Things I Create

Dearest, 

Mr. Sionis and I have come to the difficult conclusion that your services are no longer required in an attempt to win the favor of Mr Crone.

Cheers.

✦ ✦

You prided yourself on your ability to handle most situations with a resolute conviction.

Between the piece of work that was your negligent mother and your strained relationship with your difficult father, you’d had more than enough experience with unmanageable situations with unmanageable people. 

It was what made working for Roman Sionis so easy. You could handle his emotional outbursts, and you could handle the sadism of everything he and his followers did. Everything they did was just a means to an end, after all.

A terrible, terrible end. 

But what could you do? Sionis had effectively found a lonely, capable soul with a tarnished family name and did what he did best: he commandeered your life, and promised that you would have nothing else taken from you. 

His only request from you was to do as he said. In a way, it was not unlike the years you had spent appeasing your parents. 

Sionis told you where to go, you did what was required, and then some.

What he had given you was more than you had at the time, and you were grateful for his protection, if anything else.

But over the years, you had proven yourself to be a valuable asset to the organization. You were relatively level-headed (compared to your boss), cunning, and resourceful.

It was far more than you could say for some of the bumbling fools Sionis had employed in the past. 

Victor Zsasz may have been the watchdog, the right hand man, even, but you were more. Where Victor was graceless and impulsive, you were calculated and swift. Roman had once said that they were your best traits. He had assured you that they made you one of the most important players in his game. 

Yet for the third time in the last few months, you were told to back off as negotiator. 

The email that you had printed out was clutched by a shaking hand. You couldn’t think of a time when you’d been this angry with him. It was one thing for him to be disparaging; despite his iciness, his words could hardly pierce you. It was something else entirely for him to be so resolute, to snatch your work from under you and watch you fall helplessly.

As you strode to the back of the club, you ignored the greetings that the barkeep had shot your way; it wasn’t often you were in a foul mood, and you hoped he was smart enough to know to leave you alone.

As you began your ascent to the top of the staircase, you felt the paper in your clenched fist practically burn you. 

The words from the courier were simple, and very few. 

But you knew their weight, just as you knew the weight from the other two messages you'd received recently. 

You knew it meant you weren’t to be trusted anymore, and it ignited a fury you couldn’t extinguish. 

Your steps were heavy as you stomped up the spiraling staircase, and part of you had wished that they could hear you coming. 

All sense of dignity left as you stood before the door to his pad and you pounded your fist against it.

The sound hadn’t even taken him aback, it seemed. When you heard Zsasz swear and cock his gun, you heard Roman merely tame him in response.

“Put it down, Zsasz, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he assured the man.

Nothing to be afraid of, my ass, you thought to yourself as you clutched the paper tighter.

“Is that my sugar plum rapping at my chamber door?” Roman Sionis’s voice called from the inside of the room. Not for the first time, you thought about how satisfying it might be to sucker punch him in the throat.

Victor opened the door and offered a toothy grin in your direction. Before he could quip about your chagrined state, you shoved past him with a low, “Button it, Zsasz.” 

The man’s grin fell, and you heard his heavy footsteps follow you as you made your way to Roman’s desk.

The thug in question had his chin in his hand as you approached him. He tried looking child-like in that annoying way he sometimes did. Even after several years, you weren’t sure what was more frightening; his artificial pacification, or his bouts of rage. 

You knew just how dangerous Sionis could be. You’d known for years, yet that hadn’t stopped you from snapping at him and challenging him before. Roman was...not a good man. He was capable of pretty fucking horrible things. Hell, you’d seen some of the terrible things he’d done, and heard rumors of far worse. Part of you had wondered what had kept him from lashing out at you. 

You’d hiss some poisonous words, and he’d reciprocate before telling you that it would all be okay. That you had nothing to worry your pretty little head about.

The thought of his paternalistic cooing made your lips curl into a grimace. 

You didn’t speak, choosing instead to take a moment to calm your heaving chest and boiling blood.

After a few moments, Roman offered a raised brow.

“To what do I owe this...outburst?” he asked. 

“Boss,” Victor interrupted cautiously, but Roman held up a gloved hand.

“I’m sure whatever our little lady has to say, she can articulate perfectly without hurting anyone.” 

You gritted your teeth at the nickname and the way he spoke of you.

It was like you were pathetic.

You held his curious gaze for a moment longer before the fury inside of you snapped once more. 

You slammed the email printout hard upon his desk, not minding that your hand stung from the force. 

Roman’s eyes left yours for a split second to look at what you brought before him. He tutted gently, and the condescension wasn’t lost on you. 

“You couldn’t CC me in this email, dove?” he asked, and your fingers twitched at the way Victor laughed at the quip. 

You were never one to act purely on emotions. Your mother had convinced you that it was a weakness. After seeing how the two men you worked with had acted in moments of passion, you believed her. 

But now you shook, unsure of how to properly reign yourself in. 

“Explain to me why I’m once again being replaced, ” you said quietly. If you raised your voice, you knew neither of them would take you seriously.

They aren’t taking you seriously now, you reminded yourself. You clenched your jaw at the truth of the statement.

“Sweetling, you have more than enough to deal with right now—” the man started, but you cut him off sharply.

“Don’t you dare start to mollify me like I’m some sort of first week toady of yours, Sionis. I have been working to get this going in our favor for the last three weeks.”

“And what’s come of it?” your boss retorted without a beat. 

You blinked at him. 

You wanted to reply, to slam your hands down upon the desk again. You felt a slight swell of pride at your ability to restrain yourself. 

“From what dear old Silas Crone has told me, you were becoming quite a little problem for him. Not at all what I had in mind.”

He was quiet after that, and you took the moment to think on what he’d said. 

You weren’t necessarily doing anything he wouldn’t do. Actually, you were rather diplomatic compared to him. No, this was his way of feeling in control. This was his way of reminding you that he did what he pleased. 

“You’re...a spitfire, darling,” Roman continued, leaning back in his chair. “I know you can handle these things, but...I’d hate to see you do something you’d regret.” 

You continued to glare at him, so badly wanting to shout.

Instead, you bit the inside of your cheek and nodded. Placating Roman would be the only way to get something akin to a full answer.

“Like what?” you asked after breathing for a moment.

Roman folded his hands neatly.

“Well, for starters, you can be a little...pushy when it comes to offering deals to our potential clients. Losing us certain allies could cost us greatly.”

You didn’t ignore how icy his voice had gotten.

“So, you’d rather I was complacent with their refusal?” you asked, with brows raised.

Roman shook his head.

“Darling,” he said, dragging out the syllables. “I’d rather you use that suggestive force I talk about so much. You don’t need to be incessant, especially when you could use other means to win people’s favor.”

You didn’t need to ask him to elaborate. 

It wasn’t fair. You did your job, and you did it well more often than not. You could probably count on one hand the number of clients you’d lost the team. You didn’t need to sell your body to make it happen, either, and he knew that. 

“What do I have to do to prove to you that I am more than capable of getting the job done?”

But you knew the answer. 

Sionis would never be entirely pleased with what you accomplished, and it was futile to think that you were capable of anything more.

“When you stop going behind my back to do things,” Roman said finally.

You shot him a quizzical look. 

“Behind your back?” you asked incredulously. 

Roman leaned forward and drummed his fingers upon the paper. 

That damned paper. 

“You have an...annoying tendency to take matters into your own hands,” he elaborated finally. “Six months ago, it was the bank teller that you put a hit on. Four months ago, it was that journalist that you threatened into submission. Now, you’re insolent enough to go behind my back and interrogate those hookers found with Crone?”

You didn’t respond at first, too dumbfounded to understand his frustration.

“You tell me to finish my job, and that’s what I do,” you retorted. “That’s the way I’ve always done it. ”

“Without me knowing,” Roman said dangerously. “And you’ve been doing it more and more.”

His words had been spoken in an uncharacteristically diplomatic tone, and they were right.

But who cared if you found other ways of getting what you and your organization needed? The job was done, and the loose ends were taken care of with no one the wiser.

Without me knowing.

Your jaw clenched at the implication. You had to go through him to finish your job? 

Several years practically running his various operations and you were the one being belittled? Nevermind that he wasted his time on trinkets and sawing faces off. Nevermind that Victor had a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ mentality. 

Nevermind that you were shouldering more of the responsibility than was fair.

Your lips twisted into a sneer as you spoke.

“Maybe I make my own decisions because I know how yours usually play out,” you answered coldly. Your fingers curled slightly, wishing that you had your knife in your grasp.

The smile fell from the man’s mouth, and you heard Zsasz shift uncomfortably behind you. Part of you knew that Zsasz wouldn’t dare touch you; you were too important in the great game you all played. But the way Roman was looking now, you almost feared that you’d gone too far.

You were surprised when he didn’t throw something. 

Rather, he steepled his fingers and his gaze grew observant.

He may have possessed the emotional capacity of a sleepy kindergartener, but you knew better than anyone that he could be calculating when he wanted to be. It was the only reason he’d made it as far as he had in the criminal underbelly. 

“How do mine usually play out?” he challenged you, his voice as sharp as his favorite knife. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and closed your eyes. 

You were waltzing right into a trap he was setting. 

When you opened your eyes, he was still watching you with imploring, cold eyes that dared you to continue.

Your lips twitched.

“You antagonize your enemies and then you play with them. You don’t worry about the repercussions, because you think you’re untouchable! You leave it to me to make sure your ass doesn’t get handed to you by the enemy. That’s why I have to play the way I do!” you said, exasperated. 

“Why do you think you’ve made as many allies as you have over the last five years? Because you had me doing the dirty work and making the hard decisions for you! And what do I get? Your ass taking things away from me like I’m some sort of child!”

Your voice was a snarl, and your hands fists. Emotion wasn’t your greatest asset. You knew better than to let him get to you.

Roman’s hands slammed against the desk finally, and you felt yourself jump back slightly.

“Enough,” Roman said, his voice unkind.

He stood up to adjust his blazer, before running a hand through his hair. 

He continued to watch you, even as he spoke to the third party in the room.

If you were honest, you’d almost forgotten the little sociopath was still there.

“Victor, would you be a doll and run through that errand list I had you look at earlier? Our sugar plum and I need to have some words alone.”

You couldn’t hide your slight quiver of fear at the way Roman spoke. Sure, you had a tendency to mouth off, but never to this extent. You’d always swallowed your pride when Roman got a little too possessive. You shrugged off the belittlements, and took the fits of anger in stride with the end goal always in mind. 

You took the opportunity to pull your gaze away from Roman, and you looked at the other man. Victor’s surprised gaze flickered between Roman and yourself. 

Had Zsasz ever spoken back this way? You couldn’t comprehend the man standing up to his boss, probably preferring to placate Roman like he always did.

Bootlicking sycophant.

Finally, he nodded and turned away though not before shooting you a yellow toothed leer. 

You watched him step away and slam the door behind him.

With Zsasz gone, you were left alone with the irate businessman.

You’d experienced Roman’s fits dozens of times. Triple that, actually. Probably more.

Very few times had you actually been on the receiving end of his tirades, but this was an entirely different beast. 

You finally pulled your gaze from the door and fixed your eyes on the blasted email that had started this all. 

“I believe you were in the middle of telling me how wrong I was?” the man said.

You swallowed your fear and looked at him.

He had seated himself once more, and you thought you saw him shake somewhat.

You bit the inside of your cheek, afraid of saying more. What more could you say? You’d already guaranteed yourself some sort of punishment. 

No one retaliated against Roman Sionis without repercussions, not even you.

“Go on,” he continued. “Say it!” 

It wasn’t the volume of his voice that made you flinch (god knew you heard enough of that), it was how quickly he fell back into his facade of stoicism. 

With his adversaries, or the one’s you’d witnessed, he toyed and played with them until they were assuaged enough to believe it was in their favor.

It was then that he struck. 

You couldn’t be sure what he was doing now. 

You looked back at the damned piece of paper that still lay before you, and felt your conviction build once more. 

Fine. 

If he really wanted to hear it, you certainly wouldn’t disappoint.

You braced yourself against his desk, and leaned in. Your voice was dangerous, yet somehow he remained unaffected.

“You gave me a job to do, no matter what it took. I did what was asked of me like I always do. And yet, you’re ungrateful for how fucking hard I work to appease you.”

The man’s lips twitched, and you wondered just how deep under his skin you had gotten yourself. 

“I don’t need to run every one of my choices past you, Sionis,” you reminded him.  

When you saw something glint maliciously in his eyes, you wondered if this would be when he finally ended you.

He stood up from his seat again to mirror your position against the desk. 

His gloved fingers just barely brushed past yours, and you considered pulling your knife out to pin his hand to the lovely oak that made up his work space.

“Every little thing you do goes through me, sugar,” he said coldly.

“Every time you breathe, I know about it. Every time you pay off that house loan, I know about it. Every time you choose to disobey me, I know about it. You aren’t nearly as careful as you think you are.” 

His voice was positively venomous.

Your glower deepened, and your knuckles turned white from how hard they were clenched.

“And next time, you will tell me before you make another idiotic decision like that,” Roman hissed.

When you moved to stand back, his hand grabbed your wrist and held it in place.

“Consider this your only warning, sugar plum. Insubordination is not something I take lightly.”

You looked down at his grip on your wrist before meeting his eyes. Your lips curled slightly.

“Thank you for your leniency, Mr. Sionis,” you said with disdain. “Now may I please have my hand back?” 

You could feel Roman’s eyes on you as you strode to the door, but you stopped yourself when you heard him speak up.

“Don’t be like that,” he began, his voice returning to its fun tambre. 

Your eye twitched as you regarded him.

“Just listen to me. That’s all I ask,” he continued. 

You didn’t stop yourself from stalking over to his desk again. The voice in your head shouted at you to back down; he had only given you one warning, after all. There wasn’t anything you could say to change what had happened. 

You looked back down at the desk and saw that the print out was still there. 

You lunged for the paper, but Roman was faster; before you could think, he had pulled it out of your grasp.

It was your turn to slam your hand on the desk, and Roman laughed slightly at that. You moved your way around his desk to snatch it from him, but he lifted it above his head. 

You started to engage in a childish game, with you doing your damndest to win at something today, but to no avail. 

After an embarrassing attempt to gain what little dignity you could, you stopped when you felt the concrete of the wall against your back. 

Roman laughed again.

“All this for a few little words? So many angry things said because you didn’t like an email you got,” Roman said lowly. He tutted once more as he leaned in, with one forearm braced against the wall. 

“Disobedience doesn’t suit you, sweetling. You know better than to act out like that,” he said, quieter this time. 

You ignored his gaze and his comment; you tried to pull away to leave, when you were stopped.

His other hand shot out and blocked your exit, and you noticed that he had taken his gloves off.

“You know I worry about you,” he cooed. “How can I keep my best girl if I don’t know where she’s going? What she’s doing? When she defies me.”

You could ignore his tone, and you could ignore his patronizing words.

You couldn’t ignore the way his finger traced the outline of your lips. 

It was a soft gesture, but this was Roman Sionis. 

You moved to push his hand away, but Roman was faster; he grabbed your offending hand, and then the other one. He shoved your wrists beside your head and leaned in closely. 

“When you started, you told me you’d obey me. Oh, I know!” he said suddenly, his voice jumping an octave. “It’s like a— a marriage,” he continued. “Think of what we have as a little marriage. You honor me, and you obey me. You hold to your vows, and I’ll hold to mine. I’ll protect you. I’ll take care of you. I’ll provide for you.”

You felt a gentle tap on your nose when he spoke next.

“We work together. We both contribute to this partnership. That way, Zsasz, and Crone, and all of our little followers see that mommy and daddy are working in their best interest. Then, they stay loyal.”

You didn’t meet his eyes at first. You’d known how fucked up your situation with him was when you had started all those years ago. It wasn’t until now that you realized the truth of his words. 

It was exactly like a fucked up little marriage, and you had no way out.

“It’s not like I have much autonomy, anyway,” you said stiffly. You held his darkening gaze while his other hand moved to run down your jawline.

“Baby, you don’t need autonomy while I’m around. Haven’t I taught you that lesson already?” he asked. 

His tone was soft, but the grip that had settled on your jaw was not.

“I think you’re too much of a control freak,” he continued, his voice just a harsh whisper in your ear. 

You laughed hollowly at that. 

You moved your head so you were eye to eye and you could swear you saw his resolve faltering; beneath you, you felt his knee settle between your legs. 

You couldn’t move.

“You’re the last person who should lecture me on control,” you hissed. You tried tugging your hands back, but he just pressed them harder into the wall. You wanted to lunge at him when he started laughing.

“Darling, I’m the only one who can lecture you on control,” Roman said, his lips ghosting from yours, to the highest point of your cheekbone, before settling on your jaw. 

You hated the proximity between your bodies, but you hated your reaction to it even more.

You tried to steady your breathing, even as a whisper of a kiss landed on the bottom of your jaw. 

Was this to be your life? To submit to people who protected and manipulated you? To follow them to the ends of the earth because you couldn’t find anything better?

The assault on your neck continued, but just as gently as the first kiss had been. You were still braced against the wall, but your body had slumped slightly.

Then, something came to mind.

You had intended on leaving with some dignity, and maybe, you could leave with it. 

You didn’t make a habit of it, but once or twice you had envisioned giving him a piece of your mind with the suggestive force he so badly wanted you to use.

You moved your head to the side slightly and saw him looking up from where he was. Slowly, he straightened up and his free hand came to grip your head. 

“What’s the first lesson?” you asked. You had said it so quietly, that you weren’t sure if he had heard it. He pulled away to watch you carefully, searching your face for any sort of falsity. 

When you continued to look at him with challenging eyes, you saw the corners of his lips twitch.  

“I’m not sure I have enough time in the world to teach you properly,” he said quietly. His fingers tangled in your hair and gripped roughly.

You remained unfaltering, and you looked at him almost expectantly.

Then get started, you wanted to say.

Instead, you quirked a brow slightly.

He wasn’t stupid. He was paranoid, and you were almost certain that he’d weighed the options before him.

But was also a hedonist, who had to feel in control. 

Oh, how you would show him. 

He wasted no more time after that, and he leaned in to take your bottom lip between his teeth. He began pulling harder on your hair, and you couldn’t help the gasp you had released. It had been silenced, though, when he pressed his mouth roughly to yours.

At some point, his grip had loosened on your head, as well as your wrists. 

When you had attempted to free your wrists, however, you felt his hands return to yours.

His grip remained firm, but the feeling was soon replaced by something much softer. You opened your eyes and pulled away; your wrists had been bound deftly by his scarf. When you looked up at him, he was watching you hungrily.

You paced nervously around the hotel room that Guterman procured for you. 

You felt an abundance of uncomfortable things as you awaited Quentin’s arrival; you were annoyed, frustrated, scared, and anxious. 

You were annoyed that the plan hadn’t gone accordingly; hours upon hours of work, and you all had been bested by a teenager who was on vacation, of all bloody things. 

You were frustrated that you hadn’t been told the state of Quentin. He was alive, according to Guterman, but what else? Part of you told yourself to be grateful he was even alive, but what state was he in? What kind of tending would you need to do? Was he in one piece? Was he in a coma?

Your mind began reeling as you thought of the worst possibilities.

You were scared for the repercussions. Parker surely knew everything, and if he had his hands on EDITH? Chances were you could say goodbye to freedom. You, Quentin, and everyone you had grown to consider a twisted sort of family would all be implicated. 

So much for putting an end to Tony Stark’s legacy.

You were anxious that you didn’t have any of the answers you were looking for. You weren’t sure what was worse: not knowing, or knowing that it wasn’t in your favor at all. 

You gritted your teeth at the thought of it going sideways. Well, more sideways than it already was. 

Your breathing hitched, and you couldn’t bring yourself to calm down for several moments. Your pacing increased in speed, and you repeated a few helpful mantras to calm yourself down.

Finally, you were able to regulate your breathing.

Damn Peter Parker, damn Tony Stark, damn Quentin, and damn this whole operation! You could have kept your job in the medical field, but no. Quentin, and everyone your old boss had wronged, had sought you out to help get justice from him.

The knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts, and you arrived before it in mere strides. 

“Who is it?” you remembered to ask, and impatiently awaited the reply given to you ahead of time. 

“I have the materials for the Sazerac,” was heard from the other side of the door. 

You threw it open without looking into the peephole and gasped. 

Guterman was holding a positively beat up Quentin. If you were a passerby, you might assume that Quentin merely had a rough run in with someone, nothing special. You, however, knew that something must have happened for him to be nearly out while on his feet.

“Say nothing,” Guterman warned you as he propped the bag in his hand at the nearby closet. 

You acquiesced, but only unwillingly. You knew with everything that had happened, it was only a matter of time before Parker and Fury met up. What he’d say, you imagined, couldn’t be good. 

Discretion was mandatory. 

You quietly shut the door behind you and spun around to see that Quentin had been ushered to one of the beds.

“What the hell am I dealing with here, Guterman?” you asked impatiently. The man instead gave you several slips of paper. 

“You are to bring him back on his feet. You’ll meet us tomorrow at 11 where it says. You have the items necessary to fix him in this bag,” he said, gesturing to the nondescript black bag he was now bringing up. 

You nodded stiffly, and your eyes trained upon your partner; his breathing was somewhat uneven. You wondered how much internal damage had been done, and by what. 

Parker only had spiderwebs. He wasn’t bold enough to use the kill mode Stark left him, was he?

Guterman put his hand on your shoulder in a fatherly way and spoke quietly. 

“I think he’ll be fine. Riva’s fixing everything right now. We’ll figure out step 2 when we get there, okay?” 

You nodded again, still just as stiff. You felt discouraged looking at Quentin, and moved to go examine him. 

Guterman nodded at you, before swiftly making his exit.

As you looked at Quentin, you cursed the universe for putting you in this position. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, and examined him; he was wearing civilian clothing you could only imagine that he’d put on hap-hazardly while leaving the Tower of London.

You had started to pull the long sleeved shirt up, when a weak hand caught yours. You looked down and saw a boyish smile creep upon your partners face, before it contorted into a grimace. 

You pulled your gaze down to look upon the mark on the SFX suit he wore underneath of his street clothes. 

“Oh my god, is that blood?” you asked as your gaze focused. You shouldn’t have been surprised; there was a reason he couldn’t walk by himself. 

“...No,” Quentin tried saying sardonically, before groaning when you ran your fingers over the bullet wound in his abdomen. 

As you pulled his shirt up, you saw yet another bullet wound, this time just slightly higher than the first one. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“You mean other than the two bullet wounds?”

You gritted your teeth as he groaned again.

You did your best to ignore him, and you successfully managed to pull the long sleeve shirt over his head, leaving only the thin material of the special effects suit.

You bit your lip, before your eyes strayed to where the bag lay. 

Guterman had said that everything you needed was in that bag. 

You prayed to whatever deity was up there that he’d at least had the decency to get his hands on some Oxy.

✹

“Have the painkillers kicked in yet?” you said. You hadn’t said another word to Quentin since you began; whether it was from frustration at him or the situation, you weren’t sure. You opted to brew in your own emotions, lest you take it out on Quentin while he was injured. Part of you wanted to slap him upside the head, but what good would that do?

The man seemed surprised by your voice. When he spoke, he sounded uncomfortable. 

“‘m fine,” he mumbled. He was seated with his back facing you as you pulled the patch down gently to see if the bleeding had stopped. To your relief, it had.

“You were smart to put pressure on it, and cover it up,” you said as you examined it further. “You’d be on your way to the hospital with a collapsed lung right about now if you hadn’t.”

“I learned from the best,” he attempted, before making a noise of discomfort. 

You didn’t acknowledge his statement, and instead remarked, “Christ, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.” 

Your tone was curt. You weren’t sure if you should be angry, upset, or heartbroken. The disappointment in your voice was evident enough, but you weren’t sure anything else was.

Your words had been terse, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be entirely consumed with anger at that moment. You were just grateful that he made it out in one piece. 

You were thrilled that you weren’t transporting a corpse at that moment. 

You felt your gaze fall on the bullets that you’d pulled from his body, and you couldn’t pull away from them. 

Quentin must have noticed, and he made another attempt to speak. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

Your gaze remained on the bullets for a few more moments, before you focused on bandaging him up. 

“I’m gonna apply some petroleum jelly until we can get you real help. It’s gonna be cold for a bit,” you said, and you watched him nod stiffly.

As you applied the jelly to his wound, you wondered if this would be the last time you did this. 

Of course it would be, you thought. Parker had told at least his three friends, Stark’s old pal Happy, and you were positive that Fury and Hill would have figured it out. That was all that mattered. Everything that you all had worked for had fizzled just like that, and for what? Quentin to be shot? You were aware of your grinding teeth, but not the sound you released. 

“What?” Quentin asked, sounding slightly annoyed. You pulled back your hand.

“Excuse me?” you replied, sounding just as annoyed. There was a beat before you began to apply the final bit of jelly to his abdomen. Quentin slouched slightly into your touch when he spoke next.

“You always breathe like that when you’re annoyed. That’s the sound you make before you lecture someone.”

You pursed your lips.

“Well, I think there’s plenty to be annoyed about,” you replied as you began wiping the petroleum jelly from your fingers. “The destruction of our climate, for one.”

You heard Quentin sigh in defeat, and watched as his shoulders slumped further.

“Hon, please—“ he began, but you interrupted him curtly.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you said as you pulled out the bandages and tape. “I don’t...I just...don’t,” you emphasized by tearing open the packaging. 

Part of you wanted to hear what he had to say, but the stronger part, the heartbroken part of you just couldn’t. 

What if that had really been it? And he wouldn’t have had anyone when it happened. 

The thought made you pause, and you had to restrain yourself from throwing the bandages at the wall.

Just hours ago, you were preparing for another victory speech and maybe even dinner with the Queen.

God, what a mess this had all turned into.

You began applying the gauze to his wounds, and pulled back gently every time he grunted or flinched. You were grateful that they weren’t large wounds, at least. 

There was another silence as you taped him up slightly, and you almost didn’t say anything as you pulled away to put everything away.

You felt the edge of the bed raise as he stood up to go find his discarded shirt from the other side of the room. 

You paused then, and rested your head in your hands as you tried to gather what it was you wanted to say. 

Quentin seemed to pick up on this, and turned to face you from his spot on the other side of the bed. You looked up at him and saw imploring blue eyes looking back at you. So much was going on in the typhoon of his gaze, that it took you a moment to read him properly. 

You moved so your chin was in your hand as you spoke. 

“I agreed to all of this because you were going to be a symbol,” you started slowly. “I agreed to...all of this, because you were going to bring people hope. Something that I think we’ve all needed after the last...six years.”

He was silent as he regarded you, and part of you thought he looked...ashamed. 

It was your turn to huff slightly, before pushing a hand through your hair as you gathered your angry thoughts. 

“I agreed to go along with this because people needed a hero to believe in. They needed someone who wouldn’t break their team apart because of a few unsigned papers. They needed a person who would carry the torch that the Avengers left in the world.

“I agreed to...the collapsing buildings, and the casualties, and...all of the craziness, because people needed someone other than a disillusioned sixteen year old to idolize. And you kind of accomplished that,” you added as an afterthought. 

His brow was furrowed as he considered your words, and you could see he was a little lost.

“I didn’t agree to go along with it if there was a risk that your life would be in danger,” you said finally, before turning away to put the medical box back together.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely after a moment. 

You looked up at him, tears stinging your eyes. 

“This was all just supposed to be projections and interviews with Time magazine. God, you would be shaking hands with the Queen right now!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air.

“I didn’t...I didn’t think I’d get shot in the process,” he admitted. “I didn’t think I’d end up scaring you.” 

A silence fell between the two of you, and you didn’t know what to say. What else could you say? Nothing you could say would change anything that had transpired. 

“There was always a risk,” Quentin said softly. Your head shot up from its spot in your hands, and your gaze narrowed dangerously.

“Was there?” you countered irritably.

He didn’t respond. Did he realize how angry you were?

“The only people who posed a threat are all off with their own lives!” you continued to argue. “Parker was the only one we had to worry about!” 

“I didn’t think he’d be...as capable as he was,” Quentin said quietly. 

You continued as if you hadn’t heard him.

“And at what cost was all of this? All of the rehearsing, and espionage, and planning. You almost ended up dead!” 

You rubbed your forehead as you took a breath. Yelling wouldn’t accomplish anything, you thought to yourself. The frustrated part of you argued that it would make you feel better.

While you were lost in thought, you felt a hand grasp yours. 

You didn’t look up at Quentin at first, opting to instead fix your gaze back on the bullets that lay on the desk. 

You hated the failure and pain that they symbolized. 

Finally, you looked back up at Quentin and saw his imploring gaze. 

“It’s not over,” he said after a few moments of silence. 

You were taken aback. 

“What? Of course it’s over if you’re going to go out there and get your ass handed to you—” you started, but Quentin squeezed your hand and shook his head. 

“No, you’re not listening to me,” he said.

You fell silent and watched as he pulled away to sit next to you. His hands were in his lap and his gaze was fixed on you as he spoke.

“I...I had a back up plan,” he said. He pushed a hand through his hair, and you felt your eyebrows furrow at his comment. 

“Back up plan?” you asked slowly.

“Yeah, a...a plan B, in case something happened,” he continued. 

When he didn’t elaborate, you spoke up.

“What do you mean? What aren’t you telling me?” you sounded desperate. In a way, you were. What did Quentin have in their favor? What did he have that would fix all of this?

“It was just between Riva and I. I didn’t want you to worry if there wasn’t a reason to…” he trailed off. He didn’t voice the giant mishap that they were currently embroiled in, and you didn’t either. You figured he was well aware.

“Look,” he started, his pace picking up as he spoke. “When Parker was was taking out the Elementals, I got a bit of footage from my body camera, and then I got some more when he came to take back EDITH.”

“He took EDITH?” You asked then, confused. “How did he do that without permission from you?” 

“He didn’t ask permission,” Quentin said, drawing out the words for emphasis.

Dramatic man.

“EDITH isn’t Parker’s. It still belongs to you,” you finished. 

Quentin nodded and continued. 

“Riva’s gonna work some of his magic and send some footage to some of the bigger news networks.”

You frowned. 

“What footage?” you asked, unsure of where he was going with his plan.

“Footage that will make Mysterio a hero again. Footage that will make Spider-Man the real villain.” 

You were quiet as you considered what he had said. Could it all really be fixed that easily?

“What about Fury? And all of his connections—” you started, but you were cut off by Quentin. 

“It doesn’t matter what the government thinks,” he said, grabbing your hands excitedly. “Because in less than seventy-two hours, Peter Parker is going to be a fugitive. He’ll be a terrorist, and that’s a problem the remaining Avengers won’t be able to solve. Not without destroying themselves again.”

You were quiet as you fell into your thoughts. Was this really the end of their problems? You thought of Peter Parker. 

He was just a kid.

A kid with future plans and goals.

A kid who foiled your plan, but a kid no less. You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought about how this would change his life. 

Your eyes met Quentin’s again and the hope you saw in them was enough to quiet your worries.

For now, at least. 

You leaned into his touch, and wondered how this would change things. 

Quentin strolled down the walkway with his hands in his pockets and a peppy tune buzzing in his throat.

He didn’t think it would be this easy to find her. 

Part of him expected Janice to return to him with bad news; that the agent they were looking for had staged an elaborate set up for him. That she couldn’t be found.

However, he was pleasantly surprised to hear that the woman was staying twenty minutes from the site of the previous nights attack, and had appeared to be on a vacation of sorts. 

Janice had suggested that obscurity for the woman was out of the question entirely for her; her past history with the Avengers would be sure of that.

He supposed the agent knew no other way of life; after her identity was handed over following the events of Hydra’s resurface in 2014, he could only imagine the hoops she had jumped through in order to veil herself before the Snap. 

Then, obscurity wasn’t a luxury she could afford. 

He supposed that’s why she hadn’t attempted to mask herself from the world last night. 

He’d been up into the early hours of the morning reading whatever he’d been supplied, and then some. Of course he’d been familiar with the Avengers over the last decade or so; but who hadn’t? 

After witnessing aliens who’d mindlessly attacked New York under the orders of a megalomaniacal demi-god, it was clear that the world had changed: superheroes existed, and so did their otherworldly adversaries.

He thought back to her first appearance. 

At the time of the attack, the first four figures were easy enough to make out--Tony Stark, Captain Steve Rogers, Thor, and a large green mass that had been identified as scientist Bruce Banner. The group of them were icons of sorts--heroes to many. 

And then there were the other three.

Just like Romanoff and Barton, she was virtually invisible to everything except for the eye. At the time, the only indication that they were real was the grainy footage showing several individuals fighting the alien threats. 

He knew that she was on the younger side when she helped neutralize Loki’s threat, and that she was equipped with some sort of gauntlet pair. Other than that, she was a mystery.

He vaguely recalled a comment made by Tony Stark during a meeting once. 

“Mouthy as hell, that one. Doesn’t take no for an answer. I’d swear she was mine if her mother wasn’t a shut in.”

Everything else he’d learned about her had been through news articles, and even then, there wasn’t much. 

From what he now knew about her, however, she was a mixed bag. The agent was a level seven with access to information he couldn’t even begin to conceive. 

He wondered what the worst thing she ever had to cover up was.

She was an only child of a prominent member of SHIELD; her mother had served primarily in the eighties and nineties, and if he read correctly, she had ties all over. 

Government work did that, he supposed. 

The father wasn’t named, but a report he found several pages later had suggested he’d been in Colorado in 2009.

That was the first reported instance of her using her gauntlets and the name Soleil.

Before Manhattan, SHIELD had used her as a mouthpiece to placate simmering threats across the world. Apparently, she was silver-tongued, and damn good at it, too.

She’d been used as a way to get the demigod, Loki, to talk. The files on the 2012 attack stated that she was harsh, and unforgiving in her interrogation. He recalled how blunt she had seemed just last night, and he believed the report. 

She was just like the other two SHIELD agents: practiced in hand to hand combat, marksmanship, observation, and ambiguity. Where the other two had seemingly been picked up out of nowhere, she was born for SHIELD.

Her mother hadn’t been expected to be a parent, and surprised everyone at the age of forty-one. 

Twenty two years or so later, her only child would be sent to neutralize her first issue. 

He couldn’t even think of what he’d been doing in his early twenties.

Probably amphetamines to keep himself awake all night to finish whatever tech he’d been obsessing over.

By twenty-three, she’d been taken under Nick Fury’s wing and deemed a significant, if reckless, threat by a few different organizations globally.

He learned that her mother was found dead as a victim during the Manhattan attacks, when the younger woman was only twenty-five.

He thought of how disillusioned she had seemed when they spoke. No wonder the disbandment of the Avengers left her in a state; they were likely the only family she had left after that.

Quentin had made a note to remind Janice about retrieving the dogtag he knew the agent coveted so much. Her mother’s dogtag.

The Hydra Uprising had brought many things to light; not just of her, but of SHIELD as a whole. On the surface, they’d been a non-descript organization the US had implemented in the forties to ensure global safety from one end of the world. He supposed that that hadn’t necessarily been a lie, but he’d been astonished by the amount of threats that were regularly being avoided, and just how little the people knew of it. 

It made him wonder what all she knew.

Who else was out there, other than Thanos? What would they do should a larger threat come for them? And what could people like Tony Stark do to prevent it altogether?

He gritted his teeth at the thought of his former boss. Stark had measures for earth stored away, but for otherworldly threats? .

The chagrin in his blood fell just as quickly as it had risen at the thought of his old mentor, however. Stark was long gone, and the only person to carry on his legacy would be pliable, forgiving. 

Peter Parker would lose Stark’s new tech one way or another, and he briefly wondered if he could use her to get it for him.

Tony Stark would lose the final thing he’d gifted the world, and his legacy would soon be replaced by a newer, more unstoppable hero. Someone who was infallible, and didn’t have to rely on teenagers to finish his job. Stark’s legacy would be continued as a satire, while he reigned victorious as the world’s source of hope. 

Tony Stark did much for the world, he’d give him that, but he would do so much more.

With his hands in his pockets and a spring in his step, Quentin marched up the stairs to the hotel. 

“Hotel cameras pin her outside of her room just two minutes ago,” Mortimer said in his ear piece. 

His eyes scanned the spacious hotel lobby, and his lips quirked when he saw a familiar shade of hair. 

“Got her,” Quentin said quietly. He removed the ear piece before shoving it into his coat pocket. 

Even with her back turned to him, he recognized her. The images plastered on the news of her and her teammates had practically been burned into his head. Her hair was down for once, and she wore leisurely summer clothes instead of the body conforming suit she’d worn in combat. He briefly thought that her current outfit suited her far better than her alter ego’s.

His fingers grazed over the chairs that adorned the lobby, as he heard her thank the concierge for their assistance. He began to stride towards the door, and ended up colliding with her moments later. 

She bounced off of him with an, “Oof,” and he lifted his hands to steady her.

She smiled politely at him and gave a quiet, “Thank you.” 

Before she could turn to leave, however, Quentin spoke up.

“I was hoping you had gotten that looked at,” he commented. He let go of her arms, and he watched as her eyes fell. He wondered if she recognized his voice.

When she looked back at him, her expression was unreadable. 

He was hoping she would say something, and soon, instead of walking away and deeming him a creep. It would make his job just that much more difficult.

Instead, she surprised him with a broad smile. 

“I didn't know you were meeting me here,” she said, feigning excitement. 

Quentin smiled, and did his best to play along with whatever game she was starting.

“I figured there was no harm, since we’re getting lunch,” he replied, and he watched as she snaked her arm in the crook of his. She led the way to the door, and spoke as if they were old friends. With as much as he knew about her now, he almost felt that way.

She continued on about how excited she was for their lunch together, and he offered vague answers to her questions about his stay in the city. They walked in tandem around the courtyard, before ending up beside a fountain. 

When they were alone, she pulled away from him and regarded him; she was still indecipherable, even as she spoke.

“You’re a good actor,” she stated.

He was surprised by how quickly her demeanor had shifted, but chided himself. This had been her job for quite a while, after all.

“Not quite as good as you are,” he replied.

Her expression didn’t change. Her tone, however, was accusatory.

“Who else knows where I’m staying?” She asked.

“No one.” 

Her eyes finally gave something away; she didn’t believe him. Part of him was grateful for that. He would have thought her a fool if she had been so easily trusting.

“Why are you at my hotel?” she asked.

“Maybe it’s my hotel, too,” he replied smoothly.

Her expression didn’t falter, and she looked away. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen stranger things than a familiar face,” he offered. Her gaze remained fixed on the crowd that they’d passed on their way out of the hotel, though he noticed as her brow furrowed in concentration.

He continued to watch her. His mind whirled as he considered all of the things she had been through over the last twelve years. The neutrality she continued to pose suggested nothing out of the ordinary, and yet here she was. An Avenger. Someone who had no doubt seen some of the craziest things on earth. 

Finally, she turned her eyes back to him. He could have sworn he saw the wheels turning in her head. He wondered if she had done as much research on him last night as he had her. 

“Maybe...maybe I wanted to check in on you,” he said quietly. 

Her head tilted slightly and her brow furrowed.

“Really? You wanted to check in on me because of a hit to the face?” she asked incredulously.

It was Quentin’s turn to tilt his head.

“If I recall correctly, it was more than that. Or did I imagine you getting thrown across a parking lot and into a field?” he wondered.

She chewed on her lip for a moment before replying.

“I’ve taken worse.”

“Can’t be good for you in the long run,” he countered.

“Who says I’m hoping to make it that far?”

Stark had been right: she was persistent, and had a response for everything. Quentin briefly wondered if it was mandatory for an Avenger to be a smartass before they joined. 

“I didn’t realize that you had a death wish,” he started, before he heard her scoff.

“Were you raised to be nosy, or did you develop that attribute in your later years?”

Undeterred, he continued his facade of concerned hero.

“Where I come from, it’s regarded as polite to check in on someone after they’ve had a fall like that,” he said,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Part of him really enjoyed this prodding, this teasing. The circling the two of them were doing around the elephant in the room was enjoyable, if anything.

“My back is in one piece,” she answered finally. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Good to hear you’re not going to be confined to a hospital,” he added when a silence fell between the two.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” She asked. Her tone didn’t suggest annoyance. In fact, he wasn’t sure what it suggested at all.

“Kind of sounds like you want me to leave,” he said. A little prod here and there wouldn’t hurt anything.

“Kind of sounds like you have nothing better to do than interrogate me.”

Quentin didn’t respond, and he shifted his gaze towards the garden that sat beside the back of the hotel. The woman, on the other hand, must have sensed he was unsure of how to reply to that snippy remark. When she spoke up, his gaze found her again. Her expression had softened. 

“I’m grateful that you put a stop to that thing, really I am,” she said finally.  

“It was nothing,” he insisted gently. She looked at him with a perplexed expression. He looked down at the ground and stammered before adding, “Uh...you didn’t have to step in yesterday.”

“I know.” 

Well, then.

“Then, why?” he asked, looking up at her carefully.

She offered a shrug. “I’m nosy.”

“So, it had nothing to do with the two kids you helped outta there?” 

She finally seemed like she was reaching a breaking point with him.

“Is that what this is? A psychoanalysis?”

Quentin almost laughed at her response. “No, not at all. Not intentionally.”

The woman crossed her arms again. He wondered if it was habitual, or a defense mechanism. 

“Then what?” she implored. “I’m in circles here trying to figure out why you’re talking to me.”

Quentin watched her; it was bothering her more than she was letting on. He hid his smile.

“I owe you,” he said. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there to distract that thing. I do know that those kids wouldn’t have made it,” he added. 

She was quiet for a moment as she took in his words.

“You don’t owe me a thing,” she said quietly.

Quentin shook his head.

“I do, though. You don’t—” he said before he stopped suddenly. She regarded him with another quizzical look. He remained silent, just long enough to seem as if he was searching for the words to say. He ran a hand through his hair, feigning stress before rushing the words.

“Can I at least get you a coffee? Tea? Whatever you start your day with?” He looked at her imploringly, and he watched as she pursed her lips. 

“You don’t have to say yes, you know,” he added.

In her silence, he could see the different emotions running through her eyes. How much of it was real, he wasn’t sure. 

She didn’t smile at him, but there was the slightest quirk of her mouth before she answered next.

“So you did go to my hotel looking for me,” she said. 

That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

“I did,” he admitted; he shoved his hands in his pockets as he faced her.

“Well, at least you’re honest about your nosiness,” she said. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me last night?” she added, furrowing her brow. 

“What I believe I said was, ‘I don’t want to keep you out here late.’ It’s possible you didn’t hear that after getting hit in the head.”

“Gaslighting,” the woman said with a laugh. “Not a tactic most go for when picking up a woman.”

He laughed at that, too. A genuine laugh.

“Like I said, I was just hoping to get you some coffee,” he said. Her expression was, again, unreadable. “No motives, no agenda. Just some coffee. Maybe a walk while it’s not too late.”

She was quiet for a moment, and took the time to observe her surroundings as she considered what he said. 

She was much more animated than she’d been yesterday. Quentin wondered if that was her usual response to near-death experiences.

“You said you knew who I was,” she said finally. “Last night.”

“Yes,” he insisted.

“Then you know that I have taken down far larger men, and aliens before,” she assumed.

“Yes,” he repeated. Of that, he was sure. 

“You know that even with your glowing green Shego hands I can easily find a way to have you on your ass, right?” 

He didn’t doubt that.

“I do.”

He was smooth when he spoke, not wanting to give her any reason to doubt him.

She observed him carefully, her eyes searching for any sort of hint of deception. He hoped he masked it well enough. 

He’d been told before that he had kind features, and he was hoping that they didn’t suggest anything else.

She released a sigh and nodded slowly.

“Fine,” she agreed. “Just until I have to leave. No longer than that.”

Quentin hid his satisfaction, and offered his elbow to her. She was uneasy, but took it anyway.

She was a brave one, he thought before leading her away from the hotel. \

Perhaps this would be easier than he thought.

✹

“I thought you said no agendas,” the agent said from Quentin’s left. He peered from over his coffee cup and shot the woman a quizzical look. 

“Does coffee have an agenda attached to it?” he wondered. 

The woman had been preoccupied during their venture to the cafe, and had remained so as they wandered around. Of course, she’d answer superficial questions he threw her way: what the doctor said about her head injury, how many she’d ever received, etc. It wasn’t until that moment that she had instigated a conversation.

“Everything has an agenda attached to it,” she answered cryptically. When he didn’t answer, he saw her struggle to speak again.

“Objectively speaking, agendas don’t always have a negative connotation attached to them. Sometimes, it’s just a goal, or a means to an end. A phone company might make their products less than top tier to ensure that a customer gets the newest model after two years, therefore bringing in revenue.”

She kicked at a nearby rock before trailing off to throw away her empty cup. When she returned, she spoke again.

“A macchiato on the other hand suggests that one party may be looking for information from a second party. What kind of pay they’re expecting from a job, or the contents of their upcoming novel—“

“Or what the second party was doing in their hotel,” Quentin cut her off. 

“Or what the second party was doing in their hotel,” she agreed.

He offered her a winning smile, and he watched her eyes flick up towards him before focusing back on the road ahead. 

“So...yesterday. You said something that’s been bothering me,” she said, leading the way down the walkway.

He continued watching her.

“I asked if you’d been living under a rock. You said, ‘Something like that.’ What did you mean?” she asked.

Quentin’s lips twitched.

Showtime.

“You witness me fight a humanoid typhoon, and you decide not to ask me about that, but some offhand comment I made?” he asked incredulously. 

“That was my follow up question,” she added. “What was that? What do I need to do to make sure that another one of those things doesn’t come out of nowhere and decimate the population of Fresno?”

“I’m not sure that that will be the case,” he replied cryptically. 

“What does that mean?” she said, sounding slightly annoyed. “You know for sure that there’s not an angry army of wind people who are going to want others dead? Who want you dead?”

Quentin took a few more steps before stopping. He heard her stop, and he spun around to face her. She watched him intently, and he squared his shoulders. 

“That monster didn’t come out of nowhere,” he said after a moment. 

She shuffled beside him, and he felt as her gaze remained on him; more than likely looking for any possible clues, he thought.

He looked down and could very much see the problem solving side working out in her head.

“You were right. Last night, I mean. I...haven’t been living under a rock, but I—“ he started, before running a hand through his hair. 

“We’re from...elsewhere,” he said thinly. 

She rolled her eyes at that answer.

“Yeah, I gathered that. Care to inform me where exactly?”

He didn’t reply at first. He’d practiced the conversation a few times, and wondered how to sound most organic.

“Look, I’ve been to space,” she interrupted. “I’ve seen alien planets, and I’ve seen aliens. I’ve fought against aliens. I actually played cards with a few aliens,” she added. “I’ve seen way more than I ever thought I would have. There’s nothing you can say that would surprise me.”

His lips twitched. 

“I’m not talking about space aliens. I’m talking about alternate dimensions,” he said finally.

She nodded, though he thought he saw indecision in her eyes.

“So, alternate dimensions gave birth to this thing?” she asked indignantly. 

“Not necessarily,” Quentin said as he began to walk away. He thought her heard her huff from beside him.

“The alternate dimensions have existed for a while, but the Elementals haven’t.”

“Elementals? Plural?” The more he spoke, the more exasperated she sounded.

“Four of them. Thanos inadvertently created them when he snapped his fingers. They’re made out of the traditional building blocks of inhabitable worlds: air, earth, water, and fire. They...they came to my world after the first Snap, and they...they destroyed my world before another Snap could happen.”

He heard her footsteps slow again, and at first he didn’t turn to look at her. Instead, his shoulders shook slightly as he played the facade of loss. As he stood in his spot, he heard her shift uncomfortably.  

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what that must be like,” she said finally. Her voice was stoic, but he wondered just how stoic she felt. 

Quentin offered a solemn nod, and a heartbroken laugh.

“There’s not much that they can take away from me now,” he said. 

The agent didn’t respond, and he took that as an opportunity to continue playing victim.

“It’s...not easy, that’s for sure. It was bad enough trying to cope with what Thanos had done,” he said softly. “I thought that we had started to move on. I thought it would get better.” 

If he had read about her as thoroughly as he had thought, that would have struck a chord with her. If anyone knew of loss, it was her.

“I thought it would get better, too. I’m not sure that that’s the case,” was her response. 

He turned around and offered a twitch of the lips.

Rather than return it, however, the agent shifted gears. 

“So, alternate dimensions. How...what does that even mean? What are we preparing ourselves for?”

“What do you know about alternate dimensions? Alternate worlds?” he asked.

“From what Strange has told me, they’re just variations on a theme, right?” she replied. “But what kind of alternate universe? One where typhoons attack people because someone stepped on a butterfly they weren’t supposed to?”

Quentin nearly scoffed at that. 

“It’s just an alternate timeline that coincides with the one you’re living right now,” Quentin explained. 

“And you had Thanos there, right? Did you also have...us?” 

“The Avengers? Not in the one I’m from,” he said before strolling away to throw away his own cup. When he returned, he continued.

“No, if we’d had you guys, we might have stood a chance.”

She was silent at his commented, but when she spoke again, he truly recognized the espionage she’d grown up with.

“So, where’s our help, then? Why didn’t Strange fly in and take care of it himself?”

Quentin raised his brows.

“You tell me,” he said. “As far as I can see, you’re the only one who has their eye on earth. Where are the other Avengers? Aren’t there more?”

Her expression became stony again. 

The two fell into silence for a while, and Quentin could practically hear how much the comment stung.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” he began to apologize, but she shook her head and cut him off. 

“No, it’s...it’s fine.”

“Where are they if you don’t mind me asking?”

They continued to walk in tandem, and she remained quiet for a moment. 

“After the second Snap, a lot of them went their own way. Some had families, others had...responsibilities.”

“And you didn’t?” he asked. She looked at him, confusion clouding her features.

“What do you mean?” 

Quentin shrugged at that before replying.

“Well, from what I understand, you’ve been there from the beginning, haven’t you?”

“I...I guess,” she admitted. 

“Why do they get to move on and you don’t?” Part of it bothered him, but he wanted it to bother her more.

“Who decides who leaves and who doesn’t?” he pressed.

When she spoke, she ignored the question. 

“What happened to your world?” she asked. 

“Something I’d like to prevent here.”

With that impasse, he shared her gaze, though his was considerably less defiant.

He was unsure of how to continue the conversation, and opted to continue strolling. From his side, he heard her clear her throat. He looked back at her with a furrowed brow.

She met his eyes again, before speaking up.

“Was it as bad as the Snap? What they did to your home?”

He fell into a thoughtful silence before replying.

“It was worse.”

“I’m sorry. That’s...I can’t imagine,” she said.

Quentin shrugged. 

“It seems like you do,” he said. He used her silence as a sign to continue. “Seems to me like Stark was a big part of the team,” he said.

Her lips twitched, and he thought he saw her bite her cheek. 

“So it fell from Stark’s shoulders to yours from what I gather,” he said carefully. She didn’t respond at first, choosing instead to merely walk side by side with him.

“So?” he asked with a lifted brow. She looked at him with exasperation.

“You don’t have more pressing responsibilities?” he continued. “But everyone else does?”

“What’s more pressing than making sure the world doesn’t collapse again?” she argued. She started to sound more and more annoyed.  

“Haven’t you done that?” he asked kindly. “Multiple times? Kind of sounds like it’s your responsibility alone.”

“Kind of sounds like you’re trying to get me to retire. Besides, it’s not just me doing it. I have help, you know.”

“If you say so.”

They fell into companionable silence once again, and Quentin wondered if his scheme was working. All he needed was for her to feel like this was her task, and he was more than convinced she would. But he would believe it when he saw it.

“Assuming you stay to keep an eye on the...what did you say? Elementals? Assuming you stay here long enough to take care of all of them, I may have to retire.”

He wondered if that was her attempt at humor.

“Is that your agenda?” he asked. 

“My what?” She asked.

“You said that everyone, everything has an agenda. Not only did I pressure you into a walk that you easily could have turned down, but I also interfered with your day.”

“And you came looking for me in my hotel,” she added.

“And, yeah, I did that. So, why did you come with?”

For the first time since they’d spoke, she said something that he thought might have been genuine.

“I just know that certain people would like to get to know you a little better.”

He shot her a charming smile. 

“Are you one of them?”

She rolled her eyes. 

“You flatter yourself, Beck.”

“Support is always appreciated, but...getting people involved isn’t something I do, unless absolutely necessary.”

“You needed me last night,” she pointed out.

He hid his smile.

“I did. But if I can help it, I’m not going to risk someone’s life. Not when they have so much more left to do.”

She looked puzzled for a moment.

“You say that like I didn’t ignore you yesterday.”

He had to say, her persistence was a welcome addition to their talk.

“You’re still so headstrong. Please don’t let that be your downfall,” he said. 

“Was that the point of this?” she asked. “You took me out for coffee and entertained me for an hour or so just to leave me with a warning?”

Quentin watched her with a false admiration.

“I’ve seen what happens when people close to me bite off more than they can chew. And I’ve already lost too many people because of my recklessness.”

She looked like she wanted to reply, but he spoke up before she could say anything.

“I’ll...I’ll get going. I’ve taken enough of your time.” 

With that, he strode away with his hands in his pockets, hopeful that he’d been successful.

✱✱✱

You watched as the man’s figure disappeared into the landscape; you waited a few silent moments as you considered all of what he said.

Should he be telling the truth, you were afraid of how much trouble that spelt for you and your world as he had put it. Would these things dominate your world as they did his? Or would you be enough to stop it? You knew that Fury was contemplating bringing Parker in, something you vehemently disagreed with. A teenager wasn’t something you wanted on your conscience should the mission fail. Then again, you weren’t sure who else could help you. Beck’s words bothered you. 

Who decides?

Well, you did. It was you who agreed to the mission. 

What if you had said no? Fury would have made you anyway. The responsibility was left with you.

You frowned at the thought. You supposed there was some truth to that. It’s not like Fury would have had anyone else help. You were one of the first Avengers. You were one of earth’s defenders and you’d be damned if it didn’t have that.

Whatever it takes.

You knew that it would likely never be enough, and yet you still marched forward. Still, Beck’s voice wouldn’t leave your mind.

You brought a finger up to your mouth and chewed anxiously at the nail bed. The vibrating in your pocket pulled you from your thoughts and you answered it before the second ring had finished.

“For someone who had their ass handed to them by a typhoon, you were pretty animated,” Maria said on the other end. You could practically hear her smirk. 

“Well, it helps that my company was easy on the eyes,” you countered.

“Alternate universe, huh?” Fury could be heard.

“Yeah, I guess we’ll see,” you said, wiping your face.

“A shame you couldn’t get the next location from him,” Hill added. 

“If the next ones are as easy to find as this one was, I don’t think we’ll have much trouble,” Fury countered. 

Your yawn didn’t go unnoticed.

“Get another coffee if needed,” Fury replied. “We’ve already scheduled your plane. You’re meeting us in London where we can rendezvous. I’d also like to get your back checked out by a professional before the next one comes. And you’ll need your blasters.”

“Aye-aye,” you said. “I’ll see you in London.”

“Copy,” Fury said as Hill said, “See you in three hours.”

The conversation ended as quickly as it had started, and you had a hard time pulling yourself together to leave.

An alternate fucking dimension.

The energetic music blaring through the bar seemed to add to the uneasiness you felt as you lamented upon the past one more time.

The Avengers were effectively dead, and you still didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

It had been just over a year since the Avengers had battled Thanos one last time and over a year since your life had drastically changed once again.

You weren’t too sure where your life had gone in the following months as you helped to rebuild the world from the ashes.

Or where it was headed, for that matter.

Despite the pretty words that had been said for your fallen teammates so long ago, it was still so difficult to grow accustomed to a world without them.

Steve, who you had grown to love as a sibling, had given up his life in this time to return to the world that had been taken from him. Last you heard, he was in Brooklyn now, living out his final days in silence. It had seemed he’d gotten the quiet life he’d always desired, something you envied.

Tony, whose heart and mind always competed for mastery over him, had led the final hurrah against Thanos with an act as simple as snapping his fingers. Tony, who had brought the world into the future more than once, just as his father before had done.

And then...Natasha.

Nat, who shouldered the responsibility of keeping the world together in it’s darkest time had given her soul itself, or so Clint had said. Nat, who you’d followed around like a happy pup in your first years at SHIELD, and who had taught you more about being apart of SHIELD than anyone else had. Nat, who you stayed up with most nights to try and fix every single problem during those five years, solved the biggest one by giving her life.

Even a year later, you still couldn’t move on and find purpose in the way that others had.

Thor was offworld with Rocket Raccoon’s crew after shirking his responsibilities as King. Last you heard, Brunnhilde was running the new Asgard like a well oiled machine.

T’Challa, who resumed carrying the same responsibility, was equally busy with restoring Wakanda to the power house that it had been revealed to be. Maybe give earth another long leap into the future, just as Tony had done.

Judging by the cryptic message that Sam and Bucky had left behind several months ago, they had decided to take it upon themselves to bring certain people to justice. An unrelated story a month later had informed you that Helmut Zemo had been declared missing from the Joint Counter Terrorist Center.

Clint and Scott were off with their respective families, each reveling in the retirement that they had sought for so long.

Rhodey followed in retirement, but still interfered as much as he could with what remained of Stark Industries. You thought you’d seen him flying around Manhattan once or twice, too.

Wanda had insisted on hiding out in the meantime, taking up teaching while she did so. You thought it suited her.

Even Carol, who was busy watching after the stars, hadn’t been heard from in months.

You wondered how Fury felt about that.

You couldn’t even begin to think about which dimension Doctor Strange was in at that moment; was he rebuilding elsewhere, too?

While you’d once been part of a team to keep the peace on earth, you were now following Fury and Hill in their attempts at making the world safer, as if there had been any threats in the fourteen months that had passed.

To say you didn’t feel needed anymore was an understatement.

Your finger ran around the rim of the glass as you recalled what had been your breaking point.

You had thought that sharing a celebratory bottle of bourbon with Rhodey had been much warranted, yet it resulted in you divulging your insecurities about the uncertain future. He was more than understanding, and you’d nearly cried when he’d spoken next.

“You’ve spent a year trying to go back to normal. We don’t even know what normal is anymore. Why don’t you try living in the new world?”

Fury, meanwhile, had other plans for you.

He’d stopped you on your way to the airport ticket counter in the middle of the night just shy of a week ago.

“Looking for a little vacation time?”

“Hard to believe that you’re not after everything that’s happened,” you had said. He had crossed his arms in a very Nick Fury way and replied, “Nick Fury doesn’t take vacations.”

You had laughed at that; however, when he had gifted you a mobile device and his usual no-nonsense stare, you knew that your vacation would have to be postponed. Even incognito, Fury still had the ability to frighten you.

Something about electro-magnetic pulses that Hill had noticed, and another lecture about how Earth still needed someone to look after it.

“Your team might be gone, but the idea of the Avengers isn’t. You got anything better to do?”

At risk of sounding like a petulant child, you wished it didn’t have to be you.

It wasn’t all bad, though; Morocco had quite a lot to offer.

You had briefly cursed Fury for taking away your opportunity for self-reflection, but he was right: you had nothing else to go to.

You would always be a part of SHIELD.

You’d always be an Avenger.

With that melancholic thought, you finished your second scotch of the night and slid off of the barstool.

Day two, and the energy pulses had remained stagnant.

‘So much for an otherworldly threat,’ you thought.

You shoved your hands in your pockets as you began to trail towards your hotel, not paying particular mind to the greying clouds in the sky.

It was when a gust of wind made you shiver that you stopped in your tracks.

A glance at your phone reminded you that it was due to be nearly 70 degrees that evening, with no chance of wind.

Or storms.

As you pocketed your phone, you observed the graying skies in the distance and the way the wind picked up.

A clap of thunder roared through the sky.

The uneasiness you had tried to quell with your trip to the bar reared its head once more; was Fury getting under your skin, or was there something more sinister hiding under the ground of Morocco?

Several more cracks of thunder sounded across the horizon, and you were thrown off by just how idyllic it had been just a little bit before.

Not a cloud in the sky, you had mused before entering the bar.

You pulled your hair back when the wind roared louder this time, and you happened to see a few teenagers warning each other in Arabic. Even with a very basic understanding, you gathered that they were telling each other to book it.

Your gaze shifted from the kids to the storm again, and you frowned. It couldn’t be Thor back, could it? His storms were always so much more...organized. This was unprecedented. Disorderly.

Was Fury right? Was it another extra-terrestrial attack?

You blanched at the thought of Thanos returning somehow.

Small groups of people slowly exited from the block you stood at, some of them muttering about the buzzkill weather.

Another, much larger gust of wind hit you, nearly throwing off your balance.

Your phone rang then, just as another loud crash of thunder was heard from the mass that grew in the sky.

“Energy pulse is rising. What do you see?” Fury said on the other end, as straight to the point as ever.

“Far from what the forecast predicted,” you breathed. “A massive stormcloud with the wind speed of something I’ve never encountered.” At that, you shivered as another long gust hit you.

“Marrakech isn’t known for tropical storms,” Fury pointed out. “And even if they were, they wouldn’t be giving off the kind of readings that this thing is. Keep your eyes up. I’ll do the same. If either of us see something, we alert the other ASAP, understood?” Fury concluded. You gave an affirmative before hanging up your phone. As you pocketed it, you furrowed your brow.

Why couldn’t the world go more than a year without some sort of cosmic disaster raining down on you all?

You reprimanded yourself for thinking Fury had no business sending you out this way.

He was absolutely paranoid, but he was right.

He was always right.

You gazed at the growing storm, and were taken aback by it as your eyes were able to properly register what it was. The maelstrom, if that’s even what you could call it, had arranged itself into a body. Moreover, it looked like it had a face.

You dropped your gaze long enough to observe the passers by in the area. While most of them were tucked into each other to avoid the freezing wind, you saw that a few were recording the unprecedented change in weather.

Your focus shifted to the area over which the amalgamation was hovering. You were no Clint, but you could see that people were still leisurely occupying the area.

You began jogging in the direction of the storm; you heard a few people telling you to turn away from the monster, but you ignored their cries to leave, and continued your trek.

Fortunately for you, there were very few tourists to actually escort from the area. Occasionally, you veered from you path to order people out of the area and to find a safe place, trying your best to sound calm.

As you neared the creature, the wind grew more and more violent, and you did your best to remain vigilant about the occasional sign that the wind had picked up.

You jogged from your route to approach a small group of people looking around wildly and speaking to each other frantically; one appeared to be trying to calm down a couple, and was speaking quickly in French.

“I need you to get out of here,” you said as you approached them, but half of the married couple stopped you.

“Mon fils!” the older woman cried as you approached her. “Où est mon fils? Mes Louis?”

You quickly calmed her as best as you could, and promised you’d find her son. When she refused to move from your side, you insisted that they find the nearest shelter. The boy’s mother stood for a moment, unwilling to leave her son behind. You felt your heart ache slightly at that, but you were adamant that they leave as soon as they could.

Another older woman informed you that the boy and his friend were last seen across the shopping center, right in the eye of the storm. You masked your cynicism, and thanked them for their time. The second woman nodded, and muttered reassuring things to the boy’s mother before leading her away.

Once they began to make their way in the opposite direction, you turned and started for the storm.

The closer you got to the maelstrom, the more things were being picked up. For a while, you did a pretty good job at avoiding tree branches and the like.

In your attempt to dodge a large remnant of a window, however, you managed to leap right into the path of more debris.

You grunted as the wood knocked you right to the ground. Pain blossomed on the right side of your face, and you had to brace yourself against the road before standing back up to continue your venture.

Just under one hundred feet from where the creature was hovering, you ended up in a small, seemingly abandoned market. You heard the sound of someone swearing in French, and looked around until you found a teenager not too much younger than Peter Parker.

He was clutching his phone angrily, and sitting on the ground as he tried to make a phone call.

His wet eyes found yours, and he seemed slightly hopeful.

This had to be the missing kid.

“Louis?” you asked.

He nodded again, before growing worried.

“Ma famille?” he asked frantically.

“Sûr,” you told him calmly, as you helped him up from his spot.

“Your family took shelter nearby,” you said, silently thanking Steve for the many French lessons he’d gifted you. “If you can’t find them, then get to safety before the storm gets here.”

The kid shook his head, his eyes going wide in panic.

“My...friend, Blase. He’s stuck,” the boy said.

Before you could ask him where the other kid was, Louis began to jump over debris to lead you to where the other boy was. In a nearby parking lot, you saw a boy around the same age laying on the ground. He groaned in pain as he gripped his thigh.

True to Louis’ word, you saw that the other boy was struggling underneath of the remnants of a roof. You kept your cool as you approached him, and you prayed to whoever was up there that the kid wouldn’t lose his leg in the middle of the storm.

Louis spoke gently to his friend, assuring him that you were there to help them out.

“Blase?” you said. The boy was fearful as he looked at you.

“I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”

He nodded stiffly.

“Louis, I need you lift as much as you can from that side,” you ordered. The boy was only too happy to help. You grabbed the other end of the wreckage and lifted as much as you could. You didn’t blame Louis for running away to get help. The thing was heavy.

Once you lifted it up substantially, you peeked under to see the state of his leg.

From underneath, you saw that the boy’s leg looked crushed. You kept your face even, not wanting to scare either of them.

“Can you move from under?” you asked, and you started to feel the weight from the debris grow heavy. Blase grunted, but wiggled his way out from underneath the roof. When he was far enough away, you told Louis to let go.

The two of you dropped it, and you rushed over to check the other teen’s injury.

“There’s nothing I can do for you here. I need you two to go back. Maybe find your family along the way, but definitely get medical assistance if you can.”

As if to emphasize your point, the creature roared again. Without missing a beat, you helped Louis pick up his friend, and helped adjust his weight accordingly.

“Thank you,” Louis said, and you nodded in response.

Blase opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. You followed him to see what had surprised him so, and couldn’t believe the sight.

A newcomer had arrived on the scene, dressed in what you could only compare to Roman armor.

It wasn’t anyone you recalled from the attack on the Avengers base last year, and you didn’t seem to recognize him from SHIELD’s radar so many years ago.

You were mesmerized as he flew around the monster, striking it often with green bolts not unlike what Wanda produced. Who was it? It wasn’t often you were missing so many different variables in an equation like this.

You felt your feet inch you closer to the attack.

You pulled the gun from your holster, and warned the kids one last time.

“Go!” you said over the shrieking of the storm. Louis glanced between the gun, the storm, and you. Without another word, he adjusted his grip on Blase, and the two began their trek around the fallen trees.

As you turned around, you could practically hear Fury in your ear telling you to book it before you were crushed like a bug under the monster.

But God were you curious.

Perhaps this is what Hill meant when she said that interfering was your downfall.

You jogged to get as close as you could without catching the attention of the creature. The more you looked at it, the more perplexed you grew. Perhaps it was an alien? If Thor was real, there wasn’t any reason that the Titans from Greek mythology couldn’t be real, right?

The stranger in the sky must have caught you staring, for when he was close enough, he called over his shoulder.

“You need to stand back. I don’t want any casualties,” he ordered from behind his helmet. Your gun was repositioned in your hand and ready to fire.

“Standing back isn’t really in my job description,” you shouted over the wind.

“Do what you like, but a gun isn’t going to do very much in a situation like this!”

He kept his gaze on you for a few moments longer, before swooping around to narrowly dodge a hit from the monster. In his departure, the creature managed to spot you on the ground below him.

You jumped over the debris that lay scattered around the area, and narrowly ducked the fist of the creature. It wailed again, and you turned around to fire a shot into it.

To your dismay, the shot did nothing but piss the creature off. You could see the flying man’s helmet turn in your direction.

In his moment wasted to watch you, the creature attacked its nearest enemy.

It knocked the man to the ground, and began to follow where he landed.

Shit.

Unsure of what else to do, you decided to get it’s attention again.

“Hey! Earth’s had more than enough weird stuff the last ten years, thanks!” you shouted at the monster, unsure if it would actually hear you. It roared in your direction, and rather than run, you shot at it a few times. You hoped that the flying man would be able to get his bearings again, and soon.

You ran away from the creature, doing your best to keep it from destroying more of the city than it already had.

You jumped over the nearest car and ducked behind it, gun still ready.

You took a few moments to catch your breath. What would your next step be? Calling Fury? You thought it a bit overkill to send in so much help when you had the green guy helping you out.

Assuming he wasn’t completed demolished from landing on the ground as hard as he did.

A nearby roar was heard again, and you cursed.

You stood up and shot one more round into the creature.

It saw you, and began lifting up some parked cars to throw in your direction.

As you ran, you were able to duck the cars, but were caught off guard when you were knocked off of your feet by the monster itself.

You weren’t sure how far you were thrown, but you had managed to land in a field.

Your back took all of the weight as you landed, and you released nothing more than a strained gasp on impact. You felt the breathe leave your body and were unable to move for a moment.

As you struggled to prop yourself up on your forearms, you saw the creature was still turned toward you.

From behind it, however, you could see that the newcomer had gotten back up. With his gaze in your direction, you felt he was trying to communicate something to you.

You crawled over a few feet, and grabbed the gun that had fallen from your grasp. You fired what very well may have been the last round in your gun, and swore as the monster advanced on you faster.

‘Anytime, green guy,’ you thought.

As if on cue, green bolts of light went through the creature’s middle. The monster turned around to attack the newcomer, but it moved too slowly. An inhuman sound came from it, and it slowly moved its hands around to catch it’s antagonist.

It was futile, however, as more of the same green light came from the man’s hands in a steady stream. You watched in wonder as the creature roared a final, deafening roar.

It collapsed into nothing, and you slid the mostly empty gun into your holster.

As you pushed yourself up, you felt a groan build in your throat. You stumbled your way across the field and into the parking lot. Fortunately for you, you were able to collapse upon a fallen palm tree.

The pain that you’d been doing your damndest to ignore took over most of your senses; you’d thought that the adrenaline had masked most of the pain in your face, but that changed when you were thrown by the typhoon-thing. You hated to think of how it would feel once the adrenal fatigue hit you.

“Son of a bitch,” you swore after you moved your jaw around.

You felt, quite honestly, like shit.

As you admired the now clear skies, you saw the mystery man’s silhouette against the setting sun, until he was before you. As he got closer, he dropped and walked your way.

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said, resisting the urge to groan.

“Thanks for helping out,” he said then. “It was exciting to have an Avenger for backup.”

You were suddenly unsure of how he was able to see through his helmet.

“The Avengers don't exist anymore. Not in the way they used to,” you added, wiping your admittedly unsanitary sleeve at your head injury. “Or have you been living under a rock the last year?”

“Something like that,” he said with a hint of amusement. “Listen, are you okay? You seem like you’re pretty hurt. You took a pretty bad fall back there.”

“Uh, it’s...it’s nothing I haven’t felt before,” you stammered before attempting to stand up. You struggled slightly, and he offered a gloved hand to assist you. You took it, all the while suppressing a hiss.

“I know,” he replied. “If I remember correctly, you're the one who takes the most hits out of the group.”

You scoffed, and didn’t bother to hide the cynicism in your voice.

“Yeah, tell that to Tony Stark, or Natasha Romanoff. From what I hear, they got the worst of it.”

He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so the two of you fell into an awkward silence.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t at risk of immediately dying. I should get going,” he said after a few moments, turning the other way. Just as he braced himself to fly, you caught his arm.

“Wait!”

He paused and turned to face you, and you let your arms drop to fall awkwardly at your sides while you spoke.

“You...I don’t know who you are.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” he replied.

You ignored his comment

“I mean...heroes aren’t masked symbols anymore. Heroes don’t get secret identities, not with—with governments and whatnot to monitor all of that now.”

“You’re right, they don’t. Not here, anyway,” was all he said.

You frowned, unsure of what he meant by that. Was he an alien, too? Was earth pulled into another inter-planetary dispute amongst aliens?

“So, what’s your game?” you asked, not bothering to hide your suspicion. He seemed to pick up on your tone pretty quickly.

“Look, I’m not here to join the Avengers, or get some sort of award,” he assured you after a moment. “I’m just trying to stop a threat I should have stopped sooner.”

That answered next to none of your questions.

“You know who I am. Why can’t I know who you are?” you pressed.

“That’s a long conversation. I’d prefer not to keep you out so late after all that’s happened.” There was a beat, and he spoke again.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Soleil.”

You frowned when he used your codename. No one had used it in a long time.

“Make sure to get looked at,” he reminded you, before turning away.

He flew away with a trail of forest green behind him, unknown to you and to the rest of the world.

You wondered where the guy had been this whole time. Who was he, and why was he just now emerging? Was he known to the other heroes, and you were just now catching wind of it?

As he disappeared from your line of sight, you turned your gaze back to the evening sky. As the sun set, the first few stars began emerging for the night, and you wondered just how many surprises this new world held.

The sound of a medical vehicle approaching surprised you, and you began the slow trek back to your hotel; you didn’t want to speak to anyone, not with the million questions that might be asked.

It was then that you felt another sharp sting as you breathed in.

Maybe he was right. You were hurting like a motherfucker just about everywhere.

                                                               ●

Quentin sat on his bed while the rudimentary footage of the attack played over and over again on all of the major news networks; the first elemental had been pulled off without a hitch.

Without a major one, anyway.

He thought he’d been thorough when ensuring that the Avengers were nowhere to be found. As far as he was concerned, the Avengers were practically disassembled.

At first glance, he’d hardly recognized her. He’d wondered how she’d gotten all the way over to this part of the world with no backup tagging along.

What to do with a loose end like her?

Janice had called earlier, asking if the woman should be confined to the hospital under the guise of massive internal injuries.

Then, a thought struck him with the force of a lightning bolt— how the masses did love their superhero stories, and none was more heartbreaking than his. A battle-hardened warrior who had lost everyone who meant anything to him, as well as his home, no matter how hard he had fought to keep all of that?

How the sympathy and support would grow when he became involved with one of the original Avengers, someone just as broken and lonely as he was.

Someone who was disillusioned, and needed someone like him to give her hope.

“Keep an eye on her, actually,” he had said. “Let me know when she’s discharged, and try to find out where she’s staying,” he requested of his co-worker. “We could use someone like her.”

Then, he’d pondered just how he’d get her on his side. What did he know about her?

He knew she was the youngest to join, and did so during the Chitauri attack in 2012. He knew she had an affinity for blasters, something he noticed she was missing that evening. He also knew that she was one of the few original team members left.

The footage on the television continued to play, and he looked away briefly to answer a call from another coworker.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sending you the files you requested, and then some. Let me know if you need additional information,” Victoria said. Quentin pulled away to quickly scan his incoming mail.

The more he saw, the more he smiled.

“This should be plenty. Thanks,” he said appreciatively before hanging up.

He opened the first file, one that had been leaked when SHIELD was under fire back in 2014. He settled into the armchair as he started reading.

He had thought that maybe he’d have to add another casualty to his list, but the more he thought of the alternative, the more his smile twisted.