Legendary

The heroes had information that a major transaction was to be done in Rome; payment for arms for the Typhon organization. Several of the principals were going to be there, and the opportunity to grab that many leaders was irresistible. A mixed team of Avengers and Justice League was going, including my uncles, Bruce, Diana, Superman, both Hawkeyes and Arrow (for some reason, why did we need three archers?), Tony, Quicksilver, and Flash. I was going along as support staff due to my paramedic training, and took the Wayne family suborbital in order to meet with a potential client who wanted her private palazzo restored. There were frescoes by Titian that I wouldn't be touching; some of the world's top art restorers were vying for the chance to work on them, but the crumbling palazzo needed a lot of help. The problem was that Valkyrie was about at the end of our resources; we'd either have to hire and gear up for a major expansion, or start a wait list. Or flat out turn people away. None of these ideas were attractive for me, but the wait list was the best option. I was hoping that we could delay the restoration of the palazzo until after the work on the frescoes was complete.

I had to concentrate to pay attention to the duchessa; concern about the op kept me a little distracted. She hadn't inherited money with her title; it had taken her over twenty years of work as an agricultural consultant and marriage to a wealthy banking family to come up with the cash to renovate her palazzo. I liked her; at Valkyrie we were doing background checks on our potential clients as a matter of course--no point in working for baddies--and she was clean as a whistle. The frescoes, which were the pride of the place, were in dire need, and she agreed with me that they should be taken care of before they fell off the wall and were lost forever. That also allowed her a little more time to add to her finances to pay for the restoration of the building, and she wasn't upset about being on the waiting list. The creative minds at Stark had come up with a really terrific full-scale modeling apparatus that would allow for a building to be scanned perfectly down to a thousanth of a millimeter and then projected in such a way that you can stand in the middle of the scan and it looks identical to the original building. The scanning thing had been around since the late twentieth century; the improvements had been made to the fineness of the resolution and the projection that made it seem like you're right in the building. This would enable me to really closely examine trouble spots and, in this case, provide the client with something tangible if anything happened to those frescoes. I was offering before and after scans to clients free of charge in exchange for the right to show parts of the restorations--approved by the client--to other potential clients. Because my client would approve the use of the most glorious parts of the palazzo, including the frescoes, I was reducing the rates I charged for my work. But half of my attention was on the op, impending. My uncles were going to mass in St. Peter's Square, since they were here. Steve was Catholic, Bucky wasn't, but figured there was no harm in the power of prayer before a significant action. The pope himself was conducting the mass.

The Justice League had anonymously rented houses around Rome for those going on the op, and the pretty little house I'd been assigned wasn't far from the square. I left the duchessa with a good feeling and a lot of pictures and measurements, and I figured I'd go there, assume my costume, double-check my equipment, and read until I either got the all-clear or a call for help. It wasn't my first time in the costume or armor; I'd tried it all on, of course, when Emma and I were fine-tuning the fit of the armor and I'd flown around the estate to test everything. I'd had the second step solution sprayed on my wings, so that if necessary, I could use them as a weapon too. I shouldn't have to, though; I was bristling with blades, from the sword at my hip to the one over my spine and all the little knives at various places all over my costume. I had shuriken in a pouch and the backs of my hands and fingers were plated in a pretty version of my trusty cestuses. I had a couple of energy guns at the back of my shoulders, snuggled up to the spine sheath, so I really couldn't be armed any more than I was without toting bags of gear. My first aid pack was fully stocked and strapped on my back. I popped in the ear bud that would let me listen in, wiggled a bit to find a comfortable position in the chair, and flicked on my kindle. Radio silence; the heroes would be gearing up and preparing for the op. I discovered, with great joy, that my preorder had been delivered and the brand new Jane Austen was just waiting to be read.

I was both thrilled to see her new work and terrified that it would be disappointing. The woman had been dead for centuries; who knew if she'd retain her old magic? But scarcely had I paged past the title than there was a concussive blast that shook the little house. There was a brief, appalled silence, as if the city had drawn its breath in protest, then the sirens started. I dropped my Kindle, pushed through the door into the tiny backyard that was protected with a high fence, and leaped into the sky, aiming for the column of...what? Fire, dust? My heart sank as I recognized the site as St. Peter's Square. I beat my wings hard and arrowed toward the site, activating my throat mike as I detailed what I saw. I would have slapped my hand over my mouth as I saw the devastation, but my visor was down. Even as I flew, I saw the great dome of the basilica cave in and couldn't repress a moan. I circled the plaza once, seeing from that height where the people who had been too close to the blast were--or at least, where parts of them were--and couldn't be helped, and where those who were hurt but could be helped were. As I landed next to a man who was trying to crawl for cover, his leg having been blown off, I wondered if my uncles were ok, then pushed that aside and ripped off my first aid pack and pulled out the first tourniquet.

It wasn't long before ambulances and the police screeched up and waves of first responders began to flood the square. I helped carry an injured woman to a police car who would take her for treatment, and whipped around as someone put a hand on my shoulder. I nearly melted; my uncles were there, battered but fundamentally ok. I put Steve's shoulder back into place and dusted their cuts and scrapes with antibiotic coagulent powder that would allow their healing factors to take over. Just as I finished treating Bucky's face, another explosion boomed, and my wings snapped out to cover my uncles. It wasn't necessary; this one was at a distance.

And another, from a different direction.

And another.

Another. I jumped into the air and looked around when I was high enough. I pulled up a 3D map of Rome and compared the signs of the explosions from where I was in the ruins by the basilica.

I landed by my uncles and activated my throat mike. The ear bug was useless; everybody was demanding intelligence. "St Peter's Basilica is a ruin," I said, even as yet another explosion went off. "Looks like the Colosseum, the Forum, the Altare della Patria, the Spanish Steps, and" I had to clear my throat "the Capitoline Museums. And I think the Campo de Fiori."

And another explosion, this one not far from where we were. "And the Sistine Chapel," I said, barely above a whisper, and had to repeat myself, knocked sideways by the concussive wave. I heard Superman and Iron Man conferring with Steve, and the decision was made to proceed with our primary mission first. Steve and Bucky slipped away and I hopped over to the Sistine Chapel to help out, then flew where one of the police officers told me that the casualties were worst in the Campo de Fiori, the popular public market.

There were a lot of children there with their parents.

Flash and Quicksilver came on a couple of resupply runs for me and helped take the smallest victims to the hospitals. They were deluged with casualties.

It took a couple hours for everybody to be triaged, then I flew off, went to the rented house, and changed into regular clothes, taking a few minutes to contact my husband, who was frantic. Then I went to the nearest casualty site and helped clear streets. By the time night fell, I was exhausted and trudged to the nearest big street and hailed a cab, riding to a restaurant where the Flash, incognito without his bright red suit, met me. We ordered huge meals, talking to the waiter, who wanted to know what had happened and what we'd seen. It helped to talk about it. Once the waiter moved on, Flash quietly briefed me. The mission had been disrupted by the explosions, which were being claimed by Typhon as a distraction. However, a load of arms coming in at Ostia had been intercepted. Pulse and other energy weapons had been recovered, which were highly dangerous. Most of the people rounded up had been the arms dealers, but our joint commission had snagged Zola, the Weather Wizard, Alexander Pierce, the Riddler, and Dr Faustus, whoever that was. Furthermore, the Mandarin had been seen to be hurt in the fight, but he had escaped. As a preventative measure, Thor had offered the use of his holding cells to prevent a breakout or any other problems with the captured criminals, and they'd been transported immediately by the Bifrost. UN officials would be visiting them soon.

The waiter was just returning with our plates when Flash looked over my shoulder and huffed out an unamused laugh. I turned to see the TV screen showing amateur video of the disaster at the square. People were screaming and praying, and someone was crying over the Holy Father, then there was a brief silence and the recorder jerked skyward. "Bellissimo angioletto!" someone exclaimed, pointing.

No, just me. But I hadn't counted on the effect my pale armor, wings, and red cape would have, especially over a disaster scene at the Vatican.

The camera followed me down, where I reached back to scratch where the spine sheath had irritated my skin. I'd folded in my wings to make an adjustment and ease some cloth underneath, but it looked like the wings retracted at the push of a button. Cool. I'd have to remember that.

The news commentator properly identified me as Valkyrie, and my badass vigilante rep took a hit as I dropped to my knees and pulled out the tourniquet. An Italian official came on, stepping up to a podium in front of the Campo ruins. The earbugs Flash wore translated for him. She explained who was responsible for the bombing, described the role of our superheroes, casting them as dogged defenders who managed under impossible conditions to apprehend several of the terrorists. She justly praised the response of the ambulance crews, hospitals, police, and firefighters, and cleared up the misunderstanding that an angel appeared. Thank you, ma'am. A lot of people had been killed by Typhon, but more had been saved, even through even with modern medicine, healing torn tissues and broken bones would take time. The historical sites were a different matter, however. She said it was too early to tell what, if anything, could be restored. She praised the resilience of Romans, and then brought forth a cardinal, rather battered looking and frail, to pray for the lives lost and those who were suffering. It was sobering, and as I listened to the prayer, I started to cry a little. It was the stress, and pain and suffering all around. Flash put his hand on my shoulder as I dabbed my eyes with my napkin.

After the last bite (neither the Flash or I had dared to have wine, what with being physically depleted from the activity) we paid and split up. I wanted to sleep more than anything. But I wasn't halfway to said bed when I got a buzz on the comm link. I raised my communicator to cover. "Alex, you need to get over here," Superman said, sounding stressed. "Bruce was hurt today but won't seek help. I need you to fix him or convince him to go to a hospital." I swore to myself.

I backtracked a bit and found a cab, managing a really brief nap. The door of the house opened up and Diana drew me in, quickly updating me on the situation. When I went into the living room, Bruce was arguing with Superman . He didn't want to go to a hospital since they'd been overwhelmed earlier in the day and was convinced that his injuries, whatever they were, weren't serious. His grim face lightened a bit when he saw me. "Alex will fix me," he said confidently.

We had to get him out of his costume first, though, which was as difficult as it ever had been and Bruce was gray by the time this was managed. I saw immediately what the problem was; his abdomen was distended and swollen, and he said he'd taken a hit from a piece of masonry when the buy was taking place in the Forum.

"I can't fix this, Bruce," I said immediately. "Not without the surgical suite. You have internal damage and bleeding, and you must go to the hospital right now, or you're going to die."

"You're exaggerating," he said irritably. I narrowed my eyes and I tried to impress the severity of the situation on him. He didn't want to hear it, mostly because he didn't want to further burden the medical facilities in the city. He proposed going home in the suborbital for treatment.

"You don't have time!" I said, at my wits end. "That will take at least an hour, and it's time you don't have!"

Bruce opened his mouth to argue, then suddenly slumped. I blinked. Superman had knocked him out. "I'll take him for help, Alex. We don't have time for this." I nodded, and Diana held the door as he very carefully picked up Bruce and launched into the sky.

The other Justice Leaguers and I just looked at each other. "I must remember that for the future, when Bruce gets tetchy," I said finally, and the tension was broken. They laughed, and I did patch up a few of the heroes who had less serious damage and no healing factors. I went back to the house, finally, after having stopped at a pharmacy to restock my kit. Then, before I fell into the bed, I updated my husband. He was frazzled and said that he was coming.

"I'll be glad to see you, darling," I said, yawning, and he asked for the address so I didn't have to pick him up at the airport.

I woke up some four hours later from a nightmare of exploding antiquities to find Damian snuggled up to me, also sleeping. Comforted, I put my hand on his and went back to sleep.