Chapter 2
This time, when the elevator doors glide open, Jackson heads straight into the kitchen without a glance at the seven pairs of eyes following him. He finds his mug in the cupboard left of the fridge and sets about brewing a fresh batch of coffee when he hears someone enter behind him. He rubs absentmindedly at the bruises staining his knuckles.
"Can we do this later, Thor?" He leans his hip wearily against the counter, arms crossed gingerly over his chest. His ribs twinge in response. The skin around his eyes feels swollen from exhaustion. He hears nothing for a moment, just the other man's steady breathing. Ultimately, Thor sighs dejectedly and walks back out. Tension bleeds from the agent's frame as his coffee finishes brewing.
Fury side-eyes him when he exits the kitchen. "Is that all, or do you want someone to make you breakfast, too?"
"Are you offering, Nick?" he smirks, no longer as tired.
Agent Coulson deliberately steps between them and swipes across Stark's holographic screen, projecting multiple planes of holograms around them. "News reports show someone breaking into the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Warsaw. The soldier's body under the central part of the Saxon Palace was exhumed, and the five eternal flames were, to quote one of the honor guards, 'stolen.' They said whoever did it was a dark-skinned female with white hair and 'tattoos' all over her body."
"Archangel," Rogers points out the obvious.
Jackson's eyes narrow, "Wait, you said she 'stole' the flames? So she can control fire?"
Fury points to one of the holograms--a surveillance video aimed at the tomb. "Take a look for yourself, Agent Wang."
A white colonnade occupies the screen, stone tablets spaced under the arcades. For a moment, there's nothing but a guard standing motionless in the night, five fires illuminating his steely expression. The soldier's face abruptly scrunches, and he bends over at the waist, desperately clutching at his throat. There's no sound, but if there was, Jackson bets they'd all bear witness to the gasps of a dying man.
A short and slim woman strolls into view, white hair dangling in dozens of tiny braids down her back. Chalky tribal markings adorn her darker skin like tattoos, running down her bare arms, stomach, and legs--some even dotting her face. In her hands, she holds a staff, gold runes glowing in its light-colored wood. She pauses by the guard, staring down with what Jackson imagines to be mild disinterest. Eventually, the woman approaches one of the sconces and raises her hand over the orange flame. Jackson leans in close, eyes narrowed in concentration as the fire seems to suck up into her palm.
He steps forward. "Zoom in, Jar."
JARVIS silently complies, and the footage magnifies until the woman's hand swallows the frame. He can feel the stares of the others as he tracks the flames in the video. "She's not a fire coda," he confirms.
"And how could you possibly know that from watching a single video?" Rogers scowls at him.
Jackson can't help but roll his eyes slightly, already annoyed by the upcoming conversation. "Because I'm not called the Phoenix for nothing. And the flames don't go into her hand. Look closer, Captain, and you'll see the fire die out before it actually touches her."
Steve clenches his jaw at the agent's disrespectful tone but peers back at the paused video.
Fury nods. "He's right. Agent Coulson and I believe she used the oxygen in the air to manipulate the fire."
"An air coda," Jackson breathes.
Agent Romanoff observes him from her position by the hologram. None of them have ever encountered an air coda before.
"So then why'd she put out the fires?" Barton asks.
"We think her motives are religious," Agent Coulson says. "Fire is seen as a manifestation of God in the Christian faith. It symbolizes God's wrath and the judgment and destruction that are often extensions of that wrath.
"Take lightning, for example," he turns to Thor. "Literal fire from heaven."
Thor furrows his brow, a bewildered scowl pulling at his lips. "What a strange thing to believe. Lightning is not fire; it is lightning."
"Fire can also represent rebirth," Barton gestures to Jackson.
Tony suddenly shoves a tablet in Agent Coulson's face. "Look familiar?"
Standing beside Fury, Jackson can clearly see the screen--a complex geometric symbol of parallel lines and stars--and Tony's raised brow. Jackson presses his lips together and glances back toward the paused footage. Etched on the back of the woman's hand is the very same marking.
"The symbol of Ogun, Yoruba god of war, hunting, and ironworking. According to religious scholars, Yoruba is an African indigenous religion with 'high regard for metal as a combination of earth, wind, and fire,' which sounds fucking pretentious to me."
Dr. Banner raises his hand to interject. "If she can control the wind, then, theoretically, that just leaves two elements that she needs to make metal, right?"
"But she put the fires out," Natasha points out.
Jackson stays quiet, mind racing to catch up.
What reason would she have to --
Then he remembers.
His spine straightens. "Phil, you said the Unknown Soldier's body was dug up but was it missing?"
Agent Coulson shakes his head. "No, reports show only--"
He freezes.
Jackson watches as realization dawns.
"Holy shit."
"What?" Clint barks.
Agent Coulson's wide eyes tell Jackson his theory was right. "You and your damn intuitive leaps," the older man mutters, amazed.
Turning to the others, Coulson pulls up another tab on the hologram, this time an image of the burial site. "The only thing missing from the tomb was the urn containing soil from the battleground at Lviv, where the soldier presumably died."
Tony Stark regards Jackson with something akin to pride. The agent smooths a palm over his stomach, uncomfortable.
Agent Romanoff finally says what's been on her mind since Tony showed everyone that symbol. "She could be planning to go after the Phoenix next."
"To get her fire," Steve finishes needlessly.
"We should look at locations with high heat signatures just to be sure," Bruce suggests. "Breaks in the mantle, volcanic zones, and lighting hot spots, to name a few."
"Good idea." Director Fury collapses the holograms. "Until we know exactly where it is she's headed next, Agent Wang, you're under strict order not to leave this tower."
Jackson nearly spit-takes his coffee. "Nick, I'm not sure you've noticed, but I have a life outside of work. I have fieldwork courses that expect my time. I'm almost finished with my degree, and I can't afford to dick around doing nothing because I'm on house arrest. No one even knows who the Phoenix is."
"Have Stark contact your school and get them to send the classwork online--it's really not my problem. We can't take any chances. You're not leaving the tower, and that's final, agent."
"I can't--" Jackson bites his tongue and spins on his heel, walking out onto the roof.
Who the fuck does Fury think he is?
Jackson's aware he's being stubborn and irrational, but he doesn't care. He's pissed. This coursework is crucial for his future. There's too much riding on this for him not to show up. Not to mention his frat mates will wonder where he is after days of not seeing him. He already spent the weekend "helping his parents pack." He hasn't seen his parents since he was nine, but his friends think they're moving to Montana. It's not like he could just tell them that he's staying in Montana for a while longer, especially since he left all of his crap in the frat house.
At least I have my phone, he sulks, frustrated.
Jackson pulls the device from his pants' pocket; missed calls and notifications bury his lock screen. Tapping one of the numerous voicemails, he sighs and brings it to his ear just as a familiar voice filters through.
"Hi Jackson, this is Dr. Bullen calling about a possible meeting time for your first patient. As you've probably figured out by now, graduates enrolled in this course are expected to be able to help their patients recover, improve, and maintain the skills..." Dr. Bullen's droning fades away as the agent slowly lowers the phone. Jackson breathes harshly through his nose and tries to swallow around the bitter taste in his mouth.
They're gonna drop me from the class.
He can see the Avengers sitting in the living room, Fury and Coulson long gone. Their serious conversation from earlier seems to have turned into one more jovial as Thor throws his head back in a laugh Jackson can practically hear from outside. Rogers sits next to him, amicably brushing shoulders as Bruce sputters, red-faced at the other end of the sofa. Nat's disgusted posture and Tony's smug grin tell Jackson enough about the scene. The young agent's brow furrows when he can't locate the archer among them.
The rooftop door opens to his left, and Agent Barton steps out, short hair ruffling in the breeze. He stops beside the younger man, wordlessly glancing down at the lit-up cellphone in his hand. Jackson pockets it and returns to watching the five heroes through the glass walls.
"Thor wanted to be the first to apologize, you know," Clint mutters.
Jackson hums noncommittally. They both stifle a chuckle when Nat cuffs Stark on the back of his head. The billionaire turns with a scowl until he sees her murderous expression.
Barton awkwardly clears his throat. "What's the real reason why you didn't tell us?"
Jackson inhales the humid city air. The time on his phone said it was nearing four in the morning. He thinks if he pretends he didn't hear him, then the older agent might leave him alone. He's never been known to have good luck, though.
"I know you don't give a shit about what Fury thinks, and I also know Coulson wouldn't subject you to blackmail--you're like a son to him. It's kinda gross, honestly."
"Stop," he grits.
"Stop what?!" The archer throws his hands up, aggravated. "Trying to understand you? Is that what this is about? You're afraid of being predictable? Well, I have news for ya: no one ever knows what you'll do next. Apparently, neither did Ran--"
Jackson throws his shoulder into the blonde, cutting his rant short with a grunt. They stumble back, falling against the rooftop in a tangle of writhing limbs. The two agents roll for a few seconds, and Barton lands on top, fist already cocked behind him. It falls hard on Jackson's jaw. The younger agent flips them. Clint blocks the blow aimed at his face. Misses the one at his ribs.
Jackson's mouth tastes like iron. "Don't you fucking dare bring him into this!" He elbows Barton in the forehead.
A quick series of jabs find Jackson's sternum, and they roll. The archer starts landing punches while Jackson gasps for air. Chest heaving, the younger agent struggles to draw in a steady breath. His knuckles connect forcefully with Clint's temple, sending the shorter man tipping to his left. He bucks his hips to throw him off. The blonde rears up for another attack when he notices Jackson's face. A deep line of pain cuts between his brows as he spits a glob of blood onto the gravel rooftop. His breaths come in wheezes, and his already swollen left hand pushes forcibly against his sternum.
"Jack?" Clint exhales.
"Jack?!"
Hurried footfalls grow closer. Tony slides to his knees beside the young agent, hands hovering over the curve of his straining back. He can hear Rogers berating Clint in the background--his Captain's Voice is typically stern.
"Jack, let me see," Nat places her smaller hand over his straining fingers that are burrowing into the gravel. He lets her and Tony maneuver him until he's on his back with his shirt hitched under his armpits. Someone gasps.
"This is from your last assignment?" Natasha bites.
"Wait, did he just get off a mission?" Clint asks, incredulous.
"Yes, you moron. He was over in Nova Scotia literally not even twelve hours ago."
"Why didn't anyone ever tell me?!"
"You shouldn't need to be told!"
"The real question is: why didn't you visit medical, son?" Steve leans over him.
Jackson coughs. "Don't call me son."
He groans when one of Natasha's fingers prods too roughly. He thinks she did that on purpose. It's difficult to tell just by looking at her, though.
"They're broken, but nothing's punctured. Let's go get you taped up."
Tony exhales next to him, hand tightly gripping his shoulder. "Jeez, kid," he shakes his head. "You really know how to give a guy gray hairs, don't ya?"
A thoughtful expression crosses the billionaire's face. "I'm gonna start wrapping you in bubble wrap."
"Please don't."
Reluctantly, with the team's assistance, Jackson ambles back inside. They carefully sit on the couch. Thor appears with an armful of ice packs. He dumps them on the couch next to the injured agent.
Jackson laughs, then winces. "I'm fine, guys. Really."
"Tell that to the giant stormcloud rolling across your entire torso," Tony snarks.
"I see no clouds," Thor frowns, freeing a hand to tug at the agent's shirt.
Jackson slaps the offending limb away and looks at them all--really looks. Their worried faces watch him back.
"Can someone get my Squirtle?"
House arrest isn't terrible, per se; it's just that Jackson is a highly active human being. Randall joked that he had ADHD, said he was like a hyperactive puppy. In hindsight, he realizes that wasn't necessarily a compliment.
Fortunately, remaining in the tower doesn't apply to missions. Jackson had to fight for that privilege.
He's currently locked in battle with a warrior made of metal. The Avengers are occupied with their own Mercury Men, as they've taken to calling them. A platinum blonde woman, dressed in gunmetal-gray and blood-red armor, stands vigil over the battlefield that the Brooklyn Bridge has become. Eyes half-shut in boredom, she watches them fight while twirling ribbons of liquid metal in the air around her fingers. A traffic camera picked up imaging of Archangel in communication with a woman named Irene Silva, but she calls herself Mercury. Law enforcement dumped the metal coda in a maximum-security correctional facility in Bedford Hills four years ago. What she's now doing in Brooklyn, they have an idea.
"I've already told you, I don't work for Archangel," Silva sighs dramatically in exasperation.
Captain America and Black Widow take turns dodging and attacking a surrounding crowd of metalloid creatures. Thor's lightning catapults a group of Mercury Men off the bridge next to Jackson, who melts the leg of another just as it rises up to strike at the demigod's back.
"We know Archangel helped you escape Bedford Hills. What's in it for her?" Iron Man shoots two missiles at Irene. A pair of Mercury Men shield her. The projectiles detonate safely in the other direction.
An ominous groaning sound rumbles through the asphalt.
The beams stretching over Jackson's head are decomposing.
The agent lunges to the right.
The shaft barely misses him as it clangs to the ground. A deafening explosion of sound makes him recoil, elbows scraping against the cracked road. Hands out for balance, Jackson manages to stand on unsteady legs. He works his jaw in an attempt to dissipate the incessant ringing in his ears.
Mercury hikes her trim eyebrows up in entertainment. "Quick reflexes you have there, pretty bird. Continue to woo me and I might just tell you my secret." Her teeth gleam in the sunlight.
Growling under his breath, Jackson shoves a wall of flames at her. Irene skillfully evades. The two exchange blasts of metal and fire; girders and grates and sparks soar through the air around them.
"What rhythm you have. You must be a dancer," Irene declares eagerly. She drags her gaze downward, pink tongue peeking out to wet her lips.
Crouching low, the young agent can see Hawkeye perched atop one of the bridge's arches. He takes aim at the metal coda's back, an explosive arrow notched and drawn. Jackson doesn't hesitate. He thrusts his hand out, sending another plume of fire at Silva. His intention isn't to strike but to distract.
Both of her arms rise, one wrist flicking up, the other forward. It's the only warning Jackson gets.
A shield materializes out from her vambrace. Its gray surface flushes under the splay of brilliant orange. Over her shoulder, Hawkeye's metal-tipped arrow skips in the air. It sails straight at the crouched agent. Jackson springs into motion.
The arrow lands feet away in an eruption of heat. The detonation launches Agent Wang into the side of an abandoned minivan. Its metal frame dents from the impact. Glass shards shower around him as his head brutally smacks the pavement.
The young man sluggishly shakes his head. The clamor of battle is muffled by the blood rushing in his ears. He suspects he has a concussion.
"You alright, Phoenix?" Agent Barton shouts through his earpiece. The hero's voice knifes through his brain. Nausea claws at the man's stomach.
The agent whimpers softly, fingertips leaving his balaclava-covered ear tainted in blood. Definitely a ruptured eardrum. "'M fine," he slurs, tongue leaden. His vision swims. The heated pavement soothes his aching muscles. Suddenly, the sun's warmth disappears.
Mercury casts her shadow over Jackson's kneeling form. "And you were doing so well," she tuts, lips pouted in false sympathy. "Look at those gorgeous eyes peering up all disoriented." Irene reaches down to cup his cheek, but he jerks away. His stomach lurches painfully and the world tilts. Her icy fingertips caress the mask over his slightly parted lips instead.
"Want to hear my secret?" She bats her eyelashes.
"Jack, get outta there," Agent Romanoff bosses into his in-ear.
"Nothing would make me happier," he mutters sardonically against the pads of her fingers. Hopefully, this 'secret' has everything to do with Archangel.
Irene beams, eyes twinkling in delight. Her fingers drop from his face to trail one down his chest. "She wanted a metal staff instead of wood," she purrs in his ear. "Something firmer," she winks, "with more vigor."
Jackson resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Get that, Tony?"
"Too loud and too clear, unfortunately."
Mercury's lips curl, eyes freezing. "You little--"
Thor abruptly cuts her off as he slams into her from the side like a train.
Jackson staggers to his feet.
Only a few Mercury Men are still left standing. Silva is fending off attacks from both sides--Thor and Black Widow now flank her. He can hardly see Iron Man over the arch of the bridge's suspension tower; the billionaire was instructed to keep his distance from the woman who can mentally bend metal.
Jackson fears he's still too close. Imagining the man's iron suit crumpling in like a paper ball terrifies him.
Fortunately, Thor's hammer isn't affected, but the captain had to leave his shield back at base. They all made sure to remove any jewelry before they left.
A fallen girder leans up against the tower adjacent to the fight. Seizing the opportunity, Jackson sets about climbing the beam. He's careful not to draw Silva's attention.
Looking down makes him nauseous. Instead, the agent focuses on the end of the shaft, where it reclines against the tower. The metal sizzles beneath his palms. He's almost directly above Mercury now. He tightly grips the weather-worn arch. A sigh of relief falls past his lips. One hundred feet off the ground, the girder drops from beneath him.
Gravity takes hold. His breath lurches out of him.
His hands scrabble futilely down the limestone tower. He desperately grasps at its gritty surface. His blunt nails chip against the wall. Exposed brick snags under his fingers. His arm lurches, muscles pulling taut with tension. He grunts as all of his body weight pulls on his shoulder.
"Where were you going, kid?" Iron Man hovers next to him. "Grab on. I'll fly ya down."
He extends his hand toward the younger man.
All Jackson can focus on is Tony, in his metal suit, floating directly above Silva. The agent shakes his head. "You're too close, Tony!"
If Jackson were to look down--which he absolutely won't--he would see the fight for the diversion that it is.
"You've gotta trust us, Phoenix!" Stark shouts.
"If she sees you, she'll crush you, Tony!" Agent Wang's arm trembles imperceptibly. "I can get down on my own!"
To prove his point, Jackson finds a foothold a little way down and reaches for it.
"Goddamn it, Jack, just trust us! We're holding her off down here, but soon she'll realize you're up there!" Romanoff barks discreetly into her mic.
The youngest agent squeezes his eyes shut. He rests his forehead against the oven-like stone wall. The back of his skull throbs. A fat bead of sweat trickles down his spine.
Tony offers his hand once more, tone low and promising. "I won't let you go, Jacky."
Jackson glimpses at him over his straining shoulder. A split-second flicker of genuine terror glints in his amber eyes. The kid didn't outwardly show fear. If anything, he always came across as vaguely excited, charged with adrenaline and youthful energy. This display of honest emotion has Tony retracting his faceplate, unveiling what he hopes is an expression of trust and encouragement.
Jackson claps his hand in that of the Iron Man suit.
The metal beneath his palm contorts and slices at their hands. They both let go with a cry. "No!" Tony bellows.
Mercury grins manically up at the billionaire, daring Iron Man to swoop down and catch the agent's plummeting form.
"I've got him, Stark!" Thor swivels his hammer in a tight circle.
Tony reluctantly backs off, his gut twisting in guilt. Jackson's horrified expression flashes before his eyes. His muscles tense as Thor meets Jackson's dropping body, plucking him from the air a moment before impact.
The demigod sets the agent on his feet, eyes tight with worry. "Are you injured, Son of Jack?"
"I'm okay. Thanks, big guy," Jackson pats his back reassuringly. Sparkly dots momentarily dance across his vision. He blinks heavily, and they scatter.
Tony's shoulders sag in relief next to Hawkeye. He brings his hand up. The armor of his suit is warped, and crimson, knife-life protrusions stick out away from him. Blood drips along the edges, and bile burns at the back of his throat. He turns to the fight at the same time Hulk backhands the metal coda off of the bridge with his gargantuan hand.
Agent Wang watches as she reaches toward them. A glistening silver branch reaches out to catch her. Without hesitating, the young agent unholsters his Glock, cocks the hammer, and empties his clip at her in one fluid motion. The slight recoil of the weapon in his hand is familiar and comforting.
The sprouting metal limb lulls as Mercury gestures to flick all of the bullets away. Her body plunges into the East River.
The Avengers scan the water for any hint of platinum blonde. Nothing surfaces the tumultuous waves. After a few minutes, Jackson feels a hand slot with his. Natasha brings his bloody palm up for inspection.
Tony touches down hard on his other side and steps out of his suit. Big, guilt-ridden brown eyes zero in on his mangled hand.
"Good thing you're ambidextrous, huh kid?" Tony smiles weakly, the joke falling flat.
Natasha removes her jacket to use as a makeshift bandage. "He's lucky it didn't take his hand," she glares at them both.