#thevalueofstrength

Since Steve had left the spare key to his apartment in Clint’s ownership, the archer had made a point not to come barging in very often.He didn’t want to overstay his welcome or breach boundaries, not just with Steve but with himself as well. Trust was a funny thing though, and since Christmas there had been a couple of times Clint silently came in the apartment during the night, trying to get some rest on the couch with the knowledge he wasn’t alone. Only problem was, no matter where he seemed to be, he couldn’t settle into sleep long before he was waking in cold sweats.

Seeing Loki again had rattled the archer. His assurance had fallen, something in his head feeling alien to him, and he was wondering if it was just him and his fear of being put under another controlling spell. Either way, Clint felt far from himself. He was tired, the skin around his eyes darkening, and his senses felt dull. This would pose a problem if there came another need to fight, but so far the archer could find no way to rid himself of this mental sickness of sorts.

Clint had arrived at Steve’s apartment early that evening. He was quiet, not his usual jesting self and he was hardly interested in talking much. With background noise of the television, or Steve moving about, it was easier for Clint to doze off a few times, but once night came down and the apartment went silent, the nightmares took hold again.

They were vivid, real enough to be confused with memories. Clint felt he was losing touch with reality, especially when he woke amidst confusion and absolute terror. Details were never lost, and the physical pain seemed to follow him into the real world. Clint could feel something sharp on his wrists, some form of bond grinding and slicing his skin every time he tried to move. The smell in the air was putrid, metallic and heavy with stale blood. It was making him sick, but it was the screams that was driving him mad. Men, women, children, all being killed before his eyes by some unseen, yet violent force. Some bodies bore arrows, his arrows, and Clint felt a choked sound catch in his throat.There was more struggling, a voice rumbling in his head that he couldn’t quite make out, and he shut his eyes against it, only when he opened them again he was greeted with a sight that made his blood run cold. Joined in the growing pile of bodies was the recognizable red and blue uniform, the shield laying just out of reach. A mere foot away was another form, slender with fiery red hair, just as limp and lifeless as the other. 

Ha! I love this.

She lounges on her chaise, facing her large balcony window and relishing in the afternoon sun. Cool air drifts through the seals to tease at her skin with no affect. The beeps and buzzes of her phone have ceased for quite a while. Ororo has been staring at the written text – rewriting, embelishing, and at times altogether deleting the script she intended to send. 

Her trip back to the mansion was spent in thought over the information revealed concerning SHIELD’S current status. While Ororo definitely had her own trust issues, intuition told her that she could trust her contact’s sincerity. Once she’d arrived, the necessities of students and demands of fellow instructors pushed her personal objective to the background. It was several hours before she finally found the time to retire to her room and re-focus her thoughts.

She really needed to know who she could trust for herself. To know that the little world Scott was securing here was not in the crosshairs of the government’s focus. To know that the students would have backup support if the X-Men should fall. Scott, who spent all of his time here at the institution seemed content with the idea of walling off their family from the world.

“And Goddess…what do I want?” she murmurs to no one.

A beat. Then the cursor backtracks across the screen, removing letters for the umpteenth time. Decided if this is to be done, there should be no doubt on her intentions. Texts can be misconstrued. She types in a new line and presses ‘send’. 

//OUTGOING MESSAGE: Steve, This is Ororo. Are you available to talk?//

Seventy-two hours since the Quin dropped Steve off on his mission. Phil wouldn’t say he worried -- the man had shot him, after all -- but it was concerning. Concern was a better word than worry, he felt. It extrapolated nicely with ‘a valuable asset has been lost’.

That was much better than “I’ve lost someone I’ve cared about.”

He swallowed, pulling up the screen on his tablet. The distress signal had gone up four hours ago. That was the problem.

The Quin hadn’t even landed before Phil was boots on the ground, striding around the impact site and barking orders. Agents scurried back and forth, setting up a perimeter.

“I’ll estimate we’ve got about another couple hours to clean this shit up before the army shows up,” he shouted, wanting to be heard over the whine of Blackhawk rotors. “Find me Rogers and let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Here, sir!” Someone called. “We followed the spatter here. There’s a trail.”

“Medical, with me.” Phil headed through the broken trail in the woods, pistol drawn. There was no telling what he’d find.

The carnage was incredible. He’d never seen an agent go this awry, and he was a little ill with the thought. They found the shield implanted in the ground and then Steve himself, leaned against a rock and bleeding.

thevalueofstrength

   The meteor shower had been - strange to say the least. Something about it had Skye’s instincts on edge and she was worried that her life was about to become a lot weirder then it already was. 

   She wasn’t sure if the shower had anything to do with her current assignment of decoding the writing Coulson had given her, and she had no idea what to do if it was somehow connected. She was only human after all, and Skye had her limits and unlike some she had no problem seeing them.

   Her phone chimed and Skye stopped looking at her screen to check to see who it was, surpirse going over her features when she sees Phil’s familiar caller ID picture. She slides it open quickly and reads the text, only for her heart to squeeze in worry. 

   Nothing about that text sounded good.

   Quickly she makes her way over to where Captain America - and yeah, how even was this her life she just got a text from a national treasure - and has Trip drop her off a short walk away from Epsilon. Already in her field gear she had mentally and physically prepared herself for the worst. She breathes in and makes her way through the entrance, hoping that for once her computer skills are needed above her field skills. 

Why they always chose New York, Phil would never know. All he knew is that he had been the first on the scene, the police scanners describing the noises from the zoo as “horrific”. Kraven the Hunter had been spotted leaving the scene, a duffel over his shoulder.

If not there to hunt, then why?

The answer came in the form of a spine-chilling screech, as a monkey with the jaws of a crocodile erupted from the trees overhead. He ducked, seeing more of the little beasts, more scales than fur, and the team began to round them up, slowly. Night Night guns were invaluable here, but who knows how many more Kraven had infected, especially if he’d gotten into the Bronx’s water supply.

He tensed as a rumble was heard, something like the grinding of rock, and then his blood ran cold when the brick and mortar gift shop’s façade exploded outward. A hippo, sporting a long, scaly tail and razor sharp claws and teeth, fixed rheumy eyes on him and charged. He was penned in, the walkway narrow to direct traffic, and leaping the fence was far more likely to slow him down and get him trampled.

He aimed, carefully, and put three darts in between the hippo’s eyes.

It skidded to a stop at his feet, and he breathed easier, until a wild ululating call sounded, and a giraffe’s head rose above the trees. It spotted him, and frills fanned out along its neck as it spat something acidic at him.

He took cover under a food cart, his radio crackling static.