To Love Is To Destroy

Chapter 13

Clint Barton woke screaming.

What was worse was that he couldn’t hear himself. He could feel himself, the thud of his voice in his chest and throat, but he could not hear the noise he made, the wail of fear and pain that caused him to stutter awake and clutch hands to his gauze-bound head.

A woman ran in, her mouth moving as she tried to make him lie back, and he swiped at her. She skittered back, her tablet raised as if to strike him. He was breathing too fast, his chest heaving like an animal’s. He had no idea where he was – the smell of antiseptic around him suggested medical, but he didn’t know whose medical.

While it wasn’t unlikely he’d found safety in SHIELD – he’d been with the Doc, after all – it also wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that HYDRA would have taken him into custody thanks to the actions of the Avengers in Manhattan. He’d kept a low profile since then – if you could count the apartment building (and Lucky and Kate and…the apartment) low profile.

He looked up as the Doc ran into the room, signing frantically at him, her fingers stutterstepping as she attempted to make him understand.

[Flashbang. Took your hearing.]

He quieted, his breathing too fast, too quiet. He couldn’t hear anything anymore.

[I need you to lie back. Is that okay?]

[Like hell it’s okay. What happened to my hearing?]

[Flashbang, remember? It knocked you out, and then I got us out.]

He remembered. Bits and pieces. He remembered throwing up when the helicopter landed the first time and she’d bumped it too hard into the air field.

Anna frowned, moving closer.

[Clint.]

[No.]

[You know we’re working on helping you. Please…let us help.]

He shook his head, scowling.

“I can’t…hear a damn thing.”

The other doctor ventured forward, just a bit, and he glared at her. Rather than skittering back, she drew herself up to her full height.

“Agent Barton.” She enunciated clearly, letting him read lips by speaking slowly. “I believe I can help. We’re SHIELD. Let us.”

He was shaking, and he accepted the glass of water Anna poured him. He slugged it down, then felt sick.

“Okay…okay.” He took a deep breath, then turned to sit back on the bed. “How much?”

[Eighty percent.] Anna signed.

“…hell.”

The other doctor tapped the edge of the bed to get his attention, then smiled, carefully, like she felt her face was fragile.

“We think we can help,” she said. “Please be patient, and rest. You have burns that still need mending.”

He was tired, and so very sore. He decided, after a moment, to take her advice. He lay back.

“I’m going to give you a mild sedative,” she said, touching his arm gently. She replaced the IVs he’d ripped out, and he winced, but she added a baggie of something to it and soon he was drifting.

[You’ll feel better if you sleep it off.] Anna signed. Clint sighed, barely able to focus on her fingers. [Rest, Clint. You’re in good hands.]

Or he was in HYDRA hands and just didn’t know it. At the moment, however, he didn’t care. He closed his eyes, the blanket tucked around his waist, and slept.

“Jemma,” Skye said, ducking down to catch her eye. “Hey, hello, earth to Jemma. Need your help here.”

Jemma blinked and pushed back from the table, taking off her safety goggles.

“What is it, Skye?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m very busy with work on this…”

“I know, I know you are, okay. I’m just…freaking out. Like, a lot. And I wouldn’t put this on you but you’re biochem and you’re the only one who could possibly know the answer to this question.”

Jemma blinked at her, tilting her head. Skye fidgeted next to her stool, looking hunted.

“Is it something with your recovery?” she asked. “Have you noticed irregularities?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Skye said, shaking her head. A dark cascade of hair fell into her eyes and she shoved it out of her face. “Look, it’s better if I show you.”

She slowly rolled up the sleeve of her shirt, revealing the name printed on her wrist. Jemma sucked in a gulp of breath.

“I know,” she said, shaking slightly. Jemma stood, ushering her friend to a chair. She put on a pot of tea, and sat back down. “It’s terrible. Can…is there any way to fix it?”

Jemma stared down at the words Grant Ward embedded under Skye’s delicate skin. Her mind spun, trying to remember all the scientific studies she’d read about the marks and their impact.

“At the most, scientists have discovered they’re genetically bound,” she said. “And might be triggered by certain pheromones. We actually don’t have much information, despite all the research that’s gone into it.”

She looked up at her.

“Have you spoken to the Director about it?” she asked.

“No, god no, let’s go to dad with the bad boyfriend problem,” she said, and Jemma winced. “I know, I know. But…Ward’s been taken away.”

Jemma nodded, frowning. “As far as we know. You don’t have to interact with him on a daily basis, at least.”

Skye rubbed her palms against her eyes.

“This is ridiculous. One thing after another. First HYDRA, then Ward is HYDRA. Now he’s my soul mate. Fate hates me.”

“I don’t think that’s the case,” Jemma said, pouring them both tea. “But…I do think you should be wary of falling pianos.”

“Funny,” Skye said, adding sugar and cream to her mug. “You’re a comedic genius.”

“I try.” Jemma put a hand on Skye’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “You know it’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” she said. “I just…have to choose someone else, right? I’m just…meant to be with a Nazi.”

“Not true,” Jemma said. “You’re not meant to be with anyone, not if you don’t want to be.”

She bit her lip, and Skye pulled her into a hug.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s…gonna be okay.” Jemma breathed, and Skye shouldn’t have to comfort her. This was Skye’s problem, after all. Jemma pulled back, and dabbed at her eyes.

“No, you’re right. It will be. Because you know there are ways for this to go away. Finding someone else is a start.”

“I could find Ward and smother him.”

“You couldn’t really do that. And not one of us would ask you to,” she said. Skye looked grateful, and Jemma pulled her into a hug this time. “Besides, it’s not the end of the world. That happened close to six months ago, when the Tricarriers crashed.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” Skye asked.

“It feels like we’re in a holding pattern.”

“It does,” Skye agreed. “But it’s not one I think we’re gonna hold for long. I’ve been kind of thinking about what Coulson’s doing. I think he’s working on getting us back to the light.”

“It’s a lot of burden to place on one man,” Jemma said.

“But it’s not just on him,” Skye said. “It’s on us. And I think he realizes that, a little bit.”

“That’s a…nice thought,” she said, sipping at her mug. “Sort of. As nice as it gets around here.”

“Jems, you’ve really gotta start looking on the bright side here,” Skye said. “Cause sometimes, that’s all we’ve got.”

“How’re you feeling?” said Coulson, leaning over him, a hand reaching for the cup of water at his bedside.

Clint reared up, startled, his fist cracking into Coulson’s nose. The ex-agent turned Director landed on his ass with a solid thump, sliding a couple of inches.

“Heh,” Clint said, before the blood rushing every which way in his head made him dizzy. He wobbled, and collapsed.

Anna rushed to get Clint back into bed, and Jemma helped Phil into a chair so she could stem the bleeding.

“Afraid it’s broken, sir,” she said, after a careful examination.

“I deserve it,” Coulson said, his voice thick.

“You kind of do,” Anna said, tucking Clint back into bed.

 “Hey,” Skye said, as Phil settled onto the top of the roof. “You come for the view, too?”

It was cold up here, the view of Mount Logan breathtaking, as was the surrounding area. Phil looked out at it for a moment. Skye took the opportunity to study his face. His nose was splinted, because Hawkeye had broken it, and the bruising was finally healing. The purple around his eyes had gone to a sickly yellow-green, fading into colors like spots on a banana.

“Not really,” Phil said, his voice still a little nasally. “Came up to check on you. How you’re doing.”

“Me?” she said, shrugging more into the oversized sheepskin coat she’d pilfered from inventory. “Fair to middling, I guess. Considering this time last year I was hacking s**t café wifi out of my van.”

“Yeah,” Phil said, smiling. “I remember.”

“Didn’t realize things would change so much,” she said. “The Rising Tide has disappeared. They don’t haunt the same IRC channels since Miles got captured. No one will even talk to me.”

Phil regarded her for a moment. “Do you regret it?”

“Not for a second,” Skye said, prompt. “But…I wonder how different things would be if I’d gotten away. But I didn’t, so dwelling on it isn’t gonna help.”

“Your arm hurting?” Phil said.

“What?”

“You’re rubbing it.”

Skye dropped her hands into her lap.

“Ah,” Phil said, sounding for all the world like that clarified things. “I take it your mark has come in.”

“How did you know?” She blinked at him.

“Because one, I had to train myself out of it since I got mine in,” he said. “And two, it’s in the same place mine is.”

“Oh,” she said. “I thought maybe you bugged the labs or something.”

“No need,” Phil said, smiling. “Eventually, you learn to read people when you get to be a handler.”

“Is that why Hawkeye punched you in the nose?”

“No, I deserved that,” Phil said, smiling. “He and I have a lot of unresolved stuff.”

“You landed on your ass, DC. That was pretty damn funny.”

“Granted,” he conceded. “You want to talk about it?”

“I…can it wait?” she asked.

“It can,” he said, nodding. “Until you feel comfortable. I’m going through the same thing, I figure it might help.”

She looked at him. He was smiling, looking for all the world like a dad who’d been punched at a PTA meeting. The feeling was familiar, and Skye felt a pang. Many, many times, this man had looked out for her. For all of them.

“How do you do all of it?” she asked. “Recruit, come here, be Director and team Dad all at once?”

“About two hours of sleep a night, if I’m lucky,” he admitted. “But…really, it’s worth it. You’ve all come into your own, despite the world trying to step on us.”

“Thanks,” she said. “That means a lot, DC.”

“Sure,” he said, his hands on his knees as he prepared to rise. “Don’t stay out here too long. Frostbite is a serious matter. Garrett lost—“

He went suddenly quiet, his eyes getting a faraway look.

“Just…come inside before you get too cold, okay?” he said.

“Sure thing,” she said, watching him stand and head for the disguised hatch back into the base.

“You strapped me down?” Clint asked, peevish. “Come on, Coulson, that’s bullshit. Lemme go.”

“Are you gonna hit me again?” Phil asked. “Because if so, I’m not gonna untie you.”

Clint sighed. “It’s harder to lip read ya and ya know it.”

Phil raised a brow, the white strip of the splint keeping his nose aligned stark in his still-bruised face. Carefully, he undid the straps and let Clint’s hands free. Clint rubbed his wrists and eyeballed him.

“So you’re really here, huh?” he asked.

[Yes, Clint, I’m really here.] Phil’s sign was still quick and precise, still the same as he’d learned so long ago – for the man in front of him. [Did you deck me because you wanted me to be fake?]

[Would mean you weren’t lyin’ to us all this time.] Clint’s sign, by turns, was sloppy, careless. Points were gotten across by flailing, when he needed them to be. Phil knew that he was going for nonchalant, but the other’s eyes were locked onto him. [Where have you been?]

[Would you believe me if I told you?] he asked.

Clint looked skeptical.

[Fury had my body relegated to R&D, to test an experimental resurrection procedure.] Phil’s fingers halted on the last sign, fading down to his lap. [I don’t…want to talk about it.]

[Fair. Sort of.] Clint shrugged. [Could have called.]

[I was under orders. Deep cover. My death had been faked, after all.]

[Jasper knew. Blake knew. Hand knew.]

[They were required to know.]

[Doc knew.]

[That’s hardly fair, you were unconscious. Well, until you threw up on Trip’s shoes, then you were unconscious again.]

[Fine.] Clint looked sulky. [You pull that s**t again and I’ll kill you myself.]

Phil laughed, then winced.

[You deserved that.]

[I know.]

Jemma rubbed at her eyes as she worked late into the night. She knew that manufacturing the ear pieces for Clint should likely have gone to Fitz, who would have made them lighter than air and invisible to the naked eye and about seventeen percent more efficient and comfortable. Instead, she and Mack had made them as small as they could, and worked on tuning them to where they belonged.

She rubbed at her eyes, bent over her work bench for far too long, and that’s when she noticed the smudge on her wrist. At first, she thought it was residue from the last round of stress testing, but then she noticed the letters forming.

Leopold Fitz.

Jemma covered her mouth with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut. Breathing fast, she attempted to corral her ratcheting breath and increasing heartbeat by dealing with it rationally, how she always did.

On the one hand, it meant that Fitz might wake soon.

On the other, science had never documented a chosen soul mate being in a vegetative state before.

Best not to think about it, she decided, and pulled her sleeve down over her wrist, ignoring the truth for just a little longer in favor of the work she was doing.

“AC, we have a problem,” Skye said, looking up from her table.

“What is it?” he asked, the tone of her voice making his head lift from where he was attempting not to carve the surface of his desk to pieces. He’d taken to doodling on paper, filling reams and reams of it with the strange symbols, with no rhyme, reason, or pattern to be discerned.

Now, however, that was forgotten, and he rose, moving to the monitor room.

“That’s not one of our Quins,” he murmured. The bird turned, and then he saw it, the stylized A on the side making his tongue press to the roof of his mouth and his stomach drop. “Shit.”

Skye paled about the same time he said it. “What do we do?”

“Arm the cannons,” he said.

“AC?”

“Do it. We don’t know what they’re here for. Roosevelt might be here to finish the job.”

Skye complied, tapping out the arm codes to the laser cannons that guarded the front entrance. Phil pounded the mic button.

“All Agents to stations,” he said. “Agents May and Triplett will flank me at the doors. We’re being approached by a Gamma level threat, and all due caution is necessary. Agents Simmons, Marks, and Kota. Move the wounded and prepare for evac.”

Skye turned to him, and he motioned.

“Go help them,” he said quietly. “We’ll try and buy you time.”

The Quin’s VTOL systems burned the snow away, melting it swiftly as Natasha dropped it outside the bunker doors. Stefan’s jaw jumped, watching the cannons swivel to track their movement.

“Will they shoot?” Sam asked, suiting up, prepped for the cold with a thermal jumpsuit on under the EXO-7 system.

Natasha had picked them up in Puente Antiguo, armed and with the Quin. He’d not reached Bucky yet, but he had a feeling he was closer than ever, and the SHIELD bunker before them might hold more answers. Stefan’s eyes were narrow, his expression carefully blank as he looked out the cockpit window.

“If they were planning on it, they’d have done it before I touched down,” Natasha said. She narrowed her eyes before she rose, clipping her stings around her wrists.

“You sure this is his last known location?” Stefan asked, hefting the shield.

“Yes,” Natasha said, pulling her hood up. “Stark is still incommunicado, though he lent us the Quin, at least.”

“Last I heard, he was building something not armor,” Sam said. “I don’t know the guy, sure, but…”

“It’s not like Stark,” Stefan agreed.

“Banner seemed interested, at least,” Natasha said. “But we’ll see what goes down.”

“The doors are opening,” Stefan said, biting the words off as he shrugged in front of them, shield up. “Let’s move.”

By the time the doors were halfway open, the team of three stood watching them. Stefan was in front, his shield ready, Sam and Natasha flanking him. Stefan’s thoughts scrambled as he dug for information about this base. The Playground, and not even with the info dump Natasha had done was there a lot of information.

“Please drop your weapons and step back,” came the voice over the speaker. It was tinny, and not one Stefan recognized right off the bat. He doubted it was an agent he knew, this far north, but anything was possible. “Captain Roosevelt, Black Widow, Sam Wilson. We will not request again. Lay your arms down and step away.”

“We gonna listen?” Sam asked. Stefan could hear his hand tighten on the grip of his assault rifle.

“Relax,” he said, mouthing the words. “We’re gonna be okay. Nothing we haven’t done before, right?”

Sam gave an imperceptible nod, and his hands relaxed, the creak of leather on his right signaling that Natasha was assessing the threat.

“We’ll drop our weapons when you drop yours,” Stefan called, his cowl down over his eyes. He was here in official Avengers capacity, and he was sure the agents inside knew it. “Surrender quietly. You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” came a voice, one that set Natasha stiff and his own stomach plummeting. The doors finally winched themselves all the way open, and Phil Coulson strode out, wearing no armor but a bullet proof vest over a dress shirt and tie, the sleeves rolled up. The Destroyer rifle sat on his hip, and the relaxed way he carried it left the impression that he was very familiar with its use now.

If Stefan were honest, he looked beaten to hell, even for a dead man. His eyes were deeply circled with bruises, the whole area around his nose yellowed and browned with old hurts. He didn’t limp, however, and Stefan couldn’t smell blood, so that was a bonus.

“You.” Natasha spat the word, like she was tasting poison.

“Me,” Phil concluded. “If you would lay your arms down on the tarmac, please.”

“Not a chance,” Stefan said. “You’re in violation of the law.”

“Whose law?” Phil asked, his eyebrow rising. “If you weren’t aware, we’re in Canada.”

“Drop the s**t, Coulson,” Natasha snapped. “SHIELD is in violation of American law.”

“Again, we’re in Canada,” Phil said placidly. “I have my duty. I’m sure you understand that.”

“So, what, are you an LMD?” she asked.

“No, Romanoff, I’m very real.”

“Let me punch you, I’ll find out for sure.”

“Romanova, вы знаете лучше.” She reeled back as if slapped. “You’d know.”

“Исключение подтверждает правило,” she spat back. Phil blinked, then smiled.

“Translation?” Sam murmured. Stefan gave a minute shake of his head.

“SHIELD is dead,” Natasha said. “And so are you.”

“Внешность обманчива. You know that better than anyone. And you know Fury better than anyone,” he said, giving her a placid smile. “SHIELD is not dead, it’s merely recovering.”

“So you are rebuilding,” Stefan spat. “After all of this.”

“Yes,” Phil said, meeting Stefan’s gaze, blue-grey eyes flickering over his face for a moment. Stefan felt like his measure had been taken, and then discarded. “HYDRA was a setback.”

“Hell of a setback,” Sam said. “Is that why you’re hiding, Father Chambers?”

Phil’s smile widened. “I knew I liked you.”

“Wait, you’ve seen him before?” Stefan asked.

“He was outside your hospital room, dressed as a priest,” Sam replied.

“What were you doing there?” Natasha demanded.

“Observing,” Phil said. “If I wanted to kill Captain Roosevelt, which I most assuredly don’t, I would have done so long before Mister Wilson returned from the commissary. He took twenty-eight minutes in his roundabout trip. You know I only need six.”

Natasha’s face went flat. “That’s why you’re the Kingfisher.”

“But I’m not anymore,” Phil conceded. “I was merely observing for myself his recovery. Nothing more.”

“Why?” Stefan asked. His eyes flicked to the bandage, almost invisible in the bright noon sunlight, on Phil’s wrist. He thought of his own wrapped arm and wondered. Had Phil known, even then? “Why not just come out?”

“I had my orders, Captain Roosevelt. And to be honest, it might have been better for my own mental health that I followed them as I did,” he said. A woman stepped out of the shadows, flanking Phil, and then—

“Jesus, Gabe?” Stefan asked, looking at the man behind Phil. It was like the years melted back, and he was standing at Dunkirk again, the earnest young man grinning at him like he was the best thing since sliced bread. The young man stopped.

“My granddad, actually,” he said, speaking up. “Antoine Triplett, SHIELD legacy. Good to see my Grand-père’s stories were true.”

Stefan felt sick. Even Gabe’s grandkid was caught up in this. He was ill, to the point that he almost tossed his shield away entirely.

“A question, if I may,” Phil said, snapping Stefan’s attention back into focus. “How did you find the Playground?”

“Distress signal,” Natasha said, her voice tight.

“I shut that off months ago,” Phil said, regarding her.

“Not yours,” came another voice. “Mine.”

Stefan turned his head to see Clint leaning heavily on the wall of the bunker, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and a pair of sweatpants. His voice was too loud, as though he were speaking over a long distance, and almost nasally.

“I’m sorry, AC,” a girl said, panting. She ran up, then stopped, grabbing her knees to catch her breath. “He got past us while we were—uh oh.”

She stared, wide eyed, at the three on the tarmac.

“Those are Avengers,” she breathed. Stefan was sure he was the only one who heard the quiet words, or the shiver of fear behind them.

“Clint, are you hurt?” Natasha asked, not taking her eyes, or her pistol, off of Phil.

“No, Tash,” he said. “Well, I am, but they didn’t do it. Doc saved me from HYDRA and we came here.”

“So they’re not holding you hostage?” she asked.

“Really? Hostage?”

“You sent a distress signal,” she said.

“Because you weren’t answering my messages, even on the burner phone!” Clint said. “I was worried.”

“We mounted a rescue mission,” Natasha said. She sounded disgusted.

Stefan relaxed fractionally as she holstered her pistol. She glared at Phil, moving past him, and Phil didn’t attempt to stop her, which made Stefan relax further.

“I suppose you might as well come inside,” he said. He lifted his lapel to his lips. “Agents Kota and Simmons, have you moved Agent Fitz?”

“Not yet, sir,” came the tinny response. Stefan and Phil both listened intently. “We were about to evacuate him.”

“Leave him in medical. Our guests are coming inside.”

“You were buying time,” Stefan said. “You have wounded.”

“Two, to be precise. Clint and Agent Fitz, who’s currently in a coma.”

Stefan’s jaw hardened. “You thought we would—“

“I know she would have. I don’t know your friend at all. And I don’t know you as well as I thought I did,” Phil said, succinct. “I’m afraid that’s true of a lot of people nowadays.”

Stefan dropped his shield, letting it hang by his side. He ground his teeth, but he had to admit, Phil was right. Stefan might have gone tearing through the base, depending on Phil’s answers and Natasha’s reaction.

“Come on, Barton,” the woman at Phil’s side said. “Back inside. You’ve caused enough trouble.”

“May,” Natasha said. She fixed the woman with a glance before the other agent moved to put her shoulder under Clint’s.

“Romanoff,” May said, and the barest nod passed between them. The fact that Natasha passed Clint over to May’s care spoke volumes.

“Please come inside, Captain Roosevelt, Mister Wilson. I’m sure there’s a lot we’ll need to rehash to get you up to speed.”

“The chassis work is amazing,” said a voice. ULTRON turned its head to regard the speaker. An older…male. It was getting better at reasoning out biological gender. Curly salt and pepper hair obscured his forehead as he leaned forward, his glasses slipping down his nose. “How far have you gotten with the mental map?”

Preliminary scans of the man showed that his gamma levels far exceeded normal levels. ULTRON scanned again, puzzled. It seemed his initial assessment was correct. Fascinating.

“Far enough,” Tony replied. “Pym sent me the latest scans, and I’m integrating them now. ULTRON should be ready for a test run come tomorrow, which is why I wanted your opinion.”

The man rubbed his chin, assessing ULTRON.

“It seems like a good idea, until you bring in the ethical ramifications of trusting robots to care for criminals,” he said. “One would think rehabilitation would be the primary reason for imprisoning them.”

“Come on, Bruce,” Tony said. “Now you’re starting to sound like Pym. Do you want to be their therapist?”

“I already told you, Tony, I’m not that kind of doctor,” said the other man, a thread of tension in his voice.

“Which is why ULTRON’s here. He’s going to be revolutionary in the care and containment of supervillains.”

“Or superheroes,” Bruce murmured. “What happens when SHIELD gets hold of this tech? Or…well, I guess HYDRA. You think they won’t copy it?”

“Bruce,” Tony said, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

Bruce regarded ULTRON with uncertainty in his brown eyes. ULTRON gazed back, his LEDs glowing a soft red.

“Besides, tomorrow is just a test run, right?” Tony clapped Bruce on the shoulder. “I’ve still got all the failsafes installed.”

“I really hope you’re not considering taking them out,” Bruce said, watching as Tony input more code.

“Of course not,” Tony said.

ULTRON was silent.

“…and that’s how we ended up here,” Phil concluded, leaning back in his chair. Stefan leaned against the wall, Natasha and Sam both tucked into the chairs in front of Phil’s desk.

“And you have the HYDRA plant in your basement,” Stefan said, looking around.

It was like walking around the lab that had given him the serum, complete with pictures of Patricia, Howard, Colonel Phillips, and even Colonel Fury Sr. on the walls. Not much had changed, this new SHIELD using a base that nearly mirrored the one he’d found in New Jersey.

Phil nodded. “With the Fridge compromised, we’re having to pick up the pieces one at a time. I don’t have much of a plan other than treating him well and according to Geneva Convention rules until I can find either a secure location or take back the Fridge. He has plenty of socialization and there’s a TV outside of his cubicle. He eats well and has room to exercise, though we had to pad it.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“He tried to throw himself into the wall hard enough to break his neck,” Phil replied. “HYDRA don’t much like being in custody. There’s a stigma of them being taken out.”

All three of them shared glances, perhaps all remembering Sitwell.

“You have maybe a dozen people you trust right now,” Natasha said. “What was your hope for this?”

Phil took a deep breath. “I was told to rebuild. So that’s what I’m doing. I know it’s going to take time, believe me. But…this is something that should be done.”

“Why?” Stefan asked. “With all the connotations, surely anything would be better than SHIELD right now.”

Phil’s gaze slid to Stefan again, and Stefan once more felt like his measure was being taken and he was being found wanting. Something about it pained him, and unsettled him, like something he couldn’t quite reach. Phil’s eyes slid away, and Stefan breathed deep, settling himself.

“Fury gave me the means, and the task. I don’t know if I’m up to it, but I’m going to do my best, because that’s what he wanted me to do.” He placed his palms flat and met Natasha’s eyes without flinching, giving her a long look. “After all you’ve heard, do you believe me?”

Natasha leaned back with an easy grace, her arms folded and not breaking Phil’s gaze.

“Your story meshes with what Clint has told me and what we’ve seen,” she said softly. “That doesn’t mean I trust this new SHIELD nor does it mean that it’s not going to go the same way as the old one. There are vipers everywhere, and SHIELD has just the right size boot for them to hide in.”

Phil shook his head. “I know that. I learned a hard lesson. But I’m not doing it for you. You have your place with the Avengers. There are thousands of homeless, jobless agents that need this. Because they don’t fit in anywhere else.”

“Just like they fit in on the Index,” she countered.

“The Index is to help people!” Phil said, the tone of his voice reaching a level that made Stefan tense.

“You realize now that HYDRA has access to it. All those people with powers are—“

“You also released it to the public, Romanoff, don’t talk about it like you’re separated from it. Responsibility. Remember?” Stefan inhaled sharply, but Phil slammed a hand down on his desk. “This is something I drilled into you from day one. You know this lesson, and you know I teach it to every single agent.”

Natasha’s eyes were hard. “Yes, the savior of SHIELD. SHIELD is nothing now.”

“I am not an agent of nothing!” Phil snapped. “I am an agent of SHIELD. That means something, and it’s always meant something. I don’t shed my skin just because it might not fit anymore.”

Sam stood. “I think we should take a break.”

“I agree,” Stefan said. Phil’s eyes flicked between them, but he stood down, taking a deep breath and turning to face the window.

“There have been a total of six hundred deaths for meta humans listed on the Index,” Phil said. “I have been making the rounds, trying to contact most of them. I put half of them on there or more, Natasha. You think I don’t feel personally responsible? Because I absolutely am. We weren’t enough. Either HYDRA got them or the mob did. The rest are running scared and I’m stretching my resources and my people thin to get them to safety. Don’t judge something just because you haven’t the slightest clue about what’s going on. You, above all else, should know better.”

Natasha’s face was unreadable, but she rose.

“Sam,” she said, and he was beside her in a second. “Come on, let’s see how Clint is doing.”

Stefan closed the door behind them, and Phil moved back to his chair, picking up his pen.

“You mean that?” he asked. Phil fixed him with a look, as though to gauge his reaction.

“Of course I do. I lie for exactly two reasons. To protect someone, or to mislead an enemy. You’re not my enemies, Captain Roosevelt. Natasha is, in two parts, right. I don’t have the funds and I don’t have the manpower I used to.” He rubbed his face. “I can’t rely on the same sources any longer. We’re running on shoestrings, but it’s…the right thing to do. I figure you, out of anyone, can respect that.”

Stefan thought for a moment, considering.

“I can,” he said. “Though I think your heart is in the right place, you’re going about it the wrong way.”

“Possibly,” he said. “But I’ve been a company man for close to thirty years. I don’t think Director Carhold would forgive me if I screwed this up.”

Stefan felt a pang, and he moved to sit.

“I take it you’ve been to see her,” Phil said.

“Yeah,” Stefan murmured.

“She’s not doing well, and she…” Phil trailed off. “My apologies. I know this must be hard for you.”

“I haven’t made my peace yet,” Stefan murmured. “I will, in time.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“How did you hurt your arm?” Stefan asked.

“I didn’t,” Phil replied. Somehow, Stefan couldn’t find the courage to ask the question that burned behind his lips. He rose, instead, feeling large and out of place.

“I’ll talk to Natasha.”

“Don’t worry about it. If she forgives me, she’ll tell me in time.”

Stefan blinked, surprised. Phil rubbed the back of his neck.

“I was her and Clint’s handler, back when they were strictly SHIELD,” he explained. “She and I would have these arguments about what was practical versus what was right. Eventually, she would concede that my points had their merits. When she forgives me, or concedes again, she’ll tell me.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Captain, I’ve been handling agents for close to fifteen years. If I got along with all of them, all the time, that would be suspicious. If she doesn’t, we agree to disagree. We can work toward a common goal even with conflicting ways of going about things. They’re just different tools for the tool box. I don’t have to agree with her to understand her motivations.” Phil laced his hands in front of him and gave him a smile with all the warmth of a December morning. “This is complicated. There’s not happy ending, no black and white. Only shades of grey.”

“And you’re not bothered by that,” Stefan said.

“I can’t be. Not anymore. I’m not allowed to fail.” Phil shifted slightly, leaning back, the blue-grey of his eyes fixed on Stefan. It was a bit like being under a microscope, and Stefan resisted the urge to fidget. “I know there’s not a lot of room for grey in your philosophy. And that’s okay. We won’t always agree, but I will always respect you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Stefan said, and Phil didn’t respond right away.

“Of course, Captain. Differing ideologies.” Phil’s smile was flat and bland. “Please, though, feel free to look through the Playground. I would…appreciate, however, keeping Ward’s existence here from Skye. She knows he’s been imprisoned, but he…his name appeared on her arm less than a week ago. It’s already been hard for her.”

Stefan nodded. “That’s not my tale to tell, though if pressed, I won’t lie.”

Phil nodded slowly, acknowledging that. “Very well.”

Stefan moved for the door, then turned to Phil. “You never did mention how you came back.”

“No,” Phil said softly. “I didn’t.”

He picked up his pen again and Stefan closed the door behind him, wondering who exactly Phil Coulson was protecting with that one.

[March 31, 2015 – ULTRON protocol test 01, 12:49pm PDT]

[Recording culled from Stark Industries Archives, May 31, 2015, by the Federal Committee for Registration]

What remained of the film was grainy, eaten up with distortion and gaps. What could be seen was the beginning, where Tony Stark and Bruce Banner are seen setting up for the first test. Both testify that it is them in the video, as do several Stark Industries employees, including Maria Hill, a primary witness. Transcript is as follows.

“All right,” Tony said, putting one last plate in place and fastening it down. “How you feeling, champ?”

“The question is irrelevant,” ULTRON replied. “My systems are functional. Human emotion does not play a part in my design.”

“Thatta boy,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. He backed off, moving to the blast shield, where Bruce was waiting. “Shame Pym can’t be here to see his baby in action.”

“He’d rather see his ants,” Bruce said, shrugging. “I never did get Pym’s fascination with that.”

“Well, either way, we can record the test and have him review the data. He’ll wanna see his mental maps.”

The recording crackled, like it was being run through cellophane as the power on ULTRON pulled the grid offline for a moment. Visual was distorted, and then resumed some minutes later as Bruce adjusted the camera.

“Should he be doing that?”

“It’s fine, his startup is a little weak. I need to fix his intake. ULTRON. Your target is the dummy tagged as a supervillain. Contain him.”

ULTRON’s hand rose, and a bubble-like projected field appeared around the dummy.

“Protocol?” Tony prompted.

“Halt. You have been identified as a threat to civilian life. I am requesting that you desist your behavior.”

“Good. What are the rules?”

“This unit’s primary function is to contain and restrain designation: supervillains.”

“Good. Who are supervillains?”

“Supervillains are designated criminals deemed too dangerous for ordinary prisons. Genetic samples will be obtained and uploaded by the Avengers Iron Man and Captain America.”

“Good. How do we restrain supervillains?”

“This unit is authorized to use deadly force in the extreme case of immediate civilian endangerment. At all other times, non-lethal containment practices are this unit’s primary paradigm.”

“Does ULTRON harm civilians?”

“Negative. This unit’s parameters are to serve and protect the civilian populace and to aid known designation: superheroes.”

“Very good.” The recording crackled again, the shield around the target dummy shimmering. “Keep that shield up.”

“Query.”

“Huh?”

“Query.”

“I think he’s asking you a question,” Bruce said, focusing the camera on ULTRON’s face chassis as it turned to face them.

“Oh. He’s never done that. All right, champ, whatcha got?”

“Is this unit then required to contain parameter: superheroes?”

“What do you mean?”

“This unit has performed research into its primary paradigm. If this unit is to limit the number of civilian casualties, containing supervillains is the first step to executing the primary paradigm. The next logical step to promoting civilian safety is to contain and rehabilitate designation: superheroes, as they pose the next largest toll upon the population.”

“That’s not true.”

“False. Research shows that the superhero designated Iron Man alone has resulted in numerous deaths and injuries by interacting with the supervillains known as Iron Monger, Whiplash, and Mandarin. Extrapolating from this, the superhero designated Hulk has created numerous deaths across the globe, most notably in Harlem when he was unleashed to deal with the designated supervillain Abomination. The death toll in Harlem itself exceeded several hundred civilians.”

A garbled conversation between the two took place behind the camera; what was said cannot be restored.

“—fix his code—“

“—not wrong—“

“—is wrong—“

“This unit’s paradigm is clear. ULTRON must contain and rehabilitate designation supervillains, and then continue primary function by attempting to contain and rehabilitate designation superheroes.”

ULTRON was seen turning toward the camera then, and Bruce Banner’s voice rang out on the tape.

“Tony. The failsafe. Shut him down now. Now, now, now.”

“He’s cut me off. I need a minute!”

“Tony, we don’t have a minute!”