Serendipitous
Upstate New York
2019
"I didn't expect you to have such a strong reaction."
"Well," Rocket is so disgruntled he's faced with an uncharacteristic loss for words. "I am!"
The blonde, excessively tall human is frowning at him. "I appreciate your concern." Steve's lips twitch at the corner, and his smaller companion scowls at the restrained amusement. "But it's hardly much of a change."
"It's horrifying."
"This is actually what everyone is used to."
"It's not what I'm used to." The smaller of them sputters, gesturing vaguely. "Can you take it back?"
"Not exactly how it works."
"Make it work!"
At that, Steve actually does laugh. A short, quiet noise. But a laugh, surely. It's a rare sound these days, especially at the Avengers compound. The few of them constantly occupying the space don't often indulge the impulse. So this moment, fourteen months into life as they're beginning to know it, doesn't go unappreciated for either of them. The man raises hand to rub at his newly bare jawline as Rocket considers it. Introspection was never his bag. These days, he has too much time for it.
He's under the impression it's the first time the common area, formerly occupied by a sharp edged makeshift family as it was, has been filled by the sound in a long time. Their shared stay over such a long span of time has allowed for plenty of stories passed both ways. In the start Rocket had adamantly avoided anything of the sort. Determined to keep his distance, his world, separate from this one. Eventually he found himself talking while he worked, exchanging brief callbacks to events his companion was unaware of and vice versa. Occasionally putting in little details and brief recollections.
Rocket has learned that Steve is older than his physical appearance implies. His life has spanned decades, some experienced and others missed. The man with the metal arm on the battlefield was Bucky, he used to be a boxer, and their histories are strung together like a web. The Avengers resided here once, and before that in the city, until the Accords. (Though he isn't exactly sure what that means, anyway.) His favorite food is apple pie, but soup is a close second. He can't cook to save his life. The other human heroes were his family, the same way the Guardians were to him. And he learns, through the tight set of his shoulders and stiff lines of his face and the way his body sags when he enters the lab, that he feels every wound as if it was only just opened.
Just now, he's learned that the scruff overtaking Steve's facial plane isn't the norm for him. Which explains the joking remarks spared between him and Thor, actually, and the taunts of furry rodents taking up residence on his features from Natasha. It's a peculiar change, regardless of it not being that grand. He looks mostly the same, Rocket decides. Just more tired. As if time might be trying to reach him, finally. The lack of darkened hair blanketing his face brings more attention to the heavy circles under his eyes, and the sharpness of his jaw and tightness of his lips.
Like this, Rocket can picture him the way Happy once described him. As a soldier, a hero, fit for medals across his breast and a uniform paired with a structured hat. It would suit him more than the multicolored suits he's been pictured in.
That's a time he hasn't heard much of. Stories granted only in passing, and never from the subject himself. Having never been one to take an interest in the past, or base much off of it, he never asks. It's only fair, he thinks. Aside from a bit of minutely horrified laughter and prods of how they shouldn't be surprised, no one had put any weight in his past either. Never tried to peel away at the how or why to any of it. Look at that, Cap', he's a fugitive too. Rocket is never going to come out with it, but he had appreciated it. You, committing a crime? I never would have guessed.
"It'll grow back." Steve reassures him, settling in the chair perpendicular to the couch the furry mammal has seated himself on.
"Will you keep it?"
"Probably not." He admits.
Nearly spitting in his disgust, Rocket shakes his head. "You look squishy."
Doing a double-take, Steve reaches up again to feel at his face. "I'm not squishy."
"You are squishy." Baring his teeth, he barks a laugh. "All terrans are squishy."
"FRIDAY -"
"- yeah, FRIDAY, tell him how squishy -"
"- am I -"
"- getting out of shape? Losing your figure? Mistress of Time letting -"
"- squishy?"
"By standards on Earth, you are most certainly not squishy, Captain Rogers." FRIDAY lends her support to Steve. Unsurprising, but Rocket is borderline offended anyway. "However, our limited knowledge of life outside of Earth does not provide me with adequate references to compare with extraterrestrial lifeforms."
"Ha!"
Rocket is in the first stages of celebrating in excess. Tail curling in delight, ears rotating forward slightly, nose raising. His grin goes wide, displaying sharp teeth, and a single paw raises pointed at the human. It's close enough to a win. As offputting as the disembodied, accented voice can be to this day, he can appreciate a win when he gets one.
The celebration is interrupted before it can even truly begin. Rocket notices the arm of the couch trembling underneath his form, first, and then the coffee table in front of them jittering. The glass globe curved around the light above them starts to vibrate, emitting a sharp 'clink!' every few seconds. It lasts for not even a minute, barely thirty seconds, and is brought to a close by one last solid, considerably more noticeably, jump to their surroundings and a dull 'whop!' that momentarily deafens him. Inside his mouth his teeth still feel like they're rattling, the sensation almost causing his gums to go numb. An earthquake?
When he looks up, Steve is already standing. He's a few feet away now, closer to the door. Perhaps his enhanced senses caught it first? He's honestly not sure when the human moved, or how he moved quickly enough to avoid his notice. Rocket scurries across the couch on all fours in his direction, claws catching and pulling at the fabric at he goes. The light pricking noise has the man glancing back at him, expression suddenly all Captain America and at attention.
"An unidentified object is approaching the compound." FRIDAY puts in. "We are about to have company."
"A little belated, but okay." Rocket scoffs.
Rocket could swear FRIDAY sighs, if that's even possible. "The speed at which it is moving is rivaled only by Pietro Maximoff. The distance from which it approached delayed my ability to properly track and detect it."
"Who is that?" He asks, but Steve is already taking long strides to the door and away. Claws sliding across the floor, he makes a break to catch up.
"FRIDAY, prepare Home Alone Protocol."
"Understood, Captain Rogers."
Again, Rocket tries to get a word in. "What is that?"
"Notify Happy immediately. Put the levels he and Doctor Selvig are currently on on lockdown."
"Certainly." A pause, and then FRIDAY chimes in again from nowhere and everywhere all at once. "The Feather Coat has been triggered."
"The what?"
Equal parts confused and frustrated, Rocket finds himself running straight into one thick, sturdy leg. His nose throbs and he wobbles backward, one paw coming up to cradle the tender space on his face. What kind of idiot stops running in the middle of a crisis? And doesn't even warn the person behind them? This isn't a highway, or an appropriate situation for a brake check at all. He's more than a little miffed. Stepping around the long walking appendages blocking his path, Rocket snaps his jaws and opens his mouth. He's gearing up to give the human a piece of his mind and tell him exactly what kind of bastard does those things, already mentally mapping out lines of curses and admonishments.
Unfortunately, all of his thought out insults and scolding words disappear. Just when I was starting to joke myself into even fuckin' considering you were capable turns very quickly into that's unexpected and where can I get what she’s having? Rocket is left with his jaw hanging open, arms raised with his paws open in an abandoned gesture that would have indicated to the area around them, totally stuffed full of Steve's assholery. Probably accompanied by a slick remark on how he's conscious enough to form coherent sentences, and he should.
The gesticulation would have fallen short anyway with his, in comparison to the star studded man, short range. Making an exaggeratedly huge point can miss the mark if your stature doesn't match up. Of course he could, and would most definitely, have leveled the field a little with his raised voice and quick prattle. Instead, it falls short in the face of a new addition to their party. A glowing addition.
As in literally glowing.
Rocket is immediately struck with the thought that she might be radioactive. Or maybe on fire. Is the Feather Coat alluding to how humans roast their avian creatures? There is abso-fucking-lutely no chance she's naturally lit up like the Kyln. She's practically a blur of harsh gold and electric blue hues as it dissipates to allow them a look at the blue, red, and gold suit she's donning. A square jaw and strong nose, loose dirty blonde curls, features set heavy like stone, hazel eyes with dark lashes set beneath brows a couple shades darker than her hair. Currently glaring at them with one eyebrow cocked. A question? A warning? It's hard to tell.
"Who is that?" Rocket asks, incredulous.
"That is exactly what I was about to ask." Is Steve's response, poised to move the second the newcomer poses a threat. "FRI -"
"You can think of me as the cavalry." The woman says, and her lips tilt with a soft smile. "Things have taken a turn since I was last here."
The answer earns a sharp scoff from Rocket, arms falling and paws automatically resting near his weapons. "I don't think that counts as a proper introduction." He shows her his teeth, a crooked mashup of harsh and uneven points. "They like those here on Earth. You know; a name, a little bit 'bout yourself."
"Sounds like we need an icebreaker." She says, posture relaxed. Unconcerned. It's clear she doesn't view them as a threat, and it puts him on his toes.
"I've had enough of those for one lifetime." Steve interrupts, expression stern.
Glowing Girl (Rocket has decided this is a fitting title for now) nods in understanding, but doesn't immediately offer anything else. She just looks from Steve to Rocket and back again, something like recognition flickering behind her eyes the second time she lands on the former. Whatever it is, Steve doesn't reciprocate. If anything, he looks a little uncomfortable. His brow pinches and his lips pull into a tight frown, jaw ticking as it goes.
Quite frankly, the raccoon in the room has no idea what he's witnessing. There's no handbook to understanding nonverbal exchanges, or social put-downs to pick-up. It isn't something he's well versed in, either. Interaction with others in general is not his strong suit. Try as he might, Rocket strikes it to the outs or pitches the batter a curveball more often than not. The metaphorical diamond is not his preferred field, basically. In fact, he's not even entirely sure those turns of phrase are accurate. He's been planning on trying them out for weeks, testing them out mentally in preparation for blowing Steve's mind with his traditional sporting event prowess.
Again, the woman breaks through his train of thought. "Do I know you?" She raises a hand, shaking her finger and pursing her lips. "I could swear I know you."
"You're mistaken." Sounding rather flabbergasted, Steve plants both hands on his hips.
"Are you sure?" She pushes, squinting a little harder. "That doesn't happen often."
"I get that you're havin' a moment of delusion and all," Rocket snipes, and her gaze redirects to him. "But can we cut to the important shit here?" She inclines her head to signal for him to continue. "Are you leaking radiation?"
This causes her to pause and look down at where the ends of her hair have yet to lose their gleaming otherworldly color. "Not as far as I know."
Rocket turns his head to look up at Steve, already looking his way. "Well that wasn't very reassuring."
”That’s your most pressing concern?” Steve looks like he wants to push his own face into the wall to get away from both of them.
Frowning, Rocket swivels one ear to keep tabs on the personified glowstick. “Are you tellin’ me it’s not yours?”
"To be fair, it's a good question." Comes from the side, and both of them look at the bemused woman. "Though no one has shown any signs of deterioration from being in my company."
"See?" Rocket waves a hand in her direction. "Your priorities just aren't straight!"
For the umpteenth time in the span of mere minutes, Steve's brow pinches and he looks to be exercising serious restraint by not cracking the wall with his skull. He does allow a displeased sigh, screwing his eyes up to the ceiling as if posing a question to whatever higher power he finds resolve through. Then he closes his eyes, chest rising and falling with a deep breathe through his nose, before dropping his chin again to acknowledge the elephant (read: woman) in the room. Rocket takes the tiniest bit of pleasure from his continued frustration in the face of their nonchalant approach to the situation at hand. He lives for the little things.
Their opposing tactics and reactions have been the source of squabbles since they left Wakanda, and the buffer of other beings between them. Minuscule things, important things, it didn't matter. Who got to fly the Quinjet, whether or not they made pit stops, if it was appropriate to commandeer items from other rooms in the compound, how often bathing is really necessary, should they make jokes about the dead - the list could go on enough to fill an entire chapter of a character-centric fiction work shared through online media platforms.
On the one hand, it's been an interesting sort of learning experience. Steve is the picture of a good health, with shiny teeth and morals to match, with flaws buried underneath heaps of bullshit and a practiced audio-book-worthy manner of speech. Rocket is... Well, none of those things. He thinks bathing is optional, and washing your clothes is a waste of resources, he's never brushed his teeth in his life, eats whatever is available whether he likes it and is good for him or not, his moral compass points northwest instead of north on a good day, and his flaws are practically displayed in a neon sign arching over his ears.
No one Rocket has ever surrounded himself with has been such an upright, contributing, productive part of society. Much less closely acquainted with good hygiene.
"We've talked about this." The man occupying his thoughts sighs out.
"We have." Rocket concedes, shrugging. "And I thought we decided you were wrong."
Steve gives him a no-nonsense look that bounces off like a Nerf dart, and promptly decides to invest his efforts in making some headway with the woman instead. Understandable. It's probably only going to turn into a whole Thing if they keep going, a back-and-forth with no foreseeable end or satisfying conclusion. The raccoon is willing to let it go. For now. Later, when they've hopefully made it through this scenario they're knee deep in, he'll take the pin from the board and pick it up where they left off.
"You said you're the cavalry." He says, and she nods patiently. "Who called you in?"
"Nick."
A beat, and then two. "Fury?"
"You call him Fury?" She asks, brow and lip quirked upward.
"You call him Nick?"
Titan?
???
Metal shifting. Prisms sliding against each other propelled by a force that science lacks the ability to explain. Dull gold and faded orange collapsing and expanding, pulling away and apart. Releasing power. Nothing but power. Pure, unbridled, held in this time and space by nothing but carved stone. Stephen feels it as the Eye of Agamotto opens, breathes it in in a way he's only ever had a taste of before. His fingertips buzz, the ungodly force in front of him fades through the bright green light emitted from the small object suspended in the relic hanging at his sternum.
It's a moment, and it's all he has ever needed. His fingers curve and he releases his breath and knows he can't go beyond a few minutes from now, he knows -
He knows nothing, for a moment. Nothing. His brain is scrambled, vision blurred. Stephen has to blink away the disorientation, draw back to observe the physical plane he's no longer occupying. It's his last moments, the last moments of nearly everyone in the ruins of Titan. He knows, but he doesn't have the time to dwell on it or take it in. Thanos, standing over him. Tony Stark, wounded and determined nonetheless. The Guardians, unaware of fate coming toward them like a brutal reality check. The kid, who shouldn't have to be there but he does so there's no time for sympathy. The girl with replaced limbs and a life stolen from her, twisted and pounded into more metal and wires than skin and bones.
A moment of discord in the universe, a defined spark in the line of time. Seconds that are happening, have happened, will happen, have always been bound to happen. Stephen angles his hands, twisting his wrists, and then pushes his arms outward. He's propelled backward as the world around him takes on kaleidoscopes, fragments of time and the universe at large contained in sharp, misshapen frames that rotate and move with no apparent pattern. He catches bits of color, images, expressions, landscapes.
Red staining green, spikes of gold light catching blades of grass. The forehead of a woman, with a quirked brow and light hair. Skin burnt and cracked, blood like lava spilling from the split. A stone glowing purple, flickering in and out of existence. A city skyline, spattered with bursts of light. The familiar bent line of a monitor in a hospital. Green skin and dark hair. Blue eyes reflecting an all consuming gold light display. Dirty, ripped army fatigues. A thin smile and the gleam of metal, the barest glimpse of the handle of a blade. Dark clothes and dark skies and wet cheeks. Red and blue landscapes slipping and shifting, thin shapes twisting. Dark blonde scruff along a strong chin, teeth highlighted by a grin. Torn uniforms and matted hair, rocks painted red, clouds broken apart by metal structures, weapons and armor discarded in the dirt.
It's all gone before he can capture more of it. Slipping through his fingers and out from underneath him without warning. Everything is shrouded in an orange fog, thick enough that he can hardly see his fingertips at the end of his hands. He's not even sure he's moving, though he's sure he's trying to go forward.
This is a place away from time, away from reality as they know it on their familiar small scale. Which makes it impossible to tell how long he wades through the haze of amber and apricot shades, nothing but a blur of blue light. A colored outline of his form, mostly rendered transparent in this space.
When the barrier of fog breaks away, it's without warning. An electric shock tickles his fingertips, an uneven landscape of red and grey masses is revealed to him. Constantly in motion. Shifting, meshing, twisting, melting away and growing back just as quickly, the ground beneath him rising and falling as if the world is breathing. And, much closer, a bronze vehicle reminiscent of a submarine with a thick cord trailing from the backside. Just beyond that, on the other of said cord, a silhouette outlined by a warm, pale glow.
"Repeat after me: two. And then, after that? One. It's easy."
Upstate New York
2019
On the outside, the Avengers Compound is silent and empty. A shell of what it used to be, and could have been, and should have been, and had been imagined to be. Once upon a time, people would have had to leave their modes of transportation outside of the garage due to the number of S.H.I.E.L.D., Stark Industries employees, and sort-of-superheroes parked inside. Almost always someone running laps outside, or enjoying the seats in the sun, or running tests. Someone manning the cameras and the doors. Neatly trimmed bushes and trees, freshly cut grass, the winding driveway power washed to perfection. The big circled 'A' of their symbol shining on the side of the building. Windows so clean and clear you could have touched up your makeup in them.
Now, there are no vehicles abandoned out front. Just a couple cars and a bike in the garage, with too much room between them. Overgrown grass threatens to invade the driveway and walkways. Weighed down by the telltale flurries of snow beginning, the flora inside the walls is wilted and dying. Bushes with leaves and limbs sticking out at odd angles, lopsided and bordered with weeds of various sorts. The symbol on the building is dull with dirt and splattered with spots of brown and grey. The lack of time and care put into the appearance is telling, disheartening. Nothing like Luis had imagined.
He has, for the record, imagined it a lot. Luis has always known he would end up here, as a Honorary Avenger even if no one has officially thrown around the title. It's just that he had imagined it a little different, from this, in more ways than one. A little something like this...
Mood lighting: dim, blue, serious. Background music: Adele's 'Hello', rising steadily to convey the climactic moment. The scene: Avengers Headquarters, deep underground, super high-tech planning room with spinning screens and lots of blueprints and surveillance photos. Scott: across from him, suited up, nodding. Captain America: hand on his shoulder, their taskmaster. And Luis: the man with the information, filling them in on Scott's newest nemesis they need help defeating. They give him a uniform, a badge that says 'Luis: The Informant', and a suit with some cool gadgets to kick ass and take names.
"You lost it."
Luis is pulled from his thoughts like a hole from a donut, and reminded of where he is. The lights are bright and white, the only semblance of music is the hum of machines, the room they're in is on the first floor and has glass walls that look out into a training area, and a table in the center with projections of data and photos of living and dead persons. No blueprints for suits and buildings, or photos of some new foe for them to combat. He's wearing dirty sneakers and faded jeans and the same purple polo he's owned for a decade, not a fitted uniform with a polished badge or an impressive suit. Most importantly? There's no Scott.
Around him isn't the typical Avengers cast, either. Captain America - Steve, Luis reminds himself - is standing to his left with his arms crossed, muscles threatening to ruin the shirt he's wearing. The man should get a new wardrobe, he thinks, because that shirt is sinful. Beside him, standing on a chair, is raccoon named Rocket who talks and wears a vest. As in, actually speaks. English. In full sentences. He speaks with the mannerisms of middle schooler sometimes, but it's still pretty impressive. On his other side is a very pretty woman with a very scary serious face going on, clothed in baggy black pants and a white tucked in shirt, who he learned a few minutes ago is called Carol. She's a little terrifying, and he's a little starstruck.
Seated directly across from Luis is a man who looks to be in his late forties, early fifties, wearing a wrinkled suit and tie, hair unbrushed, bags under his eyes. Harold "Happy" Hogan, Head of Security and Asset Manager for Stark Industries as well as Operations Overseer for the Avengers Facility. Last - but most certainly not least - he's drawn back to looking at the two screens highlighted on the left of the table, both the size of his torso and offering live video of people from the waist up.
On one is the Black Widow - somehow even more enamoring than the buff blonde in the flesh with them - but they all refer to her as Nat, or Natasha. Both of her elbows are balanced on a dark table, quietly dangerous figure highlighted by a dark maroon jacket with black stitching at the sharp elbows and shoulders. The other holds the image of Bruce Banner - the Hulk who Luis has to hold his breath not to have a minor fan freak out over - and Thor, sitting so close that they're touching shoulders to both fit on the screen. Both are wearing tank tops, dark at the neckline and armpits with sweat, lounging on a bench. The large Asgardian has one arm extended, holding whatever device they're chatting from.
"Lost it!" The raccoon howls with a laugh, pointing at him with one dirty claw. "A whole vehicle!"
"Not really." The X-Con Security Consultant cuts in, and when all eyes in the room turn to him he gives a sheepish smile. "But it's lost."
Natasha rubs at the bridge of her nose, sighing. "You are aware that sounds a lot like you lost it?"
"Almost exactly like that." Carol nods, though there's a bit of humor in the lilt of her words. "So you lost it?"
"Sort of -" Luis begins to concede, but the noisy sputtering to his side cuts him short.
Rocket is practically wheezing with his guffaws, waving a paw messily. "He lost it!"
"Please -" Steve stops, looks away and clears his throat. The movement of his cheeks is almost imperceptible, but Luis is sure he's holding back a chuckle. A chuff. It's glorious.
"But not like, lost it, lost it, you know what I mean?" As soon as Luis says it, it's no longer in question.
Steve Rogers, Captain America, painted in comics as a stone cold serious and respected operator, actually snorts when he tries to hold it in. He looks absolutely horrified at the sound, but it lasts for only a split second before his surprise causes him to release a laugh. In response, Rocket is bent at the waist and wheezily panting out words that make just about no sense. This only seems to make the man beside him try not to laugh, resulting in another snort and a few coughs in an attempt to compose himself.
"It's -" Rocket manages between laughing fits, wiping at his eyes with one furry arm. "So stupid! Even he -" here he gestures at Steve, who resolutely looks ahead as not to break again. "He laughed! It was funny!"
Bruce, wiping sweat from his nose, shakes his head. "If you don't know it's whereabouts, it's lost."
"That would be the definition." Is Natasha's confirmation.
Clearly, Luis decides, they do not know what he means. He's going to have to break it down to them, in a classic show of the adult pursuit of education. This is his lecture hall, he's the certified specialist, they're his debt immersed students, and the subject is retracing your steps.
"It's like, in high school, during those ACT tests, and you let your buddy borrow your favorite pencil." He starts painting the picture, and this time they let him. "He has a pencil, but you need the wooden number two pencil 'cause they're strict about the details on those tests, and all he's got is a mechanical pencil because his family is all 'save the trees' and won't buy them - like this guy I knew named Jerry, that I met in a business mentor group. He said it takes one tree to make only thirty pencils, which didn't sound right, so I went home and Google'd it, and he was wrong." Luis pauses, making sure they all have a chance to take in the utter betrayal in his eyes, and then continues."
"The instructor is all giving the rules and regulations, and he's doing a three-sixty flip off the handle looking at his pencil. So you're all: 'it's good, bro, I have an extra.' And he's gobsmacked all: 'I swear I'll give it back, you just saved my education man.' But then he forgets to give it back." Luis gives another stop here, to shake his head. "So your buddy takes it home and you're like 'man, I really want that pencil' so after the weekend you ask him about it. Except he let his sister borrow it for an essay on the effect of media on young adults, which is gnarly, and she let their dad borrow it for the daily crossword. Which he doesn't get to finish, because his wife comes around asking about needing to make a grocery list. Dude just got off work, trying to relax, he's trying to think of 'apparatus' but all he can think of is 'asparagus' because she's talking about dinner, and she can't find a pen, and his stomach starts growling 'cause she made him hungry. Now he just wants dinner, and it's taking over his thoughts so much he won't be able to finish, so he just gives her your pencil."
From the second monitor comes Thor whispering, starting up a sidebar with Bruce. "Are you following this?"
"Only slightly." Comes the response, paired with a shrug.
"Oh, good." Rocket comments offhandedly. "I was startin' to think this was just another terran thing I wasn't getting. But he's just incomprehensible, that's good."
"No, no." Carol raises a hand to stop them, eyebrows raised. "I think I get it."
Luis gifts them all with a wide grin, slapping his hands on his knees. "See, she knows what I mean!"
"I do, in fact, know what you mean." She confirms, and spares a smile of her own.
That doesn't seem to be shared by the others, though. Which is fine. It's not entirely uncommon for Luis to throw people off of their mental axis and leave them momentarily speechless. It's like his everyday superpower or something. He should probably start using it as a talking point from here on. There aren't many people who can say they sat in a room with most of the Avengers and blew their collective minds. Aside from Carol, they're all regarding him as if he's presented them with a particularly impressive math equation or moral conundrum.
Rocket, for once, seems to have abandoned the possibility of following any of it. He's distracting himself with a cell phone that presumably does not belong to him, because Luis is pretty sure only humans can sign up for cellular plans on Earth. Pretty sure. Maybe he's wrong. In the seventeen months - it's been almost a year and a half, he realizes, the time seems to have passed with no warning - since everything changed, anything could have happened. They've seen that, now.
"Where do we start?" Carol asks, facing him fully and disregarding the lack of understanding from the others.
"Okay, so, get this." Luis takes a breath, blinks, and leans forward in his seat with both hands spread in front of him. "Back in March - but last year, okay, obviously - Scotty was getting ready to get off of house arrest. After, you know, he was sixty-five feet tall and you guys kind of destroyed that air port, and violated all kinds of laws. Which was pretty sick, by the way, just in case nobody told you -"
"No one told me." Natasha interrupts, teasing a smile in his direction.
"Because it wasn't." Comes Steve, giving the screen a stern look that falls flat since they aren't face to face.
"But it kind of was." Luis chimes in.
Taking a temporary interest, Rocket raises his nose. "It sounds like it was. How come I haven't heard this story yet?"
"Because -" Bruce sighs.
"It is a subject of contention, rabbit." Thor finishes for him, nodding sagely.
"No." Steve tries again. "It's because -"
"You're keeping me out of the loop."
"No one actually wants to -"
"That's not the point -"
"If we could all just -"
And again, the conversation is cut off by one of their other companions. The minor topic quickly snowballs into something more, with multiple people speaking at the same time. The only people silent during the discussion are Luis and Carol. Although, he isn't really sure this is a discussion anymore. Maybe an argument, judging by the tones and looks thrown around, but without the yelling. They're bouncing off of each other so quickly it's a little hard to keep up with, even for him. That's saying a lot, considering how often he and the Wombats speak over each other and run sentences together.
Luis' attention keeps hopping back and forth between the group, eyes darting back and forth like the ball in pinball game. The whole thing would be a little entertaining, fascinating, and enlightening if it weren't so convoluted. Also a little off topic. They're supposed to be figuring out where his van is. By association that, hopefully, means Scott. It's sort of why he's here.
"Oh, I see how it is! It's because of the fur, isn't it?"
"Who cares about your fur -"
"You have a remarkable pelt -"
"That's not really the kind of compliment -"
"Knew this was an awful idea, I -"
Hard to believe only yesterday, he was in San Francisco. Unlocking the X-Con office doors, to start the day. Alone. The same thing he does every Monday through Friday, because despite doing it himself he knows that's what Dave, Kurt, and Scott would have wanted. It's what they would have done. The Incident brought with it a boost to business with all of the theft and vandalism and mayhem, so even if he had ever considered closing the doors (and he never has, not once, not for a moment) there was always a reason to stay in business. X-Con is practically a staple of the city, now. There isn't much else left to rely on.
Still, the increase in popularity hadn't prepared him for the pleasant surprise of Steve already inside, sitting in the waiting area just as patiently as if he were there to get a camera and alarm system installed. Luis certainly hadn't been prepared to board a Quinjet to New York, either, but there was no hesitation or pause to pack an overnight bag before he left. Even if it hadn't been the actual Captain America, the mentioned possibility of Scott being alive somewhere made it a nonissue.
"Okay, moving on -" Steve raises his voice to cut through the arguing, but the attempt fails.
Still lamenting and spitting, Rocket mocks him. "Okay! Okay, this. Okay, that. I'm startin' -"
"Please, stop while you're ahead."
"He's not really ahead." Happy comments.
"Well -"
"Enough!" Carol yells, and both hands slam onto the table. The connection makes it rattle, and brings everyone to a halt. Even Rocket stops, phone in one hand and the other making an obscene gesture in Happy's direction. "You're all worse than fledglings." She straightens herself and inclines her head toward Luis, blonde hair bobbing with the movement. "Go on."
"Okay..." Luis waits, to make sure the commotion is really done with, and decides he's probably best off skipping over the epic law breaking section this time. "Back in March, like I said, Scotty is having these wicked crazy dreams and guilt tripping himself, because the Pyms had to go on the run right? And they're all mad at him, because they didn't think it was cool either, and the suit is only kind of his. They're all: 'you exposed us!' And he's just like 'oh man... my bad.' But they won't hear it, because they gotta run from the government, so we're all 'damn' thinking they're gone."
Here he pauses, to ensure they're all still following. A couple nods and rolling hand gesturing indicate they are, and he can continue. The only one not paying him any mind is Rocket, slouched in his seat with his claws clicking on the screen of his mobile device.
"My main man is getting ready to catch some sweet z's only to be wham-bam knocked out by Hope - that's Hank's daughter, and she and Scott are like mad feisty for each other - and kidnapped. She put his anklet on a big ant, like large dog big, I think it's Antony but I can't really tell them apart. So she's telling him his dreams are real, and he's being her mom - Janet, she's kind of a badass who lived in the Quantum Realm and fought space beetles called tridentgrades - which is kind of weird, and he's freaking out. Thinking some kind of Back to the Future type scenarios, all kinds of creepy, but Hope is still talking about childhood games and how she's got a suit and they need to rebuild a tunnel and how much he's an asshole."
"Sounds like all Earthlings are assholes." Rocket grumbles, still pouting at being silenced.
"Anyway, my buddy calls me up and tells me to keep Jimmy - he's in the FBI, in charge of Scott, he keeps telling us to call him Agent Woo but he looks more like a Jimmy than a Woo - but he needs me to keep Jimmy busy, because there's some evil scientist with a teenage supervillain. Except, she's not, because she was good inside all along. So I'm all: 'what?' And he's all 'I know,' woah." For dramatic effect, he gives another pause. "But then an evil businessman named Burch kidnapped me, Dave, and Kurt - those are the Wombats - and gave us some truth serum, which I didn't even think was real. That's like a movie thing, yeah? But it's real. I accidentally gave them up, but we all got spooked by Ava - she's the teenager, Hank calls her Ghost and she can disappear for real for real - so he ran, and we had to warn Scott. He and Hope took me on car chase through San Fran' and people destroyed buildings -"
Bruce's surprise make him unable to hold his question, and he makes a funny noise in his throat. "That was you guys?"
"Yeah, man." Luis confirms, and nods seriously. "But that was before everyone else got arrested."
"But not you." Rocket huffs, sounding almost disappointed.
Shrugging, Luis responds. "Not this time. 'Cause Scott had to get home, to see Jimmy so he wouldn't go back to prison, so Hope and Hank get caught. He had to break them out of jail which was, you know, pretty cool. Then they had to fight Ava, since she was trying to kill Janet. Apparently she has some kind of Quantum Particles in her bones, and that's what Ava needs to stay alive. Also her dad kind of died during some experiment, and she was left with that weird object permanence issue, so she kind of hated them anyway. And that's where the car chase comes in, but we were going to get back to that."
"How does this tie in with where Scott is?" Bruce questions.
"Hank had to go get his wife while everyone was fighting, like some Notebook level movie worthy scenario. And when she got out, she just gave Ava some of her particles. And Scott got off house arrest, so they made a plan to go harvest more for her. Except, Scott wasn't supposed to tell me, because Mr. Pym doesn't realize my brain is like a vault."
Looking a little disbelieving, Happy sighs. "But he did?"
"Of course! We tell each other everything." Thor and Bruce exchange a look, so Luis repeats himself. "Everything."
"So he went back to the Quantum Realm, while we were fighting Thanos?" Carol has her brows furrowed at him, trying to get some clarity.
"Yeah. They couldn't use the lab, seeing as they're sort of wanted and people tend to notice huge buildings popping up in a day. So they went all Pimp My Ride on my van, right, and Mr. Pym put a new engine in it so it didn't stall on the Quantum highway or, like, actual highway." Luis can't help the grin that perks his cheeks. His van had never been cooler. "They're all mobile operating, and going around California on something like a spirit quest, but for middle-aged white people with science."
"We find the van, we find Scott." Steve says, and Carol nods.
Finally, they're getting it. "We just gotta backtrack."
"Like with the pencil."
"Exactly."
"Hold on, hold on." Bruce is shaking his head at them, looking at his hands like there's suddenly something different about them. "It might not be that simple."
"Why?" The blonde woman present in the room looks at the monitor holding the curly haired brunette as he frowns and looks up. "We find the van, we turn it on, we pull him out."
"I don't know where the van is, but I know where the lab is." Luis puts in helpfully. "It's just a little... little."
"It just doesn't work like that. It - just - hold on."
Bruce retreats from their view, and Luis can faintly pick up on the sound of papers and objects being shuffled around. Thor is leaning this way and that to watch, curious. The rest of them do as he says and hold their horses, waiting as patiently as any of them are able to. Even Rocket's interest has been caught again, but Luis has a feeling his level of dedication to the conversation is very heavily influenced by who is speaking more than what the subject matter is. It takes maybe a minute, give or take, and then he's sliding into his seat and turning a thick sheet of white paper toward them, with a hand drawn diagram of a sort.
Luis can make out a few planets, their own included with an arrow pointing to it and 'US' alongside it. More planets and stars and the works, only some of which he recognizes. All of that is under the title of 'SPACE/MIDGARD' in big, thin, tight letters. Above that, connected by a thick red line, are a few squiggly floating landmasses with various labels; 'ASGARD, VANAHEIM, ALFHEIM, NIDVAELLIER, JOTUNHEIM.' At the bottom, underneath even Midgard, are more; 'SVARTALHEIM, NIFLHEIM' all connected by the same red trail across the paper.
Off to the side from all of that, unconnected, is a badly drawn... Sinkhole? It is labeled as 'Q.R.' so it's safe to assume it's supposed to be the Quantum Realm. Atop the side with the Quantum Realm is a squiggly, uneven line, and over the other side is a neat circle. Needless to say, Luis has no idea what to make of any of it beyond some kind of odd take on a map. Bruce holds it there, on display, braced against his thighs with one hand on top while the taps his marker on the side.
"This isn't exactly my area of expertise." Bruce admits, grimacing. "But this should work."
Leaning around him, Thor momentarily blocks the paper to look it over before leaning back again. "Yes, well, your placement could use some work as well as the artistry, but a decent initial attempt."
"Rocket has been sending me Tony's research." Bruce continues, and his gaze flits down to the paper for a second. "After Ant Man starting showing up, he went digging through SHIELD files, backed some of them up a few years ago."
"He means all of them." Rocket amends. "Did you know he was a hoarder, because it's a real problem."
"The point is that, in theory, this is us." Pausing, the man pokes at Midgard with his marker and taps it once. Then he draws an invisible circles around everything on that side of the paper. "This is the Nine Realms. Essentially, a bunch of planets in different spiral galaxies connected by Yig-drahs-ill."
"Ig-drah-sill. Yggdrasil." Thor corrects him patiently, patting him heavily on the arm.
"Yggdrasil." Bruce tries it out, and receives a proud look in response. "For all intents and purposes, it's a cosmic nimbus linking everything. Our space -" the marker taps on Midgard, "- to Asgard's space -" a tap on the upper area, "- to Niflheim's space. Are you following me?"
"Not really." Happy admits, leaning his elbows on the table and getting closer to squint at the screen. "But continue."
Thor readily jumps in to supply an explanation. "The Nine Realms are our worlds. Earth, as you know it, is Midgard. The Sixth Realm."
"Wasn't Asgard destroyed?" Chiming in again, Rocket holds up nine claws and then tucks one down. "Aren't we down to eight?"
Such a simple comment brings a thick silence to the room, one that Luis isn't sure he should break. Clearly, the topic isn't an upbeat one. He might not be totally in the loop, but he's not entirely clueless. He watches as Steve looks away, Natasha bridges her hands in front of her face, Happy rubs at his eyes, and Carol's hands rest at her hips. Bruce cuts a look to the lone Asgardian among them, whose expression moves between sour and neutral. Eventually, Thor's brow relaxes and the lines fall from his forehead and he breathes, and smiles.
"Asgard has never been just a place, Rabbit." Before the subject gets any further discussion, he pushes ahead. "Yggdrasil is a tree of life, the world tree, that keeps all of our worlds connected. Its roots stabilize our universe. As long as it stands, so do our people."
"In theory," Bruce tries again, with a wave from his large Asgardian companion to continue. "We operate on the commonly considered normal structure of space and time. A linear flow. It happens, we experience it, it's the past. It's going to happen, we haven't experienced it, it's the future. To get somewhere you have to move through space in some amount, which takes time. Presumably, Yggdrasil's influence keeps this consistent."
Happy is nodding now, joining the class on the same page in the metaphorical textbook. Luis is glad he admitted to not understanding, because he was entirely lost. Owning up to that in a room full of heroes and geniuses is hard, though. And embarrassing. Mostly embarrassing, actually. The older man must be used to it by now. He's been doing this for years, and before that ran with the Stark crew. It makes sense, Luis decides.
"The Quantum Realm -" Bruce taps his marker there, and then on the contorted line above it. "- might not. If it doesn't, we're going in blind and won't have any way to find him to bring him back. Hank Pym's notes indicate it operates outside of the rules we adhere to."
Eyebrows flying up, Steve crosses his arms. "Might not? What does that mean?"
"It means I don't know have enough to go off of to say for sure." The scientist confesses, shoulders falling with the return of a frown. "Biochemistry, gamma radiation, and nuclear physics can only get me so far here and a lot of what SHIELD had was redacted when the Hank Pym quit."
"And your boy genius didn't leave behind much that makes sense." Supplies Rocket breezily. "We haven't even made it through half of his shit yet, and most of it is already useless."
Quietly, almost to himself, Happy provides his own commentary. "When Rhodes found Tony in Afghanistan, he didn't ask for water or food or a doctor. He asked him to call Pepper and Obadiah, because he wanted an immediate press meeting. But first and foremost: he wanted a burger." He huffs out a laugh. "He told everyone, right then and there with a mouth full of bread and beef, Stark Industries wasn't going to produce weapons, or be part of war profiteering."
Luis remembers that. Turning on the television in 2009 to see Tony Stark all banged up and sitting down, asking everyone else to sit down, to get a little less formal. His first appearance since being discovered as not dead, and he had reporters sitting and crouching on the floor with him. It had been laughable, at the time, and shocking when moments later he tore down what Stark Industries had been known for since the 50's. That moment would later be recognized as the true start of Iron Man, and comic books come to life, and movie level battles warped into the real world around them.
"Tony didn't want that, anymore." Is the sigh Happy continues with. "After Obadiah, he knew letting that kind of technology get into the wrong hands was dangerous. I doubt it was an accident, making things incomprehensible."
"He didn't tell you anything?" Carol asks, and when he shakes his head her eyes search the room instead. No one meets her gaze. "Not one of you?"
Natasha drops her hands flat on the table. "If he had, he would have changed it following Siberia."
"Is there anyone he might have?" Nothing. "No one at all?"
"No one still around." Happy deadpans.
Not that it really helps, but Bruce adds anyway: "Erik is going over what we do have, from the Pyms and Tony."
"What about Shuri?" Steve asks, and Luis notices the way Natasha inspects her nails at the conversational shift.
Thor shakes his head. "Indisposed. Last we spoke, the Lady of Wakanda was traveling to supervise reconstruction efforts south of here."
"She never mentioned it."
"She has a lot on her plate." Natasha adds, but she's still giving the green polish on her nails a serious look.
Despite the reasoning, Steve pushes. "FRIDAY, did you receive any response from Shuri when you tried to contact her?"
"No, Captain Rogers. Her automatic response system informed me, and I quote: -" FRIDAY almost seems to be trying to mimic the young woman's voice, then. "Call me, beep me, if you want to reach me."
He looks down from the ceiling, to Rocket. "You sent her the files?"
"Do I use your toothbrush to clean my claws?" The raccoon jeers swiftly, showing off the sharp bits for them.
"Is he joking?" Luis asks, mildly horrified.
"He's joking."
"I'm not joking."
Again, the Captain frowns at the group. "Are we sure she's just -"
"Steve." Natasha cuts him off, voice sharp with a warning but laced with understanding. "She's only a kid."
"Right." The man in question deflates, bracing his hand on the back of one of the chairs. "You're right."
Steve looks so human, suddenly. All of them do. It was easy, in all of the talking and exposition, to overlook it. Luis can see it, now, brought out further by the bright lights. The bags under their eyes, the slump of their shoulders, the meaningful looks exchanged between some of them, the way Mr. America stares hard down at the seat of the chair. Without the news and radio coverage, the blurry photos, the screen separating him from them, they seem so much more mortal. Smudged makeup and chipped nails, fading hair dye, some of them look like they've forgotten what a hairbrush even is, rumpled clothes. Flawed.
With Scott, it was never hard to distinguish between the man and the mask. Or forget about the mask altogether. Shared history provided a bridge. Like most others, it had never struck Luis that they would be very much the same. Maybe the pedestals they were raised on - and some of them, dragged down from - added to that. Those flurries of hype, coverage, and excitement never quite reached the same levels with Ant Man, for various reasons.
Now, sitting here surrounded by people painted as untouchable, the realization is unnecessarily uncomfortable. Seeing Steve waiting in his office to steal him away, he had simply assumed they had a plan of action. A set course. An idea of what needs done next. Something to put into action, with a little bit of help on his part. It's painfully obvious they don't. Like the rest of the population, they're at an impasse. Unsure. Stuck. At the same level as everyone else, with only a little more to go off of.
"We start with the lab, right?" Luis inputs, when the room remains still and silence unbroken. All eyes drift to him, in question, as if they've forgotten the original conversation.
"It doesn't do us any good if everything is miniature." Natasha points out after brief consideration.
Words filled with determination, Carol puts a piece in the pile. "So we make it big again."
"Sorry, I don't carry around mass distribution switches." Rocket scoffs. "Those aren't a real thing, by the way. That's what makes it funny."
"What if, stay with me," Luis muses. "We get a microscope. One with the extra zoom-pieces."
Bruce shakes his head. "We run the risk of damaging something. If at all possible, we need to keep everything intact."
"Lady FRIDAY?" With the way the smaller man beside him winces, Thor must be yelling to make sure he's heard. "Are you present?"
"In a physical sense, that is a loaded question." The artificial voice comes across amused, accent light and lilting. "But in a manner of speaking, I am always present."
Luis doesn't always understand what she's saying, but he likes her. Even if she isn't really a fully fledged person. She's funny.
"Did Anthony provide you with a method of infiltration into other systems?"
"Affirmative. Boss equipped me with multiple offensive and defensive capabilities, to suit many situations. The primary usage was to create an uplink with government and SHIELD servers, as well as a link with the equipment present in the home of Thaddeus Ross."
Surprised, Bruce raises a question of his own. "What was Tony doing establishing a tie-up with Ross?"
"My connection was utilized to alter heating and cooling arrangements throughout his home, as well as disable lighting. Secondary objectives involved monitoring search and investigation related to yourself, Doctor Banner. In recent years, this was extended to include the renegade Avengers."
They all consider this, before Natasha gets back to the point. "You could get into Pym's lab, then?"
A pause, which makes Luis wonder if the man-made being can really think things over, and FRIDAY responds. "That is a reasonably safe assumption. My offensive measures should be more than ideal to bypass any implemented security, and disable safeguards to allow extensive access to available materials and data stored internally. External records and file would require a direct line to retrace the path taken to remove and displace them."
"So we start with the lab." Natasha decides, expression giving them no room for further argument or tossing around of ideas. "Where is it?"
"San Fran'. Forty-five square miles surrounded by reality." Luis informs her, full of pride. "I got that from Paul Kanter."
Bordering on smiling, Happy sits a little straighter in his seat. "Tony would appreciate that reference."