Enervating
Upstate New York
2018
Happy has seen a lot of things in his time. He's been Tony Stark and Pepper Potts' chauffeur and bodyguard, head of security and asset manager for Stark Industries - so it's not surprising that some, for lack of a better word, shit has come into his line of sight. Aliens, robots, one-armed men, flying vehicles, flying metal whales, two men with mechanical wings, dead agents, superhumans, people coming back from death and being frozen. Things that he hadn't even considered real for a very large portion of his life, things that still seem surreal even though he sees them on an almost daily basis now. All of this, all of these years as Tony's friend and following him into disaster after disaster, should have prepared him for anything.
It should have, he thinks, but it didn't. To be fair, he's not sure anything could have prepared him for watching so many people disappear like smoke in the air or some kind of sick magic trick. Now you see them, now you don't.
"I should have retired." He notes to no one in particular as he stares up at the Avengers Facility. The building looks foreboding in the shadow of recent events. He isn't sure what to expect, if anything. For a few extended moments he just stands there, looking at the white walls and long glass windows and the Avengers symbol tattooed on the side of the building like an advertisement. The idea of going inside without any clue as to what he's going to find is intimidating. "Home sweet home."
Forcing himself to step through the doors, Happy releases a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. Inside everything is silent, as still as a graveyard and just as uncomfortable. At first look it's empty, which. Well, it isn't all that shocking. After all, things have sort of gone to hell in a hand-basket so expecting some kind of grand welcome would have been unrealistic. He scuffs his feet on the floor and heads further into the facility, letting his feet lead him to one of the common rooms formerly inhabited by the Avengers.
"Welcome back, Mr. Hogan." The light voice coming into the room makes him jump, stumbling over his own foot and bringing a hand to his heart. "I didn't mean to startle you."
He could swear the artificial voice sounds amused. "You can't do that to people - you're likely to give someone, that someone being me, a heart attack."
"Your heart rate has increased by thirty percent and is currently lowering. In the event of a heart attack -"
"Okay! Okay." Happy drags a hand down his face, shaking his head.
When the female voice doesn't chime in again, he goes back to wandering the building and listening to his own footsteps bounce off of the walls. Each door leads to an empty room, empty beds and abandoned tables. The only room that has any sign of recent life in it is Helen Cho's, where papers are scattered across her desk and littered unceremoniously across the floor and a half-consumed cup of coffee has gone cold. He wavers in the doorway for a beat, then two before he finally decides to go through the threshold.
He collects the scattered papers, eyes skimming over them in search of some answered to his unasked questions. Most of it goes straight over his head, though. Something about implants into the body that would push out regenerative tissues in the events of emergencies, and synthetic materials that won't dissolve or degrade over time when in contact with specific acids - that's about all he can get out of it. He dumps the papers back onto her workspace and rubs at the bridge of his nose.
Finally resigning himself to what has to be done, Happy sighs heavily. "FRIDAY?"
"Is there something I can assist you with?"
"Where is everyone?"
A pause, as if the program needs to actually consider this. "Would you like the last known locations of all current employees of Stark Industries and residents of the Avengers Facility aside from yourself? I can have a list displayed in the lab on floor 2B, ready for your review."
"What - no, God, no." Shaking his head, the slightly horrified man heads out of the room and looks up at the ceiling to give the nearest camera his least amused look. "Not everyone. Just the important ones." Realizing how bad that sounds, he hunches his shoulders and tries again. "Why don't we start with Tony?"
"The Boss was last tracked somewhere over New York with the Little Insect."
"Little Insect?" Happy furrows his brow in confusion. "What is that?"
"Alternative titles would be: Young Hercules, Teen Trouble, and The Kid. They were giving the Iron Spider its first test run."
Surprised, the man does a double-take. "Where are they now?"
"Their trackers are currently out of range. I believe they were last on a ship heading into space. There has been radio silence for over forty-eight hours and seventeen minutes."
Happy really doesn't like the sound of that. "What about Pepper?"
"Pepper was last located in downtown New York. Her tracker went offline at the time of the Incident." And then, as if it's going to help, "Surveys of the area indicate that she will not be home in time for dinner."
It's not the news he wanted. Happy swallows past the lump in his throat, rubbing at his eyes as he considers the state of his two best friends. For years, they've been all he's had and now... It's just him. He visibly deflates, leaning into one of the walls of the hallway. Without Tony and Pepper he isn't sure where to go from here. He knows what he should do, what he would do if this were happening under slightly less bizarre circumstances, but it certainly doesn't fit the situation now. Not when the news is blaring out half finished reports of New York being attacked (again) and the population dying in the blink of an eye. No one has even tried to explain it past another out-of-this-world encounter that they are clearly not on the winning side of.
"- more significant than expected. Doctor Selvig has been reviewing video footage and attempting to assess potential causes of the Incident and catalog general losses." FRIDAY is still talking. He must have been tuning her out. Is it rude to ignore an AI? Happy is pretty sure it still is, even if he isn't all that knowledgeable about technology. "He is currently stationed on floor 4B, under lockdown."
After a few moments of consideration Happy decides it can't get much worse than it already is. "Better tell him he has incoming."
*
Wakanda
2018
"All I'm sayin'," Rocket snarls at them all from his position on the countertop and crosses his arms. His expression is tight, angry. "Is you bums are just sittin' on your asses. Maybe that's how you do things here on Earth but on my team we did things."
Steve sighs from his seat at the table, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes as he regards the raccoon. He's been going off like this for over an hour, clearly getting stir-crazy from the few days they've been rooted in Wakanda trying to form an idea of where to go from here. The Incident has left a lot of them understandably torn and on edge, handling it in their own ways, but he could really do without listening to an hour of angry sputtering from a talking tiny bandit. The whole situation feels surreal, like an out of body experience.
Rhodey hasn't moved from his spot across the room, not even taking the time to spare them a glance. His face is set in a hard frown, the lines around his eyes and forehead seeming to grow more prominent by the day. The past two years look like they're taking their toll, now, weighing him down with the sharp pain in his lower spine and the metal permanently in his bones.
Seated beside Steve, Natasha is giving her little silver flip phone a dirty look; expecting a call that clearly has not come yet. If she's not lurking and glaring at that phone she's been plastered to him or Bruce, making vague conversation and handwaving them when they try to get her to do anything more than that. Bruce, bless his heart, has gotten chewed out twice already for not letting her avoid the things happening around them. Steve is at least smart enough not to ask until she cools off a little, not wanting her to direct that look on him. That glare could melt off skin and the agent herself can be pretty damn intimidating when she sets herself to it. She is - or was - an Avenger. Super soldier or not, he values his life enough not to toe the line with her right now.
"And you're still doing it!" The little beast throws his hands up, pacing on the counter and curling his lip. His claws click on the surface, a sharp tick-tick-tick in the air. "Just staring at me like there's nothing better to be doing. That wrinkled old radish demolished everyone -"
"I'm sorry." Natasha breaks before the rest of them not looking the least bit apologetic, eyes narrowing as she looks up at him. "When did our leader morph from a sensible human being into an oversized rodent?"
"That's real big, sweetheart." Rocket sneers at her, pointing a finger accusingly. "It's not like any of you are leading this ragtag group of incompetents, don't act like you're automatically the superior species here."
"Getting a word in has been pretty impossible since we got back here." She responds dryly, settling the phone on the table and leaning on her elbows. "Have you ever heard of a road kill? If not -"
"Nat." Steve interjects quickly, reaching a hand to her upper arm. She looks at him from the corner of her eye and he can practically hear her teeth grinding as she settles back. He retracts his hand and turns his gaze to the raccoon again. "Rushing into this the way we did last time isn't going to work, we've seen that."
Rocket sniffs and looks between them, clearly thinking over his next words. Whatever argument he had is defused when Thor enters the room. It's like the man is a sponge, sucking every bit of anger out of him and turning him into a decent being. He does give them the finger one last time before dropping to sit on the edge of the counter and storming out of the room entirely. The Norse god only stops him for a moment with quiet words and directs him to the east hall, saying something about tools and communication devices fit for longer distances. It's safe to assume that he's going to gather something for Shuri and Bruce and then rejoin them in their work, as he has on-and-off the past few evenings.
"I see we are all remaining friendly." The larger blond looks more tired than Steve has ever seen him. He didn't realize the guy had limits, but that probably came along with the whole 'losing your father and brother and your entire society' sort of thing. I get it, he thinks. "I have prepared us a feast."
The idea of Thor, the man currently carrying an axe around on his waist like it's nothing, potentially wearing an apron and making a dinner sounds ludicrous. Steve is beginning the wonder if maybe he's dreaming.
As if reading his mind, Rhodey cranes his head over to look at them with raised eyebrows. "What planet are we on, again?"
Thor looks disappointed, dejected, like a kid being denied a new toy or a candy bar. Steve thinks back to sitting and staring at a plate of Shawarma, watching everyone eat and feeling so exhausted he nearly fell asleep with a bite of food in his mouth. He remembers Thor looking at Bruce and the two of them nodding, he remembers the way Tony slouched back in his chair because he could hardly hold himself up, he remembers Natasha and Clint on their side together holding a conversation that cost them no words. He misses it, misses when things were just a little bit simpler. Judging by the look on Thor's face, he does too.
Steve thinks of better times, and pushes himself to his feet and aims a steady look at their other companions. He nudges the woman to his left until she does the same, looking thoroughly disgruntled. He waits patiently until Rhodey sighs and gets to his feet as well, making for the door and at least making an effort to rub the sour look from his face.
"Thank you, Thor." Steve doesn't quite smile, can't force his features into something that smooth right now, but the other man grins wide enough for both of them. "I'm sure we would all appreciate that, it's been a long few days."
Grinning, the Adgardian claps a hand on his shoulder and guides them toward the door. For a few moments, everything is calm. Quiet. Peaceful. If not for their dwindling numbers, it might even feel like they hadn't a terrible no good very bad day. It's not right, it's not perfect, but it's something and Steve is willing to claw for everything - every inch, every moment - that they can get before things fall apart again.
*
Aerie
2018
The Shi'ar as a people have never been the most desirable company in the universe. It's not that they are especially unlikable or unapproachable, but their militaristic ancestry, desire for nothing but the utmost loyalty, and strict systems leave something to be desired. They've been in the middle of wars for longer than anyone can remember, either negotiating (demanding) peace or having a hand in forcing one party or another to back down. So it's understandable, really, that many people regard them as a bit... severe. The hesitation to get caught up in a web of affairs with them is to be expected, but typically impossible to avoid.
Not that they're particularly unwelcoming either, though. Even now, twenty-five years later and half fused with a Kree, Carol Danvers finds herself being allowed to drift on the edge of their society and observe the high structure and light figures. Despite any misgivings regarding the Kree half of her, they've allowed her to take up a slice of their life here in Aerie. It's more than she can say for any others - the Shi'ar aren't exactly inviting people for extended stays on their planet, even if they find themselves inhabiting plenty of others and moving outside of the Shi'ar Galaxy.
Although not residing here might be by choice, she decides after a moment of surveying her surroundings again. The half of her that knows this place - these people, this life - feels immensely guilty the minute the thought takes up a corner of her mind. They've been decent to her, allowing her to come and go as she pleases and providing her access to their superior technologies in an attempt to hone her skills and keep one eye on the Kree Empire and the Greater Magellanic Galaxy. Still... it's like there's a taste of trouble bordering the utopia, making it impossible not to feel like she's looking through stained glass.
"We had such dreams."
In front of her, standing and looking out over the city and the slowly moving water, is Lilandra. The feathered crest on her head and the silver cloak attached at her collarbone catch the light, making it hard to focus on her more humanoid features. She looks more like a bird than ever, with the sky cradling the edges of her silhouette and her chin pointed upward. The black markings around her eyes seem to emphasize the harshness of her expression, the lines drawing attention to the downturn of her eyes and brows. She looks like a painting, so still aside from the twitch of her lips that it almost isn't real.
"So many, turned to dust before our very eyes." There's a pause, and the taller avian woman faces her with a frown. "You know why I have come from Chandilar?"
Carol lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "I had assumed... Leaving the throneworld isn't really a common occurrence, but under the circumstances I was expecting at least a visit."
"Good. Your Terran brain has yet to fail you." Her tone is flat but the glint in her eyes is near amusement. "Once more, it seems you must return to Earth. If your warning was any indication." When she nods, Lilandra continues. "I must remain here, for the sake of the Empire. You have no plans in the foreseeable future, yes?" She doesn't wait for an answer before continuing. "I expect if you cannot handle this situation I will hear of it quickly."
There's a warning behind her words, discreetly lining the pitch of her voice. It's not surprising. Carol is sure she still has eyes somewhere on Earth, watching. Waiting. It's foreboding, knowing that even behind peace treaties and quiet spaces there are plans she has no knowledge of. She should probably be a little offended, considering how quickly she relayed the message of Fury's S.O.S. to the throneholder of the Shi'ar, but. That's fine. She's not offended at all. Not even a little. Not even the tiniest ittiest bit.
"You will take one of our starships."
Carol's protest starts automatically. "That's not necessary. You know I can travel just as quickly and with less notice by myself, it's safer to -"
"You will take one of our starships." Lilandra gives her the kind of stern look a disapproving mother might, as if she's one of her personal hatchlings. "They are equipped with force fields, cloaking devices, and long distance audio and video communication systems."
Which means they can (and likely will) be keeping an eye on her as well. Carol is shocked the woman hasn't asked her to install a Stargate on Earth, so they have more instant access but... She makes a note to check the ship for anything specific before she leaves regardless. Still, she's grateful. The Shi'ar have looked after her well.
"Thank you, Lilandra."
"You assisted in restoring me to my throne, I should hope I can return the favor." That same mildly amused look crosses her face and she looks Carol up and down deftly. "Besides, your clothing is not built to withstand entering Earth's atmosphere. I would hate for you to arrive under dressed."
Running a hand through her blonde hair, Carol heaves out something between a laugh and a sigh. "You always do have my best interests in mind."
"As I should." Lilandra turns away from her, waving one hand dismissively. "You are free to go. May Sharra and K'ythri deliver you well."
Knowing better than to crack some joke about heartfelt goodbyes, Carol nods again at her back and retreats. The older woman wouldn't have understood and the effort would have been a waste, anyway. Within an hour, the woman once known as Captain Marvel is ready to leave. There's no one to bid farewell to, and doing an inspection of the ship (and ditching some unnecessary additions to the cargo) doesn't take long enough to make a dent in her trip time.
It's been a couple decades since she had to fly anything, but slipping into the pilot's seat is like coming home. It makes her think of her time in the Air Force, of the opportunity she had being allowed to be one of the first female combat pilots. It makes her think of think of fighting against a fast rising prodigy named Rhodes, and Jeannie Leavitt, of Howard Stark's death and of Nick Fury. The nostalgia comes mixed with worry, a reminder of the Incident and situation at hand.
Absently, she pulls the pager from one of her pockets. The little piece of plastic is only slightly more advanced than the ones that were actually being sold in the nineties. This one is a SHIELD prototype, though it's easier to assume the base for it came from Stark or one of the other geniuses they managed to recruit. She's really not sure how it even managed to send her a message from so far away, isn't sure if sending one back is even going to be worth it by the time she arrives. In the end, she figures it's worth a shot.
214 - RECEIVED YOUR MESSAGE.
324 - C U SOON.