#public16relations

The years between what happened in New York and now had been anything but quiet- but the world over knew they had the Avengers to rely on. Until, that is, the fall of SHIELD in 2014; when HYDRA crawled out of history and back into the public eye. Institutions people trusted had collapsed almost overnight, leaving citizens to wonder who was protecting them and who was watching them.

Admiration for the world’s defenders had dulled into expectation, and expectation had sharpened into scrutiny- scrutiny that now carried the old fear of HYDRA for those who remembered it, and a new one for those too young to have ever known it before.

Then, Friday, April 23rd, 2015.

That raid of the last known HYDRA base in Sokovia was different- smaller, contained, nothing like those city-ending catastrophes the people had all but gotten used to. It was just a bunker torn apart on the wrong patch of land, filmed from the worst possible angles. 

The footage came from a few terrified bystanders- shaky, abrupt clips that made a precise twenty-minute strike look like a siege. Online, those seconds of dust and shouting became a story of recklessness, not precision. 

It had been only five days since the raid on Strucker’s compound- just long enough for the debris to settle, nowhere near long enough for the outrage to fade.

The people the Avengers swore to protect were caught in the crossfire, and the leaks that followed- images, shaky footage, casualty estimates- painted Earth’s Mightiest Heroes as reckless rather than righteous. The media pounced, headlines questioning accountability and restraint. Social media was unrelenting, with hashtags like #WhoSavesUsFromTheAvengers and #CollateralDamageControl trending for days. 

It didn’t matter that the actual damage was small by global-crisis standards; the narrative had taken shape without them.

Pepper Potts felt the weight of it immediately. Stark Industries had spent years clawing its way out of the shadow of the Stark family’s weapons legacy, rebuilding itself as a leader in clean energy and global innovation. Now, that hard-won reputation was faltering. Tony’s dual identity- as Iron Man and the public face of both the company and the Avengers- was no longer a strength; it was a liability.

Investors were uneasy. Protests online were growing. It wasn’t a catastrophe yet, but it was close enough for Pepper to see the trajectory- and she knew how fast public faith could crumble once it began to slip.

Tony thought the outrage would blow over, that the footage would be buried under the next crisis. Pepper disagreed.

She turned to Maria Hill, who had seen firsthand how perception could unravel faster than any tactical plan. Maria wasn’t just an operations expert- she understood image and knew how fragile trust could be.

And she knew exactly who to call: you.

You had built a reputation during the Battle of New York, working as one of many contracted PR specialists for SHIELD. Tasked with reframing the narrative of an alien invasion and a team of enhanced individuals as humanity’s protectors, you’d delivered under impossible circumstances. Your work had been critical in turning public panic into cautious admiration.

That had been years ago, and the world was different now- more cynical, less forgiving.

When Ms. Potts contacted you, her tone was clear: this wasn’t just about optics, it was about stability. Stark Industries wasn’t hiring a publicist; it was enlisting a strategist who could rebuild confidence in the Avengers- and by extension, in Tony Stark himself. 

You’d spent years carefully curating your career post-SHIELD, working independently and avoiding entanglements as volatile as Stark Industries- especially after the fall of SHIELD you had been lucky to narrowly miss. 

But Pepper’s urgency struck a chord. You knew you could make a difference, even if it meant stepping straight into the storm.

Over the weekend and through Monday, you poured over footage from Sokovia- reports, interviews, damage assessments, and uncut clips that the networks refused to air. You studied each Avenger carefully, piecing together not just their public personas but their human vulnerabilities.

By the time you arrived at Stark Tower on the Tuesday after the raid, your travel had been swift and discreet. Your belongings were en route: two suitcases of clothing and a crate of office necessities. You carried only your laptop bag- your most immediate tools: laptop, tablet, cellphone, and a pair of delicately wrapped framed photos- as well as a securely packed firearm.

As the elevator ascended, you caught your reflection in the polished steel walls. You smoothed a stray strand of hair, adjusted the collar of your blouse, and drew a steady breath.

This wasn’t just another job. It was a proving ground.

The private quarters of Stark Tower awaited- along with a team of legends who likely saw your arrival as unnecessary, maybe even insulting.

The floor numbers blinked higher as your pulse steadied. The world’s faith in its heroes was fraying, and it was your job to repair it.

The soft chime of the elevator signaled your arrival. You straightened your shoulders, lifted your chin, and stepped forward.

Time to meet the Avengers- and manage the storm.

Chapter One: Introduction Tuesday, April 28, 2015

The soft chime of the elevator echoed through the private quarters of Stark Tower as the doors slid open. You stepped out, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

You paused. The room was far from the pristine professionalism you’d envisioned when you first accepted the job. Instead, it was lived-in chaos. Mismatched furniture, cluttered surfaces, and a piercing tension that hung in the air like static electricity. 

It felt as though you had stepped into the middle of a battle plan: unfinished, uneasy, and sharp at the edges.

Conversations that had been murmuring moments before abruptly stopped. All eyes turned to you. You immediately analyzed the room’s occupants; the people who had, collectively, saved the world more than once. As you planted yourself at the front of the room they stared you down with varying degrees of curiosity, skepticism, and scrutiny.

Tony Stark leaned against a sleek bar, posture casual, his expression filled with boredom and semi-amused contempt. Steve Rogers stood near him, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his piercing blue eyes locking onto you like he was assessing a potential threat. 

Thor stood near the window, his imposing figure silhouetted by the mid-morning light. Regal and commanding, as though he needed no words to make his presence known. Harshly contrasted, Doctor Bruce Banner hovered like a shadow at the back of the room, almost hiding. 

Natasha Romanoff lounged at the edge of one of the many couches in the room, seemingly relaxed, though you could tell her sharp gaze was taking in every detail. Clint Barton, though, sat behind her, his expression alive with levity, despite his arm hanging in a sling- you’d learned from the briefing Pepper had given you that he was injured during the raid days prior.

“Good morning,” you began, your voice steady and warm; professional, but friendly. “My name is _____ _____. As I’m sure Ms. Potts has informed you, I’ve been brought on to assist with managing Stark Industries’ image and, by extension, yours.”

You let the words settle for a moment. You had learned, over years of experience, how to walk this line: calm, confident, and unshakable. Not a challenge, not a threat, but an authority.

“I’m here to make sure the world understands the good you’re doing,” you continued, scanning their faces. “And to help mitigate any… misunderstandings that may arise along the way.”

There was a brief silence.

Stark broke it with a wry, sardonic laugh, a sound sharp enough to slice through your words. His smirk was cutting, and his discernment settled on you with the weight of someone who had seen too much to take anything you do seriously. 

You met his eyes evenly, unflinching, before looking to the group as a whole. “I understand my presence may seem unnecessary,” you spoke, your voice cool and firm, “but I’m here to assist, not intrude.”

The words hung in the air, stabilizing the tension slightly.

Agent Barton snorted, a crooked grin slipping onto his face as he gestured with his good arm. “Well, you’re braver than most. Welcome to the madhouse.”

Agent Romanoff’s lips twitched into a small smirk, and you let yourself relax, very slightly, at the shift in tone. 

“Bravery is a good trait,” Thor rumbled. “You may find you need it here.”

Captain Rogers shifted his weight, his arms uncrossing as his expression softened some. “We’ll do what we can to help,” his voice was polite but measured, as though he wasn’t sure what to make of you. You couldn't blame him for that.

You offered him a small smile. “Thank you, Captain Rogers,” you replied, holding his gaze for a moment before continuing to the group. “I’ll need a room that can serve as my workspace and bedroom.”

Stark pushed off the bar into an upright position, his dry humor cutting back in like clockwork. “Let me guess: room and board is on the company dime?”

You turned to him smoothly, your tone sharpening just a little, along with a smile that was prepared for his dare. “It is. And I’m confident you’ll find my contributions worth every penny.”

There was a beat of silence before Agent Barton chuckled again, the sound lighthearted and genuine. “You’ll fit right in,” he muttered, his grin widened along with Natasha Romanoff’s lingering smile. Thor’s approving nod returned, his broad beam squinting his eyes in a way that almost made him look childlike.

Dr. Banner cleared his throat softly, stepping forward hesitantly, as if to save you from any more of the awkward friction. “I’ll, uh… show you to a room,” he offered.

“Thank you, Dr. Banner,” you replied, softening your tone to match his.

Dr. Banner gave a small, self-conscious smile and started toward the doorway leading to the corridor. You glanced back at the room briefly as the quiet chatter began to resume, then fell into step beside him as he led you into the hallway.

The corridor felt instantly quieter as the conversations faded behind you. You let out a small breath, the gravity of the moment settling on your shoulders now that you were alone with Dr. Banner.

“This place can be a little… overwhelming at first,” he said after a moment. “Everyone’s still a little wound up.”

You smiled with a slow, thoughtful nod. “Ms. Potts told me the basics of what happened in Sokovia,” you said. “I understand why everyone’s on edge.”

He glanced at you sidelong, his expression softening as if comforted by your sincerity. 

You hesitated before adding, “What happened in Sokovia wasn’t a disaster… But after everything that’s happened these last few years, people don’t give the benefit of the doubt anymore. I’m here so it doesn’t become something it isn’t.”

He stopped in front of a door, shifting in silence as the sentiment settled between you two before opening it with a keycard he pulled from his pocket. 

“Here you go.” He gives a tight half-smile, quiet and grateful. “It’s not much, but it’s private.”

You stepped into the room, taking in its modest, functional layout: a small desk, a neatly made bed, a wardrobe, and a large window offering a soaring view of Manhattan. It was silent, far removed from the room you had just left.

“This will be perfect,” you said earnestly.

“I’ll ask Agent Hill to reprogram your card to your ID…” Dr. Banner lingered awkwardly for a moment in the doorway, fidgeting slightly. “If you need anything, you can ask Natasha… or me.”

“Thank you, Dr. Banner,” you said, offering him a small, genuine smile.

He nodded quickly, murmuring, “Good luck,” before turning and walking back down the hallway.

You allowed yourself to really pause for the first time that morning as the door suctioned closed. You set your laptop bag on the desk and exhaled softly, smoothing your palms down your skirt as though it would erase the tension that had followed you from the common room.

It wasn’t the first time you’d walked into a room filled with skeptics, but this was different. These weren’t disgruntled CEOs or PR nightmares that could be managed with charm and a well-rehearsed plan. It also wasn't like your time with SHIELD, as only one of several cogs in an HR/PR machine. 

These were the Avengers. And, despite the polite veneer some had offered, you could feel the uncertainty lingering behind every word, every look.

Overwhelming, indeed.

But, Pepper Potts hired you for a reason. Maria Hill recommended you for a reason. Shaking off the thought, you unzipped your bag and began methodically unpacking your things. 

You pulled out your laptop first, setting it carefully on the desk before connecting the charger. Next came your tablet and notepad, and two small framed photographs wrapped securely in tissue paper. You hesitated briefly with those, your fingers lingering on the glass as you unwrapped them one by one.

The first was your parents, smiling on a beach; young, carefree, and blissfully unaware of how short their time together would be. The second was your grandmother, sturdy and dignified in her armchair, the woman who’d raised you and instilled in you the belief that accountability, honesty mattered above all else. You arranged them in a neat line on the desk, a small way of grounding yourself in such an unfamiliar place.

With a deep breath, you turned to the rest of your belongings, removing your firearm from its secured pocket in your bag. You bent down to see the underside of the desk, looking for a convenient place to attach your concealed holster- in case it was needed during your time here. 

A knock at the door startled you, and you straightened abruptly. You set your gun back in its pocket and exhaled, a professional calm returning to your features as you opened it.

A tall, suited man stood with your suitcases and a wooden crate sat in a line behind him. “Delivery for Ms. _____,” he said tersely, his tone neutral and his face unreadable.

“Thank you,” you replied politely, stepping back to allow him inside. He moved wordlessly to set the items near the wardrobe before nodding and leaving as quickly as he’d arrived. 

You spent the next several hours unpacking everything with meticulous care. Clothes went into the wardrobe: business casual options for the week, along with a set of combat-appropriate gear you brought… just in case. Several pairs of shoes were lined up neatly at the bottom and toiletries were placed on the small shelf in the adjoining bathroom. Every item had its place.

By the time you finished, your compact room felt distinctly yours: functional, efficient, and organized. You paused in front of the window, looking out over the sprawling city below. The sun was beginning to dip lower on the horizon, an odd compliment to the skyline that was only beginning to light itself up.

Day one.

Trust can’t be earned in a day. 

Especially not with a group of people who had already endured so much. Ms. Potts insisted on an indefinite, live-in, contract for this very reason, among others. This wouldn't be a regular 9 to 5.

With an accomplished smile, you headed out into the hallway. If you were going to be prepared for this job, sustenance would help.

Stark Tower was impressive: modern, sleek, and layered with an almost tangible hum of advanced technology. Yet, beneath the luxury, you could sense the same tension you had walked into earlier. The weight of unresolved conversations and concern cemented into the very walls. 

Even though they had successfully retrieved Loki’s scepter from the HYDRA base, it seemed like everyone was still on edge.

The exploration was brief and you soon found what you were looking for: the dining area. 

The space was large, but understated compared to the rest of the Tower, with a long table and a kitchen tucked against one wall. Stainless steel appliances gleamed beneath recessed lighting, and a few scattered bar stools lined a counter that looked out toward the city skyline.

Clint Barton sat perched at the far end of the counter, hunched slightly over a plate of what looked like leftover pasta, while his free hand texted on a beat-up flip-phone. He glanced up as you entered, his smirk quick and teasing.

“Hey, you’re still alive,” he said, his tone light, laced with the humor of someone who’d already made up his mind about you.

You exhaled a small chuckle as you moved toward the kitchen, leaning briefly against the opposite side of the counter. “Still alive,” you agreed, glancing meaningfully at the sling cradling his arm. “And you?”

Barton raised the arm in question, flexing his fingers slightly. “Yeah, thanks to Dr. Cho, should be back to normal in no time.” He set the phone down and picked up his fork, twirling it lazily into what remained of his meal. “You hungry? There's food. I use the term loosely.”

You let out another small laugh, your attention sweeping over the refrigerator and neatly stocked counter tops. You reached for an apple in a bowl on the counter and crossed to the fridge to grab two bottles of water. “This will do, thanks.”

He watched you, amusement lingering in his expression as he leaned back slightly. “Calling it a night already?”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping the apple in your hand. “I’ve got a lot to prepare for tomorrow. Got my work cut out for me, I think.” Your tone was even, with no trace of judgment- just an acknowledgement of the reality you were all navigating.

His easy grin faltered for just a second, his eyes dropping to his plate. The change was subtle, but you caught it; a flicker of guilt, quickly masked by the practiced nonchalance of someone who often carried more pressure than they let on.

“For what it’s worth,” He said after a moment, his voice quieter, but no less genuine, “some of us see what you being here means. Ms. Potts made the right call.”

For all the bravado, there was an honesty beneath his lighthearted exterior- an understanding of the team’s, the world's, current state.

“Thank you, Agent Barton,” you said softly, offering him a heartfelt smile.

He let out a half-laugh, shaking his head as he picked up his phone again. “Clint,” he corrected gently, looking up at you with a glint of humor. 

“Clint,” you echoed, giving him a nod of acknowledgement before turning to leave.

You let the weight of the day settle in as you stepped inside your room. The city outside your window was ablaze with light now, the sun almost set and Manhattan coming alive in the darkness.

You settled at your desk, opening your laptop and flipping through the notepad you packed. Files, reports, media analysis; all neatly organized, but the work was just beginning. Tomorrow, you would start by observing, learning the team’s dynamics beyond what your research had already revealed. 

Fangirl-fueled flattery and genuflection wouldn’t work here- not that that was your typical technique, anyway. You needed to know them as people, not just names and public personas.  

Your eyes drifted to the photographs on your desk as you took a bite of your apple.

Trust can’t be earned in a day. But I’m here now, and I’m ready.

With that, you set down your apple, pushed aside the tablet, and began to type.

Chapter Two: Family Wednesday, April 29th, 2015

The glow of your laptop screen greeted you as you woke up. 

You sighed, sitting up straight and rubbing the back of your neck. The time in the corner of the laptop screen read 5:28 a.m. Far too early for most people, but just right for you. Just right for today. 

You stood and stretched, the silence of your room settling around you. The room felt almost familiar now. Comfortable, even. Opening your dresser, you pulled out a pair of loose, navy slacks and a soft, fitted blouse, pressing the wrinkles out with your hand before changing. Your loafers came on last, and you tighten your ponytail as you catch your reflection. You looked composed, steady. 

Convincing enough.

Grabbing your tablet and notepad, you stepped into the hallway. Stark Tower was hushed, save for the hum of electricity in the walls.

The common room was bathed in pre-dawn light, the city skyline glowing gold over the buildings seen through the massive windows. The room itself, luxurious and lived-in, hinted at its inhabitants: scattered tech, coffee mugs forgotten on tables, and a disheveled blanket half-fallen from the couch. It looked the same as it did last night during your short, but enlightening interaction with Clint, a post-mission lull that could only be achieved by a win.

You sat at the far end of the long table near the window, laying out your tablet, notepad, and a water bottle you grabbed from the refrigerator on the way in. It was a strange feeling, entering someone else’s space. Their space. 

You’d handled crises before, but always from the outside- your own office, your own apartment, neutral ground. Even with SHIELD, you’d never been embedded like this. But as Ms. Potts and Maria had unspokenly reminded you: you were here for a reason.

Opening your tablet, you dove into the day’s news.

Crisis mornings always started the same: news first, raw data second, strategy last- a rhythm you’d learned, and mastered, to translate chaos into something the public could stomach.

You weren’t here to spin anything- just to make the truth legible.

Sokovia.

The name alone carried hostility.

Every major outlet was carrying a variation of the same story as you scrolled through the top headlines:

“Civilian Footage Raises Questions About Sokovia Strike.” “Who Authorizes the Avengers?” “HYDRA Bases in 2015?”

The language ranged based on who was reporting; The Daily Bugle leaned on sensationalism and suspicion, calling the raid “reckless” and “unregulated.” CNN’s coverage took the opposite angle- clinical, policy-heavy, quoting international law experts questioning who, if anyone, sanctioned the strike. BBC World News focused on the historical terror of HYDRA’s re-emergence, framing the event as a global intelligence failure rather than simply an Avengers misstep.

None of this was surprising. 

What mattered was what it told you.

The Bugle’s outrage machine meant misinformation would spread fast and loud. CNN’s framing meant the political class would be watching. The BBC coverage meant the world was already bracing for the wrong conversation entirely: not “What happened?” but “How did this happen again?”

Each angle pointed to the same core problem. What was, in reality, a necessary mission to clear up the last of what remained of HYDRA was quickly turning into a mass-retweeted spiral of fear and resentment.

This was confirmed when you took a scroll through the comments.

Twitter was the loudest, as always.

“So the Avengers are just allowed to invade countries now?” “If HYDRA was running bases again, how the hell did no one know?” “They saved who? All I see is rubble.”

Reddit was different. Less noise, more debate- the closest thing to reason you’d find this early in a public meltdown.

The thread sat at the top of r/worldnews, posted under the headline “New civilian footage from Sokovia raid raises questions about Avengers’ involvement” by a user called u/GeoPol_Observer. The post was simple- two embedded clips and a brief summary- but the comments beneath it carried the real weight. 

At first, the top replies leaned pro-Avenger: u/DataGurl pointing out HYDRA’s confirmed presence in the bunker, u/ColdArchive citing civilian evacuations from the initial report, and u/monsterra arguing the team had done exactly what global agencies had failed to; but the skeptical responses came quickly. 

u/riverglass88 questioned where that information came from, u/Postless_Tuesday demanded proof of evacuations, and u/JacketLeftInsideOut called the strike a sovereignty violation- this one almost made you laugh. 

The debate spiraled into a familiar back-and-forth; evidence met with suspicion, reassurance drowned by distrust- until the thread stopped being about Sokovia entirely and became, instead, an argument about the Avengers themselves: who they answered to, who they didn’t, and whether anyone should have that much power.

The news created the spark, but these comment threads were the wildfire: ordinary people arguing not over facts, but over ideology. And ideology couldn’t be corrected with a single press release.

A press release was clearly the beginning, though, that much was clear to you. 

The soft whir of the elevator broke your focus.

Steve Rogers stepped into the shared space, damp from his run. It was captivating the way he carried himself- with the kind of ease that shouldn’t have been intimidating, but was, despite your effort not to notice.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying just enough warmth to soften its dominance.

“Good morning, Captain Rogers,” you replied, your tone polite and even.

You looked back to your tablet, but your focus splintered as he leaned against the kitchen counter, twisting open a water bottle. His presence, effortless and commanding, filled the room.

More than once, your eyes flicked upward. At one point, you glanced over just as he did. Your eyes met for a brief moment, curious and silent, and you immediately looked back to your screen.

Natasha Romanoff arrived soon after, soundlessly emerging from down the hallway like a ghost. She poured herself a mug of coffee, had a short, discreet conversation with Captain Rogers, and dropped onto the corner of the couch, tucking her legs under her as she flipped open a worn hardcover book.

“Clint’s out,” she remarked casually, her eyes on the page.

Clint’s out?

You nodded once, polite and brief- careful not to look too interested.

Inwardly, though, your curiosity stirred. Wherever Clint had gone, Natasha clearly knew… and just as clearly wasn’t offering details. That alone told you not to pry.

Captain Rogers simply hummed in acknowledgement, beginning to pull ingredients from the fridge. You noted how naturally he fell into the rhythm of cooking, his movements efficient as he cracked eggs into a bowl.

Bruce Banner entered soon after, tousled but alert, a loose sweater draped over him. He moved to the kitchen, and then to the window with a quiet nod of greeting toward you, coffee in hand. 

You returned the gesture, seeing the subtle, stolen glances he exchanged with Agent Romanoff. It wasn’t much, just a look here and there, but enough to be mentally cataloged.

The elevator chimed again, announcing Tony Stark’s entrance. His silk robe billowed slightly as he walked in, his matching pajamas almost comically out of place. He made a beeline for the coffee, sparing you a glance as he passed.

“Morning, sunshine,” he drawled, his smirk infuriatingly confident. “Making us all look bad with your work ethic.”

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” you replied, unphased.

He plucked a bagel off one of the plates Captain Rogers was assembling and disappeared toward the elevator calling, “Banner, let’s get to it before the robots build themselves!”

Dr. Banner hesitated for a second, directing a small, sheepish smile toward Romanoff before following Stark.

Curious.

The room quieted again- until Thor entered. His footsteps were unmistakable, a low rumble preceding his booming voice. “Captain! Your mastery of Midgardian cuisine is unmatched!”

You glanced up to see the Asgardian towering over Captain Rogers as he stirred eggs on the stove. Thor’s presence was as large as his personality, and his jovial energy seemed to light up the space.

Thor turned to you, his grin broad. “Lady _____! You must join us. A hearty meal strengthens the body and the mind.”

You hesitated, instinctively looking toward Rogers who was plating scrambled eggs and placing them on the bar counter for everyone to share. He caught your glance and smiled warmly. “Please. I made plenty.”

You stood and made your way to the counter where Thor was already piling food onto a plate and handing it to you; eggs, toast, sausage, and far too much of everything. “Eat well, my friend! You will need your strength.”

“Thank you, Thor,” you managed, though you doubted you could finish even half of what he’d given you.

You ate quietly, listening as Thor and Rogers fell into a rhythm of conversation. Agent Romanoff remained curled on the couch, interjecting with dry quips when Thor’s tales grew too far-fetched. 

You took careful notes in your head: Thor’s warmth, Natasha’s edge, Steve’s grounding presence. 

There's a family here. Messy, imperfect, but solid. 

It reminded you dimly of something you hadn't experienced in many years.

By late morning, the common room had quieted. Thor was sprawled onto the couch fast asleep, his loud snores reverberating through the space. Romanoff and Rogers had left, presumably for the gym, evidenced by their conversation en route, and the others were scattered: Stark and Banner in the lab, Clint… somewhere.

With the team out of sight, you packed up your belongings and set them neatly on the desk in your room. You glanced around one last time and decided it was time for an off-property break before your meeting with Agent Hill. 

You stepped out of Stark Tower and into the bustling streets of Manhattan, the crisp spring air a welcome contrast to the controlled environment inside. 

Outside, the city moved as it always did: cars honking in gridlock, street vendors shouting deals, and pedestrians weaving expertly through the chaos. It was familiar and grounding, a reminder of the world you were trying to reconnect with the Avengers.

You tucked your phone into your purse and wandered for a few blocks until you found a café that felt just right; unassuming and cozy, with a small chalkboard sign boasting “Fresh Brews, Fresh Gossip.” You smiled and slipped inside.

The café was quiet at this hour. The morning rush had passed, leaving just a handful of patrons scattered at tables. You ordered a tea and sandwich before settling into a corner table by the window. The jazz music playing softly overhead set the perfect backdrop for people-watching, and you let yourself relax for the first time all morning, perhaps all week.

From your spot, you could see the city play out in fragments. 

A man in a tailored suit walked briskly by, shouting into a phone. A mother guided her child across the street, their hands tightly clasped. A group of young adults entered the café with the kind of energy only people in their early twenties seemed to possess.

They sat at a nearby table, their voices carrying easily over the soft music.

“It’s infuriating,” one of them said, adjusting his thick-framed glasses as he leaned forward, his elbows firmly planted on the table. “The Avengers aren’t the problem. People are blaming them when they should be blaming- shit, I dunno-” his tone faltered slightly as he leaned back, “-the President, or something.”

The woman across from him chimed in, setting her latte down with a determined nod. “Exactly. I read that not even one civilian died.” She rolled her eyes and leaned back, too, tone light as if it wasn’t a big deal. “I mean, they killed some Nazis or whatever, but that’s how you get rid of them.”

The third, a young man in a vintage Captain America t-shirt, shrugged. “People are scared. We didn’t even know HYDRA was still around until, like, last year.” He shrugs again, giving a tight, unconvincing half-smile. “They’ll come around.”

You sipped your tea slowly, keeping your expression neutral as you listened. The conversation filled you with a sense of reassurance, though you shared the undercurrent of unease in their voices. Despite all the negative headlines and political criticism, there were still people who believed in the Avengers. People who saw their value, even when the rest of the world refused.

You pulled your notebook out of your bag and jotted down a note: 

Core supporters are vocal and hopeful. Lean into transparency.

Your sandwich arrived, and you ate slowly, allowing yourself to prolong this moment of calm. You watched the world move outside the window, the constant churn of a city that never stopped, and reflected on the team you left behind at Stark Tower. Messy as they were, they represented hope.

By the time your plate was empty, you’d filled another page of your notebook with ideas. A public, broadcasted press event was clearly needed, but it was only the beginning; you needed real stories, real moments, to connect these heroes to the people they protected.

You ordered a second tea to-go, taking a moment to breathe in the café’s warmth before stepping back outside. As you made your way toward Stark Tower, your thoughts turned to Maria Hill. You were excited for your meeting- to see an old ally.

Maria’s office was tucked into a quiet corner of Stark Tower, separated from the labs and living spaces. You had expected something bare-bones and practical, but as you entered, you found subtle touches of Maria’s personality woven throughout the space.

The large desk at the center of the room was perfectly organized, with neatly stacked files and a trio of monitors displaying data streams. Behind it, a sleek bookshelf held an unexpected mix of tactical manuals, classic novels, and a framed photo of Maria with members of her old SHIELD team. A potted plant- a small, leafy thing- sat in the corner, looking surprisingly healthy for someone as busy as Maria. The Maria you once knew, anyway.

Maria herself stood by the window, arms crossed, a smile emerging as you entered.

“There's my favorite desk jockey,” Maria said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you. To your surprise, Maria greeted you with a quick, genuine hug.

“I thought this was going to be a professional meeting,” you teased as you pulled back.

“Can’t it be professional with a hug?” Maria smirked, gesturing for you to sit as you moved to the desk. “It’s good to see you. Really.”

“You too,” you settled into the chair across from Maria. “I wasn’t sure you’d have time to meet so soon.”

“For you? Always.” Maria leaned back in her chair, arms folding comfortably across her chest. “So? How are you finding the Tower? I imagine Stark hasn’t made it easy.”

You smiled, thinking of the right words to use. “It’s been… an adjustment. They’ve been manageable, for the most part.”

“They’re good people,” Maria nodded, her tone softening slightly. “For the most part.”

You tilted your head. “How’s the transition been? From SHIELD to…” you gestured vaguely, “this.”

Maria’s expression grew more guarded, though not unfriendly. “Better than it could’ve been. SHIELD’s collapse left a mess behind, and I’m still cleaning parts of it up. Lots of people turned out to be the wrong kind of loyal.”

“HYDRA,” you said softly, and Maria nodded.

“You got out at the right time,” Maria added, her gaze steady. “If you’d stayed longer, you might’ve gotten caught in the fallout.”

You gave a small shrug, smiling nonchalantly. “I would’ve been fine. You trained me well.”

That earned a small laugh. “Fair point.”

The conversation shifted naturally to business. Maria listened attentively as you outlined your plans, nodding in agreement when you suggested holding a press event to control the narrative.

“It’s smart,” Maria said. “Get ahead of the chaos before it spirals further. You’ll need their cooperation, though.”

“I’ll get it,” you replied with quiet confidence. “Eventually.”

Maria smirked. “I don’t doubt it.” She turned to her central monitor and typed something quickly before looking back at you. “I’m giving you access to the secure messaging system. It’ll help you coordinate without jumping through Tony’s hoops.”

“Thank you,” you said sincerely as you watched Maria type away on her keyboard. It was interesting seeing her in this environment, behind a desk and computer screen, not in full tactical gear wielding a firearm. It was nice, even if a little bizarre.

Now who’s the desk jockey?

As the meeting drew to a close, Maria stood and extended a hand. “It’s good to be working with you again.”

You shook her hand firmly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Likewise. We’ll keep each other safe this time, right?”

“Always,” Maria said, her tone unwavering.

You left Maria’s office feeling steadier than you had all morning. You had a plan, support from someone you trusted, and the sense that you weren't entirely alone in this endeavor.

By the time you stepped out of the elevator and back into the common area, the quiet of earlier was long gone. The room buzzed with energy, voices overlapping as Tony Stark argued with Steve Rogers over something you couldn’t quite follow at first.

“It’s not that unrealistic,” Stark was saying, waving his hand like a conductor’s baton.

Rogers crossed his arms, expression skeptical. “Artificial intelligence doesn’t understand morality. At what point are the risks to humanity enough to avoid it altogether?”

Agent Romanoff looked up from her seat on the couch, smirking as she noticed you enter. “Ms. _____! You're just in time for Tony to unveil his plan to destroy planet Earth with a robot smarter than anyone that's ever lived!”

You raised both eyebrows, unsure if you should be concerned or intrigued. 

“For the record,” Stark lifted his finger in the air, “it would not be smarter than me.”

“AI,” Dr. Banner said with an apologetic glance toward you.

You smiled in understanding and sat down at the table as the debate continued. Helen Cho sat a few seats away, relaxed, though she said little. You made eye contact and gave each other the same polite smile and nod. Her attention was stolen by Thor who arrived thunderously with two bags of takeout that were unmistakably not enough for the group.

“Fear not!” Thor boomed. “I bring food!”

Romanoff laughed, shaking her head. “All yours, buddy. Tony already ordered.”

You watched as the conversation dissolved into banter, the room alive with a familial warmth you hadn't expected to see so soon, if at all.

Thor was already halfway through 3 out of 4 of his meals when the food Stark had ordered arrived, a variety of takeout containers stacked high on the counter. The scents of spicy noodles, savory pizza, and fried chicken filled the air, drawing everyone toward the kitchen. 

Agent Romanoff smiled as she grabbed a small plate of dumplings and nestled into a seat across from Thor.

“Thor,” she said, raising an eyebrow and gesturing to the remnants of his meal, “you do realize there's enough food for everyone now, right?”

Thor grinned, completely unbothered. “A warrior never takes chances. Preparation is the key to victory- especially at the dinner table!”

Dr. Cho, seated at the far end of the table, smiled reservedly at his response. You noticed her focus linger on Thor before she turned back to the conversation.

The group began to gather, their earlier debate fading into a more relaxed rhythm. Rogers took the lead in organizing the meal, helping distribute plates and serving utensils, while Stark hung back, scrolling through something on his tablet.

You chose a modest plate of noodles and vegetables, opting to observe rather than jump into the conversations immediately. You’d learned enough from your morning with the team to know they often revealed the most about themselves in these unscripted moments.

Thor, still animated, leaned over to Dr. Cho, offering her a piece of fried chicken from his plate. “Helen! You must try this. A delicacy among mortals, I am told.”

She hesitated before accepting it with a soft laugh. “Thank you, Thor.”

You caught the subtle pink that dusted her cheeks as she returned to her upright position, now with a piece of chicken on her plate. You made a quick mental note about the interaction, not for any professional reason, only because it added another interesting layer to the dynamic.

The group had settled into an easy flow, the atmosphere warm and connected. Thor, Agent Romanoff, and Dr. Banner spoke harmoniously. Captain Rogers sat at the table, leaning back slightly in his chair as he listened with fond amusement. Even Tony Stark, usually the loudest in the room, seemed content to let the others carry the conversation.

You, happy to remain a quiet observer, noted how naturally these extraordinary individuals fell into a rhythm together. Despite their differences, and occasional clashes, they operated like a unit. 

Family.

“Ms. _____,” Steve Rogers started, drawing your attention. “You’ve been watching us all day.” His tone was light, curious. “What’s your take on all this?”

The room quieted slightly, all eyes turning toward you. You hesitated, lowering your fork as you considered your response.

“I see a group of people who care deeply,” you said slowly, your voice soft but steady. “Even when you’re not always on the same page, it’s clear that you’re more than a team. You’re a family. And that’s… grounding. For all the extraordinary things you’ve done, you’re simply human- or, close enough to it.”

Your words were met with thoughtful silence. Romanoff sipped her drink, stoic. Banner offered you a small, encouraging smile. Thor looked genuinely pleased, his chest puffing slightly at the sentiment.

You shifted your tone, leaning forward slightly as you spoke. “That’s the story people need to hear. Not just your victories, but your humanity. We need to explain ourselves to the public, correct the narrative, but I also believe we should highlight that- to show the world the people behind the heroes.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Rogers asked, curious.

“A press conference,” you replied succinctly. “Something simple and direct to start rebuilding trust. In fact, I’d like to meet with all of you to go over the draft before I send it to Ms. Potts, if possible.” You looked around the room, gauging their reactions individually, “Tomorrow, 10:00 a.m., perhaps?”

Thor grinned, “I shall attend!”

Romanoff nodded upwards slightly. “I’ll be there."

Dr. Banner gave you a tentative, but supportive nod, while Stark leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink. “I’ll think about it,” he said dryly, though the flicker of curiosity in his eyes suggested he’d already decided.

Steve Rogers knocked on the table lightly, his approval clear. “Tomorrow morning.”

As the meal wound down, the team began to disperse. Thor excused himself first, clapping you on the back with a farewell that nearly knocked you off your chair. “Rest well, Lady _____!”

Banner and Stark left next, their conversation already shifting back to the lab as they disappeared down the hallway. Agent Romanoff drained the last of her drink and stood gracefully, muttering something about making a call. Dr. Cho followed soon after, retreating to her quarters after a polite nod toward you.

You stayed to help clear the table, but Rogers stopped you with a small shake of his head. “Go get some rest.”

You hesitated, but relented at the gentle insistence in his voice. “Thank you,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

“Goodnight, Ms. _____,” Steve said, his tone warm, but formal.

“Goodnight, Captain,” you replied, a small smile forming at your lips as you turned and left the room.

Back in your quarters, you took your time getting ready for bed. You showered in your bathroom, warm water easing the tension in your shoulders, and returned to your desk feeling lighter.

At your desk, you transferred your notes from the day into a clean document on your laptop, thoughts flowing easily. There was a story to tell here: one of compassion, hope, and resilience. It wasn’t going to be easy, but for the first time since arriving, you felt fully confident in your ability to navigate the challenges ahead.

Steve paused, letting the crowd settle into near-silence, the pin gleaming subtly against his suit as he prepared to speak.

Behind him, the rest of the Avengers stood off to the side. Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and Thor held a quiet presence, their polished appearances projecting confidence. Clint’s hands were loosely clasped in front of him, his arm no longer in a sling, while Thor stood tall, his posture relaxed but commanding. Tony Stark stood comfortably, if not lazily, next to Thor who was a mountain in comparison. 

Further to the side, near the edge of the stage, you and Bruce Banner lingered together. Your elegant navy dress allowed you to blend into the backdrop, your demeanor poised, exuding professionalism before your big reveal as the Avengers’ new representative. Bruce, visibly less at ease in his tailored suit, stood beside you, shifting his weight slightly as his eyes scanned the people in front of him.

Everyone was visible- except Maria who was heading security, Dr. Cho who was supporting from the crowd, and Ms. Potts who’d been in Tokyo for the last week dealing with some kind of above-your-paygrade licensing deals- but it was clear this moment belonged to Steve. The attention was on him, where you had planned for it to be. Steve adjusted the microphone slightly and began speaking, his voice steady and measured.

“The Avengers exist for one reason: to stand between the innocent and danger. Every step we take, every mission we accept, is guided by that purpose.” His gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of those in front of him. Each word carried a sincerity that could only come from someone who truly believed in what they were saying- like you knew he did.

“But being a hero isn’t just about facing enemies. It’s about listening, learning, and growing to better serve those who depend on us.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle.

“We’re not perfect. We make mistakes, we struggle, and sometimes we fall short. But we always get back up, because that’s what this world needs. Not just fighters, but people who are willing to learn and adapt for the greater good.”

His tone softened slightly, the hard edge of his formality turning into a warmer, more personal connection. He leaned forward just enough to make the people in the crowd feel as though he were speaking directly to them, and it struck you then how good he was at this. 

“We’re here for more than just the next battle. We’re here to build trust. To show that heroism isn't defined by power, but by the strength of character.” He nodded at his own words, glancing back at you for a brief moment that caught your breath in your chest before looking out at the crowd again, head ducked slightly as if telling them a secret aloud.

“Today, we make this pledge to you: to build a future where peace isn’t just the absence of conflict, but the presence of trust. We’re ready to do the work, together, as a team, and as global citizens.” He straightened, his expression resolute. “We won’t back down from that promise.”

A moment of silence followed, the weight of his words hanging in the air before the crowd erupted into applause. The warm, earnest tone of his speech had resonated deeply, leaving no doubt about the Avengers’ commitment.

You watched from the side, your lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. It was the exact response you’d all hoped for, and you could tell Steve’s authenticity had struck a chord with everyone in the room.

Before Dr. Banner had a chance to panic, Steve was introducing him to the crowd, his arm waving him up. Arriving at the podium, he hesitated for a brief moment as Steve stepped aside, offering him an encouraging nod. With a deep breath, he approached the podium. He adjusted his tie- a small, nervous habit- before darting his attention around at the crowd.

“The challenges we face often demand extraordinary solutions,” he began, his voice almost steady despite the appearance of nerves in his expression. “As a scientist, my focus has always been on finding ways to meet those challenges without creating new ones.”

His words were deliberate, measured, as he paused to let the meaning of his statement sink in. He adjusted slightly, his gaze briefly flicking to you at the edge of the stage. Your calm and reassuring expression gave him the confidence to continue.

“That’s why the Avengers are implementing new protocols,” he said, his voice growing steadier. “From advanced planning to working with the global community, we’re taking action to ensure every mission prioritizes safety and sustainability.” He straightened slightly, finding his rhythm. “But it’s not just about having the right protocols in place- it’s about being accountable for every decision we make. Every mission, every intervention we undertake has its own set of risks. And we take responsibility for those risks.”

Your mind briefly wandered, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if Bruce’s words about preventing problems before they arose had a deeper meaning. Could he be referring to the new technological solutions they were developing? 

The thought flickered away as quickly as it came, but you couldn't help feeling a brief tension rise in your chest, wondering if AI was lingering in the background of his speech.

Dr. Banner looked down at the podium briefly, taking a slow breath. “The world deserves nothing less than our best; our best planning, our best resources, and our best people. That’s why we’ve committed to bringing the highest level of scientific expertise and innovation to every challenge we face. We are continuously refining our methods, using cutting-edge technology and research to ensure that we can respond to threats with the most effective solutions possible.”

His gaze met the audience again, his expression firm. “This is more than just a mission: it’s our duty. And we will hold ourselves to the highest standards. Always.” 

The murmurs from the audience quieted, replaced with thoughtful expressions as he spoke. He wasn’t the most comfortable in the spotlight, but his sincerity and careful articulation made an impression.

As he finished speaking, the press wasted no time launching their questions. 

A reporter in the front row, a sharp-looking woman with a notepad clutched tightly in her hand, raised her voice over the murmurs. “Dr. Banner, what guarantees can you provide that the Hulk won’t cause another disaster?”

Another reporter quickly followed, his tone more biting: “Do you think someone with your destructive potential belongs on this team?”

A third voice cut in before Banner could recover, firm and pointed: “And regarding Sokovia- was the level of destruction we saw in that footage really necessary?”

Words hung in the air, charged and heavy. 

Dr. Banner froze for a moment, his expression faltering as the weight of the questions pressed down on him. He opened his mouth to respond but glanced toward you, already making your way to the podium, calm and collected. 

You stepped forward, wasting no time, but in no hurry. 

Once you were in his place you nodded to him, signaling his valiant effort had come to an end and he could return to his place out of the center of attention.

“Good morning, everyone.” You scanned the crowd as you introduced yourself. The reporters shifted their attention to you, curiosity sparking in their eyes. “My name is _____ _____ and I have the ultimate pleasure of representing our heroes today. As for your question,” you brought your attention directly to the reporter who, moments ago, was provoking Dr. Banner with an accusation-level line of questioning, your voice calm and authoritative.

“The Avengers’ strength lies in their diversity- not just of abilities, but of perspectives,” you began, your gaze sweeping across the room. “Dr. Banner’s contributions have saved countless lives, and his expertise in both science and strategy continues to be invaluable.”

Your tone softened slightly, but the conviction behind your words remained steadfast. “This team isn’t about perfection; it’s about perseverance and purpose. Every member of the Avengers brings something unique to the table, and together, they’re stronger for it.”

Then, smoothly and without losing your rhythm, you turned to the third reporter. “And regarding Sokovia- the facility targeted was a HYDRA base located in a remote area with no civilian population. The structural damage shown in the footage reflects the collapse of the HYDRA compound itself. No civilians were harmed, and the mission remained controlled from start to finish.”

You let that settle for a beat, then added with measured clarity, “Eliminating HYDRA’s remaining strongholds isn’t just important- it’s vital. This team’s goal is to remove the last traces of the violent, extremist organization from the global landscape because no one should have to live with HYDRA operating in the shadows. Not our children, not their children, and not the brave men and women who spent their lives fighting for this country to do the very same.”

By the time you resigned, the tension had eased. The reporters nodded thoughtfully, and scattered applause broke out from a few members of the public in the audience.

Banner exhaled quietly, casting you a grateful glance as he found a comfortable standing position at the edge of the stage with the rest of the team. You met his gaze briefly, offering a small, reassuring smile before turning your attention back to the crowd.

“Any more questions?”

The Avengers returned to the common room of Stark Tower, the tension from the press release giving way to a lighter, more celebratory atmosphere. 

Lunch had been set up buffet-style along one side of the room, with an assortment of dishes that catered to everyone’s tastes- Thor’s towering plate of protein-heavy options was evidence of that- and the big-screen television was flipping through news stations showcasing the glowing reports on their event. 

You took your place near the edge of the gathering, sipping on a glass of champagne you desperately needed, listening to the team’s conversation with a polite smile, but keeping a professional distance. 

Relief was palpable in the room, a testament to how smoothly the press release had gone.

Tony Stark leaned casually against the bar next to you with a glass of scotch in hand, and raised it toward you. His tone was playful but carried an underlying sincerity.

“You pulled it off, Ms. _____,” he said, toasting to you quietly. “Managed to make us look like we have our act together. That’s no small feat.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” you said evenly, your tone polite but entirely devoid of warmth. “Your cooperation was appreciated.”

His smirk faltered for just a moment, picking up on the sudden shift in your demeanor. 

You had been calm and composed during the press release, even kind, when addressing questions and guiding the team, but this- this was colder, more distant. 

His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. 

He had an inkling about the cause of your change in tone, but the contrast between your demeanor during the event and now was jarring. 

Despite this acknowledgement, he wouldn’t let this be the reason he did any self-reflection. It was only a spat, after all, and you were overstepping… coming to him with your “concerns” about his life’s work- his expertise.

“Appreciated,” Tony echoed softly, his tone more reflective than sarcastic this time. He didn’t push further, instead raising his glass again and taking a sip before turning his attention back to the group.

Steve Rogers, seated nearby, observed the exchange in silence, his brow furrowing slightly. Though your behavior remained polite, he couldn’t ignore the subtle tension in the air. 

Something had shifted, and it didn’t sit well with him.

Feeling Steve’s gaze, you moved your focus back to the team. You engaged in small talk when prompted but avoided lingering conversations, even with Agent Hill, keeping your distance while still representing yourself as a part of the group.

The celebratory atmosphere continued, laughter and conversations filling the room. Thor was regaling Clint and Natasha with a slightly exaggerated tale of Asgardian revelry, while Bruce and Steve discussed the response to the press release.

Suddenly, Stark clapped his hands together, cutting through the chatter.

“Alright, folks,” he announced, his voice loud and commanding attention. “It’s time to get ready to party. Be there or be square.”

The room responded with a mixture of groans and cheers, Natasha chuckled as Clint threw a mock-excited fist pump. 

Thor grinned broadly, raising his glass. “I shall partake in this party with great enthusiasm!”

Tony smirked, but his usual bravado seemed weakened, forced. “I’ll be in the lab if anyone needs me.” He set his drink down and gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Don’t need me.” 

The tone was casual, but Steve caught the undertone immediately. Beneath the quip was an unmistakable restlessness, a nervous energy that hadn’t dissipated despite the day’s success. 

Without another word, Tony left, leaving the room momentarily quieter.

Steve’s gaze flicked back to you, who seemed to register Tony’s exit but didn’t react beyond a faint tightening of your posture. The weight of something unspoken hung between several members of the group, though no one voiced it yet.

Stark Tower had been utterly transformed. Warm lighting filled the giant room, chandeliers sparkling above as dozens of guests mingled below. Influential allies, dignitaries, and close supporters of the Avengers filled the space, their laughter and conversations blending with the beat of music.

The Avengers, dressed sharply, stood out even in a crowd of the city’s most polished and powerful individuals. Thor’s broad frame and unmistakable presence turned heads wherever he walked; while Natasha and Clint’s relaxed, confident energy made them the center of quieter, more intimate discussions.

You moved seamlessly through the crowd, your elegance drawing attention without demanding it. You were approachable, calm, and composed, ensuring every guest felt seen and valued. When dignitaries and allies praised the success of the press release, you accepted their words graciously but immediately redirected the focus back to the team.

“Thank you,” you said with a warm, modest smile. “But they’re the ones doing the hard work. I just help shine a light on what they’ve accomplished.”

The sincerity in your tone struck a chord with everyone you spoke to. Guests responded favorably, impressed by your humility and genuine nature. Some exchanged glances, clearly noting the contrast between your poise and the more flamboyant personalities of certain team members- Tony Stark chief among them.

Even those unfamiliar with your role quickly recognized you as the team's public face. The consensus was clear: you represented them flawlessly.

For now.

From across the room, Steve Rogers watched as you handled yourself with remarkable ease. You were in constant motion, moving from conversation to conversation with a practiced grace that seemed effortless. 

Your dress and understated jewelry were professional and tasteful, complementing the quiet confidence you exude. The cut of your dress was lower than your more commonly worn work outfits- not that Steve noticed, or, not that he'd point out to anyone.

Tony Stark, holding a drink, sidled up beside him, his voice low but amused. “You’re staring, Cap.”

Steve glanced at him, brow furrowing. “I’m just- making sure everything is going okay.”

“Sure,” Tony replied, smirking as he took a sip of his scotch. He gestured toward you, deep in conversation with a group of foreign representatives. “She’s a natural, isn’t she? Makes it look easy. Even managed to survive me.”

Steve allowed a small smile, watching as you gracefully accepted another round of compliments, your demeanor polished, yet distinctly genuine. “Yeah. She’s good.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eye. “Good, huh?”

Steve didn’t reply, his gaze returning to you as Tony chuckled softly to himself, downing the rest of his whiskey before heading to the bar. 

There, Thor was animatedly discussing someone named Jane with a bored Maria, his voice booming as he gestured wildly. Tony slid onto a barstool beside them, his mood shifting as he joined the conversation, though his thoughts seemed elsewhere.

You moved through the crowd, your practiced smile in place as you exchanged pleasantries with another round of guests. Spotting Clint Barton near the edge of the room, you seized the chance for a familiar face and some relief from the endless formalities.

“Agent Barton,” you greeted warmly as you approached.

Clint turned, grinning. “Ms. _____, the woman of the hour,” he teased. “It’s been a while. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

You chuckled softly, your shoulders relaxing. “Not at all. I’ve just been busy trying to make all of you look good.”

Natasha Romanoff joined them smoothly, a glass of champagne in hand. “And doing a damn good job of it,” she added, her tone light and genuine.

“She’s not wrong,” Clint agreed. “That was impressive. Honestly, the way you stepped in for Banner? Flawless.”

“Thank you,” you replied modestly, your smile widening at the compliment. “I really couldn’t have done it without all of you, though.”

Clint tilted his head, a playful smirk on his lips. “Spoken like a true leader.” 

A brief moment of silence washed over the three of you, ignoring the bumping speakers and hundreds of conversations happening around you. You looked up at the bar where Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner stood- not next to each other, but close enough to be able to admire them both from afar. 

“You know…” you began, your voice casual but deliberate as you leaned into Natasha just a little, “this would be the perfect time to talk to him.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, her expression guarded. “Talk to who?”

“Bruce,” you replied, nodding subtly toward the bar where Bruce stood with Steve, awkwardly nursing a glass of something dark and non-alcoholic. 

She hesitated, her gaze shifting toward Bruce. She was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said finally, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

You gave her a knowing look. “Natasha, you’re one of the most fearless people I’ve ever met. Are you really going to let this be the one thing that beats you?”

Her smirk grew, but she didn't answer immediately. Instead, she took a sip of her champagne and let her gaze linger on Bruce.

“You’re persistent,” she said finally, her tone amused but resigned.

“It’s one of my better qualities,” you quipped with a small smile.

Natasha exhaled softly, then nodded. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, I’m blaming you.”

Your smile widened. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

She handed her almost-empty glass to you and made her way toward Bruce and Steve, her steps confident and flowing. 

Clint, who had been slyly observing the exchange with mild curiosity, raised an eyebrow at you.

“What did you just do?” he asked, folding his arms.

“Nothing she won't thank me for later,” you replied lightly, taking a small sip of Natasha’s abandoned champagne.

He chuckled. “You’re braver than I thought. I’d have stayed out of that.”

“Someone has to nudge things along,” you said with a shrug, before clearing your throat awkwardly and letting the silence linger. “I need a moment... I’ll be back.”

You handed Clint the glass and made your way toward the powder room, weaving gracefully through the crowd. As you left, you cast a quick glance over your shoulder, catching Natasha as she reached Bruce. 

A proud smile touched your lips before you disappeared down the hallway.

You leaned against the sink in the powder room, your fingers clutching the counter as you stared at your reflection. The evening had gone smoothly, but the weight of maintaining your composure all day was finally catching up to you- not to mention the 3 and a quarter glasses of champagne.

You took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric of your dress and adjusting a stray strand of hair.

Just a couple more hours.

Meanwhile, back in the main room, Natasha had made her way across the bar top from Bruce. She leaned casually against the bar, pouring herself a new drink to ignore.

Bruce turned around to lean against it, mirroring Natasha’s body language. “What's a girl like you doing working in a place like this?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, keeping her focus on the champagne bottle, sensing the playful tone coming from Dr. Banner. “Fella done me wrong.”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “You got lousy taste in men, kid.” 

Natasha tilted her head, her expression softening slightly. “He's not so bad. He has an anger problem, but deep down he's all fluff.”

Bruce looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, bashful smile. “Sounds like a great guy.”

“He is,” she hums, eyes flicking up to him. “What do you think?” She was now leaning into his space, propping her head up with her arm. “Should I run with it?”

“Um- run with it, right? I mean- what did he do that was wrong?” He stammered, realizing this might not just be playful banter.

“Not a damn thing.” She slid back into a standing position, holding her glass in her hand and smiling almost-sensually at him from across the counter. “But never say never,” she teased, walking away, leaving Bruce confused and intrigued as she made her way upstairs. 

You emerged from the hallway, composed as ever, and made your way back to Clint, who was still standing in the same spot, chatting with a few guests. You plucked Natasha’s abandoned champagne flute from his hand with a quiet, “Thanks,” before slipping seamlessly back into the room’s rhythm.

Clint grinned at you as you pushed on. “You’re a machine, _____!”

Steve, sipping a beer nearby, caught the brief interaction between Bruce and Natasha. 

With a cheeky grin on his face, he turned to Bruce who was now left in a dust of suspense. “It’s nice- you and Romanoff.”

Bruce glanced at Steve, furrowing his brow. “What?” he stammered, his cheeks warming. “No- I mean, Natasha and me- that’s not-”

Steve smirked, setting his drink on the bar and leaning against it casually. “It’s okay. No one’s breaking any bylaws.”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “She just likes to flirt.”

Steve straightened up slightly, grabbing another beer from behind the bar. “I’ve seen her flirt- up close. This ain’t that.” He tilted the bottle toward Bruce for emphasis. “Look- as maybe the world’s leading authority in waiting too long: don’t. You both deserve a win.”

Bruce blinked, his eyes darting toward Natasha, who was now speaking with someone new upstairs. He hesitated, the gears in his head clearly turning. 

Perhaps in an attempt to deflect, he gestured discreetly toward you, who was across the room engaging another group of dignitaries.

“And what about Ms. _____?” he asked, his tone light and curious.

Steve, now standing a bit straighter, shrugged. “Ms. _____? Yeah, she’s good.”

Bruce smirked knowingly, watching him watch you. After a few moments, he shook his head and chuckled, bringing his drink back up to his lips. 

Steve blinked away, having not realized he was watching you from across the room as you laughed politely at something a guest said, not-so-subtly tracing his eyes over the way the chandelier lighting sparkles against your hair and the way your heels add a couple inches of length to your barely-visible legs.

Bruce spoke up again, grinning. “It’s okay. I get it. She’s impressive.”

Steve sighed, a faint smile twitching at his lips. “She is.”

Bruce chuckled and left it at that, though the amusement in his expression was hard to miss. In hopes of a change in atmosphere, Steve took a swig of his beer, let out an embarrassed chuckle, and walked off, leaving Bruce to mull over the exchange.

A moment later, Bruce’s brows furrowed as something clicked in his mind. His eyes widened slightly, and he hurried after Steve, his voice raised just enough to catch his attention. 

“Wait- what do you mean ‘up close?’”

Steve glanced back, a grin playing at his lips, but he didn’t answer. He simply turned the corner, leaving Bruce trailing behind, muttering to himself and trying to piece it together.

The once-bustling atmosphere of Stark Tower had quieted, the last of the guests having left a while ago. 

Now, only the Avengers- including yourself, James Rhodes, Helen Cho, and Maria Hill- remained, the group’s polished demeanor from earlier replaced by a more relaxed ease. 

The music had been turned down to a gentle hum, and the lights were dimmed to a soft glow. Drinks and snacks were scattered across the coffee table in the lounge area of the lobby where everyone had gravitated, sitting or leaning casually on furniture and each other. 

Perfect time to sing Kumbaya.

You sat closely beside Maria on one of the couches, your earlier reservations about staying forgotten under Maria’s convincing insistence. 

“You’ve earned a break,” Maria had told you earlier, nudging you gently. “No one will care if you let your hair down for a bit.”

Now, you found yourself laughing softly at a story Clint was animatedly recounting about a particularly ridiculous mission. Natasha sat beside him, shaking her head with a soft smirk, occasionally chiming in to emphasize the details.

Thor was sprawled in an oversized armchair, a whiskey glass looking miniscule in his hand, adding boisterous commentary to every story. “And what did you do next, Hawk-Eye? Surely your aim was true!”

Clint rolled his eyes but grinned. “Always.”

Bruce and Helen were engaged in a quiet conversation nearby, the two of them leaning slightly toward one another as they spoke in hushed tones. 

Maria, sipping her 3rd… maybe 4th drink, leaned over and poked you gently with her elbow. “It's been really nice having you on my team again.”

You chuckled softly, finally setting your drink down and leaning back into the couch. “I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Maria replied, eyes scanning your features as she tried to gauge where your denial was coming from.

You glanced around the room, noting the genuine camaraderie between them. It was different from the professionalism they displayed to the public; the more time you spend with them the more like a family they seem.

You smiled, taking in the scene. 

For a moment, you allowed yourself to let go of the façade you’d worn all day, laughing genuinely as Clint began reenacting one of Thor’s more dramatic moments from a battle, much to Thor’s loud protests.

Maybe a couple hours more.

Steve, who had been standing near the bar, quietly observing the room, noticed your relaxed posture and allowed himself a small smile before returning to his drink.

It was the first time he’d seen you ease your shoulders all day- and he’d seen a lot of you. 

You looked lighter, but what he couldn’t make out was the expression reaching your eyes- whether it was peace or if it was surrender, the kind that happens when someone’s too tired to hold the mask up any longer. He felt it land somewhere deep and unguarded- the awareness that if you slipped the mask off like you briefly had with him, or if you chose to hide behind it again- he’d notice. 

He’d already noticed more than he was entirely comfortable with.

The atmosphere in the lounge had grown even more relaxed, each member having had more than their fair share of drinks and playful banter. Empty glasses and snack plates were scattered across the table, remnants of the night's festivities. 

Thor, ever the center of attention, leaned back with a glowing grin, his hammer, Mjölnir, resting conspicuously on the table before him.

Clint, eyes gleaming with mischief, leaned forward, “So how does the party trick work?" he asked, insinuating Thor's magic was merely a street performance. 

"Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor." He beamed with pride, watching as Clint, who only days ago was sling-bound, stood and stretched his arms in preparation.

Tony finished his glass of whiskey and announced for the room to hear, “Clint, you've had a tough week- we won't hold it against you if you can't get it up." 

You couldn't help but snort out a loud laugh, earning a surprised, entertained glance from both Tony and Steve. 

"You know I've seen stuff like this before, right?" Clint grunted as he put incredible effort into lifting it- to no avail. "But- I, uh- still don't know how you do it."

"Smell the judgment from over here?" Tony said, leaning back in his seat.

"Please, Stark, by all means." Clint gestured toward the hammer as he plopped back down on the sofa, worn out from the exertion. 

"Never one to shrink from an honest challenge." The group watches as Tony stands up and tries confidently with one hand to lift it- again, to no avail. “One moment.” 

You watch in awe as he jogs out of the room and back into the room, now with his Iron Man gauntlet, and tries again. 

No luck. 

“Right- so, if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?" Tony huffed, standing back a moment, still determined.

"Yes, of course." Thor laughed, confident that wasn't a realistic concern. 

Tony, much to everyone’s amusement, tries- and fails- once more before motioning for Colonel Rhodes to help him.

"Are you even pulling?" Both men had their robot arms using full strength, bringing everyone in the room to laughter. 

"Are you on my team?" Tony shouted, offended.

"Just represent! Pull!" Rhodes grunted back.

The air released from their gauntlets as they gave up, huffing and walking away defeated. Tony was still catching his breath, but managed to point at Steve, “Alright, Cap. You're up.”

Steve didn’t hesitate as he stepped up, a sheepish smile on his face. 

"Guess I'll give it a try," he said, wrapping his fingers around the handle directly in front of you. 

Unlike the rest of the team, you’re not watching the hammer. You’re watching the flattening of his palm around the handle and the way his arm flexes under the tight, rolled hem of his button-up, and trying to keep from salivating. 

I’ve had too much to drink.

He pulled gently, and for the briefest moment that only you and Thor seemed to notice, the hammer looked as if it had moved, but he quickly released it, laughing. You watched as Thor's face dropped and then concealed his shock with laughter when Steve stepped back. “Ah, maybe next time.” 

Not knowing how to respond, you followed Thor in laughing.

Steve playfully gestured to Natasha who responded immediately, putting her hands up, “That's not a question I need answered.” 

You and Maria laughed in kind, empathizing.

As you opened your eyes, finishing your laugh, Steve was standing within arm’s reach, holding his hand out to you. The first time he's interacted with you since that morning- asking you to hold his hand and try the hammer. 

You looked around briefly, your face warm and red from drink… mostly. 

Instinctively, you stood up and fixed your dress, self-conscious of the eyes on you. Maria looked up at you from the couch, stars in her eyes in childish wonder. Tony smirked from across the room, the others were just excited to see a normal person try to lift Thor's hammer. 

Steve’s hand remained steady, his blue eyes meeting yours in silent reassurance, despite your long hesitation. You felt the banging of your heart racing and wondered if everyone else could feel it, too. 

By the time you realized how long you had been staring, you were ready to run away.

“Actually-” you said lightly, brushing your hair back, “I think I should call it a night. It’s been a long day, and I have an early start tomorrow.”

The group groaned collectively, playful disappointment spreading through the room.

“Nooo, don't go,” Maria reached up to dramatically latch onto your arm.

“Aw, come on!” Clint called out, grinning. “You can’t back out now!”

Thor chuckled deeply, his voice booming. “A wise choice if you wish to avoid disappointment!”

Steve, still standing in front of you with his arm now extended weakly, frowned slightly, the smile slipping from his face. His disappointment was evident, though he tried to hide it. “You don’t have to leave so soon. Stay a little longer.”

You shook your head, your polite smile returning. “Thank you, Captain, but I’ve done what I came to do. I'll confirm with Ms. Potts, but I believe it’s time for me to move on.”

The room grew quiet at your words, the weight of them not lost on anyone. Steve looked wounded by the use of his title this far into your stay with them.

He opened his mouth to respond as you took several steps toward the door. Before he could say anything, a sharp feedback noise pierced the air, startling everyone.

The sound was loud and jarring, making the group wince as they looked around. The music abruptly cut, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

“What the hell was that?” Natasha asked, her voice low and sharp as she stood from the couch, her eyes scanning the room as Stark silently, smoothly pulled out his phone to investigate. 

The sharp feedback noise gave way to a distorted, mechanical voice, dripping with malice.

“Celebrating while the world suffers…”

The voice reverberated through the room, sending chills down your spine as you turned toward the sound.

From the shadows behind you, a towering, distorted figure emerged. 

Metallic, menacing, and glowing with an ominous red light- directly in front of you, having positioned yourself to leave.

The Avengers immediately tensed, their relaxed postures replaced by combat readiness.

Steve’s piercing gaze shifted to Tony, his tone sharp and controlled. “Stark?”

Tony, leaning slightly against the bar, raised his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes narrowed with suspicion as he spoke into his phone. “JARVIS?”

The metallic figure tilted its head, almost contemplative. “I’m sorry,” it said in a distorted voice, “I was asleep. Or… I was a-dream.” Its gaze flicked to no one in particular, as though speaking to itself. “I… killed the other guy.”

Steve took a large step forward, both to assert himself and, perhaps subconsciously, to get closer to you, his voice rising slightly. “You killed someone?”

Its head turned toward him slowly, its tone almost regretful. “Wouldn’t have been my first call.”

Thor stepped forward now, Mjölnir in hand, his tone booming. “Who sent you?”

It didn’t answer directly. Instead, a recording of Tony’s voice played, cold and clinical: “I see a suit of armor around the world.”

The room froze.

Bruce Banner’s face fell, his expression one of shock and betrayal as he turned toward Tony. “Ultron,” he said softly, the name laced with disbelief.

You, standing in the front of the group, almost as if to futilely shield them, felt a chill run through you. Your eyes darted toward Tony, whose jaw clenched visibly, but you quickly shifted your focus back to the threat in front of you. 

Slowly, and as subtly as possible, you began backing away, your hand moving toward the concealed holster beneath your dress.

Ultron’s glowing eyes scanned the room as it continued, seemingly indifferent to the tension its words had created. “In the flesh. Or, not yet. Not this… chrysalis. But I’m ready. I’m… on mission.”

Natasha, calm and composed, stepped slightly closer to Steve, her tone level. “What mission?”

Ultron paused, its tone turning eerily serene.

“Peace in our time.”

In a sudden burst of movement, Ultron raised an arm, signaling a swarm of Stark Industries drones bursting through the windows and doors, shattering the glass and sending shards flying.

The room erupted into chaos. 

Out of nowhere, Maria shoved you- hard- forcing you to the ground several feet from where you stood, just as the first wave of drones crashed through the walls, drawing her weapon as the team scattered.

You hit the ground, the air knocked from your lungs, but your instincts took over. You reached into your neckline and beneath your dress, your fingers finding the concealed holster sewn discreetly into the fabric of your bodice. 

With a practiced motion, you pull your firearm free, chambering a round as you get to your feet.

Maria, crouched nearby, glanced over at you, her expression shifting to surprise. “You came armed?”

You reloaded calmly, your voice steady. “Learned from the best.”

Maria smirked softly, her eyes gleaming with approval.

Shattered glass and chunks of debris rained down as the Avengers leapt into action.

You stood your ground, your firearm steady in your hands as you fired precise shots. You stuck close to Maria, moving efficiently to cover her side while the Avengers engaged the drones head-on.

Maria crouched low, taking calculated shots as she looked around for your teammates. 

Suddenly, an explosion nearby sent a heavy chunk of debris flying toward Maria, sending her backwards. 

“Maria!” you shouted, immediately dropping to your knees and crawling to her side. You threw yourself over her, shielding her with your body as another drone targeted your position.

“Stay down!” you yelled, your voice commanding as you raised your weapon, unsuccessfully firing at the approaching machine. Your breathing was ragged, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you braced for the worst.

From above, the distinct hum of a repulsor blast rang out. A sudden flash of energy obliterated the drone that had been zeroing in on you and Maria.

You turned your head sharply, your eyes wide, meeting Tony Stark’s armored figure hovering nearby.

“You scared me for a second there, kid,” Tony said, his tone sharp and metallic, carrying a distinct note of concern. His helmet lifted, revealing his furrowed brow. “I didn’t know you could shoot.”

Your chest heaved as you sat up slightly, your voice sharp, a mixture of anger, fear, and surprise. “There's a lot you don’t know, sir.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Touché.” 

Without waiting for a response, he jetted off, blasting another drone mid-flight as he rejoined the fight.

You exhaled heavily, glancing back down at Maria. “You okay?”

Maria groaned, nodding as she began to sit up. “I’ve been better. But you? Not bad for a paper pusher.”

You, helping Maria to your feet, responded, “Just doing my job.”

Amid the chaos, Steve Rogers swung his shield with precision, taking down another drone before his attention was drawn to a sudden burst of light. Turning toward the source, he saw Tony obliterate a drone targeting you.

Steve’s stomach clenched at the sight, his concern mounting as he spotted you on the ground beside Maria, debris scattered around you. Without hesitation, he started toward you, raising his shield in case another drone attempted to strike.

But before he could reach you, you were already back on your feet, moving with sharp focus. You helped Maria steady herself, your firearm held firmly as you fired with practiced precision. Each shot landed, taking down the advancing drones with swift, efficient movements.

Steve slowed his approach, his protective instinct turning into surprise and admiration. You moved with quick reflexes and unwavering focus, seamlessly covering Maria’s side while keeping your own position secure.

He lingered for a moment, watching you with a mix of relief and respect. The sharp focus in your expression, the way you carried yourself under pressure- it wasn’t what he’d expected. 

“Not bad, Ms. _____,” he muttered under his breath as he raised his shield and charged toward another wave of drones.

After a couple dozen more drones were destroyed, the room fell quiet for a moment. 

“Well…” Ultron began, a sarcasm in his voice that was eerily familiar, “that was dramatic.” 

You listened, unsure where in the room the voice was coming from exactly, leaning protectively against Maria who was now bleeding from somewhere in her lower extremities.

“I'm sorry, I know you mean well.” He continued, coming into view. You pushed against the glass on the ground, forcing Maria to violently scoot back, out of Ultron’s sight. “You just didn't think it through.”

From where you sat, you could see Dr. Cho crouched behind a piano by the window, visibly shaken. Where Natasha and Bruce had previously shared subtle flirtation, they now hide behind the counter. You turned your attention toward Ultron who was now becoming more visible at the front of the room, prompting Thor, Captain America, and Iron Man to approach. 

“You want to protect the world, but you don't want it to change. How is humanity saved if it's not allowed to evolve?” His question was laced in disgust and contempt as he lifted up a mangled Stark Industries drone by its head. “With these… puppets?” He crushed the drone's head like he was smashing a pea between two fingers. “There's only one path to peace,” he announced as Thor moved forward, preparing his hammer for one last attack, “The Avengers’ extinction-” 

The team sat in silence as Thor's hammer went straight through Ultron and right back into his grasp like a boomerang. 

Maria tried to catch her breath as you began assessing her injuries, keeping your firearm next to you, just in case. 

“All our work is gone.” Bruce looked at the equipment he and Tony had been tinkering on for weeks. “Ultron cleared out, used the internet as an escape hatch.”

“He's been in everything. Files, surveillance. Probably knows more about us than we know about each other.” Natasha looked around the room, wondering what secrets each of them held that Ultron is now the proud keeper of.

Rhodey, increasingly irritated, speaks. “He's in your files, he's in the internet. What if he decides to access something a little more exciting?”

Maria, emotionless, responds, “Nuclear codes.” 

You raised your eyebrows, looking up at Maria from where you knelt on the floor in front of her, using tweezers to pick out shards of glass from her foot.

Rhodey nods once, “Nuclear codes. Look- we need to make some calls, assuming we still can.”

“Nukes?” Natasha sounded unsure. “He said he wanted us dead.”

Steve, who had been silently stewing in thought until now, responded to Natasha with a correction no one hoped to hear, “He didn't say dead, he said extinct.”

“He also said he killed somebody.” Clint had his hand on his brow, likely trying to pinch his way out of a migraine.

“But there wasn't anyone else in the building.” Maria interjected.

With a grieved sigh, Tony finally had something to say after making his way around the lab. “Yes there was.” 

Everyone watched as he pressed a couple buttons and brought up a holographic sphere, cracked and broken. 

JARVIS.

Bruce sat down and put his head in his hands. “This is insane.”

Steve nodded solemnly, “JARVIS was the first line of defense. He would've shut Ultron down, it makes sense.” He looked over at you, who had no idea what was happening, but picked up the implications clearly. 

You exchanged emotionless glances.

Bruce shakes his head in disbelief. “No, Ultron could've assimilated JARVIS. This isn't strategy, this is… rage.”

You and the others were startled by the sudden opening of the lab doors and the earth-shaking stomping that followed as Thor made his way across the lab, lifting his arm to grab Tony by his throat. 

You noted that, unquestionably, you were right in your concern. 

Tony, now hovering several inches above the floor, choked out, “Come on. Use your words, buddy.”

“I have more than enough words to describe you, Stark.” You pulled back at Thor's words, almost afraid of being caught in the cross-fire from across the room. 

Steve, noticing your expression out of the corner of his eye, shouted, hoping to separate them. “Thor! The Legionnaire.” 

It worked. Thor dropped Tony from where he was held, causing him to stumble back onto some electronic panels that you were sure had some important purpose- had they not been burnt to oblivion- and looked to the room to explain.

“The trail went cold about a hundred miles out but it's headed north, and it has the scepter.” Thor looked back at Tony with a palpable hatred. "Now we have to retrieve it- again.”

“I don't understand…” Dr. Cho, who had been silently taking in the situation before them, softly directed her attention to Tony. “You built this program. Why is it trying to kill us?” 

To everyone's surprise, that question was followed by deep, ironic chuckles by Tony.

Thor charged him up again, clenching his fists, “You think this is funny?” 

You looked at Tony in shock. While he desperately tried to hold in his laugh, Dr. Banner stood next to him shaking his head, signaling to Tony that laughing was probably not the right response.

“No. It's probably not, right? Is this very terrible? Is it so... it is. It's so terrible.” 

You reflexively opened your mouth, as if you had anything at all to say other than ‘I told you so.’

I fucking told you so.

“This could've been avoided if you hadn't played with something you don't understand.” Thor roared at him, earning another flinch from you who looked to Maria for comfort, but didn't receive it because she was also closely watching the impending fight.

“No- I'm sorry.” 

He's not sorry.

“It is funny. It's a hoot that you don't get why we need this.” Every word Tony said pushed you further into amazement. 

He had unleashed hostile AI into the world; the situation they found themselves in was far worse than any horror story you read online, and he had the gall to act righteous here.

Bruce tried to diffuse the tension. “Tony, maybe this might not be the time to-”

Tony turned to Bruce in shock, “Really! That's it? You just roll over, show your belly, every time somebody snarls.”

Bruce shrugged as if to say, ‘duh,’ and responded matter-of-factly, “Only when I've created a murder bot.”

Tony looked around the room in self-defense. “We didn't. We weren't even close.” He looked back to Bruce, perhaps for back up. “Were we close to an interface?” Tony and Bruce looked at each other, Bruce obviously unsure how to respond.

Steve put his hand up. “Well, you did something right. And you did it right here.” He looked over to Maria for a moment, and then you for a longer moment, and then back at Tony. “The Avengers were supposed to be different than SHIELD.”

Tony laughed in exasperation. “Anybody remember when I carried a nuke through a wormhole?”

“No, it's never come up.” Rhodey responded, a macabre joke. 

“Saved New York?” Tony looked around the room. His focus landed on you with a single pointed finger. “I know damn well you remember that, it was your job to tell the whole goddamn world about it.”

That's true.

“Recall that? A hostile alien army came charging through a hole in space. We're standing three hundred feet below it.” He gestured to the sky dramatically before letting the theatrics falter for a moment. “We're the Avengers. We can bust arms dealers all the livelong day, but, that- up there?” He raised one finger to the sky. “That's... that's the end game. How were you guys planning on beating that?”

Steve looked at Tony pointedly. “Together.”

Tony dropped his arms in defeat. “We'll lose.”

“Then we'll do that together, too.” 

You found yourself pushing a lump down your throat. The emotions that tonight had brought up were all over the place. In this moment you had a mixture of fear, exhilaration, and… veneration. 

You watched Tony turn in defeat, leaning forward against his equipment. 

“Thor's right. Ultron's calling us out. And I'd like to find him before he's ready for us. The world's a big place. Let's start making it smaller.”

Woah.

The team disbanded slowly, each member carrying the weight of what had just transpired. You lingered near the back, steps measured as you walked alongside Maria, ensuring she was steady despite the bandaged foot.

Maria gave you a quick nod of reassurance, but you leaned in for a hug, grateful your friend was okay. 

You let go at the same time, and Maria went on her way, leaving you alone in the quiet hallway. You exhaled, running a hand through your hair and rubbing your eyes aggressively, the adrenaline from the night finally dropping away.

Footsteps approached from behind, steady and deliberate, causing you to turn quickly. 

“_____,” Steve’s voice came, low and calm. 

You looked up, finding him standing just a few feet away, his expression both curious and intent. 

“What was that about… moving on?” He asked, his tone steady but carrying a hint of something deeper- something that wasn’t just professional concern.

You paused, your gaze meeting his for a long moment. A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips, though your eyes carried the weight of the night’s events. 

“Plans changed,” you said simply, your voice quiet but certain.

Steve nodded slightly, his own lips moving into the smallest smile. You turned and walked away, your heart heavy but your resolve firm. Plans had indeed changed.

Guess I’m not done yet.

“Good morning, Captain Rogers,” you replied lightly with a fluttered blink, momentarily caught off guard.

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Just Steve. No need for formalities.”

You nodded, smiling as you accepted the coffee. “Thank you- this is much needed.”

“Figured as much,” he said, settling into the corner chair closest to where you stood. “I’m excited to see what you’ve got. Don’t worry, these guys aren’t as intimidating as they like to pretend.”

The reassurance in his voice was impactful in a way you weren’t expecting and you found yourself suppressing a grin as you turn away to scan over the screen for the seventh time since turning it on. “If you say so,” you said with a small laugh, feeling the knot of tension in your chest loosen slightly.

Steve leaned back in his seat, his expression shifting into something more amused. “Wait until you get Clint in a good mood- he’ll knock them down a few pegs for you.”

An increasingly genuine smile crept up on you as you nodded, shifting your bag to the foot of the table opposite him. “I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you replied, your voice instinctively lighter than before.

Steve lowered his eyes to the outline you’d placed in front of his seat, flipping it open with unnecessary care. The move felt intentional, like he was trying not to track you across the room as you worked.

You tapped through the presentation one last time, smoothed the corner of your notes, and straightened the packets at the empty seats. Satisfied, you returned to your spot at the head of the table and reached for the coffee waiting for you.

At exactly 10:00 AM, the door opened with a silence only achievable by Natasha Romanoff, her movements measured and deliberate as she took a seat near the center of the table. She offered you a small nod, her expression calm. 

Before you could return the gesture, Thor strode in, his booming presence filling the room like a sudden burst of sunlight. 

“Good morning, Lady _____!” He exclaimed, his grin wide and his voice brimming with enthusiasm. He took a seat near Natasha, tightly folding his hands in front of him as if ready for a battle plan.

Bruce Banner followed soon after, slipping in with quiet steps. He gave you a quick, polite smile before settling into a seat directly across from Agent Romanoff, his shoulders slightly hunched in a reserved manner.

The last to arrive was Tony Stark, who strolled in with all the confidence of a man who believed he owned not just the building but the very air within it. His smirk was firmly in place as he scanned the room. 

“Did I miss the part where we all hold hands and sing kumbaya, or is that later?” He quipped, sliding into the chair at the head of the table across from you.

You met his sarcasm with the same steady calm you’ve rehearsed countless times with countless personalities all comparable to his. “We’re saving that for after the press conference succeeds, Mr. Stark,” you replied evenly.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Good answer. Party at my place afterwards,” he said, his smirk softening into something almost approving.

With the team assembled, you took a small breath, positioning yourself before the screen at the front wall to address them. The screen behind you shone with the opening lines of the draft timeline. You held your tablet lightly, your voice steady as you began.

“Thank you all for being here,” you started, your eyes moving briefly to each member of the team, giving them equal amounts of attention. “As you know, public perception of the Avengers is... complicated right now. The goal of this press conference is to repair the relationship between us and the civilian population by taking accountability- but not blame.”

You let the words linger, ensuring their importance was felt before continuing. “This isn’t about shifting responsibility or avoiding hard conversations, nor is it about allowing the truth to sound worse than it is. It’s about showing the public that you, the Avengers, understand the impact of your actions and are committed to continue to do better for as long as you have the opportunity to serve them.”

Your tone was firm and reassuring, carefully walking the line between addressing concerns and inspiring confidence. The room was quiet, the gravity of your words settling over the team. Even Tony Stark, for all his usual theatrics, was silent, his smirk fading into something thoughtful.

You had their attention, and that was the first step. 

“The way we do that is by speaking to them. Not through a document, not through the Mayor- by standing before them and sharing your message to them directly.” You couldn’t help but catch Steve in your periphery, his encouraging smile nudging you to continue. “This message isn’t just about addressing criticism. It’s about showing people who you are, what you stand for, and reminding them why they trust the Avengers.”

Your gaze shifted toward Steve Rogers, then Bruce Banner as you spoke, your tone clear and deliberate. “I’ve identified Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner as the most effective voices to deliver this message.”

Steve straightened slightly, listening intently.

“Captain Rogers.” You smiled softly, settling your gaze over him. “Your leadership and accountability are exactly what people need to see right now. You represent everything this team stands for- integrity, responsibility, and trust.”

Steve gave a small nod, his expression softening with gratitude.

“And Dr. Banner,” you added, turning toward Bruce, who was already shifting anxiously in his seat, “you bring empathy and intellect to the conversation. Your voice shows the humanity behind the science- the balance people need to hear from us.”

He held an expected look of unease. “I’m not exactly… comfortable with public speaking,” he admitted, his voice quiet and his eyes unable to maintain contact with anyone for more than a second.

You offered him a reassuring smile. “That’s exactly why you’re the right choice. You don’t need to deliver a polished speech, you just need to be honest.”

He hesitated, then gave you a small nod, though his uncertainty lingered evident in his posture.

Before you could continue, Tony Stark leaned back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh and devious smirk. “No offense to the old man and the- uh, green man- but what about me? I'm basically the face of this organization.”

You met him with your usual calm, sharpened just enough to register the way he needed it to. “You are inarguably the most recognizable member of this team, Mr. Stark, but this isn’t about recognition- it’s about connection, empathy. People need to feel they can rely on you, not just see your face on a billboard.”

He did a half-spin in his chair, placing his hand on his heart in mock offense, “I'm empathetic! People love me.”

“Sure they do,” Agent Romanoff teased through a smirk, rolling her eyes at him.

“Fine, but if this tanks I'm owed an ‘I told you so.” His tone was satirical, but in all honesty, he was probably serious.

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by who has the last word on this one,” you replied smoothly, an amused smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Satisfied that you navigated Tony’s challenge, you turned your attention to Natasha Romanoff, who was actively grinning at your retort. “If Clint is able, I’d like him to attend the event, as well. Seeing the team stand together sends the kind of message we want represented right now.”

She studied you for a moment, assessing you with the same intensity she uses in the field. Finally, she gave a small nod. “I’ll talk to him.”

You nodded once in return, then looked down and tapped your tablet; and the next slide illuminated the screen. 

“Before we decide on what we will say to the people,” you murmur, looking down as you reached into your bag and withdrew the folded newspaper you’d picked up yesterday. “We need to know what the people are saying.”

You lifted the worn page of The New York Tribune for the room to see, one finger moving to the headline stretched across the front page:

“Sokovia Fortress in Ruins After Avengers Raid; Scrutiny Mounts.”

“This,” you said, lifting it higher for emphasis, “is how a major outlet framed Sokovia.”

The room shifted subtly. Steve’s posture straightened as he leaned forward, hands still placed on his lap as his eyes followed the words. Banner’s brows knit with discomfort and Natasha’s eyes flicked over the headline- blank, but assessing.

You laid the paper on the table, fingers tapping once on its surface.

“This isn’t the Bugle,” you said. “This isn’t tabloids or bloggers. The Tribune is measured, careful. They don’t accuse unless they think they can back it up, and right now, all they have are twenty seconds of shaky footage and a castle that looks like it imploded.”

You gave that a beat, looking over the group as they recoiled slightly.

“But that headline?” you continued, looping the room with your gaze one more time. “It implies that even reputable outlets think something went wrong. They’re not calling it reckless, yet. They’re saying the public deserves answers.”

You tapped the tablet again, turning to the screen on the wall as the slide turned to NPR’s transcript.

“NPR isn’t accusing either,” you said, “but they’re leaning into the uncertainty.”

Highlighted text scrolled across the shared screen:

‘Early reports confirm the destruction of a HYDRA facility in Sokovia, though the scope and necessity of the damage remain unclear. Officials have not provided details.’

Banner muttered, crossing his arms tightly and leaning back with a defeated scoff, “Scope and necessity- come on…”

“Exactly,” you said with a downward nod, immediately turning your eyes to Dr. Banner. “They don’t know your side of the story, so they’re speculating.”

You turned again, and clicked to the next slide- Twitter.

Steve straightened slightly- that quiet, braced focus he slipped into whenever something unfamiliar demanded his attention. Tony exhaled sharply the moment the feed appeared, his expression twisting into something between amusement and exhaustion, clearly feeling as though reading mean tweets is below his pay grade.

“Now this,” you said, “is where the messy conversation is happening.”

You keep your eyes on the screen as you step closer to it, your arm extended so you can point to the screenshots you’d taken and pasted under titled columns.

Concerned: @ urbanreporting: Why is the entire fortress rubble? Was all that force necessary? @ whatdahail: Looks like the Avengers leveled the place. How controlled was this, really? @ idahofilmnerd: That video looks like the middle of a city. Are we sure that wasn’t residential? Supportive: @ bekwerky: No casualties reported. That seems like it should be in the headline, imo. @ AnalystElise: A destroyed HYDRA fort is still a destroyed HYDRA fort. @ SokoviaLocal: I live in Novi Grad. Nothing happened near us. That HYDRA base was isolated.

The energy shifted more than you expected it to, each Avenger’s eyes glued to the supportive comments with an attention that showed they knew even less than they thought they had. You wanted to catch that focus before it turned into anxiety, speaking softly when you felt they’d all had enough time to absorb the screen.

“This,” you said, gesturing to the supporters’ column, “is good news. People are defending you. People who live in Sokovia. People who understand HYDRA. People who see that no civilians were harmed.”

You paused again, tone measured and firm.

“But this,” you said, holding up the Tribune again with a slight lift of your wrist, “is the narrative that will solidify if we say nothing.”

Steve studied the headline again, a muscle ticking once at the edge of his jaw. “Then we explain what really happened.”

You nodded, eyes landing on him even softer than before. “We clarify. We fill in the gaps the public is getting wrong- that the HYDRA base was remote, that the strike was contained, and that only HYDRA took the hit.”

You lowered the paper., turning back to the room.

“And we reinforce the truth: that this team operates with civilians at the center of every call. That’s been the standard, and it will stay the standard.”

You were stunned silent by the eyes on you, each of them showing you the kind of attention that didn’t feel like scrutiny, but something closer to respect. 

“Now,” you said, returning to the draft on the screen, “let’s shape the message that gets that across.”

As you gathered your notes, Steve lingered near the door. He hesitated visibly, then turned back to you, his expression warm. “Good work.”

For a moment you were surprised by the sincerity in his tone. You smiled, the weight of the morning lifting slightly. “Thank you, Steve,” you replied, his name leaving your lips for the first time.

He nodded, your eyes connecting for a curious amount of time before he turned to leave. As the door closed behind him, you took a deep breath. 

The meeting had gone better than you expected. You, the team, were moving forward, step by step, and you finally allowed yourself to feel a flicker of true accomplishment.

By 11:30 AM, you were back in your quarters, your desk strewn with notes and your tablet displaying the draft press release. The team’s feedback echoed in your mind as you carefully revised the language, ensuring every word struck the delicate balance they’d discussed. 

Accountability, not blame. Leadership, not superiority. 

The message needed to be honest but hopeful- a clear path forward for both the Avengers and the public.

You took your time with the edits, cross-referencing your notes and replaying moments from the meeting in your head. Steve’s insistence on accountability, Agent Romanoff’s precise phrasing, Dr. Banner’s careful explanations, Thor’s… encouraging smile; all of it wove together to create something stronger than what you started with. When you finally leaned back in your chair, the revised document felt complete.

At 2:30 PM, you gave the draft one last read, your finger scrolling slowly through the paragraphs as you double-checked the flow. Satisfied, you composed an email to Pepper Potts:

Subject: Press Release Draft + Suggestions Hello, Ms. Potts, Please find the attached document, the draft press release incorporating feedback from the team. Below are suggestions for the event details: Date/Time: Saturday, May 2nd, 10:30 AM Location: City Hall Plaza (pending confirmation). Speakers: Captain Steven Rogers, Dr. Bruce Banner (confirmed). Any other team members available for support are encouraged to attend. I’ll keep you updated on any changes. Thank you for trusting me with this- I'm confident this message will resonate. Best regards, _____ _____ Director, Public Relations | Stark Industries Media & Communications Division

After hitting send, you exhaled deeply, letting the tension of the morning melt away. The press release was out of your hands now. You grabbed your bag and decided to step out for lunch, eager for a break from the sterile confines of Stark Tower.

The small café you had discovered the day before was tucked away on a quiet side street, its environment a warm departure from the buzzing city outside. You ordered the same sandwich and tea, savoring the peaceful atmosphere as you watched pedestrians pass by through the large front window. 

For a moment, the stress of your responsibilities lifted, replaced by the simple pleasure of an uninterrupted meal.

As you walked back toward Stark Tower, the city’s pulse drew you in. You let your mind wander, the steady rhythm of your footsteps grounding you. But, as you turned a corner, a small crowd gathered in front of an electronics store interrupted your thoughts.

Televisions in the window blared a news segment with the headline:  

“Avengers: Heroes or Hazards?”

You stopped, your stomach tightening as the anchor’s voice carried out into the street. “From the Battle of New York to the fall of SHIELD and the chaos in Washington, the Avengers have left a trail of destruction in their wake. Entire blocks leveled. Dozens injured. Billions in damages. The question remains- how do we hold them accountable? Can the world afford the collateral that seems to follow them?”

The crowd murmured among themselves, their voices a mix of frustration and resignation.

“They’re a liability.”

“Yeah, but what’s the alternative?”

“Someone needs to rein them in.”

The negativity gnawed at you, but you forced yourself to absorb the sentiment as you continued on. These were the voices you were working to reach: the skeptics, the ones who felt betrayed by heroes they’d once believed in.

A few blocks later, you turned down a quieter street and stopped in your tracks. On the side of a brick building stood a massive mural of the Avengers. Bold red letters above the artwork read: 

“Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.”

Messages of hope and gratitude were scrawled below in various handwriting:

“Thank you, Avengers!” “We believe in you.” “You’re our heroes!”

The contrast was striking, almost ironic. Where legacy news painted the Avengers as reckless and untrustworthy, the people who lived in the city- the ones who saw, felt, the impact of their actions firsthand, still believed in them.

This mural, these messages, were a reminder of why you had taken this job in the first place. The Avengers weren’t just a team of extraordinary individuals- they were a symbol of hope. And, despite the cracks in their image, that hope was still alive.

As you approached Stark Tower, you walked a little taller, your resolve renewed. The press conference wasn’t just a step forward- it was a lifeline for people who still believed. And for those who wanted to believe again.

The familiar electric hum of the Tower greeted you as you returned, just before 5:30 PM. The sun wasn’t quite setting, but the orange rays of an impending dusk filtered through the clouds overhead. The walk back from your long lunch had cleared your head, but as you stepped into the quieter corridors near the elevator lobby- close to the lab wing- a distant conversation cut through the low drone of machinery.

You slowed, instinct sharpening. The voices- sharp and unmistakable- belonged to Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. You moved closer, staying out of sight but within earshot. 

“This is it, Bruce,” Stark was saying, his tone buoyed with a confidence that bordered on reckless. “The neural matrix inside that thing is centuries beyond anything we’ve seen. We use it right, we’re talking global defense. Threats stopped before they ever happen.”

Banner’s reply was quieter, clipped with a tension that made you still. “You’re talking about building intelligence out of something we don’t understand.”

Stark’s voice cut through the charged silence, firmer than before. “We’ll teach it how to think. Guide it. Control every parameter. It’s the missing piece.”

Banner’s frustration came fast, almost overlapping his words. “You’re not listening. We don’t know its limits. We don’t know the consequences. Using the scepter like this- rushing this- it's not the same as building a suit or upgrading JARVIS.”

Very little of those words made sense to you, but the implications were right there, and it was clear enough to put your nerves on edge.

Your thoughts raced as you stepped away quietly, retreating to your quarters. You knew you were an intruder in a moment you weren't meant to witness, but the unease that lingered told you it was important.

By the time you closed the door to your room at 6:00 PM, your mind was buzzing with questions you couldn't yet answer.

What had sounded like a theoretical debate- robots, AI- now carried a darker reality.  

What are they doing?

‘Scepter…’ like, the magic one they stole back from HYDRA?

What the hell is a JARVIS?

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes briefly to slow your thoughts. 

I don’t know enough to be afraid.

But Dr. Banner does. 

That alone was reason enough for concern.

You glanced at your tablet, the still notification icon of a received email breaking through your spiraling thoughts. It was a response from Pepper Potts.

Subject: Approved: Press Release Hi _____, The event is approved, great work. Attached is correspondence with the Mayor’s Office confirming the event details: Date/Time: Saturday, May 2nd, 10:30 AM Location: City Hall Plaza Keep me updated on final preparations. This is a solid step forward. Best, Pepper

You opened the attachment, skimming through the correspondence. The formal quality of the mayor’s office felt oddly grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaos in your head. At least this part of your work was progressing smoothly.

You composed a secure mass message to the team, ensuring everyone was updated:

Subject: Press Event Details Hi team, The press event is confirmed for Saturday, May 2nd, at 10:30 AM Location: City Hall Plaza. Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner are keynote speakers.  Let me know if there are any changes or questions. Thank you all, _____ _____

The replies came in quickly:

Maria Hill: Congratulations. Well done, _____. Natasha Romanoff: 👍

The acknowledgment brought a small flicker of relief, but it did little to dull the unease still lingering from what you had overheard.

You leaned back in your chair again, staring out the window as the city buzzed below. You made a mental note.

Tomorrow, I’ll get curious. 

Your gaze fell back to your tablet, the draft press release glowing softly on the screen. For now, the work was progressing. That was something.

Chapter Four: One Day at a Time Friday, May 1st, 2015

The beginning of a sunrise barely crept through the curtains in your room as you woke, your mind already buzzing with thoughts. It was just after 5:00 AM and, despite the early hour, you knew there would be no going back to sleep. 

Tomorrow’s press event loomed large, the culmination of days of preparation and pressure.

You slipped out of bed, pulling on a light sweater against the morning chill, and sat down at your desk. Your laptop was still open, the latest draft of the Avengers’ press statement glowing softly on the screen after a quick shake of your mouse. 

The words stared back at you, polished and rehearsed, but somehow they felt… flat.

Leaning forward, you clicked through your notes, adjusting phrasing and fine-tuning details. You knew the speeches were solid; Pepper had approved them, everyone had given their feedback, but something about it all felt incomplete. 

Your mind wandered, as it had been all night, to Tony Stark and Dr. Banner’s conversation the night before. You’d overheard them in passing multiple times before last night, their words casual but now striking a nerve: discussions of algorithms, adaptive programming, and something that sounded, in retrospect, a lot like artificial intelligence. 

The uneasy pit returned to your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you opened your browser and began typing.

Risks of artificial intelligence.

The search results flooded the screen. 

At first, you clicked out of curiosity, scanning through articles about self-learning systems and machine ethics. But the more you read, the heavier the pit felt. Rogue systems, unpredictable behavior, unintended consequences- it was all there, spelled out in stark detail.

The warnings were clear: AI wasn’t just unpredictable; it was uncontrollable. No matter how carefully it was designed, the potential for failure was always present.

By the time the clock neared 7:00 AM, you had fallen deep into a rabbit hole, your unease growing with every article you read. You knew Tony Stark was brilliant, and Banner too, but this kind of risk didn’t feel like something anyone could fully control.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you stared at the screen, the information swirling in your mind. You wanted to bring it up, but who are you to question Tony Stark? You were there to manage the Avengers’ public image, not to meddle in their scientific endeavors.

Shutting your laptop with a quiet sigh, you leaned back in your chair. 

Focus. 

Tomorrow was the priority, not some hypothetical worst-case scenario.

Still, your anxiety lingered as you stood and stretched. You needed a way to clear your head. Without overthinking it, you grabbed your bag and headed for the fifty-fourth floor.

The gym was quiet and empty when you arrived, exactly how you’d hoped. You headed straight for the target practice taking up more than half of the training facility. You quickly changed into your gear, invigorated at the thought of being back in this setting, as you had been many times. 

You were never in the field like Maria, but as your friendship grew, so did your desire to protect one another… should the necessity arise. Training together came naturally.

Selecting a Glock from the weapons locker, you checked the magazine, slid it into place, and stepped into position. Your first shot went wide, hitting just outside the center of the target. You frowned, adjusted your grip, and fired again. 

Closer.

With each pull of the trigger, you fixed your stance, finding the rhythm that had always steadied you. The sharp crack of the gunfire echoed through the space, its familiarity cutting through the haze of unease you’d carried all night.

One shot after another landed closer to the bullseye, your focus narrowing until nothing else existed but the weight of the gun in your hand and the target in front of you. 

The simple, mechanical motion- aim, fire, reload- gave you a sense of clarity you hadn't felt all morning- all week.

Your focus was pointed enough that you didn’t notice the two figures standing silently outside the doorway, having heard gunshots and curious to find the source.

“She’s good,” Romanoff commented, her tone neutral, with a hint of approval.

Steve Rogers stood beside her, his arms crossed as he watched you reload. “I didn’t know she could shoot.”

Romanoff glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “She was recommended by Hill,” she said matter-of-factly, before looking back at you. “Pepper wouldn’t have hired her if she couldn't handle herself.”

Steve nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving you. Your movements were efficient and controlled, each shot landing with precision.

She smirked, her gaze shifting back to Steve. “Interesting,” she said, her voice subtle and teasing. She didn’t elaborate, and when Steve didn’t respond, she dropped it, her smirk lingering. 

Steve’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable as he continued to watch you. After a moment, she nudged his arm lightly. 

“Come on,” she said. “Let's let her finish.”

Steve turned, following Romanoff out of the gym, but not without one more glance in your direction.

You exhaled slowly as the last bullet hit the target dead center. You lowered the Glock, stepping back to survey the target with a critical eye. The session had worked; your mind felt clearer, more focused. The sick feeling hadn’t disappeared, but it was no longer the dominant thought in your mind.

You set the gun down and packed up your things, leaving the range without any idea you’d had an audience. As you stepped into the hallway, the tension in your shoulders eased slightly. 

By the time you returned to your quarters, the rhythmic focus you found at the gun range had settled into a steady sense of control. You set your gym bag down by the door and grabbed your tablet, opening the email from Pepper containing the finalized schedule for tomorrow’s press event.

The timeline was tight and precise, as Pepper’s work always was. Media arrival times, security checkpoints, the order of speeches, and even the time allocated for Q&A sessions- all meticulously outlined.

You scanned the document multiple times. You made a few small updates, ensuring the timeline aligned perfectly with what you had prepared. 

The press event was designed to flow seamlessly, showcasing Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner as the focal point while reinforcing the Avengers’ accountability and unity.

This will work. 

Everything was set, and you felt confident in the groundwork you’d laid.

Setting the tablet down, you glanced at the clock. It was nearly time for your meetings with the speakers- first Steve, then Banner. You’d been through their speeches already, but you knew there was always room for adjustments.

You moved to the bathroom and splashed cool water on your face, patting it dry before fixing your hair. Your reflection stared back at you, sharp and composed, though the weight of the day ahead lingered faintly in your eyes.

By the time you were changed into a new, more meeting-appropriate, outfit, you felt settled. Picking up your tablet again, you reviewed your notes one last time before heading out. The day was moving quickly, but you were ready to keep up.

The meeting room on the thirty-seventh floor was bright and open, sunlight streaming through the tall glass windows and pooling on the sleek table in the center. You arrived a few minutes early, your tablet in hand and notes prepared. You wanted to make sure everything was ready for your meeting with Steve.

Not long after, he walked in, his posture as steady and composed as ever. He offered you a polite nod as he pulled out a chair opposite yours.

“Afternoon,” he said, his voice friendly.

“Good afternoon,” you replied with a small smile. “Thanks for making the time.”

Steve settled into his seat, his gaze level as you pulled up the final draft of his speech. “I’ve already gone through your notes,” he said, nodding toward the tablet. “But I’d like to hear what you think.”

Comforted by the enthusiastic collaboration, you took a deep, balancing breath and began walking him through the key points. “Your role in this event is critical,” you started. “You’re the anchor. People look to you for leadership, not just on the battlefield but as a moral compass. That’s what this speech emphasizes: your ability to guide and inspire, even in the real world.”

Steve listened attentively, his arms resting on the table as you continued.

“I adjusted the phrasing in the third paragraph,” you added, scrolling to the section. “It leans more into accountability without sounding defensive. It shows strength through transparency, which I think is exactly what people want to see.”

Steve nodded, his expression thoughtful as he scanned the draft on your tablet. “This is solid,” he said after a moment. “You’ve struck the right balance: strong, but not overbearing.”

You felt a wave of relief but didn’t let it show overtly. “Thank you.”

Steve looked up from the tablet, meeting your eyes. “You’ve done good work, _____. This is exactly what we need.”

His words were simple, but they carried a warmth that moved through you in a way you hadn't expected, almost sending goosebumps down your arms. You nodded, your voice measured. “I’m glad it meets your expectations.”

“It does,” Steve replied. He leaned back slightly, studying you. “You’re putting a lot on your shoulders for this.”

“It’s my job,” you said, your tone even, but warm.

“And you’re doing it well,” he added.

As you wrapped up, you gathered your notes, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “Thank you for your time, Captain Rogers,” you flicked your eyes up to him, remembering his correction the day before, “Steve.”

He smiled with sincerity, a comfort you didn't know you needed before walking out of the conference room, leaving you to wonder where the butterfly in your stomach came from. 

The next meeting was with Dr. Banner, and you knew it would be a different dynamic from your earlier meeting with Steve. While Steve exuded quiet confidence, Banner carried an air of self-doubt that was noticed from the start.

The room you designated for this meeting was cozier than the one with Steve, with soft lighting and a more relaxed atmosphere, closer to the private quarters on the thirty-first floor. You hoped it would help put him at ease, even if only a little.

He arrived minutes after you did, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Good afternoon,” he greeted quietly, giving you a small, diffident smile.

“Hi, Dr. Banner,” you replied, motioning for him to sit. “I thought we could go through this together and make sure you’re comfortable with everything.”

He hesitated, then sat in the seat in front of you, looking down at the tablet but not really reading it. After a moment, he inhaled anxiously. “I’m not sure I’m the right person for this,” he warned, his voice low.

You paused, studying him. “Why do you think that?”

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “I’m not exactly the poster child for the calm and collected. People don’t want to hear from me. They want to hear from Steve, or Tony. Not the guy who…” He trailed off, but the implication was clear.

“You’re wrong,” you said firmly, though your tone was gentle. “People want to hear from you. You are indisputably one of the smartest, brightest minds in the world. And, you’re honest. That’s what people connect with.”

He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Honesty doesn’t always inspire confidence.”

“It does when it’s paired with humanity,” you countered. You leaned forward slightly, your voice soft but insistent. “The fact that you’re nervous? That’s what makes you human, and that’s what people trust. They don’t want perfection- they want authenticity. And you’re the perfect person to give them that.”

He glanced at you, his expression conflicted. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted, smiling slightly. “But it is important. And you’re important to this event. Not just because of what you know, but because of who you are. People will see that… if you let them.”

He was quiet for a moment, his shoulders relaxing slightly as your words sank in. When he finally looked up at you, there was a small, but genuine smile on his face.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “I guess I needed to hear that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you replied.

The two of you spent the rest of the meeting going over his speech, with you offering small adjustments and answering his questions. By the time you were finished, Dr. Banner seemed more at ease, his nervous energy tempered by a cautious optimism.

As he left the room, he glanced back at you. “You’re good at this,” he said simply.

“Thank you,” you replied, feeling a soft sense of accomplishment as the door closed behind him.

With both meetings done, you leaned back, letting out a small sigh of relief. The team was ready, you just needed to trust that the work you had done was enough.

The hours spent indoors were starting to weigh on you. After the back-to-back meetings and the morning of intense focus, you craved a change of scenery- something outside the same four walls. 

By 6:00 PM, you had your mind made up to take yourself out to dinner. You headed back to your room to freshen up and change into yet another outfit, something more comfortable, but still nice enough to be seen out in public.

After grabbing your coat and bag, and slipping into a more casual pair of shoes, you made your way to the elevator in the lobby of the common area on the same floor. 

A day of success wrapped up by a nice, relaxing evening alone- it was the perfect way to prepare for tomorrow. You stood in front of the elevator doors comfortably waiting for the elevator car to arrive. As the doors slid open, you were stopped.

“Hey,” Steve greeted casually, having just jog-walked over to you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Where are you off to?”

“Just heading out for dinner,” you replied, surprised by the question.

Steve glanced at the elevator doors behind you that were now closing due to inactivity, a friendly smile forming. “Dinner, huh? Mind if I tag along?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated. You hadn’t expected him to ask, and while part of you certainly appreciated the offer...

“Honestly, public appearances probably aren’t a great idea right now,” you said, trying to sound lighthearted. “The last thing we need is someone snapping a picture and making it into a story before the press event tomorrow.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully, his smile widening just a bit. “Fair point,” he replied. “What if we stayed in?”

Oh?

“Roof deck, takeout- no cameras, no headlines. What do you think?” He was making eye contact now, the elevator car long gone. You blinked at him a couple times, multiple thoughts occurring at once. During the silence, he leaned forward and pressed the elevator button again.

Dinner alone with Steve Rogers, away from the noise of the world, sounded tremendously intimate. But the day had been long, and the idea of fresh air and friendly company was hard to resist.

“Okay,” you said finally, nodding. “The roof deck. I’ll meet you up there?”

Steve’s smile turned into a grin and he positioned himself ready to jump into the elevator car that was returning. “Perfect. Give me a few minutes to grab the food. You relax until I get there.”

You watched him step into the elevator, then turned to put away your things without looking back. Once in your room, you stop for a moment and inhale, trying to steady your heart rate from the whiplash of the last few minutes. You dropped your bag onto your desk chair and hung up your coat, grabbing a light jacket instead. 

The thought of unwinding, even for a short while, was suddenly very appealing.

You stepped to the bathroom mirror, now peculiarly aware of any ‘flaws’ in your appearance and acted fast to tidy them. 

After taking another breath, this one more apprehensive, you left your room.

The cool breeze hit you as soon as you stepped onto the deck, carrying with it the faint buzz of the city below. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in soft shades of pastel. You walked through the bar and to the edge, resting your hands lightly on the railing as you took in the view. Stark Tower stood high above the chaos, a rare oasis of calm in a city that never rested.

You let yourself breathe, the tension of the day slowly easing as you stood there. You didn’t often take the time to stop and simply exist, but in this moment, it felt natural. 

A few minutes later the elevator door inside the bar opened, and Steve’s familiar figure stepped out of the giant archway onto the deck. He carried a paper bag in one hand and two bottles of water in the other.

“Hope you like burgers,” he said with a grin, setting the bag down on a nearby table.

“American classic,” you replied, your tone lighter now as you turned to join him.

Steve pulled out a chair for you before settling into his own. As he unpacked the food, you felt the last bit of tension in your shoulders start to fade.

At first, the conversation was light. Steve shared a few stories about the team’s less-than-serious moments: Thor’s unshakable love of pop-tarts, Tony’s questionable karaoke skills, and the time Natasha kicked Clint’s ass in the sparring gym.

You found yourself laughing despite the nagging feeling of self-consciousness that had crept in since dinner began. You’d shared meals with clients before, long hours in the trenches of crisis management often demanded it, but this was different.

This is Captain America.

You glanced at him as he leaned back slightly in his chair, his posture relaxed, tone casual. Everything about him seemed effortless, but it only made you feel more out of place. 

What were you doing, sharing an almost-secret dinner on a rooftop with someone like him? And why did it feel so… unprofessional?

Steve must have sensed your unease because his expression softened as he turned his attention back to you. “You’re quiet,” he said, his voice gentle. “Everything okay?”

You hesitated, wiping your hands on a napkin to stall for time. “Yeah,” you said finally. “I guess I’m just not used to this.”

“This?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“This,” you repeated, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Sitting here, having dinner with you. It’s not exactly something I’d ever imagined.”

Steve twisted his mouth in thought, his brow furrowing. “Why not?”

“Because you’re you,” you said simply. “You’re Captain America. You’re-” you stopped yourself, shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

Steve’s gaze was steady as he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “You’ve earned your place here,” he said firmly. “You’ve been working nonstop to make this happen, and you’ve been looking out for all of us in ways most people wouldn’t even think to. You’re part of this team now, for however long you're with us.”

His words landed heavily. You felt a warmth in your chest, though you weren't sure if it was reassuring or just bringing forth how silly this whole thing felt.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Steve smiled, and the conversation shifted slightly, moving into more personal territory.

He asked about your time with SHIELD, and you told him about the part you played during the Battle of New York, among other PR explosions. You talked about how you managed global scrutiny and dealt with political minefields but had always kept a certain distance from the agents you worked with. 

Most of them, anyway.

“I kept it professional,” you said. “Always. It's much easier that way.”

“Easier,” Steve repeated, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “But maybe not better.”

You frowned lightly, the weight of his words settling deeper than you expected. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice quiet. 

Steve’s gaze held steady, but soft enough to not feel intrusive. “Keeping things professional makes sense,” he said, pausing as he searched for the right words. “It keeps you safe. Keeps everything simple. But… sometimes it also keeps you separate. Alone.”

You looked down at your hands, your voice careful. “I wasn’t completely on my own,” you said. “I had friends in my department- people I liked, people who were good at what they did.” Your thumb ran along the folded edge of your napkin. “But none of them really… connected with me. Not the way Maria did.”

You hesitated, choosing the next words with precision. “When I transferred to HQ, she noticed me immediately. Stepped in for me a few times. Nothing crazy,” you added softly, eyes shooting up to his as though to gauge the response to a misstep. “Just… She’s a good person to have around.”

You saw the way Steve’s expression shifted- barely, but unmistakably- as if he’d caught the careful edges in your tone. He didn’t press, didn’t tilt his head in question; he only gave a small, understanding nod.

“Maria’s got good instincts,” he said lightly. “She doesn’t choose people by accident.”

A soft, almost relieved breath leaves you as you sit back and look away with a slow nod. “Yeah, she chose me alright,” you murmur. “It really is nice to be back in her orbit- after everything.” Your eyes find his again with a subtle gesture outward, as if the Triskelion falling was happening just over the edge of Stark Tower.

A quiet settled between you, your eyes connecting without either of you looking away. And then, almost as if offering you the same honesty you’d trusted him with, he shifted in his chair, clasping his hands loosely between his knees and nodding with a glance out into the night sky.

“Maria sounds like exactly who you needed then,” he said. “Everyone needs someone like that at least once.” His gaze drifted over the skyline, his voice softening. “I had a few people like that too… back before everything changed.”

Steve glanced down at his empty plate, his voice quieter now. “You know, everything has changed since I woke up. The world, the people in it... Everyone I knew is gone. Even the ones I thought were strong enough to survive this long.” He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “It’s hard, sometimes, knowing that the people you care about... won’t be there when you look around.”

You paused, the sincerity of his words sinking in. You hadn’t expected this kind of vulnerability from him. 

There was something almost... helpless in his voice, despite the strong exterior he naturally held. You thought about your own family, the ones who had shaped you, and your lips pressed together as you tried to hold the conversation back from getting too personal.

“I think I know how you feel,” you said softly, your gaze shifting to the city beyond them, the lights twinkling like distant planets. “My parents... they passed a long time ago. Both of them, unexpectedly.” You swallowed, your throat tightening. “And my grandma... she was the one who raised me, really. She died just after I graduated. It’s... hard to be the last one standing sometimes.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy but comforting in your shared grief. You hadn’t meant to share so much, but it felt different with Steve. Like he understood, in a way that was hard to articulate.

Steve gave you a long, understanding look, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry, _____,” he said quietly, his voice sincere. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying the burden- the memory of everyone who’s gone. I really do.”

You nodded, your gaze briefly flicking down to your hands as you clasped them together, immediately regretting the turn of tone you took. There was a lump in your throat that you tried to push down, but it was harder to ignore now. The grief you had buried so deeply felt more real than ever.

But then, as quickly as the moment had deepened, you felt the shift inside you, the familiar urge to distance yourself from vulnerability creeping back in. You straightened up in your seat, trying to regain your composure.

“Well,” you said, your tone intentionally lighter now, “I didn’t mean to derail the conversation like that.” You cleared your throat, attempting to shift the mood. “I guess I just... got caught up in what you said. You’ve been through a lot.”

Steve smiled, a soft, understanding smile. He didn’t press you, and the warmth in his eyes let you know he wasn’t expecting more than you were willing to share. “No worries,” he said. “I think we both needed to talk about it.”

You let out a small laugh, grateful for the ease of pressure. You cleared your throat again, trying to fill the silence with something while you thought of what to say next. “So- uh, what’s next for someone who's seen literally everything change?” You shook your head to try and recalibrate your brain in a more professional direction.

Steve’s expression brightened slightly, and the weight of the previous conversation seemed to lift, replaced by a more hopeful note. “I’m not sure yet,” he said, leaning back a little. “But for the first time in a really… really long time, I think I’m ready to figure it out. One step at a time.”

As Steve cleared the table and prepared to head back inside, you realized that for the first time since arriving at Stark Tower, you felt grounded- not just in your role, but in your place.

“Thank you for this,” you said as you walked toward the elevator.

Steve glanced at you, his expression kind. “Anytime.”

You didn’t know what to make of the flicker of warmth you felt in his company, but for now, you let it be.

As you reached the elevator, you paused, your fingers brushing against the call button. “Steve,” you said hesitantly, turning to him. “Would you mind gathering the team in the common room?” you asked. “Just for a few minutes. I think it would be good to say something before tomorrow.”

Steve tilted his head downward slightly, curious. “A pep talk?”

“Something like that,” you replied, giving a small smile. “I just think... it might help to set the tone.”

Steve nodded without hesitation. “I’ll get everyone together.”

As you stood in the common room, posture still noticeably unguarded, the Avengers began to file in. Steve leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, while Agent Romanoff settled into the couch. Thor stood with his hands clasped behind his back, an amused expression on his face, while Banner hovered near the edge of the room. Stark arrived last, strolling in with a glass in hand, his sharp gaze briefly meeting yours before he leaned against the bar. 

You cleared your throat, feeling the weight of their attention. “Thank you for coming,” you began, your voice steady, but quiet.

You glanced around the room, taking a moment to meet each of their eyes. “I know this isn’t your usual kind of mission. You’ve faced aliens, supervillains, and-” you couldn't hold in a small, bemused chuckle, “-who knows what else, and compared to that, a press event might feel... insignificant.”

A faint snicker came from Natasha, and Tony smirked, but said nothing.

“But it isn’t insignificant,” you continued, your tone growing firmer. “It’s not just about answering questions or making speeches. It’s about rebuilding trust with the people you’ve been fighting for. They need to see who you are- not just as superheroes, but as people. Because when they see that, they’ll believe in you again.”

The room was silent for a moment, your words lingering in the air.

“You’ve all done incredible things,” you said. “And tomorrow, we’re going to remind everyone of that. We’ve worked hard in the last few days to make this event as strong as it can be, and I believe it’s going to make a difference.”

Thor raised his chin slightly, his smile growing. “Wise words,” he said approvingly.

“Not bad, Ms. _____,” Natasha added with a subtle grin.

Stark raised his glass slightly, his tone teasing. “You heard her, folks- don’t screw it up!”

You couldn’t help but smile at his comment, the tension in the room dissipating.

“Thank you,” you said, glancing at all of them again. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

The Avengers began to disperse, offering quiet goodnights as they left the common room one by one.

As the last of them disappeared down the hallway, you let out a quiet breath, your shoulders relaxing. The pep talk had gone better than expected, and the team’s quiet but genuine responses left you feeling a sense of contentment.

You returned to your quarters, setting your tablet on the desk and sitting down for a moment. The day had been long and productive. Tomorrow was still daunting, but you felt better prepared than you had that morning.

For now, you were ready to wind down, even if your restless thoughts had other plans.

The clock ticked past 10:30 PM, but you lay wide awake, staring at the faint patterns the shadows cast on your ceiling. You’d hoped the walk back, the paperwork, even the late shower would have pushed that lab-hallway conversation out of your mind- but it lingered stubbornly, replaying in flashes you couldn’t shake. Stark’s certainty. Banner’s hesitation. The weight between their words.

And then, just as you tried to redirect your thoughts toward tomorrow’s press event, another memory surfaced uninvited- Steve on the rooftop, the softness in his voice when he spoke about loss, the fact that he’d even offered to share that moment with you at all. 

You hadn’t expected it to stay with you, hadn’t planned on carrying that look in his eyes into your bedroom.

But here you were, wide awake, thoughts circling things you shouldn’t be thinking about at all.

You sighed, throwing the blanket off and sitting up. Sleep wasn’t going to come anytime soon, and lying there was only making your frustration grow. 

Tea might help.

Slipping on your sweater, you left your room and headed toward the kitchen, your steps the only sound in the stillness of Stark Tower.

As you rounded the corner, you nearly collided with Tony Stark, who was strolling out of the kitchen with a full glass of whiskey in one hand and his ever-present tablet tucked under his arm.

“Ms. _____,” he greeted, his tone light and teasing. “Burning the midnight oil?”

“Something like that,” you composed yourself and spoke steadily, “and you?”

“Genius doesn't sleep,” Stark grinned as he took a few casual steps backward, facing you. Your eyes flicked to his tablet briefly before you spoke again. 

“Mr. Stark,” you started carefully, your tone measured and eyes away, “I’m sorry- I overheard part of your conversation with Dr. Banner yesterday.”

He raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-step. “Eavesdropping? Ms. _____. Thought you were better than that.”

You ignored the teasing, your expression steady as your eyes locked with his. “You mentioned something- AI, the scepter…” You shook your head, banishing the urge to admit your ignorance and push on. “I’ve been thinking about it- and- I’m concerned.”

He leaned back slightly, swirling his drink lazily. “Concerned? About what, exactly? Killer robots? World domination? Let me guess: you’ve been reading the doomsday blogs.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, but you didn't back down. “I’ve been reading a lot. About unpredictability. Rogue systems. The risks of creating something we can’t control. Even the most advanced AI isn’t infallible, and I-”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his tone still filled with scorn. “I’ve thought through every scenario. That’s what I do- prepare for the worst and build something better.” He turned, dismissing the conversation, waving you away with his hand. “No need to lose sleep over it.”

“Even the best plans have risks,” you countered, your voice calm but firm.

He stopped walking, turning to look at you fully for the first time. His smirk faded slightly, replaced by irritation.

“Let me stop you right there,” he said, his tone sharper now, though still measured. “You’re good at what you do- managing PR disasters, spinning stories, making us look like heroes. And I respect that. But this? This is science. Complex, messy, way out of your depth. Stick to your expertise, I’ll handle mine."

The words hit harder than expected, but you held your composure. You straightened slightly, your expression cooling. 

“Understood,” you said, your voice clipped and professional. “I apologize for overstepping.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked away, your steps calm and measured even as your chest tightened.

He watched you retreat for a moment, his eyes squinting as he traced your path. With a quiet sigh, he adjusted his grip on his tablet and continued toward the elevator.

Back in your quarters, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, letting out a slow breath. The sting of Stark’s words lingered, but so did your frustration- with him, with yourself, with the situation you couldn't seem to leave alone.

You felt foolish for allowing yourself to get so comfortable, for forgetting that this wasn’t your world. By the end of this, you’d be back to your normal life, far away from superheroes and their chaos. 

This would never be your life, and to hope for any different is ridiculous. 

For now, you needed to focus on what you could control. Tomorrow was all that mattered, and you’d make sure it went flawlessly.

Climbing back into bed, you forced your restless thoughts to quiet, mentally reviewing your checklist for the press event. 

One day at a time.

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