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marysuevirusTitle: The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers!
Chapter Seventeen: Destruction
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. probably some drinking.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
Author's Note: like the last chapter, this chapter is meant to come off as chaotic and confusing. the events may seem to span forever, but they're meant to happen in relatively rapid succession. please keep that in mind when reading.
The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers! - The Index
The door had barely closed behind him before he was moving at a run. He knew explosions when he heard them, had been the instigator of quite a few himself. Explosions meant one thing and one thing only. The base was under attack. Tony frowned, wondering who would be idiot enough to launch an attack on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s base. Even better, how did they find it? It wasn't like one could pick up just any map of New York City and find the base on it, labeled in big black letters so no one mistook it for the MoMA or the Met.
He had to get to the suit. If he could get to the suit, he'd stand a better chance of helping rid S.H.I.E.L.D. of their current problem. Wasn't that what Iron Man did? Fight for peace. There were people here who would die if he didn't get to the suit and take to the air.
That thought made his mind turn back toward Phoebe. This could not be happening. They'd just gotten to a point where she was comfortable around him. Where she could open up to him. And it wasn't just a sexual thing, either. He'd done his fair share of sleeping around and if that's all he wanted, he could get it from just about anyone. With Phoebe, there was something that bound them together and connected them. Something that he simply couldn't put a name to. She was half of his whole and that was a feeling he'd never really had before. He wasn't one to believe in magic and fairy tales. But he was almost willing to believe that Phoebe Sinclair had been made just for him.
Another explosion rocked the building, this one close by. Too close by. Tony felt a curious sense of panic lance his heart when he realized that the explosion had come from the wing he'd just left. The wing filled with personal apartments. Some of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s people had what amounted to private residences on base. And given the relative lateness of the hour, most of those people would be home. People who would need someone to get them out from under tons of rubble if they hadn't gotten out of their apartments before the explosions. People like Phoebe.
His heart stopped for just a moment. What if something had happened to Phoebe? He'd left her in her room under the assumption that she'd be safe there. But he'd been wrong. So wrong. And now... If something had happened to her, he'd never forgive himself for it. He needed to get to his suit. With the suit, he'd be able to clear away the debris and rescue her. He'd be able to...
His thoughts were cut short by the sound of gunfire only a few feet from where he was standing. Instinct saw him ducking around a corner to hide. Seconds later, several men wearing plain black uniforms and carrying guns stepped into view. HYDRA agents. His mouth flattened in a thin line. He shouldn't have been surprised to see them. If anyone was stupid enough to attack S.H.I.E.L.D.'s well fortified ground base, it was HYDRA. Even knowing this, a sense of shock poured through him at the realization that they were actually attacking the base.
It was more imperative than before that he get to his suit. He wasn't any good without it. Sure, he could defend himself. But they had guns and last time he checked, he wasn't bullet proof. Which presented a slight problem because the enemy agents were between him and his suit. He needed to find some way to incapacitate them. His mind raced with possibilities while he searched around for something that he could use in his plan.
Sometimes, it was the simple things that worked the best. Upon spying a door that had been blasted off its hinges, he came up with an idea that would work and it would work well. It was a well known fact that the doors used in the construction of the base were both light weight and durable. A person could empty an entire clip into one of them and the door would barely scratch. But they were light enough that it didn't take an entire army to install one of them. He could use the door as a shield and a weapon all at once.
It took a little work to get the door hefted up. The shape and size made it awkward. But he managed. Holding it before him would be a challenge, but he didn't need to do it for long. Just long enough to use it to take the enemy agents down. Even as he was searching for a way to carry the thing, his mind was turning over every possible situation, every possible way to defeat the enemy and not get himself killed. If he had the strength of Thor or Hulk, he'd just throw the door at them. But he didn't have that kind of strength so it wasn't an option. Which meant he had to think of something else.
It came to him in a blinding flash. He liked to think it was genius. Pepper and anyone else who knew him would probably call it impulsive stupidity. Either way, he was sure he could pull it off. Okay. He was pretty sure. He stepped around the corner, making sure he could see the HYDRA agents around the door. All he had to do was..."Hey! Over here!" he called out. A peek over the edge of the door showed him that they were all staring at him. He'd gotten their attention.
The door shuddered and shook in his hold when bullets hit it. The constant popping noise of their guns going off was loud in the enclosed area. Tony drew a deep breath and pushed forward, using the metal panel as both a shield and a weapon. He hit the enemy fast and hard, the door slamming into them with enough force to knock them off their feet. Those that didn't stay down were quickly dispatched with a few well placed punches and jabs.
By the time he was done, he was sweating and panting for breath. But every single enemy agent was down. There was no time to think about them any longer. All he could think about was reaching his suit. He'd be better able to help once he was in the Iron Man suit. He'd be able to save everyone with the suit. It was a litany that ran through his head over and over again.
Smoke clung to the ceilings, thick and acrid. The ground shook beneath his feet with every explosion. Sirens wailed. Guns went off. People screamed. And he ran...
~*~*~*~*~
Thor had never heard such a miserable noise in all his days. Sirens screeched and wailed all around them, even as the floor shook beneath their feet. If he listened closely, he could hear the cries of men as they faced down whatever doom had come for them. The sounds of explosions that boomed and echoed like thunder. The faint pop pop pop of guns. They were the sounds of battle and they were sounds that should not have been heard so high up in the sky.
The sounds drew him from his chambers. Already chaos was working its way among the crew of the mighty air ship, men and women running along the corridors with wide, frightened eyes. He paused to gather up Mjolnir. Instinct said he'd need the hammer at his side. He'd barely made any progress up the hall when he was met with his two teammates and Agent Coulson. All of them wore grim expressions on their faces, attesting to the seriousness of the matter.
Captain Rogers spoke before anyone else could. "We need to get off this thing before it starts sinking."
"We can't leave the helicarrier unprotected." There was a thread of steel in the son of Coul's quiet voice. "Someone has to stay and attempt to helm it until destruction is imminent."
"That's suicide, sir." This from Barton. The one called Hawkeye, who even now was scanning the area around them for any signs of threat. Thor didn't miss the handgun resting casually against the man's leg.
Coulson gave them a look that suggested anyone who attempted mischief with him would meet with an unpleasant fate. "We can't risk the helicarrier ending up in the hands of our enemies. But that doesn't mean we can't take as many of them down with us as possible." Those words brought a predatory smile to Hawkeye's face. A glance at Captain Rogers said he was just as happy with it as the other man. Thor was a warrior to the core and always looked forward to battle. Still, something about this felt wrong to him.
Captain Rogers nodded. "What would you have us do?"
"Barton, find a nest. Pick them off as quickly and as quietly as possible. Hit the armory and take whatever you need," Coulson told the man, earning him a nod. Then the son of Coul turned his attention toward Rogers. "Captain, you and your shield can do whatever damage you like. Thor, take out their planes." The man's gaze came to rest on Thor.
"Consider it done," Thor agreed with a nod. He paused to consider it. He was certain that the air ship was already plunging toward the ground. He could feel it in the way the ship listed to the side. Something was badly damaged. Perhaps he could keep that from happening. "I may be able to keep the helicarrier from crashing. If it comes to it, I can try and slow its descent. Perhaps even set it down before it can hit the ground."
After staring at him for a few moments, Coulson nodded his head. One hand slipped his weapon from its holster with the unconscious movements of a seasoned warrior. "Good. Gentlemen. Positions."
"Where will you be, sir?" Barton asked. The man sounded like he was enjoying himself. Or perhaps his own personal joke. Coulson said nothing, prompting a smirk from the other man. "I only ask because I'd hate to hit you accidentally."
Coulson's expression never changed. "Hit me and you'll never come up from the paperwork involved, Barton."
"Yes, sir."
They broke up by unspoken agreement. Thor watched the others as they each chose a different direction. Thor remained where he was, something tickling at the back of his brain. There was something about this that he should be able to sense or see. Something that would tell him exactly what was going on. It almost felt like there was someone there with him. He let his eyes rove the hallway, but he saw nothing. It was a silly notion. Shaking his head, he made to leave.
"Thor, wait!"
Thor frowned and paused. That sounded like Astrid. He must be hearing things. He hadn't seen her in days. He'd thought of her the entire time, but he hadn't seen her since he'd laid his heart bare to her. He'd been confused and dejected by her inability to admit she felt something for him. It had taken him some time, and quite a bit of deep thought, to realize that her lack of words hadn't indicated a lack of emotions. Just an inability to articulate what she felt. He'd kept meaning to go speak with her, coax things out of her. But he'd never gotten back to her cluttered little apartment. Perhaps when this crisis was over...
"Thor! Its Loki! Loki's behind this! Thor, please. Help me." The words echoed out of the emptiness, clung to the swirling eddies of smoke that came up the hall. And they were followed by a brief, ghostly touch against his arm. Heat crept up the limb from the contact, a sensation that triggered memory. Astrid's touch. He knew it as well and as easily as he knew the grip of Mjolnir's handle in his hand.
His eyes searched the hallway and, there, against the wall only a few feet away, he saw outlines of Astrid and Loki. She looked frightened. He looked smug. He looked from her face to his and let anger simmer in his eyes. His fingers unconsciously gripped Mjolnir tighter. "I swear to you, brother. if you hurt her, I will not stop until there's nothing left."
Their images faded away, leaving Thor boiling with rage. How dare his brother touch Astrid? He would suffer for taking such liberties. And if he'd harmed her, then there would be hell to pay.
Rational thought left him. The only thing that repeated through his brain was that he had to find Loki. Make him pay. Rescue Astrid. Never let her go again. Hold her in his embrace until she told him she loved him. Kiss her senseless. Make love to her until there was no energy left in him to do so.
"Forgive me, my friends," he whispered softly. His footsteps echoed loudly in the corridor as he hurried for an exit. He knew what he was about to do would not be looked upon kindly by anyone. But he had to stop his brother.
No matter what the cost.
~*~*~*~*~
A thrill of anticipation coursed along every single one of Clint's nerve endings, making his muscles bunch and tense in readiness. He'd been spoiling for a good fight and it looked like he was going to get one. This was the kind of release he needed, a way to vent his anger and frustration. He'd tried taking it out on Natasha, which had only earned him an ass kicking followed by a few hours spent nursing a beer that held no appeal where she'd practically forced him to spill what was making him so crazy and reckless. So stupid.
A man in a black uniform came around the corner ahead of him. There was a gun in his hand. Clint offered him a smile, then lifted his own weapon and fired. Just as he'd planned, his shot knocked the gun from his enemy's hand. Left the man gaping at him in surprise and shock. Which allowed Clint to close on him.
It felt good to use the tension in his muscles to hurt something. A fist struck the man in the nose, smashing against bone and cartiladge so that blood began pouring from abused nostrils. Grunting in pain, the man attempted a kick that Clint knocked away easily enough. Before the man could regain his balance, Clint drove a fist into his chin. The man's head snapped back, exposing his throat to make a perfect target for one of Clint's booted feet. The kick connected with such force that man didn't even have a chance to make a noise. He just halted in mid-motion, eyes wide as his hands clutched at his throat. Seconds later, he dropped to the ground and didn't move again. Clint left him laying where he'd fallen and continued on to the armory.
All of this stupid tension could be summed up in one word. Alex. What kind of games had she been playing with him? Did she think that she could get away with doing such things, that there wouldn't be consequences for her actions? Based on the look Tasha had given him, chances were good that Alex had already suffered for her behavior. That knowledge almost made him feel sorry for her. Almost.
Why couldn't he stop thinking about her and just push her out of his head? It wasn't like she was going to change her mind. He needed to get over it and move on. Seek out someone else. Fuck. He needed to get Alex to just go away. Thinking about her was going to get him killed. He had a job to do, one that required he be on his game.
Another corner brought another HYDRA agent. He welcomed the challenge. The last one had been too easy. But first, he needed to even the playing field. It took him less than a second to lift and aim the gun. To squeeze off a round. The enemy's gun went flying and, recklessness riding him like crazy, he threw himself into the fray.
Fists flew with meaty thuds. Booted feet connected with grunts and groans. The tension in his arms and legs sang with joy each and every time he landed a blow against his opponent. His mind was blank, moved into that place where he went when he was on a mission. It was the place that allowed him to hide in a tree for hours on end without moving. It was the place that allowed him to be one hell of a sniper, that allowed him to hit every target he set his sights on. Dead center. Killing shot. Each and every time.
A fist came at him, aiming right for his nose. He ducked, darted in, put his shoulder into the man's gut. Momentum carried them both straight into a wall. The blow jolted the breath out of the other man. Clint reached back, grasped the knife on his belt, and then brought it forward. Buried it in the man's belly. He twisted it before pulling it free. He left the man bleeding out on the floor while his feet carried him ever closer to the armory.
He knew what Alex's problem was. She was afraid. He didn't know why, but she was. He might have bought that it was a pleasant mistake the first time they'd hooked up. He hadn't been terribly upset when he'd woken and found her gone then. But the second time... He'd really thought that there'd been something there. In fact, he was sure there'd been something there. Her reactions to him the next morning in her apartment pointed toward some kind of emotional attachment. Naturally he'd been pissed when she'd kicked him out. But having time to think about it had proved to him that she was hiding something from him.
And if she ever talked to him again, he was going to beat the information out of her. Something told him that was the only way he'd get her to give it up.
He had one last HYDRA encounter before reaching the armory. With the way the ship kept lurching to one side and the thickening plumes of smoke, he'd taken speed over therapeutic and had simply put a hole in the middle of the man's head. No muss, no fuss. And then he'd run to the armory to load up.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s armory was a sniper's wet dream. There was every kind of weapon imaginable to be found there. If it fired off something, it was there. His mind slid back to that empty place as he eyed everything before starting the selection process. A lever action rifle equipped with a silencer and several boxes of ammunition. Half a dozen more handguns. A compound bow with two full quivers of arrows. He gave a passing glance to the Uzis, then decided against them. The damned things made far too much noise and needed far too many rounds of ammunition to really do any damage.
He picked up a few smaller items, things that would do serious damage without making much noise, and piled it all into a duffle bag someone had discarded on the floor. When he'd loaded it with enough weapons, he slung it up on his shoulder. He'd already slipped the quiver over his shoulder and the bow was left free, clutched in his hand. Once he was fully loaded, he headed out. He already had a spot picked out.
There was a place through which nearly every single person on board the helicarrier passed. It was a large, spacious area with a few spots where he could hunker down. Make a nest. Snipe the enemy. He wouldn't be as effective there as if he were a few hundred meters away, but he'd do what he could to help cull HYDRA's numbers. He had enough ammunition to last for days.
This was the kind of shit he lived for.
~*~*~*~*~
He didn't make a mad dash for the bridge. He didn't hurry at all. Instead, he walked slowly with his service weapon in his hand, eyes shifting back and forth in a constant search for danger. His steps were steady and sure despite the way the helicarrier occasionally lurched to one side. Panic wasn't an option. There were hundreds of people on board the ship that depended on his calm exterior. It didn't matter that he knew the odds of survival were next to nothing. It would take a miracle and he wasn't sure he believed in miracles at the moment.
There was something strange about this attack. It seemed like something that was beyond HYDRA's normal method of operation. Not unless they had someone or something to back them up in this venture. That thought stopped him dead in his tracks. And, suddenly, everything made sense.
The strange break downs on the helicarrier, all those little things that had seemingly meant nothing. The HYDRA agent who had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. and attacked Miss Sinclair. The explosion at the HYDRA base that had nearly taken Miriam's life. The house in Malibu and the assault on both Barton and Quinn. The staff that he'd been sent to investigate. All of it added up to a series of small distractions to fabricated to hide what was really going on.
Phil cursed himself for not seeing the pattern. It had been right in front of him the whole time. After a moment, he picked up his feet and continued on toward the bridge. It had been on his mind to radio base and request assistance. But he was of the opinion now that such a request would be futile. HYDRA had to know that the helicarrier would ask for reinforcements from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s main base and, if the situations were reversed, base would request aide from the helicarrier. So it would only make sense for HYDRA to launch a two pronged assault. One group would take out the helicarrier while the other would concentrate their attention on the base.
His thought were put on hold for a moment as he rounded a corner and came upon a pair of enemy agents. Two shots. Quick. Simple. Efficient. They went down without a fight, allowing Phil to continue on his way toward the bridge. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he needed to get there as soon as possible.
His pace quickening, he replayed everything that had happened in the last month or so. All of it pointed to outside help. To someone who was capable of manipulation on both large and small scales. To someone who could make things appear exactly as he wanted them. Only one name came to mind when considering those traits and qualities. Loki. That would explain the odd summoning circle that Miriam had found. HYDRA had found a way to call him to their sides and had then enlisted the Trickster God's help. No doubt Loki had only agreed because he'd been handed the perfect opportunity to make his brother's life hell.
How many people would die because of Loki's petty hatred? He shuddered to consider final numbers. Especially since it was likely he would be one of those final numbers. Once upon a time, he'd never considered the dangers of his chosen profession. Had never worried about dying on the job. Now, though, there was a niggling feeling at the back of his brain that said dying was not an option.
For just a moment, he wondered what had changed. And then it hit him. Miriam. An image of her swam up to the surface of his mind, all flushed and mussed from a wild round of sex. He remembered that night. It was the last time he'd been with her. Her hair had been spread like a fiery halo across the pillows and she'd been begging him with her eyes for more. He'd happily obliged. It had been a special kind of torture to have to leave her the next morning without so much as an explanation. He regretted that now. Because he was nearly positive that he wasn't going to see her again.
This wasn't how things were supposed to have gone. In the beginning, it had been a kind of mutual thing. A stress release for both of them. Phil was, always had been, a realist. He knew he wasn't an especially attractive man. Miriam could have had her pick from any number of men. She'd chosen him, though. Had been fascinated with him almost from the beginning. And he'd gravitated toward her because of her quiet demeanor and inner sense of balance. In many ways, she reminded him of himself. He hadn't expected their relationship to last so long. Nor had he expected it to become something more than mere sex.
He had thought for a long time that it was little more than sex. But all of that had changed when he'd heard the explosion and lost contact with her. Her trip to the United Kingdom had shown him that there were deeper feelings for her lurking in his soul. It had been tough admitting those feelings to himself. He should have found the courage to admit them to her. Because he had them. Despite every reason why it shouldn't be, somewhere along the line he'd fallen in love with Miriam.
He should have told her. Before he'd left for the South Pacific. He should have told her. But he hadn't. He'd been so focused on the job at hand, so lost in his mission that he'd failed to tell her the most important things. The things she'd needed to hear. Up until now, when the spectre of death was looming over his head, he hadn't thought about calling her. Hadn't thought about letting her know that he was home. That he'd missed her. That he loved her.
The bridge was filled with HYDRA agents. It took him the entire clip in his weapon to clear them out. When he'd fired off every last round, the room was heavy with the smell of cordite and blood. Bodies lay sprawled on the floor where they'd fallen. He closed the door behind him, locked and barred it. Stepping over the dead, his and theirs alike, he made his way to the helm and took a seat.
He considered calling Miriam then and there, confessing his feelings to her over the phone. But he decided against it. How could she believe his words if he issued them in a life or death situation? In person was better. And in person would likely never happen.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Phil turned his attention to the helicarrier. Calling for help was pointless. His gut told him that the base was under attack, too. They couldn't help him. But maybe he could help them. If he could keep them afloat long enough to reach the base, he might be able to give the others a chance.
Decision made, he took control of the helm and said a silent prayer. He didn't care who heard it. He just wanted them to hear them, grant them. The last thought he had before he shut it all down so he could concentrate on the way the helicarrier listed and limped along was that he loved Miriam and he hoped she'd forgive him for never telling her.
~*~*~*~*~
Steve's first stop was his quarters, to retrieve his shield. The serum might have enhanced every part of his musculature, but it hadn't made him bullet proof. He'd found that out the hard way. Not only would the shield provide him with protection, but it was a weapon in its own right. He could take down plenty of enemies with one flick of his wrist. In all honesty, though, his main concern was making sure people got out of this mess alive. He wasn't so young and naive that he didn't know what the risks were.
An aerial assault was always dangerous. Already he could feel the helicarrier listing to one side. The smoke that filled the air in the corridors said that they likely wouldn't stay aloft for much longer. He had a suspicion that someone had gone after the engines. It was logical. It would cripple the carrier faster than anything else would.
Frowning, shield in hand, he left his quarters and made his way up the hall. Logic said that he should head deeper into the ship, toward the engine rooms. That there would be plenty of enemies to fight that way. And maybe, if he took down enough of them, he could help keep the helicarrier in the air. He knew it was a long shot given the way the ship bucked and listed, but it was worth a try. If the helicarrier went down, it wouldn't just kill the hundreds of people on board. It would kill hundreds of people on the ground, too. He wanted to keep that from happening any way he could.
The battle was obviously heating up. He could hear angry shouts. Screams of agony. The rapid popping of gunfire. The crackle and hiss of flames. The stench of burning grew stronger. And here and there, he could smell blood. He tried not to think about just what that meant because if he acknowledged that there were people to go with that blood. He'd been trained to be a good soldier. And a good soldier didn't leave his men behind.
He mostly succeeded with that plan of action, keeping his mind away from anything that would prompt him to stop and waste time looking for survivors where there were none. Until he heard muffled cries for help coming from a room he passed. His sense of honor, the things that made him who he was, wouldn't let him go beyond the opened doorway until he did whatever he could to help the person buried under the pile of rubble he saw through the doorway.
He didn't hesitate to do what he knew was right. He was through the open doorway, dragging heavy pieces of steel and other items of rubble from the pile. The cries increased with the first piece of debris lifted away. Sharp points jabbed his skin, left cuts and scrapes in his palms, on his fingers and knuckles, along the backs of his hands. That didn't stop him. He simply kept digging until he saw a hand. Pale and bloody, but moving. Steve dug faster, some of the pieces of debris straining his considerable strength. There was a slight ache in his back from being stooped over. Sweat had broken out and beaded up on his forehead. But slowly, surely, he uncovered a battered S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who had been buried under part of the wall and ceiling.
It was a woman, her face bruised and swollen. But she clung tightly to his shirt when he carefully, gently tugged her from the rubble. The warmth of her blood soaked into his clothes when she was finally fully pressed against him. But she looked up at him with clear eyes and managed a slightly pained smile. "Thank you, Captain Rogers," she whispered, voice hoarse.
"You're welcome. Can you stand?" Something niggled at the back of his mind for a moment, something about this situation trying to get his attention. He pushed it down, more concerned with the woman before him than anything else. He had to be sure she was okay before he left her. He couldn't stay here. He'd be needed elsewhere. There were no doubt other people buried and in need.
She said nothing, simply stepped away from him and carefully let go of his shirt. While she wobbled a little, she managed to stay upright. "I think so." She stared up at him a moment, then managed a smile that was more grimace of pain than anything else. "Go. I know there are other people who probably need your help. I'll be alright. I'll find my way to some place safe."
"You're sure?" he gave her a stare. She nodded and motioned to the door.
"Go. I'm okay. Just go and save as many as you can."
He left her standing in the remains of her office or cabin. His mind was already on what he could do to aid with rescues. He knew well enough what he could do to the enemy. One spin of his shield would take them down without troubles. But he hoped he could save more than he had to kill. That was the one thing he hated about battles. Someone always paid the price and he really didn't like having to choose who lived and who died. Hadn't he told Dr. Erskine that he hadn't wanted to kill anyone? Unfortunately, there was no way to avoid such events in war.
And so it became his main mission to save as many people as he could. He stopped where he heard cries, dug out those buried in the rubble. Sometimes he got there too late and ended up uncovered a fresh corpse. Each one of those saw the flames of his anger reaching higher and higher, until it burned under his skin. It felt like bolts of lightning kept moving back and forth along his muscles and nerves.
That anger found an outlet in any enemy agent he came upon. The uniform they wore told him they were dealing with HYDRA. That knowledge rekindled an old hate for the group and, at times, Steve found himself being especially brutal with the enemy. Some part of him would regret it later, when his life and the lives of every person on the helicarrier wasn't in danger. But for now, he would use that anger to cut a path of death and destruction to the engine rooms.
Each death would be a weight upon his soul. Both those he failed to save and those whose lives he took himself. He hoped with all his might that every life he saved would erase the marks that the dead left behind.
~*~*~*~*~
She wasn't anywhere in Asgard. Disappointment and rage flowed through Thor's veins as he checked yet another one of Loki's known hiding places in their home realm. He'd even gone to see Odin in the hopes that his father might know where Loki was hiding. But that had gotten him nothing more than questions he wasn't ready to answer just yet. He hadn't even bothered asking Heimdall. It was well known that Loki could hide himself from the man's all seeing eye. He'd gone so far as to ask Sif and the Warriors Three, but none of them had seen Loki. They'd offered, happily, to help Thor find his brother and beat him senseless. Thor had declined, saying simply that this was something between himself and his brother.
He still couldn't believe that Loki had taken Astrid. He shouldn't have been so surprised by it. Loki was Loki and any chance he had to inflict pain on Thor or humiliate him didn't go without being taken. A not so casual search of Loki's former chambers turned up nothing of use. He hadn't really expected to find anything, but that didn't stop Thor from putting his fist through a wall. Particles of dust and slivers of wood rained down to the floor. And that was when Thor saw it. A book, covered with dirt, hidden in a small space in the wall.
He withdrew it and carefully opened the cover. Inside was his brother's writing, a series of jagged, angry slashes that made up letters and words. A code, one he and Loki had created as children, as was the wont of small tots playing at being something grander. Thor allowed himself a slight smile as he slowly thumbed through the yellowed pages. He still recognized their code, read the words that his brother had put to the pages as he let his eyes skim over the book. But amusement turned to anger when he realized that some of the entries were newer. He began reading in earnest, taking in the displeasure Loki felt. His growing paranoia. It could almost be excused as the written mutterings of a raving madman. Except Loki had done some of the things he'd put down on the pages.
But the book was helpful, too. Because within its pages, Thor found the answer he'd been seeking. One entry, short and not particularly memorable, held the location of a secret palace. The book closed with a thump, landed softly on the thick bed as it was quickly forgotten. Thor knew where he was going. And he knew that it was possible this was a trap that his brother had laid. He would have to be on his guard. But he and Loki would have this out. And he would get Astrid back. The heavens would quake with thunder until she was safely at his side again. That was a promise.
Mjolnir flew straight and true, taking Thor to the very edges of Asgard's lands. The palace mentioned in Loki's old journal rose up before him, a bright and shiny thing that looked cold from the outside. There were creatures of some sort guarding the walls, but they were little challenge for him. All he had to do was summon a little lightning to render them senseless, then he continued on his way.
Right through the wall.
It didn't take long for Thor to find Loki. His brother waited for him in a large hall occupied by two chairs and a basin. It was a lonely, empty room that spoke well to the other man's personality. A quick glance showed him that Astrid was some distance from Loki, huddled into a chair as if it would protect her from his cruelties. Temper soaring, Thor grasped the handle of Mjolnir all the tighter and stared his brother down. "This ends now, Loki. Its long past time to put your grievances with me to rest."
"Come to rescue your precious little mortal, brother?" Loki asked, mad laughter in his voice.
"And to stop you. What you're doing is madness. They're innocent people. They've done nothing to you," Thor argued, striding further into the room.
"But they mean something to you, brother. That is all the reason I need to destroy them."
"I will stop you," Thor told him. His words saw Loki tossing his head back and laughing, that same mad laughter that he'd used only moments ago.
"Then by all means," Loki said, arms going wide as he sank into a mocking bow. When he lifted his head, his eyes turned to where Astrid sat. His grin was filled with malicious glee. "Hmmm. What kind of terrible things can I do to your lady love? Will you be able to stop me before I inflict permanent damage? Shall we test that to see if you can?"
Loki lifted a hand toward Astrid, as if he planned on using his magic on her. Thor didn't think about what he was doing. He simply did. Mjolnir flew across the room, straight toward Loki. Straight through Loki. His brother's maniacal laughter filled the air as the image of him slowly faded away. One of his blasted doubles.
Mjolnir flew back into his hand even as he crossed the room toward Astrid's chair. His feet moved quickly, eating up the distance between himself and her. She didn't move until he stood over her, slowly unfolding herself from the chair with wide eyes. A bruise marred the paleness of her cheek, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. They stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, her gaze refusing to leave his face. Then, without warning, a sob crawled up her throat and she threw herself against him. Thor hugged her to him tightly, arms enclosing her in the safety of his embrace.
"I knew you'd come for me. I just knew it," she whispered. When she looked up at him again, she was crying. He lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. "I'm so sorry, Thor. I should have told you but I was scared and you surprised me and I didn't know how to answer and..."
His chuckle cut off her sentence. "What do you have to be sorry for, Lady Astrid?"
"I'm sorry because I should have told you I loved you that day. I do, you know. I love you so much and--"
Her words warmed his heart. He stopped them, taking the opportunity to cover her mouth with his own. Astrid sighed, melted against him, and kissed him back with a great deal of enthusiasm. It made him forget about everything but the feel of her in his arms. Where she belonged.
He was never going to let her go again.
~*~*~*~*~
The catwalk wasn't exactly a hidden spot, but it provided a perfect view of everyone that passed under him. Clint had picked a darkened section of the catwalk, some place cast in enough shadows that he would be hard to pick out. Then he'd laid out all of his weapons, each of them within easy reach so that he never had to take his eye off the floor below. He'd decided to start with the handguns first, laying on his belly on the metal grate with one hand cradling the butt of the gun while the other curled around the grip, finger laying gently against the trigger.
And he'd waited.
Every time an enemy agent appeared, he'd tracked the man with his weapon. Waited for the most opportune moment. His breath had left him in a slow stream until he'd been absolutely still on the inside. Until there hadn't even been white noise in his head. That was when he'd caress the trigger, pull it back so that the hammer slapped into the firing cap on the bottom of the shell casing. The resulting explosion would send the bullet flying through the air. And it would hit its target exactly where it had been meant to, the center of the man's forehead. There were bodies scattered all over the floor that housed a single red dot right between the eyes.
Of course he'd changed it up. Sometimes, when a handgun had clicked empty, he'd set it aside and gone for the bow and arrows. There was something uniquely satisfying to the soft twang of the string when he'd released it. Of seeing the arrow fly straight and true. Of watching the head slice through flesh and bone to drop an enemy where he stood. He'd lost count of the number of bodies that were marked with the familiar black fletching of the arrows.
This was why he'd been brought into the Avengers. This was what he lived for. Maybe he didn't have super strength like Thor or berserker rage like Hulk. Maybe he wasn't the perfect soldier the way Steve was. Maybe he didn't have fancy toys and a wearable arsenal like Tony did. He sure as shit wasn't as cold blooded as Tasha. He was just a regular guy who'd trained to be a sniper. A regular guy who had fucking perfect aim. He was the ace in the hole, because he was the guy they put on the roof of a building some thousand hundred meters away with a sniper rifle and a box full of ammunition. He was the one who hit his target every time. Every. Mother. Fucking. Time.
There were differences between the weapons he used. The handgun had a limited range, but that gave it better accuracy. Holding it was easier, too. It could be fired standing up or sitting down, while lying on one's stomach or flat on one's back. A rifle extended the distance. A sniper rifle was a thing of beauty. Some of the best men in the world could fire a shot and hit their target from almost three thousand meters away. The bow and arrow was a more personal weapon. Like the handgun, it had a limited range, but it was a stealth weapon and he did love not being heard.
Flat on his stomach on the cat walk had put him in the zone. When he was on a job like this, his mind went blank and his body grew still. He was sure that if his lungs didn't work on their own, he'd forget to breathe. The zone was a quiet place that allowed him to simply become an extension of the weapon. They were two parts of a whole that worked in perfect synchronization to achieve a common goal.
A shadow flickered in the corner of his eye, drawing his attention toward one of the doorways. A group of HYDRA agents were stepping into the room. A smile slid across his face as he put his eye to the scope of the rifle. He was down to that, having used up everything else. The box of ammunition was close at hand, ready for when he needed to reload. One finger came to rest on the trigger, waiting for the right moment. He watched, watched, watched. Finally, the men shifted position and formed a single line. It was as perfect a shot as he'd ever get. Just the smallest bit of pressure, a tiny squeeze, and the hammer hit home.
There was a faint sound as the gun fired. He felt the recoil along his shoulders and down his back. But his eyes never left the men, even as he slid the bolt back and ejected the emptied casing. Even as his other hand methodically extracted a new shell from the box and slid it home. He levered the bolt into place and the rifle was ready for the next shot. In the same amount of time it took him to reload, the bullet found its target, tore through it, and kept right on going. Every single man in the line fell over.
He wasn't sure what it was that alerted him that he wasn't alone. The faint echo of a boot on the catwalk. A tremble of the metal beneath him. A creak of leather. Something alerted him, though. Whatever it was saw him reaching for the firearm that was holstered at his side. He'd fired every shot in every handgun he'd brought from the armory. He wasn't so stupid as to leave his sidearm empty. He heard the click even as he was turning.
The resulting noise of two guns going off, one literally half a second after the other, was loud in the sudden silence. Pain tore through his leg, burned its way up his thigh. The man who'd snuck up behind him and pulled the trigger was already tumbling to the ground. Clint tried grabbing for the railing but his hand slipped and he felt himself plummeting toward the floor below.
The first thing that went through his head was that he'd been fucking stupid to leave his back exposed as he had. The second thing that went through his head was he'd never get a chance to beat the crap out of Alex for being a bitch about this whole thing when it was obvious even to him that they were supposed to be together.
He didn't know what the third thing would have been because that's when he impacted with the floor and the world went white around him, a brilliant flare that slowly faded to black.
~*~*~*~*~
The cries for help never seemed to stop. It didn't matter how much he dug, how many people he pulled from rubble piled up in what had once been the mess hall. There always seemed to be more. Steve had had to stop at one point and find himself a pair of gloves. They'd helped keep the debris from ripping his hands to shreds, but he'd had to use more than one pair. And there didn't seem to be any end in sight to the poor souls who had been caught unaware in the explosions. His entire body ached, demanded that he stop and simply give up. But he couldn't. He had to find the survivors.
A particularly large piece of metal sliced through the current palm of one of his gloves to lacerate his hand. He stopped long enough to tear a strip of material from his shirt and wrap it around the wound. Then he was back to his appointed task, shifting rubble and trash aside in the search for anyone still drawing air.
It took five minutes to lift and shift and push the rubble away. When he reached the person who had been calling desperately for help, the man was frighteningly still. Anger stirred within him as he reached into the gap he'd created. His fingers found the man's throat, pressed against it in the vain hope that he'd find a pulse, feel the throb of blood pumping through the man's veins. There was nothing but grim silence.
God damn it! What goes was it being Captain America if he couldn't save people? Anger tore at him, turning his guts to lead. He was sworn to protect the very people who were dying. It was something he took seriously. He'd always taken it seriously. Even when he'd still been that little guy from Brooklyn who got his ass kicked by every guy in all of New York City. It was why he'd wanted to join up and fight in Europe during the war. It was why he'd agreed to Dr. Erskine's process, why he'd become Captain America. And yet here he was, impotent and incapable of doing anything. The anger boiled over into rage, leaving him with nothing but the desire to crush every last member of HYDRA he could get his hands on.
He was pulling his hand from the hole when fingers curled around his wrist and held fast with an iron grip that stopped his thoughts dead. Someone was still alive down there! "Hang on. I'll get you out. But you have to let go of my hand. I need it to dig you free."
The fingers tightened, going white at the tips, before slacking off and finally slipping away. Steve threw himself into the rescue effort with renewed vigor. He was careful with where the pieces of debris went, making sure they all ended up to one side of the rubble pile. Slowly, with great care, he uncovered a dust covered head. Shoulders. The line of a back. It was a woman, her hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Even as he was working at freeing her legs, she was scrabbling at the chunks of debris that held her pinned, doing what she could to aid him in her release.
Steve tried to keep her still, to ensure that any injuries she might have received weren't exacerbated by undue movement. But she ignored him, wiggling and wriggling her way free until she emerged from her premature tomb, feet scraped and bleeding and lacking shoes. She clung to him, crying softly. Warmth soaked into his shirt and, at first, he thought it was tears. But when she slumped weakly into his hold, he carried her clear and settled her on the ground. Her clothes were soaked in blood.
Panic lanced him briefly before training took over and he carefully, professionally searched her body for wounds. He could find none that would explain the amount of blood clinging to her uniform. Her fingers found his shirt again, tugging him down toward her. Steve went willingly, allowed her to pull him close so that she could whisper in his ear. Her words saw his mouth going flat, tightening down into a thin line that meant nothing but trouble for any HYDRA agent he found.
When he pulled away, the woman's eyes had closed. Slowly, carefully, he settled her back against the floor and stared down at her. This... This was too much for him. There was no sense in this. Someone had to pay.
Steve left the room behind, rage eating away at his rational thinking. He went looking for the HYDRA agents, went after them willingly with his shield. With his fists. With a gun when he could. He let anger and rage guide his hands until he found himself standing amidst a large group of corpses. Blood clung to the rim of his shield, spattered his clothes and face. He might have gone after more, might have torn through the entire force they'd sent to take down the helicarrier. He could do it. He could take them all down with his bare hands for the crimes they'd committed. He wanted to do it...
"Captain Rogers?" a faint voice drew him away from the dark thoughts. He saw a ghost in the corner, a flash of white before the ship lurched to the side. The ghost stumbled and fell, a white spot among the darkness. Forgetting his rage, he picked his way across the body strewn floor to the corner where the ghost had appeared. What he found when he got there was a young woman in a while lab coat.
Despite the bruising and the blood, he thought she looked familiar. One of her hands lifted to curl into his shirt, tugging him close. It was when she blinked her eyes open that he knew who she was. Not by name, but he knew her. He'd seen her in Elsa's lab a time or two, one of the women who assisted her in her research. What was she doing out here. Her mouth worked, trying to form words. The way she went about it suggested that it was an urgent matter. Steve took hold of her hand, held it tightly as if to give her his strength. "What is it? What are you trying to tell me?'
"Doctor... " she gasped, then swallowed. Her body spasmed in pain, her eyes turning glassy. "Lab. Doctor Jo..." Her eyes fluttered shut, her breathing shallow and fast. Steve frowned at that. Lab? Doctor? What was she...?
His head snapped up as he realized what she'd been trying to tell him. Elsa! Elsa was still in the lab. In a heartbeat, the dead and the dying, the buried and the enemy, they were all forgotten. All he could think of was getting to the lab and finding Elsa. He rose to his feet and ran, heading toward the middle of the ship. Maybe he'd get lucky and the lab would be intact. Dear God, let her be okay.
"Hang on, Elsa. I'm coming."
~*~*~*~*~
It was inevitable now. They were going down. Phil had known that since the first explosion, but he'd hoped that some miracle would grant them the opportunity to reach the base and render aid. That they'd be able to set the helicarrier down without crashing it. But that had been a futile hope from the start. Still, human nature being what it was, he'd held on to that fragile bit of hope. There was no chance they could help those on the base. No chance to attempt a safe landing. The only hope he had now was to ensure that the helicarrier didn't crash in a highly populated area.
The helm fought him at every turn. Each new explosion saw the ship listing even more sharply to the left. It made it difficult to keep it from flying in a circular pattern. More smoke filled the cabin, making it hard to see the panels before him. The large windows that showed a darkened sky lit with flickering red and orange light. The lights of unsuspecting city below them.
The battle was still raging outside of the bridge's walls. He could hear the sounds of guns going off. The screams of men and women who were injured. The wails of those who were dying. He allowed himself a few moments to mentally recall each and every face that was on the helicarrier with him. Those that had family to remember them. Those who had none. His attention to detail had given him every name of every person who worked under him. Had helped him memorize addresses and phone numbers. Children and spouse's names. All of the major accomplishments and little battles that created a life. They were like his family. His friends and neighbors. His loved ones.
Loved ones. That term took on an entirely new meaning now. He loved Miriam. She'd been the bright, shining star in his life for so long that he'd failed to notice what made her special, even when he'd been staring right into the brilliance of her light. There were so many things about her that he knew he loved. Her dedication to her job. The no-nonsense way she dealt with her subordinates. Her quiet, unassuming nature. Her inner and outer beauty. Her honor and her loyalty. The sound of her voice in the full throes of her passion. The way she simply knew him.
Again, a sense of regret took him. Just for a moment. He should have told her. The night she walked into her hotel room in Scotland, he should have skipped the calm, cool, Agent Phil Coulson exterior and simply told her. I love you. It wouldn't have been hard. It wouldn't have hurt anyone. He should have told her. So that she knew. Even if she didn't love him in return.
That wasn't something he was sure about. For all his cool, collected manners when he was working, for all he just simply knew about those people he worked with, he wasn't good with his own feelings. He wasn't good with reading Miriam's feelings. Not such intimate ones. But it was something she'd deserved to know.
He didn't regret a minute of his time with her. She'd been the softness he'd needed in a life that had been lived hard and empty. Much of his adult years had been tied to the government in one way or another. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been his home for a long time. And he'd thought he'd been content with his lot. Until he'd met her. No. There were no regrets where Miriam was concerned, save one. He should have told her.
The helicarrier shuddered heavily, dragging him away from his thoughts. They was sinking toward the ground at an ever increasing pace. The press of a button brought up the exterior cameras. There were far too many HYDRA planes surrounding them. Two large ones, meant to carry troops. More than two dozen smaller ones, meant to attack and disable the helicarrier. Searches of every angle showed him that Thor was nowhere to be seen. A flash of disappointment rushed through him. He'd thought, with Thor's help, that they'd be able to remain aloft. Or land without crashing. But the big blonde had obviously abandoned his post for some reason known only to him. Too bad Phil wouldn't be able to discuss Thor's serious errors with him. Dressing down a God would have been the highlight of his life.
Stowing everything away, he brought up a map of the city and began looking for the best place possible to put the carrier down. A water landing would be optimal, but too many people were on board and a water rescue would be near impossible. He had no doubt the exterior bulk heads were compromised. Water would rush in and everyone would drown. Much as he hated to think about it, a ground landing was the best option. People might actually survive if he did that.
The unfortunate part of that plan was the fact that New York City was so highly populated. There were too many buildings cluttering up the ground. And there was no way that he could keep the helicarrier aloft long enough to find a place outside of the city. They were going down far too fast for such a plan to be feasible. Which left him with only one choice. Central Park.
He'd always wanted to visit the park at night. Maybe, if he survived this, he'd bring Miriam here and tell her everything. He'd arrange a carriage ride and give her the keys to his heart. Maybe she would forgive him for everything then.
His hands gripped the wheel tighter and did their best to bring the ship around. It was harder than he'd expected, but he managed it. Sheer determination saw him setting the helicarrier on a collision course with Central Park. One hand reached for the microphone hooked up to the PA system, pressing the button near it to activate it. The PA crackled to life at the touch. "Attention helicarrier crew. Brace for impact. We're going down. I repeat, brace for impact."
There was only one thing left to do. He opened a direct line to the base, hoping that someone would be in the comm room. Maybe if someone heard their distress call, they'd be able to get help out to the downed carrier and get some of the crew off safely.
The line was filled with static, cracked with it for just a moment. Phil took a breath and prayed that this wasn't a waste of time. "Base, this is helicarrier one. Mayday. I repeat. Mayday. The ship is compromised. We're going down. Request immediate aid. Mayday."
He was going to give them their coordinates, let them know where he planned on landing the ship. But there was a burst of static and the line went dead.
~*~*~*~*~
The base was in mass chaos. Once he'd suited up, Tony had made an effort to contact Fury to let him know he was ready to help. After a few choice words about his thoughts on the subject, Fury had ordered him to take to the skies and shoot down any enemy craft he'd come across. Tony hadn't argued, which attested to just how desperate the situation was. Any other time, he'd have done his level best to annoy the crap out of Fury. Just because he could. But the strain in the other man's voice had been more than enough to stop Tony's desire to yank his chain.
From the sky, Tony could see the real severity of the situation. More than two thirds of the base was either engulfed in flames or nothing more than piles of rubble. Some open areas allowed him to catch sight of fights being carried on within the building. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were giving their all to stop forward advancing enemy agents.
HYDRA. The word tasted bitter in his mouth. His father had left behind notes about the organization and none of it had been very flattering. Tony had done his own research into the other group just for the hell of it and hadn't liked what he'd found. He was tempted to return to the ground and destroy any HYDRA agent he came across. But if the base looked like it was in dire need of assistance, the ground forces trying to stop HYDRA on the outside were desperate for help.
There were tanks surrounding the base, tanks and men with RPGs firing at the rapidly crumbling building. The team that Fury had with him were outnumbered and outweaponed. That was something Tony could help even up. Chances were good that the remaining HYDRA agents would run away fast if Tony started blowing up their backup.
With careless easy, he began targeting each and every tank. The blasts shook the ground and sent people tumbling over. But they had the desired effect. By the time Tony had destroyed every tank, the remaining HYDRA agents on the ground were beating a hasty retreat. "Stark!" Fury's voice crackled over the comm line. He could hear the displeasure in it. "Would it have been too god damned difficult to give a word of warning before blowing their tanks up? So we could have been prepared?"
"Sorry, Director Fury," Tony replied. "I thought you wanted them gone."
There was a pause and then a faint sound that could have been a chuckle. It also could have been Fury choking. "I've been in contact with Maria. She said a transmission came across the wire from the helicarrier. They're under attack, too. I want you up there to help them."
"Yes, sir," Tony agreed. He didn't wait, simply threw himself skyward. The fact that both the base and the helicarrier were under attack at the same time didn't escape Tony's notice. Coordinated, double pronged strike. That made it next to impossible for S.H.I.E.L.D. to do anything other than watch in horror as HYDRA completely destroyed them. It was sneaky and it didn't seem HYDRA's style at all.
Once he was up, clear of the buildings, he could see the helicarrier as it limped over the city. It was listing badly to one side and smoke rose up into the night sky in a thick plume of oily blackness. Several planes, large and small, circled the ship. Even at a distance, he could see that the smaller planes were firing on the helicarrier. He frowned at that. Wasn't Thor on the carrier? He should have already dealt with the planes.
Tony threw himself into action, pushed toward the sinking carrier. The first order of business was to deal with the planes. After that, he'd attempt to make contact and see if there was any help he could give. At the rate the carrier was going down, though, he highly doubted it.
The bigger planes posed no problems for him. They didn't seem to be armed, looked more like transport ships than anything else. A couple of well aimed blasts saw the planes spiraling toward the ground below. A quick glance showed Tony that they'd hit open water and avoid the city. Small favors. That left him with a couple dozen smaller planes. Fighter planes. This would require some serious aerial acrobatics and maybe no small amount of luck.
With the destruction of the larger planes, the small fighter planes gave chase. Tony led them out over open water while avoiding any shots they fired at him. It took far too many precious minutes that he didn't have to spare to destroy every last plane. By the time he was done, there was a tight knot in the pit of his stomach that told him something very, very bad was about to happen. It was that sensation that had him hurrying back toward the helicarrier's last location.
It wasn't there.
"Jarvis! I need the location of the helicarrier!" he barked at the AI.
"The helicarrier is currently over Central Park, sir," the placid voice of his robotic butler informed him. Tony was in hot pursuit even before the words were done being spoken.
He made it to Central Park in time to see the nose of the helicarrier bury itself in the ground.
Chapter Seventeen: Destruction
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. probably some drinking.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.Author's Note: like the last chapter, this chapter is meant to come off as chaotic and confusing. the events may seem to span forever, but they're meant to happen in relatively rapid succession. please keep that in mind when reading.
The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers! - The Index
The door had barely closed behind him before he was moving at a run. He knew explosions when he heard them, had been the instigator of quite a few himself. Explosions meant one thing and one thing only. The base was under attack. Tony frowned, wondering who would be idiot enough to launch an attack on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s base. Even better, how did they find it? It wasn't like one could pick up just any map of New York City and find the base on it, labeled in big black letters so no one mistook it for the MoMA or the Met.
He had to get to the suit. If he could get to the suit, he'd stand a better chance of helping rid S.H.I.E.L.D. of their current problem. Wasn't that what Iron Man did? Fight for peace. There were people here who would die if he didn't get to the suit and take to the air.
That thought made his mind turn back toward Phoebe. This could not be happening. They'd just gotten to a point where she was comfortable around him. Where she could open up to him. And it wasn't just a sexual thing, either. He'd done his fair share of sleeping around and if that's all he wanted, he could get it from just about anyone. With Phoebe, there was something that bound them together and connected them. Something that he simply couldn't put a name to. She was half of his whole and that was a feeling he'd never really had before. He wasn't one to believe in magic and fairy tales. But he was almost willing to believe that Phoebe Sinclair had been made just for him.
Another explosion rocked the building, this one close by. Too close by. Tony felt a curious sense of panic lance his heart when he realized that the explosion had come from the wing he'd just left. The wing filled with personal apartments. Some of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s people had what amounted to private residences on base. And given the relative lateness of the hour, most of those people would be home. People who would need someone to get them out from under tons of rubble if they hadn't gotten out of their apartments before the explosions. People like Phoebe.
His heart stopped for just a moment. What if something had happened to Phoebe? He'd left her in her room under the assumption that she'd be safe there. But he'd been wrong. So wrong. And now... If something had happened to her, he'd never forgive himself for it. He needed to get to his suit. With the suit, he'd be able to clear away the debris and rescue her. He'd be able to...
His thoughts were cut short by the sound of gunfire only a few feet from where he was standing. Instinct saw him ducking around a corner to hide. Seconds later, several men wearing plain black uniforms and carrying guns stepped into view. HYDRA agents. His mouth flattened in a thin line. He shouldn't have been surprised to see them. If anyone was stupid enough to attack S.H.I.E.L.D.'s well fortified ground base, it was HYDRA. Even knowing this, a sense of shock poured through him at the realization that they were actually attacking the base.
It was more imperative than before that he get to his suit. He wasn't any good without it. Sure, he could defend himself. But they had guns and last time he checked, he wasn't bullet proof. Which presented a slight problem because the enemy agents were between him and his suit. He needed to find some way to incapacitate them. His mind raced with possibilities while he searched around for something that he could use in his plan.
Sometimes, it was the simple things that worked the best. Upon spying a door that had been blasted off its hinges, he came up with an idea that would work and it would work well. It was a well known fact that the doors used in the construction of the base were both light weight and durable. A person could empty an entire clip into one of them and the door would barely scratch. But they were light enough that it didn't take an entire army to install one of them. He could use the door as a shield and a weapon all at once.
It took a little work to get the door hefted up. The shape and size made it awkward. But he managed. Holding it before him would be a challenge, but he didn't need to do it for long. Just long enough to use it to take the enemy agents down. Even as he was searching for a way to carry the thing, his mind was turning over every possible situation, every possible way to defeat the enemy and not get himself killed. If he had the strength of Thor or Hulk, he'd just throw the door at them. But he didn't have that kind of strength so it wasn't an option. Which meant he had to think of something else.
It came to him in a blinding flash. He liked to think it was genius. Pepper and anyone else who knew him would probably call it impulsive stupidity. Either way, he was sure he could pull it off. Okay. He was pretty sure. He stepped around the corner, making sure he could see the HYDRA agents around the door. All he had to do was..."Hey! Over here!" he called out. A peek over the edge of the door showed him that they were all staring at him. He'd gotten their attention.
The door shuddered and shook in his hold when bullets hit it. The constant popping noise of their guns going off was loud in the enclosed area. Tony drew a deep breath and pushed forward, using the metal panel as both a shield and a weapon. He hit the enemy fast and hard, the door slamming into them with enough force to knock them off their feet. Those that didn't stay down were quickly dispatched with a few well placed punches and jabs.
By the time he was done, he was sweating and panting for breath. But every single enemy agent was down. There was no time to think about them any longer. All he could think about was reaching his suit. He'd be better able to help once he was in the Iron Man suit. He'd be able to save everyone with the suit. It was a litany that ran through his head over and over again.
Smoke clung to the ceilings, thick and acrid. The ground shook beneath his feet with every explosion. Sirens wailed. Guns went off. People screamed. And he ran...
~*~*~*~*~
Thor had never heard such a miserable noise in all his days. Sirens screeched and wailed all around them, even as the floor shook beneath their feet. If he listened closely, he could hear the cries of men as they faced down whatever doom had come for them. The sounds of explosions that boomed and echoed like thunder. The faint pop pop pop of guns. They were the sounds of battle and they were sounds that should not have been heard so high up in the sky.
The sounds drew him from his chambers. Already chaos was working its way among the crew of the mighty air ship, men and women running along the corridors with wide, frightened eyes. He paused to gather up Mjolnir. Instinct said he'd need the hammer at his side. He'd barely made any progress up the hall when he was met with his two teammates and Agent Coulson. All of them wore grim expressions on their faces, attesting to the seriousness of the matter.
Captain Rogers spoke before anyone else could. "We need to get off this thing before it starts sinking."
"We can't leave the helicarrier unprotected." There was a thread of steel in the son of Coul's quiet voice. "Someone has to stay and attempt to helm it until destruction is imminent."
"That's suicide, sir." This from Barton. The one called Hawkeye, who even now was scanning the area around them for any signs of threat. Thor didn't miss the handgun resting casually against the man's leg.
Coulson gave them a look that suggested anyone who attempted mischief with him would meet with an unpleasant fate. "We can't risk the helicarrier ending up in the hands of our enemies. But that doesn't mean we can't take as many of them down with us as possible." Those words brought a predatory smile to Hawkeye's face. A glance at Captain Rogers said he was just as happy with it as the other man. Thor was a warrior to the core and always looked forward to battle. Still, something about this felt wrong to him.
Captain Rogers nodded. "What would you have us do?"
"Barton, find a nest. Pick them off as quickly and as quietly as possible. Hit the armory and take whatever you need," Coulson told the man, earning him a nod. Then the son of Coul turned his attention toward Rogers. "Captain, you and your shield can do whatever damage you like. Thor, take out their planes." The man's gaze came to rest on Thor.
"Consider it done," Thor agreed with a nod. He paused to consider it. He was certain that the air ship was already plunging toward the ground. He could feel it in the way the ship listed to the side. Something was badly damaged. Perhaps he could keep that from happening. "I may be able to keep the helicarrier from crashing. If it comes to it, I can try and slow its descent. Perhaps even set it down before it can hit the ground."
After staring at him for a few moments, Coulson nodded his head. One hand slipped his weapon from its holster with the unconscious movements of a seasoned warrior. "Good. Gentlemen. Positions."
"Where will you be, sir?" Barton asked. The man sounded like he was enjoying himself. Or perhaps his own personal joke. Coulson said nothing, prompting a smirk from the other man. "I only ask because I'd hate to hit you accidentally."
Coulson's expression never changed. "Hit me and you'll never come up from the paperwork involved, Barton."
"Yes, sir."
They broke up by unspoken agreement. Thor watched the others as they each chose a different direction. Thor remained where he was, something tickling at the back of his brain. There was something about this that he should be able to sense or see. Something that would tell him exactly what was going on. It almost felt like there was someone there with him. He let his eyes rove the hallway, but he saw nothing. It was a silly notion. Shaking his head, he made to leave.
"Thor, wait!"
Thor frowned and paused. That sounded like Astrid. He must be hearing things. He hadn't seen her in days. He'd thought of her the entire time, but he hadn't seen her since he'd laid his heart bare to her. He'd been confused and dejected by her inability to admit she felt something for him. It had taken him some time, and quite a bit of deep thought, to realize that her lack of words hadn't indicated a lack of emotions. Just an inability to articulate what she felt. He'd kept meaning to go speak with her, coax things out of her. But he'd never gotten back to her cluttered little apartment. Perhaps when this crisis was over...
"Thor! Its Loki! Loki's behind this! Thor, please. Help me." The words echoed out of the emptiness, clung to the swirling eddies of smoke that came up the hall. And they were followed by a brief, ghostly touch against his arm. Heat crept up the limb from the contact, a sensation that triggered memory. Astrid's touch. He knew it as well and as easily as he knew the grip of Mjolnir's handle in his hand.
His eyes searched the hallway and, there, against the wall only a few feet away, he saw outlines of Astrid and Loki. She looked frightened. He looked smug. He looked from her face to his and let anger simmer in his eyes. His fingers unconsciously gripped Mjolnir tighter. "I swear to you, brother. if you hurt her, I will not stop until there's nothing left."
Their images faded away, leaving Thor boiling with rage. How dare his brother touch Astrid? He would suffer for taking such liberties. And if he'd harmed her, then there would be hell to pay.
Rational thought left him. The only thing that repeated through his brain was that he had to find Loki. Make him pay. Rescue Astrid. Never let her go again. Hold her in his embrace until she told him she loved him. Kiss her senseless. Make love to her until there was no energy left in him to do so.
"Forgive me, my friends," he whispered softly. His footsteps echoed loudly in the corridor as he hurried for an exit. He knew what he was about to do would not be looked upon kindly by anyone. But he had to stop his brother.
No matter what the cost.
~*~*~*~*~
A thrill of anticipation coursed along every single one of Clint's nerve endings, making his muscles bunch and tense in readiness. He'd been spoiling for a good fight and it looked like he was going to get one. This was the kind of release he needed, a way to vent his anger and frustration. He'd tried taking it out on Natasha, which had only earned him an ass kicking followed by a few hours spent nursing a beer that held no appeal where she'd practically forced him to spill what was making him so crazy and reckless. So stupid.
A man in a black uniform came around the corner ahead of him. There was a gun in his hand. Clint offered him a smile, then lifted his own weapon and fired. Just as he'd planned, his shot knocked the gun from his enemy's hand. Left the man gaping at him in surprise and shock. Which allowed Clint to close on him.
It felt good to use the tension in his muscles to hurt something. A fist struck the man in the nose, smashing against bone and cartiladge so that blood began pouring from abused nostrils. Grunting in pain, the man attempted a kick that Clint knocked away easily enough. Before the man could regain his balance, Clint drove a fist into his chin. The man's head snapped back, exposing his throat to make a perfect target for one of Clint's booted feet. The kick connected with such force that man didn't even have a chance to make a noise. He just halted in mid-motion, eyes wide as his hands clutched at his throat. Seconds later, he dropped to the ground and didn't move again. Clint left him laying where he'd fallen and continued on to the armory.
All of this stupid tension could be summed up in one word. Alex. What kind of games had she been playing with him? Did she think that she could get away with doing such things, that there wouldn't be consequences for her actions? Based on the look Tasha had given him, chances were good that Alex had already suffered for her behavior. That knowledge almost made him feel sorry for her. Almost.
Why couldn't he stop thinking about her and just push her out of his head? It wasn't like she was going to change her mind. He needed to get over it and move on. Seek out someone else. Fuck. He needed to get Alex to just go away. Thinking about her was going to get him killed. He had a job to do, one that required he be on his game.
Another corner brought another HYDRA agent. He welcomed the challenge. The last one had been too easy. But first, he needed to even the playing field. It took him less than a second to lift and aim the gun. To squeeze off a round. The enemy's gun went flying and, recklessness riding him like crazy, he threw himself into the fray.
Fists flew with meaty thuds. Booted feet connected with grunts and groans. The tension in his arms and legs sang with joy each and every time he landed a blow against his opponent. His mind was blank, moved into that place where he went when he was on a mission. It was the place that allowed him to hide in a tree for hours on end without moving. It was the place that allowed him to be one hell of a sniper, that allowed him to hit every target he set his sights on. Dead center. Killing shot. Each and every time.
A fist came at him, aiming right for his nose. He ducked, darted in, put his shoulder into the man's gut. Momentum carried them both straight into a wall. The blow jolted the breath out of the other man. Clint reached back, grasped the knife on his belt, and then brought it forward. Buried it in the man's belly. He twisted it before pulling it free. He left the man bleeding out on the floor while his feet carried him ever closer to the armory.
He knew what Alex's problem was. She was afraid. He didn't know why, but she was. He might have bought that it was a pleasant mistake the first time they'd hooked up. He hadn't been terribly upset when he'd woken and found her gone then. But the second time... He'd really thought that there'd been something there. In fact, he was sure there'd been something there. Her reactions to him the next morning in her apartment pointed toward some kind of emotional attachment. Naturally he'd been pissed when she'd kicked him out. But having time to think about it had proved to him that she was hiding something from him.
And if she ever talked to him again, he was going to beat the information out of her. Something told him that was the only way he'd get her to give it up.
He had one last HYDRA encounter before reaching the armory. With the way the ship kept lurching to one side and the thickening plumes of smoke, he'd taken speed over therapeutic and had simply put a hole in the middle of the man's head. No muss, no fuss. And then he'd run to the armory to load up.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s armory was a sniper's wet dream. There was every kind of weapon imaginable to be found there. If it fired off something, it was there. His mind slid back to that empty place as he eyed everything before starting the selection process. A lever action rifle equipped with a silencer and several boxes of ammunition. Half a dozen more handguns. A compound bow with two full quivers of arrows. He gave a passing glance to the Uzis, then decided against them. The damned things made far too much noise and needed far too many rounds of ammunition to really do any damage.
He picked up a few smaller items, things that would do serious damage without making much noise, and piled it all into a duffle bag someone had discarded on the floor. When he'd loaded it with enough weapons, he slung it up on his shoulder. He'd already slipped the quiver over his shoulder and the bow was left free, clutched in his hand. Once he was fully loaded, he headed out. He already had a spot picked out.
There was a place through which nearly every single person on board the helicarrier passed. It was a large, spacious area with a few spots where he could hunker down. Make a nest. Snipe the enemy. He wouldn't be as effective there as if he were a few hundred meters away, but he'd do what he could to help cull HYDRA's numbers. He had enough ammunition to last for days.
This was the kind of shit he lived for.
~*~*~*~*~
He didn't make a mad dash for the bridge. He didn't hurry at all. Instead, he walked slowly with his service weapon in his hand, eyes shifting back and forth in a constant search for danger. His steps were steady and sure despite the way the helicarrier occasionally lurched to one side. Panic wasn't an option. There were hundreds of people on board the ship that depended on his calm exterior. It didn't matter that he knew the odds of survival were next to nothing. It would take a miracle and he wasn't sure he believed in miracles at the moment.
There was something strange about this attack. It seemed like something that was beyond HYDRA's normal method of operation. Not unless they had someone or something to back them up in this venture. That thought stopped him dead in his tracks. And, suddenly, everything made sense.
The strange break downs on the helicarrier, all those little things that had seemingly meant nothing. The HYDRA agent who had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. and attacked Miss Sinclair. The explosion at the HYDRA base that had nearly taken Miriam's life. The house in Malibu and the assault on both Barton and Quinn. The staff that he'd been sent to investigate. All of it added up to a series of small distractions to fabricated to hide what was really going on.
Phil cursed himself for not seeing the pattern. It had been right in front of him the whole time. After a moment, he picked up his feet and continued on toward the bridge. It had been on his mind to radio base and request assistance. But he was of the opinion now that such a request would be futile. HYDRA had to know that the helicarrier would ask for reinforcements from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s main base and, if the situations were reversed, base would request aide from the helicarrier. So it would only make sense for HYDRA to launch a two pronged assault. One group would take out the helicarrier while the other would concentrate their attention on the base.
His thought were put on hold for a moment as he rounded a corner and came upon a pair of enemy agents. Two shots. Quick. Simple. Efficient. They went down without a fight, allowing Phil to continue on his way toward the bridge. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he needed to get there as soon as possible.
His pace quickening, he replayed everything that had happened in the last month or so. All of it pointed to outside help. To someone who was capable of manipulation on both large and small scales. To someone who could make things appear exactly as he wanted them. Only one name came to mind when considering those traits and qualities. Loki. That would explain the odd summoning circle that Miriam had found. HYDRA had found a way to call him to their sides and had then enlisted the Trickster God's help. No doubt Loki had only agreed because he'd been handed the perfect opportunity to make his brother's life hell.
How many people would die because of Loki's petty hatred? He shuddered to consider final numbers. Especially since it was likely he would be one of those final numbers. Once upon a time, he'd never considered the dangers of his chosen profession. Had never worried about dying on the job. Now, though, there was a niggling feeling at the back of his brain that said dying was not an option.
For just a moment, he wondered what had changed. And then it hit him. Miriam. An image of her swam up to the surface of his mind, all flushed and mussed from a wild round of sex. He remembered that night. It was the last time he'd been with her. Her hair had been spread like a fiery halo across the pillows and she'd been begging him with her eyes for more. He'd happily obliged. It had been a special kind of torture to have to leave her the next morning without so much as an explanation. He regretted that now. Because he was nearly positive that he wasn't going to see her again.
This wasn't how things were supposed to have gone. In the beginning, it had been a kind of mutual thing. A stress release for both of them. Phil was, always had been, a realist. He knew he wasn't an especially attractive man. Miriam could have had her pick from any number of men. She'd chosen him, though. Had been fascinated with him almost from the beginning. And he'd gravitated toward her because of her quiet demeanor and inner sense of balance. In many ways, she reminded him of himself. He hadn't expected their relationship to last so long. Nor had he expected it to become something more than mere sex.
He had thought for a long time that it was little more than sex. But all of that had changed when he'd heard the explosion and lost contact with her. Her trip to the United Kingdom had shown him that there were deeper feelings for her lurking in his soul. It had been tough admitting those feelings to himself. He should have found the courage to admit them to her. Because he had them. Despite every reason why it shouldn't be, somewhere along the line he'd fallen in love with Miriam.
He should have told her. Before he'd left for the South Pacific. He should have told her. But he hadn't. He'd been so focused on the job at hand, so lost in his mission that he'd failed to tell her the most important things. The things she'd needed to hear. Up until now, when the spectre of death was looming over his head, he hadn't thought about calling her. Hadn't thought about letting her know that he was home. That he'd missed her. That he loved her.
The bridge was filled with HYDRA agents. It took him the entire clip in his weapon to clear them out. When he'd fired off every last round, the room was heavy with the smell of cordite and blood. Bodies lay sprawled on the floor where they'd fallen. He closed the door behind him, locked and barred it. Stepping over the dead, his and theirs alike, he made his way to the helm and took a seat.
He considered calling Miriam then and there, confessing his feelings to her over the phone. But he decided against it. How could she believe his words if he issued them in a life or death situation? In person was better. And in person would likely never happen.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Phil turned his attention to the helicarrier. Calling for help was pointless. His gut told him that the base was under attack, too. They couldn't help him. But maybe he could help them. If he could keep them afloat long enough to reach the base, he might be able to give the others a chance.
Decision made, he took control of the helm and said a silent prayer. He didn't care who heard it. He just wanted them to hear them, grant them. The last thought he had before he shut it all down so he could concentrate on the way the helicarrier listed and limped along was that he loved Miriam and he hoped she'd forgive him for never telling her.
~*~*~*~*~
Steve's first stop was his quarters, to retrieve his shield. The serum might have enhanced every part of his musculature, but it hadn't made him bullet proof. He'd found that out the hard way. Not only would the shield provide him with protection, but it was a weapon in its own right. He could take down plenty of enemies with one flick of his wrist. In all honesty, though, his main concern was making sure people got out of this mess alive. He wasn't so young and naive that he didn't know what the risks were.
An aerial assault was always dangerous. Already he could feel the helicarrier listing to one side. The smoke that filled the air in the corridors said that they likely wouldn't stay aloft for much longer. He had a suspicion that someone had gone after the engines. It was logical. It would cripple the carrier faster than anything else would.
Frowning, shield in hand, he left his quarters and made his way up the hall. Logic said that he should head deeper into the ship, toward the engine rooms. That there would be plenty of enemies to fight that way. And maybe, if he took down enough of them, he could help keep the helicarrier in the air. He knew it was a long shot given the way the ship bucked and listed, but it was worth a try. If the helicarrier went down, it wouldn't just kill the hundreds of people on board. It would kill hundreds of people on the ground, too. He wanted to keep that from happening any way he could.
The battle was obviously heating up. He could hear angry shouts. Screams of agony. The rapid popping of gunfire. The crackle and hiss of flames. The stench of burning grew stronger. And here and there, he could smell blood. He tried not to think about just what that meant because if he acknowledged that there were people to go with that blood. He'd been trained to be a good soldier. And a good soldier didn't leave his men behind.
He mostly succeeded with that plan of action, keeping his mind away from anything that would prompt him to stop and waste time looking for survivors where there were none. Until he heard muffled cries for help coming from a room he passed. His sense of honor, the things that made him who he was, wouldn't let him go beyond the opened doorway until he did whatever he could to help the person buried under the pile of rubble he saw through the doorway.
He didn't hesitate to do what he knew was right. He was through the open doorway, dragging heavy pieces of steel and other items of rubble from the pile. The cries increased with the first piece of debris lifted away. Sharp points jabbed his skin, left cuts and scrapes in his palms, on his fingers and knuckles, along the backs of his hands. That didn't stop him. He simply kept digging until he saw a hand. Pale and bloody, but moving. Steve dug faster, some of the pieces of debris straining his considerable strength. There was a slight ache in his back from being stooped over. Sweat had broken out and beaded up on his forehead. But slowly, surely, he uncovered a battered S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who had been buried under part of the wall and ceiling.
It was a woman, her face bruised and swollen. But she clung tightly to his shirt when he carefully, gently tugged her from the rubble. The warmth of her blood soaked into his clothes when she was finally fully pressed against him. But she looked up at him with clear eyes and managed a slightly pained smile. "Thank you, Captain Rogers," she whispered, voice hoarse.
"You're welcome. Can you stand?" Something niggled at the back of his mind for a moment, something about this situation trying to get his attention. He pushed it down, more concerned with the woman before him than anything else. He had to be sure she was okay before he left her. He couldn't stay here. He'd be needed elsewhere. There were no doubt other people buried and in need.
She said nothing, simply stepped away from him and carefully let go of his shirt. While she wobbled a little, she managed to stay upright. "I think so." She stared up at him a moment, then managed a smile that was more grimace of pain than anything else. "Go. I know there are other people who probably need your help. I'll be alright. I'll find my way to some place safe."
"You're sure?" he gave her a stare. She nodded and motioned to the door.
"Go. I'm okay. Just go and save as many as you can."
He left her standing in the remains of her office or cabin. His mind was already on what he could do to aid with rescues. He knew well enough what he could do to the enemy. One spin of his shield would take them down without troubles. But he hoped he could save more than he had to kill. That was the one thing he hated about battles. Someone always paid the price and he really didn't like having to choose who lived and who died. Hadn't he told Dr. Erskine that he hadn't wanted to kill anyone? Unfortunately, there was no way to avoid such events in war.
And so it became his main mission to save as many people as he could. He stopped where he heard cries, dug out those buried in the rubble. Sometimes he got there too late and ended up uncovered a fresh corpse. Each one of those saw the flames of his anger reaching higher and higher, until it burned under his skin. It felt like bolts of lightning kept moving back and forth along his muscles and nerves.
That anger found an outlet in any enemy agent he came upon. The uniform they wore told him they were dealing with HYDRA. That knowledge rekindled an old hate for the group and, at times, Steve found himself being especially brutal with the enemy. Some part of him would regret it later, when his life and the lives of every person on the helicarrier wasn't in danger. But for now, he would use that anger to cut a path of death and destruction to the engine rooms.
Each death would be a weight upon his soul. Both those he failed to save and those whose lives he took himself. He hoped with all his might that every life he saved would erase the marks that the dead left behind.
~*~*~*~*~
She wasn't anywhere in Asgard. Disappointment and rage flowed through Thor's veins as he checked yet another one of Loki's known hiding places in their home realm. He'd even gone to see Odin in the hopes that his father might know where Loki was hiding. But that had gotten him nothing more than questions he wasn't ready to answer just yet. He hadn't even bothered asking Heimdall. It was well known that Loki could hide himself from the man's all seeing eye. He'd gone so far as to ask Sif and the Warriors Three, but none of them had seen Loki. They'd offered, happily, to help Thor find his brother and beat him senseless. Thor had declined, saying simply that this was something between himself and his brother.
He still couldn't believe that Loki had taken Astrid. He shouldn't have been so surprised by it. Loki was Loki and any chance he had to inflict pain on Thor or humiliate him didn't go without being taken. A not so casual search of Loki's former chambers turned up nothing of use. He hadn't really expected to find anything, but that didn't stop Thor from putting his fist through a wall. Particles of dust and slivers of wood rained down to the floor. And that was when Thor saw it. A book, covered with dirt, hidden in a small space in the wall.
He withdrew it and carefully opened the cover. Inside was his brother's writing, a series of jagged, angry slashes that made up letters and words. A code, one he and Loki had created as children, as was the wont of small tots playing at being something grander. Thor allowed himself a slight smile as he slowly thumbed through the yellowed pages. He still recognized their code, read the words that his brother had put to the pages as he let his eyes skim over the book. But amusement turned to anger when he realized that some of the entries were newer. He began reading in earnest, taking in the displeasure Loki felt. His growing paranoia. It could almost be excused as the written mutterings of a raving madman. Except Loki had done some of the things he'd put down on the pages.
But the book was helpful, too. Because within its pages, Thor found the answer he'd been seeking. One entry, short and not particularly memorable, held the location of a secret palace. The book closed with a thump, landed softly on the thick bed as it was quickly forgotten. Thor knew where he was going. And he knew that it was possible this was a trap that his brother had laid. He would have to be on his guard. But he and Loki would have this out. And he would get Astrid back. The heavens would quake with thunder until she was safely at his side again. That was a promise.
Mjolnir flew straight and true, taking Thor to the very edges of Asgard's lands. The palace mentioned in Loki's old journal rose up before him, a bright and shiny thing that looked cold from the outside. There were creatures of some sort guarding the walls, but they were little challenge for him. All he had to do was summon a little lightning to render them senseless, then he continued on his way.
Right through the wall.
It didn't take long for Thor to find Loki. His brother waited for him in a large hall occupied by two chairs and a basin. It was a lonely, empty room that spoke well to the other man's personality. A quick glance showed him that Astrid was some distance from Loki, huddled into a chair as if it would protect her from his cruelties. Temper soaring, Thor grasped the handle of Mjolnir all the tighter and stared his brother down. "This ends now, Loki. Its long past time to put your grievances with me to rest."
"Come to rescue your precious little mortal, brother?" Loki asked, mad laughter in his voice.
"And to stop you. What you're doing is madness. They're innocent people. They've done nothing to you," Thor argued, striding further into the room.
"But they mean something to you, brother. That is all the reason I need to destroy them."
"I will stop you," Thor told him. His words saw Loki tossing his head back and laughing, that same mad laughter that he'd used only moments ago.
"Then by all means," Loki said, arms going wide as he sank into a mocking bow. When he lifted his head, his eyes turned to where Astrid sat. His grin was filled with malicious glee. "Hmmm. What kind of terrible things can I do to your lady love? Will you be able to stop me before I inflict permanent damage? Shall we test that to see if you can?"
Loki lifted a hand toward Astrid, as if he planned on using his magic on her. Thor didn't think about what he was doing. He simply did. Mjolnir flew across the room, straight toward Loki. Straight through Loki. His brother's maniacal laughter filled the air as the image of him slowly faded away. One of his blasted doubles.
Mjolnir flew back into his hand even as he crossed the room toward Astrid's chair. His feet moved quickly, eating up the distance between himself and her. She didn't move until he stood over her, slowly unfolding herself from the chair with wide eyes. A bruise marred the paleness of her cheek, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. They stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, her gaze refusing to leave his face. Then, without warning, a sob crawled up her throat and she threw herself against him. Thor hugged her to him tightly, arms enclosing her in the safety of his embrace.
"I knew you'd come for me. I just knew it," she whispered. When she looked up at him again, she was crying. He lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. "I'm so sorry, Thor. I should have told you but I was scared and you surprised me and I didn't know how to answer and..."
His chuckle cut off her sentence. "What do you have to be sorry for, Lady Astrid?"
"I'm sorry because I should have told you I loved you that day. I do, you know. I love you so much and--"
Her words warmed his heart. He stopped them, taking the opportunity to cover her mouth with his own. Astrid sighed, melted against him, and kissed him back with a great deal of enthusiasm. It made him forget about everything but the feel of her in his arms. Where she belonged.
He was never going to let her go again.
~*~*~*~*~
The catwalk wasn't exactly a hidden spot, but it provided a perfect view of everyone that passed under him. Clint had picked a darkened section of the catwalk, some place cast in enough shadows that he would be hard to pick out. Then he'd laid out all of his weapons, each of them within easy reach so that he never had to take his eye off the floor below. He'd decided to start with the handguns first, laying on his belly on the metal grate with one hand cradling the butt of the gun while the other curled around the grip, finger laying gently against the trigger.
And he'd waited.
Every time an enemy agent appeared, he'd tracked the man with his weapon. Waited for the most opportune moment. His breath had left him in a slow stream until he'd been absolutely still on the inside. Until there hadn't even been white noise in his head. That was when he'd caress the trigger, pull it back so that the hammer slapped into the firing cap on the bottom of the shell casing. The resulting explosion would send the bullet flying through the air. And it would hit its target exactly where it had been meant to, the center of the man's forehead. There were bodies scattered all over the floor that housed a single red dot right between the eyes.
Of course he'd changed it up. Sometimes, when a handgun had clicked empty, he'd set it aside and gone for the bow and arrows. There was something uniquely satisfying to the soft twang of the string when he'd released it. Of seeing the arrow fly straight and true. Of watching the head slice through flesh and bone to drop an enemy where he stood. He'd lost count of the number of bodies that were marked with the familiar black fletching of the arrows.
This was why he'd been brought into the Avengers. This was what he lived for. Maybe he didn't have super strength like Thor or berserker rage like Hulk. Maybe he wasn't the perfect soldier the way Steve was. Maybe he didn't have fancy toys and a wearable arsenal like Tony did. He sure as shit wasn't as cold blooded as Tasha. He was just a regular guy who'd trained to be a sniper. A regular guy who had fucking perfect aim. He was the ace in the hole, because he was the guy they put on the roof of a building some thousand hundred meters away with a sniper rifle and a box full of ammunition. He was the one who hit his target every time. Every. Mother. Fucking. Time.
There were differences between the weapons he used. The handgun had a limited range, but that gave it better accuracy. Holding it was easier, too. It could be fired standing up or sitting down, while lying on one's stomach or flat on one's back. A rifle extended the distance. A sniper rifle was a thing of beauty. Some of the best men in the world could fire a shot and hit their target from almost three thousand meters away. The bow and arrow was a more personal weapon. Like the handgun, it had a limited range, but it was a stealth weapon and he did love not being heard.
Flat on his stomach on the cat walk had put him in the zone. When he was on a job like this, his mind went blank and his body grew still. He was sure that if his lungs didn't work on their own, he'd forget to breathe. The zone was a quiet place that allowed him to simply become an extension of the weapon. They were two parts of a whole that worked in perfect synchronization to achieve a common goal.
A shadow flickered in the corner of his eye, drawing his attention toward one of the doorways. A group of HYDRA agents were stepping into the room. A smile slid across his face as he put his eye to the scope of the rifle. He was down to that, having used up everything else. The box of ammunition was close at hand, ready for when he needed to reload. One finger came to rest on the trigger, waiting for the right moment. He watched, watched, watched. Finally, the men shifted position and formed a single line. It was as perfect a shot as he'd ever get. Just the smallest bit of pressure, a tiny squeeze, and the hammer hit home.
There was a faint sound as the gun fired. He felt the recoil along his shoulders and down his back. But his eyes never left the men, even as he slid the bolt back and ejected the emptied casing. Even as his other hand methodically extracted a new shell from the box and slid it home. He levered the bolt into place and the rifle was ready for the next shot. In the same amount of time it took him to reload, the bullet found its target, tore through it, and kept right on going. Every single man in the line fell over.
He wasn't sure what it was that alerted him that he wasn't alone. The faint echo of a boot on the catwalk. A tremble of the metal beneath him. A creak of leather. Something alerted him, though. Whatever it was saw him reaching for the firearm that was holstered at his side. He'd fired every shot in every handgun he'd brought from the armory. He wasn't so stupid as to leave his sidearm empty. He heard the click even as he was turning.
The resulting noise of two guns going off, one literally half a second after the other, was loud in the sudden silence. Pain tore through his leg, burned its way up his thigh. The man who'd snuck up behind him and pulled the trigger was already tumbling to the ground. Clint tried grabbing for the railing but his hand slipped and he felt himself plummeting toward the floor below.
The first thing that went through his head was that he'd been fucking stupid to leave his back exposed as he had. The second thing that went through his head was he'd never get a chance to beat the crap out of Alex for being a bitch about this whole thing when it was obvious even to him that they were supposed to be together.
He didn't know what the third thing would have been because that's when he impacted with the floor and the world went white around him, a brilliant flare that slowly faded to black.
~*~*~*~*~
The cries for help never seemed to stop. It didn't matter how much he dug, how many people he pulled from rubble piled up in what had once been the mess hall. There always seemed to be more. Steve had had to stop at one point and find himself a pair of gloves. They'd helped keep the debris from ripping his hands to shreds, but he'd had to use more than one pair. And there didn't seem to be any end in sight to the poor souls who had been caught unaware in the explosions. His entire body ached, demanded that he stop and simply give up. But he couldn't. He had to find the survivors.
A particularly large piece of metal sliced through the current palm of one of his gloves to lacerate his hand. He stopped long enough to tear a strip of material from his shirt and wrap it around the wound. Then he was back to his appointed task, shifting rubble and trash aside in the search for anyone still drawing air.
It took five minutes to lift and shift and push the rubble away. When he reached the person who had been calling desperately for help, the man was frighteningly still. Anger stirred within him as he reached into the gap he'd created. His fingers found the man's throat, pressed against it in the vain hope that he'd find a pulse, feel the throb of blood pumping through the man's veins. There was nothing but grim silence.
God damn it! What goes was it being Captain America if he couldn't save people? Anger tore at him, turning his guts to lead. He was sworn to protect the very people who were dying. It was something he took seriously. He'd always taken it seriously. Even when he'd still been that little guy from Brooklyn who got his ass kicked by every guy in all of New York City. It was why he'd wanted to join up and fight in Europe during the war. It was why he'd agreed to Dr. Erskine's process, why he'd become Captain America. And yet here he was, impotent and incapable of doing anything. The anger boiled over into rage, leaving him with nothing but the desire to crush every last member of HYDRA he could get his hands on.
He was pulling his hand from the hole when fingers curled around his wrist and held fast with an iron grip that stopped his thoughts dead. Someone was still alive down there! "Hang on. I'll get you out. But you have to let go of my hand. I need it to dig you free."
The fingers tightened, going white at the tips, before slacking off and finally slipping away. Steve threw himself into the rescue effort with renewed vigor. He was careful with where the pieces of debris went, making sure they all ended up to one side of the rubble pile. Slowly, with great care, he uncovered a dust covered head. Shoulders. The line of a back. It was a woman, her hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Even as he was working at freeing her legs, she was scrabbling at the chunks of debris that held her pinned, doing what she could to aid him in her release.
Steve tried to keep her still, to ensure that any injuries she might have received weren't exacerbated by undue movement. But she ignored him, wiggling and wriggling her way free until she emerged from her premature tomb, feet scraped and bleeding and lacking shoes. She clung to him, crying softly. Warmth soaked into his shirt and, at first, he thought it was tears. But when she slumped weakly into his hold, he carried her clear and settled her on the ground. Her clothes were soaked in blood.
Panic lanced him briefly before training took over and he carefully, professionally searched her body for wounds. He could find none that would explain the amount of blood clinging to her uniform. Her fingers found his shirt again, tugging him down toward her. Steve went willingly, allowed her to pull him close so that she could whisper in his ear. Her words saw his mouth going flat, tightening down into a thin line that meant nothing but trouble for any HYDRA agent he found.
When he pulled away, the woman's eyes had closed. Slowly, carefully, he settled her back against the floor and stared down at her. This... This was too much for him. There was no sense in this. Someone had to pay.
Steve left the room behind, rage eating away at his rational thinking. He went looking for the HYDRA agents, went after them willingly with his shield. With his fists. With a gun when he could. He let anger and rage guide his hands until he found himself standing amidst a large group of corpses. Blood clung to the rim of his shield, spattered his clothes and face. He might have gone after more, might have torn through the entire force they'd sent to take down the helicarrier. He could do it. He could take them all down with his bare hands for the crimes they'd committed. He wanted to do it...
"Captain Rogers?" a faint voice drew him away from the dark thoughts. He saw a ghost in the corner, a flash of white before the ship lurched to the side. The ghost stumbled and fell, a white spot among the darkness. Forgetting his rage, he picked his way across the body strewn floor to the corner where the ghost had appeared. What he found when he got there was a young woman in a while lab coat.
Despite the bruising and the blood, he thought she looked familiar. One of her hands lifted to curl into his shirt, tugging him close. It was when she blinked her eyes open that he knew who she was. Not by name, but he knew her. He'd seen her in Elsa's lab a time or two, one of the women who assisted her in her research. What was she doing out here. Her mouth worked, trying to form words. The way she went about it suggested that it was an urgent matter. Steve took hold of her hand, held it tightly as if to give her his strength. "What is it? What are you trying to tell me?'
"Doctor... " she gasped, then swallowed. Her body spasmed in pain, her eyes turning glassy. "Lab. Doctor Jo..." Her eyes fluttered shut, her breathing shallow and fast. Steve frowned at that. Lab? Doctor? What was she...?
His head snapped up as he realized what she'd been trying to tell him. Elsa! Elsa was still in the lab. In a heartbeat, the dead and the dying, the buried and the enemy, they were all forgotten. All he could think of was getting to the lab and finding Elsa. He rose to his feet and ran, heading toward the middle of the ship. Maybe he'd get lucky and the lab would be intact. Dear God, let her be okay.
"Hang on, Elsa. I'm coming."
~*~*~*~*~
It was inevitable now. They were going down. Phil had known that since the first explosion, but he'd hoped that some miracle would grant them the opportunity to reach the base and render aid. That they'd be able to set the helicarrier down without crashing it. But that had been a futile hope from the start. Still, human nature being what it was, he'd held on to that fragile bit of hope. There was no chance they could help those on the base. No chance to attempt a safe landing. The only hope he had now was to ensure that the helicarrier didn't crash in a highly populated area.
The helm fought him at every turn. Each new explosion saw the ship listing even more sharply to the left. It made it difficult to keep it from flying in a circular pattern. More smoke filled the cabin, making it hard to see the panels before him. The large windows that showed a darkened sky lit with flickering red and orange light. The lights of unsuspecting city below them.
The battle was still raging outside of the bridge's walls. He could hear the sounds of guns going off. The screams of men and women who were injured. The wails of those who were dying. He allowed himself a few moments to mentally recall each and every face that was on the helicarrier with him. Those that had family to remember them. Those who had none. His attention to detail had given him every name of every person who worked under him. Had helped him memorize addresses and phone numbers. Children and spouse's names. All of the major accomplishments and little battles that created a life. They were like his family. His friends and neighbors. His loved ones.
Loved ones. That term took on an entirely new meaning now. He loved Miriam. She'd been the bright, shining star in his life for so long that he'd failed to notice what made her special, even when he'd been staring right into the brilliance of her light. There were so many things about her that he knew he loved. Her dedication to her job. The no-nonsense way she dealt with her subordinates. Her quiet, unassuming nature. Her inner and outer beauty. Her honor and her loyalty. The sound of her voice in the full throes of her passion. The way she simply knew him.
Again, a sense of regret took him. Just for a moment. He should have told her. The night she walked into her hotel room in Scotland, he should have skipped the calm, cool, Agent Phil Coulson exterior and simply told her. I love you. It wouldn't have been hard. It wouldn't have hurt anyone. He should have told her. So that she knew. Even if she didn't love him in return.
That wasn't something he was sure about. For all his cool, collected manners when he was working, for all he just simply knew about those people he worked with, he wasn't good with his own feelings. He wasn't good with reading Miriam's feelings. Not such intimate ones. But it was something she'd deserved to know.
He didn't regret a minute of his time with her. She'd been the softness he'd needed in a life that had been lived hard and empty. Much of his adult years had been tied to the government in one way or another. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been his home for a long time. And he'd thought he'd been content with his lot. Until he'd met her. No. There were no regrets where Miriam was concerned, save one. He should have told her.
The helicarrier shuddered heavily, dragging him away from his thoughts. They was sinking toward the ground at an ever increasing pace. The press of a button brought up the exterior cameras. There were far too many HYDRA planes surrounding them. Two large ones, meant to carry troops. More than two dozen smaller ones, meant to attack and disable the helicarrier. Searches of every angle showed him that Thor was nowhere to be seen. A flash of disappointment rushed through him. He'd thought, with Thor's help, that they'd be able to remain aloft. Or land without crashing. But the big blonde had obviously abandoned his post for some reason known only to him. Too bad Phil wouldn't be able to discuss Thor's serious errors with him. Dressing down a God would have been the highlight of his life.
Stowing everything away, he brought up a map of the city and began looking for the best place possible to put the carrier down. A water landing would be optimal, but too many people were on board and a water rescue would be near impossible. He had no doubt the exterior bulk heads were compromised. Water would rush in and everyone would drown. Much as he hated to think about it, a ground landing was the best option. People might actually survive if he did that.
The unfortunate part of that plan was the fact that New York City was so highly populated. There were too many buildings cluttering up the ground. And there was no way that he could keep the helicarrier aloft long enough to find a place outside of the city. They were going down far too fast for such a plan to be feasible. Which left him with only one choice. Central Park.
He'd always wanted to visit the park at night. Maybe, if he survived this, he'd bring Miriam here and tell her everything. He'd arrange a carriage ride and give her the keys to his heart. Maybe she would forgive him for everything then.
His hands gripped the wheel tighter and did their best to bring the ship around. It was harder than he'd expected, but he managed it. Sheer determination saw him setting the helicarrier on a collision course with Central Park. One hand reached for the microphone hooked up to the PA system, pressing the button near it to activate it. The PA crackled to life at the touch. "Attention helicarrier crew. Brace for impact. We're going down. I repeat, brace for impact."
There was only one thing left to do. He opened a direct line to the base, hoping that someone would be in the comm room. Maybe if someone heard their distress call, they'd be able to get help out to the downed carrier and get some of the crew off safely.
The line was filled with static, cracked with it for just a moment. Phil took a breath and prayed that this wasn't a waste of time. "Base, this is helicarrier one. Mayday. I repeat. Mayday. The ship is compromised. We're going down. Request immediate aid. Mayday."
He was going to give them their coordinates, let them know where he planned on landing the ship. But there was a burst of static and the line went dead.
~*~*~*~*~
The base was in mass chaos. Once he'd suited up, Tony had made an effort to contact Fury to let him know he was ready to help. After a few choice words about his thoughts on the subject, Fury had ordered him to take to the skies and shoot down any enemy craft he'd come across. Tony hadn't argued, which attested to just how desperate the situation was. Any other time, he'd have done his level best to annoy the crap out of Fury. Just because he could. But the strain in the other man's voice had been more than enough to stop Tony's desire to yank his chain.
From the sky, Tony could see the real severity of the situation. More than two thirds of the base was either engulfed in flames or nothing more than piles of rubble. Some open areas allowed him to catch sight of fights being carried on within the building. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were giving their all to stop forward advancing enemy agents.
HYDRA. The word tasted bitter in his mouth. His father had left behind notes about the organization and none of it had been very flattering. Tony had done his own research into the other group just for the hell of it and hadn't liked what he'd found. He was tempted to return to the ground and destroy any HYDRA agent he came across. But if the base looked like it was in dire need of assistance, the ground forces trying to stop HYDRA on the outside were desperate for help.
There were tanks surrounding the base, tanks and men with RPGs firing at the rapidly crumbling building. The team that Fury had with him were outnumbered and outweaponed. That was something Tony could help even up. Chances were good that the remaining HYDRA agents would run away fast if Tony started blowing up their backup.
With careless easy, he began targeting each and every tank. The blasts shook the ground and sent people tumbling over. But they had the desired effect. By the time Tony had destroyed every tank, the remaining HYDRA agents on the ground were beating a hasty retreat. "Stark!" Fury's voice crackled over the comm line. He could hear the displeasure in it. "Would it have been too god damned difficult to give a word of warning before blowing their tanks up? So we could have been prepared?"
"Sorry, Director Fury," Tony replied. "I thought you wanted them gone."
There was a pause and then a faint sound that could have been a chuckle. It also could have been Fury choking. "I've been in contact with Maria. She said a transmission came across the wire from the helicarrier. They're under attack, too. I want you up there to help them."
"Yes, sir," Tony agreed. He didn't wait, simply threw himself skyward. The fact that both the base and the helicarrier were under attack at the same time didn't escape Tony's notice. Coordinated, double pronged strike. That made it next to impossible for S.H.I.E.L.D. to do anything other than watch in horror as HYDRA completely destroyed them. It was sneaky and it didn't seem HYDRA's style at all.
Once he was up, clear of the buildings, he could see the helicarrier as it limped over the city. It was listing badly to one side and smoke rose up into the night sky in a thick plume of oily blackness. Several planes, large and small, circled the ship. Even at a distance, he could see that the smaller planes were firing on the helicarrier. He frowned at that. Wasn't Thor on the carrier? He should have already dealt with the planes.
Tony threw himself into action, pushed toward the sinking carrier. The first order of business was to deal with the planes. After that, he'd attempt to make contact and see if there was any help he could give. At the rate the carrier was going down, though, he highly doubted it.
The bigger planes posed no problems for him. They didn't seem to be armed, looked more like transport ships than anything else. A couple of well aimed blasts saw the planes spiraling toward the ground below. A quick glance showed Tony that they'd hit open water and avoid the city. Small favors. That left him with a couple dozen smaller planes. Fighter planes. This would require some serious aerial acrobatics and maybe no small amount of luck.
With the destruction of the larger planes, the small fighter planes gave chase. Tony led them out over open water while avoiding any shots they fired at him. It took far too many precious minutes that he didn't have to spare to destroy every last plane. By the time he was done, there was a tight knot in the pit of his stomach that told him something very, very bad was about to happen. It was that sensation that had him hurrying back toward the helicarrier's last location.
It wasn't there.
"Jarvis! I need the location of the helicarrier!" he barked at the AI.
"The helicarrier is currently over Central Park, sir," the placid voice of his robotic butler informed him. Tony was in hot pursuit even before the words were done being spoken.
He made it to Central Park in time to see the nose of the helicarrier bury itself in the ground.
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(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-19 02:44 am (UTC)I really enjoyed getting to see what's been going on in the men's heads, too. Great work all around. I can't wait to read what happens next.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-19 02:51 am (UTC)this chapter originally wasn't slated to even be in the story, but last weekend sucked big ones and a suggestion Daz made to me evolved into... this. it was kind of interesting to see what the guys were thinking at the most pivotal point in the whole fic. glad you enjoyed.
as soon as i know what happens next, i'll get on it.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-19 03:03 am (UTC)Tony's determination to get to his suit is spot on. The thought that he can't do anything to help anyone (or specifically Phoebe) without the suit is a very Tony way of thinking, even after he's kicked the crap out of a bunch of HYDRA agents with a door. Which, by the way I think Steve would be very proud of him for. :)
I really like the reveal of Astrid being there from Thor's POV. Got the image of smoke curling around shapes and it was lovely! ... I kinda want to kick his ass right now, but that's a completely unrelated topic. lol The rescue too was very well done. I like the idea that Thor and Loki had a code as children and that (probably much to his dismay) Loki's still using it. The use of the magic clone was great too. And yay, Astrid! Way to FINALLY get your act together! LOL
Mmmm... badass Clint. I am a fan of badass Clint. lol I love how he's so trying NOT to focus on Alex and all that even in the middle of a fight but he just can't HELP IT! Once you got him into sniper mode though... fantastic work. I loved it. Gotta love a man that loves what he does. :)
... I can't. I CAN'T! *flailweepsob* I do love that Coulson's the one that puts it all together though. Between that and being a badass... mmmm, baby. Mmmmm. But... uh, my HEART! Yes, Phil. You absolutely fucking should have told her! Congrats, darling, you made me tear up a little.
Steve... oh, Steve. Ever the hero. I love that you nod back to him not wanting to kill anyone but knowing that it's an unfortunate part of the deal. And the rescues. Oh Steve... you poor tortured soul! GO RESCUE YOUR GIRLFRIEND!
Tony watching the Helicarrier go down is... damn girl. That's a powerful image. And probably the best way to end this. You did an amazing job. Seriously. I can not WAIT to see what you do next. Excellent work!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-19 03:19 am (UTC)i like to think that Tony does know his limitations. he knows he really can't do anything amazing without the suit, that its the suit that makes him capable of being a superhero. and better than he is. so he needs the suit to help anyone and everyone. especially Phoebe. yeah. the door was rather a handy thing to use and, well, it is Tony. he's going to find something spur of the moment. i think Steve would be proud, too!
yeah. i imagine it would be something exactly like that. just a wisp of smoke and a hint of color to let him know that someone was there. and since this is Loki we're talking about, i wouldn't doubt Thor would know what his magic felt like. i doubt you're the only one who wants to kick Thor's ass. but that can wait until later. the idea for the code came from the movie, believe it or not. because i would think Loki wouldn't be as twisted then as he is presently. so they'd do things together that brothers would do. codes and things that the adults couldn't understand. Loki still using it kind of makes sense. yes. Astrid finally got her act together.
i am totally a fan of badass Clint. i like seeing him kick some ass the old fashioned way. he kind of nailed it. he isn't anything special until you put a gun or whatever in his hand. then he outshines everyone else. i like the fact that he's as capable with his hands as he is with a gun or a bow. Alex just won't get out of his head. at least not until he falls into the zone. then he's all business and people are in trouble. yes. i totally love a man who loes what he does. :)
Coulson is like... the super brain. what the others will eventually catch, he'll see way before. not just any badass, but a very calm, very put together badass. and yes. he totally should have told her. but hindsight is 20/20. i'm sorry i made you tear up. but i told you that i thought Phil's part was pretty damned solid.
Steve will always be the hero. i like that i nodded back to that bit, too. its part of what makes Steve who he is, no matter which verse we're talking about. i figured that he might see this kind of fighting and killing a little different than the war, because the circumstances are somewhat different. and yes. he must go rescue his girlfriend.
even though the bit where Tony sees the helicarrier crash is brief, i hope it conveyed the helplessness he was feeling. because he just knew there was nothing he could do about it. after every thing is said and done, Tony made the suit to help people. and it had to kill something inside of him to have to stand by and just watch it happen.
glad you enjoyed, bb. we'll see what comes next.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-19 03:09 am (UTC)I was SO tickled when you said you were going to write the guys' takes on the events and knew it'd rock...and sure 'nuff, it did! :D) It's a damn good thing I don't bite my nails or I'd have NOTHING left now...lol.
Loving ALL the threads and the tensions! *squeals again*
Loki and HYDRA...yeah, they're all toast. BIG time! :D)
*sighs happily*
How To Keep A H/C Junkie Happy?....feed me more of this fic! LOL! Seriously sweetie, I adore!
(self-serving happy dance - Go Steve!!! ;D) LOLOL)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-19 03:26 am (UTC)as i told Gin, this wasn't originally part of the deal. but once the idea took root, i had to do it. i'm glad i did, because it covers some really important things that we wouldn't have seen from the girls' POVs. that doesn't even include what the guys were thinking.
again, i wanted to make this seem as hectic and chaotic as the last chapter, so there was much skipping around.
Loki might be harder to pin down than HYDRA, but i'm sure he'll get his when the time is right. Thor isn't likely to let this go unchallenged. and he isn't likely to forget it any time soon.
there's some bad shit that has to happen before there can be any kind of H/C happening, though i don't really see this as being H/C. just me. the Big StuffTM isn't exactly over yet.