#wecompromised

People were mobilising for the mission but no one had gotten through to Steve.  It was still at least an hour before sunrise, he could be in a deeper sleep than his phone could rouse him from.  She rode the lift to his floor, thinking about the fact that they would be working together.  The pair of them were certainly volatile together in some ways, but she wasn’t sure of whether or not that would be a good thing for a covert operation.  Perhaps they got along too well to get things done.

Or maybe she was just wondering how she would ever concentrate on the matter at hand if he happened to stand in front of her.  The man’s physique was beyond distracting.

Stark Tower was huge, it had to be a testament to Tony’s ego, but Sam had managed to explore what he had access too and still have some daylight left. Which meant it was time for a test drive. The new gear was beautiful, Tony hadn’t even made it look like Stark tech; which was good because Sam was his own damn person, not a flying billboard. 

He stepped out onto a balcony, setting the case down and opening it to put the pack on his back. It was lightweight and comfortable, clearly made with some of the same ideas as the Iron Man suit. Which was thoughtful. He clipped in, it looked a bit strange with the outfit, a casual suit he’d had in the back of his closets for special occasions; but he had figured going to meet Tony Stark you’d want to look presentable. He’d discarded the jacket, rolling up his sleeves and adjusting the waistcoat under the pack. He tucked his tie in and grabbed the goggles he’d brought with him, he had no idea why he’d done it but he was glad he did. Flying around this fast tended to make someone’s eyes water. 

He knew the controls would be something he’d need to get used to, but he had no idea the thrust capability of this thing. Which as it flung him off the balcony and shooting towards the street, he’d realized it was pretty high. He’d managed to work it so he didn’t become acquainted with the pavement, steadying his flight path to zip around the tower.  Stark had made it pretty easy to master, and he figured out you could up and down the thrust capabilities. Which would be more than useful. 

Tony had gotten her some pyjamas and other items before he had to go, so at least she didn't have to wear the hospital gown.  Honestly, it was easier to pull a shirt over no arm than to force a dead arm into the sleeve.  Still, she had been exhausted after that.  She got one of the nurses to help her get her piercings back in, some of them might close otherwise, and then she slept for a few hours. 

As soon as she was allowed her phone, she gave Steve a call, she tried her best not to worry him but she was fairly certain she failed.  She looked down and realised with amusement that the shirt Tony had gotten her was the 'I kill spiders for Iron Man' shirt he had given her one birthday on the proviso she never wore it in public.  Her amusement was cut short when she remembered that literally nothing between them was going to be the same, even if they made whatever had just happened work.

While Tony had put a great deal of effort into creating hero-proof gym equipment, Jen had just burst her second punching bag for the hour.  Comically, she had her foot stuck in the fabric, and had to hop up and down to remain stable and wiggle herself free.  Both bare feet on solid ground again, she ran a hand through her hair.  A light sweat made a sheen on her green flesh, and she gave the bag another kick just because she felt the need to.

She was frustrated.  She loved what she did.  She upheld the law in a courtroom, she protected ordinary people from terrible dangers on the streets -- but she was often met with fear and loathing.

When she had learned to control what she was she had decided it was dishonest to present herself as anything else.  Jennifer Walters wasn't the mousy lawyer she had once been, and she would never go back to that.  But even if she did pretend to be normal, it wouldn't change how people reacted to her.  She couldn't run into a burning building as Jennifer Walters.  Jennifer Walters couldn't fight aliens or take down a quinjet full of Hydra agents.  She-Hulk did those things.  The enormous green rage monster she had learned to be one with, that had made her so much more.

But She-Hulk was feared for the exact things that made her helpful.  Jen was feared for what she one day might lose control of.  And sometimes, sometimes, the knowledge that you saved the day wasn't enough to numb the loneliness of it all.

It had been a long time since Iris had been in the city. She was a Baltimore girl by almost-birth (She'd technically been born in Shanghai but she'd only lived there for three years before she'd left) and New York had never really interested her. She'd done her college in New Haven and her residency in Chicago, had taken a position in Washington DC and had steered as far away from the Big Apple as she possibly could have. 

But here she was, in her new apartment in New York, looking at the floor plan of her new office because SHIELD had fallen and Nick Fury had warned her that she was the only one some of the agents would trust. She'd worked for them briefly for a while, here and there. They'd called on her to help with the Great Captain America when he'd first woken from the ice and was still on call for Steve when he needed her even now, two years and a helluva lot of progress later. 

She sighed, cradling her wineglass in her fingers and she looked up and looked out over the city. It was a beautiful sight that was for damn sure. Baltimore was quite industrial and old, New York was twinkling lights and a beat all of it's own. 

She was just crossing her living room to curl up with a good book on her couch when her phone rang on the counter behind her and she backtracked to answer it. 

She smiled as she looked down at the caller ID. 

Her lab arranged to her liking, she had started on the holographic planning program.  She really hated that it was her right arm that was missing at this point.  She was working on the core circuitry, internal pistons and joints — she figured that for it to move like a real arm, the principles would remain the same.  Bones, tendons, muscles, but all of them mechanical, rather than flesh and blood.  

She went to sip her coffee but found the mug was empty.  She gave a groan, deciding that she would rather power through for the moment than get coffee and lose her train of thought.  She was working on the hand at the moment, so many things could go wrong with how much articulation she needed.  It had to be perfect, as good as her real hand.

Which lead to the question of how she would make it with only one working hand.