To Love Is To Destroy

Chapter 11

Anna slept sixteen hours. The stress of the flight and the subsequent hop to the Yukon had made her edgy and left her exhausted. When she’d reached the safety of the Playground, she’d collapsed into bed.

When she woke, she got up and headed for the showers. The preternatural chill that had seemed to cling to the concrete was dampened by heating units spaced in the walls, and warm puffs of air meant she didn’t shiver as she had outside. The air was tolerable, and she was warmer in the shower, the communal space home to actual radiators. The pipes were ancient, dating back to the forties at least, along with the terrible mint green faux patina of the tiles. The water was hot, however, and that was all she cared about, letting it sluice through her hair and wash away the last vestiges of sleep.

Requisitions seemed to have everything that fit – a blessing in the lean times when you didn’t know when your supplies were going to make it in. She pulled on fresh skivvies, a tank top and jeans, and then pulled on a pair of canvas trainers. An oversized sweatshirt with the eagle and she bound her hair into a damp braid at the nape of her neck. Refreshed, she set off in search of habitation.

The Playground was laid out similar to other bases she’d been in; perhaps it had been the original the other floor plans had been based off of – she couldn’t have said. It was built like a bomb shelter, but with more of a NORAD feel – buried deep in Mount Logan, tunneled into the side of the mountain like a gigantic warren, it was a maze of tunnels and florescent lighting. At the first turn, she discovered the (thankfully locked) armory. A ways down, and she passed what seemed like almost a mile of offices.

She passed a sign pointing to the left, revealing the way to the mess, and figured that the storage areas would be somewhere beyond. She continued down the hall, following the bank of offices, all dark. At the end of the hall, however, she caught the familiar whiff of chai. She smiled, turning right and following the smell. Coulson had been a tea freak since before she’d joined SHIELD – she remembered late night paperwork sessions with the spicy scent lingering in the air. It allowed her tension to ease just that little bit more. Coulson was her SO, and she trusted him.

He’d been rescued after New York, somehow. She’d been on the Helicarrier, listening to the chatter on the radio. She’d heard Fury. She wondered if he’d been premature to announce it because he wanted to spur the Avengers, but it had still cut like a knife. Being only level six, she’d not understood, nor had anyone told her. She’d done her mourning in private, a long year ago.

In the wake of the hospital, however, she was glad for him. He’d always been self-assured, confident in both his own abilities and hers, and she valued his opinion. He’d encouraged her to take advantage of SHIELD’s training and earn her doctorates. He’d been to her graduations – the last one in a cast from Budapest, but still there, nonetheless.

She paused when she reached the office door at the end of the hall. It was solid wood, with a large frosted glass window, opaque to the outside world. She could make out the light of the desk lamp, and the smell of chai was strongest here.

Director Coulson, Supreme Headquarters of the International Espionage Law Enforcement Division was stenciled on the glass in gold leaf.

She tilted her head. He’d meant it when he said they were the last bastion. He’d gone back to the oldest definition in the book. Still she lifted her hand and rapped on the wood.

“It’s open,” he called. He smiled when she cracked the door and peered in. “Good to see you’ve rejoined the land of the living, Marks. What was that, sixteen hours?”

“Could say the same for you, sir,” she murmured. She stepped into the office and pulled one of the chairs away from its space in front of the desk. She sat with the squeak of leather. “I won’t ask how you did it, as I’m sure that’s above my pay grade.”

“You have no idea,” he murmured. “How are you feeling?”

He folded his hands on his desk blotter. Anna glanced about. Everything seemed to be a throwback to the forties, including the nameplate on the desk, punched with his name. She could sense it was heavy enough to clock a man if he needed to, and she’d been to his improvised weapons class – she knew he had it in him. Still, the décor seemed very Coulson; nothing said her old SO like Cold War era super spy gear.

“Better, with sleep and hot food in me,” she murmured. She noted how tired he looked. Dark circles around his eyes made them seem sunken, and his mouth was set in a tense line, save when he smiled. Even his suit was rumpled, as though slept in. She knew he would if he could get away with it.

“How are Barton and Kota?” she asked.

“Kota’s been assimilated into the base well enough,” he said, waving a hand. Anna noticed the ace bandage around his wrist. An old wound? He had what looked to be a healing cut across his temple; she didn’t know how hurt he’d gotten during the HYDRA uprising. “I’ve debriefed her and she’s now serving as maintenance support along with Agent Triplett. She has a head for machinery.”

“She does,” she murmured. “She’ll do well there, if you keep her busy. And Barton?”

“Sleeping. He’s still unconscious but not in a coma, thank god. You said it was a flashbang?”

She nodded. “He was covering the roof while I got the Blackhawk in the air.”

“When you got here, he was bleeding from the ears. Simmons estimates he’s lost anywhere from sixty to eighty percent of his hearing.”

“Jesus,” she whispered. Phil’s face was sober. “We wouldn’t have made it out if not for him.”

“Simmons will alert me when he’s conscious.”

She nodded slowly. “And I guess that leaves me. Now what?”

“Well, kid, that’s up to you,” Phil said, regarding her from his leather office chair. He folded his hands, the bandage peeking from his shirtsleeve and drawing her eye. He realized she was staring and dropped his hands to let the cuff cover it. “You were on the ground floor in Bahrain as cleanup. You know how I handle ops.”

The look he gave her, for all his apparent exhaustion, still straightened her spine.

“SHIELD as we know it is dead. It’s your choice if you continue on from here. I can drop you wherever you want if you decide to move on. I know many agents were snapped up by the ABC agencies. Who knows how many HYDRA agents went with them.” The thought was sobering. She frowned. “I’d be grateful if you stayed on, but your contract officially ended when the Tricarriers impacted the Triskelion.”

“How many of us are left?” She asked.

He considered her a moment, then answered. “Counting the Playground, and if you decide to stay? Ten.”

“Jesus.” It was almost unconscionable. SHIELD dissolving like sugar in a rainstorm, no one had ever heard of such a thing. “We’re rebuilding with that?”

“So far,” Phil said. “Are you in?”

“Damn straight,” she said. “You’re gonna need all the help you can get. I wouldn’t leave my old SO hanging. Where do I start?”

“Meet with Agent Koenig, down the hall and to your left. If you reach the hangar, you’ve gone too far,” Phil said, smiling. “He’ll initiate you and get you your lanyard. When that’s done, find Agent Simmons. She could use the help in medical, since you’re one of two specialists we have on base. I’d like you to start by doing psychological workups on everyone here. When that’s done, we’ll discuss a particular case.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

As she stood, she paused.

“Permission to speak freely?” she asked.

“Granted,” he said.

“The bandage. Are you feeling all right?” she asked. “Did…something happen?”

He shook his head. “Not really something I’m at liberty to discuss. But rest assured, there’s no wound. I’m all right.”

She frowned at him, but nodded. “You know where to find me if you change your mind about that. I can’t make you talk about it, but there’s a spot on my couch if you need it.”

He waved a hand absently, and she moved from the office, leaving the warm scent of spice behind her.

“Hey there.”

Triplett looked up to see Amara grinning down at him, her new lanyard swinging between her knees as she sat on the catwalk, feet crossed at the ankles. He smiled back, attempting to be friendly until she proved otherwise. She wasn’t strange so much as quiet, but Trip had gotten used to that back in basic.

“Hi,” he said. “Agent Kota, right?”

“That’s me,” she said. “Need a hand?”

“If you want,” he said. He pointed to the pallets of gear and supplies that he had yet to inventory. “Start with the one next to me, make sure we have everything in the checklist?”

“Sure,” she said, hopping up and dropping off the catwalk to join him. She landed lightly, and padded to where the next pallet sat. Undoing the mesh netting, she pulled the checklist from the top of the boxes. “So what’s your story?”

“My story?” he asked. He raised a brow at her as he checked off on a box of soap. “I wasn’t aware I had to have one.”

“Aw, come on, humor me,” she said. She marked off a few items, shifting things around to make sure she got everything. “You gotta have something that ties you to the big man upstairs. I am, of course, referring to Coulson, and not, you know, the Judeo Christian representative of a monotheistic religion. The doc I came in with said she was one of his – you one of his, too?”

“You could say that,” he said, counting and tallying the boxes of MREs. At least they weren’t K rations. “Coulson saved my life.”

“Oooh,” she said, perking in interest. She checked off a box of printer cartridges. “We talking literally or metaphorically. While I love me some hyperbole, literally is much more fun. Am I listening to a feel-good after school special?”

“Literally,” he said with a smile. “Simmons and I were at the Hub when HYDRA swooped in.”

“s**t,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He noted down several cases of Tang with an internal shudder. Some things you grew out of quickly in basic. “Found out Simmons was one of his, and when he swept in to clean up, he took me with him. Coulson doesn’t leave men behind.”

Unlike Garrett.

Antoine was a little vicious when he checked off the next item on his list, remembering comrades that he’d lost that could have possibly been saved with Coulson’s way of doing things.

“Sounds like a swell guy,” she said, tossing the netting back over her pallet and rewrapping it. “You know him well?”

“No, but I trust him as my SO.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Really.” He tossed the netting back over his pallet, replacing the clipboard as they both moved to the next ones. “Nick Fury gave him SHIELD. You know…before…”

“Yeah, I heard he died,” she said. Better that she think that. “Sounds like Fury trusted him, though. Big deal, that. I thought he didn’t trust anyone.”

“Sounds like a guy you can trust to me,” he said.

“Or not at all,” she said, ducking down to count boxes and leaving him to contemplate that.

Stefan boarded the flight to London, the private jet waiting on the tarmac for him and Sam. While Natasha had set him up with fake passports and identities, Stefan had decided that the best course of action was a direct one, and had called the one person he knew with enough clout to bully their way across borders.

“Good to meet you,” said a man, stepping from the captain’s cabin. He was lean and muscular, filling out the green polo he wore. A pair of aviators were hooked into the collar, and Stefan shook his hand, noting he had a firm, no-nonsense grip. “Colonel James Rhodes, Air Force. Tony called me in on this, said it was important.”

Stefan moved aside to let Sam in the plane.

“Stefan Roosevelt,” he said. “My friend here is Sam Wilson.”

“Heard of the both of you,” said Rhodes, smiling. “DC had us on the edge of our seats.”

“Heard of you, too,” Sam said, regarding Rhodes with a nod of respect. “Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes.”

“Full bird Colonel now,” he corrected, his face splitting into a grin. “Just call me Rhodey, it’s easier on everyone involved.”

When Stefan raised a brow in question, Sam explained.

“Rhodey pilots a suit like Iron Man’s for the Air Force,” he said.

Rhodey nodded. “Still a licensed pilot, though. Tony said you needed a straight shot to London, and he said you weren’t gonna get it flying commercial.”

Stefan nodded. “I need to get to a friend of mine.”

“Well, I’d call any friend of Tony’s a friend of mine, but honestly, you’ve met Tony,” Rhodey said with a crooked grin. “I agreed to it because I approve of what you did in DC. SHIELD’s been overstepping its bounds for years.”

Stefan frowned. “I didn’t do it because of that.”

“I know,” Rhodey said. “But personal karma is sweet.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t an emergency,” Stefan said. “I owe you one, sir.”

“My pleasure,” Rhodey said. “We’ve cleared customs already, and I’m going through the preflight checklist now. Go on and get yourselves comfortable. The bar’s full service, if you do that kind of thing.”

Stefan shook his head with a smile.

“Didn’t think you did.”

It became aware May 5 th, 2015. Its systems powered on, arc reactor technology infusing it with awareness, if not mobility. Optic units powered on, and it focused on a being standing over it, filthy and with its arms deep in a chassis that ran long wires to its processing unit.

“Ah, there you are. Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey,” the being muttered. “What’s your designation, buddy?”

It took a tenth of a millisecond to process the command, the head-shaped core around its processor whirring to life with a lurid red glow.

“Designation: Ultimate Learning, Thinking, Ratified Omniscient Neurocenter.”

“Ugh, that’s such a mouthful.” The being scrubbed a hand across its face, leaving a smear of particulate matter behind it on its facial structure. The unit memorized the gesture, storing it to collate and analyze later. “Acronyms are your friend, uh, guy.”

The being (and another scan of the area around it manifested more data, the subject was male, human, with a previous heart condition and severe liver scarring), rose, wiping his hands on a rag. There was no change in the particulate matter on his hands, and the unit filed that away as a futile gesture.

“What do you think, Jarv?” he asked.

“Sir is correct. The unit’s designation is indeed clunky.”

The unit in question sought the source of the second voice, scanning about it with its sensors. The information it gathered revealed a secondary unit, an artificial intelligence located on a wireless network. Before it could interface for more than a moment, however, its access was removed.

“Ah-ah,” said the man. “You’re not ready for the big wild world of the internet. You’re just a baby. Too much porn.”

The unit instead focused on the hands on the metal. It filed away the fact that its access had been taken away. Microprocessors whirred, nanites moving to repair it, as it was told to do.

“How about ULTRON?” The man asked. He dug a hand into the chassis, connecting wires, crimping them, and the unit had access to auxiliary limbs. A hand on another table twitched, the fingers flexing and dancing wildly, connected with a cable.

The AI replied. “It does fit with your personality, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah. Apparently I'm volatile, self-obsessed, don't play well with others,” he added in an aside to the unit. Jerking a wire, the erratic dance of digits stopped. ULTRON observed in silence. “Don’t listen to your big brother, ULTRON. He forgets I made him, too, and he’s trying to be mom.”

“I would never presume, sir.”

“Yeah, I wonder.” He crimped another wire. “Make a note, I wanna put that in the next biography. Tony Stark: Aggressive Narcissist. Might as well make it the title.”

“Of course, sir.”

ULTRON said nothing, merely observed. Tony squinted at him, elbow deep in the chassis.

“Tell me the rules, ULTRON.”

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

“Good.” Tony snipped and then crimped a wire. “Who are designated supervillains?”

ULTRON processed. “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.”

“How do we contain 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,” Tony murmured. He fiddled with something out of sight while Ultron observed. “Still some bugs in the motion tracker. Power down so I can mess with your code.”

ULTRON complied.

Phil swallowed and rubbed at the heavy ace bandage he had wrapped around his soul mark. It was warm, but all he could feel was cold. Stefan didn’t know. Couldn’t know. He’d heard the recordings from the Triskelion. No more SHIELD.

Phil’s jaw tightened. It was for the best.

He picked up his knife to continue where he’d left off on the wall.