two of us to freeze. “If you can make God bleed, the people will cease to believe in him. And there will be blood in the water, and the sharks will come,” he says, voice tinged with maliciousness that sends a shiver down my spine. “The truth? All I have to do is sit here and watch as the world consumes you.”   

The words seem to hit a mark, as Tony slyly snaps, “Where will you be watching the world consume me from? Oh, that’s right. A prison cell.” There’s a smirk on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes as he pushes himself upright. “I’ll send you a bar of soap,” he adds, before making a beeline towards me and the door –

“Hey, Tony?” Ivan calls, causing Tony to stop in his tracks altogether. Hearing this, Ivan remarks, “Before you go… pallidum in the chest? That’s a painful way to die.”

I inhale sharply. So that’s what’s killing Tony. Palladium poisoning from his arc reactor. How the hell Ivan knows this I don’t know. If I think hard enough about it, I’m sure that I can put the pieces of the puzzle together. But truthfully? I’m too focused on that little tidbit of information, Ivan unknowingly completing half of my mission for me. Fury had suspected that Tony’s arc reactor was causing his slow and untimely demise. The very thing that is meant to be keeping him alive is the same thing that’s killing him. The way that Tony blanches at the words confirms this.

Ivan laughs at the stunned silence that follows his words. Spurred on by the sound, Tony turns back and marches forward. Grabbing me by the shoulder with one hand and banging on the door with the other, he mutters, “Looks like you weren’t needed here after all.”

The moment the door opens, he pulls me from the room, preventing me from looking back at the still cackling Ivan. He releases his hold on my arm and marches ahead, not sparing me a second glance.

I resist the urge to run a hand through my hair. Palladium poisoning in the chest. I need to get the information to Fury as soon as possible. Hopefully he would have some idea of how to help Tony before it’s too late.

*****

I’ve never been a fan of awkward silences. They always make me feel uncomfortable, leading me to believe that I’m the sole cause of them. I used to bounce in my seat, mind racing as I thought of something to fill the void. I’ve gotten better with them as I reached adulthood, but even now, I still don’t like them.

Especially one that’s lasted for three hours on a plane, with nowhere for me to escape it.

It’s caused the five of us to split up as much as we can. Happy is with the pilot, watching his every move, no doubt. Nat, I think, is somewhere in the back of the plane having a nice, peaceful nap. I have no idea where Tony is. He disappeared the moment we boarded the plane, and after Ivan’s callous last words, I’d figured that he’d probably want some space. The flight attendants were elsewhere, leaving Pepper and I sitting across from each other in the plane’s lounge. Not a single word has been spoken between us since take-off. I know it’s likely from exhaustion – it’s been a hell of a day – but still. I can’t stand it.

Tearing my gaze from the window, I sneak a peek at Pepper through my long lashes. She’s sitting in the chair across from mine, slumped back and exhaustion weighing heavily on her face as she stares at the orange sky through the window. She looks like she’s in desperate need of some sleep, but I suspect that the adrenaline from today is still running high.

“Is there anything you need?” I ask softly, so as not to startle her. When she turns to look at me, I say, “I can go and get some water if you like? Or an aspirin –”

Pepper offers me a tired smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I appreciate the concern, Laura. But I’m alright. I’m just…” she trails off, biting her bottom lip as she ponders the best way to finish the sentence.

“Tired?” I supply. When she nods, I add, “We won’t be arriving for some time. If you wanted to go and have a sleep I can always wake you before we reach Malibu?”

“As much as I would love to, I’m waiting on a call from the board. We need to go over how we’re going to handle the fallout from Monaco. They’re not going to like it if I miss their call –”

“Tell them to stick it. They’re not the ones that got attacked by a maniac today.”

Her smile turns genuine for a fleeting moment, before she sags back in her seat. “I don’t think that we’ll be going on vacation again anytime soon.”

“You’re CEO. I think that means you take a vacation wherever and whenever you like.”

She chuckles. But she falls silent when she notices something behind me. Whatever it is, it’s enough to wash all traces of joy from her face. I twist and lean out over the arm of my seat, searching for what’s caught her attention. When I’m greeted with the sight of Senator Sterns – the man who’d led the senate hearing weeks prior – my stomach churns with dread. I blindly reach for the remote somewhere beside me and turn the volume up so we can hear what he’s saying:

“It’s – it’s just unbelievable. It proves that a Genie is out of the bottle! This man has no idea what he’s doing, and he thinks of the Iron Man weapon as a toy!”

My lips curl back in a snarl. He may appear worried, but I swear I can detect the faintest hint of glee in his voice. As if he finds this whole situation hilarious. After the way Tony had humiliated him at the hearing, I shouldn’t be surprised. But innocent people had been hurt. Anyone who finds any kind of joy out of that is, in my opinion, an absolute prick.

“Now, I was at a hearing where Mr. Stark, in fact, was adamant that these suits don’t exist anywhere else, can’t exist anywhere else, and never will exist anywhere else for five to ten years! Yet, here we are in Monaco, realizing, ‘Uh-oh! This suit exists now!’”

Unable to stand the sound of Sterns’ smug voice, I quickly mute the TV and toss the remote back on the free seat beside mine. Grimacing, I turn back to Pepper. “I never liked that guy anyway.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she says, attempting to lighten the mood. But the words come out flat. She smooths her red hair out of her face with her manicured fingers. “But… he’s not entirely wrong.”

“How so?”

“Sometimes… sometimes I think that Tony does treat the suit like a toy,” she admits. “Not intentionally, but, there are times when he acts recklessly – like today – which is frustrating, because it makes the whole world believe he’s just an ego-filled billionaire playboy when he’s really the opposite –”

“Miss Potts –”

“He can be nice when he wants, and funny –”

“Pepper.”

“And he really does try with the suit. He tries to protect people, but lately, it seems like he uses it just for kicks. I can’t help but feel like there’s something he’s not telling me –”

I keep my mouth shut at this.

“– which is frustrating because I thought we were close. We tell each other everything, and I care about him and like him so much –”

I pounce on that last little confession. “You do?”

“Yes, God, I do!” She exclaims. But it isn’t long before her eyes widen in shock, her mind catching up to what she was saying. When her words sink in, she flushes as red as a tomato. Swallowing hard, she looks at me desperately, looking like she’s seconds away from bursting into tears. “Please – please don’t say anything –”

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” I assure her, fighting a smile. I’d suspected that she had feelings for Tony, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure until now. I’d have to watch Tony more closely to determine whether he returns the feelings, but there is definitely something more than just friendship between the two of them – an unbreakable bond that only the two of them can ever understand.

“I didn’t – I mean, nothing’s ever happened between Tony and I while I was his assistant –”

“Even if there had been, what business is it of mine?” I interrupt. “But – forgive me if I’m speaking out of line here – I think very highly of you, Pepper. I think you’re incredibly professional and wouldn’t allow yourself to cross that boundary that you’re implying. Even if anything ever did happen though, it wouldn’t change my view on you.”

“It… it wouldn’t?”

“Not in the slightest.” I pause. “I actually think you would be good together.”

“…you do?”

I nod. I think they would perfectly balance each other out. He’s snarky and impulsive yet sees the beauty in life easily. She’s professional and cautious but knows when to stick to boundaries. They’re the perfect Yin and Yang. Not to mention that they’re both kind – inherently so. I’ve known them personally for only a handful of days, but it isn’t difficult for me to piece how they would work together.

“Have you told Tony how you feel?” I ask.

“Oh, goodness no,” she replies with a firm shake of her head. “I don’t want to burden him with the truth –”

“Why would your feelings be a burden for him?”

“Because he’s Tony. Tony, who sleeps with gorgeous women and models and blonde reporters –”

It takes everything in me not to make a sound of triumph at this. I knew he’d slept with Christine Everhart!

“– and who only views me as his friend. There’s – there’s nothing romantic there.”

“You won’t know unless you say something.”

Pepper lets out a watery chuckle. “My goodness, we sound like a bunch of teenage girls,” she muses, earning a grin from me. Eventually, she sighs. But I can’t help but feel that she appears more relaxed than she had been ten minutes ago. She’s likely never told anyone about her feelings regarding Tony. I’m sure admitting them out loud after all this time has helped ease some of the weight she appears to be shouldering. “Thank you, Laura. For understanding and for not speaking about this to anyone.”

“Of course.”

She offers me a warm smile, but it isn’t long before it turns playful. “What about you? Is there someone special for you waiting back home?”

“Oh, no. There’s no one.”

“Really?” It would be hard for me to miss the disbelief in her tone. “It’s just – you’re very smart and beautiful. I would have thought you’d have plenty of bachelors chasing after you.”

Far from it actually. I haven’t been on a date in… good God. Since well and truly before I was taken to the facility. Ward and I had broken up not long after my rescue and going out on dates hadn’t been on my radar for quite some time now. I’d been too focused on my healing and throwing myself back into my work to get back onto the dating scene.

“There isn’t anyone like that in my life at the moment,” I say.

“Does that ever get lonely?”  

“Sometimes. But I just tell myself that something – or someone – will come along eventually. I’m just not looking for anything at the moment. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t… it doesn’t.” I shrug, recalling a conversation that I’d had with Betty Ross at her house all those weeks ago. A near replica of the conversation with Pepper across from me now. “A friend of mine described it as waiting for the right partner. So, I guess that’s what I’m doing.”

“Did I miss anything in this heart to heart?”

I shift in my seat at the sound of Tony’s voice. Sure enough, he stands in the open doorway, offering Pepper and I a crooked smile with guilt dripping from every line. He’s cleaned up in the hours that he’s been elsewhere. With the dirt and grime no longer coating his face, I can see a small, red cut on the arch of his cheekbone. It’s a consequence of the day’s exciting events, and I can’t help but think that he’s lucky to walk away with nothing more serious. In his hands are two platters, a cover hiding the food that is likely underneath.

Pepper’s brows furrow as she eyes the tray. “What are those?” She questions, watching as Tony hurries forward and sets them down on the small table separating Pepper and I.

“This,” he says, placing some cutlery beside the trays. “Is your in-flight meal,” he finishes proudly, before reaching down and pulling the cover completely off. I immediately lean forward to inspect the food. It… it looks like the remains… of an omelette?

It’s hard to tell. Somehow, Tony has managed to undercook the food in some parts, while burning it to a crisp in others. The fillings of the omelette have spilled all over the plate in a mess, but he’s attempted to make it as appealing as possible, going as far as putting a handful of parsley in the corner of the plate.

Pepper blinks. “Did you make these?”

“Yeah. Where do you think I’ve been for three hours?” Tony says with a hint of a grin. It causes the corners of my mouth to flick up as he plonks himself down in the free seat next to mine, wiggling until he’s comfortable. “I put a lot of effort into it, so dig in, and enjoy your five star quality meal.”

I quirk a brow. “Five star?”

“Fine. Four and a half.”

“I’m more inclined to say four, as I don’t see any beverages.”

He huffs, but the grin remains. “You’re obviously a hard one to please, Laura.”

“Well, someone has to appreciate quality,” I tease, eyeing the omelette. There is no way in hell that I’m eating that. Not unless I want to spend the next few hours throwing up in the plane’s bathroom. But I’m grateful that Tony has gone to so much effort. He could have easily asked one of the flight attendants to cook us the meal, but he hadn’t. He’d gone out of his way to cook for us, something I suspect which doesn’t come easily to him.

I shoot him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Tony.”

He softens, before looking at Pepper, waiting for her reaction.

“What aren’t you telling me?” She asks sadly, getting straight to the point.

Tony lets out a tired sigh and runs a hand down his face. “I don’t want to go home,” He admits. “Like, at all. Let’s cancel my birthday party and, uh… uh… hey! We’re in Europe, let’s go to Venice! Cipriani? Remember?”

Pepper smiles. “Oh, yes. I remember…”

“Laura, you ever been to Venice?” Tony asks. When I shake my head, he adds, “Oh, you’ll love it. It’s a great place to be healthy –”

“Tony, I don’t think this is the right time,” Pepper gently points out. When disappointment flashes across his face at this, she says, “After everything… we’re kind of in a mess right now…”

“Yeah, but maybe that’s why it’s the best time,” Tony argues, leaning forward. But he’s not angry. He’s not aggressive. He sounds desperate, and I have a sinking feeling it has something to do with the time bomb in his chest. “’Cause then we can –”

“Well, as CEO, I’m entitled to show up –”

“As CEO, you are entitled to a leave.”

“A leave?!”

“A company retreat –”

“A retreat? During a time like this?”

“Just a ride,” Tony protests. When Pepper doesn’t give in, he sighs in defeat and leans back to look out the window. “I’m just saying… it would be good to, recharge our batteries and figure it all out.”

Pepper softens. “Not everybody runs on batteries, Tony.”

They share a small, knowing smile at this, before they both turn their gaze towards the orange sky outside once more. Glancing between the two of them, I can’t help but secretly grin before doing the same.