Archive of Our Own

"That all you've got, Hollander?" Vaughn mocked.

"I'm busy today," Shane puffed out, "I don't exactly stand still with my fucking arm out, do I? I gotta take it easy, this is just a warm-up."

"It is for me, too."

"Okay, Mr Professional Fucking Athlete," Shane wasn't bitter, no.

"On your left," some guy warned, blasting past them at a breakneck pace.

"How much do you bet he's going to get a stitch by the time he hits Lincoln?" He asked.

"I don't think he will."

He must've made a face.

"Come on, you don't recognize him?"

"Am I supposed to? Is he one of your teammates? Because even your teammates can't run half a kilometer at that pace without dying."

"That's Captain America, dude!"

Shane felt his stomach drop, more superheroes meant more eyes, which meant someone might- "He's alive?"

Puck, the Northern Goshawk he was somehow telepathically bonded to for as long as he could remember, who was hanging out in the nearest tree, fluttered nervously.

"Yeah, apparently he was frozen in Greenland the whole time, got out in 2012."

"What the actual fuck, and now he's just, what, running laps around the Washington Monument?"

"He was also in the Battle of New York."

Vaughn had almost lost family in that, "Right. Sorry."

"On your left!" Captain America chirped again.

"Uh huh, on our left," Shane bit out.

"Got it."

"What a fucking dick," Shane said, like he hadn't practically done the same thing to Vaughn when they first started running together. Puck made sure to remind him, the ass.

"Hey, maybe he's just fucking with us."

"Maybe?!"

Vaughn raised his hands, not breaking his pace, "Just saying."

Vaughn perked up.

"Don't tell me he's fucking coming again."

Shane heard the footsteps, and took a look through Puck. Yeah, he was coming, all right.

He slipped back into his own vision, "No fucking way."

"He's Captain America, dude."

"I'm Canadian, I don't give a fuck," his blood started to boil as Captain fucking America, apparently, got closer.

"Don't say it."

"Don't you fucking say it."

"On your left!"

"Come on!" Shane yelled, fuck it, he was going to try to pass him, just this once.

"Holly, don't do it man," Vaughn said, but picked up the pace with him.

"I'm gonna fucking do it," he grit out as he picked up speed.

"It's- it's Captain fucking America, he's, like, scientifically perfect."

"Fuck him, Canada can do better."

He didn't pass Captain America.

Fucking asshole.

They put in the effort, though, and while Vaughn was dying against a tree, clutching his heart like he wasn't a professional athlete who did worse for a living, Shane was leaning against it feeding the pigeons. With birdseed, of course, he hated it when they complained about stomachaches.

"Need a medic?"

Vaughn laughed, "I need a new set of lungs. Dude, you just ran like 13 miles in 30 minutes."

"Guess I got a late start."

This fucking asshole.

"Really?! You should be ashamed of yourself."

The pigeons weren't agreeing with him. They said Captain America was nice, and he fed them seeds too.

Motherfucker.

"You should take another lap," Shane suggested.

"Did you just take it?" Vaughn asked, "I assume you just took it."

"Hey," Captain America stepped off the path so he could face the both of them, and pointed at Shane's shirt, "what unit you with?"

"I was on loan for the 58th para-rescue, but now I work for the airport."

"Carter Vaughn," Vaughn held his hand up, "he's Shane Hollander. I play hockey."

"Scott Hunter," Hunter said, hauling Vaughn up.

"I kind of put that together."

"What's with your friend there?"

"He's Canadian, doesn't understand how fucking awesome this is," Vaughn looked at him, giving him a look as if to ask if he was good to split up.

Shane nodded, turning back to the birds.

"We should let him commune with his birds. Fucking loves those things, and then rips them to shreds at work."

Vaughn always said that.

Hunter looked taken aback, "What?"

Well, he couldn't just let that remain in the air, "I'm a falconer, I use a hawk to keep birds away from the airplanes, which, despite what Vaughny says, mainly involves just scaring them. Puck only catches like three a day."

"Good to meet you, Shane, Carter."

"It's your bed, right?" Vaughn blurted out.

Hunter turned around, "What's that?"

"Your bed is too soft. When my sister was over there she'd sleep on the ground, use rock for pillows like a cave-man."

"We're not cave-men!" Shane protested.

"Now she's home, and she's lying in bed, and it's like-"

"Lying on a marshmallow. Feel like I'm gonna sink right to the floor."

"How long?"

"Both her and Holly here were in for two tours."

Hunter made a face.

"Must miss the good ol' days, huh?"

Loaded question. Maybe making sure his favourite idol wasn't racist, but who knew?

Just as he was about to open his mouth, he heard the sound of one of the morons choking.

"Did someone leave a fucking wrapper here?! Oh my fucking god," Frosty, the dumbest pigeon in the flock around Washington Monument, was choking on a french fry, like fucking always. "Excuse me."

"Gotta save the birds, huh, Holly?"

Shane flipped him off.

"Nice meeting you!"

"Listen," Carter said to Captain fucking America, "ignore him, Holly's nice once you get to know him. He's just a little weird."

"I think he's plenty nice," Captain America scuffed his foot on the sidewalk, "just, uh, competitive."

"He's more competitive than me, and I'm a professional hockey player."

"I didn't know they had a hockey team here."

"Why, you a fan?"

"Actually? Yeah."

Captain America, no, he should probably call him Scott, jumped as his phone began to ring.

"Duty calls," he held out his hand, "thanks for the run, if that's what you wanna call running."

Man, Captain America had jokes. "Oh, that's how it is?!"

"Oh, that's how it is."

"Don't let Holly hear you, he'll gouge your fucking eyes out."

They both laughed.

"Maybe you should come to one of my games. Make me look good in front of the girl at the front office."

"I might just come watch, yeah."

"I can get you good seats, I, uh, know a guy. Can even help you meet the team."

"I'll take you up on them, if I can."

An engine revved, a black sports car pulling up to the curb, the window rolling down to reveal a really handsome white guy, blonde-haired, vaguely familiar. If Carter wasn't straight as a fucking arrow, he'd tap that.

"Hey fellas," strong Russian accent, which was weird, given he was pretty sure Captain America worked for the American military, "Either of you know where Smithsonian is? I am here for fossil."

"So hilarious."

Carter waved.

"Can't run everywhere."

"No you can't."

"I gave Scott Hunter your number," Vaughn said, tossing Shane his pre-workout, "you're welcome."

"I don't care."

"Come on, you can't talk to a fellow soldier? He's funny."

"He was in the army 70 fucking years ago, I was just some weird medic, Vuaghny. I can't help him."

"He's really nice, give him a shot, even if you are Canadian."

An incoming call from an unknown number was weird. Really weird. Especially a New York City area code. Usually his calls came from Ottawa, or somewhere in the Midwest, if it was a spam call. New York City? What was that about?

Might as well answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Shane, Carter's running buddy?"

"Speaking."

"This is Scott Hunter, uh, Captain America, you know?"

"I know."

"Listen, weird question, but I think I found an injured bird, and I don't know what to do with it. Do I touch it?"

"No. Absolutely not, not if you don't know what you're doing. I'll help you pick it up, where are you?"

"Target is a mobile satellite launch platform, the Lemurian Star, they were sending up their last payload when pirates took them 93 minutes ago."

Dallas Kent was one of SHIELD's best agents, and Scott was supposed to like him. There was nothing wrong with Kent, well, other than how he treated Rozanov, but most people at SHIELD treated Rozanov kind of poorly, so that wasn't a good reason to be, as Rozanov would say, skeeved out, by Kent.

Maybe he'd been treating women poorly and Scott hadn't registered it consciously? He wasn't sure.

He had to get back on track, "any demands?"

"Billion and a half."

He did the math, even with inflation it was fucking ridiculous, "why so steep?"

"Because it's SHIELD's."

Oh, fuck him, after the weapons in the Helicarrier in 2012, he should've known not to expect better from SHIELD, but he had really, really hoped, "So it's not off-course, it's trepassing."

"I'm sure they have good reason."

Scott raised his eyebrows at Rozanov, "You know, I'm getting a little tired of being Murdock's janitor."

"Relax, is not that complicated."

Ugh, "how many pirates?"

"Secure channel seven," Scott barked out.

"Seven secure," Rozanov tapped his wrist mic, "Did you do anything fun Saturday night?"

"Well, the Monuments are on the road, and all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so, no, not really."

"At least you like best sport."

"You a hockey fan?"

"Used to play, actually. Too busy now," Rozanov continued to fiddle with his gear, "you know, if you ask Kristen out, from Statistics, she would probably say yes."

"That's why I don't ask!"

"Too shy or too scared, Scott Hunter?"

Too gay and hung up on his fucking dead best friend, "Too busy!"

"Sounds like excuse! I am also too busy and yet I get laid!"

"Yeah, for work, Rozanov!" One of the STRIKE guys yelled.

"Oh, is not always work if you are good at it, Miller!"

"What about nurse that lives across hall from you? She seems kind of nice, yes?"

"Secure the engine room, then find me a date."

"Did they not have multitasking in Cretaceous period? I can do multiple things at once!"

Engine room, engine room, aha! Ilya wriggled his way in, seeing a single, kind of cute, not really though, french guy come off the phone. Shame he had to kill him.

"Hey, sailor," he smiled his best smile, using the pirate's distraction to use his grappling cord as a garotte, swinging down with the man's body as an anchor and continuing to shoot. So boring.

"Status, Rozanov?"

"Hang on!" Ilya yelled into his mic, tasing the first pirate he saw with his sweet taser gauntlets from Rygg, before rushing forward to snap the arm of the second pirate, knocking his legs out from under him and getting into a nasty, writhing fight that would be fun if he wasn't bored out of his mind. Finally, though, the second pirate went down.

"Engine room secure."

On second thought, the second guy was starting to get up. He snagged a particularly heavy-looking pipe, slamming it into the pirate's head.

Goodnight.

"Well, this is awkward."

Scott looked up from the main mercenary's body, seeing Rozanov tapping away at some computer, "what are you doing?"

"Backing up hard-drive, is good habit to get into."

"Kent needed your help, what the fuck are you doing here?" Scott stepped closer to where he was tapping away, what was that about a download?! "You're saving SHIELD intel."

"Whatever I can get my hands on, Hunter."

"Our mission is to rescue hostages!"

"No, is your mission," he pulled out the hard drive, "and you have done beautifully, for fossil."

"Hey!" Who the fuck did Rozanov think he was, just walking away like that? "You just jeopardized this whole operation."

"I think this is overstatement, Hunter."

Something moved, making him and Rozanov jump back.

Another fucking pirate.

He deflected the thrown grenade without thinking about it, grabbing Rozanov as he slung an arm over his shoulder and shot a hole through one of the windows for them to jump through.

"Oh, bylat, okay," wait, was Rozanov injured, "is on me."

"You're damn right." Scott got up, knowing he was storming off.

"Not even hand up?" Rozanov called after him.

Oh, Scott was furious. He was furious the whole ride back to the Triskelion, the whole ride up the fucking elevators, the whole walk down the hallway to Murdock's office.

"You just can't stop yourself from lying, can you?"

"I didn't lie, Agent Rozanov had a different mission from yours."

"Which you didn't feel obliged to share."

"I'm not obliged to do anything."

"Those hostages could've died, Harv."

"I sent the greatest soldier in history to make sure that didn't happen."

"Oh, way to fucking butter me up, huh? Soldiers trust each other. That's what makes it an army. Not a bunch of guys running around shooting guns."

"Last time I trusted someone, I lost an eye."

"Rozanov claims it's from a hockey puck."

"Rozanov likes to stir shit, don't believe a word he says about me."

"Look, I didn't want you doing anything you weren't comfortable with."

Scott laughed despite himself. Everything he fucking did for SHIELD these days was uncomfortable.

"Agent Rozanov is comfortable with everything."

Oh, he sure was, apparently.

"I can't lead a mission when the people I'm leading have missions of their own," that really was the crux of the issue. He needed Rozanov to be doing what the hostage-rescue needed, or he needed someone else, not a Rozanov whose goals were split in two different places.

"It's called compartmentalization. Nobody spills the secrets because nobody knows them all."

That wasn't compartmentalization, that was what Rygg liked to call 'basic fucking infosec, Cap'.

"Except you, of course."

Murdock looked at him, "except you're wrong about me. I do share. I'm nice like that."

"Open Lemurian Star's satellite launch file."

"Access denied."

What the fuck?! Harv Murdock did not get his damn access denied on SHIELD files. He smelled a fucking rat.

"Run decryption."

"Decryption failed."

Motherfucker!

"Director override. Murdock, Harvey A."

"Override denied, all files sealed."

Fuck him right in the ass. When he was through with the stupid motherfucker who did this, their family wouldn't even have a corpse to identify. "On whose authority?"

"Murdock, Harvey A."

"You have gotta be fucking kidding me."

"I've been looking for you, rook," a large body sat down next to him, flagging down the bartender.

"You sound like a fucking creep," Shane turned around, glaring at Scott Hunter, "also, rook?"

"It's what they called you at the veterinary hospital. Thought it fit you."

"I've been doing this for years." He slammed his ginger ale down a little harder than necessary, making him wine.

"No, no, not like a rookie, but like a chess rook? They say you've gotta take a second to get into position, but you always go far when you do."

"You clearly don't know anything about chess, bud."

"Listen, I, uh, I wanted to talk to you."

"Uh huh. Also, we've spoken maybe twice. We're not in nickname territory."

"Sorry, sorry, I tend to jump into things too quickly, Roo- Shane, right. Carter said you lost someone close to you too, out on the field."

"Vaughn needs to learn to keep his fucking mouth shut," Shane snapped out, before looking at Hunter's hopeful expression, "shit, sorry. Did you lose someone too?"

"How do you not- Right, you're Canadian."

"You're not really in our history books, sorry."

Hunter ordered a beer, fiddling with his coaster.

"Alright, I don't like talking about this, so I'll only say this once, because you're Captain America and that means something to most people. I had a wingman. Hayden. We were flying a night mission, standard PJ rescue Op for the Americans. Nothing we hadn't done a thousand times before."

"It only takes one time."

Shane laughed, knowing it sounded weird, "it only takes one time. RPG knocked his dumb ass out of the sky. Nothing I could do. Left four kids and a wife."

"Shit."

"It's like I was up there just to watch."

"I'm sorry."

"And I tried to go on," what the fuck was he saying?! "I really did, I needed the money, I needed- I don't know, I liked helping people, I liked the rescuing, but the fucking military machine's only gotten worse since you went down."

"But you're happy now, back in the world?"

"Something like that, yeah," he laughed, "the number of people around giving me orders has kinda tanked, it's not so bad. You?"

"No. I don't know. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I did leave."

"I'd say hockey, but-"

"Anti-doping would have my head, I know."

"Whatever you want, dude. What makes you happy?"

"No fucking idea."

"I'll drink to that."

…Why was there music playing in his apartment?

Scott thought about the possibilities as he slipped in through one of his windows, creeping toward the living room with his shield.

Was that a dead fucking Harv Murdock on his chair?

Murdock nodded his head. Not dead, apparently.

"I don't remember giving you a key."

Murdock grunted in pain, "you really think I'd need one?"

"Doesn't explain why you're here."

"My wife kicked me out," Murdock said, holding his phone.

"Didn't know you were married." He didn't!

"A lot of things you don't know about me." Understatement of the fucking year.

"I know, Harv, that's the problem," Scott went to turn on the light, noticing that Director Murdock looked a bit more rough than someone who had just been kicked out by his secret wife should have looked.

He turned off the light, holding out his phone. EARS EVERYWHERE

Well, he'd assumed.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, but I had no other place to crash."

SHIELD COMPROMISED

Motherfucker.

"Who else knows about your wife?"

"Just…" Murdock groaned, getting up.

YOU AND ME

"My friends."

Scott scoffed, despite himself, "Is that what we are?"

"That's up to you."

And then Murdock got shot.

He got eyes on the shooter. Something metal. Big gun. Had to be, with how loud the shots were. But he could catch up to anyone, Shane and Carter proved that.

Not much to do other than pull Murdock somewhere safe.

Murdock coughed, groaning in pain, holding out a flash drive.

"Don't trust anyone."

Holy fuck, the guy was fast. Had to have some sort of serum. Rozanov had hinted Russia had been getting somewhere, but decided against it for most of the Red Room recruits, given it tended to cause serious blood vessel issues that were unsightly.

And then he caught the shield. Beautiful fucking eyes, just like Kip's had been, so long ago. So beautiful but so, so dead.

The thought hit him just as hard as the shield to his stomach.

Ilya scrambled to the observation room, knowing he wasn't even a fraction of his usual grace, "Is he going to make it?"

Hunter grunted, "I don't know."

"Tell me about shooter."

"He's fast. Strong."

No, no fucking way.

"Had a metal arm."

He took a step back despite himself. The Winter Soldier, in America? They were so fucking dead.

Rose Landry stepped up to the observation room, giving Ilya an opportunity.

"Ballistics?"

"Three slugs, no rifling," Landry shook her head, "completely untraceable."

"Soviet-made." He was sure.

And they watched Harv Murdock die.

But not before he spotted something silver in Hunter's hand.

"You crying?"

"Never in life have I cried!" Ilya knew he was sounding a little shrill, "Russians do not do this!"

He heard Landry tell Hunter they needed to take him. Murdock's body, fuck!

"Rozanov."

He had to go, he had to leave. "Ilya. We watched good man die together."

Hunter followed, "Scott, then."

"In your dreams, fossil," he sped-walked down the hall.

"Ilya!"

If Scott fucking Hunter wasn't going to leave him alone, then Ilya wasn't going to leave Scott fucking Hunter alone, "Why was Murdock in your apartment?"

Hunter shrugged. It was a terrible lie, "I don't know."

"Cap," fucking Kent, the fucking ass, said, "they want you back at SHIELD."

"Yeah, give me a second."

"They want you now."

Hunter made a bitch-face, "okay."

Well, he might as well throw Hunter a bone, if what he suspected was true.

"You are terrible liar, Hunter. Fossils should not move as much as your face does."

"Ah, captain," an older man began, "I'm Bruce Cooper."

And there was another person that skeeved Scott out. He hadn't even met the man, but he was in cahoots with Murdock, and not in a good way.

When he shook the man's hand, it was suspiciously dry.

"Sir, it's an honor," Scott lied.

"The honor's mine, captain. My father served in the 101st. Come in."

Cooper tried to lay it on thick, tried to make it seem him and Murdock were thick as thieves. It was likely they actually were. There seemed to be enough evidence, and he was Murdock's contact on the WSC, but there was a small issue with that.

Murdock told him to trust no one. If he was supposed to trust Cooper, Murdock would've told him as such. Harv had a reason to suspect Cooper, and Scott was unfortunately starting to believe his issues with certain people at SHIELD weren't irrational. Dallas Kent, who acted like he owned the place and treated everyone he saw as beneath him as property. Gilbert Comeau, the SHIELD tech on the ship, who always acted like he knew something you didn't. His whole STRIKE team, if he was being completely honest, always had something shit to say. What was it that Carter called it, locker room talk?

But who did he?

The flash drive Harv gave him was the exact same one as the one on the Lemurian Star. Benefit of the serum, eidetic memory. There was a small gouge on it from the shrapnel in the explosion. None of the STRIKE team knew what Rozanov was doing. The drive likely went straight from Rozanov to Murdock. He probably hadn't even looked, which was, in hindsight, a gross oversight on Rozanov's part, but Rozanov clearly respected Murdock. And Murdock trusted Rozanov's Op-Sec.

He could maybe, maybe, trust Rozanov. If he was pressed.

"Captain, why was Harv in your apartment last night?"

And there was the question again.

"I don't know."

"Did you know it was bugged?"

"I did, because Harv told me."

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! He shouldn't have said-

Best way to tell lie is to incorporate truth. Makes you seem honest, trustworthy. Or tool. With your face, you will come across as tool.

Maybe his brain was going too fast, and he needed to catch up.

"Did he tell you he was the one who bugged it?"

Well, that most certainly changed things. Cooper was clearly trying to subtly make Scott lose his trust in Murdock, but for what end? Was Murdock in the wrong here, and was Cooper trying to let him down gently? Or was Cooper the exact kind of person he couldn't trust?

"I want you to see something."

So, Murdock staged the attack on the Lemurian Star. Allegedly.

"Why?"

"The prevailing theory? The hijacking was a cover for the acquisition and sale of classified intelligence. The sale went sour and that led to Harv's death."

Well that was a load of bullshit. Murdock had a lot easier access to intelligence avenues if he was after money.

"If you really knew Harv Murdock, you'd know that's not true."

"Why do you think we're talking?"

So Cooper wanted to plant doubt in Scott's mind about Murdock's allegiances, but also prove that Murdock was innocent? Something didn't add up. As much as Rozanov annoyed him, he had a lot of insight on how spies and manipulators spoke. Cooper wanted Scott to be wrong-footed, reeling about Murdock breaking his trust, and then offer a lifeline through himself.

That wasn't fucking happening.

"See, I took a seat on the council not because I wanted to, but because Harv asked me to, because we were both realists. We knew that, despite all the diplomacy and the handshaking and the rhetoric, to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down."

He was fucking with him. He was actually fucking with him.

No way. If he didn't think everyone would be fucked if he wasn't around, he'd take a flying fucking leap out of that window. He'd died for nothing. Kip died for nothing. HYDRA was still around and it was in fucking everthing in the United States. Probably the world. Someone would have noticed something if it weren't a worldwide thing. The world was fucked. SHIELD was worldwide, despite claiming to only exist within the United States. 

He schooled his expression into something neutral before Cooper turned around.

"And that makes enemies."

Project fucking Insight. The world would be fucked, if he didn't fucking do something. He was the first superhero, he'd figure something out or die trying.

"Those people that call you dirty because you got the guts to stick your hands in the mud and try to build something better. And the idea that those people could be happy today?" Cooper scoffed, "Makes me really, really angry."

At least the Nazi was unhappy. Small blessings.

"Captain, you were the last one to see Harv alive. I don't think that's an accident. And I don't think you do, either," something in his face must have given away his anger, because Cooper wasn't seeming as friendly, "so I'm gonna ask you again. Why was he there?"

"He told me not to trust anyone."

Give them a rope to hang themselves with. Kip advice.

"I wonder if that included him."

"I'm sorry, those were his last words," he reached for his shield, slinging it over his back, "excuse me."

He was probably going to be ambushed at some point soon. He was fortunate he'd elected to go in with his full uniform, shield and all.

"Captain."

Scott paused.

"Somebody murdered my friend and I'm gonna find out why. Anyone gets in my way, there gonna regret it."

Okay, so a straight-up threat. Shit.

"Anyone."

"Understood."

It was a long ride down to the bottom of the Triskelion.

"Operations control."

"Confirmed."

If he could just make it out of the Triskelion, he'd be good to go.

And then Dallas Kent had to get in the elevator too.

So the fight was starting now, then. Or very soon. They probably wanted to give him as little room as possible to fight, box him in.

"Forensics."

"Confirmed."

"Cap," Kent greeted.

"Kent."

The elevator door closed.

It's not shell shock if the crowded elevator is really out to get you, Scott decided.

He wasn't just being paranoid. Everyone in the room was sneaking glances at him, some of them couldn't take their hands off their holsters, and even more were sweating fucking bullets. He was happy to see that he still managed to strike fear in the hearts of HYDRA.

He channeled a bit of Rozanov, "Before we get started, does anyone wanna get out?"

No luck.

The magnetic cuff was a real handicap, and the taser hurt like a motherfucker, but he managed to get everyone down except Dallas fucking Kent, which made him groan. Why, why did he work with that guy?

"Woah, big guy," well fuck you, "I just want you to know Cap, this isn't personal!"

Kent swung for him with the taser stick when he said personal, but Scott kind of saw it coming, so it was easy to dodge. The two tasers were a problem, and Kent got a couple good shots in.

Just because Dallas Kent pissed him off so much, he threw him into the ceiling when he got the chance.

"It kind of feels personal."

Elevators were fucking useless.

"Give it up Hunter! Get that door open! You have nowhere to go!"

If he were a normal man, yeah, he'd have nowhere to go. But he wasn't a normal man, not anymore. He was a government fucking experiment, and he was built different.

He didn't have much time to gather his bearings, but he needed a moment. Falling was never pleasant, even on top of the shield, and he was sure there was a bruised rib somewhere in that big chest of his.

He'd probably need to take Rygg up on the offer for a homing device on his shield, it was way too unwieldy to grab sometimes. Like ripping it out of a plane.

Ilya chose to pop a bubble of gum behind Scott Hunter. Just for fun.

When Hunter slammed him into a wall, it was fun, for a different reason.

"You know I do not date dinosaurs, Hunter."

"Quit joking around."

"Is truth!"

"Where is it?" Hunter asked.

"Safe."

"Do better."

"Where did you get it?"

"Why would I tell you?"

He conceded the point. But the answer did give him some information, "Murdock gave it to you, why?"

"What's on it?"

"I don't know."

"Stop lying."

"I only act like I know everything, Hunter, you know this. Is dementia getting to you?"

Hunter looked behind him, like Ilya wasn't watching the door like a hawk.

"I bet you knew Murdock hired the pirates, didn't you?"

He did not, actually. "Makes sense, ship was dirty, Murdock needed way in, so did you."

And he was grabbed.

"Bad touch, Hunter!"

"Fuck off! I'm not gonna ask you again."

Fuck it. "I know who killed Murdock."

Hunter's grip on him relaxed.

"Most of intelligence community doesn't believe he exists," he felt his accent slipping, "Ones that do call him Winter Soldier. Is credited with over two dozen assassinations in last 50 years."

"So he's a ghost story."

Ilya laughed, a little manic even to his own ears, "Five years ago, I was escorting nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa, we lost control, went straight over cliff. I pull us out."

He swallowed.

"But Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer with body, so he shot him through me," he lifted his shirt, showing his scar, "Soviet slug, no rifling. Same as Murdock."

Hunter sighed.

"In Red Room, we are told to fear nothing but Зимний Солдат. I know fear that day, and only that day. Going after him is dead end. I know, I have tried. Like you said," he held up the flash drive, "is ghost story."

Hunter took the drive, "well, let's find out what the ghost wants."

"First rule of going on the run is don't run, walk," Rozanov warned him in perfect fucking English.

Scott had no time to fucking react to that, "If I run in these shoes, they're gonna fall off."

"We're getting married, really?!"

"You come up with a better excuse, we'll use that one," Rozanov spat out, "shut up and put your arm around me, laugh at something I said."

"What?"

"Do it."

He was so fucking bad at it, but it seemed to work. They made it to the escalator before Rozanov hit him with another curveball.

"Kiss me."

"What?!"

"One kiss with a man will not make you gay, Hunter, welcome to the 21st century. Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable."

He was not going to get kissed by Ilya fucking Rozanov, not if he could help it. "Yes, they do."

Rozanov hauled him down for a kiss.

He'd assumed Rozanov was a good kisser, given his job. Scott wasn't one to judge, but he wasn't too fond of it. Didn't really like the guy that much.

"You are not homophobic, are you, Hunter?"

He resisted the urge to wipe his mouth on his sleeve. "No, no, no, definitely not. It's perfectly fine. I know what you do, and I've never had a problem with it."

"Where did Captain America learn how to steal car?"

"Nazi Germany."

Rozanov grunted in agreement.

"And we're borrowing. Take your feet off the dash."

"Boo," Rozanov stuck his tongue out, "boring."

They sat in silence for another couple minutes.

"All right, I have question for you, which you do not have to answer. But if you do not answer, is basically answer, yes?"

"What."

"Was that first kiss since 1945?"

Scott really fucking hated Ilya Rozanov. "That bad?"

"Little bit, yes. Maybe you do not find me attractive. Is okay, close your eyes, think of America next time."

"Fuck you, Rozanov."

"Ilya."

"Ilya."

"But really, Scott Hunter, you have never kissed since 1945?"

"Since ever, really."

Rozanov giggled, slightly judgmental "Do you not want to?"

"No, it's just- no one was interested before, then I had to work, and then, well-" Scott shrugged, "it's hard to find someone with shared life experience."

"Well, is alright, just make something up. Everyone does."

"What, like you?"

"Harsh, Scott Hunter, harsh."

"Scott."

"Truth is matter of circumstance. Is not all things to all people, all times. Neither am I."

"You spoke English perfectly, earlier."

"Yes, I uh," he waved his hand, "I have no choice. I had to learn. But I do not want to learn, yes? This is how I want to speak. Is closer to myself, how I would be, in different life. My own self. I am Ilya, silly Russian guy who is very smart even with accent. Not Black Widow, perfect spy with boring American accent. I can be something else, sometimes."

Scott was painfully reminded that Ilya was, functionally, a child soldier. He was an experiment, just like Scott, but without the choice he had.

"That's a tough way to live."

"Maybe it is. Is good way not to die, though."

"You know, it's kind of hard to trust someone when you don't know who that someone really is."

"You are practically u-haul lesbian, with what you did with Elena Rygg. She offer you nice room, you take nice room. At her throat not five hours before, taking her room five hours later. She could slit your throat in your sleep. Why is it me you do not trust?"

"Rygg isn't in an agency that turned out to be HYDRA."

Rozanov laughed at him, "old man, finding other old dinosaurs to fight."

"No, I- Rozanov- Ilya, listen to me. I was talking to Cooper, the WSC secretary."

Rozanov crossed his arms, "uh huh."

"HYDRA- HYDRA believed that humanity could not be trusted to rule itselves. Freedom was a curse."

"Is basic childhood education, yes. We have this in Red Room."

"They wanted to destroy the world and build up a new one from its ashes. Some of the things Cooper said, and what some of these other guys have said before-"

"You think they follow same philosophy?"

"If they're not a direct descendant. They were using the tesseract in the exact same way. On the Helicarrier. You remember."

Rozanov sighed, "there is… one thing. You may be right. There was Operation Paperclip, after World War 2. The US government recruited Axis scientists of strategic value. Poor background checks. Very many were imprisoned for ethics violations."

Scott felt the steering wheel groan under his hands.

"And Hydra, is mythical creature. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place."

"Shit." Scott resisted the urge to pull over.

"We will have personal crisis later," Rozanov patted his shoulder awkwardly, "world crisis now."

"If you want me to be something for you, Hunter, anything, what would you like me to be?"

"How about a friend?"

"I can maybe swing it, as act of charity to elderly," Rozanov laughed, "there is chance you are in wrong business, Hunter."

"I can't believe you stole Toyota."

"It's a good truck!"

"Is boring, I suppose," Rozanov closed the door to the truck.

"This is it?" Scott asked, taking in the architecture that he doubted had been updated since he was in boot camp.

"File came from these coordinates."

"This is dead end, zero heat signatures, zero waves, not even radio," Rozanov turned off his phone, "Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off."

When Scott was looking at Rozanov, who was reaching for his nicotine gum, he noticed something. Something wasn't right.

"What is it?" Rozanov asked, about to pop out a piece.

He hauled himself up over the railing, pointing at the munitions shed. Rozanov fell into step behind him.

"Army regulations forbid storing munitions within 500 yards of barracks."

"US military breaking regulations? Shocking."

"They don't break ones this obvious. This building's in the wrong place."

"Oh, I understand now."

Scott broke the lock, going down the stairs to turn on the lights.

"This is SHIELD," Rozanov pointed out, unhelpfully, "or where it started."

The secret office had a whole lot of nothing, besides Rygg's father, and a secret entrance in an already secret office.

"If you're already working in a secret office," He grabbed the shelf, making it groan as he pushed it aside, "why do you need to hide the elevator?"

Rozanov did some fancy thing with his phone, scanning for fingerprints on the keypad.

"You could hide a lot of bodies behind this."

"Sometimes I forget you are closeted serial killer, Hunter. Do not speak to me."

Rozanov chewed his gum extra loud in the elevator, before pulling out a tissue to spit it into, wiping his mouth before returning the tissue to his pocket, no-doubt to be dunked in some sort of antiseptic and then incinerated.

At the bottom of the elevator was a dark room filled with computers that, to his understanding, were really outdated.

The lights turned on as they walked, which was not creepy at all.

"This cannot be data point, technology is ancient. Maybe not Jurassic like you, but most certainly Cretaceous," Rozanov made a curious noise, "perhaps not."

Scott turned around, seeing a much more modern-looking bank of holes for flash drives, and Rozanov was about to plug it in.

He readied his shield, just in case.

"Hunter, Scott, born 1918," a computerized, painfully familiar voice began.

Scott didn't jump, but it was a close one. His grip on his shield tightened. The computer sounded like Olivier Theriault.

"Rozanov, Ilya Grigoryevich, born 1991."

Rozanov was only 23?!

"Is some kind of recording?"

"I am not recording, Junge. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I am-"

"You know this thing?"

"Olivier Theriault was a French scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He's been dead for years."

"First correction! I am Swiss." Like that fucking mattered, a nazi was a nazi, "Second, look around you. I have never been more alive."

According to Rygg, which, while Scott didn't trust her on matters regarding morals, he did trust her about technology, it would take about 12 of Rygg Enterprises' best flash drives to contain the storage capacity of just the thinking part of the human brain, let alone the processing power or the more basic parts like the brain stem. He'd kind of glazed over when she started talking about advancements in data storage, but he did remember the tapes they used to go to the moon, because they remind him of the movies. Anyway, the tapes he saw would mean these are magnetic-tape, possibly 9-track, given their appearance reminded him of IBM, so, to give the kindest estimate, they would likely hold about 75 kilobytes per foot, rounded up. Which was to say, to truly store a cerebral cortex (see, Rygg, he knew science!) one would need over a billion feet of tape, or about 190,000 miles.

"In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body. My mind, however, that was worth saving, on 200,000 feet of databanks."

That was only about 0.02% of Scott's extremely generous estimate. They were talking to something with a brain the size of a grain of rice.

But maybe his math was wrong.

"You are standing in my brain."

Scott couldn't help but scoff.

"What is so funny, Hunter?"

"I just did the math. This brain is the size of a grain of rice."

"You will have to explain to me later."

"How did you get here?" Scott asked.

"I told you, he was invited. SHIELD recruited Axis scientists with strategic value."

"They thought I could help their cause, I also helped my own."

"HYDRA died with the Red Skull," Scott said, despite it tasting like ash in his mouth.

"Cut off one head, two more shall take its place."

Just to see what would happen, Scott blurted out "prove it."

He punched through the screen when Theriault called his life a zero-sum.

Rozanov snorted. "What was that for?"

"You know damn well what that was for."

"He's just going to pop up on other monitor."

"As I was saying…"

"What's on this drive?"

"Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm."

"What kind of algorithm, what does it do?" Rozanov was speaking faster than usual.

"The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it."

Motherfucker! He threw his shield at the rapidly closing elevator doors, trying to wedge them open or something, but it bounced straight off, heading right back for him.

"Scott, we have bogey. Short range ballistic. 30 seconds tops."

"Who fired it?"

"SHIELD."

"The motherfucker stalled us."

"You are correct, Captain!"

Rozanov dove for the flash drive as Scott searched for anything, anything at all, that would act as a shelter, or an exit.

"It's better this way. We are both of us-"

Scott ripped up one of the grates in the floor, "ROZANOV!"

Rozanov didn't need to be told twice, diving into the hole.

"You're going to be the only one who knows about this if I don't make it, Rozanov."

"What the fuck are you saying, get inside hole!"

"I'm gay, Rozanov. I like men."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Hunter, cover us!" Rozanov pulled him on top of him, positioning his arm so the shield covered them both, then covering his head with his hands.

Who the fuck was knocking on Shane's door? The only people who knew where he lived were Vaughn, Jackie, his employer, and his parents, and he sure as hell knew his parents weren't in town. They wouldn't surprise him like that. Jackie wouldn't, either. She preferred it when he visited her instead. Maybe Scott Hunter, the fucking creep, figured it out.

Puck tittered from her indoor mew in the foyer.

He put his ginger ale down, shambling over to the front door.

He was greeted by Scott fucking Hunter, of course, and the most handsome man Shane had ever seen, smeared with dirt and dust, looking like they'd just gotten blown up.

There was nothing to do but say, "hey."

"I'm sorry about this. We need a place to lay low, and Carter's out of town."

"Everyone we know is trying to kill us."

And his fucking accent, fuck. Shane was so fucking dead. Next thing you'd tell him is the man liked hockey.

"Not everyone." He let Puck out of her mew, signalling for her to keep an eye on the house.

"So you are gay, yes?"

"Listen, Ilya-"

"I will let you know now, I call dibs on this Shane Hollander. I will be his boyfriend, not you."

"Wait, you like dudes?"

Rozanov scoffed. "I thought it was pretty obvious."

"I thought you just said it to make people uncomfortable!"

"Wow, very biphobic of you, Mr Fossil. They will have to cancel you on twitter."

"No, you, I just- Ugh, Rozanov!"

"Listen, Scott Hunter. This does not matter to me, I am not into you, you are not into me. I am in true love with handsome man Shane Hollander who you have not told me about. This is terrible friend behavior."

"You're deflecting, Rozanov, what's going on?"

"When I first join SHIELD, I thought I was going straight. Sveta promise me, SHIELD is good, SHIELD will do what is right," Rozanov laughed bitterly, "I just trade in KGB for HYDRA. SHIELDRA, if you will."

"You thought you knew whose lies you were telling?"

"Something to that effect, yes."

They sat in silence for a while, Rozanov doing weird, scrunching motions to his hair.

"Hunter, I owe you."

"Don't."

"Is true. If situations were reversed, was other way around, and was down to me to save your life, would you trust me to do it? Be honest, I can take it."

"Now? Yes. In a heartbeat." Scott was happy to say he wasn't lying.

Rozanov smiled what seemed to be a real smile, "You seem very happy for someone who found out they died for nothing."

"I don't know," Scott shrugged, "I'm glad to know who I'm fighting."

"I made breakfast," Shane blurted out, "if you guys… eat that."

Scott knew he perked up. "Is the game on?"

Rozanov dragged Scott down by his hair, making him yelp as he whispered in his ear, "you tell me this man is hot as fuck, has Canadian accent, and likes hockey, and I have not been notified of this? You are a terrible friend, we are breaking up friendship right now."

"He talks to birds and reads ornithology books for fun."

"I do not have to know his interests to tap that ass. He can be boring as fuck, for all I care."

"He's all yours, Rozanov, don't worry. He's not my type." Even if he was, Rozanov would make it his personal mission to make the Captain America memorial no longer obsolete.

"Not your type?! Shane Hollander is everyone's type."

Scott couldn't help but laugh.

"Hunty, you haven't introduced me to your friend."

"Ilya Rozanov, yes, hello," Rozanov held his hand out, "you are very pretty man, Shane Hollander."

It was like watching a fucking car wreck. And Shane seemed to be fucking into it.

"Who are you cheering for?" Rozanov nodded toward the TV.

"I only cheer for the Monuments because I know one of the players, otherwise Montreal."

"Montreal?!" Rozanov squawked, "How can pretty man like such unpretty team?"

"My home team is the fucking Centaurs, so-"

"Say no more. I understand, even as Boston fan, I understand."

"You like fucking Boston?!"

Holy shit, HYDRA was going to take over the world, and these two were arguing about hockey?!

"Hey!"

"I am having conversation here, old man, I know impulse control leaves with age, but is rude to interrupt!"

"Do I need to remind you what we almost got blown up over, Rozanov?"

"Fine, fine, fine," Rozanov got up, starting to pace, "Question is, who at SHIELD could launch domestic missile strike?"

"Cooper."

He caught Shane sneaking glances at Rozanov's ass while rifling through his cabinets. "Who happens to be sitting on top of most secure building in world."

"But he's not working alone, Theriault's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star."

"So was Gilbert Comeau."

"Gilbert Comeau?!" Shane squawked.

"What, know him too?"

"Yeah, we worked together years ago. Comeau was an analyst for the Canada-US loan program, always made really terrible comments about me and Hayds being gay, or something."

Rozanov raised an eyebrow.

"He wasn't my type."

"Because he is man, or…"

"Because he was married and my best friend. Also probably couldn't eat ass if his life depended on it, and I respect myself."

"Good man. I can help with a little, ah, self-respect, if you would like."

"Might take you up on that sometime, when you're not discussing the end of the world."

God save him. He tried to bring the conversation back on-track.

"So, the real question is, how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?"

"The answer is, you don't."

Rozanov looked like Christmas came early, sorting through Shane's files.

He was fanboying out over Shane's fucking missions, rattling them off by name.

He handed him a photo of Shane with someone else, "this Hayden?"

"Heard they could not bring in choppers because of RPGs. What did you use, stealth chute?"

"No," Shane walked forward, handing Scott a file labeled EXO-7 FALCON, "These. American equipment. They wanted us because we had better balance and proprioception than the Americans."

"Hockey?"

"Yup. Almost went pro, but couldn't afford the camps. Did this instead."

"Very big change."

"I thought you said you were a pilot."

"I didn't actually say that."

Scott shook his head, "I can't ask you to do this, Shane."

Shane's eyes slipped to Rozanov for a second, face flushing.

"You got out for a good reason."

"Dude, Vaughny would kill me if he found out Captain America needed my help and I said no, if I wasn't instantly deported to Canada. There's no better reason to get back in."

Well, that did it.

"Where can we get our hands on one of these things?"

"Last one's at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a 12-inch steel wall."

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"After this, you give me call, yes? I will find you at airport, like Hunter said, if we do not get numbers."

"I'll make sure it gets to you. Carrier pigeon."

"Ha, you do like birds!"

"Yes, sir?"

Oh, how it made Shane's blood boil. Fucking sellout to the Americans, the American fucking nazis, no less. This was exactly what Shane's mom yelled at him about. "Agent Comeau, how was lunch? I hear the crab cakes here are delicious."

"Who is this?"

"Been a while, not surprised you don't recognize me. Doesn't matter. Guy in the sunglasses, your 10 o'clock."

Comeau turned the wrong way.

"Your other 10 o'clock."

He faced him.

"There you go," Shane raised his can of Canada Dry, "recognize me?"

"Shane Hollander? One of the two bird-fags?"

"Now that's just fucking rude."

"What do you want, Hollander?"

"You're gonna go around the corner to your right. There's a grey car two spaces down. You and I are gonna take a ride."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because that tie looks really expensive, and I'd hate to fuck it up."

There was a sick satisfaction Scott got from kicking people through doors. Maybe Rozanov was right about his serial killer vibes.

"Tell me about Theriault's algorithm," Scott barked, watching Comeau roll around on the roof.

"Never heard of it."

"What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?"

"Throwing up, I get seasick."

Comeau stumbled, making Scott have to catch him. He got a sick satisfaction from holding him up by the lapels.

Rozanov pulled out a stick of nicotine gum, popping it in his mouth.

"Is this little display meant to insinuate that you're gonna throw me off this roof?" Comeau's voice shook, "because it's really not your style, Hunter."

Got him there, "you're right, it's not."

He smoothed down Comeau's jacket.

"It's his."

"Oh wait, what about girl from Accounting, Laura…"

"Did you forget you had to call dibs on Shane because I'm gay?"

"Ah, no, just cognitive decline check. Making sure you knew I knew."

"Cheap."

Of course, Shane had to bring Comeau back, showing off his wings.

"I think I just came," Rozanov muttered, mouth agape.

"Fucking gross, Rozanov."

"Fucking homophobic, Hunter."

Comeau started to babble.

Puck, despite her bitch-face over not being able to see him fail to flirt with Ilya Rozanov, took his command to get the fuck out of dodge with grace. Not really, given she happened to be preening herself on the trees right next to the highway. He'd spotted her on three trees in the last five minutes.

It had to be enough. Her hagging out could wait, he didn't want to be fucking killed, so they were off to the Triskelion.

"HYDRA doesn't like leaks," Comeau complained.

"Then shut the fuck up."

Puck was also being needy, giving him a fucking headache.

"Insight's launching in 16 hours, we are cutting it close here."

"We'll use him to bypass the genetic material scans and-

"What? Are you crazy? That is a terrible, terrible-"

Puck shrieked something in warning. Something about hitting the gas. Briefly, he saw a flash of something trying to jump on their car.

"Grab Comeau!"

He didn't react fast enough.

Something thudded, pulling Comeau out into an oncoming truck.

Rozanov jumped into the passenger seat, using his body to pull Hunter ahead in time to dodge the bullets through the roof.

Puck was getting closer, clearly about to swoop the person on the roof of the car despite Shane desperately begging her not to.

He dodged a bullet aimed for his head as Puck decided to make the right choice and landed on a nearby sign. Hunter pulled the parking brake, and Shane quickly slammed his brakes to help.

Someone flipped off their car, long, greasy hair like Puck had warned him about, with a metal arm adorned by a star.

Panicking, he ripped open his glovebox, pulling out his spare gauntlet. He whistled for Puck, trying to get her out of the line of fire. He needed to remove her equipment, make sure she wasn't traceable nor recognisable as a falconer's bird.

He whistled, and Puck flew down immediately, dodging a fucking bullet.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Hunter shouted.

"I need to make sure Puck doesn't look like a falconer's bird. I'm one of the only falconers in DC, they don't give out recreational licenses, only ones for airports, they can use her to find me," He ripped off her jess, about to reach for her bells when Puck shrieked in warning. They were about to be hit by a car, an armored van. Shane wrapped his body around her, trying to shield her.

He tried to swerve out of the way of the fucked-up guy in front of them, trying to turn the situation into a T-bone, but they were moving too fast. The brakes, he needed to hit the brakes.

"Untie the bell!" She delicately bounced over to the leather jacket Rozanov was borrowing.

"Okay!"

Puck jumped down once her bell was off, reaching for something in the footwell. She hopped up onto Rozanov's lap holding a gun in one claw.

"You have really smart bird!"

"She's dumb as hell, she needs to leave," Shane threw off his gauntlet, desperately pressing the open window button for the passenger side. He whistled once, he didn't really need to, she knew he wanted her to leave, but it sold the illusion.

Puck made her displeasure very clear, but she took off from the window.

"What happens if she doesn't come back?"

"She will," Shane said, as the steering wheel was ripped from his grip through the hole in the fucking windshield, "Shit!"

Rozanov started blasting, and the guy jumped onto the truck behind them.

The car started to swerve wildly, because, no fucking steering wheel! Hunter grabbed him by the shoulder, "hang on!"

He slammed the door out with his shield, the three of them skidding on the highway as the car flipped wildly.

Puck made a snide comment about it being a rental, and Shane asked her why the fuck she wasn't gone.

Hunter lost his grip on him pretty quickly, making him roll on the concrete for a while, which, ow, but he was alive, and he didn't have much road rash, given he was rolling and not sliding. He got up as fast as he could, pulling a knife out of his pocket just in time to see Captain fucking America get hit by a fucking RPG.

Puck made a curious noise over their bond as he resolutely did not think about it. Captain America had a shield, he would be fine.

Shane took cover behind a car as the government agents behind arm guy, which, hadn't Rozanov mentioned something about a Winter Soldier? He'd call him the Winter Soldier.

Rozanov started taking pot shots, earning another RPG that he expertly dodged.

Had the benefit of taking the fire off him, especially when the car Rozanov was sheltering behind blew up. He knew what people being blown up sounded like, and Rozanov didn't make the sound, so he was likely fine. He had to be.

They were ignoring him entirely, according to Puck, who hadn't gotten the fuck away and was perched on a nearby building, far away from the firefight. Rozanov was fine, trying his best to shoot at the Winter Soldier.

He got a good shot in his eye, forcing him to take the goggles off.

"Она у меня. Найди его," the Winter Soldier said as Shane crept up on them, before jumping off the bridge onto a car. The men around him began to hook belays into the nearby cars, clearly making moves to follow him down. As soon as the Winter Soldier was out of the picture, Shane felt safe to strike.

As the last guy got ready to join his compatriots at the underpass, Shane kicked his knees in, pulling his shirt over his head to give him a good punch in the face and slash his arm, before kicking him off the bridge entirely.

He picked up the man's gun. Some sort of rifle. Shane wasn't really good with identifying guns, and this one probably was heavily modded. A gun was a gun, though.

He began to shoot down the guys shooting at Hunter, who was hunkered behind his shield to protect himself from the machine gun aimed at him.

Shane dodged a shot as Hunter took down the machine gun guy. Hunter looked up.

"Go! I've got this!"

The asset aimed a shot at the approaching emergency vehicle. It would be told when appropriate emergency vehicles approached, all others were interfering with the Mission.

It loaded in another RPG. It was not used to such conditions, people who it did not need to kill, but it would do what it needed to do. As it stood, Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov was an obstacle to the Mission, and needed to be eliminated.

Its ears perked up as it heard something, a man's voice, heavily accented, emanating from behind an abandoned motor vehicle. The voice did not stop at its approach, indicating the asset's presence had not been registered. Good. It rolled a pressure grenade beneath the hood of a vehicle, hoping to bump it on the curb where Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov was hiding.

The asset readied its weapon, in case Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov ran.

The abandoned motor vehicle blew up, as expected, but there was no scream.

Confused, the asset foolishly lowered its weapon to investigate, before it was kicked out of its hands as a massive body tackled it from behind.

The body clearly was trying to pull it over with its weight, but the asset was strong, and it remained upright. A man, no-doubt Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov, attempted to wrap a garrote around its neck, but fortunately, the Asset had brought a hand up in its surprise, impeding the garotte's progress to its neck.

The asset threw Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov off with its mechanical arm, slamming the obstacle into the car. It picked up its weapon again, aiming to remove the obstacle, before Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov's hand extended, a small disk suddenly rendering the asset's mechanical arm motionless. The asset had to drop its weapon to rip the tasing device off, and the interruption clearly allowed Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov the opportunity to run.

It spun its arm in its socket once as a Mission-necessary system reboot, and it was off to deal with the obstacle.

Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov was not trying to hide, instead indicating other obstacles should evacuate. The straight line in which Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov ran made it a simple matter for the asset to shoot the obstacle through with a shot, bringing Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov to the ground, and making the removal of the obstacle a simple matter.

It aimed its RPG at the abandoned motor vehicle Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov had collapsed behind, to ensure the obstacle's disposal, before a pattering of feet indicated the asset was about to be attacked. It swung for its attacker, hitting the vibranium shield the Mission Target was known for.

It pulled the shield aside, aiming to kick the Mission Target in the chest, which it successfully did, but the force required caused the asset to land on its back.

It shot at the Mission Target, but its main weapon was quickly becoming unwieldy, so it dropped that one and switched to its LMG, which, as LMGs were wont to do, jammed. It didn't know why this was such a common occurrence, it did not remember any experiences involving LMGs jamming, but the asset knew in its bones that LMGs were unreliable motherfuckers.

The pause it needed to adjust to the LMG's jamming gave the Mission Target the opportunity to kick it out of its hand, but the asset was able to recover quickly and switch to its handgun. The Mission Target spent a lot of time behind that shield, it would seem, annoyingly so, which was perhaps a new, or very old, emotion for the asset.

The asset ducked a punch, grabbed a swing from the shield, whose edge was less sharp than previously indicated, meaning that the Mission Target was using sheer brute force to cut through things with a dull edge. For some reason, this was not a shock to the asset, though it should have been. The asset felt as if it already knew this.

The asset landed a good punch on the Mission Target's face, and grabbed the Mission Target's shield to attempt to flip the Mission Target, as the shield was attached to the Mission Target's arm. The Mission Target frustratingly landed on its feet, but the asset was the one with the shield, its weight strangely familiar as it dealt blow after blow to the Mission Target's torso, before eventually throwing the Mission Target into a car, who recovered quickly and began to rush it.

The asset decided to forgo the protection of the shield, it had no need for the shield, and threw it at the Mission Target. The Mission Target acknowledged the shield's location wedged in a car, given the Mission Target had just dodged it, but continued to run toward the asset, clearly planning to tackle it. The asset pulled a knife into its hand, a nasty one that was sure to leave permanent injury on all those who were not the current Mission Target. The Mission Brief indicated that the Mission Target had an accelerated healing factor, and such injuries would not last long on the Mission Target, but it was the asset's preferred knife, because even with an accelerated healing factor, the wound would take a long time to close.

Their fistfight, which was really what it was, the Mission Target never giving the opportunity for a stabbing, lasted a long time, by fighting standards, the Mission Target weirdly trying to pull at the back of the asset's tac gear, as if pulling a jersey over someone's head. The Mission Target got a lucky hit in, disorienting the asset, allowing another spinning hit into its stomach that sent it flying into a nearby abandoned motor vehicle. The Mission Target took a flying leap, knee slamming into the asset's chest like a truck, but the asset was able to block the next punch with its arm, and got in a good punch to the jaw. The Mission Target flipped the asset over, slamming it into the pavement, but it was able to recover quickly and wrap its hand around the Mission Target's neck. The asset could not keep up enough constant pressure without opening itself up for attacks to truly strangle the Mission Target, but it put just enough pressure on the blood vessels to disorient. It threw the Mission Target across a car, following with a flying punch that should have crushed the Mission Target's skull, but the Mission Target dodged, because of fucking course.

The asset got more good punches in, the Mission Target was still a little wrong-footed, and it managed to send the Mission Target flying into another abandoned motor vehicle, which allowed the asset to pull out a knife, kick the Mission Target in the groin, who strangely, did not react as most men did, and attempted to stab the Mission Target in the head. Frustratingly, its wrist was caught, and as it used its other hand to bear down more weight, the Mission Target simply moved them to the side and allowed the knife to go harmlessly into the abandoned motor vehicle behind them, eventually knocking the asset off-balance when there was no more abandoned motor vehicle to cut. The Mission Target flipped the two of them, sending the asset to the ground.

Of course, the Mission Target had to get the fucking shield back. The asset tried to get in a good stab, the shield, of course, blocking the way, so the asset went for a punch to the jaw. That helped, but the Mission Target quickly recovered and even jammed the edge of the shield into the plating of the asset's arm, immobilizing it. The Mission Target slammed the shield into the asset's face, loosening its mask, and one last flip where the Mission Target grabbed the asset by its mask knocked it off entirely.

The asset turned around to face the Mission Target, who looked as if he was in deep physical pain. The asset had not been able to injure the Mission Target significantly yet, so it was confused where the sudden expression had came from.

"Kip?"

"Who the hell is Kip?!" The asset took advantage of the Mission Target's strange pause to raise its gun, but the name 'Kip' made its thoughts too muddled to do anything but kill. Perhaps, if it wasn't so confused by the name 'Kip', it would have heard the jetpacks.

"It was him."

Puck was flipping the fuck out. Shane never got arrested, and yet, there they were, off to their secret execution.

Shane begged her desperately to not do something stupid, he needed to focus on Rozanov, who was bleeding out, not Puck.

"He looked right at me like he didn't even know me."

"How is that even possible?" Shane began, knowing he was probably playing a little too dumb, but he didn't even care, "It was, like, 70 years ago, right? I'm not really good with American history."

"Theriault. Kip's whole unit was captured in '43. Theriault experimented on him."

Oh, fuck. Shane fought back a panic attack. It wouldn't happen to him, no one knew he was weird, it wouldn't happen to him, he wasn't going to get experimented on.

Rozanov nudged his foot playfully, possibly sensing his panic.

He hated, hated spies, no matter how hot they were.

"Whatever he did helped Kip survive the fall," Hunter plowed on, oblivious to Shane's panic, "they must have found him and-"

"None of that is your fault, Scott Hunter. Dinosaur age."

"Even when I had nothing, I had Kip."

"Only one to tolerate serial killer vibes," Rozanov slurred out. Shit. Shit!

Shane had to be brave for the man he had just met that morning, he didn't know what possessed him to start lecturing their captors. "We need to get a doctor here. If we don't put pressure on that wound, he's going to bleed out right here."

One of their captors flashed an electric baton of some sort at him.

"Fuck off, I'm ri-" he began, before the captor flipped the baton and stabbed the other one, kicking him unconscious.

"Ah," the captor took their helmet off, revealing a gorgeous woman who could've been a movie star, "that thing was squeezing my brain."

Hunter sighed with relief.

The woman pointed at Shane, "Who's he?"

Something chirped above him. A familiar chirp.

He switched his view to Puck's, giving himself a view of the back of his own head.

"Oh, fuck off."

"What?"

Shane switched back to his own view, cut the sleeve off Rozanov's good arm, sliding it over his hand to act as a pseudo-gauntlet, holding his arm out, "my stupid fucking bird."

"You're a falconer?" Assistant Director Rose Landry, as she had been introduced, asked.

"Yup, and Puck here is extremely loyal."

"Will she behave inside?"

"Probably catch a couple rodents for you."

"We'll see what we can do for her. She's really cute."

Another fan of birds! Great! "Thank you. I'll sort her out, don't worry about us."

"GSW!" Landry yelled, "he's lost at least a pint!"

Shane shook his head, "maybe two!"

"Let me take him!" A man running down the hall yelled.

Landry shook her head, "he'll wanna see him first."

Harv fucking Murdock was an impossible man to kill a-fucking-pparently

"About damn time," Murdock greeted them.

Rozanov grunted as the doctor put pressure on his wound.

"Lacerated spinal column, cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and one hell of a headache."

What the actual fuck?! He saw him die on the operating table!

"Don't forget your collapsed lung," the doctor butted in.

"Let's not forget that. Otherwise, I'm just fine."

"They cut you open!" Rozanov protested, "your heart stopped."

"Tetrodotoxin B. Slows the pulse to one beat a minute."

"Too slow for a heart monitor," Shane said behind him, his bird, Puck, nowhere to be found.

"Price developed it for stress. Didn't work so great for him, but we found a use for it."

"Why all the secrecy? Why not just tell us?"

Rozanov scoffed.

"Any attempt on the director's life had to look successful," Landry said simply, like Scott hadn't spent the past 24 hours mourning the man.

"Can't kill you if you're already dead. Besides," Harv moved his head side-to-side, "I wasn't sure who to trust."

"This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize. He said peace wasn't an achievement, it was a responsibility."

Scott was going to trust his gut forever, at this rate.

"See, it's stuff like this that gives me trust issues."

"We have to stop launch," Rozanov said.

"I don't think the Council's accepting my calls anymore," Murdock revealed a briefcase with three large chips of some kind.

"What's that?" Shane asked.

"Once the helicarriers reach 3,000 feet, they'll triangulate with Insight satellites, becoming fully weaponized."

"We need to breach those carriers, and replace their targeting blades with our own."

"One or two won't cut it, we need to link all three carriers for this to work," Agent Landry gestured with her hands, "Because if even one of those ships remains operational, a whole lotta people are gonna die."

"We have to assume everyone aboard those carriers is HYDRA." Fuck! "We have to get past them, insert these server blades, and maybe, just maybe, we can salvage what's left."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Shane yelled.

"We're not salvaging anything. We're not just taking down the carriers, Harv. We're taking down SHIELD."

"SHIELD had nothing to do with this!"

"Your entire fucking government," Shane ground out, "and probably mine too, has been complacent in this whole thing, right from the start. You remember when they started releasing the files on Project X? The project where they tortured a man until he became Deadpool? What they did to Wolverine? I was a kid then, but I sure as hell fucking remember your government and mine both accepted that torturing people unlucky enough to have superpowers was a necessary sacrifice for protection. The entire model of agencies like this is what allowed HYDRA to fester here, this model is flawed right from the start. SHIELD was going to turn out like this with or without HYDRA."

"I'm with Shane. You gave me this mission. This is how it ends. SHIELD's been compromised, you said so yourself. HYDRA grew right under your nose and nobody noticed."

"Why do you think we're meeting in this cave? I noticed."

"And how many paid the price before you did?"

"Look," Murdock began, "I didn't know about Grady."

Scott felt his teeth crack, "And even if you had, would you have told me, or would you have compartmentalized that too? SHIELD, HYDRA, it all goes. Shane's right, there never was a difference."

Landry spoke up, "He's right."

Murdock sighed, looking at Rozanov.

"I am with Shane Hollander and Scott Hunter. Your system is inherently flawed, I just am Russian who is used to flawed systems."

Murdock looked at Shane.

"I made my opinion crystal fucking clear."

"Well," Murdock leaned back, "looks like you're giving the orders now, Captain."

Rozanov sat up, "Wait, no, I refuse to take orders from Triassic period fossil, this is unfair."

"Actually shut the fuck up, Ilya," Scott ground out.

"I only joke."

Rose Landry approached him after the group split, Puck hopping around on her perch as Shane set up a bath for her.

"So this is Puck?"

"Yep," Shane put the bowl down.

"Can I touch her?"

"No, she's sharp everywhere," he gestured to the sleeve he was using as a temporary gauntlet.

"I assumed," Agent Landry kept her arms at her sides, speaking quietly, "It's nice to meet you, Puck."

Puck chirped happily, hopping into the bowl for her bath.

"She's a pain in my ass, but I love her."

"Aw," Landry cooed, "How'd you get into falconry?"

He hated answering that question, too close to his secrets, "I found a baby Goshawk on the ground by my family's cottage as a toddler, and carried her inside. I hid her from my parents for a long time, so long she became imprinted on me before my parents caught us. I had to get falconry lessons so she wouldn't have to be euthanized. Ended up really liking it, so-"

"My brother's a falconer, actually. I'm from rural Michigan, we liked to hunt. Is this the same-"

"No, no, Skates died years ago, this is Skates' only surviving child," the lie he always told, "we had to incubate her, Skates was a terrible mother and crushed the other eggs."

Puck squawked in protest to that, given she was actually Skates. The egg crushing had actually happened before, but the eggs were unfertilized. Puck felt… weird around other Goshawks, and usually just settled for making weird commentary whenever Shane was trying to get laid instead, the fucking creep.

"We looked for you, after," Kip began, church bells tolling in the distance, "my father wanted to walk you home from the cemetery."

"I know, I'm sorry," Scott said, "I just kind of wanted to be alone."

"How was it?" Kip didn't come, he was Jewish, and they always got really squirrelly about Jewish people in churches.

"It was okay," he gulped down a breath, "she's next to dad."

"I was gonna ask-" He wanted him to stay with him and his dad. Again.

"I know what you're gonna say, Kip, it's just-"

"We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids," Kip began, "it'll be fun, all you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash."

Kip kicked over the brick for the spare key to Scott and his mom's- well, just Scott's now, apartment.

"I know it's not because you think we won't let you murder guys in the night," Their stupid fucking joke, Scott was a killer ha fucking ha. He handed the key over, "come on."

"Thank you, Kip, but I can get by on my own."

"The thing is," Kip shook his head, "you don't have to."

Scott groaned.

"I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal. Don't you forget it."

Agent Landry-call-me-Rose had promised to entertain Puck, delighted by her 'sassy' personality.

Shane took a risk, calling Vaughn on Rose's scrambled cell phone, but it was a risk he was willing to take, and one she was willing to let him take, apparently.

Shane filled Vaughn in on what happened to the best of his ability, talked Vaughn through the impending panic attack, and took a deep breath.

"Listen, Vaughn, I'm Canadian, I know nothing about Kip Grady besides that he was Scott Hunter's best friend. And I'm not nearly as close to Hunty as you are."

"You have a warrior's bond now, Holly, just like me and my teammates. That's not nothing."

"Maybe we'll invite you to the next world crisis."

"Do not fucking jinx me, dude. I'll kill you. Put me on speaker, I'll talk to Hunty."

"I've got Vaughny on the phone."

"You- what?!"

"Relax, Agent Landry is the one who gave me the phone to call him."

"Holly filled me in on the situation. This shit fucking sucks, dude."

"I know."

"He's gonna be there," Shane warned him.

"I know."

"Look, Hunty."

"Scott. I know you do hockey nicknames, but call me Scott just this once."

"There's nothing wrong with hockey nicknames!"

"Scott, then," Shane rested on the railing, looking out at the river, "Whoever the guy he used to be, that guy isn't here anymore. He can't be. He's gone. He's been gone."

"And this guy he is now? Doesn't seem like the kind of guy you'd save. He seems like the kind you stop."

"I don't know if I can do that. I don't want to do that to him, Carter, he's- Shane. If you could save Hayden, would you do it?"

Low fucking blow, Scott Hunter.

"This isn't about saving him anymore, Scott," Carter began, "And that's a real fucking low blow."

This wasn't the same, though, was it? Whatever they did to Kip Grady, he didn't even know his own name. He barely spoke his native language, he only killed and killed, ripped his own body apart to do it. He saw the hits the Winter Soldier took while trying to kill Hunter, the Winter Soldier didn't care about pain, no self-preservation, just whatever would keep him functional enough to keep fucking killing. That wasn't a way to live, that was just… torture. They took what was left of Hunter's best friend, scraped out his insides, and replaced it with nothing but pain and suffering. Maybe it was the animal welfare he kept so close in his mind talking, but when something was in that much pain, you didn't let it suffer.

"Holly, we lost you, there."

"I'd want to put what's left of Hayden's body out of its misery," Shane swallowed his tears, "give him one last kindness."

"I can't do that, Shane, I can't."

"Well, he might not give you a choice. He doesn't know you."

"He will."

"Oh my fucking god, Hunty. Holly, if he dies, make sure to leave so much birdseed on his grave the shit dissolves the words."

"You've got it, Vaughny.

"We gotta gear up," Hunter started to walk away "It's time"

"Shane, keep him alive for me, he needs to see us win the Cup."

"I'll do my best, Vaughny."

"I passed off Puck to Murdock, he doesn't show it, but he thinks she's charming."

"Thanks, Agent Landry. It means a lot."

"I thought I told you to call me Rose. We're friends."

"Attention all SHIELD agents. This is Scott Hunter. You've heard a lot about me over the last few days. Some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it's time you know the truth."

Shane scoffed, trying to communicate with the birds outside to clear the hell out of the airspace.

"SHIELD is not what we thought it was. It's been taken over by HYDRA. Bruce Cooper is their leader. The STRIKE and Insight crew are HYDRA as well. I don't know how many more, but I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you."

Vaughn had waxed poetic about Captain America's speech-giving skills, but they didn't hold a candle to the real thing.

"They almost have what they want. Absolute control. They shot Harv Murdock, and it won't end there. If you launch those helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way. Unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot, but the price of freedom is high. It always has been."

The birds told him that it wasn't looking good for SHIELD loyalists upstairs, but they couldn't see into the lower levels.

"And it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not."

Rose tapped away at her phone, "I got that on recording, want me to post it?"

"Save it for tomorrow, if we make it."

"I can put it on a schedule."

"You smug son of a bitch," Ilya, masquerading as councilman Rockwell, spat out.

Councilman Singh, the fucking moron who clearly did not hear that STRIKE was HYDRA, gestured for one of the STRIKE agents to arrest Cooper.

The agent, predictably, pointed the gun at Councilman Singh instead.

"I guess I've got the floor," Cooper said, smug.

"What if Pakistan marched into Mumbai tomorrow, and you knew that they were going to drag your daughters into a soccer stadium for execution," Cooper handed Councilman Singh a glass of champagne, "and you could just stop it, with a flick of the switch, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you all?"

Ilya could tell the WSC wasn't agreeing with him.

"Not if it was your switch," Councilman Singh threw away the glass.

Cooper laughed, reaching for the gun being handed to him by one of the STRIKE agents. He pointed it at Singh, and Ilya had to move.

He kicked Singh to the side, grabbing Cooper's gun and hitting him in the face with the butt of it. He threw a tasing disc towards the furthest STRIKE agent, tossing Cooper's pistol at the closest one in time to slam a third one into the table, knocking him unconscious. He took down the last agent, grabbing his gun to point at Cooper.

He shut off the facial mesh, pulling it off his head, "did I fuck things up for you?"

"Falcon, status?"

"Engaging!"

It had been a while since Shane had to dodge anti-aircraft fire, but the day was full of surprises. He wasn't as freaked out as he had expected, maybe he'd really never come home, like his mom said. He twisted and dove, knowing the speed he dove with was faster than any motor large enough to move an anti-aircraft cannon.

Pulling out two LMGs, he kicked down one SHIELDRA, as Rozanov had affectionately dubbed them, agent, mowing down another.

"Alright, Cap, I'm in," he said, before noticing a ship approaching him, "fuck!"

He used the fighters on the carrier as shelter, getting lucky only the last one blew up, forcing him to retract his wings. He rolled off the edge, taking shots at the plane above him before engaging his wings to go beneath the carrier.

The other councilors worked beautifully, Councilman Yen holding Cooper at gunpoint. Councilwoman Hawley, on the other hand, asked him what he was doing.

"He's disabling security protocols and dumping all the secrets onto the internet."

"Including HYDRA's," he said as he typed, bopping along to a Daddy Yankee song in his head.

"And SHIELD's."

Ilya shrugged in a way he knew infuriated others.

"If you do this, none of your past is gonna remain hidden."

Small price. They didn't have the most important parts. No one did.

"Are you sure you're ready for the world to see you? As you really are?"

"Are you, Bruce Cooper?"

The asset had been given better weapons. A big fucking gun, its favorite.

Someone foolishly attempted to throw a grenade at it, so the asset shot them, throwing the grenade into a betraying plane as it closed. It kicked a man into the motor of a plane that was taking off, dealing with both the man and the plane. The airfield was full of traitors, most loyal personnel being on the helicarriers themselves. There was no point in staying, so the asset shot a pilot through his windshield, ripped the door off, and took control. The Mission Target was on one of the helicarriers.

"Disabling the encryption is an executive order, it takes two Alpha level members."

"Don't worry. We will have friends come along."

Ilya smirked as the helicopter approached.

"Did you get my flowers?"

Murdock gave Cooper a positively murderous look.

"I'm glad you're here, Harv."

"Really?" Harv stepped forward, "because I thought you had me killed."

"You know how the game works."

"So why make me head of SHIELD?"

"Because you were the best, and the most ruthless person I've ever met."

"I did what I did to protect people."

Ilya snorted.

"Our enemies are your enemies, Harv. Disorder. War. It's just a matter of time before a dirty bomb goes off in Moscow, or an EMP fries Chicago. Diplomacy? A holding action, Harv. A band-aid. And you know where I learned that. Bogota."

He sucked in a breath. Shane Hollander was becoming more and more correct by the second. But where did his insight come from? That was for Ilya to explore later.

"You didn't ask. You just did what had to be done. I can bring order to the lives of seven billion people, by sacrificing 20 million."

And what kind of lives would those seven billion lead?

"It's the next step, Harv. If you have the courage to take it."

"No, I have the courage not to," Murdock patted Cooper's shoulder, before turning it into a grab, dragging him forward to the retinal scanner. Ilya pointed his gun at Cooper's head, just in case.

"Retinal scanner active."

Cooper chuckled, "you don't think we've wiped your clearance from the system?"

"I know you erased my password, probably deleted my retinal scan,. But if you want to stay ahead of me, Mr Secretary" - Murdock moved away his eye patch, showing his injured eye- "You need to keep both eyes open."

The two of them did their retinal scans, removing the safeguards. 

"You're gonna wrench my arm out of its fucking socket at this rate, Hunter!" Shane yelled as he dropped the two of them on the C carrier, "next time you need me to catch you, make your body as flat as possible to slow yourself down!"

"Thanks, Shane."

"You're a lot fucking heavier than you look."

"I had a big breakfast," Scott joked.

"No the fuck you didn't."

"That was a joke, Shane."

"I don't fucking like your jokes, fossil."

"Rozanov already rubbing off on you?"

"Fuck o-"

An impact slammed into his side, launching him off the helicarrier to Shane's astonished yell of "Hunter!"

Scott felt the fight leave him as he saw Kip on the other end of the catwalk.

"People are gonna die, Kip," Scott took a rallying breath, "I can't let that happen."

Kip didn't move.

"Please, please don't make me do this."

Kip tilted his head down slightly, like he was going to charge.

Scott moved first, fighting back tears as he aimed for Kip with his shield.

Kip deflected it easily with his arm, it landing back in Scott's arm in time to block most of the bullets Kip aimed for him. Kip got smart, though, aiming one for the small part of his flank not protected by the shield. He ran forward, and Scott rammed him with his shield hard enough to knock him on his ass.

He pulled out a knife, charging for Scott, and Scott had to deflect it. They fought, shield and knife and metal arm, until he rammed Kip hard enough he stumbled, buying him enough time to run the control panel and expose the server blades before Kip came back down with his knife.

They fought some more, Kip's metal arm about the same strength as Steve, maybe a little more, but Steve's serum barely winning out in terms of the brute force of their bodies. Scott managed to rip the knife out of Kip's hand while they fought over the shield, giving him the opening to kick Kip in the chest. He used the opportunity to run for the server shards again, barely having enough time to put the HYDRA shard in his totally practical and not fucking lame, Rygg utility belt before Kip swung for him again. He blocked Kip's punch with his shield, forcing him out of the space with the server blades and into the more open zone, allowing Scott room to start hitting Kip with his shield. They traded blows, Scott getting in many more than Kip, before Kip managed to tackle him and knock the two of them off the catwalk. They ended up just fighting hockey-style for a couple seconds, no shields, no knives, just fists, before Kip backhanded him so hard he landed on his ass and started sliding further down the lower platform they were on.

He slid right into the SHIELD server blade, grabbing it and slowing down his momentum just enough to not land on the glass below them.

Kip knocked the blade out of his hand, but he managed to knock Kip off the platform entirely, so it wasn't all so bad.

"Done!" Ilya sang, pretending to check his phone, "and, is trending."

He knew it would be, there was no point in checking.

Cooper looked to the side, tapping something on his phone that made the pin in Councilman Singh's chest light up.

You had to be fucking kidding. Ilya, as casually as he could, slipped his phone into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out his last tasing disc when he withdrew his hand. 

He pointed his gun at Cooper.

"Unless you want a two-inch hole in your sternum, I'd put that gun down."

"Is not sternum, sternum is in middle."

"Figure of speech, Rozanov. That was armed the moment you pinned it on."

Ilya, not wanting Cooper to know he had the advantage, made eye contact with Murdock, and the two of them lowered their guns.

Scott sprinted for the chip, only about a yard away from it when he was knocked over from behind by his own shield. Fucking poetic, was what that was, in a sick sort of way.

Kip didn't know how to throw it properly, though, because it fell to the ground right in time for Scott to kick it up to hide behind. He was getting a lot of mileage out of the bulletproof properties of the shield this week.

He threw the shield, Kip swatting it aside like it was a fly. Kip pulled out another knife, managing to get a good stab into Scott's arm, before Scott said fuck it and started headbutting the best friend he'd carried a nasty fucking torch for since forever. Kip wasn't wearing a helmet, Scott was, simple math. Kip managed to throw him aside by the handle of the knife, which, fucking ow, and Scott pulled out the knife to allow himself the room to heal as Kip crawled for the chip.

Scott had to stop the helicarrier, he had to, that was what repeated through his mind as he held up Kip by the throat, slamming him onto the glass beneath them to try to loosen his grip on the chip. He pulled Kip into a really interesting pose if it weren't life or death and the two of them were a bit more naked. Scott was pressing his groin into the small of Kip's back to give himself enough leverage to rip Kip's arm out of his socket. If he dislocated Kip's shoulder, he wouldn't have to kill him. If he dislocated Kip's shoulder, he could get the chip and then Scott could get the two of them out of there so Kip could start healing. Shane and Carter were wrong, he could save Kip. He was Kip fucking Grady, he could do anything.

"Drop it!" Scott commanded.

Kip ineffectually tried to punch Scott in the face, but the angle meant that Kip couldn't reach.

Scott had to break his arm, and Kip's scream hurt him in his soul.

Kip didn't stop, though, slamming Scott on his back to try to give himself more leverage to pull off his chokehold. He managed to pull one arm off, slamming his elbow into Scott's groin, which would have hurt a lot more if the Captain America uniform didn't have a cup.

It took too long for Kip to stop struggling long enough to drop the chip, but Scott didn't want to waste a single moment.

Shane pulled Dallas Kent's shirt over his head. He hadn't ever met Dallas Kent before, but Rose did show him a picture on the drive over to the Triskelion, and told him how much of a nasty piece of work he was. He hit Kent's head with a haymaker while he was disoriented, going to knee him in the stomach as well. Kent grabbed Shane's waist, headbutting him hard enough to make him see stars before he shoved him onto the ground.

"This is gonna hurt," the asshat said, unzipping his gear, "There are no prisoners with HYDRA, just order. And order only comes through pain."

What the actual fuck was this? The fucking movies? Shane got up, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath, and give Kent the false sense that he was more winded than he actually was.

"You ready for yours?"

"Shut the fuck up, bud, no one wants to hear you speak."

They ran for each other.

"One minute."

Scott managed to flip himself onto the top of the platform, sprinting for the server blades before a gunshot rang out, hitting him right in the shoulder.

Scott grunted, the force making him drop, but he had to get up and keep moving, dodge Kip's shots as he climbed back up to the catwalk, rolling onto the catwalk and only taking a minute to catch his breath and breathe through the pain before he was stumbling for the chips.

"30 seconds Cap."

"Stand by."

He pulled out the chip, "Charlie-"

A shot hit him in the back, somewhere more important, knocking him to the ground.

"What a waste," Cooper spat out.

"So, still on fence about fossil Scott Hunter's chances?"

"Time to go, Councilman, this way. Come on."

Oh, he was trying to hold him hostage?

Ilya played the part of dutiful hostage, following him.

"You're gonna fly me out of here."

Oh, he did not want Ilya doing that. Ilya fucking sucked at flying.

"You know, there was a time I would've taken a bullet for you."

"You already did."

Ilya couldn't help but snort a little as he primed his tasing disc, holding it up for Murdock to see.

"You will again, when it's useful."

He collapsed to the ground as electricity coursed through him, which hurt like a motherfucker, but he knew Murdock had his back. Two shots rang out.

It took him a while to get control of his limbs, his thoughts muddied by the taser and the pain it left him in.

"Ow," was all Ilya could say, "those hurt like motherfucker."

Kent blocked a punch from Shane, laughing like a fucking maniac as he landed a good hit on Shane's cheek, throwing him over some desks into glass. Safety glass, fortunately, but still glass.

"You're out of your depth, kid," Kent smiled at him. Joke was on him, there was a giant helicarrier heading right for them, and Shane wasn't sticking around to find out what that felt like.

"Son of a bitch!" Kent yelled behind him, before screaming in pain.

Shane was not helping that jackass. He took a quick look through Puck as he sprinted for his fucking life. He was still fast as hell when he wanted to be, and he really, really wanted to be. Puck was in a helicopter of some sort, the cups of hearing protection secured to her head by an exercise band. With that explaining absolutely nothing, he shifted back to his own vision.

"Please tell me you have the chopper in the air!"

"Hollander," This was the worst time to pop a boner over someone's voice, "where are you?"

"41st floor, Northwest corner."

"We can't get there in time."

"There's a second chopper incoming, Falcon! Stay where you are!" Rose butted in.

"Not an option!" Shane yelled, jumping out the window and landing inside a helicopter, which swerved immediately. "Alright, I'm on with- Vaughny?!"

Vaughn waved at him from the pilot's seat, "you're gonna want to take over, I'm just flying this thing with too much time on Call of Duty and a prayer."

"What the actual fuck, Vaughny!" Shane yelled, grabbing the headset Vaughn gave him and taking over the pilot's seat, "I thought you were in fucking Carolina!"

"Don't worry about it, dude."

"And how the hell did you find Puck?!"

"Who do you think got me the keys to this thing?"

"You are so fucking dead when this is over, Puck, so fucking dead."

"Landry!" the comms system in the headset barked to life, giving him more of Ilya Rozanov's really, really hot voice, "Where is fossil? You have location on Hunter?"

The Mission Target tried to pull the support off of the asset's torso, despite the mook's bullet wounds. He lifted enough to allow the asset to crawl out from under it, which was a mistake, given the asset was going to kill him.

"You know me," the Mission Target panted out, attempting to approach the asset.

The asset punched the shield, knocking the already weakened Mission Target to the ground.

The Mission Target frustratingly got up, panting. "Kip. You've known me your whole life."

The Asset punched him again.

"Your name," the Mission panted out, "is Christopher Grady."

No, no, no! "Shut up!"

The Asset punched Scott Hunter again, the force bringing it to the ground.

"I'm not gonna fight you," the Mission dropped his shield, the fucking moron, "you're my friend."

The Asset ran for his Mission, tackling him by the waist to bring them both to the ground.

"You're my mission," the Asset scrambled for control as it wound its fist back, hitting his Mission, once, twice, three times, each time tearing something that was so deep inside the Asset nothing the chair could ever do would even touch.

"You're-" it punched him again, "my," another punch, "mission!"

And his mission didn't even do anything, just closed his eyes and nodded.

"Then finish it," Scott Hunter told him as it wound up for one more punch, "'cause I'm with you to the end of the line."

No, no, no! He couldn't- the chair- the-

A piece of the engine broke the glass supporting Scott Hunter, leaving the Asset with barely enough time to scramble to hold himself upright.

His mission fell into the river. Unconscious. His mission would drown, his injuries were too severe and he was too fucking unconscious to swim. The Asset had done that, had hurt his Mission, had beaten him so hard he was going to drown. The Asset knew that drowning was the worst way to go.

The Asset let go.